PBJ: Friends

I’m very glad that I decided to spend a few days in Paris before leaving for the rest of my vacation, as it allowed me to say goodbye to E. As you may remember, E was my laid-back roommate from Nebraska who adores large helpings of stew, long runs, and relaxed conversations. He met up with A and R, some friends from college, to take a victory lap around one of the world’s greatest capitals before heading back to ‘Merica. Je, Ja, and L were the lovely ladies also along for the ride. They have a very strong bond based on complementary personalities : Je is very lively and loves to talk, Ja has some street-cred going on, and L is a Midwestern sweetheart who just wants to get know people. I spent most of Sunday morning with Ja and L and it was fun to cheer for the runners (Je, E, R, and A) together. The girls also decided to encourage others based on their racing tags and were met by various expressions of ignorance, disgust, fatigued thanks, and WOW.

My original reason for making the trek to Barcelona was simple : I had taken a Spanish class last summer and wanted to practice my language skills in a Spanish-speaking country. In the course of planning meet-ups with various friends this spring, I noticed that the easiest way to see my friend G would be on vacation. G is my fun-loving, intelligent, and effortlessly-cool friend who’s a teaching assistant in Strasbourg. She brought along one of her friends, K, a sweet witty young lady who also hails from the Heartland. We worked out wonderfully as travel partners since we all had the same sort of internal rhythm going : wake up mid-morning and have brunch, do some sites, eat a nice sandwich lunch, more sightseeing, nap/Internet break, dinner and drinks. A few hours after meeting K, I was introduced to A. She’s Parisienne by birth, but a citizen of the world by choice : she was a French language assistant at K’s university last year and is now working in Barcelona as a French and English teacher. A reminded me of a more intense version of G and showed all the great spots that the cool kids frequent : a Catalan dive bar, a French expatriate bar/café, and a secret club that involved climbing many stairs and password-only admission. It was at this point in the night when we met AEA : American Expatriate AssholeTM. He proceeded to lecture us on how Europe was SO much more civilized than America, using the same generalities that anyone who had read two articles in the New York Times could tell you. When G had the gall to suggest that we had indeed thought about several quality of life issues and cultural differences, he countered by talking about his friends in CA who had to put their kids in private preschool to avoid them becoming pimps and gangsta drug lords. K suggested that paying 15K a year was perhaps more of a choice and he shouted back « You’re WRONG ! » Through a coordinated campaign of targeted questions and reminders about common decency, we managed to chase him from the table. After a restful night of repose, we met V at the metro on our way to Parc Guell. She’s a spunky independent spirit from Ontario who loves taking photos. More laughs ensued and we had a great time for the rest of our stay in Barcelona.

Back to Life, Back to Reality

Bonjour! No, I didn't drop off the face of the planet the last few weeks, though they have lead to some interesting experiences. I arrived back in Nancy on Sunday at 10:30 am after we had driven 8 hours across La France and am in the process of organizing my life for departure this weekend. Spring is usually a stressful season for me, but with exams instead of good-bye soirees and last minute Facebook friend invites. Look for more posts in the next few days!

PBJ - Travel

In order to shake things up around here and avoid another chronological retelling of my voyage, I’ve decided to share some highlights of my recent adventures in Paris and Barcelona using a thematic framework. To wit, this first post will focus on Getting There and Back. Later ones will focus on Friends, Sights, and Food. I’ll be in Toulouse this week with my choir, so blogging will be a bit sporadic. Take care!

My travel to Paris was quite eventful – I took the TGV train comme d’habitude, but was quite tired that afternoon. We had all stayed up late and woken up early to send off E, my housemate who would return to America after a few precious last days in Paris. I did, however, manage to read the first 50 pages of “Lady Chatterly’s Lover” in between naps. Let me preface my next few comments by saying that I LOVE the Paris metro system. It’s fast, efficient, and riding le métro is quite the experience. E got a bee in his bonnet and decided that we should head down to the registration office using city buses and trams rather than take the metro and walk 3 blocks. As the kids say these days, “Epic Fail!” We spent 50 minutes on a bus and 30 minutes on a tram, yet the ride back home took 8 minutes on the metro. Thankfully, he saw the error of his ways and we rode the metro for the rest of the trip.

