Steph's week-and-a-half break started yesterday, so we have started preparing for the move in earnest. After lunch with the in-laws yesterday, we ran a couple of errands. Steph has decided to sell his motorbike, which has been sitting idle for a year since we took it off the insurance to save money, so we stopped by a motorbike shop. They're going to pick it up, make sure it's in running order, and sell it for us for a small percentage. They reckon they can sell it for a higher price than Steph thought he could sell it for on his own, plus we don't have to worry about it, so we're already ahead. One thing off the checklist.
Then we went to order the Big-Ass* truck for moving day, which will be the 31st (oooh Halloween!). Since the first is a public holiday (Toussaint, or All Saint's Day, so we can't get the truck that day), and we want to take advantage of Steph's vacation time to move and clean up this place, we decided to move on Monday instead of Wednesday. Luckily, all the people that are helping are either teachers like Steph, have flexible schedules, or are "making the bridge," or taking advantage of the holiday on Tuesday to take Monday off. We've got at least ten people coming, including some Big Strong Men (including a brother-in-law who's a professional mover!), so with all the people and the Big-Ass truck, it should be a relatively easy move (which I have now undoubtedly jinxed).
After picking up some more boxes, we came home and called the new landlord to find out when we can get the key, so we can carry over some boxes some time this week. Steph left a message and she's been known not to call back, so we may need to follow up on that in the next couple of days.
For now, all the suitcases are packed and we are already knee-deep in boxes. We've got a long way to go. Posting will be light this week but I will surely write again before we move.
*I didn't realize how much I used "Big-Ass" as an adjective until one day Steph said, "Look at that Big-Ass thingie!" I was so proud and mortified at the same time.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Thursday, October 20, 2005
vivi finds her voice (but doesn't like what she hears)
Saturday night, we went to a small dinner party consisting of another couple and our host. I've known all of them at least as long as I've lived here, so it was a comfortable atmosphere. Over a dinner of moules frites, I found that I was following the conversation with little difficulty (it's still rather a strain and I confess, I pooped out at the end) and, for the first time, found myself attempting to join in the conversation. Once or twice I asked a question, and understood the response. I was able to tell a couple of anecdotes, like one does at a dinner party.
Towards the end of the evening, I realized with horror that the majority of my contributions were anecdotes about living in the states. Granted, 99% of my life-experience occurred in the states, and they were "everyday" anecdotes, meaning that I never tried to compare living in the states to France as better or worse. Actually, that's not true - we were talking about the television control tax that is due at the end of the month. The French pay around 100 euros per television owned, and this helps keep down the number of commercials during a program (an hour long program might have one commercial break, for example). So I asked if they would prefer to pay the tax or have commercials every ten minutes. We don't even watch tv that much, so even I don't know on which side of the debate I fall. But I digress - I don't have a problem being "the American," but I don't want to be "the American who won't shut up about America."
Steph and I talked about it on the way home that night, and I expressed my concerns. He told me that he knew exactly what I meant, because he's found himself doing he same thing in his new school - "at my old school we did this" sort of thing. It's a comfort to know that I'm progressing in my French, but now I need to learn the art of conversation again. One thing at a time.
Tuesday night, Steph came home from work and announced that we were going to a dinner for the teachers of his present school, and I had an hour to get ready. Granted, going out for dinner (and I'm not talking about McDonald's here) here is generally quite casual (the majority of teachers arrived in blue jeans), I would have liked to have a little notice. Turns out he knew about the dinner but hadn't wanted to go, so he never mentioned it, but was asked especially if he was coming that day, so felt like we had to go. Luckily for him, anytime I don't have to cook and can be treated to a nice meal is a-ok in my book, so I didn't complain at all.
Once again, I found myself following the conversation and, for the most part, able to answer questions. The funny thing was that the person to my left was from Marseilles, with (according to Steph) a strong accent from that region, but I was able to understand her better than the person to Steph's right, who has lived in this region all her life. Maybe we need to move down south.
Oh - and for the first time, I had duck à l'orange. Now I get what the fuss is about. That is an incredible dish!
Towards the end of the evening, I realized with horror that the majority of my contributions were anecdotes about living in the states. Granted, 99% of my life-experience occurred in the states, and they were "everyday" anecdotes, meaning that I never tried to compare living in the states to France as better or worse. Actually, that's not true - we were talking about the television control tax that is due at the end of the month. The French pay around 100 euros per television owned, and this helps keep down the number of commercials during a program (an hour long program might have one commercial break, for example). So I asked if they would prefer to pay the tax or have commercials every ten minutes. We don't even watch tv that much, so even I don't know on which side of the debate I fall. But I digress - I don't have a problem being "the American," but I don't want to be "the American who won't shut up about America."
Steph and I talked about it on the way home that night, and I expressed my concerns. He told me that he knew exactly what I meant, because he's found himself doing he same thing in his new school - "at my old school we did this" sort of thing. It's a comfort to know that I'm progressing in my French, but now I need to learn the art of conversation again. One thing at a time.
Tuesday night, Steph came home from work and announced that we were going to a dinner for the teachers of his present school, and I had an hour to get ready. Granted, going out for dinner (and I'm not talking about McDonald's here) here is generally quite casual (the majority of teachers arrived in blue jeans), I would have liked to have a little notice. Turns out he knew about the dinner but hadn't wanted to go, so he never mentioned it, but was asked especially if he was coming that day, so felt like we had to go. Luckily for him, anytime I don't have to cook and can be treated to a nice meal is a-ok in my book, so I didn't complain at all.
Once again, I found myself following the conversation and, for the most part, able to answer questions. The funny thing was that the person to my left was from Marseilles, with (according to Steph) a strong accent from that region, but I was able to understand her better than the person to Steph's right, who has lived in this region all her life. Maybe we need to move down south.
Oh - and for the first time, I had duck à l'orange. Now I get what the fuss is about. That is an incredible dish!
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
the name game
Steph and I are sitting at the table with my copy of "L'histoire de France pour les nuls" between us. On the cover are pictures of famous Frenchmen throughout history. I'm only able to name half of them.
Steph explains to me that one of them is Emile Zola, whose famous open letter entitled "J'Accuse!" eventually lead to the reopening of the trail of Alfred Dreyfus, who had been wrongly accused of treason.
ME: "I know this sounds horrible, but whenever I hear anything about The Dreyfus Affair, the first thing that immediately pops into my mind is the face of the American actor with the same last name.
STEPH: "I understand. When I hear the name "Armstrong," I think of a trumpet player walking on the moon!
Does this happen to anyone else, or are we justfreaks meant for each other?
Steph explains to me that one of them is Emile Zola, whose famous open letter entitled "J'Accuse!" eventually lead to the reopening of the trail of Alfred Dreyfus, who had been wrongly accused of treason.
ME: "I know this sounds horrible, but whenever I hear anything about The Dreyfus Affair, the first thing that immediately pops into my mind is the face of the American actor with the same last name.
STEPH: "I understand. When I hear the name "Armstrong," I think of a trumpet player walking on the moon!
Does this happen to anyone else, or are we just
Monday, October 17, 2005
Friday, October 14, 2005
historical poetry
Chanson d'automne
Les sanglots longs
Les violons
De l'automne
Blessent mon coeur
D'une langueur
Monotone
Tout suffocant
Et blême, quand
Sonne l'heure
Je me souviens
Des jours anciens
Et je pleure
Et je m'en vais
Au vent mauvais
Qui m'emporte
Deçà, delà
Pareil à la feuille morte.
Les sanglots longs
Les violons
De l'automne
Blessent mon coeur
D'une langueur
Monotone
Tout suffocant
Et blême, quand
Sonne l'heure
Je me souviens
Des jours anciens
Et je pleure
Et je m'en vais
Au vent mauvais
Qui m'emporte
Deçà, delà
Pareil à la feuille morte.
Paul Verlaine
This is the poem I am charged with memorizing for my French class. We were told that this ode to the changing of the season is well known in France, and children have been learning it in school for ages. This made me think fondly of my eighth grade English teacher who had a love of Whitman, Poe and Frost. That was when I learned "The Road Less Traveled," by Robert Frost, and if a life can be shaped by a poem, this one has certainly shaped mine. Something about those last three lines lodged itself in my thirteen-year-old brain and has guided me every since.
But this isn't about Frost, it's about Verlaine. Yesterday, I asked Steph if he remembered this poem, and after looking at the first line, was able to rattle off the first verse from memory. But then he remembered something else which I found extraordinary. "This is the poem from D-Day!"
It was only a month ago that we bought a DVD of The Longest Day ("Le jour le plus long") and settled in to watch three hours of war, chronicling the events leading up to D-Day and the invasion itself. As soon as Steph made his announcement, I remembered that this was the poem that was read on the radio the day before the invasion, which was a signal to the French Resistance that the Allies were on the way.
So there you are: a lovely poem with historical significance. Lucky for me, this is the kind of stuff that excites me to no end. As soon as the excitement of this discovery fades, I'll be off and running for the next one.
But this isn't about Frost, it's about Verlaine. Yesterday, I asked Steph if he remembered this poem, and after looking at the first line, was able to rattle off the first verse from memory. But then he remembered something else which I found extraordinary. "This is the poem from D-Day!"
It was only a month ago that we bought a DVD of The Longest Day ("Le jour le plus long") and settled in to watch three hours of war, chronicling the events leading up to D-Day and the invasion itself. As soon as Steph made his announcement, I remembered that this was the poem that was read on the radio the day before the invasion, which was a signal to the French Resistance that the Allies were on the way.
So there you are: a lovely poem with historical significance. Lucky for me, this is the kind of stuff that excites me to no end. As soon as the excitement of this discovery fades, I'll be off and running for the next one.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
and so it begins
So, we're moving at the end of the month, which is rapidly approaching, and we have done exactly diddly-squat in preparation for the move. I have always been perpetually early - I was even early for a scheduled C-section, forcing the doctor to perform surgery on my mom a day before planned - and Steph is happy to do everything at the last possible moment. Opposites attract, indeed. Since Steph's Toussaint vacation starts on the 23rd, he has been content to wait until then to start packing, but he finally relented last night and decided he would see his oldest brother, who is a professional mover, this weekend to get some boxes. Meanwhile I'm going to start packing up non-essential clothes in our umpty-million suitcases which are currently shoved in the closet.
Unfortunately, it seems they are doing some kind of construction right in front of our apartment, with what sounds like a backhoe and a jack hammer. The front room smells like the wrong end of a diesel fueled tractor. It sounds like they've taken a pause, but if this keeps up I'm gonna have to actually leave the apartment for a little while. This would be bad because I don't have any actual errands to run, and wandering around in the rain has never been my idea of a good time. We'll have to see how that pans out.
The first French class of the year went just fine on Tuesday. It was mostly the same ladies from last year, the majority of whom are Vietnamese, another American who brings her 15 month old little girl to class (which I thought would bother me but that child has a smile that can light up a room), a lady about my age whom I assume to Indian because she hasn't said so I'm working off ethnicity/clothing/jewelry cues and who interrupts other students to attempt to correct their accents or to ask questions which I really don't like, and one new guy who actually interrupted the teacher (whom I like very much) by taking a phone call (!) and told me after class that he was Moroccan and Spanish and made a big deal about telling me that he was fasting for Ramadan. I didn't get a really good look, but I had the impression that he teeth were very pointy.
Anyway, like I said, the class was fine. We started right off the bat with some dictation, followed by a lively discussion about animals, and ended with writing a "What I Did Last Summer" paper which we'll read aloud next week. Can't wait. Normally there would be a class today, but the teacher had a scheduling conflict, so we'll be back to the usual schedule next week.
We are also charged with memorizing a famous French poem, which I will talk about in further detail in another post.
Unfortunately, it seems they are doing some kind of construction right in front of our apartment, with what sounds like a backhoe and a jack hammer. The front room smells like the wrong end of a diesel fueled tractor. It sounds like they've taken a pause, but if this keeps up I'm gonna have to actually leave the apartment for a little while. This would be bad because I don't have any actual errands to run, and wandering around in the rain has never been my idea of a good time. We'll have to see how that pans out.
The first French class of the year went just fine on Tuesday. It was mostly the same ladies from last year, the majority of whom are Vietnamese, another American who brings her 15 month old little girl to class (which I thought would bother me but that child has a smile that can light up a room), a lady about my age whom I assume to Indian because she hasn't said so I'm working off ethnicity/clothing/jewelry cues and who interrupts other students to attempt to correct their accents or to ask questions which I really don't like, and one new guy who actually interrupted the teacher (whom I like very much) by taking a phone call (!) and told me after class that he was Moroccan and Spanish and made a big deal about telling me that he was fasting for Ramadan. I didn't get a really good look, but I had the impression that he teeth were very pointy.
Anyway, like I said, the class was fine. We started right off the bat with some dictation, followed by a lively discussion about animals, and ended with writing a "What I Did Last Summer" paper which we'll read aloud next week. Can't wait. Normally there would be a class today, but the teacher had a scheduling conflict, so we'll be back to the usual schedule next week.
We are also charged with memorizing a famous French poem, which I will talk about in further detail in another post.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
a weekend in the country
My friend Doc lives in a small village in Haute-Marne, about an hour and a half away. She has lived in France for five years, and while I always admired her courage to pick up and move to a new country (we talked on the phone often and laughed about the silliness of the French, which lead me to come see this silliness, resulting in marrying my own Frenchman and moving here myself), but only in the last year have I been able to fully appreciate the difference between her and any other ex-pat in France I know. The village where she lives has a town hall and a church - that's it. No stores, no boulangerie, no museums, library, movie theatre, restaurants, bars, or corner shops. Oh wait - there's a post office. The only person who speaks English in this village is her husband. Her husband's aunt, who has been taking English lessons for something like ten years, doesn't count, because the lessons don't seem to stick. Oh, and did I mention that she didn't speak a lick of French before she moved here? Sure, Troyes isn't Paris, but it might as well be next to her village, and even the village where we're moving to at the end of the month has more amenities than her village.
So here we are, five years later. She's fluent in French, has worked here, has started a family and is in the process of building a house. She, more than my other ex-pat buddies, gives me hope that I'm going to get past what I hope is this most difficult phase of learning the language and how this place works, because I knew her when she started and I was right there with her.
So, that's Doc.
We were chatting online last week when she mentioned that her hubby was going to help some friends move and her in-laws (who live next door) were going on vacation. She invited me to come hang out and, thanks to my new confidence in driving, I accepted. Saturday, after Steph got home from work, I left for my little weekend in the country.
After a little stroll to see the progress on the new house (up two humungous hills, thanks very much for that bit of exercise!) we got down to the importance business - gossip and tall tales. Because she has lost both of her parents, she was one of the three or four people who really lifted me up when my Mom died back in May, and we talked some more about that this weekend, and I even found there are some things I'm ready to laugh about. She may complain that her little boy was a little monster this weekend, but I just saw the same adorable little boy who slurped down pasta like a champ and is working on his baseball arm (!).
So there you are. I went off and did something without having to drag my poor husband along, French classes start up again this afternoon... things are looking up, my friends.
So here we are, five years later. She's fluent in French, has worked here, has started a family and is in the process of building a house. She, more than my other ex-pat buddies, gives me hope that I'm going to get past what I hope is this most difficult phase of learning the language and how this place works, because I knew her when she started and I was right there with her.
So, that's Doc.
We were chatting online last week when she mentioned that her hubby was going to help some friends move and her in-laws (who live next door) were going on vacation. She invited me to come hang out and, thanks to my new confidence in driving, I accepted. Saturday, after Steph got home from work, I left for my little weekend in the country.
After a little stroll to see the progress on the new house (up two humungous hills, thanks very much for that bit of exercise!) we got down to the importance business - gossip and tall tales. Because she has lost both of her parents, she was one of the three or four people who really lifted me up when my Mom died back in May, and we talked some more about that this weekend, and I even found there are some things I'm ready to laugh about. She may complain that her little boy was a little monster this weekend, but I just saw the same adorable little boy who slurped down pasta like a champ and is working on his baseball arm (!).
So there you are. I went off and did something without having to drag my poor husband along, French classes start up again this afternoon... things are looking up, my friends.
Saturday, October 08, 2005
five thingies
It's meme time again, which suits me fine, as I am getting ready to drive to Doc's house solo for some girlie hanging out and won't be back 'till tomorrow.
