Goomonin'?

Now we talk Corse

It occurs to me that I haven't really blogged Corsica at all. I'm learning French at the university in Corte, it's just a university diploma, nothing fancy. I gotta admit I feel like I've really improved fast in the last couple weeks, even though it's been a little less than a month since we started. 

It's just so similar to Spanish in many ways, French I mean, that all the explanations given by the teachers and the books to detail the exact usage of verb tenses are completely useless. I understand its probably not as simple for, say the Chinese students, but in my case, all I have to do is try to think of the way its said in Spanish and voila, there's my explanation.

Of course, my luck, we've got one of the worst grammar teachers I've ever had the misfortune of meeting... are we ready? I'm about to complain big time here. 

Woman gives us a copy of some bad FLE book and reads it out loud. Is it clear? No? Alright I'm going to explain... and she reads it out loud again only louder! 

Say I have a question to ask her, only I can't really phrase it well because beluudhhhduuh I'm a frucking beginner at this, and why not, she interrupts me and begins explaining before I even get to the point of my question, the result: she doesn't really answer any questions, she just goes 'Go on google, do you guys know what google is? Alright well you type w-w-w-.-g-o-o-g-l-e-.-c-o-m and there you search for FLE EXERCICES, it's all really simple!

Yeah right, I paid to have you teach me, not to have you tell me to go home and learn French after school. 

Some of my classmates say this is the French way, she's an old fashioned teacher and blah blah, well to me she just sucks at this, and she says she's been teaching for years, I have a feeling she doesn't really take criticism because if this is the way she's always been then I'm sure there's been loads of students who've told her to change her methods a little bit, unsuccessfully I'm guessing. 

Other than that, I've pretty much been avoiding reality, I feel like I'm watching a movie about learning French in Corsica, really  just watching. Like I see my sister talking to people and I'm eating popcorn. 

Funny things? Corsicans start singing in choir when they're drunk, and they cover their one ear to be in tune and all, it's quite cute actually. I also like the fact that Corte is this little village on a hill and the university is all the way down, so we're walking up and down at least twice a day, I think I'm getting better at this walking uphill thing.

I'm queen of Patheticville. 

Girls are so pretty here pff, with their perfect hair and their perfect skin and their perfectness its all so perfectly discouraging. And their perfect French wahhh that's the worst, I feel like I should just open a bakery and stay in the back room covered in flour, at least ants will be my friends. Aw that sounds sad, I didn't mean it for it to sound like that haha. 

Why do they all have to look like Alizee? Why can't there be a few Colombas? Don't get me wrong, I've met a couple of seriously tough scary looking lesbians but that's really not what I meant! Whatever, I've started to ramble now. Pff.. started?? 

I ride! 

Corsican word of the day: Lingua (Language)

Feeling: Puny

A random thought!

I've been thinking a little about something that has bothered me for quite some time now. 

I think all the unfortunate things that happened to Harry Potter during his time at Hogwarts, for example almost dying for protecting the philosopher's stone, the whole basilisk fiasco with the diary, the death of Sirius, the return of Voldemort etc, all of those things that happened when Dumbledore was still alive could have all been fixed if someone both smart and powerful (Dumbledore himself duh) had used a time turner at the right moment. 

Seriously, he could have just gone back a few hours and settled the mess down. Think about that. 

Let's take one simple example: when Harry comes back from the labyrinth carrying dead Cedric, Dumbledore should have been all 'What happened? When, where and how?' Very simple, the trophy was a portkey, and bam, he time turns to the beginning of the third task and takes the portkey himself, he would have found Pettigrew with the bundle of evil in his arms and mucus maxima bawaam, Pettigrew is tied up and the bundle is put into some sort of jail cradle. End of story. 

Of course that really would have been the end of the whole thing so kinda glad it didn't happen like that. 

I'm bored.

Tonight Corte seems to hate me though

Corti mon amour

I am in love with Corte.
It's a village in the clouds.

Of Corse I'm back.

Well look who's back. 

After that birthday rant of mine I let some weeks pass by and I find it is time now to elaborate on what's been going on. As I didn't mention, I had to fly back to Mexico in order to get my French visa... yes, I know, I got to Corsica with all my bags and ready to set roots before realising I couldn't. Pff. 

So then, I flew the long way cause it was just so improvised that I required assistance from the Captain, who got me this cheap as hell ticket that unfortunately had 4 stops. 

So there began my torture: Corsica - Paris - Doha - Sao Paulo - Santiago de Chile - Mexico. That's three days on a plane! (Four on my way back because I had an 18 hour layover in Sao Paulo)

That was way and back O brothers, I am presently at ORLY airport in Paris waiting for the last last last flight that will bring me back to Mother Corse. 

But I'm getting ahead of myself a little. My time in Mexico: pretty bleh. I was there for a month and a half, and during the first month I almost didn't stand up from the couch. Mexican TV is so good, I watched Law and Order SVU nonstop for days, and then I got a little depressed. The last weeks were better, I went to X. to visit W<3, and I fell in love again with my cats and they with me. That was so ridiculously awesome, spending time with them, one of them would curl on my lap regardless of where I was sitting and the other slept under the covers and demanded to be spooned at all times. 

