The best part about Croatia was the Slaps

April Travels with Megan Part 2: Croatia

 

This fountain depicts an orgy

There’s a lot you could say about Zagreb, Croatia… but what I’ll say here is my impression: it’s apparent there was a war there about, oh 20 years ago. They have a lot of growing still to do. The thing about Zagreb is that on a 10 minute bus ride throughout the city we saw multiple people just peeing outside, kind of like everyone was camping… but in the capitol. People speak English, but gruffly and with a lot of eye rolling and shrugs. Based on my limited experiences, I’m not sure people smile in Croatia. They use KUNA, instead of the euro, which involved far more math than this linguistical mind could really handle… and there are about a million Kuna involved in every transaction (when I exchanged 56kuna for euro in Slovenia I received 6 euro). We went to the market because fresh food is neat in any country and Rick Steve’s guidebook took us on a nice little walk through a small part of town. We also saw this odd orgy fountain in front of the National Theatre. Our one day was plenty in Zagreb, and I had no problem leaving the nightlife there a mystery to instead venture to the entire reason we came to Croatia, Plitvice Lakes National Park. 

Well. Someone hearts Zagreb. It's just not us

When it comes to transportation, here’s how things work in Croatia… not very well. We had to get a bus from Zagreb to Plitvice, costing us approximately 10 euro I believe, so like 85Kuna, add on the unforeseen 7Kuna charge (like $1.20) for us to carry a big bag onto the bus. (3 currencies in one sentence, is your head spinning yet? You can imagine trying to think in Kuna, Dollars, and Euro for a few days. Yikes.) We told the driver's co-pilot where we needed to go and he reassured us that he would tell us when it was time for us to get off the bus. It conveniently started raining as we were dropped off at a tiny hut in the middle of nowhere with the instructions “You go here”. We braved the question “umm where is our campground” and were pointed in a general direction after which we did indeed find a sign for Camp Korana. 

You Go Here.

 One of our favorite games throughout the entire trip was to stop and think, if our parents and our significant others were watching this adventure as a film, what would they be screaming at the tv right now?

Thankfully we had the foresight to purchase at least some bread, cheese, and wine when we were in Zagreb.  After setting up camp in the pouring rain we enjoyed our meal and a game of travel battleship before tying up our plastic food bag tightly and throwing it as far as possible away from our tent into the “woods” because I was afraid of bears (there is one depicted on the Plitvice Lakes National Park sign). A bit of research from le boy assured us that while brown bears exist in Plitvice Lakes National Park, they are rare and instead of dangerous are rather interesting to see. In my opinion a bear is a bear, whether rare or not, and I was not sleeping with any kind of food near me if there was the slight possibility of one of those interesting beasts paying us a visit. (The only wildlife we saw the entire time was some cats. Our food bag went untouched every night.)

It is possible this bottle instead says poison. We have no idea.

 The next morning proved to be yet another small transportation struggle to get from our campground into the actual National Park. We were told by the campground staff that a shuttle would arrive, surprise surprise at the little hut out front on the road and that we were to flag it down and it would stop and take us to the park. We accidently flagged down a bus instead that was not the park shuttle, they told us they would drop us off at the park, but then I got nervous and saw a sign for the parks and after a 2 minute ride determined that we should get off the bus. There we realized we were indeed not yet at the park and still had about 9km to go. We found a dog and played for awhile just to regain some confidence and then decided just to walk it until we saw the park shuttle. A small car with the national parks logo drove past after about maybe ½ hour of walking, so we screamed and jumped up and down and ran after it, they stopped, crammed us into the front seat and laughed a lot at Megan who was wearing sandals, telling her with pointing and gestures that she would only have 2 toes left after the end of the day. 

Here is why this entire saga was worthwhile. You walk for maybe about three minutes into the park and this is your view. Stunning. We spent the day exploring about 7000 waterfalls and a small cave, hiking and generally enjoying the unbelievable beauty we were surrounded by. 

Photo Credit to Megan

 Only about 3 busses drove past us before one picked us up that evening to drop us off at our campground. I’m fairly certain the man who we paid for the tickets just made up a number for the cost of our journey, which was like $2USD. 

