Kickin' It Old School

So Romania. Wow. After actually getting to the place, which was literal hell on earth, it turned out to be... I don't even know what adjective to use. It was everything and nothing all at the same time. It was a crazy place but it has a certain charm and I have to say, I'm a fan. By the way, that's a picture of the American caressing the padded hotel restaurant doors. They double as stylish blue cots when all the rooms fill up.

So as I said in the last post, we left Sunday from Albi. Got to Romania on Tuesday morning. After 4 airports and 2 drives (just to get there), I can confidently say I never want to make that trip ever ever again. But the city we were in was supposed to be one of the most picturesque in the country - I use the term picturesque somewhat loosely - and once the sun came up, I could (sort of) see why. There were majestic snow-capped mountains surrounding the city but more importantly, these people know how to do Christmas decorations.

Maybe it's just a cheap way to dress things up a little, but there were more tiny lights and tinsel than I've seen in a long time. Like, a few decades-long-time. The whole thing channelled a little bit of a tacky 70's gameshow vibe, but then again I had that feeling the whole time so I don't know that the decorations were entirely responsible... I'll explain.

For example, the hats. Literally 95% of heads are covered in old-school, mostly fur-covered hats and in an attempt to capture them in their glory, the American and I went on a photo scavenger hunt of sorts one afternoon. We named the album "Hats of Romania" and it will be published later this year as a coffee table book.

Unfortunately, being responsible for creepin', I quickly learned that random hat-bedecked strangers don't take kindly to having their mug captured on film so most of the shots are from behind, which really doesn't do the headwear justice. I stand by my work though, and 28 pictures later we felt we'd accomplished what we set out for. A selection of some of my favourites...

This tall pointy kind of hat seemed to be the most popular.
A crowd favourite.

Old man trifecta.

This was my favourite. We christened her Skinned Cat Head.

Just one example of the many death stares I got...
But Babushka + duo of hats? More than worth it.

Ode to hats.
Only a country this committed to headwear outfits even their statues in such a choice piece.

The gym we played at was also kickin it old school. Literally no heating system of any kind. And the floor was parquet, think the old Boston Celtics floor at Boston Garden but then substitute smooth hardwood for an uneven surface, just to keep things fun. Running/jumping was thrilling enough but diving on this floor added a whole new element of danger. Fortunately, everyone made it out unscathed despite feeling like we were playing on a pirate shipdeck all game. Again, pictures didn't really capture it but I will say that the white paint kind of made it feel like we were also playing on ice... So much going on.

I don't know if food can be classified as old school but Romanian eats were pretty intense. For the most part we ate incredibly well so chalk up another culinary point for eastern Europe (see Ukraine for more supporting evidence). But one night things went awry and after 2 courses of delicious Romanian fare, we were served pickled melon. Belieeeeeve dat. Straight-up, dill pickled watermelon. And it was gnarly.

It looked awful and I was pretttttty sure it wasn't about to be one of those things where the taste would pleasantly surprise me... but I had to have a bite. I'm sad to say one mouthful was all I had in me before I was through. My palette said no and all I can say is it was a marriage of flavours that was never meant to be. The texture was also one that would've been better left unexplored. Luckily our server got the point when all but one of the pickled fruits were left untouched and brought out ice cream instead. What a champ.

Lastly, the transportation. I thought this category wouldn't make the cut since the Mercedes mini-bus we were rollin' deep in theoretically doesn't really qualify as old school but other areas of Romanian life made up for this. I was told before this trip that horse & buggy is still a common means of transport in Romania and though I thought it was something of an urban legend, I can confidently say that the myth is very much true.

In the first hour of our return drive from Piatra Neamt to Bucharest, we counted 13 horse-drawn buggies on the highway. Well, ok 12... I admit one was donkey-drawn. I'd probably have counted more but the novelty started to wear off and sleep called my name for the remaining 5 hours of the journey. But anyway, these people are still reppin' for the peasant crew and putting their beasts to good work. I don't know if horse-drawn anything can even be categorized as old-school since it seems to be like, medieval era, but close enough.

Oh yeah, the game. We played like absolute trash but only had to win one set to take the series, since we won 3-0 when Piatra Neamt came to us in Albi. We won the set we needed to so, as I said before, we advance to play yet another Ukrainian team called Severodonchanka Severodonec (try saying that 10 times fast) in the next round. Lucky for me, the club is in a city even further east than Odessa so I'm slowly but surely making my way closer to Russia. The trip to get there and back should be about as much fun as this one, so I'm already gearin' up. But for now, I'm focused on one last game tomorrow in Paris before 12 glorious days off for Christmas and New Year's with My German in Germany and Spain. Can't wait.