Bad parts of my stay in Mexico: FRENCH CONSULATE DICKHEAD in charge of the visas. What an asshole that man was. If anyone who's ever submitted a visa application at the French consulate in Mexico city reads this, you'll know, you'll remember... that son of a gun whose only purpose in life is to make the people who go there suffer medieval style. He was like one of those 'detective' kind of priests from the Inquisition, only behind his stupid glass window. PLUS they took 3 weeks longer than they should have to process my application! I had to delay my flight back because of them... Oh, I've been to consulates around the world in my time, and none of them, none whatsoever compares to the French one, they make the Chinese consulate look like a candy store, they're pure evil, they are. 

'Do you know they speak mostly Italian in Corse? Why don't you just go to Africa, they speak French there too...' what an assssshooole!! That's what he said to my sister anyways, she was so distressed she wanted to answer back 'Yeah well they speak Spanish in Cuba too, wtf are YOU doing in MY country?!', but fortunately she held back. Little volcano my little sister is. 

Oh yes, my sister is already in Corsica, she's going to school with me. My mother swears we will kill each other, but that, only time will tell. 

Hmm, it'll be about two more hours before I can check-in. Gives us time to make a list! I know someone who LOVES lists with an H. 

Things to do in ORLY:

1. Charge your computer. 

2. Enjoy 15 minutes of free wi-fi. 

3. Walk. 

4. Go to the bathroom (this category shall include activities such as hand washing and bladder relief)

5. Buy bread and coffee. 

6. Smoke in designated areas (or as they call it here: gtfOUT)

7. Pretend you understand the titles of the books at the magazine stores when in fact you're thinking if it would be too obscene to buy that huge bar of Toblerone that's staring at you from the counter. 

8. Buy a huge bar of Toblerone. 

9. Wonder why working French people are always so damn sick of life. 

10. Read a book?

I guess that's about all you can do, doing just the first 9 took me about an hour. Hooray, 3 more to go until check-in and then it's all uphill from then. 

I miss them cats of my life <3

Corsican word of the day: A Muntagnola (the mountain woman, whatever, that was the name of an ice-cream combination I liked and the only thing I could think of)

6 Hours before landing back on Corsica feeling: exhausted. 

Happy Blurthday

I don't know... I might be feeling a little something not so good.

I'm guessing 'confused' might be the right way to put it.

Though I can't really tell. 

Maybe 'confused' is just heads up for something bigger, some sort of shift.

And one might argue, the shift is right there, it's crystal clear, it's not like I need a warning or something; but it somehow feels like that's just the tip of the iceberg. 

I daresay I've been pretty good at 'goodbyes' throughout my little life, I don't understand why I'm so fixated on the word as of late. I've said some pretty big 'goodbyes' in the past months, though outwardly I've meant them more as 'see you laters', I've kind of always known some of them have actually been pretty permanent, which is sad really. 

I'm back home now, or shall I say 'home'? I think I left my un-quoted home somewhere else, somewhere not exactly blurred at the edges. I don't particularly like it here, I feel out of place (though honestly I think it might be that I feel way too much at home and that commonplaceness frightens me; there, how much more honest can you get in parenthesis?) 

Went to the movies today, guess there's little left to say about that. Feels weird even mentioning it but that's basically the least uneventful thing that has happened in the past few days. This is like some sort of limbo-- again all blurred at the edges, would-have-been-idyllic a few months ago.

It's a big letdown knowing that a little over a year ago you think you were the happiest you've ever been. You're almost certain of that. And if time machines existed, you'd be reliving those wonderful days over and over again. Which brings you back to your rational mind, and that son of a bitch is asking you 'why were you so happy then?', to which you know the answer, but are so damn proud to answer yourself. It's easier to be proud, really. I once heard someone say that the happiest people are the ones who refuse to be affected by anything at all. Well, actually a lot of people have said that, but some have the fortune of being more poetic than others. I happen to be terrible at quoting it. 

What sucks the most is knowing that the only reason why you are what you are right now is yourself and the choices you've taken. You could have chosen to 'refuse being affected by anything at all', but knowing so would have made you ultimately miserable. On the other hand, look at me. I know I've made a choice out of reasoning and self-respect. I'm not feeling any happier than the 'would-have' situation. This particular scenario is the most suitable state for a 'martyr' application, one has to be careful with that, when one starts feeling like everything is 'done' to oneself. You start blaming everyone else by thinking that you alone are the victim. This is of extreme importance, I do not want to be sensed as a victim. I don't want to be it. I think I'm sort of safe by knowing that I've chosen this path myself, I've chosen to be consciously miserable. I know why I've chosen not to be 'happy' and ergo that should ultimately lead to my spiritual conformity. 

I'm guessing that's as far as you can go? Once you know that happiness is more a result of emotional abandonment than actual choice? Only complete obliviousness can bring happiness. If you happen to be the slightest bit aware of happiness, you're doomed not to be happy at all. Conformity is as far as you can go, you just have to learn how to live with that. That's as far as I've come in my moments of deep contemplation. Which all happen to be on my birthday, that's why I'm such a bummer to be around this time of the year, there's witnesses. 

