Crisis.

I'm out of vegetables.
I'm out of pasta sauce.
I'm out of bread and tomorrow is shopping day.

Think I'll have toothpaste for dinner.

Consumer Sentiments

[Author's Note: This one is marketing related. An attempt to seem academic and justify my scholarship payment from Uni.]

When is a brand not a brand? When you do not recognise it. Talking about goodwill in Accounting the other day, I got to thinking about something I've noticed in my short time abroad. It's probably best discussed now too, while I remain unfamiliar with the local retail scene (that wont last long, I promise).

In the supermarket across the road there are a lot of brands I don't recognise. At home, we (Mum and I, Saturday morning at Coles) tend to buy what we always buy - that is, we buy the same brands all the time because we know and 'trust' them. Colgate toothpaste, Dove soap, Pura milk, Western Star butter... we also don't have to think about it unless there's a blazing neon sign above an alternative brand on Mega Sale.

So what do you do when your brands aren't there (or cost three times what you usually pay)? Well, you actually look at other ones. You read the labels, and in the event you cannot undertand them because they are in French, you look at the pictures or make your own assumptions from other cues. I took 1.5 hours to spend $50 at the supermarket the other night, simply because I actually considered every purchase I made.

Additionally, being on a student budget really tests your brand allegiance. When you cannot afford Colgate you go for Carrefour, the no-name/home brand/store brand or one of the other cheapies. And guess what? The Carrefour yoghurt tastes the same as Yoplait. The Carrefour surface spray cleans just as well as Spray n Wipe. And the Carrefour muesli is the best I've ever had. No kidding.

So what has this taught me? We are creatures of habit and when something prevent us acting out of habit we are creatures of thrift, which isn't so bad afterall. Bring on the Black and Gold!

Rock On

Why would anyone pay 35 euro to be covered in 37 unidentified varieties of sweat? Who would purposely subject themselves to multiple bruises and loss of personal space for 90 minutes of listening to the people around them sing Kings of Leon songs?

Me, apparently. And it was worth it! The last concert I went to where you could stand up was Peter Combe at the Adelaide Zoo in 1989 so this was a real treat. The noticably absent Newspaper Mamma and Spaghetti Bolognese made way for a good selection of stuff from the past 3 albums - glad they didn't just stick to the new one. Interestingly, there were more Brits and others than French people, probably because the O2 concert sold out all 22,000 tickets in an hour and France took 1 month to sell 1,800.

BUT, this was not what made the night for me. Picking up a post-show snack at Le Maccas, we met 7 kids from Brighton, UK who were staying at our hostel and had also been to the show. We were still buzzing and, strolling along one of the many boulevards in Paris, we passed the front window of a little place called Le Magenta. A group of about 7 adults - some around 40, some mid 50s - were inside drinking wine and made faces at us walking past. The place was closed, but knowing a rocking party when we see one, headed inside to join this outrageous bunch.

The owner of the restaurant offered us all drinks, on the house, and started kissing everyone (on the cheek), asking where we were from and rolling around with his drunken lawyer friends. One of them, a rather posh woman named Ariel (after a character in Shakespere's Tempest, NOT the Little Mermaid), told me that Normandy was (and I quote) "The Pissing Pot of France" and that Australia was the last place on Earth she'd visit because we're entirely a-cultural. But it was nothing personal.

Don't let anyone tell you can't party with your parents because this lot were old enough to be mine and they were hilarious. They turned up LFM and we danced around this restaurant till 3am to the sounds of Barry White and The Police. Rock on, I say.

The Gourmet Traveller

Truffles and champagne may be the stuff your French culinary dreams are made of but it is the Home Brand staples littering the shelves of Carrefour that will be your best friends when it comes to the student diet.

Australian dollars translate poorly into Euros and shopping in France isn't quite the feast one might have expected. Sure, you have your staple cheese and baguettes, highly affordable and of good quality, but starting a pantry from scratch and expecting it to be as wide-ranging as the one at home is to dream beyond possibility. After just 3 trips to the supermarket I almost qualify for the disability pension after losing an arm and a leg.

I stood in the meat section and decided then and there to become a vegetarian. Beef mince is AU$20/kg (I checked the Coles catalogue online, it's $12/kg for 5 star quality). A BBQ chicken is about AU$18 and ham is about $1 PER SLICE.