Now that we had seen Plitvice we were ready to peace out of Croatia. Another dinner of bread, cheese and wine straight from the bottle and we set an alarm to catch the bus from our hut at 6:40am (another wasn’t coming until 10ish). These busses that we had to flag down from the side of the road were all coming from Split, in the south of Croatia and traveling all the way to Zagreb. I’m fairly certain this is the only road in Croatia. If the bus is full it simply doesn’t stop. We finally got onto a bus at about 7:20am and settled in for the winding ride back to Zagreb, where we made the short but sketchy trek to the train station and treated ourselves to a beer at 11am before getting onto a train to take us to Slovenia… 

Wondering about the post title? Waterfall in Croatian = Slap

C’est quoi le problème?@!

I’ve heard that it was about 50 degrees in Ohio yesterday. You lucky ducks.

It is COLD in Nantes. I hate cold. I know hate is a strong word. But I hate cold. Je déteste absolument la froid. If I say it in both languages, I really mean it. 

We’ve had a mild winter here, and most of the days have been in the 50s. I laughed earlier in the season when people would say it is cold outside. I considered getting a bike now in February instead of waiting until March. I am no longer laughing at anyone. And thinking about even venturing to the bus stop is enough to make me cringe, let alone the idea of biking to the grocery store. 

So what can you do when it’s terribly cold outside? You eat! You drink! You are merry! All while avoiding the outdoors.

Some foodie news:

             I made my first ever Quiche this past week!  I have always known the deliciousness of a good quiche, but why have I never been informed how easy it is to make them? Eggs, Bacon, Onion, Crème Fraiche in a puff pastry? That’s it?!? Yum. 

            I also experienced everything that is a proper 3 course French dinner last Friday.

The language teachers at Lycée de Bouaye arranged an evening out for their three language assistants… myself, the German assistant and the Spanish assistant. And so instead of our normal “we’re too tired to go into town let’s go to the cinema or stay in and drink wine instead” Friday night, the three of us dressed for the occasion and enjoyed a proper three course meal with the French. 

The “Super Assistantes” were toasted by the teachers with an apératif (before dinner drink). My meal then consisted of cuisses de grenouille, canard et crème brulée (froglegs, duck, and… crème brulee). It was Wonderful. 

The teachers applauded when I ordered the froglegs. I had no idea how to eat them (you pick them up with your fingers, thankfully another teacher ordered them too!)They were delish, by the way. But so covered in garlic that the teachers joked it was good that my fiancée lives across the ocean. 

 In between courses the teachers switched spots so everyone had the opportunity to sit near the assistants and chat with us.  Darling.  

Our meal lasted about three hours. We conversed, we laughed, we enjoyed each other’s company and truly relished in the delicious food we were served. I love what the French eat, and how the French eat. The meal itself was truly an event. 

 

February is not only the only the month of LOVE, but also the month of Crepes, which I happen to LOVE, so this all makes perfect sense to me. The French eat crepes on February 2- nothing to do with the groundhog (they find our own tradition quite odd), but instead has to do with the Catholic “la Chandeleur, Fête de la Lumière” holiday celebrating the purification of Mary, presentation of baby Jesus etc etc. Even after upteen years of Catholic education, I was unaware of this holiday and how to celebrate it (Sorry mom and dad, St. Ursula Academy, UD…) However I had no problem learning to celebrate this holiday French style with a foyer Crepe Party!  The French don’t really celebrate the religious part, just the delicious dessert eating part. 

I even got to attempt to “flip” a crepe myself, tossing it from the pan into the air… but ended up having to eat that one  because I have not yet mastered my crepe flipping culinary skills.

Never had a crepe? They are wonderfully thin pancake-like treats. You slather your choice of nutella, honey, jam, sugar (they have a brand here called “Daddys” as in “Sugar Daddy”) onto this treat, fold it up, and save the pointed part for last because most often it has the most of whatever delicious filler you chose! I’ve also had for real French Grandma-made crepes from a girl in the foyer that were so buttery and delicious on their own I declined nutella for the first time in my life.

No worries American friends… I will bring all these traditions home and next year, when I am pining for my French life, I will bake for you a King Cake in January and crepes in February.

Unfortunately my first fairly negative experience this time around in France wheezled its way in between all this gourmet eating. But looking back on the whole evening, the series of events as a whole is ridiculously amusing.

In any of the classes I have taught about stereotypes, the students are always surprised and appalled to hear that Americans thinks the French are rude. They don’t see it. I usually don’t see it. I have written about the kindness of multiple French people in this very blog…

This stereotype reared its ugly head for the first time when I studied abroad.(My friends remember this event and my subsequent "I hate everyone in the world" freak out quite well). In retrospect I was with a group of people begging for attention- being blatantly foreign in clothing, screaming in English, and expressing general tourist mannerisms. All things I (as well as the people I associate myself with) put a lot of effort into trying to hide a bit nowadays.

