Our Fridge in Ottawa, April 2012

The grass is always greener on the other side, the croissants are always more buttery in France and the ethnic food is always tastier in Canada.

Okay, I just made that up. But that was my somewhat cryptic conclusion after three weeks in France.

When I’m in Canada, my French foodie friends and I sometimes indulge in food porn fantasies, naming the brands of cookies we miss the most and the dishes we wish we could recreate but can’t because there is always some key ingredient missing (and also because we are too lazy to cook elaborated stuff).

So when I went to France after a two-year long absence, I had my eyes set on the food. I wanted twenty different kinds of stinky cheese, creamy and sweet yogurts and crèmes, and huge loafs of bread. I wanted quiches made with real crème fraîche (not the stupid Canadian sour cream!), fougasse bread and thin-crust pizzas (something Canadian don’t seem to master). I wanted buttery madeleine cakes, chaussons à la framboise, and kid’s cookies such as Petits Écoliers, chocos, LU Kangos, etc.

Note: I really wish I could provide a picture for each of the foods named above but I was too busy eating.

The first week, I kept on volunteering to go grocery shopping because I just enjoyed being around French food. I strolled the local Monoprix’s aisles looking like a dirty old man in a sex shop. Pathetic, really.

The second week, my French family felt like having Chinese food. “Alright,” I relented. “I’ll go pick up some stuff at the Chinese deli.”

I walked to Nantes’ “Chinatown”, i.e. a couple of streets with ethnic stores, including a few Chinese delis. Most work exactly the same. Appetizers, mains and a few desserts are already prepared, sitting there displayed on plates behind the glass case. You pick and point what you want and the “waiter” more or less grudgingly dump the food into little takeout boxes and weight it. If you answer “yes” to the question “hot?”, your box is thrown into a microwave for a few minutes, and handed back to you.

The first and only time I took Feng to the Chinese deli, he was stunned. “What? They don’t prepare the food as you order? And it’s cold? And it costs that much?”

Yes, yes, and yes.

And the saddest thing is that it’s pretty much the extent of Chinese “gastronomy” in France, not to mention that half of the dishes are not actually Chinese (try to order “nems” or “Cantonese rice” in China!). I’m sure that if you really look for it, you can find a few authentic Chinese restaurants in major cities, but they are hard to come by and very expensive.

And it’s the same with most ethnic foods. Nems and Cantonese rice represent Chinese cuisine, kebab symbolizes Turk/Greek cuisine and a few pricey Japanese restaurants serve skewers (stuffed with cheese!) and noodles. Good luck finding authentic and cheap Indian, Thai, Vietnamese, Korean, Mexican, Malaysian, etc. food.

That’s when I started missing ethnic food. In Canada, we eat food from all around the world, and supermarkets sell bamboo shoots, tortillas, pad thai or korma chicken sauces, tzaziki, hummus, artichoke hearts, guacamole or tofu—ingredients I use a lot.

Besides, while in France, I realized I didn’t like traditional French food that much. My family is very casual and they cook “modern” French food. But these days, French seem to be into regional specialities, like I discovered going out with an old friend of mine.

We met one night for a drink, and then decided to go to the restaurant together. I have been away for so long that I don’t know any good places in Nantes anymore (not to mention that when I left, I was a broke teen and didn’t go out much).

“Pick a place you like,” I encouraged. “I trust you, I’m not really picky.”

We walked to his first “favourite restaurant”, offering French food. Hopeful, I looked at the menu and did a double-take. Featured were “steak tartare” (minced raw beef with a raw egg yolk), horse meat with “foie gras” sauce, several kinds of carpaccio (raw meat or fish), oysters, pork, duck and game product such as blood sausage, etc.

I mean, I’m not vegetarian and it takes a lot to gross me out but I draw the line at raw meat. This ain’t Fear Factor!

My friend laughed at me and we ended up in a crêperie (where the egg yolk is served very runny, but I can deal with that).

