liberation

Loengutsükleid läbitud: 4 6-st

Elu on vahepeal nii märkamatult kiiresti läinud. Suur osa erasmuslasi lahkub selle tsükli lõpus, elik reedel. Täpselt sama plaan oli Simonil, kes aga Hamburgi naasemise asemel otsustas ajaloo esimese plaanemuutva sakslasena hoopis Lõuna-Prantsusmaale jääda. Ma proovisin teda sellest küll välja rääkida, ent kuna Deloitte ja Hamburgi Ülikool erilisi komplikatsioone ei tekitanud, on ta siin kolm nädalat kauem. Malte lahkub siiski reedel. Kogu selles lahkumistuhinas hakkas mulle vaikselt kohale jõudma, et minagi pean varsti-varsti koju tagasi pöörduma, olgugi, et siin on vaat’ et kodusemgi tunne. Ma lihtsalt olen hingelt prantslane, suur Eesti patrioot küll, aga no läbi ja lõhki prantslane. Tervitused vanavanaisale ja onu Bertrandile. Kuidas saaks mitte igatseda Bordeaux imelist arhitektuuri, Garonne’i kaldaid, Lafargue’i väljakut ümbritsevaid välikohvikuid ja õhus levivat vahvlite ja parfüümi aroomi? Kuidas saaks mitte igatseda tänavanurga peal shanssoone laulvat vanameest ja Sainte Catherine’i räpast kivisillutist? Pisikest pagariäri Victor Hugo nurgal, kus imekaunis tütarlaps mulle värsket tartelette aux fraises’i pakub? Isegi prantslaste erakordselt kaugele arenenud bürokraatialembus ei tundu kõige selle taustal nii kohutav (kuigi mul on siiani CAF-ile umbes poolteist kilogrammi pabereid esitamata).

Üks põhjuseid, miks ma pole palju teile kirjutada saanud, on meie praegune loengutsükkel. Olgu, on selge, et siinset koormust ei anna eesti omaga isegi mitte pinnapealselt võrrelda (Eesti haridus on tunduvalt nõudlikum), aga selles tsüklis peame tegema mahuka grupitöö. Kõik kindlasti teavad, kuiväga ma armastan meeskonnatööd ja grupiarutelusid... no ei.  Suundusime informateeki, et koosolekuruumis veidi projekti arutada, ent kõik ruumid olid paraku hõivatud. Prantslastel muidugi suu kõrvuni – ilmselgelt tähendab see seda, et kas a) jätame koosoleku ära ja istume Facebookis või b) istume kuskil koridorinurgas ja Facebookis. Mina teatavasti üldjuhul komplikatsioonidest end häirida ei lase, seega kõndisin otsejoones BEMi vastuvõttu ning palusin auditooriumi kasutamisõigust. Ühesõnaga saime me oma grupitööd teha suures klassiruumis ning mina sain välja elada oma professorifantaasiaid. Natukene „Piinatud geenius“ oli see küll, kui ma musta markeriga kirglikult projektiplaani tahvlile joonistasin. Kogemused finantsvallas ja energeetikas tulevad nüüd kuhjaga kasuks, kuna meie projekt on „offshore tuulepargi rajamine Euroopasse“. Grupp koosneb minust, ühest sakslasest, kahest prantslasest ja ühest portugallasest. Oih, andestust, kolm prantslast on tegelikult, aga ühest pole ma midagi kuulnud. Tüüpiline.

