Disco and Thanksgiving

I took my computer to the internet cafe so that I could upload images and overwhelm you with blog.

I went to a Disco recently with some friends.



This weekend (24-26) I went to Valance, a city about two hours away, to celebrate Thanksgiving with a handful of other American assistants and another handful of British assistants. We were so traditional we even had cranberry jelly in a can. I learned how to roast a Turkey and make mulled wine. When we sat down to eat, it was like being with a family somewhere in Americaland. It was really nice. I had a great time.

All that random stuff: The unabridged version.

It was pouring and cold today. Here are 10 other things:

1. I got a haircut recently. The woman refused to believe me when I told her I wanted my hair short. She kept telling me that the cut I wanted was short! as if I couldn’t see the picture I was pointing to. Luckily she didn’t give me much of what I’ve dubbed the “Euro-mullet,” a disgusting trend I’ve seen on entirely too many women. Cut it off!




2. I have been doing laundry in my bathtub since I arrived, because I can’t find that ghetto, coin laundr-‘o-mat anywhere in this city. So I do my own. For this refined procedure, one needs just a few basic items: a decent tub, preferably clean; some fragrant laundry detergent that’s not too soapy; a large, wooden cooking spoon for rigorous agitation; a chair and a stiff back brace for time spent stirring; and a few hours for soaking. An active imagination also comes in handy after about 45 minutes when you look at the milky, muddy water your clothes are stewing in and want to believe they are clean. Be glad washing machines are not transparent. My philosophy is if the clothes smell good after I wash them, they must be clean. So I douse them with violently perfumed detergent, beat the hell out of them with the wooden spoon, and hope for the best. My whole apartment smells like humid “wildflower scent” for hours. It’s not bad. After a good rinse, my clothes are strung either on my heaters or on my balcony for a few days to dry/air out to a perfect crisp. Fascinating, I know.



Don’t mind my freakishly white eyes. Hey, they kind of match the bath water…

3. Today I mopped with what I think is the mop, a wet cloth that I pushed around on the floor with the broom. It worked = I am so right.



4. When I met my classes for the first time, after introducing myself and talking a little about the US, I asked the students to describe their stereotype of American men and women. This is what they described:

The American man is fat. No, enormous. He is always wearing a hat, either a baseball cap or a cowboy hat. In one hand he is holding a hamburger, in the other hand a coke. He is always watching baseball. In another version, the man is wearing lots of gold chains and wearing large headphones. I think this is the gangsta' version. The American woman, on the other hand, is beautiful. She always has, however, large breasts and a walletful of plastic surgery. I told them that we think that French women have hairy armpits. They shrieked.

5. My schedule has finally become clear. I start most days after 11. Every other Friday I start at 8, but other than that my classes are predominately in the afternoon, which is nice because I can sleep in all the time. I have 12 hours per week total. I think that I see most of my classes once a month, because I have half the class every other week. I have a lot of kids, and I haven’t even met all of them yet. Some of them love to scream “Hello!” at me from an uncomfortably long distance or from the top of the stairs when thy see me pass, requiring me to turn and give an awkwardly friendly wave. It’s strange to be recognized throughout the whole school.

But this is the least demanding job I’ve ever had in my life. It’s ridiculous. I would highly recommend it for those of you college kids wondering what to do next for a year. I plan one activity and repeat it for 3 weeks. That plan was working great until one day when I had to repeat the same lesson 6 times in a row. I was beating my head against the wall by the end.

Each class has its own dynamic and some are easier to make talk than others. Classes in which the majority of kids don’t speak well are the most difficult for me. I don’t know when or if they understand, and I don’t know what to demand of them. It’s exhausting. It’s great to have the occasional kid who speaks well and is motivated.

I will start teaching Frankenstein (the novel, in English) on Friday. The senior kids are reading it in preparation for their BAC, a huge final exam at the end of the year. I have really enjoyed the book and am more excited that I expected to teach a literature class.

6. Some common foods here include endives; pasta with cream, bits of ham, and Swiss cheese; salad with oil and balsamic vinegar dressing; peanut or tomato flavored puffy chips as an appetizer; plain yogurt with sugar added for dessert; cheese fondue; and pigs feet and rabbit (sick). Here is my fridge. More than you ever wanted to know, I know.


It’s tiny.

7. Aside from large grocery stores, most stores open from 9-12, close from 12-2, and reopen from 2 until 6 or 7. Grocery stores close at 8 and close at noon on Sunday. Plan accordingly. When I mentioned that in the US stores stay open all day, my friend asked how workers rest and eat a good lunch. I said that they don’t; they eat pbj in the break room. How nice would it be if all businesses, including banks and pharmacies, closed for 2 hours in the middle of the day, everyday? Everything stops and breathes. Inhale. Exhale. And continue.


8. I’ll

9. Stop

10. Here

Sometimes this place drives.me.CRAZY

After returning to the same internet store three times in 3 days and after receiving contradicting information from each person I talked to, I still do not have the internet, because it costs double the original estimate. Super. No my life will not end if I don't have the internet, but I had just started to imagine the possibilities of downloading american tv and wasting away my mornings researching the difference between one random thing and another. Not to mention Skype. I am still looking though.


