stairs

San Sebastiàn last week-end.

Carnival with a native and an Irish kid.

Walking hands, spanish people dressed up as spanish people, recorders, calimocho, egg earrings, underwear incidents, confessions, animal instincts, mating cats, scrambled omelettes, brie, grafitti, snobs, haircuts and friendly dalmation.

Now

Christmas was
Cosy
Cold
Tiresome
Friendly
Different
Traditional



Stockholm was
Cold
Silent
Calm
Slow
Sophisticated


Toulouse is
Warmer
Lively
Strange
Gray


My new apartment is
Fresh
Cold
Pretty
Far away

banana slips

Lately I have been hibernating.
not much to tell about that.

However, I found an apartment, without looking (which, considering some recent events, no longer surprises me).
I am going to move into a fairly new, fresh and white-walled T4 some kilometers outside the centre. It is the sort of new high security area I dreaded when I worked for France Loisirs. You need 2 different codes to get into the building, bit while inside there is swimming pool for all inhabitants, yay. (though I imagine it is consistently polluted and filled with screaming children during the bathable part of the year).
The apartment is inhabited by a spanish girl studying homeopathy or something in that general direction, and a french guy selling elevators. Actually, they seem to be quite a pleasant bunch of people.

So, Saturday I, and my little man are off. Sweden, Sweden. I'm actually really looking forward to it. I need a change of air.
After skiing with family, New year will be spent with old friends in Stockholm.
I'm rather happy about that.

Joyeux Noël to the ones of you who want one.

To responsible

Dear universe,

I'm afraid I may have disappointed you, by being a spoiled little brat.
I quit my job. Not because there was anything obviously wrong with it. Not because I didn't do very well. No, I just didn't like it.

More than two weeks have passed since, and I have done absolutely nothing.
I keep telling myself I'll go register myself as unemployed "tomorrow".
And I'll go swimming "tomorrow". On second thought I have a slight cold, no good swimming when you're sick, is it.
And yes, I will start looking for an apartment. But on second thought, no one will grant me one as long as I don't have a job. So, I might as well wait...

Later.

And, I should go out. Discover all the lovely hidden corners of my new city. But on second thought, it's fucking freezing. Later. In springtime maybe.


Wait! Don't go yet. I remembered something that will surely please the universe.
I am finally making music, with people. I am even singing, God forbid.
And no, not the infantile "we're gonna be rock stars"-kind of thing. This art bitch is making jazz, my friend. And even better: Bossa nova. Who does bossa these days?
Well, honoured universe, if it wasn't for us, no one would. Well no one who counts anyway.


All my fabulous plans for christmas and new year fell to the ground, and a traditional skiing family christmas in the north of sweden has taken its place. Which might not be so bad after all. Especially if my little man* is coming with me.

*I've been wondering what on earth to call this creature. Boyfriend sounds silly somehow. My man sounds far too possessive, not to mention married.
Any other suggestions are more than welcome.



Some pictures from a time when I actually put my foot outside the door.

Little me

Christ.. I just got a job.
One I was convinced I wouldn't get, since I didn't actually want it. Something that should be fairly easy to detect in a job interview, especially dealing with a terrible liar like myself.

But no. It seems the smug capitalist with a charming smile somehow thought giving me a try (they can sack me at any moment during the first three months) would be worth it. I will be knocking doors, smiling, and pouring out a standardized river of phrases in order to lead the poor costumer to buy books, voyages, and I don't even know what really. That's how much I know about this company I am now going to work for.

I will be working long days.. I will have to be NICE to people. Not an easy task, but I WILL do my best. And it will bring me a fair amount of money. Which is not exactly bad, though not a huge motivation for me.

Wednesday it is. Stay tuned.



So, let's bring the tape back some steps.
Back to Sweden:

Smultron

To my slight disappointment, my mother country turned out to be just as I left it, but without a pleasant group of friends, neatly collected in one place.

However, there are a few things that make it worth while:
- Kanelbullar
- Swedish television
- Swedish fullkornsbröd
- Lätta

I hope things will take a more interesting turn quite soon though, when I head off to various corners of our long country to visit some old familiar faces. Dear ones.

