So today was the official induction for all doctoral people. We were all told yet again how cool we are for being at the top level in the world’s best university. I tried not to yawn. But i did listen attentively to the programme requirements. That part took 5 minutes, so why didnt they just start with that?
The school’s head is my father’s old roommate from leningrad days. He is now a pompous british academic who needs someone to coordinate his wardrobe....green blazers dont go with blue shirts and cream trousers. But doubtless he would dismiss such comments as trivial when there are so many scholarly issues out there waiting to be tackled. He gave a lecture which consisted of a series of anecdotes, all of which featured him as protaganist/ hero. I dont know what it is about academia that breeds these types, but i find it very disturbing.
Yesterday at the general post grad meeting there were about 100-120 people, but i guess most of them were MA, since today in the PHD meeting, there were only about 15 of us. I gathered a lot had done the MA programme the year before, since the director seemed to know alot of them. The other PHDs seem totally wierd and anti-social. They walked into the room where the meeting was held, sat down, and NO ONE talked. They didnt even say hello to each other. Then the director gave his talk, and the moment he was done, the others fled the room. They ran away without any effort at small talk at all. It was very strange. At CEU people always hung around in the hallway to talk after any class, and people at least said hello!
After this introduction of sorts, i met gabor in the lab and we went for coffee (now that we have understood we are too poor to buy lunch!) so we sat there and continued our gossip from the day before about various CEU people. Incidentally, he has also noted the anti social behaviour here. He said he says hello loudly every time he walks into the lab- but no one ever answers, they dont even look up from their computers! Anyway, I showed him the programme requirements and the various handouts we had got at the meeting.
Then i got a desperate sms from igor letting me know that ira didnt get her visa. “too suspicious pokazalus” that really sucks, i would have really liked to have seen her here!
So then i spent some time in the lab, and headed to regent street where i met justin. He just had the orientation for his MA programme and seemed no more impressed with it than i have been thus far with mine. I dont get it: to get to the post graduate level, obviously we have learned a few tricks. Obviously we know how to function in an academic/professional environment. If we didnt have some clue, we wouldnt have made it to this level!!! So why in these intorductions do they insist on treating us like little kids? I heard the programme director telling the new MAs that they had to go to class, because attendance would be taken!!!
So anyway justin and i ate dinner. I had pub food vegetarian, which was better than it sounds. Justin had some odd english meat pie dish that looked....well, english...
On the walk home it started pouring, naturally. At least there is one bit of good news: i have been in my flat for nearly 2 weeks and the girl who is supposed to be my neighbour hasnt shown up yet, so at the moment i have an entire floor and 4 rooms to myself, which is pretty cool i must say.
28.9.05
27.9.05
intros of sorts
Well i got the beginings of a job today: i get my own class which will run from now until december. The bad news is that it is only 6 hours a week, so not that much money. But who knows, maybe it will become more later if they need more hours.
All of the introduction stuff started at the faculty today. About 120 of us post grads got stuck into a room for 2 hours to listen to a series of speakers tell us we had chosen the best institute on the planet and so on and so forth. I have reached the conclusion that all introduction weeks in all western universities are the same and all equally boring and pretentious.
Audrey m’a appelée de travail pour me dire cou cou, pour un instant paris m’a manquée, mais c’était un petit moment qui est passé bien vite! Elle n’a pas gagné la place qu’elle a voulu pour faire son DEA, et elle croit que veut aller à la étrangère pour le faire. J’ai l’impression que tout le monde me raconte la même histoire…et maintenant je suis très occupée, je joue au Tue-Le-Souri avec le chat. On joue sans arrête depuis quatre ans, mais évidement elle n’est pas encore fatiguée…
All of the introduction stuff started at the faculty today. About 120 of us post grads got stuck into a room for 2 hours to listen to a series of speakers tell us we had chosen the best institute on the planet and so on and so forth. I have reached the conclusion that all introduction weeks in all western universities are the same and all equally boring and pretentious.
Audrey m’a appelée de travail pour me dire cou cou, pour un instant paris m’a manquée, mais c’était un petit moment qui est passé bien vite! Elle n’a pas gagné la place qu’elle a voulu pour faire son DEA, et elle croit que veut aller à la étrangère pour le faire. J’ai l’impression que tout le monde me raconte la même histoire…et maintenant je suis très occupée, je joue au Tue-Le-Souri avec le chat. On joue sans arrête depuis quatre ans, mais évidement elle n’est pas encore fatiguée…
26.9.05
boys 2
Today was the big registration day....but although that sounds exciting, it wasnt. I waited in a few lines only to have trouble paying my registration fee with my bank card. I guess the poor card paniced at the idea of having to pay so much money in one shot. So they have given me a temporary registration pass to carry around while i wait for the bank to sort things out. At least i can take books out of the library!
So after having failed to register completely, i met gabor. It is funny that the one guy i know in my faculty here happens to be from budapest as well. So we reministed quite a bit about the good old days in kontler’s class, and who said/ wrote what.....we went to a cheap indian restaurant late in the afternoon, both operating on the poor student idea that it is best to eat a lot once in the day and then go without dinner. The indian place had pretty ok food and it was cheap by london standards and so we were happy until i converted the price into forints and realised that we had spent 4350 forints each on a bloody student dinner that didnt include drinks or dessert. For that price you could have an excellent meal at vörös és féher or àbszint in buda. For just little more you could have a fucking Sunday feast at gundel!! Where did it all go wrong? Afterwards we took a spin around the university buildings just to see what there was. Then like the two streberi that i guess we are, we ended up wandering about in the library. I was impressed by the selection though....
So after having failed to register completely, i met gabor. It is funny that the one guy i know in my faculty here happens to be from budapest as well. So we reministed quite a bit about the good old days in kontler’s class, and who said/ wrote what.....we went to a cheap indian restaurant late in the afternoon, both operating on the poor student idea that it is best to eat a lot once in the day and then go without dinner. The indian place had pretty ok food and it was cheap by london standards and so we were happy until i converted the price into forints and realised that we had spent 4350 forints each on a bloody student dinner that didnt include drinks or dessert. For that price you could have an excellent meal at vörös és féher or àbszint in buda. For just little more you could have a fucking Sunday feast at gundel!! Where did it all go wrong? Afterwards we took a spin around the university buildings just to see what there was. Then like the two streberi that i guess we are, we ended up wandering about in the library. I was impressed by the selection though....
boys 1
So yesterday igor and i decided to make an investigation of the famous hyde park (or gaid park as it is in russian) so off we went. Of course, as soon as we got off the bus at the correct stop, the sky turned ominously black and it started pouring. Amazing how that always happens, especially in england. So we waited under an awning until the rain stopped (as it did after 10 minutes) and then we headed for the great park. The place is huge, it just seemed to go on and on. We went to speakers corner to listen to the various debates, most of which seemed to focus on islam. I was pretty impressed, the speakers had an amazing ability to twist any arguement around to their side. Their were obviously very skilled debators, and i imagine they were even paid to be there. one of them announced that the quran forbade the killing of all women and children. I told igor to watch out: as a man he apparently doesnt enjoy allah’s immunity.
