un blaireau va en france

Just to wrap it up...

2008-11-09T04:28:00.002+01:00

So this an anticlimactic end, but I thought I'd make it official. This is the end of BIF. Sorry I never finished the stories, but alas, that's how life goes sometimes. For those coming here from google, welcome, and have fun perusing the stories. The ones from 07-08 are about my time as an assistant in a french high school (yikes!) and the older ones are from my time studying in Montpellier.

Au revoir! (fromage-tastic)

Bristol

2008-07-09T01:05:00.003+02:00

Well, the next few post are long over due, but what can I say, blogging looses it's appeal when you know you won't be traveling again for quite awhile. Alas, good times come in more ways than one, and already this summer has shaped up pretty good on its own terms. But I digress, I have stories to tell.

My second leg of travels took me back to England, a country I once thought I would love, but strangely its mystique has waned. I suppose that happens to every country I visit. I have grandiose dreams of one day living there, of settling down abroad (read: meeting a cute guy with an awesome accent), but once I'm there I suspect whether I'd really like leaving the States permanently. Don't get me wrong, England is great, and France is too for that matter, but they do somehow loose their magic after you visit. Maybe that's for the best. I suppose it's better to like a country on it's own terms rather than on some flighty fancy you dream up from afar. Anyway, after my brief stay in the States for my sister's graduation, I returned to Europe to go to Elodie's wedding, with an extended layover in England to visit Bristol and London.

My flight was long, as usual, but less daunting than my first few transatlantic flights. Something about your 4th flight in 2 months forces you to adjust to the length and discomfort. I landed in London and found my way to the bus bound for Bristol. I was sleepy, no doubt, but not exhausted, not yet. The bus ride was rather cozy, and I dozed off while absorbing the odd array of accents (with one lady I could have sworn was from Belfast...). I was greeted by Chris at the bus station, and we made our way up to the philosophy department at Bristol University. Chris was a wonderful host, as was his wife Pauline. They were both very kind and very welcoming, and I felt right at home during my stay. You may ask yourself what brought me to Bristol, of all places, and I'll be honest --I asked myself the same thing as I neared the city. Chris is friends with my adviser, and I was desperate for some intellectual stimulation, so a trip to visit a prominent political philosopher seemed, well, amazing, and the Bertrams were kind enough to have me. I'm quite glad that I went, and between discussions about Rousseau and God and the like, I got a good look at a rather lovely English city. In no particular order, here is some of what I learned/saw in Bristol:

Indian food: I had my first taste of Indian food here (and no, I have no idea what specific type I ate). It was great. Slowly but surely I'm going ethnic (which Daena will be pleased with for next year in LA!)

The New Room: Wesley's old church. The sanctuary was of the typical protestant-minimalist style. The most interesting feature was the pulpit which was built specifically to give the preacher time to get away from a mob of rioting parishioners! If only they still made 'em like they used to (and if only preachers were preaching something with some fire and passion in it, enough to convict and stir up some action! not that I approve of mobs and rioting...). I was there just in time for their afternoon service, so I stayed and listened, prayed, and took communion with the odd melange of tourists and Wesley enthusiasts who were also visiting the old church.

Queen's Square: I watched a pickup game of cricket in the park. And, I almost knew what was going on. Bowling and wickets my friends, that's all there is to it. (which reminds me, I also watched a rugby game, and I think I actually do understand that some...)

Banksy: fun stencil graffiti. Apparently his work is "hip" now. It is interesting, I'll give it that.

Galen: I sat in on a metaphysics guest lecture... chuckle. I'm not a metaphysician (is that what you'd call them?), but the article I read that morning to prepare for the talk was a touch dull. I generally enjoy metaphysics, to a degree, but thin-subjects --or whatever-- are not my cup o' tea. I guess the other Bristol philosophers weren't all that impressed either, esp not when he starting talk about that whacked out time theory where time is not liner but in chunks of, idk, well I forgot the name. But anyway, it was funny. I'll just stick to ethics...

Dinner Party: Alexander (?) had the Bertrams and some others over for dinner, and they let me come with. I've forgotten a majority of what we talked about, but I will say this: I was grilled. I was asked about a million cultural/philosophical/etc questions, none of which I had ever heard of. Needless to say, there was both the age and culture gaps working against me on that one. It was fun though, exceedingly, and I left with the hostess's copy of Rebecca, because everyone was shocked that I hadn't even heard of it...

Laycock Abbey: we took a trip up to this very quaint village, home to Laycock Abbey, and old home of Henry Fox Talbot (pioneer of modern photography). I totally understand how cameras work (old school ones), for the first time in my life. This is why I love learning, and museums, etc. I'm tempted to find my mom's old camera and tinker around with it. I tried once before, but I couldn't even load the film in. Sad day. Anyway, the abbey itself was beautiful, and was (interestingly enough) used in numerous films, including the famed Harry Potter movies. The most exciting discovery was that the old town itself was used in Pride and Prejudice (my heart melts just at the title).

The other notable event, well not really an event, was my date of departure. I was planning on leaving June 2nd to go to London, and in my head that was on a Tuesday. However, my head is not an accurate calender, and this time it was wrong. The 2nd was on a Monday, and Chris figured this out for me on Sunday night. Oops. At least he did catch it, and we made sure I could get a bus ticket back to London. I had to miss the grad student seminar, which was a bummer, but oh well.

Okay I'm going to wrap it up here. The further I go into this post, the less detailed I write. I'm sorry. This is hard to do in the summertime. The moral is: I really enjoyed hangin' with the Bertrams in Bristol. I saw a wonderful city and learned quite a bit from Chris about a number of things, philosophy and what have you. I had, as we pretend like the British typically say, a jolly good time.

Coming up: London and the wedding...

Sorry for the silence...

2008-06-10T15:54:00.003+02:00

I realize it's been awhile since I've posted, but hang in there because I still have a few stories left to write about. I just returned from my last leg of European travels and have a few posts left in me. Give it a few days (or weeks) and I'll get them all up here. I've got stories about Bristol, London, Elodie's wedding, and reflections on the year, so be excited. And then it'll be about the time to retire. Anyway, check back here soon (not too soon, because I'll be in LA for a bit!). Cheers!

And when all is said and done...

2008-05-01T12:42:00.003+02:00

This post is coming to you all the way from Chicago International Airport. I've had some time to kill (read: 7 hours and counting, just here). Today I left Avranches, for good. I will still have a few posts in me after this, at least until after Elodie's wedding in June. But my time in Avranches has ended, and I'm ready to move on. I've been lazy about posts recently, so this one is just some loose ends about some things I've been meaning to write about for awhile.

UCLA: My decision. I wasn't very specific about why I decided on UCLA. So now I'll try and eleborate it a bit more. Before my trip I was fairly certain that I'd go to UNC, and my visit to UNC confirmed that in my mind. But there was something different about UCLA. When I was there, it wasn't that it seemed better, it just felt different. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I had a really good feeling about that department and that city. That feeling surprised me because I expected not to care for UCLA very much. But I did, and that threw me off. Even with that feeling, I wasn't sure. I'm never sure, which my friends can vouch for. Decisions and I don't work well together. Normally, I don't have to make big life changing decisions, like whether to abandon law school or which side of the country to live on for the next 6-7 years. But usually the decisions just happen. I don't think about them too much; I just know, eventually. But until I know, I don't know at all. Does that make sense? What I mean is that before the decision makes itself (before the feeling comes I guess), I have no idea, not even an inkling, or at least I think I don't. And then something happens, or nothing happens, and I just know what I'm supposed to do. It happened when I applied as an undergrad (I made my decision to go to Madison before I applied, and just didn't apply elsewhere, which is strange). It happened when I decided to study abroad, finish early, go back to France, apply to law school, etc. It's funny because you'd think the law school part was a mistake, but it couldn't have been, because if I didn't plan on that then I wouldn't have studied philosophy or taken the classes I did. And when it came time to decide if I wanted to do this grad school thing, and abandon the goals I'd made for myself since middle school, it happened the same way. I went from completely unsure to sure. It just happened. And that's what happened with this decision. I grappled with it during my whole trip home, and with my friends and family when I got back. And then I just knew. It was strange. When I flipped the coin with Irene and it landed on tails, I was glad, and my being glad confirmed what I felt. I told myself that if my feeling was right, what God wanted, then God would get me off that waitlist (which required 4 of 7 undecided people to say no-- not promising). And on April 15th I got an email: I was in. And I knew. It's all very strange, going from completely undecided to this sort of calmness about it. It's not certainity, really, not that strong. Just sort of calmness about it. It's hard to explain, but there it is. The nerd from Wisconsin is moving to LA.

Liberties: The Liberties is our favorite pub, our own pub, in this small small town. We love it because it's English, or at least, the owner and one of the other bartenders are English. The other night Irene and I made a trip there to chat with Danielle and we had a strange barmate. He told us from across the bar that he was a gypsy, but that he was not a "naughty" gypsy. Well that was our first clue. The drunker he got, the more he started shouting at Danielle and I and tried to get our attention, but we ignored him. Finally Danielle turned to him and said that she was in the middle of a conversation, and he started repeating, "Donc tu dois me dire 'Ta guelle!'" (= your snout, or shut the f*** up, not very nice) ...he said that over and over again and finally she told him that she doesn't speak that way and neither should he. By the end he was pretty belligerent, and she refused to serve him, saying that it was time for bar close. When she finally got him to scram, she starting serving people again. I don't know much about gypsy culture in France, but Danielle told me that in the summer they are a lot of them in Avranches and the men cause problems at her pub, so much so that she hired a bouncer for the weekends. Ten or twenty will come in and refuse to pay, start fights, etc. She gets freaked out because as a woman working alone, she can't stand up to them. Usually she just doesn't fight back when they decide not to pay. Now I'm sure not all gypsies are that rowdy, but I guess the ones that come into her pub are, so she's not a fan. Interesting.

Boredom: Vacation was horrible. Two weeks with nothing to do, and lots of rain. On one of the nice days Irene and I went to Granville (on the coast), which was great, but the rest of vacation sucked. I watched 3 seasons of Veronica Mars, every episode of House, and some other things I can't remember. Bored to death. Ready to leave.

First impressions: Yesterday Irene told me what her first impression of me was. By the look on her face, it didn't seem like a good one. Apparently, when she first met me she thought I was the "stereotypical American blond"...I asked for elaboration, and she said that she thought I was probably one of those "popular girls"... implying: mean? Haha. I don't think I've ever been mistaken for a "cool" or "popular" girl. Don't let the blond hair and (initial) friendliness throw you off, I'm not, nor have I ever been, "cool"... but hey, a Chilian thought for about a week that I was. I asked her if she's since revised her view, and yes, yes she has (but for the better, apparently). Sigh, can't keep the appearance up for that long.

Last day of work: my students on Monday seemed genuinely upset that I was leaving. I think, though, because these are the students that I work with while the teacher is there, and they prefer me over her. But hey, I'll take it. Their teacher said that she's seen a lot of improvement overall in thier writing. They write more logically and more deeply. Holler.

Last Soiree: Marie-Francoise had us over for one final soiree, and it lasted quite some time. We were tired, but enjoyed it a great deal. I will miss those.

Last night: For my last night in Avranches, we ate at our beloved kebab stand (classy) and then sat outside at a cafe for a drink. We tried to go the liberties, but it was closed. Later Danielle got ahold of me and told us to come over to her pub for some drinks on the house to say farwell and all that. Our little fete ended up lasting until 3am (my alarm was set for 5am). Danielle even busted out a nice bottle of real champagne, which was excellent, if you're wondering. It was so sad to say goodbye. We will miss her and that pub.

Because we got home so late, Rachel and I decided to just stay up (Kate did not, falling asleep on my bed...what would have been my bed). I got some things ready (and still managed to forget a hairbrush and forget to take out the trash, oh well). When I said goodbye to Irene earlier in the night she was a wreck, but I was eerily okay. I didn't cry, not even when I later said goodbye to Kate and Rachel. Rachel says I'm cold (jokingly), but I like to call it stoic. Doesn't sound so bad. I will miss all of those girls dearly, much more so than I will the city itself or my job. But I just don't cry. Some time soon I'll post a sum up of my impressions of the year. But that requires too much effort for the moment.

Horrid trip home, the trip that still isn't done yet: On Friday I left Avranches at 5h30am with Eric and took the train from Villedieu to Paris. The train ride wasn't bad. I was, obviously, extrememly tired, so I slept for a good deal of it. The real problem came when we arrived. I have a backpack with my monster computer and two bags that are close to 50lbs each. Most of the weight is from the books that I can't bear to part with. Needless to say, I had a horrible time fumbling around with my suitcases and dragging them around Montparnasse looking for the Airport shuttle. Sigh.

The shuttle got me to Charles de Gualle after about a 2 hour wait (not sure why the delay). Then I dragged my luggage over to the US Airways guichet. Hmm, that's interesting, there's no line. Sweet. As I approach the man at the window I see a worried look come over his face. Crap. Um madame... We regret to inform you, but, your flight to Philly has been canceled. Crap crap crap. Please go wait in that really long line with your massive amounts of luggage and we'll try and get you home eventually. Awesome. The line wait was about 2 hours, my suitcases being slowly dragged every step of the way. Thank God I was earlier enough in the line to get on the next flight to Chicago and connect on to Atlanta. She gave me my new tickets and said hurry! Okay! Drag my stuff to the other terminal, ugh. And get there just as the last few people are boarding. Sweet.

On the plane I was so pissed to find that once again there were only a few little movie screens at an awkward angle in the aisle. This is why I spent the extra 20 bucks to take US Airways, hoping not to get a crap AA flight again. Nope, I just can't get away from them. I was also supposed to have an empty seat next to me, not so much anymore. This flight was packed. I had the good fortune to have a crazy french woman next to me. Let's just say I had to translate a fight between her and the flight attendant about the duty free cigarettes that they ran out of, and she decided to turn into chatty cathy just as soon as the movie started. Grrr. The flight was long, and I'm tired and hungry, as usual. We arrived and I was supposed to have a 2 hour layover before my flight to Atlanta. And then it was delayed by an hour, and then another, and another. I have been in Chicago for over 7 hours. I want to die. It would have been easier for my mom to pick me up then sit around here starving and desperately wanting a bed. I'm about ready to break down. This is why I'm blogging, to try and find some sanity in my long, long, long day. If they push the flight back anymore I might just ask for a hotel. Can you do that? I don't even know.

I should be in Atlanta right now, or Auburn, but I'm not. If I ever get there, I'll be sure to let you know. Later gators.

update: Just for fun I rechecked the ETD: from 10:45 to 11:05. Are they joking?? (it was orginially 6:55).

Heads Carolina, Tails California

2008-04-18T16:18:00.002+02:00

So a little over a week after I return from my adventures in the US of A, I've finally gotten around to writing about it. Sorry for the delay. Boredom, apparently, doesn't inspire you to actually be productive... This is super long, so I'll finish it in a follow up post later.

For all the country fans out there, you may recognize the title from Jo Dee Messina's song (I encourage you to play the song while reading this post, just to get in the right frame of mind). Like the loser that I am, this was the first song I played when I began my trip last Wednesday. I bobbed my head along to this old favorite at our little train station, and thought seriously about flipping a coin right there, just to see. While I was impatiently waiting for my train to Rennes, and listening to my special-made playlist, I was randomly accosted by this very peculiar Austrian man who I think drives trucks for a living, but it was early and I admit that I wasn't really paying attention. I only mention it because we don't get randoms in our little corner of France very often, and I think he was quite happy to meet an English speaker (he wasn't, it seems, very fond of the French). Oh the delights of travel.

On the train to Rennes (and the subsequent train to Paris, 5ish hours in all) I was productive, and I will brag about it. I started and finished two philosophy articles that I printed on the sly in the teacher's lounge. It felt good, really good. I go in and out of moods where philosophy is exciting to do. Normally, it's the days where I am totally bored that I can't muster the ambition to buckle down and dive into a good article or chapter. That's why I need to be in school. When I have stuff to do, I get other stuff done too. I'm funny like that. Anyway, I got to Paris and took the long RER trip to CDG, only to wait at CDG for another few hours. Really, this was all a drag. I wait, just to sit on a train, and then wait some more, just so I can sit on a plane and wait even longer. Lots of doing nothing is involved in travel. That's why I prefer to have an amiga with me. Although, sometimes the waiting can be fun. I do enjoy people watching, and mass transport does provide the perfect setting to see a wide variety of people, and believe me, I saw quite a few characters wandering their way through the Paris airport. Good times.

After my long, and not all that enjoyable flight (the TV screen was at an awkward upward and to the side angle, making movie viewing not all that comfortable...but a bored passanger can't not watch the movie screen in the aisle, so to heck with the muscles in my neck...). When I got to JFK I had to race through customs to make my connecting flight. The plane for my next flight was literally a toy plane. I was in a row that was one seat wide. Needless to say, it was nice to spread out a bit without fear of unknowingly falling asleep on an unsuspecting neighbor. When we landed, I had already been traveling for close to 24 hours (or rather, sitting around). I was finally in North Carolina. And then it hit me: how am I supposed to find the student picking me up? I knew he drove a red and brown pickup truck and was going to pick me up outside...but that's not all that specific. I had no number in case he didn't find me, and it was close to 1am so no one was manning the desks in the airport. Hmm. I waited outside baggage claim for lack of a better idea and I sat. I sat for a good 45 miniutes and my fatigue was not helping my overall anxiety at the fact that everyone had been picked up and I was out there alone. Me and my suitcase, chillin' on the curb, awesome. I was so tired, and my lack of a backup plan was really starting to worry me. I thought to myself, all I want is a bed, or maybe just a pillow, heck I'll just lay down on the bench if that's what it comes to, I don't think my ride is ever coming... I'll have to call the department in the morning, but I'm not sure how... Thankfully, my ride showed up, and really not all that late. We landed early and I had checked my bag so I was able to zoom through baggage claim and was outside waiting at around the time my plane was supposed to land. But when you're exhausted, you don't always think rationally. It felt like forever.

I got dropped off at my host's house and was ready to go sleep. My host was very nice, and a fellow badger, so the guest room I stayed in was decked out with Wisconsin stuff. By 2am (around 8am France time) I was in bed, only to wake up less than 6 hours later to go to breakfast. My day was jam packed. I met with professors, chatted awkwardly about stuff I know next to nothing about, and tried to keep up my energy level. Everyone was extraordinarily nice, and the department felt really comfortable. It seemed like a place where I could definitely study philosophy. I sat in on a class, which was exciting for the first half, but by the second hour I was about ready to crash. Some strange adrenaline rush kept me going up until about 3pm, and then I was ready to curl up in a bed again. I was also annoyed at my throat, which was starting to feel pretty soar. Stupid circulated stale air on airplanes. Somehow though, I trucked through it and met some students and chatted it up with more professors, all of whom seemed pretty nice. After dinner I took a nap, because I was scheduled to meet some first years later that night.

After my nap we went to Hell. Apparently, Hell is the bar frequented most by the philosophy grads, and it also happens to be a bar that's pretty tight on security. Believe it or not, I did not bring my driver's license to France, because a passport usually does the trick. For less secure venues I just bust out my International Student Identity Card. And apparently, my ISIC card is not considered sufficient identification to prove that I was born before 1987. I thought I looked the part, but I guess to some people I still look pretty young. The funny thing was, my host and her friend thought my ISIC card would suffice and told me not to bother with my passport, but I told them I'd bring it just in case. I also lied, I guess, because when I went to get the passport out of my wallet it wasn't there. Oops. So we drove back to my host's house, I dug through my bag and actually brought my passport with me the second time. My bad. Overall the first years were very cool, and they seemed much less socially awkward than your typical philosophy students. I think there may be some self-selection giong on here because UNC has a reputation for being more social, so the more socially inclined tend to choose UNC in the end. But that's just a theory. I also beat two guys in a game of pool, because as you may remember me and the other assistants have some mad pool skills. The one thing that seemed pretty uniform from the first years was that the department and professors are great, but UNC is a college town, and with that comes the feeling of not being in the real world. There's not much to the city outside of the college, and to some of them (thought not all), that was a real downside. But overall, it was good, and I was able to pick their brains for a good amount of time. I think it helps being the only prospective there. Unfortunately, my throat was really hurting now, and every swallow of my drink really hurt. But I tried to push that out of my mind.

That night I only slept on and off. I would wake up super thirsty, but when I tried to drink my water I could barely swallow. I also alternated between being over hot to freezing. Again, like the stoic warrior I am, I pushed it out of my mind, forced down some more water, and tried to go back to sleep. When I woke up, however, my throat literally felt like it was completely closed off. Ouch. Every swallow was torture. I told my host that I was pretty sure I had strep throat, but also that I was pretty sure I didn't have my American insurance card with me (not needing it in wonderful, socialized France). She wasn't sure what to do, tried to assure me that it was probably just allergies, and I agreed to wait it out and see if it got better during the day. That was stupid of me, really stupid. I have allergies, and I've had strep throat, and I know the difference. A fever and not being able to swallow anything is the difference, but again, I put it out of my head and tried to enjoy the day. I had some good old southern cooking at a lunch with some of the professors and a visiting professor from Norway. And then I made the rounds with professors once again, and sat in on the lecture by the visiting professor. The lecture was hard to get through, and although my throat felt slightly better, I was freezing. It had been raining all day, which didn't help, but it wasn't that cold outside. I knew I was the only one that cold, and it wasn't because of the weather.

Other than that, my overall impression that UNC has a very friendly atmosphere was confirmed. I only had two incidents that sort of put me off, and they were comments made by two students about religion (or religious people) that were derogatory. I know that I will encounter those things everywhere I go, but for some reason they caught me off guard and I was put off by them. The professors were over the top nice, and the students all seemed to be friends with each other, and I really did like it there. In my head I was 80% sure that I would go to UNC after seeing it. I was expecting this to be a "gut" feeling that I'd end up there, which I did not have, but before I left I was leaning towards UNC and my visit gave me no reason to change that preference. In my mind (and out loud to some people), I thought that the only way I would choose UCLA would be if it somehow blew my socks off. But I didn't really expect that to happen, not after my visit to UNC, so after seeing UNC I was pretty confident that I would be there next fall.

Saturday morning I woke up to fly out to LA. That night was much like the one before it, only my fever (or at least, what I could only assume was a fever) felt worse, and my throat seemed even more inflamed then before. Even my lymph nodes hurt when I touched them. Things were not looking good. My flights, to top it all, were horrible. The pressure made my head and ear drums feel like they were going to explode (my ears didn't pop until Sunday, grrr). I was freezing, and I could barely drink my water. On top of that, I hadn't had a good night's sleep in 3 days. I was exhausted and miserable. I rarely break down, as many of you know, but on that plane (particularly the 2nd flight that was 4 hours long) I was very very close to breaking down in tears. I just wanted to be at home in my bed. After all, I was in the States, so why couldn't I just be home?? I rarely cry, and that day was no exception (thankfully). Somehow I managed to hold it in, and I tried my best to sleep. Fortunately, two good things did happen on that flight that made me smile. I think God made sure I had a window seat to try and cheer me up, because we passed over both the Rocky Mountains and the Grand Canyon. I've never seen either, and the view from the plane was amazing. God's glory in nature can have a very calming effect. Also, while on the plane I decided that the first thing I was going to do in LA would be to go to the doctor. I rechecked my wallet and low and behold, behind my American Red Cross blood donor, I found an old copy of my American insurance card. Holler back. I'm going to the doctor.

When I arrived at LAX I couldn't find my host, so I blew $10 on a calling card to call my host's cell phone. I kid you not, as I finished dialing his cell number, I saw this guy walk through the entrance and look around with a hand made sign that had my name on it. Well hot dog! Hey, that's me, I'm Lindsey. Awesome, no need for the card, and off we went. I got in the car and he and his girlfriend introduced themselves. They asked what I wanted to do first and I meekly said, "Can I go to a clinic or to the hospital or something? I'm 90% sure I have strep throat..." Ohh, okay. I skipped the small talk, because frankly, it hurt and I wanted some antibiotics. They certainly weren't expecting that, and a few phone calls later, they decided that the only place to take me was UCLA's ER. Alright, I think it's important to check out the campus hospital, after all, health care is a very important factor in my decision, at least it will be if this stupid illness doesn't go away. So we went to the ER, and after 3 hours I was able to chat with the doctor, tell him my symptoms and told him I'm sure it's strep, he said that I know the symptoms for strep quite well, I said that I've had it before, etc etc. One look at my throat and he agreed, no test or anything. The nurse said, "You're dehydrated so you need to drink some juice deary [sic], what kind would you like?" ...Um, apple? A few minutes later she returns with over 30 ounces of apple juice. Whoa. So I drank, and drank, and it hurt, but gosh darn it I was going to finish that mega drink. An attending came by and told me, very seriously, that I either have strep caused by bacteria or a virus. Crap, I know where he's going with this... If it's caused by bacteria, the antibiotics will clear it up in a day or so, if it's a virus, well then I have to tough it out. He went on to say that it could also be mono, which has similar symptoms and it's pretty common among people "my age"... what he was implying I could only guess. Needless to say, I prayed it was the former, because I really didn't want some 6 month tired-virus mooching off me. He said I could have one shot now or 10 days worth of pills... the shot, the shot! And that's what I got.

My hosts let me relax for a few hours, and after that I already started feeling better. The weather was, as you can imagine, beautiful (70 and sunny). They took me to Venice beach, and we ate some at some authentic Japanese supermarket foodcourt--better than it sounds, and the warm noodles felt really good on my throat. Then they called over some other 5th years (the people I met at UCLA were much older than the crowd of 1st and 2nd years I met at UNC) and we ate at this fun Cuban place. Lots of good ethnic food for me (we later ate Mexican, Thai, and something else that escapes me). That night I went to bed early, well LA time early (around 10pm), and I slept for 14 hours. It felt good. On Sunday they took me to see Santa Monica, downtown LA (every block is like another country, the diversity is awesome), and we drove home through Hollywood and the posh Beverly Hills. When I told them that the stuff I know about LA I learned from the Hills, they told me that they both love the show. Yes! I don't feel like a total flake now. So they drove me by through Lauren and Heidi territory, and believe it or not the Hill's theme song came on the radio. Coincidence?

Monday was the day for business (and the first day of full health! apparently it was bacteria). I had an hour or so to explore campus for myself, and I loved it. It really was gorgeous, and I loved that everyone still wore UCLA shirts and sweatshirts. I pictured UCLA being a bunch of buildings mixed up with the city, more like UWM or something, but it really is a campus just like any other, only it happens to be in a larger city. Very cool. Even the library was pretty awesome. My meetings with professors went well, and by this point I think I got the over my fear of them. My token question, "What do you think I should know about this department?" That question is purposefully vague, and they have a lot of room to elaborate (with less questions from me, I really am this lazy). But also, it shows what they think is important in a philosophy education, because whatever they emphasize is what they push for. Is it finishing in 5 years or doing imaginative/thorough work? For UCLA I'd wager to guess it's the latter. All in all, it was pretty cool, and I was pleasantly surprised by the friendliness of the professors and students. And, as it turns out, a lecture that was scheduled for Wednesday was moved to Monday so I was able to catch one of my new favorite Christian philosophers in the flesh (Robert Adams, that is). I was quite sorry, of course, that his wife was sick and couldn't give her lecture, but the fact that Adams was even at UCLA (he's now at Oxford, but used to teach there) let alone that he spoke on the only day I was on campus seemed more than a little providential. It's funny how those things work out, huh?

My impression of UCLA? Of the city: very cool, and I thought I'd hate it. It is kind of like a tropical sprawling suburb, but I can do suburbs, they're almost all I know. The weather, mountains, ocean, etc were also pretty awesome, not to mention the fact that LA is a city with stuff to do and not only white people. I liked that. I asked around about the status of women in the department (since they usually don't fare well in philosophy, but at UNC there's a 50/50 ratio), and all the students told me you don't get messed with at UCLA. They attributed that to the three strong and extremely intelligent women faculty members, but anyways, it was good to hear. Some how, I was just impressed with everything. The students were nicer than I expected, the professors were more open than I expected, and it really seems like the goal at UCLA is to produce well rounded thinkers who can see the big picture and actually contribute in a non-trivial way to the field as a whole. I got the impression that they train you pretty hard, and they have very high expectations, but that if you go there it's because you want to meet and exceed those expectations. At least, that's the impression I got, and I really liked that. I just had a good feeling about it, something I couldn't put my finger on, and I thought maybe I felt that way because I was finally healthy. Either way, I really did feel good about that school and that department.

My trip home was better than my trip there, with the exception of the taxi ride to the airport. The night before my host told the cab company that I only had a credit card, so whoever came to get me needed to have one of those credit machine things in the cab. When I got to the airport and handed my driver the card, he flipped out. He can only take cash, his machine is broken. Well my friend, we told the company that I only had a card. I repeat, I do not have $20, sorry. It was early, and I wasn't really in the mood to push it, but what could I do? I didn't have the money. Oh wait, I don't have dollars, but I do have euros. And what did I have left in my wallet, a 20 and 5. Well 20 euros is pretty much like giving him a 100% tip, but whatever, I have to go. So I gave it to him, much to his dismay, and then tried to explain that I was the one getting the short end of the stick in this bargain. Ugh. Whatever. Other than that, the plane rides were peaceful and I watched a lot of movies (this time I got to choose), and for my flight to Paris the seat next to me was empty which was pretty awesome.

There was only one problem with my trip: it made it even harder for me to make a decision. Before I left I thought for sure I would end up at UNC, but after my trip I was less sure. I was quite impressed with both schools, and I didn't really have a good way to decide. On my flight back I made a comparison chart. And you know what? It didn't help. I honestly thought I was going to have to pick some arbitrary way to decide (the NCAA tournament suggestion was nullified when both lost in the final four). I was sort of freaking out on the inside, because I didn't know how to decide. But then I took a step back and tried to think about how I felt at each school. I liked UNC, but if I'm being honest, I loved UCLA. I know I loved it because I expected to hate it so I think my standards for it were tougher than for UNC. My only hesitation was that my gut reaction could have been enourmously influenced by the fact that I was sick at UNC and not at UCLA. It was also raining at UNC and sunny at UCLA. Then there were those comments by the students at UNC about religion, but I'll get that anywhere. I mentioned this to Daena (about the sickness part), and she said that sometimes God uses weather, people, even illness to affect our "gut" reaction. Maybe God wanted me to be sick, have it rain, hear those negative comments, etc to warm me up to UCLA. Maybe the random coincidence of Adams giving his lecture was a sign. Maybe a lot of things, maybe none of it. Maybe I read to much into it, or maybe the fact that I'm even reading that much into it proves that I'm leaning towards UCLA. Maybe. But I wasn't even accepted to UCLA yet, just top of the waitlist. So maybe UNC is where I ought to go, and I did really like it there. I also know that I can do the south, but can I really do LA? So much uncertainty. I talked with people about, and kept going back and forth (though I only had a few days to decide before the deadline). In the supermarket, Irene made me flip a coin, like the song. I used a good old American penny.

Tails.

Rien de rien, je ne regrette rien...

2008-03-29T15:36:00.002+01:00

Today, to the sound of Edith Piaf's famous song (see title: Absolutely nothing, I regret nothing), I marched on down to the train station to buy my ticket to Paris for Wednesday. It was a bit blustery, but I was feeling rather chipper. This week has been (for the most part) a pretty good week. Mainly, my kids are finally behaving and I'm starting to warm up to Avranches again. On my walk I took the path through the jardin des plantes, and it was prettier than I remembered, even with the gray sky overhead. Not too bad.

This week I did a lot of lessons (again) on gender, race and politics, which interested a select number of students quite a bit, and the rest of my students not at all. But that's okay, because I'm going to continue our discussions next week, and however long it takes for everyone to care. They can't get away that easy! In fact, I was quite surprised to find that again this week the macho boys took more of an interest in the subject than I would have ever imagined. Maybe there is hope.

Yesterday I did some practice Cambridge Oral Exams for my yearbook-ers, and I was (thankfully) on my own. The kids did a great job, and listened, and seemed to actually care about the advice and tips I was giving them. I guess when you mention "upcoming exam" they start to tune it, esp since I can help them more than their actual teacher. We worked on having normal-ish conversations, and using questions/etc when you're unsure what the topic is. I reminded them that if they don't know they can ask their partner (the exam is in pairs) questions, and if those questions are in English, then that counts towards showing that they have a command of the language. It even makes the conversation less forced. So we'll see. For homework I told them all to go to mtv.com (I kid you not) and watch some of the free shows online. I recommended the Hills, Laguna Beach, True Life and Made (though there are plenty of others). They were shocked that I would actually recommend those shows, and I explained to them that not only are those shows shallow and simple, but they use boring everyday conversation vocabulary. If they just watch a few episodes, they'll hear a lot of greetings, etc, that will help reinforce the vocab they need for their exam (and it will aid in the listening comprehension part). At the end of class I told them that I'd be gone next week because I'd be in the US, and they flipped out. They thought I was finished or something, but I explained that I'd be back the next week, and that would be my last day. That didn't help much. They seemed genuinely upset. I'd like to think it's because they think I'm a cool assistant, but a part of me knows they just prefer dinking around with me than getting yelled at by their teacher. A few of them suggested we have a party, and some said that if they ever travel to the US they are going to visit me (yeah right, but nice thought). And they made me promise to visit them after break during my last two days (I end on a Tuesday, but see them on a Friday). Part of me would be willing to finish out that whole week for the sake of some of my classes, but another part is ready to be done with some of my more unruly classes, so I think I'll just end on Tuesday (though I will stop by one of their other classes before leaving).

You will all be proud to hear about my culinary progress this week. Rachel had already taught me how to do some yummy sauted potatoes, and Kate taught me a great way to use spinach and creme to make a sauce for tortellini, but this week Colin taught me how to make a reduction sauce. It's great because the principles he taught me are basic enough that by changing a few ingredients you can make a radically different sauce. He helped me make a red wine sauce for my turkey and it was quite delicious. The non-evident tips: butter and flour to thicken the sauce, chicken or beef stalk for added flavor, if using cider (my goal for next week) add lardons (bacon pieces) to spice it up a bit. He also showed me how to roast garlic, which you can add to mayonnaise for a posh condiment. And if you cut a garlic clove in half and remove the green bit, you effectively eliminate the cause of garlic breathe. Thank you Colin. I even bought an artichoke (on a whim), and he promised to help me figure out what to do with it. One day, I'll eat like a normal person. No more chicken nuggets!

A long Easter post

2008-03-23T00:06:00.005+01:00

Sorry ahead of time for the long post, but here it goes. The end of the week went okay at school, surprisingly enough. For the most part, my kids discussed stuff and what not, though I think perhaps my standards are just lower now than they were at the beginning (in fact, I'll wager that this is the real reason). I also started tutoring 3 kids who need help getting ready for the BAC, and no, this is not paid. I was sucked into it somehow, and I feel bad turning down kids who, for once, voluntarily want to work on English. We had a really good session, truthfully, and I wish my other students cared as much as those 3 kids (and they weren't great at English by any stretch of the imagination, but they were trying). And actually, on Friday Marie Francoise told me that the boy in the group told her he has started to fall in love with me...haha. It amazes me how I can inspire such opposite reactions in my students (love, indifference, hatred). Oh well. I'll chalk it up to the subject matter. I was also told this week by the teacher who teaches my BTS students (the 19-20 somethings) that I need to speak slower because the kids are too scared to ask me to repeat or slow down. Let me add here that I am well aware that they don't/can't understand me. I ask them repeatedly to ask me questions, to show any signs of life. They don't, so my patience has dried up. Now I just go talk at them for an hour and hope they absorb something. Sometimes I have an actual conversation with one or two students, but the others, well maybe if they SHUT UP they would be able to understand me. Scared, whatever. These kids are as old as I am. But again, my standards have fallen quite low, so I'm not all that bothered. My yearbook kids and my philosophy stars are keeping me from utter insanity, so I'll take what I can get.