Highlight of the trip:
This mug, aka the team gift we got from the Romanians...
These people know who made them famous.

Romania So Far...

29 hours later we finally get to Piatra Neamt.
I'll let the videos do the talking...

"If I May" or The Soundtrack to My Life

Ok so this sorta goes against my code since I normally hate this sort of thing but this one was actually entertaining. Feel free to skip this post if you don't want to know my life as it would play out in song...


1. Put Your iTunes/Ipod on shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. You must write down the name of the song no matter how silly it sounds!
4. Put any comments in brackets after the song name.
5. Tag at least 10 friends.
6. Anyone tagged has to do the same, because fun pointlessness spreads like a virus.


Saddle up. Here goes...


If someone says, “Is this okay?” You say?
Rock My Boat - Dntel
(This is my usual response so looks like my iPod knows me better than we thought...)


How would you describe yourself?
Possibly Maybe - Final Fantasy
(I don't like describing myself so I apparently just sidestep the question)


What do you like in a guy/girl?
Art - Darren Hayman
(I'd always wondered... Great inner questions being answered one at a time here)


How do you feel today?
The Things That I Used To Do - G. Love
(I'm doing the things that I usually do aka napping & cleaning my apartment? Or I'm just embarassed I have G. Love on my iPod...)


What is your life’s purpose?
Ice King - Res
(Apparently my purpose is to maintain my cynical nature... Thanks for the sign God.)


What is your motto?
Baddie's Boogie - Babyshambles
(I don't believe in mottos. Neither does Pete Doherty. This is proof)


What do your friends think of you?
All Alone - Gorillaz
(Wow. Friends? What friends?)


What do you think of your parents?
Not Everyone - Nine Black Alps
(This I agree with. See the previous wedding post specifically or any of the plentiful references to my parents' abnormality.)


What do you think about very often?
First Fantasy - Citay
(No comment...)


What is 2 + 2?
L.E.S Artistes - Santogold
(The French aren't very good at math. Clearly their skills are rubbing off...)


What do you think of your best friend?
Hurt - T.I.
(I didn't want to say it outright but you know who you are...)


What do you think of the person you like?
Loss Leaders - Spoon
(?)

What is your life story?
This Love Is Right! - The Pains of Being Pure At Heart
(Sounds good.)


What do you want to be when you grow up?
You, Me & The Bourgeoisie - The Submarines
(Obviously still undecided but I aspire to one day be apart of the Cool Kids. Whoever they are... Apparently the iPod prophet is right again.)


What do you think of when you see the person you like?
No Love Lost - LCD Soundsystem
(6 months living on different continents & still goin' strong?)


What will you dance to at your wedding?
Too Little Too Late - Nick Dehod
(Wow. Really? Is this some kind of omen?)


What will they play at your funeral?
Satan Said Dance - Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
(Hahaha. That just happened.)


What is your hobby/interest?
Moanin' Low - Billie Holiday


What is your biggest fear?
Our Life Is Not A Movie Or Maybe - Okkervil River
(That my life won't one day be made into an epic 7-part, made-for-TV movie)


What is your biggest secret?
Just A Thought - Gnarls Barkley
(Dude. First the Fantasy song, now this. My iPod thinks I'm some kind of dirtbag.)


What do you think of your friends?
For Broken Ears - Chuck Ragan
(They have bad taste in music?)


What will you post this as?
If I May - Blackalicious

Christmas in the City

In an unprecedented turn of events, the American and I decided to actually get out of the house yesterday and take a trip into the big city. As usual, there were some noteworthy moments.

Actually, I'm jumping ahead a little so let's review first.

We played against the Romanian team from Piatra Neamt who was in our 'hood on Wednesday for the Euro Cup. We finally took care of the bidness and won in 3 so life is good in that respect. We head out to Romania on Sunday for the re-match.

Win or lose in Romania, however, I found out today that we're going BACK to the Ukraine for the next round... Eff that noise. 45 countries in Europe and we get sent BACK to Russia? Ok not really "Russia" for real, but I like to think of the Ukraine as its cousin or half-brother or something... Same family yo. So it's close enough and more fun to call it Russia. Anyway my first thought upon hearing the news was, "WHAT ARE THE ODDS"?! That's when I realized I had answered my own question earlier and I know exactly what they are... 1 in 45.

Snap.