So Saturday. The only night we ventured outdoors into the bitterly cold tundra that has become Nantes, was a mess. Expectations were high due to a disappointing weekend before at the Party Boat (seems awesome, it’s not. But I’m willing to give it a second chance.) Our night, in brief points:

  1. English male friend, not surprisingly, is late. We RUN the 10 minute walk to the tram stop… stopping only to politely attempt to give some Frenchies directions. In the midst of running for the tram this same polite friend runs into a small pole and falls over, which unfortunately I did not get to see with my own eyes.

2.   Deep breath, we made it onto the tram. So did a giant man who easily lost his balance as the tram jolted forward, and fell into my Spanish friend’s lap. I cannot emphasize enough how giant this man was. She is probably still “mal au jambe” at this very moment.

3.    Pre-Party at our friend’s foyer. Best part of the night by far.

4.     Venture to Hangar Bananes, the world’s worst located strip of clubs, inconveniently placed on an island with little to no access to public transportation. Last minute decisions and all of a sudden half our group is left behind on the now departing tram, and we are sprinting for a bus.

5.    We bravely continue on, arrive at Hangar, and find our French foyer friends smoking outside a bar (quelle surprise). They enter. We follow. We are stopped. Bouncer: “How old are you?”  English Friend “20” as she reaches for her id. *Note* Clubs and Alcohol can be enjoyed legally by 18+ in France. Bouncer glances at id (English), back up at group, and proclaims “Pas ce soir” (not tonight) while closing the door. The foreigners exchange glances and debate in French what now to do. The many French people standing in line behind us are granted entry into the club

6.       This behavior doesn’t fly with English friend, who insists on standing right outside the door, demanding “C’est quoi le problème? C’est parce que je suis ANGLAISE!” She then accuses the bouncer of racism… (more like nationalism) but the main idea of prejudice and discrimination came across all the same. When the bouncer realized we weren’t going away, we weren't going to stop screaming about his racist ways, and our French friends weren’t going to stop bothering him to let us in, he opened the door and without saying anything this group of motley foreigners marched right in.

7.       The club was listening to American music.

8.       We leave club, stand in line for another club, decide not to enter club because it costs 17euro, and instead start the long walk towards the nearest tram stop.

9.       Friends miss the tram that will take them home. In the process of figuring out what to do with that situation we are approached by a very drunk and/or drugged couple wanting to be friends. Our tram arrives. I hop on, with 2 others. The tram rolls away and the rest of our friends are left to call a taxi and deal with druggie/drunkies. I am later told that they politely told the couple to leave them alone or that they would call the police. Bahahah. The police station closes for lunch. I doubt they are concerned with foreigners at this hour.

10.   We’re almost home. So close. My shoes are untied. My Spanish friend steps on the lace. Broken.

To use one of my favorite French expressions, C’était la merde.

In conclusion: the past two weeks I've eaten more delicous treats than someone who has to someday look beautiful in a white dress should. And I learned the French word for bouncer. You should at least know the vocabulary word for the person you accused of racism.

Bisous, 

Steph


*Despite the light manner in which I address the subject here, I believe that racism is a serious and frustrating issue in our society. My feelings are similar for nationalism.

Bus Drivers and Beauty Queens and Sea Monsters OH MY!

I hate to use every Sunday as a simple recap of my week in France for you all, but since I don’t get to talk to you nearly as much as I wish, this is the closest thing I get to a conversation with most of you. You should get Skype. But continue to read please. 

I also am usually procrastinating on lesson planning each Sunday and quite enjoy updating the blog.

 I’ve been teaching French and American stereotypes in two of my classes. One of my students tried to tell me that one stereotype is that French people are hospitable. Well kiddo, either you have your vocab mixed up or you really have no idea that Americans think French people are snooty and rude. (My explanation of “snooty” as a vocabulary word usually involves me walking around the room, trying my best to look important, with my nose in the air). When I told people I was moving to France, the reaction was usually some sort of wrinkled nose and a “but aren’t they mean to Americans?” 

