Salaam Alikoum!

Peace be with you! I've returned safe and sound from Marrakesh and am OHSOHAPPY to be back in France. I seem to complain a lot about French machismo and daily levels of equality, because compared to California, it can be a little frustrating from time to time. And yet Marrakesh is no France. Not even close. France is the Liberté Fraternité Egalité to the T compared to Marrakesh for women. France is the hippie woman burning her bra on her college campus compared to Marrakesh. France is Hilary Clinton compared to Marrakesh! (That would make the United States RuPaul if you were keeping track)

The city itself is beautiful in a desert nomad kind of way. It's a strange combination of centuries of north African culture and (American) globalization. Long walked passageways of clay and wooden walls painted in the Moroccan colors of Islam, red and white, shadowed over by large cafe umbrellas bearing the Coca Cola brand in English and in Arabic. Paved roads that seem to be rejected by the earth itself, as if dirt and sand were always better alternatives, broken and cracked in the sun. I'm sure the camels still prefer the dirt and sand but the abundant numbers of mopeds, scooters, and motorcycles prefer the former. Like seriously, I have never felt so vulnerable to motorcyclists and scooters, not even in Rome. You get the feeling from the crisscrossing of pedestrian and motor traffic that literally anything goes. Watch out for the calèche, the horse drawn carriage because it might run you over when you're dodging bikes!! Sheer CHAOS in terms of traffic but there was also a kind of beauty, a harmony in watching all the locals just navigate through in the nanoseconds of breaks in the stream of vehicles.

ACTUAL culture shock: I thought I had a wee bit of culture shock here in France - I was wrong. If you can be utterly terrified and fascinated by something at the same time, that was me getting lost in the souks - aka the centuries old network of passageways, merchant shops, and homes aka The Labyrinthe from Hell. By the end of our 4 day, 3 night trip we almost got the hang of it... if you stayed within sight of the main square. If you delved in any deeper without a guide, you were absolutely lost for hours. Okay WE were absolutely lost for hours. The first day P-baby and I tried to master it on our own, escaping with our sanity and wallets intact, and then arrogantly reentering to take the shorter route back to the square. FOOLISH TOURISTS! We ended up latching onto some Italians who led us out. (English the universal language of out-of-towners! It tickles me to hear a Frenchman and an Italian attempting to communicate) The next day we went in with a guide and it was MUCH more enjoyable. We tipped him 10 euros (about 100 dirhams - to scale it a mint tea cost about 10 dirhams, an average dinner cost about 30-50 dirhams) and he repeated "merci, merci, merci" for about 2 minutes straight. (French is the 2nd unofficial language of Morocco) So you can live like a wealthy tourist for a few days without much trouble, which was also enjoyable.

Overall I'm very happy I went with P-baby but would also have enjoyed going with a group. I'm very pleased as well that I did not go with my sister last year, as the two of us would have been scared bunny pelts being sold in the souks.

giggles and another annoying student episodes

I don't know if I'm a good teacher. Case in point: three girls had a case of the giggles on Friday afternoon in my 4pm class - ouch, right? Instead of sending them out in the hallway to get it together I gave them several warnings and then gave them a firmer reprimand after class. But any of the other teachers would have just sent them out. Instead I was trying to TEACH them English grammar and I don't think it stuck. Too often this is the case, (Frenchcoco tries to teach but fails pretty definitively) because I don't understand the French education culture here still, and I'm a big fat Newb to the profession. Also the fact that I waver too closely between being funny and likeable, and actually enforcing rules - the latter of which I think is actually more important as a teacher in France. There is much more of an open dialogue between students and teachers in the USA (especially in college) than in France, and by allowing or searching for that open dialogue in my classes with my students, it's led to a kind of misunderstanding in what my role is in the classroom. They're not used to it from their professors. And I'm not sure enough myself of what my role is to where I can reign them back in when they cross the line from being accessible to being inaccessibly lazy and indifferent. After the girls were reprimanded a third time, I lost my credibility for that afternoon class. I picked some of it back up after we spoke after class, but then tossed some of it to the wind when I spoke to them in French and incorrectly conjugated. No matter that they got the point of what I was saying and would hopefully do better next week, but I let MORE weakness show. A LION TAMER SHOWS NO WEAKNESS!! (see facebook post of what-teachers-do-pdf photo) I need to trade in my MeowMix for a bullwhip.

