Five months feels so long with a freshly packed backpack strapped to your back. When you think about the fact that your little sister is going to be growing up while you are away and your friends and family will all be living their lives without you. When you think about spending the holidays away from home and getting sick without mum their to bring you a blanket as you cuddle up on the couch. Five months. That's almost half a year. I will be almost 17 when I get home which is just mind-blowing because I just got my license a few weeks ago! Five months... I will be able to speak fluently after that! I will have friends! I will be ready to get back to work.
Four months later and you have no idea how short one month is. Three weekends. Twenty days of school. Eight class periods to work on Sudokus with Sophie and four Wednesdays left to go swimming or shopping with Marina. Then I am gone.
The idea is kinda terrifying. I have just started to really consider Charlotte, Sophie and Caroline to be real friends that I can communicate with and I really don't want to loose them. My french is good, but not fluent and I still have this stupid accent. And in the last month or so my apartement has started to feel... like home. I will come back and see them again someday, but I don't think it will ever be the same as right now.
That and the thought of LASA is not really encouraging. Seriously, I had forgotten what it felt like to love learning before I came here.
With that said though.... oh my gosh. My little sister has grown 5 months older without me. Is she taller? Happier? Sadder? What does she think about? She doesn't email me much and skype just doesn't work as well as having her in the front seat of the car with me and Elaina I miss you so so so so so much. I miss working out with daddy in the mornings and being sick without your real mum to baby you is no fun at all (though really, Malika takes good care of me). It is hard to have a philisophical conversation here- first you have to find someone interested then they have to be willing to listen to you make mistakes and it is not a daily thing here. Lunch group: I miss you.
So as I reflect about going home we have two lists here: what I am looking forward to and what I am going to miss....
What I am looking forward to:
1)Elaina's play... really actually just Elaina. But plays are good too.
2)Mum.
3)Dad.
4)Hugs... here they do kisses which is so cute but hugs feel warmer to me.
5)Visits to grandparents.... weirdest feeling when I think “oh I can't wait to go visit Gran and papaw in a few weeks, or till Lala and Scott come” and then you realize “ohhh right... that will be in a few months not a few weeks”
6)A real bed that is all mine!
7)Good Austin rainstorms... preferably thunder storms.
8)My car :) driving around all day with Anna just because we can. And now... she has one too! I'm psyched. Wanna pick me up from the air port in that? :D
9)Forests... I love living in the middle of a city but I really need my fill of trees actually.
10)Silence... it is right now but only because I am the only one awake. Normally it does not exist in this household.
11)Writing papers in English.
12)There is no crowd of people smoking as soon as you walk out of the front doors of highschool. Awful European habit.
13)Austin music scene.
14)Showers standing up.... ours is weird. Some combination of a bath and a shower. It works fine but....
15)Toilet seats: they don't exist in public (like school) bathrooms. Ever.
What I am going to miss like crazy:
1)My family. I am the luckiest lucky person on the face of the earth to be here with them. There do not exist kinder more welcoming people anywhere.
2)Malika... actually mum she made me look at what you do for us all the time differently too. I don't know if there is a harder job than being a mother, and my mum and Malika are both pretty good at it. Malika also happens to be one of my favorite people on the planet.
3)Sara.... my sister in a totally different way than Elaina. Can't even put this one in to words. Actually... none of them really fit into words as I would like.
4)Ilyess hopefully will come stay in Austin for the summer so you will see what I mean then. Very friendly, very fun, and never shuts up he can make anyone feel at ease.
5)Reduoane- I am pretty sure he is actually another kid in disguise sometimes... kidding. But honestly there don't exist very many people nicer than him.
6)Ok... I need to stop listing people or else this will never end. Rayanne and Ayoub... Ayoub is hilarious and Rayanne is really sweet if quieter around me. Now I swear just two more categories of people.
7)Charlotte and Sophie and Caroline... What could I even say? Finding friends when you dont speak the language is hard so I am lucky they found me.
8)Marina... ok so she didn't help me with french much :P but it was so so so nice to have her to explore France with me and I really hope to see her again.
9)The french language. Hard, but beautiful. I have started journaling lately (its exciting to be able to do stream of consciousness in french) and I am going to keep this up at home
10)My economics class... coolest teacher ever, and my science class- also a very very very kind teacher. And Italian which is just interesting. Maybe I can make Maria teach me at home.
11)Cold weather. I can not explain how much I will miss cold weather. Aunt Julie can I please go live with you during the winter months? Mum, Dad, can we move? Austin summers.... really now. Acutally Austin year round. I would like winter in Austin to be what the weather is like in early fall....
12)Sleeping in Sara's room
13)Crowding everyone around the too-small table
14)The constant action. I feel like Harry at the Weasley's here and it is so much fun.
15)Walking to school... walking everywhere really. I so dread having to get in the car for everything...
16)French chocolate
17)Watching Malika cook
18)Sleeping in Sara's room.
19)French culture.... I think I will do a blog post on this.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
Natation et la piscine
Pardon my french but MERDE! I was almost finished with this post before the stupid internet dropped and crazy technology ghosts cursed me... and I lost the post.
I hate technology.
The first time I went to a pool was towards the end of my second month here, an aquatic center on the edge of town with Sara and Ilyess. Sara was the one that suggested it, but I think she regretted it immediately afterward. She doesn't especially like water. Especially if it is cold. Ilyess on the other hand loves the water and was very enthusiastic about the idea. So we took the tram way out to the outskirts of Lyon, took a few wrong busses and finally wound up at the aquatic center. Actually, it was a very nice pool. A very large lap pool in one room with a diving pool behind it that was closed while we were there, in the other room was a shallow pool with a a very tiny lazy river and wave pool inside it, and a jacuzzi, presumably for the parents watching their kids play. We spent quite a lot of time here playing hide and seek and tag. One of their favorite games is competing to see who can hold their breath the longest- it drove Ilyess nuts that I always won and the lifeguard yelled at us for that, and flipping off the side of the pool, and jumping off each others shoulders... I apparently get them into alot of trouble :).