So either God thinks I didn't get enough of Mother Russia on the first trip or I've done something really wrong to deserve a repeat visit. Either way, I'm not sure what city we're heading to yet, but I've missed the Ukraine's picturesque countryside, charming Soviet architecture and smiley people... Hopefully we see another woman walking her goats on leashes like on the last trip to Odessa. Sorry to be mean Ukraine, but you've seen better days.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. Being that we had a game on Wednesday, we had yesterday totally off and the American and I were fit to live large. We got up and walked to the train station in the AM to head into Toulouse for the day. We had a couple goals for the excursion:

1. Locate a toaster for under 20 Euros (me)
2. Find jeans that are long enough (The American)
3. Find appropriate 70's-era outfits for our teammate's disco-themed birthday party Saturday (both). (Nevermind the fact that I think disco is about the worst part of the worst decade she could've chosen. Don't worry though, I'm not bitter.)

We were successful on only the latter 2 points but overall I consider it a successful day.

After hearing about the disco soirée, I figured we were hooped and wouldn't be able to find any sort of acceptable attire that would otherwise be readily available in all its hideous glory in any North American Goodwill, since stores of that type don't really exist in France. Luckily, I did a little research online and we stumbled across a vintage store on the way downtown where we located a gem or two. Unfortunately none worked out (I was really hoping for the orange plaid 1-piece jumpsuit but sadly could only fit one leg in it...) but we didn't miss the chance for a photo-op and captured me sporting fabulous gold pants (the shirt is actually a dress and it's mine so back off on the comments there)...


Unfortunately we decided I was channelling a bit too much of a French police feel, since they also rock the loose-balloon-pants-tucked-into-boots look, and I regretfully peeled those beauties off. I really wanted to wear them, since it's a pretty rare occasion where metallic pants can legitimately be pulled off in public, but I'll just have to wait 'til the Ukraine to rock that type of outfit for real.

Anyway, we continued our journey through Toulouse and arrived at a giant outdoor Christmas market where I experienced my first chestnut roasted on an open fire. Now for those of you who know me, I'm known to croon a pretty solid version of Nat King Cole's timeless Christmas song, "Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire" and so the opportunity to taste said delicacy for myself was a pretty big deal. The video below captured the magical holiday moment in real-time:




When I said it was hot, I really meant it tasted like gently roasted garbage, but "hot" was the first reasonable answer that came to mind. I was caught off guard by the unexpectedly soft texture and generally awful taste so needless to say I didn't go back for seconds. The American wisely declined to try any at all. The song might be somewhat tainted for me now but I'm gonna just have to try to put this experience out of my head next time I rock out...

After the roasted nut incident, we came across a skating rink in the middle of the market and to my horror, the American confessed she'd never been ice skating. To a Canadian this was nearly inconceivable but she promptly reminded me that there aren't a lot of skating rinks just hangin around in California... Touché.

After a couple more hours of fruitless searching for jeans and disco outfits we were successful at last and decided to head back to the train station to take the 21:30 train home. While making a public spectacle of ourselves eating our dinner of salad in the station - EVERY time we eat in public in France, a passerby inevitably stops, smirks and wishes us bon appetit. What we are doing is obviously equivalent to disgracing a sacred public institution, so I guess they figure someone ought to at least start our meal out right - we were chatted up for more than a few minutes by a greying, middle-aged member of the Police Nationale. This dude obviously had nothing better to do than practice his English on some foreign kids trying to stuff their faces but he WAS wearing the loose-balloon-pants-tucked-into-boots... Just in case anyone was wondering.

So as I said, it was a good day. This has gotten pretty wordy so I probably could've summarized in a few less words... We saw some cool new stuff, ate some pretty bad stuff, and found some really ugly sparkly stuff for tomorrow.

Merry Christmas.

"And you ate the whole wheel of cheese? How'd you do that? Heck, I'm not even mad; that's amazing"

This cat can accordion a mean Christmas medley. And, yes, those are antlers on the pooch.

We also later saw a dog wearing a hoodie.

It's A Nice Day For A White Wedding

So this is a little overdue but it's been a pretty crazy week...

To sum it up real quick-like: I flew home to Canada for 3 days, flew back to France last Monday night, only to drive to Cannes Wednesday morning for match, came back to Albi Thursday afternoon and then drove 10 hrs on Friday to Terville (on the border of France and Luxembourg) for match yesterday. Belieeeve dat.

All in all, I calculated I travelled for a delightful total of 53 hours in the last 7 days - 71 hrs if you count the trip to Canada which technically took place a week and a half ago. I obviously had plenty of time for number crunching... Maybe a little too much if I'm adding stuff like this up but gotta keep the mind sharp in my advanced age. Needless to say I can't wait for our trip to Romania next week.

So why did I take a weekend trip home to the Motherland you ask? Well, I like to think I'm a high roller and I just like to take cross-Atlantic flights whenever I feel the urge to plant my feet back on North American soil, but we all know that's not even a little bit true. Actually it was THE family celebration of the year and my sister Sarah was getting hitched to the Aussie man in her life of 3-odd years. Note: nothing says class like referring to a wedding as "gettin' hitched" so I'll go ahead and avoid that for the rest of this post... Sorry 'bout that one.

