Happy Holidays!
12.17.2008
Joyful Tidings of the Season
My last few days here in France before heading home for Christmas are turning out to be pretty busy (we hosted a holiday party last night with 11 different countries represented and with way too many bodies and voices for our tiny apartment), but I wanted to at least leave you with a couple of photos of our trip to Bruges, both so that you can sample the chocolately, waffley joy that is a weekend in Belgium, and so that you can join me in enjoying a bit of festive cheer. (Here in France, my students finally illuminated for me why it's harder to get in the holiday spirit: when I asked them after a lesson on A Christmas Carol if they have any traditional Christmas stories, songs, or movies in France, they described a movie about people who call a suicide hotline because they're alone on Christmas. They assure me it's a barrel of laughs.)
12.08.2008
Me Sleep Pretty One Day
As far as sleeping habits go, I typically tend toward the insomnia end of the spectrum. In the past, I’ve had so much trouble falling asleep that I used to name presidents and square roots to try to throw obstacles in the way of my brain’s mad rampages of sleep-avoidance. I’ve also tried running through entire movies or books in my head scene by scene, much to the annoyance of many of my friends, who find my ability to playback Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings more of a nerdy tic than a charming social demonstration.
I’ve told you all of that to tell you this: when your brain has two different languages to ramble around in, sleeplessness becomes a whole new kind of irritating.
To explain: since I spend about half my days here in English and the other half in French, I haven’t been able to settle my thoughts into either of the two modes of expression. As a result, I now frequently say things like “I pay very expensive for this apartment,” and “But it will make them so much pleasure.” And even in the safety of my own head I have been known to think, “It’s not so bad, the cucumber.” In short, exactly at the rate that my French is not progressing, my English is also disappearing. My students asked me the other day whether we could say “She is too directive” in English, and I responded: “Yes. No. Ummmm...no?” Way to be, native English speaker.
And all of that means that when it’s time to fall asleep, my brain works itself into an even more frenzied state of frazzled when it finds it can worry in two different languages at once. I’ve taken to listening to my IPod at night to try to force my mind into English mode, but lately my party shuffle - which sometimes demonstrates a remarkable capacity to anticipate my musical moods - has started perversely throwing in each of the 15 French songs on my computer, out of what I can only assume is spite.
So now I’m trying out some different techniques to help coax myself to sleep. I’ve tried making myself a glass of warm milk, ploughing through pages of Henry James, and putting “Thundering Rainstorm” on repeat (take that, IPod, with your dirty Les Choristes tricks). I’m thinking about asking our neighbors to drive me around in their cars, which always worked well when I was a baby. And the next stop may be a medicinal glass of Bordeaux every night at 11, which is a sacrifice I’m willing to make.
I’ve told you all of that to tell you this: when your brain has two different languages to ramble around in, sleeplessness becomes a whole new kind of irritating.
To explain: since I spend about half my days here in English and the other half in French, I haven’t been able to settle my thoughts into either of the two modes of expression. As a result, I now frequently say things like “I pay very expensive for this apartment,” and “But it will make them so much pleasure.” And even in the safety of my own head I have been known to think, “It’s not so bad, the cucumber.” In short, exactly at the rate that my French is not progressing, my English is also disappearing. My students asked me the other day whether we could say “She is too directive” in English, and I responded: “Yes. No. Ummmm...no?” Way to be, native English speaker.
And all of that means that when it’s time to fall asleep, my brain works itself into an even more frenzied state of frazzled when it finds it can worry in two different languages at once. I’ve taken to listening to my IPod at night to try to force my mind into English mode, but lately my party shuffle - which sometimes demonstrates a remarkable capacity to anticipate my musical moods - has started perversely throwing in each of the 15 French songs on my computer, out of what I can only assume is spite.
So now I’m trying out some different techniques to help coax myself to sleep. I’ve tried making myself a glass of warm milk, ploughing through pages of Henry James, and putting “Thundering Rainstorm” on repeat (take that, IPod, with your dirty Les Choristes tricks). I’m thinking about asking our neighbors to drive me around in their cars, which always worked well when I was a baby. And the next stop may be a medicinal glass of Bordeaux every night at 11, which is a sacrifice I’m willing to make.
