I'm going to see about a boy...

We are sure cute for two ugly people

I don't see what anyone can see, in anyone else

But you.

Is it there?

"Caretake this moment. Immerse yourself in its particulars. Respond to this person, this challenge, this deed. Quit the evasions. Stop giving yourself needless trouble. It is time to really live; to fully inhabit the situation you happen to be in now." -Epictetus

With time flying by so quickly, I've found myself both living in the future and trying to grab on to the hours, and days that are left and hold on to them. Already I have been here for three months and, though at the time they seemed to pass slowly, I look back on all my experiences and it feels as if I've blinked to arrive at this moment.

As tradition would have it in my Christmas world, Kendra and I decorated her mini tree to the sounds of the Elvis Christmas album at 2 in the morning on Friday night. Earlier that evening we had attended a community chorale and orchestral concert in Limoges with Melek and Benjamin (who was in the show, playing his clarinet). 

We knew we were in France when there were high school students up on stage, dressed in chic black with differently colored scarfs draped around their necks, singing in beautiful harmony to the accompaniment of a harpsichord. How great is that?

The car ride home was a vocabulary exchange of road words which quickly turned in to a lesson in essential swear words when Benjamin said, in a French accent, "The windows are all fogged up." You can imagine where it went from there. All this to a soundtrack of ABBA hits.

I'm spending today cooped up in my warm little home, the slushy rain pounding down and inviting no one to come and play. I have three new books to read, and lessons to plan for the little ones, and moments to savor. 

I HEART MINNEAPOLIS, Oh and it snowed here.

This is the view from my apartment, it was snowing all day yesterday, but none of it stuck.

I really do heart MPLS.

I got all sorts of love in the mail today. A postcard from Pella, IA, a Christmas card from Oregon, and a big fat package from Britches! Complete with the sweatshirt I'm sporting in the picture, it also had a great picture of us in Florence, multilingual swearing playing cards, and anything else my heart could desire.

I'm feeling the pang in my heart as the holiday season approaches, as I realize that this is my first Christmas not spent at home. I couldn't ask for more love and wonderful people in my life to be encouraging me and loving me up from across the pond.

I felt like I was walking in a movie yesterday as Kendra and I strolled through my picturesque rural French town, dusted with snow and smelling of fireplaces and freshly made crepes on the street. I heart Gueret, too. 

Mieux en retard que jamais: Photos from Prague

On top of the astronomical clock tower, I was actually there!

I told you it was creepy...

Mmm, potato dumplings and sauerkraut.

Me, Kendra, and Vanessa. We did not intend to match.

That's right! $2.00 for that beer. Bois-la!

Gigi:Gueret, Laura:Paris

My happy home!

Bienvenue!

I braved the self-sanitizing toilets of Paris...

The view from Montmartre

Just us girls in front of Sacre Coeur

Home Again Home Again, Jiggedy jig!

Ahh, Dublin! Laura and I parted ways yesterday at the airport after three whirlwind days in the Irish capital. 

We woke up in Paris on Wednesday morning around 6 o'clock and started what we both described as the longest day of our lives. Time seemed to crawl, as we arrived in Dublin around 11 am, and it felt like dinner time. 

I think we pooped ourselves out with the anticipation of staying in Temple Bar, a neighborhood known for its night life. We bummed around and got a feel for the city, popped in and out of some shops (I bought an ankle brace to prevent further damage), and had our first "Irish" meal: Guinness and curry.

After resting a little, we decided to go check out the Guinness Brewery, an enormous multimedia center in a building the shape of a pint glass. At the top, the Gravity Bar, you can enjoy a pint and 360 degree views of the city. It was beautiful. We even got to learn the secrets to pour our own pints, certificates included.

Later on, we found a cute little Italian restaurant and ended up having great conversation and dinner for the better part of four hours. At the end, we started chatting to the couple next to us about anything and everything. They bought us flaming shots of Sambuca and our night continued in good spirits.

Thursday was spent for the most part on our own, as Laura had a tour of the Vet school at University College Dublin. I took advantage of this time and indulged my love of museums, by myself! 

First stop: The Irish National Library, where there was a (free!) exhibit on the life and works of William Butler Yeats. I lost myself in in for a few hours, striking up a conversation with a history professor from Trinity, who proceeded to educate me more than the exhibit had. I found the original poem that is quoted on my father's epitaph. I felt, for a moment, that I was in Dublin with my dad.

Afterwards, I went to Dublin Castle, which was swarmed with Irish Catholic schools girls, and so I turned the other way to the Chester Beatty Library. The exhibits there were "Arts of the Book," and "Sacred Traditions." Beautiful illuminated texts in Arabic, Latin, and Chinese, as well as ancient copies of the Qur'an, Bible and Buddhist texts. 

That night, we were a little tired from travel and found our selves at a pub and bored. So, I blurted out "Dublin is boring," and swoop! Five Irish lads begged to differ and offered to prove us wrong. They were out on an annual guys night and invited us along to their pub crawl. Pints, pints, and more pints, along with some dancing to good old American pop music, brought us back to our hotel room around 4am. 

Of course the next day was shot as a result, and we took turns napping and feeling crabby, and preparing for our departure. We went to a super cool sushi restaurant for dinner - the kind with the conveyor belt of food going by right in front of your face. We returned to our hotel for an early night, and then music started.

Apparently our hotel room is directly above a stage, and on Saturday nights there is live music. We toughed it out for a while, but then I just had to go listen to it in person. I left Laura in bed and got dress and went on an adventure by myself. After a few drinks at what I discovered later to be the gay bar, I jumped back out onto the street into the sea of people and found, much to my surprise Laura and the bar with the music. We listened for a while (great cover band), and then tried a few other places...