I didn't swim many laps, but being back in the water felt so good, and I have been to the pool 3 days a week ever since.
In the two pools I normally swim at they just have one large (smallish actually in comparison to pools back home) lap pool, half of which is divided into three swim lanes, the other half is for free swim and usually includes lots of little kids learning how to swim.
The first time that I went to the pool I was convinced that the lanes were reserved for a swim club, and tried to swim laps in the free swim area... don't ever try it. I ran into so many squealing kids and old ladies kicking lethargically across the pool for "exercise" and had to stop at least once a lap and tred water for a moment in order to find a way through the crowd. So good if you are looking for more of a water arobics thing, awful if you are going to try to get any real swimming done.
Luckily the next time- okay okay! It was more like the 4th or 5th time that I went to the pool... but the point is that I finally noticed the nice little signs that say the lanes are reserved for swimming... for anyone. It is actually a pretty good idea, the way that they organize the pool. One lane is reserved for swimming with materials (buoys, fins, paddles, ect.), one is for breaststroke, and one is for freestyle and
backstoke.
Great concept. If I weren't the only one that followed the rules. And I promise I am the only one that can swim breaststroke anywhere near fast enough for the freestyle lane. It. Drives. Me. Nuts.
Just to be clear: I don't have anyproblem with slow people, AS LONG AS THEY STAY OUT OF MY WAY! For god's sake, I am in awful swim shape right now, I never swim sprints, and I often have to pass the same person every single lap. Backstrokers are the absolute worst... they could not actually go anywhere while on their backs if their life depended upon it.
Only good thing to come out of all this... my stroke might improve. Anyone that knows my swimming knows that I am pretty awful about not kicking (Mark, you still win this), but I have started kicking really hard whenever I pass someone in hopes that they will try to breath and water will go in their mouth so that they can literally eat my bubbles!
I am not really that mean... I'm kidding.
Kinda.
Other funny things about the pool:
I realized what guarding has done to me when, as I see kids hanging on the lanes as I swim by, I wonder how to say "no hanging on the lane-lines!" in french before I remember that is not my job anymore..
At Garibaldi you have to go up 2 sets of stairs to get to the dressing rooms, then back down another set of stairs to get to the showers, then to the pool. I have been
to this pool every Wednesday for almost two months and I always go down the wrong set of stairs and they have to tell me to go down the other stairs.
That stereotype about French guys and tiny speedos: true. ESPECIALLY for fat old men.
A la prochaine fois!
Bisous!
I hate technology.
The first time I went to a pool was towards the end of my second month here, an aquatic center on the edge of town with Sara and Ilyess. Sara was the one that suggested it, but I think she regretted it immediately afterward. She doesn't especially like water. Especially if it is cold. Ilyess on the other hand loves the water and was very enthusiastic about the idea. So we took the tram way out to the outskirts of Lyon, took a few wrong busses and finally wound up at the aquatic center. Actually, it was a very nice pool. A very large lap pool in one room with a diving pool behind it that was closed while we were there, in the other room was a shallow pool with a a very tiny lazy river and wave pool inside it, and a jacuzzi, presumably for the parents watching their kids play. We spent quite a lot of time here playing hide and seek and tag. One of their favorite games is competing to see who can hold their breath the longest- it drove Ilyess nuts that I always won and the lifeguard yelled at us for that, and flipping off the side of the pool, and jumping off each others shoulders... I apparently get them into alot of trouble :).
I didn't swim many laps, but being back in the water felt so good, and I have been to the pool 3 days a week ever since.
In the two pools I normally swim at they just have one large (smallish actually in comparison to pools back home) lap pool, half of which is divided into three swim lanes, the other half is for free swim and usually includes lots of little kids learning how to swim.
The first time that I went to the pool I was convinced that the lanes were reserved for a swim club, and tried to swim laps in the free swim area... don't ever try it. I ran into so many squealing kids and old ladies kicking lethargically across the pool for "exercise" and had to stop at least once a lap and tred water for a moment in order to find a way through the crowd. So good if you are looking for more of a water arobics thing, awful if you are going to try to get any real swimming done.
Luckily the next time- okay okay! It was more like the 4th or 5th time that I went to the pool... but the point is that I finally noticed the nice little signs that say the lanes are reserved for swimming... for anyone. It is actually a pretty good idea, the way that they organize the pool. One lane is reserved for swimming with materials (buoys, fins, paddles, ect.), one is for breaststroke, and one is for freestyle and
backstoke.
Great concept. If I weren't the only one that followed the rules. And I promise I am the only one that can swim breaststroke anywhere near fast enough for the freestyle lane. It. Drives. Me. Nuts.
Just to be clear: I don't have anyproblem with slow people, AS LONG AS THEY STAY OUT OF MY WAY! For god's sake, I am in awful swim shape right now, I never swim sprints, and I often have to pass the same person every single lap. Backstrokers are the absolute worst... they could not actually go anywhere while on their backs if their life depended upon it.
Only good thing to come out of all this... my stroke might improve. Anyone that knows my swimming knows that I am pretty awful about not kicking (Mark, you still win this), but I have started kicking really hard whenever I pass someone in hopes that they will try to breath and water will go in their mouth so that they can literally eat my bubbles!
I am not really that mean... I'm kidding.
Kinda.
Other funny things about the pool:
I realized what guarding has done to me when, as I see kids hanging on the lanes as I swim by, I wonder how to say "no hanging on the lane-lines!" in french before I remember that is not my job anymore..
