Rock with you

I have not written anything in a very long time and so I could therefore tell many different stories in this new entry. However, instead of doing this, I have decided to write about the people who have made my stories interesting thus far. Aristotle once said that friendship was a single soul dwelling in two bodies and I guess this is one of the reasons why I had such a hard time leaving Canada. I have been extremely fortunate though; I have met some terrific people during my time here, and I want to dedicate this message to them.

I have already mentioned my roommate a few times. He knows me like no one here, and having him by my side at all times makes me feel secure. He’s got my back, and I’ve got his. We rely on each other for many things, and although we are extremely different on some aspects, at the end of the day, we complete each other in a beautiful way.

I came here thinking that I’d meet a lot of Italian people, and I surely did. However, I didn’t really guess that at the end of my stay here, I would have created myself what I like to call a Turkish connection. Yeliz, Deniz and I live together and we’ve bonded over something that most people would consider superficial: relationships. When the three of us get together, we enjoy exchanging our thoughts about men, love and sex from both our past and present lives. I also like that we bring it often to a higher level. For example, we discuss what’s moral and immoral in and outside of a relationship. I have a feeling that in twenty years from now, we will meet up and discuss the experience that we are living now. We probably won’t even recall the names of the boys who fed our conversations, but we’ll remember how wonderful the exchange we lived together was.

Canada is a northern country and I’ve been told many times that my behavior, my attitude and the way I dress reflect this fact. Thus, it comes as no surprise that I became good friends with a few Finnish people. They too have experienced the snow, the storms and the wind and when it’s fifteen degrees outside, we like to walk around the streets of Bologna wearing only a t-shirt and shorts. I first met Emmy, one of the members of the Finnish crew, in an Italian philology course that was utterly boring. We switched it to a translation course that ended up being just as annoying, but at least we suffer through it together. I would often simply skip this class, but the idea of eating lunch with Timo and Emmy after often makes me kick myself in the butt and go.

I did meet Italians. After all, I guess I came to Italy for that particular reason. In a translation course, a French person had to be paired up with an Italian to do a project on verlan, the tendency French people from France have to switch the syllables in a word. That’s precisely how I met Elisa. I consider myself a social person. I’m not afraid to go talk to the people whom I think are cool and ask them to “be my friend”, to use kindergarten vocabulary. Elisa is exactly the same way, and this is probably why we ended up becoming so close so quickly. Our afternoons spent together always consist of a long walk in Bologna. She also doesn’t know the city very well because she grew up in Ravenna, another city in Emilia-Romagna. I’m not a prude person, and neither is she. We can talk about very personal stuff without any awkwardness.

I have many talents. Economics, unfortunately, is simply not one of them. About two weeks after my arrival, the university organized an information session for exchange students, and the Turkish connection and I went together. Every faculty had its own table, and we could ask questions to representatives. We walked around for an hour, at which point we agreed that it was time to leave. Yeliz was asking one last question about Bologna’s basketball team, and I decided to go to the economics table. I thought it could useful to take a basic course just to be able to manage my own finance. I don’t think Dimitar actually understood what I wanted at first, and to be fair, I probably wasn't very clear either. I guess it didn’t really matter because two minutes later, we’d stopped talking about economics and started talking more like friends usually do. He took my email address and sent me information about the different courses a week after. Since then, we meet up for lunch once in a while and we discuss life. Honestly, I still feel like I don’t know much about him, but something tells me that we could become very good friends.

I have met fantastic people. This one sentence really isn’t enough to express how any of these people have made me feel. This blog entry doesn’t even scratch the surface of the wonderful people I have met. I could tell you about so many more, but I think that this is enough for now. Ironically, I’m going to have to put my Italian life on hold because tomorrow I’m going to Madrid with my roommate. A very good friend of mine, Mary, is waiting for me. I have a feeling that our hips won’t lie and our bums will shake. And, as I’m running out of inspiration, I’ll practice my street dancing moves and get ready for Spain. Bailamos!

Understanding Mrs. Robinson

The story of Romeo and Juliet takes place in a beautiful Italian city called Verona. That’s why it is known as the city of love. I went there last weekend with a few friends of mine. It’s true that it is an extremely romantic place. However when I went, I was also taught another lesson on love.