Eelmine nädal oli Frankil külas tema parim sõber Hollandist, kes erinevalt meist finantsinimestest tudeerib rahvusvahelisi suhteid ning unistab luureagendi tööst. Ta oli oma suhtumisega midagi James Bondi ja Ban Ki-Mooni vahepealset (kuigi teda end tsiteerides on tema unistuseks olla USA president). Nojah, nagu ikka tuli alustada jutuga, et jah, Eestis on euro ja elekter (EU toetusrahade eest ostsime eesli, kes dünamokaablit ringi veab, porgand nina ees kõlkumas). Koos sai istutud nii mõnigi kord ja häälekalt EU teemade üle vaieldud, sealhulgas homode õigused ja Euroopa Ühendriikide kontsept. Selle blogi eesmärk siin pole neid teemasid arutada, aga väga hirmuäratav oli näha, kuidas mõned aastad tagasi tembeldati mind hulluks, kui ma rääkisin, et EL muutub Eüks. Täna ütleb mulle rahvusvaheliste suhete tudeng, „mitte ei muutu, vaid see peaks olema meie kõigi ühine eesmärk, ainult nii saame hoida rahu ja jõukust ja muutuda rõõmsaks globaalseks pereks“. Minuarust keegi juba proovis ühe korda traktoriga tekki üle õnneuimas rahva tõmmata. Palusin Pierrickil kord mulle selgitada, miks ta eitab, et EL on sisuliselt sama asi,mis NL. Tõin seejärel näiteks kümme põhilist kommunismi eesmärki, mida saavutada püüti – EL on kaugelt efektiivsemalt kõik need punktid täitnud. Mis on sel juhul erinev? Pierrick vastas – aga Siret, miks kommunism halb on? Tõsi, igal pool siinpool Euroopat õpetatakse tulevastele põlvkondadele, et kommunism oli õilis vahend kohutavalt jubeda Hitleri võitmiseks. Ühtlasi õpetatakse noori häbenema oma ajalugu (nt prantslased sunnitakse Napoleoni vihkama) või esitatakse seda ülimoonutatult. Saksamaal ei räägita noortele Napoleoni ja Hitleri põhilisest sarnasusest: nad mõlemad soovisid vabaneda keskpankade võimu alt – elik anda kontroll riigi üle tagasi riigi enda kätte, mitte alluda pisikesele pankurite klikile (nii, nagu tänapäeval). Miks? Juba Henry Ford ütles, et kui tavainimesed saaksid teada, kuidas rahasüsteem toimib, tuleksid nad hetkega tänavatele. Casey tõepoolest polnud väga õnnelik, kui ma seletasin talle, et tema majandust kontrollib Inglismaale ja erapankuritele kuuluv „pank“. Kuidas on võimalik, et ameeriklased ei tea, kuidas Föderaalreserv toimib? Tegemist pole ju mingi saladusega.

Lõpetades nüüd oma täiesti teemavälise traktaadi – külastasime Franki ja Bobiga ka ühte klubipidu, mida me sageli ei tee, eriti pärast viimast reedet... Nimelt tahtis Frank meiega hirmsasti välja minna, aga mina polnud sellest ideest eriti vaimustuses. Lõpuks läksime ikka, sest „eelpidu“ toimus Apollo kohal korteris (ja kuna mina elan Apollo kõrval korteris, siis polnud see erilist füüsilist pingutust nõudev ülesanne). Natuke aega veetsime Frankiga, aga kell oli juba kaks seega otsustasime, et läheme La Suite’i – tüüpiline prantsuse ööklubi. Simon suutis kuidagimoodi oma telefonist ilma jääda, aga tänu tema automaatsele piltide üleslaadimisele on meil olemas hägune foto sest klubist... Väga traagiline lugu, väga traagiline...Mina samas olen nüüdseks neli kuud ilma telefonita elanud ja ma pean ütlema, et naudin seda täiel rinnal. Igatsen telefonikaartide aega, igatsen pargis kõndimist ilma kolme erineva seadmeta, mis GPSi abil su andmeid lokaliseerivad. Igatsen aega, mil toidupakkidelt ei pidanud lugema kirja „GMO-vaba“. Igatsen aega, mil vesi oli lihtsalt vesi, õun lihtsalt õun ja kõik lapsed mängisid muda sees, sõid kogemata kirsikive ja ravisid teelehtedega marraskil põlvi.

