A day in the life (and kitchen) of Sarah in Clermont

Laundry Day (because paying 60 cents for 5 minutes in the dryer is expensive...)

Notice the ladder/bookshelf/drying rack? 

Somedays I wonder why I bother ironing in the morning if pants are going to end up looking like this at the end of the day...

Vegetables from a garden. I signed up with an international host student program, and was paired with a generous gardner. :) 

My homemade pasta sauce. Very. Proud.

 And happy because I have a full pantry !

Some Meals I've made as a vegan on a budget!

Cauliflower curry with green bell peppers and yellow butter potatoes.

Peas with baked potato bites; baguette with apple :)

Pumpkin-like squash with rice, toasted pumpkin seeds, raisins, and spices. Yuuuum.

A new favorite: mustardy lentils with apple-cider grilled tomatoes and onions. Served with big buttery potatoes and green beans.

 I cheated: breakfast was an egg with spinach, tomato and potatoes. Delicious!

A beautiful salad with oranges, tomatoes, and old-fashioned mustard vinaigrette.

A totally not-vegan chocolate cake that I made for a friend's birthday. Yellow cake with chocolate ganache (melt chocolate in heated whipping cream.) Unreal! 

Peas, with leftover butter from the cake (um, cheating again...). Potatoes, tomato and lentil leftovers.

A tribute to my favorite type of food (north African): Couscous with zucchini, tomato, and chick pea ratatouille-thing.

My room after a scramble to get my new internet hooked up so I could skype with my family on Thanksgiving! A disaster area. 

Volunteering for the Food Bank. "Voulez-vous un sac pour la banque alimentaire?"

My door, which is still decorated Happy Hand day. ;) Okay, turkey day. I hope my neighbors like it as much as I do. 

Last, but definitely not least, a view of some *gorgeous* hiking in the area. Go on. Drool. 

Voila! Does it make you want to come visit??

Hello, everyone. I do believe I owe you an update, and after surviving one too many guilt trips about not writing, I am finding solace in finally writing this post!

Clermont is going very well. I like my situation more and more despite my somewhat rough start. School is excellent and a complete (yet satisfying) challenge. Trying to find a way to trick 35 college students into speaking English and accomplishing this task in under one hour a week is a lot of work.

The past month or so, we’ve been doing a project where each group (4-6 students) creates a small business in Clermont-Ferrand and pitches the idea to the class. It’s been going very well! Some students created restaurants with a buffet line that rolls by the tables for guests to stay seated and choose their dishes, others created a multi-flavored whip cream called “Chanti-flavour.” My favorites are between an idea for a Latino-American restaurant in Clermont and “The Pink Pill,” a magic pill that cures hangovers and only costs three euros. It’s fun to experience the wide range of creative ideas that each class comes up with.   The challenge was to organize the presentations so that it wasn't the most gifted speaker presenting for the whole group. So we did speed dating presentations, which meant each group presented seven or eight times. One of my students responded to me, saying, “C’est bien, Madame! It forces us to talk in English!” Et oui. Way to go, champ ;) It made my day to hear that what I was an effective teacher. I've had a couple more comments (tiny little things like that) that mean a lot to me.

Ballet is going well, and I’ve added a fifth class to the week where we learn repertory like the solo variation from Swan Lake. :D I am running, and will be attempting my first snow-run since Spokane this week. Yes, it is snowing!! Quite heavily, too, with great big fluffy flakes that stick to your nose for a while before melting.

Dad’s visit was a great success. He came into my classes and gave a short presentation about the history of Texas. Bravo, Dad, for doing it 13 times! The students were receptive, and I had many ask about Dad in the following weeks. 

Here is Dad cooking in my tiny kitchen (apparently France wasn't made for 6-footers. ;)  ).

 Our staples to every meal.

A boulevard in Paris

A few days ago, I had a magnificent Thanksgiving party with my friends. Me and four other American girls (and one helpful Irish girl) cooked up a storm for 15 guests. We all fit in my 27 square-meter apartment. Don't believe me?

The food was wonderful. We had marinated turkey breast (our plan B turkey in case our little 5-pounder wasn't enough) in a wondeeeeeerful sauce (http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Marinated-Turkey-Breast/Detail.aspx), mashed potatoes, traditional green bean casserole, cranberry sauce (from a jar, since we couldn't find any berries at this time of year at the markets--you should have seen my face when I found it in the "English Food" aisle at Carrefour--I was so excited), homemade stuffing (remarkably well-done by our Irish friend), and a REAL turkey (huge surprise since until the day of our meal, no whole turkeys were to be found. We got lucky--stores started selling "Dindes de Noel," or Christmas Turkeys that day!) Here's my little turkey that I marinated in a homemade vegetable broth:

Here's a chicken I did a few weeks ago in the same way (yum!):

The mashed potatoes (done by Rebecca, my friend from Kansas), gravy (my first try ever!), marinated turkey breast, stuffing (in the back behind the potatoes), and green bean casserole. Where did we find French's Fried onions to top the casserole, you may ask? (Because of course, French friend onions aren't French)...