So Mai has gone and tagged me (and she's right, we don't talk anymore *sob* but just because I don't comment doesn't mean I'm not reading *wink*) for the 5 things meme, in which I am to post five random things about myself.
1. I don't think I've mentioned it before, but four years ago I had surgury on both feet at the same time, which had me in a wheelchair for six weeks and crutches for another month. I had some amazing biceps that summer, lemme tell ya. I was lucky that I worked for an amazing company that gave me the time off for the surgery and was willing to help me out with transportation and time off for doctor's check-ups. Why did I have the surgery? Because the simple chore of going grocery shopping left me in so much pain, I cried on the way home.
2. The only time I've broken a bone by accident (see number one for the time I did it on purpose) was a week after I was married - I fell down the steps in my apartment and broke my big toe. It hurt like hell but we had a good time making jokes about Steph pushing me down the stairs so early in our marriage.
3. I found out recently that my maiden name is also the name of a village in Italy. I hope to go there someday.
4. My stomach is pretty sensitive, so I have to be not careful, but definitely aware of what I eat. Anything with cabbage or anything remotely related to cabbage makes my digestive track very angry. I don't like cabbage anyway, so I'm not really missing anything.
5. I can't really think of a fifth thing, so I'm gonna post this link that made me laugh: End of the World
I'm gonna pass on the taggin' love to my new friend La Dauphine, my homegirl Flare, the super cool Gnumoon, my favorite kiwi in France, Antipo, and my home skillet, Tracey.
So Mai has gone and tagged me (and she's right, we don't talk anymore *sob* but just because I don't comment doesn't mean I'm not reading *wink*) for the 5 things meme, in which I am to post five random things about myself.
1. I don't think I've mentioned it before, but four years ago I had surgury on both feet at the same time, which had me in a wheelchair for six weeks and crutches for another month. I had some amazing biceps that summer, lemme tell ya. I was lucky that I worked for an amazing company that gave me the time off for the surgery and was willing to help me out with transportation and time off for doctor's check-ups. Why did I have the surgery? Because the simple chore of going grocery shopping left me in so much pain, I cried on the way home.
2. The only time I've broken a bone by accident (see number one for the time I did it on purpose) was a week after I was married - I fell down the steps in my apartment and broke my big toe. It hurt like hell but we had a good time making jokes about Steph pushing me down the stairs so early in our marriage.
3. I found out recently that my maiden name is also the name of a village in Italy. I hope to go there someday.
4. My stomach is pretty sensitive, so I have to be not careful, but definitely aware of what I eat. Anything with cabbage or anything remotely related to cabbage makes my digestive track very angry. I don't like cabbage anyway, so I'm not really missing anything.
5. I can't really think of a fifth thing, so I'm gonna post this link that made me laugh: End of the World
I'm gonna pass on the taggin' love to my new friend La Dauphine, my homegirl Flare, the super cool Gnumoon, my favorite kiwi in France, Antipo, and my home skillet, Tracey.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
why i love france (this week)
As I mentioned a couple of posts ago, I bought a couple of pairs of pants last week. Turns out there's an accompanying story after all.
I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before, but I am, in fact, quite short. At 5'2" (157.5 cm), and having inherited child-bearing hips from my mother's side of the family and a very short waist from my father's side of the family, I have always had difficulty finding clothes that fit. Because of my height, I have been relegated to the "petite" section of clothing stores, which in later years has become a cosmic joke, as I am petite in height only. Thanks to the aforementioned hips, I have never been truly petite, but even when I was closer to that ideal, I found clothes shopping a bitter and frustrating exercise.
Now in France, I have been relegated to those shops that offer "grandes tailles," or plus sizes (of which I can think of three, off the top of my head, in Troyes). Part of me thinks I should be outraged, but the vast majority of me agrees that it does wonders to spur me into doing something about that. The truth is, I had decided not to buy any clothes at all until I can go to more than those three shops, which if I put my mind to it, shouldn't take long at all. But in the end, I really needed the pants, as I have one pair of jeans (that fit, heh), and the rest of my pants are a bit too dressy for just walking around the corner to get groceries, know what I mean?
So, last week, I bought some pants. Since I have yet to find a "petite" section of any clothing store, it should be no surprise that there were (seemingly) yards of fabric billowing around my ankles, but otherwise they fit very well. So I bought them and went home, thinking I could bribe one of my sisters-in-law to help me hem them up.
But, I'd forgotten that I had another option.
It turns out that in the vast majority of clothes stores, there is a seamstress on hand, in case your clothes are too long. If you try something on, and you want to buy it, but it's a bit long, you step out of your cubicle in the trying-on area, the seamstress marks the hem with a couple of straight pins, and she gives you a ticket. When you pay for the clothes, you leave the ticket and the clothes at the register and pick them up in a few days. Depending on the store, there may be a small fee, and maybe not.
In my defense, I should say that when I bought them last week, the seamstress must of been at lunch, since I think I was there between 1:00 and 2:00, so even if I remembered to have them altered, I would have had to come back.
So, instead of butchering the hem on my own, I learned that I could take back the pants to have them altered as long as I still had the receipt. If they had been from the new collection, it would have been free to have them altered, but since they were on sale (20 euros each!) I would have to pay seven euros for each pair, which is still a bargain. I took them back this morning and they'll be ready on Friday.
Who ever imagined I would have a positive shopping experience in France, of all places?
I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before, but I am, in fact, quite short. At 5'2" (157.5 cm), and having inherited child-bearing hips from my mother's side of the family and a very short waist from my father's side of the family, I have always had difficulty finding clothes that fit. Because of my height, I have been relegated to the "petite" section of clothing stores, which in later years has become a cosmic joke, as I am petite in height only. Thanks to the aforementioned hips, I have never been truly petite, but even when I was closer to that ideal, I found clothes shopping a bitter and frustrating exercise.
Now in France, I have been relegated to those shops that offer "grandes tailles," or plus sizes (of which I can think of three, off the top of my head, in Troyes). Part of me thinks I should be outraged, but the vast majority of me agrees that it does wonders to spur me into doing something about that. The truth is, I had decided not to buy any clothes at all until I can go to more than those three shops, which if I put my mind to it, shouldn't take long at all. But in the end, I really needed the pants, as I have one pair of jeans (that fit, heh), and the rest of my pants are a bit too dressy for just walking around the corner to get groceries, know what I mean?
So, last week, I bought some pants. Since I have yet to find a "petite" section of any clothing store, it should be no surprise that there were (seemingly) yards of fabric billowing around my ankles, but otherwise they fit very well. So I bought them and went home, thinking I could bribe one of my sisters-in-law to help me hem them up.
But, I'd forgotten that I had another option.
It turns out that in the vast majority of clothes stores, there is a seamstress on hand, in case your clothes are too long. If you try something on, and you want to buy it, but it's a bit long, you step out of your cubicle in the trying-on area, the seamstress marks the hem with a couple of straight pins, and she gives you a ticket. When you pay for the clothes, you leave the ticket and the clothes at the register and pick them up in a few days. Depending on the store, there may be a small fee, and maybe not.
In my defense, I should say that when I bought them last week, the seamstress must of been at lunch, since I think I was there between 1:00 and 2:00, so even if I remembered to have them altered, I would have had to come back.
So, instead of butchering the hem on my own, I learned that I could take back the pants to have them altered as long as I still had the receipt. If they had been from the new collection, it would have been free to have them altered, but since they were on sale (20 euros each!) I would have to pay seven euros for each pair, which is still a bargain. I took them back this morning and they'll be ready on Friday.
Who ever imagined I would have a positive shopping experience in France, of all places?
Monday, October 03, 2005
damn, damn, damn!
I completely forgot there was a solar eclipse this morning! I am so disappointed, because I've never seen one before. The worst part is, thanks to several nights in a row of less-than-adequate sleeping, I went back to bed this morning after Steph left for work and slept through the whole thing.
So, um.... anyone know when the next one is?
In other news, I spent a couple of hours this morning creating an Excel spreadsheet for Steph to keep up with his lesson requirements. I can't tell you how much I miss doing this sort of work! A lot of people think that data entry and creating spreadsheets is the height of boredom, but I can happily sit in front of a computer screen typing the day away. If anyone's looking for a data entry goddess, please let me know!
So, um.... anyone know when the next one is?
In other news, I spent a couple of hours this morning creating an Excel spreadsheet for Steph to keep up with his lesson requirements. I can't tell you how much I miss doing this sort of work! A lot of people think that data entry and creating spreadsheets is the height of boredom, but I can happily sit in front of a computer screen typing the day away. If anyone's looking for a data entry goddess, please let me know!
Saturday, October 01, 2005
it's been a slow week
I haven't written anything because the highlight of this week was that I bought some pants. Since even that shocking development isn't enough to warrant a post on its own, here are some other things that have been on my mind:
- A couple of weeks ago, I was walking through the courtyard of our immeuble (small apartment building, usually an old house turned into apartments) to take the garbage out and passed a guy who I thought was playing a game of darts. In fact, he was practicing throwing knives. Yep, so ready to move now.
- Did I tell you that our friend Eric's hairdresser is on France's answer to American Idol called Star Academy? Poor Eric is a bit put out, as he really needs a haircut. (you know I'm just teasing ya, E!)
- I made a banana bread yesterday, and Steph asked me if the bananas have to be really ripe when you make it. Turns out all the teachers have been bringing in snacks and such and he hasn't brought anything yet and he'd like me to make a banana bread for Monday. Luckily for him, baking is still so new to me that I get all excited when I have an excuse to do it.
- Finally got word that my French classes will resume on or around October 11. Still no phone call.
Monday, September 26, 2005
back to the living
Well, barely.
I'm over the worst of the cold. Saturday night, Steph and I felt well enough to drive over to our friend Eric's house to play tarot. All was fine until I experienced a bout of nausea in the middle of eating my ice cream on a stick. Yesterday started out fine, but after eating a bit of the hachis parmentier (something like a shepard's pie with ground beef and pork with mashed potatoes on top baked in the oven) we made for lunch, I thought I was going to throw up and spent the rest of the day in bed. Now I can't even come near the stuff. I suspect it's all from consuming too much of my own sinus fluids. The idea that I'm carrying an unscheduled bun in the oven crossed my mind, but (as my very odd ex-roommate called it) "George" arrived on schedule last week.
And now that you know way to much about my menstrual cycle, I'll move swiftly forward and tell you a revelation I had while I was sick. It occurred to me that the last time I was this sick was last year, not long after we arrived, when Steph was sick for a couple of days and I was sick for a week. The thing that ties them together is the beginning of school. In fact, it seems everyone at Steph's school was sick last week. It looks like I can look forward to this every September, so I'm asking all the teachers and teachers' spouses out there: what do you do to avoid this back-to-school illness every year?
In other news, we've got someone coming to look at the apartment again this afternoon, so I spent the morning making it look presentable. The truth is, it's lovely to have it all tidied up before lunchtime. I've really got to get my butt in gear and do this everyday.
Or maybe every other day...
I'm over the worst of the cold. Saturday night, Steph and I felt well enough to drive over to our friend Eric's house to play tarot. All was fine until I experienced a bout of nausea in the middle of eating my ice cream on a stick. Yesterday started out fine, but after eating a bit of the hachis parmentier (something like a shepard's pie with ground beef and pork with mashed potatoes on top baked in the oven) we made for lunch, I thought I was going to throw up and spent the rest of the day in bed. Now I can't even come near the stuff. I suspect it's all from consuming too much of my own sinus fluids. The idea that I'm carrying an unscheduled bun in the oven crossed my mind, but (as my very odd ex-roommate called it) "George" arrived on schedule last week.
And now that you know way to much about my menstrual cycle, I'll move swiftly forward and tell you a revelation I had while I was sick. It occurred to me that the last time I was this sick was last year, not long after we arrived, when Steph was sick for a couple of days and I was sick for a week. The thing that ties them together is the beginning of school. In fact, it seems everyone at Steph's school was sick last week. It looks like I can look forward to this every September, so I'm asking all the teachers and teachers' spouses out there: what do you do to avoid this back-to-school illness every year?
In other news, we've got someone coming to look at the apartment again this afternoon, so I spent the morning making it look presentable. The truth is, it's lovely to have it all tidied up before lunchtime. I've really got to get my butt in gear and do this everyday.
Or maybe every other day...
Thursday, September 22, 2005
the gift that keeps on giving
I've caught Steph's cold. I feel like I've been run over by a bus.
Still no phone call.
That is all.
Still no phone call.
That is all.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
vivi goes for a drive
Steph had a sniffle when he came home from work yesterday, and before the night was over, he was propped up in bed with tissues stuffed up his nose. Yes, it must be Fall. The weather can't change without one or both of us getting sick.
We had a lot planned to do today, as Wednesday is Steph's day off, but it became clear very quickly that what he really needed was a day of rest. We had been invited to his parents' for lunch and were just contemplating whether or not we should cancel when the phone started to ring.
Looks like the apartment has finally been listed with a local realtor. In rapid succession, three people called to make appointments to see the apartment, the first one due to arrive in fifteen minutes. Luckily I'd mopped the floors yesterday (seriously - that was one chore I'd put off for way too long) so we scrambled around tidying up things a bit.
After the first potential renter left, Steph called his mom to cancel lunch, who then offered to bring lunch to us and help us set the apartment to rights. About an hour later, she arrived with lentils and sausage (not something I would usually rave over but she does this dish very well!) and before we had the food on plates she was scrubbing the toilet and washing the kitchen walls. I used to get really offended when she came over and started cleaning things or offered to take my ironing home and do it (that one sorta still puzzles me) but she told me herself that she likes cleaning things (you could probably eat off her floor) and if someone wants to scrub my toilet who am I to stop them?
The other thing Steph and I had planned to do today was go grocery shopping. Can I just say that I love how couples and families go grocery shopping together here? That never happens back home. I mean, obviously it's not always practical but I think it's fair to say that there are just as many if not more couples/families shopping than people by themselves. Anyway, someone needed to be home to great the next potential renter and Steph needs to rest, so I volunteered to go shopping by myself.
I know you're thinking, "and so?" But here's the thing: until today I haven't driven in France by myself, and the only times I've driven are right out of town on nice big streets into villages where everyone was already home for the night; none of this in-town driving around roundabouts business.
So I did it. The good thing is that we've been taking the same route once every couple of weeks for a year, so I know the way pretty well (though being a passenger is never the same as being the driver, you know?). Honestly, there's nothing really to report: I got there ok, I piled my cart high with lots of yummy things, I put them in the car, I got gas, and I went home.
But I still couldn't resist doing a victory lap when I got home, throwing my hands in the air and yelling "I did it!" at my bemused husband.
PS Still no word from Mr. Irish. It's coming down to the wire now.....
We had a lot planned to do today, as Wednesday is Steph's day off, but it became clear very quickly that what he really needed was a day of rest. We had been invited to his parents' for lunch and were just contemplating whether or not we should cancel when the phone started to ring.
Looks like the apartment has finally been listed with a local realtor. In rapid succession, three people called to make appointments to see the apartment, the first one due to arrive in fifteen minutes. Luckily I'd mopped the floors yesterday (seriously - that was one chore I'd put off for way too long) so we scrambled around tidying up things a bit.
After the first potential renter left, Steph called his mom to cancel lunch, who then offered to bring lunch to us and help us set the apartment to rights. About an hour later, she arrived with lentils and sausage (not something I would usually rave over but she does this dish very well!) and before we had the food on plates she was scrubbing the toilet and washing the kitchen walls. I used to get really offended when she came over and started cleaning things or offered to take my ironing home and do it (that one sorta still puzzles me) but she told me herself that she likes cleaning things (you could probably eat off her floor) and if someone wants to scrub my toilet who am I to stop them?
The other thing Steph and I had planned to do today was go grocery shopping. Can I just say that I love how couples and families go grocery shopping together here? That never happens back home. I mean, obviously it's not always practical but I think it's fair to say that there are just as many if not more couples/families shopping than people by themselves. Anyway, someone needed to be home to great the next potential renter and Steph needs to rest, so I volunteered to go shopping by myself.
I know you're thinking, "and so?" But here's the thing: until today I haven't driven in France by myself, and the only times I've driven are right out of town on nice big streets into villages where everyone was already home for the night; none of this in-town driving around roundabouts business.
