Les premières semaines partie 2

Things have been a little fishy with my host family the past while. My roommate Jamie created an online account to deal with her French cell phone service, and somehow it interfered with the family's account. In France, if you download something illegally off the internet, and the government finds out, they have the right to prevent you from ever having internet at your house again. Our family was afraid that if Jamie downloaded something to her account, and it got linked to them, they would be in serious trouble. So our housefather, Monsieur A, sent her a quite nasty email telling her to remove the account. He wrote it in English, and was very much en colère (angry), and he used words that he really shouldn't have. But, apparently he didn't mean to be quite so harsh; the swearwords he used in English don't translate properly to French. But when Madame A came by the check on us a couple days after the email, she noticed we were upset about something. We started telling her how we felt about this email, and she, not having much English, hadn't understood the severity of what her husband had written. When Monsieur A arrived, the conversation escalated into a shouting match that ended in me and my roommates bursting into tears simultaneously. But, once we and Madame A made it clear what the problem was, he apologised and she gave us all a big hug. Since then we've had less tension with them and everything seems to be going well. It's always tricky living under someone else's rules and expectations, and no matter how uncomfortable the situation was, it was certainly a rare chance to practise our "difficult conversation skills." I'm really grateful for having roommates that I get along with so well. I hadn't realised I would have any roommates, but it couldn't have worked out better.

I know this post (like most of the others) is already a novel, so I'll try to keep the rest of it short. 

So, other things I've done:

1) Thanksgiving weekend: We Canadians didn't have any means of cooking a turkey dinner all together, so we went to a local restaurant called O Quebec to celebrate. We started with poutine for the table, then had various stereotypical meals (bison burgers... I don't know of any Canadian who eats bison). It was quite delicious, especially my pancakes I had for dessert. It was nice to celebrate somehow, because I was feeling rather homesick. I also went for a walk in the most beautiful park near my house. It was full of big old trees, crunchy leaves, and lovely flowers.

2) It's definitely fall here, almost winter. I think we're stuck in a cold front. Most of the leaves don't change colour here like they do at home, but most of the vines turn red. I've been wearing my late-autumn/early-winter jacket and using two duvets at night! But, the air smells really fresh, and every once in a while you get the most sumptuous whiff of a wood fire.

3) You know how only September was to be my fat month? Well, it continues. The food is just too good! I'm also cooking dinner for myself now, which is a bit of an adventure. If anyone has any really simple, inexpensive recipes that you'd like to share, I'd love them. My favourite thing I've made so far is a gallette (buckwheat dinner crepe, not sweet) that I put egg, cheese, and ham into. Yummm. I went to go buy milk the other day, and saw something called lait ribot. Assuming that was the brand name, I bought it. Quel dommage... Turns out to be buttermilk. Nothing like fermented dairy with your cereal in the mornings.

4) Laura's parents are here for about 10 days, and they took me out for a really wonderful meal at a local tapas restaurant. It was so delicious, and so nice to be a part of a family for a night. Also, I've signed up for an association that pairs foreign students with local families who, out of the goodness of their hearts, invite you chez eux (to their houses) for dinner twice a month, and any other activities they're available for. Free of charge. I've just started to be in contact with my family; they are winemakers who live 20 minutes out of the city, and they have a bed and breakfast. I'm thrilled! I'll meet them in a couple weekends.

5) This past weekend I went on a school trip to two towns called Mont-St-Michel and St-Malo. Mt-St-Michel you would recongise right away - it's an island town that's built up on this small (in diameter) but very tall hill. It's capped by a really old and beautiful abbey, and the town winds down the hill from there. You would have excellent leg and butt muscles if you lived there. Thing is though, I couldn't figure out how anyone does live there. From what I could see, there was not a single building that was not a restaurant, a hotel, or a tourist shop. I spent the day with my Korean friend Subin, and she and I found the town hall, so there must be inhabitants. St-Malo was really beautiful. It's another coastal town just on the edge of Brittany. It's enclosed by great stone ramparts, which you can make a full tour of and look at the ocean. I saw Optis sailing just off the coast! They're the kind of boat I teach in the summer. Subin and I walked down to the beach so we could touch the Atlantic ocean from the European side. Inside the town we wandered around and came across a really delicious gallette/crepe restaurant. 1 gallette, 1 crepe, and a pot of cider for 9 euros. Delish. 

I'm sure there's more I've left out, but I'll leave that for another update. Until then, thanks for reading, and à la prochaine! 

