I've Got To Dream Big

Why can't you dream big in France? I've begun to notice this pattern in French thinking. It's nowhere near like the American dream. Here, you do what you have to do make a living, pick hobbies to stay happy, and you accept what you have wealth wise. There's no push that you have to be better, bigger, richer, stronger as back home in the states. If you are happy selling fruit at an outdoor market every day, you do just that. This comparison was brought up in one of the books I got for Christmas:  Lunch in Paris by Elizabeth Band. When I first read it, I thought I understood what she was talking about, but I never really experienced it until lately. On Wednesday, I had the instructor from the city's education department come to school to check up on us. Since I'm working in a school that's never had an assistant before, she comes to us more often than other schools. We were brainstorming ideas on how to have the teachers integrate English when I'm not in their classes. The main issues at hand are: consistency, the kids' attention span, and time management. I had explained what I had already started in the school and what I wanted to do. At one point she told me, "You can't do all of it on your own this year. I'm talking about over the course of the next few years." My heart dropped and my dreams disappeared. I wanted to talk back, I wanted to tell her how disorganized the school system here is, how much I want to do all of this on my own because if I don't no one will start them; but I didn't.  Our education system has its own flaws as well, no doubt. But the main difference is that we always have this little fire in our bodies to be better, to consistently try to improve what we have, to get better. It's sort of understood that we have to improve and do better; it's implanted in our brains from day one. While we do evolve from this mindset, we also become extremely exhausted, stressed out, and obsessed over things that might not even occur in the future anyways. We can't just sit still for a second and think about how far we've come; we have to always stress about what we have to do next to get higher in the world. And as much as her words hurt my "dream big" attitude, it also brought me back to Earth. I need to think more about the present and realize that just being here and saying hi to the kids might make their day. The board games, after school club, and possible Spring concert are more so things to make me happy here. The teachers are content with what they do and they don't feel like I'm not doing enough like I do. They think I do more than enough already and I need to accept the fact that France is not America. If they don't like something, they faire la grève, but if they don't do anything, they are content.




In other news, this past weekend my two awesome Delaware girlfriends, Katelyn and Kristen, came to visit me. They arrived Thursday morning while I was teaching so I went to find them at the last metro stop (since they don't speak French and had no idea where to go) and then took them back to school to show them my kids. Mind you, this is the class that got way out of control when I started teaching the weather and are always loud, so just imagine what happened when I brought two friends in with me.
Is that your sister?, She looks just like you; you all have the same face, They're pretty, Are they going to stay with us all year too?


I took Kate and Kris around the city and pretty much covered all of the main spots in the two and a half days they were here (see below). We even attempted to French night club which I find even more conservative than before after hearing stories about the way the girls dress and dance in England.


What blew my mind the whole time was that A) they were here, in real life, not on Skype B) that we were in a foreign country. I could not get that amazement feeling out of my head as I lead them on mini tours and cooked and laughed and danced. We aren't riding bikes on the paths at the beach, we're in France, riding through a park that's bigger than Central Park in NYC.

 Place de Terraux (new public art- weather balloons to see how much pollution the city produces).

 Tartines from L'épicierie, my new favorite eating spot!

 Rue de la Republique at night during les soldes

 The famous Roman ruins (a gigantic old theater with box seats) dating back to 19 A.D.

 My homemade Boeuf bourginon

 Have a wonderful week everyone! Stay warm in that snow back home!

Ne Vivez Pas Le Vent D'hiver!

So the French equivalent to the "Let It Snow," is "Vivez Le Vent D'hiver." Yeah, not so much thank you. I wish this frigid 20 mph wind would die, not live on and on. It's not bringing snow and it makes me lose all blood circulation in my body. Furthermore, it kills my ambition to get out and about in this city of mine. I'm glad I took advantage of the warm weather last week and saw Perouges, a medieval village a half hour away. Here are a few glimpses at the quaint village. We arrived during lunch so it was extremely quiet; it almost felt like we were intruding. As we walked around in awe of it all, I began to question how long it took for every stone to be placed to build the church, or the little restaurant we drank hot chocolate in, or the fortress around the village. Who was involved? How did they feel about what they were doing? Did they live to see it finished?

 "One of France's most beautiful villages."

 Walking up the hill

 "One of the ways you know if it's a medieval building is by the window pane."

Sheep!

My first quiche!

And if you're still cold, whether you're reading here in France or back home, I hope this song will warm you up a bit. You can't go wrong with reggae-ton.

Sunset Soon Forgotten

The more pictures I share, the more I realize that the beauty I'm trying to prove to you is already fading. It's not what it was in that exact moment when I saw what was in front of me. Unfortunately, that's the struggle artists run into every time they try to recreate what they find so incredible.  The first encounter, the first glimpse, the first rush of ideas are all so precious that what follows cannot even be thought of in the same light.