Let me take this time to talk about my favorite group of French people I have met thus far, a group who completely refutes this stereotype… the night service bus drivers. I have taken the night bus 3x now, with two positive experiences and one average unremarkable experience. I guess if you are driving a bus late night, sometimes on the club route, you’ve gotta have a good sense of humor. You do not, apparently, need to understand different accents though…My first experience the bus driver got on his microphone to tell the “Italians” that the stop we wanted was coming up… this was after we awkwardly pushed the stop-demand button too soon and no one got off the bus. We then proceeded to shout out our 4 different nationalities on repeat, none of which are Italian, and with a final “Bonsoir!” the doors closed behind us. Good night indeed. The next experience was far quirkier, on our way home from Miss Nantes (which was a far quirkier experience, which I will of course get into later). As a bored bus driver with now 5 people to entertain him, we hear over the microphone… you have accents, where are you from? Again, proud shouts of 4 different nationalities, 5 if you count my English friend who joke-insisted he was Japanese… which sparked comments from the driver such as “The world is living in harmony!” “Peace!” “There is hope for the world; there is friendship, not politics between you!” He then went on to sing a song that none of us knew, was upset that none of us knew it, took a request for “La Marseillase” and proudly and loudly did not sing it properly as he did not know any of the words. We got a little confused, missed our stop, and he let us off in the middle of the street near my beloved dog and now hedgehog sighting field. The French are battling the “we’re unfriendly” stereotype one night bus driver at a time, and I’m glad.

        

I love a good babyhat

                 I mentioned Miss Nantes, and I would hate to leave you hanging for details on that once in a lifetime cultural experience. Turns out beauty pageants are about the same everywhere… and I’m not sure I can call myself a feminist anymore after politely clapping for young girls in evening and swim wear as they paraded around on stage. It doesn’t take much to become Miss Nantes, you just have to be able to introduce yourself, wear a pretty dress (or an ugly one, there were some unfortunate clothes in the mix), and look good in a swimsuit and high heels. My favorite parts of the competition:  our decision that it was appropriate to eat pastries at this event (provoking a lot of incredulous stares), the “concert” involving performances of Jason Mraz’s “In Yours” and The Black Eyed Peas “I’ve gotta feeling” while the judges made their own big decision and we all applauded the singers ability to pronounce the h’s in these fine songs, and a fashion show that showcased some sexy lacy numbers and featured a few babyhats. We also got to see Miss Nationale, the Beauty Queen of France herself. Our general consensus about the entire thing is that we all have seen prettier French girls out and about in Nantes, we were sad that one of the contestants (one of the Spanish assistant’s students) was pronounced runner up, but pleased that we had gone out of our way to experience an odd little nugget of French culture.  

 

Continuing on in our cultural pilgrimage we visited the Machines, a Nantes tourist attraction, on Saturday afternoon. It’s a museum full of neat machines that humans get to operate, and it’s sea-themed. Science and Animals… I’m sold. Because I jumped up and down like a small child I was chosen to help operate the sea monster- given the task of operating the movement of the eyes, the gills, and also the steam that is meant to give the impression of an angry fire-breathing monster. We also saw the Giant Elephant walk by but all rides were sold out for the day. Heyo future visitors, I bought a yearlong access pass, so guess what we are doing when you are here? 

Earlier in the week my Foyer created a “Lipdub” the idea being that everyone lip-syncs a song and we film a type of music video for it, in one shot. I’m not sorry for polluting some of your inboxes with this video. And I’m not sorry for posting it again here.  Go ahead, click it.

Rock Stars, Foyer Style 

Believe it or not, this little gem took quite some time to create. If you do not find it amusing, you can at least see some features of the building I live in, like the small library, the elevator, and the laundry room. We had a few complications seeing as they chose an American song and there are 3 people in the video who speak English. That’s including myself. We also couldn’t hear the music all the time.I wore my silver moon-sneakers for the occasion, cause they are clearly party shoes.

Quick things about this week that are also worth noting:

I got a tv. And I figured out how to connect it to my tv/internet box all by myself. This is a huge feat considering that I am terrible with technology (I don’t know how to turn on the tv at Joseph’s because there are about 4 remotes), and that I did this in a different language. I was not desperate to have television but was offered one from a teacher and it will be good to hear more French. There is a show called “Questions to be a champion” which I think is a little like Jeopardy but with a more original name.

I used Kenny Chesney’s “She thinks my tractor’s sexy” to teach about American Country Music. Watch the music video and imagine that you are learning about country music for the first time. It was far too much fun.

Friday night we were at a bar that was serving a punch/jungle juice, which I thought nothing of until Joseph pointed out that this is a little strange for anything but a house party… but I guess one would also say that the idea of being approached by a man with a plate of crepes, followed by a man carrying a pot of honey and offered a free snack at this bar could be considered a little strange too. Is this real life?

