Day 4 - Walking in Nantes

I'm walking in Nantes, but do I really feel the way I feel.

Some photos.


Streets are much narrower and are quite old. Obviously built hundreds of years ago and made only for people and horse carriages. As a result the city layout is confusing. Not a grid. But still, very pretty.



More street cafe action.

A part of the city was built in medieval times, and it's amazing how it's preserved, as above.


And here. French people are a bit funny. They stare, and when you smile at them, they seem a bit baffled and don't know what to do. But they're not rude at all as their reputation says. They're very friendly once you get them going.




Me and a castle. Yes, a medieval castle. Chateau des Ducs de Bretagne. Inside is a museum depicting the history of Nantes. I didn't understand most of it as it was in French. But still, I've never been inside a castle before.


The light shining through a castle window.



More of the castle.



Cathedrale St. Pierre-St. Paul. Unfortunately, it was closed when I got there. Done in the same style as the Notre Dame


I forget what this one is but it's beautiful.



The cathedral.


My favorite place so far. Jardins des Plantes. Like a small Central Park, but just as beautiful. I spent a long time sitting here and just watching, listening.




C'est moi in the Jardin.



I sat here scribbling madly in my notebook, a lot of thanks, a lot of thoughts about my project Akyat-Baba, Paikot-ikot, about film in general.



Some Cole Haan ducks were swimming around. This class duck is for Gigi.



Cemeterie La Boutellierie. Some of the headstones are more than a hundred years old.




I forgot what this one is called too. Place ("plahs") something. Places are like little squares except it's a rotonda, where many of the confusing small streets converge. Invariably there's a monument like this one, or a historic building of some kind.



The main street, Cours de Cinquante Otage. the widest in the city I've seen. Lots of trams, it's tree-lined, and again the gorgeous buildings.

Passage Pommeraye. It's a mall, but it's two hundred years old.

That's it for now. Tomorrow: Produire Au Sud begins.

Day 3 - Nantes: Ang GenSan ng France.

An old trading port, Nantes (pronounced "nahn") maintains a lot of its medeival look. We poured ourselves out of bed in Paris to make our 9am flight, at that point still doubtful we can get there because of the strike. It was still dark at 7am. Like 7pm in Manila.

When we arrived that we only had time to get lunch and nap before Produire Au Sud activities would begin, at 5PM. Lunch at an Italian restaurant. Ordering was a team effort; it was me, Margie, the French waitress, and her English-speaking friend trying to get our order right. Margie wanted to know what aubergines were and it sort of panicked the waitress, I kept saying "eggplants nga!" until an English chap from the other side of the restaurant yelled, "IT'S EGGPLANT."

Cut to: the Three Continents Film Festival is on its 29th year, and it features new work from these three places: Afrique, Amerique Latine, and Asie. This year, Jade Castro's Endo is in competition (yay!) and Jade, Raymond and their actors Jason and Ina will be here. According to Raya it's the fourth biggest in France, and I imagine it's the most important French festival for the developing world.

Produire Au Sud (Producing in the South) is a workshop designed to teach producers in the three continents the basics of film producing and financing on a global scale. Each project is selected on its possible appeal to European funds and co-productions, and they send the producer and director over. It is not a competition. We are taught the ropes of getting funding, including how to pitch a project.

This year there are two Asian teams, ourselves and Malaisie. From Amerique Latine comes Perou, Bresil, Bolivie, Chili and Colombie, and from Afrique is (drumroll...) BURKINA FASO. Love it. I've never met anyone from Burkina Faso. And I'm using the French translations because that's what people use here. The producers start tomorrow the 21st whereas the directors begin on the 23rd, giving me two full days free.

5 PM we finally meet everyone else. Game on. Elodie the workshop coordinator is lovely. I use lovely because that's really what she is. Maganda siya, chipper and really just a delight.

The opening film of the Festival is a Brazilian documentary, Handerson e as Horas (Handerson and the Hours). It's in Portuguese with French subtitles but still, it did blow me away. The typical Sao Paolo-an travels five hours a day by bus to the city, and frequently travels with the same group of people everyday. These commuters become like family. They hold birthday parties in the bus, they drink beer together, they joke around, dance. They blow balloons and hang them on the estribos. The documentary chronicles one such trip, and it's all jokes, talking. In the end Handerson, the lead, is the last one off the bus, and he heads off to work. That's all. Mario our Bresil workshopmate explains to us the opening sequence, where mob leaders in prison orders the bombing of several city buses, effectively throwing the city into a standstill. The documentary is a tribute to those commuters.

