On-the-go update: Berlin, Prague, Vienna

Berlin was cold, and when we got in at 5pm it was already dark and foggy. Combined with the heavy presence of history, specifically the vestiges of the Cold War, Berlin felt like the future as imagined by the 80's. Eventually I got to see the city when it was sunny and not shut down for Christmas, and I do like Berlin. As C put it, it's really got that "We've been through crap you can't even image" feeling to it.

Berlin

Then we took a questionable bus to Prague, which took five hours, and spent most of the time on the bus watching "The Big Bang Theory", which as it turns out really appeals to my sense of humor. As for Prague itself, the only way to properly represent it is to show pictures, but I'll have to wait until I can steal photos from my roommate's camera, because she's got the fancy DSLR.

Prague

We then split up and she is making her way back to Toulon, while I took the same bus company to Vienna. My CouchSurfing host greeted me with a hug, and I feel entirely welcome at her place (not least because she offered me hot chocolate!). This morning we went to the Viennese equivalent of a Goodwill, in search of shoes for the Kaiserball tomorrow. Then we met up with her father at the Albertina, to see a temporary exhibit on Michaelangelo, and I also caught Picasso and William Kentridge. It was a museum-y day, as I went off to the Belvedere after, to see an exhibit on VALIE EXPORT's work, as well as Rodin and Klimt, which is part of the permanent collection. I saw "The Kiss" by Klimit. I also saw a Burgher of Calais, but you weren't allowed to climb on it.

Célébration!

Joyeux Christmas Eve, everyone! Currently a rainy and blah afternoon.

Last Friday, I stayed at school all day but didn't work at all.

But then again, neither did anyone else. The teachers all told me straight up that the Friday before Christmas break is a day of fêtes. And did I want to miss out on that? Hell no.

In the morning, there was a spectacle in the school courtyard, wherein each class performed a song, a dance, or a skit. It was a serious affair, too -- there were costumes, makeup, glitter and music. Because it was outside, the kids not performing were all running around and making noise and not really paying attention. Still, though, it was pretty cute. And I found out some of my students have serious dancing chops.

Here's a picture of them all after the spectacle, dancing for fun to Shakira.


Before they all went to the cafeteria, I was invited into a CP (French first grade) classroom for an "apéritif." We all had a cup of grape juice with ham-and-cheese skewers that some of the kids' parents had brought. Really, it doesn't get much more adorable than that.

During our two-hour lunch break, there was a traditional Martiniquais Christmas meal for the staff. We had acras (below) -- a kind of fritter made with either shrimp, cod, or vegetables -- and paté salé, meat-filled pastry. There was rum and punch coco and champagne, too -- never mind that it was still a work day.


We had jambon Noël, Christmas ham -- a thicker, more tender version of its American counterpart -- and boudin, a kind of sausage that you basically bite into and suck the meat out of.

Here's a picture of one of the teachers preparing the boudin...


...and another of the teachers showing me how to eat it.


We also had rice, pork stew, pois d'Angole ("pigeon peas" in English), a starchy root called chou chinois ("Chinese cabbage"), gratin with christophines and cheese, bananas, peanut and cherry ice cream, and flan coco.


In the afternoon, when the kids had come back from the cafeteria, they had an afternoon of free time. I passed out Christmas word searches, and they all played board games and snacked on cakes and cookies and soda.

Here's a picture of some CM1 (French fourth grade) students drawing Christmas pictures on the chalkboard.



Here's a picture of the school "Christmas tree."


Here's a picture of some petit Jésus candy that a CM1 student gave me. It was part of her prize for being the first to finish the Christmas word search. It is exactly what it sounds like -- pure sugar molded into the shape of our Savior. Christmas candy doesn't get any better than this, folks.

On-the-go update: Munich, Frankfurt

We were in Munich for four nights and stayed with CouchSurfing hosts for two nights in Frankfurt. The highlights of each city:

Seeing the treasury in Munich, including jewel-encrusted crowns and swords.

Looking for an ATM from our French bank in Frankfurt so we could make a fee-free withdrawal, looking it up on Google maps, finding it, and walking into the lobby of a fancy skyscraper only to find that it was five stories of office buildings.

Munich, Frankfurt

Chanté Noël

In the days and weeks leading up to Christmas in Martinique, chanté Noëls abound. People gather, either in someone's house or outside, to sing (and dance!) to Christmas carols with live accompaniment. Food and drinks are served, and the party can go on into the wee hours of the morning.

The carols are all traditional Martiniquais songs, sung in Creole and in French. It being the West Indies and all, the songs have a decidedly Caribbean flavor.

All in all, it's a spirited, upbeat, energetic, uplifting and just plain fun tradition.

Here's a snippet from a chanté Noël I went to last weekend. This song is called "Michaud Veillait," and it's one of my favorites. The line they're repeating here, "Il vient, il vient," refers to the coming of Jesus.

Pinch me

My favorite time to go surfing is in the late afternoon, at four or five. The water's usually calmer, the beach is less crowded, and if it's clear, the sunset over the Plage des Surfeurs is pretty darn breathtaking.



As I paddled through the water, watching the sky fill with light, I had one of those pinch-me moments. How much better could it get, surfing in the middle of December on a warm, nearly-deserted beach tropical paradise at sunset?

Not much.

Here's the subsequent alpenglow over the water.

Out of the mouths of children...

Some of the more heartening moments I've had over the past three months. Compilation inspired by Olivia Lau.


Lesson on the family, CM1 (French fourth grade). Teacher hands out British Royal Family tree.