Anyway, it was a pretty sweet trip and started off on the right foot, seeing as how The Sis didn't know I was making an appearance until I met her at the airport. This pretty well orchestrated surprise came to fruition 'cause my coach and president here said it was "absolutely not possible" for me to leave since we had a game last weekend and I couldn't miss it. Nevermind we were playing a team we'd beaten twice in pre-season without 2 of our best players (nevermind we also managed to lose last weekend to said team... but that's another story).

So after being denied repeatedly despite Sarah and I both asking a couple more times, the coach finally caved one day and out of the blue decided to let me go home for the festivities. I decided it would be more fun to surprise Sarah since she was pretty much sure I wouldn't be able to come at that point. Keeping the surprise under wraps proved to be tougher than I originally anticipated since my mom wasn't on board at first (she claimed "you'll have to OUTRIGHT LIE to her! You do what you want, but I won't do it!" ...Bahaha. I didn't really consider making a story up to keep the surprise alive as being on quiiiiite the same level of maliciousness as say, an "outright LIE" but hey. My morality is obviously questionable.) Luckily Helen came around but I had a few other close calls, such as one of the bridesmaids writing on Sarah's Facebook wall that she must be so excited that I was finally allowed to come. Or my mom telling Sarah that my boyfriend Phil was coming even though I wasn't... And then Phil telling Sarah the very same day that he wasn't coming. Or a couple weeks later my mom again making a reference to Phil's coming up for the wedding. Subtle things like that.

Anyway, I was on the same flight as my sister and brother-in-law from LA so Sarah thought she was picking them up and despite the above slip ups, I somehow managed to keep her in the dark. Her reaction was pretty classic as depicted in the video below... I should say, the purple witch hat Sarah's sporting was due to my family's weird tradition of dressing up in ridiculous costume to pick people up at the airport. That sort of explains it but don't ask me where that little pretty little piece of purple came from.

Phil flew in about an hour later from his corner of the world, as did Lies (another bridesmaid and Sarah's former teammate while they played together in Albi). It was so great to see Phil and the fam, and jet lag was only slightly kicking my trash at this point.

Thursday and Friday were spent hanging with aunts, uncles & cousins and getting ready for the reception as well as getting my dress altered which I had thereto for never tried on. Good thing I of course haven't gained a pound since moving to the land of rich foods... Luckily it worked out in the end and the seamstress worked a series of small miracles to save the day.

So Friday evening comes and the ceremony and reception are going off without a hitch until approximately 8:37 PM when the opening lines of ABBA's Dancing Queen blast over the sound system and the Meek children turn to each other with a horrified yet familiar look in their eyes. Our mother was about to be unleashed.

In another strange family tradition, Helen delights in succumbing to the urge to cut loose and either 1) Dance, or 2) Embarrass her children at any and all possible occasions. Preferably both at the same time. I won't go into details because it's both painful to conjure up the memory and I can't even begin to do the performance justice in words, but basically it was a medley of ABBA hits featuring a trio of 50+ year old women dancing their hearts out on-stage in custom-made coordinating outfits. I'm not sure what this had to do with marriage and celebrating the union of two lives, but who cares!

Lights? Dancing? A captive audience?! All the necessary components for my mom to shine were present and this was not an opportunity to be passed up. That's about all I want to say so I'll just let the pictures speak for themselves...

Before...

After...
I'm fairly certain you can figure out which one she is but just in case:
look for tassels and hair flying.

My oldest sister Heidi is a stylist in LA and somehow had a part in finding those lovely boots...

Throughout the number Sarah just kept saying "Whose parents do this. WHOSE PARENTS DO THIS!?", while I repeatedly asked myself if it was, hopefully, still possible my parents were just keeping secret that I was actually adopted into the family...

To all of you non-believers who weren't privy to the spectacle yourselves: trust me, I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. In the Meek household, truth really is stranger than fiction. So that pretty much stands out as the highlight of the evening, but to be real, Sarah looked absolutely gorgeous and Chris cleaned up pretty well himself. The wedding was lovely and it was amazing to be there for their special day, especially when I could've been spending it alone in a faraway gym.

Helen's dancing may have briefly caused me to reconsider my decision to come but in the end it was all more than worth it. The only unnerving realization I made is that with my 3 older siblings married, that means I'm next. Whooooooa now. The only thing scarier than that is the thought of what type of shenanigans my mom will pull out at my reception...

I don't want to think about it, so back to the subject at hand.... Congrats Sarah & Chris. Love you guys!

More teeth Colette! More!

