Day 7 - It's oh so quiet

I can sum up this whole day in four words:

- Bad weather

- Hangovers

- Blogging

It wasn't the most exhilirating day of the week, but it was quite nice nevertheless. The weather was terrible, barely any sun at all and cold winds (there go my chances of getting a tan), the largest part of our group spent the day sleeping it off and trying to hold down whatever it was they were pouring down their throats and I spent the day by the pool or in the reception writing down the last three days here. All in all, I was the most productive one here, which is kind of nice when you think about it. I even went for a run this morning, something I've been doing for the past six days now. It was pretty cold though.

Well, guess that's it for today. Sorry if it wasn't the most rivetting piece of litterature you've ever read, but tomorrow is my last day as a professional - unpaid, I might add - dishwasher. Because Monday it's inventory time until noon and after that we're free to roam about until the next day when we're heading back home.

Day 6 - Chez Charley's

Friday. You know what that means: profuse drinking and total dissolution of all boundaries. Naturally, the people of Saint-Pierre la Mer live and drink by this philosphy as well. 

I had just barely gotten used to the idea of having the day off, when I had to drag my sorry self back into that kitchen - or rather, into that back room in the kitchen. The pile of dishes had already risen to insurmountable odds that all relief efforts in the world seemed futile. It almost seems like they have the meaning of the word 'volunteer' had been falsely translated into 'à volonté' when it comes to work. Just as I've finished drying the last inox plate, in comes the chef with another order of leftover meat and a side of gravy. But, like a good soldier, I suck it all up and churn out fresh plates. And I do say fresh, not clean as the quality of my dishwashing has gone down considerably. I'm not at all surprised or even concerned about that fact. In my eyes, work that goes unpaid does not deserve the same amount of effort as work that does get paid. You can think of this as you like.

The only thing I had to look forward to was tonight. Tonight we were all going to the Charley's Bar, which is in fact the only place left in the entire town. Guess that's just another downside of going on vacation when everybody else has long since left. Still, I don't mind the quiet and the emptiness of the beach and the surrounding areas. I crave it from time to time.

Sometimes the air gets tense around here as I know that not everybody gets along quite well with one another and I find myself in the position of intermediary. Which is not to say that everybody likes me, I mean, I don't know that. I don't feel like I'm opposed to anyone here, but there's always the off-chance that someone's just faking kindness. But, what I don't know, can't hurt me. I think. Sometimes.

The truth is, I do long for Tuesday when I can be on my way home again. Not that I don't like it here, I just miss the familiarity of my surroundings at home. I miss sleeping in my own bed, walking around my house and being close to the people I love. It also sucks that because of the crappy train time tables, I'm going to miss the first day of school. Who would've thought I'd want to go to school? It took me by surprise as well.

Another thing I did today besides silently resenting the kitchen personnel for sending me all these dirty dishes and evading the searing hot sprinkler dangling above my head, was visit l'Oeil Doux. This is in fact a mountain that has collapsed on itself after erosion from within. What remains is this huge vertical cliff with debris scattered all across the area and two large cracks diagonal across the remaining wall. As I've said before, photos will be posted as soon as Wednesday night. But when the time comes, I'll let you know!

So, after exploring yet another exiting part of France, it's time to familiarize myself with the French liquor department. Which, in this case, meant drinking a whole lot of rhum and coke as I'm not that big a fan of wine and beer. We arrived at the bar around 1 pm and I was immediatly confronted with the French's intolerance to alcohol and their general balance deficit. Of course I'm talking about drunken girls stumbling across the dancefloor, spilling their drinks everywhere except where it would've made a difference and planting their elbows in other people's sides. Your typical Friday night, I'm guessing. The music itself was largely local so there wasn't much room for sing-along or even the slightest hint of recognition. As the night wore on and the booze kept flowing steadily - the rhum increased drastically while the coke subsided - our group became quite a sight to see. Some standing on tables, others barely able to stand on their own two feet and then there were the token sober people who were in charge of taking care of the inebriated. My bed started calling me around 2 pm, but I only answered its call by half past 5. By the time we got to the hotel, the two drunk people in our company were starting to get sober again - or so we thought. Cut to people running in the hall, screaming and waking up an entire floor as well as those same two people slamming into a wall, crushing a keychain in the process. Again, typical Friday night/Saturday morning behaviour. Well, I think I'm going to turn in now and let you decide whether I was:

a) one of the sober people,

b) or one of those two people who thought they could take down a wall.