11.26.2008
Danke sehr, Deutscheland
So wouldn't you know that after driving without incident in every single major snowstorm in Michigan last winter, I would get in my first ever car accident during a light snow in Germany? It's so bizarre that I'm going to go ahead and give you the blow-by-blow.
To set the stage: Brianne and I had gone to visit our friend Verena in Neustadt for her birthday. After a nice afternoon in Strasbourg, a party with a bunch of Germans where we confirmed cultural stereotypes by being the only dancers on the floor for about an hour and a half (until German songs about big red horses turning around and swishing flies with their tails came on, at which point everyone except us got Saturday Night Fever), and a lovely day with Verena's family, Verena was driving us from her parents' house to her place in the Black Forest. We had literally just finished telling her about how many of our friends have had crazy accidents in the past year, when all the sudden a huge station wagon flies around the corner in front of us turned completely sideways. I think my irrational thought was "Man...that was really close" right as the car actually hit us. The air bags fly out, and I crack my way too long legs on the dashboard.
Almost before we had come to a stop, Brianne snaps into action: "Is everyone o.k. the car is smoking GET OUT OF THE CAR!" Of course it was actually only the fibers flying out of the air bags, which were flopping about rather ineffectually, but since Brianne has had two cars spontaneously light on fire while she was driving them, I suppose I can understand her reaction. In any case, Brianne jumps out of the car and into the snow with no shoes on, runs to the passenger side door where I'm sitting and flings it open, ready to drag me bodily from the car if necessary. Meanwhile my thoughts are running approximately thus: "Ouch. Shit. If my kneecaps are broken, I don't know if I have insurance in Germany." And unbeknownst to me, Brianne is thinking: "Don't die, because our French insurance doesn't cover the repatriation of remains!"
So we get out of the car, Brianne throws her coat on the ground and makes me sit down, tons of German people show up from everywhere and start asking me if I haben schlecht, and the driver of the car who hit us has lit up a cigarette and is staring into space while Verena cries and yells at him. I ask Brianne to get my bag from the car, which was really important to me at the time, and since she was pretty sure the car was going to explode at any moment, it was an act of considerable bravery to comply.
And the best moment of all: when I started pulling up the leg of my jeans to see how my knees looked, Brianne asked me, in what seemed like a decent suggestion at the time: "Should we cut your pants off?" But since I was wearing the only pair of jeans I own that fit me, I declined.
Anyway, all that to say that even though poor Verena's car is totalled, all three of us are fine, apart from some whiplash and bruising. Brianne's coming down with a cold after running around with no shoes, and I've experienced an increase in the crazy nightmares I always have anyway. And we're both very glad that we didn't have to learn the limits of our insurance coverage.
To set the stage: Brianne and I had gone to visit our friend Verena in Neustadt for her birthday. After a nice afternoon in Strasbourg, a party with a bunch of Germans where we confirmed cultural stereotypes by being the only dancers on the floor for about an hour and a half (until German songs about big red horses turning around and swishing flies with their tails came on, at which point everyone except us got Saturday Night Fever), and a lovely day with Verena's family, Verena was driving us from her parents' house to her place in the Black Forest. We had literally just finished telling her about how many of our friends have had crazy accidents in the past year, when all the sudden a huge station wagon flies around the corner in front of us turned completely sideways. I think my irrational thought was "Man...that was really close" right as the car actually hit us. The air bags fly out, and I crack my way too long legs on the dashboard.
Almost before we had come to a stop, Brianne snaps into action: "Is everyone o.k. the car is smoking GET OUT OF THE CAR!" Of course it was actually only the fibers flying out of the air bags, which were flopping about rather ineffectually, but since Brianne has had two cars spontaneously light on fire while she was driving them, I suppose I can understand her reaction. In any case, Brianne jumps out of the car and into the snow with no shoes on, runs to the passenger side door where I'm sitting and flings it open, ready to drag me bodily from the car if necessary. Meanwhile my thoughts are running approximately thus: "Ouch. Shit. If my kneecaps are broken, I don't know if I have insurance in Germany." And unbeknownst to me, Brianne is thinking: "Don't die, because our French insurance doesn't cover the repatriation of remains!"