By my third week in France, I was really craving ethnic food—Chinese, Vietnamese, whatever—and a good burger, the kind we get at Dick’s. I had my fill of French food, and as good as it is, I needed multiculturalism in my plate.

What can I say—I’m also Canadian now.

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République Française

On Saturday, I have to go vote for the first round of the Presidential Elections at the French Embassy in Ottawa. France will only vote on Sunday, but as “French abroad” we have to cast our ballot a day earlier.

A huge envelop filled with a thick stack of two-page long manifestos—one for each candidate—finally arrived by mail yesterday. It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? I mean, doesn’t everybody know the candidates by now?

One thing that really annoyed me, on the other hand, is that since I registered at the French Consulate in Toronto, I keep on getting spammed by all the candidates. My name must have ended up on some “this chick probably digs the far-right” list (a huge mistake—ask any cop who tear-gassed me during the many left-wing protests I attended as a teen) because Sarkozy and Marine Le Pen were very productive, sending me email after email. Trust me, there is nothing worse than checking Yahoo first thing in the morning and realizing that the only person writing to you is that dude selling Viagra and Sarkozy (could it be the same person?).

As a French citizen, I think it’s my duty to vote for a new president. Also, I’m a nice person: I don’t think French should suffer five more years of Sarkozy.

The manifestos I received are the same ones French in France got: they highlight the candidates’ credo, explain the party’s beliefs, etc. The emails, however, were specifically crafted for the “French citizens abroad” audience. I read a few and I really didn’t recognize myself in them. They left me cold.

The main issue is that I don’t consider myself a French expat. I’m not temporarily residing abroad—I’m an immigrant. When I’m in Canada, I’m Canadian. When I’m in France, I’m French. Well, that’s the theory, barring my usual blunders and million-dollar questions regarding cultural differences. But one thing I’m not is an expat. To me, this word conjures images of French colonizers, of narrow-minded “us civilized people vs. them savages” communities.

But of course, for French politicians, it’s easier to talk to “expats” than to citizens of the world. They play nice and promise to defend their rights and freedom abroad. Gee, thanks. But really, none of the numerous electoral promises will affect me or will change anything for me.

Indeed, French immigrants’ status is a bit of a grey area. We retain French citizenship: for instance, I have a French and a Canadian passport. But unlike expats who typically study or work abroad temporarily, immigrants are long-term residents and usually have fewer ties with France than expats. For instance, few of us work for French companies abroad, or study in the network of French schools/universities.

Since we no longer have these ties with France, we don’t pay taxes in France, nor can we use the same benefits French residents enjoy, such as access to the health care system. And it makes sense. But it also makes us more or less immune to election promises.

The media like to say that French citizens abroad vote massively right-wing. I will resist. At least one vote on this side of the Atlantic Ocean will go to the far-left. “One small village of indomitable Gauls still holds out against the Sarkozy propaganda…”

The Manifestos

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No More Phone Booths!

One of the first things I had to do when coming home, along with doing loads of laundry, was to get a phone.

Well, technically, I have a phone. Two, even: a landline (primarily for telemarketers to call) and a cell phone that I never use because I haven’t bought minutes in ages.

I bought my cellphone a few years ago, after valiantly resisting sales pitches for months. I’m not a phone person: I do everything by email. But as the world was getting hooked, meeting someone without having a cellphone became increasingly difficult. “I will call you when I get there but I’m not sure when.” “But I don’t have a phone,” I would protest. “Can’t we set a time?” “Sure. Let’s say between 4 p.m. and 6 p.m. But I will call you when I will know.” Etc.

So I gave in and bought a pay-as-you-go cellphone. A crappy one that dropped calls and stubbornly refused to connect me when it felt like it. I hated the plan I was on: I had 200 minutes per month but I had no way to check when the 200 minutes were up. “You have to write down the length of your calls,” said customer service when I called to complain. “Don’t you have a number I can call that will give me my airtime balance?” “Nope.”

I bet I never fully used my 200 minutes. Bastards.