There were a large number of muslim ladies all around the park dressed completely in black from head to toe, with only their eyes showing, and sometimes even these were covered with dark glasses. They were often with each other, or with children, but rarely with men i noticed. We checked out diana’s memorial garden which i thought was pretty ugly. I dont know how they managed to spend 3 million pounds on that!
Afterwards we did as russians do: we bought a bottle of alcohol and drank in the park. At one point a park worker walked up to us and said “ukrainia ili rossia?” after answering his query, we established that he was from warsaw.
There were a large number of muslim ladies all around the park dressed completely in black from head to toe, with only their eyes showing, and sometimes even these were covered with dark glasses. They were often with each other, or with children, but rarely with men i noticed. We checked out diana’s memorial garden which i thought was pretty ugly. I dont know how they managed to spend 3 million pounds on that!
Afterwards we did as russians do: we bought a bottle of alcohol and drank in the park. At one point a park worker walked up to us and said “ukrainia ili rossia?” after answering his query, we established that he was from warsaw.
23.9.05
postscript
Je suis arrivée hier soir, et j’ai passé un entretien pour un boulot ce matin à 10 :00. je n’ai pas eu le temps pour repasser mes vêtements. Finalement, je suis allée chez zara où j’ai acheté une chemise ! L’entretien est bien passer, on verra si je gagne la position ou non. Je suis fatigué et je veux dormir !!!
22.9.05
the longest of days
step one: morning, yaëlle's house. I woke up and went to the patisserie to enjoy one last edible pain au chocolat before leaving france.
as i started gathering up my bits, the cat fled under the bed. she knew what was coming.
step two: I dragged the cat out from under the bed and stuffed her into her much hated cat box. step three: we walked to place Iéna to get the metro. we changed to the RER at st lazare, and went from there to gare du nord.
step four: TGV to calais. as it was rush hour the train was packed with french business men, me and the beast. she meowed non stop and all of the business men looked at me like i was insane.
step five: taxi from calais ville station to calais hooverport, which is located at the end of the planet.
step six: we arrived at the hooverport at 11:50. there was a boat leaving at 12:45 and i asked if we can get on it. but no, the guards inspected the beast's passport which indicated that she had received her tick and worm treatment yesterday at 16:30. we cannot set foot on the boat until exactly 24 hours have passed since the treatment. so we spend the next FIVE HOURS locked in a pet waiting room with four border guards (two french, two english) and it seems i was the only person on this given day insane enough to want to cross the channel with a cat, so there are four border guards monitouring one cat. fortunately, they were very kind and even tried to play with her. but she was clearly NOT INTERESTED. i took her out of the box, but the only thing she would do was bury her nose in my hair, as though trying to hide from the four border guards. as if that were possible!
step seven: 16:30 came and my furry compagnion was put in her "charriot" as the guards called it. she was rolled off, by herself, to the cat section of the boat. i got on with the foot passenger.
step eight: britain's best and brightest are on the boat.
The boat ride was utterly surreal. It was even stranger than milton keynes! I didnt see/hear a single french person on board. The whole boat was composed of overweight and mainly middle aged (or at least middle aged looking) english people. They were all white, working class and from the south coast. There were very few foot passengers, almost everyone had come in their car. Almost everyonewas on a day return ticket. I gathered this was the routine: they drive over to calais, or even more likely some border town in belgium, fill their car with as many cigarette cartons and beer cases as possible, and then they drive back to england. I guess it makes sense economically if you are planning on drinking and smoking A LOT. There were also some younger types: late teen guys trying to impress their girlfriends with how much they could spend on alcohol. Their conversation could hardly be described as intellectual. For example, when i was waiting for the guards to bring the cat charriot, some of the louts waiting in line nearby started saying things like “thats some real fine pussy you got their lady” and then “i bet you are real proud of your pussy arent you?” charming stuff. The whole boat ride was like that. They even had shops on the boat selling more beer and cigarrettes and people were pushing each other to try and grab whatever they could, since it was all supposedly free of UK taxes. Whatever that means, i dont know since both france and britain are part of the EU. I realise some things in france are cheaper, but i dont think the difference is enormous....but the english were pushing and fighting for their beer with the same zeal and determination that french woment fight over scarves and jumpers during the sale season in paris.
Step nine: arrived in dover. Yes, the cliffs really do exist, although they are not so white.
I guess out of fear the cat pissed herself during the ride. I took her to the toilet and tried to dry her off, but she didnt want to come out of the cage, and in the end the only result was she was still wet, but we were both equally covered in piss. Lovely.
Oddly, there was no bank machine at the port. Apparently the only one in dover happens to be where i need to go, specifically at the train station. So, as i had no english money on me, i ended up walking nearly 30 minutes, unhappy cat in tow, to the train station.
Step ten: train from dover to london charing cross. At first i was next to some loud and loutish army recruits, then they got off and an excessively talkative gay guy with a lot of make up on hopped aboard. He sat next to me and chatted non stop until we got to london. He worked for MAC and had a serious delemma: he thinks he is in love with a guy (they have known each other for a whopping three weeks) but he has just been offered a transfer to bermuda. Omigod, what to do? I suggested he go for bermuda. He agreed: if it is true love the guy will wait.
Step eleven: metro ride with changes and unhappy cat. By this time, the piss had dried, but but we both smelled like cat piss none the less.
Step twelve: yet another train ride, this one from king’s cross. I sat next to an ultra serious indian doctor who quizzed me at length about the medical formalities of bringing at cat to england without quarantine. I showed him her two passports which he studied intensively for several minutes. He was very nice, but i was very tired and struggled to make conversation. The cat hundled in the back of the cage, nose under tail.
Step thirteen: cab ride home from the station. The cat meowled pitifully and tried to bury her ears. Apparently she does not appreciate loud hindu pop music.