Three am arrived and the band stopped. Good night Dublin.

As much as I love traveling and fall in love with the cities I visit, I am always happy to come back to the country, my little town in the heart of France. It is sunny and beautiful in the valley today, I have clean sheets and love letters from my siblings. Life is good.

A mosaic in Dublin, across the street from Trinity College

The Perfect Pint.

My Goodness, My Guinness! 

More scenes from the Guinness Brewery

Cheers!

It's been a while...

I'm officially connected to the world again via the internet! I will be posting photos of Prague, Paris, and Dublin when I get back on Sunday night.

It's good to be back.

Thanksgiving in a Toaster Oven

Yes, that's right. The first Thanksgiving I've ever cooked took place in a middle school in the middle of France, with one toaster oven, one hot plate, three American girls, three women from Russia, Tunisia, Togo, and a French guy.

The Menu:

Green salad with a beet bought in Prague, goat cheese, pistachios and an orange vinaigrette

Crudites with home made hummus

Balsamic-Honey roasted sweet potatoes

Wild Rice stuffing with baguette bread crumbs, golden raisins, walnuts, toasted pine nuts and orange/beet dressing

Steamed garlic green beans with toasted pine nuts

Togolese hot hot hot sauce

A roasted chicken stuffed, with a thyme pepper butter rub underneath the skin

Pumpkin pie, exotic Libby can of processed pumpkin imported from the Unites States

Baguettes galore

Umpteen bottles of locally made hard cider

Yum.

I'm still in disbelief that our dinner went so well. Everything was delicious and perfectly cooked. Mady, Laura, Kendra, and I all worked wonderfully together, sharing the responsibility of creating a magnificent feast. We were joined later by our friend, Elena, who is also an English assistant and a couple who lives in La Souterraine, Melek and Benjamin.

We did our best to explain to Melek, Benjamin, and Elena the history of Thanksgiving, and what it means to us now. I also got crafty, after realizing that I didn't know how to carve a chicken, and told Benjamin that is was an American tradition for a man to carve the bird. Success!

After dinner, comatose and drunk, Kendra and I decided to put on a little concert. Her on the guitar, and us both singing "American Pie," and "Anyone Else But You," (from the Juno soundtrack). There is a video.

I am so grateful for the people in my life. How lucky am I, to find myself here with two of my closest friends from home, along with new ones, and truly enjoy each other as we are?

Happy Thanksgiving.

Piles of Treasure

"What happened was, I got the idea in my head--and I could not get it out--that college was just one more dopey, inane place in the world dedicated to piling up treasure on earth and everything. I mean treasure is treasure, for heaven's sake. What's the difference whether the treasure is money, or property, or even culture, or even just plain knowledge? It all seemed like exactly the same thing to me, if you take off the wrapping--and it still does! Sometimes I think that knowledge--when it's knowledge for knowledge's sake, anyway--is the worst of all. The least excusable, certainly."

-Franny from J.D. Salinger's Franny and Zooey

Walking home in the rain, cold, jeans soaking wet up to my knees and dragging in the sidewalk puddles. The depressing stagnant grey of a November evening in the Northen Hemisphere. The days only get shorter from here.

Why, is it, then, that they seem to stretch on forever? And leave a smile on my face? Mixed with the smell of dead leaves, gasoline and dirty sidewalks is the calming, homey scent of wood-burning stoves. Everywhere.

This is the smell of my new home. I walk, enchanted by these olfactory delights and I smile. I smile because I'm able to walk, two days after spraining my ankle. (Yes, again). I smile because I feel like, after not so many years of practicing, I am learning what it means to accept what's been given. I smile because it would be a great waste of my energy to hate this weather - I can't do any thing about it, so I might as well enjoy it.

I often find myself writing out lists of all the degrees I'm going to attain, the stamps on my passport that I'll collect, the languages learned, the instruments mastered, all the while glazing over that which is right in front of me. Tangible or not, I crave to build these piles of treasure, distracting me from the experience, happy or painful, of life.

Dripping wet, I changed into my rain coat and wellies and went tromping around in the rain. No matter how old I get the ability to walk straight through puddles without getting wet will always fascinate, amaze and entertain me, to no end. Rain boots woot!

Happiness, by A. A. Milne

John had

Great Big

Waterproof

Boots on;

John had a 

Great Big

Waterproof

Hat;

John had a 

Great Big

Waterproof

Mackintosh - 

And that

(Said John)

Is

That.

(Mackintosh: noun Brit. a full-length waterproof coat. ORIGIN mid 19th cent.: named after Charles Macintosh (1766-1843), the Scottish inventor who originally patented the cloth.)

My Idle Existence

Oh happy day!!

Back to work and back into rhythm.

I also received the Princess Bride in the mail, thanks Nadia.

The past couple of days have been spent figuring out how to get back on track after having been derailed by vacation. I was only just getting into the swing of things and then we had two glorious weeks off.

When I got back to Gueret, it was really bizarre. I felt like I was in the twilight zone for a few days. I didn't have any French administrative paperwork to fill out, nor did I have any days of work, but I wasn't on "vacation"

So what to do?

Twiddle thumbs, contemplate life, paint, cook, read poetry for hours, go for walks, plan lessons, clean house, listen to music...

I don't have to wait around for responsibility to eat up my time. As I don't have much, it would be a lot of waiting in vain.

Thanks to you all, I have so much support as I navigate the ins and outs of transplanting myself into a new culture. I know where my roots are.

Warhol Wisdom

So, I added a few things to my blog, as decoration. One of them was a campy "Warhol piece of the day." Today's piece expresses so concisely what I've been thinking lately:

The idea of waiting for something makes it more exciting.

