Travel Plans

In four days, my boyfriend will be here and I feel it is appropriate to express my excitement by posting a low-quality map depicting our travel plans:

We will of course be spending time in Saint-Pourcain, but also traveling to Clermont-Ferrand, Grenoble, Strasbourg, and finally Paris, where he will catch his flight out on Christmas Eve. An hour after he leaves, one of my best friends will arrive at the same airport, and we will head south for Christmas Vacation Part 2. Stay tuned.

Changing

I've gotten really good at being alone. To some, this may sound like a small feat, but for me, it's huge. Solitude used to make me irritatingly uncomfortable, like a ratty polyester sweater. More than an hour in my own head and I was cranky, desperate, and hungry for attention.

These days, I can't get enough. I savor the moments of silence when I can read, sing Lady Gaga on youtube karaoke, or just simply stare at the wall if I want. I'm really proud of how comfortable I have become with myself even though I think internet access in my apartment plays a huge role in this.

Anyways, my newfound independence started to crumble tonight when I was walking to the pharmacy and saw the huge Christmas tree in the center of town. I'm no homebody, but around the holidays, I always feel this slight twinge of loneliness to be somewhere, to be a part of something. Naturally, this is usually satisfied by a few days of intense family time, which consequently reminds me that being alone isn't so bad after all. But tonight I really felt how far away I was, how much I am changing, and how alone I am in all of it. And it felt...terrifying.

Before I left, I blogged about how traveling changes people; it opens them up to new experiences that alter your perceptions. It challenges one to the point where it is impossible to return the same person. This is why I love traveling after all, because it shakes me up; I feel alive and alert. So these feelings aren't surprising to me, they are simply confirming my expectations for this adventure.

Tightening the reigns

Le Domaine de Marie-Antoinette-Versailles, February 2008

Last week I bitched incessantly about how I couldn't manage a classroom, how my students wouldn't stop talking, how I'm a failure, a pushover, so on and so forth. After classes on Friday, I ran out of the school like my ass was on fire, eager to spend the weekend in bed, hiding under the covers. Thwarting my escape, a colleague stopped me on my way home and asked me how everything was going. I promptly broke down and --in French--expressed my frustrations. Our conversation went a little like this.

"I'm the worst teacher ever."

"You're the boss, don't let them take advantage of you. Be mean if necessary."

"But I'm not mean."

"Fake it. Sometimes being a good teacher means being a good actor. You have to create a new personality for your classroom."

I woke up early Tuesday morning, ready to turn things around. I'd be lying if I said that this week was flawless, but I did make some improvements. First, I don't allow students to choose where they sit anymore. Before they come into the class I place their name cards where I want them, purposefully separating groups of friends who are disruptive. Second, I don't raise my voice. I've found it's better to be silent and wait, than to compete with talkative students. Sometimes this takes a minute or two, but eventually they realize that they are being rude, and give me their attention. Third, if students refuse to participate, I keep not-so-fun back-up activities on hand to give to students (or the entire class) if they are being uncooperative.

Today another colleague offered to sit in on my class, to observe me and make suggestions. After the students left I covered my face, Me:"I just can't stand being so mean." Experienced teacher:"That was mean??"

So clearly I have a ways to go. But half of the battle is recognizing your weaknesses right? And I've done that. I've also realized that this issue bleeds over into other areas of my life; I am so afraid to piss people off and to voice my opinion, because I need to be liked. I loathe confrontation. Consequently, I waste a lot of time doing things I don't care about and am often manipulated. This needs to change, and I guess it's already starting to.

Faking mean

Something a lot of people don't realize is that teaching is hard work. Not in the sense that the work load is insurmountable, or the hours are unbearable, but teaching requires one to juggle several strenuous tasks that are all interdependent on each other. A teacher's primary goal is of course, to teach the necessary material, that is usually determined by a higher branch of academic power. Or in my case, not. But the teacher must also create and maintain a miniature "society" for their students-- with laws, expectations, goals, consequences etc. The environment that a teacher creates for learners is equally as important as what is being taught, because without it, students lack structure, motivation, and respect. In order to develop this sense of a stable classroom society, a teacher often has to play a part, that is completely different than their personality.

My first two months of teaching were peaches and cream. Maybe the students didn't understand me, were afraid of me, or were half-asleep, but they were delightful to spend time with. I coasted through my lessons and felt like I'd made about 200 new friends. I felt accomplished, respected, mature, and empowered. Then a few days ago, this facade quickly disintegrated. Turns out, my "everyone be nice and love each other" approach translated as "everyone do what you want this class doesn't count." My students are hyper, loud, and boisterous; they fall over chairs and throw pens, they talk when I tell them stop and speak in French when I require English. At the end of my "short" days, I feel drained and cynical; I can't seem to pinpoint where things went wrong, or how to make them right. Surely I haven't lost the fight yet...right?

If you know me, then you know that I am anything but authoritative, mean, or strict. I'm a people-pleasing optimist, who will do anything for a warm smile and a pat on the back. Kind of like a golden retriever. It feels so unnatural to be firm and strict with my students, which is why I decided on a more relaxed approach from the get-go. Well this approach is currently biting me in the ass. I want to be liked, but more that that, I don't want to feel like I'm fighting a war every day.

I've been brainstorming all afternoon, thinking back through my 16 years of school, to how my teachers managed their classrooms. I had the meanies, who terrified me. Sure, they kept order and were never walked all over the way I have been lately, but I don't think terrifying students is a) something I'm capable of and b) a good environment for a foreign language conversation class.

Then of course I've had the teachers who everyone loved, but no one respected. They were funny, flighty, disorganized, and energetic, but not what I'm going for. These teachers yelled over the class as if they were begging for the respect and attention that they were entitled to. This persona is frightening to write about because I am starting to feel this way, and I am worried of losing control in my classes completely as students get comfortable talking over me and ignoring instructions.

Then there were the teachers I've had who have mastered a balance. They were cool, calm, collected, interesting, inspiring, approachable, and intimidating. Where did they learn this? This is what I need to master. The art of intimidating people in an inspiring way. I have a lot of things working against me though: I'm 24, I don't speak French fluently, and I can't give grades...all of which my students are aware of. So what do I have to back up my desired persona? Until I can find a better answer to this question I'm going to rely on my acting skills, and the cold beer in my fridge.

Falling backwards

As with any conquest of value, some days speaking French are triumphant..clear, crisp, and fluid. And other days are tragic. The horrible thing is that I know right away if it's going to be a "good speaking day" or a "bad speaking day." Anyone who has devoted a large amount of time to mastering a foreign language knows this. Some mornings I step out of my apartment, and my first Bonjour! to the conceirge is on point. Almost native. Other days, it sounds like a two-year-old with a speech impediment. At least in my head. But then again, I'm extremely hard on myself.

As a student in Aix-en-Provence, every day was a "bad speaking day." Before entering a social situation I would quickly decide if I wanted to play the part of the aloof American bitch who refused to talk to anyone, or the village idiot waltzing around the room massacring the French language. Both scenarios were equally painful, because they painted a completely inaccurate picture of who I am.

As I'm sure you've guessed by now, today was a "bad speaking day." I felt lazy and disoriented, and I could not express anything interesting to anyone. So naturally, I repaired my damaged ego by doing something I am good at: eating cookies and watching Gossip Girl.

