A Fast Month

I should try and make some effort to write myself up to date on my life. Apologies for brevity, if I was more on the ball with my writing I would have more detailed recollections. As one of my housemates just said - it's been a long month, but a fast month. We had a full week of intense training for everyone, which was certainly draining. Part of the reason it was so taxing was our loosely established lifestyle at the Diocese, which made a proper routine elusive. The training itself was, for the most part, quite fascinating (for me at least). Some of the lectures even satisfied my appetite for academics, which I have been sorely missing. Some of the training period consisted of sessions on protocol, safety, institutional responsibility and various other tedious subjects. The majority, however, was made up of historical and interpretive training. The philosophy was to start big and work down to the specifics. Personally I enjoyed the discussions of the "big" moreso than the small, and some of the endless grinding through farm fields where neat things would have been was tiresome. Nevertheless I thoroughly enjoyed the experience and would like to thank our two primary instructors Nigel Cave and Phillip Robinson. Nigel is a late-middle aged English Catholic with a PhD and an acerbic wit. His endless jabs and sarcasm were quite unforgettable and his instruction was superb. Phillip I worked with less as he focused on Vimy, but he was a delightful chap as well. No formal background in history, but decades of experience with the Royal Engineers. The retired colonel is deeply involved in trench and tunnel excavation and disarming of antique explosives. Both are quite well regarded in their fields. At the end of our week of training both the summer and fall guides as well as pretty much every other employee of the two sites had a huge "Méchoui" at the home of our boss. Méchoui is just a fancy name for a lamb-roast-party, but it was a jolly good time and I snapped some nifty photos. It wasn't particularly heart wrenching for the new crowd, but for the departing guides it was definitely an emotional night - especially for those whose interguide romances were ending. I can imagine that our own departure in December will be equally touching. It did give me a taste of the personalities of the old group, but I feel like on the whole both groups did less mingling and more introspection. One group just beginning to establish its social dynamic, the other's being torn down. Again, I can only imagine the complexity and depth of the relationships after a full session. After barely a month I feel I could write a treatise on our own. This didn't come as much of a surprise to me, but it is impressive nonetheless. When you spend so much of your time with so few people you just get to know them really damn well.

Anyway we were promptly injected into our living and working routine which will remain more or less consistent throughout our stay. There are four possible placement combinations for each individual. Each person can either work at Vimy or Beaumont-Hamel and and live at either Maison Vauban or Maison St. Aubert. For those who aren't familiar Vimy Ridge and Beaumont-Hamel are the only two Canadian 1st World War memorials in France that have interpretive staff. As for the houses, they are both rented for our benefit by Veterans Affairs Canada (VAC). st. Aubert is on the main downtown drag in Arras and is more like a modern apartment. The other, Vauban is a more traditional and spacious home. We work five days over seven from ten till six, which for us (five) B-Hers means leaving Arras no later than 9:15 in order to open on time and getting back to the house at 6:45ish. The primary task of our staff is providing guided tours, which I've come to appreciate. There's a particular art to it and getting it right can be very rewarding. It can be tedious at times, and tiring when dealing with heavy visitor traffic. at times it can be quite monotonous and drab, especially when the weather is crap or when nobody shows up. More often than not, we're busy with something and I generally enjoy myself quite thoroughly. At this point my desire to go back to school is greater than my desire to extend my visit, so there's a good chance I'll end up back in Canada in the winter. The story of my site is fascinating and very moving and I particularly enjoy presenting it in such a way that it illuminates many aspects of the great war for people. At BH, unlike Vimy, each tour guides approach end up more unique and personalized. If I get a chance, I'd very much like to transcribe it, now that it's faily cemented in my head, and slap it together with a few pictures to try and recreate it for the viewers at home.

Back in town, home life is quite an interesting time in itself. For the most part everyone gets along quite well, and our house at Vauban is particularly blessed with easy-going people. Until the end of September I have the honour of being the only male at the maison Vauban, earning me the nickname Vauman. I won't try and explain the ridiculous dynamic this has created, but suffice it to say that I have role to play in the house that is altogether pleasant and the ladies of Vauban make me feel very appreciated. They really are a fantastic bunch, and even when we do nothing it's a blast. Unfortunately I don't get to see so much of the residents of St. Aubert, especially those who work at Vimy. We do have pretty frequent group dinners, outings, parties etc. Arras isn't exactly a party town, but there are a couple of bars and clubs that stay open long enough to accommodate us. With the fairly spacious homes hosting a party is never a problem and wines and beers are dirt cheap. Arras is full of restaurants, as is pretty much any mid or greater size French community. The food is almost always great, no matter where we go. That's definitely one cultural difference I've noticed, no matter how cheap you go, unless they are serving only for tourists or aquired taste dishes, pretty much everything is delicious. As long as real French people eat there, they can't get away with anything less. Other cultural issues, I think, will require a separate discussion later. For the French drinking with food is mandatory, and more drinking usually takes place before and after, but rarely to excess. Only in pubs and clubs on occassion, but even that seems rare. Our North American attitudes towards booze, combined with the cheap price and obscene availability (anywhere that sells anything) have lead many guides past and present to consume more liquor than we would at home. I don't see it negatively impacting me too greatly, but its something I intend to keep an eye on.