To understand the impact the story I’m about to tell had on me, it is necessary that I go back in time and mention how I met one of my best friends. When I started learning linguistics and translation, Russian was one of the languages I had selected. After an extremely boring intensive beginners course, I was put in a group of approximately twenty students. During the first class of that second course, because we didn’t know each other, the teacher asked everybody who was sitting at my side of the classroom to get up and introduce themselves to a person on the other side. I stood up, glanced around and walked towards the person who seemed to be the most interesting.

One night, two years later, I was at my friend Tara’s place and we were having one of our regular drinking nights in her basement. We hadn’t seen each other in a while because of university and work, and we were therefore thrilled to finally spend an evening together. Sex has always had an important role in our friendship. No, we’ve never had sex. However, sex is a very recurrent conversation topic, and when we spend nights together such as that particular one, the clothes usually come off within an hour, both metaphorically and literally.

So as expected, we were having a sex talk and that time, it was about the impact that our different ex-partners had on our current sex life. A lot of alcoholic drinks had been drank at that point, and we started talking about her ex Adam who lives in England. I knew their story. They had met while he was doing an exchange in Montreal, they were both young, and their relationship ended because he cheated on her. It took a while for her to forgive him, but with time, they had developed a strong friendship. However, as she was talking about Adam and the sex that they were having while they were together, I noticed that our conversation had gone much beyond the sex talk. Stars started shining in her eyes and a passion invaded the way she spoke. To me, it was obvious: she was still in love with him. We kept on drinking and talking.

Late during the night, our friend Constance called from Ottawa. With time, we had become an inseparable trio and every time Tara and I got together, we simply had to talk to the missing player of our team. I was therefore busy talking to our friend on the phone when Tara connected herself to MSN. She started talking to her friends, including Adam, and I later finished my conversation with Constance. I then kindly asked Tara if she could go get something to eat as I was starving. She left and I took her place at the computer.

I don’t really remember how and why I ended up telling Adam that Tara was still “madly in love with him”, but it caused a long discussion between the two of them. Today, they’re the cutest couple I know and they’re even talking about marriage.

I was on the train from Verona to Bologna. I had visited a beautiful city, but I was also exhausted and I couldn’t wait to be home. I decided to go for a walk around the train because my legs were numb. “Cerchi qualcosa?”, a young man asked me because he thought that I had gotten lost. I couldn’t help but notice his Slavic accent. We started a conversation and I sat in front of him. His name was Anton and he was from Russia. I obviously spoke about the fact that I had studied Russian for two years and that my friend Tara and I had planned to visit his country together one day. He was going to Bologna because his girlfriend was living there.

They had been in a long-distance relationship for more than two years. I still don’t understand why he decided to talk to me like we had known each other forever. However, I also felt like there was a special connection between the two us, as if our encounter was more than just a coincidence. He told me about his girlfriend that he absolutely loved, but he explained that a few nights before, after drinking a bit too much, he had sex with another girl. I could see the guilt on his face. He knew that he had made a huge mistake. Then, he said a sentence that Tara had told me a few weeks before: “In a long-distance relationship, all you have is trust.”

As he was talking, I could hear Tara telling me about her story with Adam and that, although she would never judge me or my behaviour, cheating on somebody who was far away was a threat to trust, the only stable element you have in this type of relationship. I got off the train and tried avoiding Anton. “Don’t leave so fast. My girlfriend is at the station and I’d like you to meet her.”

I got off the train and took off as fast as I could. “Wait, Joel! You just passed her. Where are you going?” For about a second, she was standing next to me, and I knew it. I couldn’t look at her. Yes, I was running away from guilt. I’m probably never going to see Anton again, but he made me realize that what my friend Tara told me was true: trust is all you have in a long-distance love, and no one should ever interfere in a relationship based on trust.

Bref, mais vrai

I spent two days in Venice last weekend. One of the biggest carnivals in the world is taking place right now, and the people from my villa and I clearly wanted to actively participate in this mind-blowing event. After a two-hour train ride from Bologna, we arrived at the station, and we took a bus that brought us to where we were going to stay: a camping site. Our young and adventurous minds didn’t really care about the quality of the beds on which we were going to sleep, and we thus decided that our trip was going to be done in an old-fashioned way. We got there at 7:30 p.m. and at 9, we took a boat that took us downtown Venice in less than twenty minutes. Only by seeing it from far, I could tell that Venice was going to be an important part of my trip to Italy.