Meanwhile, I watch swedish idol, top model, friends, ellen degeners show, beatles documentaries, odd films on old japanese men with cats and whatnot, while eating whatever that lovely big family fridge has to offer.

I also managed to book my return flight tickets for october instead of september. there goes 150 euros.
AND forget my cellphone charger.
Way to go, myleen.

*

Ca y est. My days as breakfast waitress are over.
Yesterday I set off to toulouse with all my stuff. And on friday, dearest old Sweden. I've missed you lately, it seems.

Expectations

I just thought it would be called for to inform you all that I am as of now a blonde.
I, however, suspect the state may become somewhat brief.

Differences

Pictures speak for themselves.

Lately

Once again (never enough) Myleen and Karin does Paris, beloved Paris.

Myleen does Bordeaux.
And big bloody sand dune. (supposedly the biggest in europe or something in that general direction)
No room for laughs in Versailles.

Mmmbop

Yesterday one of the most exhausting weeks of my life came to an end.
The youth exchange titled "Knowing Your Neighbours" was not the pleasant success I had hoped for.
It was a constant war.
However, as the right says, wars are necessary. Though I may be opposed to this idea from a political point of view, I can still agree that concflicts and problems may teach you a lesson.
I am tempted to draw the conclusion "I will never ever again organize anything", which is of course preposterous, so the next in line is "I will only organize things with good friends or people who share my goals and working methods", but this doesn't seem quite rational either, in the long run. I guess I'll just have to learn to cooperate.
Darn.

However, as every youth exchange, the week was also filled with happy encounters, and enthusiastic romances. And I watched it all with a comfortable detachment, and fair amount of pride.

Today, I leave the foyer, after more than 10 months in this building. My feelings could be summed up in two words; Thank God.
I made a brief visit to my new home earlier today, leaving all my stuff in a tolerable but smelly room in the Hostellerie Fontanges. I am at least pleased that I will not have to share it.

I am curious to see how I will handle a real job, and even more so to see how I will manage to get up at 6 a.m. every day...

Peace

Myleen discovering that life is a struggle

Summersongs

So, that was it.
It's finished.

No more volunteer. No more long nights surrounded by Russian boys.
I had some nice moments. I learned a lot. I'm very happy with my decision to do this, but I'm so darn relieved it's over.

I've spent some time with my parents, who came over to get some of my stuff.
Conques, Montpellier, Avignon, and I returned to Rodez and pont du gard. I refused to go into monoprix.


This weekend I took the train to Toulouse, after an invitation from mr metalhead Vincent, whose group were playing in a concert/festival. Was an eventful weekend, with people of different genres, most of which were rather agreeable.

I realized that there really is a difference in culture after all, every time I asked for the way, or whatnot on the street, briefly explaining the way was not enough for the toulousians, no, they explain two or three times, while smiling broadly.
Gosh, they're so.. nice. Silly word, but it seems suitable.

I was also struck by how easy it is sometimes, this social thing, when I was at the concert, went up to a member of a group I had really enjoyed and told him exactly that. This, after about 45 seconds lead to a "Tu veux une bière?" and more or less the rest of the evening in their company, and some half serious plans about creating a new music constellation, including a flute. It sounds af if I think it's super awesome cool to hang out with bands, but that's not at all my point, the thing that amazes me is how people somehow manage to put you at ease, and communicate so unforced and sincerely.


In little more than two weeks the long awaited exchange will take place. I have doubts about the quality of the theater, but none concerning the amusement of the participants, and creation of new friendships. Always something to look forward to.
One day after the exchange, I will, If everything goes according to plans, take my stuff and head to le Château Servayrie, where I will be more or less totally isolated during two months. But I will get some money, and have some time to read, compose, walk in the beautiful landscape, and all other things I've been meaning to do, but never get around to.

After that, I have no fucking idea.

Which is actually pretty cool, in a way.

