Learning to fly - Thoughts in a plane

I love flying for cheap prices. However I vowed more than once never to do so again as soon as I would have the financial means to do so? The reason? My last trip to Ireland might be a good illustration of it.

-          Ryanair’s counters: usually provides you with the friendly warden faces usually composed by extra-make up, immense hair buns and manicured ladies. I used to think the amount of make up is reversely proportional to their I.Q., and have never been proven wrong so far. But this is so prejudiced, and of course, no answer to your tentatively friendly “hello”.

-          Step 2: getting robbed. Pleading guilty of not having booked myself a luggage though. 40€ more is slightly expensive. I might as well have booked my luggage an extra seat. For such a price, you might want to make sure your luggage will follow you in the same plane. Sometimes, it can get a free flight to exotic destinations. Please keep calm when confronted to this; this would only worsen your blood pressure and that’s only a very common mistake. Maybe one made because it’s difficult to type on a computer when wearing 3 inches long fake nails.

-          Getting to the boarding gate. Ah, the joy of queuing. Only enhanced by the ten families with small things – sorry children – running around the place and bumping into everyone without bothering to apologise.  However, if you’re lucky, you might get a seat.

-          But that might not be so lucky after all: having a seat would deprive you of the sheer joy of getting the best position in the queue. Indeed, waiting eagerly the opening of the doors, dozens of people get closer and closer from one another, some even trying to bypass their neighbours, in order to be 20 cm closer to the door.

-          The runner to the plane. Hence you should be prepared for the physical part of the story: boarding on the plane. As soon as the doors open, holding firmly on your 20(+15)x30(that’s usually fine)x50(+20)cm bag, you’ll enter a battlefield. Show no mercy to any person trying to run faster than you. For you HAVE to enter the plane first. Having only two entries and a unique corridor leading to free seating, the sociological (and logical) reason for that kind of often witnessed behavior yet remains unknown by the researcher. But you should run anyway.

-          The reason for it being that if you do not do so, you will eventually end up sitting next to unwanted neighbours. This can happen anyway, but given the proximity between you and them, one is never too safe. There are several kinds of annoying neighbours to have in a plane, due to the unfortunate promiscuity that will last a couple of hours. Namely:

-          The noisy family (also known as over indulging parents, mentally thick individuals or plain rude ones). Usually sitting next to you just like annoying relatives in the garden: you see them when you least want them around. Meaning, when tired, having headaches, or just wanting to enjoy a quiet flight. In other words, every single time you’re flying. Now, the advantage of not running with the crowd allows you to sit as far as possible from that annoying bunch. Please not that in some specific cases, the yelling might be heard within a 15 meters circle. Unfortunately, it is forbidden to employ force – or to intervene at all - to avoid such behaviors: parents are responsible for educating their upbringing, despite some urban legend pretending otherwise. Casting mean glances might help, as well as stretching an innocent feet in the alley, when the terror is passing. Note that this last behavior might be considered as rude – some even say reprehensible – by other people. To the well intentioned neighbor who might patronize you with a condescendant "these are children, what can you do?", you can boldly answer: "taking some kind of birth control pill", which usually keeps him quiet for the rest of the journey.

-          The smelly neighbor: this is an insidious one. Sometimes, a single look at the person’s general appearance will drive you at the other end of the plane. Yellow hairs are usually a good factor for smelly people. However, some mischievous people will wait till you’re safely seated (I didn’t say comfortably, as I’m trying to be as true to the situation as possible) to indulge their intestines to some smelly air filling. Shaking your hands ostentatiously in front of your nose and rolling your eyes with an accusatory look (yes, all this can be realized in a micro-second) might be a universal language to make him (usually) understand the rudeness of his deliberate attack.

-          The careless neighbor: usually leans on your lap while trying to look through the window and admire the sea of plain white clouds below. Of course, as you might be lucky enough to be going on holidays, you don’t want to deprive a simple-minded of a look at heavenly shores. However, if this person places his head between you and your laptop screen, you might be tempted to knock his face onto the window and ask him whether he sees better now  tell him gently to lean back and enjoy his flight without screwing yours. Alternately, you can also ask him whether it would make his day if you switched seat. On the condition that he stops farting, that is.