The city was like a gigantic Commedia dell’arte play. Everybody was wearing one of those typical colourful masks, and some people were dressed up from head to toe. There was music everywhere and often, groups of young adults were dancing and singing in the streets. My friends and I actually joined a few of them throughout the night. When we arrived at Piazza Marco, the biggest one in Venice, a show had already begun. It actually took me quite some time to realize that the women performing on stage were actually men. Don’t get me wrong; I have seen many drag queens in my life and I am more than capable of recognizing them. These ones, however, were wearing huge marvelous masks that were covering their faces, and they had makeup all over their body. The show itself was a normal drag queen performance, similar to the ones you can see in Montreal.

Zoé was one of these people that I had only seen a few times in my life, but that I always thought was insanely cool. When I saw on Facebook that she was going to be in Venice at the same time as me, I simply had to let her know that I was going to be there as well. My villa friends wanted to keep watching the show, but I couldn’t miss the opportunity of seeing Zoé. Therefore, I left them and went on to see my Quebec friend. Our meeting spot was a bridge, the Ponte di Rialto. After getting lost for only twenty minutes, I was there and thrilled to finally see her. The bridge itself was simply fantastic. Imagine everything you know about Venice: the gondolas, the canals, the water and the lights all over. That was the view I had on top of Ponte di Rialto. I shall keep it in my mind for a very long time.

I turned around when I heard my name from far. Zoé had arrived. After a two-minute hug, she introduced me to her friend Paula who was accompanying her. We all went back to Paula’s place where Zoé was staying. There, there was a little get together happening. Most people were Italian, but there was also a French girl. Everybody was very nice and together, we ate and drank. Paula’s apartment had a huge window with another amazing view of Venice. Zoé and I had a conversation next to it. It was the kind of conversation that makes you understand how lucky and privileged you are to be in Italy with awesome people, living an unforgettable moment. I had to leave rather early because we had to catch a train in order to go back to the camping site. “Ce fut bref, mais ce fut vrai.” These are the last words that Zoé said before I left, and they truly touched me.

It was midnight. I was alone. I had a train to catch. I was in a very foreign city that looks like a labyrinth. You do the math. Ironically though, it was in this situation that I felt like I connected with the city. I was going through the small and the big streets, talking with the people in order to find my way. All the Italians to whom I spoke were extremely nice. I asked my way to a young couple and ended up talking to them about Italian literature for fifteen minutes, and another man told me about his wife who was in the United States after telling me how to get to the train station. I was lucky. Very lucky. I got on the train as it started moving.

The next day, we went back to Bologna to live an experience that one has to live when they go to Europe: a football game (Europeans will make fun of you if you call it “soccer”). I played football for four years, and I was pretty excited to see what it was like in Italy. The stadium is enormous. More than 30 000 people can fit, and it’s far from being the biggest one in Italy. Everybody screams and sings different chants, and after only two minutes, you’re brought into a universe in which the only thing that matters is for the ball to get into the net. You will do everything in your power so that it happens, even if you look stupid or retarded. I had no voice when I went back home. And now, as I’m running out of inspiration, I’ll go to my bed and rest in an extremely Italian fashionable way.

Une éducation sentimentale

A friend is somebody who will tell you the truth in private, but will stand by you in front of the others, no matter how wrong you are. Constance, I want to dedicate you this entry. Through the good and bad times, and God knows that we went through a lot of both, we sticked together. Life wasn't always easy, but having you in it definitely made it more fun.

L’école a débuté la semaine dernière, ce qui ne m’a pas empêché de m’amuser. Je me lève vers 10h tous les matins et je relaxe une petite heure avant de commencer à me préparer. Je discute de tout et de rien avec mon cher colocataire, je vais casser la croûte avec mon voisin Mihai, je vais à la cuisine et jase avec ceux et celles qui sont en train de préparer leur petit-déjeuner. Bref, je socialise un peu avant d’aller sous la douche et de m’habiller.