I'm suddenly thinking back to when we studied the Native Americans in Third Grade; I was so confused as to why they thought that if they had their picture taken, their soul would be taken away. I didn't get it; I grew up in a community that celebrates cameras.  We take pictures to commemorate every important event, every special occasion, every "first". We use them to look back and see how we've grown and remember what we might have forgotten about ourselves. After last weekend's trip to the Alps, I have come to understand the Native American's viewpoint on this. Granted, I will still continue to click away during my time here to share with others, but I have realized that it's not ever going to be the same as in person. The life of the picture is frozen in time and hence, it's essentially dead. I cannot replay the moment; I can only stare and try to remember what I thought back then. In comparison, I have the picture taken by my memory. Last Saturday night we all went out onto the balcony to get some air after eating a ton of raclette. The stars were so vivid that you really could see them twinkling. I started finding the constellations I learnt back in the 6th grade. I tried to explain to everyone what the names are in English as they puffed on their cigarettes. It was so quiet. It was nice to get out of the city and be able to look at the same stars that other people see around the world. Yet there was no inclination to take a picture of the five of us standing there at night to preserve the moment. It was a wonderful, special weekend, but I think I might like the moments I leave for my brain to preserve more than the ones on a 10 GB USB disk. There's something that lives on; you are able to still smell the wood burning, you are able to still hear the wind, you are able to feel the wooden ledge, and you can still taste the bitterness of the aperitif on your tongue if you just close your eyes and think back. There's more than just the sight of the stars in that memory.

Or furthermore, when I finally was able to stop myself in my skis. The sun was shining, the mountains were smiling, and my favorite all time happy song came blasting on the loudspeakers as I pushed myself down the mini practice hill. I was laughing, smiling, happy. I didn't care that the only snow pants that fit me were for a 12 year old. I didn't care that I had to rent Junior skis because my feet and body haven't grown since I was 13. I didn't care if I fell on my ass (which I didn't) in front of the cafe. I felt on top of the world even though I was at the bottom of the mountain. I felt at home in a very foreign place.

 On the drive over with Audrey

 The chalet

 La Clusaz at night

 Mountain Cheese-AMAZING

 Looking up while sledding

The chalet I would love when I retire

What Would You Do?

Today one of the CE1 girls (equivalent to 1st grade) came up to me during recess and asked me:
Are your parents nice?
I said yes, smiled, and looked back at her expecting her to ask another question. No response.
Are your parents nice too? I asked without thinking.
No. They're mean.

I couldn't stop there; being who I am, I had to ask more questions.

How are they mean?

They used to buy me dolls but threw all my toys away. They don't give me anything anymore. 


My heart dropped. I know there's a deeper story but she seemed so sad just hearing that my parents are nice to me that I didn't want to keep pushing her to talk about it. Plus, the teachers were clapping for the classes to get into line to go back inside.

So, what do you do? Do you try to help the student that comes to you for support? Will one hour of English really make a difference in her life? If you help one kid, what about the rest that you know don't go home to good environments? She's smart as hell, but will her parents' carelessness and unemployment rub off on her as she grows up?

Most days I laugh with the kids at school. Today I wanted to ball my eyes out. Movies like Take the Lead and The Blind Side make this look way too easy.

Degagez Les Grenouilles!

Yep, that's right, I started this post cursing off the French. I would going into a more lengthy title, but my parents read this (to make sure I'm alive) and to be honest I'm not cursing at all you Frenchies, just certain people that pissed me off this week.

Example A: I go to the post office to mail out some documents and ask the lady at the register to do this "lettre recommendée" (aka First Class, signature needed to deliver it). She tells me to go over to the machines, the papers are there. Okay...so I fill out the papers and return.
No you messed up. Those aren't the right ones.
Ok...so which ones?
The ones in between the machines, not next to them. (Duh, you dumb foreigner).
I go back a third time to ask for the stamps and I see her badmouthing me to her co-worker. She comes over and shows me how to use the self-serve machines. After I pay she takes my envelopes back to her desk, pastes the First Class papers on the one side, and stands there for a bit. This is when  I thought I was done with this dilemma. I've paid, the main behind is waiting impatiently, I'm halfway out the door and...
Did you get the stamps?
Excuse Me?
You forgot the stamps. (She reaches under the machine, gets them, and places them on the other side of the envelope).

Question: Why couldn't you just do this at your desk like all of the other times I asked for this type of stamp. Granted those were different post offices, BUT you, Post Office Lady, stood 10 feet from the machines. You could have saved yourself the agitation and me the embarrassment and just led me through this process the first time instead of yapping at me rudely three timeswhen no one else was in line. Yes, I will call you LAZY. Sigh, next time I will plan my Post Office routine when the old man is working.


