Coco and Camarao do Brazil

I am so tired.

That kind of tired that seeps into your bones and makes them heavy as rocks, that crawls in behind your stinging eyeballs, the kind of tired that you feel you'll never be able to shake off.

And I only recently came back from vacation.  Something's rotten in the state of Res, I tell you.

Speaking of vacation, I am way overdue a posting.  So here it is, a brief but exclusive glimpse into the glamorous Brazilian adventures of Res and Hottie:

Friday: Res bails early from CoolCo Sub and hops onto a small plane to a London with a big suitcase full of dresses.  Hottie has just returned from Houston (obviously).  The two of them are exhausted and skip the big Friday night out in London.

Saturday: Res and Hottie wait for pre-ordered cab.  And wait some more. Cab doesn't show up. Learn to never trust anyone but black cabs.  Make it to Heathrow in time for plane (and pancakes at Giraffe). Spend a long time in a flying metal tube. Land in Rio.  It's hot. Hottie has a couple caipirinhas. Res is a party pooper and goes to bed.

Sunday: Our fearless heroines decide to jump off a mountain.  Not before signing beautifully drafted liability waiver, specifying that it applies to all hang-gliding activities such as "take-off and landing (including, but not limited to, crashing)". Despite said waiver, both girls manage stunning, crash-free landings. Spend rest of day recovering on Ipanema with some coconut water and a couple camarao. Res takes first caipirinha.  And second.

Monday: Trusty host Daniel takes the girls on tour of city.  Gets them lost in Tijuca National Park.  Explains ups and downs of marriage over large skewers of meat. Then plonks them down on a bar terrace overlooking Santa Teresa for caipirinha o'clock.  Where we meet a yacht stewardess and a straight man with a T-shirt that says "Flower". Res takes a bit of a fancy to Brazilian beers. At dinner, Hottie attempts to identify menu options by making barnyard animal sounds at the waiter and Res orders a mint tea only to receive a small swamp in a bucket.

Tuesday: More beach time.  The girls even manage to squeeze in a run and purchase bikinis (size large, therefore covering half a butt-cheek; we learn that what we think of as "normal" bikini bottoms are referred to here as American bikinis, diapers or parachutes. Lovely).  Then Christ the Redeemer goes all mystical in the fog and Copacabana sparkles from the top of the Sugarloaf, before it's time to samba the night away at the fabulous Rio Scenarium.  More caipirinhas are had.

Wednesday: It rains. Res gets a sunburn (rainburn?) and turns into a bit of a camarao herself. For good cheer, Res and Hottie purchase Havaianas and try to sing for beer money. It doesn't work. Res orders fish for dinner and gets beef. Never mind. There's always more samba to save the day (until a senior citizen decides to demonstrate his trademarked pelvic thrust move and the girls run away... fast).

Thursday: Bye bye Rio, off to Paraty.  It rains. Paraty is nonetheless charming.  And serves wonderful caipirinhas.  Res gets a samba lesson from a waiter.

Friday: Sunshine in Paraty makes for idyllic beach time. Res misses her coconut water, though.  In the evening, the girls are entertained by the fabulous Yara and Richard Roberts and eat the best food of the whole trip. Res makes farofa and feels pretty pleased with herself. Hottie learns how to make caipirinhas and London cocktail nights are transformed forever.

Saturday: Last day in Brazil, spent in Sao Paulo with INSEAD alumns and friends. Much food, drink and dancing is had by all.  It rains.  That's because Brazil is sad the girls are leaving.

Sunday: Plane, more plane, an early Monday morning breakfast at Heathrow, another plane, and arrival in Zurich.  The vacation is over.  Time to prepare work trip to South Africa.

More on that in another post.

Not-so-foreign

It's one of those (many) funny things about me that, no matter how well-traveled and adventurous I feel I am, no matter how highly I rate novelty in my life, the familiar has always had a very powerful draw. So much so that I worry I may be boring.

Which explains why I am sitting in a corporate flat only a few blocks away from my old apartment. Why I still have brunch at PJs 5 years later. Why I know that bit of King's Road and the section around the Bibendum like the back of my hand, but can't tell my Charlotte Street from Hoxton Square. Why it's entirely possible for me to have a crush on someone for 10 years running.