But even an hour of indulgence can't shake me from my mood, or the complex that is forming in my head. I am so thankful to be where I am, and to be constantly learning and improving, but some days it is just so difficult. Learning a second language returns one to infancy, but not the picturesque Johnson & Johnson version, more like the terrible two's where nothing works and everything is a risk, an experiment.

More and more people are mentioning "accents." Many French people I know are hesitant to speak to me in English because of their accent, which I don't understand...I've always thought the French accent is sophisticated, sexy, and intelligent sounding. But recently, much to my horror, people immediately call me out for my "American accent." I can only hope they find it cute and endearing, because most likely it's here to stay.

Homesickness won't last forever. But in the meantime, there's a Subway across the street.

Thanksgiving in Charleston, SC

Before I left for France I was extremely worried about the holidays. Even though I love to boast about my world travels and fear-nothing outlook on life, I am human. And American. And American humans love to speak English and eat turkey the last Thursday of every November, and then spend all of their money the following black Friday. Why does it have to be black? Anyways, as I expected, I felt several waves of emotion, longing to be home over the past week, but luckily I was too busy to indulge myself in it too much.

Thursday started off early. I took off Thursday and Friday from school (remarkably easy to do by the way) to go to Clermont-Ferrand to validate my visa. But before I could get verified at the prefecture, I had to get a physical. And in order to get the physical, I had to be checked for tuberculosis. Kind of like If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. It would have felt like a frantic scavenger hunt, had I not ran into another English assistant at the doctor's office. Together we discovered that A) we don't have tuberculosis and B) we have no sense of direction. It was fine though, more than fine...fun.

Thanksgiving in Charleston, SC

I had a small Thanksgiving dinner with friends, and it was comforting. Turkey, mashed potatoes, baguette, apple tart and beer...all the things that make me happy. We were speaking French and my family was far away, but the touch of tradition was so wonderful. The next day, I convinced my friend (and guide to all things French) to walk with me to the prefecture for the final step. We had to walk in the cold because there was a transport strike. The validation of the visa was everything I expected it to be. Five minutes in front of a glass partition. A-n-t-i-c-l-i-m-a-c-t-i-c. I was hoping for a round of applause or at least for someone to shake my hand, but I am officially finished with French immigration, and that is something to celebrate...with a new coat, a massage, and a night of drinking and dancing.

I always feel a little bothered by the historical aspects of Thanksgiving, but I love that there is a day set aside to be thankful for the people and blessings in my life. I feel so lucky to have fantastic people in my life all over the world, I am thankful for my health, for this opportunity, for internet access in my apartment, for freedom of speech, for Leonardo Dicaprio. Amen.

Grad school woes

French people are really good at doing nothing. I don't mean this in a negative sense, I am actually incredibly jealous at how they can achieve leisure and relaxation. No one apologizes for spending the day in bed, for taking a three-hour lunch, for 5+ weeks of paid vacation each year. It's cultural, but more than that, it's a philosophy.

Americans, on the other hand work themselves to death and when they finally catch a few days to take off from work, stay in ther pajamas in front of the TV, too exhausted to move. It makes so much more sense to me to work at a steady, slow pace, rather than waiting for yourself to burn out. I hope that I can become more like this and maintain the lifestyle when I return the the U.S.

However, my newfound ideology is proving difficult as I am trying to complete four graduate school applications with deadlines in December. Well, two are in December but I really just want to knock them all out, so I can move on with my life. I've always viewed grad school as a superior route to take in life, a way to bypass the political infrastructure that confines us. So. Wrong. Just like anything else, grad school is a business, a rat race, a competition. And with an influx of applicants as a result of the lack of jobs out there, it's worse than ever.

Which brings me to the past few weeks, sitting glued to my computer obsessing over my personal statement. It's exhausting because you have to express yourself, but only in the way that the committee wants to see you, which is essentially unknown. You have to shine but not too brightly, say all the right things, with the right tone.

I'm lucky to know some really intelligent people who don't mind me filling up their email inboxes each day with questions and revisions, but no matter how hard I work, I am feeling panicked. What if I'm not good enough?

These questions and concerns have been circling my mind, meanwhile distracting me from the important things in my life at the moment: what type of wine to try next, why isn't there gel deodorant in France, how can I cook Christmas dinner without an oven, etc.

So I suppose this post is a useless rant, but perhaps a call for advice. If anyone is in the process of, or has applied to graduate school and has advice for personal statements, interviews, and the application in general, please share!

To market

Open-air market in Nice, circa 2008

This Saturday morning I dragged myself out of bed to catch the tail-end of the weekly market in the center of town. Living in a small village in central France presents few opportunities for excitement, so I was eager to load up on fresh produce, and see the crowd. The market sells a random assortment of things, what you'd expect: fruits, vegetables, cheese; and what you wouldn't expect: watches, shoes, and rotisserie chickens.

I left my apartment, clothed in black, shopping basket in hand, feeling totally French. I've got this. Five steps away from chez moi and I could already smell the food and the fresh flowers. I walked straight up to a table crowded with blocks of delicious unpasteurized stinky cheese and suddenly I froze. I stared at the toothless vendor and totally blanked. It was 2008 again and I had no idea how to speak to French people. I had the horrifying realization that I didn't know the appropriate vocabulary to buy a portion of cheese, meat, or fish. A pound, half-pound, quarter pound? No, they don't use that here. A kilogram? How much is that? How on earth did I ever earn a college degree?

Flower market in Nice, circa 2008

When I studied abroad in Aix-en-Provence my awesome roommate would wake up at 7 every morning and go to the market to buy bread and fresh produce. I prefered to drink and dance until 7 in the morning and then sleep til noon. (Oh, how the times have changed). Well, at this moment, I was kicking myself for being such a lazy alcoholic and not going with her. If I had, I would have known how to do this.

Since I didn't want to pay for an entire block of cheese, I bought what I knew how to buy. Five apples, a bouquet of flowers, and three tomatoes. Next time, I'll come prepared.

Drinking mid-week

I have a recognizable tendency to involve myself in things I know nothing about. There are two main reasons for this. For one, I'm lazy, and secondly, I enjoy the element of surprise. This is generally how I engage in travel, with loosely set plans and expectations. I prefer for the experience to create itself, rather than accepting the difficult task of creating an experience.

Which brings me to wine. Last night, against my better judgement, I went to celebrate "le Beaujolais Nouveau." My colleagues at the lycee were talking about it all week, and I honestly had no idea what it was. "Sure thing! See you there." All I knew was that le Beaujolais was a wine..so maybe a wine party? A solid excuse to get drunk on a Thursday? Sounds good to me.

So after a long day of classes, I rode with my friend to Vichy, and we met about ten other teachers at a bar called Le Gaulois, just in front of the train station. The bar was packed, and by the time we arrived, every table had several bottles of Beaujolais emptied. We caught up quickly, and I have to admit...the taste wasn't great. The type of wine that tastes smooth at first, and then  bites back as you swallow. I'm no wine snob (maybe two notches above the boxed wine club) but I wasn't too impressed. But the energy was undeniable, it was karaoke meets St. Patty's Day, meets freshman year frat party.

