La Rochelle

Lots and lots of catching up to do!

Two weekends ago I met up with Miss Natasha Baker in La Rochelle. I got there and it was beautiful and sunny, even though I was expecting the rest of France to still be winter. It was a cute town, but as I am discovering more and more, it's really the people that make voyaging fun.

Of course I got to see Natasha, but I also hung out with her friends from Limoges, Tina and Kris. They had a host named Timothé who lived in a big big house with a bunch of other students. If you've ever visited Synergy or a Dead House in Palo Alto, then you know how the house smelled and looked. But it was cool! People who do communal living usually are.

Pictures:

La Rochelle

Ireland and its Vocab

Hello blog world.

I think I deserve a shameful award for my lack of updates to the blog - though I must admit that I keep regular photo albums with lots of detail AND my supposedly nice Mac does NOT let me successfully post photos to this blog!

Anyway, over the February vacation, one of my destinations was Ireland and I must share with all of you some of the new vocabulary I learned:

"Grand" - used for fine or good - "I'm grand." "That's grand." The way Americans use "good" or the British use "brilliant."

"Shifting" - the Irish version of American "hooking up," with the same amount of flexibility, i.e. a kiss to all the way.

"Craic" (pronounced crack) - can be used in several ways - "What's the craic?" means "How are you? What's the 411?" and "Good craic" means to have a good time or an event was "good craic" because it was fun and exciting.

"Right" - said often at the end of sentences

"Afters" - dessert

If you want a rather in-depth list of Irish slang, check out this website.

Forever Cursed?

Ok, seriously, what is the deal with this blog and/or my computer? I just wrote up this really long, nice post with photos and the server crashed on me when I went to post. I find it impossible to post pictures to this blog! I just don't understand...I am deeply sorry readers.

Pink Toilet Paper and Multiculturalness

Hello world!

So, after my conspicuous absence from this blog, I would like to write a legit post, full of my usual ramblings.

To begin:

The French really like pink toilet paper. Why? Perhaps it is a more soothing color to have in the bathroom than stark white.

The French also have a tendency to place the toilet and the sink in separate rooms. Why? Perhaps it is an excuse to "forget" to wash your hands. Ew.

I am Alive

Hello to all!

This is going to be a short post, but I just wanted to let everyone know that I am still alive! I promise. :-)

Apologies for not posting more often.

One very important recommendation:

Over Christmas break, I saw "My Fair Lady" at the Châtelet Theater in Paris and was completely enthralled. This is art. This is beauty. This is why we must continue to create and invent and pursue the arts. I had never seen the movie before seeing the play, but now I want to see the movie, too. I went with a good friend of mine and his family, all of whom had seen the film, and they all said that the play measured up to the film.

So, there is a recommendation for you.

Also, in terms of music, the French group BB Brunes is not bad, either. Their song "Lalalove You" is pretty good and recalls the Beatles era.

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 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.

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.

The rest of the Toussaint vacation

Not to say that we didn't enjoy ourselves at all on our vacation. Here are the pictures from the trip.

Paris lowlight: Man squeezing in behind us on the RER on the way to the airport and definitely grinding on us in a way that was not just the rocking of the train. So so gross.

Paris highlight: For me, definitely meeting Natasha's Brazilian family and having dinner with them. They were super nice and I learned how to say "Thank you" in Portuguese because I needed to a lot! Natasha was also hit on by an Italian waiter who gave her a scarf at the end of the evening (from where? who knows).

Madrid highlight: The meal in Toledo. 'Nuff said.

Paris

Madrid and Toledo

Barcelona

This could be a novel

Entitled: Natasha and Alice vs. Barcelona

During the Toussaint vacation, we had very pleasant visits to Paris, Madrid, Toledo, and Toulon. You'll have to wait to hear about that. For now we just want to share how Halloween in Barcelona went for us.

In general, we were planning this trip as we went. I left for Paris with a train ticket and a hostel reservation for one night. Natasha met up the next day without even a reservation. But that worked okay for the most part.

