Learning about Addictions in France

What can I say? It is serious. Grave, even, as they say here, although they don't pronounce the e. I have been here for a year and three quarters and I have witnessed the most terrible, outrageous, frightening and perhaps even dangerous addiction known to human kind.

The French are generally a happy people. However, in this part of the world, other French say that there is something wrong with the locals. They are not alone in their perceptions. Many Anglo-phones (to be polite about it) constantly bang on about the sullenness of the shop assistants, the waiters who are slightly aggressive and arrogant, and the really unhelpful policemen (see previous post).

Even my Arab and Magrebian friends tell me that the French in this part of the world are terrible. I must point out that an American Journalist friend and I don't share this view as our experiences have been unique,( but I will remark that I see a lot of women dressed up to the nines in the supermarket or in a café, who would be very beautiful if they stopped frowning and used less energy and decided to smile).

Well given what I saw this last Easter I think I know what the problem is. No, it's not cultural. It's not even as I was previously postulating, that there is something in the water. Neither is it an inherent racism or the strong urge to tell all the foreigners to piss off back home and let us drive our cars on our broken up costal roads like a crazy Ferrari driving German some of you might have heard of.

I promise you after the spectacle that was Easter, when addicts practically jumped on one another to get the last of their fix, pulling hair, eye teeth, and even false wooden legs in order to get that last hit, that last tablet that would make life worth living, I never thought I would see the day when I would wish for the Berlin Wall to go back up so I could run and hide behind it.

NOTE Please those of who live in this part of the world and don't understand "in general", well let me say this, if the following view doesn't seem to be anything you have done or witnessed, get down on your knees and thank God, Allah, Yahweh, Rory Gallagher, Jimi Hendrix, Shiva, Breeda, your next door neighbour or anybody (ok no.......not George W, I draw the line there.)

This is what happens in general. A French man, woman or child, and sometimes all three get up early, let me just use the man as example. He puts on the coffee machine, rummages in the cupboard, pulls out a piece of old bread and smothers it in Chocolate paste, he then washes this down with a few milligrams of concentrated caffeine. Now for the Americans let me put it like this, coffee in France does not have the consistency of tea. No coffee here,.....well I have seen hoards of mice running through kitchens and using the liquid in a coffee cup as a springboard to evade the local cats of which there are many. I digress.
Madame then saunters downstairs having dressed and washed her husband, and child, (yes it is that old fashioned here in some parts. I have heard say French men in the south stop growing at the age of 18 but have no firm medical evidence of this yet. Suffice to say I was not surprised). She makes more coffee or reheats what is there, rummages in the cupboard and pulls out a bar of 90% cocoa, chocolate so dark you need a fusion powered blow torch to see where it is, if it isn't the brightest day, and even when it is bright.....? Well, I have seen brighter looking black holes. She breaks of a huge chunk of this solid mass and while sucking it, opens her eyes to the world and can suddenly start her day. I am sure some brainpower is lost in this early morning process and perhaps it might be up for discussion and some conference in the near future. The child who was sent to bed with Chocolate milk has a bowl of chocolate cereal dumped in front of him and maybe some hot chocolate too, accompanied by pain o chocolat (choclate with bread wrapped around it, and of course a tartine, crisy bread with chocolate paste, and so the French wake up. At 11 o clock they have coffee and a chocolate. After lunch the have a coffee and a chocolate. In the evening the have an aperitif with crisps(chips), just to delay the gratification I think, and then after a late dinner, of which one of the desserts will certainly be chocolate cake (homemade) or chocolate mousse, (shop bought) they will have a coffee (optional) and some chocolate(imperative).

At Easter they have the egg hunt. Children are told that Bunny rabbits will leave eggs in the garden and that Chickens will hide them in holes. (no wonder I am so confused here). Demented Grandmothers, Grandfathers, Aunts and Uncles, neighbours and general friends of the family, spend the morning running around a garden big enough to host a political convention, while two, often only one, parent strives to keep the crazed bug eyed child occupied for a number of hours, while kilos, and I do mean kilos of chocolate are hidden. Then balloons are hung up showing the least perceptive child where in fact the chocolate might be and so, it really is a complete waste of a morning. Although honestly it makes life worth living to see the joy on a childs face. There is no talk of religion or going to church, that only happens at Christmas.

So where do the kilos of chocolate come from? There are dedicated shops here, like a barber, a hairdresser, an electrical goods outlet, and the chocolate maker/artist on ever street. Yes ladies, every 200 meters there is a shop dedicated to chocolate. Every type of chocolate imaginable, every shade from white to jet-black, every texture, sweet, sour, every flavour imaginable, and even some not so.
If not, every baker, of which there are just as many, not to be outdone, usually has a fair supply as well. I have passed by shops of this nature thinking they were museums for sculptors of fine art, only to realise the exhorbitant price was for something so good to look at, it would be a shame to eat it.