I received a letter from Immigration and my final step to legalizing my presence here is scheduled for Wednesday morning. Yet another official-looking stamp in my passport is just an excused day off work and a quick medical visit away. It will be a relief to be done with this paperwork nightmare.

Enjoy your upcoming Thanksgivings. I am thankful for You! And that you read this. And for France.

Bisous,

Steph

Faites-moi un MAX DE BRUIT!!!

Loosely translated « Make Some Noissssse ! »

It was no UD Timothy’s Bar & Grill, but it was a bizarrely wonderful evening at Hangars Bananes with DJ’s shouting this phrase.

Un Max de Bruit is what happened in some of my classrooms this past week.

My friend and I made a Max de Bruit when we saw a man with his finger stuck in the tram door.

… all in all a good theme for the week

What’s been going on in Nantes/Rezé/Bouaye you say? Well I’m officially out of my little “womp womp I’m homesick mood”.  And here’s what else:

This is a real life metro sign in Paris, not in Nantes

Let’s just start with the tram incident shall we? My friend I were walking through the tram looking for a place to sit, happened to glance at a door we were walking past, and saw a little finger attempting to wiggle its way free. The man outside the door with his finger stuck appeared quite calm, held books or something in his other hand, and was smoking. The tram started to leave the stop. The man ran next to the tram because he could not free his finger from the door! We pulled the emergency stop handle. The man freed himself and ran off. We then had to explain to the conductor that we were not just joking, that this event had really happened, and that the disappearance of this man was as big a mystery to us as it was to her. 

The alluring glowy rings of Hangar Bananes

German birthday celebrations were fantastic and took us to the elusive and mysterious Hangar Bananes. We walked for about 30 minutes to get there… which is good because earlier in the night we were eating birthday cake that looks like this …  The bar we wandered into was some sort of Reggae bar, and I think I recognized the Jamaican flag from Cool Runnings. Someone else said it was South Africa’s flag. We may never know what kind of music we were actually dancing to. Like I said… a bizarrely wonderful evening. 

I saw a wild hedgehog in the field next to my building. It. Was. Awesome.

The man at the kebab shop asked me if I wanted a rewards card. Perhaps I should lay off the kebabs for awhile.

I used the new Twilight movie trailer as an introduction in my “Hollywood” classes. The girls were fou for it. Who doesn’t love a good steamy vampire-human-werewolf love triangle? 15 year old French boys that’s who. They were quite displeased with my choice.

I told students to get into groups of three for an activity. When they stared at me blankly and did nothing I told them in French to get into “équipes (teams) de trois”. They giggled uncontrollably & there was an awful moment where I feared I had referenced a sexual threesome. (I know the expression is obviously ménage à trios… but there’s a lot of slang I don’t know as well). Upon asking French foyer residents they confirmed that I did not say anything inappropriate and that students were giggling because that is what 15 year olds do.

I threatened 3 different classes multiple times to stop class and do grammar exercises because of the noise level. (I also just embarrassed noisy kids by making them move to sit by me). I hate grammar. (my classes are meant to be primarily conversation classes, so the students can “profiter” from a native speaker). There is only one class I dislike enough for this grammar threat to perhaps become a reality.  But I hate grammar so much maybe I will just tell their teacher that they are noisy loud disruptive students.

My older kids took a “Are you a Democrat or Republican” quiz to start off our discussion of American politics. They were Democrats. Every one of them. I was not surprised. In a discussion of “hot political topics” the legalization of marijuana came up (of course it did, they are 18)… Amsterdam was mentioned as an example for legalization for what they call “space cakes”. I then had to teach them “special brownies” as a vocabulary word. I was happy they were speaking. A lot of them were. In English.

To teach a lesson about American & French Stereotypes, I dug up an episode of The Simpsons called “The Crepes of Wrath” (HA!) This is the episode where Bart goes to France on an exchange program and ends up having to work at a winery with terribly rude French people who smoke and wear stripey shirts (stereotypes!). My brother has mentioned that this is the first thing that pops into his mind every time I tell him I am going to France. I can assure you all- I am chain smoking right now, wearing a beret and eating baguette, and have plans to ride on a motorbike in order to stomp on some grapes for wine tomorrow. Vive la France!