 Onion rings!! I know how to make them myself now! This was the biggest triumph of my week: I bought a bottle of oil, and was able to make a delicious batch of fried onions. I will admit: I had no idea how hot the oil was. My first onion burnt before it hit the bottom of the pan. Thankfully, no burning of the apartment complex ensued, and the onions went beautifully on top of the casserole.

My drying onion rings:

 Me, hard at work, and our pilgrim turkeys (artfully made by my friend Sarah from OU). 

Of course, we couldn't have pilgrim turkeys without red indian turkeys. 

Dessert. Speaking of the possible burning of my apartment complex, these pies apparently were the culprit of a near disaster. I had school the day before our dinner. My girlfriends came to my house to bake the pies while I was gone, and had a heart-to-heart with my gas oven. They made it work, though, and I am very proud. :) Pecan, sweet potato (no pumpkins in France at this time of year either), and apple. A heavy cream to go with, plus coffee and tea. I was very proud of myself, given our little means. Would you ever guess this whole meal, for 21 people, cost 109 euros? Impressive, huh?

 Checking on my green bean casserole :)

So life is going well in Clermont. I will start working on a post with all the pictures I've taken of my daily life, things here and there that you might find interesting. Hope all is well in the states, and happy beginning of the holidays!

More Tales from France to Animate Your Leisure

School has begun! Thank God Almighty! I believe my tactic--that of holding hostile the waiting room in front of my director's office--good luck, and the dogged persistence of a number of teachers at the IUP all came together in procuring my happily-ever-after. School started last Wednesday, the same day that Jonathan Carbin was born 22 years ago. :) Lucky day for me.

Class was excellent! I welcomed the group to "Autoformation," which is the term for the English software class, and then explained that the computers hadn't arrived and that we would be doing "un cours de la conversation" until they do arrive. That being said, I began our conversation class with a warm and chalorous "be on time and come to class" speech, plus a pity-pulling note about the difficulty of speaking in a foreign language in front of others and if I can do it, so you can you, and you better respect each other or I will judge as lesser people kind of a pep talk. They got my point. Class number one still required me moving someone to the front row from the back because of too much talking. Oh, times haven't changed since 5th grade.

My schedule works like this: I have 6 groups of Licence 3 students. Those are students in their third and final year of their License, which is kind of the equivalent of an undergrad degree. I have 4 groups of first-year Masters students, and 3 groups of second-year Masters students (the top-dogs at the IUP.) That makes 13 one-hour classes where I see everybody once a week. Each class has about 30 kids in it, and I'm at odds trying to have a conversation with 30 people at a time! The killer point is that the students are all at different levels of English, but I will admit that the License 3 kids seemed to be at a more consistent level than the Masters students. I've heard that the English programs in elementary and secondary schools has improved in recent years, and that could be the reason that the younger kids are more consistently good at English than the older students. Or perhaps it's senioritis among the ranks of the oldest kids at school... who knows. :)

After my introduction, I explained the exercise for the day. I drew an outline of the continental United States on the white board and introduced myself in English, "Hi, my name is Sarah, and a state that starts with "s" is South Dakota. Where is South Dakota?' We went around the room that way, introducing everyone with their first name and a state that starts with the same letter. I know now that there are no states that start with E, X, or Q, but I managed okay with the rest of the first names. I would interrupt on occasion to talk about the regions, labeling the Deep South, the Northwest, the East and West Coasts, the Great Lakes Region, the Southwest, the Northeast, and the Midwest in scrawling marker. I gave up drawing the shapes of the state the second half of the week when my futile attempts to place and squeeze in the east coast states into a tiny space turned into a disaster zone and an embarrassing jigsaw puzzle of "oh crap, there's no room for Pennsylvania" moments.

I managed to squeeze in a ton of random information first of all, to inform my students, but probably mostly because I was excited that I actually knew that much about the United States. Of course, it might have been unfair of me to quiz them on why the pilgrims came to America, but I thought it was vital they realized the country's origins. And maybe I should've stopped my soliloquy on the Alamo, but I couldn't resist, and man, it was fun to see the shock in their eyes when I detailed the route Jon and I drove this summer and all of the hours in between cities. The best moment was maybe when we settled down to talk about French versus American values. I did it just to get a feel of stereotypes--mine for what is important to the French, and theirs as to what they thought was important to Americans. My question, "So what do you think Americans value?" had an interesting response. "Guns!" "Oil." "Imperialism." "Hamburgers!" For the sake of cultural understanding and my personal patriotism, I felt called to help these kids get a better idea about what most of America is really about.