Step fourteen: we arrived home. Piss dried to her fur, the cat dives into my pile of dirty laundry, seemingly seeking refuge amongst my smells. I will definately have to do laundry as soon as possible!
We have been here for 12 hours now, and the cat has spent the majority of this period under my blanket sleeping. Hopefully she will eventually recover her normal vicious personality, but at the moment she seems rather shell shocked. Fuck the eurostar for not taking cats!
I left a note to the landlord: “attention: this is to notify you that, after a brief skirmish with defiant guards, Her Imperial Highness, N, Tsarina and Ruler of All That She Surveys, has officially entered British territory and taken up residency in ------.”
Fortunately the landlord likes cats. He has four.
as i started gathering up my bits, the cat fled under the bed. she knew what was coming.
step two: I dragged the cat out from under the bed and stuffed her into her much hated cat box. step three: we walked to place Iéna to get the metro. we changed to the RER at st lazare, and went from there to gare du nord.
step four: TGV to calais. as it was rush hour the train was packed with french business men, me and the beast. she meowed non stop and all of the business men looked at me like i was insane.
step five: taxi from calais ville station to calais hooverport, which is located at the end of the planet.
step six: we arrived at the hooverport at 11:50. there was a boat leaving at 12:45 and i asked if we can get on it. but no, the guards inspected the beast's passport which indicated that she had received her tick and worm treatment yesterday at 16:30. we cannot set foot on the boat until exactly 24 hours have passed since the treatment. so we spend the next FIVE HOURS locked in a pet waiting room with four border guards (two french, two english) and it seems i was the only person on this given day insane enough to want to cross the channel with a cat, so there are four border guards monitouring one cat. fortunately, they were very kind and even tried to play with her. but she was clearly NOT INTERESTED. i took her out of the box, but the only thing she would do was bury her nose in my hair, as though trying to hide from the four border guards. as if that were possible!
step seven: 16:30 came and my furry compagnion was put in her "charriot" as the guards called it. she was rolled off, by herself, to the cat section of the boat. i got on with the foot passenger.
step eight: britain's best and brightest are on the boat.
The boat ride was utterly surreal. It was even stranger than milton keynes! I didnt see/hear a single french person on board. The whole boat was composed of overweight and mainly middle aged (or at least middle aged looking) english people. They were all white, working class and from the south coast. There were very few foot passengers, almost everyone had come in their car. Almost everyonewas on a day return ticket. I gathered this was the routine: they drive over to calais, or even more likely some border town in belgium, fill their car with as many cigarette cartons and beer cases as possible, and then they drive back to england. I guess it makes sense economically if you are planning on drinking and smoking A LOT. There were also some younger types: late teen guys trying to impress their girlfriends with how much they could spend on alcohol. Their conversation could hardly be described as intellectual. For example, when i was waiting for the guards to bring the cat charriot, some of the louts waiting in line nearby started saying things like “thats some real fine pussy you got their lady” and then “i bet you are real proud of your pussy arent you?” charming stuff. The whole boat ride was like that. They even had shops on the boat selling more beer and cigarrettes and people were pushing each other to try and grab whatever they could, since it was all supposedly free of UK taxes. Whatever that means, i dont know since both france and britain are part of the EU. I realise some things in france are cheaper, but i dont think the difference is enormous....but the english were pushing and fighting for their beer with the same zeal and determination that french woment fight over scarves and jumpers during the sale season in paris.
Step nine: arrived in dover. Yes, the cliffs really do exist, although they are not so white.
I guess out of fear the cat pissed herself during the ride. I took her to the toilet and tried to dry her off, but she didnt want to come out of the cage, and in the end the only result was she was still wet, but we were both equally covered in piss. Lovely.
Oddly, there was no bank machine at the port. Apparently the only one in dover happens to be where i need to go, specifically at the train station. So, as i had no english money on me, i ended up walking nearly 30 minutes, unhappy cat in tow, to the train station.
Step ten: train from dover to london charing cross. At first i was next to some loud and loutish army recruits, then they got off and an excessively talkative gay guy with a lot of make up on hopped aboard. He sat next to me and chatted non stop until we got to london. He worked for MAC and had a serious delemma: he thinks he is in love with a guy (they have known each other for a whopping three weeks) but he has just been offered a transfer to bermuda. Omigod, what to do? I suggested he go for bermuda. He agreed: if it is true love the guy will wait.
Step eleven: metro ride with changes and unhappy cat. By this time, the piss had dried, but but we both smelled like cat piss none the less.
Step twelve: yet another train ride, this one from king’s cross. I sat next to an ultra serious indian doctor who quizzed me at length about the medical formalities of bringing at cat to england without quarantine. I showed him her two passports which he studied intensively for several minutes. He was very nice, but i was very tired and struggled to make conversation. The cat hundled in the back of the cage, nose under tail.
Step thirteen: cab ride home from the station. The cat meowled pitifully and tried to bury her ears. Apparently she does not appreciate loud hindu pop music.
Step fourteen: we arrived home. Piss dried to her fur, the cat dives into my pile of dirty laundry, seemingly seeking refuge amongst my smells. I will definately have to do laundry as soon as possible!
We have been here for 12 hours now, and the cat has spent the majority of this period under my blanket sleeping. Hopefully she will eventually recover her normal vicious personality, but at the moment she seems rather shell shocked. Fuck the eurostar for not taking cats!
I left a note to the landlord: “attention: this is to notify you that, after a brief skirmish with defiant guards, Her Imperial Highness, N, Tsarina and Ruler of All That She Surveys, has officially entered British territory and taken up residency in ------.”
Fortunately the landlord likes cats. He has four.
gare du nord...
again paris. again gare du nord. am staying at yaelle's house and the cat has sought refuge under her blankets. the vet claims que fait une petite depression. elle est stressée et deracinée. i feel guilty!
20.9.05
Il est huit heures à seoul il est minuit au mali, quelle heure est-il au paradis?
I have launched a charm campaign on my building’s cleaning lady. I am completely convinced that the world is ultimately run by cleaning ladies, concierges and secretaries. So, since my building has a permenant cleaning lady, i am determinded to keep on her very good side. So far, she has procured a sofa for me, seemingly from out of nowhere. She seems bored more than anything. Today, while cleaning my flat, she gave me a lecture on what is wrong with the “yanks.” As it is a country with undeniably countless problems, her lecture stretched well past the half hour mark. She mainly expressed her sympathy for the poor black people left to drown in new orlean’s swamp, but she added her annoyance at those visiting yanks who dont understand how normal sockets function. This led in a free-associating way to a lengthy description of the weather in this part of the country and why it specifically always rains on the cleaning lady’s birthday. Hmmm. At least i did establish that, as in russia, the people’s common-and-invariable heat will be turned on the first of october. This was welcome news!