Lillelaps nagu ma olen, palverändur ja mägede hirm veel pealekauba, tahtsin kogu hingest ületada Pont de Pierre’i ning külastada Bordeaux teist poolt. Garonne on päris lahmakas jõgi, muide. Ütleme nii, et Emajõel pole eriti midagi vastu panna. Ühesõnaga kui sellest ilmatuma pikast sillast üle minna, jõuab hoopis teistsugusesse Bordeaux’sse. Istusime päikese käes (jah, meil on lõpuks ometi 30 kraadi sooja), limpsisime Martinit ning otsustasime minna botaanikaaeda. Kuigi seal on väga põnev muuseum, sattus meie reisi tippsihtpunktiks hoopis botaanikaaia aias asuv tilluke välikohvik. Seal lillede keskel päikese käes oleskledes hakkasin taipama, miks Vahemere elustiil nii populaarne on. Sel õhtul ootas meid laupäevaõhtune dinee, mida seekord valmistas Frank. Nii, me läheme Simoniga varsti Düsseldorfi ja Kölni – ent ka Hollandisse, seega Simon ja Frank räägivad mulle palju-palju Hollandi toidust. Ma tõenäoliselt kirjutaksin nimed valesti, seetõttu ma neid mainima ei hakka, aga suurem osa toitu tundub olevat õlis praetud suupiste. Simoni kohaselt Hollandi päris küsiin on päris.. omapärane, aga mina Inglismaad külastanuna usun, et olen kõigeks valmis. Seekordne shedööver kujutas endast pastat suvikõrvitsa, paprika ja merenguezega. Viimatine on teatud tüüpi peenike vorst, mida üldjuhul valmistatakse vana oina lihast ja ma pean ütlema, et see pole minu eriline lemmik.

Pühapäeval, kui ilm oli peaaegu talumatult palav, haarasime hommikusöögiks Camille Juillanilt kaks kebabi, istusime keset väljakut (kui keegi Bordeauxd külastab, siis kebabikoha nimi on La Coluche, tellige üks grec, sans frites, au feta, sauce samurai ), toitsime tuvisid ja arutasime, mis teha. Simonil oli suur plaan teha pesupäev ning minna metsa jooksma. Kui mul viimati pesupäev oli, haarasime KFCist ämbri vürtsikaid kanatiibu ja mängisime pesulas Neuroshima Hexi. Simon on aga pesu pestes üldjuhul produktiivsem ning üritab midagi päriselt korda saata, nagu ka seekord. Teatavasti olen mina aga kontrollimatu loodusjõud ning talle täiesti arusaamatul kombel leidsime end hoopis Bordeaux’ rongijaamast, et võtta esimene ettejuhtuv rong esimesse ettejuhtuvasse linna. Rongijaama sisenedes kuulsin klaverimuusikat ning soovisin jälle kord, et mul oleks Prantsusmaal klaver... Tere tulemast Sireti loodud reaalsusse – saialeti taga oli ei miski muu kui klaver! Täpselt nii, nagu Barcelona peatänaval... Järgmine kord üks kaamel, palun. Otse loomulikult istusin, seekord juba kogenumana, klaveri taha ning esitasin ühe oma lauludest. Pärast video pealt oli kõige liigutavam näha ühe vana mehe silmi... Ehk oli ta kunagi pianist, ehk tema poeg, kes nüüd elab kaugel maal ja enam ei helista, ei kirjuta? Palju morbiidseid mõtteid täna.