Our lists ended up something like this (not in any particular order of importance):

French Top 5:

1. Liberty
2. Food (I convinced them to change this to a high standard of living--the good life in other words)
3. Fraternity/Solidarity (exemplified by the strikes going on every week)
4. Equality
5. Family

American Top 5:

1. Liberty
2. Privacy
3. Family
4. Individualism
5. Competition

These were not all-inclusive of course, but it was interesting to see what they thought about it.

Week two was speed-dating which was an instant success, making up for my disappointment when the second-year Master students were baffled by my OU Daily editorials. Teaching is definitely a learning process.

In other news, I think I am officially immune to French bureaucracy. I have been confused, shocked, and shuffled around enough to have the equivalent to a vaccine against this disease of inefficiency that seems to run rampant here. That was harsh. I love the French, don't get me wrong, but when I left one office to go to another--all in the aim to finalize my visa process--I didn't even blink when the secretary said the Office of Immigration was closed for the day. It being only noon, I sighed and said I would come back tomorrow. "Ooooh," she responded, "tomorrow isn't good either because it's the strike. And Wednesday, you know, of course, we're closed for the whole day. So Thursday?" And I responded, "I will be there in the morning," I said, mentally reserving 8:45-12:15 in my head for the task.

This morning, I was hit by a car that took a turn too quickly as I crossed the street. I knew the street was dangerous already because when the pedestrian light goes green, cars only have a "caution pedestrian" light instead of a stop sign. Leads to things like this morning when my right knee was rudely interrupted mid-step by a middle-aged woman driving a sedan and her son in a Scream mask in the back seat. My knee is sore. I already pictured myself years from now in a doctor's office saying, "It all started when this lady ran into me in France," holding my bum knee in one hand and a crutch in the other. As I limped away from the scene cursing to myself, I imagined this lady looking at her car five years from now with a mechanic saying, "...and this dent is from where I ran into that American that one day, and this one was from a tree, and...". Life is funny box of chocolates. I just got a coconut when I wanted cherry I think.

Speaking of chocolate, my cakes are out of the oven. Tomorrow is my American friend Kasie's birthday and I made her a dozen mini-cakes with a recipe from my French host mom. I'm wishing I had used my Better Homes and Gardens cookbook because they turned out a little dry. Hopefully no one will mind :).

Some good things that are happening/have happened:

1. Dad is coming into Paris this weekend!! I can't wait to see him. I leave Friday after my classes to take the train to Paris, and the two of us will be traveling back into town on Sunday evening. Pray for safe travels and for no strikes!

2. I volunteered with the Red Cross in a hospital last week. We pushed a cart with about 40 books on it around the hospital and offered to rent them out to patients who were here for a long stay. I met some very sick people, but I also met some very joyful ones who inspired me to keep things in perspective.

3. Some running, and a lot of dancing. My ballet classes are going well and are a great thing to look forward to in the evening.

4. I've had a lot of fun hanging out with the American, British and Irish exchange students here. We've done dinners together, outings together (like a Tunisian restaurant one night, and a French one the next...) and baked cookies one afternoon. We're planning a Thanksgiving at my place and I have two ideas for dinner parties to do in the meantime (a vegan meal and then a Tex-Mex one for the Great Britainers.)

5. Rotary is continuing to help me get settled here in Clermont. Margarethe lent me a layaway bed for when Dad comes this week. Also, I've been invited to speak about Oklahoma for a nearby Rotary club in a couple weeks. Looking forward to it.

Things are going great. If all goes as planned, I should be 100% done in the beginning of March. I have to remember of course that my director could change his mind, or the students could go on strike for two months, or who knows, the school could change my contract. Regardless, I'm looking forward to the possibility of being home a little earlier than expected.

Love you all and talk to you soon!

Stories from weeks 2-4 of French life

Preface: En lieu of teaching which has yet to start, I am writing, taking ballet classes, and running. Here are a few of the other things that have happened since my last post.