PariBerlis

18th of February I took a night train to Paris, beloved Paris.
I arrived at such an early hour that my conscience stopped me from calling my host. Hence, I spent some hours in the train station, too tired and unmotivated to go out into the cold. As I live in the south of france, I had completely failed to notice the fact that it was winter, and had brought nothing more than a spring jacket.
As I was quietly eating the macaronis with carrots that I had brought, someone started talking to me. Which could have been nice, if it wasn't for the fact that he had a slight desperation in is way. After having fought him off, in a verbal manner, I asked myself if I was wrong or right in reacting like this towards a "too" social behaviour.


After a couple of tired, blurred hours the radio-voiced man called me, and after a brief description and several confused text messages I courageously found my way to 41B on Rue something something. Greeting me was not mr Spy, but an altogether high-spirited italian girl. Familiar to me since several pleasant occasions before.
We decided to take a stroll, and find the previous residence of la Môme, also known as Edith Piaf. So we did, and we also seized the opportunity to be excessively french; buying some delicious pâtisserie on the way back. Feeling somewhat less french and a tad more touristy taking a picture of ourself eating previously mentioned in the middle of the street... but anyway
My love for cemeteries got enforced after a visit to the famous Père-Lachaise. There found personalities of several different genres, namely Oscar Wilde, Morrison and Frédéric Chopin.
Oscar's tomb was surprisingly modern, and covered with thousands of red mouths from never ending admirers. I find it somehow comforting how a man of brilliance, despised and hunted down in his day, at least receives such a considerate amount of love some hundred years later. Though it is not much of a comfort for him. (As he is dead, after all..)

Paris was beautiful, as always. And whatever people tell me, about the dirt, the people, the stress: Je m'en fiche.


Next stop: Berlin.

First thing that hit me, was that everything seemed wide, big, and cold. The first meal we consumed was, ironically enough, exaggeratedly american donuts and hot chocolate. Yummy though. Next to us was a group of british teenagers, that filled me with several and not necessarily compatible sensations: 1 British accent is bloody irresistable 2 Teenagers are bloody insupportable.

As my memory already starts to fail me, I am not able to give a detailed account of the entire visit, I will instead give a short selection of diverse and random grains of memories:

How we didn't find Clara, and Clara didn't find us. It was raining. I was désesperée, and annoyed. But somehow destiny brought us together.

All the Back Street Boys posters in the subway. At one moment we started singing Back Street's Back ALRIGHT at the exact same time as some other random strangers.

How we managed to visit no less than THREE H&M in the capital of Germany.

The scrumptious and innovative drink (cherry, banana, raspberry vodka?) accompanied by contradictory and painfully but wonderfully nostalgic Kent from 1995.

How a big team of running, threatening, but somehow infinitely comical policemen attacked our three male companions. And how we, not knowing whether to laugh or be afraid waiting innocently next to an indian restaurant. (Being uncomfortably eyeballed by dodgy boys)

How an involuntary and expensive visit to a tacky but seemingly popular dance club somehow turned out to be a rather delightful evening.
Did anyone ever see Myleen dancing to Hiphop ?


How Karin fell asleep in Starbucks.


Back in Paris I felt odd, but was quickly carried by the wind, as dear Olivier was his old overly positive self.
Despite some cryptic personal crises, some wonderful moments were passed, and some important works of art were seen (louvre, at last), as some important fights were won (how i missed you, tekken)

Fragonard

Plumbers

To participate in a festival, knowing people, who knew people. Listening to french music, being able to sing the lyrics. Exchanging numbers. Eating baguettes, drinking wine.

All this made me feel somehow comfortably integrated in the french culture.

All this got pushed out of place somewhat by the fact that the only band that got me properly excited was british though. (go listen! http://www.myspace.com/youaredeadkids)
Peu importe...



Dearest Karin finally payed me a visit, and got to see a rainy Rodez. She looks happy enough though, maybe thanks to the nutella crêpe.
I can also report that spring has finally arrived. I try to enjoy while I can, as I know that soon I will be complaining that it's too hot.

Wearing these stockings in the sun got me a very original sunburn