It turns out I wasn't too far off in my assumptions, Le Beaujolais Nouveau is a distinct type of beaujolais wine, made from German grapes grown in the Beaujolais region of France. It is fermented for only a few weeks and then released on the third Thursday of November, creating a surge in sales and public drunkenness. Le Beaujolais is meant for immediate consumption and not for keeping. It is often criticized for it's "simple" taste, but in fact it is supposed to taste "young, fresh, and fruity."

So in short, even though the wine was sub-par and I felt like hell waking up at 6 a.m. this morning, I love the way that France celebrates. Everything from a birthday to the arrival of a new wine is always a grande affair. Maybe it's just an excuse to get drunk, but to me it seems a wonderful way to appreciate life.

Why I travel

The other day I was having one of those destructive pity parties where I ate an entire bag of chips while watching YouTube clips of the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show when I realized I can't pronounce the name of the town I live in. I panicked, feeling like one of those teenage bimbos who gets a Chinese tattoo thinking it means 'beauty' and discovering it actually means 'rice.'

I'm a fraud. For the next several days I avoided saying Saint-Pourcain-sur-Sioule at all costs, constructing sentences more awkwardly than usual. When there was no way around it, I said it fast and then coughed at the end, hoping that maybe choking is a solid excuse for mispronunciation.

See I've had a shit week. The thing about being abroad is that everything is magnified. You are more sensitive and vulnerable than you will ever be in your entire life and the slightest unforeseen mishap can send you whirling into a spiral of self-doubt. I don't claim to be an expert on much, but of the mishaps that can occur when abroad...I'm your girl.

French countryside near Toulouse

I've gone completely broke, had a round of international relationships and break-ups, been bitched out in a foreign language (well, a few languages), had my computer confiscated by Israeli security, been extremely sick, visited a French gynecologist...the list goes on.... all on another turf, away from the comforts of my friends, family, and language. I don't say this to brag, but to make a point. Traveling, just like learning a language, is trial and error. You will succeed and fail, and gradually get better at it.

So I suppose in the grand scheme of things, not being able to pronounce Saint-Pourcain-sur-Sioule isn't the most terrible thing that could happen. I was talking to a friend of mine and she asked me why I do it, after all of the uncomfortable situations and catastrophies...why do I continue to place myself in foreign environments instead of sticking with what's comfortable. In my mind, her question answered herself. If you're never challenged you're never changing; if you're never changing you're never improving. You cannot spend seven months in a foreign country and not learn something. Even if that means learning from mistakes.

Shock value

Every day I sit at my desk, across from my German roommate and write. Well, I try to write. Often, I just maintain an espresso-induced caffeine buzz and bounce back and forth between my blog (audience: the world), my personal journal (audience: myself), and my novel (audience: to be determined). One of my goals for my time abroad was to write something...anything...at least three times each week. Even if it's bad, I believe that the act of writing encourages more writing, and eventually something profound..or can I say brilliant, will emerge.

But lately I feel like there is a ticking clock in the back of my head, as if all the other writers are stealing all of the good ideas. The bank is running out, and I'm getting nervous. More and more I see people writing solely for shock value. Excessive cursing, blatant racism/sexism, exaggerated arrogance...anything that will bring in the most traffic is fair game. And I completely understand it. While I am honored that my friends and family read my blog with some regularity, I would love it if I could expand my readership, and attract the attention of random readers. This is ultimately the desire of the writer, not to write, but to be read. So perhaps I am trying to defy something that is undefiable; writers are arrogant, attention-seeking exhibitionists.

That being said, it is exhausting to be an arrogant, attention-seeking exhibitionist. And sometimes, we give up, lose our voice, and forget why we are writing in the first place. There are many different views on what to do to cure writer's block, but I find three to be particularly helpful:

1. Pick someone to write to
You don't have to literally write "Dear Dad" at the top of the paper, but this will direct your tone, message, and instantly give your writing a message. Imagine you are telling a story to someone you know, and then let the writing go from there.

2. Don't be afraid if it's bad
When I have writer's block I type a word, delete. Type three more, delete, delete, delete. Never edit and write simultaneously, I think this inhibits creativity. Express first, edit later.

3. Find a writing place
For weeks I felt like I had nothing to say. This was probably because I was sleeping til noon and sitting across from a pile of dirty laundry every day. Switch up your location, excite your senses and see what can happen.

The things you'd never do

As a five-year addict to Facebook, it may seem perfectly hypocrital for me to stand up on my soapbox and criticize it, but that's exactly what I'm going to do. Not because I'm above it, but because I am powerless without it, and the best defense twenty-something wanna-be-writers have these days is the blogosphere. So here it goes.

Everything everyone does appears online. What you ate for breakfast. Where you bought that dress. How long you've been dating your boyfriend. What you did last night. Who you did last night. And all this is fine and good, because it gives people a sense of celebrity, it somehow validates their existence...but somewhere along the line it began to feel like an event didn't actually occur unless there was record of it on Facebook. And this notion continued to evolve to the point until my greatest fear has been realized: people are doing things JUST so they can record it on Facebook.

I want to gather all my Facebook 'friends' in a room and shout at the top of my lungs, "Would you really have traveled to South Africa if you couldn't post the pictures?" "Are you sure you want to marry him?" "Are those kids just for show?"

"Facebook stunts" as I like to call them, are the manipulation and editing of one's life to make it appear more glamourous, more exciting. You know, kind of like how you post the pictures of yourself with freshly applied makeup, posing like a movie star, at the beginning of a night out, and purposefully leave out the other pictures where you're devouring a large pizza late-night. Engagements, smiling kids, family vacations. I'm getting to the point where when I look through someone's album and it seems just so perfectly put together, I think, what happened next? What's the rest of the story?

Insanity aside, a cultural phenomenon is undoubtedly occuring here. People are subconciously making decisions and doing things because they are motivated by the fact that record of it will be posted online, making them appear cooler, more exciting, thinner, happier. Is this necessarily bad? Maybe not. But weird? Without a doubt. Because what happens when it crashes? Or when we -gasp- have to start paying to use Facebook? Who will validate our existence then? Facebook has evolved beyond a device to facilitate communcation; it has become a way to reinvent ourselves.

Five things you shouldn't do when attempting to speak another language.

Lately I've been on this gigantic power-trip, or should I say self-worth trip. It's like every night I fall asleep and someone is pumping Oprah Winfrey into my veins. It started with the whole Occupy Movement, when I realized that YES, I DESERVE EDUCATION. I DESERVE HEALTHCARE. I DESERVE A COMFORTABLE LIFE. Then my newfound idealogy spread to my present situation abroad: I DESERVE TO BE UNDERSTOOD.

I speak from a personal level when I say this, but I'm sure that many would agree, that most people, when in a foreign environment, assume an inferior position. We forget that we deserve to be a part of the experience, and start to exist on a sub-level of social interaction, where we are understanding most of what's happening, but not everything. Once you get accustomed to this feeling, you are in danger of existing there permanently, and thus not allowing yourself to reap all of the benefits of living abroad.

So what to do? Well, you work your ass off. It's exhausting. Spend as much time with people who are native speakers of the language you want to learn. Immersion is an active pursuit, it is not accomplished just be being in a new location. You have to work hard, every day, until it clicks. You can't take anything personally. And when it comes down to daily conversations, avoid the following:

1. Translating directly
This should be a last resort, like when you absolutely have to communicate something and know no other way. And if you do, be prepared to sound...awkward. The other day I was having lunch with some teachers, and they asked me if I had enough to eat. Yes, I'm full. Unfortunately, I didn't know that je suis pleine means I am pregnant in French.