I beee busy

SNOW!! Finally! We have snow. The ever present dog shit is buried and forgotten beneath small mounds of snow and the world is pretty and clean and perfect in Rouen and the region of Normandie.

However. Not as perfect as to dump in buckets and thus cancel school tomorrow. Just perfect enough to be pretty and exciting. So I am now ending a period of 4 hours of preparation for the work week, and am still not finished. As of result of spending yesterday and today in Vernon with the family I'm a little behind on my duties but not terribly. Only terribly when you stop and think I have about a month left to study for the GRE also known as "that test I had no business signing up for when I'm no longer considering grad school" but hey, whatevs. So I'm behind.

Christmas at home was amazing and wonderful and a nice refresher for my English (!). However I don't know if I'd really like to do it again this next year just because the flight trajectory was terrifying. The pilot took us through the worst bout of turbulence I have ever experienced in my two odd decades of flying, over a period of about 6 hours. One of my worst nightmares come true. That and the fact that it's insanely expensive to fly roundtrip from Paris to LAX in December makes me hesitant already to sign up for another frightening flight. Especially when (God willing) I'm just going to move back 6 months thereafter in summer of 2013. Time shall tell!

Speaking of, I've been very adamant and certain that by finishing my work contract in 2013, I will have no reason to stay in France and can move back home as soon as possible to karaoke, Trader Joe's, and feminism. However.... I've been recently experiencing these bouts of happiness and ease with living in France. I sometimes think it could be nice here. 5 weeks minimum of annual vacation, beautiful countryside, centrality to other European destinations almost balances out the longing I feel for friends and family I've known my whole life and the conveniences home has to offer. It may also have something to do with my recent vow to try more French pastries. Up till now my mistake had been putting too much jam in my yogurt cups when I should have been packing on the pounds in the patisseries! D'oh!

_______ duck.

I'm in a much better mood! I've just rentrée'd from shopping in Paris this weekend where it was wet, rainy, and full of griping Parisians (who are renowned for a reason) but beautiful and breathtaking. I'm currently sitting at home in my adorable, cozy Rouen apartment, getting ready to read and plan for the future all day until I feel like doing otherwise because I'm giving exams all week and therefore don't have to do last minute lesson plans. Life is boooooooon.

Dec. 2, 2011

Once again another year is passing by incredibly quick. A year ago I was in Vernon, fighting seasonal Christmas-away-from-home depression and jam. A year before that I was fighting seasonal Christmas-at-home depression and bitter pedestrians in Beverly Hills. I'm happy this year. I'm anxious and worried about next year (3 months from now, 9 months from now, a year from now) and restless but I think that's normal at the end of a semester. My first semester teaching! I'm sure I'll have more important, profound (wordy) insights to share after Christmas vacation at home but all I have lately are worryings about the future and what I should be doing. I wonder if I should be home because any one of my loved ones could disappear from this world in the next moment and I will have spent our last few opportunities to be together on the other side of the world. I wonder if I should go home to help my family transition to the next chapter in our lives come August 2012. I wonder if I should be home to rejoice in all the wonderful day to day moments or once in a lifetime moments like my friends' weddings. And then I think about how this is a once in a lifetime opportunity to live in France and observe from within the world I dreamed about for so long. What if I end up 28, with no discernible useable resume because I realize I don't want to teach?? (Dear God let me love more and fear less)

School is good and it's actually improving my French, while I'm teaching English. I have to comprehend what my lazy French students say when they don't want to try and speak English. I definitely consider myself a bit lazy in my French conversation classes that I had in college so I hope I'm not coming off too harsh on them, but we're learning from each other. Otherwise I have an uber smart class of high school students who are prepping for all their SAT-type college entrance exams at the end of this year, and they are dependent on me to actually improve their levels of English, which is terrifying. I don't know if I'm doing a very good job. My American fundamental ideas of teachers and students are kind of clashing with the French system in terms of punishment, homework, and general teacher-student relationships. I caught some students cheating and asked someone what I should do about it and she suggested I just not count the grades. Not give them a zero, but actually not count them - to let it go. My initial reaction wasn't to spit them and roast them by any means, but I figured at least give them a 0 on my silly 5 point pop quiz that they chose to cheat on (poorly - the two styles of handwriting were beyond different and the white out was evident on the page). Instead I was borderline accused of trying to deliberately entrap them into cheating by giving them a pop quiz after they were goofing off. I get the feeling this is the pet class of the department and there's more politics involved than I'm aware of - like their level of success will reflect on the department. Meh. Joke's on you guys cuz I don't know what I'm doing! Ma HAaaaaa!