Lõpuks jõudsime ka rongi peale ning meie sihtpunktiks sai Libourne. Otse loomulikult olime unustanud, et parajasti on pühapäev (mis tähendab, et Prantsusmaa on surnud) ja linn oli justkui mahajäetud. Oli hirmpalav ning me tahtsime minna Dordogne’i äärde 800 aastat vana kirikut vaatama, aga otsustasime suhteliselt kiiresti, et La Belle Epoque’i terrass on palju parem variant. Veetsime seal tükk aega ning arutasime eriliselt pingsalt eurokriisi ning väärtmetallidesse investeerimist, kõ rvale klaasike kohalikku valget veini. Kuna mina pidin Jackiga kell 8 House of Parliamentis kohtuma, otsustasime rongi peale minna. Kui me olime rongis ja Libourne’ist nii 20 km kaugusel, küsis Simon – Siret, kas sa oma telefoni restoranist laadimast võtsid? Nali naljaks (minu kõrval istuv noormees naeris küll kohe päris varjamatult), ootasime järgmist peatust ja sõitsime tagasi Libourne’i. Mu telefon oli ilusti alles, aga no kui me juba seal olime... Veetsime veel paar tundi Belle Epoque’is, sõime maailma kõige paremat cassolette’i ja hurmasime võrratut kelnerit. Koju tagasi jõudes jalutasime üle Place Lafargue’i, kus terrassid rahvasumma täis ning pudipadi-turulised kioskeid kokku pakkimas. Hommikul oli keset väljakut lehm. Ka tema oli juba läinud.

Sel ööl tundsin millegipärast vajadust magada pea teisel pool – mõnikord lihtsalt tulevad sellised kummalised mõtted. Minu unenäod olid kirkad ja imelikud, nagu ikka, aga hommikul kirjutas mulle vana põhikooli klassivend – „Siret, ma nägin Sind täna öösel unes. Sul oli käes Richard Brautigani „In Watermelon Sugar“ ja üleõlakotis tolmune pudel Sangriat, mille sa leidsid ühest hispaania kirikust, mis kodusõja ajal sai saksa lennukite poolt pommitatud“

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ENGLISH

Sequences completed: 4 out of 6

Life has passed unnoticed at an incredible speed. Many of the Erasmus students leave in the end of the current sequence, aka Friday. Simon had the exact same plan, but being the first plan-changing German in history, he decided to stay in Southern France instead of returning to Hamburg. I did try to talk him out of it, but since neither Deloitte nor Hamburg University caused any complications to the plan, it was thus decided that he would stay three weeks more. Malte is still leaving on Friday. In all this leaving haze, it suddenly struck me that I must return soon as well, even though I almost feel more home here than home. Apparently, I am somehow totally French, albeit an avid Estonian patriot. Totally French – greetings to my great grandfather and uncle Bertrand in Paris. How could I not miss the amazing architecture of Bordeaux, the riverbanks of Garonne, the tiny terrace cafes lining Place Lafargue and the scent of fresh waffles and perfume in the air? How could I not miss the old guy singing chansons on the corner of St Remi, the dirty pavements of St Catherine? The small boulangerie on the corner of Victor Hugo where the beautiful girl hands me a fresh tartelette aux fraises? Even the French unbelievably far-fetched obsession with bureaucracy doesn’t seem that bad compared to all of this (although I still haven’t filed in my 1,5kg of CAF paperwork).

One of the reasons why I haven’t been able to write to you, is our current sequence. It is clear that the niveau here cannot be compared to Estonia (it is a lot harder to study at home), but we are supposed to do a very comprehensive group project this sequence. I bet you all know how wholeheartedly I love teamwork and group discussions… sorry, no. We headed to the informatheque to agree on the pipeline of the project, but all of the meeting rooms were occupied. The French were obviously glowing over that – clearly this means that we a) cancel the meeting and sit on Facebook or b) sit in the corridor corner and on Facebook. Nevertheless, I am not one to be frightened by complications, so I walked straight to BEM reception hall and asked for a key to an auditorium. I did get it, so we got to do our project in a full size classroom so that I could totally enliven my professor fantasies. Okay, it indeed was a bit of “A Beautiful Mind”, when I passionately drew graphs and diagrams on the large board. My experience in finance and energy sector is finally paying off, as our project is about “building an offshore wind park in Europe”. Our group consists of me, one German, two Frenchies and one Portuguese. Oops, pardon, three Frenchies, but I haven’t heard anything of one. Typical.

