Oh man this past week has been a whirlwind of activity and leisure. Pure leisure. Greg has come and gone, leaving three heart-broken Americans, three heart-broken English girls, and two English boys who probably are jealous they aren't as nice and American as Greg is. Ashley, Kili, and I are now biding time until leaving for sunny beautiful Portugal on Monday.
We met Greg at the station last Sunday night, and lugged he and his suitcase back to my little studio from some freshly baked chicken pot pie and chocolate cheesecake for dessert. The next day, we lunched at the Ladies' favorite lunching spot, Le Petit Delice (the Little Delicacy). We're regulars. The days that I worked (Tuesday and Thursday) were rather uneventful for me, although the other three Yanks walked around Perps and took beautiful pictures of my lovely dirty city.
On Wednesday, we spontaneously decided to take a train to Beziers (where we got stuck in the hurricane) to see another assistant that lives there, and our friend Will that we met during the hurricane. The weather in Perps was lovely, and so we got on the train and made it to a cloudy, cold, and windy Bez. Apparently Emma, Karen, Alice, and I bring the hurricane with us. We lunched (again with the lunching. No wonder I am skint!) at a cute little Breton creperie. Greg brought his super sexy Canon digital SLR that we all took turns playing with (on a sidenote, I accidentally dropped my camera and broke it irreparably...Which means that I haven't been taking pictures for the past few weeks, even though we have been doing lovely things. I have Ashley's photos, Kili's photos, and some of Greg's that I will be posting, though, so you'll still get to see my bright shiny face in new pics. Fret not.) and a great time was had by all. After lunch we walked across the square (called Place des Bons Amis--Square of Good Friends) towards the cathedral to catch a breathtaking view of Beziers and a beautiful old church, apparently closed for lunchtime. Only in France. Only in France.
After lunch, we went to a cafe/bar on the main square in Bez. The bar is on France's historic bar list, and has been in business for over a hundred years now. The bartenders are friends with Will, and so we got great service and lots of laughs. It literally was one of the best afternoons ever.
The rest of the week in Perps was spent working, gearing up for Barcelona, and standing on the lawns down by the canal in Perps exclaiming, "I'm having a GREAT time!" to anyone who would listen. On Friday morning we left for Barcelona, where we spent a lovely, hectic, fun-filled and rainy weekend. If I continue to go to Barcelona and adhere to the go-out-late-and-get-in-early lifestyle, I think that city might actually kill me someday.
This time in Barcelona, I did not get ice cream thrown at me, nor did anyone call me a 'pussyhole' (although I was called a bitch while walking down La Rambla). We visited the Gothic Quarter, the Boqueria (a beautiful open air food market), Park Guell and the Sagrada Familia (both designed by Gaudi), the waterfront/port area, and just walked around a bunch. Barcelona is beautiful and dirty and hectic and crazy and contains such good food and so many people and so many beautiful things.
We returned to Perps late Sunday evening, made savoury crepes, and rushed Greg to the train station, where a gaggle of girls bid him farewell, and made him promise to come to England to visit next summer.
End of line.
And scene...
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
On Being a Lady who Lunches...
Since Sunday night, I have provided half of the bread in an Ashley-Kili-Ashley sandwich, served with a side of Greg. Delicious. Best. Sandwich. Ever.
It’s been lovely spending time with people that I haven’t seen in so long, but several facts have become immediately clear since spending time with my former classmates and fellow Americans. 1. My studio is actually a studio, and not a grande maison. This place is ca-rowded! 2. I talk funny. Incredibly funny. Sometimes the Yanks don’t understand what I am saying when I am speaking with my English friends. And finally, 3. To my utter embarrassment and surprise, I have become, unquestionably, inevitably, and flagrantly, a Lady who Lunches.
First of all, I must say that there is very little to visit in the city of Perpignan. We have an old palace that once housed the Kings and Queens of the kingdom of Mallorca. We have a “castillet” which is one of the few remaining portions of the city’s old ramparts. We have a tiny little town centre that a lovely canal winds through, bordered by green grass and beautiful flowers. And we have cafes. Loads and loads of cafes. And a few shops. But, what is unique about Perpignan is that in addition to not being a city with many tourist attractions, it also provides nothing for actual inhabitants to do, either. We’ve been to the castillet. We’ve visited the palace. We’ve taken the requisite photos of the canal with the mountains in the background. And what does that leave us? The cafes. And the shops.