Cross-Country Journeyings

After enduring what can only be described as a road trip of epic proportions, I unfortunately no longer have usable legs or a tailbone. My sports career has been a long and fruitful one and though I'm forced to walk away from the game I love, I'd like to thank my parents, my teammates and the many coaches that have been there for me al--

K, bad jokes aside, I'm semi out of commission because we had a match up in Calais this weekend and instead of flying - as I'm told the club used to back in the pre-economic fiasco days - we decided it would be fun to drive. And by "we" I mean the president and coaches.

So Friday after training we once again saddle up the ol' mini-buses and the caravan across the entirety of France begins. According to Google maps, it's supposedly only about a 9 hr trip... but somehow that translates into more like 11-12 hrs when you stop for multiple bathroom breaks and oh, I don't know, a full 3 course proper sit-down lunch. Forget making good time, it's apparent these people appreciate a good meal. I mean really appreciate. Then again, I guess you know you're in the culinary capital of the world when...

So, many hours later, we arrive in at our destination. The gym was old-school sweet and channeled somewhat of a hockey rink feeling. Naturally, as a Canadian, I felt right at home. The hockey rink vibe was due to the fact that the stands directly behind the bench were divided into what can only be described as penalty boxes. Enough room for maybe 3 people in each, I liked to think each walled section could either be utilized for crowd control to maintain the peace during a rowdy upset. Or sold as exclusive high roller court-side suites... The marketing department and I are in negotiations.

But I digress.

So we roll in and took care of the biznass we came for, winning in 3. Holla. Nevermind we won the first set 25-15 and then somehow barely came out alive with a 31-29 W in the 3rd... A win's a win. Oh and I played pretty well, which is a refreshing change from my on-court antics of late.

Anyway, travelling to/being in Calais was interesting for a couple of reasons... First, being a native of a Commonwealth country, and the fact that we were so close to Britain I could almost taste it, I felt a special connection with the (true) motherland I hadn't felt before. Heck, a couple times I almost burst into a rousing solo rendition of God Save the Queen. I'm not sure if all the driving was getting to me but I think it was just the proximity to the English-speaking world and the possibility of hearing decent music that warmed my heart. It doesn't really make sense, but allow me to explain:

In my opinion, the French do many things well. They do a good meal. They do a good wine. They do a good revolution. However, they do not do good music. I'm sorry, but it had to be said. 4 months in and the standard French musical fare is starting to get to me... I've been fed a steady diet of bad dance music, campy guitar singalongs and old Rihanna. And I don't get it.

The English - while their traditional cuisine leaves more than a little to be desired - I say they know how to do good music. Obviously and especially good rock, to which I'm particularly inclined. I recognized a couple songs in the restaurant during the post-game meal that nearly brought tears to my eyes since they were both 1) new, and 2) decent. And both by indie English bands that have not seen the light of day further south of the "border". I love France, don't get me wrong, but ah for a moment I pined to be back in a land of decent musical taste.

Moving on.

This trip was also interesting because the Canadian in me was brought out more than once. Obviously the hockey-gym thing was a factor but also because it started to snow heavily on the beginning of the return drive home. My panicked coach - being an inexperienced southern driver - handed the team wheels over to me and let me just say - the mini-bus might not look like much, but she handles like a beaut.

Actually, I chilled in the back of the bus and just hoped the unfortunate weather wouldn't tack on an extra 3 hours to the already lengthy voyage. It did make me reminiscent of home though... For about 2.4 seconds. A swift snowball to the face from my asst. coach snapped me out of it though, and I quickly remembered this was why I left Alberta in the first place.

So cold, so bored.

The real Canadian in me also shouldn't have been complaining about the voyage because this little joy ride was chump change compared to many a road trip I've taken in my youth. I don't know if Canadians don't believe in jet travel or are just too cheap for it, but I've concluded it's more something like a twisted rite of passage. 14-hr team trip to Vancouver? Check. 20-hrs solo drive to Winnipeg? Check. Oh wait, twice? Check. 36-hr family vacay drive to California? Check. Check. Check. (We made that trip a lot...). You get the picture.

So 10 hours across France shouldn't have been a big deal but, just my luck, I was sitting on the only chair in the van that was more of a jump seat than a real spot. Less padding, more pain. Basically, after my laptop died I had nothing left to focus on but the soreness of my bod, the van's mood lighting (there was an actual button on the ceiling, next to ON/OFF and DOOR that said MOOD. When pushed, it cast an appealing orange glow about the interior of the vehicle. I swear I'm not kidding this time) and the horrible music playing on the radio.

