While I was incredibly disappointed that the Canadian hockey players aren’t nearly as friendly as the American basketball players, I nonetheless enjoy news about them and the Scorpions. Here’s a fantastic article from the Financial Times (of all places) about Montador, Reinprecht, and most notably, about that wonderful city that I call home (I promise, it’s not as bad as the article makes it sound!). ENJOY!!!
Chapter 94 – Back in Francophonia
November 4, 2004
Mulhouse sports update…FCM Basket: Still in fifth place after playing (and winning) only one game while I was away. Next game: Friday, in Mulhouse, against Aix-Maurienne. As for hockey, they had 3 games while I was gone (2 at home, including one against Rouen, which I would have loved to have seen…especially since they won! 4-2!) The other two, against Dijon and Amiens Somme, were won 6-1 and 3-1 respectively…putting us on top, and Rouen in third place! I haven’t been to a Storks (rugby) match in ages, so hopefully I’ll be able to make it to one this weekend…although I don’t even know if they’re playing in Mulhouse…or at all for that matter.
November 12, 2004
Just to make life difficult, last week’s basketball and hockey matches were on the same day. I had already made plans to go to basketball though, and Lynn got VIP tickets to hockey so, since the games weren’t at the same time, I decided to try for both. Hockey was at 5:30 or 5:45 depending who you believed, and basketball was at 8:00. We got to hockey in plenty of time, but the stands were already pretty packed. Lynn and I had to go through separate doors (ooooo VIP) but ended up in the same place in the stands (which is what I had wanted anyway) just one row back instead of front row behind the Scorpions’ bench. I was horrified when cheerleaders in cowboy boots and hats hesitantly made their way onto the ice (cheerleaders and hockey???) and they weren’t too happy as they waited and waited for the players to come out…there was a problem with the ice. Top team in the league can’t keep their ice frozen. There was a section at one side, a couple of square metres, that had softened. After passing the zamboni over it, they collected snow from it and tried patting it down. Then, after another wait, firemen showed up and were spraying extinguishers onto the ice. It was sooooo ridiculous. By 6:30, 5 or 10 minutes after they did get the players out on the ice, they decided to call off the game. Wow. Can someone teach these Frenchies to maintain an ice rink??? As a result of not playing, Mulhouse couldn’t (clearly) add a win to its record and so has lost first place (we’re down to third). In the end, of course, I had lots of time to get to the basketball game, which Mulhouse won 98-84, pushing them from fifth to fourth place. Go Mulhouse Go!
So that’s it for updates, now to tell you about my trip…
Friday, October 22, 2004
Despite the party atmosphere at Murphy’s following FCM’s win that night, I managed to get away relatively early. Being a soon-to-be old bag, I don’t have a lot of terribly late nights anyway, but I had the added excuse of needing to pack in the morning.
Saturday, October 23, 2004
While I used to write packing list upon packing list weeks in advance of even short trips to the cottage, I’ve gotten to the point of packing (sans list) the night before or, in this case, the day of, surprisingly without stressing too much about items I might forget. Here we were, leaving for 9 days, and I’d prepared nothing.
When I got up, I set to work cleaning up the “bordel” (French for giant mess) that was my room, finding things I needed to pack as I went. I packed fairly minimally, even opting out of bringing a change of “trainers” (British for running shoes), or any other shoes for that matter, to save space. I went through the bathroom cupboards and my desk drawers, poured shampoo and conditioner into travel-size containers, and other such things. I was amazed when I had a clean room and a packed bag in less than an hour.
By the time Lynn and Lynda (who was staying over for a few days awaiting a long-promised new mattress from CLOUS – the people in charge of Batiment A and such – to replace the bed-bug infested one that they haven’t bothered to remove) were starting to move about, I was cleaning out the fridge (long overdue anyway) and boiling some eggs (to use them up). As I write this, I realize how much I’m going to enjoy coming home to a clean (if empty) fridge. I wish I had defrosted the freezer too, but that’s less of a big deal.