Our plan for Barcelona was to stay from the 30th, a Saturday, to Tuesday November 2nd, with some couchsurfing hosts. Friday afternoon in Madrid though, we got a text from them telling us they wouldn't be able to let us stay Saturday night.

And so it began. Because of Halloween, a lot of people were on vacation and there was no space in any hostel in Madrid or Barcelona. We decided then that we would take a night bus on Friday the 29th to Barcelona, and sleep on the way. For Saturday night in Barcelona, yes there was room at a hotel in the next city over that was apparently in a bad area, and at hotels where we would have to each pay 200 euros for a night, but we decided we would just stay out all night and party hard. Because of course, as I am sure you know, that is Natasha and Alice's favorite activity. After all, Saturday was when everyone would be celebrating Halloween, so there would be plenty of people on the streets, and bars or clubs open all night. Besides, there was still some hope for free housing. The girl working at the reception of our hostel in Madrid also spoke Portuguese and was really nice. She gave us the number of a friend in Barcelona she said we could call and ask for a place to stay. So we didn't book anything for Saturday and assumed we would just meet up with our couchsurfing hosts Sunday night.

When we showed up in Barcelona, we left our luggage locked up at the train station, and paid for 24 hours. The next stop was the beach, where we bought a cheap mat and took turns napping. Natasha got a foot massage from one of the Asian ladies who give massages on the beach. We wandered up La Rambla, the main street in Barcelona filled with shops and street artists, stopping at the market La Boqueria for the best figs, persimmons, and baked yams ever.

Along the way, we checked out every hotel and hostel we saw to ask about a place to stay, including three and four star hotels; we decided it was better to be desperate. The demand for housing on Halloween weekend was so high that some places simply had a sign up that said completo--full--probably to ward off people like us. There was one place available, for 590 euros. It wasn't worth it, we decided while we were not yet as sleep-deprived and miserable as we were to be that night.

We can say that we had a lovely lovely evening touring La Casa Batlló, one of Antoni Gaudí's amazing creations. The sun was setting just as we got to the roof, and the view of the city was spectacular. At the end of the tour though, we were still homeless--we were never able to reach the Madrid girl's friend--and so bar-hopping the night away it was.

The first stop was a sandwich place for a chorizo and queso manchego bocadillo--a sausage and cheese sandwich. There we met some little girls who were princesses and who told us we were ugly and crazy. We hadn't showered since the last night in Madrid, sleeping on the bus didn't work out so well, and we'd been brushing our teeth in public bathrooms, so maybe they were justified.

At the table, we pulled out our map of Barcelona and started planning out our entire evening and next day. It was like war, circling all the places we were going to hit and strategizing the best order. We knew, for instance, that we needed to stop at the Barcelona Sants train station the next day to ask about tickets back to France. Another was lunch with a woman from Barcelona Natasha had met on her flight to France. It was also a chance for us to mentally prepare ourselves; we decided that whatever happened we would just have to laugh.

After the sandwich place, we took the metro to see the Magic Fountain, only to discover that it was under repair. That was fine. It's the sort of thing one can easily take in stride. We climbed up to the top of the hill behind the fountain and enjoyed the beautiful nighttime view. There were other people hanging out, drinking wine, starting their evening. We tried to sneak in a nap but it wasn't very fruitful. Since the fountain wasn't working, people started leaving around 11pm, and we decided to head back to the center of town for tapas.

As we were getting on to the metro, already a little delirious from sleepiness, this man let Natasha step on to the train ahead of him but stayed blocking the door instead of following her in, and kept me from boarding. It all happened very quickly, but a second man came up behind and pushed me like he was in a rush to get on but ended up walking away once I had boarded. I knew it was odd behavior, but I checked my wallet and I still had it. It wasn't until we got to the tapas bar that I realized he had lifted my iPod Touch from my jean pocket.