Ironically, one of my favorite classes is the one that originally skipped my first week. Boy was I angry at them then. Boy do I now love that they are silly, fun, eager to talk, and laugh at all my jokes. One boy asked me where I studied because my accent is great! I am not sure he understood that I am American and that my American accent is so great because English is my first language.

Upon evaluating my week and discussing it with some friends, I am quite pleased I was placed in a high school. My friend in a primary school spent a significant amount of one day with two flashcards yelling “repeat after me… this is a horse! This is a dog!”

I am really enjoying teaching. Lesson planning is definitely a lot of work, but the discussions and antics of high schoolers make it worthwhile.

And now, a little dose of awkward, because it’s me…

I got a French haircut, really just my bangs. Good thing I knew the vocab word “fringe” and had a photo with me, because this was my conversation with the hairdresser.

Please excuse the MySpace style photo

*he examines my hair, picking at it and looking at it strangely, and then says something that means nothing to me.

Friend who came along for moral and linguistical support “I think he just said your hair is frizzy!”

Me “Oh the water is different in France. I just recently bought French shampoo to replace my worthless American shampoo. I think my hair is still adjusting to the change”

Hairdresser: “the water should have no effect on why your roots are lighter than the rest of your hair.” …Which is what he was commenting on in the first place.

Oh yah… I dye my hair a lot. Can you give me fringe now? Just like the picture. I promise I won’t try to talk to you anymore.

And drumroll please, for my final bit of news… I am going to London in February with school! I was just invited this week and will get to see all of London’s famous sites, Chaperone style, for 5 days, for FREE. Merci Beaucoup Lycée! 

Bises Bises,

Steph

PS. A quick note on strikes… one of my friends didn’t have to work on Monday because of a strike at her middle school… why were they striking? The heat had not been turned on in the building yet. Teachers refuse to teach in a cold building! Students refuse to learn in these barbaric conditions! No school on Monday! This has been my favorite strike reason to date.

Fall Funk

I’ve been in quite a little mood recently, and I am going to go ahead and blame it on the changing weather. There are few things I hate more than winter and being cold- unfortunately since my surgery in ‘09 I am ALWAYS cold, and in the winter I think the only time I am warm is in the shower.  It’s been a dreary, rainy couple days in Nantes and I’m sure Winter weather will be here in no time. In the whiny voices of my campers last summer… “Mais NON!” 

I’m sure that my fussiness also stemmed from the departure of my parents and aunt… good thing I at least have a wonderful Christmas visitor to look forward to now. 6 Weeks! 

It took me about an hour and a half to get home from the airport on public transport, the whole time during which I was very confused why everything was closed. Ahh All Saints Day- a holiday. Thankfully I had some cashews in my cupboard, some wine in the fridge, and some candy buckeyes that my Grandma had made and sent over with my parents. No meal is complete without the dessert course, so things felt pretty well balanced.

I was meant to return to work on Thursday… I caught my 6:50am bus #1 to hop on the tram, got to my final bus stop and someone I assumed was crazy informed me that my bus was on strike. Normally, even in a strike there is minimal service, and there is always an announcement on the screen near the bus stop. The Spanish Assistant and I chatted it up with some bus drivers who confirmed the greve, freaked out a little because there is literally no other mode of transportation to school (someone mentioned the train, but really, the train? To get to school?)  I emailed my teachers as soon as I got home and received a response along the lines of “Don’t worry, this is France!” 

Are strikes common in France? In the month since moving here there has been a teacher strike, a general transportation strike, an AirFrance strike, and then this particular bus company’s strike. 

Some good news, I received a confusing letter from CAF, the French housing welfare program that assistants qualify for. When I showed this letter to the directrice of the foyer she told me that I have been assigned a number and that this a good sign.  I’m not sure what that means exactly, but I don’t think I should uncork the champagne in welfare-reception celebrations quite yet. But perhaps those celebrations will happen sooner rather than later. I am also fairly certain I have medical insurance now, but those papers could be misleading as well.

After about 2 days (or was it 3?) spent lying in bed and watching more How I Met Your Mother than any normal human being should watch in one sitting, I emerged from my cave and into the social world again. Don’t feel too sorry for me, I live in a building of 100 people, 5 of which I consider quite good friends at this point, and I have two feet that could walk to their doors and one hand to knock. I just wasn’t up to it. 

I visited my bread man at the market, was disappointed that my normal cheese truck wasn’t there, and purchased a bouquet of flowers. At the flower shop I was asked if they were a gift or simply for my enjoyment, I sheepishly responded for myself… the cashier said “With Reason!”  and smiled when she wrapped them up.  Finally, someone who thinks like me (or wants to help me justify my purchase so I will return to the shop in the future).