Teacher: What is the English word for roi?
[Students don't know.]
Teacher: There's a famous fast-food restaurant called Burger...?
CM1 student: Cheese!


Lesson on Thanksgiving, CE2 (French third grade).

Me: So what do people have to do before they eat Thanksgiving dinner? [I'm looking for cooking the meal here.]
CE2 student: They have the apératif?


Stage d'anglais with French lycéens (high schoolers). Celebrity "Guess Who?"; celebrity in question is Willow Smith. She's ten years old, father's an actor, and...

Lily: What does she like to do?
French lycéenne: She whips her hair?


Same stage d'anglais, same lycéens, same celebrity "Guess Who?" Tiny French teenage boy draws name we don't recognize. Class shrieks in laughter.

Lily: Who is that?
French lycéen: She has very big breasts.

Thus Lily and I are introduced to Lolo Ferrari, the deceased French porn star who appeared in the Guinness Book of World Records for the largest boobs, at size 54J. I kid you not.


And enfin, here's a picture of the lovely purple flower one of my CM2 (French fifth grade) students brought me from her garden. Trop sympa!

On-the-go update: Dusseldorf, Cologne, Munich

Hey! Back in Munich for the moment with my roommate C and my friend Ben from school. Thursday morning we flew in to Dusseldorf, stayed the night, took the train to Cologne, and a few hours later left for Munich. Highlights so far:

• Meeting another English assistant from Toulouse on the plane, then a rock band from Boston at the hostel
• Climbing the Dom in Cologne
• Shoveling snow off a driveway for the first time in my life!

Dusseldorf, Cologne

Lyon: La Fête des Lumières + CouchSurfing

Lyon

This weekend I went to Lyon for the Festival of Lights. Artists do gigantic installation lighting up the entire city and millions of people come from all over the world to attend. It was pretty cool, but the real story here is that I CouchSurfed for the first time.

When I originally heard about CouchSurfing, the reaction I had was similar to the one my mom is probably having now as she reads this. What? Stay in some random stranger's house? I'll be murdered, or worse.

Of course you have to be smart about it; you need to look over people's profiles carefully and if anything seems off at all run away. But there's a good system in place for checking for creepers (it's all reputation-based; hello gigantic Game Theory experiment!) and for the most part the people are good people, who just want to share their stories. And as either a host or a surfer, you get to meet such interesting and different people!

For instance, my host Corinne had another surfer from Estonia of all places, Dmitri, who was studying in Grenoble on an Erasmus grant. Dmitri knew an Australian named Rowan also studying in Grenoble, who came to Lyon with his Italian girlfriend Antoinetta, whom he met while visiting a friend in Paris who was hosting her at the time. We also added to our group another Italian named Alexander, who was surfing with Corinne's friend. Later when I was touring the lights with my friends from Toulon, Dmitri came too so he met my friends Greg and Vanessa. I mean, I was just blown away thinking about how CouchSurfing brings people together, from literally all over the world.

And honestly I felt safer than I do at hostels. It felt like staying with a friend. Corinne took me in last-minute even though she already had a guest, and lives in a really small apartment. She picked me up from the metro station, had bought another mattress so she could host me, and took us all around Lyon. She even rented a bike for me and fed us breakfast! Without her, the native Lyonnaise, we never would have found all the passageways and staircases typical of Vieux Lyon, or gotten the same history. And she was happy to do it! She told me that she prefers hosting when she can give a tour, as opposed to being just a place to crash.

In return, I cooked her a dinner, but she wouldn't even let me wash the dishes, and I definitely don't think I did enough to thank her. The only choice then, is to pay it forward!

Aix-en-Provence

This weekend I made a trip to Aix-en-Provence specifically to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 in VO, version originale, ie English because I refused to see it for the first time dubbed in French. Aix was so pretty! I think I would live there over Paris (if it ever came down to where to live in France....) There was a Christmas market there too with lots of foodstuffs.

Aix-en-Provence

Smorgasbord

A slow afternoon. So why not write a massive update post detailing several activities of interest I've experienced lately?

HAUTE-TAILLE

In addition to bèlè, my host mom also dances another traditional dance of Martinique, called haute-taille -- literally, "high size." While bèlè has its roots in traditional African dance, haute-taille actually originated in Martinique. During the days of slavery, when the masters weren't around, the slaves would dress up in their Sunday best and try to imitate the slow, sedate dances of the white people. Haute-taille is accompanied by an accordion, and there's usually a guy calling out the steps, too. It's actually pretty hilarious to watch haute-taille, if you think about how it basically originated as a form of mockery, and how the masters had absolutely no idea they were being made fun of like that while they were away.

Here's a snippet from the haute-taille ball I watched several weeks ago. The costumes are my favorite part. Note the fancy-schmancy skirts, dresses, pants and straw hats.






BO LARIVIE

Two weekends ago, I went to what I guess is the equivalent of a Martiniquais amusement park. It was called Bo Larivie, which means "Not far from the river" in Creole. I went with my host sisters' dance club, which meant lots and lots of little kids -- who (let's not kid ourselves) were the park's target audience, anyway.

Basically, the "park" was a huge plot of land. There was a covered structure at the entrance with picnic tables, where we sat and an employee introduced us to the various activities you could do there.

First, we went on a hike. The trail was about a mile long, and at the end there was a waterfall. The guy told us that it was the widest waterfall in North America, which I'm not sure I believe, but it was quite pretty nonetheless.


Then, when we got back to the picnic tables, there were a bunch of games you could rent, like dominoes. Somehow I was recruited to supervise croquet, which basically consisted of me screaming at kids for a half an hour not to swing their mallets in each others' faces.