Maintenant c'est à vous!

Day 5 - Roadtrip

Today's my day off! That means it's time to get up and get the hell out of this hotel for a while. I don't want to set foot in that kitchen if I don't have to. 

We've got the day all planned out: in the morning we're going to go to the market and around noon we're taking the bus to Narbonne. Sounds like quite a plan, right? Wrong.

We arrived at the dike around 10 am. We thought it best to check the hours of the bus before heading off to the market. Then it hit us. The last bus was at 8:15 and the next one came five hours later. Basically, we were screwed.

But then I noticed the time in between two stops. Most stops were only two or three minutes apart, which meant that there couldn't be much distance between them. So instead of waiting for the bus, we started walking towards the next stop, as a means of passing time. The ongoing search for the next stop became like an addiction and before we knew it, we were already leaving Saint-Pierre la Mer and heading into Narbonne-Plage.

The busroute took us through veritable wastelands with little to no signs of civilization. We walked for hours along the A9, which was probably the most deserted highway in all of France. It was pretty fascinating however, to discover all these weird little trinkets scattered alongside the road: countless broken Heineken beer bottles, discarded articles of clothing and even some bodily fluids. Pictures will follow as soon as I'm back home and can enjoy the pleasure of a real computer, instead of an iPhone. 

The Bloodstain

Our little roadtrip lasted two hours and by that time we had passed seventeen (!) busstops. The whole time we were laughing and lamenting on how infinte the road seemed and how we were never going to get home again, you know, your typical whining attitude that you get when things don't look so good anymore. And yet, each time, when we thought for sure we took a wrong turn somewhere and we'd miss our bus, we found the fabled stop after countless minutes of wandering along the deserted A9. 

We took the bus a few kilometres outside of the city of Narbonne and fifteen minutes later we got off at Les Halles. From there we visited the local market - it's strange to think how many markets this place can have, each day there is a full-fledged commune of anxious salesmen and their dubious merchandise. After that, we had lunch in front of the Hôtel de Ville, right next to the old Via Domitia. 

Les Halles de Narbonne

Pas de Tenue Courte

Now for this next part, I should tell you a little bit about what we were wearing. I was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt while Shana wore a mini-skirt and a top, not exactly church-wear, woudn't you say? But that didn't stop us from entering that church - commiting sacrilige in the process. We were immediately gawked at by many a devout Christians, who probably didn't take so kindly to our choice of clothing - or lack of clothing. At some point all we could do was just look at each other and start laughing. Mind you, that we were in the middle of a cathedral.

After having completely disgracing the House of God, we left to do some shopping and continued sightseeing. Another funny thing happened when Shana had to go to the bathroom. I pointed out a public toilet in a parc, so we went there. We were instantly taken aback by the pungent smell of the urinals - which is in fact quite common for the men's room. But the biggest shock of all was when Shana pulled open the door to the ladies' room, revealing a French toilet, complete with a metal arch you could pull down to sit on (photos coming soon). Needless to say, we had to find another restroom, which we found in a seedy snackbar with a woman who apparantly didn't know that 'toilet' in English means the same thing in French. 

I'd love to write some more on our day in Sarbonne, but as it is starting to rain (yes, RAIN!), I'm heading back inside! 

Stay tuned for more travel information! And to my family, who I know is reading this, I miss you guys and I'll see you in a few days! 

Day 3/4 - Watching the sunrise

The 3/4 abbreviation is not a sign of laziness but rather a simple solution to the fact that I'm starting to loose track of time. Mostly, my vacation here goes by in a sort of blur, a mixture of work, rest and play. My mornings are always calm and consist of getting up at half past 8, having breakfast, going for a run and a mental preparation for the lunch hour rush. Work goes by like a string of bad smells, dirty stains and a brave attempt to scrub everything clean in time.

Even though I only have to work six hours per day, it feels longer. Partly due to the fact that I now start about twenty minutes earlier to get ahead on my work. Still, it are long and hard hours that pass by at a snail's pace. The time that I don't have to play Cinderella, I try to get out of the hotel as much as I can.

I went postcard-shopping (for those who sent me their adress, the cards are in the mail!) and it gave me some ideas for sightseeing. Here's a small list - God, what is it with me and lists all of a sudden? Guess I have you to thank for that, don't I, Sarah?