So imagine it is what Christians call Good Friday. You are standing in front of a selection of chocolate (if you can find one that late in the year) when suddenly, the granny brigade, the weightlifters union, the bimbo's for Barbie, and drivers against indicators, suddenly realise you are going to buy the one egg they all had there eyes on. Let me explain by saying the weightlifters don't always come off best. If you have ever been hit in the crutch by a crutch you will understand. But imagine the brawl that ensues, or perhaps, it is better if you don't.
I am convinced a small portion of French taxes and a huge amount of their appetite is what keeps the Brazilian or Venezuelan economies ticking over, however ill they may be. And that the resultant melee is also why there are so many pharmacies, doctors, and magicians knocking around these here parts.

So this is what I think, if you find yourself confronted by the frowning, aggressive, road rage incensed, sullen, down in the mouth, full of negative attitude, swaggering down the street, looking like the world has fallen on their heads, I don't get paid enough, French people, perhaps it would be astute of you to assume that they are perhaps just lacking a bit of chocolate. So for your human safety and sanity, give them some. Imagine how different the political spectrum would be if George W, instead of Calling the President of France an enemy, had sent him a few Hershey bars instead, actually no don't, that would have started a nuclear war because Americans know about as much about real chocolate as Irish do, But imagine he had sent him Chocolate, or vice versa maybe. We would be living in the type of world I see every lunchtime, smiling laughing beautiful people enjoying life (with all its trials) and a piece of rich dark succulent chocolate. Unfortunately the effect does seem to wear off once they get back to work. I hope you all had a cool easter.
Regards

Learning the Culture of the Cop (les flicks)

Cops the world over have bad days.
So there I was feeling good. Swinging into Monaco, taking the illegal turn I take twice a week, for nigh on 2 months now as I don't know another way of getting to where I need to go, and a cop blows his whistle. I look in my rear view mirror, I know I am in trouble. Another Flick (cop) in front of me, smiles, and then waves me through the lights, "Allez voir mon amie, il a un chose a te dire" (or words to that effect) I allez voir his buddy who starts to tear me a new asshole for crossing a solid white line. Now here is a lesson, follow closely. How not to talk to a cop who obviously doesn't want to be where he is, and is looking to make your day miserable.
Cop: Don't you know it's illegal to do that?
Me: I have been doing every day for two months and there are cops always here and no one says anything. I don't know any other way of getting to where I am going.
The cop explains the right way to go and then..................................
COP: Is this scooter insured?
ME: Yes but the insurance disk is at home I didn't get time to stick it on yet.
COP: Can I see your papers for this scooters?
ME: No.
COP: What? (his eyes are bulging now and there is a vein throbbing on his neck just above his starched white collar).
ME: My papers are home.
COP: Your identity card,...............................are you still at this address?
ME: (cringing now) No.
COP: I will have to impound the vehicle.
ME: What are you joking? I mean you can't do that.
COP: I can do what I like sir, this is Monaco not France, not Ireland, why don't you have your papers with you, I can give you a fine for 150 euro for breaking the white line, and then more tickets and more tickets, I can make you life miserable. Don't you know all over the world you have to have papers with you? I will have to take the vehicle. (the vein has spread to his temple and across his forehead).
ME: Not where I come from.
COP: Yes you do, in Ireland, France, Italy, it is the same, it is the same here in Monaco. (he is now puse).
ME: (Now wishing my French was better and at the same time I knew how to keep my shut, and already cringing because I am dead late, and it looks like my life is going to be screwed up, no bike means no work, means no money) NO it is not the same you have 48 hours to bring your papers to a police station. (My head sinks to my hands)
COP: No it's not true.
ME: Excuse me I am not a liar. I don't want to get myself into more trouble with you sir but I really didn't realise no one explains anything here,,,,,,
COP: Right you don't want to because I am talking so you keep your mouth shut and listen or there will more and more tickets, just an endless line of tickets, its takes 5 working days to do the paper work on guys like you.
ME : (only thinking, no wonder this place is fucked up, you can't read or write) Sorry really I didn't know, I am not a criminal.
COP: A tourist has to have their papers with them.
ME: I am not a tourist.
MY BRAIN: Shut the fuck up collie or you will end up behind bars, this guys wife ran off with the milkman this morning just after she bit down on his daily blowjob.
COP: You are a tourist this is not France.
ME : I work here, I teach English
COP: Where is you work permit?
MY BRAIN: OH shit,,,,,,it's at home,,.....................................