Ps. I've finally figured out how to type some of the French accents using my regular keyboard. No more copy-pasting!! éèîôçàâ«... weeeeeeeeeeeeee

Pps. Photos to come!

Les premières semaines* partie 1

*The first weeks

The day after Laura's and my ordeal, our school year started in earnest. We all arrived at U Catho (that's what everyone calls our school - it's full name is the Université Catholique de l'Ouest) on Monday, October 3 to find the main lobby of our building absolutely swarming with students. The first thing we noticed was that there were signs up around the lobby saying all the students' names and which level they were in. Having been in the 8th level during September, I was placed into niveau supérieur. The September program is quite separate from the rest of the year. One can choose to sign up for September, the fall semester, the spring semester, or a combination. My friends and I chuckled at the newcomers, "Poor suckers had to write a placement test the week before while we were on holiday." Those who were starting as débutants to the program in October had to go through the same test that we did on our first day. The mass of students oozed into the ampitheatre. Most of the new ones were scouting out who to sit next to with that stunned first day of school look. We September students flopped ourselves down like the old hats that we were, pretending to be completely at ease with the proceedings. We shouldn't have been so smug. After the same sort of welcome speech we'd had in September, we were kindly informed that "all students who have been placed into the superior level must take a further placement exam to determine which sub-level you will be in." Zut. What's more, we were handed papers that showed our schedules for the next couple of days. What?? We'd heard that we got to choose all our courses.

We wrote our exam, which turned out not to be particularly strenuous, and were then informed that for the coming week we had the opportunity to sit in on every class to help us decide which ones we wanted to take. Génial! I think every university should do that, it was such a good idea. We had to choose 5 or 6 classes to take: one mandatory French class that is divided by level and sub-level, one other French language course, and then following that we could take any combination of language courses or electives. The majority of the classes really interested me, but I finally settled on a combination of classes I thought I needed, and ones I wanted to take: expression orale, compétences écrites, histoire de la France, études socio-culturelles, and langue. Oral expression is supposed to help me improve my conversation abilities, written competences should do the same for my writing skills, and socio-cultural studies is a survey class on how France works (government, education, work system, strikes, etc.)

So far I'm enjoying most of them. Written competence isn't the most fascinating class, but I assume it will be useful. I'm going to take all the fun courses next semester if I can. Socio-cultural is interesting, but the professor is highly disorganised. Right now we're learning about la retraite, or in English, retirement. It's a sore subject in the country at the moment, because President Sarkozy is passing a law that raises the age of retirement from 60 to 62. The French population has collectively taken to the streets to express their immense displeasure with the new law. A few years ago, the manifestations (demonstrations) and grèves (strikes) were so severe for one law that the government actually revoked it. The French seem to be trying for the same outcome now. Every couple of days, students go to their bus stops only to find that the bus drivers are on strike. People go to the airport or train station expecting to leave the city/country, only to be told that the airport workers are on strike, and their planes/trains have been cancelled. Garbage, which is no longer collected, is tossed onto huge mounds all across the country and consequently is strewn everywhere by people who just want to make a fuss. A few times a week, the major streets are commandeered by a merry parade of demonstrators from age 5 to 95. Students, although they are not legally allowed to go on strike, are doing so. Even some middle school students. To the French, the government has given them the right to strike, and many will exercise that right to the best of their abilities. My personal favourite part of the whole fiasco is that the majority of oil refineries in the country have been blocked, leaving the country essentially paralysed. Cars line up at gas stations for hours hoping to get enough gas to last them another few days. Emergency vehicles will soon begin to take over the remaining gas stations that actually have gas so that they can have access to what's left.

I'm not French, and therefore I shouldn't really comment on the issue. But coming from a country where there is no mandatory age limit and it is not unusual for someone to work into their late 60s or even beyond, it seems a little silly to complain about an extra two years of work. In France, a percentage of people's salaries goes into a national account, and then is divided amongst all the retirees. You can open a personal retirement plan on top of that, but every citizen is required to give a certain amount. You cannot receive your pension until you have completed 40.5 years of work, or until you are (now) 62. Because of the demographics of the country, there are not enough working people to adequately support all the baby-boomers who are retiring. Like my language prof said, there are too many complexities to this issue to really understand it, so perhaps I'm out of line with my criticisms, but I would really just like the country to get back to normal. Anyway, enough ranting.