And why tonight I'm heading out to my absolute favourite restaurant in London, L'Etranger on Gloucester Road. To which I have already been half a dozen times (once I even got the sommelier's number...) And where I already know what I will order (the foie gras, the lamb and aubergine, and the chocolate trio) because I've ordered it practically every other time I've been there.

Is there something wrong with me? Does it come with age?

Well, never mind. Even if it is some kind of premature form of senility, it comes with glamorous Texan company and small fireworks for my tastebuds, so I'll take it.

The Definitive Guide to My Little Corner of Paris (Part 2)

MARKET: Le Marché des Enfants Rouges (rue de Bretagne)

Because its improbable name, a reference to the young pupils of the local orphanage, was coined at the start of the 17th century. Because the concept of choosing your lunch from a motley crew of international food stalls and then settling at one of the large wooden tables to eat with strangers is impossibly charming. Because one of the sweetest things the Boy ever did was order a pizza there just because it was called the "Res Ipsa Pizza" (clearly I'm easy to please when it comes to grand romantic gestures).

RANDOM SPOT: The wall at number 180 (rue Saint Martin)

Because over the winter it cheerily wished passers-by a "bonne crise" and because, now that spring has come, it assures us that all is well again in the world... sort of.

CAFE: Café Beaubourg (next to the Pompidou)

Because, while admittedly overpriced, it has one of the best car-free, people-watching terraces in Paris. Because there's a small chance the art from next door might seep in subliminally while you're having your beer, making you terribly cultured.

BAKERY: Berko (rue de Rambuteau)

Because even though you're living in the Magical Land of Patisserie, sometimes you crave cheesecake. Or cupcakes. Or both. And because when that happens, walking into Berko feels like you've died and gone to frosting heaven.

SUPERMARKET: Daily Monop' (somewhere near you)

Because they're open late enough for weary consultants and other non-35-hour-week folk. Because they have loads of fresh, pre-prepared dishes that mean I no longer have to cook when I get home at some ungodly hour and am feeling rather lazy. Because shopping there with my Duane Reade "Bag It For a Greener NY" tote adds a certain element of bobo chic to the experience that is not entirely unpleasant.

The Definitive Guide to My Little Corner of Paris (Part 1)

Really, I should have started this a long time ago. Over the past couple years I've used this blog (and previous incarnations) to provide unsolicited and rather ill-informed opinions on what to do in New York, California and Australia, and have never taken the time to share my favourite Paris spots.

This shocking state of affairs will now be made right, with this first instalment of the "Definitive Guide to My Little Corner of Paris."

A few ground rules and disclaimers before we start.

1) This guide will be completely random. You will find within its pages recommendations for restaurants, bars, museums, as well as shops, streets, parks, events, times of day, whatever I feel like, really. And in no obvious order.

2) This guide will probably focus mostly (but not exclusively, see rule n.1) on places that are within walking distance of my apartment. This doesn't mean there aren't other nice things in Paris. Or that you should use advanced triangulation techniques to find out where I live and stalk me. That wouldn't be very friendly.

3) Its "definitive" nature is entirely relative. I will feel free to add or subtract to it at any time. And it's going to be broken up into lots of different parts, which means you'll have to keep coming back to find out more. Devious, eh?!

OK, now that we've got that out of the way, here it is:

THE DEFINITIVE GUIDE TO MY LITTLE CORNER OF PARIS
By Res I(p)sa

BAR: Andy Wahloo (rue des Gravilliers)
Because the deco is loosely based on the very Parisian (and strangely not considered either derogatory or racist) concept of the "Petit Arabe du Coin," North-African style. Because it's tiny and intimate (which makes it a bit too crowded on Fridays and Saturdays, though). Because the DJ is likely to play music you've never heard before but immediately think is very cool. Because the house cocktail with ginger makes you go "Woh."

RESTAURANT: Le Réconfort (rue de Poitou)
Because I've been going here for years, and even though the place has abandoned its cutesy-colourful look in favour of designer-chic, the menu has essentially stayed the same. Because said menu is printed inside second-hand books. Because the food is simple, very French, and yummy. Because it's a fabulous date place, even if you're not on a date.