2. Agreeing or disagreeing without full comprehension
When your mind is spinning trying to make sense of things, it is tempting to just nod and say yes, yes, or no, no, but this can get you in trouble. First, it makes it seem like you're not paying attention and second, you could agree to something absolutely ridiculous.

3. Being afraid to slow things down
Learning a new language is one of the hardest things in the world. So don't feel like you are admitting defeat by asking a native speaker to slow down, or ask for the definition of a word.

4. Just listening
Try not to fade into the background. It is just as awkward for everyone else if you're just sitting there feeling lost. I complained to a colleague that I have things to contribute to a conversation, but once I know what I want to say, it's three minutes too late. Say it anways! Or start a new conversation, eventually you'll be on the same page.

5. Giving up without a fight
Most importantly, fight to understand; fight to be understood. No, I don't mean be aggressive and scary. But don't get too frustrated. Most likely, the group you're with isn't talking about rocket science. They are probably talking about the same things everyone is--you know jerky ex-boyfriends, love handles, Leonardo Dicaprio...So don't be intimidated.

Americans love costumes. And apologize too much.

Wrapping up my first Halloween in France with a sore throat and a lot less money in my bank account. This was a really good vacation. Who has a random nearly two-week vacation in October? Oh yes, the French do. I am feeling particularly thankful--a month before thanksgiving--for all of the wonderful people I've met so far. Everyone has been kind, helpful, and generous, contributing to my premature state of comfort and immersion.

An attempt to be terrifying on Halloween

Can you tell I've been reading Jane Austen? I'll be honest, Pride and Prejudice is kind of a yawn, but it does wonders for your vocabulary. Okay, where was I...oh yes, Halloween. Somewhere in between dressing up like a witch and unintentionally attending a drag show, I realized that French people aren't so hot on costumes. The first pang of homesickness struck me when I walked into a bar with my crew (we were all dressed-up) and everyone just looked at us in their normal clothes like what are those crazy girls doing. Hmm. Oh well, we proceeded to have an amazing night. Fast forward to actual Halloween night, and we went out to the largest, most extravagant club I've ever seen (in real life and movies) and still! Very few costumes to speak of. Come on, France.

But with all the off-the-charts cheese, wine, bread, and chocolate I've been consuming, I really can't complain about anything here. Or apologize. At this point, a month into my second long-term stint in France, I am rarely shocked by cultural differences, but the other day...I had a moment. My French friend complained that her throat was starting to hurt, and with all the American compassion I could muster, I grabbed her arm, tilted my head and said "I'm sorry." She looked truly puzzled. "For what?" Another friend with us who has had more exposure to Americans burst out laughing, and explained to her that Americans apologize for everything, even if they have no control over it.

I let this marinate for a minute, and then realized he's completely right! And that is why so often, Americans think French are rude! Because they aren't apologizing for our sore throats, bad weeks, and marital problems. But in actuality, it is bizarre that I have a natural instinct to apologize to anyone who is feeling less than superb at any give moment. If you know me beyond this blog, then you know that I am the ultimate people-pleaser, so this revelation is like a giant weight lifted off my shoulders.

To occupy or not to occupy

One thing I enjoy about being abroad is viewing and reading American news from a different perspective. And with the recent Occupy Movement sweeping the country, there has been plenty of information to digest and discuss--with other Americans and the French.

It feels like every day that I log on to Facebook, I see one of those "I am the 99%" photos, or even better the "I am not the 99%" photos, followed by a page-long trail of heated debate. With all of the opinions, coverage, and controversy, I can't seem to pinpoint what is scaring people more, that big corporations are being attacked, or that Americans are standing up for their rights, an idea that has somehow become against the "American Dream" which according to critics of the movement, means working your ass off and expecting nothing from your government or society.

Somewhere along the line it seems that Americans have misconstrued their value, worth, and have begun to accept nothing from the society and government that they are a part of. Yes, I believe in working hard for what you have. But I strongly believe that every individual should have the right to healthcare and to education. No one should get sick or die because they don't have money. No one should miss out on education because they cannot finance it. These ARE basic human rights and anyone who disagrees has a warped sense of self-worth.

I really like to bring up the Occupy Wallstreet Movement with my French colleagues and students, because they just can't wrap their head around facts we have accepted: unless you are rich, you must take out a surplus of loans to complete your education, and a trip to the doctor could set you back thousands of dollars. My friend thought she misunderstood me when I first explained this, then she asked "Well, since you are paying so much for college, do they immediately place you with a career?" I laughed. Wouldn't that be nice. But how would she know? She attended a four-year university for free, then obtained her masters for free, and after receiving certification, she was placed in a school as a full-time art teacher.

It is doubtful that the changes the Occupy protesters are fighting for will ever come to pass. But that really isn't the point. They are fighting against injustice, refusing to accept what is happening.

I just ate calves' feet.

Of the three days that I spent in Lyon, France, there is so much to say. I could talk about how perfect my travel buddies were, about how we managed to seamlessly transport ourselves around the city. I could talk about our well-priced, clean hotel, the Rhône river, Old Lyon with its cobblestone streets and medieval architecture. I'd like to talk about the Basilique Notre-Dame Fourvière, the extravagant Café des Négociants--where I had the best hot chocolate of my life. I should probably mention the opera house, and the high-end shopping that I couldn't afford, the enormous Parc de la tête d'or, the zoo. However, all that rests in my mind from my trip to Lyon can be summed up in one word: bouchon.

Place de Bellecour

Next to the river, crossing over into Old Lyon

Basilique Notre-Dame de Fourvière

Inside the Basilique Notre-Dame de Fourvière

Espresso and hot chocolate at the famous Café des Négociants

Parc de la tête d'or

A bouchon is a typical restaurant of Lyon, and I can tell you first hand that no one in France, perhaps no one in all of Europe eats like this. At a bouchon you eat for hours, and it feels like you are in someones' kitchen. The servers act more like impatient mothers and--if you've found a good one---you will fight for a table, if you get one at all. Although hundreds of restaurants in Lyon claim to be bouchons, there are only twenty "official" ones. I tried to learn how to know if one is official, and the only answers I found were if it said "veritable bouchon" on the front window, and if there were creepy marionette-like dolls below the certification. I went to two restaurants while in Lyon, Chez Mounier and Chabert et fils.

Chez Chabert et Fils...first bouchon experience

Our first night, we  took a look at the menu outside of Chabert et fils to see what the prices were like and had a moment of reproach: "Wait...aren't andouillettes...intestines?" "Pieds du porc?....Pigs feet?!" We walked down the street to find something more...American friendly. But every restaurant was the same. So, when in Rome. We did it up, and I ate things I never thought I'd eat. Here's the summary:

Chabert et fils...aka Night one...aka What the hell am I eating
1. Saladier Lyonnais-museau de boeuf, cocos, harengs, pommes à l'huile, pieds de veau
Translation: Salad of Lyon: cow snout/muzzle, beans, smoked herring, potatoes in oil, jellied calves feet

2. Saucisson chaud pistaché avec cervelle de canut et pommes vapeur
Translation: hot sausauge with pistachios, servet with a creamy cheese sauce and steamed potatoes
*cervelle de canut literally means "the brains of the silk-weaver" because in the 19th century it accompanied every meal for weavers (it's not actually their brains)

3. Le guignol-genoise du rhum, appareil à la creme brulée, cassonade, crème anglaise caramalisé
Translation: rum soaked sponge cake, cooked like creme brulée, with soft brown suger and caramalized crème anglaise.
*If you've never tried crème anglaise, stop reading and go do that right now. 