So I did it. The good thing is that we've been taking the same route once every couple of weeks for a year, so I know the way pretty well (though being a passenger is never the same as being the driver, you know?). Honestly, there's nothing really to report: I got there ok, I piled my cart high with lots of yummy things, I put them in the car, I got gas, and I went home.
But I still couldn't resist doing a victory lap when I got home, throwing my hands in the air and yelling "I did it!" at my bemused husband.
PS Still no word from Mr. Irish. It's coming down to the wire now.....
Monday, September 19, 2005
today's headlines
Still no word from Mr. Irish. It's been two weeks, classes start next week, and still no word. I've been warned that the job-hiring process in France is slow, and since I'm not a patient person and a worry-wart by nature, I'm thinking the worst. If I haven't received a phone call by the end of the week, I suppose the jig will be up. No wonder I'm not sleeping so well.
In other Where the hell did everybody go? news, I walked over to the AATM to find out if French classes have started back up and to get an idea of the schedules, and there was nobody there, despite the sign posted on the door that told me I had arrived at a time when there should be someone there. I hate to bother the professor with a phone call, so I'm torn between just calling her to find out what the deal is and just going back to the office tomorrow.
In the meantime, I've purchased a book called L'Histoire de France: pour les nuls (The History of France for Dummies), which was a recommendation from KylieMac. I'm slowly plodding through it with my English-French dictionary at hand.
From The Food Desk, I can report that I've discovered pain au sept céréales, or bread with seven grains, which is like a mueslix bread. It's heavenly with a bit of La Vache Qui Rit (or as Americans know it, The Laughing Cow) cheese spread on top. It's the closest I've come to finding an everything bagel with cream cheese.
From The Outdoors Desk, now is the time for mushroom hunting. Last week, Steph and I headed to our local neighborhood forest and came out with about a kilo of mushrooms called trompettes de la mort, or "trumpets of death." Steph insisted on cooking up the whole batch and eating it for dinner, which resulted in one of us having a terrible stomachache for the rest of the evening (hint: it wasn't me).
And finally, from the long dormant The Strangest Thing I Saw Today Desk: as I was waiting in line at the boulangerie for the aforementioned heavenly bread, I spied a young lady ordering up a few items with her pet rat clinging to her collar. I can't help but wonder if French pet rats take a bit of brie with their baguette at lunchtime.
In other Where the hell did everybody go? news, I walked over to the AATM to find out if French classes have started back up and to get an idea of the schedules, and there was nobody there, despite the sign posted on the door that told me I had arrived at a time when there should be someone there. I hate to bother the professor with a phone call, so I'm torn between just calling her to find out what the deal is and just going back to the office tomorrow.
In the meantime, I've purchased a book called L'Histoire de France: pour les nuls (The History of France for Dummies), which was a recommendation from KylieMac. I'm slowly plodding through it with my English-French dictionary at hand.
From The Food Desk, I can report that I've discovered pain au sept céréales, or bread with seven grains, which is like a mueslix bread. It's heavenly with a bit of La Vache Qui Rit (or as Americans know it, The Laughing Cow) cheese spread on top. It's the closest I've come to finding an everything bagel with cream cheese.
From The Outdoors Desk, now is the time for mushroom hunting. Last week, Steph and I headed to our local neighborhood forest and came out with about a kilo of mushrooms called trompettes de la mort, or "trumpets of death." Steph insisted on cooking up the whole batch and eating it for dinner, which resulted in one of us having a terrible stomachache for the rest of the evening (hint: it wasn't me).
And finally, from the long dormant The Strangest Thing I Saw Today Desk: as I was waiting in line at the boulangerie for the aforementioned heavenly bread, I spied a young lady ordering up a few items with her pet rat clinging to her collar. I can't help but wonder if French pet rats take a bit of brie with their baguette at lunchtime.
Friday, September 16, 2005
cravings
Last week I hopped on a train heading East, and landed in the town of Chaumont to spend the day with Doc. We spent the morning with her adorable son, who is quite possibly the best behaved child under the age of two I have ever seen. After a little jaunt in the woods and some jungle gym climbing in a park - where our little hero was accosted by a very odd little girl and took it all in stride - we went to satisfy Doc's pregnancy craving for Chinese food.
There we met her husband, his colleague, and another American-living-in-France (hooray! we're setting up a bit of a network out here in the country). This particular Chinese restaurant offers a buffet lunch, consisting of about three different dishes along with the usual rice and noodles. Spring rolls are offered with lettuce leaves, which you're meant to wrap around your spring roll before eating, and they had really good teriyaki chicken, too! Doc's husband doesn't much like eating Chinese as they don't offer bread to go with your meal (which cracks me up!) but I have to say that I really enjoyed it. It seemed to me that it wasn't as greasy as the Chinese food I've had back home, and there wasn't nearly as much fried food offered. Of course, I'd do just about anything for a good crab rangoon, but Doc's given me a recipe, so I may have to try that at home some time.
So, after satiating Doc's Chinese food craving, the two of us sauntered around downtown a bit and landed in a cafe. There we sucked down cool drinks (this was before the weather finally turned, bless you Autumn!) while she copied down some recipes for me - Doc's gone a long way in alleviating my fear of kitchen implements.
Doc has also become mydrug book dealer. As I handed her back the box of books she'd lent me, including the new Harry Potter, she replaced it with another box of lovely lovely books. I've already torn through The Time Traveler's Wife (amazing, amazing book) and The Poisonwood Bible (another amazing book) and have started yet another book. This is quite dangerous, as I have the tendency to let everything else fall away when I'm deep into a book, though it does keep me occupied while I'm waiting for a phone call from Mr. Irish.
Book drooling aside, it was a good day, and I'm looking forward to the day when we've got an extra car lying around so we can do it more often.
There we met her husband, his colleague, and another American-living-in-France (hooray! we're setting up a bit of a network out here in the country). This particular Chinese restaurant offers a buffet lunch, consisting of about three different dishes along with the usual rice and noodles. Spring rolls are offered with lettuce leaves, which you're meant to wrap around your spring roll before eating, and they had really good teriyaki chicken, too! Doc's husband doesn't much like eating Chinese as they don't offer bread to go with your meal (which cracks me up!) but I have to say that I really enjoyed it. It seemed to me that it wasn't as greasy as the Chinese food I've had back home, and there wasn't nearly as much fried food offered. Of course, I'd do just about anything for a good crab rangoon, but Doc's given me a recipe, so I may have to try that at home some time.
So, after satiating Doc's Chinese food craving, the two of us sauntered around downtown a bit and landed in a cafe. There we sucked down cool drinks (this was before the weather finally turned, bless you Autumn!) while she copied down some recipes for me - Doc's gone a long way in alleviating my fear of kitchen implements.
Doc has also become my
Book drooling aside, it was a good day, and I'm looking forward to the day when we've got an extra car lying around so we can do it more often.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
vivi goes to mcdo
Yesterday I did something I've never done before: I went to McDonald's for lunch, by myself.
I confess that before I moved here, I ate my fair (American) share of fast food. I'm not going to humiliate myself and tell you exactly how often, but I definately ate it a lot. Since I've moved here, my fast food intake has diminished greatly. The biggest reason is the lack of fast food restaurant choices - you've either got McDonald's or Quick, a Belgian hambuger chain (although I understand KFC can be found in some places, but I've never seen one). Another reason is that they're not quite as cheap here; my "Best Of" value meal was just over six euros. Finally, we don't eat a lot of fast food because, hello, I'm in France! We have more cheese and tasty bread than you can shake a french fry at!
So yesterday I had to run some errands downtown, and the idea of some french fries was just too good to pass up.
For the most part, the experience is the same. You'll find the same sandwiches, the fries taste the same, and the decor's about the same, too. If you look close enough, you'll find the subtle differences - can you imagine McDonald's offering beer? One of the special sandwiches being advertised was the McFarmer. Believe me, I can't make this stuff up. Finally, I really love that after completing my "Meeksheekahn Best Of" transaction, the cashier wished me "bon appetit!" Can you imagine?
I'll tell you another thing, too: my McChicken sandwich was so hot, I about burnt the roof of my mouth. Hot sandwich and hot fries? That's good stuff right there.
I confess that before I moved here, I ate my fair (American) share of fast food. I'm not going to humiliate myself and tell you exactly how often, but I definately ate it a lot. Since I've moved here, my fast food intake has diminished greatly. The biggest reason is the lack of fast food restaurant choices - you've either got McDonald's or Quick, a Belgian hambuger chain (although I understand KFC can be found in some places, but I've never seen one). Another reason is that they're not quite as cheap here; my "Best Of" value meal was just over six euros. Finally, we don't eat a lot of fast food because, hello, I'm in France! We have more cheese and tasty bread than you can shake a french fry at!
So yesterday I had to run some errands downtown, and the idea of some french fries was just too good to pass up.
For the most part, the experience is the same. You'll find the same sandwiches, the fries taste the same, and the decor's about the same, too. If you look close enough, you'll find the subtle differences - can you imagine McDonald's offering beer? One of the special sandwiches being advertised was the McFarmer. Believe me, I can't make this stuff up. Finally, I really love that after completing my "Meeksheekahn Best Of" transaction, the cashier wished me "bon appetit!" Can you imagine?
I'll tell you another thing, too: my McChicken sandwich was so hot, I about burnt the roof of my mouth. Hot sandwich and hot fries? That's good stuff right there.
Monday, September 12, 2005
a weekend in english
Spending the majority of time with people who speak a language I barely understand is quite a strain on my sanity. It's concentrating on every syllable I hear while simultaneously letting the words flow over me. I can grasp a phrase and let it roll around in my mind and ponder it for a while, but if I do that, I've lost the thread of the conversation. I'm trying to learn to put these morsels in my pocket and save them for later, but all in all, it's pretty exhausting.
That's why I love these weekends I can run away to Paris. Meeting up with my fellow blogging Anglophones is like taking my brain to a spa. By the time I come home, I'm ready for the French assault to start all over again.
It was meant to be a picnic and sleepover, but the weather didn't cooperate. I confess I don't mind that much, because the bad weather seems to have brought the beginning of Autumn with it, and last night I had the best night of sleep in weeks. So instead, we all headed over to her house ("we" being the usual suspects). There was food, cheesy movies, knitting (ok, I do not knit, but I am working on a cross stitch project so I brought that along), more food, gossip, commiseration, a freaky French neighbor, and still more food. We were going to do a recipe swap, but I think we all decided to just post them on our blogs, so I'll be doing that in a bit. All in all, it was a lovely weekend.
That's why I love these weekends I can run away to Paris. Meeting up with my fellow blogging Anglophones is like taking my brain to a spa. By the time I come home, I'm ready for the French assault to start all over again.
It was meant to be a picnic and sleepover, but the weather didn't cooperate. I confess I don't mind that much, because the bad weather seems to have brought the beginning of Autumn with it, and last night I had the best night of sleep in weeks. So instead, we all headed over to her house ("we" being the usual suspects). There was food, cheesy movies, knitting (ok, I do not knit, but I am working on a cross stitch project so I brought that along), more food, gossip, commiseration, a freaky French neighbor, and still more food. We were going to do a recipe swap, but I think we all decided to just post them on our blogs, so I'll be doing that in a bit. All in all, it was a lovely weekend.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
things that keep me up at night
So, you know how in the Bible, Jesus said, "Peter is My rock"? And then, you know how the French name for Peter is Pierre? And then, the French word for "rock" is "pierre"? So in the French Bible, does Jesus say, "Pierre est Mon pierre"? And if so, isn't that kind of redundant?
I'm on my way to Paris for a summit of International Ex-pats, so perhaps this and other burning questions will be answered. Have a good weekend!
I'm on my way to Paris for a summit of International Ex-pats, so perhaps this and other burning questions will be answered. Have a good weekend!
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
seven things
I can barely keep my eyes open. I hardly slept last night. I guess the stress of waiting for a phone call from Mr. Irish is getting to me.
In the meantime, Karla has tagged me for the "Seven Things" meme. Without further ado...
Seven Things I Plan to Do Before I Die
1. Become fluent in French (sometimes it seems impossible so it doesn't seem outrageous to include it)
2. Become a Mom
3. Go to Italy to see where my great-grandparents came from
4. Go to Poland to see where my great-grandparents came from
5. Buy a piano and relearn how to play it
6. Go on a cruise
7. Chuck it all and run off to become the rock star I was born to be
OK, not really. ;)
Seven Things I Can Do
1. Type freakishly fast
2. Sing pretty well
3. Write backwards
4. Act in front of an audience
5. Shake my boo-tay
6. Throw a baseball
7. Navigate the Paris Metro system
Seven Things I Can't Do
1. Be Patient
2. Raise my right eyebrow
3. Keep this apartment clean (MUST get a handle on this!)
4. Call my Mom and tell her how much I miss her
5. Touch my toes (and I used to be a dancer, for crissakes... must get a handle on this too)
6. Anything right-handed
7. Tell jokes well
Seven Things That I Find Really Attractive About the Opposite Sex
1. Silliness
2. Patience
3. A good laugh
4. Eyes
5. Hands
6. Smile
7. Willingness to put up with me
Seven Things I Say the Most
1. GodDAMN mutherFUCKER! (sorry Grandma)
2. Jesus CHRIST!! (sorry again)
3. What do you want for dinner tonight?
4. Excusez-moi, mais ma francais n'est pas tres bien....
5. Pardon? S'il vous plait, parlez doucement. :)
6. What did he say?
7. What did she say?
Seven Books I Love
1. The Secret Garden
2. The Outlander Series (series count, right?)
3. The Harry Potter Series
4. Les Miserables
5. Bridget Jones
6. Anything by John Irving (I owe my friend Carrie big time for that!)
7. The Riverside Shakespeare
So the last time I tagged somebody to do a meme, I got my ass handed to me, so I'll leave this one open, and if you take it, let me know and I'll link back to you. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go ask Steph Part 5, Question 3...
Update Sept. 8
Looks like Anne has taken me up on my offer!
In the meantime, Karla has tagged me for the "Seven Things" meme. Without further ado...
Seven Things I Plan to Do Before I Die
1. Become fluent in French (sometimes it seems impossible so it doesn't seem outrageous to include it)
2. Become a Mom
3. Go to Italy to see where my great-grandparents came from
4. Go to Poland to see where my great-grandparents came from
5. Buy a piano and relearn how to play it
6. Go on a cruise
7. Chuck it all and run off to become the rock star I was born to be
OK, not really. ;)
Seven Things I Can Do
1. Type freakishly fast
2. Sing pretty well
3. Write backwards
4. Act in front of an audience
5. Shake my boo-tay
6. Throw a baseball
7. Navigate the Paris Metro system
Seven Things I Can't Do
1. Be Patient
2. Raise my right eyebrow
3. Keep this apartment clean (MUST get a handle on this!)
4. Call my Mom and tell her how much I miss her
5. Touch my toes (and I used to be a dancer, for crissakes... must get a handle on this too)
6. Anything right-handed
7. Tell jokes well
Seven Things That I Find Really Attractive About the Opposite Sex
1. Silliness
2. Patience
3. A good laugh
4. Eyes
5. Hands
6. Smile
7. Willingness to put up with me
Seven Things I Say the Most
1. GodDAMN mutherFUCKER! (sorry Grandma)
2. Jesus CHRIST!! (sorry again)
3. What do you want for dinner tonight?
4. Excusez-moi, mais ma francais n'est pas tres bien....
5. Pardon? S'il vous plait, parlez doucement. :)
6. What did he say?
7. What did she say?
Seven Books I Love
1. The Secret Garden
2. The Outlander Series (series count, right?)
3. The Harry Potter Series
4. Les Miserables
5. Bridget Jones
6. Anything by John Irving (I owe my friend Carrie big time for that!)
7. The Riverside Shakespeare
So the last time I tagged somebody to do a meme, I got my ass handed to me, so I'll leave this one open, and if you take it, let me know and I'll link back to you. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go ask Steph Part 5, Question 3...
Update Sept. 8
Looks like Anne has taken me up on my offer!
Monday, September 05, 2005
at last it can be told
So, do you remember Mr. Irish?
No? OK, let me sum up. Last February I sent a couple of resumes to the local businesses that teach English as a second language. Mr. Irish called me back, and I had an interview with him, but it became evident that I wasn't quite ready. I didn't have a background of teaching and didn't study more than the required amount of grammar in school (dear god, I don't think I've diagramed a sentence since third grade), and my French wasn't good enough to teach a beginner's class. I bought a couple of grammar books, but finally set them aside when I felt I'd have a better chance of finding a job relating to what I did in the states (oh ho ho how silly of me).