The building manager also gave me the required residency documents to open a bank account. It was a bit complicated. Apparently you are not supposed to open bank accounts in the united kingdom if you have lived in 4 different cities in three years. Finnally the bankers relented and gave me an international tax free account. Does that mean i dont have to pay taxes? But now i think tiredness is causing me to halucinate.
I spent much of the day in starbucks, sponging off the free internet i can illegally pick up thanks to this computer. I tried to pull off the same stunt at café nero, but it didnt work, i couldnt get around the required paying connection. So, i headed back to starbucks and its more porous system. I also consummed enough double espressos to survive seemingly indefinately without sleep. Perhaps i should begin to vary my routine and try some of the smoothies. But they are 2 bloody pounds, and it seems vaguely obscene to pay such a price for a gulp of synthetic orange juice. So perhaps i will just not sleep and turn myself into a sleep-immune thatcher-like productive machine. But more likely, i will msn.
The building manager also gave me the required residency documents to open a bank account. It was a bit complicated. Apparently you are not supposed to open bank accounts in the united kingdom if you have lived in 4 different cities in three years. Finnally the bankers relented and gave me an international tax free account. Does that mean i dont have to pay taxes? But now i think tiredness is causing me to halucinate.
I spent much of the day in starbucks, sponging off the free internet i can illegally pick up thanks to this computer. I tried to pull off the same stunt at café nero, but it didnt work, i couldnt get around the required paying connection. So, i headed back to starbucks and its more porous system. I also consummed enough double espressos to survive seemingly indefinately without sleep. Perhaps i should begin to vary my routine and try some of the smoothies. But they are 2 bloody pounds, and it seems vaguely obscene to pay such a price for a gulp of synthetic orange juice. So perhaps i will just not sleep and turn myself into a sleep-immune thatcher-like productive machine. But more likely, i will msn.
19.9.05
j'en ai marre!
Parfois les stéréotypes sont corrects.
Il y un stéréotype qu’il pleut tout le temps en Angleterre. Et c’est vrai : il pleut tout le temps en Angleterre. Il y a un stéréotype que les anglais sont les alcooliques qui boivent de la bière et vomissent dans les rues. Et c’est vrai : les anglais sont les alcooliques qui boivent de la bière et vomissent dans les rues. On trouve plus de vomi sur les rues ici le samedi et dimanche matin que la merde des chiens sur les rues parisiennes. Je pu continuer, mais pour le moment ça sufi. Il fais froid, il n’y a pas de chauffage, et l’endroit le plus confortable dans mon appart est mon lit, parce qu’il est le plus chaud. Je recherche du travail, et je passe plusieurs heures chaque jour chez starbucks, parce qu’il y a un connexion wifi là-bas, et je peux me connecter gratuit. Sauf que je suis obligée de boire leur café. C’est très calme dans mon bâtiment. Les voisins doivent être très sérieux, parce que il n’y a pas de bruit….Hier était samedi, et il n’y avait ni la musique forte, ni la bruit d’une télévision : rien. C’était complètement calme. C’est un peu bizarre. C’est l’inverse exact de mon appart dans le 93, avec ces gangsters et la musique rap qui jouait non-stop tous les jours (et tous les soirs).
Je dois acheter quelque chose pour chauffer l’appart, ou sinon je vais mourir de froid. Je ne peux pas vivre sans chauffage, je suis gâtée par le system russe avec le chauffage fort et gratuit. Je suis incapable de comprendre pourquoi les gens acceptent de vivre sans confort, surtout dans un pays riche comme Angleterre.
mais maintenant je vais rechercher du travail.
Il y un stéréotype qu’il pleut tout le temps en Angleterre. Et c’est vrai : il pleut tout le temps en Angleterre. Il y a un stéréotype que les anglais sont les alcooliques qui boivent de la bière et vomissent dans les rues. Et c’est vrai : les anglais sont les alcooliques qui boivent de la bière et vomissent dans les rues. On trouve plus de vomi sur les rues ici le samedi et dimanche matin que la merde des chiens sur les rues parisiennes. Je pu continuer, mais pour le moment ça sufi. Il fais froid, il n’y a pas de chauffage, et l’endroit le plus confortable dans mon appart est mon lit, parce qu’il est le plus chaud. Je recherche du travail, et je passe plusieurs heures chaque jour chez starbucks, parce qu’il y a un connexion wifi là-bas, et je peux me connecter gratuit. Sauf que je suis obligée de boire leur café. C’est très calme dans mon bâtiment. Les voisins doivent être très sérieux, parce que il n’y a pas de bruit….Hier était samedi, et il n’y avait ni la musique forte, ni la bruit d’une télévision : rien. C’était complètement calme. C’est un peu bizarre. C’est l’inverse exact de mon appart dans le 93, avec ces gangsters et la musique rap qui jouait non-stop tous les jours (et tous les soirs).
Je dois acheter quelque chose pour chauffer l’appart, ou sinon je vais mourir de froid. Je ne peux pas vivre sans chauffage, je suis gâtée par le system russe avec le chauffage fort et gratuit. Je suis incapable de comprendre pourquoi les gens acceptent de vivre sans confort, surtout dans un pays riche comme Angleterre.
mais maintenant je vais rechercher du travail.
