Bobigny and Bye

Sunday was game day for me and travel day for the boys. I headed off for the match and left the others to explore Gare du Nord. It was cold, windy and threatening to rain. When our coach begun explaining how we would play in the rain I politely interrupted him, “It’s okay, I know how to play in the rain”. He beamed. Chode headed home and James made the final leg up to the match, with some renegade pipe playing and a chat with a friendly Belgian on his way. As he entered the ground, part EA tracksuit, part racing tracksuit, arms raised, I couldn’t help but smile.

“Allez Gillies!!”

“J’aime l’eccossais!!”

“C’monnn Academyyyy...!!”

“Mahoy!” I replied in code that I knew James would understand.

We won 36-6 but should have scored 50 but hey, this is France. Why score 50 when you can get the same number of points on the table for scoring 36... I probably had my best game, making a 50 metre break leading to a try and finding some rhythm in my kicking.

James and Chode come to Paris!

The perfect way to get over last week’s bout of the cold was with a good dose of old-school (literally) banter. And so Notre Dame, lit-up at night, was a beautiful setting in which to meet James and Struan who popped over for the weekend. We headed into a local cafe for an omelette and what James called “just a beer”, turned out to be a litre glass, which is an awful lot. We then sauntered across town to the Champs-Elysees, with a bit of IHM on the way. We stood in the Place de Concorde and admired the grand Napoleonic setting before eventually wanting a taxi and befriending some Indian turbo-LADs who wanted the same thing! We eventually just walked it, sampled a couple of places along the route, one of which turned out not to be the sort of establishment we had in mind. “Shall we just go somewhere else?” “Sod that! I’m getting my money’s worth!”

We also hitched a lift off a man named Bruno.

Day 2 started late and would continue in this fashion. We strolled the left bank and took in the Racing Metro Shop, fast becoming a Paris landmark ranking somewhere in between some tower and the Musee D’Orsay. James’ idea that he could barter for a 70 Euro Racing shirt had me and Chode in fits of giggles. Several trains and a taxi then helped us traverse Paris for the Racing Metro v Biarritz match which we all greatly enjoyed with 10,000 others, even if we were 20 minutes late... Imported Percy Pigs kept our energy levels up for the evening trip to the aforementioned tower. The heightened security alert and visible armed Police presence was not what put us off the climb, rather the tired legs and James’ ‘vertigo’. He got his chance to barter though as we negotiated a model Eiffel tower that changes colour down from 10 to 3 Euros. As far as I know, it still works. We ate an absolute feast at a local restaurant, confirmed the Eiffel Tower was still there and took the train home.

Alliance Francaise Class

So this is a picture of some of the people in my class at the Alliance Francaise. We're a merry bunch from all over the world currently stumbling our way through the imperfect, though some of us often find ourselves in the past conditional, the present unconditional or even the present genetive unconditional conditional...
Top left corner moving left to right: 
Carlos, Spain, applying to Cambridge, speaks very posh english and enjoys a smoke
Omar, Saudi Arabia, initial debate over Omar's real age (18) was dispelled over his explanation about translating the calendar from Arabic to English...
Seung-Hyi: Korean magistrate, probably the best at French though no-one can actually understand his accent.
Harry: Colombian who often comes late and leaves early, has an odd high-pitched laugh.
Me: in classic pose with eyes closed...
Cecilia: Peruvian married to a Parisian. Culture clash.
Pinkie: Indian
Seated:
Kate: Australian
Edgar: Brazilian, class swot, likes the sounds of his own voice and impressing the teacher.
Larissa: German. She came and went within a week.
Robert: Texan pilot. All round good lad who speaks French with a real Texan drawwwwlllll.

Sniffle, Sneeze and Academicals!

This week has not been a normal week as I’ve come down with a heavy cold. My weights session on Monday was ridden with sniffles as was my French class the following morning. Though it did give the opportunity to learn some new vocab: sneeze, cold, ‘bless you’ and so on. I went into training yesterday but then was told to go home, which was absolutely fine with me. I’ve been feeling a little better today but went to the Doctor at the club just in case there was anything else I should visit the pharmacy for. He then wrote out a list...So I’m back at home this afternoon watching ‘Friday Night Lights’ and reading ‘Literary Theory’, though not at the same time. UCAS is also calling my name, and my smug attitude this time last year has been replaced by a slight bashfulness now I realise what a pain it is.

However, THE most interesting development this week came on Monday morning when a new guy walked into the class. I thought I recognised him when he popped his head in the door, got quite excited when he said he was Scottish and was then nearly beside myself when he said his first name. As the class was being introduced I got told off for talking to him in English and so explained who I was and that I knew him (he also knew me), in French, which seemed rather silly given that he used to be at The Edinburgh Academy. In fact, he was the Dux in 2005, and now finds himself in Paris for a month before starting at a London Law firm. I wonder who can work out who he is. So this week we’ve had lunch in the Jardin du Luxemburg a couple of times, reminiscing about the goings on at Henderson Row.