Not to be a downer, I'll finish this by returning to the fact that we played well, and more importantly, this trip is done for the year. Calais comes to us next and I will appreciate every minute I spend not in a mini-bus rumbling down French freeways... Which, at some point during the trip, ALWAYS lead to rolling down the main street of a small village going, at most, 40 km/h. Who planned these "highways"? It's another thing I don't think the French do well... But that's a story for another day.

Internationally Known To Rock the Microphone

So December is shaping up to what looks to be a solid month of travelling adventures.

First, since we lost to the Ukrainians in the first round of CEV (aka Euro) Cup we've been assigned to play against CV Unic Piatra Neamţ, a Romanian team, for the next round. They come here on the 10th and then we roll out to yet another former Soviet satellite on the 16th-ish. And yeah, I just like saying 'former Soviet satellite'.

Yes, please.

Truth be told, I'm pretty psyched about goin' to Romania since it's somewhere new but considering there was once the posibility that we'd be playing in Azerbaijan, I'm a little disappointed. I was all set to finally take full advantage of the chance to use my Azerbaijani with some native speakers... Plus, it's not everyday you get the opportunity to travel to a country that's priviledged to be the prime real eastate between Russia, Georgia and Iran. Maybe next year, but by then they might have discovered that it's barely still actually in Europe and therefore can't be in the Euro Cup... so I might not get lucky after all.

Back to Romania - We're playing in a city called Piatra Neamţ in north-eastern Romania, about 8 hrs from Bucharest. Word on the street is it's one of the "most picturesque cities in Romania" so let's hope it lives up to that description. Either way it has to be more picturesque than the Ukraine so I'm not too worried. My standards are low.

My expectations for ridiculousness, however, are high. Last time my club played in Romania a couple years ago they had some stories to tell. Apparently they actually passed a couple horses & buggies on the drive through the countryside to the city they were playing in. No word of a lie. Upon arriving at the gym, they found the Romanian army - complete with automatic weapons - surrounding the court. No big deal - you shank a ball and potentially take out some guy's loaded A-K... The soldiers stayed there for the duration of the game, presumably to protect the foreigners from the onslaught of cigarette butts and vodka bottles after beating the home team? Apparently people were allowed to smoke inside the gym during the match so I'm wondering if it'll be the same where we're headed. Should make for an interesting time. Here's to hoping nobody's asthma flares up during a long rally...

After Romania and the craziness that should ensue, it's back to Paris for our last match before Christmas break. We have an unheard of 12 whole days off so I intend on capitalizing fully and getting the eff outta Albi. Fortunately, My German will be in the house and we're rollin' to Venice for Christmas. I haven't been back to Italy since I was 6 so I'm lookin' forward to it. If Italian cuisine treats me anywhere as well as French has, I don't foresee any problems.

For New Year's we're hoping to head to Barcelona since there are cheap flights from Paris and I figure I should complete the French neighbouring-countries trifecta, as I was in Germany in August. Now if I can just fit in Belgium, Switzerland, Luxembourg, Andorra, and Monaco sometime before midnight I should be good on actually visiting all of France's neighbours before the end of 2008... D'oh. Yeah, I spoke too soon.

So that's what's been up lately. Planning trips and lookin' forward to a little change of scenery. It's a little crazy to think I've been over here for comin' up on 4 months. Yipes. What do I have to say for myself in terms of getting anything tangible accomplished off the court? Not a lot. Record amounts of time spent online and improved, but still pretty terrible, guitar skills. Rough. I think it's clear I need to spend some serious time planning some legit New Year's resolutions. I'm open to suggestions. For the rest of '08 I'm just focused on ball and takin' in more eastern European fabulousness. Should be good.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

My man David Bowie said it best, but I thought it was time for the look of things to be switched up a little here... The dawning of a new era, if you will.

Thoughts? Comments?

Love me!

Back in the USSR

So I got back from the Ukraine* for the first round of the European Cup last night at 3 AM. It was a trip. Literally.

Ok, wow. Bad puns aside, it was certainly an interesting couple days. Here's a quick recap...

We roll out in usual mini-bus form from Albi to Lyon Sunday evening. Not before being informed that the foreign kids, aka the American and me, need our French visa paperwork to get back into the country on the way home. I hadn't seen that piece of paper in many a week...No big deal though. The whole team will just wait for you guys in the car while you go on the hunt...

Luckily I located mine pretty quick... but the American wasn't so lucky and ended up looking for about half an hour before they decided to leave her to come in the second fleet, with the other half of the team, a few hours later... The trip was off to a stellar start.

So we get to our hotel in Lyon that night after taking an extra hour on the road cause one of the freeways was closed due to flooding... but the flight the next morning was on-time and we were finally Odessa-bound. Whoever booked our flights was a gambling man but impressively we made our 15-minute connection in Prague so God was smiling down favourably upon us Monday.