At the bar last night I was asked how old I was, which is apparently very old in the opinion of these Frenchies. When I studied abroad the younger drinking age was fantastic… now that I have run into my students at a bar and have also been harassed by 19 year old carpenters for my age, I am reconsidering the benefits of bar access at 18. The night ended with shamelessly eating a Kebab on the tram on the way home (which I’m pretty sure is interdit, eating on the tram), after ordering “an Americain” that we thought was just a HUGE fry… but instead turned out to be a sandwich. Bon. 

Tonight we celebrate the birthday of the German Assistant, who is actually older than I am (whew). It's a good thing I live in the foyer and have people I like a lot who I can go out with, because this tiny little room (as much as I love it) is sucking all of my positive energy lately. 

Step One, create pizza

I’m quite excited to start work again on Monday… I could use a little more structure in my life these days.

The week will also bring the challenge of booking train reservations for my December trip, and also finding a cheap toaster oven. Hopefully today was the last time I fry a pizza on my hotplate… 

Step Two, Place Pot over Pizza to capture heat and melt cheese. 

Bises,

Steph

Foyer Grand Voile

I am finally settled into Le FOYER Des Jeunes Travailleurs, Grand Voile, where I will be living for the school year. (email me if you want to be my penpal I LOVE letters). We don’t really have Foyers in the States, but it’s essentially government subsidized housing for young working people ages 16-30. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I have my own bathroom and kitchen area in my room- basically a studio. There is also some shared community space and they run programs every week. When I studied abroad I had a sink, a bed, and a desk to myself and everything else was communal. So I’m quite happy with my housing situation. This is where I live now…

The walls in my hallway are RED and so is my door- 224 Housies you know how gemmy and wonderful that makes me feel.  

This is my room! Excuse the ugly brown blanket, but it was free. My initial trip to the grocery store I bought all the essentials- toilet paper, a 3 euro bottle of Bordeaux, cheese, baguette, and some sunflowers. It’s not my home until I have flowers.  I also got a small pumpkin. Happy Fall!

 My big complaint is that there is no wifi in the rooms… DUMB. There is supposedly wifi in the lobby downstairs but my computer has yet to find the network. There is a computer room but it is locked up on weekends… and Skyping on a computer with someone else right next to you is awkward anyways. This will seriously hinder my communication… I am going to figure out a better internet situation in November when my to-do list includes more things like “drink wine” instead of “register with immigration”.

I’ve been busy busy since being here. I have been to my high school and there are seven English teachers there! One of the teachers is Polish and is very interested in how Americans with Polish roots celebrate their heritage. He thought it was quite funny that my family eats Kielbasa on special occasions like weddings, parties, holidays. I have yet to tell him that my brother flies the Polish flag on his boat… I’m sure he will get a kick out of that. He also really likes English phrases like "Whats Up" and "See You Later".

I still don’t have my schedule worked out yet, but I heard that I will mostly be observing classes until the All Saints vacation at the end of October. So I’ll observe for 2 weeks and then have a 2 week vacation. Yes please! My high school operates from 8am-6pm Mon-Tues-Thurs-Fri but closes at 12 on Wednesdays. (I will not be working all those hours, and teachers don’t work all those hours, they each have a unique schedule). Some French high schools have classes on Saturdays… I am lucky that mine does not!

I have a French bank account! I don’t know why this is so exciting to me, but I feel legit now.  I will hate this French bank account when I leave for home- I hear it’s a nightmare to close them. 

I’ve figured out transportation and have been into the city a couple of times! I also finally went to the transportation office and bought my monthly pass and applied for an identity card.  I did a hop-on hop-off tour with some other language assistants who are living in my building. It’s going to be a fun year, in a fun city. My favorite- Nantes is famous for this giant mechanical elephant that you can RIDE! I can’t wait for visitors so I have someone to go with me!

I also had dinner and a little tour with one of my French friends from the camp I worked at last summer.  We had crepes and cider and looked at the CASTLE (yes, there is a castle in my city. With a moat.) Magic.  A lot of assistants met up at the castle with bottles of wine this weekend too. There is no open container law in France so I always keep a corkscrew in my bag for situations like that, and in case I ever need to defend myself I feel safer with it. 

