Spending Thanksgiving Abroad

It started with a pumpkin. No, not a chair. This isn't Juno, this is real life, and I'm not pregnant. It started with a pumpkin. And really, it started weeks before, with a stubborn determination to make Thanksgiving dinner in a foreign country.

But last weekend, it started with a pumpkin. My friend Sarah came down from Rennes to visit, and asked if we could make pumpkin pie during her stay. We couldn't find a can of pumpkin filling anywhere, and we weren't sure about the funny gourds and squashes found in French supermarkets. They were orange inside, but the outside didn't look right, and the shape was all wrong. While I was teaching last Friday, Sarah walked around town looking for a store that had cut one of these squashes and put it on display, wrapped in plastic. Taking care to ensure that no French people were looking, Sarah peeled back the plastic wrap and sniffed. Those funny squashes are, indeed, pumpkins. After visiting four different stores to get all of the correct ingredients (spices, condensed milk, whipped cream, etc.) we carted the pumpkin back home, chopped it open, scooped out the seeds, and put it in the oven to roast, just how they made pie in the good old days when the white man and the Natives lived together in harmony. Not having a blender, we pureed the pumpkin glop with two forks and a bit of elbow grease. A few hours later, we had a lovely, hard-earned, delicious pumpkin pie. And lots of leftover pumpkin glop.

Two days later, I received my care package from my family, which included pumpkin pie filling, condensed milk, and all the necessary spices. Merde. Ah, well, the pie was good, and now I have enough glop to last me through Christmas. :) My care package was such a nice surprise, even though I knew it was coming! I had peanut butter toast, threw on my sweatshirt and slippers, and sat on my floor unpacking everything and crying. It was a happy cry, but I bet I would have looked really odd to any onlookers. Also, on Monday, internet in my room started working, but alas! the glorious perfection could not possibly last, and the connection stopped working Wednesday. Oh, France. You slay me. And not in the LOL way.

So, I had planned on using the internet in my room to access the recipes I wanted to use for Thanksgiving dinner, but as I couldn't really do that, I had to head over to Karen's and hand-write all of the recipes I needed. That afternoon, I began preparations for my foreign Thanksgiving extravaganza. I decided a while ago that I could not live without a Thanksgiving dinner, even if I was in a foreign country. I started looking for essential ingredients, and managed to find just about everything I needed (no whole turkey, but I couldn't fit a whole turkey in my tiny oven anyway). I began with the pumpkin pie, this time using the ingredients my family sent. I also made the dinner rolls and cranberry sauce (made with dried cranberries---no fresh cranberries here) that night. It's nice to be able to bake again. Thanks, Joanne! The day of Thanksgiving, I had to work until 3, so I didn't get to start cooking until 4. But, OCD case that I am, I had sat down the night before, figuring out the correct order for cooking everything, to make sure that everything finished at the right time and nothing got cold. It worked almost perfectly! I started with a stuffed turkey breast roulade. Basically, I made stuffing (thanks, family, for the Stovetop!), and spread it on flattened turkey breast filets, then rolled them up and roasted them. Here's the before cooking picture:
And here's the after:


They actually turned out really really well--and the stuffing inside was delicious, too (although I did manage to burn the stuffing that I made outside the turkey). I also made a sweet potato casserole with a streusel-type top (no marshmallows in France, either, but thanks for the sweet potatoes, Scarlet!), mashed potatoes and gravy, almond green beans, and a salad. All the other assistants had to work until around 6, so I had no helpers in the kitchen (I had to cut the onions myself! Can you imagine?!? I was bawling my eyes out), which effectively means I made an entire Thanksgiving dinner for 8 by myself. I am quite proud, actually! None of the other assitants were American, and none had ever celebrated Thanksgiving before, nor did they know anything about it. It was weird to actually explain Thanksgiving--we don't really ever have to do that at home. So I explained the tradition of Thanksgiving, why we celebrate (I was speaking with one of my students last week on the topic of Thanksgiving, and she asked me this question. Before I could answer, she guessed, "Are you celebrating turkey?" Hahahahaha! Hilarious.) et cetera et cetera. I also looked up how to say, "I am thankful for....." in French, so that we could each say something we were thankful for around the table. It was really quite nice, and I don't know if I could have spent a better Thanksgiving away from my family. I am so thankful that I have met these people, for their support and company during probably the hardest year of my life. It's wonderful that we are able to come together as total strangers, and become such a close-knit group so quickly. Of course the situation helps, but I appreciate it nonetheless. It was much better than spending Thanksgiving alone, or eating spaghetti like it was a regular day. It started with a pumpkin, and it ended, of course, with a pumpkin pie:Now, there are seven foreigners out there who all love pumpkin pie, just as much as any good American does. Spreading the American tradition all across the world!

It's a French Miracle, Charlie Brown

I am, at this very moment, sitting in my room, using the internet. Soon, I will finish writing this, and post it, on my very own internet connection. Holy cats!