A few minutes before our 2:15 rendez-vous at the chateau, I called Tim (since I had originally told him 2:30, and had only just found out that Nico had later told him 2:15) to figure out when he would arrive. I was relieved to hear that he was walking, however the conversation revealed that he had taken a wrong turn (he had never walked to our place from his before, and didn’t know the way; things are not always as logical as they seem in this city). Oops. He still made it before Nico (who was being dropped off) and Marc (who so incredibly kindly was giving us a ride to the airport). When they arrived “pile à l’heure” (exactly on time) we collected our stuff, took out the garbage, and grabbed the last two boiled eggs. Nobody really wanted them, but I finally convinced Tim (who never says no to food if you insist enough – sometimes requiring much less insistence) and Nico to eat them.
We got to the airport exactly when we had planned (that is to say plenty early) giving us an hour and 20, rather than the 40 minutes recommended. Now, I don’t remember how much I’ve told you about Mulhouse / Basel airport, so pardon any repetition…The airport (as you may have guessed by the name) is shared between France and Switzerland, and is situated between Paris and Zurich…or, more specifically, between Mulhouse and Basel. While on French soil, one side of it is considered Swiss territory (not unlike one side of the Basel train station, which is considered French territory). In fact, there is apparently even a highway from Basel to the airport, from which you can go nowhere else, and on which you do not have to pass through customs. Anyway, the EasyJet check-in desk is on the Swiss side of the airport, which meant “crossing the border” (and having our passports checked) simply to check in. This was the first time I had had to do that, since even my Swissair flight to London last year had a check-in desk on the French side. I also discovered, several months ago, that flights leaving from “Mulhouse” are sometimes (often?) cheaper than those leaving from “Basel,” and that they include a 1 minute flight / stopover from Mulhouse to Basel (perhaps accounting for the price difference?). I guess that’s how they manage to squeeze a bit more form the (richer) Swiss (whose incomes are a fair bit higher than their counterparts just across the boarder), or maybe it’s because I use French sites (well, I have to since my point of origin is in France) to look up prices.
We got ourselves checked in, and, boarding numbers in hand, went out for our respective health abominations (ice cream or nicotine). While EasyJet uses the same first come – first served basis for seat assignment as RyanAir, they lessen the rush and crush factor at the gate by calling groups (usually of 30) in order of when they checked in, rather than having a plane-load of people trying to push to the front to get their preferred seat. We were an interesting bunch; A Scot from Aberdeenshire, a Frenchie from Alsace, a Canadian from “near Toronto” (as I have gotten a little too used to saying), and an American from Seattle (wearing a tweed jacket that just _screamed_ history teacher, but had been given to him as a gift, having been bought in Scotland in the first place).
I had already guessed that EasyJet, like RyanAir, would operate pretty much exclusively in English, but was nonetheless surprised by the rudeness with which a British flight attendant was dealing with 3 clearly French-speaking passengers in the front row. There were told – much to my surprise – that if they didn’t understand her, they couldn’t sit where they were. A French-speaking flight attendant later asked the people sitting behind us if they spoke English, and we finally found out why; passengers at the emergency exits must understand English in the event of an emergency; fair enough, but the rudeness was more than a little unnecessary. Next came the captain’s speech, which started with the comment “the weather in London is…well…not as good as it is here.” An amusing, yet foreboding comment to start the trip.
We arrived in Stansted, collected our baggage and headed through customs. Amusingly, despite having to fill out a form, and answer questions which the others didn’t have to, Tim and I made it through customs faster, since there was only one other non-EU citizen in line for the “non-EU” side of customs. We then paid the (highly over-priced) 13£ for the train into the city. By the time we got to the hostel (a very good one: Journey’s Kings Cross, and good price – 9£50 per night if booked online), got the quick tour (brand new furniture – the hostel was redone in August) we were starving. At the suggestion of the guy at the front desk, we headed in the direction of “Angel.” It took ages to get there, and was all uphill. The first restaurant we seriously considered was a little on the expensive side, so we continued on and soon found a decent-looking Italian place, that was slightly cheaper but clearly popular enough to be trustworthy. It turned out to be fantastic, and I made a mental note to remember the name and / or address, but I’ve (inevitably) forgotten it. The service was great (and possibly all Italian) and the food was incredible. After dinner we headed back to the hostel to chill, but ended up just going to bed upon finding most of our roommates (it was an 8-bed dorm room) already asleep.