So life went on, I took my French classes, blah blah blah. Then, out of the blue, I got a message Thursday from Mr. Irish. I called him back Friday morning and learned that he's still interested in me and could I come in and see him.
For a paying job? Heck yeah, I'll be there in an hour!
So, I had to wait until this afternoon. To be honest with you, my first reaction was, "Oh no, I'll be a terrible teacher, I'd be better off waiting until I can find something that I'm more familiar with." And then I looked at the bank balance and thought, "Who am I kidding?"
So off I went. The interview went really great. Since I've got a bit more French under my belt, he feels more confident about placing me in an intermediate level course. He's so enthusiastic about what he does, that it's nearly impossible to catch a whiff of it and be ready to storm into a class.
Well, here's what it comes down to:
The Good News
For starters, I would be teaching 9 - 10 hours a week. This is perfect for starting out, so I can get comfortable with the material.
The pay doesn't suck.
TheBad Not So Great News
The classes he would like me to teach are evenings and Saturday mornings. I'm happy to take anything, even if it means we need to buy a second car (the buses stop running at 9pm and I don't like to take the bus after dark anyway if I can help it). But it does mean that I probably won't be able to sing with the Conservatory this year. Sure, the rehearsals are on Wednesdays this year, the only day during the week there aren't any English classes, but concerts are often during the week as well as extra rehearsals. Not singing this year will suck, but I gotta go where the money takes me. At least for now. But the good thing about evening classes is that I can continue taking French classes during the day.
Classes start at the end of the month, and he is in the process of firming up the schedules for the year. If all goes well, I should have received a phone call and have a contract in my hot little hands inside two weeks. I'm about ready to jump out of my skin with anticipation!
No? OK, let me sum up. Last February I sent a couple of resumes to the local businesses that teach English as a second language. Mr. Irish called me back, and I had an interview with him, but it became evident that I wasn't quite ready. I didn't have a background of teaching and didn't study more than the required amount of grammar in school (dear god, I don't think I've diagramed a sentence since third grade), and my French wasn't good enough to teach a beginner's class. I bought a couple of grammar books, but finally set them aside when I felt I'd have a better chance of finding a job relating to what I did in the states (oh ho ho how silly of me).
So life went on, I took my French classes, blah blah blah. Then, out of the blue, I got a message Thursday from Mr. Irish. I called him back Friday morning and learned that he's still interested in me and could I come in and see him.
For a paying job? Heck yeah, I'll be there in an hour!
So, I had to wait until this afternoon. To be honest with you, my first reaction was, "Oh no, I'll be a terrible teacher, I'd be better off waiting until I can find something that I'm more familiar with." And then I looked at the bank balance and thought, "Who am I kidding?"
So off I went. The interview went really great. Since I've got a bit more French under my belt, he feels more confident about placing me in an intermediate level course. He's so enthusiastic about what he does, that it's nearly impossible to catch a whiff of it and be ready to storm into a class.
Well, here's what it comes down to:
The Good News
For starters, I would be teaching 9 - 10 hours a week. This is perfect for starting out, so I can get comfortable with the material.
The pay doesn't suck.
The
The classes he would like me to teach are evenings and Saturday mornings. I'm happy to take anything, even if it means we need to buy a second car (the buses stop running at 9pm and I don't like to take the bus after dark anyway if I can help it). But it does mean that I probably won't be able to sing with the Conservatory this year. Sure, the rehearsals are on Wednesdays this year, the only day during the week there aren't any English classes, but concerts are often during the week as well as extra rehearsals. Not singing this year will suck, but I gotta go where the money takes me. At least for now. But the good thing about evening classes is that I can continue taking French classes during the day.
Classes start at the end of the month, and he is in the process of firming up the schedules for the year. If all goes well, I should have received a phone call and have a contract in my hot little hands inside two weeks. I'm about ready to jump out of my skin with anticipation!
Sunday, September 04, 2005
summer's last gasp
Thanks everyone, for your lovely comments on my last post! Like I said, that's the best gift I could have received, and like I suspected, saw some new names there. I'm looking forward to popping over to your places, so please remember I like sugar in my tea, mkay?
In other news, summer just will not die. Not a cloud in the sky and just hot, hot, hot. We tried to beat the heat a little by visiting a museum - the last museum I hadn't visited in Troyes, the Musee De Vauluisant. The building itself was built in the 16th century and expanded upon during the next two centuries, and features the history of Troyes and the history of the textile industry. The textile exhibits were interesting, but I was particularly struck by a painting of Troyes from the 16th century which features the cathedral, which I walk by at least twice a week. I still can't wrap my head around the fact that there are buildings here that are older than my home country. Also, Troyes is well known for its stained glass windows, and there is a nice exhibit of it there, along with paintings by Troyienne artists and an exhibit of painted tiles.
Oh, and I almost forgot, since today is the first Sunday of the month, this museum, like all the national museums, was free. Don't you just love that? Free culture once a month. Good stuff, my friends.
And finally, yes, I have a job interview tomorrow. I'm afraid I'll jinx it and I may have already said too much (paranoid much?), so I will divulge all tomorrow evening. Just wish me luck with an extra dose of confidence, and I think I'll be ok.
In other news, summer just will not die. Not a cloud in the sky and just hot, hot, hot. We tried to beat the heat a little by visiting a museum - the last museum I hadn't visited in Troyes, the Musee De Vauluisant. The building itself was built in the 16th century and expanded upon during the next two centuries, and features the history of Troyes and the history of the textile industry. The textile exhibits were interesting, but I was particularly struck by a painting of Troyes from the 16th century which features the cathedral, which I walk by at least twice a week. I still can't wrap my head around the fact that there are buildings here that are older than my home country. Also, Troyes is well known for its stained glass windows, and there is a nice exhibit of it there, along with paintings by Troyienne artists and an exhibit of painted tiles.
Oh, and I almost forgot, since today is the first Sunday of the month, this museum, like all the national museums, was free. Don't you just love that? Free culture once a month. Good stuff, my friends.
And finally, yes, I have a job interview tomorrow. I'm afraid I'll jinx it and I may have already said too much (paranoid much?), so I will divulge all tomorrow evening. Just wish me luck with an extra dose of confidence, and I think I'll be ok.
Friday, September 02, 2005
one year in the blogosphere!
Yes, it was a year ago today that I staked my claim in the blogosphere. Inspired by a friend of the family, Anna, who was living in Germany (she has since repatriated and is getting ready to get married!), I started this blog as a way to keep my family updated on my life, and it has turned into so much more.
Over the last year, I have used this place to vent, to record my victories and frustrations, and maybe to crack a joke now and then. In the process, I've made some really treasured friends, both ex-pats like me and dreamers from around the world, and I owe you all a debt of gratitude I could never repay. You all made this first difficult year a little bit easier, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Eh, what's that? You want to give me a gift? Oh, well that's very nice, thank you. ;) Actually, what I'd really like is some comments! This is a Very Special Request, going out to everyone that stops by. I know there are quite a few people that stop by every once in a while (I do read my stats, because we all need an ego boost now and then), and I would like to ask everyone just to say a quick hello in the comments box below. Just click on the little thingie there, at the end of the post... "## Dispatches"... and that's the best gift I could receive on my bloggiversary. Thanks internets!
PS I have a job interview on Monday.
Over the last year, I have used this place to vent, to record my victories and frustrations, and maybe to crack a joke now and then. In the process, I've made some really treasured friends, both ex-pats like me and dreamers from around the world, and I owe you all a debt of gratitude I could never repay. You all made this first difficult year a little bit easier, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Eh, what's that? You want to give me a gift? Oh, well that's very nice, thank you. ;) Actually, what I'd really like is some comments! This is a Very Special Request, going out to everyone that stops by. I know there are quite a few people that stop by every once in a while (I do read my stats, because we all need an ego boost now and then), and I would like to ask everyone just to say a quick hello in the comments box below. Just click on the little thingie there, at the end of the post... "## Dispatches"... and that's the best gift I could receive on my bloggiversary. Thanks internets!
PS I have a job interview on Monday.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
vivi goes to the icky doctor
Today is the first day of school, for teachers, anyway. Steph got up and the ungodly hour of 7am and left 45 minutes later. I've got all day to ease back into my old housewifely duties, but so far I've only managed to start laundry and goof around on the internet. Well, you know what they say about jumping in with both feet.
So, yesterday I went to the gyno, or as my friend Dana and I always called it, "the icky doctor." Since this is a sensitive issue (pun intended), I've hidden the rest, so if you're interested, please click on "Tell me more!" to continue.
I've written about my impressions of going to the doctor before here, but I'm sure you can imagine that going to the icky doctor might pose some subtle differences.
We arrived on time for my appointment, but we did have to wait half an hour to see the doctor, which is rather unusual, but I think that this is mostly because it was the last day of vacation for many people. Once it was my turn, I left Steph in the waiting room (much to his relief) and joined the doctor in her office. She asked me all the usual questions (what medications do you take, have you ever had surgery, are you having any problems, what do you think of President Bush, er...wha?). Then I was invited to step into a small examination room inside her office, where I stripped down to my birthday suit and climbed up onto the examination chair with stirrups.
If you're American, you may have already noticed a couple of small differences. First of all, I was not invited to wear a modesty-preserving and stylish paper suit. To tell you the truth, it is rather silly to waste money on the paper suit, when the only people who are going to see you are the doctor and possibly his assistant, and they're gonna be checking out all your private bits anyway, so from whom are we actually preserving ourselves? I already knew the doctor would be checking out my private bits, so I didn't have any problems stripping down to my socks in front of her. Also, there was no assistant standing by to make sure the doctor didn't do anything, er, odd to me. This is a practice that started some years ago in the states, because some crackpot sons o' bitches started actually raping their patients. Now the doctors feel safe because they have a witness to prove they didn't do anything weird, and the patients feel safe because the likelihood of their doctor raping them is greatly decreased with someone else present in the room. Makes you shake your head in a very grave and sad manner, doesn't it?
Anyway, the rest of the exam went the way you'd expect it to. I was weighed (gah! - ok, it really wasn't as bad as I thought it was gonna be, but it's still pretty gah!), got dressed and met the doctor at her desk to get my prescriptions. Instead of receiving a card in the mail with the results of my exam, the results are sent directly back to the doctor and she will call if there's a problem. Now, I have to go to a laboratory to have blood drawn (I have to say that I prefer that everything is done in the same place in the states, kind of like One Stop Shopping) and she has also told me to get a mammogram at the same lab.
Now, this has taken me a little bit as a surprise. Usually, doctors don't send patients to get mammograms in the states unless they feel something or the patient reaches 40 years old. I didn't get the impression that she felt something, but she did ask if my family had a history of breast cancer (which it doesn't). Of course, I don't think too well on my feet, so it didn't occur to me until much later in the day that I could have asked her, "But did you feel something?" In any case, I've got to call and make an appointment to have my boobies squished into pancakes. I know you're jealous.
Anyway, she gave me another prescription for birth control pills (actually, Steph and I are in negotiations as to whether I should take them after this prescription runs out - yeah, that's right, I said it), I paid my 27 euros (19 of which will be reimbursed by insurance), and we were out of there, in just about 45 minutes total, which I have easily spent in a waiting room at my old icky doctor's in the states. That alone gets a thumbs up from me.
So, yesterday I went to the gyno, or as my friend Dana and I always called it, "the icky doctor." Since this is a sensitive issue (pun intended), I've hidden the rest, so if you're interested, please click on "Tell me more!" to continue.
I've written about my impressions of going to the doctor before here, but I'm sure you can imagine that going to the icky doctor might pose some subtle differences.
We arrived on time for my appointment, but we did have to wait half an hour to see the doctor, which is rather unusual, but I think that this is mostly because it was the last day of vacation for many people. Once it was my turn, I left Steph in the waiting room (much to his relief) and joined the doctor in her office. She asked me all the usual questions (what medications do you take, have you ever had surgery, are you having any problems, what do you think of President Bush, er...wha?). Then I was invited to step into a small examination room inside her office, where I stripped down to my birthday suit and climbed up onto the examination chair with stirrups.
If you're American, you may have already noticed a couple of small differences. First of all, I was not invited to wear a modesty-preserving and stylish paper suit. To tell you the truth, it is rather silly to waste money on the paper suit, when the only people who are going to see you are the doctor and possibly his assistant, and they're gonna be checking out all your private bits anyway, so from whom are we actually preserving ourselves? I already knew the doctor would be checking out my private bits, so I didn't have any problems stripping down to my socks in front of her. Also, there was no assistant standing by to make sure the doctor didn't do anything, er, odd to me. This is a practice that started some years ago in the states, because some crackpot sons o' bitches started actually raping their patients. Now the doctors feel safe because they have a witness to prove they didn't do anything weird, and the patients feel safe because the likelihood of their doctor raping them is greatly decreased with someone else present in the room. Makes you shake your head in a very grave and sad manner, doesn't it?
Anyway, the rest of the exam went the way you'd expect it to. I was weighed (gah! - ok, it really wasn't as bad as I thought it was gonna be, but it's still pretty gah!), got dressed and met the doctor at her desk to get my prescriptions. Instead of receiving a card in the mail with the results of my exam, the results are sent directly back to the doctor and she will call if there's a problem. Now, I have to go to a laboratory to have blood drawn (I have to say that I prefer that everything is done in the same place in the states, kind of like One Stop Shopping) and she has also told me to get a mammogram at the same lab.
Now, this has taken me a little bit as a surprise. Usually, doctors don't send patients to get mammograms in the states unless they feel something or the patient reaches 40 years old. I didn't get the impression that she felt something, but she did ask if my family had a history of breast cancer (which it doesn't). Of course, I don't think too well on my feet, so it didn't occur to me until much later in the day that I could have asked her, "But did you feel something?" In any case, I've got to call and make an appointment to have my boobies squished into pancakes. I know you're jealous.
Anyway, she gave me another prescription for birth control pills (actually, Steph and I are in negotiations as to whether I should take them after this prescription runs out - yeah, that's right, I said it), I paid my 27 euros (19 of which will be reimbursed by insurance), and we were out of there, in just about 45 minutes total, which I have easily spent in a waiting room at my old icky doctor's in the states. That alone gets a thumbs up from me.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
vivi's first year in france
It was one year ago today that I stumbled off a plane in Paris with my newly-minted husband and began my life as an immigrant.
Naturally, I celebrated by going to the gynecologist.
More about that in another post. In retrospect, I suppose this year has passed rather quickly, though I didn't realize it at the time. I kind of feel I'm no better off than when I started, but Steph assures me that I'm doing better than I think I am. Seeing the doctor alone this morning and holding my own in a conversation is not something I could have done last year, that's for sure. I've come a long way, but I still feel like I have a long way to go. I'm so looking forward to the time when I'm past this awkward learning phase and I can look back and laugh about how hard and frustrating it was, but I'm not there yet.
Obviously, the hardest thing I've endured all year was losing my mother in May. I knew from the outset that being so far away from family would be the most difficult aspect of this journey, but I never imagined something like this would happen so soon after my departure. All I can do is take comfort in the fact that she at least knew and genuinely liked my husband, and she knew how happy I was. It's small comfort, but it's something.
As for Franco-American relations, I can happily report that everything is going just fine. Any frustrations I feel are those I put on myself - I'm not patient and I want to speak fluently now, but I don't feel too much pressure from outside sources. What I predicted a year ago has come to fruition: I have always known that for the rest of my life, I would be Steph's "American wife," and that suits me just fine. I kind of like the fact that it gives me a pass to ask questions that others take for granted. I don't feel pressure to conform, or "be more French," and that's probably the best gift the French could give me.
Well, that about sums it up. In just two days I'll celebrate the first anniversary of this jumble of words. I'm sure I'll be gushing all over again.
PS I received a postcard from Eastern Europe today, written in French, and I can't read the name. Anyone know anything about this?
Naturally, I celebrated by going to the gynecologist.
More about that in another post. In retrospect, I suppose this year has passed rather quickly, though I didn't realize it at the time. I kind of feel I'm no better off than when I started, but Steph assures me that I'm doing better than I think I am. Seeing the doctor alone this morning and holding my own in a conversation is not something I could have done last year, that's for sure. I've come a long way, but I still feel like I have a long way to go. I'm so looking forward to the time when I'm past this awkward learning phase and I can look back and laugh about how hard and frustrating it was, but I'm not there yet.