And that's exactly why I love all those emotionally challenged freaks that have voluntarily stuck around me. I like my people miserable by choice rather than happy by default.

Mexican word of the day: Tabaco (self-explanatory) 

Feeling: Utterly out of context.

Sad days are upon us.

Brace yourself and hold on to your neck.

Life is Beachy

Alright, new update. This time around we're going to be looking at some of the most popular beaches in the south of Corsica, south-ish. 

Let it be clear, I am not a beach person, on the contrary I'm always hiding from the sun because it fucking hates my guts and last time Milk convinced me to go to Cancun I ended up with some nasty burns on my face and had to go to the hospital. Having said that, I'll continue on with my rants. 

Ah Corsica, Corsica. What a beautiful place to spend the summer it is. Perfect weather, clear waters, sandy beaches, beautiful people; to be perfectly honest here, you could just go ahead and take your chances at any random beach in the south of the island and you'll find yourself in paradise. 

There is very little to criticize. 

But I'll try my best. 

Cannedda (Cannella) 

Location: 6.8 kilometers south of Sari-Solenzara

Milk was extremely excited about going back to Cannedda, apparently it's one of those beaches MADE for children since it's barely a meter deep. That is the one problem I see really, I'm not so keen on swimming alongside a dozen toddlers on floaties, they're whiny and loud and frankly I'm not so sure they take bathroom breaks outside the water. But you gotta give it to the damn beach, water is crystal clear, swim all the way to the deeper parts and you can still see you feet on the ground. And the deeper you go, the more fish you get to see, and the damn fish are friendly too. Best beach to go to if you have kids, hands down. 

Fautea 

Location: 17 kilometers south of Sari-Solenzara

This was actually the second time we went to Fautea, the first being last summer. It was one of Milk's favorites as a kid. See that tower over there? That's Genovese, back when Corsica was part of Genoa, long long time ago. Fautea beach is actually to the left of the tower, that's the main part anyways, its a lot bigger than the little pool on the picture to the right of the tower. But it's this little one that is nice; the sand is much cleaner and there is a lot less people since in order to get there, you're forced to walk some 50 meters through a rough patch of bushes and bugs. Yeah it's pretty, and its clean, and its kind of private, but it fucking stinks. Wish I was joking, apparently there is some sort of sulfuric action going on down there, from what I heard, the rocks around the beach got pissed off at the heat and decided to release their anger into the water, it stinks like rotten eggs. On the other hand, it's nice and warm. 

Palombaggia (photo is ours bitch)

Location: About 5 kilometers south of Portivechju (Porto Vecchio).

So for those who aren't familiar with it, Palombaggia is divided into three beaches, each separated by a riff you can't swim around. Our favorite being the second (middle) part. You enter through Bocca di l'Oru and look everywhere for a big sign that says Palombaggia like a drunk mexican teenager and since there isn't one, you'll drive and drive until you end up back on the highway, then you turn around and drive back to Bocca di l'Oru, ask for directions and drive 3.8 kilometers until Villa Aria di Mare (past the big sign of a hand pointing at a pizza), where you will see a lot of cars parked and a lot of people in their bathing suits walking down the road. Next is the most important part and I cannot stress this enough: park your car and follow them! You do not have to go into a private parking lot, you do not have to continue driving looking for "more people" or "signs of the beach", just park your car on the road and follow the people who know better, you'll end up in the second (middle) part of Palombaggia beach. That's where you'll have a friggin' blast. There is less people than in the larger beaches of course, but the most important thing is there are A LOT of fish because this beach does get deep at some point and it's the best place for some amateur snorkeling. Unfortunately, word goes it does get kind of crowded, especially in July and August, so from here on we will get our asses there at 7 am sharp. This is the most awesomest beach ever, just drive down there with a parasol and a cooler full of beers, you'll spend the entire day there, something I had never done before. Drunk fun. I had Milk dig his first parasol hole ever. 

Rondiara

Location: About 10 kilometers south of Portovechju, next big beach after Santa Gulia

You would think this is the best most awesomest beach ever, wouldn't you? I mean look at that fucking blue. I've been begging Milk to take me to Rondinara for two years now, and last week he finally, finally did. O brothers, was it not worth it. First, it's located in a fucking tricky place, you have to drive over a hill to get there and I get dizzy swimming in the ocean, imagine my suffering. Only available spot to park the car is inside this private parking lot that is not really well thought out I think, just some Corsicans installing a booth and charging 4 euros per car. Mind you, some Corsicans, they looked like tanned Greek statues the beasts. Anyways, long story short, the beach is infested with ants. If you have a boat though, this is the place for you, because the water really is that fucking blue. 

Bunifaziu (honorary mention)

Just felt like I had to mention Bonifacio cause its the best looking part of the whole island, though there are no 'real' beaches unless you have a boat, you can still walk down the less inclined parts of the rocks and go swimming anyways, that's what we did before and I'm insisting we do again. Plus Milk owes me a dinner in Bonifacio, I'll make sure we go back before long. 