On Being a Stranger in a Strange Land

I get stared at a lot. I am becoming accustomed to it. I don’t get as startled anymore when I lock eyes with someone staring into the bus window at me, and it’s much easier now to ignore the titter of voices of the students I pass by at Jean Lurcat. While I am sure that there are a multitude of reasons for these stares (toilet paper stuck to my shoe, booger on my face, et cetera), I am always a little suspicious that it is because people can tell immediately that I am American. Well, maybe not American, but certainly they can tell that I am foreigner, that I’m not French, that I’m not from around “these parts”. I know this is obvious from my voice, when speaking French, but apparently it is also obvious from my dress, my demeanor, et cetera, when I am not speaking French. I think what it really boils down to is my hair. This distinction between myself and those around me was especially apparent in Madrid, among Spaniards, but there is still a stark difference between blonde, curly-headed me and the Perpignais around me. These people are of Spanish descent, of Catalan descent, Northern African immigrants, gypsies, from the Langue d’Oc region. These people are dark-skinned, dark-haired, with dark eyes. I can’t exactly be the needle in the haystack in Southern France.

I have been mistaken for German (with blonde hair, everyone assumes I will have blue eyes) and Swedish (the chef at the cafeteria at one of my schools took one look at me and said, “suèdoise?”). I guess from this, I can assume that the French don’t automatically know that I am American. Just different. Foreign. It’s kind of weird being the “exotic” one. In America, the exotic girls have the darker skin, darker hair, darker eyes:













While I have gotten used to the stares, it’s a little disheartening to know that no matter how good my French gets this year, I will never in a million years be mistaken for French. At least not in these parts.

The Homesick Holiday Blues

Here's a list of the things I miss about home, leaving out the obvious (friends, family, boyfriend, cat...):
1. Grocery stores
2. Businesses' hours (all-night grocery stores, eat-whenever-you-want restaurants, etc.)
3. Clean toilets that you don't have to pay for
4. Water fountains
5. Seasons
6. Thanksgiving, Halloween, and any other holiday I am going to miss
7. Cooking in my own kitchen, with dishes and utensils and ingredients that I have
8. Baking powder and baking soda (I can't find them in France, which means I can't bake in France.)
9. Dick's Drive-in, Boomer's, and any other burger joint
10. Thai food
11. Sushi
12. Mexican food
13. Bellingham's public transportation
14. Internet
15. Knowing where things are in town, or being able to find them easily
16. Grocery shopping with a car
17. Being articulate, i.e. not sounding like a five year old when I speak
18. The Food Network

That's all for now. I'll probably add to the list later.

A Little Jaunt in Madrid

It’s been FOREVER since I have blogged, and I have been nagged by at least three people. At least. I suppose when three people tell you to blog, you have to do it. Some sort of law of nature. Also, I spent the weekend in Madrid, and now I actually have something to blog about.

We had a five day weekend this weekend due to Armistice Day (Veterans’ Day, to us). I have three friends in Spain right now (two teaching English in a similar program, and one studying abroad for the quarter), and there’s nothing better than free accommodation when traveling, so I looked to trains and flights to Madrid, Malaga, and Cadiz. Madrid won out, with tickets for a grand total of 0 dollars. That’s right. My flight to Spain was actually free. Unfortunately, I had to pay taxes and fees, and had to pay to check a bag, so the flight in all cost about 40 euros. So Karen and I hopped on the Frog Bus (cheap transport between Perpignan and the Girona airport…also, a slur on the French. I think.) on Saturday, and then on a flight to Madrid. Crossing the border into Spain was absolutely bizarre. We barely even slowed down when nearing the un-manned border control booths. Compared to the border crossing in Blaine (the only one that I have ever experienced), between the US and Canada—two countries, who, I might add, have a fairly amicable relationship—the switch between French land and Spanish land was a cake walk. No one even looked at my passport! The down side to the free border crossings within the European Union is that my poor passport still lacks visa stamps. And I’ve been to 3 foreign countries. Damn.

Adam, a friend from Western’s honors program, met us at the Madrid airport at around 10 on Saturday night. He is teaching English to elementary school students, and seems to be suffering the same frustrations with the education system and the foreign bureaucracy that I am. This is a comfort, because it means that it isn’t a problem with France, per se, but a problem with moving to a foreign country and being legally employed therein. He is really enjoying Madrid, however, and I can honestly see why after visiting him! The city is amazing. It’s also gynormous. The population is around 3 million, with 7 million in the metropolitan area. But it didn’t feel overbearing or terrible, like Los Angeles for example. This is partly due to the fact that it has a great subway system, and partly due to the fact that Adam lives right in the center, really close to everything. Our first night in Madrid, we went out to a few bars. I didn’t like it too much, because people are still allowed to smoke inside bars and restaurants in Spain. I think my hair still smells. The Spanish schedule is so far from anything I have ever experienced before. For starters, everyone knows about their siesta. I didn’t partake while I was there, but I think that if I lived in Spain I would have to. Siesta is usually around 3, I think. And then people don’t eat dinner until around 9 or 10. On the weekends, the young people don’t go out until around 1 or 2 in the morning, and don’t get home until 6. As neither Karen nor I were used to this bizarre schedule, we didn’t quite follow it exactly. We left at around midnight, and got home at around 4am. Which was still awful. One good thing about Saturday night was the delicious and oh-so-cheap falafel place that Adam took us to before going to a bar. Amazing! Actually, the food in general was just really really good. We also had kebabs on Sunday for lunch. In Europe, this does not mean pieces of meat and veggies on a stick, but like real kebabs, Turkish-style, I guess. It’s like a delicious sandwich-type thing. Hard to explain. But really good.