Last week

I went to a “weekend d’intégration” with my school and it shocked my poor little eyes. We arrived at 9:30 or ten in the evening having still not eaten dinner. In my experience, the French are always willing to eat dinner as late as 11:30 at night, but never ever earlier than 8 o’clock. And so it was that we gathered around a sumptuously laid table garnished with red napkins and carafes of red wine and rosé, and yet we didn’t sit down to it. There were bisoux to be made, and aperitifs to be poured before we could imagine sitting down. It took 20 minutes to move from the lobby to the table despite the fact that all of us (me especially it seemed) were starving. At the time, I excused it, but now I realize that this was merely indicative of how the rest of the weekend was going to go down. I admit, the director, who at first scared and intimidated me, was the most gentile at the table that evening. Unlike many when a stranger is à table with them, M Chenevoy looked me in the eye when he talked, even if it was a story he was telling to the whole table. His inclusion of me was one of the first, and therefore most appreciated by yours truly. We even talked about Oklahoma for a good while, which pleased me. He told us how he shocked all of the Normanites by his behavior. I wasn’t surprised J.

After dinner, I went to go to bed. One of the two teachers that befriended me asked, “Aren’t you going to the night club?” and I was like oh my gosh you’re kidding. We had just driven 5 hours to get to this place literally marked middle of nowhere on the GPS and it was close to midnight. Of course, I went to the boîte de nuit, and that was where my puritan eyes and sensible head were shocked. The students, 450-500 in number, were completely wasted. At parties, I was used to seeing the one person who didn’t control himself, but here, every. single. person. was trashed. Glossy eyed, drooling, stumbling, sobbing, slurring, trashed. What maybe surprised me the most was that the students were in such a state around their teachers and the administration who were all standing around watching. The French, and the IUP, are going to have to excuse me, but no, I don’t think this was a great way to get the students to approach their teachers without feeling intimidated. Drunk students, even if they’re more honest and courageous when it comes to talking to their profs, are still drunk students. When the teachers patted themselves on the back for a “calm” weekend at the end, my jaw dropped. Only three trips to the hospital, only two broken ribs, only one case of drug overdosing, only two girls who strip-teased, and only one breach of security. Oh my lord…

Some of the teachers have taken to calling my country “puritan.”   That was when I realized exactly how puritan I was. I was happy to go home, back to my meager meals of potatoes and peas, my 10 o’clock bedtime, and my innocent novels.

_________________________________________________________________________

September ish

A sparrow just hopped into my room from the open balcony window. He even stayed a minute when I jerked up from my bed, wide-eyed and half-asleep. He only left when I stood up, and then just to the sill of the door. I moved closer and he flew to my balcony railing, and when I stepped outside to watch him, he flew off. I felt like I was in Disney land! Compelled to ask him to be "my very best friend" and then to sing together, I managed to just say, "Hi there!"

It was just the weirdest (but coolest) thing.

_______________________________________________________________

September something

I did nothing today. Absolutely. Nothing. It was like a movie. Seriously—you know those montages that show that time has passed by by shots of the person in one position, then in another corner of the room, and then laying, then staring out the window? That was me. There was me pacing, me cooking, me cleaning, me laying down thinking, me curled up trying to sleep, me standing, me eating, me cleaning, me staring out the window, me back to the wall and my knees curled up underneath, me eating again, and mostly me hitting refresh on Facebook. Omg, this is getting bad.

October 4th, 2010

I want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I'm in McDonald's because (I'm so excited) they have free wifi! As you might know, internet chez moi is unreliable and moody. And I don't know what it is I'm smelling here in McDonald's but it's like a hint of a hot, toasted, warm peanut butter and oozing jelly sandwich. And I want one. Maybe it's just the aroma of home--America--that I recognize here in this chain of all chains. How funny that I rarely set foot in McDonald's and here I am, probably coming back tomorrow and again after that to use their internet. Oh but how nice to have wifi that works!

I went into school today and learned a few things. First, the good news, is that my question about being paid was answered the same day it was asked!! I am thrilled. But I still have to wait until next week to have my pay check for last month... Thank the Lord Almighty that I really like rice and beans haha. 

Second, I learned more about my class. A month ago, I would have been depressed to learn what I learned today, but right now, I'm strangely calm about it. My class hasn't started yet: you may know that because I told you or because I haven't written in my blog. Nothing happens means nothing to write about... In any case, this job is a lot more humble than I anticipated. Mme de Borges, a very friendly teacher at the IUP, explained to me that I will be in charge of the Autoformation, or in other words, the computer class for the students. About 10 hours a week, I will be baby-sitting as students complete an English software program on computers. I guess the reason I haven't started is because they're waiting for the computers to come in. I asked if I could teach an actual class, but there is nothing settled as far as additional classes goes. I am hoping against hope that I'll get to teach: as Mme de Borges explained this to me, visions of my beloved books that I bought--books about teaching, books about the American culture, about American expressions--and lesson plans that I had drafted--went out the window. Gone. I hope I get to teach supplementary classes. Part of the good news--I may not have to teach the alternances. That means I'll be done in March. Is that good news?  I don't know. Altogether, it's a little disappointing. Of course I'll keep you updated, but my autoformation class won't start until the end of the month. I'm looking for volunteer positions, and I asked permission to work in other schools of English. Pray for me!