Afterwards Margie and I had a few drinks with Mario, who enlightened us on Brazilian cinema. It's the same everywhere: funding is always a problem, competition with Hollywood and pirated DVDs. A DVD is a dollar, whereas a movie is 7-8 dollars. Though in Brazil, the industry is helped by the government, where public companies subsidize film. I explained that in the Philippines, all independent filmmakers compete for sixteen grants a year. Mario's a character, he was sleep deprived that day from all the travelling and he drank a bit, and he spoke in that Brazilian way that makes them sound slurred.

In the hotel I told Margie that I feel like we're on the edge of an entire world of possibility. Margie says no, we're in it.

Tomorrow: Leoy walks Nantes.

Day 2 - Paris: So Many Landmarks, So Little Time.

It was still dark at 7 am and therefore I was unwilling to get out of bed, and took a while to finally roll out. Breakfast was at a cafe down the street where we had omelettes. Before leaving the owner warned us to take care, no subways today. The public transportation strike put a major crimp on our plans, this meant we had to walk in the freezing cold all about Paris.

On the way to our first stop, Notre Dame, Margie would go "my god!" at every corner. It's all so stunning even in the overcast weather. The old buildings, the streets, the Seine. Notre Dame was full of tourists, even as the priest tried to hold a mass. I've never seen a more beautiful monument to God; I couldn't help but offer a short prayer at one of its chapels.

As of this point the skin on my fingers felt like they were ripping themselves from my nails and my nose was running non-stop. Had to buy a hat and gloves. Us tropical 3rd worlders aren't used to all this fall clothing; everytime you on inside a bar or restaurant you take off your hat, gloves, scarf, coat; and when you leave you put them all back on again. Ma-ceremonias. Margie and I would invariably leave our gloves or hats, or drop them on the streets, and have strangers approach us to return them; it's just not in our muscle memory to put them on.

At the Louvre, saw your basic Mona Lisa (in my book still The Most Disappointing When You Finally See It Thing), Venus de Milo, Winged Victory, all that. The place is just filled with all this beautiful, important art; but when you're on a schedule you sort of just glaze over everything, take mental notes of a beautiful Titian stroke or the immaculateness of an ancient Greek statue, before moving on to the next room. I can't help but feel like I slighted all those artists.

At this point, hindi ko na kaya, ang sakit na ng paa ko, pati nung likod ko. So we went back to the hotel, and thankful the one metro line that was working ran from the Louvre straight to our hotel at Bastille station. On the way back though, to Arc de Triomphe, it was rush hour. And only one train was working. It felt like the entire population of Paris was in our train. Margie says she won't be surprised if on the next stop the train announcer said "Station Cubao". But it was cold and everyone was wrapped in coats, therefore, no sweat or skin contact.

We emerged on Charles de Gaulle station exacto sa Arc de Triomphe, and going up the escalator it's was as if there was musical scoring... then suddenly it's there, the Arc. It's bigger than I remember it. It's Margie's favorite of the landmarks. Again a lack of trains had us walking to the Eiffel Tower, by then it was raining, and we were freezing. I've never been colder in my life. It was amazing. And I just had to have a cigarette on the Eiffel. Good thing I delayed quitting.

Back to Champs Elysee to meet Raya, a Filipino filmmaker also in town. On the way a man asked for a cigarette, and remembering Mario's story about how expensive cigarettes are here, I gave the man five sticks. It seemed like he was ready to hug me. On the way we got lost, but I like getting lost in foreign cities, only to find your way back. Not Margie's style though. She likes to ask people. I don't. I'm never lost.

So finally, I get to drink. In all our stay in Paris we never had a decent meal, just a lot of baguettes, which I don't like, sugat sugat yung bibig ko tuloy. So at least now I get to drink. First at an Irish pub, then at an Italian place. Then crepes after, but not like the crepes in Manila. The crepe is as big as a pizza before they fold it in quarters which you eat with your hands, see my photo post below.

The walk home was the coldest yet. When I checked online, it was an impossible -3 Celsius.

Next: We arrive in Nantes.

Day 2 - Paris: Photos

Just photos for now:


Chillin and freezing at the Amsterdam airport, our layover.

Our hotel room. Welcome to Paris! Tiny as a box.



Starting the day in Paris with an underwhelming breakfast: omelette. Cause it's the only thing I understood on the menu.


Paris street.


Your basic Notre Dame.

Your basic Louvre.

Your basic Venus de Milo.



The Arc de Triomphe. This photo doesn't give justice as to how big it really is.

Eiffel Tower view from the Arc de Triomphe.



Champs Elysee from the Arc de Triomphe.

Champs Elysee at dusk.


Under the Eiffel Tower. Raya says they hang out under the tower and drink. What a gimmick eh?


The Eiffel Tower! Glittering with its regular light show.


Paris as seen from the Eiffel Tower. Wow.