I was enjoying, savouring, my almost junior-high excitement today. I'm going to see The Do, a folk band I love, and have been planning it since July. However, excitement has peaked recently because I lack the distraction from life which I had in abundance at home.

I actually wait in anticipation for things to happen, and so, where a concert at home would be something to do, here it is an event. I'm flipping out of my boots.

That's my thoughtsicle. Bladow.

President Obama!

I received a text message at 4:47 am (France time) yesterday morning from Alex:

"So it happened! Obama is our president!"

Kendra and I, in our slumber, muttered something along the lines of "woo hoo..." and dozed off. She shot straight up in bed about an hour later and said "Wait! How do they know so soon?!"

Still Asleep, I muttered, "...must'vebeena LANDslide..."

"Oh, yeah, a land slide."

An hour later, both unable to sleep, we needed physical proof that this had indeed happened. She went out to buy a paper, but of course the French papers had already been printed before the news was out.

So we popped open a bottle of champagne and celebrated with mimosas and fresh croissants. Drunk at around 10am, we decided we needed to see it in the flesh. We didn't want to have finished a bottle of "Champagne in vain for McCain." We bundled up an dheaded to the Turkish kebab place where we've become regulars.

Our friends immediately turned on the TV to the news and I started crying. I know I've never been moved to tears by anything in politics. Seeing that we elected this great, handsome, capable, compassionate man to be our leader gave me chills and a sense of pride in my country that I have never felt in my life.

Oh, baby.

In other news, life is rolling along here in Creuse. I got paid for all the work I've done this month, so I have money in my bank account. I got my check book and bank card and they are so cool... I actually live here!

I also received my first package from the US today!!! Alex sent me some music and pictures and dark chocolate peanut M&Ms. He also sent a sweet T-shirt that has a big red heart on it saying "Someone in Minneapolis loves me." I'm a lucky girl, and he has set the bar very high for care packages.

I put it on right away and wore it to work this afternoon. All the kids freaked when they saw me wearing it because they know that their super cool American English teacher is from Minneapolis, so they were really proud to be able to read my shirt. Represent.

P.S. I love you too, boo.

Did you just call me Harry Potter and ask me to do a shot with you?!

Home again, and by home I mean the apartment I rented right before I went galavanting across Europe for two weeks, and spent one night in. It was amazing to me, stepping off the train last night, to smell the air and see the stars, to have the comforting sense of familiarity. This really is becoming my home and I think I forget that sometimes. Or, it has yet to sink in.

Recapitulation of the last few weeks: After Montpellier, Kendra and I took the TGV, first class, to the airport in Paris, noticed how tall people are outside of Creuse, met a Czech boy who gave us a crash course in the Czech language, and got on a plane headed to Prague. We arrived in the Czech Republic after spilling Heineken all over ourselves on the flight and I really wanted a stamp on my passport. I said "Ahoy, anglicky?" to the very large angry customs officer, who frowned at me and said "A little."

"Stamp? Passport? Please..."

"No stamp. It's Schengen."

"Please?"

"NO STAMP! Schengen."

"Dyoukyouyou." (Very poorly pronounced thank you).

Man. I really wanted a stamp. Defeated I returned to baggage claim to kind Kendra, and we exited, passing my new friend on the way out. If looks could kill, I'd have been dead that night. If wrinkles on the forehead from frowning were gold, that customs officer would be a kajillionaire.

We met Kendra's friend, Vanessa, and took a bus and metro ride back to her apartment off of Wenceslas Square. Immediately upon hearing the name of the square, I started singing "Good King Wenceslas," and Vanessa chimed in. Can you believe that Kendra has never heard that song before?

The apartment sits on a street scantily clad with red and pink flashing lights for "Cabarets," or sex clubs. There was never a dull moment outside their door, and across the street sits a Mexican restaurant. Bizarre.

Kendra and I explored Prague together, and as mentioned earlier, I got a Czech haircut. The man's name was Martin, and he was from Birmingham. Needless to say, my hair was not lost in translation, but the taxi ride to the salon cost more than the visit did. We got ripped off. Big time.

We were running late, so we walked up to a taxi driver and asked him to drive us to the address. We got in and there was no meter. I followed our route on a map and we went all over the freaking city to end up not far from where we had started. And then he charged us 900Kc. That is roughly 50 USD. The ride lasted 15 minutes. Dang. I wish I spoke Czech so I could have protested. I wish I had known that it was an unfair price. It was my first day and I was completely at the mercy of this man who saw a money-making opportunity and seized it. C'est la vie.

We "flaneured" all over the city, found a little restaurant serving potato dumplings and Pilsner. One of the coolest things about Prague is that patios are still open, even thought it is 35 degrees outside. We had fleece blankets and heaters and enjoyed our first Czech meal.

Beer is cheaper than water. Seriously. $2.00 will buy you a pint of Pilsner on tap, and $4.00 for a tiny bottle of water. The choice is clear.

The next day, we went to was is affectionately called, by the exchange students, the "Baby Tower," the former Communist TV station. It is so ugly that after the Velvet Revolution, they decided to beautify it. They commissioned an artist to install bronze statues of faceless naked babies crawling all over it. It is terrifying.

For Halloween, instead of dressing up as girl-crazy French men, we acted like grown-ups and went to the Czech Philharmonic. For $2.50 each, we enjoyed two blissful hours of live Strauss. Oddly enough, we walked out of the building singing a Veggie Tales song. Where did that come from?

Kendra and I headed out of Prague for the day on Saturday to go see the castle in Karlstejn. The walk from the train station was 2km and included a stop for "grog," hot water with rum and sugar, and gulash, not the midwestern version. Big bread dumplings circling a plate of hot tomato sauce and chunks of stewed beef with one sausage in the middle of the plate and a dollop of horseradish. These people do not skimp on the hearty food.