Love you all, I'll be in touch (maybe from Germany. With all this free time, why not travel a little?)

Clermont

Day 1

            I woke up at seven twelve this morning and was so excited to be up before my alarm clock. The best surprise ever waited for me downstairs at the lobby: my suitcase had been delivered two days early and without a delivery fine! I was in raptures. After breakfast, I got myself organized and headed out to conquer the world.

            I went to the IUP, my school, to check in and see when my classes started. I hadn’t heard from the administration in about a month, so I was quite anxious and excited. The office was closed until Monday, and I wasn’t worried until I read last week’s schedule. When I saw “English Class,” the only class to not have a teacher’s name assigned to it, I knew that I had missed my first day of school. Unless the IUP keeps all of their English staff unnamed out of hatred for the Great Isle, I can only imagine that that blank little rectangle was assigned to me, and to my absence. I pray that they will forgive me, or that by chance, the class listed was their normal English class and not the conversation one. God only knows at this point, and until Monday, He’ll be the only one.

            Well, the bank was closed, and I can’t get a cell phone until I have a French bank, so it looks like Monday is going to be the day that I conquer the world. Bank nine AM and tail between my legs at the IUP right after that. Oh dear…

Day 7

            I have now been in France for a little over two weeks, and I am much closer to being settled in my new town of Clermont-Ferrand. I sign the papers for my apartment Monday and move in. Monday is also the big day when I get my French credit card and checkbook. Of course, there’s no money in my bank account, but hopefully there will be by next month. J Oh to be adult!!

            Thankfully, I did not miss my first class, and I’m anxious to start teaching. My syllabus is drafted and awaiting the first day where I will be assessing my students’ level of English. The IUP, the college of management where I work, has not yet scheduled my class. I’m crossing my fingers for next week.

            In the meantime, I’m eating well, and hope to avoid boredom as best as I am able.

Day 10

            Walking into my first teachers meeting was an exhilarating experience. I had crossed the line—I am now “on the other side” in the world of education. The men and women around me were no longer my superiors (in experience, of course, they still were) but my colleagues. They tutoyer everyone and the informal address is just like wow. Exciting.

            I was late for the meeting and literally ran from the bus stop to get there. It was 10:11 in the morning, and I was half glad that I was having trouble finding the meeting room because I was going to use that as my excuse for being so late. I asked Carine, one of the administrators, where it was, and she took me back to an empty meeting room I had already inspected and walked past minutes earlier. She ushered me in.

            “Are you sure it’s here?” I asked.

            “They’re always here,” she responded.

            Peeking in, I saw a peppery blonde head buried in a stack of newspapers and plastic-covered magazines that hadn’t been there when I passed the first time. She was presumably another teacher, and the two of us were the first to get there. She introduced me to the others as they trickled in one by one, and then sat with me as they walked out again to get a coffee, use the bathroom, smoke a cigarette on the patio right outside the meeting room. At about 10:40, the director walked in, his belly pressing against the buttons on the front of his white dinner shirt and held open the door for a petite brunette whom I later learned was the director of my department. Monsieur le Director carried a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in one hand, and a crisp, white cigarette in the other. He put it in his mouth and lit it. We all understood the territorial demeanor: this was his school and every rule could be negotiated in his favor. Including smoking bans. Everyone timidly dug out their packs of ciggies and lit up, hoping to ride on the waves of this permissive attitude.

            I wouldn’t say that my first teachers’ meeting was like many others. I listened attentively to the director’s gravely voice as he explained to us a lot of technical mumbo-jumbo about LV1s and LV2s and Masters Un and Masters Deux, which I kind of understood. At the end of the meeting, finally addressing the only question I needed answering (when do I teach!?), the director said that there were more students than expected and du coup he had to start all over with scheduling. I finally found out what that meant for me after the meeting, and left the building with less information than I came with. My class was not to start this week, and at the very earliest, could be hoped for by the end of the month.

            “Ils ne font pas comme ca aux Etats-Unis?” the director had laughingly asked me. No, we don’t quite do things the same way in the states, I answered, and laughed.  