Corsican word of the day: Avedecci (Goodbye)

18 Days in Corsica feeling: hungry.

Yes, soupcorse!

Quick update on what's been going on. 

Nothing. We went swimming a couple of times, visited a few abandoned villages and I've been cooking a lot but that's about it. Last night we visited a traditional Corsican family restaurant and all I've got to say is: wtf. Milk had the Corsican menu and I had the seafood one and talk about great value for money, I mean the soup course was huge, you get a giant bowl and I tell you O brothers, I had 5 servings of fish soup until I couldn't eat more and I still didn't finish it. Milk had the soup Corse and the rest of mine. The other highlight was my dessert, cause that was the first time Milk wanted to trade with me, that's how awesome it was, something called Castagnolu, huuuge thing, it was some sort of mousse dripping in some sort of honey but damn it had this lingering taste of alcohol pfff, so not easy to explain so I just took a picture of it, and the soup which I now present to you. 

Next quick update: beaches. Coming soon. (As soon as we get back from them)
Corsican word of the day: Grazzie (Thank you, not so sure actually... this website says its Corsican but I've never heard it before and it just looks plain Italian)

Win-die Day

Corsican word of the day: Va bè, vi ringrazziu (Fine, thanks!)

Day 10 in Corsica feeling: Oily.

Quote of the day: "My dad thinks I have no cervezo!" -Milk

Rugby Day

The sound of cheering woke me up today. No, it wasn't coming from a cheering crowd, or at least not exactly. It was rugby day here in the free world, which meant only one thing: I was not going to have any attention from anyone the whole day, starting from 8 am when Milk began broadcasting matches on the computer. 

And so I asked myself: 'Myself, what are we going to do today?' 

Simply enough, I thought of the blackberry tree on the backyard and the possibility of me baking a pie.

O brothers, I dared. 

Started off quite innocently, looking at people baking pies on youtube, simple recipes, all beginners level, and I thought why not. Wonderful thing about France, they do sell baking stuff at the supermarket (France 1 - China 0). I managed to steal Milk away from the computer long enough to go buy the missing ingredients and a 10 minute blackberry picking quickie. And of course as soon as he climbed down from the tree he was gone, leaving rushed dirty footprints all over the kitchen floor. 

And I slaved away, cutting off the tails of 200 little blackberries, making pastry from scratch (which by the way, was not as scary as I had thought!), making the filling (surprisingly easy) and so on. 

Difficult part was actually rolling the pastry onto the plate, at first I made three little pies which were devoured instantly after, so I was unable to take a picture, but I was very happy at least I managed to get soooome attention from the men (at some point I had them both Milk and Milk Senior sitting opposite me at the kitchen table magnificently ignoring me, as they stared at the laptop screen while I did the most impressive figurines on the pastry after beating it down and rolling it thin to perfection, that would have gotten PRAISES back home, me making pastry). 

But as always, all good things must come to an end and so it happened with my pie baking experience, bottom line: not difficult at all! Though still a little scary. Seriously though, follow the recipe and it can't go wrong. I present to you O brothers, my first pie ever! Blackberry pie! 

Corsican word of the day: Cume stai? (How are you?)

Day 6 in Corsica feeling: Accomplished. 

Corsica, June 2012

I've left China, even though I still haven't got a job or a purpose in life, I can officially say I live in Corsica. Damn, I live in Corsica. The hell.

I had a teary farewell and an uneventful flight (except for the treat of seating first class Shanghai - Doha, Doha - Paris, courtesy of the Captain), finally arriving at M. on Monday night. Haven't been up to much in the past couple days, did some general cleaning on this insanely abandoned house, seriously I'm surprised there were no bats around. Milk of course decided it was indispensable to attend to the garden before even unpacking... which means all those mundane tasks of making the beds, vacuuming the carpets and folding clothes had become mine while he mowed the grass.

I did another flyer for the restaurant where Bi works at, they liked it a lot which means two very important things: 1. They will continue to employ me for future events. 2. They will recommend me to other restaurants in need. And I, as TEH most merciful of lords will of course, oblige.

I present now, the small village of M.
Population: 100.

At least there's internet.

This charming little village shall be our home for the summer, or until we get a job somewhere else in Corsica. In the most awful scenario that we can't find a job for the summer holidays, I will be moving to Corte in September where I will be attending P. P. University, nothing big, just French classes. By then I MUST have gotten myself some kind of job for the school year, and for my sister as well.

Milk will also be job hunting on his own. At this moment I wish the Corsican mafia were a bit more organized than they seem, or at least, that Milk Senior were a celebrated member and could score us some jobs.

Ideally, I would be a bartender and Milk the pizzaiolo of the same little restaurant. Ah, doesn't that sound lovely lovely? I was in such good spirits the first couple days, I had even thought of what I was going to say that would put me ahead of other job applicants:

1. I have two years experience mixing cocktails in Shanghai (drop a big name, they'd be like whoa).
2. I may not speak French yet, though I understand it well and I speak fluent English, Spanish and Chinese (again, whoa).
3. I love Corsica.
4. Most importantly, I'd do it for HALF of what you'd pay ANYONE else as long as the job offers accommodation and meals (I'll also eat HALF of what they serve, kill two birds with one shot).