Long and short of it, I got off (I think), I still might get a ticket in the post but by his expression he thought I was a wuss and it was probably no wonder Ireland lost the Rugby as those guys are way too soft.
Moral of the story, when in Monaco, pretend you don't speak French, never answer back, and for god's sake don't break the law, there are so many cops, there is no real criminals, except the tax dodgers, and er, well that is legal in Monaco.

Noticing that nothing is different except everything

Do let me generalise just a little
Basic observations about the differences of life between here and Ireland.
Here the weather is good generally, people are generally tired, generally find life difficult, generally are not happy, generally moan, complain, are often sick or break a bone, and generally don't realise how good they have it. They think the Cote d'Azur is expensive, is full of foriegners and always want to be somewhere else but never go. Generally they eat good food, drink great wine and are laid back except when in their cars and they think they have the worst roads, traffic and best drivers in the world (ahem). It's really hard to meet people and make friends.
Dublin however is where, it generally rains all the time, people drink way too much, prices are way too expensive, the place is full of foriegners, the roads are crap except the news ones, nobody got anything out of the Celtic Tiger economy, there is no health service, no one is well off, every one is open, friendly, chatty and it's easy to make friends. ............generally mind you.
So it's more real in Dublin but, it's better yet harder here, Generally.
Another words given swings and roundabouts I am no worse off here than at home and I have my son and the Sun here. So erm what will I do?...................... generally I think I am staying. :-)

Laughing my Ass off

http://img.tapuz.co.il/forums/20354349.htm

I promise I will write about life in france soon but this link is just too funny.
Lots has been happening and lots more to do. Sorry to my regularsm just running around like a loon at the moment and gettting nothing done. But laughter is the best medicine so have a look.

Ouch

Ouch ouch ouch owwwww. No really I am fine just don't make any sudden moves or noises. Well it was fun but not that much ouch fun. OK thats it till next March 17th. (Yeah right) OUch

Realising I am not brave

Reading some other peoples blogs is inspiring. Take Jessica Rabbit for example who shows up in some of my comments. This is a lady who has done it all or almost all anyway and her most recent entry is a brilliant piece of writing and a testament to true love.
However my life I need not point out is different. I have discovered the problem, apart from having to fill in a tax form that I knew nothing about, and don't know where to get, not being able to pay my rent, (they sent me a reciept for it anyway, so I am keeping quiet till they ask) having to go to the cops and sign a form that says I am no longer living with either the bane nor the joy of my life, (should have done it six months ago apparently), and apart from the fact that I don't make enough money, so I need to find a real job even a crap one, (I thought I had finished the sweeping shit jobs) and unemployment in this region is 15%, apart from all that, and having to organise a whole load of english classes for ungrateful students who don't realise that the letter Z is not the most popular letter in English and that H isn't there for decoration, apart from that, the problem is I suddenly realise I am a coward.
I am stuck in a rut I can't get out of right now because I am afraid to speak french. Don't get me wrong, one on one, my french is okay, I can have a conversation about almost anything assuming I am not tired, (I am just over full blown flu, had my heart broken, have no cash, and few close friends, worry about my boy all the time and generally worrry, how could I possilby be tired?). The worry gives rise to fear which is exhausting, which gives rise to more fear, which wins out to cowardice. I cannot get my head around working in a buger joint or serving coffee to French people I just freeze at the thought of it. Now if you asked me to work in a hospital, be a barman, wash dishes, clean houses, yeah no problem. But a guy who grew up in Ireland when there was no economy, has been rarely out of a job, has never not paid a bill in his life, and is intelligent, is now down on himself cause just like 5 million other people in France I can't get a real job and I am too proud to serve ice cream. What the hell is wrong with me. The language problem comes from hearing a new voice or a new accent, each time it takes me five minutes to figure it out. Imagine you are hurrying for lunch you order a cream coffee and you have to repeat it 6 times to the obviously dumb ass who doesn't understand what you are saying. How the hell did he get the job in the first place? Well he had more courage than I for one. That's how.
With the weather improving up to 18C so I didn't wear my gloves on the scooter for the first time today I was kinda wistfully hoping the sunshine would snap me out of my anal obbession and I could stop walking around like an acrobat with my head up my ass complaining about the smell. No joy yet. One job I applied for online today replied negatively so quickly, they couldn't have time to read the email never mind the CV. Oh the joys of being a naieve 18 year old again at the age of 37. Still I don't have a problem. I just need to get up off my ass and find the confidence and start talking the old blarney I used to in Ireland, albeit in a different language, accent and country to very very very different people.
Funny I was planning to write about St Patricks coming up and I have no idea what any Irish people here are doing apart from working. Still guess I won't be having my annual lunch time Guinness. Don't think it would go down to well in English class at the bank in Monaco. Ha how grand does that sound. Still I am not brave for staying here to be close to my son and whoever decides I am the man of their dreams in the future, just stubborn. Maybe its a good start.