Finally arriving at the castle, we bought tickets from a boy version of Fabio, and waited for our tour. The "English" tour was given by a Czech girl who pronounced about half of it according to the phonetic rules of Slavic languages. We read the pamphlet.

Upon entering the Castle, there is a sign in Czech that is translated into English which reads: "Translated Prohibited." Of course it means, don't translate the guided tour that people pay for into another language so that people can pay you, but it was funny. The sign itself is translated.

It was this sign that bonded us to our new friends, Juliano and Marcello. The tour was boring, so we made fun of it like high schoolers on a field trip, and went out for drinks afterwards. We all took the train back to Prague together, and decided to meet later, to throw doughnuts at each other.

Let me explain: I read in a tour book that there exists a cafe in Prague were, for 2000Kc ($100), you can purchase both a massive bowl of day-old doughnuts and the right to throw them at the customers in the cafe. Inconceivable!

Fancy that, it used to be allowed, but they stopped the practice a while ago. Rumor has it, though, that the tradition is being resurrected next year. I know where I'll be next Thanksgiving.

We did try another Czech specialty while mourning the loss of our activity for the night: Dark Beer. It was glorious, dark dark dark, and delicious. I had two glasses.

Our flight back to Paris was changed to the next morning, so we headed back and were relieved when we heard French being spoken in the airport. We hung out in the Latin Quarter until our train, drank Champagne on the Seine and ate crepes. Vive la France!

Prague!

I climbed out onto the roof last night, and this was the view.

See: Celebrity

Celebrity 

And now I will explain. A few weeks back, Kendra and I were talking about how "famous" we felt every time we went to our schools. The students immediately fell in love with us because we came from so far to be their English teachers. We used the term "celebrity," loosely, without knowing what, in fact, was required to gain true celebrity-hood.

Wikipedia played its part in squashing our dreams, informing us that we needed media attention to officially become celebrities.

Lo and behold, the very next day the local newspaper called up and wanted to interview Americans on the upcoming presidential election. Media attention.

The interview process was a hoot. Kendra and I had our photos taken out on the street and the entire office said they could hear us laughing from inside. We started in French, and then, having to bounce some ideas off of each other in English, discovered that the journalist spoke even better English then we could manage in his language.

It was a really interesting experience, and one that helped Kendra and me articulate our feelings on the political environment of our country. 

We were also interviewed about Halloween, or as the article says, "All Hallow Even." Both of us were relieved not to have been asked what our costumes were going to be: Pepe LePew style French men.

Happy Halloween!

Fantastitsky

Things I did yesterday:

- inadvertently ate nail polish

- had an inflight beer on my way to Prague

Things I'll do today:

- get a hair cut in Czech

- buy thousands of crowns

Czech it out.

Off to Prague!

You know who I voted for... By the time I get home to Gueret, the U.S. will have decided (hopefully) upon a new president! Go and vote! Vote vote vote!

The Mediterranean

I live somewhere

Official mailing address:

12 avenue Marc Purat

23000 Gueret FRANCE

Send me some love!

Montpellier

I was born, bred, raised, programmed and otherwise created to be part of a family. Chaos is comfort. So, much to my happy surprise, I find myself staying with an Midwestern American family in the city where I first experienced France: Montpellier. The Mediterranean out our window every morning, and downtown a short bus ride away, our vacation is starting off wonderfully.

We went to church this morning. Kendra and I got into the Sunday School masks... We spent the afternoon lazing on the beach, dipping our feet in the water and chasing minnows. Family dinner was followed by doing the dishes assembly line style, while performing a Beatles rhapsody.

We all speak Frenglish together, which is amusing to no end. The two girls, ages 11 and 12, bickering and the dog, Moses Jones, barking nonstop, is all music to my ears. I appreciate having a mom and a dad and a bedtime to help my burn through my cold as we head to Prague in a few days. 

Celebrity

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

A celebrity is a widely-recognized or famous person who commands a high degree of public and media attention.

The word stems from the Latin verb "celebrere" but they may not become a celebrity unless public and mass media interest is piqued.

Happy Halloween from all my little pumpkins!

Wellies!

It's raining today. We have the day off. It's very awkward to buy rubber boots at a grocery store. More awkward is changing out of our wet shoes into the boots. Lots of people staring.

It's Complicated

In order to become a "Living Language Assistant" in France, you must be fluent in English (mother tongue is a preference, though not required), fill out an application, copy it three times, attach photographs for each copy, request recommendation letters, mail it, wait for acceptance, accept acceptance, purchase a ticket to France, schedule an appointment at your nearest French Consulate, make 3 copies of every piece of correspondence from the French Ministry of Education, arrive at said French Consulate, hand over said copies and voila! You have a visa that allows you to stay in France for three months, and also allows you to apply for a "Carte de Sejour," a residency card that is valid for 12 months.

This is standard for any kind of application to a program abroad, and painless...

Then you arrive in France, and every thing's going smoothly, and SPLAT! You've just fallen into a pit of quick sand, better known as French bureaucracy. Dig this: in order to get paid, you have to have a bank account. To have a bank account, you have to have an address and proof that you've applied for your "carte de sejour."

In order to have an address you have to have a bank account to pay for said lodging, or ask for proof that you've been housed somewhere. In order to have proof that you've been housed somewhere you have to go to the "Inspection Academique" and request an "attestation de logement" which must be printed on official stationary, and signed by Mr. Inspector himself.

In order to have proof that you've applied for your "carte de sejour," you have to apply for your "carte de sejour." This requires asking for a "proces verbal" which must have three signatures and copied 4 times. Again, Mr. Inspector signs this. You have to have copies of all the documents which were sent to you in the US, plus copies of your birth certificate and passport, and have had visited a doctor to make sure that you're in good health.