Tuesday, He stopped smiling.

Just kidding... except not really.

Actually, first let me back up. We practiced Monday evening to work out a little of the stiffness that invariably comes as a result of being tucked into tiny airplanes for hours on end. We hadn't eaten anything since breakfast 12 hours before so it naturally follows that an appropriate pre-practice snack consists of Mars bars and oranges. Something about chocolate seems to spell pre-workout nutrition to the French because we have been fed it more than once before games. Strange, but I guess it's my cross to bear while I'm here. I don't want your pity.

Dig in

Anyway, Tuesday we had a light practice in the morning and it was game time at 5 PM. After getting locked in the elevator due to a lack of room key (for some reason it was necessary to get out. I didn't understand it either but had plenty of time to contemplate while I waited for somebody to push the button and open the doors from the outside. Surprise, I'm in here.) and discovering the hotel's public bathroom has a mirrored ceiling (which makes for some uncomfortable moments when the American is the stall next door...), we were ready to play.

Allow me to sum up the game in a few words:
The team we played was Jinestra Odessa.
We lost 3-1. They had a 6'5" outside hitter. Russians can ball.
That's about it.

So we didn't take care of business. God stopped smiling. And it was a long trip... Luckily, we saw some crazy stuff and some of my stereotypes about the Ukraine were broken so it wasn't all bad.
First - it was ridiculously hot indoors. Like everywhere. I was expecting to freeze, but it was quite the opposite and we sweated our ____s off pretty much the whole time. Our hotel room temperature was stuck at 25 degrees and we couldn't turn it down. The gym was stifling.
Second - the food was really good and the gym and hotel were luxe. In this area I shouldn't say I had pre-conceived notions about either being bad but we'll say I was just pleasantly surprised.

To be fair, I should say that certain stereotypes were reinforced. For instance, we saw a lot of babushkas in flowery scarves.

What else. The country is in rough shape and a lot of buildings and such were really really run-d0wn. For example, the aiport was basically a one-room bus station. The people also seemed to be somewhat "run-down" and we saw exactly 2 Ukrainians smile the whole time we were there. The American even attempted a social experiment to see how many people would smile back at her while we walked around downtown Odessa. The final score? Ukraine - 8, the American - 1. She gave up pretty quick, especially after the only person I smiled at returned the gesture and I undermined her whole operation... I was always told only a mother, and I now found out a Ukrainian, could love this face.

So that's about it. We took the 15 hr journey back yesterday and leave again the day after tomorrow for Paris to play Clamart. The Ukrainians then come to us next week for round 2. If we win in 3 sets or less, it's off to Belgium or Germany. If we lose, who knows where we go for round 2. If I'm lucky, maybe back to another part of the Ukraine. Stay tuned for part 2.

Only 9075 km to Vancouver...

They know how to pick store names in this country

The only man to ever smile for an extended period of time in the Ukraine was immortalized in this statue

Roamin' the streets

Worldwide takeover... You have to make that shape with your mouth to say McDonald's in Ukrainian.

*NOTE: I am told it's incorrect to say "The Ukraine" but rather should simply be referred to as "Ukraine". I tried... It sounds weird. I'm sticking with the The. I'm sorry.

Ukraine Is Game To You?!

We leave for our Europe Cup match in Odessa on Sunday... Wish me luck.

And the Winner Is...

Today I had the good fortune to glimpse into the world of a French high school. As part of our team's community outreach/exposure we were supposed to present the prizes for a school-wide cross country meet this morning at Lycee Bellevue here in town.

The whole thing was mostly what I expected and the details are insignificant... save an entertaining few.

First off, the winners' prizes were nothing short of awesome. 1st prize, for who I deduced were grade 12 boys, was an electric tabletop grill. Camping style, it came complete with green aluminium bottom and interchangeable grill racks. Second place was a more conventional (and far less funny) backpack but third place came through in a big way and the winner was awarded not one, but two decks of cards. Sweet.

The girl's prizes did not disappoint and the proud winner was awarded an box-less, opened coffee maker (in classy red plastic) while the 2nd place prize was none other than an oversized can of meat paté - the ground ham variety, to be exact. Could there be anything more French? I was waiting for someone in a beret to emerge from the bushes with a couple of baguettes on which to serve the paté.

Deck of cards? Ah yes, the ultimate prize.

Awkwardly required to give the French bise to the winners...

The best part was that these kids were practically beside themselves with excitement and I distinctly remember seeing a friend of the grill kid grin and mouth, "Ah c'est bien ca! Ca va!". Loosely translated, this works out to "Sweet yo. BBQ on the soccer field after last period." Luckily, the girl winners agreed to provide the meat and beverages.