RESTAURANT: Les Philosophes (rue Vieille du Temple)
Because of the Tarte Tatin à la Tomate. Because it's the best place to bring tourists, without paying tourist prices. Because the outside tables are always full and after you've managed to get your hands on one, you feel cool.

BAR: La Belle Hortense (rue Vieille du Temple)
Because it's a great place to have a glass of wine before having your Tarte Tatin à la Tomate. Because it's actually a bookstore, and having wine in a bookstore is one of those things that has to be done.

BOUTIQUE: Ann Tuil (rue Vieille du Temple)
Because it sells shoes - really nice ones from designers like Sergio Rossi. Because it has a nice, small, neighbourhood feel and the guy running the place recognised me on my second visit.

BOUTIQUE: Prune (rue des Archives)
Because it sells shoes - really nice ones from designers you've never heard of and can't find anywhere else. Because it feels more like an upscale art gallery than a shoe store.

HAIR SALON: Atelier 7 (rue Saint Claude)
Because it's not a chain, but a boutique salon where you can get your hair done by the owner (Sophie). Because it feels fun and friendly rather than clinical and scary. Because I got the best haircut of my life there on a day when I was feeling like crap (so the stakes were extremely high).

MUSEUM: Musée Rodin (rue Varenne)
Because even though it's not in my neighbourhood, it remains my favourite museum in Paris. Because it's beautiful.

to be continued...

A day of silly

One of the things I love about not being at work (besides getting my gluttonous fill of Elle, Cosmo, Gala, etc...) is skimming through the "silly news", those stories that, while not quite news, still somehow manage to make it to the top of the BBC News website. OK, I have to be honest, I do that when I'm at work too.

In any event, two titillating snippets caught my eye yesterday as I lay browsing. First, North Korea has apparently opened its first pizzeria. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, those lucky subjects of Kim Jong-il will no longer be deprived of mozzarella toppings and cheesy crust; all is right again in the world. According to the article, the driver behind the restaurant's opening (for which North Korean chefs were sent to Italy to be specially trained) is to allow North Koreans "access to the world's famous dishes." Seriously? Pizza? Now I'm the biggest Italian-restaurant junkie there is, but again I ask: seriously? Pizza?

Now if you thought that was disturbing, check out this next item: "Brain decline begins at age 27". OMG. Whatever you do, don't tell BM. I think they thought they were actually getting a good deal, what with me being an MBA-toting lawyer and all, but apparently I am but an addled brain far past its prime and bordering on senility. Well, actually, that explains a few things.

Enough silly news for now. In actual res ipsa news, my health is coming back at a gallop, which is nice. Objectively speaking, I'm certainly not in top form, but the difference is so striking from a few days ago that I feel like I'm in the best shape of my life and could casually saunter out the door and run a marathon. An observation which has led me to discover the meaning of life (really).

Here it is.

You ready for it?

OK.

It has nothing to do with your actual state of being. It's all about the delta.

I'll let you think about that for a while...

A Week in the Life of P2

Sorry it's been a while. If you knew what a typical INSEAD week looks like these days, though, you'd understand. In fact, let me give you a guided tour of a fairly standard week in my life:

Saturday: (we start here because all good things start on a Saturday, in my book)
No class today. This is very exciting. Lots of reading to do, though... slightly less exciting. Plus there's rugby practice (and trust me, it's cold). Then there's the frantic last minute shopping for essential accessories for whatever themed party is going on. Tonight, it's the Montmelian Ball 7 Sins extravaganza. My sin of choice for the evening: greed. Goes very nicely with all the champagne. Mmmmm...

Sunday: The day of rest. Well sort of. Very little time to actually recover from last night's party before I realize I better finish the reading in case Jake Cohen (accounting superstar and my worst nightmare) decides to call on me. And you know he will.

Monday: We kick off the day with Accounting at 8.30 am before running off to Finance and an all-afternoon-long CV workshop. By this point I'm already exhausted but I have rugby practice again. (Yes, dear friends, you weren't misreading earlier, I have actually joined the women's rugby team. Laugh all you want). It's even colder now than it was on Saturday.