I had accidentally booked my flight to Barcelona for 9:30 pm instead of 9:30 am. Whoops, though this oversight did give me more time in Paris before I had to say goodbye to E. I flew out of Orly , which is roughly twice the size of the airport in Wichita, KS instead of the massive beast that is Charles DeGaulle. I was able to take an RER (Réseau Express Régional - Regional Express Network) straight to the airport with only a 5 euro supplement. My flight on Vueling Airlines went smoothly and upon exiting the Barcelona airport, I managed to find the city bus stop. Barcelona is the capital of Catalonia, one of Spain’s more independent autonomous regions, and all of the signs were posted in Spanish, English, and Catalan. Just another reminder for my students that English helps all over the world! I decided to take the 1.40 € city bus rather than the 5€ shuttle bus and consequently my journey took 1.5 hours rather than .5 hours. Though the metro wasn’t working in the wee hours of Tuesday morning, I was able to find my hostel only to realize that there was no reception between 1 am and 8 am. I walked around a bit, popped into a 24 hour snack shop, and contemplated some of my life decisions while sitting across from a gaggle of drunk girls who were devouring burritos in the park. Luckily, these ladies attracted some drunk male college students who mentioned the name of the hostel (Sant Jordi – Saint George in Catalan) who let me enter the premises. I crashed on a quite comfortable couch until reception opened, then switched to a slightly more comfortable bed for a few hours.

While everyone else was freaking out about the Unutterable Horror that had erupted in Iceland, I was oblivious to any disturbances. My journey from Barcelona back to Nancy went off without a hitch, in part because I had given myself far more time than I usually do to reach my train. One quick note about paying for bathrooms: perhaps this is to encourage local commerce? I for one would rather enjoy a pleasant pause in a café rather than disinfect a public facility. Many times, the difference between these experiences is about .50€. Another thing I love about coffeeshops is that you often get free Wi-Fi and access to other services with your selection. Back in my university town, lots of students studied in coffeeshops with laptops, iPods, and warm beverages to relax them. In return, though, patrons should probably purchase something at least every few hours.

Day 5/Canterbury and Departure

C fixed us a delicious breakfast of toast and jam before dropping us back at the bus. He said that he had chosen to host us not for the money or out of obligation, but because he had five adult children out in the world and would want someone to offer them shelter for the night in a similar situation. M, our chauffeur, relied on his extensive English experience to organize a day trip for us to Canterbury, famous for its Cathedral and Chaucer’s bawdy pilgrim tales. We did lots of shopping at souvenir places, bought 30p postcards instead of paying 10 pounds ($15) to tour the Cathedral, and bought a novelty birthday hat for K who was celebrating his 19th birthday in a foreign country. A pagan parade passed by, promising a large gathering of local Wiccans and fairies in a few weeks. The profs had tea at Tiny Tim’s Teahouse, which has trapdoors in the bathroom in case of fire. We then went to Folkstone to catch the train again as the ferry workers would be on strike for all of Easter weekend. My wonderful colleagues gave me a travel pillow for all of my future voyages and much fun was had by all. About 10 pm, M found a Top-40 pop station and cranked up the tunes. Within two minutes, the lights were on strobe and the kids were dancing and drinking in the back of the bus. This lasted about 15 minutes before everyone settled in and watched a film. I caught a ride home with one student, opened my door at 2 am and was surprised to find all of our kitchen furniture in the hallway. My housemates had thrown an Easter party and I was the first one home that night!