Yoghurt is cheaper in France. Good cheese is cheaper but bad cheese is more expensive (!?). Asian food is a delicacy and priced accordingly - a jar of Patak's Tandoori Paste is AU$8. Yes, 8.

Now please excuse me, I have to go prepare my chickpeas with salt.

From Brussels, with love xx

I am happy to admit, considering all the consumer behaviour study I've done, that the exploitation/commercialisation of Valentine's Day is silly and merely a way to sell more stuff. Another 'Hallmark' day to boost the profits of florists and card companies. But despite this, despite the fact the day should mean nothing to me but business, it was a little depressing to be in a city full of chocolate, flowers and lovers on Valentines Day. Alone*. I tried (unsucessfully) not to think about someone 16,000km away. I even considered buying myself some tulips but the hostel didn't provide vases. Reflecting on this when I got back to Caen, I need not have worried if La Poste had just delivered my package on time - I came home to a letterbox and subsequent card filled with rose petals. Awww.

I'd love to tell you that Brussels is a fascinating city, full of amazing sights, sounds, flavours, etc to delight the senses and whatnot. The truth is, I am not much of an expert in architecture, gastronomy or even comic books. What I can say is that it was a fun place I didn't spend enough time in and didn't have enough money for. The chocolate is good, the waffles are good, the snails are ok and the waiters outside the restaurants harrass you in various languages, which is entertaining if not annoying.

There were lots of great things to take photos of, including a good selection of street art by some very talented delinquents. My approach was to just walk about and observe (the cheap way) as opposed to go inside and pay entry fees to exhibitions I'm not that interested in. And a good 7 hours of walking a day will take you through the reasonably small city fairly well, although I am sure there was much I missed. I will go back in spring or summer, when there are leaves on the trees, flowers in the gardens and warmth in the day. Until then, the rest of Belgium can remain a mystery and my very short-lived adventure will suffice.

*When I say alone, I wasn't actually alone. John was there. But John is not Danny. Sorry John! :)

Le Blog de la Cocotte

I had to link to a very cute recipe blog (in French). Gorgeous illustrations! When I am literate I might actually attempt something (provided it doesn't required an oven).

Cheese of the Week #1

Name: Le Rustique
Manufacturer: Jean Verrier
Region: Normandie
Price: €1,85
Consistency: Runny on the outer edges, firmer in the middle.
Taste: Delicious.
Recommended: Yes.
Serve with: Baguette.
Comments: Great packaging.

Home Sweet Home

Life in an International Student Residence is like a box of chocolates. Some are white, some are dark, some are sort of in between, and then there's ones that everyone steers clear of (like coconut). In hindsight, that seems extremely non-PC and I mean no offense to anyone but the analogy works for now and let's face it, it's a crazy mixed up world and we're all in this together.

Firstly, you wonder who your roommates are going to be. You might be lucky to get a name or photo to get the sterotypes/biassed assumptions flowing, or you might get a complete surprise on arrival. Of course my roommates were normal, friendly people but you never know, it very easily could have been strange and uncomfortable.

Take for example a fellow student from a highly modern society who discovered his roommates stored used toilet paper in a bag beside the toilet. They happened to be from a developing nation where plumbing isn't so flash and as such were unaccustomed to flushing it away. No judgement on them at all, but you can imagine the difficulty of bringing that subject up in 'keeping house' negotiations.

Our Exchange Coordinator, Erika, told us some stories of previous students coming from home where Mothers do everything and looking after one's self is an entirely new concept. Think live fish in the bathtub and cooking them directly on the hotplate (no frypan), to the dismay of the housing company come inspection time. Keeping a bathroom clean is a mystery to many and the simple back and forth motion of mopping is a fine motor skill suprising underdeveloped in the 20-25 age bracket. It is wrong to get angry about these things but you can't help but feel bad for those who are in the deep end. There are those of us who are lucky our Mums taught us the ins and outs of washing machines and detergent so we can concentrate on learning French and not domestic responsibility.

Then there are parties. Of course its necessary to have a drink or two to get everyone chatting, reduce the nerves, etc. And if you're Spanish, it's probably normal to make a 10 litre bucket of sangria for everyone to share. Granted, it's only been a week but I am sure I will soon have stories of the same shocking nature as those told to us in an attempt to curb outlandish behaviour before it begins. It would seem that guests in the neighbouring hotel checked out of their rooms at 3am because the drunk naked students on the roof of Euro Residence were a little loud with their singing... but telling us this seemes to have set the challenge for the next lot to be even worse. I certainly wont be an instigator but cannot rule out my part in observing the next inevitable chapter of Euro Res history.