At Garibaldi you have to go up 2 sets of stairs to get to the dressing rooms, then back down another set of stairs to get to the showers, then to the pool. I have been
to this pool every Wednesday for almost two months and I always go down the wrong set of stairs and they have to tell me to go down the other stairs.
That stereotype about French guys and tiny speedos: true. ESPECIALLY for fat old men.
A la prochaine fois!
Bisous!
Monday, November 1, 2010
I am completely inept with all things technology... here is why:
I gave Malika my cell phone because it has a touch screen which is apparently akin to being god here. She is going to give it back to me though because its too complicated to use because I can't figure out how to change the language from english to french.
After having this blog for almost 5 months, using it regularly for 2 I JUST figured out that people have been posting comments, and how to view them. Dear me.
After having this blog for almost 5 months, using it regularly for 2 I JUST figured out that people have been posting comments, and how to view them. Dear me.
Pancakes
There are several foods that are automatically associated with the United States. Hamburgers are one of them, sandwiches are another (sliced bread always has "American Sandwich" written on the package). Cupcakes and doughnuts are very American and sold in Starbucks in order to assert its "American-ness." And pancakes.
Which is why my family asked me to make them, because apparently they are in pretty much every film in existence. I have made pancakes a million times before (Elaina loves them) so I told them I would, just that I would go to the store with them tomorrow to buy a few things.
LES MOTS DU JOUR:
levure- baking powder. I looked this up and promptly forgot it 4 times within the 10 minutes before I left for the store before I finally just wrote it on my palm.
sirup eirab- maple syrup- story on this one in just a second.
So Malika, Redouane, Rayanne, Ayoub and I all got into the car and drove to the store. Too many groceries to carry home unfortunately as that was probably the third time I have been in a car since I got to France and have not missed the sensation at all.
Carrefour, the equivalent of Randalls or HEB here, is in le centre comercial, Part Dieu, aka the mall. Don't ask why. While it is true there is a different shop (there is even a store for all the frozen food, like those two isles taken out of the grocery store to be its own store) for pretty much every aspect of a meal, for the most part, boulangeries are only for baguettes, and each of the others is the same- traditional french food only. For milk (which is weird, and I don't believe it is really milk and plan on never drinking it again), yogurt (desert- not a breakfast food), American sandwich bread, cooking ingredients like flour, candy, ect. are all bought exclusively at Carefour. Being as space in a mall in downtown lyon is limited I guess, the store is 2 stories tall. It has enormous elevators to the parking garage below that you can push your overloaded grocery basket into and still fit a dozen people. When you enter to shop you have to put a Euro into the basket in order to insure you will return it after you are finished shopping, and when you need to travel between the floors there is a giant moving sidewalk style escalator and when you roll the cart onto it the wheels cling to the belt so that it does not roll backwards on its way up. We wandered through the store as we did our shopping- math practice as they always calculate the best deal for each item they have to buy (I am only exaggerating a little bit). I had gotten everything I needed except the syrup. I looked everywhere. It was not with the carmel and chocolate syrups used in baking and on ice cream. Nor with the enormous assortment of jellies and jams (apricot is my new favorite, does that even exist in the US?) nor with baking supplies, the extensive collection of olive oils (really? how different can they be?), the honey, or the bread. They even have a section of one row, top to bottom and 3 or 4 feet across filled with Nutella (really, I don't know what the French would do without it. Worse than America's addiction to peanut butter). At the house I had looked up for the word for syrup on the internet, just in case. So I asked one of the employees. "Excusez-moi, mais ou est le sirup?" "Quoi?" "le sirup! Pour les pancakes?" "Ohhh le sirup eirab! En face de le cafe" "Ah... merci." (Excuse me, but where is the syrup? What? They Syrup! For pancakes? Oh... syrup. Across from the coffee. Thank you.) Except eirab sounds like arab (the way the french say it). Which really shouldn't be too surprising- there is a large Arabic population here, and used a bit like Chinese or Mexican is in food names back home. "But really, it comes from Canada! Why would they call it Arab syrup?" Was what I was thinking as I hurried back to the coffee isle. "Across from the coffee... ok... he had no idea what he was talking about. Tea is across from coffee.." I looked more. Finally, behind a post was syrup. Pretty easy to miss. In the US syrup is like nutella, or olive oil or something here. Lots of different brands, different sizes, low fat, sugar free, ect. Nope. There is one kind of syrup here. It comes in a small glass container, with a Canadian flag on the label. It is about 3xs more expensive than in the US, and, as I have already mentioned, smaller. But it was the only one, and as pancakes are pretty much useless without syrup... we bought the stupid thing.
During the week Malika is always the first one up. I am always second. By several hours. Turns out, normal teenagers sleep till noon here too. Too bad I simply can't, but it is nice because that is the only time it is remotely quiet around here. Which is nice, occasionally. Malika had already eaten by the time I got up, and by the time I had finished my now-ritual morning tea the first few kids that she takes care of had already arrived, but she was happy to help me get out bowls and the one and only measuring cup in the house (I have never once seen her measure with something other than her hands... I am not that good). So I set about making pancakes. Unfortunately, the recipe I was using was an American recipe. And I don't have a measuring cup here... liters and grams. So there went 15 minutes converting all that. Also, it is impossible to measure less than 100 grams of something... so I just kinda randomly pored sugar in. And the baking soda. And the salt. So it wasn't really my fault that the pancakes did not turn out nearly as fluffy as I would have liked.
I told my family that typically they are eaten with maple syrup which I pronounced as "sirup arab" and then wen on to say that the name makes no sense because the syrup comes from maple trees in Canada and the northern United States and so really it isn't arab at all. Redouane laughed. "C'est eirab, pas arab."
Oh. Right. I turned back to making my pancakes and shut up after that.
The recipe says it makes 8 servings. I guess that means for girls, or little kids or something, because there are seven of us and I ate one very small pancake and by the time Ilyess finally woke up there were no pancakes left. He was very disappointed. And called Sara a pig. So I promised I would make them again.