International womens day

I didn't give anyone flowers but I am sending the thoughts. Hope you women enjoyed your international day, now lets have a mans one. ?????????????????????? (that has gotta get some reacton)

A friend in need

Isn't it great when you meet someone who naturally gives you what you just haven't been able to give yourself for a while. I have a friend. This friend listens to me and my perpetual fight with myself. Me with 4 years of communication and 3 of psychology who is supposed to know what to do when I feel like I am up against the wall, well I forget. She on the other hand just opens the invisible unwritten book with my Name on the cover, and reads from page one. She gives me the wisdom I know is already in me. What she says rings so true. It's a fantastic boost. She gives me a good boost. What more can I say. So for you if you read it A this entry is for you.

On another note, I had another encounter with the Arab community here the other night. An American friend of mine and I had dinner with two sisters, one of whom I used to teach English to. When he came in the other sister jumped up and hugged him, proclaiming, J'adore les Americans, I adore the Americans. Remember now I am living in France, remember too that America is at war in the Arab world, and remember too, the prelevant attitude in the US to the French. The girl I used to teach is a Mathamatical genius, she came from a poor family. She was born in France and grew up in a village in Algeria. She is qualified as a draughtsperson from an Algerian college. Her sister told me yesterday about the finanical and cultural struggle she underwent to be educated. Her father wanted her to stay at home. She scrimped and saved and got very good results in her exams. She came to France with a dream, similiar to the dream many Europeans have when they go to the U.S. . Making it, living a good life, having a good job, maybe meeting someone and settling down. Imagine her dismay when the French government told her, her qualifications were worth nothing. If you want to work in France your qualification has to be french.
So Hadia started all over again. She had an exam last week and breezed it. She doesn't think of herself as beautiful, she is shy with people she doesn't know, she does have a somewhat naieve view of the world and what is going on. Both of them seem to take it for granted that to be Arab/ or Algerian/ or even Magrebian/ or even Berbour which is none of the above, results in you getting the shitty end of the stick. That's fate, that's life and that is the way it is.
I, with my western celtic culture, am fascinated by their looks, their story, their culture, the way the dance and sing. I believe that with the confidence of the white, dare I say it, an American confidence, either woman, (as they are women and not girls) could take this country by storm and be what they want. It seems France is doing a good if not better job of treating some of the worlds people worse than the American government could appear to hope for. For those of you from the US I do not want to offend you, I understand many of you have lost loved ones in the war. But I am not writing about the war. Neither am I judging it here, not intentionally anyway. I am driving at the point that so often in life when we feel it is working against us, we are actually filled with an abundance of talent and options that could change our situation and somehow we manage to stick ourselves in a rut and hide. It will be easier for me to make a living here than either of them. I am white male, european educated, only bilingual, (they have at least 3 languages each) and I believe I can. They on the other hand are Berbour women, Olive skinned, percieved by many to be Dirty Arabs what chance do they have of ever making it in todays world. What dissappointments will they carry in their souls for the rest of their lives. What can I do to help except encourage each time I can.
As a subnote, talking to an Irish friend today, who is a property sourcer, and agent for sailing boats, I learned from him that now it is illegal to sell your appartment to an Arab in the very area the two girls are living. How people get away with it here I don't know, but I imagine if they were black and in America there would be some sort of network that would support the girls, educate them to their rights and set them on the road. If I am wrong please don't let me die in ignorance. But I can't imagine people have to endure what the Arab community does here, anywhere else in the world. Now if my french was better maybe I could do something. But I have to do something for myself first. Perhaps it is always the way.

Re learning the life lessons

Funny how the break up of a relationship can take it out of you. I slowly realise that it has taken me a full 6 months to get to grips with what was happening. Now that the earnings are down, and the panic set in I had two choices. Panic and make a bad decision or do nothing. Or cop on give myself yet another kick up the backside and do something to make it better. Obviously I choose the second. The one thing i am not used to here and it's cultural, is how people seem so isolated or independant. I am not sure if it is a positive or negative yet.
Let me give you an example. I met a very pretty student of mine the other day in Monaco. She was ashen faced, dazed and shocked. She had slipped on a very steep street up around Beausoliel. She had a gash on her knee and her stockings were ripped. The point is that where as most guys I know and for that matter most women too, would have run to help her, fussed over her, and made sure she was ok,..well.......that didn't happen. No one stopped, no one looked, no one asked anything. It's very south of France. No one wants to know.
I am wondering if there isn't some psychological throwback to the war in 1940's that has been handed down. A type of "Don't get involved " mentality. Perhaps the French mind thinks it can only work out bad in the end. Perhaps the fact she looked Arab may also have something to do with it. It is hard for Arabs here. Even those who are well educated, attractive, and well off, experience a certain glass barrier. Others have told me they fear for future careers as their surname is Arab or their photo (a pre-requisite on a french CV) will work against them.
So I sit back and take stock. I am becoming aware for the first time in my life what it means to be white. I take stock of what I have and what I haven't. What my strengths and weaknesses are and what my choices are. Unfortunately the time for fighting was long ago but better late than never I guess. So let me say this, if you are down, or in a rut, or broken hearted, don't wallow. That's been my mistake. Grab yourself give yourself a good shake and think of the positives. Yeah its hard. But there is no one else can do it for you.