This weekend the weather has taken an interesting turn. What was once a bit sunny and even, dare I say it, warm, is now cold and blustery and rainy. Boo. Yes, I know that Wisconsin is buried under 2 feet of snow, but the weather here does suck. It's always wet, and windy, and the wind is strong enough to blow me across the Channel. In fact, on Saturday night it even snowed for a good 5 min (giant wet clumps). That was at least a little exciting. Rachel and I flipped out and I even took a picture. It doesn't take much around here.

Easter. Easter was interesting. It started off on the wrong foot because Irene and I had a bit of a confusion in the morning. We were supposed to go to Church together, and 15 min before our ETD she skyped me to say she was running late but that she'd come over when she was ready. Close to 30 min later she still didn't come over. So I went to her apartment and saw a sticky note on the door that said in French, "Lindsey, excuse me but I can't go with you to Church." Ohh... hmm, glad I came out and didn't wait in my apartment... Why didn't she just skype me and tell me that too?? Well, as it turns out, she did come over and knocked really quietly so as to not wake up Rachel, only I couldn't hear it over the roar that is my computer. So she tried calling me and my phone was on silent. She had been feeling ill all weekend so after not finding me she just went to bed. The note she had written in the middle of the night when she woke up feeling sick, in case she couldn't wake up to go. Oops. Well, not knowing any of that, I headed out to Church solo, much to my dismay.

You may wonder why yesterday, of all Sundays, I didn't want to go alone. Well, for various reasons, I've stopped going to the tiny evangelical church. It was so small that it's really hard going and not feeling like a part of their little community. Part of that is my own fault, but it really is just a bit uneasy to go there, and the last thing you want to worry about when you're supposed to be praising /learning about God is how awkward you feel. So I've been doing some distance church time thanks to Blackhawk's website. But for Easter I wanted some corporate worship, and I thought I'd go to St. Gervais, the prettier (and warmer feeling) cathedral of the two in our city. The only thing is, St. Gervais is a catholic church and I'm, well, not catholic. I have nothing against catholicism, I just don't really understand it and the last time I went to a Catholic mass (in Montpellier) I was super confused. So Irene was supposed to go with me so that I would know what was going on (she is Catholic), and so we could finally go to Church together (after all of our God-conversations, the only reason we haven't is that she didn't want to go to the protestant church with me).

Anyway, it was quite the experience. I came late so I didn't get a bulletin with all the songs and liturgy readings, so I looked like I wasn't participating when really I just didn't have any way to follow along. I was also sitting up at the short arm part of the cross, in what appeared to be the veteran section, because I was surrounded by 70-somethings who knew exactly when to stand, make the cross sign, bow, sit, stand, pray, etc. I took comfort in the younger families across the way that clearly only stepped foot inside the church for Easter and Christmas (Cheasters... I felt like one of them), and who, like me, looked like they had no idea what to do next. The service was complete with the dude swinging the smoking can thing all over the place (hey, it smelled nice) and one of the priests went around shaking these branches at us and getting us wet (to which everyone around me bowed a few times and did some cross signs for good measure, while I looked baffled and quite confused). Oh my. My favorite part was the nun leading everyone in the hymns. She was a cutie, and quite energetic for someone her age. She had my respect. And here's the best part. I had no intention of taking communion, because although I could in pretty much any protestant church, I am well aware that the Catholic church prefers you to actually be a confirmed Catholic before you take communion with them. Out of respect, I was going to abstain. However, when the time came I had to let the old folks out of my row, and the only way to do this was to actually get up and get out of the row myself. When I did this, I found myself next in line for communion with the lady in our corner (don't ask how this actually happened, I'm not too sure). I couldn't very well tell the lady that although I was in line, I had changed my mind and didn't want the wafer. I had to be quick, so I just stuck my hands out like I saw someone do once (it was that or open my mouth, I think) and took the wafer. She said something that I didn't understand, and the only thing I could think to say was "Merci!" To my horror, Irene later told me that I was supposed to say Amen because she was giving me a blessing (Irene found my experience incredibly funny, and she was sorry to miss it). The lady probably thought I'd never been to church in my life. Oh well. This is all, of course, just the funny bit. It was actually a really nice service and it was nice to have some time away from everything to actually think about what Christ did/does for us, for all of us. I'm glad I went, because I needed the reminder. I think we all do.

Later on we had the pagan portion of our Easter celebration. The two Rachels hid a few bags full of chocolate eggs around the elementary school where Rachel and Kate live. In a girls vs guys competition (Rachel's boyfriend and his friend are here this week), we had a night time, flashlight only, egg hunt. Madness ensued. Needless to say, I feel sick from all the eggs we ate. Yummy. This week some lucky kids are going to find eggs randomly in the corridor and library.

That's about it. In about a week (April 2nd) I will be on my way to the States to visit schools. I can't wait! I'll have to make my decision in about 4 days after I get back. We'll see!

Things are looking up

2008-03-19T21:31:00.002+01:00

This week has been good, in so far as things can be good around here. On Monday I had to give 5 students in my "philosophy" class a mock oral exam. Needless to say, all 5 of my students did an outstanding job. They had a random statement or question for a prompt, 5 minutes to prepare, and then they had to discuss the prompt with me for 10 minutes (and I helped the discussion by asking questions). My star students did well, but so too did my quieter students. There were 2 girls in particular who did fantastic, speaking with me (intelligibly) for the full time period. I was stunned, and quite pleased. Those two girls always seemed the least interested in my class, never smiling and never participating. But they seemed to really enjoy the one on one time with me, and one even used the example of our philosophy lessons as a way to combat stereotypes. I was so happy with all of them. I'm not sure if the students who went with MF did quite so well, but my lot did just fine... and part of it, I think, was that they seem to really be at ease with me and that makes it easier for them to practice their English. So yeah, score one for the lowly assistant.

On Tuesday my class wasn't so great (they combined with another class for a total of around 22) because they would not shut upn (mind you, these kids are 19/20 somethings). I gave them an article about Clinton and Obama and the role of gender and race in politics. It sparked discussion, just not in English and not as a class. People were talking amongst themselves, and it was very frustrating. It's not that they don't always do that (because believe me, they do), it's that this time there was a handful of "macho" guys who are never serious but who were for once trying to express their opinions about this. They tried to explain to me (over the noisy class) that France is not ready for a woman or a minority president (certainly not a North African). I asked why and they said that even though they personally think it would be a good thing, the French are (and this is them not me) too stubborn and traditional and the media perpetuates the problem. It was interesting, though annoying that not everyone was being serious. I told them that we'd continue the topic next week, and they should come prepared to talk about how to solve the problem! I won't hold my breath.

Anyway, the real good news is that I have very encouraging news from UCLA, and I've found out a lot more about their department. It is looking much more appealing than ever, which is bad, in a way, because my decision will be that much harder. The prospect of living in a big city now seems almost exciting (instead of yet another college town), but still, I'm not sure if it'd be fun after a year or 5. The good news is that UCLA can help me visit, so if the airline plays nice than I will be visiting both UNC and UCLA the first week in April. Um, amazing. I really hope it works out, and I really hope the visit(s) will give me clarity on where I should go. God, make it clear! Here's where you should all chime in and give me your thoughts, based on how well you know me. LA or NC?

Stuck in a Rut

2008-03-15T12:33:00.002+01:00

First I'll tell you about the end of Feburary break, though I realize it's a little late in coming. I wanted to see Emilie and Elodie (Sophie was gone that weekend) in Montpellier for some catchup time and some sunshine, and some of the girls here decided to go with me. We trained down the long 9 hour trip, but when we got there the city was as warm and gorgeous as ever. We stayed at the Citadines in Antigone (the wealthy business district) because that's where my mom and company stayed when they came to visit me last time I was here. I found a great deal online, and the four of us could split an apartment for only 20 something euros a night (about the equivalent of a crummy hostel in Paris). The apartment was fabulous with a fully stocked kitchen and a balcony. We were loving it, and from the first night we didn't want to ever leave. I showed the girls around the city, and they loved it, of course. It was sunny and bright and the architecture is breathtaking. The whole time they kept saying how they wished we lived there. Me too.

I got to hang with Elodie, and we chatted and got caught up. She's swamped with wedding stuff, but she's getting really excited for June to come, and so am I. She explained how we all walk (wedding party and guests) from her house to the town hall and then to the church for the ceremony. It's like a big parade! Luckily she lives in a podunk town, so we won't be walking miles in the hot summer sun. She also showed my her dress (at the wedding shop) and it is beautiful. She's going to look amazing on her wedding day. It's still strange to me that she's getting married. After all, when we first bonded 2 years ago it was while we wrote notes to each other in our history class about these two boys she had to decide between. Needless to say, I helped her pick Jean, and I'll admit that he was a star from the start. When he met me and the Americans, he was super nice to us and a ton of fun to hang with, and he's always been great to Elodie. It's weird that I was there for the start and now will be there for the wedding, but I'm super happy that I get to go (and so too is Elodie). I already know all of her family (and Jean's!) so it won't be too strange being the only foreigner around.

We also got to hang with my friend from Emilie from Madison (she and Sophie studied abroad for a semester in Madison and worked on ag stuff). She showed us around her agriculture school, and it was SO much nicer than Paul Valery (where I studied in Montpellier). Science is always favored over humanities, though I can't imagine why... She invited us to a soiree with some of her friends and it was a lot of fun. Sadly for her, she just finished school down there and now is starting her internship. But I think she's ready to move on. It's a shame to have to leave Montpellier though! Hopefully I'll get to see her once or twice before I leave.

And the last notable adventure on our trip was our afternoon at Palavas. We took the bus to...the beach! It may have been March 1st, and it may have been a blustery day, but we took a dip in the Mediterranean like champs. And actually, Christina and I did the very same thing last time I was there, on March 1st. Needless to say, it was a wee bit chilly, and all the bundled up French people thought we were crazy!

Unfortunately our trip had to end and we're back doing the usual in Avranches. This past week or so has been kind of rough for me, and I couldn't pinpoint why. But last night I talked with Irene about feeling more antisocial and super bored and always tired. She felt the same, and it's strange because we both started the year with so much energy and excitement. We figured out why we were in a rut, and the problem is a combination of our lycee and this city. Despite a few classes that we really enjoy, we feel (as I wrote about before) like we're wasting our time here. The students don't work, they don't care, and we're running low on ideas and enthusiasm. It really is draining. It makes the boredom worse, and the apathy stronger. Couple that with this city where nothing ever happens and everything is always closed (!!), and you can't really be all that surprised that we're in a rut. It's hard to energize each other because we just feel so tired and so bored and so ready to leave. Honestly, my work is done here, and I'm ready to go home. I will miss my friends dearly, but not this lycee and not this town. A few months is great, but a full school year is too much. I think my trip to NC in April and having the month of May to travel and stuff will brighten me up a bit, but it can't come soon enough. I've even tried to get back into my philosophy stuff, which sort of helps, but it's not the same without having inspiring classes and people to talk to about it. I can read the books and articles and blogs, but that only gets you so far without real live interaction. All I have to say is that next fall is going to be amazing.

So yeah. We're in a rut around here. Though if the weather brightens up and I can go back to having my reading time out at the parc sportif, well then I just might get out of it. We'll see!

Fighting Apathy

2008-03-04T12:20:00.004+01:00

It's been awhile since I've written, so I thought I'd update y'all on the goings on around here. I've spent the last two weeks in blissful vacation, away from a job I don't particularly enjoy, and away from stress in the broader sense. To clarify, I still like my job, at least parts of it. But the majority of my job feels like, and probably is, a waste of time. Even the classes I like are not all that helpful to the students, at least not in the immediate sense (they are not improving in any of the ways that will help them for their BAC or for their future careers, try as I may).

A large part of this is the fault of the French school system coupled with the French culture as a whole. French schools teach memorize and regurgitation. French children find this an especially hard task in English, as languages tend to require more flexibility of thought. The French system also encourages a sort of leveling down, where going above and beyond is rare but barely meeting minimum requirements is rewarded. Part of that is cultural, in the sense that there is no exterior motivation to excel, academically or otherwise. A few students may have some inclination to excel (for their own satisfaction), but it's quickly squelched by the system. The system is riddled with teachers who hate teaching, or are too burnt out to care, or just lack creativity. It was easy for me to judge them when I first got here because I was a bundle of American energy and enthusiasm ready to take on the world, but I was also a newbie to the system and didn't fully understand what was going on with both the teachers and students. To put it bluntly, the system will suck out all of your enthusiasm, and it will undermine all of your emotional fortitude. By this I don't mean that my job is hard, per se, but rather that even a fresh outsider can be demoralized within the course of a year, which says something. Teachers fight with the students, students don't respect their teachers. No one gets on, and no one learns. Students get by and move on, while teachers hold on and grit their teeth. It's vicious.

All of that is to say that I don't think French schools do a good job of inspiring students. I know that many American schools struggle with this as well, but I think it's worse here. There is a lack of creativity, and there's this ridiculous power struggle between the teachers and students. Sure, this is the country of revolution, but this is also a country of class and power and conflict. Everyone wants respect, but no one is willing to return it. Teachers are traditional, and they don't respect the students yet demand that the students respect them. The students may have complied in years past, but this generation has had enough. They don't respect the teachers, and they don't care about anything. It's a generation of apathy and rebellion. This makes teaching that much harder. It's especially hard to come in from the outside, with no inside knowledge of the system, and no way to overcome it. Every day I try, and most days I fail.

I'm not talking about getting the kids to like me either. Truth be told, most of them do like me, or are in someway fascinated by my foreignness. The problem is, that's not enough! They like me, but they hate learning, or at least, they hate school. They want me to like them, so they'll behave for me (sometimes), but they don't want to learn what I want to teach them. They aren't inspired. Some days I kindle in them a small flame of interest only to find it promptly put out by the teacher I'm working with or one they see later in the day. It's very discouraging, for both me and them. Now I want to add that I still think I've made strides with many of my classes, I just doubt the long-term impact I've had on them. I'm not expecting them to remember everything I teach them, or even anything, but I do want them to learn how to be excited about learning and about the world and their own role in making sense of it. It just isn't working quite like I imagined it would.

I have several classes where the students beg me to teach them without the teacher there. I would prefer to too. They open up to me more than the teacher, and the students that still care somewhat about school and their grades are terrified of the teachers. They can safely learn with me, but I don't have the power to tell the teacher to leave (nor would they) and in some cases the class is just to large to take on my own. In another class I have 2 British girls that are going through some troubles because they're forced to take English. They don't get along with their teacher, and they're bored out of their minds. I proposed an independent project for them, but I think it's too late. The damage between teacher and students is done. I have other students who are just so burnt out by the system that they don't care about anything anymore. They don't mind me, but they sure as heck won't put in any effort for me because they hate what I stand for. It's rough because you can't make them care.

I say this because teaching over here isn't all it's cracked up to be. Superficially, it's quite easy, and I hardly have to work at all. I could walk into a class and wing it, and the students wouldn't be any the worse for it. And behavior isn't too bad, because they like me well enough. It's just demoralizing to fight an uphill battle against years of crappy schooling and apathy. You do what you can and hope it's enough, but you worry that you can't change anything. You worry that it's all just a waste of time, and that's why I don't enjoy my job. I often like it, because I like my students and I like some of the subjects I'm teaching them, but I don't have much in the way of "job satisfaction" because I can't fight that nagging fear that this is all just pointless. Sigh.

That was all to say that vacation was much needed. And vay-kay was made all that more awesome by my great news from UNC. I even spent half a week in Montpellier, which I'll write about as soon as I get some more time. And in even better news, my principal has given me the OK to take a week off in March and go visit UNC. So really, despite the suckiness of French schools, things are going well. The sun's out today, and I'm going to go out and enjoy it. A plus (until later)!

update: I should add, that this could very well be just a problem for my school... and maybe I shouldn't generalize... but I think it's quite likely bigger than just this lycee...

Double Rainbows

2008-02-17T11:40:00.003+01:00

So as some of you already know, on Friday I received wonderful news from UNC-Chapel Hill. They have accepted me into their Philosophy PhD program. One school, that's all I needed. Granted, I could still be accepted into one of the other 4 programs, but for now, one is all I need to have. So law is out, and philosophy is in. I can't convey my excitement. I'm shocked and overjoyed.

Now let me back up. The news came on my mom's birthday, and she had some encouraging words not just about school but for this whole year. Word has it (in the prophetic circles) that this is the year of both new beginnings and double blessings. The proof is supposed to be an abundance of double rainbows this year. Before knowing this, I could tell that this year was going to be a year of change and new beginnings. I've been on the whirlwind of change this year, and it's been great. Going to France has been an experience in itself. I've made wonderful friends here and I've had some time (a lot of time!) to figure out where my true passion lies. Here's how it happened.

Well I've been gung ho about law school since forever, and last year I was accepted to Cornell. But I decided that I needed to spend a year doing something else before I sold my soul to the devil. Cornell is a great school, but it because it wasn't my top choice I didn't feel the need to go right away (had I gotten into Yale or UVA I would be in law school right now, which is a horrifying thought). I was happy to get into Cornell, but slightly disappointed. But now I realize that I had I gotten in elsewhere, I wouldn't be in France this year, and now I'm glad the other schools did turn me down. When I decided to come to France, I remember explaining to Dana that it was good to take a year off and decide if law school is really for me (since I had yet to determine what I wanted to do with a law degree, and it's an expensive decision so one ought to be more sure than I was). She asked me, "If you go to France, would you ever actually decide not to go to law school?" It was a good question, and in my mind then answer was no. Not that I wanted it that badly, but I had no other options. It was law school or the streets (so to speak). But still, it's good to say that you're going to make sure it's what God wants you to do (ha! how little I realized).

When I got here I started working on philosophy independently (thanks to Harry!), and I even got one of my classes to do contemporary moral issues. I loved it, I really did. And I was determined that I would do Cornell's joint MA phil / JD degree, because I didn't want to abandon philosophy completely. And then two things happened that changed everything. The first was a response for Cornell's philo department. I sent them an inquiry into the joint degree program, and they replied by telling me that in fact that program no longer existed. Sorry. Oh... well, um, shoot. What now? (at this point I was doing enough work on my own--and loving it-- and enough to apply to the joint program that my heart was set on it). What a disappointment.

And then the second thing happened. I had sent Harry some comments on something (I can't seem to remember for what) and that prompted a response from Harry saying that I should really consider going to grad school. No, he doesn't usually say this, but yes, he thinks I should go (both because he thought I would like it and would do well there). Really? Had he told me that 3-6 months ago, I would have flat out said not a chance. But now, well now I was in a different place. It was like God was warming me up to that idea all along. I was still a bit skeptical though. Really? I can't do philosophy. I can study it, surely, but I can't contribute anything myself... can I? The seed was planted.

And then the GRE fiasco happened (with the strikes and almost not being able to go). When I almost couldn't get to the test, it became very obvious to me how much I wanted to go to philo grad school. Before I was going to apply, see if I got in, and then decide if maybe I wanted to do it. Now I wanted to go, no need for further contemplation. And just as God kept me out of law school (without freaking me out by shutting me out of all the schools), He got me to the test and helped me pass it (I had a week to study, so for all intensive purposes, I had to wing it). And that's when I started to get my heart set on getting in. It seemed obvious that God was pushing me down that road, a road I would have never dreamed for myself in a million years. I was supposed to go to law school, and I was sure that God wanted me there too. And then all of this happened, and it all made sense. I studied philosophy because I thought it would be good prep for law school, but I had no idea that God wanted me to be doing that all along. Go figure.

Even though I could feel God pushing me in that direction, I was skeptical that it would work out. Sure, I didn't doubt that God could get me in if He really wanted to, but what if He didn't? Do you know how hard it is to get in? It's hard, very hard. And you know what, I wasn't prepared. It be honest, I consider it a miracle that UNC accepted me. Sure they liked my letters and the writing sample, but I'm sure they liked the letters and writing sample of a bunch of the over 300 applicants, and they can only take 7-8. I don't care how qualified you are, it's going to take a miracle (or for the less supernaturally inclined, a good deal of luck). And a miracle it is.

Now something happened over Christmas break that I completely forgot about, and it was something I'd never seen before. When we were driving around Normandy, we saw the most amazing double rainbow. I rarely see rainbows these days, and this one was a perfect double arch. It was beyond cool. What I didn't know was what my mom told me this past Friday. This is the year of the double rainbows, and they will be a sign of God's favor and a new beginning. My mom said that when she saw it she knew immediately that my switch to philosophy was going to work out. She was certain that God was going to get me in to the school He wanted me at, and that would be my new beginning. Looking back on it, it makes sense. Sure, you can call it a coincidence, but I have never seen a double rainbow before, and I may never again, and this is supposed to be the year. I can take a hint. Thank you God. You are too good. Now show me how to use this amazing opportunity to serve you better. I'm ready.

I <3 Valentine's Day

2008-02-14T22:40:00.002+01:00

Okay maybe not really <3 (heart). It's feb 14th and you all know what that means. For me, it's just another V-day flying under the radar. I think o and 22 isn't that bad, haha (or as Irene says online... jajaja --and not that's not pronounced jah jah jah like I thought it was). No really, I actually forgot that it was Vday until I went to class. You see, after teaching one of my classes about American high schools one group of students was inspired to organize their own "spirit day" for today. I was so proud. They put posters up and got approval from the principal. They even had a box in the lobby for students to leave love notes that they'd deliver during classes. They went all out. Unfortunately, the French consider it below them to participate in such an uncouth support of anything other than unions or football so it didn't go well. Heck, even I forgot to wear pink or red (oops). I realized my mistake when I saw a group of girls from my class walk up to me in crazy combinations of every red or pink item of clothing they owned. "Lin-say! Where iz yor spirat?" Sorry girls! Of course I didn't get away that easy. One of the girls attacked me with a lip pencil and drew a lovely red heart on my cheek. That works. On the upside, they filled the love note box, even if only their friends actually dressed up.

I'm actually in a good place today, and in general things are fairly calm. My classes have been breezy this week, a combination of the Bac practice tests and a few classes out on internships. The only downfall is the boredom which is starting to take its toll. I need to give this computer a break, but without it I'm not sure what I'd do. I actually have a few books to read, but the ones that are novels are in French and the ones in English are serious reads and I think I'm in the mood for something, I don't know, different than that. Maybe Gone with the Wind meets Pride and Prejudice? I'm not sure what I'm in the mood for. What I should be doing, actually, is delving into some of the philosophy articles/books I have here. I know that once started I'll get into it, but something is holding me back. I think it's this whole waiting to hear back from schools thing. I'm afraid to get back into it only to get shut out from that world. I realize that even if I don't go to philo grad school I can still do philosophy on my own, but for right now it's hard to get into it knowing that I'll love it and may be setting myself up for more heartache if I don't get accepted anywhere. So we'll see. I think I just need to do it anyways. After all, I'm applying because I love it, so why not do what I love to help with this waiting game. But that would make too much sense.

In other news, tomorrow is momma's birthday! The big 5-0.... yes it's online, there's no denying it. I'm sorry I'm not there for it, but I love you!!! Watch some of that OC for me.

Oh and before I forget, this week I went to the circus with Irene. It was crazy. We were also the only people over 5 feet tall not accompanied by someone under 3 feet tall. Oh well. The ringmaster was frighteningly similar to Sarkozy in both appearance and demeanor. I wonder if that says something? The highlight was the lions and the tiger. Yes I realize they should be in the wild, but I would be lying if I said it wasn't neat to see them. Sarkozy doubled as the lion tamer as well, and his routine reminded me of how I play with Lexi (our dog at home). I think he called one of the lions Nala (my alt name for Lexi). Sigh. Also, the circus was run by one family who all changed costumes and pretended to be different people. It was rather funny, though the clowns weren't. One of the kid from the circus family was running about everyone and even ran across the ring. Good times. Being surrounded by some many little cute kids almost stirred some maternal instincts in me. Almost.

One last story for you all. I've realized this year that living in a foreign country has generally decreased my coolness (if ever I had any). By this I mean, every single day I embarrass myself. Not that that didn't happen in the States, but the frequency here is astonishing. Part of it is the dangerous mix of a new language and culture, but another part is that I just seem to be the biggest dork ever when placed in a country that is renowned for grace and poise and culture, etc. I have none of those. Things just don't go smoothly for me. Let's take today for example. I went to swim practice and got my butt kicked by the workout, which is generally a good thing. Normally when I finish I'm the last person to realize that practice time is up and we have to get out. The coach usually laughs and says, "Lin-say a la douche (to the shower)." So today I thought I'd be on top of things before being told to go home. I finished everything that was on the board, and the last bit was a 200 easy. The obvious conclusion to be drawn is that practice is done. So I take off my cap and start to gather my stuff. The coach looks and me and says, "Il reste 5 min Lin-say"...ugh. I thought he was joking, but then I realized that he was totally serious, and he went onto to tell me to do a 200 kick (pointless really). So all the lil kids waiting for their practice laugh as I put my cap back on and start the kick set. The problem was that the last 25 of the 200 was supposed to be all out kick. For me, it was all out flutter kick, and that, naturally, produces quite a bit of splash. Now because I was kicking on my back, I was unable to see the swimmers who had to swim around me. As it turns out, the one cute guy my age that's on the team (is sometimes a coach for the little tykes) passed me while doing backstroke (not kicking, so obviously was going much faster). That would be fine except that I was apparently kicking up quite a storm. When I finished I looked over at him on the wall and he was coughing pretty badly. Not just one or two coughs, but was seriously dieing. I thought to myself, "Wow, I wonder what happened to him." That's when he looked over and laughed through his coughs saying something to the effect of, "You were kicking pretty hard." Zut alors! I was the cause of his lungs full of pool water. I replied with a look of shame coupled with a smile. Oh well. Happy Valentine's day cute guy on the team. I hope you liked your present.... (sigh)

Downtime

2008-02-11T15:07:00.000+01:00

I can't bring myself to blog about teaching just yet, because I only have one week until Feburary break (2 weeks long!), and I'm trying make this week feel like the start of vacation even if I still have a few days to go. Now before all the naysayers complain that I don't need a vacation because I only work 12 hours a week as it is, let me tell you that the past few weeks have been anything but relaxing. Work has been rough, mainly because I'm at a loss with some of my classes. Even the classes I like are getting tricky because of the teachers I work with. Add on top of that some assistant drama and waiting anxiously everyday to hear back from schools... and, well, I need this break to keep my sanity in tact.

Thankfully God is doing what He can to keep me from going nuts. Not only do I have some amazing friends here, but recently I've had some downtime to chill me out. Last Friday the rainy/windy/miserable weather changed from to warm/sunny/amazing. It was perfect outside, about 50F and more sun than I thought possible for Avranches. I was upset that such a lovely day had to fall on a Friday, the day I work almost half of my hours for the week (5-6). Luckily during my hour break in the afternoon I ran into some of the other assistants preparing for a picnic, so I was able to join them for some sun-basking, bagette with bourson and salmon-eating goodness before it was back to the yearbook projects. It may be Feburary, but for a bit it really felt like summer.

Yesterday Rachel and I had another picnic, this time in the parc sportif. We popped into a boulangerie and got some jambon fromage sandwiches and few pastries. The parc sportif is a 5 min walk from the lycee, but you wouldn't know it from looking around the parc. The parc is literally surrounded by farms, and on the way to the parc you pass a good number of cows and sheep. It's like walking into the past. The houses and farms look just as I would imagine they did over a hundred years ago. For all of our complaints that Avranches is too small, there is an advantage to living in the country. It really is lovely to be in such a calm, green space. Rach and I spread out a blanket and laid in the sun, secretly hoping to get a slight tan. The sun's warmth put us to sleep and we soaked in the moment of peace. We ate and chatted and stared at the Mont St Michel in the distance. Then we busted out some books and read for a bit (I'm reading my second Irene Nemirovsky book, the first being Suite Francaise which I highly recommend, for this book I have the french version because I'm feeling ambitious). I've never felt more relaxed.

The weather is gorgeous, and the landscape is even better. It's days like this that I will miss the most when I leave. Sigh.

It gets harder and harder to think of a title for these things...

2008-02-05T19:27:00.000+01:00

As much as I know you've all enjoyed my lovely travel posts, I'm afraid to inform you that the next few will be quite mundane. This one is about the obnoxiousness that is France and the French. The next will be about why they shouldn't allow me to teach. So here it goes.

First, let me say that I still haven't figured out how to hand wash my clothes. It seemed relatively self-explanatory: fill tub, add soap, add clothes, rinse clothes, dry clothes. Right? No, this simple procedure does not, surprisingly, clean a bloody thing. This time I was doing a massive load of darks, and I thought to myself, "Well, I'll just pretend like this is a washing machine and I'll do whatever a washing machine would do." So I filled the tub with warm water and added soap. Then I threw the clothes in and (quite ridiculously) tried to make my own agitation (and then spin) cycle. I looked funny, and I got tired, but my clean my clothes were not. Ugh. Spin cycle number two, add the shower head sprayer for good measure. No good? Drain the soapy water out, refill with clean water, and spin some more. Drain for the final time and .... failure. The clothes were kind of sort of clean, but secretly I knew that the alcohol spilled on me at the Cuban/Brazilian club(s) in Rennes was not coming out of my shirts (this is a whole story in itself, let's just say that Irene wanted to dance --latin style-- and old french men in latin clubs are even more creepy than regular creepy french men in regular bars...sigh). Whatever, I suck at life. Just hang them up and forget it. In a few months, when I come home to the land of decent washing machines, my clothes will get cleaned up nicely. Perhaps I just need to invest in an old school washboard until then?

After washing my clothes, it was time to give our bathroom a scrub down. Washing darks leaves some nasty dye in the tub. So I sprayed some bleach and started scrubbing. Within seconds of spraying the cleaner, I suddenly had the urge to go swimming. Why was that? I haven't gone in over 2 weeks (oops). Bleach. The smell of bleach reminds me of chlorine, and chlorine reminds me of pools, and pools make me want to get my butt kicked at swim practice. Well needless to say I went to practice today, and the coach told me that he thought I'd left or something. Nooo I was just busy, so much work, you understand... Anyway, we swam 4000 meters, wow. It felt so good. It was a long practice, we usually only do around 2500, so this kicked my butt, in a good way!

Speaking of domestic chores, I am learning to cook. Slowly but surely, I am learning the culinary arts from the master, Miss Rachel. If you know me, then you know how inept I am at such a simple task. Part of my inadequacy stems from my extreme pickiness when it comes to food. If it's green, I probably don't like it. There are reasons I could never be a vegetarian. Anyway, Rachel always makes stuff that smells amazing, even if it is veggies, so we've decided that I must learn. My first lesson came when Dana was here. We made salmon (lemon flavored, yum) and my new favorite dish-- fried potatoes and onions. Okay it's not that hard, you boil some chopped potatoes, fry them, add some onions and garlic, and voila! But here's the funny part: I used to think I hated onions. Not so my friends, I love them now, at least I love them fried with potatoes and garlic. While cooking this stuff I cut an onion for the very first time in my life (probably a first on the potatoes as well). Isn't that a tad bit sad? Well, progress is progress. Rachel also bought me a french cookbook and we're going to pick a meal out before Saturday so we can get all the ingredients at the farmers market. I vote for something with spinach (a green plant I happen to like). I'll keep you posted.

So hand-washing clothes and cooking may not be my strong suits, but I'm young and I have time to learn. What I won't ever learn, however, is how to be polite to stupid french handymen that let themselves into my apartment. So the other day I was in bed and I heard the doorbell ring. Nope, not getting up. I don't care who it is, I want a lie-in. Cue the noise of keys and the door opening. That's strange, Rach is supposed to be in Sartilly all day. Cue man's voice. Crap. Scramble out of bed. What to do? I have time to either throw on some jeans and pull my hair in a pony tail OR throw the clothes piled high around my room into the wardrobe. Umm. Oh well, you hesitated too long, and now you have time for neither. Crap, okay go confront man with pjs on and bedhair. It's too early for french (before 10am when I don't have class until 2pm, much too early), and I don't understand a word. Ummm what? Can you repetay that see voo play? Yeah thanks, okay, so you want some shelves do you? Let's see here, oh you want these weird half table things that you stored in my room and that we turned into storage units in the living room. Here let me move that garbage bag and half dead plant, there you go. Take it, we didn't want it anyway. Oh you don't want it? You want it on the wall of my bedroom...um okay. Why? No reason, I didn't think so. Fine hang it... um (kick some clothes aside, pull a 1664 poster down) here. Okay where are the other shelves? Um I have no bloody clue. You tell me. Fine go look in Rach's room, but I warn you, she won't be happy about it (her's being in a sorrier state than my own). There they are, full of stuff no less. Puzzled look from man. Well what did you expect? You come early in the morning with no warning (a note earlier would have been nice). Yes I realize this is not your choice, you march to orders from on high, we're all victims in this crazy game, but could you just come back later, yeah? Thanks. Rach comes back, aghast that she must now figure out where in her room the unwanted shelves can hang (after cleaning them off of course). We hear a door open and heavy footsteps. No knocking this time? No bell? Just come right in, we weren't naked or anything. Not that you'd care. Grrr. Whatever, just hang the bloody shelves and go away. Why must you bother us?? Yes I'm being dramatic, but in the dull city of Avranches, even the smallest events seem quite important. Don't judge me.

Speaking of not being informed ahead of time, you'll never guess what happened to Rach and Kate at the elementary school. The other day a woman came by with a young gendarme (police man, but sort of in the army branch). She announced to the surprised girls that he was actually moving in, right now. Oh, lovely. That's not strange or anything. We don't mind finding out, well, the day of. Not a problem. As it turns out, Cedric, the already balding but still nice chap of 26, is not that bad, though he's developed quite the crush on Irish Rach. She brings it on herself though (she made him bring out his hats for her to try on, if that doesn't make a man swoon, I don't know what will). He hangs out with us now, and it's only a little awkward (mainly when Rach has had a bit too much to boire and he goes all gaga over her --awkward but really funny, you can't buy entertainment like this). And yesterday a new gendarme showed up. I guess he's moving in too (quite the party). He's younger (22), but like Cedric he's prematurely balding. Maybe it's a hazard of the profession? Pierre-Yves, the newbie, is nice but shyer than Cedric. Unfortunately neither turned out to be potential french petit-amis for any of us (for various reasons), but oh well. We're not into the law enforcement types anyway. At least they're under 40 and over 18. That works for now, we can hang out at the Liberties now and not get approached by freaks or my students (yeah, I've been running into my students and they either want me to buy them drinks or want me to give them my flatmate's number, get a life folks, you're in high school). But still, a little warning would have been nice. The guys could have been psychos or something. I guess a gendarme is better than a regular bloke (as far as safety goes). Whatever. The French could care less. We are, after all, mere assistants.

What am I doing right now? Eating nutella from the jar to curve a chocolate craving, and trying to not freak out about schools. I just finished watching mtv's True Life: I'm having an arranged marriage. I'm not going to lie, some days, I don't think that's a bad idea. Ha! Just kidding. I think. Eventually I need to file my taxes, but I'd rather watch True Life: I'm in anger management. Maybe I should read a book....

Okay that's all for now. Must get back to the new dart board (I'm going to get good at this, I swear). Enjoy the snow Wisconsinites.

Next up: teaching issues. Get ready for it.

Tartan what?

2008-01-30T12:22:00.000+01:00

The epic continues, this time in Edinburgh Scotland. Dana and I were tired, and it was rather late, when our bus pulled into the city. Thankfully, a nice couple on the bus were kind enough to all but take us to our hostel (up and over this gigantic hill). They were a bit surprised that we arrived literally a few days after the biggest party Edinburgh has all year (New Years-- prices hiked too high for our meager savings), but the guy assured us that the party is overrated and much too overrun with tourists to be any good these days. First impression of the city: gorgeous. Dark and old, but really beautiful.