Hopefully I figure it (all) out before May. Or February. Really January 1st would be preferable. March: Marrakesh with my wonderful boyfriend. May: the Mediterranean island of Malta. New Year's Resolution: Lose 10 stone. Learn better French. Love everyone and everything more.

Arrrr!

On this my last day of midterms, I wake to 44 degree temperates and cloudy skies. Normandie. I have some kind of maladie on my throat, suspiciously feeling like the strep throat I had when I was 17, but only on one side, and I await my french coffee to finish brewing. It's been almost 3 months since my return to France and I go home in a month to celebrate Christmas stateside. I'm lonely. Things are different this year. There are no fun, young assistants to do random things with, or know that they are 2 doors down if I feel like being social, there are only students whom I cannot go out with because it's unprofessional, because I'm giving them grades that will influence their college gpas, and university professors some of whom are younger but who speak fluent French and 3 words of English. Students, professors, and P-baby. Who is lovely. Every other weekend or so I'll go back to Vernon, so that changes it up a bit, but I'm pretty bogged down with life and haven't been able to go lately. We did throw a fantastic Halloween party there though at which I was a pirate zombie - thank you the ONE HALLOWEEN STORE IN ROUEN. I'm also teaching P English because if I can't teach my own boyfriend, I'm a pretty sorry English teacher indeed. So my days consist of going to school to teach, coming home to prep lessons, and then teaching. And the gym. I joined a gym which costs 47 euros a month and wins the title of Smallest Gym I have ever seen outside of an apartment complex rec room. Worse, I recently witnessed the French phenomenon of the bises (the kisses on either side of the cheek) in the weight area; a man went around and shook the hand of every single male in the space and then did the bises with the two women there as well, who got off of their machines to do so. I haven't been down to do weights in a week. I would! I don't mind at all in public or with P but I get a certain level of social anxiety when (as a woman) I might have to kiss everyone in the weight area after sweating on the cardio machines upstairs. I'll have to wait when it's less crowded and then pop in the ole ipod shuffle for an incognito approach.



I found pumpkin pie! Rather I found the Thanksgiving Store in Paris which specializes in imported American and English goods. I bought 3 cans at 3 euros each, 3 cans of evaporated milk at 2 euros each, and a ready made graham cracker pie crust at 5 euros. I regret nothing. And I made a convert out of my frenchman.

I've been seriously considering the pros and cons of returning to school to get a Masters in English I guess, with a teaching credential in French. But I'm not sure of the wisdom in that. I don't want to be stuck teaching in high school at $44k each year for the next 20 years, I would love to teach at university level, but then that means I could most likely be using my English masters to do that, and I'm not sure I'd like to teach English. Otherwise, I don't know what I'll do when I come home, without any serious degree or diploma or certification to back up the last 2 years of teaching in France. I really hope I'm fluent by the time I come home.

I think that's enough introspective moping and worrying for now. I intend to be much peppier on egg nog and brandy the next blog entry I write, but who can say? (who can say??? The Thanksgiving store! Who also sold egg nog for 9 euros a carton) Off to class!

Encore! Encore!

I've returned! Except instead of returning to Vernon I've rentrée'd to Rouen and it's even better than I remembered it. Aside from my stove breaking, fuses blowing, and not having internet for 2 weeks, it's been pretty seamless. To begin...