Exile in paradise

In Exile. It's a term I used to hear a lot when I was a teenager. In the 1980's in Ireland the economy was not what it is today. Every family seemed to be touched by the age old disease of emmigration. Young Irish men and women headed off daily, to London, New York, Boston, and even Sydney. Nothing new in that. Irish people have been leaving for centuries, either for economic reasons, or through harsh laws imposed by a colonising government. Strange how many of them choose to go and make a living in the very seat of power that had caused many of their ancestors to leave the land of their fore fathers.
Now in this new century the story is somewhat different. Yes Irish people still leave home, but what is new is many other nationalities and races choose to come to Ireland for the same reasons people have left.
Now I am an Exile, something I never thought that would happen. I remember thinking to myself while in school, that I was Irish, I was born there, lived my whole life there and therefore I had a right to make a living there. I did so for many years till my now ex, got homesick and so, I find myself tapping on my keyboard in the Cote D'Azur.
I often ask myself what the hell I am doing here. It's hard to describe this place. It has the Monaco Grand Prix, the Cannes film festival, and while there are certainly groups of unemployed, uneducated, underprivledged, and the ordinary people who struggle, it is without doubt the playground of the rich and famous.
Talking to a Dutch woman yesterday I was struck by the pattern of those more 'normal' of us who come to live here. It seems to be standard that to get by here, is a major struggle. Firstly there is a language barrier, then there is a huge amount of red tape, paper work, administration. You can't do anything without an ID card, a bank account, a proof of residence, it's just a surprise they haven't thought of blood testing, finger printing, retinal imaging etc.
Many ex pats from the Northern part of Europe find this over burdened system hard. Many are full of the usual fears entailed in not just learning a new language, but actually speaking it. They are frustrated that the local civil servants don't speak english (actually they do but why should they), they feel afraid and stupid when the speak their fisrt mumblings in french and then complain when the aforementioned civil servant, tries a bit of english. "Stop" they say " I want to speak french". It seems neither the Anglophones nor the Francophones can win this one.
But why do people come here and why do they stay? I know why they leave. They get homesick, the miss friends and the high energy cultures that they have left behind. They are not used to going to bed at 10pm and rising at 6 and then sleeping from 2-4 in the afternoon. The don't drink enough water, the beer is too expensive and there is no real fun to be had.
Of course this isn't true, there is a lot to do but it is done differently than say Dublin, London or even Amsterdamn.
Many come down buy a rack of new furniture only to turn around the next six months and sell it all cheaply on the local information internet site.
What intrigues me, and it was a comment the Dutch lady said yesterday, is that the first five years are the hardest. I haven't yet been here two, so three more like this and I think I will take a long walk off a very short pier.
Personally I stay to be close to my son. That is the main reason. There are others though. What would I do now in Ireland? At the age of 37 I am probably considered past it by many employers as the population is still very young. Where as here on the Blue Coast I am probably considered young, given that this area is also a retirement town.
The economy is terrible and jobs are hard to come by. For my scheduled seven and half hours of teaching this week, I have managed just three. This is mainly due the students having other things to do. So at the moment, and it's only at the moment, finances are a nightmare. I am waiting for the very good social system to kick in and give me the allowances that I am entitled to, to help pay the rent for next month.
That is the major downside the finances. The up side, It's doesn't rain too much, when it does it comes down in buckets but it is rare in comparison to back home.
So the climate is one reason, the second for me is that while I am stressed out of my head trying to organise myself and get "life" sorted, there is some, probably perverse, pleasure in the challange. There is also a great pleaure in the difference. Does someone looking at you here mean the same as at home? Well probably not. But I have met Italians, Americans, Algerians, Spaniards, Russians, Dutch, English, Irish (finally) and a scattering from almost everywhere else in the world. I have been introduced to views and cultures that I may not have had the chance to meet back home, or certainly not in the same manner.
I have kind of backed myself into a corner and tell myself I have no choice. I must stay, I must make it. I am on the hunt again daily for a new job, sending CV's everywhere I can think of on the internet as it's cheaper than post. However given that one of my teaching jobs happened last November from a CV I had sent the previous April, well let's just say I won't hold my breath.
I wonder how many others have backed themselves into a similar corner, believing that it will all come good given time. Time there is plenty of it here, no matter where you look. Perhaps it is the great lesson I have to learn. Patience, take the time to regard the sunset. Maybe it is this relaxed attitude, rather than the diet, that allows the people from middle earth to live longer than elsewhere.
Another good reason for staying.