Holidays are given in advance and other guides always share your days off. One learns fairly quickly who they would prefer to travel with and I've had the chance to take several trips already with and without company. Paris I visited just for an evening, mostly to see a nifty concert called Rock-en-Seine with a couple of my coworkers, but also got some touristy stuff done. Brie, Emily and Sophie had been there for both days of it and they convinced me to come out for an evening to see the Raconteurs on the second night of the concert. Getting there was a bit of a pain but I feel like it was well worth it. We all slept crammed into a budget hotel room made for three and took the early train back to work. Marseille was awesome as well, I travelled there with my friend Corinne, whose idea it was. Otherwise I probably never would have thought to go. The city is ancient and absolutely beautiful, and the weather on the Mediterranean can't be beat. The city is teeming with life and features an interesting blend of French, Italian and North African/Middle Eastern culture. Although the Franco-Italian side dominates the tourist areas, the other elements stem from modern migration. We visited old fortifications, gorgeous churches, old abbeys and took a boat tour to an island chateau. We watched the sunset on the beach and dined at dusk on the water under a blanket of Jazz. The hostel was a bit crappy but we didn't spend a whole lot of time there. The French absolutely loved Corinne, who is Québecoise. Most of the people we met didn't know dick about Canada, but they really love the idea of Quebec. I'm curious if any other old colonial nations have such idealized view of their old territories, or is it just because it passed over to the English so early that they have this strange sentiment towards it. Certainly Corinne's cheery personality helped to bring it out of them. The long train ride home, like the arrival, was quite painless and rather relaxing, something I would like to do more often.

Comparitively getting to Madrid was quite hectic as the Beauvais airport (where Ryanair flies) is way the hell out in the middle of nowhere. This necessitates all kinds of peripheral travel arrangements just to get there and back on time. I was a little nervous as it was both my first time alone and my first trip to a country where I really don't speak the language. I met a very interesting Polish guy on the way over and got lots of fascinating insights on western and eastern European culture. The hostel I stayed in was bitchin and very high tech, gorgeous, clean and offered lots of great activities and I took part in all of them. I did a walking tour that gave me all the sightseeing I could want, a Tapas tour where I sampled excellent Spanish finger goods and drunk delicious sangria, and a pub crawl that gave me a taste of the outrageous nightlife of Madrid which last until dawn on the right nights of the week. The pub crawl was probably my least favourite, our group being composed almost entirely of drunk Brits and Aussies, it didn't feel particularly authentic. Some of the places we visited, however, were throbbing with local crowds. I walked through one of Madrid's beautiful public parks in the evening for hours until I was too accosted by drug dealers to stay. My time spent in the Reine Sofia and Del Prado art Museums was incredible. Del Prado had one of the best collections in Europe, presonal highlights include Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights and the greatest works of Goya's black period. Greatest of all was the Reine Sophia's Picasso/Guernica exhibit. Probably the most powerful exhibition I've ever seen in my life. It was utterly indescribably moving. All throughout I met interesting people from Europe, North and South America and Oceania. Sadly I didn't really get to know many proper Spanish people, as hardly any Spaniards speak English. Overall a great experience. Lastly our evening visit to Lille can't go without mention. Lille is a moderatley sized town on the border with Belgium where we went for a colossal holiday party called the Braderie. There thousands come to get drunk, eat mussels and buy utter crap. The city was packed to the Brim with French people, some even rowdy and drunk, overall a good time. For those who have the chance to look through my photos, the Lille trip is put together with an evening in Arras for our "Wine and Cheese". We ended up at some of our usual bars and had a particularly fun night, especially we ended up dancing at an underground club. Some of the photos I snagged are quite memorable.

Anyhow thats a pretty brief summary of my activities to date, sadly lacking in in insights that occured to me at the time. I shall try and make an make an effort to concentrate my thoughts on cultural issues that have occured to me and try to draw something out of that. For the meantime my thoughts remain engaged in my little social bubble and my upcoming plans.