Arrival in Clermont

          Agathe, my host sister, accompanied me from Rouen to Paris with my luggage. She graciously carried one of my bags along with hers up and down several escalators and down two particularly long staircases. It was incredible that we made it at all. When we arrived in Paris, Agathe had a surprise for me. Our good friend, Vincent, was at the end of the train tracks with a goofy grin on his face. It was so good to see him! We traipsed through the St. Lazare train station and the particularly touristy surroundings and talked for two hours under a red coca-cola umbrella at an outdoor café. It rained and soaked all of our things, but we were so happy to get to see each other, it really didn’t matter. J        

            I spent the night at Agathe’s dormroom, and the next morning we headed out again. Agathe had some business to do at her school before we left, and we made our way through the streets dodging warily to avoid pigeon poop that splattered around us like little wet bombs. Agathe quickly got her affairs straightened out, and as we were getting ready to leave, she kindly asked one of her friends (who had just gotten there) to drive us to the train station. He agreed, and I about cried, I was so thankful. Without him, I would have had to shove and pull over 100 lbs of luggage through tiny metro doors, onto a packed train car, and through pedestrian traffic to get to the train station. As it was, I was an hour early, just enough time to get lost once in the train station, and then hop on the train. My neighbor, a kindly, well-meaning gentlemen, pulled out Star Wars Episode VI as we pulled out of the station. I smiled, and felt right at home. The rest of the ride, I listened to music, and, oh dear, stressed about my train ticket that didn’t look quite like it should. Thankfully, my car wasn’t checked for correct tickets, and I was able to relax with my American rock mix peppered in with the swishing of light-sabers from the gentlemen’s laptop across the aisle.

            The train ride to Clermont becomes especially beautiful once you enter the massive circle of volcanoes that stretches across the landscape on either side of the train. Clermont-Ferrand is the last stop of the train. Right before the mountain chain appears on your left, the train slows as it settles between two steep hills that are covered in even rows of corn. I looked deliciously at them, and could see that the stalks were ready to be picked. It was so cool to see the smiles on people’s faces as they looked out on the beautiful agrarian scene, and I could tell they were happy to be coming home. What a great initiation to Clermont.

            I had the chance to have arranged a meeting with a possible roommate that same evening that I arrived on the train in Clermont, and he kindly offered to come find me at the station and help me with my things. I couldn’t have asked for a warmer welcome in Clermont, and we arrived at my student hotel/hostel with little to no trouble and in good form. I was tired, but very happy, having to carry my suitcases only a short while that day when I could have very well had to do it from Rouen all the way to Clermont.

            I searched out food and found a cafeteria that sold a vegetable plate for 4 euros and 55 centimes. I was starving, having only eaten an apple pastry that morning and a sandwich at lunch. I attacked the mashed potatoes and spinach first because I didn’t have to chew those, and stuffed green beans and vegetable medley into my mouth at an alarming rate. I felt, and probably looked, like the homeless person that I was. I comforted myself that I was in better shape than my neighbor at the table who had two bottles of wine in front of him and no apparent intention of sharing them. I was in a daze for five minutes as my stomach digested, and then realized how tired I was.

            So here I am, in my little hostel room, exhausted and excited to go out tomorrow for more. My roommates are three noisy flies that took advantage of my brief opening of the window to pilot inside and take up wall space. Whatever, I just hope they stop that annoying buzzing soon… ;) Signing off.  

Rouen

I am very glad that I spent a week in Rouen before I went to Clermont-Ferrand. I am ready to embark from here to Paris, and then tomorrow from Paris to Clermont, and I am well rested, showered, and a little more comfortable with my French than I was a week ago. Plus, this week was rich with little French delicacies and a lot of friendliness on the part of my French host families and friends.

I tried for most of the week to not look like a tourist. The key, I’ve found, is to look directly down at the ground and to walk very, very quickly, even if I was in fact out for a tour of Rouen and not in any sort of rush. You can always tell a tourist because they amble, which is very understandable, and they gawk, mouths open, as they look up, up, up to the wood-framed row houses, and at the gargoyles and the crackling stone on the old, grisly church. The problem is that I am a tourist; something I’m having a hard time coming to grips with. I was able to support myself as such because I only took hard, quick glances at my favorite Rouen masterpieces—the giant clock, the fountain at city hall, the towering spire of the cathedral—quick enough that I hoped a Rouen native might think that I was simply another townsperson remembering how beautiful my beloved city was. A benefit of the walk-fast-look-busy approach is that I could admire the cobblestones and avoid dog poop. I think my tactic worked, I mean that I think I looked like a French woman as I marched swiftly, racing against an imaginary clock, because a tourist took my picture as I whirred past. How disappointed he would be if he knew I was an American!