After that, we went "kayaking." There was maybe a fifty-foot stretch of river, enclosed by rocks, where the children tried to maneuver their little kid-sized boats against the current but usually just ended up wading in the water and pushing each other.


After that, we had a huge lunch. There was chicken and fish and rice and vegetables and sauce and about five different kinds of soda (banana, pineapple, orgeat, grenadine, and anice, I think), and for dessert there were these popsicle-like things with a fruity exterior and vanilla ice cream on the inside.

Then, I went swimming in the river. It was absolutely freezing compared to the ocean and there were all kinds of grasses and slimy rocks everywhere but I still had fun.


SOUND SYSTEM

A Sound System is basically an all-night reggae party. I'm not sure how else to describe it. I attended one last weekend, as a benefit for the St. Lucian victims of Cyclone Thomas (which killed 12 people in October). As an entry fee, you had to bring canned food or water.

The event was held in a house-turned-bar in Trois Islets, a city in the southern part of the island. There were some live artists who performed, but there was also DJ who alternated with the live performers. I'm no reggae connoisseur but after going that night, I can understand a little better why reggae is such a BFD here. The music is mostly in Creole but the parts I did understand, in English, talked about how we're all equal, that though we all have different skin colors, no one should ever be considered superior to anyone else.

The venue was crowded and unpleasantly smoky and I had to step outside more than once to breathe. We stayed until 4AM, and even then, the party was still going strong.

Here's a crappy picture I took, just to give you an idea of how dark and claustrophobic it was in there. The artist is the white splotch in the front.



LE CANAL DES ESCLAVES

The day after the Sound System, I went (on very little sleep) on a hike with my host sisters' cousin and a bunch of her friends. The hike, called Le Canal des Esclaves (the slaves' canal) was in the northern part of the island.

The entire walk was on a narrow pathway on the edge of a canal, apparently constructed sometime in the 1700s by Martiniquais slaves.


It was raining for a good portion of the hike, and so the rocks were slippery in some places. There were also parts of the trail where there was no barrier between you and the ground hundreds of feet below. You had to look straight ahead at all times so as not to lose your nerve. Or slip and fall -- which I did, once, into the canal, but luckily it wasn't very deep.

If you did want to look around, you had to stop. But it was worth it. I suppose it sounds cheesy, but I really did feel as though I were at the edge of the universe, standing on a precipice (I hate to use this word again) with nothing but trees and mountains and air and clouds and fantastic green all around.


So basically, it's really, really beautiful here and all y'alls should come visit me...

Newspaper Appearance

Yup.

I was in the newspaper. With my new haircut which makes me look awful, but that's besides the point!

Ok, so in the US I am a member of Amnesty International. I met some Amnesty International members in Brive a few weeks ago and had coffee with one of them this past week (I fortunately got to pick the place and chose this wonderful café called La Bogotá that has exquisite hot chocolate and waffles and gives you mini cookies with your drink). Our visit included a stop at La Montagne, the local newspaper. They were interviewing Amnesty about their Russia campaign and the various events they were hosting in Brive. They asked for a photo and since I was there, I ended up in the photo! Sweet.

Les flics

Last night I had a run-in with the French police.

You'd think it would've been scary but it was actually the most hilarious thing that's happened to me in a long time.

Another assistant, Lily, and I had gone to Fort de France to meet up with some acquaintances at a bar. Which already wasn't the smartest decision on my part, because I had work at nine this morning and ended up nearly oversleeping. But that's another story. For the purposes of this one, I should say that Fort de France is at least a half-hour drive from where we live, so we don't go all that often and don't know the area very well.

We left the bar just after midnight. The streets of Fort de France were quiet. In the car, as we made our way towards the autoroute, we began flipping through the radio channels to try to find something good to listen to. Which can be quite a task in Martinique -- the stations are all either the news, talk shows, or random reggae or techno. Finally we came to a station that was playing Whitney Houston.

"Oh, my God, this is such a good song!" Lily exclaimed, turning the volume to level 20.

Lily turned down an abandoned street, and all of a sudden, there were flashing blue lights in our face and French men in police uniforms running towards our car. It was a one-way street, and we were going in the mauvais sens, the wrong way. Merde.

"Can't you turn down the music?" one of the cops asked. First Lily tried, and then I tried, to make the radio stop. I turned the dial to the left, and the music got quieter. Then, as I continued turning, I watched (and listened) in horror as the volume climbed to level 24. Panicked, I turned the dial to the right, to the same effect. Then I tried pushing button after button, but it was useless; Whitney was still going strong.

As I was doing this, Lily was trying to explain to the cops that we were sorry, we live in Trinité and aren't familiar with Fort de France, we were just trying to find the autoroute and we didn't mean to disobey the sacred traffic laws of Martinique/endanger all the invisible cars that were sharing the one-way street with us at 12:15 on this lovely Wednesday night. Or something to that effect.

By this point, Whitney is seriously belting. "IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!" It really, really couldn't have been any louder.

Lily tried to apologize for the music, but now, the French policeman, understanding that we were foreign, told us with a half-smile, "C'est pas grave."

I was already struggling to hold back laughter.

In desperation, Lily pulled the radio out of its socket, and finally it was quiet.

One of the French police then started giving Lily directions to the autoroute. He pointed out where to go and where to turn. Finally we said goodbye and Lily reversed to get off the one-way street.

"Thank God I don't speak much French," Lily said as we were driving away. "Otherwise they totally would've slapped me with a ticket."

As we turned onto the next street, we passed an ATM and Lily decided to try to stop and get money. Except the police car was still right behind us.