This year, I knew what I wanted: a BlackBerry. I figured that a smartphone would actually be useful. Being able to check my emails on-the-go is great and plans were barely more expensive than for a dumbphone.

So I started shopping around. First, I went online. In Canada, we don’t have that many providers: the big three are Bell, Rogers and Telus. Then they are a few “alternative” providers such as Virgin Mobile, Koodo and Mobilicity.

I knew what I wanted: I didn’t care that much about the phone itself, but I was looking for a plan with unlimited calls to 5 or 10 numbers (yes, I have no social life) and some data.

First, I struggled with the lingo. I thought my English was pretty good but understanding the plans, more or less detailed on each provider’s website, was tricky. What the hell is tethering? A supertab? How much data do I need?

But what annoyed me the most was the inability to see the actual monthly plan rate at a glance. After killing me eyes on reading the fine print (sometimes occupying half of the screen), I decided to meet the devil face-to-face.

Armed with a friend and a Starbucks Latte (welcome back, first world!), we paced Bank Street where most of the providers have a store.

First we went to Rogers, where I explained I was looking for a BlackBerry and a plan. “BlackBerry sucks,” the employee told me in uncertain terms. “You won’t like it. They break right away.” I felt some loyalty to RIM. “But I had one at work and it was fine,” I protested. “Nope. They all break.”

We left Rogers.

Bell was next. This time, the employee didn’t have anything against RIM and he showed me the plans. “That’s pretty good,” I acknowledged. “So it’s that much per month, right?” The employee fidgeted. “Well, yes. I mean, plus voicemail, plus call display, plus activation fee and plus tax.”

Wait a minute: isn’t that included?

Not in Canada my friend! Cellphone plans here are a notorious rip-off, but it’s not like we have much choice. I got used to paying for incoming calls and to the fact my plan was going to cost me from $50 to $80 per month. Still, I wanted to know what I was actually getting for that price.

I left the store without a phone.

The following day, Feng came with me. “Can’t be that difficult!” he boasted. We stopped at one of these cellphone brokers places. “I have a great plan for BlackBerry,” claimed the employee. “$40 a month and you can get that phone for free with a three-year contract.” “So what do I get for that price?” The employee looked at me with pity. “A phone. Do you need airtime?” “Well, yes. It’s a phone after all,” I pointed out. “Okay, make it $55 a month. Do you need data?” “That’s kind of the point of having a smartphone,” I added. “Okay, make it $60 a month then. Plus tax, plus voicemail, plus call display, plus activation fee, plus system fee. Got two pieces of ID?”

The two pieces of ID stayed in my wallet. After visiting a few stores, we called it quit. “You know what,” said Feng, exhausted. “Buy what you think is best. There are no discounts, no good deals and they are all the same.”

So I went back to my first choice (Virgin Mobile, marginally cheaper) and signed up for a plan.

I now have a BlackBerry. I just have to figure out how to use it.

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“iPod… I am Your Father”, a funny ad for a classic rock radio

I’m going digital.

I had a Walkman until 2008. I know—it’s embarrassing. See, I never liked CD players: too clumsy, too big, to fragile. I hated burning CDs because there was always something going wrong. On the other side, my Walkman was virtually indestructible and I loved making mix tapes. I’m a child of the 1990s and the boombox.

But right before our trip to Latin America in 2008, I decided to splurge for an iPod Nano. Let’s face it, MP3 players are a bit more powerful than Walkmans. Not having to limit myself to two or three tapes (some spliced because you know, tapes occasionally get jammed or damaged) is priceless. I have thousands of MP3s and Podcasts at my fingertips and these devices are small, thus easy to carry.

I’m having the same kind of epiphany about eBook readers. See, I’m the kind of person who reads a book a day (and because OCTranspo is rarely on time, I have the chance to do so). Like most women, I carry my life in my bag, plus a couple of books (just in case I finish one, I like to have a backup). Some of my friends have tried to get me to switch to an eBook reader but I reacted like a granny. “It’s gonna hurt my eyes! It’s not the same as paper!” I protested.