I had two encounters with the French personality that I found very amusing during my spirited ambling around town. First, was Sunday. Sundays are still sacred here, despite the predominant laicism in the country as a whole (or so I’m told by my French Civilization class). I went for a stroll in the late afternoon and was actually able to do my gawking and ambling because no one else was out. The streets were barren except for the occasional scraping of a plate or the whisper of Sunday chatter spilling from the open windows. The windows were framed by default with red geraniums. Why red geraniums, I wonder, when it could have been any other flower? Second, my favorite “Frenchism” of the day, was the parked delivery van that was marked only “Votre urgence est le notre” or something like that. It means “Your need for speedy delivery is our middle name.” For the French on a Sunday, however, neither speed nor your delivery is really very important at all. 

Most of the week I spent worrying, needlessly of course, about my apartment in Clermont-Ferrand. I have yet to find a place, and I am somewhat limited in my abilities to look while I’m not in town. I’m doing my best to be patient, but I’m failing miserably. I’m sure I’ll be provided for, and I have to remember it’s not always in my best interest to be omniscient (much to my dismay.)

But I did manage to stop thinking about the apartment crunch from time to time. Once I was interrupted from my stressing by the clic-clac of high heels across the street, moving in time with my custom-fit walking shoes. How could she be going faster than me in those pumps? I wondered to myself and kept abreast so that I wouldn’t be beat around the corner by a pair of heels. No use; her impossibly long strides won the race with a sort of effortlessness only the French woman can master. I looked beside me to catch a glimpse of her, hoping she was at least sweating mildly: she wasn’t. She was smoking a cigarette.

After her clic-clacs faded away to the north, I headed down la rue Cauchoise hoping to distract myself. I popped a piece of green, minty French gum into my mouth and thought about Alice and Wonderland for a long time and whether those “eat me” cakes tasted like pistachios or fruit cake. I decided fruit cake, because in Wonderland, the only cake that made sense was something that doesn’t make sense, and that is fruitcake. Though for some reason,  that weird gelato flavor, what is it.. stromboni? Strumoni? spumoni? the one with the funny pistachio flavor,  might be a perfect compliment.  I'll bake fruitcakes with pistachios until I find the perfect, most disjointed flavor combination possible. Then I’ll cut them into little petit-fours, make a white fondant icing (even though I generally snub the use of fondant) and write “eat me” in grey curly-cue frosting. I think the only “drink me” drink conceivable for that would be absinthe. And no, I will not be trying that during my stay in France. ;)

I digress. I eventually succeeded in distracting myself for four days, and in between Rotarian dinners and spending time with the Ridels, I was able to not stress too much about the apartment. The Rotary invited me to their Monday night club meeting where Mr. Martin (host dad #2) incessantly teased me about Clermont-Ferrand and the ferocious winters there. He hoped I had brought gloves, mittens, and boots because I may have to climb glaciers to get to school in winter. According to him, too, there are penguins in Clermont. It was all in good fun of course, and I love how I actually understand jokes now. I’m passed the “laugh because he’s laughing” and unto the “laugh because I’m so happy I understood the joke!” stage. I have been receiving a fair amount of teasing, so I’m glad I have enough French to recognize it. Apparently, Clermont is a little more… country than Rouen, but I don’t mind. My goodness, this is still France! And frankly, I think I’m going to enjoy some simple living. I’ve heard the region is full of magnificent hikes, skiing spots, and scenery.

Tuesday, the Martins invited us to a great big dinner that I thoroughly enjoyed. Scalloped potatoes, red meat, a bottle of vintage wine, and artisan baguettes---I was in heaven. And that doesn’t include the appetizers, the cocktail, cheese plate and desserts that came before and after the main course. Pear tart and fresh blackberry-apple crumble… ooo la la.

Wednesday, I dined with les Pernins, a lovely French couple from the Rotary that has helped me immensely in getting contacts in Clermont. We admired the view from their balcony, and I got a final panoramic view of Rouen before we headed out the next day (today) for Paris.  Dinner chez eux was homegrown tomates with balsamic vinaigrette and parsley, baguette (always), hors d’oeuvres, cocktails, vintage wine, a cheese plate, mushroom-mustard pork, and apple-flavored sorbet for dessert. We finished elegantly with an espresso. :)

So walking served two purposes this week: burning calories and creating a distraction from being needlessly worried. I am on the train now, with my lovely host sister, Agathe, and this weekend is going to be wonderful. I have another Rotary dinner (and by then, I’ll have my running shoes from my other suitcase to work it off!) and an appointment to visit two different apartments. I’ll make it in the end. 