I also was in touch with another Academical who left in 2006 and who is now playing his rugby (a stand-off!) in Bordeaux for Union Bordeaux-Begles in the Pro D2. Given we have an extraordinary amount in common, we chatted for rather a long time.

Mum, Dad and Match 2

Last week was spent in preparation for the match on Sunday and also in looking forward to the visit of Mum and Dad on Friday. Tension grew in the flat – nothing that anyone who’s shared a flat won’t have gone through – and it looks like that’s just about subsided. On Saturday we went to Versailles, much to the despair of my French teacher, though it was quite impressive and a good day out. Though whose idea it was to place modern Japanese Digimon/Pokemon style art installations in the bedrooms of Louis XIV, Marie-Antionette and the Hall of Mirrors is beyond me. Ridicule. That night we ate in a local restaurant where some of the professionals were also enjoying a beer with their families after their easy win. I pointed out the South African table, with Francois Steyn etc and the English/Australian/Fijian table to Mum and Dad, though Dad was too cool to look round. Mum was awfully impressed that one big prop knew me well enough to shake my hand and chat about their game earlier in the day.

The match versus Dijon Challonnais was a scrappy affair which we won 22-0. This is a scoreline that never produces exciting matches. They weren’t good enough to score any points but we weren’t quite good enough on the day to put 40 past them like we should have. I set up one try with a nice chest-style miss pass and then didn’t do much else. But we eventually got the bonus point which is important. Mum and Dad managed to make some chat to some fellow parents, mainly due to some good English being spoken I believe. Here is how the table stands. Not surprisingly, Clermont Auvergne are up there setting the pace. However, what is surprising is Stade Francais having lost two early fixtures, though one was to Clermont. Next week we traverse Paris to play AC Bobigny, whose previous results don’t exactly strike fear in the hearts of the ciel et blanc.

CLUB	PTS	J	G	N	P	GA	PB	NEI	NF
1	LYON OL U	10	2	2	0	0	44	2	0	0
2	A S MONTFERRANDAISE	9	2	2	0	0	51	1	0	0
2	MASSY PUC	9	2	2	0	0	35	1	0	0
2	ASSOCIATION RACING METRO 92	9	2	2	0	0	27	1	0	0
2	C S BOURGOIN JALLIEU	9	2	2	0	0	46	1	0	0
6	U S OYONNAX	1	2	0	0	2	-37	1	0	0
6	STADE FRANCAIS PARIS	1	2	0	0	2	-22	1	0	0
6	ABCD XV	1	2	0	0	2	-24	1	0	0
9	A C BOBIGNY 93 RUGBY	0	2	0	0	2	-70	0	0	0
9	U S BRESSANE	0	2	0	0	2	-50	0	0	0

Trains...Trains...and Oyonnax

Nearly forgot to report on the match on Sunday. So we eventually arrived at this town called Oyonnax, 25 miles from Geneva, lying in a valley banked with forest. We took one 2 hour to Lyon, another 1 hour train to Bourg-en-Bresse and then a coach for 50 minutes. Quite simply, what an effort. The match started well, our forwards driving over for the opening score. From then on, we couldn’t keep hold of the ball for any length of time, discipline was awful and we basically fell apart. We kept the lead through some poor kicking from Oyonnax. Similarly, I didn’t have my kicking boots on either, though managed to slot a couple which kept our nose in front. Eventually we sealed the match with another forward try to win the match 16-9. “lucky bastards” was the general feeling after the match, mainly from myself – none of the others were walking around saying that... The train home, which we eventually boarded after a sprint caused by a queue for my chicken nuggets at the Quick, was slightly subdued. However, it is a win, and there is alot to work on before Dijon Challonais come to Paris this Sunday.

My 'hood and my ride

Some background on my ‘hood. I live in a suburb on Paris called Antony. In fact, it’s Antony ‘Sud’ and the border of anything that can just about be called Paris is about 150m up the road. I liken it to living in somewhere like Musselburgh or Balerno...

So in the morning I walk down the road to the bus stop, it’s about a 4 minute walk to catch the 197 bus, which I seem to spend an awful lots of time on. On my way I pass an odd number of pizza restaurants, an old school French tavern from which a permanent cloud of smoke hangs heavy in the air, an archery shop (who’s getting the longbow for Christmas?! Uncle John?!), a ‘Jade Lingerie’ shop (....no) and a food shop filled with very Jewish people which seems to sell both Kosher and Halal food. There’s middle eastern diplomacy for you. The bus whisks me all the way down the street for about 10 minutes to the Croix de Berny. From here I can go to the training centre or the station.