I even learnt how to say that in French! Unfortunately it's going to take a couple months before I can begin to even conceive French writing, it just looks like drunk spanish on an AZERTY keyboard. No offense, remember I love Corsica.

And this "no cigarette" rule is highly inconvenient... last night I went downstairs at midnight and locked myself in the guest bathroom that happens to be full of those goddamned lizards that move really fast and grow back their tails, remember those? What can you do, when you gotta smoke, you gotta smoke.

Little Mongoliaaaaan!

Day 3 in Corsica: a little bored.
Corsican word of the day: Bonghjornu (Good morning!)

THE WAIT: 3 Hours to go.

HONG KONG: Day 3 (or 4)

Not a very good day so far, though I guess I slept alright since I was woken up by some psycho banging on my door 'CHECK OUT TIME CHECK OUT NOW!', the psycho being of course the evil Indian receptionist from the hostel.

Hong Kong is full of hostile people, immigrants of course, the natives are exceptionally friendly and they all speak Mandarin. Take for instance my current location, a bar/bistro called 'Mes Amis'. The staff I'm guessing, is mostly from South Asian countries, different countries as they all speak in English to each other. The hostess is a humongous BITCH. You can tell by just looking at her, but all doubts are confirmed once she opens her mouth. I mean I arrived early for lunch, right after being kicked out of the hostel, asked if they had wi-fi and one of the waitresses recommended I sat at the back cause of the stronger signal; so I take my seat on a table for 4 in the completely empty restaurant and the bitch comes over and goes: 'You're not having lunch are you? And it's only you? You're gonna have to sit in the corner (table for 1)', then I said I was indeed having lunch here, so she just raised an eyebrow and threw a menu on the table in the corner: 'You're still going to have to sit here'.

She should marry my boss, or at least have an affair with him cause he's already married so then she's just the 'other woman', a role that matches her personality like a glove. I'm sure had I been a middle-aged wealthy Englishman she would have been all sugar.

This little trip to Hong Kong has confirmed my belief in tipping. But not service charge, oh no no that, if possible, is even worse than no tipping at all, FUCK service charge, they just throw things at you and don't give a fuck since their tip is included in your bill already.

Remember the time when waitresses and restaurant staff in general were supposed to be nice? Take for example salespeople on commission, now that's nice. Screw it, I miss Mother Shanghai.

Going to the airport now. I'll be arriving a good 9 hours before my flight but its best to just get the hell out of this cursed city and into safe international lands. Airports, cradles of safety.

AIRPORT WAIT.

Countdown to take off: 6 hours.

I'm taking a blogging break now, again, and I'll be doing some doodling.

Chinese word of the day: THE WAIT. 等待 deng3 dai4

Hong Kong: Day 2

Actually it's day 3, just survived night 2.

Today we will touch upon a rather sensitive subject. Not sure if I should give too many details, ahh sounds enticing doesn't it? Well, for the past couple of months I've had a rather difficult relationship with my boss.

Ah, right. I work, I teach English on weekends, doesn't sound like a real serious job huh? Well it pays really well that's for sure. Like, a lot. And anyways, my boss hates me. Can't really give many details about why he hates me, but it's just quite obvious he does. He ordered to delay may month's salary, I even got paid less than I was supposed to. He's been taking classes from me as well, oh hell, he sent me a bunch of horrible messages to my phone that last time I had an emergency and cancelled a class one hour before it started. I mean I deserved some kind of punishment for that, but hell, hate mail? Really? That sick, sick man. He actually kneels and bows in front of a gold statue in the school office, when I asked about it O brothers did I whimper, O brothers did I whimper. He prays to the god MONEY. The money god. He bends over in front of the yellow statue of a fat frog and goes 'Oh money-money-money-money-money-money-money', I mean!

Bleh, so I wanna leave, but I can't since I'm moving to another country in June and I need the money for that. It's just 3 months from now, I can't afford to just quit. Not even change companies, since it would take several weeks before they assign me some classes. Besides, I'm terrified of money-god, I fear retribution I do. Force to be reckoned with.

All I can do is avoid him, my boss- not the money-god, like he avoids me (though money-god does seem to avoid me as well), be super nice to my co-workers, which I am, and hope for the best. The kids like me, the parents love me, so just... low profile huh?

Okay, I guess it's time for some high points ofthe past months.

Went to see The Haunted in December, it was quite unexpected, honestly I wasn't and still am not a big fan of the band, I went there cause it was cheap and I had nothing else to do that night. It was a good thing I went because I ran into an unexpected acquaintance, Mr. Mort Productions himself, who I met at a show about 5 years ago, still remembered me and all! Nicest guy, I wonder why he was there, you know, accompanying the band all the way to Shanghai for a concert that was under-promoted if anything. Had a nice talk with him at the bar during the show and afterwards he let Milk and I take a picture with the band, I say 'let us' because the professional pictures were only for people who bought VIP tickets, well he did us that favor, though I still haven't got the picture because I'm a tool who hasn't called him. I did write him a couple of times but his inbox was full, busy man as he is and all.