- Narbonne

- Cabannes de Fleury

- Gruissan

- L'œuil Doux

- Carcasson

Don't think I'll get around to doing them all, but today (if time has any meaning at all anymore) I went moutainbiking and visited Cabannes de Fleury, which is a small fishers town. Although it was a bit too small for my taste, but we had fun on the way there and back. Plus some great pictures as well.

Oh, I'm forgetting the most exiting thing I did today! I got up at half past 6 - after having hit the snooze-button a bit too much - and wet down to the beach to watch the sunrise. It was just me, a camera and a gorgeous rising sun. My attempts to capture the moment on camera have proven to be somewhat fruitful, but I must say, I've never been good with pictures, always better with words. So who knows, maybe I'll write an entire blog about that hour and a half of celestial splendor! While I was watching the sky turn all sorts of colours, I had a little time to catch my breath and make some decisions that were long overdue. I've made my decision and when I come back you'll know the outcome - as will I.

I'd love to write a bit more, but we're about to go to diner as I've seen several people head for the employee restaurant! If anything else exiting happens to me again, you'll be the first to know, well, technically, second. Me first.

Day 2 - Getting around

Well, so much for chronology. It's now Tuesday afternoon and I shoukd be writing about what happened Monday! That's what going on vacation'll do to you! It'll make you loose track of time. But I don't really mind. This is the sort of place where you can really become disconnected from your world and see what's out there, away from all of the familiarity.

To retrace my steps, what did I do yesterday? Ah yes, I got up at a quarter to nine (after having pushed back my alarm clock twice) and had breakfast with Shana, a girl we met while we were on the bus. She's travelled with Intersoc loads of times so she knows the ins and outs of how things work around here. After breakfast, she went back to work and I got started trying to redecorate my room. I pushed the two beds together and rearranged some of my things. I had to work from 11 to half past 12, grabbed a quick lunch and then back to work until half past 2. Here's a little list of all the things I had to do:

- Wash everything they place on the rack

- Mop my little shack

- Wash the entire kitchen floor

- Clean the two 'bain maries' in the restaurant

- Scrub the kitchen furnaces

- And lastly, throw away the garbage bags

So as you can see, I've got a lot on my plate. Even if I start fifteen minutes earlier - which I've been doing in order to get a headstart on the pile of pots and pans that await me - it's always a battle to end on time.

After work was over, I changed out of my wet clothes and into something a bit more presentable. After all, not everyone at the bar had to know that I spent the last three hours scraping the most filthy of things off the aluminum. We met more people from Intersoc, some work in the restaurant, some work in the bar, but we all have one thing in common: we're all secretly craving the time when the clock strikes the hour of our release from labour!

Anyways, the second day has been quite enjoyable all in all! I'm starting to appreciate the quietness of the hotel and the ambiance that reigns throughout the corridors. Even the older people are pleasantly surprising me with their wisdom and their youthful spirit!

Stay tuned for day three! I'm going to finish my glass of ice cold water, jump into the pool and dry off under a 37 degree sun! Heavenly...

Day 1 - Got gravy?

This is my first blog to go international as I'm reporting to you live from the South of France. A former college roommate (for lack of a better term) asked me if I was interested in going on vacation for free, the only catch being that I had to do the dishes. Of course, I immediatly jumped on the opportunity, which is abundantly clear by the fact that I'm no longer on Belgian soil and that my cell phone provider has changed to OrangeF (I'm pretty sure the F stands for France, although I'm open to other opinions!).

The trip started out a bit frantic because when we arrived at the busstop, all we could see where elderly people. Me and my roommate were the youngest ones there! I panicked a bit, but I eased my mind by saying that all the young people must still be at Saint-Pierre la Mer (a fact of which I was proven right 13 hours later).

The busride itself was fairly nice, since it had a capacity of 54 people and there were only 11 of us, we all had extra room. I slept from 2:20 am to about 8 am. Not much, but what do you expect to get from a tourbus?

When we arrived at the hotel I was quickly drawn to the magnificent colour of the sea. That's the kind of blue you don't see in the North Atlantic. The hotel itself is pretty nice as well. It has a building for the guests and a separate building for the employees (aka me). We weren't allowed in the rooms until after 3 pm, so we got out of our bus-clothes and changed into something more comfortable as we laid ourselves down by the pool. The sun was burning brightly and although my skin has a tendency to turn lobster-red first, it usually settles into a nice light brown tint some time after that - thankfully!