Injected

I had originally intended to make a second entry much sooner, but I found myself perennially occupied with other things. Too self involved to write a blog, can you believe it? To be fair, I have been quite busy during the past few weeks. Not just with work, but socializing and traveling as well. Also I'm particularly frustrated with this damnable blogging software, its so absolutely impossible to effectively incorporate images and text. I'm gonna keep working on it/see if i can find something better. If my photos aren't incorporated with the text, please look at them anyway, they are an essential part of my presentation.

So I flew across the Atlantic. The not-so-little Zoom Airlines (R.I.P) craft was decent, but far from luxurious. The flight was a red eye, so most people slept, and I attempted to do so. Most of my time was spent in a dozy state, mostly on the wakeful side. I remember clearly being haunted by the grinning face of Ashton Kutcher on some god-awful in-flight movie. I deplaned early in the morning and had to wait around for about three hours in the train station. I was ever so slightly culture shocked from the graduation to all French, mostly because of the new language imperative. That is to say, it was suddenly not an option for me to go back to my first language. Getting used to it has definitely given me insight into the experience of the millions who live as immigrants/etc. in areas where they are constantly forced to speak a second language. I can really appreciate the pleasure of being able to return to a little enclave of one's native language at home or in a ghetto. The interesting thing is being able to take this with you, especially into public places. It first occurred to me while walking and talking in a grocery store. The bubble of privacy is strangely exciting, being able to speak as frankly and naturally as if you were completely alone. That look I saw on peoples faces as I passed by was exactly exactly the same one I've seen and probably given at home. Not necessarily a look of disdain, but a subtle mix of confusion, jealousy and surprise, most visible through their attempted suppression. But I digress.

My wait in Paris was fairly dull, but I managed to get a coveted seat at this internet bench where I chatted with a nice American man. I got to Arras (where we live) on the super-fast TGV train in no time at all and got picked up at the station with several other guides who turned out to have been waiting for the same train. The "Program Officer" who picked us up, is more or less the staff supervisor/administrators' bitch for both sites, and he's damn good at what he does. We did a quick tour of Vimy and set us up at the Diocèse where we were to be put up for the next two weeks. The Diocèse was far from ideal as a living arrangement, but it was perfectly adequate for the time we were there. The only real downside was the lack of of internet, otherwise it would have been sweet. Although we didn't have a fridge either, or a stove. Okay maybe it wasn't so great. The building itself was lovely though, and they had a fantastic lounge, filled with a fascinating selection of books and magazines on Catholicism. The time we spent in there was a little awkward, but I was actually quite impressed by how easily everyone got along. On the first day even we had a very casual supper, although people were suffering from varying degrees of homesickness and jet lag. The level of awkwardness was probably greater than I remember, my memories coloured by the fact that I'm friends with them all now.

Unfortunately, discussion of my arrival cannot pass by without some mention of our first night. It was our Program Officer's birthday, and one in the long series of parties hosted by the summer session. This one was Olympic themed, and hosted at one of the two guide residences- St. Aubert (I ended up in Vauban). Three of the four new arrivals decided to attend, perhaps against our best judgment or at least mine. That was my first and most striking experience with the social inner workings of the old guides. Right off the bat it was absolutely unmistakable how close they were, as close as friends can be. One thing that struck me was the language, something I would see a great deal more of at work and beyond. Being a mixed group of natural Anglophones, Francophones and people who grew up in both the language of choice for socializing is a mix. Of course, everyone speaks both, so it's not just each person speaking to others in their native language but an incredible fluid blend of both. It was so damn Canadian. I imagine that for the majority of people that come to work here, with experience in the central Canadian tourism and heritage industries, its natural. Initially, I was kind of offended at first at how over-represented Ottawa was in their staffing here, but I suppose I've gotten over it. Anyway I found it very impressive at the time. I continued to drink and chat a bit with the new and old guides, but after the rest of the crowd arrived things took a turn for the worse. Ken (my old friend from St. John's) showed up and I started mixing liquors. My thoughts soon became clouded. One sight that burned into my memory, perhaps more than any other that evening, was an almost disturbing display of sexuality between a group of the guides. Really, it was just a bit of "dirty dancing" between certain members of the cast. Those who know me are surely aware that I'm far from a sexually conservative person, but for some reason I was affected. Peering from the darkened outdoor terrace into the yellow light of sitting room directly in from made the salacious groping and gyrating seem all the more pornographic. I'm certain that this impacted my expectations and anxieties towards my new social situaton. Some combination of repulsion and desire, loneliness and overstimiulation, drink and fatigue led me down a dark path that night. I overconsumed in the extreme, drowing my memory in liquor and destroying my stomach. I have vague recollections of being cute and being ill, but it's mostly a blur until I woke up face down on the floor the next morning and stumbled back to the diocese in the light of dawn.