While I was still processing what had just happened--trying to remember if I had any important information stored on my iPod, calling my mom to get her to help me change some passwords--the waiter came to our table to take our order. We got tortilla, tortilla de bacalao, queso manchego con dulce de membrillo, croquetas, and bacalao frito--all you need to know is that they were very yummy. After taking our order, the waiter asked where we were from, noticing Natasha's accent (Natasha was the official translator of the Spain part of our trip). Natasha explained that we were both American, to which the waiter protested that I could not be American, I must be Chinese, or some sort of Asian. Natasha defended me, trying to explain that you can have both ethnic origins and an American nationality. No no, he insisted, when he looks at me he does not think American, thus I cannot be American. It was just not what I needed at the moment. He was also not very Spanish about letting us enjoy our meal in peace, coming over every couple of minutes to try to take away our dishes and check if we were done.

We left around 1:30am, in search of internet and possibly a room in a hotel, no matter the price. The robbery made us nervous, and less ready to just laugh everything off. We clearly were not as alert as we needed to be. Natasha was also sick, and getting worse by the minute. There was no room at the inn, but one of the hotels let us use their internet for half an hour. We used it to book a hostel for the following night, so at least we’d have a shower and a place to store our stuff on Sunday. We weren't going to count on our couchsurfing hosts any more.

Next was a bar, where we ordered sparkling water and ginger ale. The table of guys behind us was rather rowdy, harassing all the girls who passed by, so we stayed tucked in our corner and spoke French to each other, in hopes of being less noticeable. Not that it would have mattered; we were ugly and crazy as the princesses had previously informed us.

Side note: Saturday was also the night of daylight savings, so at three o’clock it was actually two o’clock, meaning we had an extra hour on the streets to kill.

We left at 3:30am, when the bar closed, stepping out into the rain. We thought we would find a club, or at least a bar that would be open all night. There were some clubs, but we took one look at what we were wearing, what the people in line were wearing, and considering the fact we had all of our valuables on us (minus one), we didn’t even try to get in. Natasha was way sick, and standing up, let alone partying, was not sounding good. There may have been bars too, but they were not on La Rambla and after a few ventures down sketchy side alleyways, we started considering taking a taxi to the airport or going to the train station to sleep there.

We decided to try the train station first. When we got into the metro, we saw that many others were in the same situation, and were just sleeping sitting against the walls of the station. We took the metro to Sants, the main train station, but it was locked up. So we headed back to La Rambla, trying to get in a few winks on the metro even though it was hot and stuffy and making it difficult for Natasha to breathe.

So to recap. We were two girls alone in a foreign country with no place to stay for the second night in a row. It was rainy and we were exhausted and Natasha was extremely ill and we couldn't even find a bar to sit down. It was rough, to say the least.

Eventually we made our way to the hostel that we had booked for Sunday night. At 5am it was too early to check in, but they let us sleep in the lobby, which we did for about two hours.

We had to be back to the train station by 8:30 to get our luggage from the lockers before the 24 hours was up. As we were leaving, at 8am, we realized that the lockers probably did not observe daylight savings, which meant that our 24 hours were already up. Thinking there was a chance the lockers might just pop open when the time ran out, getting to the train station became priority number one. I don't think my adrenal glands have ever worked that hard so early in the morning. Our metro tickets didn’t work, and we had to climb over the turnstile. (Later we realized that we were so out of it we were trying to walk through the wrong turnstile, but at the time it was just like, “What else have ya got for us, huh Barcelona?”) Luckily, our locker was still closed; we just had to pay a fee to open it up.

We got our luggage, went back to the hostel, but couldn’t check in until noon, so we had breakfast, stole showers, and left our stuff in the hostel’s storage room.

The first stop for Barcelona Day Number Two was the Sants train station, where we had been told we could book tickets to France. The SNCF website was having problems, and we couldn’t find any trains online (SNCF is the French train company). At Sants, the information we got was either, “I have no idea,” or, “Take a train to the border between Spain and France and figure it out from there.” Maybe that would have been an option, if I didn’t have to be back in France for an appointment with the immigration office on Wednesday (all assistants are required to meet with immigration officials on a specific date they set, or else you are an illegal immigrant). I had to make sure, for certain, we could get to France in time.

Back to the hostel. Checked in. Went to our room where Natasha slept for a little and I tried to find more information about train tickets, or possibly a flight, online. There were still no trains either through SNCF or the Spanish train company's website, and the only flights were to Paris, where I would have to take a train the next day to get home. At that point I was about ready to break down. It's one thing to have bad luck and feel miserable; it would be another to be completely screwed. Finally, I was able to book a roundabout ticket through SNCF, but I still needed to find a way to retrieve it.