Pretty much what my grand-parents say about me reading the news online.

To my credit, the first eBook readers were expensive and the choice of eBooks was somewhat limited.

But recently, while browsing Amazon, I realized eBook readers had become thinner, smaller and cheaper. The latest Kindle was sold for $109 (non-US price), making it an affordable tech gadget.

Meanwhile, a friend of mine lent me her Kobo because she had gotten a newer model. I started reading a book on it, not quite convinced.

Fifteen minutes later, I was sold.

Not only the screen wasn’t too bright and didn’t have any annoying reflection, but turning virtual pages soon became second nature to me.

On top of everything, I realized that I could finally get French books that are hard to find here. I mostly read in English but there are a handful of French authors I still follow and getting their books in Canada is always tricky. Amazon.ca doesn’t always have them and Amazon.fr charges an arm for shipping. But digital books are affordable—and no more shipping problems!

So I ordered my Kindle from amazon.com. I opted for a simple model, not a touch screen (touch screens usually refuse to obey me anyway) nor a tablet (much more expensive and the screen is tiring for the eyes I found).

I received it two days later and immediately adopted it. I download Calibre, a great free software to manage my eBook library, and I started gathering books and reading material.

I still like books and I will continue buying them. But not having to carry paperbacks everywhere I go is definitely a plus. And this time, for our upcoming trip, I won’t have to stack hardcover books at the bottom of my backpack and hope for book exchange opportunities on the way.

I’m going digital… and I love it.

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Feed Me, Ottawa Graffiti, Spring 2011

We attract supermarkets.

When we first came to live in the neighbourhood, there was only a Loblaws. Then came Food Basic and Shoppers Drug Mart, right across the road from Loblaws. And when we came back from traveling this winter, we discovered that a huge Wal-Mart had popped up on the other side of the road. We now have three supermarkets within a 20-minute walk.

And then came the dilemma. Oh, it’s a first-world dilemma, I know. I feel bad about it. But the question remains: where should we shop?

For non-Canadians (or non-Ontarians), this is how it goes. Loblaws is a bit of a fancy supermarket and is more expensive than Food Basics (a no-frill superstore). You can easily see why Food Basics is cheaper: the store is not as clean, the decor is kept to a minimum and there are fewer employees (and longer line-ups at the cash register). As for Wal-Mart… well, everybody knows Wal-Mart or at least has heard of it: the largest grocery retailer in the United States is often criticized for predatory pricing, drawing customers away from other smaller businesses and bad employee and labour relations (including low wages, poor working conditions, gender discrimination and strong anti-union policies). Oh, and let’s not forget about the famous peculiar side of the store: the people of Wal-Mart!

Basically, shopping at Wal-Mart goes against all my beliefs. It’s a no-brainer: there is a cost to pay for these low prices.

So the first time I went on a scout mission to the new Wal-Mart, I was dead-set on not buying anything. You know, I ain’t supporting the evil empire.

Except that I quickly realized the obvious: Wal-Mart is cheap, much cheaper than my fancy Loblaws across the road. A can of lemon and pepper seasoned tuna is 97 cents at Wal-Mart and $1.47 at Loblaws. It’s the exact same can: same brand, same everything. I grabbed a couple of cans and surreptitiously put them in my basket. I still ain’t supporting the evil empire, I’m just… you know, taking advantage or a deal. Rice, crackers, bread, semolina and yogurt were also cheaper and ended up in my basket as well.

And suddenly, I realized I became one of them. A Wal-Mart customer. Shame on me.

Alright. I’m not buying my clothes at Wal-Mart, I don’t browse around the store eating a double-cheese burger bought at the MacDonald’s conveniently located at the entrance of the store and I don’t drink cans of beer outside the store at 9 a.m. That makes me feel marginally better.

Still, I feel terrible for shopping at Wal-Mart. But at the same time, I feel like an idiot spending more money on the exact same products at Loblaws, just to make a point. And it’s not like Loblaws is a workers’ heaven either. In fact, I strongly suspect the chain is not much more ethical than Wal-Mart.