So we get out of the car, Brianne throws her coat on the ground and makes me sit down, tons of German people show up from everywhere and start asking me if I haben schlecht, and the driver of the car who hit us has lit up a cigarette and is staring into space while Verena cries and yells at him. I ask Brianne to get my bag from the car, which was really important to me at the time, and since she was pretty sure the car was going to explode at any moment, it was an act of considerable bravery to comply.
And the best moment of all: when I started pulling up the leg of my jeans to see how my knees looked, Brianne asked me, in what seemed like a decent suggestion at the time: "Should we cut your pants off?" But since I was wearing the only pair of jeans I own that fit me, I declined.
Anyway, all that to say that even though poor Verena's car is totalled, all three of us are fine, apart from some whiplash and bruising. Brianne's coming down with a cold after running around with no shoes, and I've experienced an increase in the crazy nightmares I always have anyway. And we're both very glad that we didn't have to learn the limits of our insurance coverage.
11.19.2008
Well you're rather posh, aren't you?
Highlights of a Weekend in London
1. Seeing the ever-articulate Kenneth Brannagh in Chekhov's Ivanov. Brianne and I waited in line for two hours in the early morning to get tickets and ended up sitting in "Box A": which sounds like luxury but in reality more closely resembles a literal box, except with Victorian wallpaper, our own private toilet, and a box attendant with whom none of us knew how to properly interact. But it was all worth it to see in person Brannagh's acrobatic voice when he's giving a monologue, especially during the particularly impressive gem in which he ran through almost two pages of text in about thirty seconds of a nervous trance.
2. Eating. I'll admit that food is pretty much always half my reason for traveling, but that's especially true in a vegetarian-friendly city like London, where even the fast food places have veggie options. (Real veggie options too, not like in France where they offer you a plate of cheese.) In one day I had a chocolate croissant for breakfast, lunch at Hummus Brothers, a pumpkin-pea burger with basil mayo and fruit relish for dinner, and a passion fruit creme caramel with ginger bisquit for dessert, or for "pudding," as I now say (see point 3).
3. Learning that the technical name for my speaking disability is WAS: wandering accent syndrome. I swear: you put me in a room for five minutes with a Londoner and I'm throwing around words like "rubbish" and "brilliant," saying the phrase "when I was at uni," and generally making a linguistic ass out of myself.
4. Feeling that wonderfully relaxed feeling you get when you go back to a city that you know really well. Going back to London felt less like a vacation and more like going home: no pressure to see everything as quickly as possible, no nervousness about figuring out the transportation system, no looks of vacant, smiling confusion when someone asks you a question in German (although there were maybe a few looks of vacant, smiling Anglo-philia when someone spoke to me in a Scottish accent). I just felt quietly happy the whole time, and was perfectly content to spend hours in Battersea Park watching dogs running around.
Enjoying the view from Box A
11.06.2008
Two-week vacations from 12-hour work weeks, and other European experiences
So as my title suggests, I certainly have no excuse for tardiness in updating this blog. You have my apologies. I'm going to make serious efforts to reform, though, and write more steadily, so that you won't be forced to read many oversized, bloated entries like this one. I've let far too much pile up to say all at once.
But the main point is...Brianne and I have just returned from a week and a half in Switzerland for our first big vacation of the year. We made a tour of Geneva, Lausanne, Interlaken, Luzern, St. Gallen, Liechtenstein, and Zurich and for the most part we used a network called CouchSurfing to stay for free with people who live in the country. You sign up and create a profile and then you can contact people in cities you want to visit to see if they'd like to host you for a few days. In Interlaken we stayed with a group of 40-something adventure guides from all over the world who help people jump out of planes and down canyons in the summer, ski in the winter, and take off to Malaysia, Indonesia, South Africa, Brazil, and New Zealand during the off seasons to learn to kite surf or to teach surfing workshops. And in Liechtenstein we stayed with a heavy metal rocker who took us to a bar filled with fake dinosaurs and Kiss music and who spent a half an hour showing us videos on YouTube of European "heavy metal folk" bands who scream into microphones while playing bagpipes and hurdy gurdies.