Then, salvation. It was time for lunch with the lady Natasha met on the plane. It was a really nice restaurant, called Agua, and the woman and her family were incredibly wonderful. The meal was delicious, and when we explained about our nightmare-ish Halloween night, they offered to take us to the train station to figure out what to do.

What a difference it makes to have a native do the talking for you! Although we found out my SNCF reservation was not recognized in Spain (of course), the woman helped us find out all of our options, and we were able to get a train for the next morning. She was our guardian angel. The small bag of chocolate almonds we had gotten for her in Paris could not come close to thanking her for what she did for us.

The same evening, we got a call from the Madrid girl’s friend, who had been out of town and had just received our messages. He told us it was no problem if we wanted to stay that night, and apologized for missing our call. By that time we already had our reservation at the hostel, but the kindness of these strangers helped redeem Barcelona in our eyes. Wendy, I know what you mean by wanting to pay it forward, now that I've experienced how it feels to have someone come through for you when you really need it, even if they don't have to at all. Natasha too, was saying that this just reinforces her commitment to fighting hunger and poverty. As awful as we felt, we still had our money, we ate heartily around town, and we knew it would be just one night, which is not the case for everyone.

The next morning, we got on the train to Montpellier, France. We showed up an hour early because I forgot to set my clock back and we were told there was the risk of a two hour delay because of the strikes, but it happened. My heart was still pounding the first hour of the trip; I had such a hard time believing we'd actually get home. I don't think I have ever been happier to hear the SNCF bell, as we pulled into the first French train station after the border. So now, Natasha is in Toulon with me--writing this post with me now--, staying the night before she has to go back to Brive-la-Gaillarde, and we are much much wiser.

To share with you our newfound wisdom, here are some of our lessons learned:

Lesson 14: Beaches are a really nice place to take naps.
During the day.

Lesson 13: Gaudí is a genius.
We still need to go back for a redeem Barcelona trip, and see all of his creations, most of which we missed this time.

Lesson 12: In the Barcelona metro, the turnstile to the right of the ticket-reader is the correct one.

Lesson 11: During daylight savings, set your clock right away.
At least we weren't an hour late to the train station, but we really could have used that extra hour of sleep.

Lesson 10: Pockets are not storage space for valuables.
You need to be able to keep in mind where all your things are at all times. Since it seems like the rush to board a train while carrying a lot of stuff is prime time for losing things or theft or molestation (yes molestation, but that’s a story about Paris), you'll want to keep the number of separate items you're holding to a minimum.

Lesson 9: Password-protect your information.
Losing my iPod would have been a lot less stressful if I hadn't been worried about identity theft too.

Lesson 8: Be aware of the people around you.
Mainly, if people are not minding their own business, watch out.

Lesson 7: If you are going on a short trip to a foreign country, you need to have your return ticket.
In general it pays to be planned out unless you know the terrain really well. Usually you save money too.

Lesson 6: You cannot not have housing.
If traveling during a holiday, book way in advance. I don't believe our physical safety was ever in that much danger, since there were a lot of people out in the streets, but just the same, it was dumb.

Lesson 5: Remember who you are.
If you are not a partying/getting wasted/staying out all night type of person, don’t assume you’ll suddenly become that person just because you’re in Barcelona for Halloween.

Lesson 4: I need to learn Spanish.
Knowing more than one language is vital to international survival. If it weren’t for Natasha and her Spanish-Portuguese-French-English amazingness, we probably would not have made it this far.

Lesson 3: It couldn’t hurt to be more outgoing.
Our lifesavers we met because Natasha struck up a conversation.

Lesson 2: It’s great to be American.
There is something wonderful about a country where you can have more than one identity, where race does not mean nationality.

Lesson 1: There are wonderful people in the world who will lend a hand to strangers, and there are also jerks like the pickpockets on the metro or the waiter at the tapas bar. You can neither be too cynical nor too trusting. Either way, people will continue to surprise you.