...to be continued

Partie 3 - La Nuit Presque Blanche*

*The almost all-nighter

Touchdown to Paris. It had been a pleasant flight - on EasyJet flights, travelers are allowed to choose their own seats. Laura and I managed to snag three seats to ourselves and passed the time playing Crazy 8s. When we landed at Paris/Charles De Gaulle, we asked the woman at the information booth the best way to get from the airport to Chatou, where we would be staying with Anne-Marie and Jean-Pierre. The woman said that we needed to take the RER train into the city, switch lines, and then take it out to Chatou. No problem. We'd need to take a bus at first in order to get to the RER, and we wanted the bus going to Mitry. No problem. Alright, we said, and off we went to find the buses. It was a long walk from one terminal to another, so we settled on singing Hey Jude to pass the time.

We arrived at an area where one would normally catch the train into the city, except that there was construction happening, thus necessitating the bus. We managed to switch our TGV (fast train) tickets for the next day to a more reasonable time of 3pm, rather than 10pm. That step done, we stopped to get a highly nutritious dinner from a vending machine, and sat down to collect ourselves. One of the airport workers came over and started mildly harassing us, so as soon as his attention was diverted, off we went to find the buses. We had to take a subway car in order to get to the right terminal. Once we reached them, we asked another worker whether we needed to buy tickets for the bus inside the terminal, or on the bus. "On the bus! You don't buy them in here." Ok, no problem.

The buses were lined up outside. We found the one we needed, got ready to step on, when another airport worker told us that no, we needed to have bought our tickets inside... Oook then. Back in we went. 8.40 Euros later, we had our tickets. We got back in line for the bus, only to be told that no, this bus isn't actually going to Mitry. It's going... someplace else. There are no more buses for Mitry. Excusez-moi? No. Now we have a problem. The whole line is in an uproar about this information. The airport worker clearly could not care less, but, sighing, he goes to talk to the bus driver. "FINE! Fine. This bus will go to Mitry. Get on! Go! GO!" Mildly relieved, but still reeling from the near disaster, we pile onto the bus. Across the isle from us sat the most distressed woman. She looked like she had once been elegant, but years of self-neglect left her quite disheveled. She wore two pairs of sunglasses, piles of sweaters, and had her feet propped up on the back of the seat in front of her. The expression on her face looked like she was trying to avoid something grotesque that someone was holding in front of her face. Poor thing. She was simultaneously hilarious and pitiable.

After a long bus ride, we arrived at Mitry, which turned out to be a train station in the middle of nowhere. Having had no prior idea of what Mitry would be, this seemed as good a result as any. We found our platform, and waited a few minutes for the train to come that would take us into Paris. By this point, it was probably past midnight. The train arrived, we got on, and didn't arrive in Paris until after 1am. My I mention that the RER trains close at 1am. Therefore, when we got to Chatelet/Les Halles, we were informed that the line we needed to get to Chatou had closed. Oook. We asked a station worker what to do, and she shrugged as suggested we find ourselves a bus. A man came up to us, and told us he would take us to where we needed to go. A little unsure, but willing to be given a solution, we followed him. He walked us to the metro, and told us to go to Gare de l'Est, where we would be sure to find a bus for the direction we wanted. Laura was game, but I wasn't feeling up to going on what could be a wild goose chase. At that point, I just wanted to get to Chatou as quickly as possible so that my poor friends would not be kept waiting for us any longer. A taxi seemed the final option. It was going to be expensive, but worth it. With that resolved, we started off to find one.

I pulled out my map of Paris, but it wasn't quite detailed enough to tell me where we were. I stopped a friendly-looking couple for assistance. At that hour of the night, my French was pretty mangled, but they spoke English. I asked them where I could most easily get a taxi, and they looked at me like I was nuts. "A taxi? Tonight? Don't you know what tonight is?" And before I could respond that I had no idea, Laura said with a tone of dreadful finality, "Nuit Blance." Nuit Blanche is the night when les Parisiens leave the comfort of their homes for a night of art, spectacles, and partying. There would not be a taxi to be found in the city centre. But just in case we were especially lucky people, we might as well try the nearby Rue de Rivoli to see if we could find out. The entire monde was out on the street that night. Laura and I made a great pair - she in her StFX hoodie (on EasyJet you can only take one piece of carry on, so she had to wear her bulkiest clothes) and I in Laura's sweater, scarf, and my own pair of shorts. And boots. Nothing like looking like a hooker while waiting on a street corner for a taxi. In my defense, my jeans smelled revoltingly like smoke after being inside the Spanish bars, and I had to wear my boots because they wouldn't fit in my carry-on. But still...