17.9.05
forward to the past (again)
so the soviet union is alive and well here in london....actually i have come to the conclusion that english is superflous and i can probably get through the whole year without using it at all. i went to look at flats yesterday, kokoi-to lev iz lvova (buto bi krutoi sovietski muzhik) mnye pokozal niskolko....vsye plohi....
then in the evening i met up with igor. it turns out that he is studying here this year, doing some sort of conversion course to get qualified as an english lawyer. it waas bizarre to see him in london. the last time i saw him was in budapest about 2 years ago, when he was there on a conference....
so anyway, he gave me a little tour of central london. we walked all over the place: trafalger square, covent garden, leicester square. i still havent managed to orient myself in that city...but igor assures me the centre isnt that big. odd that i need a russian to show me around what is supposed to be (at least on paper) my own imperial capital!
after the tour, we stopped for dinner at some italian place that was located off regent street in a sort of covered passage that reminded us both of passazh in petersburg. the meal was ok (actually it was probably the best i have had in this country, not that that says much)
we caught up over food and wine. he is dating my old roomate, they are even thinking of getting married....life back in moscow is as crazy as ever, and no one knows how long vova the great will stay in office, perhaps he is looking to lukashenka for inspiration?
it was good to spend time with igor again. he says ira will come from ukraine to join him in october, and that daniel (now living in beograd) will pass by too....it seems we are recreating our mezhdunarodni yugoslav environment, just in a different country! should be interesting!
then in the evening i met up with igor. it turns out that he is studying here this year, doing some sort of conversion course to get qualified as an english lawyer. it waas bizarre to see him in london. the last time i saw him was in budapest about 2 years ago, when he was there on a conference....
so anyway, he gave me a little tour of central london. we walked all over the place: trafalger square, covent garden, leicester square. i still havent managed to orient myself in that city...but igor assures me the centre isnt that big. odd that i need a russian to show me around what is supposed to be (at least on paper) my own imperial capital!
after the tour, we stopped for dinner at some italian place that was located off regent street in a sort of covered passage that reminded us both of passazh in petersburg. the meal was ok (actually it was probably the best i have had in this country, not that that says much)
we caught up over food and wine. he is dating my old roomate, they are even thinking of getting married....life back in moscow is as crazy as ever, and no one knows how long vova the great will stay in office, perhaps he is looking to lukashenka for inspiration?
it was good to spend time with igor again. he says ira will come from ukraine to join him in october, and that daniel (now living in beograd) will pass by too....it seems we are recreating our mezhdunarodni yugoslav environment, just in a different country! should be interesting!
16.9.05
15.9.05
la navette!
Je fais la navette!!!
J’ai l’impression de passer la plus part de mes temps dans le transport. Je fais la navette paris-londres presque chaque semaine maintenant et ça me fatigue.
Ce matin, je me suis levée tôt. Je suis allée chez yaëlle dans le 16ieme. Nous sommes allées manger dans un petit resto. J’ai bouffé un truc énorme, mais 4 heures après, j’avais de nouveau faim d’une femme enceinte….quand je me suis rendu compte d’avoir faim, j’étais déjà quelque part entre calais et ashford et j’ai du acheter un des ces sandwiches dégoûtant sur l’eurostar…mozzarella et tomates, officiellement…
Et maintenant je suis à Londres pour la deuxième fois cette semaine. Comme par hasard, il pleut…je suis dans un starbucks, même si je deteste leur café..il y a les connexion wifi...j'aime regarder les anglais avec leurs costumes bizarres....
je vient de recevoir un email amusant de ilia, un copain de budapest/moscou....il bosse maintenant chez pricewaterhousecooper à moscou....il a passé son deuxieme entretien pour obtenir ce boulot avec: DOUG GRIER, le même mec qui était mon premier boss chez IUCC il y a 6 ans...le monde est petit, il me semble. c'est clair que doug ne va jamais partir de la russie. je crois qu'il a oublié qu'il est/était canadien.....
putain, j'ai juste tenté d'acheter un autre espresso en français.....la pauvre fille à la caisse m'a regardé comme si j'étais folle.....AGGHHHH
J’ai l’impression de passer la plus part de mes temps dans le transport. Je fais la navette paris-londres presque chaque semaine maintenant et ça me fatigue.
Ce matin, je me suis levée tôt. Je suis allée chez yaëlle dans le 16ieme. Nous sommes allées manger dans un petit resto. J’ai bouffé un truc énorme, mais 4 heures après, j’avais de nouveau faim d’une femme enceinte….quand je me suis rendu compte d’avoir faim, j’étais déjà quelque part entre calais et ashford et j’ai du acheter un des ces sandwiches dégoûtant sur l’eurostar…mozzarella et tomates, officiellement…
Et maintenant je suis à Londres pour la deuxième fois cette semaine. Comme par hasard, il pleut…je suis dans un starbucks, même si je deteste leur café..il y a les connexion wifi...j'aime regarder les anglais avec leurs costumes bizarres....
je vient de recevoir un email amusant de ilia, un copain de budapest/moscou....il bosse maintenant chez pricewaterhousecooper à moscou....il a passé son deuxieme entretien pour obtenir ce boulot avec: DOUG GRIER, le même mec qui était mon premier boss chez IUCC il y a 6 ans...le monde est petit, il me semble. c'est clair que doug ne va jamais partir de la russie. je crois qu'il a oublié qu'il est/était canadien.....
putain, j'ai juste tenté d'acheter un autre espresso en français.....la pauvre fille à la caisse m'a regardé comme si j'étais folle.....AGGHHHH
!!!
j'ai fait la fête hier!
j'ai déjeuné avec "l'equipe" de montparnasse, nous avons beaucoup mangé et fumé.
aprés j'ai dû aller à la siège à la defense pour signer quelques feuilles de papier (on est en france) et aprés je suis allée à opéra pour faire la fête avec bregje, audrey, adam, katie, et johanna...on est allé dans un pub qui était drole...j'ai bu pas mal de vin...maintenant: kefir!
j'ai déjeuné avec "l'equipe" de montparnasse, nous avons beaucoup mangé et fumé.
aprés j'ai dû aller à la siège à la defense pour signer quelques feuilles de papier (on est en france) et aprés je suis allée à opéra pour faire la fête avec bregje, audrey, adam, katie, et johanna...on est allé dans un pub qui était drole...j'ai bu pas mal de vin...maintenant: kefir!
13.9.05
final countdown
j'ai bouffé comme une reine avec liadi et abby.....j'aime trop manger. je crois que j'ai un probleme dans ma tête.....
c'était une journée difficile, surtout parce que j'ai du passer une "encounter" avec une femme qui ne savait pas en quelle langue elle a voulu parler ("je habe beaucoup die frage über les exercises") j'ai eu envie de la frapper. heuresement, je l'ai pas fait....
liadi m'a envoyé cette image....pas mal, hein?