Vivre dans une villa avec d’autres étudiants comporte un nombre important d’avantages qui sont souvent très simples. Par exemple, je suis toujours accompagné lorsque je me rends à l’école en autobus. J’arrive dans le centre-ville de Bologne vers 12h30, après environ vingt minutes de transport, et je passe par un café ou une pizzeria pour m’acheter quelque chose à manger.

Je me suis toujours considéré comme une personne organisée (ou comme je l’aurais dit en anglais : I have my shit together), mais pour dénicher les cours que je me suis trouvés, surtout dans le système universitaire italien qui est géré par des incompétents, il fallait du talent. J’ai un cours de traduction littéraire et un autre de traduction audiovisuelle de l’italien au français, ainsi qu’un cours qui porte sur Carlo Goldoni et un cours de traduction générale de l’anglais à l’italien. Et la meilleure ? J’ai passé quelques tests pour pouvoir être classé dans les bons cours et je ne suis que des cours de maîtrise. Les classes sont donc ridiculement petites, ce qui est génial. Je suis parfois considéré comme « l’Américain de service » qui peut expliquer les références non-européennes, mais je n’ai absolument rien contre le concept.

Après mes cours, qui se terminent souvent vers 17h ou 18h, je me rends à la villa et je commence à cuisiner. La préparation du dîner (le souper, pour les Québécois) est l’un de mes moments favoris de la journée. Tous les étudiants de la résidence se rassemblent et préparent leur repas. On échange, partage et s’entraide exactement comme le ferait une famille. Puis, nous mangeons tous ensemble autour d’une grande table.

Par la suite, la soirée commence. Nombreuses sont les activités qu’on peut faire à Bologne. Si je me sens sage, je vais visiter un musée ou je me promène dans les rues bolognaises que je découvre encore. Sinon, je sors. À Montréal, tout le monde me connaît et sait donc que je suis normalement du genre tendre, attentif et doux. Cependant, ils savent aussi que lorsque je suis dans une situation qui requiert un brin de folie, je deviens légèrement différent. Ici, les commentaires du type « Mais dis donc ! You were on fire » et « What the hell happenned to you tonight » pleuvent. Vous serez contents de savoir que mon alter égo, que mon amie Constance a ironiquement appelé Chapter, se porte à merveille.

Sur une note sérieuse toutefois, je me dois de raconter une histoire qui laissa en moi une déception. La semaine dernière, mercredi je crois, nous étions quatre à vouloir aller danser dans l’une des meilleures discothèques de Bologne. Je n’avais entendu que de bons commentaires à propos de Cassero, une boîte gay. Nous arrivâmes donc très enthousiastes et un tantinet ivres à la porte où se tenait le portier. « Stranieri ! Passaporti per favore ». Nous sommes des étrangers. Conséquemment, nous dûmes montrer notre passeport. Je crus tout d’abord qu’il voulait simplement vérifier notre âge et je lui montrai ma carte d’étudiant qu’il refusa. Je demandai au portier pourquoi il était nécessaire d’avoir son passeport pour entrer dans une discothèque. Rapidement, il me corrigea: « Non è una discoteca. È un circolo ». Il s’agit d’un cercle, pas d’une discothèque. Le portier nous dit qu’il voulait savoir qui fréquentait son cercle et que le passeport était le seul moyen de le savoir.

Il est vrai que pour être acceptés par les autres, les gays du monde entier devraient se créer des cercles fermés. Trois d’entre nous avions notre passeport et nous entrâmes, mais il fallut laisser Sofia à la porte. Sur ma main, on apposa une étampe qui disait « No omofobia ». Les pauvres membres de ce cercle en ont encore beaucoup à apprendre sur l’acceptation. On m’a dit que le Cassero défendait les droits des homosexuels et que pendant l’après-midi, il y avait différents groupes qui se formaient au sein même de la boîte de nuit. Armé de mon passeport, je compte bien m’y rendre et voir ce qui s’y fait. Et faute d’inspiration, je vais jeter un coup d'oeil aux mots en verlan que je dois traduire vers l’italien. Cominciamo a sgobbare !

Pallavicini love

After getting lost for more than two hours in Bologna trying to find the bus I was supposed to take, I finally decided to take a taxi all the way to the place where I was going to live. There was a light rain and I was soaked, so I was more than happy to see an available cab on Via Zamboni. After fifteen minutes of driving around, the cab turned onto a street that seemed completely empty.