Grandpa! After P and A picked me up from the airport we went straight to Brittany for their grandfather's birthday party. It was lovely aside from my hideous cankles - ALWAYS WALK AROUND ON A LONG FLIGHT. Apparently there's a risk of embolisms occurring if you don't which can lead to fat hideous swollen ankles or blood clots to your heart. So walk around! The entire family was there and I met everyone and got ridiculously drunk. Like everyone. That in combination with jet lag made it a sleepy kind of drunk but wonderful nonetheless. P-baby got so drunk he almost forgot I was there and started walking out to the dinner carpools without me. La vie en rose! He also passed out on the grass in front of the charming french cottage restaurant where a wedding band was setting up for a reception later that evening. The party continued back at P-baby's gpa's house (which is beautiful, with tons of acreage, several barns, chicken coops, old rotting tractors and cars sitting around, several tool sheds and hills in Brittany) with alcohol Grandpa had made earlier - aka Moonshine. I also had some Courvoisier and a bottle of wine from.. wait for it.. 1985. Perfect. His dad and aunts and uncles also all took pictures of me hugging the bottle and looking gleeful we were born the same year.

After spending the weekend in Brittany the siblings and I drove home together to Vernon but not without the car dying in some blink of town because I had to pee. We had to push the car down the road and then P-baby was able to get it started. He went around the town and then came back and slowed down literally long enough for the rest of us to jump in and took off before it could die again. I didn't pee.

We got back, spent the night at his parents and then moved me in to Rouen the next day. The apartment is cozy and adorable with a coat of yellow paint for the interior. And a fabulous roof just outside our window where P-baby can smoke or we can sit outside and people watch. It's also sound insulated so heating is great and even though we're in the heart of downtown next to this great bar la Boite a Bière, the Joan of Arc church, and a chinese grocery store, I can never hear the drunkards stumbling home. It's a nice walk to the bus stop which dumps me off directly in front of my building at the university.

The big 2-6! The first week here I was going pretty much a mile a minute, setting up internet (yelling at Orange to set up internet) and phone service, furnishing the apartment with food and stepstools for roof access, lying to the Social Security office in order to get health insurance and going back and forth to the University setting up for classes to begin. I barely noticed that my birthday was coming up when P-baby insisted we go to Vernon for the weekend. To my surprise and sheer delight he threw a party for me at his house and invited a bunch of friends including making us all an amazing dinner and supplying a shit ton of beer and liquor. His precious sister made me 2 delicious cakes, one for the party that night and another the next day at lunch with their parents. In an otherwise wonderful night among people I haven't grown up with while speaking primarily my 2nd language, there was one moment that sucked. When people were still settling in to the garage (where we partied) I kept hearing this one guy saying "l'américaine" over and over, almost certainly talking about me right in front of me, which gets really annoying, especially on my birthday. It's just rude. Normally I would ignore it, but IT'S MY DAY so I sassed him and it backfired a bit. I said "Dude, I can hear you!" in french, which I guess doesn't work in french, so he was like, deadpan mind you, "So? Hear me." ....And A explained quietly (because everyone in the room had stopped moving or breathing it seemed like) that it's something you can say in English, an expression of sorts. I was THIS CLOSE to bursting into tears and blubbering in English but I held it together and instead made this weird laugh/guffaw noise to show that HEYYYY I was only joking! Whatever! And then someone else joined the party and we all moved on. I felt guilty though, like I momentarily ruined the party, so a few days later I confessed to P-baby, who had been out of the room at that moment. Instead of saying, well Lauren you jumped the gun and shouldn't have tried to chastise him, when clearly he was just being himself and didn't mean anything by it, he said My friend can be an asshole sometimes. He is always breaking balls like that, I heard him say l'americaine too and I told him, 'hey! quit breaking balls!'

I love P-baby. He says all the right things.

Also there was a GIANT spider in the garage that crawled right behind his sister and I and she started screaming and crying immediately it was so big, and I was looking for something to squish it with, when P-baby jumped up and smashed it with his BARE HAND! Savages these Frenchmen!! I love it.

School has officially started today and Emily is coming back to France this weekend to join me in our love for the R. brothers. It's been a little over 3 weeks and I'm finally feeling settled just like it was the most natural thing in the world to be in France with my wonderful boyfriend, teaching in an incredible job, living in an awesome and cheap apartment. Sometimes I remember to be sad about being so far away from home and everything amazing American, but mostly I'm happier than I think I've ever been.

I mean this is all pre Holidays when the lack of pumpkin pie is sure to cripple me (again), but I'm cautiously optimistic for the time being. Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to eat the Breton cake my frenchman just made me.