In the morning I head for the station, thereby swapping the politeness of the bus, “s’il-vous plait, assiez vous”, for the suited and booted rabble. The Paris RER (the train from the ‘burbs) is the most undignified, awkward and downright soul-destroying mode of transport I have ever experienced. But then again, I am used to a leisurely morning stroll down Howe Street bathed in morning sunshine. At this stage, commuting does not form part of my plan for future years. A seat is a highly prized commodity on the RER and I picture Michael Mcintyre’s comedy sketch about the London Tube most mornings. Everyone thinks the train’s full, no more people can possibly get on at the next stop. And then some determined bugger hyper on coffee and croissants takes a charge. It’s very awkward for everyone, and I’ve now learned to keep my arms fairly raised to avoid the odd stroke of some unsuspecting woman’s leg.

But then again, this is France, bodily contact is not something to shy away from...!

Saturday is Rest Day. Sunday is Fight Day.

It's a tiring schedule now as all training has been moved to the afternoon. On Wednesday and Friday evenings I don't get back into the flat until 10:30 and then it’s about 11:30 before I get into bed before being up at 7 again! I’m sure it’s something I’ll get used to though. Today I’ve been making full use of my day off: doing all my washing, some shopping, some tidying up, rediscovering what my bedroom floor looks like and so on. This afternoon I headed into Paris to the Auld Alliance Scottish Pub to watch some English rugby and some English football and just generally to just temporarily remove myself from France. Similarly, there are some areas of my life which have remained the same: I still have weetabix and milk for breakfast, I still get through extreme amounts of McVities Digestive biscuits, still listen to Radio 5 Live before falling asleep and can read the Times online. This doesn’t mean I’m rejecting what France has to offer while ensconcing myself in a little British bubble, not at all! In fact, I often smear a crepe with butter and sugar and stick it in the microwave thereby making myself a crepe Sucre. Plus I’m starting to find the loopholes in the metro system, the doors which are always open at each station. As tourists fiddle about with the machines, I slip through like a local. I’m pretty much Parisian.

Tomorrow is an exciting day as it is the first competitive match of the season. The usual Dollar fixture has been replaced for me by one against Oyonnax. You won’t have heard of Oyonnax but it lies 24.5 miles west of Geneva, up in the French Alps. We’re taking a train to Lyon and then a 1 and a half hour bus up through the mountains. I’m fully expecting a windy little road to a lovely alpine village where the rugby is taken very seriously. All the talk this week from my team-mates has been about how Oyonnax will just be looking for fights and how we should expect fights and get stuck into fights. So I’m sure it’ll be an adventure, if a bruising one.

French Lessons and the Striking French!

I have been a little behind in updating this but it’s been quite a big week with alot of new changes.

On Sunday, we won the second of our warm-up matches. After an odd pre-match meal of Brioche and chocolate, very French, we beat a local team called Massy-Palaiseau whose team included a couple of France under 18s. The heat was almost unbearable and when I looked in a mirror after the game I was a little pink. This has obviously since turned a golden brown...

Monday morning brought my first French class at the Alliance Francaise. With it being in the 6^th Arrondisement, I needed to take the RER train from my ‘hood into the centre of Paris. The morning walk across the Luxemburg Gardens is something I could easily get used to.

I really don’t think I could ask for a more appropriate person to teach French. Marie-Jo is almost the caricature of a Parisian woman – I know nothing about female fashion but ‘chic’ is probably the word. With little circular red-rimmed glasses that sit on the tip of her nose, she talks of her detestation of tourists, Versailles and constantly is writing down the names of restaurants, maccaron shops and the best little bakeries. The atmosphere in the class is very informal and participation is the main idea. Though while I get the gist of most of what le prof is saying, I often have no idea what my Korean chum Sung-Hyi is saying, or Cecilia the Puruvian or Harry the ever-so-slightly sleazy Columbian is getting at. One time all the Spanish speakers burst out in uncontrollable laughter at something Marie-Jo said – Me, Roberrr the Texan and Anne from Perth (Aus...obviously) just sat there not having a clue what had been said. Unsurprisingly, some French word resembles a rude Spanish word. Oh the laughs. I also have homework each night, the cheek! We’ve also been studying a poem by Arthur Rimbaud which we’re supposed to learn ‘par coeur’. I haven’t, yet.

Tuesday was my incredibly frustrating introduction to the real France, it was strike day. ‘La greve’ caused me to be an hour late for my class in the morning. After my class, I then walked 2 metro stops, found the station I wanted was closed, got on the 68 bus like the rotund woman said I should with the idea of then taking another bus. It was only 15 minutes into this bus journey, as I crossed the Seine and headed into the Louvre that I realised this bus was going the wrong way. Urghhh. So I got off, crossed the road, changed buses eventually and arrived at the training ground a full 2 and a half hours late for training, which had just finished. As I overheard a good English voice saying in Paris, “These French need a good dose of Thatcher, that’s what they need!”