Example B:

I get a letter today in the mail saying the following: "Following your request on November 2, 2010 in which you asked me to file a reimbursement for your monthly travel plan for October and November, I regret to inform you that I can only reimburse October's plan.  The official form from the transportation office was not included and I cannot file your demand without it. Please fill out this required document and return it with the other necessary documentation."

What's the date on this letter? JANUARY 2nd! Did I go in person to make sure I had everything right and then followed up and called about this after I sent it? Yes. Do I have photocopies of all of the documents I've sent including the ones they claim I never sent? Yes (I'm that anal). Soooo, what exactly do you do with your work day over there in the Education Department? Throw out every other letter so you have a fun game to play?  Plus, why does it take you 2 FREAKING MONTHS to send a letter when a simple email notification would do? Did you send the letter by Hedwig's blind cousin? (Olgo the Owl, we shall call him) What gives in the land of cheese and wine?

And for the record, all you French readers, I do like cheese. Smelly cheese, moldy cheese, I like French Cheese. Such a shocker for an American, I know but get over it and stop asking if I really enjoy France. The more you ask me if I'm still okay living here, the more I wonder if you're avoiding work (like my friends above) and the more pissed off I'll be if it's true. End of rant.

In other, more positive news, I've joined a gym (spur of the moment), got out of control in the kitchen (cooking couscous AND ratatouille), saw a full, double rainbow on my way to work (yes it almost made me cry), bought a baby plant to take care of (and it's already flowering!), and started German (well the alphabet anyways). So enjoy the pictures of the week and I'll talk to you all after I attempt to go skiing this weekend.

On Ne Peut Vivre Que Le Présent

Sorry folks but jet lag got the best of me and I can't seem to remember the other things I was supposed to tell you after my last post. I'm sure if I can't think of it, nothing was really THAT exciting. Plus we all know how long it took for me to get to my point across last story so... all the better I left my random thoughts behind. Well, the one thing I do remember is how AWESOME my roommate is! She had a big Welcome Home sign up and flowers every where.

Tomorrow starts my first full week back at school. I've got high expectations for what I'm going to do and hopefully these kids will appreciate it all. On Friday a bunch of the younger kids ran up to me chanting "Kahtee" because they thought I wasn't coming back (was supposed to be back Monday, woops). Not sure if they're excited because they like me or they're happy to have the "let's mess around, English hour doesn't count as a grade" class. Either way, the kids who actually want to take advantage of me being here in France will have the chance from now until July. I'm starting an after school club to teach more about the American culture, sports, music, and so forth. Hopefully I can erase the stupid TV stereotypes and explore the reality of life. First lesson, New York City is not the coolest place on Earth, nor will you automatically become famous if you go to Hollywood.

In other news, I've decided to continue my cooking exploration and try a new recipe every week. This weekend I made "Spaghetti à la Gwendal," from the book Lunch in Paris.

This week's challenge? Home-made ratatouille. None of that canned/frozen stuff from now on; going back to the USA reminded me of the "fresh and local" food obsession I took up this past summer. This should be a challenge since I need to cut up an eggplant, 8 tomatoes, and some zucchini and I broke the best knife in the apartment. C'est la vie.

And lastly, the song and photos of the week.

1)The prettiest bird I have ever fed stale bread to (I shall name him Bertrand).

2) The main hospital at sunset.

In essence, the song talks about all the things he wishes he could have done or seen (ex. shown MLK Jr. a picture of Obama, warned NYC about the Twin Towers, made sure the parents of Adolf Hitler never met, etc). He even shouts out to all those affected by Hurricane Katrina. It's a beautiful song in many ways, namely how he would (if he could) go back and change history for the better.

And then there are people who change history for the worse....

What are you going to learn if you choose to ignore erase the problems and mistakes of the past?

You Win Some, You Lose Some

Since my last post, a lot of things have occurred, namely fights. With whom, do you ask? A lot of people, namely all who I've talked to from British airways (including the imaginary people in my nightmares following the trek home).

Here's how it all went down:

