Cheese and wine

Going abroad is scary but exciting at the same time, going to France however is different, and it’s almost like going on a holiday. I live in a small town in Northern France called Nancy; yes it’s named after a girl. They are quite fond of that over here; they even named the capital after Paris Hilton. The French are nice people, nicer than catholic nuns and at times too nice. But that is why I love them, on my scale they slot right in between the Portuguese and the Italians.


Nancy was an independent part of the French empire ruled by a duke, his name was Stanislas. You see Stanislas was king of Poland, when his daughter got married he moved to France as a token of appreciation to his son in law the king of France (I think). The dude was so moved he gave Stanislas his own region to rule as he liked with Nancy as the Capital (I told you that the French are nice people). A statue of Stanislas sit’s majestically in the town square (place Stanislas), the square is so famous even babies know where it is.

The famous Place Stanislas, where everybody meets to discuss makiti plans


Nancy is also home to about 4 Science Universities and Several other Institutions, There are more degree holders in Nancy then you would find on UNAM Campus. I have my own crew of misfits and trouble makers to keep me from getting bored, going insane or missing home too much. The main Misfit is Ashish Malik from India, Ashish is so famous that even the mayor would lose if he ran against him; even the statues know who Ashish is. Cindy (The coolest French girl alive) is responsible for teaching me French; if I bring back a French girl to Namibia then Cindy will take the blame. She will share it with Marie, who was our French teacher (I tell you that class was never boring). Helena and Yolanda (known by her alias Cherry) are my comrades; I tell you that the guys in Nancy are after those two like thirsty Zebra’s at a watering hole (Proof that Namibian girls are so hot, they make men lose their minds).


I have so many other misfits that I will refer to them as the Back-up or the cavalry if we get technical. I am just such an easy going person that I have more friends in this town than I have space in my phonebook. There are about 300 different types of cheese in this part of the world, I still can’t tell the difference between butter and cheese so to me they are all alike. Ashish once said that with wine I might be able to tell them apart, but now I know that he was trying to get me drunk. Now the wine is a different story, coz us seasoned Windhoek lager drinkers can tell alcohol apart. The best wines are from Alsace (So close to Germany that u can hear the Volkswagen’s if you listen closely); they are sweeter than forbidden fruit.

A night out on the town with some of the Misfits



The one thing that struck me was how organised the French are (like David Beckham organising Victoria’s secrets). Due to all the Napoleon jokes, one would expect the French to be short, sadly that is not the case because that honour is reserved for the English, who are hated by the French for burning some Joan of Arc chick at the stake like way back before blackberry’s and facebook. First time I told someone I was from Namibia they replied “So is that next to Gabon?” yep just like the American’s they are bad at geography, funny how everybody watched the world cup but still don’t know the countries right next to South Africa (can’t blame the French really because they unplugged their TV’s at half time against Bafana, I will forgive them and sing the Marseilles if they slay the All Blacks in the next world cup).


The one bad habit shown by the French is smoking, I have inhaled so much second hand smoke that I might just as well start smoking myself and the disturbing trait is that it’s the high school kids who do most of the puffing (MTV is really screwing these kid’s up). All in all the French are quite happy, jolly folk and if I had to rate them I would give them a 9/10 right behind Namibians who score an impressive 15/10.


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