Day 4/Rochester

We said goodbye to our host families and packed in the bus for the (tentatively) last day of our trip to England. On the way to Rochester for a Dickens-themed tour, V spoke to me a bit about the unsettling conversation last night and explained that most of these views were only shared by older generations. She has black friends and family members as do many others as intermarriage is becoming more common in France. Our tour guide in Rochester was, incidentally, black and came dressed up as Pickwick from the Pickwick Papers. He gave a wonderful tour in perfect French, explaining how Dickens wove details about Rochester into Edwin Drood, The Pickwick Papers, and Great Expectations. H and I were enthralled by the town’s history, but the students were more interested in arguing, texting, and trying to break up established couples. G bargained for a special deal at a local Italian restaurant whose owner had moved the entire staff from his village in Sicily. The Guildhall Musuem had some amazing reconstructions of life on the hulls, the detention ships used in the 19th century as a solution to overcrowded prisons. Upon leaving the museum, we received word that our ferry for the night had been canceled due to strikes on the English side. While the kids panicked, H tried to explain that this incident showed that we were truly “on an island” until V told him it wasn’t helping. The lycée called all of the families and our travel company found temporary host families for the night. D, the assistant chauffer, bought the profs cider at a local restaurant where we relaxed away from the nervous students. I went with H and D to stay at C’s house in a the nice adjoining town of Gillingham. Whereas Brighton is a rich retirement area, the Rochester urban area more closely resembles rust-belt America between Cleveland and Pittsburgh. It was actually quite refreshing to talk to someone who still worked and we discussed food transport, the weather, and local history over shepherd’s pie and mashed potatoes.

Day 3/Foggy London Town

After a hearty traditional English breakfast, we made the long slow journey into London. Brighton actually isn’t too far away from the capital, but traffic in the suburbs was terrible. This did, however, mean that I got to see some interesting restaurant combinations that result from ethnically-mixed neighborhoods: Halal Chinese Buffet. (Note: “halal” in this case refers to food permitted by Islamic law). We set the students loose in the big city, reminding them that they only had three hours of temps libre and not to get lost. As for the profs, we enjoyed a nice tea break at a charming café next to Westminster Abbey and lunch in Trafalgar Square after popping into some souvenir shops. Our visit to the National Gallery was supposed to last one hour, but one of the students became enraptured with the Italian Renaissance Art and we had to send back search parties (yes, plural) to find him. More souvenir shops awaited us on Oxford Street and I supervised the students as they bought inappropriate logo T-shirts referencing McDonald’s and Adidas. Quick side note: everyone here says MacDonald’s and MacDo in French, which just reminds me of Old MacDonald Had a Farm.

While I enjoyed London, I was shocked until dinner that night. Over fish and chips, the host family proceeded to denounce blacks, Arabs, Romanians, Poles, and other ethnic groups who had ruined the beautiful capital with their poverty-ridden slums. The fish I had just eaten jumped up my throat a bit and I had to decide whether to smile and nod or bolt to the bathroom. Thankfully, the BBC was playing in the background and we were able to discuss the terrible snowstorms in Scotland and Wales. Their views of immigrants as disease vectors instead of people reminded me of some of the more radical rhetoric concerning Central and South American immigrants in the United States. One big difference between the US and Western Europe is that we have a long history of immigration and have gone through the Civil Rights Movement. I’m in no way claiming that racism is dead in America, only suggesting that we are more aware of a) how dangerous racial and ethnic tensions can be and b) the many economic and social benefits that come from having a diverse multicultural society. Furthermore, there is a lack of role models for minority youth in Europe – they really don’t have an equivalent of Beyonce, Oprah, Jennifer Lopez, Barack Obama, Sonia Sotomayor, or Amy Tan. Having been raised in a multicultural society with heritage plays, these dramatically different societal dynamics struck me from my first day in Europe.

On The Road Again

I just wanted to pop in to say that I'm once again traveling instead of writing up blog posts. This past weekend, I went to Paris with E and some other friends to watch them run the Paris Marathon and say goodbye. Since our contracts end May 1st and our vacation goes until 25th, several assistants managed to offer additional conversation classes in March to work their remaining hours and snag cheaper flights. I'm currently hanging out with G and her friend K in Barcelona. Today we saw La Sagrada Familia, some interesting Guadi homes, a medieval district rich with history, and a few lovely parks. Look for more updates soon - hasta luego!