We pulled over and the police pulled up next to us, rolled down the window and started talking again. There were four of them in the car -- a full house. Didn't they have anything better to do on a Wednesday?

"Alors, c'est la radio? Ou c'était un CD?" one of them asked. They still couldn't get over, I guess, our cacophonous tribute to our countrywoman, Whitney -- towards whom now, miles and miles away from America, I feel a certain kinship.

Lily told them it was the radio.

Then they asked us where we were from, and Lily told them America. She explained that we were language assistants -- you know, the whole spiel. Non-French people aren't as common as you'd think here, so we end up having to explain this to people a lot, that no, we're not on vacation but that we have actual, legit, twelve-hour-a-week jobs here.

"Et votre amie, elle ne parle pas du tout français?" another of the cops asked. At this point, I realized I hadn't said a word during this whole ordeal. It had been Lily in the driver's seat doing all the talking.

"Si, je parle français," I managed to get out.

After we'd said goodbye for the second time, they drove in front of us. They turned on their blue flashing lights and as we began to drive after them we realized they were pointing us in the direction of the autoroute.

Once we were safely back on the road to Trinité, we exploded into laughter and pretty much didn't stop until we'd reached my driveway.

"Sometimes it pays to be a cute foreign girl," Lily said. "It can take you far."

Yes, indeed. Amen to that.

Action de grâces

Well, the guy who works in the salle informatique at my school managed to work a miracle yesterday, and so my trusty ordinateur is functioning again, at least for now.

Like I said before, I got really homesick last week, and I think part of it had to do with missing Thanksgiving. Even though I attended two separate Thanksgiving parties organized by the assistants, I was sadder than I thought I'd be not to be at home.

It was also strange to explain the story and the purpose of Thanksgiving, from the beginning, to French schoolkids and teachers who'd either never heard of the holiday, or who had a very limited knowledge of it. They found it hard to believe that it's a national celebration that everyone participates in, not just the descendants of the first Pilgrims, and that all across the country, everyone does the same thing and eats the same meal.

In several of my classes, I asked the students to think about and share what they were thankful for. Here's a composite list, in no particular order. The students are all between the ages of 8 and 11. I think their responses show that children all over the world really aren't so different...

• My family
• My brother
• My parents
• My mother
• My sister
• My father
• My cousins
• My uncles
• My aunts
• My grandmother
• My grandfather
• My friends
• Trees
• My heart
  
• Dancing
• My school
• My classmates
• My teacher
• Nature
• My homework
• The beach
• My house
• Swimming
• Singing
• Dolphins
• My fish
• My birthday
• Video games
• Food
• Being a kid
• My moto
• Shells
• Poetry
• That I was born
• The Earth
• Rainbows
• Learning English
• Learning Creole
• Christmas
• Presents
• Airplanes
• Horses
• Reading
• White tigers
• The sand
• The river
• My dog
• My cat
• My toys
• My artistic talent
• Living in Martinique
• Traveling
• Happiness
• Peace
• Health
• Education
• Clothes
• Shoes
• Water
• Music
• French
• Life
• Games
• Books
• Pets
• Being loved
• Cars
• My X-Box

En panne

For the second time I'm playing the computer-is-broken-in-a-foreign-country game. Which is why you haven't heard from me in awhile and why I'm now braving the formidable French keyboard at school in order to say a petit coucou to everyone and to reassure you all that I am alive and well though my computer is not.

I've been extraordinarily homesick lately and I'm glad to see that everyone's doing well. I really enjoyed catching up on the blog today and reading about all of your adventures.

When my computer gets fixed I promise to start pulling my weight again.

Roomie love

My roommate C and I, on rigole tout le temps. We just have a good time making fun of ourselves.

Fromage
Me: I need to ask Madame for a potato peeler and a grate-fromage, or whatever it's called.
C: You want a cheese cave?
Me: Grate, not grotte. But I do want a cheese cave too. I just don't think it would be appropriate to ask Madame to pay for it.

As I saw two women getting onto the bus with pink boxes.
Me: I wonder if those are donuts. Or some other more French pastry.
C: It doesn't matter, because you won't get any.
She is beginning to understand me.

Generalizations
C: English people are so good at small talk. Whenever I talk to French people there's so much awkward silence.
Me: How about with Americans?
C: Mmm Americans I don't really notice. It's just normal, or I attribute it to the individual person.
Me: But with people from different countries...
C: ...I can make generalizations as much as I want.

Madame's Birthday

November 17th is my best friend's birthday, and it is also the birthday of my landlady, who we just call Madame. She invited us for drinks that night and we got to see her salon for the first time. I even got to walk around and enter from the glass sunroom.

Fête du livre + Sanary-sur-Mer

Last weekend in Toulon was the Fête du Livre, a book festival if you will. There were a bunch of authors there with their books, ready with their autographing pen. I didn't know of any of them so it was not that exciting for me, and actually a little too much pressure to browse through their books, because if I didn't end up buying it I had to set it down in front of them, like I was personally rejecting the author. There were some booths set up by bookstores though, and I liked browsing around. I got a laugh out of some of the French translations of American books.

fête du livre

The next day I took a bus to Sanary-sur-Mer, and balader-ed around the beach. It was hailing when I left Toulon and it started to thunderstorm when I got back, but while I was there the weather was beautiful and I started a little watercolor.

Sanary-sur-mer

Stars

This past week I started trying to bribe my kids with stars for good behavior. One of my schools is a Z.E.P.--zone d'éducation prioritaire, meaning the school is in a tougher area. There are noticeable behavior differences between the two schools. None of my kids are "bad"; they're all really friendly and get excited about English, but the kids in the Z.E.P. school can't quiet down, are often excessively competitive, and sometimes even get into physical tussles with each other. It's an environment that makes it hard to teach, and consequentially they don't learn the lessons as quickly.