The next morning, Malika had left and it was just Reduoane and I in the morning. With nothing else to do I decided to make pancakes again, as I had told Ilyess I would. I found all the supplies myself this morning, and aside from needing help with the stove (I can not, for the life of me, work a lighter for a gas stove) it went fine. Still not as fluffy as I would like, but I left them all on a plate and went back to doing my own thing. By the time I cleared the table from breakfast with Sara around noon they were all gone.
That night at dinner Sara asked Ilyess if he had liked the pancakes.
He stared at her for a minute then burst out. "PUTAIN!!" (cuss word- you can look it up yourself but it is, as far as I can tell, one of the most important words in the french language along with the verbs avoir and etre, and as natural to them as the word maman).
Apparently he had not realized there were pancakes, and didn't get any for the second day in a row. He was, to say the least, very annoyed and did not shut up about it for the rest of dinner, cussing under his breath. I promised him that pancakes are very easy for me to make and I would gladly do it again soon.
Normally, he gets up sometime between 11 and noon, but the next morning he came stumbling into the kitchen around 10. I couldn't decipher his sleepy muttering, but apparently he had woken up just for pancakes- which I had not made. So I did. I will have you know that I am much much faster at it now, and don't even have to look up the recipe anymore. By adding more flower they were a bit fluffier, as I like. I think Ilyess ate half and Ayoub ate another third, Sara ate the rest.
Either way, next time I swear I will remember to double the recipe.
Bisous!
Which is why my family asked me to make them, because apparently they are in pretty much every film in existence. I have made pancakes a million times before (Elaina loves them) so I told them I would, just that I would go to the store with them tomorrow to buy a few things.
LES MOTS DU JOUR:
levure- baking powder. I looked this up and promptly forgot it 4 times within the 10 minutes before I left for the store before I finally just wrote it on my palm.
sirup eirab- maple syrup- story on this one in just a second.
So Malika, Redouane, Rayanne, Ayoub and I all got into the car and drove to the store. Too many groceries to carry home unfortunately as that was probably the third time I have been in a car since I got to France and have not missed the sensation at all.
Carrefour, the equivalent of Randalls or HEB here, is in le centre comercial, Part Dieu, aka the mall. Don't ask why. While it is true there is a different shop (there is even a store for all the frozen food, like those two isles taken out of the grocery store to be its own store) for pretty much every aspect of a meal, for the most part, boulangeries are only for baguettes, and each of the others is the same- traditional french food only. For milk (which is weird, and I don't believe it is really milk and plan on never drinking it again), yogurt (desert- not a breakfast food), American sandwich bread, cooking ingredients like flour, candy, ect. are all bought exclusively at Carefour. Being as space in a mall in downtown lyon is limited I guess, the store is 2 stories tall. It has enormous elevators to the parking garage below that you can push your overloaded grocery basket into and still fit a dozen people. When you enter to shop you have to put a Euro into the basket in order to insure you will return it after you are finished shopping, and when you need to travel between the floors there is a giant moving sidewalk style escalator and when you roll the cart onto it the wheels cling to the belt so that it does not roll backwards on its way up. We wandered through the store as we did our shopping- math practice as they always calculate the best deal for each item they have to buy (I am only exaggerating a little bit). I had gotten everything I needed except the syrup. I looked everywhere. It was not with the carmel and chocolate syrups used in baking and on ice cream. Nor with the enormous assortment of jellies and jams (apricot is my new favorite, does that even exist in the US?) nor with baking supplies, the extensive collection of olive oils (really? how different can they be?), the honey, or the bread. They even have a section of one row, top to bottom and 3 or 4 feet across filled with Nutella (really, I don't know what the French would do without it. Worse than America's addiction to peanut butter). At the house I had looked up for the word for syrup on the internet, just in case. So I asked one of the employees. "Excusez-moi, mais ou est le sirup?" "Quoi?" "le sirup! Pour les pancakes?" "Ohhh le sirup eirab! En face de le cafe" "Ah... merci." (Excuse me, but where is the syrup? What? They Syrup! For pancakes? Oh... syrup. Across from the coffee. Thank you.) Except eirab sounds like arab (the way the french say it). Which really shouldn't be too surprising- there is a large Arabic population here, and used a bit like Chinese or Mexican is in food names back home. "But really, it comes from Canada! Why would they call it Arab syrup?" Was what I was thinking as I hurried back to the coffee isle. "Across from the coffee... ok... he had no idea what he was talking about. Tea is across from coffee.." I looked more. Finally, behind a post was syrup. Pretty easy to miss. In the US syrup is like nutella, or olive oil or something here. Lots of different brands, different sizes, low fat, sugar free, ect. Nope. There is one kind of syrup here. It comes in a small glass container, with a Canadian flag on the label. It is about 3xs more expensive than in the US, and, as I have already mentioned, smaller. But it was the only one, and as pancakes are pretty much useless without syrup... we bought the stupid thing.
During the week Malika is always the first one up. I am always second. By several hours. Turns out, normal teenagers sleep till noon here too. Too bad I simply can't, but it is nice because that is the only time it is remotely quiet around here. Which is nice, occasionally. Malika had already eaten by the time I got up, and by the time I had finished my now-ritual morning tea the first few kids that she takes care of had already arrived, but she was happy to help me get out bowls and the one and only measuring cup in the house (I have never once seen her measure with something other than her hands... I am not that good). So I set about making pancakes. Unfortunately, the recipe I was using was an American recipe. And I don't have a measuring cup here... liters and grams. So there went 15 minutes converting all that. Also, it is impossible to measure less than 100 grams of something... so I just kinda randomly pored sugar in. And the baking soda. And the salt. So it wasn't really my fault that the pancakes did not turn out nearly as fluffy as I would have liked.
