A Life in a Night for a Proper Being (By: Ayesha Mutiara (10 y.o.))*

Sluuuuuuurp. Sluuuuuuuurp. Who doesn’t love milk? Especially if it is for a midnight snack. I was staring at my bowl with gleaming eyes, looking at the milk as if the bowl of milk was the best piece of art any one can ever do. I kept on licking at the bowl, little bit by little bit, trying to not to waste the milk, because those humans would never ever give me the right amount I deserve. I am a Siamese cat. I am proper. They should be thankful they have me.

Tap! Tap! Tap! I was on my daily walk around the house, as I usually do when it is night. I was waiting for one of those twin owners of mine to come and feel and admire my very soft and shiny fur. Hey! It’s not my fault I’m pretty and precious. Since Tyler (my owner) was doing his homework, I went to Erin (my other owner) to give her a chance to feel my fur before I would go prowling around the alleyways of New York City.

New York City has the perfect mood, which matches me like a puzzle piece. It’s fast, it’s bright and it’s busy. The only problem is that it rains a lot here and when the cars pass by really fast then they splash water on me and get me soaked and the water is absolute filth. How embarrassing it would be if I were the only Siamese cat that looked uncivilized in New York.

Any way Erin was watching “Lady and the Tramp” and it was the scene where the baby’s babysitter brought out her two Siamese cats, which were every mean to Lady. They were singing a song about themselves, which actually has a pretty catchy tune. Although they are my species, they selfish. Unlike me, don’t you agree? You don’t see me taking every thing for myself, unless the object is milk of course. Well, Erin’s mother told her to go to sleep, so I guess I would just go on my stroll now.

“AAAAAAHHHHHH!!! That’s my tail, thank you very much!”

Humm, people these days don’t appreciate real beauty. It’s unfair! For a short creature like me, a busy sidewalk is like a Dodge ball game. With all the shoes stepping right in front of you on the last minute. I would soon be as flexible as a gymnast dodging all these feet.

When I turned to the last corner, I happened to meet Gruel, which rhymes with drool, which he happens to do a lot. If he lived in my apartment, since he was a pup and no one cleaned his drool, my house would have a 1-inch thick layer of drool. And sometimes he drools while his head is swinging like a pendulum. So, There would be slime all over the wall. If his drool was brown, then the marks of drool would look like tree trunks with a lot of branches.

“ Oh, whom do we have here?” he mumbled.

“George Bush is who it is. Dum-dumb it’s me Lola the Siamese!” I shouted sarcastically. As if it was the simplest question in the world.

He gave me a look that was like a warning that he was going to make me his next dinner on his menu! So I ran, and ran and ran until I tripped over a rock and got a cut on my paw and blood was dribbling down my claws until they’re little drops of red. So I turned to the left and shook off Gruel of my trail. Then I ran into the back of he leg of an officer. He looked at me, stroked under my ear and carried me into his car.

In the car he checked my neck to see my collar and drove me back to my apartment. And when he rang the doorbell, my mother owner immediately opened the door and thanked the officer for bringing me back. But when she was about to pick me up, she saw my cut leg. And went to get a band-aid. She caressed me like I was a newborn baby.

Finally, I get the perfect treatment that I, the perfect and civilized Lola the Siamese cat deserves. And since I’m getting pampered and everything, I guess that it wouldn’t be a bad time to ask for milk!

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This short story appears courtesy of Ayesha Mutiara a.k.a. Kakak (10 y.o.) Thanks, Kakak!
* Ayesha is a bright student of ASD (American School of Dubai), a daughter of my two best friends - Wingky & Oya, the big sister of Zirdy, a talented sketcher, a meticulous storyteller (and a fast talker :-)) and more importantly, a talented swimmer. She has won many regional swimming championships in Dubai/UAE. At her age, she has already impressed many people with her many achievements academically and non-academically. With this article, she proves not only can she do the verbal storytelling, but also she can nicely compose a short story like above. I hope to see more of this in the near future and am glad to publish it for the first time in my own blog as a work of my special guest author. Keep writing, ya Kak!

Aliens Invade Paris

Come and live in Paris in the month of August, you'll soon find out that this is the exodus period of the Parisiens. Yes, most Parisiens traditionaly choose the whole month of August for their annual getaway (besides Noel). So, if you are moving in to Paris around August, the property market is almost dead. Very few propietaires would bother selling or renting their properties during this period. Hence, you are left out with very few options, unless you want to wait until the school holiday ends in the first week of September where the Parisien activities are sluggishly back to normal.

