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.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
First Week Roundup
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!):
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
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
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…
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
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Debate
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...
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
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…
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
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.
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
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.
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.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Good News
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...
29 days and counting...
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