In order to visit a doctor approved by the school district, you have to have mailed a piece of paper to an association that manages the foreign workforce who will then send you a date and time when you have an appointment with said doctor. You have to go to the doctor's appointment and get a piece of paper that says that you are healthy enough to benefit from the health coverage provided by the government.

You have to have applied for a social security number to receive both your salary and medical coverage. You have to have a bank account to apply for a social security number.

You have to have an address to apply for a bank account. (Yes, I'm dizzy too). In order to rent an apartment to have an address (and a place to live), you have to have a bank account.

You have to go through a realtor.

You have to have renter's insurance.

You have to pay one month's rent and agency fees equivalent to one month's rent and renter's taxes for the entire year.

In order to pay these fees you have to have a bank account.

I'm working on getting a bank account, and regaining my balance.

The thing is, nobody seems to be in a hurry, and neither am I. I come from the country of instant gratification and I actually am enjoying the lacking sense of urgency throughout this entire process. These things will be sorted out and in the mean time, I get to focus on teaching, experimenting with food, and my French.

I'm so lucky to have such cool little brother. Gabe wrote my students a letter which I've turned into a worksheet. They will have to recognize words we've learned in class, and guess the meaning of others. Gabe will probably feel like a movie star because their homework will be to respond to his letter.

I've been spending my hours after work in the chemistry lab that is my kitchen. Creativity with food has been what's happening as I acclimate myself to nothing being open on Sundays or Mondays and almost everything closed at 5pm. Living in the Creuse feels a tad more French than when I was in Montpellier or Paris.

Cultivating my penchant for nerdy linguistic activities, I made myself a dictionary of words and colloquial sayings that I learn along this journey. I modeled it after one that belonged to a teacher whose students I teach. I didn't ask, but it looks like she made one for each of her 25 students. It is complete with tabs (hand cut) for each letter of the alphabet.

You know how you remember an adult having told you something in your youth, and you, thinking it was idiotic thing, tossed it aside in disgust only to realize later how relevant it really was? This happens most often with our mothers. Well, to all of my French teachers EVER: Keeping a personal dictionary is an awesome thing. Thanks, and sorry (to me) for not taking the time. You were right. (You too, mom).

I'll remind you all again to look at my brother's blog: THIS IS A BLOG at blogger.com. He posted some beautiful pictures of Minneapolis, including some interesting angles of the Franklin Avenue bridge and great ones of the Midtown Farmer's Market. Fall is in full swing here, and the temperature keeps flip flopping. It is very similar to a Minnesota fall, though I miss seeing the Mighty Mississippi aflame as the trees change.

I walked around Courtille on Sunday, and I think every other person in Gueret thought to do the same. Beautiful sunny afternoon, kids, dogs, picnics, petanques, bicycles, and lovers.

I thank the powers that be for letting me live and work in Gueret. I am one lucky girl.

Teaching English 101

So I've started teaching, and it is so fun. You know that feeling you used to get before the first day of school? That feeling of incontrollable excitement that kept you up all night. Your thoughts racing: who your friends were going to be, was your teacher going to be nice or mean, what to wear... Well that was me, last night, and all weekend. Last week I had two classes on my own, but today I feel like I really started.

I forgot how much I like lesson planning, and I get to color! All the time! This week, my students are learning all the vocabulary words that go along with Halloween. I'm reading them a really cute book with lots of sound effects. I've gotten the chance to return to 2nd grade, and I couldn't have been placed at a better age level.

I teach one more full day this week and then it is vacation time. Already?! I get about two weeks off after having just started. So far, this schedule is very manageable. So Kendra and I are going to Prague and Montpellier for about a week. Should be great, I'm sure I'll have some pictures to put up from the Czech Halloween party we're going to.

Adios!

Tutto va bene

I stole bread from a restaurant tonight. Not because I need it, not because it's expensive, not even because I wanted it. Just because I could. I wanted to be sneaky, which I learned the word for in French today. Voila.

My brother started a blog which is totally awesome and you should all read it:

http://whoatotallysycadellicman.blogspot.com/

It's getting better all the time!

So the dip in the graph was confined to the weekend. My ankle is getting better my life is settling into a rhythm here in Gueret. I move into my new apartment next Wednesday! I met all my students this week and started teaching! Kendra and I are planning our trip to Prague for next week!

I added pictures to paint the picture of my suffering. All is good. I'm in love with what I'm doing.

I'm trying to see the beauty in your existence

Woe is me. At almost four weeks, I've reached what has been described to me as a dip in the graph of happiness and enjoyment of living abroad. I write this not to complain, nor to express a desire to change anything about what I'm doing, but to honestly describe my experiences. If it were all sunshine and flowers, how bored would I be? And how mistaken would you be, upon embarking on a journey of your own, having read my deceptive blog extolling on how happy I was the entire time, to later find out that, in fact, stupid shit really does happen?

I sprained my ankle, yes. Its green and black and I can hobble around just fine. Kendra and I trained back from Paris yesterday afternoon to the soothing sounds of Dan Savage and his weekly sex advice column podcast. We arrived back to La Souterraine having exchanged crappy grey Paris weather for clear blue skies, sun, and warmth. We opened up all the windows in her apartment relieved with the feeling of "home," and took her guitar and my gimp self to the cemetery.

It was there that we spent the rest of the day staring at the sky, putting on a concert for all the lovely French people resting in peace (what a great audience), and later exploring the mausoleums of other dearly departed and discovering a broom that was too much like a witch's not to straddle it and pose for pictures.

Our plan was to return to the "Creperie Occitane" for dinner, but we were sorely disappointed to find out that on Saturday night, you need a reservation. Could it be because it is the only restaurant worth a squirt of piss that is open? Naive and hungry, we walked down the street to a "Cafe Restaurant," where we had enjoyed coffee before and so decided to give their dinner menu a try.