Chez Mounier...aka Night two...aka...been there, done that.
1. L'assiette des crudités
Translation: vegetable plate (nothing tricky here)

2. Quenelles au homard
Tranlation: a puff pastry served in a rich, creamy lobster sauce, with a side of puréed potatoes and sauteed mushrooms

Needless to say, I left Lyon not hungry. Well, maybe hungry to go back.

Travel is shaped by your co-travelers

Like any other red-blooded foreigner, when I found out I had nearly two weeks of vacation, I jumped at the opportunity to spread my wings and see more of France. I took a bus to Vichy (closest "big" train station), then hopped a train to Lyon, and spent a few days exploring the city with two other assistants. It was such a great trip, first, because Lyon is a beautiful, exciting city, and second, because I unknowingly chose two super compatible co-travelers.

As much as I hate to admit it, the people you travel with have just as much, if not more of an influence on your experience than the place that you are in. This is because there are four types of travelers, who for better or worse, will shape your experience.

1. The dominatrix
The dominatrix has already planned out each second of each minute of your trip, prior to arrival. There's no need to interject what you would like to do, because the agenda has been made. Meddling with the agenda could prompt a meltdown. The plus side--traveling with a dominatrix will guarantee that your time is maximized. You will see more than most travelers, and will not waste time being lost or indecisive.

2. The speedster
Not a far cry from the dominatrix, the speedster is less interested in a thorough understanding of a place, and somewhat obsessed with seeing as much as possible, as quickly as possible. This "gotta catch 'em all" attitude will fuel travelers to go great distances, but only scrape the surface of a city. There is never enough time to sit down, to reflect, to meet locals.

3. The free spirit
On the opposite end of the spectrum, the free spirit is satisfied by simply being. They have few "musts" for a trip, and are perfectly happy wandering the streets, people watching, and window shopping. They want traveling to be simple, natural, and enlightening. Traveling with free spirits is ideal because they are easy-going, easy to please. But pair them with a dominatrix or speedster, and expect disaster.

4. The stick-in-the-mudd
I'm always confused as to why this type seeks travel in the first place, because upon arrival, all they do is eat McDonald's and drink Budweiser. Anything out of the norm or their comfort-zone is out of the question, and stressful situations easily affect the stick-in-the-mudd. Plus side, they like to move at a comfortable pace. And they're most likely stocked with American snacks and anti-bacterial hand sanitizer.

Of course these are extremes, and it is ideal to find a perfect blend of all three: someone who has a doable plan, and likes a blend of scheduled and wandering time.

Always a little lost, but never completely

It feels strange to post on a Saturday, but yesterday I was so caught up in a flurry of excitement that I couldn't bring myself to sit at the computer and blog about it. Classes wrapped up yesterday at 9 a.m., and I am now on vacation for a week! It feels very undeserved to have a vacation already, but hey--I'll take it. So I went back home and checked my email and found out that my boyfriend bought a ticket to visit me in France! I am ecstatic. He will be here December 14-24, and I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

In further news, I finally have heat in my apartment. This may sound anti-climatic, but I have been absolutely freezing since I arrived. When I told the concierge that my heating is broken, she laughed and said that it will work when it's winter. I envisioned another month of wearing 14 layers of clothes, sniffling, and huddling over a pot of boiling water (yes, I actually did that).

Yesterday I was invited to eat lunch with the professors, and it was so great. I find that I am often a little lost in the conversation of a large group, but never completely. It was a pretty elaborate fete, in my opinion, with fondue, wine, beer, salad, and two mind-blowing desserts (apple tarte and some delcious creamy coconut concoction).

After, I went with my friend Astrid (art teacher at the school) to Vichy for the night. We did some shopping, of course. I have been pretty frugal so far, so I rewarded myself with a beautiful cream-colored boat-neck sweater. Her friend Damien came over for dinner, and we had "un repas typique" consisting of pasta, baguette and yes--wine. Over dinner I dabbled in more complex conversations, Damien practices Tai Chi, so he told me about that, and I talked about my undying dedication to yoga. Then somehow we started talking about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, which required a dictionary. Still, I am becoming more and more comfortable expressing myself and my views in French, and I'm proud of that.

Then we went to see a film, The Artist. It was incredible-- a silent film in black and white. The story commences in 1927 and is more or less about a famous actor fading into oblivion when movies with sound became more popular. It was so well done, I am always impressed by films that can take a simple plot line and make it intricate and complex. We returned to Astrid's apartment, drank a little more, and then, much to my horror, I was given a salsa lesson. Yes, my first lesson of salsa in French.

I fell into an exhausted sleep and for the first time since I arrived, I had dreams in French! Ah, that is the best. That's when you know you're mind is really working hard, when a language drifts into your subconcious. My primary goal is to become fluent in French, and I am working tirelessly at it.

To make up for Monday...

This Monday I was too tired to blog, but to make up for it I'll add some photos of my weekend adventures. Enjoy!

La Mairie in Vichy

Cathedrale Notre-Dame in Clermont-Ferrand

Delicious dessert plate

Really full and really happy.

Another view of the cathedral

Okay, last one I promise. But isn't it beautiful?

First taste of la discipline française

One of the few things emphasized to me before I began teaching was attendance. I have to mark who is there, who is absent and report it to La Vie Scolaire each day. If a student is absent and I don't report it and something bad happened to him, I am responsible for that. So, scary, right? The last thing I need is legal trouble in a foreign country in a new profession. So I make a big deal out of attendance, checking and double checking.

And the other day, sure enough, there was a student missing. So I wrote it down. Let's call him A. When I reported it to the office, they seemed troubled, and confused. They asked me if I was sure. Yes, I am certain that A was not there. They told me to come to a certain room after my classes. Gulp. What's going on?
So I finish my work, and hurry back down, and there he is. Looking at me like a guilty puppy. Was he in your class? The teacher asked. No, I'm sorry he wasn't. Are you sure? Because he doesn't agree with you. I took a deep breath. No, this boy was not in my class.

So we go to another office. It was becoming clear that A was lying, and that I was terrified. His look of guilt had turned into annoyance and betrayal. He expected me to lie for him.

Eventually everything calmed down, the boy, post-smack down was dismissed to go to his other class, and it was explained to me that he has problems with attendance, and they have to keep a close watch on him.

I definitely understand that there needs to be a level of respect and of course, regular attendance, but this experience was definitely a cultural shock for me, seeing the way that students are reprimanded for bad behavior. Discipline in France has definitely come a long way, but it will surely take some time for me to adjust to the somewhat callous dealings with students. In the States, it is all so fluffy and politically correct. In France, they cut to the chase.

Between the three confrontations, I have broken a sweat, and I was beyond ready for some bread/wine/cheese/skype/yoga. Not necessarily in that order.

Top ten reasons why learning a new language is terrifying

In Amsterdam, feeling utterly defeated by my lack of language ability. I mean no way this is a real word.