I told my family that typically they are eaten with maple syrup which I pronounced as "sirup arab" and then wen on to say that the name makes no sense because the syrup comes from maple trees in Canada and the northern United States and so really it isn't arab at all. Redouane laughed. "C'est eirab, pas arab."
Oh. Right. I turned back to making my pancakes and shut up after that.
The recipe says it makes 8 servings. I guess that means for girls, or little kids or something, because there are seven of us and I ate one very small pancake and by the time Ilyess finally woke up there were no pancakes left. He was very disappointed. And called Sara a pig. So I promised I would make them again.
The next morning, Malika had left and it was just Reduoane and I in the morning. With nothing else to do I decided to make pancakes again, as I had told Ilyess I would. I found all the supplies myself this morning, and aside from needing help with the stove (I can not, for the life of me, work a lighter for a gas stove) it went fine. Still not as fluffy as I would like, but I left them all on a plate and went back to doing my own thing. By the time I cleared the table from breakfast with Sara around noon they were all gone.
That night at dinner Sara asked Ilyess if he had liked the pancakes.
He stared at her for a minute then burst out. "PUTAIN!!" (cuss word- you can look it up yourself but it is, as far as I can tell, one of the most important words in the french language along with the verbs avoir and etre, and as natural to them as the word maman).
Apparently he had not realized there were pancakes, and didn't get any for the second day in a row. He was, to say the least, very annoyed and did not shut up about it for the rest of dinner, cussing under his breath. I promised him that pancakes are very easy for me to make and I would gladly do it again soon.
Normally, he gets up sometime between 11 and noon, but the next morning he came stumbling into the kitchen around 10. I couldn't decipher his sleepy muttering, but apparently he had woken up just for pancakes- which I had not made. So I did. I will have you know that I am much much faster at it now, and don't even have to look up the recipe anymore. By adding more flower they were a bit fluffier, as I like. I think Ilyess ate half and Ayoub ate another third, Sara ate the rest.
Either way, next time I swear I will remember to double the recipe.
Bisous!
Saturday, October 30, 2010
So..
I got tired of step by step what I did each day. It was really really boring to write, very tedious. So from now on I am just writing about things that I find funny, or just teh differences because it is more intresting both for me to write and you to read. By the time I go back to school next Wednesday I promise to have both the post on the riots that I have been working on (and procrastinating) and one on pancakes.
Thats all!
Love and miss you all... bisous!
Thats all!
Love and miss you all... bisous!
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
STRIKE... well this is more than 3
(The last blog entry was really rushed because this is the one I really wanted to write.)
I once told Anna that my teachers were on strike and she told me she had stopped caring why- they didn't need a reason, they were French!
She has a point.
In the United States, strikes are something you read about in history books. Or pass in the streets and wonder what the hell they are shouting about, because aren't they supposed to be working or something right now?
Not so in France. There is a strike about something, so far, about every other week since I have been here. At first I had no idea what the were about (they explained, I just didn't understand, had something to do with bad teachers not getting fired at one point) and right now it is because they want to raise the retirement age from 60 to 62.
In the US, when there is a strike, you drive right on past it. In France, the world comes to a screeching halt for a few days. The buses do not run, or not on the same schedule and so many people just walk and have to leave earlier in order to get anywhere on time. Malika has to pick up and drop of ALL of the kids for lunch because the cafeterias are closed. About half of the teachers are gone, which means we don't have class. Really it is kind-of fun.
But before yesterday I hadn't SEEN a strike. Experienced the effects, yes, but not seen one, and apparently, french teens really know how to throw a strike.
When workers go on strike, its called un greve. When students strike- un bloqueuse. Why? Anatomy of the word... bloq... sounds a little like block, right? Right. And that is why. Because in a strike they don't do anything, and in a bloqueuse they block the entry-way physically and insure that no-one enters. Including poor confused exchange students (unless you put on a very good helpless face :) and speak very bad french to them). So really, you can still get in its just a pain.
I really don't know how they are organized, but everyone knows about it before-hand. I think it has something to do with the marvels of facebook, but I am not sure. There were several around town last week, but the first at Lacasagne was this Monday. Actually it was scheduled for Tuesday, but like anything that involves skipping class to chat with friends and yell randomly, why wait? So at first mostly everyone just stood around asking "is there un bloqueuse today?" Finally a few people started standing in the doorway (the gate is broken, so there is just one door we all have to go through making it much easier to block). I was really rather lucky that my first class was at 8 that day, they weren't very organized yet and so it was easier to get through. I just had one class that morning, an hour of Italian, and my other class was canceled. So at 9 o'clock I stood at the door to the building with the rest of my class. The principals of the school stood at the door, watching outside. The crowd had swelled and while I am really really bad at estimating numbers, I am going to guess that there were 50 students all crowded outside in the cold. The trashcans were lined up in front of the school doors and people were on the steps, sidewalk and spilling out onto the street. One girl had a whistle and every time she blew it everyone would yell. Someone threw a small firecracker (or something of the sort) near the steps, after that the principal opened the door and what was left of my class snaked out, laughing. My only other class that day was at 2 and by that point the crowd had dissipated, some went home, some I think to Bellecour. Either way, the 5 of us that had actually come to class finished in peace.
Clips on youtube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FG8Y0GX9pAQ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w-sVQcZ3sz0&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Koz9EpzvPSA
Tuesday: the real date of the bloquese. I just happened to see Marina on my way to school and so we walked the rest of the way there together. Paul, a friend of the family just randomly came up "Salut."
I just kind of looked at him for a second. Surprise! First of all, he does not go to the same school and as far as I know, his school is no where nearby. Second of all he was in shorts (French guys also wear shorter shorts than American guys) and a tee-shirt. You have to understand that it was in the 40s, I, for one, was wearing jeans, boots, a long sleeved-shirt, a sweater, a jacket, and a very warm scarf, and was still a little cold. Stupid wind.