Obviously, the hardest thing I've endured all year was losing my mother in May. I knew from the outset that being so far away from family would be the most difficult aspect of this journey, but I never imagined something like this would happen so soon after my departure. All I can do is take comfort in the fact that she at least knew and genuinely liked my husband, and she knew how happy I was. It's small comfort, but it's something.
As for Franco-American relations, I can happily report that everything is going just fine. Any frustrations I feel are those I put on myself - I'm not patient and I want to speak fluently now, but I don't feel too much pressure from outside sources. What I predicted a year ago has come to fruition: I have always known that for the rest of my life, I would be Steph's "American wife," and that suits me just fine. I kind of like the fact that it gives me a pass to ask questions that others take for granted. I don't feel pressure to conform, or "be more French," and that's probably the best gift the French could give me.
Well, that about sums it up. In just two days I'll celebrate the first anniversary of this jumble of words. I'm sure I'll be gushing all over again.
PS I received a postcard from Eastern Europe today, written in French, and I can't read the name. Anyone know anything about this?
Sunday, August 28, 2005
little pink houses
Well, we've gone and done it. As soon as we arrived, I knew we'd be moving house. Because who can resist the siren call of a recently renovated half-timbered house? Even if it's pink?
I am not a big fan of pink. I can't wear it (it clashes with my pink skin and reddish hair) and if I could wear it, even to be ironic, I wouldn't. Pink makes me think of frothy, giggly air-headed girls I went to high school with that I despised for making the rest of us look like idiots. (Obviously, friends made more recently are exempt from this.) And can I just say Pepto-Bismol? K, thanks.
I would never volunteer to paint my half-timbered (rented, so I don't really have a choice anyway) house pink, but it works surprisingly well, and I'm looking forward to the spring, when I can have loads of pink and violet flowers tumbling outside of windows in the French tradition.
Oh, and the inside is just as good, really. There's huge kitchen and dining area with loads of storage space. There's a little living room, separated by the kitchen with some timber support beams which will make a very cozy place for watching tv. Upstairs, there's a nice sized bedroom (which will only contain a bed and our clothes! I am beside myself with joy!), and a second bedroom which will make a perfect office/guest room. The bathroom is upstairs, and is big enough to put the washing machine in. There's even a cellar which can be accessed from the kitchen. We only need a throw rug to cover it up; the current family had it covered and you'd never know it was there.
The only bad part, as far as I can see, is the staircase, which is very steep and consists of planks of wood, instead of a solid staircase. I have a habit of falling down stairs (and breaking bones in the process) so it makes me a wee bit nervous. Also, as of right now, there isn't a phone jack in the "office," which we need for ADSL, and Steph made it perfectly clear that the landlord would have to install a second line up there or all bets are off. And finally, I will gain the new title of "Road Warrior," which means that I will be driving to Troyes three times a week for French classes and choir rehearsals (around a half-hour drive each way).
Well, there you have it. The landlord is sending over the paperwork, and if all goes well, we should be moving the first week of November. And best of all, it looks as though Dad will have a guest room, instead of a guest couch, when he arrives at the end of December. So... anyone got any cardboard boxes we can use?
I am not a big fan of pink. I can't wear it (it clashes with my pink skin and reddish hair) and if I could wear it, even to be ironic, I wouldn't. Pink makes me think of frothy, giggly air-headed girls I went to high school with that I despised for making the rest of us look like idiots. (Obviously, friends made more recently are exempt from this.) And can I just say Pepto-Bismol? K, thanks.
I would never volunteer to paint my half-timbered (rented, so I don't really have a choice anyway) house pink, but it works surprisingly well, and I'm looking forward to the spring, when I can have loads of pink and violet flowers tumbling outside of windows in the French tradition.
Oh, and the inside is just as good, really. There's huge kitchen and dining area with loads of storage space. There's a little living room, separated by the kitchen with some timber support beams which will make a very cozy place for watching tv. Upstairs, there's a nice sized bedroom (which will only contain a bed and our clothes! I am beside myself with joy!), and a second bedroom which will make a perfect office/guest room. The bathroom is upstairs, and is big enough to put the washing machine in. There's even a cellar which can be accessed from the kitchen. We only need a throw rug to cover it up; the current family had it covered and you'd never know it was there.
The only bad part, as far as I can see, is the staircase, which is very steep and consists of planks of wood, instead of a solid staircase. I have a habit of falling down stairs (and breaking bones in the process) so it makes me a wee bit nervous. Also, as of right now, there isn't a phone jack in the "office," which we need for ADSL, and Steph made it perfectly clear that the landlord would have to install a second line up there or all bets are off. And finally, I will gain the new title of "Road Warrior," which means that I will be driving to Troyes three times a week for French classes and choir rehearsals (around a half-hour drive each way).
Well, there you have it. The landlord is sending over the paperwork, and if all goes well, we should be moving the first week of November. And best of all, it looks as though Dad will have a guest room, instead of a guest couch, when he arrives at the end of December. So... anyone got any cardboard boxes we can use?
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
the waiting game
OK, here's the latest news on the Moving House Adventure: we've got an appointment to see the apartment on Saturday. After reviewing what we've seen so far on the market for buying a place in our price range, we're pretty convinced that renting for another year or so is probably the best idea. Unless the apartment has some serious problems, we're probably going to put ourselves in the temporary poor-house and go ahead and pay the deposit. I will be biting my fingers into bloody stumps for the next couple of days.
In other news...
MY DAD IS COMING HERE FOR CHRISTMAS! HE'S GETTING ON A PLANE! AND COMING HERE! TO FRANCE! FOR CHRISTMAS!
*runs around in a circle and falls over dizzy and exhausted*
Well, I'm really looking forward to it.
In other news...
MY DAD IS COMING HERE FOR CHRISTMAS! HE'S GETTING ON A PLANE! AND COMING HERE! TO FRANCE! FOR CHRISTMAS!
*runs around in a circle and falls over dizzy and exhausted*
Well, I'm really looking forward to it.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
happiness is....
....frying up chicken strips the old-fashioned way whilst listening to the dulcet sounds of Joan Jett's "I Hate Myself for Loving You." Ah, good times.
Just as we were getting in the swing with Plan B, Plan A reared its ugly head. My mother-in-law called this weekend to tell us that she found an ad for an apartment for rent in the town where Steph will teach this year. Steph called, and it sounds damn near perfect. There's only one problem (of course!).
The apartment is available the first of November, but we are required to give three month's notice here, unless our proprietors give us special permission to cut out early (or we can always pay rent anyway but by god, who wants to do that?). The proprietor over there tells us that if she finds someone who can take it on November 1st, she will give it to them, even though we're the first to call. To make it even worse, there is still a family living in the apartment, so we have to make an appointment to see it, which is being arranged by the proprietor, and every day that passes is another day we can't talk to our proprietors about what our options are (because we'd like to see the apartment first, to see if it's worth begging to leave in two months instead of three).
If you know me well, you know that I hate waiting. I am practically jumping out of my skin, and I would feel better if there was something I could do about the situation, but for the moment our fate is in other peoples' hands and it's driving me crazy. Hopefully a little walk around town will help take my mind off things for a while.
Just as we were getting in the swing with Plan B, Plan A reared its ugly head. My mother-in-law called this weekend to tell us that she found an ad for an apartment for rent in the town where Steph will teach this year. Steph called, and it sounds damn near perfect. There's only one problem (of course!).
The apartment is available the first of November, but we are required to give three month's notice here, unless our proprietors give us special permission to cut out early (or we can always pay rent anyway but by god, who wants to do that?). The proprietor over there tells us that if she finds someone who can take it on November 1st, she will give it to them, even though we're the first to call. To make it even worse, there is still a family living in the apartment, so we have to make an appointment to see it, which is being arranged by the proprietor, and every day that passes is another day we can't talk to our proprietors about what our options are (because we'd like to see the apartment first, to see if it's worth begging to leave in two months instead of three).
If you know me well, you know that I hate waiting. I am practically jumping out of my skin, and I would feel better if there was something I could do about the situation, but for the moment our fate is in other peoples' hands and it's driving me crazy. Hopefully a little walk around town will help take my mind off things for a while.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
an interlude
The scene: Vivi is flipping through the bi-weekly advertisements from the supermarket, as she and Steph enjoy their morning coffee.
Vivi: 40 euros for a keyboard! That's outrageous!
Steph: (glancing at the ad) Well, it does come with a moose.
Vivi: (cracking up) No, mouse, not moose! A moose is that big animal with the antlers...
Steph: Ah, yes! That's what I need! A moose will be an extra large mouse with antlers on it; it will be excellent for killing more elves!
...and scene.
In other news, we called about the apartment on the 4th floor, only to learn that the last owner was a woman who lived there for 40 years. To say it's a fixer-upper is quite an understatement. We are ok with minor touching up over the next few years, but rewiring the electricity does not fall under those guidelines. We put a call in to another agent regarding another interesting apartment, but he hasn't called back yet. The search continues...
Vivi: 40 euros for a keyboard! That's outrageous!
Steph: (glancing at the ad) Well, it does come with a moose.
Vivi: (cracking up) No, mouse, not moose! A moose is that big animal with the antlers...
Steph: Ah, yes! That's what I need! A moose will be an extra large mouse with antlers on it; it will be excellent for killing more elves!
...and scene.
In other news, we called about the apartment on the 4th floor, only to learn that the last owner was a woman who lived there for 40 years. To say it's a fixer-upper is quite an understatement. We are ok with minor touching up over the next few years, but rewiring the electricity does not fall under those guidelines. We put a call in to another agent regarding another interesting apartment, but he hasn't called back yet. The search continues...
Friday, August 19, 2005
the big plan
I have been suspiciously quiet this week, because I've had my nose shoved in a couple of books. Last time I saw Doc, she lent me her Harry Potter set, including the new book, so I've been catching up. This week I read books 4, 5 and 6 (and I'm scandalized!), having just finished a few hours ago. Normally I try to make books last, as books in English here are few and far between, but I gulped these down like water in the desert. Doesn't make for good blogging, but I enjoyed it.
We've also implemented the Secret Plan, which isn't really a secret, but I wanted to be sure we were going to move ahead with the Plan before I said anything, and now it can be told: we are looking to buy an apartment.
The original plan was to wait until I found work to buy a place, as we would have the relative comfort and buying power of a double income, but I'm afraid I was a bit over-confident in my ability to join the workforce this soon. Nevertheless, a few weeks ago I confessed to Steph that, while this place is certainly a swingin' bachelor pad, it is just a bit cramped for two people and all their stuff and I am quietly going insane. Usually I wouldn't mind a small space (god knows I've lived in smaller places on my own), but with the bedroom containing the computers, the tv, and the clothes dryer, we spend the vast majority of our time in here and I desperately need a quiet space to lay my head at night. Shortly after that, we implemented Plan A.
Plan A was to move to the town where Steph will be teaching this year, about a half an hour north of Troyes. It's a quiet town, quite a bit smaller than Troyes but no village, either. We figured we could find a bigger apartment or house to rent for around what we're paying now, and instead of Steph driving to work everyday, I'd drive to Troyes when the need arose (French lessons, choir rehearsal, etc.). Unfortunately, that proved fruitless. Not one dang apartment or house for sale in the town or surrounding area. It was then that we moved swiftly on to Plan B.
Plan B is to actually purchase an apartment here in Troyes. We figure we can kill two birds with one stone: find a place just a little bigger than this one, and actually start investing and stop throwing away money on rent. After a visit to the bank to work out the financial bits, we started our search today with a place that was too good to be true. Well, you know what they say about something that's too good to be true...
The lowest price going, three bedrooms (one more than we are looking for) and right in the middle of downtown. The only problems were the distinct lack of parking, the view (right down in the the garbage in the stanky courtyard), the windows (which would need to be replaced), the heating (which was electric and therefore very expensive) and the ceiling (which was wet and coming down in places)... you know, little stuff. *snort*
And so it begins. We'll have another one to check out tomorrow. This one's on the fourth (fifth for the Americans) floor. Can't wait!
We've also implemented the Secret Plan, which isn't really a secret, but I wanted to be sure we were going to move ahead with the Plan before I said anything, and now it can be told: we are looking to buy an apartment.
The original plan was to wait until I found work to buy a place, as we would have the relative comfort and buying power of a double income, but I'm afraid I was a bit over-confident in my ability to join the workforce this soon. Nevertheless, a few weeks ago I confessed to Steph that, while this place is certainly a swingin' bachelor pad, it is just a bit cramped for two people and all their stuff and I am quietly going insane. Usually I wouldn't mind a small space (god knows I've lived in smaller places on my own), but with the bedroom containing the computers, the tv, and the clothes dryer, we spend the vast majority of our time in here and I desperately need a quiet space to lay my head at night. Shortly after that, we implemented Plan A.
Plan A was to move to the town where Steph will be teaching this year, about a half an hour north of Troyes. It's a quiet town, quite a bit smaller than Troyes but no village, either. We figured we could find a bigger apartment or house to rent for around what we're paying now, and instead of Steph driving to work everyday, I'd drive to Troyes when the need arose (French lessons, choir rehearsal, etc.). Unfortunately, that proved fruitless. Not one dang apartment or house for sale in the town or surrounding area. It was then that we moved swiftly on to Plan B.
Plan B is to actually purchase an apartment here in Troyes. We figure we can kill two birds with one stone: find a place just a little bigger than this one, and actually start investing and stop throwing away money on rent. After a visit to the bank to work out the financial bits, we started our search today with a place that was too good to be true. Well, you know what they say about something that's too good to be true...
The lowest price going, three bedrooms (one more than we are looking for) and right in the middle of downtown. The only problems were the distinct lack of parking, the view (right down in the the garbage in the stanky courtyard), the windows (which would need to be replaced), the heating (which was electric and therefore very expensive) and the ceiling (which was wet and coming down in places)... you know, little stuff. *snort*
And so it begins. We'll have another one to check out tomorrow. This one's on the fourth (fifth for the Americans) floor. Can't wait!
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
summer draws to a close
It may be the middle of August, but it's becoming more and more apparent that summer is on the way out the door. The most obvious difference is that the weather is starting to change. We've had something of a cold snap, for August anyway, and it's been in the 70's during the day and getting down to the 50's at night. It's getting dangerously close to the time when we have to close the windows at night.
Another obvious sign is that the stores are doing a brisk business on what they call the rentrée, or the return to school (and work, for those who are taking the month of August for vacation). The supermarkets are filled with kids dashing around with their newly chosen backpacks on, and the lines at the cashier are full of moms buying paper, pencils, crayons, notebooks and all the other goodies you need to get back to school. I had heard that a lot of schools back home are already back in session (particularly in the south), and I admit that it struck me as odd. I've already taken for granted that school will start after September 1st here, and anything earlier already seems strange. Pretty soon I'll be sending Steph off to school everyday and I'll be playing the roll of placid housewife (please try not to laugh so loud!) once again.
Speaking of that, in a couple of weeks I'll be heading back to the classroom myself. Once again I'll be studying French twice a week, and going to the Conservatory once a week, and in the meantime I'll be scouring the want-ads in the vain hope that something perfect will come along. I don't think I'll be tearing my hair out, however, as I've got some small projects scattered around the place to keep me occupied.
The end of summer also brings me to the end of my first year in the blogosphere. Anyone have any suggestions on how I should celebrate?
Another obvious sign is that the stores are doing a brisk business on what they call the rentrée, or the return to school (and work, for those who are taking the month of August for vacation). The supermarkets are filled with kids dashing around with their newly chosen backpacks on, and the lines at the cashier are full of moms buying paper, pencils, crayons, notebooks and all the other goodies you need to get back to school. I had heard that a lot of schools back home are already back in session (particularly in the south), and I admit that it struck me as odd. I've already taken for granted that school will start after September 1st here, and anything earlier already seems strange. Pretty soon I'll be sending Steph off to school everyday and I'll be playing the roll of placid housewife (please try not to laugh so loud!) once again.