Tropical third worlders freezing. It's -2 degrees and raining.

On the Seine, Eiffel tower in the back.



Crepes for midnight snack. Nothing like Cafe Breton. These are huge things. This is egg, cheese and chicken.


The creperie.

After drinking, with Raya, a Pinoy filmmaker in Paris. Bastille monument in the back.


Outside our hotel, Henri IV Boulevard, at 6 in the morning, the morning we left for Nantes.

More tomorrow.

France 2007: Day 1 - MNL - AMS - CDG

I hate flying. Will someone invent teleportation already. Today Margie and I spent 20 hours or so getting to France. No sleep last night, wanted to save it for the plane. Had the misfortune of having the only aisle chair in the plane with a metal safety box of some kind in the seat before it, cutting off my leg room and making for just a FANTASTIC 14-hour flight to Amsterdam, our first layover.

The KLM Stewardesses were nice. Normally I ignore them but these Dutch ones were especially nice. Kahit Virgin Mary-blue yung uniforms, and for that matter the entire plane. The food was better too, but like all airplane food it was still shit. Just a little prettier.

In Amsterdam I found myself staring at the Dutch. The last time I was in Europe was in '97, and my memory of it is spotty. I remember Rotterdam, with big fat chickens running on the road; Amsterdam and the canals and the Anne Frank House and the wax museum, and one of our tour-mates getting hit by a tram. But I didn't have much contact with the Dutch. They're very tall which I suppose is typical of Europeans, but also they speak very good English, and with an American-based accent. The women are pretty, very fair and most with striking blond hair, though there are several with jet black hair and pale eyes. The men are huge, in coats that made them look even bigger. Unlike HK and Singapore and even the States, this time I really felt like I was in a different country.

Our hotel, Hotel Castex, is small but is very nice. We took a brisk walk outside where it was two degrees. Two. Degrees. Buti na lang we took notes in Amsterdam on how to dress for the cold. It's the first time in my life to wear a scarf. And it's raining too. We got to the hotel at 11 PM, after settling in it was too late to eat or get a drink so we just walked, on our street a stray cat followed us and played with my leg. Even the cats look different. Fat and furry. I'm calling him Pierre.

Anyway, should get some sleep. We only have one day in Paris and we'll do all the places we can tomorrow. Will meet up with Raya, another filmmaker, who's in town as well. Unfortunately there's a strike and the subway isn't running, so it looks like it will be all walking for us. Good thing our hotel is in the City Center. and close to everything. For example, around the corner is the Place de la Bastille where the Bastille Prison stood until it was stormed in the revolution. All that history, just around my corner. What a city.

I'm almost forgetting we're here to work.

Whew

After a month, finally finished an almost-script for Baby Angelo. AA and I wrapped it up in Starbucks last night at 1AM, with me polishing up the rest by about 4. I feel confident about the material, AA's writing is so fluid that it immediately brings up clear images in my head.

Also, the shorts are in the can, writing-wise. Still need to work a bit on Connie.

Sending off Baby Angelo in a few hours to the Cinemalaya people. Wish me luck.

Hammering away

I'm writing in the stairwell of a condo in Ortigas, where AA and I have decided to hole up for the vacation to write out Baby Angelo. It's 1:10 AM and AA and our host, Tweet, are asleep; I of course am still up and can't sleep, maybe I'm namamahay, but I'm pretty sure it's because once again thoughts are flying through my head. I'm also bent on finishing this bottle of wine by myself.

Last week T and I flew to Hong Kong for a much deserved vacation. It's my second time, the first way back in '91, and I couldn't remember any of the trip except that on the street, a Chinese businessman collided into me and didn't so much as mutter an apology. This time though being much older, and taller, the HK Chinese were actually very congenial. Sure they sound rude at times, but I think it's mostly because of the way they speak (loud and curt). We stayed at the touristy Tsim Sha Tsui (of course) and did a lot of walking and shopping and eating. Also checked out HK Disneyland, T's first time (and lifelong dream). It's a lot smaller than the other Disneyland I've been too, California, and a lot hotter. You can do the entire park in four hours. It was fun overall, though it was difficult suspending disbelief when you see the very white Disney Princesses speaking in Cantonese, and the Pinoy noses peeking from under the ornate costumes.

Writing Baby Angelo is a slow process, and til now we're still laying the groundwork. Cinemalaya should really consider lengthening the screenplay writing process, how is it possible to write a 60 page screenplay in just one month? I know poets who can only write one poem in an entire year.

Tweet's condo has a huge view of Ortigas Center, great to look at at night but all that light does force you to wake up early.

Tomorrow, applying for a French visa for our trip to Nantes. Woo hoo.