Tuesday: Long day of class today largely spent discussing power tools, until it's time for our section's long-awaited champagne party. As co-organiser, I naturally feel obligated to get there early and drink as much champagne as possible. According to all those surveyed, as well as the tell-tale glazed expressions the next morning, the party was a huge success.

Wednesday: L'Oreal comes to school today to present it's e-strat business game. My team is now all set and ready to shine in the glitzy world of cosmetics. We quickly come back down to earth in POM and Accounting. In the evening, my study group spends a couple hours playing with single-server queue theory before devouring a delicious meal at a local Michelin 1* restaurant (La Table Saint Juste, I recommend it).

Thursday: Heavy class schedule today, and I'm determined to go to bed early tonight. But first we have to learn about Black-Scholes and apply it stock options for our group assignment in finance. And then there's people having drinks at Aussie Bar and, well, life is short, I'll sleep next year.

Friday: Today is big scary exam results day. If you want to know how I did, well, I can't tell you. INSEAD non-disclosure policy, you understand. Things have been happily coordinated, and we end up having our exam results distributed in a 1-hr window from a single, small office during class time. Needless to say there were suddenly quite a few empty seats in what is usually a packed amphi for Taylor Randall's one-man-POM-comedy routine. And then we still have to sit through 3 hours of LO until 7pm before finally being able to run screaming through the halls on our way to the closest bar (seeking either celebration or comfort...)

And then it starts all over again...

Highlights for the upcoming week include: the INSEAD Dash on Wednesday morning (8am), two group assignments to prepare, auditions for Cabaret, more rugby practice, and a weekend trip to Barcelona with the team to play against LBS and IESE...

Doldrums

The end of September is fast approaching, the weather's getting cold, we've now passed the P1 half-way mark, and the blues have descended on Fontainebleau. Well, sometimes it feels more like Holly Golightly's reds, actually...

So why the gloom and doom? For one, the level and pace of classes has shot up exponentially over the last couple weeks. Falling behind is not an option, it's an inevitability. The whole experience reminds me a bit of a Texan rodeo, where you cling on for dear life, attempting to stay on top of things for as long as possible and hoping that when you do fall off (and you will), sheer dumb luck will intervene to keep you from getting crushed to death. Exams are in less than four weeks, and there are quizzes, group projects, exercises and essays due in the meantime. God help us.

The second cause of the "blah" is the to-be-expected mid-term anticlimax. We all started out a few weeks ago eager to great every new face and immediately love them forever. This kind of attitude is simply not sustainable in the long run. Now, we studiously ignore anyone whose identity, family history, and first pet's name we are not intimately familiar with; there are just too many people, not enough time, and energy levels are running low. This is also the time in the year that we realize that despite the fact that we're all sharing this amazing INSEAD experience together, it hasn't been long enough for us to really be friends yet (I am aware that I may be upsetting a few of my classmates who read this blog. Maybe I should qualify and say that might just be how I'm feeling about it.) Four weeks, even four intensive INSEAD-bubble-quality weeks, is too short for us to really know each other, especially when we've met around 300 people at random parties wearing silly costumes. My networking skills are just not that honed. But this aspect of the blues, I'm convinced, will lift slowly, as time passes and relationships become more real.

So, what to do when the blues hit? Well, some of us have taken to living in the library, in an attempt to stave off exam worries. Others have chosen to take a 12+ hour bus ride to Munich to drown their fears and sorrows in copious amounts of beer. Still others have reunited with friends, partners, families, seeking to reintegrate the real world (this can actually be quite dangerous; kids, don't try this at home).

And then there are the never-ending, pointless but highly entertaining INSEAD events to keep your mind off things. Here's a quick run-through of fun INSEAD life (yes, it's still there!) over the last few days.

Saturday witnessed the crushing victory of Section E4's football team in the inter-section Football Championship. Despite threatening clouds, the orange-clad, crown-wearing boys and girls of this fine athletic formation quickly disposed of their rivals, winning each match 4 to 1 and celebrating with true E4 panache and flair.