How times have changed

Well would you believe it. Obviously the day of the loving saint was a washout. Nothing not even an email.
Yesterday the town of Nice had the walls up again, people were charged silly prices and everyone had a flower battle. Actually the battle was with confetti, and silly string. The flowers were more or less handed to you as you stood with other spectators watching some spectacular ballons, and even more spectacular costumes. It was chilly so I felt for the girls in the g strings with the Brazilian samba band. Yes it occured to me it would be nicer to feel them than to feel for them but it was not to be. I didn't even try. ..... well not really...well I did make eye contact with one of them....oops this is public right?
We didn't pay in. I have something inherent that prevents me paying for things that towns and cities used to put on for free once upon a time. How times have changed. I have spent many a cold and wet and windy day, standing by the side of street enjoy the St Patricks day parade at no cost. I have even come across festivals in other countries, no cost. So why the town of Nice need to make a profit, by making near naked ladies dance beside the sea on a very cold night is really beyond me. They fact they are trying to install a tram way in the town kinda hampers things a little too. It's now a bit like normal traffic in Dublin but still a ways to go.
Any way back to the battaille des fleurs (correct my spelling if you can). 10 mins from the end of the night, it was impossible to buy a ticket as all the stalls had shut. People were still being refused entry even though the stand the town had erected on the promenade was half empty.
We strolled around found an ungarded gate and in we went. I ended up with the biggest bouquet of Mimosa and my boy insisted we give them to his mother. I kinda had other ideas and I am still wondering. However at the moment they sit in a vase on my bookcase brightening the place up a bit. Something is changing in the old bloodstream and I feel more upbeat and confident than I have in a long time.
I wonder where this blog will take me. :-)

Something else worth reading

http://getthewordoutwith.blogspot.com/
This is a worthwhile blog and really points out some of the frustration people experience in todays political world.

What is love anyway?

Perhaps my experiences colour my responses to this question. What is love anyway? Well the first thing that comes to mind is a respect and passion entertwined with a deep desire to be open to another, closed with another, intertwined with another. It's like that Jack Nickelson Line (the name of the movie escapes me) "You make me want to be a better man". This is I believe, a huge part of love. Letting down the boundaries and opening up the Chakra's, for want of a better word, to allow someones energy connect with your own. To paraphrase an old christian martyr, Love is patience, kindness, the absence of arrogance, and rudeness. It is not decietful or boastful or jealous but rejoices in a type of truth that exists but that we don't always acknowledge. It is giving and allowing yourself to recieve. Touching and being touched in the deepest area's of our being. Seeing with the inner eyes the true beauty of that which we behold.
Yes there are different types of love, but I believe they are in fact all the same thing to a greater or lesser degree. It is loosing yourself willingly but with awareness. Not loosing yourself totally to the detriment of your well being. Love is a strong, positive, healing, forgiving emotion. It is a good thing but often, the human finds it easier to love than to be loved. Until we do both we cannot say we are truly experiencing love. Obviously it is deeper than affection, lust, or the desire to belong. It is active not passive. It takes thought, decision, and courage. True love is not something that blinds but rather the thing that teaches us to see the wonder of ourselves and another. Love is not a feeling it's a choice. Living in Nice is my choice because I love my son and I love myself. Both of us grow together and compliment each other due to this choice. Life on the CDA is not a simple thing. I used to admire people who left Ireland. Little did I know the struggles people who emigrate go through as they try to integrate into a new culture and a new way of life. Somehow we tear ourselves away from a love that exists in the ether in each of our nations, (a kind of national consciousness) and go somewhere we are not yet loved. You know you have arrived when the love comes in spades. I am still on the journey.
So there you go. My two cents worth, open for disscussion, comment, ridicule, praise and correction.