And finally, it is this sort of shared experience that makes you realize what true friendship is. <3

Terrorism? No problem. Raise the Retirement Age? You have got to be F***ing kidding.

So, just a short note today.

I found out that France is supposedly on high alert for a terrorism attack. I only found out because another assistant told me, but there has been no word at school about this. What has been the buzz around campus? The change in the retirement age and the strikes and marches against it. Tomorrow there is another strike, I think the 4th one on this topic since I've arrived (less than a month ago). I still have to go to work, but some teachers stay back and when it's a student strike (like last Friday) a lot of students skip class, too. Honestly the worse part about the strikes is the cafeteria food. Because a lot of the staff is missing, the quality of the food on strike days tends to be pretty depressing.

Un Week-end à Brive

So, just as predicted, when I added a photo and a video, the post didn't publish. So, my readers, you are just going to have to live with boring, text-only posts until I figure this out. So sorry.

Ok, I am going to type this blog post in Word first and copy and paste so I don’t have a disaster like last time and lose everything.

So, because of a transportation strike this weekend in reaction to the government’s proposal to raise the retirement age, I decided to stay in Brive this weekend. But it was truly lovely, despite this being a small town.

What did I do?

Saturday morning I went to the marché which, I cannot emphasize enough, is a treasure, a complete adventures for the senses. In France they say that the experience of eating is threefold: First you eat with your eyes (and thus why the French place so much emphasis on the presentation of their food), then you eat with your nose, and then finally with your mouth. The marché is a perfect place to do that; you go from vendor to vendor, admiring the beauty of their goods and smelling the amazing flavors until you are offered a free sample or buy something and can then finally taste it for yourself.

This time around I bought a Suisse, which is a type of sweet bread that can come with raisins (note on French vocab: raisin is grape and raisin sec is raisin), chocolate chips, or nothing (as far as I have seen). I also had an apple and then to top it off, a very French delicacy: the macaron.

Here’s a picture of 2 of the 3 macarons I bought. These ones are actually about double (or even triple) the size of most macarons you’ll normally find (and their price reflected that! Definitely a one-time buy). I bought salted caramel, chocolate orange, and coconut. Oh my God.

After the marché, I went to the library and picked out some more books and DVDs to enjoy for the weekend. I’ve been able to indulge in pleasure reading here and have already read “The Music of Chance” by Paul Auster and “A Thousand Splendid Suns” by Khaled Hosseini. Both books were wonderful, but the latter deserves so much eloquency and time that I can give it right now, so a book review will have to come later. But let’s just say that if you ever had any doubt that women and men were not equal, read the book and then rethink your prejudices. Inequality is an incredibly cruel and dangerous thing.

From the library I also got a DVD called “Brasileirinho,” (little Brazil) which tells the story of a Brazilian musical genre called “choro” (cry) which I, embarrassingly, had never heard of, even though supposedly it’s the precursor to all of the other musical traditions that most people associate with Brazil, such as samba. It’s really lovely and well, once again, here in a tiny town in France, I’m becoming more educated about my origins.

Saturday evening I went out with some students, all of whom happened to be Moroccan, and had a lovely evening exploring the Moroccan parts of Brive. We went out to dinner at a Moroccan restaurant, went bowling (not Moroccan at all – very American actually, with the names all in English), and then to a hookah bar (which, in Arabic, is chicha). I feel a certain kinship with those students because they, like me, are not in their homeland, and with that comes a certain – empathy, I guess.

Today began with a walk through Brive to a patisserie/boulangerie to buy some lovely pastries for breakfast and bread for lunch and dinner.

I also went to mass today. There is something truly awe-inspiring about the Catholic Church, because it does not matter where you go in the world, Catholic mass is the same (with slight variations). Thus, although it was all in French, I was able to follow very easily.

I had mentioned in an earlier post how sad it is that France is teeming with gorgeous churches and few faithful, and being at mass today confirmed that for me. It is a truly a generational thing: the median age was probably 50+, unlike going to church in the US or Brazil, where a lot of kids and teenagers tend to be present.