Speaking of that, in a couple of weeks I'll be heading back to the classroom myself. Once again I'll be studying French twice a week, and going to the Conservatory once a week, and in the meantime I'll be scouring the want-ads in the vain hope that something perfect will come along. I don't think I'll be tearing my hair out, however, as I've got some small projects scattered around the place to keep me occupied.
The end of summer also brings me to the end of my first year in the blogosphere. Anyone have any suggestions on how I should celebrate?
Sunday, August 14, 2005
a night with the caped crusaders
Earlier this week, Doc invited us to join her in Langres, a medieval fortified town about an hour southeast by autoroute, for checking out La Compagnie des Hallebardiers de Langres. We were not quite sure what to expect, though we had the vague idea that it was some kind of show about the history of Langres.
After a bite to eat downtown, we headed toward the College Diderot for the presentation. There we found the courtyard packed, and everyone was wearing capes. Yeah, you read that right, capes. Black ones and red ones and maroon ones. After a few minutes of confusion, we learned that our 12 euros weren't going towards just any old show; those who arrive early are able to choose from three different walking tours of Langres, accompanied by three different acting troupes, designated by color. Since we were among the last to arrive, we didn't have any choice but to join the black-capes, and I'm not sorry we did.
After a couple of ancient guns fired to mark the beginning of the evening, the actors burst forth from inside the college, rounded us up by color, and we were off. After a brief presentation from our group (we got the very silly "modern" group; I know there was a "belle epoque" group and I don't remember what the third group was) we were off and running through the town. I have to confess that they spoke so quickly (and in some cases, with affected speech impediments for comedy) that I didn't understand most of what they said. I didn't realize my French was slipping so bad - happily school starts back in a couple of weeks. That being said, my favorite tableau was at the Renaissance house, where we stood outside and the troupe used the windows to appear and tell the story of allowing tourists to visit the stately home, to very silly results. As we walked from place to place, the actors kept us laughing and bouncing around by teaching us a song about how we love being tourists in Langres, or playing polka music and dancing through the town. Afterwards, we went back to the College Diderot courtyard to enjoy a free beverage.
If you are looking for something to do before the end of the month, and visiting Langres is not too far away to consider for a day or overnight trip, I highly recommend this. Shows are every Thursday, Friday and Saturday in August, and begin at 9:00pm (though I recommend getting there early for choosing your tour/cape).
Once again, I'm sorry I don't have pictures to show you, as they are still trapped in my old-school camera, so you'll just have to take my word for it. Good times!
After a bite to eat downtown, we headed toward the College Diderot for the presentation. There we found the courtyard packed, and everyone was wearing capes. Yeah, you read that right, capes. Black ones and red ones and maroon ones. After a few minutes of confusion, we learned that our 12 euros weren't going towards just any old show; those who arrive early are able to choose from three different walking tours of Langres, accompanied by three different acting troupes, designated by color. Since we were among the last to arrive, we didn't have any choice but to join the black-capes, and I'm not sorry we did.
After a couple of ancient guns fired to mark the beginning of the evening, the actors burst forth from inside the college, rounded us up by color, and we were off. After a brief presentation from our group (we got the very silly "modern" group; I know there was a "belle epoque" group and I don't remember what the third group was) we were off and running through the town. I have to confess that they spoke so quickly (and in some cases, with affected speech impediments for comedy) that I didn't understand most of what they said. I didn't realize my French was slipping so bad - happily school starts back in a couple of weeks. That being said, my favorite tableau was at the Renaissance house, where we stood outside and the troupe used the windows to appear and tell the story of allowing tourists to visit the stately home, to very silly results. As we walked from place to place, the actors kept us laughing and bouncing around by teaching us a song about how we love being tourists in Langres, or playing polka music and dancing through the town. Afterwards, we went back to the College Diderot courtyard to enjoy a free beverage.
If you are looking for something to do before the end of the month, and visiting Langres is not too far away to consider for a day or overnight trip, I highly recommend this. Shows are every Thursday, Friday and Saturday in August, and begin at 9:00pm (though I recommend getting there early for choosing your tour/cape).
Once again, I'm sorry I don't have pictures to show you, as they are still trapped in my old-school camera, so you'll just have to take my word for it. Good times!
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
meme-o-rama
As I mentioned in my last post, I was recently tagged for another meme, which was extremely timely as there really isn't much going on right now apart from MMORPG marathons. Well, that's not exactly true; there is something interesting simmering in the background, but I'm holding off on blogging about it until more info comes to light.
Anyway, I was tagged by Kristin, who writes the wonderful French Word-A-Day.
"Name five foods, dishes or otherwise, that were a part of your childhood, and that you sometimes miss when nostalgia gets to you..."
1. The number one memory that stands out is my father's popcorn. Except for the brief moment where he was lead astray by the call of the air-popper, he has always made it the same way, in the same pot: on the stove with butter-flavored oil and lightly sprinkled with salt. I have spent many an evening watching tv scooping bowlfulls of his wonderful popcorn down my throat. I have tried, but have never been able to duplicate it.
2. Peanut butter and banana sandwiches. My god, I haven't eaten one of these in years. Hm, and I do have peanut butter hanging out in the pantry...
3. Carvel ice cream cakes. The absolute must-have at any birthday celebration. I was shocked when I went away to college, and nobody knew what Carvel was. Seems it's grown a bit since my childhood, at least covering the East Coast.
4. Dixie Crossroads restaurant, Titusville, Florida. Best known for their rock shrimp, this seafood restaurant somehow managed to become the most famous seafood restaurant in Central Florida. By the time I was a teenager, you were looking at up to an hour's wait with a reservation, two to three hours without one. Damn shame I hadn't discovered for myself the wonders of seafood before I moved away. Now I have an excuse to go back. Since this meme is about food and not restaurants, I will say that they have the best hush puppies I've ever eaten in my life.
5. Italian food! Spaghetti, lasagne, manicotti, baked ziti..... I could go on and on. Mom and Dad always made their own sauce - Ragu and all other pretenders were forbidden in our house! Making Sauce was an all day affair and filled the house with the promise of a delicious meal that night, as we tortured ourselves by eating as little as possible all day so we could reward ourselves with piles of pasta. Nobody can light a candle to the sauce my parents spent 35 years perfecting.
I confess that I am meant to tag four other people and ask them to fill this one out, but as it's summer and there seems to be a little less blogging going on these days (hope everyone's enjoying their vacations!) I'll leave it up to you. If you like it, please feel free to grab it and let me know if you use it.
Now if you'll excuse me, I feel another MMORPG marathon coming on....
Anyway, I was tagged by Kristin, who writes the wonderful French Word-A-Day.
"Name five foods, dishes or otherwise, that were a part of your childhood, and that you sometimes miss when nostalgia gets to you..."
1. The number one memory that stands out is my father's popcorn. Except for the brief moment where he was lead astray by the call of the air-popper, he has always made it the same way, in the same pot: on the stove with butter-flavored oil and lightly sprinkled with salt. I have spent many an evening watching tv scooping bowlfulls of his wonderful popcorn down my throat. I have tried, but have never been able to duplicate it.
2. Peanut butter and banana sandwiches. My god, I haven't eaten one of these in years. Hm, and I do have peanut butter hanging out in the pantry...
3. Carvel ice cream cakes. The absolute must-have at any birthday celebration. I was shocked when I went away to college, and nobody knew what Carvel was. Seems it's grown a bit since my childhood, at least covering the East Coast.
4. Dixie Crossroads restaurant, Titusville, Florida. Best known for their rock shrimp, this seafood restaurant somehow managed to become the most famous seafood restaurant in Central Florida. By the time I was a teenager, you were looking at up to an hour's wait with a reservation, two to three hours without one. Damn shame I hadn't discovered for myself the wonders of seafood before I moved away. Now I have an excuse to go back. Since this meme is about food and not restaurants, I will say that they have the best hush puppies I've ever eaten in my life.
5. Italian food! Spaghetti, lasagne, manicotti, baked ziti..... I could go on and on. Mom and Dad always made their own sauce - Ragu and all other pretenders were forbidden in our house! Making Sauce was an all day affair and filled the house with the promise of a delicious meal that night, as we tortured ourselves by eating as little as possible all day so we could reward ourselves with piles of pasta. Nobody can light a candle to the sauce my parents spent 35 years perfecting.
I confess that I am meant to tag four other people and ask them to fill this one out, but as it's summer and there seems to be a little less blogging going on these days (hope everyone's enjoying their vacations!) I'll leave it up to you. If you like it, please feel free to grab it and let me know if you use it.
Now if you'll excuse me, I feel another MMORPG marathon coming on....
Friday, August 05, 2005
2 memes
Because I am a procrastinator of the highest order, there are two memes I've been tagged for that have been languishing on the internets for some time now. (Freakishly, as I'm typing this, I've been tagged for a third, which I'm going to hold off on for the moment.) Therefore, we're going to take a pause from our regularly scheduled hilarity, so I can restore balance to the universe.
First up is a music meme from My Favorite Texan, Tracy at durteemartini. I am instructed to list my six favorite songs. Now, there is no way I can pick my six favorite songs Of All Time, as they change so frequently. What I can do, however, is list six songs I am digging on right now:
1. "What'd I Say," Ray Charles
Thank you, Dad, for teaching me what real music is.
2. "Daylight," Alison Krause & Union Station
I love love love Bluegrass music, and in my humble opinion, Alison Krause & Union Station are working wonders to keep it moving forward. This song simply soars.
3. "Birdhouse in Your Soul," They Might Be Giants
Bouncy bouncy happy happy music.
4. "Warning," Incubus
Number one song for inspiring me to get up off my butt and make stuff happen. "Don't ever let life pass you by." Please listen to this song and then go take over your world!
5. "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," Me First and the Gimmie Gimmies
Must be heard to be believed. Please go find and pogo furiously.
6. "Jealous of Your Cigarette," Hawksley Workman
I'm not as up on current music as I was before I moved here, but now I have mycrack dealer music dealer in the form of our dear friend Eric, who makes me cd compilations of cool music. This song was on the most current compilation and I love it.
Bon, voila, quoi. Now it's taggin' time! Here's who I'm callin' out for this one:
Epiphany, because she is mah home skillet, and she probably has more music in her Media Player than anyone else I know.
Kim, because I know she knows her tunes as well, and maybe can help with my lack of cool tunes.
Last, but certainly not least, the super fabulous Lee, who can perhaps enlighten me as to what the super fabulous are listening to these days.
Moving swiftly forward to part two, which comes from the lovely Kinga at Kinuk in Poland, who wants to know five of my personal idiosyncrasies:
1. I need to eat something for breakfast. I've always been amazed at people who can skip this meal, because if I don't eat something in the morning, I will not only feel nauseous by 10:00, I turn into psycho-snappy woman. I don't require a huge American breakfast, just a bowl of cereal and maybe a cup of coffee or juice, but I must put something in the tummy.
2. I can only read one book at a time. Granted, I'll read that book pretty quick, but once I'm immersed in a good book, I want that story and only that story floating around my head.
3. I must fold the laundry as soon as the dryer is finished. I hate ironing. I'm going to do everything I can to avoid it, even if it means putting off going out until everything is folded. If I'm doing laundry, I'm home for the day, and that's all.
4. I can't go to sleep until I've made one last trip to the bathroom. This was most apparent when camping, as I made Steph escort me up the big scary pitch-black hill to find the bathroom facilities every night.
5. No matter how hot it is, I have to have some kind of cover when I go to sleep, even if it's just a sheet. Also, no matter how cold it is, I can't wear socks to bed, because you know at some point your body temperature will adjust and you'll just end up waking up at 3:00 in the morning to rip them off. Or maybe it's just me.
I'm going to pass the torch on to the following people:
My good friend Doc, who just made her blog, 10 rue de la charme, public.
The lovely and always effervescent ms.mac.
The very clever Peter at dot.bench, who may welcome a distraction from the 2500 emails waiting for him upon his return from vacation.
First up is a music meme from My Favorite Texan, Tracy at durteemartini. I am instructed to list my six favorite songs. Now, there is no way I can pick my six favorite songs Of All Time, as they change so frequently. What I can do, however, is list six songs I am digging on right now:
1. "What'd I Say," Ray Charles
Thank you, Dad, for teaching me what real music is.
2. "Daylight," Alison Krause & Union Station
I love love love Bluegrass music, and in my humble opinion, Alison Krause & Union Station are working wonders to keep it moving forward. This song simply soars.
3. "Birdhouse in Your Soul," They Might Be Giants
Bouncy bouncy happy happy music.
4. "Warning," Incubus
Number one song for inspiring me to get up off my butt and make stuff happen. "Don't ever let life pass you by." Please listen to this song and then go take over your world!
5. "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," Me First and the Gimmie Gimmies
Must be heard to be believed. Please go find and pogo furiously.
6. "Jealous of Your Cigarette," Hawksley Workman
I'm not as up on current music as I was before I moved here, but now I have my
Bon, voila, quoi. Now it's taggin' time! Here's who I'm callin' out for this one:
Epiphany, because she is mah home skillet, and she probably has more music in her Media Player than anyone else I know.
Kim, because I know she knows her tunes as well, and maybe can help with my lack of cool tunes.
Last, but certainly not least, the super fabulous Lee, who can perhaps enlighten me as to what the super fabulous are listening to these days.
Moving swiftly forward to part two, which comes from the lovely Kinga at Kinuk in Poland, who wants to know five of my personal idiosyncrasies:
1. I need to eat something for breakfast. I've always been amazed at people who can skip this meal, because if I don't eat something in the morning, I will not only feel nauseous by 10:00, I turn into psycho-snappy woman. I don't require a huge American breakfast, just a bowl of cereal and maybe a cup of coffee or juice, but I must put something in the tummy.
2. I can only read one book at a time. Granted, I'll read that book pretty quick, but once I'm immersed in a good book, I want that story and only that story floating around my head.
3. I must fold the laundry as soon as the dryer is finished. I hate ironing. I'm going to do everything I can to avoid it, even if it means putting off going out until everything is folded. If I'm doing laundry, I'm home for the day, and that's all.
4. I can't go to sleep until I've made one last trip to the bathroom. This was most apparent when camping, as I made Steph escort me up the big scary pitch-black hill to find the bathroom facilities every night.
5. No matter how hot it is, I have to have some kind of cover when I go to sleep, even if it's just a sheet. Also, no matter how cold it is, I can't wear socks to bed, because you know at some point your body temperature will adjust and you'll just end up waking up at 3:00 in the morning to rip them off. Or maybe it's just me.
I'm going to pass the torch on to the following people:
My good friend Doc, who just made her blog, 10 rue de la charme, public.
The lovely and always effervescent ms.mac.
The very clever Peter at dot.bench, who may welcome a distraction from the 2500 emails waiting for him upon his return from vacation.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
vivi's helpful hints
- If you're the conductor of a train traveling from Troyes to Paris, and the train, not in front of you, but the one in front of that, dies, please be kind to your passengers. Don't give them false hope that you will be only an hour late, when in fact you will be two hours late, significantly shortening the amount of time they will have to do lovely touristy things.
- Please remember that once you set foot in the American Consulate, you are indeed now on American soil and not French, so when paying (the outrageous sum of) $30 to have something notorized (which is free if you're actually in the states) , please remember that using the bankcard with your husband's name on it and the signature wiped off just will not work. Also remember to stop at an ATM, because they do not accept checks.
- Be sure to bring a friend with you who has the sense to travel with cash and is willing to spot you, so you don't have to go through the hassle of leaving the Consulate to look for an ATM and starting all over again. Make sure you thank her profusely and buy her lunch.
- If you work at a restaurant in a touristy part of Paris, and your job is to intice passersby into dining in your establishment, it is not wise to yell "waassap homie!" to passersby you suspect are American, because they will only snigger as they walk away.
- When dining in a very good Chinese restaurant with your friends, it is perfectly acceptable to celebrate the fact that you are eating very good Chinese food, which you haven't had in a very long time, with ecstatic moans and exclamations.
- When visiting a Canadian bookstore, take care with your oversized bag, so you will not accidently topple over a tall pile of books, which would be very embarrassing indeed.
- When strolling through Paris when you have a limited amount of time, be sure not to pass a church which is advertising that they will host a performance of Vivaldi's Four Seasons that very evening, as you will be very sad and jealous.
- When stopping for gelatto at a very lovely ice cream shop, please remember that your eyes are always bigger than your stomach, and take the smallest cup, instead of the next biggest one, even if you're taking sensible flavors like chocolate and mint, and not wacky (but perfectly tasty) combinations like pina collada with mint.