12.9.05
la gloire!
ok it is official: england is a nation of inbred mutants.
i spent the day in milton keynes. the place is horrid. i wish i had had my camera with me just to capture the hideousness on film.it was worse than i even knew existed in england. it was worse than i imagine the states must be!
there was one bright light that made the trip worth while: Hachik! i had sent him a text complaining about having to spend the weekend in the dreary and dismal land that for some reason issued both our passports...only to receive and answer telling me that he is in fact only a few towns away, a strange coincidence since we both have a policy of avoiding england, as much as possible....so the hideousness of milton keynes was made interesting through mutually shared horror at the surroundings.
we wandered around the mall. it seems to be the great attraction in the town....but the mall was EVEN WORSE than rosny 2. i didnt know that was possible, but there it was: all around me. the only difference was it was bigger and filled with overweight, inbred looking brits, as opposed to Rosny 2 where i am often the only french-french-looking person around, surrounded by a crossrange of inhabitants of le 93 (quoi!?!)
the milton keynes mall has more than i knew a mall could contain: rock climbing, a swimming pool, a sauna, SKIING....all to be enjoyed by britain's tasteless некультурный mass....which appears to thrive on the sterile setting....we even overheard americans....perhaps they felt more at home amidst such local displays of jiggling plump? maybe they seek refuge in the comfort of KFC (open until 3AM!) Hachik send me into a depression telling me that this was....what people work for.....it was actually someone's idea of a good time!
and the lowest point of all: the bloody place was opened by maggie. she even came and opened it officially. what could be worse? how do people live in this place? and why?
so ok, i admit it, i am a snob.
the shopping is better in france
so are the restaurants.
and so are the waistlines!
needless to say, i have never been so relieved in my life to see gare du nord!
i spent the day in milton keynes. the place is horrid. i wish i had had my camera with me just to capture the hideousness on film.it was worse than i even knew existed in england. it was worse than i imagine the states must be!
there was one bright light that made the trip worth while: Hachik! i had sent him a text complaining about having to spend the weekend in the dreary and dismal land that for some reason issued both our passports...only to receive and answer telling me that he is in fact only a few towns away, a strange coincidence since we both have a policy of avoiding england, as much as possible....so the hideousness of milton keynes was made interesting through mutually shared horror at the surroundings.
we wandered around the mall. it seems to be the great attraction in the town....but the mall was EVEN WORSE than rosny 2. i didnt know that was possible, but there it was: all around me. the only difference was it was bigger and filled with overweight, inbred looking brits, as opposed to Rosny 2 where i am often the only french-french-looking person around, surrounded by a crossrange of inhabitants of le 93 (quoi!?!)
the milton keynes mall has more than i knew a mall could contain: rock climbing, a swimming pool, a sauna, SKIING....all to be enjoyed by britain's tasteless некультурный mass....which appears to thrive on the sterile setting....we even overheard americans....perhaps they felt more at home amidst such local displays of jiggling plump? maybe they seek refuge in the comfort of KFC (open until 3AM!) Hachik send me into a depression telling me that this was....what people work for.....it was actually someone's idea of a good time!
and the lowest point of all: the bloody place was opened by maggie. she even came and opened it officially. what could be worse? how do people live in this place? and why?
so ok, i admit it, i am a snob.
the shopping is better in france
so are the restaurants.
and so are the waistlines!
needless to say, i have never been so relieved in my life to see gare du nord!
11.9.05
cambridge (encore)
Je me suis réveillée tard, crevée par hier….je suis allée direct dans un café pour prendre un espresso…j’ai mangé un cinnamon role qui était vraiment dégoûtant. Il y a trop de sucre dans la bouffe ici. Même dan les baked beans, on trouve du sucre. Ce n’est pas étonnant que les britanniques ont les dents pourris comme les cadavres.
Justin est arrivé par train vers midi. On a passé la journée ensemble….nous avons fait un petit tour dans les magasins, et puis baladé à coté du canal. Il faisait un temps de chien. Le brouillard. J’ai eu l’impression de me promener dans un nuage.
Nous avons trouvé un pub pour manger. Je crois qu’il n’y a pas les vrais restaurants à cambridge. La nourriture dans le pub n’était pas mal, mais je ne voudrais pas manger comme ça tous les jours.
Après, nous avons mangé un dessert dans un resto « français. » juste à cote de notre table, une famille américaine a tenté de comprendre le milieu, en méditant sur la question philosophique suivante : est-ce que le restaurant est vraiment français, s’il est situé à cambridge ?Uune nation des Voltaires, ces américains !
Je suis allée avec justin jusqu’à la gare, où un russe a presque tué un autre…si j’ai bien compris, c’était un conflit portant sur une bière renversée….finalement, j’ai dit à le mec qui a perdu sa boisson que les choses comme ça arrive….il était horrifié quand il se rendait compte d’avoir juré comme un charretier devant une femme, et s’excusé (ой, девушка, ИЗВИНИТЕ! я ни знала что вы наша…..)
Justin est parti, et je suis rentré « chez moi »
Justin est arrivé par train vers midi. On a passé la journée ensemble….nous avons fait un petit tour dans les magasins, et puis baladé à coté du canal. Il faisait un temps de chien. Le brouillard. J’ai eu l’impression de me promener dans un nuage.
Nous avons trouvé un pub pour manger. Je crois qu’il n’y a pas les vrais restaurants à cambridge. La nourriture dans le pub n’était pas mal, mais je ne voudrais pas manger comme ça tous les jours.
Après, nous avons mangé un dessert dans un resto « français. » juste à cote de notre table, une famille américaine a tenté de comprendre le milieu, en méditant sur la question philosophique suivante : est-ce que le restaurant est vraiment français, s’il est situé à cambridge ?Uune nation des Voltaires, ces américains !
Je suis allée avec justin jusqu’à la gare, où un russe a presque tué un autre…si j’ai bien compris, c’était un conflit portant sur une bière renversée….finalement, j’ai dit à le mec qui a perdu sa boisson que les choses comme ça arrive….il était horrifié quand il se rendait compte d’avoir juré comme un charretier devant une femme, et s’excusé (ой, девушка, ИЗВИНИТЕ! я ни знала что вы наша…..)
Justin est parti, et je suis rentré « chez moi »
10.9.05
9.9.05
indiana
je suis allée déjeuner avec adam et johanna chez indiana...j'ai trop bouffé...on m'avait donné les cheques déjeuners supplementaires ce mois, et je mange comme une reine....j'ai pris les enchiladas....mmm aprés on est allé dans un café....s'il y a un truc que j'aime en france, c'est qu'on peut prendre 2 heures par jour juste pour déjeuner....