In addition, the priest wasn’t French, but was instead from Benin, following a similar trend we see in the United States with fewer and fewer Caucasian men wanting to be priests, and thus an increase in priests from Africa and South America in churches throughout the US and Europe. He spent the homily sharing some facts about his homeland, emphasizing the unfortunate paucity of educational opportunities there and the common illiteracy that goes hand in hand with such a situation.

And now I’m back in my room, catching up on things, and realizing that I need to start planning lessons for tomorrow, as I am meeting with 5 groups.

La Capoeira et Les Manifestations

Just fyi,

Today all throughout France lycéens (high school students) took the streets in protests against the proposal to raise the retirement age to 67. There was one at my school, too, one that would make UC Berkeley very proud...

On another note, I went to a capoeira class tonight. God, it is incredible how just being back in that environment can bring such a sense of calm and relief so quickly. It felt wonderful to be back in my element...although I miss my Boston roda and the class wasn't super dynamic. One of my students was there, though, kinda cool.

The capoeira class was located as most capoeira schools are: in a run-down building, far from the town center. It was a bit of an adventure to find it, as the building is not labeled and is not in the best part of Brive. I remember telling some of my students I was going there to take capoeira classes and they were dismissive because it wasn't a good neighborhood supposedly. It's fine, really. It's just less wealthy than the areas my students probably come from. There were several HLMs (low-income housing units) around it and everything just looked more run-down. We practiced inside of what looked like a school gym. But hey, that's life, and when capoeira is done right, it doesn't matter where you are. After all, capoeira was born on plantations and transferred to the streets...it wouldn't be quite right to practice in a fancy space.

Anyway, Brive is lovely, my readers.

BTS - part 2

Ok, so after talking to another assistant, I realized that my amazing aha moment about BTS is actually pretty false. Each high school specializes in a different type of BTS. So while my high school sounds like MBA-like BTS, another assistant works at a school with medical students. So...we've kind of concluded that BTS is a government-funded Associate's Degree program - and can cover basically anything.

This is probably quite boring for most readers, but it gives me, as a teacher, better piece of mind to understand what on earth my students are doing with their lives.

Ooh, success story from one of my BTS groups today:

This is with the technical-sales group, so they work a lot with customers, sales, marketing, etc.

I divided the class into 4 teams and had each of them pick a name for their team (in English!). They came up with: The Joints (as in marijuana), The Dream Team, The Beach Boys, and The...I'm blanking out.

Anyway, I gave each of them a cell phone, and told them that they had to convince me (the customer) to buy their phone.

I gave them 5 minutes to strategize. I provided markers and paper if they wanted to make some type of ad.

Then, each group had 3 minutes to present their case.

Then, we spent another 5-6 minutes in an open forum for counter-offers.

The winning team got chocolate (and the winning team was The Beach Boys).

P.S.

Did we purposefully all choose Blogger profile pics of us eating?

BTS

Most of my lycée kids are BTS, which means they are doing a post-high school, 2-year associate's degree that, it hit me today, is probably best translated into an MBA. It's obviously not done at the same point in life as we would do it in the US (post-college, usually after you've been working for several years). But I had to write a blog post about this because it's been a little bit of an epiphany...BTS is a very general type of degree, and within that they can specialize in sales, mechanics, information technology, electronics, etc. They all have to do internships at businesses and they learn such skills as how to interview, how to integrate into a work environment, how to write a CV, etc., as well as the more technical aspects of their work. So that's it I think...BTS is kind of like an MBA. Just kind of. My kids, once they're done with BTS, will either begin work right away, or they will go on to college. So just kind of. But things are starting to make more sense....

Le Périgueux

This was from last week...because of so many failed attempts to post it, it's only getting posted now...I tried so many times to write it all out and to put in pictures. Nope.

Hello to all!

Okay, lots to report today.

First, a little story on what a poor reputation the US has in France. I went to a discount grocery store today with a friend (Lidl) and the only product that came from the US were muffins - crappy ones at that, which said "The American Way" on them. Nice to know that that's how the French think of us - we eat muffins and have muffin tops. How flattering...

On a more flattering note, I went with another assistant this past weekend to Périgueux, a beautiful little town about an hour west of Brive.