Neither of us have to vocabulary to know what we were ordering, but we figured we'd find out when we got home to our dictionaries. I ordered "museau," and Kendra ordered "andouillette paysanne." Translation: Pig snouts and intestines stuffed with intestines stuffed with intestines. My dear friend, steel-lined stomach that she wishes she had, attacks the dinner after saying "I want to join the PeaceCorps, I'm going to have to learn how to eat this."

Anyone who knows me can vouch for the fact that I've come a long way from my adolescent attitudes toward food. I even, at times, consider my self adventurous when it comes to eating. This was an instance that required not an adventurous spirit, but a discerning palette. Bad food is the same in every corner of the world, and in any language.

To add to our dining experience, a group of totally trashed young fools were sitting outside next to us. I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little jealous of their inebriation and complete disregard to their surroundings. One of the guys was violently ill all throughout the meal. He was actually coughing to the point of vomiting. He stood up every 10 minutes, walked to the bushes and did what Kendra and I so envied to do; threw up his dinner.

We returned home, frazzled and exhausted, trading fits of laughter for the tears welling up in our eyes, and went to bed.

Nana Pub

Oh, Genevieve. A trip would not be complete with out its fare share of injuries. In my case, a sprained ankle.

Kendra and I planned a lovely weekend in Paris before we start teaching on Monday, complete with a day trip to Versailles, mass at Notre Dame, and lots of walking.

Never in our wildest dreams would we have taken a two and a half hour train from Creuse to come to Paris, have coffee, check in to a hotel and sit on our computers. Dreams can come true, because not 45 minutes after stepping off the train at Gare d'Austerlitz was I stumbling like a 95 year old drunk Gumbi in front of what felt like the entire city of Paris. I heard my ankle 'pop' and knew I would be taking up residence on the sidewalk for a while.

As I was falling, I looked up at Kendra and explained, "This is my ankle."
An older man insisted that I couldn't sit on the ground, and could he call an ambulance? And oh, by the way, the French love the Americans because so many of us died for France in the war. That counts, you know.

So my 6' tall, Gobles, MI born and bred dear friend Kendra served as my pack horse, crutches, tour guide and body guard for what seemed like the longest walk of our lives. We saw the metro stations in an entirely new light at the blinding rate we were traveling. Enough time to thoroughly study, translate, discuss, and ridicule every ad posted on the wall. Enough time to practice saying "I can see Alaska from my house," until we couldn't tell each other apart from pitbulls, without lipstick, that is.
Arriving at the hotel was a relief. We exhaled, plugged in and zoned out. Sick, right? Mady came to see us, picked up an ace bandage and an ice pack and then peaced out to go be doted upon by all of the men in Paris. Kendra went to find food and came back with a bottle of wine and two packages of cookies. After 15 minutes all that was left was a package of cookies.
I couldn't submit to the will of the world, and well my ankle. So I decided we needed to leave our hotel room, and see the Eiffel Tower in all of its gaudy glory lit up at night. 19 metro stops later, we arrived to find not the Eiffel Tower but a giant neon blue look alike paying homage to the EU. What the hell? It sparkles too...

The Seine is beautiful by night, and the sound of jingling Eiffel Tower key chains is music to my ears. "Hallo girls, wan you-roh wan you-roh. Hallo!!" A few steps more and I would've fallen and sprained the other ankle. We hailed a cab and saw the rest of Friday night Paris in October as a blurred stream of bistro signs, cigarette butts, pursed Parisian lips in the midst of heated conversation and finally a glowing beacon in the night: our hotel. Good night Paris, better luck next time.

Love, Brigitte Bardot

The first thing I saw in the news today when I opened my computer was a headline in French announcing that Brigitte Bardot had written Sara Palin a letter. How sweet.

Yesterday I had a grand tour of all four schools where I will be teaching. Little by little, I am learning the ins and outs of the French education system. I have students from age 6 to 10, and they all seem so excited to learn English, and impressed that their new "maitresse" is from the United States.

When I was introduced and they found out where I come from, there was a loud gasp all across the room and their eyes popped! Everyone knows about New York, some about Hollywood, and Barack Obama. A few knew Denver, pronounced "Dahn-vay," but none of the children, or teachers, know where Minneapolis is. Their homework for our first class is to locate it on a map.

After spending a day in the schools, meeting students and colleagues, walking around Gueret is a completely new experience. I've been recognized on the street as the new American teacher, and so warmly welcomed.

Je te danse!

This may be my future home... so cute and so clean and the bed is bigger than an airplane seat. Always a plus.






A few pictures from this weekend in La Souterraine with Kendra, complete with our shock at realizing we took the wrong train, a picture of the Limoges train station, Kendra and Rachel (another assistant), the Saturday morning market in La Sout, and a little city scene. So quaint!

Ces bottes sont faites pour marcher...

OCTOBER 3

What a difference a day makes. Twenty-four little hours. Today started off like a dream. I woke up at 6:30 am without an alarm, had freshly cleaned clothes, and was ready to trot off to Limoges for orientation to my job. And then, upon arriving to the station a few minutes late, I was relieved to see that our train was late too! An hour later, the loudspeaker announced that we had arrived in Chateauroux, a town one hour in the wrong direction from Limoges. Shhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

The next train didn't come for another hour and would take an hour and a half and then another half hour on a bus, getting us to our meeting at noon, just in time to sign some papers, get really confused, and go to lunch. The better part of the afternoon was dedicated to other assistants who needed to figure out their schedules and an introduction to lesson planning (which we had already done a few times this week). So, our trip to Limoges was worthwhile for about 15 minutes and then it was time to get the hell out of there and attempt to have a better day.