8.9.05
ding dong the witch is dead
party pour kathryn et maha qui va partir à la fin de cette semaine. on a mangé du gateau et parlé comme si on était tous amis...l'hypocrisie totale...mais le gateau était excellent
j'ai fait ce test....и узнала что...
Ты идиот на 69%. Да, ты уже вполне нормальный идиот! =) Но тебе не хватает самой малости для полного совершенства. Попробуй чаще биться головой о твёрдые предметы, и у тебя всё получится!
Проверь, идиот ли ты?
j'ai fait ce test....и узнала что...
Ты идиот на 69%. Да, ты уже вполне нормальный идиот! =) Но тебе не хватает самой малости для полного совершенства. Попробуй чаще биться головой о твёрдые предметы, и у тебя всё получится!
Проверь, идиот ли ты?
7.9.05
my faithful research assistant.
i just wanted to write a brief acknowledgement of the ongoing and tireless efforts of my loyal research assistant. without her endless sitting-on-papers, swatting-at-pens, and falling-asleep-on-books i dont know how i would manage to procrastinate with the same level of efficiency as i manage to...
6.9.05
encounters
Hier j’ai regardé un film bizarre (mais drôle) avec yaëlle dans le Balzac, sur les Champs-Élysées. C’est mon cinéma préféré à paris. C’était un film argentin…il s’agit d’un homme et son chien, bonbon qui souffre d’un problème, ou une manque, de libido (le chien, je veux dire, pas le mec !).
Après, nous avons dîné chez ladurée. Je sais que c’est pour les touristes, mais j’adore la nourriture ! J’ai mangé un salade qui était super…les femmes à cote de nous étaient très bizarre, et j’ai passés des minutes à écouter leur conversation. Si j’ai bien compris, une était une ancienne pute, (« this is the life i have chosen for myself ! » elle a expliqué à l’autre femme) et l’autre était patronne d’une agence….des…filles….
Une était britannique…mais l’autre était ni britannique ni américaine…elle était un peu entre les deux. Les deux ont porté les vêtements chers, mais elles étaient complètement vulgaires : trop de maquillage, accent working class, provincial…elles ont un peu trop bu, puis, elles ont tenté de parler avec nous….peut-être c’était pour nous proposer de travaille ????
Et puis yaëlle a vu une ex-copine qui a « volé » son petit- ami il y a 8 ans, à montréal. Emilie (la voleuse) était là pour fêter ses 30 ans. Le copain volé n’était pas là, évidement c’est terminé. Yaëlle a noté avec satisfaction qu’Emilie n’a pas eu un mec avec elle la nuit de son 30ieme anniversaire…
Je suis rentée fatiguée…j’ai bossé toute la journée aujourd’hui et demain je commence tôt…ma responsable irlandaise, jeannette, vient de rentrer de ses vacances….elle est revenu lundi, et démissionné mardi !!! Elle va partir dans 2 mois. Elle veut vivre en Irlande…on gagne plus d’argent là-bas…elle va partir, et maha, et kathryn, et johanna…c’est la fin d’une époque !!!!
Après, nous avons dîné chez ladurée. Je sais que c’est pour les touristes, mais j’adore la nourriture ! J’ai mangé un salade qui était super…les femmes à cote de nous étaient très bizarre, et j’ai passés des minutes à écouter leur conversation. Si j’ai bien compris, une était une ancienne pute, (« this is the life i have chosen for myself ! » elle a expliqué à l’autre femme) et l’autre était patronne d’une agence….des…filles….
Une était britannique…mais l’autre était ni britannique ni américaine…elle était un peu entre les deux. Les deux ont porté les vêtements chers, mais elles étaient complètement vulgaires : trop de maquillage, accent working class, provincial…elles ont un peu trop bu, puis, elles ont tenté de parler avec nous….peut-être c’était pour nous proposer de travaille ????
Et puis yaëlle a vu une ex-copine qui a « volé » son petit- ami il y a 8 ans, à montréal. Emilie (la voleuse) était là pour fêter ses 30 ans. Le copain volé n’était pas là, évidement c’est terminé. Yaëlle a noté avec satisfaction qu’Emilie n’a pas eu un mec avec elle la nuit de son 30ieme anniversaire…
Je suis rentée fatiguée…j’ai bossé toute la journée aujourd’hui et demain je commence tôt…ma responsable irlandaise, jeannette, vient de rentrer de ses vacances….elle est revenu lundi, et démissionné mardi !!! Elle va partir dans 2 mois. Elle veut vivre en Irlande…on gagne plus d’argent là-bas…elle va partir, et maha, et kathryn, et johanna…c’est la fin d’une époque !!!!
5.9.05
4.9.05
le fumoir
Je suis incapable de bouger. Ok, je bouge, mais ça fait hyper mal. Je souffrais la martyre pour me lever se matin. Je me fais facilement les bleus, et mes bras sont violets….Mes doigts des pieds sont souffrants…mes muscles crient de douleur….c’est tout grâce à andreas….
Après une douche interminable, je suis allée chez le fumoir pour mon brunch hebdomadaire avec yaëlle. On est comme deux grands-mères : toujours la même table, le même menu…le patron passe par nôtre table pour parler un peu…tout les employés nous connaissent… c’est un drôle de tradition qui a duré plus qu’un an mais qui va bientôt terminer…
La sélection végétarienne était excellente aujourd’hui.
Après, on a continué la tradition de dimanche avec une promenade dans le marais. Nous sommes allées chez la maison de la photo, mon musée préfère à paris. Il y avait un expo sur les œuvres de martin parr. Les photos sont montrées la préférence inexplicable des britanniques pour le kitsch. Les photo des années 80s m’ont rappelés de façon éclatante mon enfance.
Après, nous sommes allées jusqu’à châtelet, mais mes pauvres pieds ont protesté contre mes actions, et j’ai décidé de rentre chez moi….et voilà le week-end arrive à sa fin…..
Après une douche interminable, je suis allée chez le fumoir pour mon brunch hebdomadaire avec yaëlle. On est comme deux grands-mères : toujours la même table, le même menu…le patron passe par nôtre table pour parler un peu…tout les employés nous connaissent… c’est un drôle de tradition qui a duré plus qu’un an mais qui va bientôt terminer…
La sélection végétarienne était excellente aujourd’hui.
Après, on a continué la tradition de dimanche avec une promenade dans le marais. Nous sommes allées chez la maison de la photo, mon musée préfère à paris. Il y avait un expo sur les œuvres de martin parr. Les photos sont montrées la préférence inexplicable des britanniques pour le kitsch. Les photo des années 80s m’ont rappelés de façon éclatante mon enfance.