The hostel we stayed in wasn't too bad, but our roommates weren't the most considerate. The asians were up early and took hours to get ready. The italiens talked and talked and talked, even though other people were trying to sleep. So much for common courtesy. Usually it's the Americans who are obnoxious...but it was a hostel, so you can't really be surprised.

The first day of our stay in Scotland was blessed with a lovely blizzard. The snow was falling in clumps to the ground, and it didn't all melt right away. SNOW! Don't get me wrong, I've seen snow many times in my life, but I haven't seen it all year, and this was my first snowfall since last winter. It was wonderful. On the tour bus the guide (a lovely man of about 70) said that Edinburgh hadn't seen snow like that in over 10 years, so it was quick the treat. The only bad part about the change of weather was the cold which I do not miss.

The next day we continued our aimless walking, this time poking into the Childhood museum (pretty much toy blast from the past) and the Scotland museum (with audioguides!). It was there that we learned what this mysterious "tartan" was (a word found all over the city). Apparently tartan is plaid. name of the material used to make kilts and the like. It was a big discovery nonetheless. I would have felt rather silly if we'd gone toThat's it. It's just the Scotland and returned still unaware of what that was. This was also the day of utter exhaustion, so we decided to chill for the night at a little pub around the corner from our hostel. It was cheekily named "Half Hanggit Maggie," after Maggie Dickson who was hanged but didn't actually die (I guess that's the note by her name found in the official documents way back when). We also had the most delicious curly fries this world has to offer. It was magical, almost as magical as our game of MASH (in which I am married to Colin Firth--not bad-- but am housewife with 6 kids....).

Okay well that wasn't as informative as I had planned. I loved Edinburgh, really I did, but it was over a month ago and my memory is a bit rusty. It's also sad to write about adventures with Dana when Dana is gone. I miss you chica. Thanks for the fabulous trip!

Adventures with Dana (Ireland)

2008-01-26T12:45:00.000+01:00

On the Sunday I left my family over break, I headed back towards Paris to meet Dana at CDG airport. I arrived earlier than I expected, and eagerly checked the arrivals board. I wasn't sure what flight Dana came in on, but I figured it was from Chicago. There was only one flight from Chicago on the board and it was in terminal 1, so I headed that way. I fought for a central spot in the arrivals gate where friends and family wait for their loved ones to exit customs. I waited... and I waited. An hour pasted and I started to worry. I didn't see any more token Americans pass through the gate, and the clock was ticking by. So I found the nearest information desk and asked if there were any other flights arriving from Chi-town that day. Yes, one had landed around 9am (it was already 12), and it was somewhere in terminal 2. Ohhh... so when I checked the board it was so late that her particular flight was no longer on the board. Whoops. Back to the other terminal. When I arrived at the gate I thought the lady had told me to go to, Dana was nowhere to be found. Uh oh. I have a cell phone, but Dana doesn't, and terminal 2, if you've ever been, is rather large. And around Christmas time, there are a lot of people there. So I walked. And I walked. I had everything for the 2 week vacation in a cheap backpack from some dinky souvenir shop in London (my little red suitcase was still broken from the Paris metro, and I thought I'd get a new one), and my back was about to give in. Just when I despaired of ever finding my friend, my phone started to ring, "That's me in the corner, that's me in the spotlight, losing my religion...!" (about the ringtone: it is the only non-dog whistle pitch option on this old clunker, and is in no way a statement about anything in particular...) Dana!! Where are you??? Not sure, sitting by some moving sidewalks. Oh, okay. Well there are a ton of possible places you could be, so just hang tight and I'll keep walking, but if I'm not there in 30 min call again from the payphone. About 30 minutes later and I'm thinking, "Please call..." And thankfully my phone rings again. Hey, that didn't work, I can't find you, do you know where the platform is by the train depot with all the screens?? No? Well follow signs for the trains and you'll see it, I'll meet you there.

Over 2 hours after my arrival at CDG, we were together. It was wonderful, though the poor girl was exhausted. Unfortunately I had bad news for her. It may have been 1pm already, but our flight to Belfast wasn't until close to 9pm. So we chatted, and waited, and found terminal 3 (harder than you'd think), and chatted some more, and sat in a restaurant until they kicked us out, and dosed off, and read, and chatted again. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we left CDG and flew to Ireland. Excitement all around. Oh and right before boarding the plane, my backpack strap broke. My million ton bag was now to be carried with one strap, and that strap was looking strained. Luggage and I don't get along (that's 2 broken bags already). So for the next few days I had to carry it like a baby in front of me with the strap over one shoulder. It was funny, for Dana, but rather awkward for me to lug. Anyway, when we arrived we were interrogated quite thoroughly by the customs department. The lady just kept asking tons and tons of questions, and we started getting flustered. I'm living in France, and no, she lives in the US. We leave in a few days, no not back to France, to Scotland. When are we going back to France (anxious to get rid of us?)? Um I don't know let me check. Okay on this day. You want to see our tickets?? Fine (dig through luggage). Here, are you happy? Ugh. Simmer down lady.

One night of heavy sleep later, and we were ready to see the city! We left our hostel and picked a direction and walked. Fifteen mins later and we were in front of Queen's University, which was rather nice looking, I'll admit. We poked around there and found this lovely little cafe that had the best paninis I have ever had in my life. I'm not exaggerating. Then we tried to visit the Ulster museum, but it was closed for renovation or something. Oh well. I texted Rachel (the one from Ireland) so she could come hang out with us. Despite the rain (lots of rain), we had a blast. Belfast is a lovely city (they have their own "Belfast Eye" now). We stopped in at a pub to get out of the rain and I tried some Magner's cider (not bad), and Ireland's own Harp beer. Again, not bad. It's no Guinness, I realize, but Guinness is an acquired taste that I am not ready for yet. Afterwards we went to her friend Claire's house and met some more Irish people (let me just say that it's so much more fun to travel and know someone in the city, and I love listening to their funny Irish accents). We went out with her and her friends to the club (a bit dodgy, not gonna lie) for New Year's, which was fun but a bit strange. Dana and I headed home before the group (mainly because I'm just not a club person, never have been, and we didn't want to spoil the fun for the group, so we said a quick goodbye and snuck out). Unfortunately we had taken a cab to get to the club, and Dana and I weren't entirely sure how to get back. So we asked everyone we saw how to get back to City Hall (and eventually, KFC which is the best way to get directions back to our hostel, apparently everyone knows where KFC is). It was a long trek, about 40 min or more, but we made, largely thanks to this sweet Irish couple who walked a good part of the way with us and asked us questions about the US and our travels and such. I will say this about Ireland, everyone we met was extremely friendly and welcoming. Perfect strangers were totally willing to help us out whenever needed. It was wonderful. So New Year's was a success, dodgy club and all.

The next day we picked up a sandwich at Tesco's and parked in front of City Hall just to soak it in. It's rather pretty, despite the gloom. It was finally not raining so we decided to head to West Belfast to see the peace wall. Let me begin by saying that although we had heard of the "troubles" in Ireland, we had no idea the role that Belfast had, or what a peace wall was, or anything. We saw in a guidebook that West Belfast had a peace wall and murals and we thought we could check it out. Well an hour later our walk brought us to the shady Shankill road area. It was definitely sketchy, and the murals were kind of disturbing. Lots of guns and soldiers and painted graves and memorials. At the bottom of the post I'll attach all of my mural pictures, they're worth a look. We discovered that Shankill Rd is home to the loyalist crowd, as is evidenced by this lovely picture of the Queen mum (which is now a rather popular joke in Belfast: was the painter drinking too much whiskey or the Queen mum?). Anyway, we turned south in search of this so-called peace wall (not entirely sure what to expect). We headed down a road mentioned in the guide book and ran into a gate. What the heck? How do you get to the other side? Hmm, there's no way around. That's strange, this is a major road. What does the guidebook say? The gate on the road is closed during times of trouble and tension...ohhh. Maybe we shouldn't be here. Well let's walk this way a bit, oh there's a wall. Maybe that's the...

Cue creepy local. This old man (in shorts) comes up to us and asks what we're doing in the neighborhood. Looking for trouble, obviously. Well, if we know what's good for us we won't go on the other side of that wall. Why? Well he informed us, in his almost incomprehensible accent, the other side was fully of dirty Catholics and Muslims and Jews. Not a place for nice young girls like us... Canadians, right? No, American. Look of disappointment (no commonwealth for us, our forefathers weren't thrilled with the monarchy, a bit like southern Ireland actually). Well, the US isn't so bad. After all, we have the KKK (yes he said that, it was a good thing to have them). Great. Well we should be going now. Oh, yes, that's a lovely tattoo on your calf of some coat of arms, I love it I really do, but we really must be on our way. As we walked away he shouted something at us and we turned to see him giving us a hail Hitler. Ahhh, creep-tastic. Run, run away.

Later that day we hung out with Rach and Claire some more. We went into this American themed restaurant (not sure why), and guess what we saw on the wall. We saw a painting of the Confederate flag with lights around it. Well that's just great. What is happening in this city? I asked the barmaid if she knew what it was, and she didn't. Ignorance is no excuse. Oh well.

The next day we went back to the lovely cafe with the paninis. The guy there was quite friendly. When we left Dana said, "Have a nice day" and he responded with a, "I'll try me hardest." Those Irish. We met up again with the girls and this time we decided to take a proper tour. Rach flirted with the driver and got us tickets at the kids price. The tour took us again through West Belfast, but this time we got to see the Falls (the Catholic/republic side). The murals over there were less about Ireland and more about Bush/Iraq, etc. Kind of strange. On the courthouse someone stole Lady Liberty's scales of justice. Oh and every 5 minutes the bus driver told us that here so and so was "shot dead." Lots of shooting going on. It was quite morbid. And actually, the whole situation was very depressing. The British troops didn't leave N'Ireland until last summer! Can you believe that? They've been at each other's throats for so long. Oh and we crossed the only peaceline in the world that you can cross and not get shot (right away, anyway). The wall was not a lovely thing with murals of rainbows and flowers. It was like a prison wall with barbed wire and gloom. The guy who built it said that perhaps if the republicans and loyalists couldn't see each other than couldn't very well shoot each other. Wow. I realize they disagree, but how do you reach that point? How do you go from ideological differences to utter insanity? A cause is one thing, hatred is another. For what it's worth, the Irish people that we actually hung out with (Rach and gang) were lovely and they wish their city had never been so insane. It's really just a few clusters of crazies who ruin it for everyone. And for the most part, the city is safe, it really is. I just wouldn't move to Shankill or the Falls...

Well, that's about it for Ireland. Dana and I loved it. We got to spend some much needed quality time together (it's been so long!), and do what we do best: travel. Even better, we got to hang out with Rach and her friends. It was great. Next up: Edinburgh.

(To the right is the MP who died on a hunger strike)

And the back stories continue...

2008-01-22T12:50:00.000+01:00

Okay back to break (again). This time: Caen. Our family traveled via train up to Caen in Normandy (my home region). The first night we rented a car (terrifying), and managed to find our hotel that was situated on the outskirts of the city. Somehow we found our hotel and then found our way back downtown. It was a miracle, I'm pretty sure. Overall not too bad, but I think we were all dragging at this point. Traveling is a tiring business.

Saturday = WWII appreciation day. Did we have a map? No. Did we know how to get anywhere? No. But there was a map on the hotel wall and we figured out what highway we needed, and the rest was cake. I banked on there being those funny brown signs everywhere for the important exits, and to my surprise there were a great deal of signs directing us to our destination. Our first stop was the American Cemetery. The cemetery itself was quite impressive. We checked out the exhibit/movie/museum part first, which was very well done. One quote that I found quite moving was from Sergent John B. Ellery (US 1st Infantry) who said, "You can manufacture weapons and you can purchase ammunition, but you can't buy valor and you can't pull heroes off an assembly line." I don't think this is in any way "romanticizing" war, but rather a reminder that sometimes there are things worth fighting for, and even more often there is a dearth of people willing to fight for those things. I'm just thankful for those who did. For what that's worth, anyway.

When you walk into the actual cemetery part, you are blown away by two things: the size, and the immaculate condition. It's overwhelming to see the rows and rows and rows of crosses and stars of David, and because its so well kept it appears almost new. If I didn't know better I would think the cemetery was only a few years old. It seems almost paradoxical that on the very land where so much blood was shed (the cemetery overlooks Omaha beach) there could be graves standing up neat and at attention, with grass so green and sharp that one would think the land has never seen sadder times. It's all very strange. It's almost impossible for me to picture what actually happened there, but maybe I'm not supposed to be able to. Anyway, we found the grave of my grandfather's uncle, making us the first visitors he's ever had. John D. Mitchell from Alabama, killed a week or so after the initial landing. We hadn't found a florist shop on the way, but we found one later and came back to place some flowers on his grave. As for Omaha beach itself, well it looks like any other coastal scene, with the exception of the bunkers and random aritllery holes that have remainded untouched. I'm not sure what they all were for, truth be told, but it's clear they played an important role during the invasion.

Afterwards we continued northbound towards a small town called St. Mere Eglise. It is a non-descript, typical Normandy town, except for the famous parachuter. The wikipedia version of the story is as follows: "The early landings, at about 0140 directly on the town, resulted in heavy casualties for the paratroopers. Some buildings in town were on fire that night, and they illuminated the sky, making easy targets of the descending men. Some were sucked into the fire. Many hanging from trees and utility poles were shot before they could cut loose. The German defenders were alerted. A famous incident involved paratrooper John Steele of the 505th PIR, whose parachute caught on the spire of the town church. The paratroopers were easy targets and Steele was one of only a few non-casualties. His parachute was caught on the steeple leaving him hanging from its roof-top to witness the carnage. The wounded paratrooper hung there limply for two hours, pretending to be dead, before the Germans took him prisoner. The less fortunate hung from the trees all around the square where they had been shot. Once the last of the paratroopers were killed or captured, the German garrison turned in. Steele was rescued when US troops of the 3rd Battalion attacked the village capturing thirty Germans and killing another eleven..."

And that's about it for Caen, at least all I can remember at this point, and it was also the last stop for my family and where we had to say goodbye. We had our highs and lows, the grumpy tifts and the goofy jokes, but one thing is sure: family is family. No matter what happens, even when we don't get along, and esp when we do, everyone needs family, and I certainly need mine. It was great to see them, because sometimes you need some family insanity to bring you sanity in a foreign land. I'm not sure that made sense... but there you have it. More to come. Maybe today even (no class and I either write, worry about admissions, or clean...).

Paris, again

2008-01-16T10:35:00.000+01:00

As promised, the story of Christmas vacation continues. We left off on Christmas day, the day my family flew to Paris (for my second visit of the year). It's hard to describe the feeling I had when we arrived. I realize that I should feel more at home in England, because people speak English everywhere. But for some reason, coming back to France was like coming home. It's not that I'm fully comfortable with the French, or their manners, or their language (though I am making strides, I believe). I think that I've just mentally settled down (it took awhile), so for now, France = home. I never thought I'd say that, but it's true.

Anyways, we arrived in France and hopped on the RER so we could start our sightseeing adventures. Once on the train, I hear an all-too-familiar announcement. There will be perturbations au cause de la greve.... ahhh. There is another strike, on Christmas (it did fall on a Tuesday), and the RER would take us to the very first stop in the city and then we had to get out. Great. Of course they didn't mention whether, once in the city, any other metro trains would be there to take us the rest of the way to our hotel, so we had to ride in suspense, wondering what we'd find downtown. Of course, once we arrived, the regular metro was running just fine (thankfully!), so the day wasn't ruined. We changed onto a different line and continued on towards our hotel, located just shy of the latin quarter. The hotel, as it turned out, was probably the nicest place I've ever stayed in all of France. That's not because the hotel was that grand or anything, it's that all the places I have stayed are that bad. It was nice to stay in a proper hotel with a decent bathroom and without the Holiday Inn style setup.

We spent the rest of the day checking out Montmartre and the Sacre Coeur and Notre Dame. Both were lovely, just as beautiful as I recall. Notre Dame had a wonderful Christmas tree outside of it (much better than the one in Trafalgar Square), and I think I took like 50 pictures trying to capture the beauty of it , but none really did it justice. Apart from these sights, we tried to take it easy on Christmas, if only because it was Christmas. I will say this though: later that night my sisters and I got yelled at by a rather angry Frenchwoman. To be fair, Mindy and KC were being really loud (like, really loud) in our hotel room at night, and the lady was trying to sleep. When I opened the door I saw this irate Frenchwoman in her pjs who proceed to yell at me in French. She was not happy. I apologized as best I could, and politely shut the door on her (if that can be done politely). The French don't like noise, esp after 10 pm (we had this problem with our neighbor at school, though she seems to have disappeared?). Whoops. :)

The next day we trekked out to Versailles. The weather wasn't great, so we figured we could just spend the day checkin' out the Sun Kings crib. While in line I sent a text to my friend Sophie whose parents live in Versailles. To my surprise she was at the palace as well, with her family, so I got to chat with her while we waited in the long queue. It was so random that she was there, and I'm glad we got to chat for a bit. Speaking of random, when we were in the palace this person (who I took to be some random French stranger) grabbed my shoulder. I freaked out and turned around only to see my good Chilian friend Irene! I thought she'd already left Paris by then (she was visiting with another friend from Chili), but I guess she hadn't. Of all the places to meet, Marie Antoinette's salon. Who'd a thought? It was really nice seeing her, passing along the usual Christmas greetings, and introducing her to my family. So yeah, randomness. Oh and the palace was great. The hall of mirrors was done being renovated, and it was superb. And I had an audioguide. What more could do you need?

Later that night we went out the Champs Elysee, which I had never before seen decked out with lights. It was stunning. The best part was the lights on the trees that looked like drops falling. It's hard to explain. So yeah, it was a good day.

Let me begin by saying that I although I rather like the Louvre (despite the crowds, is one of my favorite museums), we had already been to quite a few museums and such, so I'm not sure I (or anyone else in my family) was in the mood for it. We went anyways though, because its just one of the places that you have to see. Within the first 10 minutes Mindy got lost (it took us at least a half hour to regroup). No blame, it's easy to get separated in that place, but it did sour everyone's mood for the rest of the visit. One place we saw that I hadn't before was the Flemish wing, and I'm glad we did because I saw a familiar painting. It was the money changer and his wife, the painting by Massys, which is also the painting I took my art history exam on in France last time, and one of the only paintings I remember from that whole class! It was nice to go, but I think we were all getting kind of tired of statues and paintings and stuff, so I don't think we fully appreciated it.

And of course, no trip to Paris is complete without the Tour Eiffel. We went, despite the fog, and I think everyone was glad we did. Somewhere along the way my mom wiped out on the street, my dad purchased several cheesy Eiffel Towers from sketchy street venders, and I took just about a million pictures. But, how can you not?

During the trip, KC started practicing her French, sort of, and she took pictures for extra credit of almost every meal we ate. She did try new things, which was great (mussels, snails, fois gras, etc). And bathrooms were a nightmare everywhere we went, because you have to be in a restaurant if you want a decent one. This is hard to coordinate with 5 people, but we managed. We didn't do as much cafe-sitting as I would have liked, but that can get expensive for 5 people, esp when hot chocolate can cost upwards of 4 euros a cup. Overall though, I think it was a success.

Next up: Caen. And sorry I don't have any family photos up, those are on the family camera. So, yeah.

Back in action

2008-01-11T11:15:00.001+01:00

So this week I returned to good old Avranches, but in good company. Dana is here (you can't even imagine how wonderful it is to have her around), and we had quite the week. We took her to Liberties on Tuesday so she could see our little pub. We were literally the only people there, which was brilliant. The barmaid's (I forget her name, oops) kid was even there, and he kept running around and shooting us with his toy gun. It's so much nicer in there because the smoking ban has been effective since the new year, and I can finally breathe. It's so nice. I know that means all of my compadres have to go outdoors to smoke, but whatever, I can inhale without choking, so I'll take it. I don't miss the smoke. On that topic, my default lesson plan of the week has been doing a debate about the smoking ban. I've actually had a pretty even divide between those who love it and those who hate it. This is the most involved many of them have been (which means they spoke a lot of french, supposedly on accident, because it got pretty heated). Yay for conflict, it makes the hour go by so much faster. Also speaking of classes, I still had a class on Monday afternoon where no one showed, and this morning at 8am only one girl came. I gave her a list and told her to give it to her mates. From now on I'm taking names. At least I was able to join Irene's spanish class and learn some salsa! (I'm not even kidding). Oh and in my class where I gave them a project to do (a 5 min presentation) and they had over 3 weeks to prepare, no one was ready to present. No one remembered. They are 19. I was so angry, and I tried to convey that anger but I don't know enough French to scare them nor do they know enough English to be scared. Grrr.

On a better note, my class of little philosophers went brilliantly today. We only got to the first 3 questions of the questionnaire, but they did a great job. We spent the whole hour discussing what makes something a "person" with moral standing. When I told them to think of an alien or robot or whatever, I think I lost them. They can only think so far out of the box at this point, but they're getting there. Each week we make progress. They hit on a lot of key points, and we even got to something I wrote a paper about once (the potential for life). I mentioned that I wrote about it once, and they all got excited and asked if we could read it. Um, I don't know. We'll see. I'll have to touch it up a bit, but it's not like they'll notice that it sucks. We even talked about souls today. Though not everyone particiapated, they all looked interested and looked like they were thinking. I think some were just scared to put their ideas out there. The class has also got me rethinking some things, and I may repost later with more thoughts on that. Maybe soon.

On Wednesday Dana and I went to Rennes so she could see a bigger city in this area. It was the most beautiful day; we couldn't have asked for better. The sun was shining, it was warm and there wasn't a cloud in sight. We spent the whole day shopping because all the stores have some super sales going on. Dana and I found this fabulous bag shop and bought some cheap (but rather nice) purses. I have a red one now, and it can double as a school bag because it's just big enough to fit my notebooks and folders. I know you're all interested to hear that. Also, I made a rather risky purchase, and I'm not sure yet if it was a good call. I found this light weight jacket in the baby doll style (wide collar, big buttons, bells out). It's also this copper/orange color. Neither Dana or I can figure out if it's cute, but it's definitely French and it was cheap. I thought I should branch out while here, so why not? So anyways, we walked a ton and soaked in the sun and admired the beautiful buildings. It was a great day. There's nothing more I can say.

Last night Dana left me to go to London for the weekend to visit another friend who's over here. Since she left, I thought it'd be a good night to start going back to swim practices. I thought I'd suck because I've been gone for a few weeks, but I did okay. I had to do a timed 400 (meters, not yards) and got a respectable 6:40. Thats only a few seconds off my old 500 yard meet time, so I was feeling pretty good. I think my coach was pleasantly surprised as well (not the fastest, obviously, but not bad just coming back from vacation). He tried to rope me into entering the meet next Saturday. He told me to "profit" from my stay and go to a French swim meet. Um, no. Actually, I have a good reason: I'm taking Dana to Paris next weekend for her flight home. I told him I'd be gone, but I don't think he believed me. Oh well. He was going to put me in the 100 backstroke, and he doesn't know that I still can't do a decent start. He also thinks I like backstroke (laugh) all because I choose that as my "choice" stroke for practice. Little does he know that I was never a backstroker, suck at it, and only choose it because of all the "choice" strokes it happens to be the fastest and it's the easiest way for me to keep up with the faster folks. Little does he know. Though I have to admit, I've done a heck of a lot of backstroke since I started. Maybe it is my new stroke. But again, starts and flip turns are sketchy.

Well I'm done rambling. I'm just killing time before my next class. I will post about Paris soon. I hope everyone's Christmas/New Year went splendidly... tootles.

Pip pip, London!

2008-01-07T15:43:00.000+01:00

And here begins the epic tale of Christmas break. It begin one Friday afternoon with 2 canceled classes (courtesy of MF), and a free ride to Caen with Paul. Paul is a student-teacher here, and since he lives in Caen he offered to give Rachel and I a lift. Break was off to a good start. We arrived in Caen and had a night to enjoy the beautiful Christmas lights and peruse the market. We happened to stumble upon the best kebabs ever and that just about made our night. We chatted, we ate, and mostly we were ready to see our families. On Saturday morning we woke up at the crack of dawn to take the ferry boat from Caen to Portsmouth, and the ride itself was quite leisurely. The only event of interest was our run-in with some rather uncouth English blokes. There was 2 guys in their late 20s and what I can only guess was their father in his late 40s or early 50s. We were waiting to disembark when they approached us. Because of our super chic ensembles (well, Rach was in high black boots and a nifty scarf, I was not so chic), they thought we were french. They asked some question in what was, to me, incomprehensible English. Rachel understood and responded (after some thought), and gave away our identity. Alas, we are not french. They were shocked, and proceeded to hit on us while also trying to insult the French (and question why would live there). Well, if that didn't woo me then I don't know what will. After some forced conversation, we gracefully parted ways, and were glad our encounter was at the end of the journey and not the beginning.

I arrived in London around 6pm on Saturday, and waited impatiently for my family at the hotel. They had spent the day at the Tower of London learning about executions and other morbid tales and later visited the Imperial War Museum which was, I am told, a big hit. I was jealous, because I didn't get to go, but hopefully I will be able to return sometime before I leave. It was wonderful seeing my family, especially since it was the holidays. I've never spent a Christmas away from them, and I hope I never have to. Anyway, I was tired, and so were they, but we still trekked out to Oxford Street to see the lights. I'm not gonna lie, they were kind of disappointing (except for these bubble lights that lead to Piccadilly Circus). I'm not sure what I was expecting, I guess more lights. Maybe I'm just hard to please.

Sunday morning was game time. We woke up early and headed over to the British Museum, a place I've wanted to go for some time. It was amazing. I saw the Rosetta Stone, which was brilliant. And I know what you're thinking, that's like saying you like the Mona Lisa when you go to the Louvre, BUT I really do appreciate its importance (languages are hard, I can't imagine deciphering that sucker). We also saw stones from the walls of Ninevah (sp?), among other Biblical towns. Why Jonah didn't want to go there is beyond me... and that reminds me of a price quote from KC (the youngest sister), who after seeing some artifacts from Corinth exclaimed, "So the Corinthians were real?" Yes they were real. The Bible is filled with real places, and some would argue, real people and events. Oh what a laugh. So museums really can teach you things. In all, the museum was overwhelming, because there was just so much stuff. Let me clarify it: there was so much stolen stuff. Yes, the upside of imperialism is a nifty collection of ancient treasures from all over the world. It was almost depressing to imagine all of that stuff getting hauled out of it's proper place. Another member of my family shared this sentiment, and made quite the comment about it. On one of the walls was a picture of stonehenge and they said, "Wow it's a wonder the British didn't steal that... oh wait, they didn't need to, it's already here..." And this happened to be said as some English guys were in earshot. They looked rather offended and made some muffled comments to each other, but my family member graciously added, "Not that the Americans wouldn't have done the very same thing, the British just got there first!" There are no words.

After the museum we headed to the next obvious tourist site, Big Ben. But alas, London weather was true to it's fame, and all we really saw was fog. Lots of fog. We wandered around anyway and saw the usual Westminster and such. Afterwards we decided to go to the Churchill museum, because it's rather close to that area. Not everyone wanted to see another museum, but Mindy and I wanted to see it, and we won. The museum was really cool. First of all, you get an audioguide. You may not be aware, but I have a love affair with audioguides. They make museum experiences much more pleasant, and much more informative. I would never read every plaque posted up on the walls, but I will listen to the wee man (or woman) coming from the guide. It's great when everyone's guides are in sync because you'll see everyone look up or turn around at the same time. I realize that may not sound thrilling for most people, but it delights me. Anyways, I learned things (which I love), and I got to see the actual rooms where Churchill and company directed the war. It's a very moving experience. And as a bonus there's a room full of interactive displays about Churchill and the war. Mindy and I spent about a half hour (at least) listening to different excerpts from Churchill's most memorable speeches. My family liked that room the best, I think, because you could actively learn by playing with these computer things are messing around with other stuff (which differs from most museum's where you have to really want to get into it). All in all, a good experience.

Afterwards we went to some pub for dinner and had the usual pub cuisine. I mention this only because my 23 year old sister got carded at said pub(in a country where you only have to be 18 to drink). Hilarious. Did I get carded? No. I think it's because she hesitated in choosing a drink, like she hadn't done it before, so the lady was suspicious. Mindy was not thrilled about that. Oh and we had treacle sponge for dessert, which was fabulous. For what that's worth.

And then came Monday, Christmas Eve. We knew ahead of time that pretty much everything would be closed, so we decided that Monday would be "wander around" day, so to speak. We took a walk through Hyde Park and saw some palace/house thing. At some point we went to see Buckingham palace, but I'm not quite sure when. We also revisited parliament to get a non-foggy glimpse of Ben. Then we marched on up to Trafalgar Square to check out St Martin in the Fields (a church independently recommended to me by two people, one of whom was a random English lady at a restaurant). The tree in T Square was pitiful, truth be told. It was scrawny and only decorated with vertical lines of lights. Anyway, before service started we wandered some of the back roads past the square and my parents poked around some antique shops (one of which was manned by a man dressed like he himself was a British antique).

St Martin's itself was a beautiful church (well the inside was, we couldn't see the outside because it was being redone). The ceiling and chandeliers were lovely, and overall it had a very friendly atmosphere. The service was quite good too. It was a mix of carols (um, some familiar carols--away in a manger and others-- were sung with different melodies... what the heck?) and a call to action. They talked about Bethlehem today and how we need to be aware of what's going on around the world. Quite right. That's not an Elmbrook service which would have had dancers and a play to make all the Cheasters feel warm and fuzzy. This was much better. The children who read were brilliant. I wish I spoke as well as they did, all articulate and powerful. The best reading was taken from Desmond Tutu (a Nobel peace prize, apartheid fighting, anglican archbishop in South Africa):

"Dear child of God, it is difficult for us to recognize the presence of God in our lives and in our world. In the clamor of the tragedy and the headlines we forget about the majesty that is present all around us. We feel vulnerable and often helpless. It is true that we are vulnerable, for vulnerability is the essence of creaturehood. But we are not helpless and with God's love we are ultimately invincible. During the darkest days of aparthied I used to say to PW Botha, the then president of South Africa, that we had already won and I invited him and other white South Africans to join the winning side. All the objective facts were against us -the pass laws, the imprisonments, the tear-gassing, the massacres, the murder of political activists -but my confidence was not in the present circumstances but in the laws of God's universe. This is a moral universe, which despite all the evidence that seems to be to the contrary there is no way that evil and injustice and oppression and lies can be the last word. God is the God who cares about right and wrong. God cares about justice and injustice. God is in charge. That is what has upheld the morale of my people to know that at the end good will prevail. It was these higher laws that convinced me that our peaceful struggle would topple the immoral laws of apartheid.

God says to you, "I have a dream, please help me realize it." It is a dream of a world whose ugliness and poverty, war and hostility, its greed and hard competitiveness, its alienation and disharmony are changed into its glamorous counterparts... when there will be more joy laughter and peace and my children will know that they are members of one family, the human family, God's family, my family."

The woman who read it made the words come alive. It was very moving. You should have been there... And on a different note, when we left I overheard a cheeky vicar say to someone, "see you next year!" I guess the Cheaster phenomenon (only going to church on Christmas and/or Easter) is world-wide...

And there you have it. That was London. The next installment will be about Paris... I'm sure you can't wait.

(oh and for all you facebook users, pictures will be up shortly...or in a few weeks, whichever comes first)

L'Absurde and Noel Festivities

2007-12-16T20:46:00.000+01:00

L'absurde: that which escapes all logic, that which doesn't make sense. This was the title of Saturday's Philosophy Club discussion. Yes my friends, my nerdness has reached frightening heights. Let me just say that Marie-Francoise is completely taken with the fact that I study philosophy, and she's been rolling with it ever since. Her latest fun idea: take me to the philosophy club discussion in her out of the way little village. It was held in Eric's (her partner) art studio, which actually made me feel kind of cool. Anyway, the speaker was a philosophy teacher from Caen or Paris or something, and he was there to speak to us about the absurd. In attendance were random French folks from all walks of life, united by their common passion for debate and thoughtful discussion. Also in attendance, a cute little Madagascarian (?) woman--MF, and a bewildered young American. Any who, the discussion was supposed to be primarily about French existentialism (of the Camus and Sartre variety). I'm afraid to say that I've only read Camus' L'Etranger (though at least I can say I read it in french), and I really am quite unfamiliar with this particular subsection of philosophy. Lucky for me, it didn't really matter. The discussion hovered around what the meaning of the word "absurd," and it turned psychological with various people divulging their various problems in life. Let me pause to tell you about the young man behind me who told us many personal stories, my favorite being the time he was high on shrooms, I believe, and throwing plates at a window. He suddenly realized, mid plate toss, that his life up to that time was absurd (and no, not absurd during the drug induced vandalism). He worked at a butcher shop and suddenly discovered that eating animals was wrong. He loves them too much. He really likes horses in particular. I know this because he told us all in quite a bit of detail. Eric later told me that the club meeting turned into an AA meeting instead of a philosophy discussion. I didn't mind, though, because I was there to soak in their stories and their language. It was brilliant.

During the meeting I had things to say, but did I? Of course not. I didn't ever speak in any of my English speaking philo classes, so why would I in front of a bunch of random French people. I did, however, sneak a few comments over to MF, and she tried to get me to contribute. No. Not gonna happen. Later in the car we discussed my views on morality and how I don't think I can make sense of it without God. She was very interested. It was almost evangelizing, to tell you the truth, though I felt uncomfortable talking about it (not that I should have, I just did, cause I'm a wuss). Of course she kept asking me more and more questions, and I couldn't just lie. So I told her about how I don't think you can have an authoritative and objective moral standard without God and how if God's not real then I think morality is kind of shot, and since I refuse to give up on morality, I can't very well give up on God. Some of you know where I'm going with this, some don't, but I'll leave it at that for now. I'll grant that this needs clarification, and you can imagine how muddled it all came out in French, but out it came just the same. I think MF was shocked to hear me say I believed in God, like really believed. Though I did tell her that my belief doesn't mean I think I can prove that He's there, it just means that personally I'm convinced-- and that conviction really only carries weight with me and no one else. She was intrigued, if nothing else. Anyway, we ate at her house afterwards and this is all I'll add: I ate raw meat. Now some of you know that I am a carnivore if there ever was one, but even I have limits. She got impatient with the roast beef because it was late and we were hungry so we just ate it semi-cooked. She asked if I minded my meat a little pink. No, of course not. Then she served it: the middle was purple. Pink, fine. Purple? As Ron White would say, "Things that make you go... bleh." But I ate. I ate it all. I thought I was going to hurl, but I ate every bite of that beef. Etiquette trumps health, after all. I still shudder at the thought. (Note: it didn't taste that bad, but it looked so unappetizing.)

On Sunday, Ireland (the other Rachel) came to Church with me because one of her teachers goes to my little Church and has been trying to get Rach to come for weeks. Well this Sunday the teacher's daughter was in a little Christmas play, so Rach decided to come with me. She's catholic, but only culturally, and she wasn't looking forward to it. But I think she had a good time. We sang carols (loved it, I got teary eyed at Silent Night because it reminds me of Christmas Eve service at Elmbrook with the candles...). The play was interesting. This is what I understood: there was a family of Russians, a guy with a sword, and a fire. Whatever. Merry Christmas!