The way the teachers deal with it is straight up punishment. They yell at the kids, send them to the corner, or give them black marks that add up to no recess or copying lines. Sometimes, I find too that the way the teachers talk about the students is sort of disrespectful, for example, “Well they have no constraints at home so having to sit down at school must be a struggle,” or, “Are you deaf or what? I told you to put the notebook at the corner of your desk!” I mean, it’s totally out of my place to criticize, because the kids do honestly have a hard time behaving, and what do I know about teaching?

But let me put on my know-it-all hat for a moment.

Generally you can get organisms to act the way you want either by rewarding good behavior or punishing undesired behavior. Think tax breaks for donations and fines for speeding respectively. The more someone receives a reward for something, the more they will perform that act. People also avoid behavior that is punishable, but the disadvantage of using punishment is that if the authority is not around, the person has no incentive to follow the rule.

It seems to me, that with my test run of the stars system has gotten my class to quiet down a lot more than yelling at them or sending someone to the corner (“Tu es puni!”) But I have to be careful. One of the drawbacks of giving rewards is that behavior that might have originally been inherently rewarding no longer seems attractive once you’ve been offered a prize or a payment for that action. For instance, pre-schoolers who got certificates for coloring were less likely to choose to color on their own accord during their free time, because what’s the point if you don’t get a certificate? So I risk undermining the regular teacher’s authority a bit, I think, since they won't be giving out stars. And because like I said they are already very competitive, I don’t want to make the number of stars another issue. I think what I have to do is make it clear they don’t earn points by getting more answers right—that it’s based on calm behavior—and reward the class as a whole if depending on if they have good or bad days.

Surprise picture day!

Monday all the kids at one of my schools had their school picture taken. It was kind of a mini cultural lesson for me, and a surprise! They put me in one of the class pictures and I was not dressed for picture day.

It seems though, that picture day in France (or perhaps it is only in this town or only at this school, because I would suspect it is a different story in Paris) is much less stressful than in the States. At my elementary school in California at least, everyone made sure to show up in their best outfits, and they would pass out plastic combs while you waited in line so you could make sure, last-minute in front of the little mirror, that you looked perfect. Here the kids didn't seem to be noticeably better put-together, and everyone was pretty relaxed. The photographer called each of the kids "ma cacahuète", my peanut, and teased them if they looked too stiff, making the whole class erupt in laughter. I guess because the school is relatively small, they took portraits of all the siblings together too, and it was quite an exciting event, for my students who had a brother or sister to run and get them from their class.

Also, their equivalent of "Say 'Cheese!'" is "Dis-moi 'Oui!'" That is something I did not know!

Arcade Fire in Marseille

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I haven't had internet at home for a while so I have a lot to catch you up on. I guess I'll just go backwards in time.

Yesterday (Wednesday) I made a day trip to Marseille for an Arcade Fire concert! It was one of those, How is my life so awesome? moments.



The show was great. It was sort of my first real concert and I enjoyed it very much--it was a spectacular performance on many levels. They also plugged Partners In Health and the Stand with Haiti campaign as part of their show! That just made me love them more (if you've ever read Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder, you understand why the people at Partners in Health are heroes).

I also spent the morning wandering around Marseille a bit. It was really really cold and I didn't get the chance to do much sightseeing, but I passed through the Palais de Longchamp and stopped in a lot of bookstores (of course).

Marseille

Les Restaurants du Coeur Part 2

Something I forgot to add:

One of our clients was a mother who recently found a job. She was very excited about this and had told the agency that she would no longer need its services. But alas, she's back now. Why? She still has her job, but she is making less income with her part-time job than if she stayed at home with unemployment benefits. She's going to keep her job, but it's forcing her to come back to Les Restaurants du Coeur for clothes and food.

Something ticked inside me...it was a real-life application of what we debate so much in my Political Science classes. How can you simultaneously maintain a social safety net, while still incentivizing work in order to keep the economy going (how to maintain social responsibility within a capitalist system, if we're talking about the US)? Americans (political science people, more specifically) love to criticize Europeans for their extravagant social service budgets and unfortunately, this example seems to confirm their doubts: you have a woman willing to work, ready to work, but she's only able to find part-time work and on top of that, is making less than if she stayed at home.

I would need much more time than I have at present to develop a much more thorough opinion on the matter and explicate to my blog readers. Let me just leave this as something to chew on.

Les Restaurants du Coeur

Today was my first day as a volunteer at Les Restaurants du Coeur.

My understanding is that this is the largest and most well-regarded French charity (among other reasons, because it is non-religious and thus avoids a lot of controversy - at least among the people I have spoken to, religious charitable organizations are viewed with less favor - I guess the French aren't very religious these days, or maybe it's just my sample pool). Their core service is hunger relief - which ties directly to my interests and what I want to dedicate my career to - but they also provide other social services such as clothing, child care, computer classes, etc.

It was founded in 1985 by a well-loved French comedian named Coluche, who unfortunately died the following year.

One of the teachers at the lycée where I work is a regular volunteer, along with her husband. I went with him today and worked in the clothing section. Since it's a Tuesday, the clothing distributed was for infants and children. Parents (mostly moms, but there was 1 dad) come in and can search for pants, tops, sweaters, shoes, etc. for their kids, along with baby products such as formula, bottles, diapers, baby wipes, etc.