Journey to Caen

It began early. Ever the considerate hostel roommate, I had laid out my clothes the night before and packed my bags so I wouldn't make too much noise leaving the room this morning. I think they appreciated that.

I hauled my stuff out the door and onto the street, and was pleased to see it wasn't raining. With 10 kilos hanging from my shoulders and another 30 bumping along the pavement behind me, I set off for the Metro. It wasn't a long walk but it was enough to make me think I should have gone straight to Caen in the first place. It was just long enough too to take that thought back as I passed the park I'd seen the snow in the day earlier. Of course it was worth coming to Paris for a week, what was I thinking! All the Kodak moments, my new friends, experiencing the first attempt at someone stealing my camera, tripping over on cobblestone streets...

Fully expecting nobody to bother, I was suprised when a Parisian picked up the other end of my 30kg bag and helped me down the stairs, albeit the last 4 of about 40. A ticket stop, a line change and about 50 minutes later I was back at Charles de Gaulle, waiting for my fellow Australian, John, to arrive. A message told me he was stuck in Heathrow with ice on the wings but hours later, still alone, I set off to find the Welcoming Committee. Greeting with big smiles and plenty of helping hands, I felt all warm and fuzzy to be treated so nicely after the Metro's chilly hospitality. John's flight was delayed for ages and when he finally did arrive, it was sans luggage. (Note to self: do not fly British Airways out of Heathrow.)

A 2 hour bus journey followed - some time was spent chatting to new classmates, some spent playing stupid French versions of Pictionary, and the rest staring out the window at snow covered fields and hoping it would last until Caen.

It didn't.

Nuances de Gris (Shades of Grey)

After another huge day on foot, one thing became obvious to me, and it had nothing to do with walking. I've decided that winter is a time you could visit Paris colourblind and it probably wouldn't matter. The clothes, the streets, trees and garders, statues - thye're all grey or various shades thereof.

In terms of fashion, Collette and I have decided the reason French men dress so well is they only have to match grey with black, which isn't too difficult. That, and they wear scarves. And coats. Scarves and coats are good (not unlike my Men Look Better In Suits Theory).

Even the women, whom you would assume had some sense of creativity, stick to muted tones and rarely venture to the Land of Colour. I felt a little risque pulling on my red coat this morning - but imagine if I'd bought the yellow one I saw at ZARA - they'd have thought I was there to put our a fire or direct traffic.

On the subject of clothing still, as always, it is the children who are worst affected. They poor things are subjected to so many layers of puff they begin to look less like children and more like marshmallows with heads, ready to bounce off the nearest surface in a cloud of feather and/or polyester stuffing. Even the dogs wear coats...

On a far more upbeat note however, there was a welcome contrast this morning in the form of white snow - my first glimpse of the stuff but alas, it fell overnight and was already melting away in the rain this morning.

C'est combien? (How much does this cost?)

Spending money in Paris is not difficult. I am writing this in Starbucks after spending AU$9.40 on one hot chocolate.

I cheaped out on the one before this one - $6.20 for a watery mess. I think being sick was a blessing in disguise as I barely ate the first few days. I managed to get through one day spending only €8 but as I regain my appetite, I've noticed my purse get a little lighter. A baguette, gourmet style, set me back €3, which is not too bad. A crêpe with lemon and sugar is €2,50 and ham and cheese €4. A takeaway serve of pasta plus a drink set me back €6.10 and a very good pizza about €13, shared between 2.

You might be thinking there aren't a lot of healthy examples in the above. I'm yet to try a proper restaurant but I did notice a risotto for about $40 on a menu last night and almost choked. My CouchSurfing host Hatem rents a 1 room apartment (1.5 if you count the bathroom) on Rue Mouffetard for €700 per month so there is little left for proper groceries, let alone room to cook something healthy in a space smaller than your average bathroom vanity. Lucky there are enough calories in this hot chocolate to keep me going until dinner time.

The Metro is a another easy place to get rid of your coins - €3,60 for an all day pass which is worthwhile for anything over 1 journey. You can give coins to the beggars too (they are a dime a dozen and they speak your language, guaranteed), but beware of giving too much away, for you may find yourself stranded at the station with €1,55 and having to ask strangers for 5c to get home.