Grocery shopping is tricky. Even though I’m lucky enough not to live paycheck to paycheck, I don’t want to spend too much on food. I cook pretty much all of my meals and brown-bag to work so I mostly need staples such as vegetable, bread, dairy products, rice, pasta etc. I’m not a vegetarian but I eat very little meat. I wish I could only eat local, natural organic “green” and ethically-produced food but frankly, specialty shops like Herbs and Spice are simply too expensive.

What I should do is to take advantage of farmer markets more. Contrary to popular belief, summer does exist in Canada and as soon as there is no more snow on the ground (i.e. May), markets pop up across the city: the Byward Market, Little Italy, Landsdown Park, Parkdale… It’s a good chance to stock up on fruits, vegetables, cheese and other local products such as maple syrup and honey. For that, I don’t mind paying a little bit more because I know products’ quality is high.

How about you? Where do you shop? What’s more important to you, quality, low prices…?

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For a conservative government city, Ottawa has many little quirks. For instance, Four-Twenty aka National Pot Smoking Day is celebrated on Parliament Hill and there is a yearly Zombie Walk (where you can meet zombie hockey players and people with a bad headache). We also have interesting alternative places such as the Prince of Wales Bridge… and let’s not forget about “Maman”, the huge spider.

I’ve just added one on the list: apparently, Saturday was Naked Bike Ride Day. And by “naked”, I don’t mean without a helmet. I mean naked.

Okay, not French “naked” (which would have been really naked), but North American “naked”, so nether regions were covered. Apparently, participants actually started naked but the police gently reminded them that being naked in public is against the law. On the side note, sadly, the police escorts chose to stay in uniform.

The bikers still took Rideau Street and the Byward Market by surprise. The look on people’s face was priceless—I think some bystanders were more embarrassed than the cyclists.

I’m always surprised to see how nudity or even partial nudity is controversial in North America. Remember the Janet Jackson Super Bowl scandal? All that for a nipple? I’m pretty positive it would have been a non-event in France. I mean, we all tan topless anyway, it’s not like French men haven’t seen breasts and nipples before.

Actually, breasts and nipples are usually the first thing I notice when I go to France, on the cover of magazine, on advertisings, in the media… Every time, it reminds me that culture is quite different from one side of the Atlantic Ocean to the other.

Some people are more conservative than others and I completely respect that. I grew up in an artsy family and lived in hostels when traveling so I’m pretty cool with my body and I’m not exactly modest. Which doesn’t mean I walk around wearing skimpy skirts, expose a visible thong or show a plunging neckline every time I step out of the house. But let’s just say I’m perfectly fine getting dressed/undressed while having a conversation with a close friend or family and I master the art of changing clothes quickly on a packed beach.

Biking naked? Nope. The naked part doesn’t bother me but there is too much traffic downtown Ottawa. Plus let’s face it, all that pollution can’t be good for the skin, can it?

Alright alright… pictures of the event below, full set on Flickr! If you are at work, make sure your boss is not peering over your shoulder!

Naked Cyclists Spotted on Rideau Street

Three Naked Cyclists

In Front of the Rideau Centre

And That’s When You Realize Blue Paint Doesn’t Hide Anything…

For Some Reason, This Car Stopped…

Drivers Share The Road

Two Guardians Angels?

At The Byward Market

Dressed Cyclist vs. Naked Cyclists

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Chess Game, Ottawa, Spring 2011

I’m a bit disconnected from French news. When I first came to Canada, I used to watch TV5, a French-language global television channel, but the program schedule wasn’t practical. I used to watch French documentaries streaming online but most channels now block foreign IP for “legal reasons” (idiot!). I used to read La Presse, the French-language newspaper in Canada, but it mostly focuses on Québec and Montréal news. All I have left are a few weeks old Paris Match I read at Chapters whenever I get the chance—that’s hitting rock bottom, Paris Match is a right-wing rag.