It's been a while since I've featured a top-ten list, and it seems fitting, after my first week of teaching English inside the classroom and learning French outside the classroom. So without further delay...

1. It brings us back to infancy.

Nothing is more humbling than lacking the ability to express yourself. Suddenly you are resorting to miming, sign language, grunts, charades, just to tell someone you're hungry.

2. Perpetual awkwardness
People like to fit in. Even outgoing life of the party people. But when you are in a new country or in an environment where a new language is being spoken, you are the odd one out. Every time.

3. Personality loss
The first time I came to France, I was shocked at how frustrated I felt by my muffled personality, that I was unable to project with my limited vocabulary. Wait a minute! I'm funny! And smart! And a really big deal back home! They just didn't get it.

4. Everyone is talking about you
With time I've gotten over this, but when I first started to learn French, I just KNEW that everyone was talking about me. Every laugh was definitely at my expense.

5. Fulfilling stereotypes
We all fight them, but they are there. And whether you like it or not, foreigners expect Americans to speak only English, and our attempts to speak other languages are often mocked.

6. We get stuck in language comfort zones
I spoke of this in an earlier blog, but it is so easy to get really comfortable with introductory stuff, you know "Hi, my name is Stephanie, I like Brad Pitt and going to the beach." And then, out of no where, some smart ass throws me for a loop. I'll blush, mumble, incorrectly conjugate something before running away.

7. You'll never blend in
One of the things I'm embracing this go-around is that I will stick out like sore thumb, no matter what. Especially in a small town like Saint-Pourcain, everyone knows I'm a foreigner, and that attracts attention.

8. Offending someone is way too easy
Anyone who has spent time learning another language knows how easy it is to mispronounce a word and bam! You've just told someone to f*** off. Well that's a little extreme, but it is easier for a foreigner to sound rude, because they don't know the correct tense of a verb, or they are trying so desperately to communicate that they forget the particulars.

9. For a long time you will sound like an idiot
Face it. No matter how hard you study, the only way to become fluent is to practice, practice, practice.

10. You'll probably only catch half of what's being said.
This hasn't been too much of a problem for me so far, that is until I went to the bank. Oh la la. That poor woman. It took us over an hour, a dictionary, and a cigarette break to successfully open my bank account.

I am spending half the weekend in Vichy with a colleague from the lycee and the other half with a new friend who lives in Clermont-Ferrand, so plenty of awkward, challenging, foreigner moments to come. Stay tuned.

Get them to talk

The first week of teaching is in full swing! I've taught six classes so far this week, and got a pretty good idea of students' levels of English. Overall, I was really impressed, not only with English speaking capability, but with their eagerness to speak and listen. Once again, I am reminded of how Americans need to step it up and learn more languages. Not necessarily dedicate their lives to them, but second language acquistion develops the brain in a unique way and reminds individuals that their mother tongue is not at the center of the universe. You can connect with a person in a powerful way when you speak their language. I tell my students that in the classroom we only speak English, but outside of the classroom, I am a student as well, a student of French.

For this week and the next, I will mostly be doing introductory activities. I introduce myself, let students ask questions about me, explain the format and rules of the class. Then I distribute pictures of myself, friends, and family and let the students make comments and most importantly ask questions about them. For the TES LVR (essentially seniors with an English specialization) this activity proved to be too easy, it quickly turned into a comfortable conversation--which isn't bad but I need to be sure to challenge them. For the younger groups, the photo activity proved challenging, they mostly asked "Who it is?" and "His name is what?" So...we'll have to work on that. But it really helps for me to have a working knowledge of French, because I can understand their thought process when they formulate sentences.

Next, I let students give a brief introduction of themselves. They told me about where they were from, what they like to do, favorite foods, music, movies, etc. This again varied in complexity according to level. Finally, we played a game I coined "Tell Me." In an envelope, I put in little pieces of paper with statements like "Tell me about your family." "Tell me about a place you have visited." The students passed it around and would share for a few minutes (or seconds) on the subject. I liked this activity the best because it prompted discussion without preparation.

My goal now is to find ways to really engage the students. I get the feeling that they always discuss the same things in English. This is how I am in French--I can easily tell you about myself, where I am from, what I want to do, etc., but when the topic is varied, I often get lost. I need to develop topics for debates, comparisons and the like. I also want to integrate movies, current events, television shows and taboo topics. I have so many thoughts flying around I hope I can pull it all together. Point being--day one and two = success.

Staying fit abroad

The last time I was in France for an extended period of time (circa 2008) I ate a baguette and/or pastry every day, and drank alcohol every night. I had no idea what a kcal was or how it related to me and I made it my mission to experience French nightlife and recover the next day with carbs. Amazingly enough, I did not gain a lot of weight, but definitely came back feeling less than svelt (is that a word?). You know--clothes not fitting quite right, uncomfortable in a bikini, so on and so forth.

Four years later, my body is less forgiving. So this time around, I promised myself that I would not compromise my health for the experience. I am determined to find a balance, where I can enjoy all the wonderful food and wine here, while maintaining my weight. (Losing weight would be optimal, but lets not get too crazy). I think operation weight maintenance is doable.

So this brings me to my cultural frustration. In Saint Pourcain, people are undoubtedly more active and physical, because it is a more rural area. I've hardly seen anyone smoking, and their are many sports clubs to join. But there really isn't that "work out culture" that I miss in America. I miss keeping work out clothes in my back seat, personal trainers, elipticals, and tread mills. (never thought I'd say that). I suppose I'm very American in the sense that I'll never be satisfied by a long walk for a workout. No, I need to sweat.

 Every Tuesday and Thursday I run with a group for an hour around the town, but I need more than two days of work out to feel like my body is in check. More than anything I miss yoga. So I searched it on iTunes, and voila! A 45-minute practice that is really good! The instructor's voice isn't too annoying, and it really is good for cardio, stretching and relaxation. So my work out goals for my time here is to practice yoga at least three times a week and run with the group twice.

Dressing like a teacher 101

I have never been much of a fashionista. I went to a preppy upper-crust high school and to show my distaste for Lily Pulitzer and Lacoste, I wore tie-dye and birkenstock. Which carried over into college, where I varied my hippie-inspired wardrobe with tube tops and sundresses. (I went to school at the beach). Dumped into the "real-world," I was a nanny and a server for a year after graduation, which meant tank tops, gym shorts and yes, non-slip shoes.



Lacking style- but never personality in college

So here we are. I've always been a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl, but now I am teaching every day and really want to to change my wardrobe in a way that distinguishes me from the students. Thanks to a few generous gifts and the help of my sister, (she got the fashionista gene) I was able to buy some nice work clothes before I left for France. But now every morning, I stand in front of my closet befuddled, looking at my clothes as if they are puzzle pieces that don't fit.
I need an intervention. I wonder if What Not To Wear could do an episode in France. If they would make an exception for a girl who is searching for a style that matches her personality and professional goals. It's really true that one should present themselves for the job/life that they want and that if you look good, you will feel good. Here are a few looks/ideas that appeal to me:

I like this one because it is structured, feminine and creative, but not fussy. It's conservative but not boring; classy but I'm not yawning. It is a bit dressy for teaching, but I definitely like the structure of it.

Here's another one that looks appropriate for the school that I'm working at. Most of the teachers dress casually, but definitely polished and conservatively as well.