- Upon leaving Paris, try not to be too sad that the day went by too quickly. Try to remember that you only live an hour and a half away by train (well, usually; see first item) and there will be plenty of opportunities to visit the City of Light in the future.
Monday, August 01, 2005
a trip up north
My in-laws grew up, met and married in the departement of Pas-de-Calais, which is the northernmost tip of France. Every year, they go back to their village for two weeks for visiting family and friends. Last week, Steph and I drove up to spend a few days there.
Now, I should say right up front that we didn't get as far north as Dunkerque or Calais; actually we did more visiting with family than we did touristy stuff, but I can tell you a little about what we did.
My first impression was that, even though we were only 40 kilometers from the sea (or the English Channel, if you want to be really technical), you would never, ever know it. Well, at least I wouldn't, having grown up only half an hour from the beach myself. Everywhere you look is just farmland, farmland, farmland, and then suddenly you catch a whiff of some salt air, you drive over a hill, and bam!, there's the sea.
Steph's brother, sister-in-law, 14 year old nephew (boy, he's gonna be a heartbreaker in a couple of years!) and mother went with us towards the sea on Wednesday. We spent the morning in Berck-sur-Mer. Actually, we spent the morning walking toward the sea. You see, we arrived just at low tide, and I am not kidding you when I say that we walked at least a mile to get from the street to the water, including doing some clever maneuvering to reach a little sand bar. In any case, it was really lovely to stick my feet in the sea again (even if it only was the English Channel!).
By the way, as a quick aside, I wouldn't recommend going around France calling it the English Channel. They call it "La Manche," which means "The Sleeve." Now that I think about it, it is rather odd that the English would name it after themselves, as it is shared with a couple of countries. Well, I don't want to start an international incident, so I'll move swiftly along....
After a lovely lunch of moules frites in a restaurant overlooking the sea, we jumped back in the car and we headed down the coast to a lovely little town called St. Valery. Here we walked along the river that comes off the sea and climbed up into the town to walk around a bit. In the rain. Yeah, it was a light rain, but it didn't stop us. Anyway, it was a lovely town to walk around and quite a lot of French luminaries took their vacations there, so there is a bit of history there as well.
Like I said before, most of the rest of the trip was visiting family or going fishing, so there really isn't that much more to report. I can gladly tell you that we did not sleep in a tent, which Steph threatened on me, because it was much too damp, due to days and days of rain. Instead, we crammed on the not-very-comfortable sofa-bed. Be careful what you wish for....
And finally, I don't have any pictures to show you, as once again I'm using a disposable camera and I haven't finished the roll yet. But! I did make my artistic impression of our day on the beach here (which I nicked from her), complete with cabines, sandbar, and threatening clouds.
Honestly, I don't think she's got any worries where competition is concerned...
Now, I should say right up front that we didn't get as far north as Dunkerque or Calais; actually we did more visiting with family than we did touristy stuff, but I can tell you a little about what we did.
My first impression was that, even though we were only 40 kilometers from the sea (or the English Channel, if you want to be really technical), you would never, ever know it. Well, at least I wouldn't, having grown up only half an hour from the beach myself. Everywhere you look is just farmland, farmland, farmland, and then suddenly you catch a whiff of some salt air, you drive over a hill, and bam!, there's the sea.
Steph's brother, sister-in-law, 14 year old nephew (boy, he's gonna be a heartbreaker in a couple of years!) and mother went with us towards the sea on Wednesday. We spent the morning in Berck-sur-Mer. Actually, we spent the morning walking toward the sea. You see, we arrived just at low tide, and I am not kidding you when I say that we walked at least a mile to get from the street to the water, including doing some clever maneuvering to reach a little sand bar. In any case, it was really lovely to stick my feet in the sea again (even if it only was the English Channel!).
By the way, as a quick aside, I wouldn't recommend going around France calling it the English Channel. They call it "La Manche," which means "The Sleeve." Now that I think about it, it is rather odd that the English would name it after themselves, as it is shared with a couple of countries. Well, I don't want to start an international incident, so I'll move swiftly along....
After a lovely lunch of moules frites in a restaurant overlooking the sea, we jumped back in the car and we headed down the coast to a lovely little town called St. Valery. Here we walked along the river that comes off the sea and climbed up into the town to walk around a bit. In the rain. Yeah, it was a light rain, but it didn't stop us. Anyway, it was a lovely town to walk around and quite a lot of French luminaries took their vacations there, so there is a bit of history there as well.
Like I said before, most of the rest of the trip was visiting family or going fishing, so there really isn't that much more to report. I can gladly tell you that we did not sleep in a tent, which Steph threatened on me, because it was much too damp, due to days and days of rain. Instead, we crammed on the not-very-comfortable sofa-bed. Be careful what you wish for....
And finally, I don't have any pictures to show you, as once again I'm using a disposable camera and I haven't finished the roll yet. But! I did make my artistic impression of our day on the beach here (which I nicked from her), complete with cabines, sandbar, and threatening clouds.
Honestly, I don't think she's got any worries where competition is concerned...
Sunday, July 31, 2005
one year of wedded bliss
Yesterday, we celebrated our first anniversary. Last night, we found ourselves back in the same restaurant we went to for Valentine's Day, L'Illustre. I had the biggest escargot I've ever seen, followed by a parmesean pasta with an excellent mild and creamy foie gras. Steph had a very asian themed dinner, starting with some very tasty spring rolls and followed by an assortment of steamed fish and veggies. I really love the atmosphere of this restaurant - the decor is modern and whimsical, the music last night was jazz, and the service was top notch.
Then we came home and exchanged gifts. Steph gave me a very traditional (and beeeyoootiful!) gift, and I gave him a less-than-traditional gift, but one he had asked for. And all was alright in our little world.
Honestly, I can't believe it's been a year already. We've been through so much - the highs and the lowest of the lows - that the last year nearly seems like a blur. Sure, living in France is nice, it's an adventure, and sometimes it's so frustrating that I want to pack it in and go home, but I still feel the same way (if not even more!) than I did a year ago: France is nice, but I'd follow this man to the moon. He's still the best thing that ever happened to me, and married life just gets better and better.
Then we came home and exchanged gifts. Steph gave me a very traditional (and beeeyoootiful!) gift, and I gave him a less-than-traditional gift, but one he had asked for. And all was alright in our little world.
Honestly, I can't believe it's been a year already. We've been through so much - the highs and the lowest of the lows - that the last year nearly seems like a blur. Sure, living in France is nice, it's an adventure, and sometimes it's so frustrating that I want to pack it in and go home, but I still feel the same way (if not even more!) than I did a year ago: France is nice, but I'd follow this man to the moon. He's still the best thing that ever happened to me, and married life just gets better and better.
Friday, July 29, 2005
and back
... back from meeting new relatives, dipping my feet into the ocean, walking around in the rain, and barbecuing trout. Steph's already snoring away, and I'm about to go scrounge up some food for dinner. Hope everyone had a great week, and I'll have a more detailed post soon.
Monday, July 25, 2005
on the road again
In the wee hours of Tuesday morning (well, at least "wee" compared to the time we've been getting up in the last few days) we shall load up the car once again and drive far, far away. This time we're going north, to the place my in-laws grew up. Due to a scheduling malfunction (I won't name names, and they do not begin with an "S" or a "V," and I am not pleased, let me tell you) we will be sleeping in a tent outside.
As much as I am glad we will be there at the same time as most of my extended family, I am baffled at why my dear husband would prefer to sleep in a tent when there is perfectly good living room space available.
It is scheduled to rain all week. This is going to be very interesting.
When I come back, I will have some more pictures to sort out and will probably load everything on flikr again, as the benefactor of my photoblog has disappeared without a trace, and will be gooshy and mooshy about our first wedding anniversary on Saturday. You have been warned.
Have a great week!
As much as I am glad we will be there at the same time as most of my extended family, I am baffled at why my dear husband would prefer to sleep in a tent when there is perfectly good living room space available.
It is scheduled to rain all week. This is going to be very interesting.
When I come back, I will have some more pictures to sort out and will probably load everything on flikr again, as the benefactor of my photoblog has disappeared without a trace, and will be gooshy and mooshy about our first wedding anniversary on Saturday. You have been warned.
Have a great week!
the birthday barbecue
Saturday evening, we drove out to the country to celebrate my friend Doc's birthday. For those keeping score at home, it is Doc's fault that I am living in France now; she is the college buddy who married a Frenchman and introduced me to the love o' my life. She, her hubby Marc - a very cool guy in his own right - and their adorable son live in a small village in Haute-Marne, about an hour away.
We joined a dozen or so friends at chez Doc for a barbecue extravaganza. Since the weather wouldn't cooperate, we set up tables in one of the garages (Doc's family are farmers so loads of storage space is required), next to the satanic fridge and directly over the champagne cellar. I should mention here that I've tasted a lot of champagne since I've moved to France, and in my humble opinion, their family makes the best - and they only do it as a hobby!
After dinner, Doc totally surprised us by giving us some gifts for our first anniversary, which is next Saturday. Being a traditional sort of girl, we received the traditional first anniversary gift: paper. Lots of paper. Paper towels, toilet paper... you get the idea.
We also received a very useful gift: a clock with the temperature in both Celsius and Farenheight. You'd think that after nearly a year I'd have a handle on Celsius, but so far I've got that if it's over 30 it's really hot, and if it's under 20 it's quite cold. Finally, we received a bottle of the lovely champagne, from her in-laws. I'm really looking forward to cracking that open on Saturday.
Despite the bad weather, we had a really great time, so thanks Doc, and happy happy birthday!
We joined a dozen or so friends at chez Doc for a barbecue extravaganza. Since the weather wouldn't cooperate, we set up tables in one of the garages (Doc's family are farmers so loads of storage space is required), next to the satanic fridge and directly over the champagne cellar. I should mention here that I've tasted a lot of champagne since I've moved to France, and in my humble opinion, their family makes the best - and they only do it as a hobby!
After dinner, Doc totally surprised us by giving us some gifts for our first anniversary, which is next Saturday. Being a traditional sort of girl, we received the traditional first anniversary gift: paper. Lots of paper. Paper towels, toilet paper... you get the idea.
We also received a very useful gift: a clock with the temperature in both Celsius and Farenheight. You'd think that after nearly a year I'd have a handle on Celsius, but so far I've got that if it's over 30 it's really hot, and if it's under 20 it's quite cold. Finally, we received a bottle of the lovely champagne, from her in-laws. I'm really looking forward to cracking that open on Saturday.
Despite the bad weather, we had a really great time, so thanks Doc, and happy happy birthday!
Saturday, July 23, 2005
the highs and lows of it
This week, I took the second step in looking for work. After registering at Assidic, I had a month to register at ANPE, the national employment agency. I printed out a copy of my resume, filled out a work history survey, and went to ANPE on Thursday afternoon.
After about a forty-five minute wait with only two people waiting ahead of me, I nervously made my way to my assigned cubicle. I was greeted by a guy who must have been sent from heaven - he was unbelievably nice, complimentary of my French (!), and was very positive about my ability to find a job. We agreed that finding a job would have the added benefit of improving my French, and in any case I should continue taking my French classes when they resume in the fall. In the meantime, we found a job offer that sounded perfect: an administrative job with strong English skills.
Needless to say, I nearly floated out of the office! Suddenly, I was brimming with confidence. This is it, I thought. It's all going to start now!
Well, there's nothing like a Temp Agency to burst anyone's bubble.
The next day, I presented myself to the Temp Agency that was offering the job. I gave the document with the job description to someone who passed it on to someone else. The conversation went something like this:
"Oh, you're bi-lingual!"
"In fact, I'm American. I've been living here since September of last year."
"Oh."
"Excuse me, I know my French isn't perfect, but I do understand better than I speak."
"So, can you write in French?"
"Erm... not very well, actually...."
"And on the telephone?"
"Yes, well... obviously it's more difficult on the telephone for the moment..."
"I see. Well, you'll have to register with our company before we can consider you for this position, and we don't do registrations on Fridays. Can you come back on Monday?"
"Yes, sure, no problem, thank you."
And with that I slunk out the door.
And to think Steph and I were actually making plans if I'd gotten this job. I should have known better.
After about a forty-five minute wait with only two people waiting ahead of me, I nervously made my way to my assigned cubicle. I was greeted by a guy who must have been sent from heaven - he was unbelievably nice, complimentary of my French (!), and was very positive about my ability to find a job. We agreed that finding a job would have the added benefit of improving my French, and in any case I should continue taking my French classes when they resume in the fall. In the meantime, we found a job offer that sounded perfect: an administrative job with strong English skills.
Needless to say, I nearly floated out of the office! Suddenly, I was brimming with confidence. This is it, I thought. It's all going to start now!
Well, there's nothing like a Temp Agency to burst anyone's bubble.
The next day, I presented myself to the Temp Agency that was offering the job. I gave the document with the job description to someone who passed it on to someone else. The conversation went something like this:
"Oh, you're bi-lingual!"
"In fact, I'm American. I've been living here since September of last year."
"Oh."
"Excuse me, I know my French isn't perfect, but I do understand better than I speak."
"So, can you write in French?"
"Erm... not very well, actually...."
"And on the telephone?"
"Yes, well... obviously it's more difficult on the telephone for the moment..."
"I see. Well, you'll have to register with our company before we can consider you for this position, and we don't do registrations on Fridays. Can you come back on Monday?"
"Yes, sure, no problem, thank you."
And with that I slunk out the door.
And to think Steph and I were actually making plans if I'd gotten this job. I should have known better.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
clear the roads
Yesterday, I kissed another part of my American life goodbye. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time. I've been here nearly a year but yesterday was the first time I really felt like I was giving something up that would make it difficult to go home and pick up where I left off (not that I have the least intention of doing so).
Yesterday, I exchanged my American drivers license for a French one.
This may sound like small change, but in the states, a drivers license is more than a permit for driving, it's the most recognized form of identification. I'd wager that the vast majority of Americans don't have a passport, and if they do, they certainly don't carry them around on a day to day basis. For the time being, national identification cards do not exist (though I understand some people would like to see that happen). Identification cards are available at the Department of Local Vehicles, and look exactly like drivers licenses, and are the preferred form of ID if one doesn't drive. Along with military ID's, these are often the only picture identification cards the majority of organizations accept.
So going to the Prefecture yesterday to get my new driving permit was more than applying for permission to drive here, it was crossing a bridge and not looking back.
Luckily, I come from a state that has an agreement with France, so it only involved about an hour of time, filling out a short form, making photocopies, and of course, turning in my old license. I walked out with a piece of paper giving me permission to drive until I can pick up my permanent license in a couple of weeks.
Last night, I drove in France for the first time since I moved here. After nearly a year of living here, I'm finally starting to feel like I'm home.
Yesterday, I exchanged my American drivers license for a French one.
This may sound like small change, but in the states, a drivers license is more than a permit for driving, it's the most recognized form of identification. I'd wager that the vast majority of Americans don't have a passport, and if they do, they certainly don't carry them around on a day to day basis. For the time being, national identification cards do not exist (though I understand some people would like to see that happen). Identification cards are available at the Department of Local Vehicles, and look exactly like drivers licenses, and are the preferred form of ID if one doesn't drive. Along with military ID's, these are often the only picture identification cards the majority of organizations accept.
So going to the Prefecture yesterday to get my new driving permit was more than applying for permission to drive here, it was crossing a bridge and not looking back.
Luckily, I come from a state that has an agreement with France, so it only involved about an hour of time, filling out a short form, making photocopies, and of course, turning in my old license. I walked out with a piece of paper giving me permission to drive until I can pick up my permanent license in a couple of weeks.
Last night, I drove in France for the first time since I moved here. After nearly a year of living here, I'm finally starting to feel like I'm home.
Monday, July 18, 2005
camping recap
We got back Saturday evening and truth be told, I'm still recovering, in a classic case of "I need a vacation from my vacation." I'm still exhausted and my legs are like jello, but it was a great trip.
Monday, Steph's colleague Eric arrived, and after lunch we stuffed everything in our cars and took off for the departement of Jura. Our campsite was just outside of the town of Morez, about a three and a half hour drive from Troyes using the toll roads (which were totally worth the money!). We staked out our site and set up our tents - Steph getting one done in the blink of an eye while Eric and I struggled along for a small eternity. We ate dinner and for entertainment, gazed at a multitude of stars I never knew existed. Finally, I made my first nightly pilgrimage up the steep hill to the restroom facilities, which were admittedly better than expected.