Last week, Frank’s best friend visited him from Holland who, unlike us financiers, is studying international relations and dreams to be a secret agent. With his attitude, he reminded me of a weird hybrid between James Bond and Ban Ki-Moon (although quoting himself, he dreams of becoming the next president of the USA). Well, as always I needed to start with explaining that yes, we do have the euro in Estonia, we also have electricity now (we bought a donkey with EU support money who drags around the dynamo cable, a carrot dangling before his eyes). We met quite a few times and argued (loudly) over different EU topics, everything from gay rights to the concept of United States of Europe, or European Federation. The aim of this blog is not to discuss these topics, but it was so scary to see, how although a few years ago I was labeled as a lunatic when I warned people that EU will become a federal state, then today I have an international relations student who tells me that “not that it will CHANGE, but it should be the common GOAL of all of us, since this is the only way towards peace and prosperity on the road of becoming a united happy global family”. As far as I remember history, someone already tried to drive a tractor, pulling a continent-wide blanket over a happiness-hazed society. Once, I asked Pierrick to explain to me, why he does not believe EU is essentially the same thing as USSR. I brought 10 main goals/methods of USSR as an example, showing that EU has far more effectively manifested those ideas. Where is the difference? Pierrick replied to that – but Siret, what is bad about communism? True, this side of Europe teaches its future generations that communism was a noble measure to prevail over the evil monstrous Hitler. Young people are taught to feel shame and embarrassment over their country, their history (e.g the French taught to condemn Napoleon) or teaching it in a very warped way. In Germany, children are not taught the basic similarity between Napoleon and Hitler – both of them aimed to liberate their countries from the authority of private central bankers, in an attempt to give control back to the country itself instead of letting a small click of private bankers run the ropes (as it is today). Why? Even Henry Ford said that if the common folk knew how the monetary system works, we would have a riot on our hands in the matter of minutes. Casey was indeed not very happy when I explained to him that his economy is controlled by a “bank”, owned by England and private bankers. How is it possible that Americans do not know how the Federal Reserve works? It is not a secret or anything.

Anyway, trying to finish my off-topic rant now – we also visited a club party with Frank and Bob, which is not a very typical thing for us, especially after last Friday… Namely, Frank really wanted to go out with us, but I was not exactly exhilarated… But we did finally go, since the “pre-drink” happened at the loft above Apollo (and since I live in a studio next to Apollo, it wasn’t really much of a hassle). We spent some time with Frank, but then decided to go to La Suite – a typical French night club. Simon somehow managed to get rid of his phone, but due to his automated photo upload, we still have the last photograph taken with his phone. Tragic, so tragic… On the other hand, I have lived without a phone for four months now and I must say I am beginning to really enjoy it. I miss the era of phone cards, I miss walking in the park without three different devices localizing your data over GPS. I miss the time when you didn’t have to search for “GMO-free” food. I miss the time when water was just water, apples just apples and all children played in the mud, accidentally swallowed cherry pips and treated their bruised knees with tea leaves.

Being the flower child that I am, not to mention a pilgrim and a mountaineer, I wanted to cross the Pont du Pierre and visit the other side of Bordeaux. Garonne is a pretty big river, you know, Mother River has nothing to defeat it. So in one word, as you cross that seriously long bridge, you get to completely different Bordeaux. We sat in the sun (yes, it is finally 30 degrees here), lingered with a Martini and decided to visit the botanical gardens. Although there is a very interesting museum there, our favourite part of the trip was the tiny terrace café in front of the museum. Sitting in the flowers in the sun I started to comprehend why Mediterranean lifestyle is that popular. That evening, we had the Saturday night dinner, this time prepared by Frank. So, we are soon going to Düsseldorf, Köln and also Holland with Simon, so Simon and Frank keep telling me stories about Dutch food. I will probably not spell it correctly, so I will not mention any names, but all of the food seems to be a deep fried snack. According to Simon, Dutch cuisine is rather… unique, but me having visited England – I am ready for everything. This time, the oeuvre was pasta with zucchini, paprika and merenguez. The latter is a certain type of thin sausage that is made of the meat from an old ram. Not especially my favourite.