But recently, a few headlines caught my eyes again, mostly because they quickly spread internationally. First, there was the tragic story of the Dupont de Ligonnès family—the father is still on the run by the way.

Then, I learned that French politicians have it in for expats. Two right-wing French MPs questioned dual citizenship, which is currently permitted in France and doesn’t affect French nationality. Claude Goasguen noted in an interview that “it was pretty disturbing that a person can vote in France and in another country”. As part of an immigration law project, a group of right-wing MPs also want those who apply for French nationality to give up their other citizenship. Thierry Mariani, the Secretary of State for transport, support the creation of a French dual citizen database, “in case of a conflict with another country”. Finally, Jérôme Cahuzac from the Socialist Party “simply suggested” that French nationals abroad should pay taxes in France, saying:  “For those who left France, it would be a reminder to pay back France, the country where they were raised, educated and received health care”.

So let me get that straight: as a dual citizen, French by birth and Canadian by choice, I shouldn’t have the right to vote in both countries, I should support France unconditionally during a potential conflict and I should be on some obscure database?

And I’m all for paying taxes—I’m Socialist. I was raised and educated in France, where my parents paid taxes. Since I left the country and I’m not longer a resident, I can’t benefit from the health care system or the many social programs, which is perfectly normal. So why on earth should I pay taxes in France for? We don’t even get basic consular services in Ottawa, as Ontario residents we have to deal with the French consulate in Toronto, where you have to show up in person… very practical, isn’t it!

I don’t want to be a political pawn. I fulfilled my obligations towards France, including completing my national service. I’m done, thank you very much, now leave me alone.

Talking about political pawns… you must all have heard about the Dominique Strauss-Kahn case. Oopsy doopsy, here is France shining again on the international stage! DSK, like French call him, got himself into a bit of a jam and was arrested for an alleged sexual assault and attempted rape. The scene took place in DSK’s hotel room where, according to the housekeeper, he emerged from the bathroom naked, chased her down a hallway and pulled her into a bedroom. She alleged that she was forced to perform oral sex, but eventually fought him off and told hotel staff about the incident, who then called police.

As much as I take these kinds of stories and women’s testimonies very seriously, I can’t help thinking it’s a huge setup. I mean, DSK is the present of the IMF and about to run for presidency in France—like him or not, he wasn’t born yesterday. And suddenly he loses all control risking losing everything? Critics say he is a womanizer and I can very well believe he can be pretty thick with women but rape? Seriously?

French media unanimously condemned the now famous picture of DSK handcuffed and surrounded by the police and the way the American justice system handled the case. France seems to discover the crazy media coverage these kind of stories get in the U.S., much like in O.J’s case. Well, it’s not over yet… when Americans go after someone, they put their heart into it. This is America!

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The News Reader, Ottawa, Spring 2011

The U.K and Royalists around the world celebrated the Royal Wedding, the U.S.A finally got “America’s most wanted” and Canada woke up from the federal elections with a hangover—Harper in a majority government, seriously?

Meanwhile, the headlines in France were all about a grisly case that took place in Nantes, my hometown.

Early April, an entire family disappeared: Xavier and Agnès Dupont de Ligonnès and their four children, Arthur (21), Thomas (18), Anne (16), and Benoit (13). The family has the “discreet charm of the bourgeoisie”, living in a townhouse in a posh neighbourhood. The parents are devout believers and the kids are given a relatively strict upbringing at the local Catholic school. The mother teaches kids the catechism in a local private school and the father is a businessman. An old noble family living an uneventful sheltered life, like many others in Nantes.

Except that this family suddenly disappeared mysteriously. Early April, the two young kids’ absence from school is justified by a letter from the father, stating that the family is moving to Australia. Agnès’ employer is told a similar story as she fails to show up for work. The extended family receives another version of that letter, this one explaining that Xavier, the father, was a US secret agent and had to enter the witness protection program.