Tuesday was hiking day. We drove about half an hour away to the blink-and-you'll-miss-it village of La Fromagerie and hiked to the Cascade de Herisson (Hedgehog Waterfall) and surrounding waterfalls. Round trip was between 4 and 5 kilometers, up and down a valley that reminded me of hiking along the Blue Ridge Mountains. I only fell on my ass once.
That night we lit up the barbecue for the first time, and ate the first of innumerable sausages. I think I'm good on sausages for about six months, thanks.
Wednesday we went to Switzerland for an ice cream.
OK, that's not exactly true. Looking for some lighter exercise after the greuling hike from the day before, we went on a pedal boat hunt. Drawn by the gigantic Lac Leman, we spent the afternoon in Nyon. We ended up just strolling around the town, giggling at the Monopoly money that is Swiss Francs (they are freakin' huge!), buying shoes (bwahahahhaha), pausing for a cool drink at a cafe, taking pictures, and finally, in order to get rid of our remaining Francs, buying ice cream from a street vendor. In the end, it was too hot to contemplate taking pedal boats on the lake.
That evening, we built our first campfire and listened to the fireworks in the neighboring towns celebrating Bastille Day (apparently the fireworks are often the night before) and I introduced the guys to the wonder that is roasted marshmallows.
Thursday was Walking Up Impossible Hills day. We started the day at a lake near Clarveaux les Lacs that had a nice little beachside. After a lakeside lunch, we jumped on a pedal boat and roasted in the sun for about half an hour before heading back to shore. I wish we'd brought our swimsuits that day - the water was freezing but after sitting in the sun I was ready for a dip in the lake.
We then went over to a neighboring lake and hiked down to the shore. Steph suggested we "take the road less traveled by," and it certainly "made all the difference" because I wanted to kill him. Dead ends, twenty foot drops, and a machete would have been nice at certain passages. We took the road back to the top, which was so steep I could only take baby steps in order to keep a steady pace. Once again, it was sausages and marshmallows to close out the day.
Friday was Game day. We loaded up supplies at nearby Longchaumois and parked in the common room of the campgrounds for most of the day, playing Mille Bornes and the like. When the temps cooled off, I played petanque for the first time, and was pleasantly surprised that it is exactly like the Italian game Bocce that I grew up with, except the balls are metal instead of wood. We played cards into the wee hours (which is 11pm if you're at a campsite) and prepared for our return to civilization the next day.
Steph had one more thing he wanted to do before we came home. Saturday morning, we stopped in the area of the town of Baume-les-Messieurs, which is famous for being surrounded by sheer 500 foot high cliffs on three sides. People like to hike up and down these cliffs for the heck of it. It's ten minutes down the cliffs, and around fifteen to go back up. We started at the top with the intention of eating lunch at the bottom before coming back up, and wouldn't you know it, I blew my knees out on the way down. I limped to the hot dog stand with the guys and ate my last sausage for what I hope is a long, long time. Steph offered to get the car and drive down to pick me up, but I knew going back up wouldn't be so stressful on my knees so I said I'd be ok. It took us twenty minutes to get back to the top, with lots of breaks. Eric made it back up in 12.5 minutes (oh to be young!). Then we drove home.
I'm still nursing my knees, and my legs are less jello-like than they were yesterday, but all is good. I did bring a disposable camera which I'm taking to be developed today, so I'll have some pics to put up at the end of the week or so.
Now we have a week to relax before Steph takes me to get my ass kicked in Northern France.
Monday, Steph's colleague Eric arrived, and after lunch we stuffed everything in our cars and took off for the departement of Jura. Our campsite was just outside of the town of Morez, about a three and a half hour drive from Troyes using the toll roads (which were totally worth the money!). We staked out our site and set up our tents - Steph getting one done in the blink of an eye while Eric and I struggled along for a small eternity. We ate dinner and for entertainment, gazed at a multitude of stars I never knew existed. Finally, I made my first nightly pilgrimage up the steep hill to the restroom facilities, which were admittedly better than expected.
Tuesday was hiking day. We drove about half an hour away to the blink-and-you'll-miss-it village of La Fromagerie and hiked to the Cascade de Herisson (Hedgehog Waterfall) and surrounding waterfalls. Round trip was between 4 and 5 kilometers, up and down a valley that reminded me of hiking along the Blue Ridge Mountains. I only fell on my ass once.
That night we lit up the barbecue for the first time, and ate the first of innumerable sausages. I think I'm good on sausages for about six months, thanks.
Wednesday we went to Switzerland for an ice cream.
OK, that's not exactly true. Looking for some lighter exercise after the greuling hike from the day before, we went on a pedal boat hunt. Drawn by the gigantic Lac Leman, we spent the afternoon in Nyon. We ended up just strolling around the town, giggling at the Monopoly money that is Swiss Francs (they are freakin' huge!), buying shoes (bwahahahhaha), pausing for a cool drink at a cafe, taking pictures, and finally, in order to get rid of our remaining Francs, buying ice cream from a street vendor. In the end, it was too hot to contemplate taking pedal boats on the lake.
That evening, we built our first campfire and listened to the fireworks in the neighboring towns celebrating Bastille Day (apparently the fireworks are often the night before) and I introduced the guys to the wonder that is roasted marshmallows.
Thursday was Walking Up Impossible Hills day. We started the day at a lake near Clarveaux les Lacs that had a nice little beachside. After a lakeside lunch, we jumped on a pedal boat and roasted in the sun for about half an hour before heading back to shore. I wish we'd brought our swimsuits that day - the water was freezing but after sitting in the sun I was ready for a dip in the lake.
We then went over to a neighboring lake and hiked down to the shore. Steph suggested we "take the road less traveled by," and it certainly "made all the difference" because I wanted to kill him. Dead ends, twenty foot drops, and a machete would have been nice at certain passages. We took the road back to the top, which was so steep I could only take baby steps in order to keep a steady pace. Once again, it was sausages and marshmallows to close out the day.
Friday was Game day. We loaded up supplies at nearby Longchaumois and parked in the common room of the campgrounds for most of the day, playing Mille Bornes and the like. When the temps cooled off, I played petanque for the first time, and was pleasantly surprised that it is exactly like the Italian game Bocce that I grew up with, except the balls are metal instead of wood. We played cards into the wee hours (which is 11pm if you're at a campsite) and prepared for our return to civilization the next day.
Steph had one more thing he wanted to do before we came home. Saturday morning, we stopped in the area of the town of Baume-les-Messieurs, which is famous for being surrounded by sheer 500 foot high cliffs on three sides. People like to hike up and down these cliffs for the heck of it. It's ten minutes down the cliffs, and around fifteen to go back up. We started at the top with the intention of eating lunch at the bottom before coming back up, and wouldn't you know it, I blew my knees out on the way down. I limped to the hot dog stand with the guys and ate my last sausage for what I hope is a long, long time. Steph offered to get the car and drive down to pick me up, but I knew going back up wouldn't be so stressful on my knees so I said I'd be ok. It took us twenty minutes to get back to the top, with lots of breaks. Eric made it back up in 12.5 minutes (oh to be young!). Then we drove home.
I'm still nursing my knees, and my legs are less jello-like than they were yesterday, but all is good. I did bring a disposable camera which I'm taking to be developed today, so I'll have some pics to put up at the end of the week or so.
Now we have a week to relax before Steph takes me to get my ass kicked in Northern France.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
gone adventuring
Tomorrow we're leaving for a week long adventure, which will undoubtably include tents, mosquitoes, hiking and dodgy bathroom facilities. We'll be back sometime during the weekend.
Please take this time to visit some of the people who are listed on the right hand side of the blog, as they are much more clever than me.
Have a great week!
Please take this time to visit some of the people who are listed on the right hand side of the blog, as they are much more clever than me.
Have a great week!
Friday, July 08, 2005
the appointment
I've just posted a new entry on the tag-team French website, from rooster to donkey. If you'd like to read the English translation (before or after), please click on "Tell me more!"
I should also add that the reason my French looks reasonably good over there is because Steph edits it before I post it. Otherwise, my pathetic French would completely unreadable. ;)
I've been wearing glasses since I was 15 years old. In March 2004, I went to the eye doctor for the first time in four years, because my insurance didn't cover eye doctors (ah, I'll talk about the differences between French and American insurance another time!). I learned that the pressure I felt in my eyes and the headaches were an early sign of glaucoma. He told me that it's very important to get my eyes examined every year.
This year, for one reason or another, we always forgot to call to make an appointment. It seems that every time we remembered, it was the weekend or after 6pm. Finally, Steph called for me last month.
At first, the receptionist told him that the first available appointment was in March.
"March? March 2006?" he said.
"Yes, sorry," she responded. "Oh but wait, we have a new doctor, and she has an appointment available on December 2."
Of course, we took it.
The idea that it's difficult to see a doctor without a long wait is still very strange for me. Especially the opticians, because it seems there are several of them in everywhere you look in the states.
In Troyes, it seems there's an store for eyeglasses on every street downtown (is it like that in Paris, too?). Imagine there was an optician in every store (like in the states), and you have an idea why I'm so surprised.
Well, there you go, that's my new life. It's not bad, just different. In the meantime, I know that if my eyes explode, there's always the hospital...
I should also add that the reason my French looks reasonably good over there is because Steph edits it before I post it. Otherwise, my pathetic French would completely unreadable. ;)
I've been wearing glasses since I was 15 years old. In March 2004, I went to the eye doctor for the first time in four years, because my insurance didn't cover eye doctors (ah, I'll talk about the differences between French and American insurance another time!). I learned that the pressure I felt in my eyes and the headaches were an early sign of glaucoma. He told me that it's very important to get my eyes examined every year.
This year, for one reason or another, we always forgot to call to make an appointment. It seems that every time we remembered, it was the weekend or after 6pm. Finally, Steph called for me last month.
At first, the receptionist told him that the first available appointment was in March.
"March? March 2006?" he said.
"Yes, sorry," she responded. "Oh but wait, we have a new doctor, and she has an appointment available on December 2."
Of course, we took it.
The idea that it's difficult to see a doctor without a long wait is still very strange for me. Especially the opticians, because it seems there are several of them in everywhere you look in the states.
In Troyes, it seems there's an store for eyeglasses on every street downtown (is it like that in Paris, too?). Imagine there was an optician in every store (like in the states), and you have an idea why I'm so surprised.
Well, there you go, that's my new life. It's not bad, just different. In the meantime, I know that if my eyes explode, there's always the hospital...
Thursday, July 07, 2005
tour de france
Today is one of those days that I'm smacking myself in the head for dropping the camera, because it's not everyday that The Tour de France departs from your town. Nevertheless, I'll do my best to describe the scene.
Since the route took the competitors only a block away from our apartment, we decided not to go to the departure point in the middle of town and instead headed out at 10:15 accompanied by a sister-in-law and my two youngest nieces down the street. We found a great spot on a corner where the route took a sharp right hand turn. There weren't too many people around, and I'm guessing most folks went to the center of town to see the departure.
Just after 10:30, we were treated to little parade of all the sponsors of the tour. Most of the cars were blaring some kind of music, and were decorated according to their business, and had people chucking trinkets out to the crowd. The kids had brought a backpack, and at the end it was stuffed to the gills.
At 11:00, the parade was over, and we had an hour and a half to kill before the cyclists came by, so we came back home to check out our stash. Some of the things we got included
And just like that, it was over. Before you could say "maillot jaune," the crowd dispersed and we were off to Chez MacDo with everyone else in Troyes for a celebratory lunch.
Since the route took the competitors only a block away from our apartment, we decided not to go to the departure point in the middle of town and instead headed out at 10:15 accompanied by a sister-in-law and my two youngest nieces down the street. We found a great spot on a corner where the route took a sharp right hand turn. There weren't too many people around, and I'm guessing most folks went to the center of town to see the departure.
Just after 10:30, we were treated to little parade of all the sponsors of the tour. Most of the cars were blaring some kind of music, and were decorated according to their business, and had people chucking trinkets out to the crowd. The kids had brought a backpack, and at the end it was stuffed to the gills.
At 11:00, the parade was over, and we had an hour and a half to kill before the cyclists came by, so we came back home to check out our stash. Some of the things we got included
- 11 (!) assorted hats
- 2 blow up batons for clapping together and making lots of noise
- 2 mini bags of pretzels
- 2 chocolates
- a cheese snack pack
- 1 can of beer (!)
- assorted key chains
- assorted magnets
- 2 umbrella hats
And just like that, it was over. Before you could say "maillot jaune," the crowd dispersed and we were off to Chez MacDo with everyone else in Troyes for a celebratory lunch.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
news & notes
I've been neglicting my blog. I've got a couple of things in the works that I want to post about, but for now I'm going to leave you with a couple of newsy and notey things:
- In case you haven't heard, London won the 2012 Olympic games. Steph tells me this is the third time Paris has been a candidate and lost, so the French are understandably sad. The French reaction on tv was filled with shrugs and in one case, nearly tears. As for me, I'm a little disappointed, but I'm just glad I don't live in a candidate city!
- The Tour de France departs from Troyes tomorrow! We're not going downtown, but just down the street, because the route takes them very close to our apartment. Be sure to check out the departure (surely it will be on the highlights in the states!) to take a gander at our town and maybe even us!
- I'm in the process of writing up a new post on the French website, from rooster to donkey. I will write an English translation to post here as well. Also, I have been tagged by the coolest Texan I know (until someone else bribes me more), the lovely durteemartini. I haven't forgotten, I swear! The thing is, she's asked me to choose my six favorite songs. That's like choosing my favorite child (providing I had more than one)!
Monday, July 04, 2005
Happy Independance Day!
Today is Independance Day in the states, and my first outside of them. People all over the country will celebrate with barbeques, family gatherings, and fireworks tonight. I hope everyone back home has a great time, and light up a sparkler for me!
Saturday, July 02, 2005
when bathrooms can be scary
Last night, Steph and I attended the retirement dinner of a colleague of his. It was your typical French dinner, with a hundred courses (ok, five) and lasted five hours. Well for us it was five hours. We were the second couple to leave, missing the coffee service, so god only knows how long the rest hung out.
The thing that struck me as odd, for an American, is that the guest of honor paid for the whole shebang. In the states, a retirement celebration can vary from a handshake and a cake (or in the old days, a gold watch), to a full-blown dinner, but in every case, the guest of honor is just that - a guest. We did chip in for some lovely parting gifts, however.
Finally, if you want to know why, like the title suggests, bathrooms can be scary, and you're not weak of heart, please click "Tell me more!" to continue.
In France, in the older bars and restaurants, there still exist what is commonly referred to as "Turkish bathrooms." Obviously I mean no disrespect to the Turks, but this is the only way I've ever heard of it spoken, so if you call it something else, please feel free to enlighten me.
But what is a Turkish bathroom? Why, it's a hole in the ground, with a horizontal bar (like you might find in a handicap stall) for leverage. Obviously, boys have zero problems with this, but I'm sure you can imagine it poses something of a problem for us ladies.
Nature called several times last night, and I ignored her as long as I could. Finally I just went and did it.
I feel like I've been initiated into some sort of club. Do we get hats or something?
The thing that struck me as odd, for an American, is that the guest of honor paid for the whole shebang. In the states, a retirement celebration can vary from a handshake and a cake (or in the old days, a gold watch), to a full-blown dinner, but in every case, the guest of honor is just that - a guest. We did chip in for some lovely parting gifts, however.
Finally, if you want to know why, like the title suggests, bathrooms can be scary, and you're not weak of heart, please click "Tell me more!" to continue.
In France, in the older bars and restaurants, there still exist what is commonly referred to as "Turkish bathrooms." Obviously I mean no disrespect to the Turks, but this is the only way I've ever heard of it spoken, so if you call it something else, please feel free to enlighten me.
But what is a Turkish bathroom? Why, it's a hole in the ground, with a horizontal bar (like you might find in a handicap stall) for leverage. Obviously, boys have zero problems with this, but I'm sure you can imagine it poses something of a problem for us ladies.
Nature called several times last night, and I ignored her as long as I could. Finally I just went and did it.
I feel like I've been initiated into some sort of club. Do we get hats or something?
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