Italy

About a month ago I went to Italy for a week and--true to form--documented about half of the trip and then failed to post anything about it. I feel guilty for this.

To make up for my slackness, I am going to post three days worth of personal journal entries about the experience, complete with photos. Enjoy.


Day 1

We left early this morning around 8 am armed with a dysfunctional GPS system and printed out directions from the internet. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that jumping in the car and driving to Italy is an option, but according to Michelin, it is. We left Châtel-de-Neuvre and enjoyed the countryside as it slowly became more mountainous. I counted about 3000 cows, went through four of the cd’s that I burned the day before and started to get restless.

Leaving Chatel-de-Neuvre

Mind the Gap. Please.

London. How could I ever sum you up in a single blog entry? It's just not possible. Often I feel sorry for travel writers because they are forced to package and sell a tiny slice of a place, of an experience, therefore subjecting readers to an incomplete version of the story. The writer knows there's more to it, but is restricted by word count and desired content; they have to write what people want to read. One of the many reasons I ran in the opposite direction of journalism. I digress. London- the city of cloudy skies, friendly people, terrible food, and fantastic shopping.

Overly enthused about the currency

The trip was dysfunctional from the start. The type of ordeal where one day I was going, the next I wasn't. Travel partners changed, prices climbed, and I was ready to throw in the towel when my friend from school agreed (three days in advance) to pack her bags and come along.

On our way!

We arrived early on Monday morning, flying in from Lyon, France. The plane took us to Gatwick Airport, which is about thirty minutes by train from the city. Our hotel was located near the London Bridge, with proximity to a metro or -excuse me- "tube" station and fabulous restaurants. As always, my first urges in a new city were to eat and buy everything. I had to keep reminding myself that a Pound is more that the Euro, and much more than the Dollar. Didn't really work. What did work, however, was the weather. And being able to speak English all the time. I didn't realize how linguistically exhausted I was until I entered a shop in the lovely Covent Garden Market and didn't feel afraid when a salesperson approached me. I didn't have to think, rehearse, or run. All around me was beautiful, comprehensible English. We did as much as we could the first day, which amounted to a few hours of shopping at Covent Garden, a chaotic trip to the M&M's Museum, a sub-par meal of fish and chips, a walk through Soho, and a viewing of "Chicago," one of my favorite musicals.

Covent Garden Market

M&M's Museum

Soho

Waiting for Chicago to start

The second day we started off fresh and determined. First stop, Abbey Road. I'm not sure what exactly I expected, but it turns out that Abbey Road is..well..a road. That you have to wait to cross. And stop traffic in order to capture the cliched photo that everyone expects me to post.

A lonely walk down Abbey Road

People were remarkably friendly in London. Perhaps it's because my friend and I looked adorably touristy, but I'm deciding to chalk it up to the city. At every turn, someone would cheerfully not only give us directions, but suggest a restaurant, bar, etc. It was like this that we stumbled upon Hawley Arms, where the late Amy Winehouse was often seen. Even when I stopped traffic to take a picture on Abbey Road, no one honked or yelled. This didn't completely take away the humiliation of the situation, but it certainly helped.

Hawley Arms

The majority of this day was spent shopping on Oxford and Bond Streets, and in Camden Town Market. My travel buddy enjoys shopping just as much as myself, and we did a good job of encouraging each other to be financially irresponsible during the trip. Other highlights of the day include the Charles Dicken's House Museum, walking through Little Venice, finally riding on a double decker bus, and dinner at a fantastically cheap Indian restaurant on Brick Lane.

Dicken's House Museum

Day three- aka time to cram in everything we've missed. By Wednesday, I was completely exhausted. After a bizarre breakfast at the Garrison Public House  near our hotel, we took pictures around London Bridge and headed to Tate Modern for a few hours. It was a great museum, but a little too crowded for us to completely enjoy it. By now experts of public transportation in London, we quickly saw Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey (but didn't go inside because it cost 16 pounds!) and Big Ben. Although we were completely depleted of energy, my friend insisted that we stop by her favorite store--Primark. I'd never heard of it, so I was imagining...I don't know....your average department store. So wrong. Three floors of clothes, lingerie, shoes, houseware...sounds like paradise right? Okay now add about 500 irritated women pushing and shoving their way from one sales rack to the next, and their 500 irritated boyfriends arguing with them every step of the way. Now add mile-long lines and hunger pains. Somehow, we made it out alive, with just enough time to stop by the hotel, freshen up and meet her friend for dinner.

Potato pancake, smoked haddock topped with a poached egg.

Posing by the Bridge

Big Ben, last shot before my camera died.

The next morning was ugly. We left the hotel at 4 a.m., surprised to see the wild foxes running through the streets of London. I honestly thought I was dreaming, but my research proves that we were not mistaken. We took the train to Gatwick, and caught our flight to Lyon. Borderline delirious and in a rush to catch the navette from the airport to Lyon Part Dieu, my friend and I picked up speed, racing with all of our luggage and new purchases. We were halfway down the escalator when I saw the doors on the train begin go close. I grabbed my luggage and booked it. Somewhere between the escalator and the train my foot caught, and I went flying in the air, landing flat on my face on the pavement. I looked up for a brief moment and saw the train full of people staring at me, expressionless. Like they'd seen it a million times. At least they weren't laughing. Too humiliated to feel pain, I let my friend scrape me off the floor and put me on the train, which ironically was waiting for me to board. Once my embarassment subsided, I realized that everyone was speaking French again. I was back. Exhausted, injured, and broke, but back. And it felt like home.

Seen and Heard

Despite being sick for about five weeks, I have actually done a lot of traveling in the past month or so, and it seems wrong to leave things undocumented. My first round of traveling was Vichy to Grenoble to Strasbourg to Paris; the second included Lyon and and Paris part two.

I only spent a day in Grenoble but it was so beautiful. Snowing, and I was totally unprepared for the weather; but I managed to eat a delicious dinner of fondue and ride up to see the snow covered Bastille. And find various animals dressed in Christmas attire.

He was just hanging out in the middle of the street. I took a few too many pictures.

Freezing in Grenoble

Riding up to the Bastille and slightly terrified.

Next, I went to Strasbourg and we were met with unfortunate weather. I'm pretty sure that Strasbourg is incredible in any weather though. The entire town was lit up and one Christmas market spilled into another, turning the city into a giant Christmas festival. I spent two days just walking, drinking hot wine and cider, and shopping.

Warming myself by the fire at a market in Strasbourg.

One of my best friends arrived on Christmas Eve and we spent an amazing week together, despite many unforeseen obstacles that tried to hold us back, including: bronchitis, personal drama, malfunctioning debit cards, and a laundry list of other mishaps that will remain unnamed. Rachel is the ultimate travel buddy because she's just like me--daring, clumsy, and desperate for new experiences. I don't think I've ever laughed so much as I did the week she was here; it was incredible. Here are some highlights of the trip:

Arc de Triomphe

Le Tour Eiffel

Le Louvre

One of the greatest things I took from my vacation was my experience with 'Covoiturage,' essentially a carpooling website in France. At first I was hesitant, scared of what might happen and where I might end up. But between weeks of SNCF threatening to go on massive strike and train ticket prices skyrocketing, I decided to go for it. What I found was a cheaper, more interesting way to travel. I would be nervous to do it alone, but with a friend it is a perfect way to get from point A to point B in a more enriching manner.

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.

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.