Basically, you must not expect to receive a service as fast as its normal speed (Please note here that I am NOT indicating that the service in France is particularly fast). The number of manpowers is reduced dramatically during this period. Many boulangeries (bakery), fromageries (cheese shops) and other shops dans le quartier are literally closed. The neighbourhood looks like Sundays in the other months of the year. Not particularly quiet, but definitely less people.

But if you visit Paris for leisure in August, ho-ho... it's contradictory! It's obviously a tourist month! Be prepared to stay in a long queue to get to the top of Tour Eiffel or to enter Le Musee du Louvre. Les quartiers touristiques like Latin Quartier, St Germain des Pres or Le Marais are packed with tourists.

Literally, in August, Paris is invaded by aliens a.k.a tourists.

Selling Madonna (30.08.06)

The good thing about living in a world's city like Paris is that it's lively throughout the year, particularly in summer. During the season, there are hundreds of shows, attractions, exhibitions, concerts, etc - both gratuit or not. At times, you feel overwhelmed with the "what's on" information and the advertising of all the entertainment in town. You feel you want to do it all, but at the same time you simply don't have enough time. At the end, you would need to choose.

Last summer, when we found out that Madonna would throw live concerts in Paris, Dita and I were jumping up and down. We thought this could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see the Queen of Pop live. So, I bought the two tickets ahead of time. Unsurprisingly, her 4-day concerts were quickly sold out. Luckily, I managed to get two seats for the evening of Aug 30, although, to be very frank, the ticket price was not cheap at all, even for the Parisien standard! What the heck! I thought Dita and I deserved such a treat to see a living legend like Madonna in a live action (Not that I am a big fan of hers, but there is no one else like her in the entertainment business. To me, she is a pop genius.) The good news is in France we are allowed to reimburse 50% of any loisir tickets through the Committe Entreprise. (Each year each company in France must contribute 1% of their revenue for their employee's entertainment. Employees could benefit many things from this CE program. Pretty cool, huh?)

So, from the moment we bought the tickets, the days seemed to be long. We were counting the days, eagerly expecting the D-Day to come. We had even arranged a baby sitter to look after Nadia. Then... the unexpected came. Nadia was not feeling well just a couple of days before the concert night. We prayed she would get better in time. But this time our prayer was not answered. C'est pas grave (that's not a problem.)

We could not go to see the show, that's for sure, but the show must go on. So, what about our tickets? Well, we had no options but to sell them at the last minute. From the morning of the D-Day, I tried to sell them through the French eBay, another French-based auction website and SLB bulletin boards. But none of them worked. It was just impossible to sell them online at the last minute.

Our last resort was to sell them at the gate alias 'jadi calo'!!!1) Here we go.... After work I went to Bercy stadium, where the show took place. I don't know how to describe my feelings and thoughts back then. I was not too convinced I could do this selling thing. I was not convinced someone would look for a ticket, let alone two, at the last minute. But who knows? I would try my luck. I had never had any experience being a 'calo' before in my life (not in a negative way, of course, because I was willing to sell them at the original price, if not with a little bit of discount. What the heck! The tickets must go!). Moreover, I had a very limited knowledge of French. My worries were paramounting.

When I arrived at Bercy 1.5 hours before the show was scheduled to start , I saw packs of people hustling and bustling, waiting for the gates to be opened. Among them, I noticed I was not the only 'calo' around. Indeed, there were quite a number of them. I smelled some competitions in the air. Some of them were professional. A few of them even asked me if I was willing to sell my tickets for half price. (Over my dead body, my friend!) I thought even if I failed to find a buyer, I would rather use the tickets myself than sell them to those people for way too cheap.

I approached several people, hoping they would fall for my charm (as if I had one, ahahaha....) Zero. Nothing. Nil. My charm did not work. The clock was ticking. I saw a family with 4 kids were doing the same as I was. I guess they were a bit lucky. Using their kids' charms, I noticed they managed to sell some tickets. People would tend to buy the tickets from them thinking they were not a pro. But a color man like me is selling tickets? What were they thinking? They might think I was doing it for life. A pro. A pro who would double the price.

Then I remembered one thing that boosted my confidence a little. As I came straight from work, I was dressing up quite smartly! So, I did not think my appearance would mimic the pros. At least I did not look like one of them. We'll see....

