deconstructing mark
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Thursday 7.8.03 | SORRY about silence, been kinda busy. Off to Paris tonight, dahlings, back on Monday so more of an update then... :-) Monday 11.8.03 INSTRUCTIONS for being French: 1. Be unattractive 2. Be rude 3. Think you're the centre of the world 4. Tut at all foreigners who dare to breathe your air 5. Repeat (This, of course, excludes Philippe, who, while being French, is the most un-French person I know... :-)) Had a good few days, but glad to be back in Berlin. This weekend reinforced a lot of things which I have suspected for a long time, for example that I should not be studying French (not only do I find it both boring and difficult -lethal combination- but I am lamentably bad at it too; and, having lived in France, I think I'm able to say that I just don't like French people as much as German people in general), Paris is a lovely place, just a shame about its geographical position (ie in France) and various other bits and bobs. It was also 38 degrees, which I found unbearable. Some unfortunate train-conductor got the full force of my sharp tongue this morning; the train back was 4 hours late and then terminated half way across Germany because of the delay. Once I had finally changed trains twice and got delayed again, I managed to find a seat having sweated past the masses of people standing in the gangways with their luggage, but the seat in first class. Conductor didn't reckon on me being in a foul mood, and told me to move or pay the upgrade-fee. I made him regret it - stayed in first class and wallet stayed firmly in pocket :-) some unfortunate train-conductor got the full force of my sharp tongue this morning; the train back was 4 hours late and then terminated half way across Germany because of the delay. Once I had finally changed trains twice and got delayed again, I managed to find a seat having sweated past the masses of people standing in the gangways with their luggage, but the seat in first class. Conductor didn't reckon on me being in a foul mood, and told me to move or pay the upgrade-fee. I made him regret it - stayed in first class and wallet stayed firmly in pocket :-) So a good weekend, but glad to be back now too... Tuesday 12.8.03 ONE of the reasons why I love having this blog on the internet is that I can add and take away just as I want. I was too lazy to go into much detail yesterday about my journey to Paris and back, so just in case you're thirsting for more (and even if you aren't) here are Mark's thoughts on the matter. Journey from Berlin to Paris bizarre; the culture-shock of going to sleep in one and waking up in the other was enormous. I stupidly decided, once my ticket had been checked, to try and sneak into a bunk-bed even though I only had a ticket for an upright seat. To my delight, I found an entire sleeping-compartment empty (not a carriage, I mean one of those small jobbies with six beds) so hopped in, closed and locked the door, closed the curtain, and put the light out. At 2am, there was a knock at the door. At first I ignored it, thinking it was someone trying to see if the carriage was full, but it became more and more insistent, so I got up, bleary-eyed, and opened the curtain. There stood a railway-person with a clipboard, asking me why I was taking up room in a sleeping-car which had not been reserved. I meekly explained that I found it empty and so had just sugared in, and didn't think I had to make a reservation, but Frau Grotbags was having none of it (actually, that's cruel; she was quite nice about it, just very, very firm in a way only Germans can) and chucked me out. So reluctantly went back to my seat, only to find it taken by odd-looking sleeping people who I thought it best not to disturb. Walked the length of the train and eventually found a carriage with just one other bloke in, so asked him if he minded if I sat down, which he didn't. Turned out that the only language we had in common was French (his perfect - with an African twinge, mine just bad beyond words) as he came from the Ivory Coast. I asked him why he was on the way to Berlin, and he smiled, then giggled, and told me he was a terrorist. Mmmmmmm, says Mark, nice. Turns over, tries to sleep, hopes to buggery that he is not a suicide-bomber. So that was the way there. The way back was, like I said, delayed, but made much more entertaining by the presence of two bizarre and insane girls from North Carolina. We gassed about this and that and why they were 'doing Europe' and what there was to see in Berlin; and we experienced the horrors of the delays and train-changes together. Most interesting moment with them was first thing in the morning, sitting at Essen station, watching the sun come up. One of them suddenly offered me something that looked like a Tracker Bar, which, starving, I gleefully acccepted. When I opened it, it was green. I showed it to her, and she looked at me as if to say 'Yeeeeeeessss....?' 'Erm, Amy. This is green.' 'Yeah, it's OK, it's meant to be like that.' 'Meant to be green? Are you sure? What's it made of?' 'It's a chloroform bar.' You can guess my reaction. I believe it involved the words 'What in the name of arse? and various other surprised exclamations (I didn't want to be rude, but we had got to the stage where we could giggle about things like this together.) Anyway, ate the damn chloroform bar, and had done with it. But really, was the weirdest thing I've ever put past my clackers, I can tell you that now... | |||||||||