I'm spending the weekend with Kendra, who has an apartment as enormous as mine in the middle school in La Souterraine. We moved her in today and then went to a restaurant for dinner. We found the most adorable lovely delicious inviting "créperie," with about 7 tables and many families dining together. I had an admirer from across the room all night; a 4 year old Italian boy making eyes and funny faces at me to the point of incontrollable giggles. I think I might have pissed his dad off after a while because I was provoking such impolite table manners, but I didn't care, we were in love!

The food was, of course, amazing. Buckwheat crêpes called "galettes," cooked on a pan with lots of butter, filled with house made andouille sausage, fried onions, and emmental. A carafe of house wine and we were rosy cheeked American girls with nothing to do but enjoy! We spent the remainder of our waking hours speaking in French, looking up words that we felt were pertinent to know: gate, fence, slippery hill, climbing, jumping, tripping, falling. Needless to say our trek home was quite the adventure!

Zut Alors!

Well, another great start to a day. I woke up, took a bath, got dressed, and started doing the dishes for breakfast. I put my hand and the sponge into a mug, took one swipe and blod was everywhere. I sliced my pinky finger with a shard of porcelain that was sticking out of a crack inside of the mug. Half an inch long and deep enough to almost touch the bone, it is really disgusting and painful and should probably have stitches but I think a "Made in France" scar would be the ultimate souvenir. Ahhh! I have a picture, but I'll spare you.

After I bought some antiseptic and "blood stop" bandages, we made our way to the Saturday morning market. It is in a beautiful grove of trees and has everything from matresses to chickens to prunes. Big, stinky wheels of cheese no smaller than a large dog, farm fresh eggs and artisan breads and sausages. I went to take a picture of the cheese and the woman was not happy that she might be in it, yelling "Oh la la!," as she ran to hide. Oops.

We stocked up on beets, zucchini, tomatoes, lettuce, strawberries, garlic, and the best baguette I've had so far in France. We came home for a rest and because everything is closed from noon to 2 o'clock.

This cute town, it takes 5 minutes to walk from one end to another and has the medieval city wall still standing with different "doors" into the city. All the roads are in a circle around it, and it makes it feel as big as New York City to a stranger. We walked to the "outskirts" of the city to a junk store, kind of like Tuesday Morning in the States. The first thing you see as you walk into the store is a shelf of porn and flesh covered tea pots that have penises as their spouts. Oh. La. La. I welcome any special orders, at a small fee.

I found a funeral home across the street and had to go inside. I think its safe to say that I'm missing a certain American mortician, and that drew me in. The thing I've noticed about this region is that there are loads of babies and old people, and therefore, loads of schools, pharmacies, and funeral homes. I talked to the directore, who complimented my "perfect" French, and left.

I then had my first experience at the infamous French "hypermarché," a step up from the super market, its a HYPER market. What grocery store lets you have a glass of wine and foie gras as their sample?! This is ludicrous and delicious and should be implemented in all stores everywhere. Shopping has never been so relaxing.

We returned home, I cooked, we feasted and had a bottle of Bordeaux, and then went to the movies. La Souterraine has a one-theatre movie house, connected to the little public library. It was playing an Egyptian film titled "Chaos," in Arabic, with French subtitles. Two hours of cheesy soap opera drama, gratuitous and disturbing violence, and the pleasant portayal of real voluptious women as sexy and beautiful, we walked out of there so satisfied having simply understood what happened. Our language skills surprised and delighted us, even if the movie was bad.

**pictures coming soon**

Le Livre de Jungle

So, turns out Disney is really awful in French. Kendra and I were watching the Jungle Book tonight because it is one of my favorites and it was featured in one of our lesson plans today... Oy! No thanks.

I had my first day of "work" today. Les francais really know how to do it. We all met at 9 for coffee and sweets and then went about the work of talking with each other about the parameters of our jobs as teachers. Then it was time for lunch--and I know what you're wondering, the answer is yes it DOES take 2 hours to have a proper midday meal--le plat du jour was an enormous pork chop with mashed potatoes, "puree de la maison," and gravy, with apricot mousse and cafe for dessert.

We spent the entire afternoon attempting to sort through all of our schedules, and our training for the next few weeks. I have four different schools I will be working in, but never work on Wednesdays (the kids only go to school MTThF here!), and only once per month on Fridays. Uffdah, ya!

We ate dinner at chez Evelyne, she made quiche, with fresh eggs from the farm nextdoor, which was delicious. I got to taste "gateau creusois," which is a moist buttery cake made with hazlenuts, egg whites and flour. Yum.

I've started noticing the regional specialties and this is what I have sofar: the aforementioned cake, baguette a la gueretoise which I have yet to see or taste, and pate aux pomme de terres which looks like an enormous baked brie with a crown, golden buttery crust and thinly sliced potatoes and cream on the inside. Looks amazing and Evelyne's mother apparently has a recipe that I might someday get my hands on!

Kendra and I are planning our vacation at the end of October which starts on the 24th and goes until the 6th of November. We will most likely go to Paris and visit Mady, meet Tomas (the older brother of an exchange student of my grandparents...), go with him to a soccer game in Kaiserslautern, Germany, and then from there fly to Prague to visit a friend of Kendra's, fly to Montpellier to stay with family friends of Kendra's, and train back to Limoges when it is time to go back to work.

Sounds like a lot, but with people we know, Ryanair flying free from Frankfurt to Prague (and only 15 euro to Montpellier), and our "Cartes 12-25" from SNCF (cutting our train fares in half), it is entirely possible to do it on the cheap. How can you not love Europe at this age?!

We'll see where our travel ambitions lead us.