I wake up at 4:30 am the day of my original flight to find out I do not have a flight home. I try calling from 5 am until midnight to change and/or get reimbursed but the operator told me to go online they were too busy, and the webmaster wrote for us to call the airline. Thank you British Airways #1. I search for three hours for a new flight home and went with Opodo. I feel relieved, for the moment anyways. That night, I go to check-in and online it says that my flight may be cancelled. I call Opodo; they are closed. I call Continental Airlines, also closed. I Skype my sister to ask her to call Continental. "She's on the list." Okay then, I'll just check-in the old-fashioned way at the airport. The next day, we call Opodo for 1 1/2 straight on the way to Geneva (to double-check my flight) and no one answers. We arrive at Geneva, I get in line for check-in and the Hell begins. First, I am told I have a valid confirmation but Opodo never confirmed with Continental. Okay, I'll wait for the supervisor. I wait, and wait, and wait. Thirty minutes later and fifteen or so people already confirmed before me who were on stand-by, the supervisor arrives.  
You have no seat and your name is not on our list.
We explain how we called Continental and they said I was.
Well, you're not. I have one open seat but you have to buy it through Lufthansa or United Airlines. Hurry back.
Great. We run over to United and a sign explains that it is closed from  9:30 untill 11:45. What time is it? 9:40. We run over to Lufthansa and explain our situation.
Yes there is a seat but it's first-class.
How much? Oh you know, 3,850 euros. And the waterworks begin and I start stuttering in my French. She tells me to go to British Airways.
For what? They canceled my flight too, I mutter.
They might give you an exchange, she says.
We go to British Airways and the time is 10:30. The flight I'm trying to catch leaves at 11:40. After waiting and crying and realizing I'm probably not going home, we are being helped.

The crazy thing is all Remy did was explain the situation. No bitchy attitude like Americans do to make it all happen. Just told the guy, You canceled her flights, she wants to get home to see her Mommy, can you give us the seat the man at Continental is holding for us?  
SHIZZAM, ticket printed.

We run up to Continental and butt in the line. Oh but one more thing, my luggage. It's full of presents, and hence, quite heavy. I tell him,  I don't care, I'll pay whatever, I just want to get home.
It's 200 dollars. 
I DON'T CARE. And then, all of my cards seem to fail in the land of neutrality. Great. My French family decides to be amazing once again.
Then, in English, I'm giving you a window seat.
Okay thanks, but seriously? You could have spoken English to me the whole time when you saw my passport the first time.

I get into security and another "Oh crap moment." The line is around the corner and I have a half hour to run to my plane. After waiting impatiently, I'm through. Then, the idiot I am, decides to turn left. After sprinting past Rolex watches, chocolate, and liquor galore, I get to the boarding area. Breathing heavily, I hear the girl in front of me say, I hope there's alcohol on this flight.
Without even thinking, I mutter, Yeah because I sure as hell need a drink right now. She turns around and smiles. You're French is really good! I say thanks and start screaming in my head, I'M GOING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS!

You thought that was the end?

Well it gets a bit better. I sit next to this lovely middle-aged man who is probably thinking I'm insane as I'm muttering to myself in French trying to shove my stuff into the overhead compartments. We exchange travel stories, work situations, and the usual how are you conversation. Diagonally to my left, is another story. A pathetic man who drinks multiple bottles of wine and liquor. In my book, drinking the free booze is fine. Drinking to get drunk, ALONE, and paying $7 for each 3 oz bottle is stupid and quite pathetic. Had I known he was going to be a douche-bag, I would have avoided looking at his bottle collection the first time. Example of douche-bag-ness #1, reaching over to my armrest to try and turn on my reading light after I tell him I can see just fine and everyone's sleeping so I don't want to disturb them. #2, taking off his alligator boots and propping his feet up in front of him. #3, trying to take my trash so he can throw it up into first class. My response? I can throw it out when the stewardess comes back.
No no, let's give first class a present. The stewards get free money. They don't work. Let's help them learn to pick up trash.
I practically had to sit on my damn trash to get him to leave me alone. A variety of things that I really wanted to say: You work for your Mommy and Daddy, dontcha? Aw, how sweet. The gel in your hair makes you look like a sleazeball and my gut instinct confirms that. Your Alligator boots are not sexy and you look frumpy.  You're one reason why I don't miss America that much; there's too many people out there like you.

The rest of the trip was a breeze. Customs didn't take any of my presents, on the way to Philly I met a famous basketball player (well for you 76ers fans out there), and my mom was waiting for me with her Elf ears.

Getting back to France has been fun too. I called British Airways every day, was put on hold, told to call back, transferred to another company (likely in India considering the accent), and told I couldn't be helped. After being told I would have to pay a $262 fee for changing the day/location of my flight, I fought. I fought with the operator, her supervisor, and his supervisor.  From now on, I will never give up a fight, especially when it saves me money that I shouldn't have to pay to begin with. The flights were a breeze, the train was another story. As soon as I told the conductor I bought my ticket through SNCF (the French train company), I was told, That wasn't a good idea.
I had to walk around the train station and across several streets with my JustMySize suitcase and bags to find the SNCF office. After waiting thirty minutes, I had to pay another fee just to get my ticket (although it's free in France). Thanks for the warning online, SNCF! A train ride through the Alps and a crowded metro home, and here I am (back in my pig pen bed without my snuggly cat.)

All in all, I'm so grateful I was able to get home and see my family and friends. I had a wonderful time and it helped refresh my spirits for the next 6 months. I have a ton left to say, but you'll have to wait until next time.

Nighty night dear reader!