As a postscript, I haven't treated myself nearly so badly since, although I am generally drinking more than I probably should. If I become an alcoholic maybe I'll become a better writer. Fortunatley I still had time to recuperate before training began the next week.

Au revoir

I guess it’s about time that I try to write something about what’s going on. I intend to be as candid and introspective as I can force myself to me, so I apologize if I offend you. If you read something upsetting talk to me about it.

I set off from St. John’s for Montreal on a Wednesday and everything went fine. Saying goodbye to the family was sad but the anxiety and rush of the day dominated my sentiments. I owe a lot to my family, although no longer financially. Parenting is no easy job, and I try and appreciate that as objectively as possible. I’m so lucky that a couple of eighties era hipsters could turn a surprise pregnancy into the fantastic upbringing that I’ve had. Living away from my parents for a time really drove that point home for me. Hopefully I won’t feel too distanced from them when I come back from Europe.

The flight was perfectly adequate and uneventful. I managed to grind through some of the training documents in the air, none of which were particularly earth shattering. A little paranoia was bubbling under the surface, as I worried that everyone would be better prepared than myself. Not long after arriving it became clear that most people were at least as unfamiliar with the material. The stopover in Montreal was a lovely little time and gave me the opportunity to catch up a bit with some of my oldest and dearest friends. Nicolay and Jake were kind enough to meet me at the airport and we split a taxi to Verdun where Nico’s new place is located. It’s roughly in the south-east of the island of Montreal and is ranked a whopping six on the list of hip neighbourhoods by local indie rag The Montreal Mirror. The apartment is decently sized with a cute little terrace, but some unfortunate paint choices. Compared to Jake’s apartment much further uptown it was probably less elegant but more functional, although Jake is paying out the ass for his single. We scooted around and had fun and interesting conversation, in establishments and back at home base. The special pleasure I receive from good conversation is the thing that I miss most about the old days. An incredible blend of intellectualism and juvenilia with a smattering of neurotic wit and black humour that I expect I will spend the rest of my life seeking out.

We were joined by Adam the next day, and we had about a little more than 24 hours to amuse ourselves and be tourists. It is after all a vacation for him. We puttered around the city, rode the Metro up and down endlessly, walked excessively, ate out and drank in. I found the whole affair pretty enjoyable, although it dragged at times. Despite the many years that have passed really none of us have changed that much, besides physically of course. It’s comforting in some ways, and depressing in others. What’s the point of all the life experience if were the same at the other end of it? Montreal is so damn multiethnic it excites and slightly annoys me. I walked by a row of payphones downtown and each had someone speaking a different language. I still find Montreal a little daunting, it seems so easy to lose oneself there. Nevertheless I could see myself living there. They do have an awesome public library.

Our main activity, which had more or less been planned in advance, was scaling the actual Mountain that the city is kind of built around. It’s a bit of a tourist trap but the grounds themselves are massive and largely serve for the pleasure of locals. The landscaping of the whole place is impeccable, and there’s quite a lovely trail system and endless fields that surround it. We sat on the grass and ate ice cream in the shade before hauling our sweaty asses up to the summit. Overall, an excellent way to say goodbye to my friends and to the country of my birth.

I was mildly oppressed throughout the visit by the breakup that immediately preceded my departure, but not to the point of total distraction. At times I felt rather regretful, but for the most part it was just a faint shadow over me. I correctly predicted that by the time I crossed the Atlantic I would be too damn involved to be morose. On Friday we slept off the drink late and I found myself rather pressed for time as I had to be at the airport well in advance. We ate Lebanese pizza in the centre-ville and clued up at the apartment. We said an awkward goodbye, and I wished them all well in their endeavours. We’re such an unstable lot that I could never guarantee that everyone will be successful in their measurable affairs, but it would make me tremendously happy to see everyone genuinely content with their lives. I left them planning further adventures in the city, but I found myself rather unemotional. Perhaps it’s because I’ve done it so many times, or because of how everyone has become gradually more estranged, Indeed you might even say that were not particularly close friends anymore. But maybe it’s that I know that no matter how long we go without speaking or meeting nothing will really change between us. Perhaps we are in fact the best of friends. I couldn’t make up my mind so I decided to lug my thirty kilos of luggage across town, sit in a giant noisy building for several excruciating hours and then cram myself into a tin can and fly over a whole shitload of water.