News in Gueret

As I am spending part of my afternoon reading the news, I find an article on the NY Times website that seems to be a French perspective of American politics as seen from an American point of view, which, I suppose is something I could offer as I spend more time picking the brains of those around me.

In other news, I have found, and this is for Britches, and IRISH PUB in Gueret. They're everywhere and we're going to write a guide book.

I'm spending my first night alone here as Kendra has gone off to move into her high school accommodations in La Souterraine. We start classroom observations tomorrow and I get to have a sleepover at Evelyne's house again (yay!), and then its off to the big city of Limoges!

We have an orientation for all of the assistants in the Limousin region, and there are around 200 from all over the world. I think it will be a mass exodus from the train station on Friday morning.

Not much else, I love it here and my body does too. I get to cook for myself again and buy really cheap wine. Sending much love!

I also now have a cell phone in France! The number is +33 06 12 71 80 40. So now you guys can call me and it won't cost me a thing... Of course, I still have skype and love getting voice messages from everyone.

Oh la vache!

A few pictures of the "plan d'eau Courtille" which is like Gueret's equivalent of Lake Calhoun. People running, walking, basking in the sun, picnicking... I walked all the way around it this morning and took some pictures of the stunning country side. The town is built in the hills and has tiny little pedestrian alley ways everywhere. People smile and welcome me wherever I go.

I feel the space of this spot in the world and it is a breath of fresh air. I woke up this morning to the sound of screaming French kids outside my bedroom window (since my apartment is upstairs from the school, I really do look out onto the playground!). I brought Grandma Nita's Hatha Yoga book and started reading it today. I wanted to share a paragraph that I especially connected with:

"We are constantly in a state of 'becoming,' and we make choices every day as to what we experience, as to our thoughts, our relationships with other people and the environment--even as to rest, exercise, and nutrition--which influence what we become. Be conscious of these choices as you make them. None of them are unimportant. All add up to what you are and will be."

-Nita Nickerson, Hatha Yoga: Class Notes

I liked it because, so often, when us young things go off to Europe or on other worldly expeditions, it is with the purpose of "finding ourselves, " and that hasn't resonated with me, because I know where I am, and where I've come from. Creating ourselves even with the food we choose to put inside our bodies, the people we surround ourselves with, and all other choices we make and then being aware of this can be a powerful, scary, and wonderful experience.

I also included a leftover picture from Florence... Rachel and I got creative in the hotel room.







Waking up for the second day in the Creuse, having spent my first day and night in Gueret! I went with my program director, Evelyne, to the inspection academique, where she works. We had a few visits to apartments and moved me into the apartment above a primary school annex.

Unfortunately, this is only for the month, but it is lovely and huge! The kitchen over looks a large garden and my bedroom has a view of the IUFM, and old building that houses conferences and teachers in training, and a view of the valley. I think the bathroom was made for about 16 people, and you can fit as many into the tub. There are four bedrooms set up with little twin beds... oh the things I could do with this space if it were mine!

I've already pulled out my African fabric duvet cover that Grandma Ann made for me, and Rachel bought me a scarf in Italy which I'm using to cover my desk. All my pictures are up and smiling at me... I miss you, home! Alas, I will move somewhere else at the end of the month, I am hoping that this will be enough time to get a feel for the city and find a darling apartment on the top floor of some building on the hill.

After d'avoir m'installee in my aparment, I accompanied Evelyne throughout her work day, though most of her work was helping me move in to Gueret, introducing me to everyone in the office and the teachers I will be working with, taking me to lunch with her and her colleagues.

We went to a restaurant called Le Moderne, right on Place Bonnyaud in the center of town. Everybody seems to know or at least recognize Evelyne, so spending the day with her was a little like walking into Cheers with Kirsty Allen.

Another woman, who is on the verge of retirement (and also being my adopted grandmother while living here), Catherine, asked me what I needed to get settled and promptly took me to her apartment to collect pillows, little bonne maman jams (she was excited to tell me she stole these), coffee pot and sheets. She took me to the grocery store and helped me pick out some food, letting me know which brand she thought was the best. It reminded me of shopping with Deanna, which put a smile on my face.

I spent a few hours making my space a little more homey, and then went about the task of reading the materials I had gathered from the office of tourism. There is indeed a giant labyrinthe outside of the city, as well as a wolf park. There are about a fafillion equestrian centers in this region alone. Not far from my apartment there is the Espace Fayolle, which is Gueret's community center. It has a pool and painting classes, salsa lessons, pottery, WiFi :), music lessons for little kids... and a lot more. We are at the foothills of the Massif Central here in Gueret, not far from skiing and mountain hiking, and mountain biking. The autoroute that passes through here is one that connects Switzerland to the sea, and is aptly named something like "Suissemer..."

Another assistant, Kendra from Michigan, arrived from the USA yesterday and is staying with me until her apartment in La Souterraine is ready. She and I immediately started chatting it up, decided to go find a pay phone and an open restaurant at 8pm on Monday night. Anywhere else in the world, something might be open, but Sundays AND Mondays are the days that Gueret closes up shop during the week. No matter, we found wood oven pizza with all the veggies we could want and a bottle of rose, both which we brought back to the apartment and savoured...

Kendra brought a guitar, which she started learning how to play in January. We shared some pictures and stories, and then started singing and playing together. We sang, and got through American Pie in its entirety. Some Beatles songs, of course, and then a few songs by bands I've not heard of. It was a lovely first evening in Gueret.

Today, we're going to go buy cellphones, find an internet connection, and then go to the enormous "pond," Etang Courtille, and have a picnic with our leftover pizza. Wednesday will be another free day, and Thursday we start our classroom observations.

I'm just loving every minute of this experience, and in part because I have such wonderful support from home. Thank you for encouraging me to embark on such a great adventure.