Arrival

Day 1

I knew I had arrived at the right departure gate at the Dallas-Fort Worth International airport when I heard the familiar long vowels and soft consonants of the French language, and was even more certain when a worn-out Papa called threateningly to his 3-year old Laura with the unmistakable throaty “R” I had missed hearing since I last left France.  I might as well be in Paris already. J

I was convinced it was the correct flight, too, DFW all the way to Paris Charles De Gaulle, because I overheard an American know-it-all type schooling a first time CDG-PAR flyer on how the French prefer comment dit-on to begin a question rather than qu’est-ce. He seemed so confident in this that I expected the next French person I met to snub my “Qu’est-ce que c’est bon dans ce restaurant?” like a bad taste in their mouth, turning their heads from me to smack disdainfully their lips and tongue to rid themselves of my poor grammar. This American gentlemen, however, put a little too much emphasis on his “t” in comment dit-on for my liking, which meant he was B.S.ing. I immediately felt better about myself.

I boarded my plane among a group of plump, pleased, and placid faces, and I was worried sick about my arrival in France. I had packed for the better part of two days prior to this, and, not wanting to over pack nor under pack, I left the house with two 60+ lbs bags, a plump carry on roller bag and a 20lb backpack. That was doing my best! I still had one and a half times my weight in bags to carry and a maze of public transport to navigate once I got to Paris.

I had debated for a while in my head while preparing for this trip about which of two very large and heavy books I should bring. As I boarded the plane, I felt confidant in my last minute switch for my Better Homes and Garden 2010 15^th edition cookbook instead of the complete works of Will Shakespeare. It had been an agonizing choice. I wish I could say I had picked William Shakespeare, but I faltered and succumbed to my earthly need for a good baking soda biscuit recipe and the indispensable emergency substitutions list on the back cover of that beloved gingham cookbook.

So now I sit 32,000 feet above sea level, and I’m hungry. I'm becoming legitimately stressed about the situation, but, oh good, a stewardess in a red, white, and blue apron with hearts on it just came out to speak with a passenger, bringing my fears that dinner was a long way off to rest. It was a great comfort, that red, white and blue apron. If only they served Mexican food…

Day 2

Many things don’t surprise me about France this time—like the metro-sexually dressed guys, the small Peuzot and Citroen cars, the dirty train stations. But two things have surprised me so far, two things I didn’t necessarily notice the first time I was in France. 

   1) I saw three overweight French girls which is three times as many as I saw all of last year. 

   2) French couples really are affectionate in public! Perhaps I had not noticed it the past year I came because I arrived as the year was cooling down, and lounging outside in frigid North Sea winds wasn’t really an option. But that couple on the curb, sunning themselves in pristine August weather, are certainly making up for lost time. The teenage girl—mid-smooch—passed off her half-smoked cigarette to her friend (sitting conveniently close to the happy couple) so she could better make out with her boyfriend. 

One thing that I had forgotten about was how well everybody here is dressed! I’m looking longingly for some ugly ones to raise my self esteem! I need to buy some dresses, skirts, blouses, and heels!!

Writing makes good use of my time while I wait for Claire to pick me up from the Rouen train station. I can’t wait to see the Ridels (first host family from my exchange)! Now I have a little downtime on an otherwise seamless day. Travel from the airport went well! I managed to ship one of my bags from the airport all the way to Clermont. It'll arrive next Saturday at the hotel where I've reserved a room. This made taking the bus into Paris from the airport and the train all the way to Rouen much more manageable! Thank God for nice Frenchmen, too! One gentlemen looked at my pathetic arm muscles and that giant suitcase with such pity. I was so grateful when he hoisted it out of the train for me. :)

P.P.S. Maybe everyone’s kissing because I’m at a train station, a place of goodbyes…

Day 3

This is the first time I’ve had caffeine in three days. Remarkable considering the 6-hour time difference and extensive travel! Travel stresses me out, and I made it through on tension! Anxiety keeps me alert, apparently. And frankly, besides it’s being a little watery, I just made a fine cup of coffee, if you call a tiny mini-tasse a “cup of coffee.” ;)

I saw the cathedral this morning! It’s been under a giant cleaning scaffold since I was here last, but 80% of the façade is all clean and white! It’s beautiful. It was so good to see Rouen again. I’m really enjoying Claire and Domitille. (Philippe I saw briefly, and both Constance and Agathe are out of town.) Well I’m off to town. Claire keeps insisting on the Impressionistic Expo at the museum. J I think I’ll go to please her. AND it sounds like fun.

P.S. It was cool. All of Monet’s Cathedrals in one place—in the city where he painted them!

later that day…

Nope. They’re really affectionate anywhere. In public but not commercial areas, like this park. Eww. There. That’s my rule of thumb for French PDA.