"Qu'est-ce que tu fais ici?"
He was a part of the bloquese, apparently people from other schools all gather at Lacassagne, and he was not wearing warm clothes in protest though I fail to see how that helped.
Everyone was on the steps. Trashcans lined up in-front. I saw Charlotte on the steps and went to talk to her.
"Are you going in?"
"No way, are you?"
"I think I have to, for my program I can't skip class"
"Don't worry about it! There probably isn't even class anyways."
I looked at her doubtfully.
"Look" she took my arm "no one will be in class, I won't, Sophie isn't even coming today... and everyone else is out here, protesting" she pointed out our classmates in the crowd, one by one. "Even if you did go in, chances are the teacher is on strike too."
Eventually, I just took her word for it. Smart, smart, Charlotte... from what I heard later no one went in that morning.
In the meantime, everything was barely controlled chaos. People were chanting with signs, yelling, and because they are french, smoking. A small fight broke out, but was over almost as quickly as it had started.
Really it was quite interesting for me and, being me, I really wanted to follow everyone to Bellecour but I can't say that would have been very safe so I heeded my better judgment and decided to go back home. At this point many of the less enthusiastic protesters were trickling out of the crowd to go back home, and many of those more dedicated to the cause were marching off to continue in Bellecour. Marina and I decided to leave by a back ally so that we didn't have to make our way back through the crowd, just as we started to walk away there were shouts and a few high-pitched squeals followed by a crunch. We spun around just in time to see a group of guys over-turn a car on the other side of the street. The driver's side window crushed glass littered on the ground as it teetered for a minute and then stood still, balanced on its right side. The boys all looked at each other, grinning with the adrenalin and laughing. Is it weird that my first thought was not "what the are they doing?" or "the poor owner of that car!" but "damn, of all the days to leave my camera at home!"
Don't worry, the other thoughts followed shortly after, but I am very upset not to have that picture.
Marina and I went way out of our way to avoid the destruction, got a little lost for a few minutes, and took a while getting home. I sat around and worked and memorizing all the irregular verbs and their conjugations in the present tense, as I have long since forgotten them and they are kinda important, if not boring. After lunch I went back to class for the afternoon, as boring as it was as there were maybe 6, 7 people in my class.
The next 2 mornings followed the same pattern. Walk to school, blocquese. Go to class. Do nothing. Go home. Laugh about the french with my Moroccan family. The administration, that had done nothing at all the first two days seemed upset by how out-of hand things had gotten on Tuesday so they started to maintain some sort of order- protesting was still allowed. There were never again as many people as Tuesday, and so we did nothing in class. Seriously, we watched the Titanic in History. We read a really good poem by Victor Hugo in French and talked about how hard it was for people like me to learn French because the language has so many exceptions and contradictions, and written is not always anything like the spoken language. In math the teacher basically did their homework for them. My economics teacher explained the basics of this issue.. why they are trying to raise the retirement age and the arguments for and against it. Basically its not going to solve the problem but they have to do something. We actually did something in Science at the end of the week- took a test. It was written and I made tons of mistakes with grammar (protein is feminin, in case you were wondering) but stil did rather well on the test. By Friday they had already voted on the issue, but as the following week was fall break and they had already skipped an entire week most people continued protesting, just so they didn't have to go to class.
Apparently after the protests were over the skin heads came into town from the countryside, looking for a fight for revenge for all the havoc. Of course that is just an excuse, and basically, we stayed inside that weekend.
Malika rolled her eyes at me once. "The French are always protesting. Always unhappy about something." I laughed and agreed. Its kind-of a pain sometimes. Tons of damage that the state now has to waste more money on in fixing. None of the normal services are offered- bus schedules are messed up and school cafeterias close. They over-react, and I don't agree with what they are fighting for. 2 extra years of work? They have it really good already, they don't need to complain.
And yet, where is that line where they should complain? This aspect of their culture is part of why they have all that they do today. They don't accept anything less, they have high standards and expectations. They are not going to let anyone walk over them. If they did, they wouldn't really be French.
I once told Anna that my teachers were on strike and she told me she had stopped caring why- they didn't need a reason, they were French!
She has a point.
In the United States, strikes are something you read about in history books. Or pass in the streets and wonder what the hell they are shouting about, because aren't they supposed to be working or something right now?
Not so in France. There is a strike about something, so far, about every other week since I have been here. At first I had no idea what the were about (they explained, I just didn't understand, had something to do with bad teachers not getting fired at one point) and right now it is because they want to raise the retirement age from 60 to 62.
In the US, when there is a strike, you drive right on past it. In France, the world comes to a screeching halt for a few days. The buses do not run, or not on the same schedule and so many people just walk and have to leave earlier in order to get anywhere on time. Malika has to pick up and drop of ALL of the kids for lunch because the cafeterias are closed. About half of the teachers are gone, which means we don't have class. Really it is kind-of fun.
But before yesterday I hadn't SEEN a strike. Experienced the effects, yes, but not seen one, and apparently, french teens really know how to throw a strike.
When workers go on strike, its called un greve. When students strike- un bloqueuse. Why? Anatomy of the word... bloq... sounds a little like block, right? Right. And that is why. Because in a strike they don't do anything, and in a bloqueuse they block the entry-way physically and insure that no-one enters. Including poor confused exchange students (unless you put on a very good helpless face :) and speak very bad french to them). So really, you can still get in its just a pain.