“E cosa ci fa alla Villa Pallavicini?” asked the driver, to know what I was going to do at the villa. I answered that I was going to live there, and a look of amazement came over his face. “Non sapevo nemmeno che ci fossero persone che ci vivevano”, he replied. After a few minutes, we came to a gate blocking our way. The driver rang the bell and the gate opened itself. I can honestly say that the building I live in is one of the most beautiful ones I’ve seen in Bologna to this point. The inside is a perfect example of seventeenth century Italian architecture, and the outside has a simple, yet extremely classy, modern style. I walked in and saw three people waiting with luggage just as huge as mine. The owner introduced himself, and we all started a tour of what would become our home for the next five months.

The student quarters are actually typical of a university residence. The twenty of us have a room that we share with a roommate, and there are approximately seven washrooms. I had debated for a very long time; should I live in a residence or find myself an apartment somewhere downtown Bologna? My decision, which makes complete sense now that I’m looking back, was to start up here and move into an apartment after a month or two. Honestly, if everything continues to be as it is now, I doubt that I’ll find myself another place to stay.

The people here are from all over. Those who did the tour with me are from Germany, Lithuania and Slovakia. Other countries represented in our house are Russia, Moldova, Turkey, Holland, Romania and Poland, to name only a few. We mostly talk to each other in English as some of them don’t speak Italian. However, there are a few people with whom I always speak Italian, and of course we sometimes bring our Italian friends over, and we all switch to their language when it is necessary.

Now is probably the right time to introduce my roommate. The fact that we share our mother tongue is probably one of the reasons why we became such good friends in a very short period of time. His name is David, he’s from Lyon and he studies cinema. It is thanks to him that I didn’t feel completely lost in this new city. He introduced me to nice people and he brought me to some of the greatest bars and clubs in Bologna. What I like the most about him is that he knows how to have fun, but is also extremely smart. He has opinions and isn’t shy to communicate them.

The more I get to know the people I'm living with, the more I like them. Every one of them has something special and unique that makes me want to know who they are. Eventually, I’m sure we’ll become a family of foreign people in Italy.

Overall, my first week in Italy wasn’t about Italian culture. It was about putting a new life together in a foreign country. Yes, I drank, partied, danced and had fun, but most importantly, I created the basis of what I’m sure will become the adventure of a lifetime. Do not worry, my friends; I shall describe in detail life in Italy in my next entries. It simply wasn’t at the center of this first week. Je vous dirai ceci toutefois: l’Italie est magnifique. I’m looking forward to meeting more Italian people; talking to them as well as understanding their mentality and points of views. This is only the beginning, and I’m sure the rest of it will simply be memorable. And now, as I’m running out of inspiration, I’ll go cook myself some insanely delicious tortellini.

The big departure

Je regarde à travers la fenêtre du train et pour la première fois, j’aperçois la neige européenne. Il n’y a que quelques flocons, ce qui rend l’expérience relaxante, voir même envoutante, contrairement à la neige qui tombe dans mon cher pays. Vous comprendrez que je suis en route pour l’Italie, là où je ferai mon échange et commencerai une nouvelle vie.

Il me faut toutefois revenir sur mes derniers jours à Paris puisqu’ils ont été particulièrement plaisants. Je célébrai mon vingt-et-unième anniversaire dans la capitale française, mais j’étais si concentré sur mon aventure qu’il me sortit complètement de l’esprit. Il fallut qu'Olive me donne un coup de fil pour me le rappeler. En avant-midi, Marie-France et moi allâmes au marché de Barbès. Il s’agit d’une longue allée remplie de commerçants de chaque côté. Tous crient afin d’attirer les acheteurs potentiels, et la foule est si énorme qu’il est pratiquement impossible de ne pas se piler sur les pieds. J’y ai aussi vu une diversité culturelle impressionnante, même plus que celle qu’on peut retrouver à Montréal. J’avoue m’être senti dans mon élément. Nous achetâmes fruits et légumes et retournâmes à l’appartement.