Monday I had a new class to teach to help Ann-Helen's students get caught up because AH has been sick and since I've missed so much, well I can't really complain about taking on an extra class. Yves promised that if we started this week all the students would be informed and would know when/where to go. Right. NO ONE came. Just like last Friday morning at 8am, no one. Oh and I said to Yves earlier that day, "Hey I have your kids at 5, I'm looking forward to seeing them." "Really? Oh, that's right, good good," he says. Anyway, his kids have missed because I've been gone and before that for 2 weeks they just didn't show. So did they come this Monday? No. No one. I'm feeling unloved. Speaking of missed classes, on Tuesday I arrived for my older kids and half the class was in some meeting that no one told me about. So instead of doing their projects I played Christmas music and we played pictionary. Oh and today I came to my other class of older kids to find a new teacher in there and them all taking a test. Oh, didn't I know they have testing today? No. No one tells me a bloody thing around here! I'm getting frustrated. Whatever. They're French.... I must keep telling myself that.

Last night was our Christmas Party! We made mussels and potatoes and chicken a la Normandie and real Champagne and a bouche de Noel (cake shaped like a log). It was fabulous. We needed it. We exchanged our Secret Santa gifts and there were smiles all around. I love these girls. Rach was my santa and she got me a french cook book along with a promise to help me learn (she's mortified at my lack of domestic skills). I'll keep you posted on how that goes. Oh and our upstairs neighbor (which I didn't know we had) came down and told us not to be so loud. That's when you know it's a good party. I suppose it was a Wednesday... Oh well. Joyeux Noel!

I love you all. I won't be reporting back until after the New Year. I'm heading up to London soon to see my family (!!!) and then to Paris and Caen with them. After they head back I get to see Dana (!!!) in Paris and then we're going to Belfast (where we're going to meet up with Irish Rach) and Edinburgh. I can't contain my excitement. I hope to have some good stories when I get back! Have a wonderful Christmas and a happy New Year. Cheers!

More Philosophy

2007-12-13T22:00:00.000+01:00

So tonight I've prepared for tomorrow's "philosophy" class. Truth be told, this is one of the only classes I actually prepare for. And honestly, I don't have to prepare for it, but I want to. Sometimes you just want to work. It's strange. Anyway, the Capital Punishment thing has gone on for too long, so tomorrow they're going to start a discussion on abortion (cue gasps). Yes, this is not a friendly topic, and it wouldn't be allowed in many US high schools (least of all from a fake teacher like myself), but the French don't care. I can talk about whatever I want, because I'm a native English speaker. So, tomorrow I've come up with a plan to make this issue go a little smoother than CP did. The articles in the book on Social Ethics that I have (thanks again) are a bit too hard and technical, so I'm going a different route. Tomorrow they will get a worksheet with basic abortion vocab and some questions about what they already think in terms of the moral status of a fetus and the government's role in the whole thing.

This is certainly controversial, and many of the questions on the sheet are really hard (what makes a human a "person" ). They're not going to know what to say for some of them, but that's the point. I want them to be challenged. I want them to realize that there's more to think about than they thought. That's the whole point of all of this. Tomorrow will start with a partner activity, and I'll go around and discuss with the groups to see what they think. Towards the end we'll go over it as a class. Last time I started right away with an article, and it didn't go so well. This time I'm warming them up by having them think about what their opinion is to start with. At the end of class they'll be getting a seriously truncated version of Judith Thomson's famous "A Defense of Abortion" article. By truncated I mean: they will only read the story about the violinist. I chose that because a story will be easier to talk about than a straight up argument, and it's a good starting point for the "right to life" discussion (I thought about Marquis' personhood article, but I think these folks might struggle too much with that). Anyway, I have a class of Quakers, so we'll see if their life-loving sympathies extend to fetuses. I doubt it, but you never know.

Next week we'll talk about the story and whether or not it's analogous to pregnancy, and what it has to say about our intuitions when it comes to supporting the life of another person. Then we'll follow it up with a practical discussion of why people get abortions, what alternatives could be made available, and what problems might we run into if we actually outlawed it. I hope this gets them a bit more riled up than last week. If they are pro-choice, I'll push the pro-life side. If they're pro-life, I'll push the pro-choice side. I'll do anything to make them think outside their comfort zone.

In other news, the past few days have been rather lovely. It's been sunny (though cold, we had our first frost), and I've generally been enjoying life around these parts. No reason, really. I'm just a happy camper. Maybe it's because I get to see my family next Saturday! Or because I get to see Dana shortly? Or maybe it's just time things started looking up around here... Who knows. I miss you all though!

UPDATE: Taught the class this morning, and it went very well! The questionnaire beforehand helped a lot, so now they've all thought it through and will be ready to discuss next week. I went around and chatted with individual groups (less pressure, not in front of the class), and everyone talked to me at least once. Also, the discussion won't be dominated by the good English speakers because everyone has prepared their thoughts ahead of time, which is helpful. They struggled a lot with the issue of "personhood", but I expected that. I asked them at the end what they thought, and they were much more enthusiastic. One girl (a disengaged student last week) said she liked this better because it hits closer to home. She said, in French, "I like this subject because it could actually happen to me." She's more right than she knows. A girl who used to be in their class last year (and for some reason isn't this year) actually did have an abortion and is currently going through some serious mental issues related to it. MF gave me the heads up even though the girl wouldn't be in the class (because she probably has friends in the class). I started off by saying that we need to be respectful and sensitive because this is a hard subject (and so far, they all were). All opinions are welcome, so long as you can tell me why you hold them! Anyway, I snuck a peak at their questionnaires and most are pro-choice, though after reading through enough of their responses I discovered that most didn't have any good reason to be pro-choice (that's where I come in). I'm going to fight the pro-life battle (for the sake of balance), and get them to support their opinion with reasons. Should be fun! I'll keep you posted. (You can't imagine how much fun it was for me to see them actually engaged in this stuff. It brings a warm fuzzy feeling...)

Capital Punishment and the Quakers

2007-12-12T10:16:00.000+01:00

So I've taught about capital punishment, CP, for about 3 weeks now. It's taken over a month (with the strikes), but I think we've made some progress. Let me tell you how it went. First thing: my students are, for all intensive purposes, Quakers (shaking, peace-loving folks). Right off the bat, a few key students were up in arms because CP is too violent. Being the most assertive students, everyone else soon followed their lead. The CP is wrong because it's mean, and because killing is ALWAYS wrong. This is what they told me. My work: harder than I thought. No, my goal is not to teach these kids that CP is a good thing, but rather it's to make them understand why it could be a good or bad thing. I want them to get past the initial emotional shock and try to reason it out. I laugh just writing that. What was I thinking?

The beginning was rough. We read an introductory text (about 1.5 pages) and they were completely lost. Wonderful. I tried to outline some basic arguments on either side, just roughly, so they'd be ready to read the texts (similar length, still introductory) about each side. Confusion all around. I had about one student "get it" the whole class period, and unfortunately she dominated the discussion (despite my attempts to rally the rest of the troops). A lot of them look disgruntled, and I couldn't tell if it's because the English was too hard or they didn't like the subject. I had one kid at the end of class tell me, "Zheeze 'ings are too 'ard to zink about. Is not zhe english, is too philosophie." Hmm. It's not the language, it's the philosophy that's the problem. What to do?

The next class they came, some what prepared, to discuss the retentionist arguments (pro side). Not everyone had read it, and of those that did, not many understood it. So I tried to ask them questions to evoke some level of understanding. I asked them about desert: do you deserve to die if you made someone else die? And, what are the problems with desert. For instance, can we rape rapists? Can we torture those who torture? I had the star student object that the executioner would be guilty of murder, and we'd have to kill 'im too. Okay we're thinking now. So I asked: does all killing equal murder?? I got a resounding yes from the classroom (hence the quaker-ness). So I asked: what if I accidentally cause your death? Okay, not the same, but still we're talking about intentional. I could not get them to see that killing could ever be justified. Finally I asked : if I was about to kill you and the only way you could survive was by killing me first, would you be justified in killing me? (Actually, I was more personal and asked would you actually kill me). Ohhh, now I see some minds change. I got quite a few people, a majority I believe, who would kill me first. There were several undecided's and two no's. My star player said no, killing is always wrong. Okay hun, I won't push it and ask: what if there was a classroom full of preschoolers and a terrorist was going to blow up the building and the only way to stop him was to kill him first, would it be okay? You may be willing to be a martyr, but should your view make a bunch of innocent children martyrs too? I could make the situation worse and worse until maybe she'd think it was okay, but I didn't try, not ready for that. My point here, and don't think I'm trying to be mean to the students, is to get them to think in unvisited territories, to challenge their preexisting beliefs. For some, it's starting to work. But others are still resisting.

The next week was abolitionist time, and things went better (namely because MF told the kids she was now going to grade them on participation). We discussed things like "sanctity of life" (and can it be forfeited), discrimination in the justice system, the innocence problem, etc. I think I got a little over eager when I tried to explain the difference between thinking about this issue in our world versus thinking about it in the ideal world. By ideal I mean: the principles of justice are perfectly applied (not that everyone is a saint). I wanted them to understand that many objections to CP, though not all, rely on "procedural" problems, or the problems we have when we put CP into practice today. They didn't get it. They were lost. I just wanted them to think about whether CP would be okay in a system where only the guilty got sentenced with CP and no discrimination was at play. If we could perfectly put it into practice, would it still be okay? Cue quizzical looks. Even MF was lost at that point. Oh well, I tried. I just wanted them to realize that the best arguments against CP must show that even in the ideal world CP is wrong. If it's wrong in the ideal, then it's wrong here. If you only show that it's wrong here, then you don't show it's wrong in other circumstances when justice might be better. That was the point. They didn't get it.

Anyway, even though not everyone got into it, there were a handful that really did (even if they didn't speak during class), and I loved watching them go from clueless to understanding when we walked through the arguments. I loved it. When you see someone who's been grappling with idea finally "get it," it's wonderful. I remember those moments for me, and they're awesome. The little mind epiphanies. Some refused to try, but those students will always be there. My job is to challenge the ones who are willing to open their minds for an hour a week and try out new ideas. I outlined the retribution, best bet, sanctity of life, discrimination, innocence and other arguments, and each one pushed them a little further towards understanding what's at stake. More importantly though, I asked them questions to get them to find the holes in the arguments, to show me where the arguments fail. What are the assumptions? What are the missteps? You don't agree with it? Good, now tell me why. I think I got through to some of them, and I think those students who have been trying are starting to marvel at their own capacity to think. They told me after class that it's hard, but they like it. I promised it would get easier as we went on. The more practice, the easier it becomes to understand these things. I'm not sure if they believed me, but they'll see it soon enough for themselves.

The hardest part of it all: getting them to find the answers themselves. I could stand up there and outline the arguments on my own and make them take notes, but I don't want to. I'm trying to get them to tell me the answer, and I have to ask questions to get them to realize it. That's hard. Really hard. The past few weeks have still be too much of me talking and explaining, but as we go, I hope it shifts to them. We'll see.

December creeps on in

2007-12-05T20:56:00.000+01:00

This post is a bit of randomness, but then again, my week has been a bit of randomness, so it's not entirely my fault. Things are going, for better or worse. Work is back in gear (thankfully), and I'm starting to get back into the groove around here. So here's what's been happening:

Saturday night- This was concert night at the Liberties, our English pub, so naturally we went. Well, actually, I didn't really want to go (truth be told). It was raining, which isn't itself unusual or off-putting, but the music was advertised as hardcore rock/metal. Yeah. Not my style. But one of the girls really wanted to go, and another promised to go with, and I couldn't let them go it alone, so off we went. We even managed to rope in the girls from down the street, so we made a party of it. I saw my student Camille there and that was fun because I never see her anymore (after the England trip I realized she's not actually in any of my classes). I saw a few more students, which would normally be weird but in such a small town I didn't think much of it, and they were all very friendly and didn't treat me like an uncool teacher. Anyway, the music sucked. Well, the first band was okay because they used words. The other band, well they screamed, loudly. When no one sang the music was fine, but when the singer got going it was indiscernible screeches.... ehhh. Luckily we were upstairs and didn't have to really listen, and instead we focused on honing our pool-sharkness. Yes, we are awesome. I dare you to come and challenge us to a game.

Unfortunately, on the way home we ran into problems. As we walked by the elementary school where Irish Rach and Kate live, a man on the far side of the building was staring at us and started banging on the window to get our attention. Well, they thought they lived alone, and so the man was a surprise in and of himself, let alone the fact that he was banging on the window like a psycho. It was late, and they were freaked out, so we let them stay over at our house. From our flat they called the police to have the school checked out. The police were kind of mad, but they begrudgingly sent someone to check it out. They didn't find anything, but the girls weren't going back to the creepy school after they saw that guy. The police made them talk to the elementary headmaster about it, and all he could tell them was that another person may or may not live there. Helpful, those French. As of now, there have been no further sitings, but no updates on whether someone else actually lives there.

Sunday- Rhi and I trekked out to Church, this time with minimal rain. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that Christmas season had begun. We even lit the advent candle! Though, it was a bit out of place because advent celebrations are typically German and English, not French, but these evangelicals decided to steal the tradition for themselves (having obviously abandoned the French-Catholic traditions, whatever those may be). So we lit the advent candle and sang Christmas carols. We sang one song that was awesome called "Comme une souffle fragile" (like a fragile breathe) and another that we actually sang in high school French called "Il est ne le divine enfant" (he is born the divine baby). I learned things. It was good. I'm feeling much more comfortable there. I haven't found fellowship, per se, but I am feeling more at home. I can go and know that everyone will be warm and welcoming. And most importantly, I can praise and honor the Lord. That reminds me of something I've been trying to learn. I used to look at Church and fellowship as things that I were made for me, not for God. Church should feed me, it should teach me things, it should suit my music/worship style tastes, etc. Notice the reoccurence of 'me' in there. It's that whole consumer-model religion. Religion is only worthwhile if it can serve me. That's wrong, obviously. But it's a hard attitude to get rid of. I'm trying now to get into the mindset that I'm here to serve, not be served. So yeah. Any-who, back to the church service.... After it was over they had lunch and we were invited. I didn't want to go, to be honest, but this 16yr old girl was taken with the 'foreigners' and wanted us to stay.... so we did. It was nice, but a little awkward. It was a 2 hour deal, and it was hard to stay interested for that long. But I'm glad we stayed, and I made a friend (who I think is named Sarah), so that was nice.

Sunday was the day of the big wind storm. I thought it was a hurricane or something. That night the power went out, several times, to the detriment of our now no longer working Christmas lights. Sadness.

Monday was less eventful (isn't this detailed play by play getting boring...sorry). I got McGyver (the French fix it man) to fix Rachel's light which neither of us could manage to change. How many anglophones does it take to unscrew a light bulb? More than 2, apparently. He came and unscrewed it with no problems, and then looked at me like I was some helpless american. But he didn't make fun of me. Then he fixed my heat so I no longer live in frigidness. My room feels like FL now, and I love it! On a bad note, Yves was mad at me. Apparently he didn't get my email or my note in his box or the message from the other teachers that I had to miss Monday's class 2 weeks ago to go to Paris early. Oops. He said the students showed up (the ones I still haven't seen yet for a variety of hit and miss incidents) and I wasn't there. Sorry. I left you 2 messages! What do you want? Whatever. I didn't really have a choice, and it's too late to fix it now. On a better note, I started debates with my other class, finally, and it went lovely. I'm finally excited to teach again. It's about time.

Tuesday- I used fill-in the lyrics with my BTS class (the 20 somethings). The rowdy class of footballers was really fun, actually, cause they sang along to Sean Kingston's Beautiful Girl. I had to listen to it about 20 times though. My 2nd group wasn't much fun because it was all the well behaved, but boring, girls. It's hard because I thought I'd like the well behaved students better, and I don't. They're just too dull. I'd rather they goof off and talk out of turn just so long as they look alive and interested. We'll see how next week goes. Maybe they just didn't care for music.

Wednesday- I went with Rachel to Rennes to pick up her boytoy Collin. It rained and rained and my feet were soaked. I gave in and bought some boots, but not French ones. I bought Wellies, yes, Wellies, the English rubber boots. It was either Cheetah or fake Burburry, and I went with the latter. I had to buy insoles too because they are literally just rubber. We'll see how they work out. At least my feet will stay dry. Oh and I randomly hurt my foot, and it hurts, sucky.

Okay I'm done. I felt like being long and boring today; don't ask me why. If you made it this far, well, props to you; you must be bored too. It's time for me to catch up on Laguna. Cheers.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

2007-12-01T10:28:00.000+01:00

Thursday night was interesting. After our assistant squabble, all four of us hung out, and everyone was on their best (most friendly) behavior. We went to our new favorite pub, Liberties (the english one), and had an interesting time as always. We were the only ones there for a good hour. I guess the French don't go to pubs on Thursday night before 11. Whatever, our apartment gets boring real fast, so we had no choice. We went and chilled for a bit, and then (as usual) got accosted by another french bloke. The pattern bears repeating for this reason: this was an older, less pushy, but still quite strange guy. I'd say he was in his late 30's / early 40's, and he came into the bar expecting to find someone with whom he could play pool (or, better, snooker which is not pool at all, and I don't think I spelled it right either). Since we were the only folks there, we were officially chosen. Rach and I figured, why not, it's his euro. So we played, and it was fine, but he was as strange as could be. It's hard to describe, but he was a little spazy. I think he has this obession with playing (though he's not very good, we were better, in fact) and he kept telling us how to make our shots by pointing at the place on the ball to hit or whatever. By spazy, I mean he was one of those nervous types that kind of jumps around and makes little sense when they speak. Anyway, Rhi and I won (ha!), so it didn't matter much. Before I hit the 8 in (which happened to be a direct shot), he said some bullocks about me having to hit the cue off three sides first. It's a rule. Yeah, whatever. Shush up while I school your team. You can try to extend the game all you want, but you and Rach have lost, so give it a rest. I hit the shot, game over. He wanted another, but our curtisy and politeness can only extend so far. We graciously declined and went back downstairs. It wasn't to be mean, but really, had we stayed, we wouldn't have been able to contain our laughter --and that would have been more mean. So there you have it. More french madness. Also, Danielle (another English barmaid) is our new friend. We talked to her a lot, and she is letting us name a new Christmas drink she made (which is delicious and has a glow stick!), so we have to brainstorm and come back with a good name. I'm thinking "Berry Christmas." Also, I had the girls watch Blue Collar Comedy, and they loved it. Irish Rachel really loved it because she couldn't get enough of their accents. She gets a kick out of mine, so you can imagine... Good times.

Now for the point of the post! I have declared it Christmas season in our flat, and daggumit we will celebrate. Now some of you know that I am usually the least spirited at school. I am toast, everyone else is whitebread (um check the madison comics section). But here, no one wants to get into it and so I feel almost obligated to spread the holiday cheer. We found a Christmas tree in the closet (if you can call it that), and it came pre-decorated with red star lights and red bulbs. Awesome. Then I went to the store and picked up some lights and more bobbles (as Rach calls them). We strung up the lights and hung the bobbles from the ceiling in our artistic fashion. It's awesome. The flat of boringness is now the Noel haven. I have some pictures if you don't believe me. Oh and of course, all of this was done with my Christmas music in the background (much to Rachel's dismay). Check out our tree and lights: (ps notice how the tree, when lit, looks like a burning bush....a sign??)

On and on and on

2007-11-29T11:16:00.000+01:00

So the strike drags on, with this Friday marking a full week of no school. My students are crazy. I talked to the principal this week, who is super nice, and he said that technically he has the power to shut down the strike whenever he wants. He allows it for several reasons: 1. striking is ingrained in French culture and for lyceens it has become a rite of passage (almost like prom or something, I kid you not), 2. last time a principal shut down a strike it got ugly, and 3. it is teaching the kids to be politically involved, even if it's not very democratic (the law was voted in by a majority). So the strike goes on, and every few days they vote to continue it. Most people have doubts that it will carry into next week, but I wouldn't put it past them. They are, after all, French. I say that lovingly of course. I've come to expect and somewhat marvel at this French penchant for collective action. It is, after all, quite different from the extreme indifference of the the majority of American citizens (esp high school students). Show me an American who can tell me just one recent law that's been passed, and I'll show you a whole nation that keeps tabs religiously (almost like they get updates on their Facebook home pages or something). I don't know if I gave the reason for the strike yet, but it has to do with privatization of some universities so the the universities won't be so, well, sucky (they are way underfunded and overcroweded). That will lead to people not getting in, and that's just not okay with these folks. Welcome to America my friends, the home of wonderful universities that will cost you dearly, and may reject you anyways, but they're dang good if you can get in and pay your way through. Maybe I don't have sympathy because they don't realize just how these things work across the pond. Regardless, plenty of school furniture has now been wrecked, and I've had plenty of time to work on applications and (gasp) watch the Hills and American Dreams. I am getting stupider every day. This needs to stop.

On a low note, a few days ago there was a reality-tv-worthy blowup among several assistants. It's been a longtime in coming, so I was only surprised it took as long as it did to come out. I'll tell you this much, it had nothing to do with me or my flatmate (love her), but we got stuck in the middle anyway. I felt like a couple's therapist when it went down (in French), and I had to console both sides. Unlike a therapist, I'm not neutral (though I won't say that to the parties involved), and I understand why the one person was so upset. I will leave it at that, but just tell you that I had to witness the showdown, and it was the most painfully awkward turtle moment of my life. None of this would have happened if emotional/social intelligence was taught at school. So there you have it. Stressful!

On a high note, I don't work (for one)! And I will soon be receiving quite a few visitors for Christmas! The family is here in a little over 3 weeks, and then Dana. I love y'all. Oh and I'm almost done appyling to schools. Almost...

Back to Paris, highs and lows

2007-11-24T16:41:00.000+01:00

So this week I returned to Paris to take the GRE. Of course the strike was still going strong, so I was unable to take the train. Eric, Marie-Francoise's hubby, drove me on Monday afternoon. It was a typically gloomy day in Normandy, and the rain was pouring down. It was actually rather frightening because the rain was pouring and Eric's car didn't defog so we were constantly wiping the windows and praying for the best. It literally took 7 hours to get to Paris because the traffic close to Paris was bumper to bumper. (view from Eric's car while stuck in traffic-- not bad, I'd say)

Tuesday: I explored because I had nothing better to do. It was cold and raining, unfortunately, and I thought I was going to freeze to death (having no winter coat at that point). I managed to take the metro (after quite a long wait because only 1 in 10 cars was running) up to Montmartre and saw Sacre Coeur and the likes. I popped into the Salvador Dali exhibit (think: melting clock and surrealism) while I was there. I hate to admit that my main reason for checking it out was that I really had to go to the bathroom and didn't want to patronize a restaurant just to use the toilette. So instead I paid to go see some Dali and Dali inspired art and used their restroom. It was cool, but creepy, because Dali must have been on crack (not meant as insult, but rather an admission of my inability to grasp the far reaching boundaries of his imagination). After that I literally walked for the next 6 or 7 hours, for lack of a better idea. I tried to explore areas I haven't yet seen, which led me to the famous cemetery Pere Lach(something). Jim Morrison, Moliere, Balzac and some other folks are buried there. Believe it or not, I walked all the way there and didn't manage to find a single famous grave. Yeah, I know. It was SO big, and I had no idea. It took me hours and hours to walk there, that I had no energy (or internal warmth) left to explore it properly. So I left and found the nearest metro to go back to the hostel. (below is a picture of a demonstration in the street for the transport strike)

Wednesday: I got up super early to get to my exam site (which is just outside the center city in the business district). I planned on a few hours because the metro was unpredictable. I waited for the first line for about an hour before a train came by. The next line was worse. Trains would pass and be filled to capacity and no one could get on. Finally people got annoyed and starting pushing onto the trains anyway. I got on the 4th one that came by only because the guy standing behind me pushed me and the people in front of me onto the train. Sardines doesn't even describe. It was hot, and you couldn't breath or move. People were yelling at each other. Someone could have easily been trampled. Frightening. I have never before felt claustrophobic, but I did that morning. It was a 45min trip, and I hated every second of it. Luckily, I made it, with plentiy of time to spare. I took the dang test and did fine, so all the worry and stress of the days leading up to it left. When I entered the building it was raining, when I left the sun was shining brightly and there wasn't a cloud in sight. Pathetic fallacy? God's simple blessing (which was most likely intended for many people that day, Paris needed it)... Anyway, I was pumped it was over and I spent the rest of the day enjoying the city (unlike my disappointing tour the day before). I walked from the Louvre to the Centre Pompedu (below) to the Latin Quarter and Notre Dame and back around again. I bought a crepe with nutella. All was good in the world. I was as content as could be. There was no better way to follow the test. I mean, it's Paris. (to the left is the Seine at night!)

Thursday: I woke up bright and early (5am!) to make my 7am train. The internet wasn't helpful in determining whether my train would actually be running so I had to book it down to the train station. I got there and the man at the window politefully informed me that my train wasn't running, and no other trains would be going to my city or its surroundings either. Lovely. Stupid strike, really annoying. So I called Eric and asked for a ride back (seriously, nicest teachers/people ever). I missed my Thursday classes, but what can you do? While I waited for my ride and I went shopping and found a winter coat (!!) and warm red scarf. I don't usually get that much pleasure from shopping, but I really needed a coat. It has a hood too, which is awesome because it rains all the time. Oh and it has toggles. Beat that. (Qualifier: it made me happy to actually find one for two reasons. The first is that all coast here are expensive and I'm poor. The second was that new French styles are quite bizarre and make everyone look like a bubble or 15th century aristocrat. I found a normal peacoat that was fairly heavy. That was an accomplishment).

Thursday night had its own adventures. It was Thanksgiving, so the other American assistant Kate made us all a mini thanksgiving feast (yeah she's awesome, there was stuffing). It was the first ever thanksgiving for my UK comrades and for the Chilian. We tried to explain why its such a big deal, but I think it's one of those things that you just have to grow up with to really appreciate. We followed it up with a trip to a random English bar in town. The barmaid was super cool, and English, and we chatted with her a bit. Then we got accosted by some dodgey french guys who didn't leave us alone. And the next night, another set of dodgey french guys did the same (pattern anyone?). Let's just say that the first thing one of the guys said to me last night was that his cousin flew an airplane into the twin towers. I yelled at him (in french, holler) for being rude and acting like a child, and that was the end of that. Let's just say he didn't say that again.

Friday: woke up bright and early. When I went to class, much to my delight, the entrance was barricaded. My students have gone on strike. Apparently these lyceens don't like Sarco's plan to privatize some universities. So what do they do? Strike of course. I'm getting really sick of this. At least I didn't have class all day. Oh wait, that means I didn't have class all week. Maybe I am becoming French.... (my students barricading the lycee in the early hours of the morning)

Believe it or not

2007-11-24T01:43:00.000+01:00

Before I tell you about this week, I must tell you this. I woke up at 8am to go to class this morning (the first one all week because I was gone), and all of the students were on strike! They barricaded the school so no one could get past the welcome building where I live. So no class today, and no class Monday or Tuesday. Elodie told me at swim practice that they'll vote on Tuesday whether or not to strike for another 15 days! Don't get me wrong, I love the vacation, but seriously?? Go to school! I'll never understand the French. They are a strange breed. More later, I promise!

Strikes and nonsense

2007-11-18T16:20:00.000+01:00

Well, it looks as though the SNCF strikes will carry well into next week. As for my trip to Paris to take the GRE, well it's been modified. I will no longer leave Tuesday night and return Thursday morning (which, fyi, meant I didn't miss a single class because I have some sweet planning skills). Instead, Marie-Francoise's boyfriend/husband (not sure?) will be driving me to Paris tomorrow afternoon because he commutes there for work. That means I'll miss all of Monday and Tuesday classes, and if the strike goes all week, I'll miss my Thursday classes too. Oh well. Thankfully I have a ride, so all is well, and the teachers have been really nice about it. Once I explained my situation, they all said it was fine if I missed those days. They all know what it's like to be inconvenienced by transport strikes, so they were really understanding. The upside: I get to spend an extra full day in Paris to explore. Well, actually I should be 'studying' but I don't know if I'll be able to. It's Paris. I will have to look for a coat while I'm there because temperatures are frigid and my light jacket is not cutting it (the rain is killer). On my way home from Church this morning I thought I was going to die of frost bite or get washed away in the impending flood. Seriously, these folks should invest in a town ark, just to be safe.

In other news, I have more random stories than I have time to write about, or that you probably even care to read. In sum, I've visited the Scriptorial and seen the old manuscripts and Chaval's cartoons, I've started teaching capital punishment to a bunch of quakers who think philosophy is too hard in any language, I've spread the love of prom and American football season to some eager frenchies who want to study abroad in the US now, I've seen the Remembrance Day celebrations in the city center, I've applied for my Carte de Sejour (long stay visa) so I can legally stay here, I've found God-fellowship with Irene, I've gotten my computer back but had to pay too much for it, I've paid tribute to General Patton for all of his hard work, I've had another laundry fiasco, and I've been hit on by a bunch of greasy haired 19yr olds at the local tavern. That was certainly a run-on if I've ever written one. Well, when I get back I'll try to elaborate on a few of these.

Overall, I'm no longer on a permanent high just from being in France. I'm starting to have my share of bad/down days. Notably, this weekend I've been quite down if only because this whole GRE/Paris/strike nonsense has been super stressful (well, sort of, not really though because God's been sorting it out all along, as usual). I miss everyone. Phone calls and emails are welcome! (Even when I'm in Paris!)

Funny Story

2007-11-15T10:26:00.000+01:00

So I have a few minutes before class, so I thought Id share this incident with you. There's a hallway that cuts through one of the main buildings and takes you straight to the building with the teacher's lounge. The problem with this hallway is that it goes past the "hang out" rooms, where millions of smelly french lyceens loiter. My first few times through that hallway, I was terrified, because the kids just stare at you. But I've since mustered some pluck, and I haven't thought anything of it for some time now. However, this morning when I walked through that hallway I was actually hasseled by some punk student. The hallway was packed and I was trying to squeeze between students as best I could. Then I got to a pack of boys and they wouldn't let me through. I would step to one side, and one of the boys would step that way too and block me (with the others hooting and hollering). Let me pause to remind you that I look like a student to most of these kids. I don't look my age, don't dress like a teacher, and I don't don the typical teacher scowl. So I think they thought I was one of them (I don't think they'd have the gall to do this to a teacher). Anyway, he thought he was being hilarious and starting saying something completely incomprehensable to me (though I garnered he was hitting on me) and he leaned in to give me bisouses (okay the french plural is bisoux if you care). He actually managed to kiss me once before I stiff-armed him and gave him the evil glare. Yes, I am terrific at the glare (though I try to use it selectively). Then I rolled my eyes, said nothing (don't want him to think I'm not French, after all) to the now slightly embarresed and somewhat terrified punk, and walked away. What a tool. As I walked away I heard them laughing with each other, and probably talking about me, but heck if I knew what they said.

I tell you this story because I found it comical, if not a bit bizarre, but I in no way felt threatened or I would have stepped it up a notch. He was just a punk, and punks are obnoxious but harmless. I tell you this because I know now, after the way some events have played out this week, that this would have ended very differently had it been someone other than me. I'll leave it at this: americans can handle punks, and I'm not sure if other folks--the english-- can (another story about that to follow, possibly).

Quick update

2007-11-14T00:26:00.000+01:00

I don't have much time, I just wanted to let you know that my computer is still in the hospital, waiting on a hard drive transplant. Oh, and France sucks. You want to know why? Let's just say there's a nationwide strike that starts tomorrow and will continue indefinitely. That means that all trains will be down until Lord only knows when. This sucks mainly because I'm scheduled to take a test in Paris next Wednesday, that I have to take, and that I may not be able to get to. Yeah. Lovely. And this is Sarzo's first chance to show he's a man, so he won't be backing down easily. If only I could drive... And you remember how in Montpellier the strike was fun because I got out of class for 3 months? Yeah, not fun this time. It gets old, fast. Just work. Seriously.

Oh and I had another class with no students. Well, I had two students show, but they couldn't account for the whereabouts of the others. The one girl said, with the most serious expression she could muster, "there's a rule that you cant have class without at least 3 students." Fine, whatever. I totally don't believe you, and I definitly saw you wave at some girl down the hallway to duck out of sight, but I don't care. If you don't want to be here, go home. I don't want to teach you. Grrr. Their teacher got a note, not that it matters much. Really, I sound mad about it, but I really didn't feel like teaching that afternoon, so whatever. I didn't appreciate their not showing up and her lying to me, but whatever. This is France. Things are different here. It's another planet.

By the way, plenty of good things have happened in the past few days, and I'm having an amazing time despite the cheeky students and obnoxious strikes (and minus a few stressful moments) but I dont have time to write about them. Soon, I promise! Later gators. Ha. I'm turning into a 'nutter' (as Rach would say).

Bisous Nation (kissing nation)

2007-11-03T16:31:00.000+01:00

Well today is the last day of vacation, and I'm ill-prepared to go back to school. By that I mean, I haven't prepared for any of my classes, at all. BUT, I did find a few folders left here from old assistants, which is like a gold mine. For 4 of my 7 classes I can just pick something out of that each week... But anyway, back to what went down over break.

I have a room now, which is stellar, though my belongings are far from organized (clothes are still in a closet in the living room). I realized today that what I thought was part of the design on my far wall was really more mold, though of a lighter variety. So that will have to get cleaned up. Soon. Before the vicious mold spores attack my lungs. Also, I bought what I thought was cool lampshade for the light bulb that hangs from my celing, but that ended up as a failure too. Apparently, and I had no idea, a pink lantarn will, when the light is on, emit hot pink rays all over one's bedroom. Oops. When I turned the light on my room looked like a brothel. Happily, Irene liked it and traded it with me for the light peach lantarn in her hallway. Now her hallway is hot pink, but to each his own.

My computer officially died as well. I come to you know from Irenes computer, and probably will be relying on her hospitality for the next week or so. If you remember that time when the backlight to my screen went out and you could only see the screen with a flashlight, well that happened on Monday so I took it in. Of course when the dude turned it on the screen was fine, but the hard drive really did need to go. For the bargain price of about 150euros... yeah sucky. But luckily I made recovery disks last week, and he seems to think that's all I need (and I saved everything on a hard drive at home, so I'm not too worried). He claims I'll get it back by the end of this week, but this is France, so I wont get my hopes up.

Friday we met with an ex-spanish student who wanted to chat with Irene in spanish. He was nice, but super bizarre, and so were most of his friends. One of his friends was super nice though, and she and I swapped numbers to hang out later (she also, coincidently, met my flatmate already on a train to Rennes and swapped numbers with her then). The guys were nice enough, but I felt a little uncomfortable talking because when I did they would comment on my "american" accent. That would have been fine, I mean I know I have a strong accent, but they didn't leave it at that. They proceeded to tell me I should keep my accent because its charming, blah blah blah, and then they'd pick out words that were 'cute' when I said them. So yeah, awkward. But later some guy busted out a guitar, and another started singing, and guess who he sang? Johnny Cash my friends, and he was cute too (has a girlfriend though, I think). I was estatic when they played Walk the line and Ring of Fire. It was awesome, and I sang along. Of course no one else knew the songs, because its a rare french person indeed who knows and loves Cash. But there you have it.

Sunday Ann-Helene took us to Chateau de Carrouges, a cute little run down castle further north. Apparently every old family wanted to have their own legend, and this family had one about a fairy or something. Id tell you the story, but its not that great. If you're going to give your family a legend, you ought to make it more exciting than a fairy who randomly disappears. I would, anyway. We also went down to the beach and watched the sunset over the channel. Good times. I'm starting to really like this place.