Nearly every single day, a group of the assistants meet for lunch or a coffee and some sort of French pastry, and sit at the café chatting for hours. When we finally do decide to move from our thrones in the sunshine, it is just to have a wander around the shops, coveting shoes and dresses in window displays and occasionally braving the dressing rooms to try on a particularly fetching outfit. We are the ladies who lunch.
The absurdity of how we spend our days really didn’t hit me until the time came for me to take Kili, Greg, and Ashley into town to meet with the other assistants. I realized, as I awkwardly tried to explain our plans for the day, how ridiculous our schedules are. Granted, we are able to indulge in this schedule because of how incredibly rarely we are required to work (those twelve hours that I was told about? I think I average about five…). And the sit-at-a-café-and-chat lifestyle is so very French—this is what the French people do when they have free time. In a way, I suppose, we are immersing ourselves. But being the studious bunch that we are, it feels odd and unseemly to pass our days in such a brainless fashion.
When trying to explain to Kili my discomfort over my current lifestyle in France, she insisted that we deserve a break. After four strenuous years of university, and many many more years of school before that, I suppose I really haven’t ever had the chance to just sit in the sun and relax for hours on end, day in day out. And while I do not see myself spending the rest of my life as a lady who lunches, I plan on making the most of it while I am here in France and still can. Which also means imposing my laidback lifestyle on the Bellinghamsters that are here paying me a visit at the moment.
It’s been lovely spending time with people that I haven’t seen in so long, but several facts have become immediately clear since spending time with my former classmates and fellow Americans. 1. My studio is actually a studio, and not a grande maison. This place is ca-rowded! 2. I talk funny. Incredibly funny. Sometimes the Yanks don’t understand what I am saying when I am speaking with my English friends. And finally, 3. To my utter embarrassment and surprise, I have become, unquestionably, inevitably, and flagrantly, a Lady who Lunches.
First of all, I must say that there is very little to visit in the city of Perpignan. We have an old palace that once housed the Kings and Queens of the kingdom of Mallorca. We have a “castillet” which is one of the few remaining portions of the city’s old ramparts. We have a tiny little town centre that a lovely canal winds through, bordered by green grass and beautiful flowers. And we have cafes. Loads and loads of cafes. And a few shops. But, what is unique about Perpignan is that in addition to not being a city with many tourist attractions, it also provides nothing for actual inhabitants to do, either. We’ve been to the castillet. We’ve visited the palace. We’ve taken the requisite photos of the canal with the mountains in the background. And what does that leave us? The cafes. And the shops.
Nearly every single day, a group of the assistants meet for lunch or a coffee and some sort of French pastry, and sit at the café chatting for hours. When we finally do decide to move from our thrones in the sunshine, it is just to have a wander around the shops, coveting shoes and dresses in window displays and occasionally braving the dressing rooms to try on a particularly fetching outfit. We are the ladies who lunch.
The absurdity of how we spend our days really didn’t hit me until the time came for me to take Kili, Greg, and Ashley into town to meet with the other assistants. I realized, as I awkwardly tried to explain our plans for the day, how ridiculous our schedules are. Granted, we are able to indulge in this schedule because of how incredibly rarely we are required to work (those twelve hours that I was told about? I think I average about five…). And the sit-at-a-café-and-chat lifestyle is so very French—this is what the French people do when they have free time. In a way, I suppose, we are immersing ourselves. But being the studious bunch that we are, it feels odd and unseemly to pass our days in such a brainless fashion.
When trying to explain to Kili my discomfort over my current lifestyle in France, she insisted that we deserve a break. After four strenuous years of university, and many many more years of school before that, I suppose I really haven’t ever had the chance to just sit in the sun and relax for hours on end, day in day out. And while I do not see myself spending the rest of my life as a lady who lunches, I plan on making the most of it while I am here in France and still can. Which also means imposing my laidback lifestyle on the Bellinghamsters that are here paying me a visit at the moment.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
In the Navy...
The other day in class, I was trying to teach my 6ieme class (roughly equivalent to sixth or seventh grade) about food, and how to ask if there were "any apples" or "any cheese", et cetera. I always have a hard time keeping this class on track (this is the one with the boy who routinely asks me, "Do you like rugby?" or "Do you like soccer?" in French, and no matter what my answer tries to tell me his personal experiences with the sport...) when one of the more talkative girls asks, "Ashley, qu'est ce que ca veut dire 'in the navy'?" (what does 'in the navy' mean?). Baffled at such an odd question, I quickly tried to explain that the Navy was part of the American army, et cetera, before moving on to ask if there were any nuts in the cupboard.