Also, Halloween is coming up. Since the French school system is sweet, the students have a week of vacation every 2 months, so today was their last day. Halloween in Europe is already a weird thing, but as a result of the impending vacation, apparently everyone just moved Halloween up a week... We figured this out after seeing more than one boy run by in straight-up underwear with a dishtowel tied around their necks. Ah, the naked makeshift superhero.

We saw some interesting (read: pathetic) costumes but unfortunately didn't have a camera on hand for most of the day and my descriptions won't do anything justice. Suffice it to say that my favourite costume was the kid in the Asian rice paddy hat, wearing a poncho and carrying a guitar... What was he supposed to be? Well, I was as lost as last year's Easter egg until I noticed the sign he was wearing around his neck that said simply, "Mexico" (yes, it was in English). Doesn't that betray the unwritten rule that you can't just carry a sign explaining your costume (or its country of origin?) if it sucks too bad for people to figure it out on their own? That sentence didn't even make sense but what I'm getting at is neither did most of the "costumes" we saw.

Leprechaun or this cat's everyday attire? You be the judge.

I'm thinking this might be partly due to the fact that there's no motivation to concoct a decently respectable Halloween costume since there's no such thing as trick or treating over here. I guess the French just aren't into giving away loads of low-quality candy to strange children toting pillow cases and yelling on their doorstep. Seems weird.

On the way off school grounds we were mobbed by a group of little kids who insisted on comparing their heights with me. They were all about 10 (I was wondering why they were at a high school too...) and thus, maybe 4 feet tall. Apparently they wanted to be eye-to-eye with me, so they attempted to do so by jumping repeatedly off the ground. The girls were nicer and rather than remind me of my gargantuan-ness, just asked for our autographs...

I couldn't be happier to be alive?

In other news, I'm off to Paris for another match tomorrow. Wish us luck.

Horse Face

So after starting this excuse for a blog last April, I meant to write about my summer journeyings around the great United States of A. Unfortunately actually living in real life rather than on a screen, and ok, the real reason - not having internet at most of my stops - put a cramp in my style.

Fortunately, I'm now bored and live 75% of my day online (when I'm not hitting balls and speaking le French) so it's time to take a trip down memory lane and relive some neglectedly (real word? nobody knows) undocumented adventures. In other words, tuck in kids. It's story time.

One of my first stops was the great state of Nebraska. I was semi-psyched to be checking off another state on my list and heck, who wouldn't love a place whose main University's team could be respectably named the Huskers. Those who know my family history know I have a long and sometimes hate-filled relationship with corn... Those who don't know my family will think that sounds weird but perhaps intriguing. Too bad that's a story for another day... Anyway, I figured these people were obviously on to something and I can say they did not disappoint.

For example, after coaching the 2nd volleyball camp in rural Nebraska w/ some former U of N legends, we were in a legit parade for this little farmtown's "days". I mean PARADE, complete with candy, BMX's, horses and teenagers indiscriminately shooting elderly bystanders with water guns. Ah, the simple country life. It was all too lovely - I experienced the great American culinary legacy in the form of Funnel Cake and Sno-Cones and rode atop an old school firetruck. Little did the townsfolk know, I was an imposter in Husker clothing but luckily I did a good job blending in... other than my Canadian accent and glaring pasty white skin, I was a local.

Anyway, after the parade we were invited to one of the camper's farms to ride horses and I was jazzed to show off my riding chops. That is, until I climbed atop Snickers, the family pony. Snickers was a loveable fellow and even gave hugs - complete with horse snot on my shoulder - but was unfortunately a little smaller than your average horse. This was a problem because I could comfortably gallop along with Snickers while remaining firmly planted atop his fuzzy back...

Horse hugs... Never a good sign when you have to bend down for the embrace.

Snickers is having about as much fun as me.

Luckily, last week, my team here in France went riding as a form of team bonding and this time we were treated to full-sized beasts. I felt a strange sense of deja vu since I took riding lessons at the local village Pony Club as a wee 6-year old in France and hadn't been back in the (English) saddle since then... Those were the days when I was small enough to sit on the pony, and not the other way around.

Somehow riding was supposed to equal team bonding... I guess something about being uncomfortable and wearing ridiculous headwear brings a group of people closer together. I'd say mission accomplished. Anyway, this time, everything was going according to plan... until I was chosen to demo how to saddle the horse. Good thing my first French vocab lesson back in grade 1 covered saddling a horse in public, so I was saved. After doing so, I climbed on (and actually up this time) and galavanted through the French countryside. Nothing like being around creatures more awkward looking than me to make a kid feel better.

Pensive? I believe I was thinking "Don't screw up"

Poochie obviously lost the staring contest

Aah the simple country life.