Now for the title. As some of you may be aware, France has a peculiar custom when they greet one another. If you live in the north, you give the person two kisses, one on each cheek. In the south you get three. Americans, well we dont do that. It's weird, and awkward. In America, if they're a stranger you either shake hands or nod your head, no uncomfortable kissing. But, if you're friends, you get a nice warm hug. In France, strangers get kisses, which is wierd, but friends only get cheek kisses as well. As weird as it sounds, the 'bisoux' are a bit cold for good friends. I prefer a nice big hug. Anyway, the point is, I explained to the friends on Friday that we don't do that in the US and they didnt believe me. I guess for them it would be strange not too. I had to bisous my swim coach yesterday, that was wierd. I just can't get used to it. The worst part is that if you come to a large group of people, everyone has to bisous everyone else, no exceptions. A lot of time is wasted with this bisousing nonsense. Mindy says if people here stopped bisousing already then they'd finally get some work down. What do you think? Bisous = good or bad?

The good news and the bad news

2007-11-02T09:36:00.000+01:00

The good news:

Two days ago they moved the computers out of my room, well except for the ones in the closet (which makes putting clothes away impossible). I was ecstatic. When I walked in I noticed the walls had gone French-cheese on me (moldy), so I cleaned that up with some bleach for good measure. Although, now parts of the wallpaper are whitish instead of the beige backgroud for the matronly flowers. Matters. I went to the supermarket that's far away and found some NEW sheets. Yes my friends, the prison-issued sheets of cardboard have been retired. I have real sheets. And my comforter cost me only 7euros; you can't get a coke for under 7euros in Paris! It's a cool red/pink/orange design. The funny part is that I ended up buying 2 fitted sheets on accident. I didn't think they even had fitted sheets here, but they do, and I have 2 of them. Apparently that's what "drape de housse" means. Remember that if you ever decide to buy sheets in France (not that I know the name of regular sheets). At least I managed to find the single bed ones! So I'd say I came out on top in this one. Oh and funny part: the not-that-friendly key keeper lady (who took away my key the first time) told Irene after I left that Rachel and I needed "to clean up" our apartment. Ha! You try keeping things organized when you live out of suitcases for a month. Neat piles are the best I can do. Though to be fair, the kitchen did need some work (though not all my fault...).

The bad news:

Well the first bit is that I'm on vacation with nothing to do. Paris and Caen with Irene got cut, so now I'm chillin in Avranches tout seul. But, I think I'm going to spend this time exploring my little city here. I haven't really done all the things there are to do here, and if I don't do it now I never will. So I guess it's not really bad news.

This is bad news: my computer is on the verge of death. If any of you remember 'the lark' (my Buick skylark circa '92), I'm in a similar situation. I have to treat my computer gently, know how to best run it, and it'll work. But, it could die any day now. The other day my computer froze up and I had to shut it down the bad way. Upon attempts to restart it, it came up with only a blank screen. Five restarts later, it came up to a screen where you select how you want to boot (smart mode, normal, etc). I tried choosing each one, and each time it froze after I selected it. So I left it frozen after an hour of trying, and asked God to please keep my computer alive. I came back to it in about 2 hours and it was alive. It had unfrozen itself, or something ;) , and was at the regular screen. Well how 'bout that. The obvious problem was that it ran super slow and after clicking on a folder or program it took about 2 mins to open, which obviously is a bad sign.

Now because I had so many problems trying to start it up, I was hesitant to shut it down, so I just let it hibernate. When I came back and started it I got this warning: SMART failure, hard disk failure imminent, back up data IMMEDIATELY. Well, shucks, that's great. I'm no computer whiz, but I'm fairly computer savvy, and of all the warnings I've encountered, that one seemed the most daunting. Thankfully, I backed up all my music/photos/files on my external hard drive before I left. I don't have it with me now, but no matter. All my new files are also on my USB key, so if I loose everything it won't be that big a deal. Of course I failed to bring any of my recovery disks or program (XP/office) disks with me... but as I write KC is searching my room for them. All signs point to buying a new hard drive, which isn't that expensive. But, I have yet to see a computer place in this city. I'm sure I need a car to get to one, so that's going to be a problem.

To draw out the slow death of my computer (which could die literally right now or 3 months from now), I've freed up some memory and defragged it. I was operating on less than 3% free memory, if you can believe it, and the only time I defragged it before was once and I only got half way through it because I was sick of waiting. The stupid part is I knew better than to let my computer get bogged down. It's just like I know my car needs an oil change every 3 months, but it's lucky if it gets 2 a year. So this may be too little too late. The service engine light has come on and it's only a matter of waiting. How long will it last? Maybe the whole time I'm here (though really really slow and skype isn't working great which is wonderful). Unlike my car, I can keep this sucker till it dies because I'm not jeopardizing anyone else's safety. The lark had to be retired, but this computer's going on life support. Here's to hoping it doesn't fail on me...

AND I am open to any and all computer advice I can get :) (big thanks already to Travis and Matt)

Return to Montpellier

2007-11-01T23:38:00.000+01:00

This past weekend I set out to Montpellier to see my friend Elodie (you may remember her as the nicest French person I met last time I studied abroad). Anyway, my trip was off to a rocky when I went to the train station last Friday. Happily, Sylvie gave me a lift and saved me about an hours walking time, so that was fine. But when I went to buy the actual ticket I found out, much to my dismay, that they only remaining ticket to Montpellier would cost me, well a lot, because the last seat left was in 1st class (which totally isn't worth the extra money they charge). Whatever though, I wanted to see Elodie, so I'll bite it. My fault for not getting a ticket earlier (it is vacation time, after all). But then I asked what time the bus left in the morning to take me to the station (which is about a 1/2 hour away from Avranches by car), and to my surprise he told me that that particular bus line doesn't run on the weekends. Ever. Hmmm. Shoot. I looked up at Sylvie with a look that said "Uhh, what do I do now??" Without waiting a second she told me that she'd drive me there early the next morning. Wow. Her first day of vacation and what is she volunteering to do? Drive the silly assistant to a train station at the crack of dawn. I love her. Needless to say I brought her some reeses the next day (mom's package of US candy: love. Time for arrival: record setting 4 days). Anyway, thus began my trip that would tentatively include 3 days in Monty and then a few in Paris to chill with Irene, and then maybe a trip to Caen, though the most I had planned for all this was a train ticket to Monty and a hostel in Paris for afterwards...matters.

So Saturday I set off for my adventure. When I arrived in Paris from Villedieu, I had to take the Metro to get to the Gare de Lyon for my next train. No problem. The metro doesn't scare me. So I bought my ticket and made my way to the entrance. If you've ever taken the Paris Metro you may recall that you stick your little ticket in and then quickly shuffle through the open doors before they slam shut again. Well, unfortunately, although I made it through the door in time, my little rolly suitcase did not. It was stuck, and those doors shut hard. I grabbed the handle and pulled with all my might. Unfortunately that only managed to pull my handle of my bag but the rest of my suitcase was still stuck in the door-monster. Lovely. Now people are getting antsy wondering why this stupid American girl got her bag stuck. So I took one hand and pushed the door to the side with literally all my might (which isn't much, mind you) and with the other hand I grabbed the side handle and pulled. I flew back with suitcase in hand and the monster-grip doors slammed shut behind me. Goodbye to you too doors. Grrr. So yeah, the Metro ate my suitcase. It was wonderful.

Train station observation: there are funny looking soldiers everywhere. They walk around in camouflage fatigues (yeah, you'll really blend in the gare de Lyon forest...wait....), and they wear silly berets on their bald heads. While they really should look intimidating, with their big guns and all, the effect is rather lost on me. I laugh when I see them. Don't get me wrong, I realize they must serve some very important purpose, and I shouldn't take them lightly blah blah blah. But, come on. I really wanted a picture of some, but I thought that would be going too far...

Enough nonsense, back to the trip. When I arrived I saw Elodie on the platform waiting and it made me soooo happy. I haven't seen her since I left Montpellier two springs ago. She hasn't changed a bit! She's just as peppy and smiley as before, and we had a wonderful weekend. On Saturday I stayed with her family and got to meet her mom and 11 year old sister Margot. Justin, her younger brother, and Lola, the dog, I remembered from last time. Her mom made us this wonderful white-cheese cake with a hint of lemon in it. It was so good. I need to ask for the recipe (not that I could cook it if I tried...). Her brother came with us to the movies, and we watched one of the only French movies playing (though her brother went to see Resident Evil III). The movie we saw was Les Coeurs des Hommes 2 (the hearts of men). Um, it was okay, but all they talked about was sex and their various affairs and the whole bit. I understood the plot, and some of the jokes, but for the most part I was lost. They used a lot of colloquial expressions and innuendos, which they didn't teach us in French class. So there were many moments when the whole theatre was laughing and I was like...oh... that was funny, right, what did they say? Afterwards Elodie was a little mortified that the movie she picked for me to see as a the token "french" film turned out like that. She assured me that French people aren't really like the people in that movie. Sure, Elodie. Whatever you say... haha.

On Sunday I had the good fortune of going with Elodie and Jean (her currant fiance, who you may remember me telling you from last time, she started dating when I met her, and he was the subject of many of our secret notes during our history lectures) to his grandparents house for Sunday lunch. Let me start by saying that Jean is an amazing guy. He's been so great to Elodie, and I'm super happy she found a guy like him (because I have doubts about the French male population in general). He's had a rough life though, and it always seems to correspond with when I'm here. Last time, when I was first getting to know Elodie and she had just started dating him, we found out that his brother committed suicide. Jean took hard, because they were really close. It came out of the blue too because he had never outwardly struggled with depression. And now, just two weeks ago, his father passed away. His father had always been sort of sick since his brother died, and he never really got over it. But a few weeks ago he got a really bad cough and the doctors couldn't figure out what it was. Then they found out it was some sort of tumor, and it killed him before they could do anything for it. So yeah, his family has been through a lot. And yet, when I meet them all, I couldn't imagine them struggling with all that inside because they were so warm and friendly. I can't even imagine. Anyway, they were the nicest people ever, and lunch was wonderful. I had my first asparagus (they thought maybe we don't have it over here. No, we do, I've just never tried it) and cabbage. Both were surprisingly good. So all those people who think I don't eat veggies, it's not true. If someone else cooks them properly, I'll eat them. If you give them to me and say, here, do something with it, well then all bets are off. Of course when I was eating the asperagus I couldn't help hearing Junior Asparagus' voice in my head. Veggietales has made me a strict carnivore, I think. I can't bear to eat Junior, so bring me a hamburger or something :) . Oh and Elodie made me a chocolate cake for my bday. It was a great afternoon.

Sidenote: when chatting with the grandparents I learned that they lived in that very house during WWII. The grandad told me about how he and his father used to press olives to make oil in the horse trough in the middle of the night. They had to be sneaky because all vital supplies had to go to the Nazis. They also told me how grateful they were to the Americans (and they added, the British) for coming to the rescue. They were really heartfelt about it, and they said it to me like I was the representative of all the Americans who came over. I knew that I, of course, had done nothing. But it felt good to know that they were grateful. It made me wonder about what I would have thought if I'd had been around during that time. I wonder if I would have even supported us getting involved. Everyone now thinks that they would have, but it's much easier to say after the fact. I wonder.

On Monday we traveled to Montpellier (because before we were actually closer to Nimes). The sun was shining as I ventured back to my study abroad city. I really do miss it. Well, I mainly miss it for the people. Something about being in France makes me think that I should be seeing Elodie and Bhavana and Christina all the time. France isn't the same this time around. It's not bad, just different, and I miss them all. Oh and I miss the sun, which apparently only shines in the South of France. In the afternoon I had the good fortune of meeting up with Sophie (one of my friends in Madison last semester who actually goes to the Agricultural school in Mtp). Now even though Sophie (and Emilie who unfortunately wasn't in Mtp this weekend) is French, I never spoke French with her in Madison. She was there to practice English, and we always hung out with people who didn't speak French. So even though she and Emilie were there for a whole semester, I never once spoke French with them. So when I'm with Sophie I feel like I should be speaking English, but Elodie was with us, and with her I know I have to speak French. It was weird, because I kept forgetting what language I should be using. But it worked out fine, and Sophie and Elodie chatted it up effortlessly (I swear, their French is impeccable). In the picture Elodie is to the left and Sophie is on the right. For lunch we went to Aux 2 Fondues, which is that lovely fondue place where you drink out of baby bottles. Neither of them had ever gone, and I thought they should go at least once since they live there and all. It was fabulous, though I think they were quite surprised by the bottles (not typically French). I hope they become friends; I think they'd all really get along well. Oh and later that night I introduced Elodie to facebook. She doesn't get it at all, so it's up to Sophie to explain it to her in a way that a frenchie would understand. But hey, now I can write on her wall.

Montpellier was hard to leave. Elodie and I had some amazing conversations about the past year, and our plans for the future. All of our talks were affected by a touch of sadness because we knew that after this year it would get harder and harder to see each other. That's the problem with my travels. By traveling I make friends all over the place and then, well, I have to leave. It kinda sucks. But I'm glad I know her, and we'll stay friends even if I can't come visit that much. Maybe I'll end up fabulously rich and I can go see her all the time...doubtful... but maybe.

And now I'm back in Avranches. Paris was canceled because Irene ran out of money, but it was better not to go before I got paid (which I finally was today, sweetness). I don't know if I'll travel much more this break, even though I have a week left. I kind of want some time to myself, and this is the first day that I have some. Since I got here I haven't had much alone time, so I'm going to take advantage of it now. It's funny because normally I hate being alone; I have to have someone around. But now, I just want some time to think and read and be by myself. Strange. If I get some good alone time in, then it'll make me that much happy when my roomie returns and I start classes again. So yeah, it's me and Avranches this week. Maybe I'll get around to all those books I meant to read.

Worth a listen

2007-10-30T23:03:00.000+01:00

If you have itunes you should check out one of the free songs that's up. It's When the Saints by Sara Groves. She's one of my favorite artists, and her new song is really good. She's a folk-Christian (maybe not folk, but that's what itunes calls her) singer. Anyway, this is one of those songs that you just sit and listen to on repeat and think about.

Lord I have a heavy burden of all I've seen and know
It's more than I can handle
But your word is burning like a fire shut up in my bones
and I can’t let it go

And when I'm weary and overwrought
with so many battles left unfought

I think of Paul and Silas in the prison yard
I hear their song of freedom rising to the stars
And when the Saints go marching in
I want to be one of them

Lord it's all that I can't carry and cannot leave behind
it all can overwhelm me
but I think of all who've gone before them and lived the faithful life
their courage compels me

And when I'm weary and overwrought
with so many battles left unfought

I think of Paul and Silas in the prison yard
I hear their song of freedom rising to the stars

I see the shepherd Moses in the Pharaoh's court
I hear his call for freedom for the people of the Lord

And when the Saints go marching in
I want to be one of them

I see the long quiet walk along the Underground Railroad
I see the slave awakening to the value of her soul

I see the young missionary at the angry spear
I see his family returning with no trace of fear

I see the long hard shadows of Calcutta nights
I see the sisters standing by the dying man's side

I see the young girl huddled on the brothel floor
I see the man with a passion come and kicking down that door

I see the man of sorrow and his long troubled road
I see the world on his shoulders and my easy load

And when the Saints go marching in
I want to be one of them

Randomness

2007-10-24T15:21:00.000+02:00

Good Old French Frustrations of the Week:

When I got back from England, it was about time to do laundry. The bad news is that there is one laundry mat in this town, and it’s about a mile and half away from our flat. That’s an easy enough walk on its own, but with laundry in tow it’s a little tougher. Add that to the simple fact that laundry mats in France charge an arm and a leg and you can see what choice I’m left with. It was time to fill up the tub with some hot water and soap and do some good old hand-washing. Ha! That’s fairly easy, right? You just fill up the tub, throw some clothes in, and they get clean… No. They don’t. It was a nightmare. My first mistake was waiting so long to do laundry in the first place. My second mistake was thinking I could still do it all in one swoop. My next mistake was thinking that the water couldn’t possibly be hot enough to need to separate lights and darks. Let’s just say that I had a tub full of purplish/black water after a few minutes and I frantically searched for my whites to save them from the evil dark dyes. Once I pulled out all the light clothes, my job should have been fairly straight forward. No. How do you get socks and stuff clean? I scrubbed them by hand with soap, but I guess my hands have nothing on the agitation cycle of a washing machine. They would not get clean. The shirts and stuff, fine, they weren’t even dirty really. But seriously, I think I needed one of those old scrub boards or something. It was a pain. My clothes also took about 2 days to dry because I hung them up on our rack outside, but it was friggin’ cold here and I think they froze more than they dried. I would have brought the rack inside, but I thought they’d be better off in the sun (for the few hours it showed its face around here). Let’s just say I’m taking some stuff to the laundry mat next time. I’m not going to even bother doing sheets myself; they’ll never dry. Lesson learned: I would *never* want to be a housewife before washers and dryers were invented. You spend half your days washing clothes (and I only had to do my own, not a whole family’s!). I guess that’s misleading though, because I wouldn’t want to be a housewife *now*. But you know what I mean.

Yesterday some men came in to get the computers out of my room. Yay! I asked if they were taking all of them and they said they were and that I should have my room back that night. So I skipped off to class and hoped they’d be finished when I returned. You can imagine my disappointment when Rachel told me that they only took ONE computer and never came back. And they locked the door again. Liars. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice having a bed in the living room. It’s more comfy when we hang out and watch movies. But, it’s cold here. They just switched on the heating in this building, and as you can probably guess the radiator in the living room does not work. Rachel’s room is cozy. The WC is toasty. But the living room is Antarctica. Well, that’s not true. My clock says it only gets down to about 57 degrees F. But that’s cold for being indoors. I sleep with two scratchy wool blankets and my Wisconsin sweats. It works, sort of, but if I move then I wake up because it’s freezing in here at night. Brrrr. And don’t even say I’m from Wisconsin so I shouldn’t mind the cold. Even Wisconsinites go home to warm cozy houses. I don’t mind it outside, it’s when it’s cold inside that I dont like it. At least Ive found the best way to warm up: hot chocolate. I use the French semi-ecreme milk (50%, they don’t do skim, and to be honest I think it’s better) and some cheap bars of dark chocolate. I throw the milk on a burner and bring the milk and chocolate to a boil. Soooo good. Oh and you have to add some sugar (well, a lot of sugar), but it’s wonderful. I average 2 cups a day to get warm. There’s no better way. It makes you think of Christmas.

Monday was pretty interesting. It was supposed to be my first day really teaching (it’s only taken 3 weeks). I didn’t have much prepared, to be honest. Well I went to my class with Liliane, and almost all of the kids were ones who went on the trip. It was great, because when I do the debates on Mondays I can make them talk because we’re already friends. They won’t be embarrassed to speak English with me there, because they’ve gotten used to me already. And I know their names! I also saw Bene and Camille in the hallway and they ran up to me and started gabbing away. I asked if they’d be interested in an English club of sorts and they said they’d definitely like something like that (otherwise I won’t see many of them anymore). So that was the good part. Then I had my BTS classes (20-something tech school kids- accounting, computers, etc), well I was supposed to have them. I went to B101 and no one was there. I waited awhile because the French are notoriously late, and still no one showed. Uh oh. I went up to B201 and B301 and checked the wings to see if I could find my class. Nothing. So I went to the staff room and hung out alone. When I caught the teacher I asked her where the room was supposed to be, and I guess I was in the right room she had just told the kids the wrong room (yay, not my fault). Oh and I had another class after that, but that teacher forgot to tell the kids that it started that day so no one showed. I guess I won’t see those kids until after vacation. Rachel swears that we’re actually here to bring some organization to these French teachers.

Highlights:
I’ve joined the swim team! Today I went to my first ‘trial’ practice, and it was wonderful. I’m not joking, it was glorious. By that I mean, I suck at swimming. I’m super out of shape, and my strokes are all wrong, but I don’t care. The first lap felt great, and after that my body ached. It hadn’t moved like that in a long time. The coach guy was really nice. I was there early so I had my own lane for warm up (about 900 meters, felt like the main set, esp the butterfly). He gave me stroke tips for fly/breast which he said slowly because he wasn’t sure if I’d understand. Little did he know that I knew exactly what he was trying to say because I could feel it myself when I swam. I was a coach too, after all. I need to stretch out my strokes and ‘profiter’ from my kicks with longer glides. Anyway, it felt amazing, and I even saw a student I had in class yesterday (one of the sophomores). She even recognized me, and seemed genuinely happy to see me there. I only stayed for an hour, because I wanted to start off slowly. I did about 2100 meters, which is a lot for not swimming in forever, but that only really amounted to a warm up and kick/swim set. The only down side was that about half way through more people came so I was with the 14-16 year olds who were just starting the work out from the beginning. I felt too old to be swimming with them, but the only ‘adults’ were the old ladies doing aqua aerobics. I guess there’s not many people my age around here (except my obnoxious BTS students). After practice, I felt wonderful, and tomorrow I go back again!

And in case you were worried that I'd lose my Americanness after being surronding by so many frenchies and brits, dont be. I showed Rachel one episode of American Dreams because I have the 1st season here (the show is about a family in the 60s stuggling with pretty much everything that happened back then). She loved it and we've gone on to watch the first 3 disks in 3 days. She's becoming an American; I'm so proud. She said the characters have become like a part of her family, cause she finds herself rooting for them. I love it. Just when you thought I came over here to get some culture...

Oh and vacation is coming up, so I may be out of touch for the next week or so (though I can still get phonecalls! sunday... hint hint). I just started and I have a 10 day vacation. I love France. This weekend I’m going to Montpellier to see Elodie for a few days (and I’ll just miss the other Monty girls I think, which is sad). After that I’m training up to Paris and maybe spending a few days there with Irene who has yet to properly see the city. And after that maybe we’ll go to Caen for kicks. Who knows? The great part is I should get paid on the 28th (hopefully), which is kind of like a really generous 22nd birthday present from the French government. The timing is beautiful. If I don’t get paid, it'll be a bday downer cause I’ll be broke and may have to nix some of the travel plans… So here’s to hoping the paperwork went through…

Long Live the Queen

2007-10-22T11:11:00.000+02:00

No, I don’t really care much for Lizzy II, but I couldn’t think of a better title for this post. Most of you probably weren’t aware, but I had the very good fortune of accompanying the exchange trip to Southern England this week. Yves couldn’t make it, and I was the last minute substitute. So pretty much I got a free trip to the mother country and all I had to do was count off some kids every now and then. Here’s how it went…

The Trip:

5h45 departure from school. Early as it was, I was as wide awake as the students. Traveling does that to me. Unfortunately the trip didn’t start off too great because several students forgot their identity cards / permission slips. This resulted in our leader Anne-Helene’s breakdown and rant at Sylvie (the well-meaning English teacher) in front of all the students. I didn’t understand what all she said, but I know it was bad because Sylvie was quiet the whole way to Caen and I could see tears rolling down her face. Anne (the non-English speaking history teacher) and I were beside ourselves. Luckily things picked up after that. I happened to be sitting in front of some very outgoing students who promptly introduced themselves to me. I tried my best to learn their names, and I was pretty pumped that they didn’t treat me like the uncool teacher. When we divided up into groups (one for each of the 4 teachers) the kids from the bus quickly scribbled down their names on a sheet and claimed me as their chaperon. Sweet, they like me. Good start. Their group name: les 7 mervielleux du monde which translates best to the “Magnificent 7.” That may be their name, but I called them (in my head) my little bohemian rhapsodies, because most of them were hippies. Precious.

(In the picture from the left: Charlotte, Camille, Francois, Simon, Gaëlle, Laura, and Benedicte)

We arrived sometime in the afternoon at Ringwood Language School (posh much?). I met my host teacher, Hish. Hish is a physics teacher, and he’s not actually English. He’s Egyptian, which is pretty cool. The downside was that the whole weekend was kind of awkward because I wasn’t sure what to talk to him about. He’s an older Egyptian guy who lives by himself (his son lives with his ex-wife). So the first 2 or 3 days was kind of weird, even though he was super nice, but after that it was good and we got on really well.

The School:

Ringwood Language School is a middle-high school. I think containing middle school aged kids all in one building is a really bad idea, esp for the 8th graders. It’s best to keep them with everyone else, because they’re going through the most awkward age of their lives. Luckily for these kids clothes wouldn’t be a teasing issue because they all wore the same silly uniform. Now don’t get me wrong, I see the point of the uniform. It levels out kids so they can’t be singled out for not wearing something expensive and trendy, but do they really need to wear blazers with the school crest and striped ties?? No they don’t. A tee-shirt or sweatshirt with the Ringwood logo would suffice. I’d even settle for a collar shirt / sweater combo. But a blazer? Really? They looked like mini-adults. Although, I will admit, they managed to look pretty scruffy in spite of their blazers and ties. And I thought a tie was an automatic cleaner-upper… In fact, in the school meeting I sat in on, the head complained that the teachers weren’t making sure the kids looked “smart” enough. Give ‘em a break. They’re kids. You’re luckily they don’t have mud stains all over thier uniforms.

The good part about the uniform thing is that they don’t have to wear one when they hit their last 2-3 years of school. So when they’re old enough to be some-what mature, they can unleash their individuality. These kids are called the ‘sixth form’ kids, whatever that means. I still can’t figure out the English system. Overall, the kids there were pretty pleasant, and they’re super polite. There was one day when I was in line at a sandwich shop behind a ton of students and when they realized I was there one kid said, “hey, you can go to the front of the line ‘cause we’re just students.” I hesitated to skip them all, but they made me. I guess their in-town lunch privileges come with some rules, so as to keep the townsfolk happy. It wasn’t the rule that I thought was nice, it was the fact that they actually told me about it when I obviously had no idea I could do that. I feel like American kids would’ve just let me wait. But, I could be wrong.

Culture Lessons:

First and foremost, driving in England is terrifying, and it’s not just the wrong side of the road bit. Some roads are not big enough for two cars, but somehow two cars still pass each other on them (at a fairly fast clip too). Hish said there are A roads and B roads. I was scared of the A roads (the bigger ones) until I saw some B roads in the New Forest. They were seriously big enough for ONE car. And Hish was not a cautious driver. I was a nervous wreck as we drove through the winding roads. Somehow we made it through okay, but you better believe I’ll take the roads into consideration if I ever want to live over here…

TV is bizarre over here. First of all, the BBC has a monopoly over the news, and they do the same dang story over and over and over again all week. I got real sick of hearing about the obesity crisis, the postal strike (yes England is turning into France), and the rugby tournament (in which, if you care, France lost to England in the semifinals much to the dismay of all my students, but England in turn lost this Saturday to South Africa). I also watched Hollyoaks, which could give the OC a run for its money. In one episode half the cast almost died of CO2 poisoning and some girl’s sister was accused of sleeping with her sister’s husband. It was great in a trashy-pointless kind of way. The other show I briefly watched was show called Doc Martin, which was terrible. It was about this doctor in Cornwall and these really weird town people. I didn’t care for it much. And sadly, I saw Randall and Hopkirk on one channel all week that Hish’s tv didn’t pick up (yeah KC, it was a let down)! Oh and for a few seconds I watched the kids show called Stupid. Terrible. I didn’t get it at all. It had a king and some midget guy. The British sense of humour baffles me sometimes.

Alex, Hish’s 6 year son, spent the weekend with us. He was a doll, and I think we’re friends now. He taught me all about Bionicals, these cartoon things that you have to build on your own and they become these robot-monster thing. Oh and he showed me Dr. Who toys (some supersonic screwdriver/pen?). Whoever that is. Apparently Dr. Who is the British Star Trek as far as a sci-fi following goes (says Hish). Not sure if I think the Dr. Who fans come close to Trekies. Oh and Alex is a pretty deep kid. We were talking about infinity, for some reason, and I told him that it’s so big the numbers never stop. He said, “But numbers have to stop. If everyone died, who would be around to count?” The old lady behind us thought that was precious.

Pubs. Three students in my group were doing their project on English pubs. Apparently pubs are not the same as bars, according to the owner of the Crown tap. Bars are ‘smarter’ than pubs and serve fancier drinks like wine. Also, beer in England is not like beer in America. English beer is ‘real beer’ and American beer is what they call ‘lager.’ Whatever buddy. I’m from Wisconsin. We have real beer, or something. Not that I really know, but supposedly we brew some decent stuff.

And now for the food. I actually didn’t have that much authentic cuisine, cause Hish is Egyptian and doesn’t know how to cook (which I can’t blame him for, since I can’t either). I did have fish and chips, which were lovely but nothing special. New things I tried include plaice (flatfish), scampi (delicious), blackcurrant juice (do we have that in the US, because I’ve never heard of it but it tasted familiar), and a Cornish pasty. The pasty (pronounced with a long ahhh sound, fyi) was better than I anticipated. It was originally made in Cornwell for the miners because it’s an easily portable meal (an enclosed pastry-like thing with meat and veggies). The funny part is I faintly remember learning something about them in my online folklore class last semester, but for those who remember how that went you can probably guess just how much I did remember. Oh and I didn't have any tea.

The Sites:

Bournesmouth:

I went to this southern port with Hish over the weekend. It was a cute beach town with the whole pier-amusement ensemble of stuff to do. Unfortunately English weather was true to form that day, and the skies remained cloudy and gray so it was hard to imagine how bright the town must be during the summer.

New Forest:

This is a picture of Hish and the donkey roaming the streets of Burley, a town in New Forest. New Forest was supposedly made for some king who was bored with his usual hunting grounds, or some such nonsense, and so they planted him a 90 mile forest. It’s actually really pretty, and there are wild-previously-domesticated animals everywhere (donkeys, ponies, horses, cows, pigs, etc). If you live in New Forest then you have the right to let you animals graze anywhere, and even though the animals are ‘yours’ they kind of just roam free amongst the towns and forest. Everything in New Forest was ‘quaint’ and rather how I would imagine Elizabeth Bennett’s setting in Pride and Prejudice. But that’s just a thought. Check out this cabin, it cost close to a million pounds. Ridiculous. I guess this is a posh area, despite it’s country façade. All the property is crazy expensive.

Salisbury:

During the week we took day trips, and one of our destinations was Salisbury. Pictured here is the lovely cathedral that is home to one of the four surving Magna Cartas (yeah there was more than one, who knew?). It is rather pretty, but I suppose cathedrals tend to be. I get all quite and pensive when I’m in them, and I’m not sure if it’s because part of me feels like I should be or if it’s because they really do render a sense of awe. I’m undecided. Either way, it really is cool to see such a beautiful structure dedicated to God. When I was wondering around inside I ran into Simon, one of my 7, and I asked him what he thought. He shrugged his shoulders and said (in French of course), “It’s pretty, but you know, it’s not a big deal (or it’s not that great).” Of course I asked him for an explanation and he told me, “Well I guess if you’re a believer it’s important, because, you know, it means a lot more. But if you don’t, then it’s just pretty, and that’s it.” Imagine my surprise. Deep kid. I told him I think he’s probably right. Simon, by the way, is one of the best English speakers in the group because his dad is English (though Simon claims his dad doesn’t speak much English at home), but for the first half of the trip he refused to speak English with me. The others did, fumble as they may. But by the half way mark I think he decided I was friend and not foe, because I asked him a question in English and he responded in it. I was like, wow Simon, you spoke in English, and he nonchalantly replied, “Well you asked the question in English.” We’re friends now though, and even though the other teachers told me he’s a slacker and refuses to do work, I never had a problem with him. I think it’s because I respected him, so he respected me. Some of the teachers here should try that approach (I remember my mom telling me that before I left and it really does work). The same with the other kids in my group and the random others that I met, we’re friends but they still respect my authority as a teacher (surprisingly). On the trip home, actually, the ‘bad boys,’ as I affectionately call them, started singing loudly and it was close to midnight. The other teachers started looking pissed, so I turned around and yelled “Arrete!” and they started laughing and kept going. So I got up and went back there and said, “Hey, can you guys stop or sing softly because the other teachers have headaches and people are trying to sleep.” They tried to argue with me, and joke around, but when I turned around to go back to the front they immediately stopped and quieted down. It was amazing. Ha! I can do this. When I got back up to the front the other teachers looked at me like I was the kid-whisperer or something.

Back to the Magna Carta. Who doesn’t know what that is? No one, I hope. We Americans should have all learned about it way back when and should know that it was an important step towards human rights and limiting the power of government. But NONE of the French kids had even heard about it. Some came up to me and were like, “So what is this thing??” What? You’ve never heard of it? Are you joking? So I patiently explained how it was the first time the people limited the power of the king and claimed a variety of rights that were untouchable by the sovereign. I also explained how it was a big step in the direction of the Glorious Revolution in England, the American and French Revolutions, the Declaration of Human Rights, etc. “Oh,” they said. Oh. I did my best. I told them that it was a big deal for American school children. But, maybe I was wrong, maybe only I care. Maybe most Americans don’t even know what it is. How sad would that be? Well whatever, I saw it, and it was awesome. So there.

Stonehenge:

When we went to Stonehenge the weather was wonderfully gloomy, as one would hope for when seeing a pile of ancient rocks. Don’t get me wrong, it was cool to see it, but it really was just a bunch of rocks. They are really old, I guess, but no one knows what they were really for. Some people said the devil was taking rocks to Ireland and dropped them here, others say they were people turned to stone for dancing, but those are just legends. I don’t think it was worth the 6 pound entrance fee (that I didn’t have to pay, yay for being a teacher). I did take like 60 pictures though; I just couldn’t help it!

Bath:

This was a beautiful city, famous for the ancient Roman baths as shown here. The Romans were a cleanly bunch, unlike the uncivilized Britons… So we wandered around the baths, had a money fiasco with Anne-Helene, and spent some time exploring. This is where Jane Austen lived for a bit of her life, which is pretty cool. Jane’s pretty sweet. I even got a picture next to the plastic statue of her outside of the Jane Austen centre (which I won’t put here because, well, it’s slightly embarrassing). In fact, there was a dude with a top hat and all next to Jane and I wanted him in the picture but he asked if I planned on coming in and I said probably not so he walked away! In the circus, a circular apartment design thing, I saw the old house of David Livingstone, which was neat. And the street sweeper tried to convince me that Nicolas Cage lives there, and I don’t think I believe him. But it was hard to tell, oh well. Oh, and my group was lovely because they got me a gift. They bought me a hippy bracelet, and they all got one too, and we took a picture of all of our bracelets together. Such sweet kids.

And home :

By Friday I was ready to go home. In fact, the weird part was that I identified Avranches as home. I wanted to go back to my bed and my flat, but Avranches has only been my home for 2 weeks. It’s strange how quickly you adapt. So yeah, Avranches is home now. Check out this picture from the ferry. I got to watch the sunset over the English channel. It was pretty amazing. Now I’m back and it’s time to work for a week and then I have a week and a half vacation for Toussaint! French life is wonderful, let me tell you.

Britspeak

2007-10-09T12:09:00.000+02:00

On the right side of this blog I'm keeping a running list of all the new words I'm learning from Rachel. Watch for updates. Cheers!

Paris!

2007-10-09T12:08:00.000+02:00

Paris is the most French city in the world, of that I have no doubt. It may be infested with tourists, but the city has remarkably retained its Frenchness without faltering. Irene and I spent Monday in Paris for a medical examination to make sure we can stay in France (don’t ask), and so we had the pleasure of spending a few hours in this amazing place. This time I felt like I encountered Paris on its own terms for the first time. My Chilean amiga and I spent the whole day conversing in French (our only common language), though it was a poor French at that. Somehow that felt right, the way we ought to be talking in Paris. There’s something incongruous about speaking English there. It sets you apart, in a bad way. It keeps you from truly experiencing Paris. There’s something about the ethos of this city that demands proper respect be paid to the language that created it. When you walk through the courtyard of the Louvre and through the Tuleries, stop for drink at a café, or examine the inner beauty of the Notre Dame cathedral, you feel something entirely different when you speak French. You feel like you’re a part of the city.