Day 2/Blast from the Past

Le lendemain (the next day), I took a hot shower and scarfed down a quick breakfast of toast and jam before heading to the bus with the other chaperones. We took a 1.5 hour trip through the picturesque English countryside and I noticed that the villages were full of thatched-roof cottages, trimmed hedges, and carefully maintained riding trails. Contrary to the information listed in our program, there were no guides and the inside of the castle contained no furnishings. There was a 15-minute film about the historical use and development of the castle which I had to help translate. After about 15 minutes, it looked like a Works Progress Administration project like the small “castle” built near my house where teenagers sneak off to drink on weekends. The students decided to play “cache-cache” (hide-and-go-seek) and ended up having lots of fun. As we were leaving, I passed the Comments bulletin board and noticed the following observation made by a 9 year old English girl: “It was lots of fun, but I was afraid of the ducks!”

We ate an exceptional picnic in the bus with sandwiches and fruit, and then ducked inside the station service for a coffee break. Our next destination was a game center next to a supermarket. I had to help one of the students who couldn’t remember what “gelé” translated to in English (“jelly”) but kept mentioning how much her mother liked to cook things in it (?!). At the game center, some of the students asked if they could go bowling instead of playing Laser Quest. The manager did OK it, but it took a while for V and I to count how many kids wanted to do each. G and H watched bowling while we played Laser Quest with some of the kids. It was really interesting to watch their strategies. M, for example, ran all over the place and tried to shoot more than he got hit. His girlfriend C and her BFF J had another strategy. They hid behind a partition and would jump out to say “Souris!” (Smile!) before blasting away at you. That night, we ate delicious chili con carne and looked at some other examples of English castles. One of them is an almost mirror image of the famous Mont St. Michel chateau in France (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mont_St._Michel), though my colleagues explained that ours was a bit taller. Three more days to go…

Day 1/Travel

Our voyage commenced with long bus journey to Calais with stop at Reims, first of many coffee conversations with the other profs. At the border, the kids passed through British douanes (customs) without any problems, but I had to get a travel visa as a non-EU citizen. We took the Eurotunnel across to England, but not on the famous Eurostar train. M, our chauffer, drove the bus into a large train car and we stayed inside for the 30 minute journey. One student felt a bit ill due to the lack of moving air, but everything was fine. I actually got to sleep during the 3 hour trip from Folkstone to Brighton as all of the kids had passed out. As we pulled up to the pier on that dewy morn, V explained that we would have free time for the whole morning. The students thought that this meant “follow profs around and hang out.” They were quickly disabused of this notion and we settled into a delicious English breakfast at a café (sausages, eggs, ham, the works). Then, we strolled along the pier and in the city center, passing many lost students trying to figure out that “bank” really was the English equivalent of “banque” in their desperate search for ATMs. We ate a scrumptious lunch of fish and chips with Guinness at a seaside café and I learned about some of the obstacles university students face in France as they try to become certified teachers. That afternoon, we toured the King’s Pavilion which was built by King George IV of England. We got audioguides in French and I learned that the Music Room had suffered water, fire, and wind damage but the builders wouldn’t be deterred. After some nice tea at a café, we met our host families. All of the profs were staying together with an older couple. A, our hostess, showed us around the neighborhood and explained that it was very safe and thankfully “there are NO black people.” I almost chocked on my chicken right then. More updates to come…

Setting the Scene

Last week, I went on a trip to England with 44 students and 3 other profs from my lycée. Since this was a voyage pédagogique, my part was covered by the Académie (school district). My fellow chaperones were V, the English teacher who’s responsible for me; H, a French and History prof; and G, the director of the Printing Press program. As an American, I felt a bit left out of all of the English/French cultural comparisons, but I helped a lot with translation. All of the directions and chatting on the bus were in French, but at night, I spoke English slowly so that my colleagues could understand. H and G are bilingual in German and Italian respectively, and studied some English at school, but we had to do some creative phrasing to ensure comprehension. Towards the end of the week, I became more comfortable with this split existence. The trip seemed like more of a séjour linguistique for me than for the kids! However, no one suffered any irreparable harm and after the second day the students began chatting in English with their families and with each other.