Anyways after the show we played roadies for a while and went out for a midnight snack with the band, not all of them, one of the twins, thedrummer (who is AWESOME) and the manager, along trotted Mr. Mort, the tour manager and N, who turned out to be a lot more fun and outgoing than she lets people know. Cool thing was Mr. Mort asked me for help, translating for the band and all, I felt so important hah.

Well that was that, a few weeks ago we went to see Lamb of God and Milk and I burned about a thousand RMB each that night. Understandable, since tickets were 450 per person, unheard of! Pff, our own damn fault for not buying the pre-sale tickets. After that we went to INFERNO with my friend K. who I hadn't seen in years.

Then the REAL drinking began, I just remember going 'another pitcher? another pitcher!' over and over until Milk was bent over the bar and K. was probably drunk-texting, they were playing Evil Dead on the TV and I was dumbly staring with my mouth wide open when D. starts moving even faster than usual in small circles discretely going LAMBOFGOD LAMBOFGOD LAMBOFGOD, baby turns around and there, walking into the bar, Lamb of God.

I elbow Milk in the stomach and almost knock over K's glass and I not so vividly remember yelling 'ACT NORMALLY', and probably started whistling. This night shall be henceforth known as 'dumb faces night'. The title is self-explanatory. At some point I was so drunk I can't even remember when I completely forgot the band was there, mind you the bar wasn't all that full. I have vague memories of talking to the band members, staring dumbly (again) at Willie (who I didn't know was Willie until I went through N's pictures and googled the band members' names), then the bass player (whose name turned out to be John Campbell, SO glad I didn't ask him) came over to our side of the bar and started speaking Spanish, about a half hour into the conversation I realized he was a band member, oh my scrambled brains!

A footnote: My sister is a special little girl. She can make people uncomfortable REALLY fast. It all started as a private joke when we were kids, whenever one of us did something dumb like mispronouncing a word or rolling down the car windows when we are an arm's length away from a real wolf, she doe

s this face and goes: DEUUUUH!

Used to freak my father out. Everybody, reall

y. As she developed into a charming young lady she also became fond of the habit of holding entire conversations in what she now calls 'the little Mongolian' dialect. I happen to be fluent and very fond of the little Mongolian dialect, it has the ability to make people laugh INSTANTLY. The little Mongolian dialect has the tendency to resurface when drunk.

Now this little piece of information can possibly explain the following pictures.

That last one is my pride and joy. The picture my offspring and the offspring of my offspring shall know me for. My legacy. And I am clearly going DEUUUUH!

I'd like to take this opportunity to virtually apologize to everyone at INFERNO Bar for those HORRIBLE pictures I took of the staff and friends with the band members. I was trusted with the task and I failed miserably, in my defense, working a strange camera when stupendously drunk is all frolic for the photographer, and all regret for the photographed. A lesson never to be forgotten.

I take my leave from this cavernous bar I'm at. Mostly because I'm afraid of returning to the hostel after dark, even though I'm one block away. It's that damned cursed cockroach-infested curry-smelling hellhole. I'm never eating curry again.

In Hong Kong.

Chinese word of the day: money-god 财神 cai2 shen2

IMPORTANT EDIT: On the 15 minutes it took me to walk back to the hostel someone stole my bank card. Good thing it was completely empty as I had withdrawn it all in the morning, probably had like 39 HKD left and nothing you could do with that really. But still, FUCK.

It's been a while indeed.

Last time I sat down to blog was back when I was writing my thesis wasn't it? Maybe I hadn't even started writing it yet. Now that's a story to tell, a long one though. And everything that's happened since... a LOT of things have happened since!

Me, a liar? Judge by yourself, I'm moving to France in June. HA! Proof that I speak but the troof!

But let's start from the ending just so we can go back to the beginning.

Current location: Hong Kong. Starting this blog entry from the infamous Canadian Hostel in Tsim Sha Tsui. Tiny. Dodgy. With paper-thin walls. I'm also pretty sure i am being filmed. Located in the heart of Chung King Mansions, sounds posh doesn't it? Well, I'm posting this picture to illustrate my situation. Let's call this, the lobby. This charming little Canadian hostel is run by a couple of evil looking Indians, on the 7th floor of Chung King mansions. Yikes.

I'm in the city for, shall we say, business? You see, dollface... I graduated, I hold my very own bachelors degree now. I am officially professionally unemployed. That's where all my problems really started.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Hong Kong, yes. I arrived yesterday (Tuesday) morning with the sole purpose of running to the Commissioner's Office of China's Foreign Ministry in the Hong Kong SAR, more commonly known as Visa Place, to apply for a three months Chinese tourist visa, which would be long enough for me to reach June, at which point we would just move to France, no need for visas anymore. Originally i thought i'd be flying back to Shanghai on Friday, since the normal visa processing time is 4 working days.

But when I saw the hostel I'm staying at... my instincts of survival kicked in... and I ran to the Visa Place and applied for a FLASH SERVICE - Visa processing time: one minute.