We ate around 6 pm and while we were waiting to get started on our work, we sat at the bar, getting acquainted with our fellow co-workers. At a quarter to 8 we were expected in the kitchen. My job is to wash all of the big and heavy stuff, which basically means I get the shitty end of the stick. I get to scrape those unholy pots clean and throw away the tons of leftovers, but I'll elaborate on that in a minute.

The whole time I was working there, I couldn't help but feel like Cinderella; working my ass off and waiting until something better comes along to sweep me off my feet. Alas, Cinderella got herself a prince, I got myself a gigantic plate of paella, clams and shrimps included to wipe clean. One of the worst parts of my job is the amount of food I have to throw out. Seriously, all that food could help fight hunger in the entire Third World. I threw away 17 entrecôtes, at least 5 kilos worth of potatoes, gallons of untainted soup and countless vegetables. Policy dictates however that everything left over, has to be thrown out.

My chef doesn't speak a word of Dutch, so I have the pleasure of trying to decypher whatever it is she wants me to do! Ninety percent of the time, I can make out what she's trying to say and I respond politely with a "Oui." or a "D'accord!". The other ten percent of the time I'm at the mercy of God's will, trying not to spill sauce all over myself and praying the garbage bag doesn't rip when I have to toss it into the bin!

With the job also comes a nice little working space. You know, wooden desk, reclining chair, potted plat somewhere, wi-fi connection etc. Oh wait, that's not me, that's the office of someone who is actually getting paid to do this kind of work! Which is not to say that I'm jealous or anything, I'm just covered in gravy and other things alimentary!

Nontheless, I kinda like it here. It's a quiet place where I get to meet new people, experience new things (even if that includes scrubbing pans and sweeping rice off the floor) and all the while, I get to spend the day by the pool or by the sea.

This Thursday is my first day off, so I'm going to try to do an excursion or maybe hire a bike to ride around Saint-Pierre.

I'm going to try to maintain this makeshift-journal and keep you updated on the daily life here at hotel La Méridienne! Forgive the typos as I'm writing this blog on my belly in my room with the use of my iPhone! But I'll do my best at delivering top-notch quality writing! *cough*

Personal time machines

As I was watching what I thought was a comedy, I started to think about a very serious subject: the loss of a parent. It also got me thinking about the deceiving nature of human memory.

It is often said that memories can be highly subjective and that they have the ability to distort reality. Still we rely heavily on them to guide us and to remember our past. But the question is, how accurate is this remembering process? Do memories reveal the truth, or do they only reveal what we want the truth to be? The smallest memory can be tainted by personal agendas and subjectivity and therefore become superfluous. Someone once said that memories are irrevant if one has the facts, yet we continue to cling on to the past. Why do we choose to believe our memories over the cold, hard facts?

Maybe it's because we don't like where we are now and by changing a few details here and there, we prefer to indulge ourselves in a fantasy. A scapegoat into a better life.

Forty years into the future, my father -should he still be alive- will supposedly be in a dire state. He'll be needing help twenty-four seven. And as my father's condition deteriorates, I'll start to look back on my childhood, remembering the times when he was still able to pick me up and when he was the strong man I knew him to be. But when I think back about my childhood, I'll inevitably look back on our fights and our arguments and all those old feelings of resentment will start to resurface. At that moment, with my father's life slipping away from him, I'll choose to omit or change a few details, because I want to remember the past the way it should've been. When remember my father, I won't look back on our grudges and the spiteful things we've said to each other. Instead, I'll forge my own version of the past, I'll rewrite it to make it all better, make it perfect.

I think that's how it goes with a lot of things in our lives. Throughout the years, we're confronted with so much drama and heartache that sometimes, we just let our imagination take over and rewrite some of the hardest moments in our lives.

Maybe it means we're only fooling ourselves. Maybe it means we're living a lie. But I dare to ask which one of you hasn't wished he'd done things differently at some point?

In a way, we all have our personal time machines with which we can alter the past. Only ours doesn't include the dangers of paradoxes or the threat of stepping on butterflies and destroying the future. It's a sort of do-over, because we're rarely awarded one in real life.