Cultural Ritual Protocol

I was dismayed to see that the French rugby team were fined for their response to the Haka at the World Cup Grand Final. Apparently there is a 10 meter exclusion zone for the ‘cultural ritual.’ This isn’t the first time that a team opposing the Kiwis has been challenged for responding inappropriately. I can… Continue reading Cultural Ritual Protocol

Divorced

Toulouse feels a bit like Brussels as you walk down narrow streets lined with shops to suddenly pop out into a large square. I’m not really in the mood to experience the country this time, though, as I’ve come to get divorced. The process began in about October with a couple of forms to sign,… Continue reading Divorced

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Roads to Paris

I got a lift with Jahnavi and Scott to Paris on Sunday, after lunch at Sabine’s parents’ own little manor, ready to catch the train to England on Monday. The roads got wider but more congested the closer we got to Paris until it took as long to do the last fifty kilometres as it… Continue reading Roads to Paris

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Ni glass ni crystal

With all the time I’ve spent in France, I’ve never bought a souvenir. I’ve never been interested in trinkets that I can hang on the wall, so I dragged my friends into town on the Sunday morning to find a shop that sold red wine goblets. A small store on a sharp corner did the… Continue reading Ni glass ni crystal

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French Wedding

Sabine and Glyn met while hiking, so the theme of their wedding was ‘tying the knot’ supported by a picture of two pairs of well-worn hiking boots with laces tied together. It was on the invitations, the website and on the menu at each table. Neither are very religious so they skipped the church in… Continue reading French Wedding

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Stone Houses

Day 2 was harder for all the reasons I thought I’d enjoy it more. I caught my train into the countryside and was directed to a quaint hotel on a big roundabout, but otherwise surrounded by fields. I dropped my bags and went for a walk along the country roads, enjoying the views of rolling… Continue reading Stone Houses

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Nothing to Hate

I only realised that I wanted to hate France a few hours after I got back. The language sounds like a bunch of Neanderthal women developed it when their menfolk failed to kill the mammoth again. The streets smell of piss. Even without their famed arrogance, the people are as ugly as the rest of… Continue reading Nothing to Hate

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