Not really though, the fastest I could get was one working day for $740HK, roughly 75 Euros, BUT STILL! I didn't even know it was possible. Well alright, i knew but- I didn't think it would be possible for Mexicans! We're always refused visa-related concessions. That's why I took a return flight for Friday, because I was 100% sure I'd only be allowed to apply for the regular 4 working days service... and now look at me. Can't change my flight because I OF COURSE took the cheapest flight available (nobody is going to do you any favors in the airline if you took the $21USD fare), so I guess I'm trapped in Hong Kong for the next 3 days.

And I plan on doing A LOT of blogging.

By the way, if there are any mexicans out there, wondering if they'd ever be able to go to Hong Kong for a Chinese visa... o brothers, why you can! They didn't even ask me for a return flight or anything. Just filled in a couple of forms, turned in a passport picture of me-self (terrible by the way) and my passport. Nothing else, it was like magic.

When Milk applied for the same visa, he was asked to present the driver's license of the landlord of the person at whose apartment he was supposed to stay. Madness. Well, that's what happens when a country's president goes on saying bad things about CHINA. Go Sarkozy.

I'm at Shakey's Pizza across the street from the hostel now. Honestly, I don't like it that much, I'm just here to piss off Milk who, for whatever reason, LOVES Shakeys. Probably because of the all-you-can-eat we tried in Japan. Well, Milky dearie, I'm having a small Caesar salad, a 7 inch pepperoni pizza and a Coke for 50 RMB.

Proof, you ask?

Alright, change of scenery. Picked up my visa already, its shiny and beautiful. After that I walked around for a bit, I hadn't realized the Visa Place is ON Wan Chai, well I had realized but you know, not really.

As I was walking down the street I came upon a bar that looked strangely familiar. I realized this is the exact same bar Milk and I came to, about two years ago, where I got a black eye from a complete stranger. We were sparring haha, imagine that! I didn't wanna go back in there, so I just turned the corner and I'm having a beer at another bar that Milk and I visited earlier that night. Brings back memories!

Ah, well now let's take advantage of the nice oak table that is far too tall for me and go back in time. Let's go back all the way to December. By then, I had been writing my thesis for a couple of months, the thesis director assigned to me was the dean of the school, for some reason I was excited about that. I thought, he's BOUND to be the best at this. PhD in Literature and all. My subject was 'The influences of Western Literature in the works of Lu Xun', name that my director chose by the way.

Agh, damn it's too painful to remember, cause it was also my fault... I wrote it all in Chinese, I read a THOUSAND books and went to another THOUSAND researchers' works. It was beautiful, it was mine and I was so proud of it. I knew it by heart and all. The day of the thesis presentation... I got raped by the panel of teachers who were grading me. Raped in the ass.

Turns out, I completely overlook the fact that my subject's key word was 'WESTERN LITERATURE', and made the mistake of dedicating one whole third of the thesis to the influence of Nietzsche on Lu Xun. Fuck that, I didn't notice, and of course, that has been one of the dumbest and biggest mistakes of my adult life. My thesis had the wrong format, too many mistakes like that, I even wrote about Marx. It really made no sense at some point. I was blind to all these mistakes.

Their biggest critique was that my thesis lacked DIRECTION, because from what they said, it is the thesis director's duty to make the student aware of such mistakes. All he did was correct my punctuation, which of course, turned out impeccable.

I was one of the 3 students that were asked to rewrite their thesis. The whole thing. Too many quotes, too many sources, not enough personal commentaries. Those were all MY mistakes. I blame the fucker for not caring enough about my thesis, because all of these mistakes he could have seen from the beginning, and just didn't. I went through hell that week, but ultimately, my thesis was completed. The subject changed to 'The influence of Russian Literature of the 19th century in the novels of Lu Xun', and it was so much better this time around. I mean the subject I had originally chosen was HUGE, and by changing it as I did, all I had to do was write and write and write without doing any more research, as I had already read like a hundred books of russian realism, all of which had a direct influence on Lu Xun. It would have been bliss to write this thesis if I had had the months I could have had.

I especially liked Andreyev's 'The Red Laugh'.

So that would have been December, if not for the most expected and cursed day of the year, better known as Christmas Eve. We hosted a small party at our apartment, sort of like we did last year, only this time we decided, for the mental health of the involved, that NOBODY was doing any cooking whatsoever. C. came up with the idea of ordering a Christmas dinner from this catering place, the logistics were simple enough: We all split the cost of the dinner between ourselves, and everybody brings as much alcohol as they can. Fortunately for most of us, we had a little bit of money saved for this occasion, I say mostly ALL of us because BICHA had just returned from Mexico and was broke.

And what was more, she didn't come back alone. She brought along a boyfriend. Whahhh you ask me, well wahahhah I reply. A Boyfriend. And the boyfriend brought along a cousin, and both of them were also broke.

We decided that the ones with moneys (Milk, G, C, R, a couple of guests and I) would take care of the dinner expenses, and BI and her entourage would handle the drinks, she had to work that night but she promised to take the alcohol the day before the party.