But the best experiences we had were in Luzern and St. Gallen, where our generous hosts helped us combat the foggy weather by driving us up into the mountains for sunny hikes above the clouds. They walked and explored with us, showed us their favorite spots, and overall made me feel like I was getting spoiled silly by strangers. But the wonderful thing is that it gives you this huge urge to pay it forward: I would love to host someone here in Nantes, or better yet in Michigan, where I could show them around and make them feel at home. It gives you the feeling that everywhere in the world there are people who are open, warm, generous, hopeful.
Just one more thought before the photo montage (much-anticipated, I'm sure): being around mountains and mountain-loving people this past week has made me feel like I'm really only one small step away from throwing grad school in the maybe-later closet and taking off to live in a Vanagon with a friend and two dogs, hiking, rafting, and farming across the seven continents, stopping in one place for a couple of months at a time to meet new people and lay down new roots. It's not a lifestyle that I could live for ages, but it's got a strong pull for me now. The me that I imagine living in the back of her car, walking her dog down the beach in Thailand or rafting down a river in Nepal: she's a pretty happy person. But that just goes to show you how many shapes your life could have/would have/might still take(n) depending on what little influences come along to push you in one direction or another.
O.K. enough existential pondering for one post. On to the photos! You may think I've put up quite a few of them, but you have no idea from what a horror of vacation-slideshow-induced stupor I have actually spared you. I could create an entire photo album titled "Leaves, Berries, and Swiss Farm Animals." You're only seeing the highlights. You're also not seeing any of the nice photos of me and Brianne together, since those are all on Brianne's camera and we're having technical difficulties at the moment. Click to enlarge, if you so desire.
Feeding one of Switzerland's countless swans in Geneva
Lake Geneva: a partly cloudy day and our first rain
Lausanne: a very beautiful city, which we saw almost entirely in the rain, and of which consequently I have almost no photos. But we had a great day nonetheless visiting the Olympics Museum (I tear up every time someone shows footage of people winning medals set to triumphant music) and a museum of "Art Brut," or art done by people with no artistic training, which was simply incredible.
I had to put up at least one wildlife picture. Hanging out with goats on a rainy day in Interlaken. After three cloudy days, we were about to give up hope of actually seeing mountains, but never fear...
The next day we woke up to two feet of snow! We went up the mountain a little ways to Lauterbrunnen, where we trekked through the drifts alongside a river and made a couple snowmen.
After our morning walk, we took the cable cars up to Murren to try to see some mountains over the clouds: great success!
And our last day in Interlaken, we even got to see the mountains around town.
Next stop was Luzern, of which I've chosen a night photo, because the view was actually nicer than during the cloudy daytime.
But luckily our host Remo drove us up into the mountains, where we had an awesome view of the Alps in snow.
After that we stayed outside St. Gallen in a renovated farm house with Sebastian and family. This was my attempt to capture the joy we felt when we woke up to a huge Swiss breakfast, sunshine, and cows out the window.
Sebastian took us on a walk through the hills of Appenzell
Alpen cat
And then we had a layover in Buchs, where we managed to take about 80 pictures in two hours.
Case in point #1
Case in point #2
And then...drum roll...we spent a day in Liechtenstein! 160 km2, 30,000 inhabitants...just about the size of University of Michigan.
Fun with reflections
And just before leaving we got to spend one night in Zurich, where we wandered about admiring the beautiful food/kitchen stores, taking pictures of the lights in the river, and eating at an amazing vegetarian cafe.
But the main point is...Brianne and I have just returned from a week and a half in Switzerland for our first big vacation of the year. We made a tour of Geneva, Lausanne, Interlaken, Luzern, St. Gallen, Liechtenstein, and Zurich and for the most part we used a network called CouchSurfing to stay for free with people who live in the country. You sign up and create a profile and then you can contact people in cities you want to visit to see if they'd like to host you for a few days. In Interlaken we stayed with a group of 40-something adventure guides from all over the world who help people jump out of planes and down canyons in the summer, ski in the winter, and take off to Malaysia, Indonesia, South Africa, Brazil, and New Zealand during the off seasons to learn to kite surf or to teach surfing workshops. And in Liechtenstein we stayed with a heavy metal rocker who took us to a bar filled with fake dinosaurs and Kiss music and who spent a half an hour showing us videos on YouTube of European "heavy metal folk" bands who scream into microphones while playing bagpipes and hurdy gurdies.