Last night, while hanging out at the house of some of the French people we have met, Remy (an avid music fan, and a die-hard karaoke singer) turned on the karaoke machine, projecting the videos and words onto the six-foot high sheet strung on the wall. He popped in a disc and the Village People's "In the Navy" video came on. How does a twelve year old girl know the words to a song written in 1979 by a musical group appropriated as mascots by the gay community? I love this country.
Last night, while hanging out at the house of some of the French people we have met, Remy (an avid music fan, and a die-hard karaoke singer) turned on the karaoke machine, projecting the videos and words onto the six-foot high sheet strung on the wall. He popped in a disc and the Village People's "In the Navy" video came on. How does a twelve year old girl know the words to a song written in 1979 by a musical group appropriated as mascots by the gay community? I love this country.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Playing Catch-Up
I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I have been neglecting my blog like nobody’s business. Even now as I sit here typing I keep finding reasons to procrastinate…I think I am finding it difficult to top the Fete de l’Ours. Nothing as exciting as that will ever happen to me again.
But seriously, the chat in France has been rather lackluster lately. A few weeks ago we did host a toga party, after which we all came to the conclusion that all parties should be toga parties. The Greeks and Romans really had things going the right way. Not sure I can get behind those vomitoria, but still…
Last weekend I went to a rugby match between Toulouse and Perpignan. Perpignan killed them 35 to 7 or something like that. I had never actually seen a men’s rugby match in real life, so that was pretty cool. The experience was awesome, but the game wasn’t actually that exciting because it was apparent that Perpignan was going to win about twenty minutes into the game. It was pretty cool to hear cheers and such in French, though!
The weeks I have spent dreading teaching, though the days that I have to deal with these kids are rapidly diminishing. Kili, Ashley, and Greg arrive in seven days, and then the calamity should recommence. Maybe then I’ll actually have something to blog about!
I’ve mentioned this to several people (who probably want to kill me for saying it…) that I have been feeling incredibly busy lately. It’s not because I am working more (still averaging about 6 hours a week) or because I have lots of errands to run or anything. Most of what has been occupying my time has been social obligations and gatherings. I feel like (as with my blog) I am playing catch-up. I have just over two months left in France, which means that I have been here for almost six months. The first three months here I was incredibly unhappy, and struggling to adjust to a lifestyle of unfamiliarity, of skype-dates and hastily written emails, of making new friends and discovering new places. It was exhausting and often depressing, and I feel like I spent the first three months here wishing the time away, wishing I had never even come, and wishing that I could return to the States. After about mid-January, the period of adjustment was over—suddenly, inexplicably, over, and I really began to enjoy myself. I feel like since then, I have been cramming as much as I possibly can into the short amount of time I have left, hence the constant busyness. I am playing catch-up for three months of rotten behavior and melancholia.
While I am so happy to be almost finished with this horrid teaching position, I am more torn about actually leaving France. It doesn’t seem fair that just as I’ve come to love it here, I have to pack up and leave. I actually toyed with the idea of changing my return flight to go home a bit later (don’t panic! It turned out to be too expensive, and I know I would be disappointing far too many people!). The thought of leaving in two months kind of makes me anxious, not only because I love it here now, but also because of the people I know I will have to leave behind, the people whom I don’t know when I will see again. I never would have been able to stay in France up until this point had it not been for the other assistants here—which means that I would have gone home before I actually started liking it here, leaving with a terrible impression of La France, an even poorer image of myself, and more guilt than an Irish Catholic has after a long Saturday night at the pub. The problem is that if I stay there will be trouble, if I go there will be…not double, but still trouble. I can’t imagine just staying in France and not going home—there’s too much back there that is waiting for me, that I am excited about, and too many people that I just can’t wait to see. That’s the problem with moving across the world and establishing yourself in a city—you meet people, you forge relationships, you create an elaborate new support system of people that you can’t possibly live without. And then you leave. No matter where I go in the world, there will be people that I will be hurting without, that I will be missing, and that I will be constantly thinking about. The only possibly solution to this is to keep traveling, I suppose. This does, of course, mean having three jobs throughout the school year so that I can spend each summer in Europe—2010 is England! But it is so worth it.