Today was also the day of blessings. I can thankfully report that the doctor found me in good health, and I have the x-ray with me to prove it. I also had the privilege of witnessing Irene’s first visit to the city she’s dreamed about since she was a little girl, but never thought she’d ever see. Words cannot describe the sight of her coming up from the metro and seeing the courtyard of the Louvre for the first time. Tears flowed from her eyes, and I knew this was a moment neither of us would forget. God was hard at work today.

I almost feel like I’ve stolen other people’s blessings. There must be some mistake. Surly I’ve enjoyed too much. I feel an overwhelming obligation to give some of them back, to pass my blessings along to other people who really need them. Maybe that’s what God intended the whole time. In fact, I’m sure that’s what he intended. Well today was the beginning. Irene could stop thanking me for showing her around the city (as though it was a burden for me!). I guess that’s the beauty. When you share a blessing, it grows even bigger then it was before. God is good. Good day.

(only downer: I accidentally paid 7euros for a coke!)

Church

2007-10-09T12:07:00.001+02:00

Well I went to Church this morning, and it was better than I expected. I navigated the cobblestone roads as prescribed by the tourism office. In fact, it was God who took me to the church because NONE of the roads were labeled. Fortunately, I was able to make out that it was somewhat near St. Gervais, which is fairly easy to spot from just about anywhere in the city. I just kept walking, and picked streets to follow at random. And then, when I knew I was close, I spotted on my left what appeared to be a store-front office. The sign said something to the degree of “Centre evangelique des protestants” or whatever. I didn’t think that was it, but then I saw a bunch of chairs lined up and a crowd of people inside. Tentatively, I stepped in side. Smiles swept across several faces, and I was warmly greeted by the small congregation. There were maybe 15 people in the small room, tops. The pastor came up and greeted me personally, as did many of the other churchgoers, so friendly! They were pleased to see a new face, I think. But still, I was a little malalaise as the newbie in small group of people.

Just when I thought I should just get up and get out (feeling so awkward and out of place), the little girl in the row back started chatting to me. She said something about knowing a little English (she was maybe 5 years old). She said, “I love you!” and her mom whispered in her ear the rest of the phrase “because you love Christ” though the little girl was too busy giggling to manage the rest. How can I explain the emotions that swept through my heart at that moment? I can’t. It was wonderful. I am loved. Had I forgotten? Perhaps, but she certainly hadn’t. During the worship songs (which were mainly translations of worship songs popular in the 70s- early 90s, some of which I were familiar with, I felt teary eyed. But like the good stoic I am, I held back. These people reminded me that God is in France too, lest I forget. I am forgetting an awful lot these days. Well, anyhow, it was a successful Sunday, and I hope to grow more à l’aise with the congregation in the next few weeks.

First Week Roundup

2007-10-09T12:04:00.000+02:00

Well my first week is through, and I’ve come out of it alive. Better than alive, actually, fantastic. I remember back in the spring when I was debating whether or not to come. I thought, Lord, if you want me to go, you better make it pretty clear. After all, I could have just kept on doing what I know, school. But when I got my acceptance letter, I knew. It’s like God just whooshed right on into my heart and said, “Go.” If you’ve heard that before, you’ll know what I’m talking about. But as much as I loved my last trip to France, I knew this would be different. God said go, and my heart said “Uh, I dunno, maybe.” It was strange, because I knew that I had to go, that I would go, yet part of me doubted. Even during the summer, for all I talked tough about it, I was really uncertain about how this year would turn out. I really believed that God wanted me here, but I didn’t know if I wanted me here. I mean France is great, but a year, and teaching? It was all so random. I didn’t have a place to live. I hadn’t saved up enough money. I knew nothing about my job. Who does that? But for all my uncertainties, God has come through like a champ (as though He wouldn’t!).

Seriously though, let me just list for you all of the blessings of this week alone (and these are only the ones I picked up on!):

A safe journey, with all of my luggage, finding the train station and everything all right, and God didn’t let me get off on the wrong train stop when I almost did…
A place to live for close to no money a month!
Friendly teachers picking me up from the train station and taking us home for dinner
A wonderful flatmate, who I can’t thank God enough for (we learn a ton from each other, and having her here makes life so much happier, not mention she’s just brilliant)
Two other lovely assistants to hang out with, one of whom forces us to speak French because she doesn’t speak English
Friendly people everywhere stopping their cars for us to cross, smiling all the time, being patient with our French, and generally in a good mood contrary to the stereotype
A beautiful city!
Classes where I get to teach what I love (philosophy)
A school that is taking care of all the hard paper work for me (for my bank, payment, carte de sejour, etc) when most schools make you do it yourself
Good food and wine
Good heath, and a clear x-ray
A safe and fun trip to Paris
Did I mention friends and already having some?

Well, you get the idea. This is definitely where I’m supposed to be. God did a proper job picking it out, I’ll tell you that much. The question is, what else does He have in store for me this year?? There’s always something, isn’t there? I can’t wait!

PS. I swear I’m not just sitting at my computer writing these silly posts all day long. It’s just that so much has happened this week, and I wanted to keep track of it all. Things will simmer down soon and I won’t have as much to report back. Or at least, I think I won’t…

Première Soirée

2007-10-09T12:03:00.000+02:00

Marie-Francoise, one of the English professors, had us all over for dinner at her place in the country. We were greeted by her boyfriend (husband, PACsed friend?) and his daughter. They gave us aperitifs, though I didn’t drink the licorice-flavored Pastis, and these mini crepes with pink fish spread on them (they were surprisingly delicious). We ate and drank and talked for hours. It was wonderful. For dinner she served lamb, straight from her neighbor’s herd, which was amazingly good. Then they brought out salad and cheese, and they laughed at our fear of the cheese. I tried them, even though French cheese often scares me, and again, I was pleasantly surprised! I also never thought that the wine you drank with it made all that big a difference, because it tastes all the same to me, but it really does. Whatever stuff they picked for it really complemented the different cheeses. I’ll have to have her write down what they all were. At this point we were stuffed, and still having a jolly time chatting about all of our wonderful cultural differences, and then they brought out desert. It was a delicious frozen chocolate ice cream cake thing. It’s funny because you may think you’re full but when you see cake you’re stomach somehow makes room for it… At this point it was pretty late, and we really thought the night was over, but as it turns out we still had to have our post-dinner tea. I tried to pass on it, since I generally hate tea, but Marie-F coaxed me into taking some. It was fantastic. I’m not kidding. Whatever Indian spiced goodness it was, I liked it. I was worried that it had caffeine in it, but they assured me it had none because it was meant for helping you digest after dinner. Well, that’s brilliant. Perhaps I do like tea after all! All of them were so friendly, and I think we’re going to go back soon. Marie-F wants us all to switch off cooking so that Irene can make us a Chilean meal, the Brits can make us fish and chips or something (jk), and I can make something that’s typically American. Well, I can’t cook, and you all know that. So unless they want fried eggs and toast, I’m afraid they’re out of look on my end! Can you think of anything I can make for them with French ingredients?? If you can, leave me a message. I told them I might try my hand at something Italian like my mom makes. Marie-F said that would count, but I told her I’d have to practice first and then we’d see!

Gaia Club

2007-10-09T12:02:00.000+02:00

When I met the philosophy teacher, he looked exactly the way any proper philosophy teacher ought to look. His gray hair was disheveled, but not obnoxiously so. His gray beard was groomed even less carefully, but was still neat in its own way. Along with his haphazardly chosen sweater-khaki ensemble, he managed to appear sufficiently indifferent to his appearance to be a proper philosopher but executed in an almost purposeful manor. Purposeful in that he meant to show the world that appearance is illusionary anyway, so is would be silly for someone to dedicate much time to it. Okay, maybe I’m reading into it (after all, he didn’t look that much different from Yves, but Yves had no hair so it’s hard to tell). The gym teacher, whom I also met, shared the philosophy teacher’s disinclination for tidiness, but in a way that exuded both his love of sport (track pants) and inner sensitivity (glasses on a necklace so they don’t get lost). Together they emanated a sort of warmth and thoughtfulness that would have been unachievable had they donned the sleeker French fashion that men here are want to adapt. You could tell straight away that they were the sort of people who took life seriously enough when it mattered (in this case, protecting the environment) but not seriously enough to let it damage their good humour.

The gym teacher and philosophy teacher have also, it seems, taken me under their wing to join the “Gaia” club. I didn’t know what it was, but the gym teacher wanted me to come to their tete-a-tete in the library because he knows that I’m doing (not really voluntarily) environmental stuff for Marie-Francoise’s class. So I went, and somehow I got roped into coming every Friday to their planning session for how to introduce the kids to environmental activism. Those who know me know that this isn’t exactly my passion, but whatever. It looks like I’m going to be going ‘green’ after all. Madison couldn’t change me but somehow the gym teacher has managed to get me involved... It’s a good way to practice my French, so I’ll take it. And besides, it’s time I started caring about the earth and stuff, after all, I am a philosopher. Oh and the philosophy teacher told me I could come see any of his classes whenever I want, which I just may do… Though it seems like the French style philosophy isn’t really my favorite (it’s more like a ‘history of’ philosophy where they study the classics and whatnot). In fact, Marie-F has me doing not only environmental ethics with one class, but in her other class she wants me to teach them what she calls “American style” philosophy. I tried to explain to her that it wasn’t “American style” really, but rather just the stuff I like to study –which is different. But she wants me to teach the kids political philosophy like Rawls (who she heard about once and wants me to explain to them and her) and contemporary moral issues. How I wish I had brought my course packet from that class. What on earth am I going to do? The French seem to think that if you get a degree in something, like philosophy, then you are an expert or something. Ha! Like I’m qualified to teach it… in and not in their maternal language. Who knows how that’s going to work out. Watch, I’ll love it. Let’s hope so…

Nothing's Perfect

2007-10-09T12:01:00.000+02:00

You may not believe me when I tell you this, but the other night I discovered that my bed was broken. The first few nights I had noticed that it tilted considerably to the right, but I thought nothing of it. I thought that perhaps the wooden boards had parted and left an unsupported part on the right side. However, when I crawled underneath to inspect it further, I found that the person who built it forgot to nail in the support beam on the right side where all of the planks rest. It had a few nails toward the head and foot, but the middle parts were bending down towards the floor. Great. I certainly couldn’t sleep on it, because I knew if I did I would fall to the floor in the middle of the night. So I threw the mattress on the floor, in the living room, and remade my bed. I hollered to Rachel to come see what happened and she scurried in. When I explained what happened to her, her face filled with outrage and she exclaimed, “Bloody ‘ell!” No other expression could have done justice to our feelings at that moment. She promptly apologized for her language, but I just started laughing. I couldn’t very well stay mad about it after that. I mean, to be honest, the floor was almost more comfortable then the bed…

The next day I went to the multi-purpose woman downstairs and explained what happened. She was horrified that I slept on the floor (though I don’t know why, it’s not like I didn’t have a mattress, and it wasn’t really that big a deal), and she quickly found someone to go have a look at it with her. She said she’d make sure it got fixed that very day, which I think may be a French record. So I took her and this other lady upstairs to have a look at the broken bed, and stupid me and left the door to my ‘room’ open. Remember that room I’m not supposed to have because it’s filled with computers?? Well they had given me the key for it, so I had opened it and thrown my luggage in there so it wouldn’t be all over the living room. Apparently, I wasn’t supposed to have the key and I certainly wasn’t supposed to have put my things in there. The ladies saw the room was open and they freaked out. They started going off in French about how it’s not supposed to be unlocked and I wasn’t supposed to have the key and all sorts of stuff. Crap. Now I’ve done it. They told me I had to take my stuff out, lock it, and return the key. I asked where I should put all my stuff, and they pointed out the closet (which had an old bicycle in it and other random junk) and then a wardrobe (ha that’s british for you) which had a rolled up carpet and some other stuff in it. Well, it looks like I’ll be needing some cleaning supplies if I’m going to unpack, ever. For now my suitcases are crammed in a corner of the living room, and it looks like they’re vomiting clothes out onto the floor. Rachel, bless her heart, isn’t bothered by all my stuff. I think she’s more upset for me than I am, because at this point I’ve just stopped caring. And really, the living room’s not so bad, but I really just want to be settled and it’s hard to do when I know in a month I’ll be removing/arranging everything into another room. Oh well.

Debate

2007-10-03T16:34:00.001+02:00

I have just learned that my Monday B week classes will be in the form of organized debates. I get to pick topics, teach them how to construct/respond to arguments, and facilitate discussion. I’m super excited. These are the kids who are pretty good at English, so they’re trying to do higher level stuff instead of basic grammar. I told the teacher that this setup was wonderful because, as you all know, I love this sort of thing. I don’t get to start with these guys until the end of October, though, because it’s only every other week and they leave for a week to go to England. The question remains: what on earth will I be doing in my other classes??

The kids are starting to warm up. I saw some of the boys I've seen already outside of school today and they shouted "ALLO!" I stopped and talked to them in english for a bit, and they didn't follow it all, which I think embarrassed them in front of their friends. Yes. My job is working...

my fellow expats

2007-10-03T16:33:00.000+02:00

Let me introduce you to my fellow assistants. First there is Irene, who I don’t know very well yet. She’s from Chili and only speaks French and Spanish. She seems very nice, but I don’t know if we’ll hit it off. She lives with Rhiannon, and I think those two will get along nicely.
Rhiannon is next. She’s the other British assistant at my school, and the first one I met. Rhiannon comes from the northern part of England, up in Leeds. She is also a very sweet girl, but very shy. I could tell she was super nervous about this whole situation. I think she was glad to have me here now, so she wouldn’t be alone. We ate lunch together, and she took me around to get some paperwork done.

Lastly, there’s my flatmate Rachel. Rachel doesn’t actually work at our school, she just boards here because her schools didn’t offer her housing. Her schools are actually very disorganized, and it’s making her very stressed out. I’m thankful my school is taking care of us, and that I only have to work at one school instead of 2 or 3. Rachel is from Lancaster, if you know where that is. She seems quite nice, and I think of all the assistants she and I will get along the best so I’m glad that she’s my flatmate. Her dad and boyfriend Collin were here as well to help her get settled. They are both a riot. Her dad made us dinner, and we had some good wine, and talked for quite a bit. We spent the night going over the language differences for Brits/Americans. It’s a fun game. I told them that I love their use of “brilliant” (among others) and they said I should make it popular in the States. But I told them I’d feel like a poser, to which they just laughed. They imitated ‘top hat’ English gents for me (her dad esp loved do to this), and I pronounced words in my accent for them. It was a good time. They also asked what sort of English things I knew about. They loved that I liked Fawlty Towers, and we would randomly throw some quotes out from it (don’t mention the war!). Collin loved that I knew Randall and Hopkirk (the old one too, not the new one) and about Bob Harris (yes, recent knowledge due to Prof BH). I think we all hit it off nicely. I’m glad that there were people here to make this place feel more homey. I think Rachel too was glad that I finally arrived because it took some of the stress off of her. Her bf/dad were glad as well because I think they were nervous about leaving her soon. Collin asked me to watch out for her, since I seemed strangely well-adjusted, and I assured him that I would. It’s her first time abroad, and I know that can be scary. But I told her that we were going to have a terrific time this year, I’d make sure of it. I think that made everyone feel better. The chipper American is here to help!

My flat is interesting. I don’t think it’s that bad, but my I think my flatmate was disappointed with it (I have already learned that the French have much different standards of living). The only real downside is that I don’t have a room, though they said the computers should be gone in 3-4 weeks. Of course in French time, that could mean all year. I still keep my stuff in the room even though I sleep in the living room because I want to be able to unpack a little, even if stuff just has to go on the floor or on computers. The other thing is that the dampness has made this place prone to mold. Rachel and company already scrubbed down most of it, but there’s some on the ceiling in my room that will have to get cleaned up soon. Oh and there’s no laundry mat within a 2 mile radius, so we’ll be washing clothes in the tub. The only part that might be hard is getting clothes to dry in the damp air. But we’ll worry about that later. After all, I'm in France, so who cares??

On the plus side, the flat is very roomy. When I have my room, we’ll have a total of 2 bedrooms, a WC, a bathroom, a kitchen, a living room, and a balcony. We even have a toaster oven! And for 60 euros a month, I was expecting a hole in the wall, so this was great. All it needs are some posters and lampshades. Oh and my bed needs to not be a rock. Then it will be perfect!

Fear has turned into excitement! Here goes nothing…

First Day

2007-10-03T16:32:00.000+02:00

Yves, the friendly English teacher, was waiting for me at the train station. He had the funniest accent. It was like a faux English accent, which was half posh and half just off. It’s hard to describe. I soon found out that he was actually French, but had obviously learned British English. He told me that I had a strong American accent, and I think at times it was hard for him to understand me. I have to learn to slow down and articulate my words. Oh well. Anyway, he brought me back to his house in the country because it was midnight and he didn’t want to wake the other assistant in my flat. When I say his house was in the country, I mean farm/cows/cabin country. It was cute as could be. In the morning he gave me a real country breakfast, which I didn’t seem to have much of a palate for. The homemade yogurt was sour and the cruseli cereal was flavorless. But I was hungry, so I did what I could. Yves played some Britonny music for me, I think so that I’d want to delve into the country/Breton culture while I’m here…which I just might do!

My first day at school was terrifying. I really wasn’t at all scared until I woke up Monday morning and knew that I was about to start work. Yves took me to the school and we got my flat situated first. He warned me that I didn’t have a room yet, because they were using my room to store computers while the school is being renovated. That means I sleep in the living room. Lovely. He asked if I was okay with that, and really, whatever. I pay 60 euros a month; I’m not going to complain. More on the apartment later.

The kids here are terrifying. I had to walk through ‘gaggles’ of them (as my flatmate would call it) to get anywhere, and they all stare! They are also all punks, with their greased up hair and black/dark brown getups. What was I thinking??

The other teachers are as sweet as could be. Sylvie took Rhiannon (the other British assistant) and me to lunch in the canteen. She used to go to this school, and now she teaches English at it. I met more teachers later, and they too were all very friendly. There are 9 English teachers, in all, and I’m afraid it will take me awhile to get to know them all. My tentative schedule has me working with 6 of them! And I thought I’d be bored… Actually, it looks like I’ll be working a little everyday, so no long weekends for me. It’s too hard to get anywhere without a ride to the train station, so I can’t come back late on a Monday. By hard, I mean you need a car to get to a train station that will actually have trains because the one by us you still need a taxi to get to and it won’t get you to many places. This is going to be a problem for next Monday, because the girl from Chili and I both have to go to Paris (for the day) to have our doctor’s appointment. Wonderful. It’s a good 4 hours or so to get to Paris, and who knows where that office is? My teacher said I could take his car, which was very kind of him to offer. It’s too bad I’m not comfortable in a manual car (yes, I know, I should have learned how to drive stick, take it up with Mindy who never let me practice!) and I don’t have an international (or otherwise) driver’s license. In fact, even if I had one, I’d be too terrified to drive in Paris. So, we are in a pickle. We’ll see what happens…

On a good note, the class I sat in on wasn’t bad. Yves told me that the kids had a very good command of English, but I would have disagreed. I guess when I was in high school my French may have been considered ‘good’ for my grade but it still probably sucked. It felt damn good to know English though. There were a few times when the teacher mispronounced things (I know it wasn’t Brit pronunciation because I asked my flatmate later) or said somewhat awkward phrases. He was still really good, mind you, but it felt comforting to know that I at least, if nothing else, have a good command of the subject I’ll be teaching!

Another good note, Yves took the assistants and me shopping, and we got him to recommend some drinks for us. I have bottles of red wine, rose, and cider now in my flat that are all highly praised (and inexpensive). Sweet.

Flight and whatnot

2007-10-03T16:30:00.000+02:00

I’ve just arrived at Heathrow, and after walking aimlessly around the duty free shops I’ve finally located a place to sit. Not that I wasn’t just sitting for 7 or so hours, but whatever. I’m in no mood to shop. The flight over wasn’t too bad, but it wasn’t great either. When I walked past the first class sleeper-seats with their ample leg room and privacy screens, I knew those seats weren’t for me. But I thought there were only two sections, first class and cheap class. No. There’s a business class of sorts, and what appeared to be rather comfy oversized chairs that I would be enjoying turned out to be comfy oversized chairs that other more savvy suit-wearing travelers would be enjoying. Disappointed is an understatement when I finally found 48B. I was on the right side of the plane, in the middle seat. Luckily my row buddies consisted of a very nervous exchange student and a sweet old woman traveling with her husband to Turkey for a few weeks. It could have been much worse, I told myself, because I remembered more than a few suspicious smells as people filed into the plane. Well, I got cozy in my middle seat, and watched a movie, some Gray’s Anatomy, and slept a bit. I only got up once, because I didn’t want to disturb the older lady who slept for most of the flight. Thankfully I’m 5 foot nothing so my legs weren’t too smushed (how do tall people stand it?).

My only regret is that I accidentally turned down the wine offered by the flight attendant. I have trained myself to answer “no thanks” to any and all questions that I missed my chance to have my first French wine of the year (in a quaint little bottle, no less). Some of my fellow passengers had two of those nifty things, one for now and one for after dinner. Dinner itself was surprisingly good. Or maybe it wasn’t, but I was so bored I’d have taken anything. I even had tea after dinner, and I hate tea. I took it though, dutifully, because I was on British Airways, and I planned on flying like the British would. Ha! It’s too bad the tea sucked. The sugar packet couldn’t quite flavor what can only be described as hot water with a bitter after taste. I think it might have been Earl Gray. Or actually, it could have been anything, because I know next to nothing about tea. All I know is that the tea I had kind of tasted how I would imagine Earl Gray to taste… Overall, though, the flight was a success. We had quite a bit of turbulence, which I remember loving as a kid (being blissfully unaware of what it could signify). The turbulence helped break up the flight, to change things up a bit. The only really bad part was that after sitting on the plane for close to 7 hours, we had to spend close to an hour still sitting on the plane waiting to disembark. First, the other plane couldn’t back up. Then no one would move the baggage crane things (to which, our captain confidently told us, he was personally sending someone to yell and throw things until the stuff got moved). Then the “jetty” was broken, and we had to wait for stairs, which didn’t come, so they had to just repair the jetty. It would have been funny if I was with a friend, but when you’re sitting there alone the boredom just kills you.

Never connect through Heathrow (or the UK) if you don’t have to. Even when you’re connecting you have to jump through the security hoops again and the lines are treacherous. It was funny though, because the security line looked more like a frat party than anything else. People pulling off belts and shoes in a hurry, chugging their liquids like their lives depended on it. The lady made me chug my water if I wanted to keep my water bottle, which was a bad idea since I had a good 45 min to wait in line before I was able to reach the bathroom! Also, there was a bit of a firealarm scare. I was sitting reading and heard the alarm go off and they made us all evacuate the wing I was in. By the time we crossed over into the middle section you couldn’t hear the alarm, and no one there knew it was going off. Were we safe now, all because we couldn’t hear the alarm? I don’t know. I was too tired to care. I just waited patiently for the alarm to go off, and then I promptly went back to my seat by the window, fire be damned. I swear, this would have all been rather funny with the right company. Such a shame I was alone.

By the time I got to Paris I was ready to be done traveling. I took a bus to Montparnasse and waited for about 4/5 hours for my train to come. By this point something had gone wrong with the wheels on the bottom of my large suitcase, and it didn’t roll properly. Unfortunately, that made wheeling my stuff around the train station quite a pain. Once I was on the train, I had another 3.5 hours to sit and wait for the Villedieu stop. As it turns out, I couldn’t understand the conductor, and I misheard the stop before mine. I asked someone to confirm that it was the right one, and the girl said it was. So I got off and started fiddling with my luggage, when I had a feeling that I should look around me right away. I spotted a sign that said “Vire” not “Villedieu” and I quickly grabbed my stuff and hopped back on the train before it pulled away. Close call.

Good News

2007-09-01T03:04:00.000+02:00

I thought I'd put my good news up here so I can remind myself not to stress out about leaving soon. The first, there are at least 2 other girl assistants in my city, and one of them will be teaching at my school (thanks facebook). The girl at my school received information from our school that said there are two "flats" for assistants. I think she got more info because she applied through the British consulate. The good part about living at the school (if I can), is that it usually costs between 0-70 euros/month. Some schools don't charge at all, and I haven't heard of anyone being charged more than 100 euros (utilities included). That sure beats the 300-500 euro apartments I found online. Since I'll only be making around 750 euros a month, I'll need to save every bit I can. If I don't have to pay a lot for housing, then I get to travel more!! The other good news is that I found a swim team online. I emailed the contact person and she said there's an adult team (well, I hope it's a team and not just open swim time) for only 130e for the year. She seemed really nice, and I would love to swim again. It's been so long and I really do miss it. Plus, being on a team would be a great way to make friends (and I'll be needing them). Apart from that, I can happily say that I have my arrete, my visa and my plane ticket. What more do I need?

29 days and counting...

Mon Retour

2007-06-23T23:17:00.001+02:00

Well, it's official, I will be heading back to France come September (the 29th, to be exact). I've just received my assignment: assistant English teacher in a public high school. Just when I thought I was done with high school forever, now I have to revisit it in all of it's French glory. To be honest, I'm a mixture of total excitement and utter fear. I'm pumped to head back over the pond, but I'm not sure if I'm cut out for the job. I've heard stories, good and bad, and frankly, I'm not an aspiring teacher so I don't know if I'm the right person for the job. I've never taught anything out of the pool in my life, though at least I can say that I'm well versed in the subject matter. But, as any teacher can tell you, knowing the subject yourself and teaching it to people who don't know it are two totally different things. And high schoolers, well they're just a bundle of hormones and teenage angst (yikes). The hard part is that I can't know yet how it'll turn out, because it all depends on the school I'm in and how helpful (or not helpful) the teachers will be. But, I've always been one for an adventure, and it's the crummy circumstances that teach you the most. So maybe I don't want next year to be all daisies and roses... who knows.

Since I'm not exactly well informed about what's going on when I get there, I thought I'd take this time to tell you what I do know. My city, Avranches, is in Lower Normandy, on the north west coast, right next to Mont St Michel (this sweet castle on an island that I always meant to go to but never did --you can see it from Avranches' botanical gardens!). Avranches is a city of a little less than 10,000 (1/4 of the University of Madison...). I'm slightly worried about it's size, but then again, I did the city thing once and I think I might enjoy the quaint small town thing this time around. And besides, this city has been around since the middle ages, so I'll definitely be in for some amazing history. In fact, the library of Avranches stores the ancient manuscripts of Mont St Michel that were moved during the Revolution and WWII. There are medieval texts complete with calligraphy and drawings, as well as Diderot's first Encyclopedia. Yeah, I'm a dork, so what. I've also found two evangelical (yes, evangelical!) churches online that are in "downtown" Avranches. So I won't have to rely on mass at the cathedral, and maybe one of the churches will be a happy one! It would be so amazing to meet some Christian French folks while I'm there, not just because I'll need friends in general, but because I'll be in dire need of fellowship.

My saving grace, interestingly, will be the fact that this city has a TRAIN STATION, the best (and my favorite) way to travel. So, if I get bored, it's off to Montpellier to see my buddies down at school there (you remember Elodie, and I met two amazing girls in Madison this semester at the agriculture school down there).

So, once again, I'm looking forward to everyone's wonderful prayers and support. I'll need it much more this time around because I really am flying solo. No other students, no plan, no housing (!!!), no money, no friends, no idea how to teach... you get the idea. But God is good, and He's never left my side. In fact, last time I was in France I felt Him with me more than ever. When you're finally in a country where no one is shouting about God, it's quiet enough for you to hear his real voice. And it's there, waiting to help you along.

When in Rome...

2006-07-17T00:38:00.000+02:00

No Ron, that doesn't work here..wait, actually it does...(this anchorman quote goes out to all my french buddies who I miss so much already, this was the last movie we watched together...sad). So as you may have guessed, this is the story of our stay in Rome. It started out kinda rocky. We arrived late and had half and hour to check into our hostel before our spot was given up (somthing about absolutly no checkins after 6pm w/o calling first but we didnt' have the number..you know, the usual). So we prayed, Lord take us to our hostel in time, we don't have any directions (oops, forgot to write those down) or a map, but we know you can get us there. And like the guardian He is, the second we walked off the platform a man approached us and started speaking english. He asked if we had a place to stay (he was a walking info dude). We gave him the address and he traced our route on a map and sent us in the right direction. Needless to say, we got there in time. When we got there we found out that we apparently only booked the one night, not two. This is very bad because online almost everywhere was booked for the time we planned on coming. We were lucky to find this place. But God was watching out for us, and as it turns out our beds happened to be vacent the next night so booked it right away. The hostel itself was a little sketchy but you get to the point where you're expectations aren't real high after traveling for awhile. The shower was a shower head on the wall in the bathroom with a hole in the ground a couple feet from the toilet for the water to drain. But the water pressure was excellent, so I had no complaints. Our room door had only one key that you share with everyone so you have to drop it off and pick it up at the desk everytime. For some reason we could never open the door on our own. We had to ask the dude at the desk everytime. He either thought we were crazy or that we liked him. Oh well.

Now for the exciting stuff. The first night we saw a lot. We walked to the Colesseum, explored the Forum, wandered by the Panetheon and stumbled upone some famous fountains (of which I already forgot the names, but they were cool). Everything was huge. Columns were everywhere, often chillin out and not holding anything up. We soaked it all in. The history there is unbelievable. You can't even comprehend it. You just take in as much as you can. We hit up some more gelato, it was stellar. By the way, hazulnut (the nut used in nutella with chocolate which is the euro version of peanutbutter) and chocolate gelato mixed is a close rival to my old favorite chocolate peanutbutter at Madison. Nothing has come close before. So thats how good it is.

The next morning we made it out to the Vatican before 8 (to beat the crowds) and we stil lwaited another 2 hours in line before we could go in. They had statues galore. We saw cool scenes painted by Rapheal. But the piece de la resistance, as you may have guessed, was seeing the Sistine Chapel. For some reason, I just thought it was a dome or something. I don't know, I was stupid. It's actually a chapel, and a pretty big one at that. The walls and ceiling were covered with Biblical scenes. From the ceiling you could trace the Bible from creation (the famous God man finger touch), Adam and Eve, the flood, all the way through David, Jonah, to John the Baptist and then the scenes of Christ. (i'll finish this post if I ever find my red notebook!)

Venizia, Italia

2006-07-17T00:03:00.000+02:00

When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie...that's amore! yeah we arrived in Venice today, so this Dean Martin favorite slowly took the place of the sound of music songs playing in our heads. Some may recall this as one of my favorite songs last year, for no apparent reason. But it seemed fitting for our next stop. Not just because the song is quasi-italian, but more because it's so cheesey. And as much as I love Venice, its definitly on the cheesey side.

The first day we got there kind of late in the afternoon. But as usual we try to see the whole city the first night. It's habit or something. So that first afternoon/night we walked the entire city, not an easy task. To find the major spots, like the Rialto bridge and San Marco square, is not someting you can do by looking at a map. Instead you try to point yourself in the right direction and just walk. As you wind through various ally ways and over bridges big and small you start to wonder if you'll ever make it out of the maze that is Venice. Eventually you see signs with arrows that you faithfully follow for about an hour (though you seem to walk in circles), and eventually you get there. On the way you can stop to admire the many masks in the famous Carnival shops or check out some venician glass in one of their many shops. At some point you find yourself in the middle of a million tourists, and at that point you know you've found something. I didn't mind them as much as most people do. They add another dimension to traveling. They're often a sight to see in and of themselves. I'm one of them. It's wierd. Some of them are way over excited, some frustrated, some spend some much time taking pictures you wonder if they stop to see the city without looking through the lens of thier cameras.

I really loved the archetecture here. Everything is old and delicate. The whole city seems as fragile as the galss they're famous for making. The buildings just scream history and pride, both of which the city seems to hold onto for dear life while it's slowly being adulterated by tourism (the only thing, ironcially, that still keeps it alive). The canals really are cooler then you'd think. There are no cars. The buses are boats. You have to cross more bridges, big and small, then you'd ever imagine. The gondolas are sweet, but too pricey for the likes of me. Its just crazy that they designed and built a city where you need boats to traverse it. You can see many buildings where the steps to the front entrance lead directly from the water, no sidewalk or anything. Bizarre but cool.

Dana and I happened to be staying in a suburb of Venice so we went to one of thier local pizzarias for food. The waiter was crazy. He kept telling us about all his specialties and this special cheese his dad makes in Napoli. He was italian, he was a talker...when it came time to order we actually didn't get to order anything. He picked for us. A special not on the menu, but with his dad's special cheese. So we were way confused but it was funny. He came out with flavored pizza crust and a plate of tomatoes and cheese. It was actually really good. A rare dish we probably wouldn't have tried otherwise. We had to disappoint him later when we declined to hang out with him after work. Oh well.

Well we saw al lwe wanted to of Venice in half a day, so we decided to head elsewhere the next day. We thought about Florence, but the David statue was closed and I didn't feel like doing the museam thing all day. So Dana, the genius, suggested finding a beach in Venice. Brilliant. We were joined by our new friend Katie from Washington who has been traveling Europe solo. She's super sweet and she was pumped for relaxing for a day. We spent a good afternoon there and got some sun. We got to take a dip in the Adriatic. Life is good. It got even better when we found some gelato on the way home. It's pretty much heaven in a cup.

Later that night we got all cleaned up and went back into Venice to see it at night. It was gorgious. The restaurants all had a very romantic ambiance, not to mention the gondolas drifting down the canals. The three of us wandered until we saw the best gelato and we had some more. We got ourselves to the other side of the city again, and had to maze our way back out. It's much longer when its late and you're tired. But we made it to the train and caught our ride back to the burbs. All in all Venice was about what I expected. Very touristy, but still beautiful and unique. The atmosphere hadn't been killed completely by tourism so I liked it. Now we're headed to Rome where we have 2.5 days to see it all. I have a feeling we're only going to scrape the surface. I'm super pumped. I'm sad that this is our last city till Paris. It's starting to hit me that I might actually have to leave. But for now, I'm taking it all in. Vita vella. Ciao!

Salzburg, Austria

2006-07-16T22:57:00.000+02:00

So the morning we left Switzerland was clear and beautiful, so consequently we had an amazing train ride through the Swiss and Austrian alps. It is seriously undescribable. An eight hour ride could never be so pleasant otherwise. My pictures don't capture a fraction of the beauty I saw. Majestic. That's all I can say to describe it.

We got to Salzburg and settled in. It was about 5pm so we didn't want go "sight-seeing" in town. So instead we rented bikes, like old school handle bar and bell bikes. It was awesome. Something about riding a bike just makes you feel like a kid again. I'm not talking about hard core race bikes or mountain biking, but riding just for fun. I recommend it for everyone. So not sure where to go, we just turned towards the biggest mountain (I was told its name a million times but I can't ever remember it because german just sounds like gibberish to me) and rode. On our way towardsit we stumbled upon the Sound of Music house (front entrance) and the lane that Maria walks down with her guitar singing "I have confidence in me!" For those who were unaware, Salzburg was the film location for that movie. We took a tour the next day which is how we knew that what we rode by was what it was. We also found the gazebo with the very famous I am 16 going on 17 song. We also found several amazing playgrounds (much more fun than US playgrounds) and had the most scenic bike ride ever. You just can't beat a ride along fields with the Alps towering in the background. I'm sorry but no where in WI can compare.

The next day started a little rough because we were lacking on sleep (the biggest downfall of hostels, the more people in a room, the higher chance you'll have a loud snorer). But we did the early S of M tour anways and loved it. Our guide was a stich, as Dana says. We met two sweet girls from Texas who sang and goofed off with us. We got to frolick in the park where the kids in the movie ran around singing Do Re Me. We got to tabogin down a Bavarian alp! We saw the beautiful lake district where the church is from the wedding scene.