« Oups! Je suis une connasse ». C’est le titre de la pièce de théâtre à laquelle j’ai assisté cette soirée-là. En faisant quelques simples recherches, je me suis vite rendu compte qu’il est possible de s’amuser sans nécessairement payer une fortune à Paris. Marie et moi réservâmes donc deux places dans cette minuscule salle de spectacle située dans le sous-sol d’un bar appelé le Buveur de lune. Dans le spectacle, il n’y avait qu’un personnage : une femme dans la cinquantaine nommée Christine qui meurt au début. On nous présente par la suite son procès, et le verdict est claire: elle est une connasse. Nous revivons ensuite les moments de sa vie qui expliquent cette sentence. Avant la pièce, Marie eut la brillante idée de s’asseoir au premier rang ; elle voulait s’assurer de bien voir. Conséquemment, nous nous assîmes en avant et après une trentaine de minutes, il fallut que j’aille sur la scène, devant tous les spectateurs, afin de participer à la pièce en tant qu’acteur. La scène relatait la période de la vie de la protagoniste dans laquelle elle était amoureuse, mais de façon complètement obsessive. Avant la scène en question, l’actrice vint me prendre par le bras et me dit : « Reste calme et tout ira bien ». Elle commença à m’enlacer et à m’embrasser sur les joues en me disant à quel point notre relation était parfaite. Elle était tout simplement dépendante affective, et j’ai moi aussi réussi à placer quelques blagues ici et là. J’en étais plutôt fier d’ailleurs.

Après la pièce, je sortis en boîte avec Olive et ses amis de l’Université américaine de Paris. L’anglais me manque. Vivre complètement en français est nouveau pour moi, et cette soirée américaine ne m’a fait que du bien. Aussi, je remarque parfois la réaction des gens lorsque Marie et moi parlons à notre manière dans le métro, c’est-à-dire un mélange de français canadien et d’anglais. Ils nous observent comme si nous venions d’une autre planète; au final, je dois admettre que tout cela ne me déplaît pas du tout.

À Paris, j’ai aussi eu l’occasion de voir une autre de mes bonnes amies. Kate, aussi connue sous le nom de Citrus, enseigne l’anglais en France depuis déjà cinq mois et elle adore autant son travail que son nouveau mode de vie. Elle a toujours été très allumée politiquement, et entendre parler de politique canadienne me reconnecta directement avec la culture de mon pays. Je présentai Olive et Citrus à Marie-France et je fus très heureux de constater qu’elles s’entendaient à merveille et qu’elles resteront en contact, même après mon départ pour l’Italie.

Mes journées parisiennes furent donc constituées de longues promenades dans les grandes et petites rues en compagnie de Marie-France. Elle me fit découvrir quelques-uns des plus beaux endroits, et je n’en garde que des souvenirs fantastiques. Marie, je te remercie du plus profond de mon cœur. Ce fut un privilège de passer mes premiers moments en Europe avec toi. La prochaine fois que nous nous verrons, ce sera à mon tour de te faire découvrir une nouvelle ville. Et faute d’inspiration, je vais maintenant éteindre mon ordinateur et admirer cette neige qui semble vouloir s’intensifier.

Culottes ou strings?

My first days in Paris were mostly composed of traditional tourist activities, which overall isn’t a bad thing. After I got off the plane, I went to find my friend Marie-France at the meeting spot we had carefully chosen: Gare du Nord metro station. I didn’t get lost (those who know me well enough know just how fabulous this miracle is), and when I finally saw Marie, we jumped into each other’s arms. We went to her place and started a long conversation.

I need to mention a funny story. Only two hours after my arrival, Marie-France, Émilie and I decided to go grocery shopping not too far away from their apartment. On our way there, two French students with a video camera stopped us on the street. They were conducting a survey about the habits of young adults and we accepted to answer their questions.

“Vous préférez les culottes ou les strings?” Émilie, the only French person among the three of us, simply ran away as she didn’t want to reply to them. Confused, Marie and I looked at each other and responded: “Les culottes.” The second question, although not as personal, was along the same line: “Quelle est votre orientation sexuelle?” Once again, honestly and simultaneously: “Homosexuels.” They concluded what they called a survey by asking us where we came from. Then, they admitted that they weren’t really doing a survey on the habits of young adults, but were doing a university study about how far people are ready to go when asked about different sexual topics. We had a five-minute-conversation and continued on with what we had planned. Later on the same day, I started asking myself why would people be shy, or even traumatized, to talk about things such as the kind of underwear they like on their partner or their sexual orientation. Is there a reason why the only person among the three of us who decided not to answer the questions was European? As my good friend Carrie Bradshaw would say, I couldn’t help but wonder: In Europe, is sex still a taboo? I shall definitely come back to this question as my adventures unfold.