...And I had a whole long post I wrote about it that disappeared when I went to post because the internet crashed! How lovely.

I'm sorry, but I won't be rewriting it.

Just know that Périgueux is lovely and I highly recommend a weekend visit.

J'aime Limoges - et la Capoeira!

So, because I was done with class around noon on Tuesday and didn't have work until Thursday, I decided to take a mini mid-week vacation to Limoges. In about 24-hour I accomplished all of the following and had an absolute blast:

Saw some of the American assistants I met last week at our meeting and had a great time with them.

Bought some amazing chocolate from "L'Atelier du Chocolat Bayonne" - I got one called Ibarritz. I highly recommend it.

Went to a Brazilian samba/forró/axé class AND a capoeira class. It's shameful that I have never taken a Brazilian dance class before, considering that I am half-Brazilian, a Brazilian citizen actually, and my family comes from the region of Brazil which made forró music famous. And to think that the point in my life where circumstances were just right in order to make up for this conspicuous gap in my cultural upbringing was in Limoges, the littlest big city of France. The other American assistants came with me and it was one of my best memories yet.

I learned (finally) the basic steps of samba and most importantly, I was reminded of that truth about never judging people by their appearances. The class was (obviously) mostly French women (and one guy for the dance class, several for capoeira) and they had all been there longer than me. Some random French lady knows how to samba better than me! It is an amazing blessing that globalization has provided - that we can taste and sample from the rich well of cultural diversity and gain a sense of empowerment by doing something different.

And capoeira was just wonderful. It was a beginner's class, but having been away from the roda all summer, I'm glad it was only that. And God, que saudade! The first song we sang in the roda was "Roda Maravilhosa," you know:

Bem-te-vi vôou, vôou
Bem-te-vi vôou, vôou
Deixa voar
Lá lauê lauê lauê lauê
Lá lauê lauê lauê lauê
Que som o que arte é essa
de luta e brincadeira
Que roda maravilhosa é essa
é o Batuque Capoeira
Em cada som, em cada toque
em cada ginga, tem um estilo de jogo
Em cada som, em cada toque
em cada ginga, tem um estilo de jogo
Lauê lauê lá...
Lá lauê lauê lauê lauê

It made me miss BCBC's capoeira family so much and our part in the Mandingueiros dos Palmares capoeira family...if you guys are out there, know that I am going to do my best to keep it up here. I found out that there are classes offered in my city once a week on Thursday nights. Hopefully I can make that a regular thing.

Anyway, after class we went out for dinner, which, at 10pm on a Tuesday night, is very hard to do in Limoges, but we found this great little French fast food type place and since one of the other assistants was also from California like me, we were quite amused by the fact that "California Girls" was playing when we walked in.

Today I went shoe shopping because apparently Limoges is quite famous for its shoes and well, I'm quite happy with my purchases. As well as the eclair I ate while wandering around downtown...it was very much a moment of bliss.

Later, one of the assistants met up with me and we walked into a chocolate shop simply to look around. The lady working there asked us if we wanted a sample of a chocolate-covered raisin. We both said yes because hey, it's free chocolate. Once we'd eaten it though, we quickly came to the conclusion that this was the best chocolate-covered raisin we'd ever had, no joke. No Raisinet crap.

Took care of some paperwork for the "mutuelle," which is supplementary health insurance. Standard health insurance is part of my program and a sum is deducted from each month's salary to cover it. However, the mutuelle sounds like a pretty wonderful deal because for 105 euros for the year, you're essentially covered for all situations, and covers dental and eye care, which the basic health insurance plan doesn't.

Did I mention our wonderful lunch of lentil soup, baguette, goat cheese, grapes, and raspberry champagne? One of the beauties of French cuisine is that even the cheap stuff (like the Carrefour brand goat cheese) is of such high quality because the French are extremely protectionist (so it seems) of their food. The high standards definitely show through.

We also did a little grocery shopping at Lider Price, a discount grocery store. Again, great prices, great quality.

I am back in my place tonight, but must say that I am a huge fan of Limoges. It is a very underestimated city.