One hour had passed without any close prospects in sight, until a young Frenchman approached me and 'quietly' demanded for the price of the tickets I had tightly held in my hands. (I said 'quietly' because he then told me he was worried a police would raid 'calo'. He said he once had a bad experience when he had to sell his tickets at the gate of a show before.) He asked me to walk off from the crowd to make sure we were not being watched. He looked slick in his appearance. Perhaps around the same age as me. Knowing this could be it, I gave him a 10 euros discount for the two tickets. He agreed right away. He said he and his friend were desperately looking for two tickets. Done deal! Apparently, his friend had not arrived yet and this Frenchman had not enough cash with him. So, whilst waiting for his friend, we chatted away. A french working for Cap Gemini in Treasury. Speaks a not bad English with a very thick French accent. We then exchanged business cards.

In no time his friend appeared out of nowhere. Tickets and money were exchanged. I wished bon concert to the frenchman and his friend. He thanked me and said he would email me about the concert. Yeah, whatever.... I was just too happy as my tickets were finally sold and I could claim myself as a successful amateur 'calo' that night! Yoo-hooo...! From the bus, as I exhaled, I could see the other 'calos' were still out there trying hard to sell their tickets. Bonne chance!

Au revoir, Madonna! I don't know when or if we would ever have an opportunity to see you live before your age eats you up (it's my polite way to say, "you're getting old, Madame Madonna!")

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1) 'Calo' is an Indonesian word for someone whose profession is to sell tickets in a black market, usually with a ricidulously high price.

Les Brocantes, Les Vide-Greniers et Les Marches

Recently, I found it extremely soothing exploring the city of Paris. Not as a tourist, but as a stranger who lives in it.

When we were temporarily staying in the hotel in rue Didot during our first month in Paris, we loved to take a stroll along the antique market in Porte de Vanves on Sundays. It's not that I love the antiques, but to certain extent la brocante marche had changed the way I think of antiques or second-hand goods. En France, those goods seem to receive a high degree of appreciation from their people, even when they look rusty to me. In this market, you can find many sorts of goods, e.g. paintings, furnitures, households, ancient books and CD's and so forth.

In the past, I hardly gave my attention to antiques. I was nearly skeptical about them. Perhaps it's because there are not many places like this in Jakarta. Well, we've got Jalan Surabaya or Pasar Rumput or Pasar Senen for books. But they are somehow different.

It seems the place has never been quiet. There are always collectors who love to buy and keep them. Some of them are professional. I think les vendeurs in Porte de Vanves are mostly in this category. You can tell from the way they present their goods. They have their own vans and stand. I suspect they move around selling their antiques in town. In Paris, Porte de Vanves is obviously not the only place you could enjoy the antiques. There are some other places. But don't be surprised. As they are professional, at times the prices are ridiculously expensive. Of course, this is their lives. For most, this is their only source of income.

If you are looking for something less expensive and if you are patient enough, you will find there are garage sales (vide-grenier) in the neighbourhood (le quartier) which are organized by le mairie 3 or 4 times a year. Everyone in the area can participate. Last October, there were 2 of them in our area. We visited the last one. It turned out to be pretty good. Our neighbours seemed to have plenty to offer with cheap euros, of course, because their intention was purely to empty (vider) their attics (grenier). This is where the name vide-grenier came from.

Next time, we are thinking of participating. We still have some stuffs kept in our dark and small cellar to get rid of. I thought It would be an interesting experience, particularly with our limited knowledge of French! Ahahaha... Well, we don't need that much of skill. All we need is "C'est un euro, Madame... Deux euros cinquante... Dix euros, Monsieur...." Simple! Oh yeah, we will definitely do it next time around. It simply reminds us our garage sale in our house shortly before we left Karratha. It was "nothing to lose" kinda thing, but we profited two grants from the junks we had wanted to get rid of! Pas mal, huh? (not bad).

Another le vide-grenier we visited in a September weekend was one in a small town on our way from Chateau Cheverny to Amboise. I forgot the name of it. We found it by accident. We drove along when I saw the signboard. Papa Klaas and Mama Eny were visiting us back then. As usual, as a globe miniature collecture, Papa Klaas managed to find a beautiful one, cheap.

Another thing I find quite interesting is Sunday markets. You can only find them on Sundays. But in certain quartiers, they open on other days of the week too. Last weekend I found an interesting one at the end of rue de Commerce, about 20 minute walk from our place, under the metro railway (apparently the metro in this area is overground). Here, you can find mostly fresh food, like fruits, veggies, cheese, jambons, seafood and of course wine. You may say "What's so special about it? It's only a market!" You are right and wrong at same time. I think the atmosphere that makes it different. I enjoy watching the crowds and the stuffs they are selling, at the same time learning new words in French. As interesting as it may seem, the different kinds of fromage (cheese) or jambons or wine on the display always draw my attention. Now I don't know anything about them, but it's a learning process. Someday, I hope I will know something about them.