And last, there's this one, something a little younger and more comfortable. I really like the muted, understated colors in France, people seem to go for simple, high-quality pieces that fit extremely well.
So what to do? I guess like learning a language, practice makes perfect. In the meantime, send love and advice my way.

Helluva day




Happy Birthday to my little bro!

  I am so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open, but due to my extreme dedication to keeping my faithful readers happy, I feel compelled to write tonight.

Today is my brother's birthday, and it was really hard to be away. We have been bffs for as long as bffs count. Birthday's are the perfect opportunity to recognize how much someone means to you. I know that it will feel like this over the holidays; I suppose it's just the give-and-take of a situation like this. Get: awesome experience abroad. Give: time with friends and family.

This morning I woke up at the ripe hour of 6am and hurriedly got ready for my orientation in Clermont-Ferrand. I have been so anxious for this day, because it is meant to tie everything together and it is also a chance to meet other assistants and end my days of medieval village solitude. So first I took a bus to Varennes-sur-Allier, then a train to Clermont-Ferrand, where I met some really nice French girls who went to the university and they walked me to the school that was hosting my orientation.

I really expected today to be a drag, but I learned so much and felt so inspired by all of it, I acquired some excellent knowledge about teaching, the French education system, and my role as an assistant this year. All day I felt really lucky to be a part of this; I am realizing that it is essentially an exchange. I am sharing my language and culture in exchange to improve my French and experience their culture. Not all people get a chance to step out of their realm of comfort and challenge themselves in this way, and I am so grateful for it.

The session lasted all day from 9-5, and I made some great contacts with other assistants in my area. Out of all the things I learned today, these three made an impact:

1. Establish yourself as a leader in the classroom, immediately. French students are used to strict rules and structure, and it is more important that they respect you than think you are cool.
2. My role is not to teach grammar or teach Shakespeare, it is to get these students to talk. Because of their class size and lack of every-day necessity, they do not have a chance to practice. I need to find innovative ways to excite them about learning English.
3. Do not think of myself as a tourist. I am a member of the school's staff and an expert in my own language. I  need to exude confidence and feel comfortable, among the students and faculty. Don't be afraid to ask questions and for advice. I am here to learn and to teach.

On apprend à parler en parlant (one learns to speak by speaking)



Lycee/College Blaise Vigenere, the school where I teach

 "Being in a foreign country means walking a tightrope high above the ground without the net afforded a person by the country where he has family, colleagues, and friends, and where he can easily say what he has to say in a language he has known from childhood."
-Milan Kundera

I love Kundera. I have read The Unbearable Lightness of Being probably a million times, but each time I take away something new. I sympathize with a different character; I make different parallels to my own life. It's as if he wrote the novel 100 times and then somehow fused all the versions together.

Thus begins my second week in Saint-Pourçain-sur-Sioule. I survived a very quiet weekend, devoting myself to learning everything about the French language and education system, making lesson plans, and basking in the beauty of internet access in my apartment. Ah, the simple things.

So far I have observed four classes, and I have four more to go before I officially start teaching on October 10th. I have my orientation in Clermont-Ferrand this Wednesday, where I can't wait to meet other assistants (from the states and other countries). All of the students seem very nice, and anxious to speak/learn English. They treat me like a celebrity, which is amusing. During a Q&A today:

Student: Are you American?
Me: Yes.
Student: Are you funny?
Me: Yes, people tell me that.
Student: Well, can I have your number?

Being that most of these kids are taller than me (what are they eating?) and that I've been told I have a "baby face" I really hope that I will be taken seriously in the classroom. I want to have fun and be myself but also be respected and have control of the classroom. It's a balance that will probably take time and practice. But I am really excited about teaching--I truly feel like I'm at the right place at the right time.

There are many differences in the classroom here, for instance the students must enter the classroom one at a time, and stand at their desks until the teacher tells them they can sit down. It feels a bit rigid, but honestly it immediately sets the tone for who's in charge and calling the shots, which is a good thing. I am excited because the program is designed so that I will have small groups--no more than 12 or 13 at one time. This gives more time for individual participation, more time to talk. I teach three age groups troisième, seconde, and terminale (essentially 8th grade, 9th grade and 12 grade). I am beginning to set up lesson plans that work to generate discussions. If anyone is reading who has teaching/lesson planning advice, please don't hesitate to share.

J'arrive en France!

I like to imagine that all of you have been sitting by your computers this past week, perpetually refreshing my blog, hoping, praying that I will finally post an update. Although most likely a falsely created illusion inflated by my ego, I hope that this post will not go unnoticed, because it is a pivotal entry: I have arrived in Saint-Pourçain-sur-Sioule, France. 

Leaving NYC was just as hectic as I anticipated, despite my decision to opt for a $60.00 cab ride from my friend’s apartment in West Village to JFK. We hit terrible traffic, and even my Fast and Furious cabbie couldn’t manage to maneuver around it. Finally at the airport, he dropped me off and five minutes later I realized that I was at the wrong terminal. Shit. I hauled ass to terminal 7, practically riding my suitcase through the airport, sweating like an American pig. I’ve always wanted to be one of those women who travel so beautifully—hair swept up, polished outfit, one carry-on bag, maybe a Chihuahua. But no—I am the frantic, frizzy, cursing, sweaty one.

Anyways, to spare you more boring details, I caught my flight. I flew Iberia into Madrid, a Spanish airline. I tried to speak Spanish a few times and it back fired. Sort of fell asleep, ate two questionable meals, and woke up jet lagged. More rushing. I grabbed my mega ninja turtle back pack, jam packed carry on and yoga mat (yes I carried it solo) and went through customs, more security, and then got on the plane to Lyon.  This is where I got really tired. So tired, in fact that I didn’t realize that I was sitting next to another language assistant. We made this connection when getting off the plane and helped each other through customs and baggage. Now back with my full load of luggage, I boarded the Rhônexpress, a train that travels every thirty minutes or so from l'aéroport Lyon-Saint Exupéry to le Gare de Lyon Part-Dieu.

Thank god I finally had a chance to breathe. I arrived at the station early and sat down and ate a delicious sandwich—olive bread topped with pesto, tomatoes and mozzarella. Then I found my train, boarded and fell asleep despite the screaming infant two rows behind me.  I woke up startled, just in time to grab my bags and get off at Saint-Germain-des-Fossés, the station where my contact from the school was picking me up.

I could not have asked for a nicer welcoming. He hopped out of the car, grabbed all my bags and drove through Saint Pourçain briefly to give me a tour. Even though it is a small and quiet town, it is undeniably charming and beautiful. Then we went to his house, where his wife was cooking dinner. She is superwoman. She was in her work out clothes, whipping up this French meal like it was no big thing. We had champagne, toasted baguette with a sundried tomato tapenade (home grown), some sort of vegetable soufflé that is apparently distinct to the Auvergne region, quiche, salad, beets pureed with cream. And of course cheese. Then fresh yogurt with a raspberry apricot glaze. I was so incredibly impressed, she told me that I can come over and she will teach me to cook things sometime.

So now I’m in my apartment, which is HUGE. A little too big, I feel like 14 people should live in here. But at the moment it is just me. My room is looking good, I tried to decorate it with all I have, and I hung all my clothes up. It’s a bit lonesome, but honestly nice to have some quiet and a place to put my things.  These next few weeks will be hectic; I go to orientation in Clermont Ferrand on October 5^th, and start officially teaching on October 10^th. Missing everyone, I promise more updates and photos to follow!