Despite my terrible experience teaching in France, I have been thinking lately about doing another assistantship. Not in France, obviously, but the last two or three months here have really cheered me up about the experience of moving to a foreign country and teaching. Now that I know that it is definitely possible to do this, and enjoy it, I am excited about further opportunities. It won’t be for a couple of years, not until after I finish my masters, but I think I will try to get another teaching position for another year somewhere different. Maybe Europe, maybe Asia, maybe South America. Twenty-four really is way too young to start a PhD, let’s be honest. Now I just have to start studying another language…
But seriously, the chat in France has been rather lackluster lately. A few weeks ago we did host a toga party, after which we all came to the conclusion that all parties should be toga parties. The Greeks and Romans really had things going the right way. Not sure I can get behind those vomitoria, but still…
Last weekend I went to a rugby match between Toulouse and Perpignan. Perpignan killed them 35 to 7 or something like that. I had never actually seen a men’s rugby match in real life, so that was pretty cool. The experience was awesome, but the game wasn’t actually that exciting because it was apparent that Perpignan was going to win about twenty minutes into the game. It was pretty cool to hear cheers and such in French, though!
The weeks I have spent dreading teaching, though the days that I have to deal with these kids are rapidly diminishing. Kili, Ashley, and Greg arrive in seven days, and then the calamity should recommence. Maybe then I’ll actually have something to blog about!
I’ve mentioned this to several people (who probably want to kill me for saying it…) that I have been feeling incredibly busy lately. It’s not because I am working more (still averaging about 6 hours a week) or because I have lots of errands to run or anything. Most of what has been occupying my time has been social obligations and gatherings. I feel like (as with my blog) I am playing catch-up. I have just over two months left in France, which means that I have been here for almost six months. The first three months here I was incredibly unhappy, and struggling to adjust to a lifestyle of unfamiliarity, of skype-dates and hastily written emails, of making new friends and discovering new places. It was exhausting and often depressing, and I feel like I spent the first three months here wishing the time away, wishing I had never even come, and wishing that I could return to the States. After about mid-January, the period of adjustment was over—suddenly, inexplicably, over, and I really began to enjoy myself. I feel like since then, I have been cramming as much as I possibly can into the short amount of time I have left, hence the constant busyness. I am playing catch-up for three months of rotten behavior and melancholia.
While I am so happy to be almost finished with this horrid teaching position, I am more torn about actually leaving France. It doesn’t seem fair that just as I’ve come to love it here, I have to pack up and leave. I actually toyed with the idea of changing my return flight to go home a bit later (don’t panic! It turned out to be too expensive, and I know I would be disappointing far too many people!). The thought of leaving in two months kind of makes me anxious, not only because I love it here now, but also because of the people I know I will have to leave behind, the people whom I don’t know when I will see again. I never would have been able to stay in France up until this point had it not been for the other assistants here—which means that I would have gone home before I actually started liking it here, leaving with a terrible impression of La France, an even poorer image of myself, and more guilt than an Irish Catholic has after a long Saturday night at the pub. The problem is that if I stay there will be trouble, if I go there will be…not double, but still trouble. I can’t imagine just staying in France and not going home—there’s too much back there that is waiting for me, that I am excited about, and too many people that I just can’t wait to see. That’s the problem with moving across the world and establishing yourself in a city—you meet people, you forge relationships, you create an elaborate new support system of people that you can’t possibly live without. And then you leave. No matter where I go in the world, there will be people that I will be hurting without, that I will be missing, and that I will be constantly thinking about. The only possibly solution to this is to keep traveling, I suppose. This does, of course, mean having three jobs throughout the school year so that I can spend each summer in Europe—2010 is England! But it is so worth it.
Despite my terrible experience teaching in France, I have been thinking lately about doing another assistantship. Not in France, obviously, but the last two or three months here have really cheered me up about the experience of moving to a foreign country and teaching. Now that I know that it is definitely possible to do this, and enjoy it, I am excited about further opportunities. It won’t be for a couple of years, not until after I finish my masters, but I think I will try to get another teaching position for another year somewhere different. Maybe Europe, maybe Asia, maybe South America. Twenty-four really is way too young to start a PhD, let’s be honest. Now I just have to start studying another language…
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