On Sunday, when the weather was almost unbearably hot, we grabbed two kebabs for brunch on Camille Juillan and sat in the middle of this small adorable square. Should you visit Bordeaux, the kebab place is called La Coluche, order a grec, sans frites, au feta, sauce samurai. We we feeding the pigeons and discussing what to do next – Simon had a big plan of a laundry day and jogging in the woods. The last time I had my laundry day, we grabbed a bucket of hot wings from KFC, sat in the Laundromat and played Neuroshima Hex for an hour, but Simon tries to actually be productive while he is doing laundry – just like this time. However, I am an uncontrollable force of nature so unbeknownst to Simon, he didn’t realize how, but we found ourselves in Bordeaux main train station, to take the first random train to the first random town. As we entered the station, I heard piano music and wished again that I would have a piano in France… Welcome to the Siret-created reality! Behind the small boulangerie, there was naught but a piano! Exactly like on the main street of Barcelona… Next time, I will wish for a camel. Most certainly I took a seat, this time more experienced, and sang one of my songs. When I was looking at the video afterwards, I was  incredibly moved by the eyes of a very old man watching me play… Perhaps he used to be a pianist once, or maybe his son, who lives far away now, and never calls or writes? So many morbid thoughts today.

We did make it on the train finally and our destination appeared to be a town called Libourne. Obviously we had forgotten that it is Sunday, which means France is dead. The town was completely deserted, it was so, SO hot and we wanted to go to the banks of Dordogne to see an 800-year old church. Soon, we decided that the terrace of La Belle Epoque brasserie is a much more viable option. We spent a lot of time on that terrace, passionately debating over the euro crisis and investing in precious metals, accompanied by a glass of local white wine. Since I had to meet Jack at 8 at House of Parliament, we decided to catch the train. On the train, about 20 kilometres out of Libourne, Simon asked me if I took my phone from charging at the restaurant. Okay, it is not actually that funny (although the guy next to me in the train laughed rather shamelessly), so we had to leave at the next stop and ride back to Libourne. The second time around was even nicer – we got our phone and thought that since we are anyway there… We spent some more hours there, ate the world’s best cassolette and charmed the amazing waiter. As we went back home, we walked over Place Lafargue, terraces lined with buzzing crowds and thrift market vendors taking down their kiosks. In the morning, there was a cow on the square. He had also left.

That night, for some reason, I felt the need to sleep my head on the other side, where usually my feet are – sometimes you just feel like it. My dreams were still bright and bizarre like always, but in the morning I got an unexpected letter from an old classmate from my middle school. He wrote, “Siret, I had a dream about you tonight. You had a book in your hand, Richard Brautigan’s “In Watermelon Sugar”, and in your shoulder bag a dusty bottle of sangria that you found in a Spanish church that was bombed by German air force during the civil war”

viimane pilt, mis Simoni telefoniga tehtud | the last picture of Simon's brave HTC

genius at work

Läksime Bobiga sisse Bar du Chalet'sse, kus Frank sai peaaegu ühelt marokolaselt nuga (okei, tegelikult ta kutsus Franki endaga lausa reedel viskit jooma), baari taga oli umbes üheksakümneaastane tädi ja kogu situatsioon nägi välja nagu Tarantino filmis. Meist tegi pilti värisevate kätega neiu, kes püüdis dressides marokolast eemale lükata | We went with Bob to Bar du Chalet, where Frank almost got stabbed by a moroccan guy (okay, later he even invited Frank to drink whiskey with him on Friday), there was a mute ninety year old lady behind the bar and the whole situation was much like a Tarantino movie. The photo is taken by a shivering woman, who tried to wrestle away from the moroccan guy. 

Pesupäeva KFC | KFC on laundry day

Deutschland, Eesti, Holland

Holland, Eesti, Holland

Poolel teel üle Garonne'i | Half way across Garonne

Botaanikaaia kohvik | Cafe of the botanical gardens

LEHM! | cow

suudlus Carl Linnéle, tänu kellele teame, et kummipardi liiginimetus on Anaticula Cumminosa | kisses to Carl Linne, thanks to who we know that the correct Latin name for a rubber duck would be Anaticula Rubbernosa

Libourne