At the end of the day, I went to see another of my very good friends in Paris. I met Annabel (but I'll refer to her as Olive) last summer at camp. We hadn’t seen each other for more than a month, and for us it was an eternity. After a long time spent catching up, we went on to the discover the beautiful Parisian Quartier Latin. Lights were strung from one roof to another, hanging over us as we walked. The streets were as narrow as you can get, in an incredibly cute way. I felt like we were in one of the cheesiest Christmas movies, which is simply wonderful when you’re actually living it. I also tried real French cuisine for the first time; it was an immense step for me since I’ve translated so many French recipes by well known cooks. Everything was exquisite, as I was expecting it to be, and Olive and I left each other at around midnight.

Yes, the Eifel Tower is beautiful. You must see the Louvre at least once in your life. Paris is an incredible place to visit for anyone who likes good food, good wine and marvelous sights. I won’t expend my thoughts on every single one of them; I’d simply repeat everything that’s been written a thousand times. I do want to mention that L’Opéra, where the latest The phantom of the opera movie was shot, is simply gorgeous. Looking at it brings you back to Renaissance times. The walls were decked out in golden decorations and there were tons of stunning sculptures. It really should be much more popular. Marie and I finished our day at the Café des 2 moulins, Amélie’s bar. I was expecting a lot of tourists, but was pleasantly surprised. It is actually a very laid back place; it’s awesome to relax and have a few drinks. And now, as I’m running out of inspiration, I’ll have another sip of that rather tasty French red wine.

L'importance des chapitres

Chapter. C’est le surnom qu’on m’a donné lorsque j’ai commencé à travailler dans un camp d’été il y a quelques années. Il m’aura fallu plus de deux ans afin de comprendre la véritable signification de ce surnom que je n’ai même pas choisi.

La veille de mon tout premier voyage en Europe, j’ai invité mes amis les plus proches à une fête dans un bar où, pendant mes années collégiales, j’ai expérimenté l’interdit et commis des actes qui pour certains seraient vulgaires et déplacés. Bref, j’y ai été un adolescent bien normal et je souhaitais rendre hommage à ces années de jeunesse et de folie avant de passer à une autre étape de ma vie. Tout le monde y était, en passant par les quelques amis du secondaire avec qui j’ai gardé contact, mes amis d’Ottawa qui étaient venus spécialement pour cette soirée mémorable, les collégiens de Vanier avec qui j’ai traversé le programme international et le programme de langues, sans oublier mes frères et sœurs du camp de vacances et mes camarades de classe à l’université.

J’oublie le moment exact du déclic ; je crois que c’était après l’une des sessions de « baisers français » avec mon amie Molly et juste avant que j’aille entreprendre une conversation philosophique dans la salle de bain avec mon ami d’enfance Jean-Sébastien. Je me suis soudainement rendu compte que j’avais un passé avec chacune des personnes présentes dans le bar. J’avais des souvenirs précis par rapport à chacun d’entre eux, et mon départ du lendemain me donna l’impression qu’en m’en allant, j’effaçais toutes les expériences que j’avais avec des individus qui, avec le temps, sont devenus des amis. J’ai dû retenir mes larmes.

C’est en prenant l’avion vers Paris que j’écris ces quelques lignes. Avec le recul, je perçois la soirée d’hier comme la fin d’un chapitre qui aura marqué ma vie. L’Europe est un nouveau départ, mais je sais que c’est avec le regard de ceux et celles qui me sont proches que je la découvrirai. Je sais également qu’ils auront tous un rôle primordial dans cette expérience que j’ai appelée : The European Emancipation. Mes amis, je vous salue tous et toutes. Sachez que je pense à vous et que vous occuperez toujours une place de choix dans ma vie. Et faute d’inspiration, je vais maintenant entamer mon camembert !