Only in France Part III

This place never cease to amaze us with its idiosyncrasies!

- One of it came to surface today when Sophie was invited to a playdate at a fellow Malaysian family's place.  The first time Sophie was invited to a birthday party a few months ago, I took her to her classmate's house, expecting some tete-a-tete with other mothers while the children played in some other corner of the house.  I showed up at the apartment, the parent opened the door with a smile, took my child from me, said "You can pick her up at 5pm", and then closed the door on me.  I did not even literally step into the apartment.  I left with a head full of question marks, half of which is related to what I am going to do for the next 4 hours.  I spent it in the nearby pharmacy.  Needless to say, I was starting to worry the sales ladies there, but I did leave with many potions and bottles of things I will need in the next 12 months, so I hope that made up for it.  

The next time Sophie was invited to another party, we showed up, produced the child, and left immediately.  No more skulking around, wondering if we'd be asked inside for a rest or a chat.  Same thing happened when we invited her friend to our place for a playdate.  

So today, with the same expectations in mind, I sent her to her Malaysian classmate's house, left some instructions, and then proceeded to leave.  But the parents protested, invited me to sit for a while, and then plied me with keropok (deep fried prawn crackers), rojak (Malaysian fruit salad), durian, ice-cream, hot sweet teh (tea), relaxed conversation, and I passed more than 3 hours without realising it.  When I reported it to YL later, he said, "that's Asian hospitality, lah".  Oh yah, that's what it was.  I'd forgotten all about it.   

- The French have a sure way to defeat all foreigners who decide to make France their home.  Just look at what they make you do when taking photos for official documents, e.g. passports, driving licenses, medical cards, etc.  It is FORBIDDEN to smile or even reveal a sliver of your teeth in these photos.  Those ubiquitous photo booths you find in every metro station which Parisians use to take such photos gives very specific instructions that you DO NOT smile in your picture.  There are many sample photos of smiling people with a big red X over their faces so you cannot claim that you did not understand those instructions in French.  Heck, you are even given the chance to take three versions of your photo and then choose the most un-smiling one because smiling is a crime here.  

So even the most dreamy, delighted French-wannabe is reduced to a miserable, wretched, pursed-lipped, fugitive in their official papers.  Have you ever wondered what we would look like as terrorists?  Or if we were possessed by aliens?  Or if we were a family of undead zombies?  Wanna look at our French identification papers?

- French is supposed to be a beautiful language, and the people who speak them, charming, cultured and classy.  But somewhere there is a gross misconception, because the French also routinely makes juvenile unbecoming faces and sounds in their daily speech.  They voice their indignation with pfffhh, they roll their eyes and shrug their shoulders, they twitch their lips into exaggerated angles, and - what I find most disconcerting - blow loud raspberries with very distinct vibrating pouty lips, accompanied by a spray of saliva.  Sometimes they also make sounds that can be best described as someone farting.  These are  well-coiffed, well-dressed, professional men and women.  I cannot deal with these incongruent images.  But the next time I make farting sounds or spray you with my saliva when we chat, please do not despise me.

This video proves that I am not making this up...

Thou Shall Not Steal....

....especially in the House of God. 

About a month ago, on one of our routine weekend jaunts around town, I was pick-pocketed, very likely inside the Notre Dame church.  I had no idea it happened, but when I looked for my wallet sometime after leaving the church, it was gone.  And with that, I lost my identity cards, bank cards and driving licenses in 3 countries.  (yes yes, too late to tell me now that I should not have put all my foreign identification cards in my wallet)  I made my first police report, and it was in French.  

So the photos below are brought to you at a great price...enjoy.  

View of the Seine River, Eiffel Tower in the background, from the Pont Neuf.

Holding tight

I have seen quite a few stained glass windows, and the ones in the Notre Dame are one of the best.

View of Paris from the top of the Notre Dame.  We queued for half an hour and then climbed 387 steps up to the top of the church to see this.  It was worth it.

It was also worth the climb to see these fantastic grotesque creatures hanging around the rooftop.

These gargoyles are near the church bells famously depicted in Victor Hugo's novel, Hunchback of the Notre Dame.

International Day Again

Pardon me for the silence in the past several weeks; work has been crazy and it is just a matter of time before I  have to prove my worth to my company for sending us on this prolonged family holiday in Paris :)  The early mornings-and-late-nights-at-the-office routine is nothing much to blog about, except lauding YL's quiet unflinching tolerance looking after two boisterous, bickering kids at home till bedtime.  (His actual words were "We're happy without you".  Hmmm.  Tact have never been his forte.) 


But finally, there is something to talk about this weekend, Sophie's school's annual International Day.  I helped out at the same event on my own last last year, and it was a real pleasure to be able to attend it this year with her.  Like last year, the idea is to create an opportunity for the kids to learn about the countries and cultures of their classmates.  They are each given a "passport" with a different country on each page, and they have to answer a few questions about each country to receive a stamp.   There were 38 countries on display this year.

And once again, the Malaysian makcik and kakak (aunties & sisters) have put together an impressive room to welcome the "tourists".  The place was filled with Tourism Malaysia posters and paraphernalia.  For food, we had curry puffs, dodol, wajik, love letters, muruku, teh tarik & nasi lemak (these last 2 on the menu are reserved for Malaysians only :) ). 

YL demonstrating batu seremban and congkak to Sophie.

Sophie is a real tourist in her own country.  She does not understand Malay, is averse to spicy food, and does not know what is an orang utan is until today.  She identifies herself as Singaporean.  She said to me after the event that if there was a Singapore booth, she would have been able to answer all the questions without help and without a doubt.  Oh when will our beloved country sort itself out?  When will we be able to return to our tanah tumpahnya darahku*? (* Literal translation:  the land where I spilled my blood.  You know what I mean)  

The Chinese sheikh

She was rather proud of getting her stamp for Italy without help.  

(Who painted the Mona Lisa?)

Trying on the Korean hangbok 

She took one look at the sunflowers and knew the answer to the question in the Netherlands

(Name a famous Dutch painter.)

Writing her name in Japanese

These Japanese snacks were one of the best I had today 

While over at the good ole' United States of the America, guess what they served?  Popcorn.

With some of her best friends in school.  The medals were given out by the Great Britain booth, in celebration of the Olympics to be held in London this summer.

And finally, we're home, in Malaysia...