Notified by close relatives worried about the family’s whereabouts, the police eventually entered the house late April. Five bodies are quickly dug up: the mother and the four children. They were all shot dead and methodically buried in the yard. Even the family dogs were killed.

But the father’s body isn’t found and he quickly becomes the number one suspect. The police finds out that he spent the night in an hotel but loses his trace in Southern France.

Within hours, the quiet and amicable father of five becomes France’s most wanted fugitive.

The family’s execution seems clinical and methodically organized. Xavier did send letters explaining his wife and children’s absence from work, and the house is empty as if the family had moved. He recently became a member of s shooting club, practicing with a silencer. This is surprising for this kind of cases—the execution was planned, the killer didn’t just snap in a fit of rage or madness.

And little by little, as the investigation progresses, light is shed on the family’s secrets, buried under a respectable appearance. For instance, the couple’s financial situation was catastrophic—Xavier had spent his wife’s inheritance and had borrowed money from a lover in Paris, who was now demanding it back. The oldest son wasn’t his. Both Xavier and his wife each were begging for help on various Internet forums: he shared his doubts on his Catholic faith while she was describing a failing marriage plagued by financial issues. The police still doesn’t understand how the family could afford its way of life considering Xavier wasn’t the successful businessman his relatives thought he was. The mystery is deepening a little bit more every day and leaves France captivated.

Three weeks later, Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès is still at large. The number one suspect is still innocent until proven guilty but his escape and the clues points to him. And France is still gripped by the hunt, betting on his motives and on the outcome of the case.

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Entertainment at the Byward Market

When I first came to live in Canada, Feng got a job working in a movie theatre. We were two penniless travelers and the perspective was very exciting: a job! Free movies! And so we started going to the movies regularly, thanks to the free passes Feng got at work. We’d see pretty much anything and some weeks, we would even complain that we had already watched all the movies. My English wasn’t that good at the time and even though I had to concentrate to get the cultural jokes, I loved the exercise.

Feng quit that job a lot time ago but we still go to the movies a lot, probably more than the average person. We use all kinds of coupons and discounts available to fuel our movie addiction and every once in a while, when we are both tired and bored, we head to the theatre.

In France, where I grew up, American blockbusters were considered bad taste. French can be quite snotty about what they call the “seventh art”—cinematography. Basically, movies are made for the brain and people read critics religiously, praising obscure French movies and flaming Hollywood. Sure, I sometimes hate the shallowness of many mainstream U.S movies but it’s somewhat of a relief to watch movies without a dictionary at hand and the entire works of French philosophers as a reference. I can’t help admiring the way the U.S made entertainment the industry that it is today.

This trip, we didn’t go to the movies much. In Australia, it was ridiculously expensive: at $20 a ticket, we just passed on the opportunity without much regrets. We didn’t really looked for theatres in Malaysia and Southern Thailand because we were too busy soaking up the sun, and in Bangkok, we did like locals do: we bought bootlegs DVD at the market to watch at the hotel.

So when we came back, we were excited at the perspective to catch up on all the movies we missed this winter. Little did we know that 3D movies and fancy upgraded theaters were now the rule.

Okay, let me get that straight: I don’t have anything against 3D movies. Well, of course, I don’t enjoy them—I only have one good eye and you need two to get a 3D effect. But overall, I can’t help thinking 3D movies are just a money-grab, designed to add a surcharge—$3 to $5 per ticket in average. Even though I’m probably not the best person to judge, I’m convinced that 3D doesn’t add much to the experience: to me, it’s just a gimmick. An annoying one though, because as a spectator you often don’t have the choice since most 3D movies are not released in a 2D version anymore.

Our local theater, the Coliseum, also revamped one of the theaters into the “UltraAVX” experience. When we came back, we went to see Sanctum and got sucked into buying tickets for this new theater. Basically, you get reserved seating, reclining seats and possibly better sound (it certainly is louder anyway). I don’t care about reserved seating since we usually go to the movies on Sunday, when it’s not busy, and I can’t say the seats were very comfortable. All in all, I don’t feel like paying $3 more per ticket for the so-called “UltraAVX” experience.