I really don't know how they are organized, but everyone knows about it before-hand. I think it has something to do with the marvels of facebook, but I am not sure. There were several around town last week, but the first at Lacasagne was this Monday. Actually it was scheduled for Tuesday, but like anything that involves skipping class to chat with friends and yell randomly, why wait? So at first mostly everyone just stood around asking "is there un bloqueuse today?" Finally a few people started standing in the doorway (the gate is broken, so there is just one door we all have to go through making it much easier to block). I was really rather lucky that my first class was at 8 that day, they weren't very organized yet and so it was easier to get through. I just had one class that morning, an hour of Italian, and my other class was canceled. So at 9 o'clock I stood at the door to the building with the rest of my class. The principals of the school stood at the door, watching outside. The crowd had swelled and while I am really really bad at estimating numbers, I am going to guess that there were 50 students all crowded outside in the cold. The trashcans were lined up in front of the school doors and people were on the steps, sidewalk and spilling out onto the street. One girl had a whistle and every time she blew it everyone would yell. Someone threw a small firecracker (or something of the sort) near the steps, after that the principal opened the door and what was left of my class snaked out, laughing. My only other class that day was at 2 and by that point the crowd had dissipated, some went home, some I think to Bellecour. Either way, the 5 of us that had actually come to class finished in peace.
Clips on youtube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FG8Y0GX9pAQ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w-sVQcZ3sz0&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Koz9EpzvPSA
Tuesday: the real date of the bloquese. I just happened to see Marina on my way to school and so we walked the rest of the way there together. Paul, a friend of the family just randomly came up "Salut."
I just kind of looked at him for a second. Surprise! First of all, he does not go to the same school and as far as I know, his school is no where nearby. Second of all he was in shorts (French guys also wear shorter shorts than American guys) and a tee-shirt. You have to understand that it was in the 40s, I, for one, was wearing jeans, boots, a long sleeved-shirt, a sweater, a jacket, and a very warm scarf, and was still a little cold. Stupid wind.
"Qu'est-ce que tu fais ici?"
He was a part of the bloquese, apparently people from other schools all gather at Lacassagne, and he was not wearing warm clothes in protest though I fail to see how that helped.
Everyone was on the steps. Trashcans lined up in-front. I saw Charlotte on the steps and went to talk to her.
"Are you going in?"
"No way, are you?"
"I think I have to, for my program I can't skip class"
"Don't worry about it! There probably isn't even class anyways."
I looked at her doubtfully.
"Look" she took my arm "no one will be in class, I won't, Sophie isn't even coming today... and everyone else is out here, protesting" she pointed out our classmates in the crowd, one by one. "Even if you did go in, chances are the teacher is on strike too."
Eventually, I just took her word for it. Smart, smart, Charlotte... from what I heard later no one went in that morning.
In the meantime, everything was barely controlled chaos. People were chanting with signs, yelling, and because they are french, smoking. A small fight broke out, but was over almost as quickly as it had started.
Really it was quite interesting for me and, being me, I really wanted to follow everyone to Bellecour but I can't say that would have been very safe so I heeded my better judgment and decided to go back home. At this point many of the less enthusiastic protesters were trickling out of the crowd to go back home, and many of those more dedicated to the cause were marching off to continue in Bellecour. Marina and I decided to leave by a back ally so that we didn't have to make our way back through the crowd, just as we started to walk away there were shouts and a few high-pitched squeals followed by a crunch. We spun around just in time to see a group of guys over-turn a car on the other side of the street. The driver's side window crushed glass littered on the ground as it teetered for a minute and then stood still, balanced on its right side. The boys all looked at each other, grinning with the adrenalin and laughing. Is it weird that my first thought was not "what the are they doing?" or "the poor owner of that car!" but "damn, of all the days to leave my camera at home!"
Don't worry, the other thoughts followed shortly after, but I am very upset not to have that picture.
Marina and I went way out of our way to avoid the destruction, got a little lost for a few minutes, and took a while getting home. I sat around and worked and memorizing all the irregular verbs and their conjugations in the present tense, as I have long since forgotten them and they are kinda important, if not boring. After lunch I went back to class for the afternoon, as boring as it was as there were maybe 6, 7 people in my class.
The next 2 mornings followed the same pattern. Walk to school, blocquese. Go to class. Do nothing. Go home. Laugh about the french with my Moroccan family. The administration, that had done nothing at all the first two days seemed upset by how out-of hand things had gotten on Tuesday so they started to maintain some sort of order- protesting was still allowed. There were never again as many people as Tuesday, and so we did nothing in class. Seriously, we watched the Titanic in History. We read a really good poem by Victor Hugo in French and talked about how hard it was for people like me to learn French because the language has so many exceptions and contradictions, and written is not always anything like the spoken language. In math the teacher basically did their homework for them. My economics teacher explained the basics of this issue.. why they are trying to raise the retirement age and the arguments for and against it. Basically its not going to solve the problem but they have to do something. We actually did something in Science at the end of the week- took a test. It was written and I made tons of mistakes with grammar (protein is feminin, in case you were wondering) but stil did rather well on the test. By Friday they had already voted on the issue, but as the following week was fall break and they had already skipped an entire week most people continued protesting, just so they didn't have to go to class.
Apparently after the protests were over the skin heads came into town from the countryside, looking for a fight for revenge for all the havoc. Of course that is just an excuse, and basically, we stayed inside that weekend.
Malika rolled her eyes at me once. "The French are always protesting. Always unhappy about something." I laughed and agreed. Its kind-of a pain sometimes. Tons of damage that the state now has to waste more money on in fixing. None of the normal services are offered- bus schedules are messed up and school cafeterias close. They over-react, and I don't agree with what they are fighting for. 2 extra years of work? They have it really good already, they don't need to complain.
And yet, where is that line where they should complain? This aspect of their culture is part of why they have all that they do today. They don't accept anything less, they have high standards and expectations. They are not going to let anyone walk over them. If they did, they wouldn't really be French.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Le week-end
Heyyyyy
yea. About last week. I am not posting on it. I don't remember it...