But the best experiences we had were in Luzern and St. Gallen, where our generous hosts helped us combat the foggy weather by driving us up into the mountains for sunny hikes above the clouds. They walked and explored with us, showed us their favorite spots, and overall made me feel like I was getting spoiled silly by strangers. But the wonderful thing is that it gives you this huge urge to pay it forward: I would love to host someone here in Nantes, or better yet in Michigan, where I could show them around and make them feel at home. It gives you the feeling that everywhere in the world there are people who are open, warm, generous, hopeful.
Just one more thought before the photo montage (much-anticipated, I'm sure): being around mountains and mountain-loving people this past week has made me feel like I'm really only one small step away from throwing grad school in the maybe-later closet and taking off to live in a Vanagon with a friend and two dogs, hiking, rafting, and farming across the seven continents, stopping in one place for a couple of months at a time to meet new people and lay down new roots. It's not a lifestyle that I could live for ages, but it's got a strong pull for me now. The me that I imagine living in the back of her car, walking her dog down the beach in Thailand or rafting down a river in Nepal: she's a pretty happy person. But that just goes to show you how many shapes your life could have/would have/might still take(n) depending on what little influences come along to push you in one direction or another.
O.K. enough existential pondering for one post. On to the photos! You may think I've put up quite a few of them, but you have no idea from what a horror of vacation-slideshow-induced stupor I have actually spared you. I could create an entire photo album titled "Leaves, Berries, and Swiss Farm Animals." You're only seeing the highlights. You're also not seeing any of the nice photos of me and Brianne together, since those are all on Brianne's camera and we're having technical difficulties at the moment. Click to enlarge, if you so desire.
Feeding one of Switzerland's countless swans in Geneva
Lake Geneva: a partly cloudy day and our first rain
Lausanne: a very beautiful city, which we saw almost entirely in the rain, and of which consequently I have almost no photos. But we had a great day nonetheless visiting the Olympics Museum (I tear up every time someone shows footage of people winning medals set to triumphant music) and a museum of "Art Brut," or art done by people with no artistic training, which was simply incredible.
I had to put up at least one wildlife picture. Hanging out with goats on a rainy day in Interlaken. After three cloudy days, we were about to give up hope of actually seeing mountains, but never fear...
The next day we woke up to two feet of snow! We went up the mountain a little ways to Lauterbrunnen, where we trekked through the drifts alongside a river and made a couple snowmen.
After our morning walk, we took the cable cars up to Murren to try to see some mountains over the clouds: great success!
And our last day in Interlaken, we even got to see the mountains around town.
Next stop was Luzern, of which I've chosen a night photo, because the view was actually nicer than during the cloudy daytime.
But luckily our host Remo drove us up into the mountains, where we had an awesome view of the Alps in snow.
After that we stayed outside St. Gallen in a renovated farm house with Sebastian and family. This was my attempt to capture the joy we felt when we woke up to a huge Swiss breakfast, sunshine, and cows out the window.
Sebastian took us on a walk through the hills of Appenzell
Alpen cat
And then we had a layover in Buchs, where we managed to take about 80 pictures in two hours.
Case in point #1
Case in point #2
And then...drum roll...we spent a day in Liechtenstein! 160 km2, 30,000 inhabitants...just about the size of University of Michigan.
Fun with reflections
And just before leaving we got to spend one night in Zurich, where we wandered about admiring the beautiful food/kitchen stores, taking pictures of the lights in the river, and eating at an amazing vegetarian cafe.Thanks for reading, folks. You have my word that the next entry will not be so long.
10.08.2008
What...this old Louis XVI fauteil?
So how's the economic crisis treating everyone? Over here in France, the exchange rate actually got better! So as Monty Python suggests, always look on the bright side of [my] life.
This week I started strong on my 12-hour work week. You would think that standing in front of a class and speaking my native language with my natural accent would not be a terribly difficult job, but it was fairly intimidating when the professors started giving me students for hours on my own on the first days of class. Many of the students haven't had an English class in years and still can't understand me when I slow down my speech to the speed of molasses. And I'm having to catch up quickly on strategies for teaching English as a foreign language, because when my professor tells me to "correct the students' mistakes," it takes me a while to invent useful ways of explaining why we use "during" here and "for" there, or why we "go to England," but "stay in England." On top of that, since I'm working at the IUFM (a preparatory school for future primary school teachers), all of my "students" are trained in education and probably recognize every pedagogical mistake I make. But having said all of that, I'm very excited when I think about how much I'll learn about teaching English. And let's have a perspective check here: I work 12 hours a week.