Unfortunately, we discovered that most new movies are screened by default in UltraAVX theater. Last Sunday, we went to see The Adjustement Bureau and had to drive across the city to find a normal non-IMAX, non-3D, non-UltraAX theater. Seriously, Hollywood!

I’m sorry Hollywood, but you are losing the battle against piracy. Charging more for the same movie doesn’t work. I don’t think these kinds of “technical achievements” are the future of the movie industry. I don’t think this is how people are going to get excited again about going to the movies. And for now, I’ll be dusting my DVD collection.

Related articles:

1. Unpleasant Realities of American Life
2. Hollywood Boulevard
3. Busing 3,048 Kilometers…

The recent wave of revolution in the Middle East and the unrest that has swept the region didn’t leave Canadians indifferent. Some foreign-born Canadians worry for their family back home and hope for the best outcome, while Canadians of all walks of life call for democracy.

On this cold Saturday, hundreds of Canadians gathered on Parliament Hill, right in front of the Peace Tower, to march in solidarity with the people pushing for democracy in Libya and Yemen. The protesters peacefully called for the end of the Gadhafi regime in Libya and a loosening of oppression in Yemen. Despite worrying reports from Libya where violence escalates and demonstrators clash with Gadhafi ‘s brutal security forces, people were optimistic in Ottawa and hoped for a better future.

As countries scramble to evacuate citizens, some people complain once again that their tax money is being used to rescue “hyphenated-Canadians”, i.e. Canadians with dual citizenship. Comments such as these ones can be found on the Web:

it’s sad what’s happening in the Mid East .….… but if you’re a Canadian wanting the better of both worlds, such as nice weather there and live there then come back here for a few months for our health care and everything else here .….. you can pay for your own transporation back to Canada (in other words government will have plane there but bill you for flight back) and not get a freebie from us. tired of bailing people out!

The question is.…“Why are we using tax dollars to save these “Canadians”?” If you work or visit…or live there like most of them are.…then that’s your dumb fault. It should cost them the full price if they want out. airfare, taxes,fuel and even the insurance policy money all divided up by the number of people using the plane. If you have been in the country for more than a month you should be on your own to find a way out. I am tired of us taxpayers rescuing “Canadians” who choose to live outside of Canada.

These kind of ignorant comments really piss me off, as a dual citizen myself (France and Canada) and as a traveler. First, becoming a Canadian citizen is not as easy as people think. You don’t become Canadian overnight. You have to go through the immigration process to become a permanent resident (and that can take a few years). Then there is a residency requirement to maintain your permanent resident status: you must live in Canada for at least two years within a five-year period. You are eligible to apply for citizenship after three years in Canada a permanent resident and it takes at least a year for the application to be processed. So these Canadians abroad actually lived in Canada to become Canadian citizens.

Second, Canadians who leave the country for an extended period of time lose their provincial health plan coverage and won’t benefit from many social programs upon their return. They will have to establish residency in Canada again to be eligible.

Is repatriating Canadians abroad a waste of money? Absolutely not. And if we really want to get into this childish “my tax dollars are being wasted” war, I’d rather my tax dollars being “wasted” on human lives than on G8 submits.

I’m sure some people hold Canadian passports for convenience. Let’s face it, it exists. But I’m equally sure that a lot of Canadians have dual citizenship because life brought them to Canada, and then abroad again. Is that a crime? Not in my book.

You can see the full “Democracy Rally” set of pictures here.

Coming in Peace

Kid Among Flags

Protesting for Democracy

Peace Rally in the Cold

Go Out Ali Saleh

Waving the Flags

A Protester

Khadafi Must Go

In The Crowd

Talkin Bout A Revolution

Wrapped in the Flag

Standing in Front of the Parliament

Women and the Flag

Kids and Placards

Related articles:

1. Winterlude 2011
2. Canada Day 2011
3. Night Show On Parliament Hill