A day of games

I cannot believe how mean spiritedly I veiw the city council of Nice this fine day in Febuary. Today was the carnival parade. A small section of town was blocked off and people who wanted to see the parade were forced to pay to get into a small area to view it. Someone had erected hording to prevent the general passer by getting a view. I was stunned at the miserliness of it. Back home our equivalent is St Patricks day and basically it's a free for all. A huge parade goes through town eveyone looks and then goes home. Mostly for the kids.
Today people had fun but many didn't bother because of the cost. I followed up my dissapointment by watching the Irish rugby team (still and upper class sport, but yet an Irish team) beat the crap out of the Scottish. So so far so good. Next match is against the English and won't my heart sing if we win that one. :-) Onwards for six nations glory. But hey if we loose there is always the world cup soccer qualifers to look forward to. So anyway today's was a good game.
In disscussion with a friend today, we noted how people play games with each other. It's something I have never understood. The need to play games with one another is something that drives me nuts. If you like someone tell them. If you don't like someone tell them. If you need something say so, if you don't, say so. What the hell is all the playing about, hard to get, "I am not interested" crap about when all you really want to do is jump on the person? IF you want someone, tell them, with respect. Heck what have you got to loose. Cut the bullshit and get down to brass tacks. That way you have more energy to enjoy what you like. If you are made for each other it will work. If not it won't. But you sure as hell won't find out if you are playing the "how much are you interested game " all the time. In fact I should call it the HOW MUCH game. It seems to be based on How much money, How much time, how much energy, how much meat you have got between your legs. Now maybe I am being cynical and maybe these questions are valid, but surely not to the expense of a loving caring relationship. What the hell are you afraid of. I am not your past, I am your future baby, come get me.

The Passing of Arthur Miller

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/4258065.stm
Just to mark his passing. Maybe someday as Frank Allen once said, "IF I could die having written an Arthur Miller,...... "

Learning to get on with it.

"Our dreams are the stars by which we charter the course of our lives.
Happy the man who follows his dreams."
This was handed to me by Brother Dominick many years ago in Donegal. I am sure he has long since past away. He was a man of small stature, respected little by his peers, but in that one wordless moment when he handed me the piece of paper with the above words written on it, he changed the way I think.
My only issue now after the break-up of my marriage is that I don't seem to be able to wake up from the dream to follow the star.
Writing and telling stories is all I have ever really wanted to do. I have tons of time to do it. I can't however say I experiencing writers block, but definitely writers stuck. You know, the procrastination game. Finally you stop procrastinating and you forget how to type, or write, or think even.
I guess I should be patient with myself. Success has waited this long it can wait a bit longer. Perhaps the only reason I can't kick myself up the backside is becuase I am neither agile or supple enough.
I am preoccupied with loving and being loved which is silly. As I should be preoccupied with putting bread on the table, paying bills and being able to get myself and my son home once a year.
Oh well I ask the question I have asked many times before. Who said "It is better to have loved and lost than never loved at all." ?
Did this person really know what the hell they were talking about?
Don't worry I will think up of other titles soon, and start spell checking too.
collie

Learning to open up

So what happens in your town when OTAN comes to town?
Well around these here parts, people take a day off a work due to closed roads. (what a lousy excuse)
The road to Monaco was so much quieter today than before. I was able to cruise and watch the frigate out in the bay undergoing manouvers. Security is high. Town is not deserted but there is definitely less people around. Even friends cancel meeting up and prefer not to leave their homes.
Perhaps everyone is a little nervous with all the cops around. It doesn't bother me in the slightest. With a 50cc scooter the inconvienience of a closed road is more than surmountable. I wonder about people here a lot. Funnily enough in this paradise, people fall into two catagories. Firstly the locals and then the anglophones. The locals have a reputation (even among themselves) of being closed and hard to get know. So making french friends is not perhaps as easy as it would be to make friends elsewhere. I understand it somewhat. If you constantly have visitors who come and go, you might end up feeling a little taken for granted and used. However the french in this part of the world do keep their friends it seems from childhood to the grave.
The anglophones are not however adverse to being open and in fact, sometimes, they are way too open. Many people hide out here from problems. Others are faced with the problems once they get here. People seem to pretty screwed up and going through tough times. Many, not all, but many anglophones can't speak french, then they can't find a job, then they can't deal with administration and so and on it goes. A vicious circle of stress that turns people into moaning whinnying children. It drives me nuts. If I encounter another person who is having severe emotional problems I'll start charging for my time.
On the up side and falling out of the groups outlined, there are plenty of Spanish, Italian, Russian, and Arab people here and they are certainly adding the spice to my life experiences. I don't expect it all to be easy and perhaps that's how I cope. But the sun is shining, attractive people are everywhere, and the flowers are starting to appear. The cultural and social diversity is rich and enriching I find. Carnival is coming. Life is good.
I tried to get a haircut today and had to make an appointment. The appearance needs some work. That in turn well help the confidence and the career search. Oh well if its raining where you are just remember the sun is shining somewherea and spring is on the way.