Oh! Except for one very very important thing! Running! Because I found my way to le Parc de la Tete d'or (look up pictures, it is really very very pretty) and I have started jogging there. Its much harder because its 3-4km away from my apartment, which makes it (with stopping to wait for cars and all that stupid stuff) about a 20min jog there, and 20 min back, so I really don't actually get to jog there very much. Still, leaves are changing color and falling IN THE FALL as opposed to maybe in January in Austin and its one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. If it wasn't obvious before I got to France, it is set in stone now- I will be living somewhere cold when I leave. Its just way too beautiful to walk outside in mid October and see my breath in the air, it makes me want to spin in circles or run or spin cartwheels....
So, this weekend. Saturday morning I went jogging a le parc, where I ran into Emily (other exchange student from CT.) and we jogged around and talked a bit. I got back to the house, took a shower and ate some lunch and went to meet a bunch of AFS friends a la garre part dieu. Krista (Latvia), Carolina (Czech Repbulic), Daniela (Mexico), Nina (Australia), Andre (Bolivia?) all drove/took a train into Lyon and met up with Marina (Brazil), Emily and I (because we all live in Lyon) to hang out for the day. Not the best day for it, as it was rainy, and even though there weren't that many people there were just enough that we couldn't get anything done because someone was always lagging behind to take a picture and no one could really come up with anything to do so we just kind-of wandered. Next time, fewer people or a set agenda is definitely required. However, it was nice to get to see my friends. I left early and walked home and hung out for an hour or so before walking back to the train station with Redouane, Sara et Ayoub. Ayoub was going to le part dieu to buy his phone, but walking through the station (short-cut to the mall) we saw some of Sara's friends from AFS (french kids going to the US for 2 weeks) and stopped to talk to some of them for a while. Sara is really short, and some of the guys were super tall and it looked really funny to have her stand between them, her head several inches shorter than their shoulders... just had to say that. We walked home and went out to dinner at Malika's friend's house for a traditional Moroccan meal... Moroccan food is gooooood. I highly suggest finding someone that can make you real couscous. Maybe I will get Malika to teach me for next time. Anyway, in Morocco you serve everything in a giant shallow bowl in the middle of the table, piled with a mountain of couscous, meat, and VEGETABLES (they were so delicious. I think I ate half of them) and everyone eats out of the same bowl. I told Emily who was weirded out because maybe someone is sick but really, it works pretty well. They don't believe that I am a real American because I don't like soda. Ilyess eventually left to go hang out with friends and their son walked Sara and I home (it was very late and they are convinced girls can't go out alone) because we were both exhausted and ready for bed. As a note- that was close to midnight. We got there around oh... probably somewhere before 9. The further south you live the later you eat, and Redouane told me that in Morocco, he often does not eat dinner until 1 in the morning.
Sunday, I went running again, called both my dad (in China right now) and my mom, sister, grandmother and grandfather (they were visiting). As well as getting a little bit of homework done.
Love you all
bisous!
yea. About last week. I am not posting on it. I don't remember it...
Oh! Except for one very very important thing! Running! Because I found my way to le Parc de la Tete d'or (look up pictures, it is really very very pretty) and I have started jogging there. Its much harder because its 3-4km away from my apartment, which makes it (with stopping to wait for cars and all that stupid stuff) about a 20min jog there, and 20 min back, so I really don't actually get to jog there very much. Still, leaves are changing color and falling IN THE FALL as opposed to maybe in January in Austin and its one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. If it wasn't obvious before I got to France, it is set in stone now- I will be living somewhere cold when I leave. Its just way too beautiful to walk outside in mid October and see my breath in the air, it makes me want to spin in circles or run or spin cartwheels....
So, this weekend. Saturday morning I went jogging a le parc, where I ran into Emily (other exchange student from CT.) and we jogged around and talked a bit. I got back to the house, took a shower and ate some lunch and went to meet a bunch of AFS friends a la garre part dieu. Krista (Latvia), Carolina (Czech Repbulic), Daniela (Mexico), Nina (Australia), Andre (Bolivia?) all drove/took a train into Lyon and met up with Marina (Brazil), Emily and I (because we all live in Lyon) to hang out for the day. Not the best day for it, as it was rainy, and even though there weren't that many people there were just enough that we couldn't get anything done because someone was always lagging behind to take a picture and no one could really come up with anything to do so we just kind-of wandered. Next time, fewer people or a set agenda is definitely required. However, it was nice to get to see my friends. I left early and walked home and hung out for an hour or so before walking back to the train station with Redouane, Sara et Ayoub. Ayoub was going to le part dieu to buy his phone, but walking through the station (short-cut to the mall) we saw some of Sara's friends from AFS (french kids going to the US for 2 weeks) and stopped to talk to some of them for a while. Sara is really short, and some of the guys were super tall and it looked really funny to have her stand between them, her head several inches shorter than their shoulders... just had to say that. We walked home and went out to dinner at Malika's friend's house for a traditional Moroccan meal... Moroccan food is gooooood. I highly suggest finding someone that can make you real couscous. Maybe I will get Malika to teach me for next time. Anyway, in Morocco you serve everything in a giant shallow bowl in the middle of the table, piled with a mountain of couscous, meat, and VEGETABLES (they were so delicious. I think I ate half of them) and everyone eats out of the same bowl. I told Emily who was weirded out because maybe someone is sick but really, it works pretty well. They don't believe that I am a real American because I don't like soda. Ilyess eventually left to go hang out with friends and their son walked Sara and I home (it was very late and they are convinced girls can't go out alone) because we were both exhausted and ready for bed. As a note- that was close to midnight. We got there around oh... probably somewhere before 9. The further south you live the later you eat, and Redouane told me that in Morocco, he often does not eat dinner until 1 in the morning.
Sunday, I went running again, called both my dad (in China right now) and my mom, sister, grandmother and grandfather (they were visiting). As well as getting a little bit of homework done.
Love you all
bisous!
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