NIGHTMARE VILLE

I could tell you about the most amazing field trip ever, how prostitutes are scared of barbarians, or uninteresting stuff like the fact that I spend half my days covered in printing inks now.
But no.
Because our week in Angoulême by far tops the list of Worst Case Scenarios.

Uh, where do I even start?

On Wednesday morning we parted from our perfectly comfy homes in Lacoste, and hopped onto a ten hour bus ride that would take us just past our intended destination, slap bang into the middle of nowhere, with no Wifi, nothing. This is fine, except the place looked like something straight out of a Horror film, and all it needed was a bunch of horny teenagers and an unsuspected serial killer/rapist to fill its desolate, mossy holes.

Mossy isn't too bad of a word to use here, as this is what our temporary homes, misleadingly named "villas," would feel like for the next 50+ hours. The surrounding forest would intrude the inside of our living spaces, but not in a romantic, Florentine Renaissance way, but more in… you know how the word "moist" makes you feel all icky and gross inside? Yeah, like that: Floors accumulated with mud, and showers leaked; some people used spare blankets as makeshift bath mats but these only got unbearable to step on as they soaked through.

Our only freedom from this place was when we got to explore the Festival de la Bande Dessinée (Comic Book Festival) in Angoulême, which happens every year at this time. This was actually pretty cool, I think, and I even though I like to say I don't like reading comic books because I am unreasonably incapable of concentrating on details of speech and details of imagery at the same time, I submitted to buying this little gem.



For those who didn't feel that these 8-hour outings were enough to distract from misery, booze proposed another solution. Enter mindless shouting and running about, and games of Fishbowl dominated by Penis, Pussy, and Ke$ha. We were told we were going to meet some Icelandic people there, which I was looking forward to, but unfortunately the only time I did was when they came knocking at our door at FIVE FUCKING AM IN THE MORNING thinking they had left a wallet at our place.

"Let's hope this isn't a serial killer…!!!"

Primary school camp all over again. Shit just happens when people get too close for comfort. And have no Internet. Good and bad thing?

All in all I wouldn't say this trip was a disaster, but it's good to be breathing Lacostian air again.

French word of the morsel we have left of this week is: Le cauchemar.

As in: Cette semaine a été un cauchemar.

ALBINO CROCODILES AND MORE

Increasingly stranger animals are showing up in the Provence.

Let's talk about this one: Albino crocodiles.

I am not kidding, they exist somewhere in a tropical arboretum by a huge nuclear plant in the South of France. Mutant. Freaking. Crocodiles.

I don't really understand this. One minute we're watching a pretty enthralling documentary about the Chauvet Cave (which holds the oldest and perhaps most beautiful cave paintings known to man), and the next the narrator decides to ramble on about the impassive stares of those amber, reptilian eyes.

WHAT?! Ok, fine, I completely understand the necessity of the postscript, the nuclear plant being "not far away" from the Cave, thus endangering the longevity of the paintings and all... STILL, Werner Herzog, you weird. But with that aside, the documentary was actually quite good, and if you're a cave freak and love listening to obscure German accents I suggest you watch it; it's called The Cave of Forgotten Dreams.

Oh, and in case you're wondering if those crocodiles have some kind of purpose -- I was wondering that too -- the answer is no. The arboretum is there to siphon off the steam from the nuclear plant, and the crocs are there just because. Just chillin'.

So this week's French word (as you probably saw coming) is:

albinos (adj.)

As in:

Le crocodile albinos

On a side note... my shoes broke and I couldn't stand to throw them away, so now they're part of our dorm deco!! :3

CAMELS IN THE PROVENCE

I haven't much to say, except this: There are camels in Lacoste.
Yes, it's true.
We saw one today by the roadside. Poor thing was probably dreaming of the desert.

Other footnotes from my experience so far:

- Preserved olives are bitter, but very... olive-y

- Lavender keeps scorpions away

- Yes there are scorpions in Lacoste

- My mother is a baguette-maniac

- frosty wood is AWESOME

- There are camels in Lacoste?

Also, my new home is a comfy little bear-cave cottage! Here is it:



And here's the view.



ZE END. But before I truly finish, here is, um, the French word of the week:

le chameau.

As in:

Il y a des chameaux à Lacoste.