The work was good, if slow at times, (and maddening in that everything is paper-based) but the best part is definitely playing with the kids when they come with their parents. The ladies I worked with were super sweet, too - and of the same demographic of many of the social service sector workers you find in the US - largely women, largely older. They flattered me with their comments about having some young blood around. I'm excited to go back next week and spend more time with them - everyone has a story to tell. One of them actually has a nephew who studied at UCLA and is now living in Santa Monica. The world is really small...

Anyway, just a small post to plug a great organization.

J'aime ma soeur + I must contribute to this race/ethnicity issue

Okay.

So, first, I have a little sister who is 8. I spoke with her yesterday and asked her about her Thanksgiving plans, as this amazing holiday is now only days away. When I told her that here in France, people don't celebrate Thanksgiving, she responded: "What? So first they don't celebrate Halloween and now they don't celebrate Thanksgiving? That's the worst country ever!"

So there you go. France sucks because it doesn't celebrate American holidays. And despite how cute her answer was and how much I laughed, that is EXACTLY why it's so important to travel and meet people from different places. Because you realize that all you know is not the end-all be-all. That people do different things, believe different things, want different things. Only when you are in a new context are you forced to examine your own life and ask why you do the things you do, think the things you do, want the things you do...

Anyway, on to another topic:

I'm totally in agreement with Wendy and Alice about the concept of race versus ethnicity in France. It's interesting...I've told all of my students that I'm both American and Brazilian and have received zero crap on the issue. Perhaps it's because I look white or because Brazil is an exotic, cool place in their minds. But again, by their definition of nationality, like Wendy said, I wouldn't be American either, because one of my parents wasn't born in the US. This is something I truly adore about my friends back home...we easily claim multiple identities and multiple heritages.

College cultural clubs are a beautiful testament to the American belief in cultural diversity. I participated in the Brazilian Club in college and we interacted with a lot of other culture clubs, too. These clubs were hubs for people like myself, who have grown up in multiple worlds. They are safe spaces that don't force you to choose one identity or another. They say: Welcome. We know that you have a unique experience because you are constantly bridging the divide between cultures. And you don't need to be Brazilian to be in the Brazilian club! That applies for all clubs...they are simply reference points for people who are interested in the culture. I made a lot of friends through the club, but the vast majority of them aren't Brazilian.

On a much less positive note about the US and race/ethnicity, I was giving private lessons yesterday and my student shared with me a passage he had to read and analyze for class. It was an excerpt from a Newsweek article written in the mid-90s, I believe, by John Lewis, one of the Civil Rights Movement leaders. My student and I had a long discussion about segregation, separate but equal, OJ Simpson, etc. When I showed him a picture of the white vs. colored drinking fountains, he told me that they were separate but not equal. Bingo. It was intense to be required to look in the mirror, down the dirty halls of America's history.

Bottom line, it's complicated. But I'm proud to be American.

More on race

Why do I have such a violent emotional reaction to being called Chinese by French people on the street? I am Chinese, ethnically. I've been turning it over in my head trying to break it down--probably there is a reason why I studied psychology in school.

To illustrate the situation a little bit. I got onto the bus once and an old man said to me, "Ni hao." At first I was like, Are you talking to me? And when I gave him a confused look he asked, in French, "Are you Chinese?" And I said, "No, American." Or there's this one stall at the market that sells scarves and stockings or whatever, and when I pass by the hawkers yell at me, "Eh! La belle chinoise!" presumably to get me to come buy something. It's annoying to be heckled but doubly so when the person assumes they know where I come from, who I am, based on how I look.

Generally in America, if I were to say, "I'm Chinese," it would mean "China is my country," which it isn't. So when people call me, literally translated, "the Chinese (female)", they've gotten a fact about me wrong. Of course, if it were in the context of a conversation about race and ethnicity, I might say I'm Chinese and mean "Chinese rather than Vietnamese or Japanese or other types of Asian." But in general I think in the States we talk more about race than ethnicity, just because for so many people it's too complicated to go into the details of, "Well my grandmother is Irish but I'm mainly English and German. And there's some Polish and Dutch way back there too." So I am comfortable saying I am Asian (1), but that doesn't say anything about where I'm from. I'm from California. I'm American. Which as it turns out is a pretty core part of my identity, since apparently I get really mad when people confuse my ethnicity for my nationality.

That distinction, though, is a cultural one. I think Natasha, Wendy, and I have all been realizing how unique America is, in that our history is one of immigration. Like Wendy said, we pride ourselves on being a "melting pot"--it is relatively easy to become an American, both legally and socially. Most other countries, however, don't think or function this way. Or as my friend put it, the French don't have a giant statue that is a symbol of their country engraved with the words, "Give me your tired, your poor,/ Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,/ The wretched refuse of your teeming shore." Even if immigration is a fact in France, it's not necessarily part of the "natural" order of things. Therefore, there is really no concept of being French if you aren't originally from France. And if your parents aren't from France, even if you were born here, you aren't French either. They are actually pretty consistent on the categorization. I have some friends who have dual American and French citizenship because one of their parents is a French citizen, though they were born in the States. This logic begins to make sense, if you think of "French" as hereditary, an ethnicity rather than just a nationality. Or rather, if you think of nationality as being passed down by blood. It's just a strange confound to make, from an American point of view. For instance, one of the other assistants said to me the other day, "Most of my students aren't French. It was Eid and nobody was in class." It took me a second to realize, Oh, you mean "French" the way French people define it, which is essentially "European" (2).