That afternoon was less eventful because we were pretty tired. We cruised around old downtown. Salzburg is such a pretty town. Now many grocery stores, but no town's perfect. As for cuisine, we both tried strudel, Dana had apple and I had tophen (white cheese?), and I had wienerschitzle cause momma told me to try it. Not too shabby. But now I'm on my way to Italy and I feel like that food will be more to my liking. That night the hostel played S of M so was had to watch it. I'd been so long since I last saw it. But after being in the city and tour it was so cool to see everything and know that I saw it in real life. I know that makes me an official dorky tourist. But I'm okay with that.

Oh and praise God that He got Dana and I to the train station on time. We had the alarm set for 5:15. There was a 6:08 bus we had to catch to make our train. The next one wasn't until 6:45 and wouldnt get us to our 7:04 train on time. Unfortunatly, for reasons unbeknownst to me, I did not hear my alarm. It was either under my pillow or we were just too tired to hear it at all. Miraculously, God woke me up at 5:57 (andI never wake up on my own that early, esp when I'm that tired, and if I do I almost always just roll over and go back to sleep). But when he woke me up he also gave me a sense of urgancy. I checked the alarm clock, freaked out, and jumped up to wake up Dana. Thankfully we packed everything last night so we just got changed, grabbed our stuff and booked it. Nothing left behind, we didn't even check out. We just threw our keys on the counter and ran. We got to the stop as the bus pulled up. A second later and we would have missed the bus and our train. So praise God for looking out for us and waking our butts up.

One last thought about the mountains. They've alternated from being a million different shades of green to rock and snow, from covered with clouds, to perfectly clear. There's somthing about them that I just can't explain. It's like that sometimes. I finally know what they mean when they say "it never ceases to amaze me" because it honestly hasn't. When they're green they give this wonderful impression of life and growth. When they're covered with snow it's like even the scarey jagged edge of the rock cliffs can be softened by something as light and pure as snow, like they're covered by a white veil. Both types express ultimate rest. The mountains aren't in a hurry to go anywhere. They seem content to just be. That's good enough for them. And in doing so they emmanate strength and might. Then sometimes these great mountains are themselves overtaken by clouds, harmless clouds can slowly overtake the giants at rest. And when the clouds do cover them, it's like they're trying to hide this great secret. It also looks like God's there, just chillin on earth, circa Mt Sinai or something. You just feel like you're seeing his presence just resting there, watching over the whole world.

You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.
Isaiah 55:12

Right now as I ride to Italy, the clouds have almost completely covered the mountains. They're look cloaked in mystery. But it's like a veil that God will lift in his own time. Then we'll all know what's been hidden. And when it's unveiled, like when you see the mountains after the clouds lift, you will have to stand in awe. I know for some of you that brings back a ton of references in the Bible, but that's what I saw when I watched out my train window. I firmly believe, espially now, that God uses his creation to reveal and remind us of Biblical truths. Like the mountains, Jesus is a source of life and growth (like the green ones) but he's also a dicatomy of strength (sharp rock face) and gentle purity (snow). For some the mystery of Christ is still hidden behind a veil of clouds, but it doesn't mean they don't wonder what's behind it all. When God lifts the veil, they'll see the truth. Maybe that didn't make sense to you, but if you saw what I did you'd understand. I find it funny that I haven't heard a sermon all semester but God teaches me just the same by having me look out the window of my train. He likes to do things like that.

Interlocken, Switzerland

2006-07-16T22:31:00.000+02:00

So Interlocken, random? A little. Dana and I spent 6 hrs last night planning this trip. Today we were going to go to Cannes for the film festival, but for various reasons we find ourselves today in the middle of the swiss alps. Amazing. We got here, exhausted, and couldn't believe our eyes. On the train the landscape was gradually progressing from flat farmlands to mountains and kelly green fields. When we saw the first mountains with snow cap tops we knew. We were in the swiss alps. Flashback to Torino in Feb... I was awed then and all I saw for the most part was a blizzard. These were the Alps as God made them, in all of their splendor. Thier very presence cried out, worshipping thier creator. I've been told you that you can see God's presence in nature, that his handiwork is written all over just yearning for our attention. I don't think I ever really understood that until today. No picture could do it justice.

When we finally reached Interlocken I was kind of disappointed that most of the mountains were covered in clouds and that the rain was pouring pretty steadily. But Dana and I trekked out anyways. We went on a hike up the mountain that reaches up above our hostel. It rained, it was cold, it was definitly slippery, but we kept on hiking. God rewarded us ten fold. We reached one clearing that must have put us exactly between two clouds, the fog below and the raind clouds above. As we watched, we praised God for lifting the veil of clouds off the mountains for us to see. As we praised Him, the clouds on the mouintians across from us started clearing away. We was giving us a special show, no more than a few minutes, that no one else probably saw today. With the weather as it was, we had to be in that exact spot at that exact time to see it! After that the clouds came back and we were back in our hazy fog. To thank God for for his special show, we started singing. We sang any and every worship song we could think of. God protected our steps as we climbed higher and higher (but we barely made any progress in comparison to the hugeness of the mountain itself). Singing and going up hill, not easy. But we sang anyways. The way down was easier. We sang "our God is an awesome God" and the thunder part (there's lighting in his footsteps and thunder in his fists) when we heard thunder in the background. Maybe we should have been concerned that we were up a mountain in the middle of a thunderstorm, but it didn't even register to us at the time. But why worry about that, God was there. So was a runner, apparently, who smiled as he passed us letting us know that he heard our little concert as he ran by (I wonder if he knew english?).

When we got back down we were soaked to the bone. It was hard to believe that so muched happened in just one day. Tomorrow we leave at 6am for Austria. Who knows what God has in store for us there...

London

2006-06-19T01:20:00.000+02:00

I’m gonna throw this out there…you can take it, or you can send it right back….Mind ze Gap! Okay so maybe this only funny if you are Elodie or Dana, but whatever. So I left everyone today (saddest morning ever- I had to fight so hard to hold back the tears…because I knew that once they started they wouldn’t stop). The friendships I’ve made are irreplaceable, and I won’t let them fade away even though we won’t all be together for some time. That was the day I dreaded most, more than actually flying home. It still hasn’t hit me fully yet. I know it will when I get home and I’m not looking forward to that. But so as not to dwell on goodbyes, I’ll stop myself.

So after I said farewell, we were off to London. All of this was made possible by my mom’s cousin Mark who wanted to make sure Dana, Elodie and I treated ourselves a little bit while we were here. Little did he know the extent to which his gift would reach…I’m going to hold you in suspense for a bit while I tell you everything we saw…

So we flew on over to England, and that was Elodie’s first time in a plane! She was nervous, understandably, but she was a trooper. The bus ride from the airport to downtown was itself a treat. The landscape was so different from France. The foggy and gray sky contrasted sharply with the bright green pastures and brillent yellow flower fields. The houses were so quaint I felt like I was in the shire or something. I really feel like I could live there. We made it to the “tube” (metro/subway) and successfully located our hostel (thanks in part to being a country where they speak English!). If we were lost, we could just ask and actually understand their directions, craziness. That night we trekked out to the London Eye (the famous Ferris wheel), happened to stumble upon Big Ben in the process, ran into Westminster Abby, took some pics in a red phone booth, and cruised around Piccadilly Circus. That night we even sampled the oh so famous fish and chips (which I loved of course, in all its fried goodness). My favorite spot had to be Big Ben. I took way too many pictures. It just pleasantly surprised me because I guess I didn’t expect to be all that impressed by it. Elodie made fun of me and started singing/rapping “Biggie biggie ben, biggie biggie big Ben.” Maybe you had to be there…and a minor tangent. It’s really funny when Elodie tries to say “mind the gap” (the warning over the intercom in the metro- so British) because it sounds more like mind ze gap…anyways…That night something cool happened but I’m saving the best for last so you’ll have to wait.

The next morning we sought out Abbey Road. It was a cool and not cool at the same time. Maybe I expected big statues of the Beatles to be in the middle of the road or something, at least a sign- but it was just a regular intersection, with lots of cars too. But we walked across and had someone take a pic for us (like the obnoxious tourists that we are). Then we hustled over to Buckingham palace for the end of the changing of the guards. They looked so funny, I’ll admit. We scouted out the Tower of London which was pretty cool. London Bridge, though, not that exciting. We got on a bus to find the Globe theater and found ourselves back at the Eye. We searched out Portebello market in Nottinghill which was pretty cool. Stuff was too expensive but the shops were cool. We got on a big double decker bus just for kicks and did some mindless wandering for the majority of the day.

The next morning we headed back. Let it be known that Elodie was a lot of fun to watch during the whole trip. She was like a little kid at the circus. She took in everything with wide-eyed curiosity. She was so happy to be there. The whole language barrier didn’t stop us all from having a blast. Like when Elodie took a picture of our steward because she thought he was cute. That was hilarious. And when we got back she took us to the riverfront where we felt like were down home in the country just soaking up some sun.

Now for the best part. So God has an interesting sense of timing- as usual. I’ve know all these people for a whole semester and God hasn’t seen fit (until literally the last days I have with them) until now to start up conversations- about himself. Remember my talk with Bhavana and Christina (I love you girls, by the way, and miss you terribly!!). Remember how I didn’t want to talk about it but God thought otherwise. (notice how Isaiah 55 covers it all throughout this story)

For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,
declares the LORD.
As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
Isaiah 55:8-9

Well it sort of went down that way again…

Elodie was raised Catholic (that is, catholic French style…), but up until now I had no idea what she actually believed. I found out later the first night that she wavers between believing there must be a God to thinking the whole thing is ridiculous. So back to what happened. Dana busted out our devotional book and gave me that are-you-ready look. I looked over at Elodie, who seemed eager to do whatever we were doing. So I sighed and said I guess. In my mind I was asking God: how is this going to work, are you kidding me?? I reluctantly asked Elodie if she wanted to join us. She seemed confused as to what we were doing, but she was excited to do whatever we were.

Now for a quick flashback to when Dana and I were packing for the trip. When we packed the devotional book and Bible, my French Bible sitting on my desk caught my eye. I looked at it long and hard. If I brought it, Elodie could maybe join us…oh but that would be so hard to make work, and anyways she wouldn’t want to…These thoughts reeled through my head and fought the serious urging I had from God to take it with me. I squelched his prompting, with some guilt, as quick as I could and just turned my attention to something else. That was a mistake, but don’t worry because God worked around it, as usual.

Second flashback… Dana and I always try to pray before we eat. But with Elodie there I wasn’t sure what we should do. After all, it’s rude to just quick pray in English and exclude her. But if we tried to just do it in our heads and hide our prayer that doesn’t seem right either. So I asked if she wanted to pray with us. She said yes. So for our meals either Dana or I prayed and then I’d pray again in French (miserable French at that, but she understood and God certainly did). Elodie told me she a friend who does that (a member of the reformed church of France). She asked why we do it, which is an honest question that I’ve never had to explain to anyone before. I told her that we want to thank the person who gave us our food. We should always be thankful and remember how much God has blessed us. We often neglect to do this, but if we remember to thank Him before meals it reminds us of our blessings.

Third observation… in light of God’s recent “showings-up” – in an evangelical sense –I’d like to point out the progression of monthly topics in our devotional book. It started with God’s character, then grace, then prayer. All three seemingly led up to May, the month about witnessing. As though God timed it so as to first prepare us and then send us (or in my case, send them to me!). Okay back to the story…

Dana read (I don’t even remember what on) and I translated the verse first (with some explanation) and then the story. While explaining the story I tried (well not really me, I’ll explain) making the connection for her to her own life and what God has for her. I’m pretty sure it was all new to her. She had all sorts of questions. What kind of book is that? Can she get one? Do I really read the Bible for myself? What do Dana and I believe about it all? Then we read from the chapter the verse was from: Isaiah 55 (a meaty chapter, and not an easy one to translate on the spot). Did I translate the whole thing, you bet. Was it hard? Yes and no. Did I wish I brought my French Bible? Definitely. Did God make it work anways? Yes!

I went through the chapter verse by verse in my feeble attempts at French. I was actually forced to break it down for her because it wasn’t even possible for me to just translate it word for word. I didn’t know enough French for that, and even if I did it wouldn’t make sense. So each verse got a deeper explanation, one that she could understand and relate to. I’ve never studied that chapter in depth, and I know I couldn’t break it down like that right now in English. That’s because it wasn’t me at all. It was God in me who worked. I know this with all my heart because I was explaining scripture to her in French that I don’t understand in English. It was crazy. This is not an exaggeration. Trust me when I say my words were not my own. They couldn’t have been, especially not in French. I still spoke poor French and God used that. This wasn’t a tongues thing, I wasn’t rolling out with the words, in fact I was more often then not at a loss for vocab which forced me to think more deeply about the verse to better explain it. Although the gift of tongues would have been very helpful right then. Even through my feeble attempts, she amazingly understood. That was all God. My weakness, His strength. My hesitation, His will. I’ve never understood that as clearly as I did that night.

The part I remember the most is the part that calls all who are thirsty, hungry, poor. They will all be filled. It’s an invitation to be satisfied.

Come, all you who are thirsty,
come to the waters;
and you who have no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without cost.

Why spend money on what is not bread,
and your labor on what does not satisfy?
Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good,
and your soul will delight in the richest of fare.

Give ear and come to me;
hear me, that your soul may live.
I will make an everlasting covenant with you,
my faithful love promised to David.
Isaiah 55: 1-3

Months before this night Elodie told me that her boyfriend’s brother committed suicide. They didn’t understand how he could be that dissatisfied with life, because he seemed to be doing well. So we talked about how everyone has this yearning for something more, this underlying dissatisfaction with life. They try to fill it with relationships, success, addictions, but none of it lasts. None of it works. But God is inviting us to be filled, to be made whole. I think that hit home with her. We asked her if she wanted to pray with us. She was hesitant, said she didn’t know how. I told her to just pretend that he’s in the room with us, just chilling out. Talk to him like you would us. To my surprise, that’s exactly what she did. No “dear God” to open. No bowed head, no closed eyes. She just started talking, facing us, like it was a normal part of our conversation. She said how thankful she was to have the opportunity to be in London and with us. Dana and I were surprised, though we shouldn’t have been. She did exactly what we told her. She talked to God like he was right there, like he really is.

So after that it occurred to me that maybe the Lord’s prayer would be a good starting point. I mean if anyone knows how to pray it’s Jesus. So I flipped to it and started translating. She recognized it right away. She had it memorized for confirmation or something. I asked her if she knew what it meant. Not really, she said. So I had her repeat it one line at a time and I broke it down for her. Someone did that once for me and it means so much more when you really examine it. This was kind of hard in French, but it worked out. I’d break a line down (when I say “I” it means you know who but with my mouth…) and then keep relating it back to why we say it, how God uses it to teach us about himself more than He needs it. She followed, I think. She grabbed my Bible from me and flipped through it. I think it was weird to her that I wrote in it. I asked if she wanted my French one, since I don’t have much use for it anymore. She did but she wanted my underlining and notes in it too. So instead of giving it to her now I’m taking it home and working in it then mailing it back with some notes and stuff. I’m gonna try to hook her up with a devotional book too but that may be hard to find.

So after 2 devotional nights with Elodie, I was mentally drained (can’t speak any language right now) but I was spiritually pumped. God is moving in her, I know it. He put it on my heart (and I ask for you too) to pray hardcore for her. She’s one of the nicest and sweetest girls I have ever met. She has seriously been a God-send to me. Our friendship was seemingly random, but it’s anything but a coincidence. I know that much.

So God is continuing the pattern he started this month. I’m about to leave someone, and that’s when He decides it’s time to plant some seeds. It’s frustrating for me when He does that, and He knows it. It’s like this is just as much for me to learn to trust that God will finish the work he starts in them as it is for them to learn about him.

So is my word that goes out from my mouth:
It will not return to me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire
and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.
Isaiah 55:11 (word = Christ)

I would have much rather this gone down in the beginning so I could keep planting and watering all semester and maybe even see the harvest (a blessing I’ve always longed for, to see a friend come to Christ, that God has, for his own reasons, withheld). But if it happened that way, who would I be relying on? So I’m sure you see where I’m going with this. Don’t get me wrong, I will still do what I can and for sure will pray. But my lesson is to have faith that God will take care of them. Because that’s a job I can’t do. So pray! God is moving in hearts across the world, any language. Nothing is too hard for Him.

Surely you will summon nations you know not,
and nations that do not know you will hasten to you,
because of the LORD your God
Isaiah 55:5

Africa Part II

2006-06-04T01:27:00.000+02:00

So...the rest of my adventures in Tunisia. The day after camel riding in the desert we got a nice change up and got to go for buggy rides thorugh the oasis. We saw a dude climb a palm tree, and we saw lots of different flowers (my favorite looked like a pink hibiscus), and of course there were tons of palm trees. It was crazy to ride through the oasis knowing all around it is lifeless desert. The contrast is crazy. We got some more time in the market (but by then I was getting sick of it...haggling is only fun for so long...).

The best part of the day was riding in the 4x4 (in French it sounds like they're saying cat-cat). All 7 of us got in the off roading SUV and we headed back out to the desert. We flew over sand dunes while listening to random pop songs our driver had on a mixed tape. Christina was a bit scared, and I think Bhavana got the biggest kick out of watching her. Car dancing followed, as did bobble heads. It was chaos. The highlight of the trip, if I could name one.

We took the 4x4 towards Algeria- about as close as you can get without actually being in it. We stopped at some old ruins and a place that was kinda like the grand canyon (or so I'm told), among other things.

Later that day we made friends with this little French boy, David, who is 8 1/2. He ate the rest of his meals at our table. I'd like to think it's because we were the cool Americans... No actually I think he felt cool knowing more French than us. So he chatted it up at meals and on the bus with us, and occasionally corrected our French. He was a cool kid. Oh and we taught him how to play paper football, that was sweet.

The next day we started with some old roman ruins. Little known by most people was that Tunisia was once a part of the Roman Empire. So we saw some old temples (I forget for which deities), an amphitheater, and an old bath house. The mosaic files on the floor were remarkably preserved. Now the coolest thing that I caught (among a mile long list of facts speedily thrown at us by our French tour guide) was an old baptism pool from the first Christians. I don’t think anyone else paid it much notice. It was really cool to see, though, for me anyways. It looked like the one at Elmbrook (bathtub sizeish), only decked out in cool tiles. More importantly is its significance for that time period. You may or may not recall that a good chunk of the New Testament documents the first growth of the church in the Roman Empire. That means that even remote places like Tunisia heard the good news of Christ, and they followed Him. Not only did they follow Him, but right next to the 3 temples to Mars and company they set-up a radical statement of their faith to baptize new believers. Sweet stuff. I would give anything to have been there. I mean just imagine it. A place where roman gods reign supreme and these crazy people come through with this whole new message. One that requires a complete turn from anything they’d ever grown up with. Only God could be behind that. The sad part, though, is that this place that once was a testament to Christ is now only in ruins, like the temples to the roman gods. The country is now dominated by Islam, and you’d be hard pressed to find practicing followers of Christ in that land. So don’t think that all because places like America are supposedly “Christian” now, it doesn’t mean it will last. In fact, for years the US has been moving quite far from God because we’d rather be a country of selfish demi-gods. We all want to be our own rulers, our own gods. Living in worlds biggest super power country only adds to our ever growing egos. So just remember that complacency is dangerous. Places that once followed God aren’t exempt from temptation to follow other “gods.”

Going into the mosques was hard, because it brought me face to face with a system that is missing the whole point- Christ. They get some of it right, but the important part isn’t there, and that’s the grace of God and his gift of salvation. Their religion is dominated by rules, like the Jews under the Mosaic Law. Some believe the same to be true of Christianity, but it’s not at all. Christ came to tell us that we can’t ever live perfectly on our own. But if we believe in Him then we are made perfect by his sacrifice. No amount of daily prayer or dress code or eating restrictions can ever add up to his gift…anyways though…Their worship of God is based in fear, trying to earn redemption. We are told that we should fear God, for that is the beginning of wisdom. However, we should also feel deeply loved by God, a personal, close enough to touch God. His grace, which we believe by faith, is our salvation. No rules or works will earn it. We need a Savior. That joy is missing. This isn’t to say that the people I saw seemed unhappy, not at all. But temporary happiness and eternal joy are not the same. My heart could feel the weight of the burden they carry. A burden only lifted with Christ. They too are God’s people, carefully and wonderfully made. But there rests a veil, like the ones that cover the heads of devout women, a veil keeping them from the truth. Pray that God will soon tear that veil and reveal himself in a big way to them.

Well after all that trekking it was time we returned to the island for a few more days of sun and then head home. It was sad to leave, and I’m rushing the end because I don’t like writing goodbyes. This one was to Tunisia. We miss you already.

Africa...

2006-05-12T14:54:00.000+02:00

So the following is an account, a poor one at that, of my adventures in Africa for a week. Actually, let me clarify, I was on the continent of Africa yes, but it wasn't you're usual safari/lion king kinda place. I was in North Africa, which for all intensive purposes is generally considered the Middle East. So the culture I got a taste of was one that's been kind of important in current events, so to speak. Let me begin with this: I LOVED it. I've never had a more unique or fun vacation to date. And as of this semester, I've been a lot of places. But let me tell you, Tunisia is not Europe. Eventually all the churches and museams and everything start looking alike in Europe, but in Tunisia I felt like I was on another planet.

We began our adventures on the island of Djerba (so pretty much a relaxing resort). All of the buildings were white-washed with blue doors or beams. That was soo beautiful. Most of the houses also had dome roofs which were pretty cool. So we started out sun bathing and swimming in the Mediterranian. We attracked a bit of attention when asked our nationality. They guessed Beligum for me and Portugeuse for others. Nope, American, we said. They didn't believe us. We were sometimes the first or second americans they'd EVER seen. It was crazy. The only people that go to Tunisia, we were later told, are french speaking people from Europe (it was a french protectorate). So needless to say we made a splash. Lots of ppl hollered out Bush to us, which didn't phase us much because they were doing it in a lighthearted manner. (I do realize that this is probably one of the safest Middle Eastern countries for an american to be in because it has no direct beef with the states or Bush and they LOVE making money off of tourists...even americans). So we relaxed and got some sun. I got to try a hooka which is a cultural pipe thing they have. It funnels flavored smoke through water to filter the impurites out and you get smoky incense left or something. Everyone was pretty suave with their swigs, but I on the other hand was ridiculous. It doesnt feel like you breath any in so when you stop you don't think you got any but they when you go to exhale all this smoke is there. It freaked me out and I just looked silly. Kyle claims he can do the rings, but we never saw it. The guys there were ridiculous by the way. Everywhere we went (that is the girls) we were propositioned, offerend coffee, offereed camels (to the boys in our group) in exchange for our hand in marriage, offered other things...It got annoying but at least we made some awesome deals in the shops because of it (the boys never got prices as low as ours).

Shopping was interesting. There are no set prices. They give you an absurd number and you give them an equally absurd one back. Eventually you make an agreement. They'll go real low if you start walking away (if you ever need to try it). It was fun at first but after awhile you just wanted to know what it cost and be done with it!

After a couple days we began our tour (in french with famlies and stuff...that was interesting). We started in this place where the sheperd ppl live. Its where they filmed part of Star Wars apparently. This culture is a lot different from the rest of the country, mainly Islamic. This people just chill out in there cave houses and weave and sheperd and all that good stuff. Where we went it was more for tourists to see, but there are a lot who still do everything the old ways to guard thier culture. (notice my lack of actual information, this will be common, the tour guide spoke really fast and in french...so i got only the gist of it...sorry). I can see why they filmed Star Wars here, it really didn't look like the earth I'm used to. That's in all seriousness by the way. It's not what you would usually think of when you think of a beautiful place, but it was litterally awesome, because it really did fill you with awe. God is creative. He did not make the whole world the same. It's really cool to be reminded of that just by seing His handywork. I seriously wonder sometimes how He came up with it all. But then I just remember...He's God.

The next place was really cool too, but kinda scarey. It was once a sea, I believe, and is now vast salty earth with some puddles here and there. It doesn't sound impressive, but it is. The impressive part is the size. It is huge. Vast, as Nasco and Kyle said. In fact, here's a picture of them trying to show the vastness. The sky just blended with the earth into one blurry thing. If you were left out in the middle of that, well that would suck a lot. I'd also like to show you the sign for Algerie, because while Tunisia may be neglected in french classes, Algerie is not. France and Algerie had a big war with them from 1952-1962 for their independance, which they got. Unfortunatly they are not on good terms and it is not a good vacation destination for francophones....

The next stop was the SAHARA, desert that is. Yeah the famous one. The crazy thing is, even though its just a bunch of sand (like a beach sans water), it's still really cool. Normally sand, like at a beach, isn't all that impressive but the sea or ocean is so huge and goes on forever. Well this time it was the sand. And there was lots of it. We saw at one point an oasis on our right and the desert on our left. Now an oasis isn't the two palm trees and a pond like you usually think of. An oasis is a ridiculously huge field of palm trees. Like a big farm of them. The reason it's an oasis is because it has a nifty supply of water somewhere underneath it that keeps the trees alive. So that was on one side, endless palm trees. The other side was sand and hills of sand and scorching sun that just goes on and on and on. It's crazy. You just don't see an end. Now to top of this, we did what every stupid western tourist (myself included) wants to do in the desert...we rode a camel! Well actually a dryaid (sp?) or something (one humped camel). They are bigger than you'd think. And they smell. They all look like girls too because of they're curly eyelashes. The people dressed us up in traditional tunic garb with the head covering. Now you wonder why they wear so much if its so hot, right? Well we figured that out soon enough. Once you step outside the sand blows. Everywhere. I couldn't see without my sunglasses on. I couldn't open my mouth without the cloth over it. So it all made sense. Now back to the camel. I got on mine, she was real sweet. But there was a bizarre dude leading my camel. I was the first on, but somehow I got behind all my friends and they were all up ahead farther than I could see. In fact I wasn't by any of our tour group. It was me and the camel guy. Now why do you think he did that? I'll give you one guess. I didn't think I looked so great with the garb on, but what can I say...He wanted to have lunch with me, know where the hotel was, where we were headed...now I didn't think that was good info to give out (esp since I was worried about being back there all aloneish) so I did the dumb blond (add foreigner to that) thing. He spoke in french, I didn't understand. He tried english, still no luck. Of course I really did understand but you get what I was going for. Then I ask for him to take me by my friends in the pink headgear. I think he thought I said boyfriend though. It seemed like after that he felt defeated cause he walked me up to another group of people and gave my camel to someone else. So I wasn't with my friends but at least there was no more tete-a-tete. Unfortunatly, because of his little shinanigins there is no pic of me on the camel...sorry. But don't worry, I still had a lot of fun. I was on a camel! Afterwards when he tried to find me again I pretended like Kyle was my boyfriend and it all worked out. Oh those guys...(thats my view from atop the camel by the way)

This is it for Part I. For more, tune in next week...haha. I'm such a tool. More coming though, I promise...

last quiz night.

2006-05-12T14:47:00.000+02:00

This is a short one. just wanted to point out the fact that this part of my semester sucks. I went to quiz night last night and was real close to crying. You all know I don't do that often. I couldn't even have fun I was so upset at the thought of everyone leaving. france has been great but it wouldn't be half as amazing without all the people I've met here. I've never had a goodbye feel so emotional before. I think it's because for all practical purposes I won't see these people in a long long time if at all (of course Bhav and Christina have to live on opposite coasts...sad, not to mention Elodie on another continent). Even if I see them I won't have their constant presence to bring a smile to my face (cheesy but true..). Tomorrow is my last day with them. Gotta make it count...

a friday not soon forgotten

2006-05-08T17:27:00.002+02:00

This was a Friday night that I won’t easily forget. But isn’t that always the case when God shows up in a big way? It’s easy to overlook Him in the minor details of life (though we shouldn’t be so complacent in our ingratitude), but sometimes He makes it clear that He is here and He is in charge. This is a weird entry to write about because those involved will probably be reading it (so if that’s you –I love you two!).

Anyways, back to what happened. Christina, Bhavana and I were just chillin in my apartment that night, doing I don’t even know what. Christina was on the phone with her boyfriend, and the night was winding down to an end. It was already 12ish and I knew Bhavana would probably be heading out soon. I didn’t want to forget to give her the book I wanted her to read, so I grabbed it from my room and gave it to her. I already gave Christina (already a Christian) a copy of Blue Like Jazz, one of my favs, cause I thought she’d really connect with it. For Bhavana, I had Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis. That may seem like an odd choice, seeing that she’s Hindu, but here’s why. This girl has asked me more questions about Christianity and what I believe than any other non-believing friend I’ve ever had. Her curiosity is genuine and I never feel like I’ve given her the whole picture about what God and Jesus are all about. So…because she’s a smarty (and C.S. definitely writes to the intellectual sort), I thought that book might give her a good idea of the basics (or at least as close as you can get without reading the Bible itself). Now in all honesty I don’t know why I brought that book to France. I’ve already read it. I also didn’t want to give it to her. But I had a feeling I ought to, despite my seemingly better judgment. All of our God conversations before were like that. She had a question; she brought it up. I didn’t want to talk about it, and I definitely wouldn’t have brought it up. This is contrary to what I also imagined I would do in relational evangelism. I always pictured myself prepping and sticking the conversation out there; you know, me being the hero. No, this is not the case. God started it every time, and He used her to do that, not me (like I always assumed had to be the case). So that in mind, here is what happened.

I put the book on the table and she looked at it. After awhile she asked me straight up, “Are you trying to convert me?” What do you say to that?? Well not in those words, I thought, but if by convert you mean I someday want you to see the truth and believe it yourself and have your own personal relationship with your savior…then I guess the answer is yes. So I answered honestly, “Yeah I guess.” (I know that's a wonderful response, one of many more to come…) She was a little surprised, all of her other Christian friends never actual admitted that. So…what then? I would have dropped the subject, but then came the questions. Not the easy ones, but the hard ones. Eventually Christina’s phone call was over and she joined in. By 8am we were still talking (that alone is a miracle). This is where each person is at.

Christina is a Christian, in that she believes in God and Jesus. But she discovered that night (after I answered questions straight from scripture, of which she hadn’t heard before), that she doesn’t believe in the Bible. In her mind, the whole hell/Satan bit doesn’t make sense with a loving God. Even if with free will that means we have the choice to not choose God, she doesn’t understand why God doesn’t (if he’s also all powerful) just save them anyways. I said that a person who chooses that they don’t want God wouldn’t enjoy heaven because heaven is really just the being in the presence of God for eternity and Hell is the absence of it. So if you don’t want God, even if you were in heaven it wouldn't be a heaven. That wasn’t cutting it for her. So she discovered that she believes in her own God, one that fits the mold she wants to see him as, and the Bible is just not for her. You can’t imagine the grief that made me feel. God a la carte is no God at all. We can’t fit Him into boxes. He is the supreme comfort, but also the supreme terror (C.S.). God wanted us to choose to love him so that our love would be real! In terms of spiritual warfare (which I believe in whole heartedly though I know Christians, Christina being one of them, who are doubtful), the demon of feel-good lies was there in full force. I felt him. I prayed against him. My spirit was worn out. I felt attacked (not by her, she was and has been only kind to me even when we disagree (thank you for that by the way), but by the lies that surrounded her (this everyone may not agree with, but if you were me you would have felt it).

Bhavana is at a different place. Like I said before, she is Hindu, something I know close to nothing about. But I discovered that she believes there is one God out there and she thinks He even loves her (Bhav you don’t know how amazing it is that despite it all you have come to believe this when so many Christians aren’t even at that point, and that's a gift from God even if you don’t see that yet); she even talks to Him sometimes. That brought me more joy than she knows, and even kept my spirit from feeling totally hopeless at the night’s conversation. The problem was this. She couldn’t accept Jesus and salvation because that would mean, if I’m right about this whole redemption thing, that all of her loved ones aren’t saved and would then be going to Hell. She told me that even if I’m right after all, she would honestly rather be in Hell with her family than in heaven alone. My heart cried out for her! She didn’t say that just to avoid Christ, but she said it with a genuine grief. Her face and expression and even tears spoke for her. I could see in her heart (well God let me know anyways) that deep down she desperately wants to believe –because that entails so much joy. But at the same time, she just can’t because that would be like condemning all those she loves to hell. To want to believe so bad but not be able to because of fear for loved ones is a situation I will never be able to fully understand. I wanted so bad to be able to feel for her on her level, but who am I kidding? I don’t know the least bit what kind of sadness she must feel. Her demon was fear. Fear that by accepting Christ she’s abandoning her family. This demon did not relent. I felt him in my soul.

Another issue came up for Bhavana, and when I hear it I cringe. Her experience with Christians (esp missionaries) has been anything but Christ-like. In the part of India where her family comes from, the missionaries convert the Hindus for money. In other words, for every convert they get, they get paid. So they go to the poor and hungry and offer some food or money if they convert. What choice do they have? They convert just to get fed, and the missionaries get paid. Now trust me I know that this is not typical. But doesn’t it make you cry out? We are supposed to be the light of the world, the salt of the earth, the feeders of the hungry, the caretakers of the oppressed. God did say that some would call out to him in the end and say Lord, Lord! And He will say, “I never knew you!” Those who use Christ as a pretext for their own agenda, watch out. Christ is not advertising tool, political advocate, money maker. He is our Lord. If we misrepresent Him to others, if our hearts are not truly in it for Him, He will judge us for that when the time comes. People like Bhavana who grow up with this don’t see the love of Christ. All the Christians in her life have told her she’s going to Hell, but how many of them have told her that she was preciously and wonderful made? Did they tell her that Christ loves her unconditionally in a way no human can rival? Did they not just tell her, did they love her?

If we are the Body, why aren’t our arms reaching? Why aren’t our hands healing? Why aren’t our words teaching? Why aren’t our feet going? Why isn’t His love showing?? Jesus paid much too high a price for us to pick and choose who should come. We are the body of Christ. (casting crowns song).

I can’t describe what it feels like to know that in your very kitchen a battle is being waged. (I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Momma brought me Piercing the Darkness and I just finished reading it. It describes spiritual warfare in a real way going on in this world, and lets just say it makes you think, and pray). Not that its not other times, but to know exactly what’s happening is hard, especially when you know you’re losing. My spirit was wounded and weak. My prayers seemed useless (I know that’s not true, but its easy to fall prey to doubt and hopelessness). God was there, of that I’m sure. He was there in a huge way. Walls crumbled. People saw into their hearts. They saw what they really believed. They discovered what their heart desired. I discovered my own ineptitude. I was unprepared and I knew it. My prayer coverage for that moment was horrible. How often had I forgot to pray for them until now, and even after this I forget! I haven’t been in the Word, I let my sword get dull. But thankfully God uses us in times of weakness! He showed up even though I was caught unprepared. He didn’t need me to be. How amazing is that? My prayers weren’t there, but I know the spirit was interceding for them anyways. It’s a good thing God doesn’t need us. But it's a blessing that He still chooses to use us. Crazy. I reached the point where I had nothing to offer so I just got my Bible and read, mostly from the sermon on the mont. There’s nothing like the words of Christ to do what you yourself can’t. I feel the urgency for these girls, God is moving now and He’s not being secretive about it. God wants their hearts, their whole heart. All they need to do is let go. But like we all know, that is the simplest and still the hardest thing of all. For those who read this, you know that all I ask for right now is your prayers.
PS. The thing that started it all, the book, is still at my apartment. Bhav decided not to take it. So when I assumed God wanted to use the book (as in its contents), I was wrong. He only wanted the title. The book wasn’t the important part, it was the conversation that it sparked. Isn’t that always how God does things? Never like you predict.

loving God

2006-05-08T17:27:00.001+02:00

One of the things Dana and I talked about in Spain was about how we see God. It’s so easy to think of Him as just a father (at best) or distant like a judge (at worst). But God wants an even deeper relationship than that. Not that the love of a father isn’t amazing or what we need. But he wants to add another kind of love, one that often freaks us out. This isn’t a new idea, but it’s worth repeating. Dana asked right out, “Do you think of Christ as your lover?” She didn’t say friend, father, counselor (all good things). She said lover. I didn’t feel like lying that day (I’ve felt like lying or putting up a front less and less these days), so I said no. She asked why. I said I don’t want that. Why wouldn’t I you may ask. Well to be honest, taking my relationship with Christ to that level entails things I don’t feel like dealing with, mainly because I’m selfish and lazy, but also a little bit afraid. To those who are given more, more will be expected. So I’d rather be more like a child, still justified in my own mind for holding onto this world and my own life more than I should, than like a lover who must completely give her heart away. Christ wants complete and utter honesty from us, like I’ve been told (this is not my forte here) husbands and wives expect from each other. He wants our whole heart. No unfaithfulness. No adultery. He wants us as his bride. But not a damaged and unclean bride, a pure and spotless bride. Now this is often used in Churches and among Christians, but how often to we really think about it. Christ loves us like a lover. Like your soul mate, with a perfect love. Think of whoever this person is in your life (or in the future will be), how much do they love you? With what kind of love? For some its an enormous crazy kind of love. Now imagine God feeling the same way about you, only more! Not in a far off kind of way, but in an intimate way. You scared yet? Cause I am. This is what God wants me to accept from Him, and He wants it in return. I think part of the reason I haven’t grown much in awhile (spiritually that is) is fear. Yeah it’s really cool to have that in your life…but…that just makes life so much harder (not actually, it is actually easier, but by harder I mean I’m not the one in control, which for me seems like it would be harder). I feel like Dana has or is close to reaching this point (of course I can’t really know). You can tell when people are in love. Likewise you can sense when they are in love with their savior.