-          The chatty neighbor: usually someone who needs to overcome his fear of flying, a male in heat, or just an individual in need of a psychotherapy. In some too rare cases, one has witnessed specimens of genuinely nice fellows who just wanted to enjoy some random chitchatting.

-          Which leads us to the awkward question of “emergency landing”. This euphemism stands for “crashing unexpectedly”. If you’re unfortunate enough to be in the situation, several solutions await you to try them on. First, be pleased and reassured to know that you’re the lucky disposer of a life jacket, located under your seat. Sadly, it is more likely that by the time you’re summoned to get it, air pressure will already have been screwed up, therefore making you unconscious. If you have enough time to try – with your seatbelt on – to grab the jacket (requiring contortionist skills), or nothing else to do during your last moments and feel like having an eye on it, you will be pleased to find out that it’s a joyful yellow plastic one. Too bad you won’t be able to go fishing with it. But water might not be that far. This would be a lesser issue, would you be alone at that moment. Unfortunately, it is likely that you will have to endure other people’s presence (noisy, farty, or rude) while “landing”.

-          Landing. You will note that during that delicate operation, there will be a suspicious silence filling the cabin. This is an emotional moment during which everyone, even plain dumb people, realise the fragility and fleeting aspect of each and everyone’s life. You might be able to count simple minded people travelling along by the number of applause fusing through the cabin once the pilot has accomplished his job.

-          Getting there: a traveler’s guide to the galaxy of luggage’s rolling mats. After the “getting out” runner which will lead you from your seat to yet another runner, in order to take over people who might be bold enough to think they will reach the baggage reclaim area before you, you’ll have once again to prove your Olympic skills by making a runner to the passport check-point. When coming to your very own promised land, do not smile too broadly, even if you can barely conceal your joy to be back. That would only induce the custom officer to look at you suspiciously. By doing so, you might lose the ten seconds advances gained on your enemies fellow travelers on the way to seeing your beloved suitcase again.

-          With your passport freshly scanned, you can now get your luggage back (if here), and be ripped off by taking an airport coach to the city you’re in! Enjoy your beginning holidays!

Is there an Irish pub in Kathmandu?

That was the question that came up yesterday evening while I was having a philosophical discussion about whether Irish people ever travelled to a country where they would be no Irish pub.
A Google research led this morning (which attests the seriousness of my point, of course) answered my question; yes, there is an Irish pub in Kathmandu. It is of course very nice to see that an Irish person is able to recreate his little slice of home anywhere on this planet. But at the same time, the day I'll wander around Kathmandu, would I really want to go to a pub? Wouldn't it be better to feel totally lost and without any familiar points of references. The idea seems overrated since a friend of mine told me this city had become so touristy and lost its authenticity. Hence, for exemple, the presence of this bit of Ireland.Which leads me to that other question: Is there a place on earth with no Irish pub? My old-fashioned self dreams there would be none of the kind in Tasmania.

Shakespeare - Sonnet 28

Here is my favourite sonnet of Shakespeare. It has a hint of fatality, hence an utterly romantic atmosphere...I won't insult Shakespeare by overanalysing his beautiful words, they speak for themselves anyway:

How can I then return in happy plight, 

That am debarr'd the benefit of rest? 

When day's oppression is not eased by night,

But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd? 

And each, though enemies to either's reign, 

Do in consent shake hands to torture me; 

The one by toil, the other to complain 

How far I toil, still farther off from thee. 

I tell the day, to please them thou art bright 

And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: 

So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night, 

When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even.

   But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer

   And night doth nightly make grief's strength seem stronger.

Book Club - Thursday 11th, 2011

Here are the books that were presented yesterday at the now worldwide famous (especially amongst us) bookclub at the lovely Oscar Wilde Pub:

- Luke talked about "Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenant", Robert M. Pirsig: "A book on philosophy of how to come to terms with the modern world and technology". Off the record, he also added "the sequel is utterly crap".