Après, nous sommes allées jusqu’à châtelet, mais mes pauvres pieds ont protesté contre mes actions, et j’ai décidé de rentre chez moi….et voilà le week-end arrive à sa fin…..
3.9.05
fontainbleau
i think i am going to start associating the name 'andreas' with excruciating physical pain.
a few years ago the guy decided to teach me how to ride a bike, so that i could go on the "little bike tour" he had planned...i learned to ride a bike, the tour lasted for 64 kilometres, i couldnt move the next day, and i havent been on a bike since....so i had an idea of what was awaiting me when andreas, visiting paris for 2 weeks, decided he wanted to go for a day to fontainbleau. until he told me, i had no idea that fontainbleau was the home of world bouldering...and that the international bouldering rating system was developped right here, 1 hour from my home...this great gaffe in my bouldering knowledge is no doubt due to the fact that i didnt know that there was such a sport as bouldering....until andreas informed me, of course....
so off we went to fountainbleau acompanyed by a friend of andreas's from his language school...we drove to some spot near fontainbleau-the-very-small-town, parked the car, and headed for the rocks, with alcohol, sandwiches, smelly french cheese, wierd climbing shoes, and a crash pad. the wierd climbing shoes didnt really fit me, and in the end i climbed with my bare-but-chalked feet.
bouldering is fucking hard. andreas scales 15 metre rocks like it was a perfectly easy affair. but in reality it was quite complex...at least for me...being short was also not an advantage for the most part...
after a few hours, we took a rest, parked ourselves in the sand and ate. we also consumed a bottle of wine which provided the inspiration for the second round of climbing....hanging upside down from a small ledge seems more possible with wine in the stomach i guess.
i wasnt brilliant, but i didnt humilate myself as much as i had feared that i would...my greatest accomplishment was a 3b, the 3b+ was too much for me, i kept falling off...i propose as my excuse that i was very tired by that point, and thus incapable of executing the leap-while-attached-to-a-ledge that would have been necessary to overcome my natural vertically challenged state....that is of course, an excuse, but i am trying to salvage my pride.....(both of the guys managed it....but they are taller!)
there is something exhilarating about getting to the top of one of those boulders, i admit...we clibed until it got dark, drank some more wine and headed for paris
i dont imagine i will go bouldering again in my immediate future...unless of course, i am once again hauled off by andreas...
but now i smell like a stable....no one sat next to me on the RER....very bad sign
pictures of all of us wincing to follow
a few years ago the guy decided to teach me how to ride a bike, so that i could go on the "little bike tour" he had planned...i learned to ride a bike, the tour lasted for 64 kilometres, i couldnt move the next day, and i havent been on a bike since....so i had an idea of what was awaiting me when andreas, visiting paris for 2 weeks, decided he wanted to go for a day to fontainbleau. until he told me, i had no idea that fontainbleau was the home of world bouldering...and that the international bouldering rating system was developped right here, 1 hour from my home...this great gaffe in my bouldering knowledge is no doubt due to the fact that i didnt know that there was such a sport as bouldering....until andreas informed me, of course....
so off we went to fountainbleau acompanyed by a friend of andreas's from his language school...we drove to some spot near fontainbleau-the-very-small-town, parked the car, and headed for the rocks, with alcohol, sandwiches, smelly french cheese, wierd climbing shoes, and a crash pad. the wierd climbing shoes didnt really fit me, and in the end i climbed with my bare-but-chalked feet.
bouldering is fucking hard. andreas scales 15 metre rocks like it was a perfectly easy affair. but in reality it was quite complex...at least for me...being short was also not an advantage for the most part...
after a few hours, we took a rest, parked ourselves in the sand and ate. we also consumed a bottle of wine which provided the inspiration for the second round of climbing....hanging upside down from a small ledge seems more possible with wine in the stomach i guess.
i wasnt brilliant, but i didnt humilate myself as much as i had feared that i would...my greatest accomplishment was a 3b, the 3b+ was too much for me, i kept falling off...i propose as my excuse that i was very tired by that point, and thus incapable of executing the leap-while-attached-to-a-ledge that would have been necessary to overcome my natural vertically challenged state....that is of course, an excuse, but i am trying to salvage my pride.....(both of the guys managed it....but they are taller!)
there is something exhilarating about getting to the top of one of those boulders, i admit...we clibed until it got dark, drank some more wine and headed for paris
i dont imagine i will go bouldering again in my immediate future...unless of course, i am once again hauled off by andreas...
but now i smell like a stable....no one sat next to me on the RER....very bad sign
pictures of all of us wincing to follow
1.9.05
hein?
Je viens de recevoir un email de E, un mexicain avec qui je suis sortie quand j’avais 18-19 ans. Nous sommes séparés en 1998…je l’ai vu quelque fois après ça, une fois à Montréal dans la soirée d’une copine qu’on a en commun, et puis une fois en Venezuela. Je l’ai vu pour la dernière fois, complètement par hasard, dans une boîte de nuit en Mexique en 2000, donc il y a 5 ans…un peu plus. De temps en temps j’entends les bruits qui court sur son sujet : il a travaillé à Tokyo (une copine l’a vu dans l’aéroport là- bas), une autre copine l’a vu au Maroc…on m’a dit qu’il s’est marié avec une américaine…évidement c’est un mec qui bouge…
Et puis, après 5 ans de silence et pour les raisons que je ne comprends pas, il a décidé aujourd’hui de m’écrire. Comme ils sont bizarre, les mecs! Peut –être si je réponds à son email, il va m’explique sa logique masculine ?
sur un sujet plus grave: les événements de l'école #1 de Beslan ont commencé exactement il y a un ans.....j'ai regardé les commemorations sur la télévision: les méres qui pleurent, les photos des enfants morts dans leur mains....mais rien n'a pas changé, et la guerre continue...
Et puis, après 5 ans de silence et pour les raisons que je ne comprends pas, il a décidé aujourd’hui de m’écrire. Comme ils sont bizarre, les mecs! Peut –être si je réponds à son email, il va m’explique sa logique masculine ?
sur un sujet plus grave: les événements de l'école #1 de Beslan ont commencé exactement il y a un ans.....j'ai regardé les commemorations sur la télévision: les méres qui pleurent, les photos des enfants morts dans leur mains....mais rien n'a pas changé, et la guerre continue...
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