Dana and I talked about it and she pointed out what may be my biggest stumbling block. As it turns out, my obstacle is also one of my gifts from God himself! Funny how that works out, the whole strength / weakness deal again. God gave me reason. He made me logical, rational. I always was a math girl, a problem solver, a mental organizer, a philosopher (haha). I like to think about things, and then categorize them neatly in my head. I like to work out problems to their rational solution. It’s what I do. It’s a gift from God. Someday He’ll teach me how to use it for Him and not just myself. But anyhow, that presents a problem for me. I want the world to be rational. I want God to be rational. I want my relationship with Him and His love to be logical. But God is above the reason He gave me. He is irrational. His love for us is incomprehensible, illogical. You see where I’m headed? If I accept it, I’m getting myself into something I can’t understand. That doesn’t sit well. Even when I read the Bible I have to figure out what every verse means. Those in my Bible study know this to be true. Have I ever just been honest and let a verse remain a mystery to me, something to be awed and amazed by? No. That’s not how I like things. That’s why God didn’t make me a poet. Things need an explanation, not mystery. So God or Christ being my lover, too irrational. I can’t earn that kind of love, and I feel like I ought to. That might be a problem down the road I suppose, feeling like you have to earn love from another person cause it will just leave you feeling like you don’t deserve them or their love when you should just accept it and return it. A father’s love, well that’s easier. They have to love you, it’s like their job. They love you even when you suck at life. It’s like that country song. But the other kind, I don’t know. I can’t figure it out. But He doesn’t want me to. “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 40something:10) doesn't not say sit and figure me out. It orders our awe of Him…hmm

Anyways, the point is, well I guess there isn’t really a point after all. I suppose these are just thoughts, ideas. Take from it what you will. You must all think I’m more bizarre than ever by now…haha. That’s good. It’ll teach you from thinking I have it all together. I may always want to have the answer, but I don’t… Love you all!

more from spain...

2006-05-08T17:27:00.000+02:00

Spain….

Dana and I ended our Spanish adventures chilling in Valladolid. We walked around in God’s glorious sunshine and did some devotional time in the park. God brought along some funny old men to make us smile. They talked with Dana for a bit about the most random things. One talked to me even though I didn’t understand. He told Dana I was quiet, she told him I didn’t speak Spanish. That was a funny moment. They ended by telling us how nice we were and how beautiful. I think we both needed their kind words. It’s like at just the right time God speaks to you through the most random people, and when He does you just know He’s the one who said it. That felt good. Then it was time for me to leave, sadly.

I started the train ride without any problems. I thoroughly enjoyed the leg from Vall. to Madrid. It was everything after Madrid that sucked. On the train there were the most adorable Spanish girls in front of me, three of them none older than 7. They kept looking at me and giggling and trying to get my attention. When they saw I was reading they showed me their book. The title had Feliz Navidad in it. I knew what that meant. They may have wanted me to read it but of course, I couldn’t. I told one of them they had a pretty bracelet (I don’t even remember the word now that Dana had taught me) and then my Spanish was spent. Luckily, God made things called cookies that I’ve always claimed transcend language barriers. Remember my bus trip to Torino next to the Romanian dude? The only thing he understood was what I could communicate by giving him a cookie, and I think that’s love for you. Who needs words when you have a smile and a cookie. That’s what I think anyways. So I secretly passed 3 cookies up to them and they loved it. Their weird looking friend (I am not at all Spanish looking) had treats! haha….A little while later they slipped me some Spanish starbursts. We bonded.

Unfortunately the rest of the ride wasn’t real great. The car I was in kept the lights on, but I fell asleep several times anyways. I woke up, however, at 4am and didn’t sleep much after that. My stomach was churning. Some Spanish food the night before was not feeling so great. And lucky me still had till 2pm before I’d be home (funny that my trip to Spain took almost twice the time it took me to get here from the states…). It sucked hard core. I hate stomach aches; second to throwing up I think they’re the worst way to be sick. So I tried to read, to listen to music, to not think about it. I guess it was bound to happen. I was bound to get sick eventually (after all I’d been healthy since Feb) and with the amount I travel the odds were good it’d be during that time. So yeah, that was not fun. But we’ll just drop the story there.

The days that followed I continued to feel sick, but being at home and at the beach made it better. I got to chill with Christina so I wasn’t alone like I thought I’d be (cause everyone else is still on break). The only thing left was, well, waiting it out till it was time to go to Africa!

the rain in spain stays mainly in... Madrid

2006-04-25T10:41:00.000+02:00

Clever title I know, you don´t have to tell me...haha. So this was the weekend of Spain to see DANA! I didn´t know I was going for sure until thursday when I got the ticket (i tried to get it earlier but the lady lied and said they don´t sell spain tickets in france....meanie). So friday after class I hopped on a train for my 15 h trip down to miss dana. I let some New Zealand dude have my seat so he could be by his family, and by taking his seat I made an interesting acquaintance. Her name is Marie, I think, and she´s from Brazil. Right now she´s studying medicine in Lyon, and her french is so good I thought she was a native. But her tongue is portugese which is more helpful in spain than french is. She speaks english but preferred we spoke in french so it was again harder to carry on conversation but good for me to practice. I told her I was from the states, north of Chicago (no one knows about Wisconisn, or milwaukee, let alone B´field). She said where, and I said outside Milwaukee. She said she lived around there too for 9 months to learn english. She said she lived in a suburb called Brookfield....hmmm. Coincidence? She attended central, but she was there before my time so I wouldn´t have known any of her friends there. It was so bizarre. I was on a train in france on my way to spain and I meet a girl from Brazil who lived in Brookfield of all places. Needless to say we stuck together during the ride even when we changed trains. The conductors in the second train loved here and so they sat with us in the dining car and talked to her (I know no spanish so i tried to understand but usually didnt...they thought i was funny somehow because of that). Sleeping sucked and I didn´t do much of it, but by now I´m used to traveling like that. Finally at 8 am I arrived in Madrid.

Where I found DANA! Seeing her brought me so much joy I can´t even tell you. We figured out the bus system and found our way to our hostel and talked and talked and talked. Unfortuantly she was sick (but I love her to death for still coming and sight seeing even though she felt yucky). On saturday it rained and rained and rained. But we ran around town none the less. We saw cool gardens, Prada museam (with a cool painting that we saw Picasso´s interpretations of in Barcelona, it was awesome to see the orginal - esp since you can´t tell what the orginal was much from picasso´s renditions), flee market, a protest, a flamenco dance (arguably my favorite thing I´ve seen in spain, they were amazing and sooo talented), some street dance fighters, etc... As for food, I found that I love tortilla espanola which I´ve had quite a bit. Luckily Dana can make it for me when we get home! I also tried Paella. I loved the rice part but there were whole bug looking seafood things that had eyes that just stared at me...not cool. We are now in Valladolid, her home town, which is really cute. I got to see peacocks in her park which are beautiful (I think God smiled a little bigger knowing how beautiful He made them when He gave them their extra flare). We walked around and soaked up the sun. An old man complimented our pretty sunglasses...interesting. I got to tried churros chocolate which are yummy fried things that you dip in a cup of melted chocholate.

Now I have to head back to France, another 15h, but Im excited for my next trip....Tunisia in less than 5 days! I´m sad to leave Dana, but I know I´ll see her in like a week and half to start our last travels. Seeing her makes me so happy and I hate parting even for this short amount of time. God has truely blessed me, in not only being here but being able to share it was such an amazing friend. I´m getting super sad to leave all my new friends here too, they´ve been so good to me. I´ve learned worlds from the people I´ve met, which just adds to this experience. I´m going to miss France, and Europe, and always seeing new old things, but mainly I´ll miss the people I´ve gotten to share it with.

Update on strike

2006-04-25T10:29:00.000+02:00

I don´t remember if I officially updated y´all on the strike situation. As of now, its done. Chirac was a wuss and just pulled the law to appease the students, even if in the long run they needed the law desperately. Now people will continue to not have jobs, but they can sleep rest assured that those jobs that they don´t have they can´t be fired from...So with the CPE dead it was time for the students to make a decision. For the first time in two months the general assembly, located in the now gross amp A, voted to start school. At the same time, the prez of the university finally shows up and takes some action. He had the university cleaned, students evacuated, and made a plan to resume business. There was a mini insurgence that fought him about it, shouting things like you´re gonna be fired, and you´re a facist, but thats not unusal here these days. So last week we had class, and after my two week break we have exams. Since we only had like 4 weeks of class, our exams will only cover that much. And now, MN decided that since we will all probably fail our exams, that we can´t get lower than our paper grade. So when we turn in our papers, if we did okay, we don´t have to study for the exam cause it can´t lower our grade (answerd prayer!).

So here´s a little tidbit about my alma matter here. They are crazy. I thought it was just a dirty hippy thing, but its worse. We were the first to go on strike in france, and the last to end it, and while we strike we drink and juggle and smoke pot and become winos in the middle of the comedie, but that´s not all. Apparently we make homeless people do the dirty work of our strike. Here´s what I found out. When class started back you had to present an ID card to get into campus (which of course I didn´t have with me so I pulled a whole stupid american act that works everytime). Now I didn´t know why this was, but Ali found out from her professor. During the strike the students had the campus occupied for 2 months, day and night. They had to have someone there 24-7. But did they want to all sleep there themselves? No, so instead they get their homeless gipsie friends off the street (with whom they bare a striking resemblance) to come in and sleep at the school. Since they would be on the street anways, it was a win win situation, cause at least now they´d be inside. Now you may sense that I´m being unfair in my ripping on of my fellow students, but when I found this out I was really upset. If you feel so strongly about your protest, then you have no right to be all talk during the day and take advantage of homeless people by night so you can go off and do what you please. That´s not cool. So right now me and Paul Valery are not on good terms...

Sorry!

2006-04-25T09:57:00.000+02:00

So it´s been awhile, like I warned, so my apologies. I´m alive and well, with many many stories to tell, although I´m already starting to forget a lot of what I wanted to tell you all. So I´ll start with my trip to Paris! A couple weeks ago (that far away already? wierd), I went to Paris to meet up with my mom and grandma and mom´s friend Denise. We litterally did Paris is 2 days, and it was awesome. My mom and Denise were jet-lagged, which is bound to happen after an oversees flight, but I didn´t let them get much sleep. We walked around the Louvre and the tuleries right outside (one of the prettiest areas of Paris- in my opinion). Then we checked out the Champs-elysee (sp?) area (but every city has an Arc de Triomph so once you´ve seen one you´ve seen em all). Our museam for the day was Orsay, which has some Degas, Van Gogh, Monet and Manet and more that im forgetting. Degas, according to my mom, has a wierd foot fetish because all of his paintings and sculptures have women in some way or another touching there feet. It was a weird observation, but once she said it we all kept noticing! Later that night we ate by the Notre Dame (not as impressive as the Sagrada familia in barcelona, but still cool) in the Latin quarter (cheap food, lots of ppl, its bumpin). Then to top off our day we hauled over to the Eiffel tour so we got to see it during daylight and we stayed till it got dark and saw it all lit up and even at one point in the night sparkling. That was my favorite part, i think. I always pictured the Eiffle tour being this ugly metal structure that just didn´t fit with the city (can you tell I´ve been hanging around the french too long, they´re opinons are rubbing off on me), but it was the opposite. Even up close it was gorgeous, for one, and the height was breathtaking. So all in all, a fun filled day.

Saturday we saw the biggies in the Louvre (which was a fun run around cause we didn´t feel like poking around the overcrowed museam all day). Mona was okay, and so was Venus, but I liked the crown jewels and Egyptian stuff we stumbled upon the best. We found this big pair of feet in the egyptian section that momma thought Degas would love! We also saw more of the Latin quarter and Notre Dame, and I can´t even remember what else. Sunday we went to the Rodin museam, another of my fav spots, and it had his famous thinker statue. The dude really makes you wondering what´s on his mind. The place there was cool cause all the statues were outside so it was like a walk in the park slash museam.

Overall I do know that momma is obiviously at home with the french because she can cafe sit with the best of them. I think we litterally spent half our time sitting out at cafes just eatin or drinking, rain or shine, watching the people go by, frenchies and tourists alike. This tradition continued when we went to Nice and then to my hometown Montpellier.

Nice was pretty, and we got to check out the mediterranian and the famous rock beaches. For the most part though, there wasn´t much to do and there were just too many people (its not even tourist season yet). We enjoyed our day trip to Monaco much better. We skipped on seeing the famous Monte Carlo and instead went up to the Prince´s palace. The whole city-state was absolutely beautiful. I could never live there tough because you can just feel the money in the air. Everyone there is super wealthy and the atmosphere lets you know that. It´s beautiful, but unless I win one heck of a lottery then one day trip is about all I can do there.

Finally on Wed we were back in my town. I think everyone liked my city the best of all. Its beautifull, which I often forget since I see it everyday, and its not too big and not touristy. There are outside cafes galore, and of course shopping. So while I unfortunately headed off to class, the other gals spent the day at cafes and shopping till theirs hearts content. Later that night we took my roomies and Elodie out to dinner, which was a ton of fun. There was a little bit of a language barrier between Elodie and my fam but that just meant I got to try my hand at a little translating. After dinner Elodie went with me momma and denise to a cafe to chill for a bit, and thats when I completely lost my ability to speak. I would talk to Elodie in english and my mom in french and not even realise till they couldn´t hide it any longer in their faces. Momma thought it was hilarious. She also decided that I tell stories funnier in french than in english, even if she doesnt understand what I´m saying. I think this is because with Elodie its easier for her to understand me if I act out motions and make appropriate voices for different parts of the story. So what I use for helping her understand my still not so great french, makes me funnier, I guess. I think by that it means I just look funnier. But overall it was a very enjoyable week, and I was sad to see my family leave. It was cool being able to show them around and esp to have them meet Elodie (who by the way has a cool new badger sweatshrit from mi madre which she loves! along with some pb and mac and cheese and ranch to keep her on track to becoming american at heart....). When worlds collide like that you never know how itll work out, but as I´m sure God had in mind, we had a wonderful time.

He’s got the whole world in His hands…

2006-04-10T13:58:00.000+02:00

This morning I went to a special “Raumeux” (sp?), Palm Sunday, service at the cool pretty protestant church by the train station. It was all the local protestant churches in the area gathered together. It was really cool because it included churches of all different ethnicities. There was an African, Korean, M-something (North Africa) churches and even some people from Tahiti. The different churches had choirs sing and the pastors from all the churches switched off (some had French that was really hard to understand with their accents, but I got the gist of it). We sang lots of hymns with Hosanna in it. I was shocked to even hear one of the choirs sing what sounded like the French version of the Battle Hymn of the Republic (I recognized glory, glory, hallelu-jah!).

For the first time since I’ve been here the church has been packed. That brought me joy. It was cooler though, not because it was full, but because it was full of all sorts of people. I even caught them saying the verse about every knee shall bow, every tongue confess... It reminds you that middle class white Americans aren’t the only Christians out there (which I know you know but honestly how often do you really remember that??). In fact, we could use the spirit I saw in the Korean choir. They seemed so joyful as they sang about the love of their savior. I wish I understood more of the sermon, but I did follow fairly well. I just want to say that it felt really cool to be a part of that. I would love to go all over the world and worship with all types of people. To be so different yet still bonded into one body with one purpose just testifies to the majesty of our Lord. And once again my heart is bursting at the seams to go more countries, see more cultures. France isn’t enough, I want to see more…

Beach Bonfire!!

2006-04-10T13:57:00.000+02:00

This weekend has been amazing! On Thursday night we went to O’Carolans for quiz night, as usual, and this time Elodie joined us. We lost, as usual, but oh well. Afterwards I had Elodie taste some more American delicacies. Kate had given us a bottle of ranch and peanut butter, so I wanted Elodie to try it out. We bought some fries for her to try in the ranch, which she loved! Then we had her try the peanut butter (which she’s already tasted once or twice) with an apple, and she loved that too. I always knew she was American at heart… The ranch made me the proudest though, not gonna lie.

Then Friday night rolls around and Bhav, Christina and I hop on a train to Frontignan ( a little beach town next to Sete). That’s where Jean, Elodie’s boyfriend, and his family have a beach condo. It’s a cute little apartment that sits directly on the beach. Elodie made us a French dish that they eat up in the mountains. I don’t remember what it’s called, but it was really good, nice and hardy soul food, if you will. It was made with a bunch of potatoes, onions (I’m going to insert here that it took me like 10 tries to spell onion right, with the spell check on…don’t ask), lardons (bacon chunks), and some weird French cheese that’s all melted together into goodness. After which she melted up some chocolate for some fondue action, always a favorite. And to top off our eating for the night, the girls and I brought smore stuff as a surprise for them to try.

Jean and his brother built us a fire on the beach, 10 feet from the water!, and we started making the American camping favorite. Needless to say they weren’t exactly the same, because France doesn’t sell graham crackers and their marshmallows are kinda off. But we did the best we could with sweet cracker substitutes, and the chocolate was of course excellent. Jean and his brother loved the smores. I think they’re going to spread it to all of France. Elodie wasn’t as keen on them, but I think it was because the marshmallows here taste kinda funny. They’re definitely made out of something different because you can hold them directly in the flames and they don’t catch on fire. So yeah…that was sooo much fun. I of course had to speak French way more than usual, which was rough, but it was a blast. We finished off the night by watching Hitch, dubbed in French, which isn’t quite the same without Will Smith’s real voice.

We woke up the next morning, or afternoon I guess I should say, and ate breakfast outside overlooking the sea. It was a beautiful morning. Jean spent the afternoon fishing (he only caught one), and the rest of us laid out and relaxed and looked for shells. Elodie was kind enough to correct my Art history paper (which definitely needed work on grammar) so I’m not too worried about turning it in now. It was such a relaxing day. I don’t think I’ve been that relaxed all semester (and this semester hasn’t really been stressful). I’m also glad I got to see Elodie again. It’s been so long now that we don’t have classes (speaking of classes, rumor has it school will start back on Monday which is bad news, because now we have to take exams without first learning what’s on them…yikes). I miss her already, and I haven’t even left yet…

Here comes the sun!

2006-04-05T12:55:00.000+02:00

Friday night Jacques Chirac gave a State of the Union type speech to the nation which the roomies and I watched anxiously. He announced officially that he’s signing the CPE law, despite the protests. He was very well spoken; even I understood everything he said. Pretty much the law is reformed (one year period and not two that you can be fired without cause), but they still need it to reduce unemployment. I agree with him and think he made the right decision. If he didn’t, then Villipan, the Prime Minister, threatened to resign. They interviewed the head of the student group afterwards, and they are not happy. They said Chirac didn’t listen to them at all and mobilization is still in effect until the law is repealed permanently…so no school still… (Pray it lasts till exams!)

The weather has finally started to get nice! On Saturday I went to the beach, and let’s just say I got burned, but only on my face…It was cold that day so I was all bundled up, and because it was so cloudy I didn’t think I’d get any sun. But I did, even my landlady noticed and warned me that it’s those cloudy days that will burn you! She’s so cute. That night Christina slept over and we watched How to Lose a Guy in 10 days, which was funnier than I remembered. We got up early and went to church where a new dude was speaking. He was pretty good, better than the other lady. I’m pumped because next week there’s a big get together for all the churches and choirs in the big church by the train station. Christina, Bhav and I are definitely going to check that out. Afterwards, Christina and I once again trekked out to the beach, this time with better weather. We got to lay out and tan in our suits (no more sweatshirts!) and we even went in the water for a swim. Well we sort of swam. I only went in because Christina told me I wasn’t a true Wisconsinite if I was “too cold” to swim…so what could I do? The water was so cold, my legs went completely numb. It was brisk. But we got to relax, read, listen to music, and soak up the sun. It was awesome.

Monday I did more scholarly work in one day than I’ve done all semester. For some reason it seemed plausible to start and finish my 10 page French paper about Flemmish art in one night (ambitious I know). I am rushed because I have to finish it before Momma and Nana come (next week, I’m sooo pumped). So I put on some country music and started to write (I did all the research the night before). It wasn’t bad. I was cruisin. French doesn’t usually flow that fast, esp about art, but I just wrote away and 8 pages later I had everything but the intro and conclusion done by 11pm. That’s 7 hours straight. One of my study breaks consisted of fries, ranch (from Kate!) and a cherry coke. That plus actually doing something academic just felt like home. It also felt good to finally do something intellectual, because with this strike I feel like I’m loosing intelligence by having a semester break (MN classes excluded because they're super easy).

Today Bhavana and I tried to go to Aix-en-Provence…however it again is National Strike Day…so we couldn’t get a train there. Instead, we went to Marseilles, a port city 2 hours east of Montpellier. We got there and had to walk through some trashy parts before we found the Old Port area (by trashy I mean a bunch of people having a “yard sale” type thing all along the sidewalk of old junk like skates, used shoes, computer moniters…). The water there is soo blue, and we of course watched yet another parade of strikers (same in every city). We hiked up to their Notre Dame Basilica which had an amazing view of the whole city. From up top, I could see what to me looked like Chateau d’If. For those that have seen the movie or read the book, the Count of Monte Cristo, Edmund is from Marseilles and was sent to Chateau d’If prison. I saw what was a little island with a small fortress that looked just like the one in the movie. Then I saw a map on the hill of all the sites you can see from ontop, and I was right, that’s what it was! I guess I never thought that’d it was a real prison that you could go see and that the movie would have used it. That was pretty cool. I have pics, but it only looks like a little spot, and definitely doesn’t do it justice.

When I got back I finished my paper, so now I only have to do history before everyone comes next week. Time is going by so fast, and I’m afraid I’ll have to go home soon (I want to see you all but I’m going to miss it here). Next week Momma and Nana come and we go to Paris/Nice. Then that weekend I might go to Spain to see Dana, then the week after I’ll be in Africa for spring break, then exams, then traveling with Dana, then home! It’s all coming up so fast, and I have so much I still want to do here….

National Manif!

2006-03-29T13:06:00.000+02:00

Well I survived the big manifestation. I've gotten so many "security adviseries" from the State Department that I just delete them now. They told me to avoid all large demonstrations, but when do I ever listen... When you're in a place where history is litterally being made you can't stay home. You just have to go out and watch. So Bhavana and I did just that. At first we couldn't find the manif! We found some contre-greveurs though. They were a bunch of med students who wanted to go back to class (though they still might not support the CPE, they don't think stopping class is helpful...what an idea...). They were boring though, so we went elsewhere in search of the party. We finally found them in the old part of town, and there were tons of people, young and old. Almost every union and organisation in the surrounding area was there. People played drums and one had a trumpette and people sang and yelled and had a jolly ol time. I seriously think this whole strike thing is just an excuse to get off work/school and have a party. It was more like the 4th of July or a football rally than a strike. All public transport and buildings were shut down. People were festive with painted faces, costumes, instruments, banners, etc... I even saw a little boy with a Winnie the Pooh costume with a sign that said "Winnie contre (against) le CPE". We followed them around and accidently became a part of the march...oops. So we follwed them and took pics and then cut out and went downtown to watch the people file into la Comedie. People just kept coming and coming, there was no end. It was a beautiful day for the strike too, clear skies and warm temps. There was no violence, no vandalism (although I doubt Paris was so lucky, they're not as chill as their southern counterparts down here). Rumor has it that our university will be officially closed by the prez, but who knows. Another rumor claims that even if the students win the fight, they're going to keep striking until the semester is over just to prove that they have control, or that their method worked, or something like that. In the meantime, I have some research papers to write...tear. I may never understand the culture of the "greve" (strike) here, but that won't stop it from entertaining me. I guess if I grew up like they did, I'd be just as anxious to strike at everything. That's France for you, I love it. Even with the strikes, this country has grown on me. It may not be home, but it has a special place in my heart.

ps ill have pics up soon of the greve, and Winnie too!

Satisfied??

2006-03-27T18:39:00.000+02:00

If you’re involved in Campus Crusades at all you probably see this question a lot. It’s part of a booklet that shows people how God and Christ are the only way to be truly satisfied. It’s been awhile since I’ve looked at the booklet. I don’t even have it here. But recently it’s come to mind. I’ll explain what I mean. I saw on the tram one day a girl wearing a clear belt with English writing that said in big letters “ARE YOU SATISFIED?” I doubt she even knows what that means, but it made me think of that booklet. Since then I’ve heard countless people, whether to me or people in a movie, talk about how to find the “satisfaction” or “meaning” in life. And now I’m reading the book Vanity Fair, which is pretty much a book about how people chase after meaningless things in their life and are never really happy. The back cover has in big letters a quote from the book that says, “Which of us is happy in this world? Which of us has his desire? Or, having it, is satisfied?” I’m not paranoid when I tell you that this question has literally been bombarding me lately. And when it does, I can’t help but ask that question to myself. Anyone who has asked themselves probably knows what answer I’ve come across.

I don’t know. I should be shouldn’t I? But I think I might not be…Is it bad of me if I’m not??

Does that ring a bell for anyone? Maybe it has in the past, does now, or will in the future, but I think you’d all be hard pressed to convince me that at one time or another you have never doubted your own satisfaction in life. That being said, you may wonder (or if you already know, it may come to mind) what the answer in the little booklet is. In so many words, it says that through our forgiveness in Christ, the grace of our Father, and the fruit of the Spirit, we find our satisfaction. To be sure, it doesn’t claim that you’ll always be happy (because happiness and joy are most assuredly two different things). But it does say that if you believe, you will find your satisfaction in God, and God alone. Now knowing this, you can imagine how it feels to think that:

a. you believe in God, trust in Christ for salvation, the whole deal
b. you should be satisfied
c. you might not be satisfied

Sorry for the list like that, but it may help show you what I’m getting at. Now you may wonder where my doubt stems from. Here are some examples of things that run through my mind. What good have I done here? Why has no one come to know Christ? Am I being selfish with my time/effort? Does God just not want to use me? I don’t know where my life is headed. I catch myself falling short of God’s glory every minute of every day. Being here has made me acutely aware of my sins (when you’re not surrounded by fellow believers it’s not only harder to stay strong, but you finally stop ignoring the sins you’ve had all along. It’s somehow easier to ignore them as long as you surround yourself with “good Christian people”…). I get frustrated with people, cursing them in my heart and in front of other people. I doubt and worry (though not once has God left a prayer or request unanswered since I’ve been here, and before that I’m sure). The list goes on. Recently I even had a dream that has stuck with me. All I remember is that someone told me I was unable to have kids. Now in my dream my concern wasn’t that I wouldn’t be able to have a child one day (which is the logical fear that would follow). Instead all I could think of was that I was barren. That’s the word that stuck in my head. It’s a word I never use. It comes straight out of the Old Testament or something. Lindsey, you’re barren. What a horrible feeling. I woke up and all day wondered about it. Before I went to bed again I asked God to tell me what it meant. I guess I thought I’d have another dream that would make more sense, but as we all know God doesn’t work the way we expect. My next dream was nothing, I don’t even remember it. But I do know that my mind started thinking of my dream in another way. The feeling turned towards a fear that I wasn’t being fruitful. I wasn’t producing anything for God. I wasn’t helping with the harvest, and I wasn’t building the kingdom. I was barren. I don’t understand if it meant that I actually am unfruitful, or if it represented my fear that I’m unfruitful. My heart, on an honest day, leans towards the latter. (This is the first time I’ve ever thought my dream might be more than just a dream. If it’s happened to you, you’ll know the feeling. God still speaks to us in dreams, and I believed that. I just didn’t think He did that with me…I was wrong. I’m not saying you have to believe me, but I am saying that if you were me you’d believe me. I hope that made sense.)

Talk about unsatisfied. The problem is this now: how can I be unsatisfied if I really believe? That can’t be okay. It’s all supposed to work out, right? I’m a veteran Christian. I know the verses, the answers. If you know me at all you’ve probably sense that attitude. I can answer the questions, give advice. I pretty much have it all under control (like so many of you out there. Am I right?) Not necessarily. While most Christians profess with great vigor their total satisfaction in Christ, let’s be honest. How many of you have doubted that very thing you preach to the world? And those that haven’t, how honest are you being with yourself? This isn’t to say that I always feel this way. On the contrary, most days I feel extremely satisfied. But my faith goes through seasons. God is pointing something out to me. He’s using the world around me to point me to what my own heart is feeling. He’s cool like that. The question is: where do I go from here? I won’t even pretend to know the answer to that. But it’s a start. And I’m only sharing this with you in the off chance that maybe you’ve been feeling the same hint from above that I have. Take solace in that you’re not alone. Actually, the fact that you even have those feelings shows just how involved God is in your faith/life/journey (didn’t know which word summed it up best, so I’ll just put all of them). If He didn’t care, He’d be content to just let you go about your life all hunky dory. You may ask, what’s so bad about that? Let’s just say that God wouldn’t polish and sharpen a yo-yo for war. So the yo-yo can just dink around as it likes, but it will never get to be apart of God’s glorious victory in battle. So you can either go through life blissfully ignorant, and be the yo-yo, or, you can be the secret weapon that God busts out to destroy the enemy. But to be the weapon you have to be prepared, which isn’t always an easy undertaking. So take your pick. (Fyi: this is alluding back to a previous entry about a passage I really like in Isaiah, so if you didn’t read it you may want to scroll down and check it out).

Avignon and some fun at the ranch...

2006-03-27T18:35:00.000+02:00

Well like most weeks, this one was filled with a few adventures, but was otherwise not too exciting. Bhavana and Nasco had some friends visiting from Maryland so on Tuesday we took them to Avignon. For all you history buffs, and I know there are a lot of you out there, that city may ring a bell as being the site of the Avignon papacy in the late middle ages…For those who have no clue, that means that for a brief period of time the pope resided in the French town of Avignon instead of Rome, and for an even briefer period there were two popes, one in Avignon and the other in Rome. So where there was once a pope, you can find a papal palace. The palace itself was fairly impressive considering the time it was built and its size. They spared no expense I’m sure. One thing that was really interesting for me to see was an actual indulgence paper. Indulgences were scrolls that the church sold to “pardon” peoples sins (of course after it’s bought every new sin is still not forgiven so you have to buy more) as a means to propagate the religious wars of the time and fund the extravagant churches and palaces of the papacy. This in fact was the subject of that fun dissertation that I wrote last month, and you know I love it when everything I learn comes full circle. The Pont de Avignon (a bridge) is also the French nursery rhyme equivalent to London bridge. It goes like this: “Sur le pont d’ Avignon, l’on y dansait, l’on y dansait tout en ronde” (On the Avignon bridge, we have danced there, we have danced there all around) or something like that. It’s actually kinda catchy. Anyways, the sightseeing itself wasn’t all that tough, but getting home was harder. Lets just say, I had to make a judgment call about taking a bus to a different train station where we wouldn’t have reservations for the train but would try to go anyways or we may not get home…people had their doubts (as did I….) and I had to sweet talk the conductor of the train, but we got home. The people who sell tickets in Montpellier are not helpful. If they give you an open ended ticket, they don’t make clear which trains you can and can’t use it for. Fortunately, God once again was looking out for us, and we made it home. We very well could have been stuck there for the night. It’s funny though, how you just know sometimes that you’re going to get home (even when it looks doubtful). Later that night we celebrated Bhavana’s bday at the Australian bar, which included lots of dancing and some wading in a fountain on the way home (for some of my less coherent friends).

This whole week has been pretty gloomy until this weekend rolled around. It was so sunny Saturday that it made me feels like its summertime. You know that feeling that everything is more laid back and peaceful and warm and bright. I love that feeling. To make the most of the day, a few of us decided to take an adventure to the Camargue region, the delta of the Rhone that’s known for its bulls and horses. We hopped on a bus and asked the bus driver what stop to get off to go horseback riding. He wasn’t all that helpful, because he said when we got off we’d have a lot of walking to do, and he didn’t know in what direction. So we hoped for the best, and when we got off the bus we asked some locals. After a asking around we got pointed in the right direction and started walking. We finally made to a stretch of rode with a bunch of ranches. It’s weird because it felt so country (finally!) but we were still in France. We found a ranch that we liked (not pony rides, real horses), and we decided to go on the 2 hour trail ride that takes you along the beach…It was so beautiful to be riding along next to the Mediterranean. Let’s just say experiences like this don’t come often in one’s lifetime. I had a wonderful horse that didn’t get into too much trouble. Amy had a spunky horse that liked to skip people in line, stop and eat, then run to skip everyone again. It’s funny because our guide warned us that if the horse starts running that whatever we do don’t scream. Just stay calm and pull back on the reigns. I told him that we wouldn’t but he said almost all girls do. So I said that we were American girls, and we were tough. He laughed and said even all the American girls scream when their horses go nuts. So he didn’t believe me. But at one point Amy’s horse went nuts, her foot came out of the stirrup, and she was practically airborne off her saddle because Amigo, her horse, just took off with no warning. She didn’t scream, though, and just kept her balance and gave his reigns a good tug to slow him down. I told the guide we were tough, but no one ever believes me…All in all the ride was a ton of fun (though I’m a little sore, and the guides made fun of how we rode…bouncy with chicken wing arms), and I can’t think of a better way to spend such a gorgeous Saturday afternoon. The ranch even gave us a ride back into town in their pickup, so we had some time to cruse around the beach town before our bus came. The day was a success, and I even got a little color (by which I mean sunburned, but its better than white…). There’s nothing like a little adventure to pluck up your spirit.

Today I had less luck. Though the weather is still beautiful, today I was apparently supposed to “spring forward”. Needless to say, when I got to church the service was over, sad. The sweet old man out front explained that the time changed, and at first I thought he meant just for the church. I thought: that’s odd, in France services (among everything else) rarely if ever starts before 10. But what he meant, and I finally understood, was that daylight savings time was today…oops.

Oh and this might make you smile. Since I have no speakers for my music (courtesy of the french customs office), I'm forced to use my headphones. Recently, I've been having quiet a few dance parties using only my headphones. So if you can picture it, I'm dancing away to my music (mainly country) and if anyone could see me they wouldnt be able to hear it and I'd just look like a fool. So I hope that mental image makes you laugh. Love y'all!