- Emma talked about Shakespeare's Sonnets: "My favourite book when in need for romantic words, because it's supposed to be autobiographical and even in his every day life Shakespeare lived through poetry".

- Carine talked about Un chien de saison, Maurice Denuzière. She said: "A funny novel about the joys of having a dog, such as having to take him out every 6 hours..The owners get rid of their boxer and the narrator tells the story of his new life with the dog. An easy going novel, funny, perfect for holidays!"

- Ani talked about One Mississippi, Marc Childless. "I'm looking forward to discovering America's South in the nineties from a very up close and personal perspective".

- Alexsandra talked about Norman Davies' "Vanished Kingdoms": "Written by an English historian, detailed, challenging, but definitely worth the effort".

The thing about Berlin...

...is that it doesn't look like anything I've experienced before. When I lived in Dublin, people were cheerful, friendly and always smiling (it was nothing like a magic world, but random Saturday nights at the pub).Here in Berlin, it took me roughly a year, with six months wanting to jump out of my balcony, to actually fit in and feel approximately at home. As it often happens when I just had a friend over, visiting the city, I learned to look at it again this week, and it gave me some inspiration to share some of my nicest/weirdest/funniest experiences while trying to fulfill the Berliner's expectations towards a lost French girl in the city.

The Bad Ones:
- Being told "You're not dead yet" when finding out you won't have insurance cover for three weeks and no treatment I need"
- Being given herbs instead of proper antibiotics (I'm French, sorry), because "Miss, the Krankenkasse doesn't want to pay for your antibiotics if not necessary" (with scary threatening look).

- "What are you doing here", when sitting on a terrace to have a drink with a friend. Oh how often have I asked myself this very same question during this year, though.
- Being fired when coming back from holidays, on no grounds, my personal favourite.
- Seeing a psycho in the U-Bahn, holding a butcher knife and trying to stab here and there. Or no, the best part was that woman sitting next to me at that scary moment, sighing "with that one we're going to be late yet again".
- Hearing loud tourists and arrogant Frenchies, as usual, same everywhere.
- Falling on the icy spot in front of the supermarket and being asked if...I could possibly move away because I'm right in the middle of the entrance
- Being snapped at every time you meet a typical Berliner. But don't worry though, and see the following:

The Goodies:
- in order to snap back, and therefore start a friendly conversation with a Berliner, learning some German is a must. Snapping is a sign of interest on the Berliner's behalf. If you snap back, he or she will know you're "from here" and that you're playing by the local rules, thus he'll turn into friendly mode, especially while sorting out administration papers. While relaxing in this mode though, please don't forget to keep talking rationnally and being factual. Cynicism welcome.
- museums, of course (there is an impressive dinosaur at the Naturkunde Museum, a reconstructed temple in the Pergamon, treasures of Asia at the Ethnologisches Museum, Huguenot informations and history at the Huguenotten Museum. You can also play hide and seek by nightime in the Memorial for the Holocaust and therefore make something light out of a heavy past.It is bad taste, but funny nonetheless.

- roll your eyes when the S-Bahn is running late. But remember that in France you'd do a belly dance for the whole platform if all the trains were "just" one minute late. This remark doesn't apply for winter infrastructures (see below)
- be prepared to spend christmas holidays alone in your flat, with your cat, because Schönefeld airport got overwhelmed by the amount of snow and too little amount of salt to prepare the runways. No reason to be sad about it, your local Real or Aldi will be fully prepared to help you drowning your sorrows in chocolate (or egg liquor).

- hanging around and getting lost in the city, east and west (but not in Lichtenberg, and not by -20°C in wintertime). You can walk with your chin way way up, and with a camera with long-life batteries, the city is dog-poo free. And there are often nice graffitis/drawings/structures in the buildings you're looking at. Same goes for its green spaces, plenty of hidden soviet monuments to marvel at.