HAPPY THANKSGIVING
This weekend I am going to Valence to stay with Laura Glish, another American assistant, and to have a giant Thanksgiving potluck. Hopefully lots of people will come bringing lots of good food. I am looking forward to it. I do miss home today though. sigh.

Two nights ago snow appeared on the very tops of the mountains! It's beautiful!

Today I am planning a lesson about Everyday American Language for young people. I can't wait. I am going to teach them words like "awesome," "cheers," "rad,""ouch,""chill and mellow,""oh crap,""and "weird." I am going to present the words, make them repeat after me, and then make them invent a sentance using the words. I'm hoping I can secretly crack up without them noticing. I have to entertain myself somehow.

I am not applying for grad school this year.

(see title)

In fact, I don't know what I will do next year. But I love it here. Time will tell.

Clarification: I was not sick.

The doctor's visit was mandatory, people. I had to go to get my visa. Sorry for the confusion. I am healthy as a horse, as they say. But thanks for your concern. During the visit, I also had to talk to a nurse about my eyes and height and weight. Then I had to cover my life's medical history with a doctor. But do read the David Sedaris story that Ben posted. It's hilarious! I heard Sedaris read it aloud one time in Asheville. That guy is great.

I will be getting internet at my apt this week! Finally! So expect a giant post tomorrow or soonish. There will be photos.

what

I sat on the bench studying the anti- genital mutilation in Africa poster with my back against the wall in the tiny, windowless room waiting for the doctor. The rectangular room had two doors, one opened into the waiting room and the other opened into the X-ray room. The doctor had instructed me to undress from the waist up, and I was patiently awaiting my privacy robe. When the doctor opened the door, he gave me a surprised look and explained the instructions again, complete with hand gestures. OK then, I thought. I was really hoping that I hadn't just missed the gown somewhere in the little windowless room when I timidly opened the door, exposing myself to the unnervingly large, cold florescent X-ray room and French doctor alike. Without a second glance, the doctor guided me towards the antiqued X-ray box directing me to smash myself against the interior wall and inflate my lungs, while he took the picture of my hopefully non-Tuburculosis infested lungs. I thought they were giving me the X-ray of my lungs as consolation prize, but it turns out it's standard procedure.

****

This past weekend I went to Geneva to visit a friend. In short I did not like Geneva. Strangely, I found it too international. That is to say, there were so many international people in Geneva that I could not identify one particular culture. I heard 50 different languages while walking down the street. It was confusing. I learned that I enjoy visiting places that have one predominate culture to explore. I guess it didn't help that it was raining and everything was closed on Sunday. I missed France and was glad to be home again.

A few select moments

School started once again yesterday, and it's back to the routine. But vacation...

My cousin Jenny just happened to be in France during the first few days of my vacation, and she stopped by to visit. We had a really nice time walking around Aix and Chambéry. We had not spent significant time together in probably 4 years, and it was nice to re-meet her. Thanks for taking us out for pizza Jenny!

I was invited to spend part of the week of vacation at my friend Maxim's house with his parents and other friends. They have an old (200 years+) rustic vacation home in the mountains Annecy that is within 5 minutes walking distance from the lake in Annecy and has a really nice view of the mountains from every window. Ah yes. I spend most of my vacation reading by the fireplace, eating two-hour, 5-course meals at both lunch and dinner, sleeping, disgusting the family with my breakfast egg and cheese-eating habits, trimming apple trees, and admiring the crisp blue, automn sky.

I went kayaking one morning and decided that I needed to take a refreashing swim in the lake. The strikingly clear waters of the cleanest lake in France had tempted me the moment I sat in the kayak, and as I began to sweat the waters only called louder. I awkwardly changed into a swimsuit the mom had brought to the dock and stood in perfect balance and composure, awaiting my destiny. I took my arms out from my side in perfect "t" formation, took a zen breath, and jumped. Idiot. I think my blood froze upon contact. I couldn't feel my feet for 40 minutes afterward. As long as I kept my chest above the water (read: latched onto the dock), I could breathe. I managed to swim around a bit before loosing muscle strength in my arms. I felt refreshed for days. The men in the family worshipped me, while the women kept checking for fever or debilitating disease.

For Halloween, I decided prepare a meal for the family to thank them for hosting me. First, however, I found it necessary to teach them a few useful Halloween terms like "Trick or Treat," "marshmellow," and "muuhahaha," obviously the word that scary Halloween creatures say. The latter expression was difficult for them though, because French people can't pronounce the "h." "Hah hah hah" becomes "a a a."

For dinner I decided to cook "ethnic" food and prepare enchilladas. The family eagerly crowded around me and my Old El Paso enchillada kit to absorb the Americain culture I was imparting. It's a good thing that "4-cheese, Mexican blend with queso" doesn't exist in France, because it turns out that grated swiss cheese is infinitely better for Mexican food. Oh, and black beans don't exist either. But they loved the food. It was a hit. I had also wanted to roast marshmellows in the fireplace that night for dessert. Big, white, fluffy marshmellows that swell and singe with heat. I found my marshmellows in the grocery store. Small, colorful, fruit-flavored marshmellows that taste like burned gummy bears when roasted. But I pretended all of this was normal, since the marshmellows I had imagined do not exist here, and I proudly showed the family the art of marshmellow roasting.

Next time on Sarah's Adventures in Franceland, my mandatory visit to the doctor: no flimsy nightgowns necessary here. TBC...