New York I love you, but not at 5 p.m. on a Friday with 150 lbs of luggage.

I suppose the title pretty much wraps up my updates, but amidst the craziness I feel compelled to write a little something, since I have been neglecting the blog here lately. I left Raleigh on Friday, groggy from too much wine the night before and tearful once again. It's funny how these goodbyes feel so dramatic, even though they are temporary. I just think that any life transition is bound to be emotional.

Despite days of packing with my sister, my suitcase was still above the limit, weighing in at a whopping 70lbs. This is in addition to a small rolling suitcase carry-on and a back pack that is stuffed so full I look like a ninja turtle with it on. Awesome. Long story short, I had to pay a pretty penny to have my luggage checked, but at this point I am getting more comfortable swiping my Visa.

We boarded the plane on time, but had to sit for over an hour on the runway because of weather, and I finally got into LaGuardia right at 5 o'clock, picked up my luggage (which had a big red warning tag on it because of the weight), and joined the mile-long line outside to get a taxi.

Whew, so fast forward and now I am in my friend's lovely apartment in West Village, eating oatmeal and feeling slightly relaxed. Even though I've never spent any significant amount of time in NYC, I feel so connected to this place, and it makes me feel oddly patriotic. It is the perfect way to exit the US. Not sure what is in store for today, lunch at a Greek restaurant (my friend and I are both half Greek and love to celebrate it) and then checking out some galleries in Chelsea. Tomorrow---France!

Au revoir Charleston

Hello Raleigh! Ah, I find myself here once again. I feel pretty on top of things at the moment, mostly because I'm fueled by delicious espresso, provided by my favorite Cafe Helios downtown. I left Charleston yesterday, and it was just as hectic as every transition I've made. I haphazardly packed the car so full, that I could hardly see out of my rear view mirror, my eyes were puffy from two days of crying, staying up too late, and stressing. I will be in Raleigh for one week, and then NYC for two days with a best friend from high school, and then...la France! At last.

Plans are coming together, and I feel secure, many thanks to the English teacher at the high school I will be working at in Saint-Pourçain-sur-Sioule. I will fly from NYC to Madrid, connect to Lyon, then take a train from Lyon to Saint-Germain-des-Fossés where I will be picked up, probably in a car too small to contain my suitcase. I should be able to immediately stay in my apartment provided by the school, and my roommate from Germany will arrive at the end of October.

I am so thankful for these solidified plans, but I have a few big things to do right when I arrive: set up a bank account, file paper work for health insurance, get my Carte 12-25 (provides amazing train discounts for people under 25), get a cell phone, and finish the processing of my visa with French authorities. No biggie right? At least the apartment is taken care of, because I've heard that finding housing in France can  be quite treacherous for Americans.

For those of you readers who prefer me to discuss issues in my blog, I apologize because the next few weeks are going to be crazy, and the blog will most likely start to sound like a journal--which really wasn't my original intention.

I have so many things on my mind, from here on out I want to talk a lot more about travel--not just where I go, but the process of traveling and how it changes the traveler. I think this is part of the reason for the anxiety/unease I am currently feeling, because any prolonged exposure to a foreign environment is sure to change you. The way you think, live, eat, sleep, all the comforts that I take for granted will soon be gone, and I will have to rely on my strength and good sense of humor to pull through it.

Oh North Carolina, there you go again, legalizing discrimination.

I have a terrible case of the Mondays. On a Wednesday. It must be the weather, or the anxiety surrounding the fact that I am leaving the country in a less than two weeks, or the fact that I can't stop eating carbs. And I had every intention of writing a cheery blog today, because all of my previous entries sound like a mix of Carrie Bradshaw and Daria. And it has to stop. But then, as I'm trying to pick a cheerful topic to talk about, all I can think about is the NC House passing the marriage amendment bill, and I'm feeling sick again.

I don't want to blog about those supporting the ban, who want to protect the traditional family structure and prevent the occurence of "evil lifestyles." And I don't even want to blog about those against the ban, who are infuriated from being labeled as an abomination because who they choose to love. (My opinion on the issue should be clear at this point.)

Sarcasm aside, I want to understand other arguments for the ban. Even if you are heterosexual, and think that a gay lifestyle is wrong, how does this affect you? This amendment would negatively alter homosexuals lives, and their dreams to share a life with another individual. And would it really help the proponents sleep better at night?

I think despite all of the other important issues (social and economic) to consider for the primaries in May, this issue hits everyone hard, regardless of their stance. because it is so personal. No one can define any of the terms necessary to formulate a proper argument: what is family? what is normal? are you born homosexual? where is the separation of church and state? Even if there will never be widespread agreement of these questions, at least establish clarity in a debate/forum/conversation. Decide exactly what you are arguing about. The issue is long-standing, intricate, delicate, and multi-layered; it should be treated as such.

Server no more

Last night was my last shift waiting tables. At least for this chapter of my life. Every time that I quit a job at a restaurant, I hold my uglier-than-sin no-slip black shoes over the trash can for a wavering moment, thinking, hoping that we can finally go our separate ways. But alas, once again I have put them on the shelf, because I know it's not over. Once a server, always a server.

Waiting tables is the ultimate short-term addiction because it is good, quick money with absolutely no commitment. Employees are disposable, but so are the jobs, so there is no pressure to stay anywhere you don't want to. My first job was at a small "upscale" Mexican restaurant called Uno Mas. Considering I had to learn Spanish and wear a man's shirt that was three sizes too big, I was expecting to make it big. Well, I made a lot of big mistakes. And spent quite a few nights in tears in the parking lot, amazed at how rude people are.

Years and a few jobs later, it still baffles me how people act when they come out to eat. People don't just come to a restaurant to satisify their hunger, they come to be served. Pampered. And I've seen it all--diaper changes on the booth, snooty teenagers shorting me on checks, toddlers crawling into the kitchen. For anyone who has worked in a restaurant, you know exactly what I am talking about, and I need to go no further. But for those who haven't, please take away these guidlines for eating out.

1. Tip 20%
I don't know for every state, but in SC I made $2.13 an hour. Before taxes. So essentially nothing. Never tip below 20% because your food took forever, because most likely it was the kitchen's fault and not the server. Gratuity is not just a nice favor, it is what pays the bills and keeps food on the table.

2. Keep your kids on a leash
If your child (no matter what age) cannot behave in a restaurant, then feed them at home! Screaming, throwing food, and table-side diaper changes are never okay.

3. Don't snap, whistle, clap, or shake the ice in your glass to get your server's attention.
This one gets me everytime. When you are running around like a crazy person trying to keep everyone happy, and the old man in the corner starts to whistle at you like a dog. And of course, all you can do is smile and respond.

4. Be friendly
One would assume that this is common sense, but you wouldn't believe how many customers I've had that think that "unsweet tea" is an appropriate answer to "how are you doing today?"

Regardless of my complaints, I know I have learned a lot by working in restaurants, and people take away many transferable job skills from waiting tables. Skills like multi-tasking, sales, communication, hospitality. Most servers are excellent sales people, without even realizing it. So to all you servers, don't be so down on yourself for not having a "real job."