- markets (preferably with no wallet, because there will always be THAT book you were looking for for ages? Except that it will be in German, but that's a good way to practice it)
- bookshops (Friedrichshain, Kreuzberg ones, it smells better than Amazon orders, and you get your book faster (but "teurer", though)
- artsy cinemas...plenty of them around the city, cheaper than the Sony-Center-Blockbuster-in-3D Provider, and nice Preminger, Chaplin, Hitchcock retropspectives all year round.
- Sunday brunches (think about not eating for the couple of days before)
- gigs, everywhere, anytime, any kind. But Huxley's, Yorckschlösschen, Kaffee Burger, The Passage, the Kulturbrauerei and the various Operas are the nicestestest places.

So, no I definitely don't find Berlin poor but sexy, as the mayor in 2004 once said. But it's delightfully lively, and it has to be experienced once in a lifetime, with your mind wide open. Whatever you might be looking for, you have good chances to find it here. It can be ruthless at times, but overall you can't help but falling in love with this weird city and its inhabitants. To be continued.

About Venice: Lord Byron

Lord Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, extract from Canto 4

I.

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;

A palace and a prison on each hand:

I saw from out the wave her structures rise

As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand:

A thousand years their cloudy wings expand

Around me, and a dying glory smiles 

O'er the far times when many a subject land

Looked to the winged Lion's marble piles,

Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles!

II.

She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
At airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their powers:
And such she was; her daughters had their dowers
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East
Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers.
In purple was she robed, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased.

III.

In Venice, Tasso's echoes are no more,

And silent rows the songless gondolier;

Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,

And music meets not always now the ear:

Those days are gone--but beauty still is here.

States fall, arts fade--but Nature doth not die,

Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear,

The pleasant place of all festivity,

The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

This morning I browsed some articles on the web about Tim Burton. When I realised Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was made 6 YEARS AGO I just fell off my chair. Where did those six years go? I still remember going to the cinema to watch it. But I'll come back to the film later on.

The book

Which leads me to Roald Dahl and the original book. I was probably ten and already a chocolate lover when I first got introduced to Roald Dahl. I think sweets factories actually did an awful lot of benefits every time I read that book, since I was trying to get some taste of the wonderful sweets depicted in the book. And no, I never found the all-meal chewing gum, therefore never ended up as a giant blueberry. Unfortunately, I was also never able to grab a chocolate bar from the TV screen. However I found chocolate bars wrapped in golden paper, called Malakov, which to me were exactly what Charlie's chocolate bars must have been. Every page of this book was mouth-watering, so when I learned about Tim Burton's movie I was a bit wary that it might ruin the images I had in mind;

The movie

Well, Johnny Depp as main character is hardly a risky choice, let alone in a movie directed by Tim Burton...who for once left most of the scary side of his fantasy world out in order to stick to the book's own atmosphere. The actor playing Charlie matches my vision of Charlie, and so do the four other children. The Oompa Lumpas are totally wild and funny, with their addictive songs filmed in the psychedelic way (thus matching the rest of the movie) and the original lyrics are respected. Grandpa Joe is a delight, and both Helena Bonham Carter as Mrs Bucket and Christopher Lee as Dr. Wilbur Wonka are brilliant supporting actors.

Book Club - Thursday 4th of August

Here are the books which were presented during our last meeting.

- Ani, The Magician's Apprentice, Trudi Canavan : "entertaining, magical, epic"

- Aleksandra, Success, Martin Amis: "one you find interesting rather than fancy; funny exaggerated, casual language, sociological study"

- Emma; The Book Thief, Markus Zusak: "it gave a new vision on WW2. Despite the dramatic context, the author manages to make his book funny and touching"

- Luke, The Third Chimpanzee, Jared Diamond: "a popular science book on the similarities between us and other animals and the traits we share which made us the dominant specie".