Next, as promised, some photos. Just to give you all an idea of the Antique's Roadshow/art gallery/flea market lifestyle I'm now living:
The all-important corner-of-the-pink-chair
This week I started strong on my 12-hour work week. You would think that standing in front of a class and speaking my native language with my natural accent would not be a terribly difficult job, but it was fairly intimidating when the professors started giving me students for hours on my own on the first days of class. Many of the students haven't had an English class in years and still can't understand me when I slow down my speech to the speed of molasses. And I'm having to catch up quickly on strategies for teaching English as a foreign language, because when my professor tells me to "correct the students' mistakes," it takes me a while to invent useful ways of explaining why we use "during" here and "for" there, or why we "go to England," but "stay in England." On top of that, since I'm working at the IUFM (a preparatory school for future primary school teachers), all of my "students" are trained in education and probably recognize every pedagogical mistake I make. But having said all of that, I'm very excited when I think about how much I'll learn about teaching English. And let's have a perspective check here: I work 12 hours a week.
Next, as promised, some photos. Just to give you all an idea of the Antique's Roadshow/art gallery/flea market lifestyle I'm now living:
Our "salon"
The all-important corner-of-the-pink-chair
The breakfast nook, currently being used for an evening glass of French wine
Our kitchen, now complete with a "triptych": part stove, part oven, part dishwasher
And last, but not least, my large and lovely double bed.
Our kitchen, now complete with a "triptych": part stove, part oven, part dishwasher
And last, but not least, my large and lovely double bed.So there you have it, folks. If that doesn't make you want to come and visit us, I don't know what will. I'm also willing to bribe you with pastries, crepes, and gelato. Expatriation: it's totally in vogue.
10.03.2008
Bonjour, mes amis!
For those of you who aren't yet bored with hearing me talk about myself, I thought it might be nice if I put together a little record of my travels, along with some photos, anecdotes, and maybe the occasional metaphor or allusion to prove that my college English education has actually been of some practical use, despite my poverty-level salary. The reading of it is of course entirely voluntary, which means lucky you. If you were here with me, you'd have no choice but to hear all about every single pastry I ate.
In case I've been a horrible correspondent and you have no idea what I'm talking about, I'll back up and give you the "Previously, in France..." So far I've found an apartment in Nantes with my friend Brianne (photos of the finished, old-French-grandmother's-yard-sale-style product coming soon), visited the school in La Roche sur Yon where I'll be working 12 hours a week with future primary school teachers, and sat through a several-hour, entirely unhelpful orientation on the MEDN, ANAEM, CAF, AARPNAACPNASCARDOWJONES paperwork I have to fill out in order to stay legally in France. My French is coming back gradually, Brianne and I are making some new friends (an alarming number of which are 30-year-old French engineers), and I start my official work on Monday.
Coming attractions: photos of our Louis XVI arm chair and our Louis XV couch, details about my first days of class, possibly a review of the concert we'll be seeing on Friday, which involves "plants, animals, and Cowboys," and almost definitely a witty reference to The Faerie Queene.
Thanks for reading!
In case I've been a horrible correspondent and you have no idea what I'm talking about, I'll back up and give you the "Previously, in France..." So far I've found an apartment in Nantes with my friend Brianne (photos of the finished, old-French-grandmother's-yard-sale-style product coming soon), visited the school in La Roche sur Yon where I'll be working 12 hours a week with future primary school teachers, and sat through a several-hour, entirely unhelpful orientation on the MEDN, ANAEM, CAF, AARPNAACPNASCARDOWJONES paperwork I have to fill out in order to stay legally in France. My French is coming back gradually, Brianne and I are making some new friends (an alarming number of which are 30-year-old French engineers), and I start my official work on Monday.
Coming attractions: photos of our Louis XVI arm chair and our Louis XV couch, details about my first days of class, possibly a review of the concert we'll be seeing on Friday, which involves "plants, animals, and Cowboys," and almost definitely a witty reference to The Faerie Queene.
Thanks for reading!
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