Chapter 111: Some Half Boot

nerd blog post #127

This week has been very different than most, and is actually reminding me a lot of my first days in Rennes. Raffi left on Sunday morning for London. It was a sad goodbye at the Gare du Nord station. Funny though, that it was at that same station we met back in October, the week-end before clown school started.

That same day, I said goodbye to Viktor, who left for Canada yesterday morning. We went for a pint near his place and talked about the year. I think we were both feeling a little nostalgic. I will miss Viktor and all the clowns this coming year and a big part of me wishes I could stay and hang with them. Buuuuut I am not a clown! And horsies are waiting for me.

And so, without Raffi and Viktor in town, and the other clowns all away as well, I am left with only the new friends from the bar. I have been trying to hang with them as much as possible, though it's tough because we all work and people have their own lives.

Gel and I played ping pong the other day with her French roommate and his friend. Doubles. It was fun! I adore ping pong and it's one thing that I would like at my house when I have one. As well as a pool. We played at the Luxembourg Gardens. It was cool being there not as a tourist, but as someone who lives in this city and uses it practically.

Last night I went to the pub and had a pint. I sat at the bar like a regular would and talked to the girls who were working. Taylor (the owner's gf and a waitress as well) came down for a little visit and we chatted. It was nice.

Hearing of Gel and my ping pong adventures, a girl named Eleni (from England) asked me if I wanted to play with her sometime. Yes, Eleni, yes I would. And so it came to be that I have organized a ping pong tournie for Wednesday afternoon in the Luxembourg Gardens for anyone from the pub who wants to come to the park with wine and their A-Game. I hope peeps show up. I own my own paddles (thanks, Mom!) and am ready for a competitive afternoon.

Every day when I walk from the metro to my house, I pass a very fancy cafe restaurant called Le Dome. Le Dome has fancy patio chairs, fancy mist-spray for hot days, fancy customers and fancy treats that come with anything that's ordered. I have gazed longingly at this cafe restaurant for over a month and yesterday, decided to go and have a cafe alongside the rich peeps. It was, without the doubt, the most expensive cafe I have purchased in my life, and it will be the last time I chill at Le Dome. But it was worth it to be on the other side of the sidewalk, in perfect position for the mist-spray, eating my cookie and looking at the poorer folk looking at me and wishing they, too, could enjoy a cafe at Le Dome. (They can!! But just once...)

Though trying to enjoy every day I have left in France, I am also making practical arrangements for the next part of my life, which is creeping up quickly: England and Horsey Camp. Corresponding with the HC lady, Gemma, has been a hilarious de-coding mission as her broken English (I do appreciate it, though, as I speak no Portuguese) is very confusing. There have been a few e-mails back and forth, but this was my favourite: I write her to ask if there's anything in particular I should bring (besides the obvious) so I can make those arrangements beforehand. This is the reply:
Hi Emily,
OK. Some half boot for work fysical and mental. OK?
best times,
Gemma
Now, I am also a second-language learner and I make mistakes in French all of the time. And I give full credit to anyone who learns a new language because it isn't easy. But dear Gemma, what are half boot?? How can I write you back and ask you to explain what that means? Should I just buy what could be half boot and hope for the best? And how could half boot help me with mental work? The language issue, though, is something I am actually kind of happy about. I hope to learn some Portuguese, and if Gemma had perfect English, that might not happen.

Nothing else to report, really. Life is good and full of surprises.

Before signing off, I would like to publicly congratulate my little brother on riding his tricycle from Toronto to San Fransisco. His bike-gear tan lines are probably to die for. But seriously, good job, Ion. And to big brother Adam, who defended his PhD thesis yesterday. Also congratulations. None of us thought you could do it. So way to go! I am quite sure that both of my brothers will, once again, upstage me in the Christmas newsletter. Tragic.

Much love to you all!

Signing off,
Hincks.