After waking up way to early on Sunday for how late we stayed out, Adam took us around Madrid and showed us some of the main sites. Mostly we just walked around the city and looked at cool buildings and plazas, and marveled at the architecture. They don’t make buildings that beautiful anymore. It’s too bad. Our guide also took us to the Central Park equivalent of Madrid—a gorgeous place that made me feel like I wasn’t in the center of a GIANT city, and also made me feel like autumn has finally arrived in Southern Europe. It’s about two months late, but I will take what I can get.

After a long day of walking, we went back to Adam’s flat and watched “Euro-trip”, a fitting movie for my European adventure. If only trips to Europe really were like that…After the movie, we went to a hookah and Arabic tea café with Adam’s French roommate Jon and his American girlfriend Anna. It was a lot of fun, even though the tea was poor quality and so were the hookahs. But the ambience of the place was great, and the company was even greater. We rotated between speaking English, French, and Spanish throughout the night. Jon speaks four languages fluently (Spanish, English, French, and Portuguese—I could not get over how good his English was. He followed slang and regular speech pace amazingly. I want to be like that with French!) It was really international. Haha! On a side-note, Jon complimented me on my French, telling me that I spoke with hardly any accent at all (except, apparently, when I tried to say ‘putain’, a French exclamation similar to ‘fuck’ in English…That word, I did not get right.) I was flattered, although I still want to know how people in Perpignan know I am American after I say “bonjour”.

The next day, Adam had to head back to school to teach, so Karen and I went out into Madrid alone, armed with the subway map, the map of Madrid, and Karen’s excellent Spanish skills (I would not have survived without her.) We planned to go to the Prado museum, which boasts one of the finest art collections in the world (up there with the Louvre, I guess, although not quite…) and also has a temporary Rembrandt exhibit through January. We were both really excited to see the museum, but we got there and it was closed. Closed on Mondays. I was (and still am) incredibly disappointed, but it gives me an excuse to go back to Madrid someday (get ready, Kili!). Karen and I had planned to spend around 3 hours in the museum, and then do some shopping, but with the museum closed we had five or six hours of shopping ahead of us. It seemed daunting at first, but the shops in Madrid are great, and so very cheap. Another reason to go back to Madrid. We also found this awesome market that is in Madrid everyday until Christmas, where there were at least twenty vendors selling scarves, jewelry, woodwork, hookahs, and a huge variety of other goods. I believe part of the proceeds benefit some charity or fair-trade organization or something, but the signage was all in Spanish, so I could not read it. I was feeling a little guilty about money, so I didn’t end up buying too much for myself (about a tenth as much as I wanted to buy for myself), but I did find a load of stuff for Christmas/birthday presents. I managed to check three or four people off my list for the year! We were shattered after spending the day shopping, and having little sleep for the whole weekend, so we watched “The Departed” and hit the hay.

The next day, we left Adam’s apartment at 9:20, said good-bye before heading to different subway stations, and spent the day traveling until we made it back home at around 7:30. Ugh. Needless to say, I am exhausted. But the weekend was amazing, and I am in love with Madrid. It really is a beautiful city. It also marks the first time that I have gone to a place where I did not speak the language, which is a really disconcerting experience. It’s funny, because I was really self-conscious and apologetic about not speaking Spanish—I felt bad about it. But it’s not reciprocal for me—I don’t demand that visitors to the US speak English (though they most often do), but for me, I feel like I should know at least some of the country’s language. I was so flustered when people would rattle Spanish off at me that I forgot the few essential words and phrases I do know. I think that before I go to a country where they speak another language, I might get one of those dorky tourism phrase books. Just to make myself feel a little better. I am really glad that Karen was with me, but hopefully next time I will be able to order my “Café con leche, por favor” all by myself.

Here’s a little list for you:

Things I did for the first time/learned/noticed in Madrid:
• I rode on a subway. A bunch.
• I was one of the ten blond people in Madrid.
• Old Spanish people are short. Really short. Something to do with malnutrition during Franco’s regime, most likely.
• During Franco’s regime, people weren’t allowed to touch in public—including holding hands, hugging, or kissing.
• This sort of explains why loads of Spanish people just make out in public.

Tomorrow, I am going to check my mail to see if I have received my care package and my modem. Hopefully I will have internet by tomorrow afternoon, but if not I’m gonna have to open up a can of broken-French woop-ass on the Neuf call-center employee. It’s almost two months to the day since I made my initial request for service. And whether or not I get internet, I just might be able to celebrate (or comfort) myself with some peanut butter toast.