My point, basically, is that I need to calm down. It is much harder for a lot of French people, and actually I think especially for immigrants to France (the hawker at the market and the waiter in Barcelona were both immigrants), to conceptualize how my parents can be from China, I can be Asian, and I can still be American. I would have to explain that when I go to China I am visiting a foreign country, and at this point my French is better than my Chinese. That I feel most at home ensconced in American culture. This is not really the experience, for example, French people of North African descent have, because in general they are much less integrated into French society, less accepted. So when people here assume I am Chinese, in their minds, they are not making a mistake, because they haven in fact guessed correctly what type of Asian I am, and Chinese means "from China" whether legally or genetically.

This is a simplification, obviously, and purely my musings not really based on any data. I'm not saying that all French people, or even most of them are like this; it only seems like I've noticed the tendency more, though admittedly in comparison to California. I just wanted to clarify in my mind what exactly is so unsettling to me.

(1) And yes, I know, race is a construction. People often have problems with being grouped into the broad category of "Asian" and would rather identify as Chinese-American, for example, to distinguish their particular heritage. But my point is that in the States, if someone were to identify me by race it's much more likely that they would say "the Asian girl". Not to say that's great either but it's more normal, I probably wouldn't be offended, and it wouldn't sound to me like they are assuming I'm from China.

(2) That's the implicit definition, of course, like Wendy was saying it's unspoken. According to the Comparative Human Rights class I took in Paris, however, even the publicly expressed idea of being "French" is much more homogeneous than our idea of "American". I can't say we're always the most accepting of different cultures but the ideal is that people bring their own way of living and our definition what it is to be an American expands. In France, on the other hand, becoming French means assimilating into the established boundaries of how a French person looks and behaves. I'm making it sound terrible, but basically we just have different values. Americans tend to emphasize individuality whereas for the French, the society and solidarity are much more important.

Fil de pensées

Some thoughts and observations. I suppose all of this is rather touchy and please know I don't mean to offend anyone.

On Thursday, I met up with a couple of British women who live in Martinique and do some teaching part-time here. Both of them have similar stories -- met their French husbands in France and subsequently moved to Martinique, where they've lived for 20+ years and raised kids and such.

One of the women told me that awhile ago, she'd called an agency in the métropole (what people here call the mainland of France) to inquire about a job. After so many years in Martinique, her French is obviously quite good, but the person on the phone could still tell she had an accent. When she called back again and revealed she was from Martinique, the woman on the phone, assuming her accent was Martiniquais, suddenly told her there was no longer a position available. Without even seeing her face.

The population of Martinique is somewhere between 90 and 95 percent black, descended from the African slaves that were brought here to work on the sugar plantations in the heyday of colonization. There's a small minority of French people from the métropole who've come here to work, and there's also a population of white French people known as the béké, who're descendants of the original colonizers -- the plantation owners and such. To this day, the béké still control a huge percentage of the island's economy. They own most of the businesses and most of the island's wealth. The relationship between the béké and the rest of Martinique continues to be a source of conflict, but I don't think I know enough at this point to make an unbiased assessment of the situation.

The woman's story made me think of my last night in Miami just a few short weeks ago, when I went down to the bar of my hotel to watch the opening game of the World Series. There, I met a French guy, from Paris, who was in Miami on business. Somewhere over the course of our long-winded conversation, he basically admitted to me that there's an unspoken hierarchy in France, that people unwittingly judge you based on how long your family's French lineage is. He told me that even he himself is guilty of it: when he hires people for his business, he's conscious of the fact that he looks differently upon non-white candidates, and that he perceives them to be less French, even if they'd lived their whole lives in the country. And he himself has Arab origins.

It also made me think of the time one of my study-abroad classmates, an Asian girl, literally got kicked to the ground for standing up for herself against a group of guys on the streets of Bordeaux. Some Arab men across the way had started to harass her, shouting "Ching ching chong" when they saw she was Asian. "Qu'est-ce que c'est, ching ching chong?" she fired back. I'm not sure how it escalated, but somehow a kick in the leg ensued, and the blow was bad enough that she was limping around school for a few days. I suppose you could argue that it wasn't the smartest thing for a tiny Asian girl to provoke a group of guys at night like that (she was with a group, though, thankfully), but still, that kind of blatant racism was shocking to me at the time.

I also thought back to when I first arrived in France in January of last year, and the Obama inauguration was all over the news there. I remember my host mom saying to me one night that she didn't think Obama was a real American, because one of his parents wasn't American. I remember being surprised but keeping my mouth shut. By that rationale, I'm not really an American, either, because my dad wasn't born in the US. And neither would be about 75% of my friends and acquaintances.

Like you said before, Alice, it's great to be American. I know racism exists there, too, but the fact that we're a country of immigrants makes a difference in how we perceive diversity, I think. That we're a "melting pot" is part of our national identity.

The women also talked about their citizenship statues -- one of them was able to get dual citizenship, and the other was not. "So are you French now?" I asked her. She was like, "God, no! I wouldn't give that up!" Meaning, of course, her British citizenship. And I had to laugh. I know I've been extremely pessimistic about my country in the past, and still am, but all things considered, I definitely don't think I want to stop being an American...

MGEN à la merde

Warning: This post is purely for complaining. I have lots of lovely, lovely things to say at another time.

Ok, so I got the 34304854021 letter that MGEN has sent to me, requiring the 2453445431 photocopy of x document for their files (they have got to have links to the French equivalent of the FBI). MGEN is a type of supplementary health insurance that they recommend you buy (it covers things like the dentist, the eye doctor, and is supposed to lower your co-payment).

So, in the letter, they asked me for a copy of my birth certificate and I also needed to include a copy of the letter they sent me. Why? Who knows. There is one copy of the letter for me and another copy I need to send back to them. So basically they sent me paper that they want back, but I don't need to change anything on the paper. I just need to add more paper.