On Sunday, I was invited to dinner at Montmelian, served by the finest Dutch chef on campus. Who needs three Michelin star restaurants when you can get delicious cream of broccoli soup, scallops and apple pie in an idyllic chateau setting?!

Then yesterday was the start of Korea-Japan week, the first of many national weeks to come where we are all treated to the finest and funnest of our classmates' cultures. Calligraphy contests (it took me close to an hour just to write "friendship".... badly), Korean and Japanese food, Tug-of-War, lovely national costumes... what's not to love?!

And so the smiles return, at least until the next Econ quiz.

La Familia

Big family reunion today; 15 people spanning 3.5 generations and a couple more by skype (ah, the modern, international family). We managed to finish lunch before 5pm, which was a bit of a record for our particular clan. Seems to me to be a cross-cultural truth that, when you stick a random bunch of people together of different ages, with nothing more in common than a few strands of DNA, they usually end up ingurgitating a lot of food. And making slightly unpleasant comments about whichever poor sod hasn't managed to get married yet (that would be me). You gotta love them, though (and I do).

There is a rather interesting study published yesterday about families, notably about the relative IQs of siblings. Apparently, first-borns have, on average, an IQ three points higher than that of their younger brothers and sisters. Something to do with the extra attention lavished on them by their parents before the rest of the brood comes along. According to the article in the NY Times, first-borns also have a tendancy to be responsible, disciplined high-achievers; whereas their siblings learn how to play the guitar, have more friends, start political and scientific revolutions and generally are way more cool.

This begs the question: how many INSEADers are first-borns?

On an entirely unrelated note, I did a little jump for joy when I looked at my spotted visitor map today. Not only are the little spots spreading faster than chickenpox on a kindergartner (don't want DTLF putting me to shame), but there is a new spot hovering above Alice Springs. Having spent some time in that "straight out of the far West, got to see it to believe it" community but a few months ago, the fact that someone there would read my blog tickles me pink. Dear Alice Springs reader, I don't know who you are, but thank you.

Don't panic, don't panic, don't -

Still nothing. My stress levels are through the roof. Probably without reason, but still... I realise that my classmates and fellow bloggers do not understand what is happening to me, because they were clever enough not to wait until the last application round (I did have my reasons, namely, before the final round, I had this whole other life going on, one in which I was actually a productive member of society...) So let me explain.

Last week, I get the call that I've been admitted. (Fantastic!) After going on for 10 minutes about how wonderful my application was (really?!) I am told that it would be very nice if instead of starting in Fontainebleau, I went to Singapore. (Oh?) Apparently it's for my own good. (Ah.) Well, not actually, it's a question of there not being enough room. (Thought so.) So, what do I think? (Honestly, what I think is something along the lines of "Akgrstyapàidng%*$?????")
I hesitated, really I did. But then, I figured that since I was paying a not insignificant sum of money to this school, I should maybe stick to my guns on the preferred campus thing. Especially because I totally fell for the whole "we can't force you, it's completely your call" speech. Super, my call is Fontainebleau, then.

And that's where things all of a sudden got tricky. Lots of humming and hahing, well, we'll see what we can do, calls have to be made, stars checked for proper alignment, a few sacrificial lambs slaughtered, you understand... But we'll get back to you very soon, in a couple days, don't worry about it.

And still nothing. Hence the stress levels. Initially, it was just stress about how this would delay my loan application, my search for housing, my introduction into the NV holy land, my ability to get through any of the pre-reading (I don't even know what the pre-reading is yet? Fellow bloggers, help?!) Well, now the stress has escalated to: "oh jeez, I should have just said ok to Singapore, now they don't like me, I've messed up their numbers, they think I'm not a team player, that I have an attitude problem, they're going to change their mind about my admission and I'm going to have to go back to the job I was doing before and my former colleagues will look upon me with pity and disgust and my life will end...". They can't do that, right? Right????

(please excuse this interruption in our programming while I hyperventilate into a paper bag)

On a happier note, I was treated to culinary heaven yesterday by my (perhaps prematurely?) proud parents, AND I passed right by Raphael Nadal on the street. That made me feel better. Especially the dessert... and the foie gras... and the wine... and the close presence of a major tennis star... Well, it made me feel better yesterday, anyway.