About writing

It's not exactly a literary post so to speak, but it concerns my writing, something I have been wanting to share with people coming here.
Today was actually the first day I led an interview for a magazine I temporarily work for. First interview in about two years. In 20 minutes, I realised how much I had missed it, and also that I wasn't actually so lame when it comes to interact with people. I don't want to sound contemptuous here, but when one has passed the last 5 years to doubt oneself, it just feels good to actually realise that one can do something in a nice way. I used to write stories, novels, poetry ever since I was 10. For some reason, inspiration dried up along with adult problems coming in my life; or maybe I just spend too much time self-pitying instead of listening to my imagination. However, last year I decided to write again, and consequently spend more time at it, when I entered the PhD program. But so far I hadn't had the possibility to do so on a professional level. By the way, doesn't it sound very weird to you that when one spends months writing an academic article, the utmost reward is being published...for free, whereas writing a press article is financially more rewarding even if it requires less time and effort writing it? Anyway, two events led me to reconsider my views on my writing and pushed me to go ahead, and do what I want as a leaving, meaning writing. Academics, journalism, poetry, I don't make any difference as all of that makes me feel complete and alive. The first trigger was given when a friend of mine actually told me about her issues dealing with having been "let go" at work. She was looking forward, to the next step of her life, and managed to put that event behind her so easily that it just baffled me. I almost became suicidal when I was sacked, and it took me a good while and great deal of effort not to consider myself like a useless parasite on Earth. But at the end of the day, it did me good to have been sacked: the job was anyway not my cup of tea, and most of the people here very vain and uninteresting. It was good while it lasted, to feel part of a crowd of 9am to 5pm people. Coming back to this person, watching her dealing with her life helped me to sort out a lot of things in my mind: why, with 7 degrees from universities, and as a PhD student, do I always feel compelled to apply only for shit jobs requiring no qualifications? Couldn't I do more? Why was my friend, who had a similar education level, so positive about her future whereas I didn't even dare to ask my share of professional success? Why was I afraid to just be me and do what I'm good at and write for a living? So I decided to contact some journalists here in Berlin, to see whether it would be possible for me to write as a free-lance, while devoting my days, and nights, and dreams, and week-ends, to my beloved PhD. Then I met this journalist woman, who seemed to have pretty much the same existential problems I had encountered, but who kept moving ahead, and wrote successfully for a number of medias. Oddly enough, we had both written our masters dissertations on more or less the same subject (something that might interest only a couple of nerds worldwide). It's funny how I always felt totally embarrassed and thick when I listened to her, so I guess she probably found me a little slow and tart. I suppose coming from a period of several months of isolation from the rest of the society, words just didn't come very easily to me,and we were at different stages of our expat life, so the connection between us wasn't really easy to establish. But for the few couple of times we met, it was good to hang out with a clever person who had opinions about everything. I have to admit, on one hand I hate smart-ass people, but on the other hand, I face the fact that I'm pretty much one myself for others. Still, I think our relationship seems to go on smoother on an epistolary level. Anyway, it struck me as how important every encounter -even short ones - can be. And now I'm going back to "professional" writing.

A bit of Scotland

Morocco

Biutiful

Someone told me once that he liked French cinema for it's depth and despised people who loved comedies and couldn't understand the beauty of some of our most appraised dramas. I couldn't agree less, because some films are actually pointlessly depressing, in my opinion. This is without any doubt that kind of artsy cinema I think about when thinking about Iñarritu's way of filming. However, I have been interested in Alejandro González Iñarritu's films ever since I watched 21 grams, and by seeing Biutiful I haven't been disappointed. My first advice, though, would be NOT to look at his films when sad, depressed, sick or in any other edgy state of mind, because his way of telling stories goes deep into the most sensitive parts of your brain!
However, both Alejandro Iñarritu and Javier Bardem are the good reasons to go see it; the directors manages to bring poetry in the utterly miserable life of his lost soul of a hero. Uxbal, magnificently played by Javier Bardem, is a single father who tries to get things right before leaving this world. He is not a hero so to speak; he daily deals with Barcelona's darkest sides, trying to help out illegal immigrants to make their way in the city, he tries to raise his daughter and son despite their bipolar mother, and he also fights a final stage cancer. His ordeals are the main plot of the film, and we follow him from bad to worse. Why Biutiful? Because amidst this constantly grey life, he manages to find some rays of light in the love of his children, and in the help he manages to give to others.which help him keep fighting. But nothing beautiful lasts in that pessimistic movie...