Wouldn't you know...the envelope they provide for you to mail back the stuff is too small! Their own letter that you have to mail back barely fits in the envelope...and my birth certificate? Um, yeah right.

Somebody please explain.

Today I went to America

I took the bus with my roommate to La Garde today, in search of art supplies, which are apparently cheaper there because it's more industrial than Toulon. We got off the highway and landed in the commercial area, complete with giant billboards and warehouse-sized stores, including an Office Max (!) and Toys "R" Us. We were both like, "I feel like I'm in American right now." It's been a long time since I've walked through a parking lot, I have to say. My roommate commented, "I love how we see the ugliest thing so far in this country, and we both freak out because it feels so much like home."



I got my pastel set and then we wandered around and happened on a "Chaussland". Which was rows and rows of shoes like a Famous Footwear or an equivalent. And cashiers like cashiers in a proper capitalist state whom you don't have to greet or say goodbye to when you walk in and out of the store. We finished off the evening by getting fries at a French fast food chain, Quick. There were bright signs promoting the "effet XL" or the "effet XL Giant" for just 70 centimes more and families with kids throwing tantrums. It made me confused. It made me confused, because really, it was just like we were in American, except everyone was speaking French.

Soirée Bèlè

PREFACE: Okay, so there was supposed to be a video to go with this, but my Internet connection here is too crappy to upload it. This post definitely won't make as much sense without it, so the next time I have good Internet (which, admittedly, probably won't be until I'm back in the States), I'll put it on here, I promise!

Last night, I went to a soirée bèlè with my host family. Bèlè is a traditional Martiniquais dance, which originates from Africa. During the days of slavery in Martinique, the African slaves kept dancing their traditional dances, and the steps were passed down through the generations. My host mom, both my host sisters, and my tutor dance bèlè, and I had the pleasure of watching all of them last night.

The soirée is so called, my host mom explained, because it's an entire night of dancing -- there's no definite end. And boy, did they dance. They started at around 8, with the littlest kids, and the action continued until almost 2 in the morning. There were small breaks in between some of the numbers, but otherwise, it was a nonstop party.

Each dance has a specific song to accompany it. The words are always in Creole, and sung in a call-and-response fashion. I couldn't understand any of it, of course, but apparently the lyrics and themes are usually simple so that people can pick it up easily. Instrumentally, each dance is also accompanied by the tambour, the big drum in the background. In the olden days, the tambour apparently used to be a barrel of Martiniquais rum.

The traditional costume for women consists of the long colorful skirts that you see here, and a scarf tied around the waist for extra support.

For each dance, you need 8 people -- 4 girls and 4 boys. Each dance begins with everyone moving in a circle, and then, two couples leave and two couples dance alone in a carré, a square. While in the carré, they switch partners several times, and the man always has to pass behind the woman as a sign of deference. After awhile, the two dancing couples leave, and the two couples who've been sitting come in and dance their own carré.

Then, each couple dances alone. If they switch places, the man must again pass behind the woman. Eventually, the couple dances towards the tambour that's playing for them. When they're done, the man always accompanies the woman back to her place in the circle before returning to his.

Then after each individual couple has finished, the dance ends just like it begins -- with all the couples regrouping and dancing in a circle.

Apparently each song has a specific rhythm and set of steps to go with it, but there's also some improvisation involved. I wasn't really too clear on this.

In any case, I thought it was quite beautiful to watch. The bright colors, the swirling skirts, the grace and agility of all the dancers and their enthusiasm as they sang. We certainly don't have any traditions quite like this in America.

Le surf

One of the other assistants and I have been going surfing every Wednesday at La Plage des Surfeurs in Tartane, a neighborhood of Trinité.

I felt like a bad Californian for never having gone before I got here, but the first day I went, I had an absolutely wonderful time. I was able to stand up on the board several times, and everyone told me that I was débrouiller-ing very well for a beginner.

I was able to do the hard part -- standing up -- right away. It was easy for me to balance on the board because of gymnastics, but later on, it became clear that I was struggling a lot with la rame, the paddling. And that, in turn, has led to other problems.

After a few too many times in the machine à laver (the washing machine, what they call it here when you wipe out), a few too many times being hit on the head with the surfboard in the midst of a violent wave, a few too many scoldings by other surfers for getting in the way (there's surfing etiquette that you're definitely expected to follow), and I'm starting to lose heart. I'm not improving now because I'm too scared to try anymore, because I know I'll mess up, and look dumb, and everyone will laugh. I know it's childish and that I'm not in middle school anymore, I shouldn't be this insecure, but needless to say, today, I did a whole lot of helpless paddling and ducking under waves.

When I'd gotten out of the water, I lay in the hammock we'd brought and looked out at the ocean. It really was a gorgeous day. After days of the cyclone, of absolutely crappy weather, it was nice to be outside again. I watched the other surfers, effortlessly riding waves, and I realized, isn't this is really what surfing's all about -- the joy of simply being en plein air on a beautiful beach on a beautiful island, surrounded on all sides by sparkling ocean and warm sun?

Our surf teacher, Pascal, told us before we began that "Le seul but, c'est le plaisir." Literally, the only goal is pleasure. We're here to have fun, and I need to remember that. You can't worry about how many waves you'll catch, whether or not you're better than X, Y, or Z, about what other people will think of you. It's true of surfing, but also of life, too, no? Not to say that we should all be hedonists, but I do know that I (and probably many people, I'd guess) take myself far too seriously sometimes.

On another, unrelated note, pardon my franglais. Sometimes I really do have trouble finding the right words in English.