And hell, of course she didn't. She went to work that day and turned off her phone. We were all at the apartment, beautiful turkey and canapes and what not, all ready, and not a drop of alcohol in the apartment. What happened was, we all started fighting over it. Fighting about what? Beats me, guess we all had issues, and me, I'm cursed, I told them and nobody believed me. Last year phone broke down and Nikita was never picked up from the train station... it still hurts when I think of it.

We fought that day, we all did. We were yelling at each other murder because we didn't have any alcohol. I had prepared a bit and bought a bottle of Captain Morgan, but that was all we had, so the boys had to go to the store for beers and they were pissed.

Bicha arrived at around 2 am, by then of course we had all stopped fighting but I don't know, I guess there was something left lingering in the air. Unresolved fights. I'm guessing because it only got WORSE in New Years Eve. Hoo, that night though, was too horrible, too over the top dramatic that I'd feel bad posting about it. Let's just say, half of us cried a lot that night. Openly cried like, down the street, inside a club, while climbing 14 flights of stairs. Intense is the word.

All but Milk, who was smart enough to go home early. Smart boy, that one.

Heps... this is long enough for one entry, I'm posting this while I write some more, yah.

Chinese word of the day:

Hong Kong (xiang1gang3)

Mid-Autumn Festival Sacrifice

There's a man without a face that walks around Shanghai. I've seen him two or three times; he has no ears, no nose, no lips. As he goes, people move sideways to let him walk past them and every single one of them looks away. It's unbelievable, even I have a hard time looking directly at him. I looked away the first two times, I'm sure.

I read a story by Lu Xun about a woman whose first husband died when she was twenty-one years old, and her evil stepmother who, ever since the death of her son, 'owned' her, remarried her to a man with a horrible reputation; she tried to resist the husband but he was 'too strong for her', so nine months later she had her own baby to take care of. The new husband, who turned out to be a fine man, died shortly after. She managed to fight off her previous evil stepmother and she had a little house built for herself and her son by the river.

One day she was washing the rice in the back yard and left her four year old son sitting at the front door, separating the beans from one basket to another; hours went by fast and by the time she realized she hadn't heard one noise from her son she went looking for him... she knew wolves would come down to the village in winter, but she didn't know they would occasionally show during the summer as well. They found the boy deep in the forest, his insides out and half eaten, his little hand still holding on tight to the bean basket.

Years later the woman found work as a servant in some wealthy family's house. The moment she referred her story to the lady of the house, she was forbidden to touch anything that was used for ceremonies and religious offerings, from the tablecloth to the candles, firewood and even chopsticks. Her only task was to clean the rice by the river.

Once word got out of her past sufferings, she was considered a bad omen and henceforth nobody spoke to her, even came close to her, for the rest of her life. She became a beggar a few months after and many, many years later, she died a beggar.

And somehow, in a China that has changed little, there is a man without a face, without a nose, ears and lips. The third time I saw him I stared. He was sitting down, legs crossed, on a little plastic chair just outside Shaanxi Nan Road's subway station, with a magazine on his lap. He was wearing a buttoned up pale blue shirt and grey pants, not a stain on them. It all happened in two seconds but I swear it felt like whole minutes went by as I stared; he was looking down at the magazine scratching his head with his left hand.

And then I realized, he had no hands either. Hmm, I should say fingers. He had no fingers, just the stump of a hand, like his fingers never grew out.

I have thought about it constantly. I cannot imagine a more difficult existence on this planet, I cannot imagine another human being in a worse situation. This man is a Chinese, and he has survived it. He has no hands, but his shirt was buttoned up. He is missing his nose, ears and mouth and yet he was enjoying a magazine in a warm autumn afternoon. He's still alive and I can't stop thinking about what it must have taken to do so. In China.

Is there someone looking after him? There must be, someone who hasn't eaten human flesh yet.

Not even I can say I haven't, that's why I looked away the second he turned his head up. I'm no better than anyone here, we're all terrified still. Nothing has changed for them and now I'm joining in.

So I ask myself, 'Myself, it isn't contagious and you know it, he isn't a bad omen and you know that too. We both know the least you could do is hold your glance when he looks back at you, and that's what's terrifying.

Are you scared of looking at him, or of him looking at you?'

Either way, I still suck.

Chinese word of the day: Mooncake 月饼 yue4bing3

I do hate mooncakes by the way.

Somebody woke up slightly hungover today.

It was an interesting evening, C. planned for us to meet at a bar right at the end of Henshan Rd. Behind Xujiahui Park, turns out they have this promotion on Mondays, buy one get one free on imported beers, only we were there on a Sunday.

What do you do, huh?

Well we bought some beers in the convenience store and headed straight for the park. Hadn't gone drinking in a park for years now. High point of the night: Milk hid behind a bush and jumped on an innocent Chinese couple on their night stroll.

The guy protected himself using his girlfriend as cover, for real. You can't make this stuff up.

We ended up in a KTV right behind Metro City with this insane promotion, one fucking hundred yuan for the whole night until 6 am. Of course, their selection of English songs wasn't the best, still Milk managed to sing his brains out.



Chinese word of the day: Half-price, ban4jia3 半价

And somehow it would all be right if we were back in Corsica. Milk and me.

It's all about this island. It's all about Corsica...