 There is still so much to do- apply for health insurance, sign up for French social security, finish registering  with  immigration, and get a French phone…  bah. The French are notorious for all the paperwork required to just… well do anything here. They love passport sized photos and photocopies of everything.  I am still feeling overwhelmed and have never more enjoyed crossing things off a list!

I leave you with this. Look at these cookies. You probably know that I cannot wink. It is an unfortunate genetic disability that I unsuccessfully tried to defeat with two years worth of New Year’s Resolutions.

                                                Bises Bises,

                                                                    Steph

Why Love France?

Sometimes people are confused just why I love France so much, and why I always want to be there.  So here’s a little something something I put together to let you know just what I am specifically excited about for the next couple months of my life, and some things I am not so excited about.

Things I love…

• Let’s get it out there right away: The Food, the Drinks, the Desserts, the Wine…The food is brilliant. I can’t wait to discover a local boulangerie for my everyday baguette, try many patisseries for macarons and bonbons, go to the market for fresh veggies and fruit, and pair a good stinky cheese with even better glass(es) of red wine.

• Being a Pedestrian. All the time. I won’t have a car in France. No big deal. I’ll have public transportation, hopefully a bike, and my own two legs. This will suffice. .. and will hopefully counterbalance my love of French food.

• Foreign Language I make mistakes. But I love love love this language. And I can’t wait to see just where my language skills will go after such a long period of time listening/speaking/writing it.  And the funny stories I will have from language miscommunications. These situations can breed awkward, and I tend to thrive in that. Bring it on.

• Teaching I know I belong somewhere in the education field, and I feel lucky that I have had a lot of different opportunities to see just where I want to fit in. I am excited and terrified to have a classroom of my own.

• Travel There is a Mediterranean cruise planned for October with my parents and my aunt. I’ll probably be in Spain at Christmastime. I want to get to Morocco to see my college roommate at some point. And my very first friend ever is planning on coming over to backpack. Top it all off with the possibility of working camp again this spring? Family, Boyfriend, Friends… the world is ours. I can’t wait to explore more of it with you

• A Slower-Paced Lifestyle They work a shorter work week, take longer lunch breaks, and close their shops up when they need to. Americans put so much value on ambition and convenience… which can be great. But I think that some days it’s harder for us to take a step back and enjoy everyday living.  

• New People + New Perspectives One of my favorite parts about study abroad was the class of kids I studied with. We had about 17 kids in class, representing about 9-10 different countries. Living in the Midwest, this is not something I get to experience often. I’m excited to learn more about France and will have most of my interactions with French people, but there is also a German language assistant and a Spanish language assistant placed at my school. And I’m sure multiple nationalities will be living at the “foyer” that I will be calling home

• Pretending to be Belle from Beauty & the Beast It’s too easy. Life over there is so picturesque. I just want to sit on a fountain while people sing a song about me, read a book, and have a sheep take a bite out of a page.  I can skip the whole locked up in a castle for a spell of time. 

Things I can handle but wish I didn’t have to…

• (The lack of) my American life + Time Difference  I will miss you, and you, and you… I have a lot of wonderful people to miss. This will not be easy. I know that. I love you. I know that the time difference makes it hard to keep in touch, but let’s try. And if you ever are wondering what life 6 hours into the future is like, chat me up…

• Dog Poop. Everywhere. The French are not the most responsible dog owners when it comes to picking up their pups’ messes. When I studied abroad I had one particularly terrible day. And on my way to my program director’s office to discuss said day, I stepped in Dog Poop for the first time that semester. He congratulated me and said that meant I had truly lived in France for a significant period of time.

• Greves (Strikes) True Story, I was once tear-gassed in France.  Because I was outside eating my lunch at the wrong place wrong time, and the middle schoolers were striking. While I love that the French really work for what they believe and act as an important part of their government processes, this can be very inconvenient. And make you cry. And they are very common.

• Neutral Colors Goodbye bright colored clothing and prints. I used to think I was so worldly and people would mistake me for European all the time. Nope. I am so… American.  I don’t need to be drawing any excess attention to myself so I try as hard as I can to dress like the French when over there. So I’ll be donning black, brown, beige, grey etc clothes for a good spell of time.

There are good and bad things about everywhere you can live. But since I try to live my life a little more on the optimistic side, I think my list of great things about France outweighs my negatives.  My lists could be far more extensive, but you get where I’m going. I love France.  I’m excited to live there, and maybe now it’s a little clearer why. I'm only 10 days away!

Bises, 

Steph