Learning the language of the police

Getting home from Monaco today was not the normal 25mins but more like two hours.
NATO defense ministers gathered in Nice, today for two days of talks on training Iraqi security forces. The number of cops knocking around the place was nuts. I stopped beside a guy with riot shield, a gun, and baton to ask him what was going on. I told him I had never seen the like of that back home in Ireland. He was surprised that Ireland was not in Nato. I explained to him the constitutional stituation of neutrality that somehow allowed US army planes to land in Shannon and refuel on their way to Iraq. He didn't understand it either. We chatted for a while and I sped off on my scooter, laughing at the thought of having a similar conversation anywhere else in the world with the local police.
Apparently there was a protest too, but due to road works and the lay out of the city it got no where near the ministers meeting.
Local police and CRS are everywhere and the average nicois doesn't seem to know why. Oh well I guess it's just part of the mediterranian laid back attitude.
Ireland play Portugal tonight in Dublin I will head out to the bar to see if I can catch it on the big screen.
I have to laugh, everytime I say I am working in various banks in Monaco people are far more impressed than when I tell them I am a teacher of English. (I just don't tell them I am teaching English in various banks in Monaco, only for a laugh mind you).
Life is still tough, but good. I'll write soon and let you know what happens re protests, cops, and teaching next week.
Collie

Learning the Language

While loving the difference in diet available on the Cote d'Azur I can't help but hankering after some of the old unhealty dietary suppliments I used to indulge in Ireland. You just can't get good fish and chips, or a decent Irish stew and I have given to thinking as to how culinary differences came about. However, I know why French people don’t eat frys. Given that the eat all their food outdoors and frys are very greasy, and there fore reflect all light shone upon them with great intensity, I discovered one morning that the net effect of eating a fry on the terrace at 1130 am in the morning is severe but temporary blindness. Once in a while this may do no harm but perhaps every day would result in a nation of white sticked Labrador lovers instead of the poodle pinching prats that seem to inhabit a lot of this area. My French is progressing somewhat but still a long way to go. To give an example of why you should learn the language of the country before you go there……get this. I remember the weekend I spent humping tiles and cement all over the place with my ex father in law, who then gets on to the roof ( le toit) to fix the holes. He stands on a beam ( a tasso) with a bunch of tiles( les tuiles) in his hand, and, as earlier we had been talking about the piping (tuiot ) for the septic tank, my brain was beginning to get a bit numb. Anyway the beam cracks in the middle so I shout up "Hey watch out for the rotten beam"………"It’s nothing he says" …..I say “no the roof is rotten"……..he says "I know……".I say "Hey" ………..he says ………What?
"Look!"
" Oh S*@t" he says That’s a beam Colm not a tile. Apparently I had told him to watch out for rotten tubing, tiles, doors, trees, cups of tea, and apples at the end of the barrow, practically everything except the thing which was rotten.
Luckily it didn’t break right through, but actually I think it was only the other tiles he was standing on that kept him there till he spotted the problem. So the moral of the story is unless you are dead set on bumping off the inlaws, learn the lingo before you get here.

Learning When To Kick

When things are not easy you know it might be time to kick oneself up the ass, or it might not.
I think the wisdom comes in knowing the difference.
Having lived in this part of world for almost two years now, I never imagined how vast the differences in the level of living could seem.
Doubtless the Cote D'Azur is the playground of the Rich and Famous. We have tax havens, Casinos, Marina's, uncountable hotels that don't figure on the Back-trackers guide to anywhere. However, I can't help noticing the haves, and the have-nots. Now maybe some of this is to do with my own edge around money. I am an inverted snob. No time for rich people, uncomfortable around wealth, I am convinced it was never made legally and always off someones back, yet I am open to persuasion. It's the insecurity of a jealousy of the well off, that comes from being broke all the time. Are they really happy? Damn right they are.
The other day walking home, I saw a group of "eastern europeans". (small case is intentional). They were lobbying plastic sacks up into an olive tree near the main thourough fare. I assumed they were trying to hide their worldly possessions. They would then go and find a place, a doorway to bed down for the night. I thought of offering them floor space and then thought the better of it. Then I thought but what happens if they make it rich and I did help wow! I know I was being naieve but what the heck, that's what goes on in my mind when I have nothing better to think of. I walked off and saw two police officers apporaching the group silently on bicycles. I whistled in the Hope of being heard and I wasn't. I don't know if they were arrested. I didn't stop to watch what happened eager to get home again as it was a chilly night.
I couldn't help wondering about the police. Didn't they have anything better to do? I have seen people driving like lunatics here but no one ever stops them to see are they drunk. Perhaps I too could be in the same situation if I don't sort myself out and that was a real fear. So I thought I'd better kick myself in the ass and get myself sorted out. I should have a real career instead of all this part-time running around like a lunatic.
I thought it, but somehow, I still haven't manged to do it. Hmmmm. When does one give oneself a real kick up the backside?