We walked eastward along Rivoli, further and further in the wrong direction, hoping desperately to find someone getting out of a taxi. We spotted a few, but it was as if each taxi held a million dollars; each time one stopped, a sea of people would swarm it, everyone trying to push their way onto the prized seats. We asked various people if they knew where the best place would be to find one, and everyone said the same thing. "Good luck finding one at all." Every corner we stopped at, we would see 4 or 5 other people a bit further down the road doing the same thing. Stopping, waiting, hoping. After a fruitless hour on Rivoli, we decided to try a smaller street. We found a likely-looking intersection and waited. Taxi after taxi passed by with a full load of passengers. At one point, Laura had the brilliant idea of asking one driver who was stopped at a light if he could come back for us once he'd dropped off his load. He said he would, and told us to wait. So we waited. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes later and he still hadn't come. It was so frustrating. We were tired, angry, cold, and slightly worried about   how vulnerable we were. To top it off, my phone battery was almost dead. I didn't want to call Anne-Marie and Jean-Pierre because I figured they would have long since gone to bed, and also I thought I should save whatever power my phone had left for any serious emergency. By this point it was about 3 am. And then, "THERE! A TAXI! ANNE, GO GET IT!!" I ran. I raced across an intersection and got to the empty taxi just behind a couple. But they were turned away, so I approached the driver. "Madame, je cherche un taxi qui peut m'amener a Chatou!" "Chatou? Mais non, il est trois heure du matin! C'est trop loin." At 3 am, she felt Chatou was too far. And with that, the light turned green and she sped off.

I had had it. I started crying. Laura came over to see why the taxi had escaped us. Ironically, Laura and I were experiencing our own Parisian "nuit blanche" (all-nighter). In different circumstances, it could have been a spectacular night on the town. Even more disappointed and upset, we decided to find a new intersection. After walking a couple of blocks, it seemed like the best idea would be to call my poor guardians and let them know what had become of us. Jean-Pierre and Anne-Marie, I know you are reading this, so may I say again, THANK YOU! With all my heart, thank you thank you thank you. You know what they did? At 3:30 in the morning, they drove out from Chatou to come and pick us up in the middle of Paris on the night when the entire world was out on the streets. They had been awake the whole time, wondering where on earth we were.

After hearing that they would come for us, Laura and I sat down on the ground to play a game of cards. I noticed that just across from where we were sitting was a restaurant called Chez Julien. It's Mum and Dad's favourite restaurant in Paris, and what a coincidence that that's where we ended up. I took out my camera to take a picture, and a group of people passed through the frame. We decided to all get in the picture together, and ended up chatting with them for a while. A few of them are from Brettagne (Brittany), and they were all in Paris for the festivities. Laura gave them each a playing card, because they each had a Canadian $100 bill printed on the back. Since the card deck was now useless, we decided to move camp and go to the other side of the street to wait for Anne-Marie and Jean-Pierre. Poor Laura was so tired she could hardly stand, and wasn't feeling well to boot. After a long time of not seeing their car, I began to get worried. (Little did I know I had given them the wrong directions. I saw a sign saying Pont Marie, but didn't realise it was pointing East. We were actually on Pont Louis-Phillipe). I was also worried about trying to make any calls on my phone. Thankfully we met another few people, this time from Lyon, and one guy lent me his phone. Bless him. Bless them all for their help and friendliness. I got hold of our friends, we realised my mistake, and within minutes they had found us. I started crying again, this time out of remorse for the imposition we were causing and the sheer relief to be taken off the street. I know I was being a drama queen, and that there are people in much worse situations than we were. I can't even begin to imagine living on the streets. But it just seemed like our luck had disappeared for good.

By 4:30, we were home - safe, warm, and comfortable. Well, I was more comfortable, but Laura was feeling even more sick than she had been a couple hours before. Soon we were in bed and fast asleep. We didn't wake up until 1pm on Sunday, a mere two hours before our train was to leave. We got ready as quickly as we could and went downstairs to find Anne-Marie making a lunch for kings. Veal, roasted potatoes, salad, cheese, and bread. Why had we changed our train to such an early time?? Instead of making things easier for them, we were now going to force them to wolf down their beautiful lunch. And it was beautiful. Anne-Marie, it was delicious! And thank you for the care packages! She put together pieces of the meal for each of us to bring back home. So so good. What's more, Jean-Pierre drove us all the way to Montparnasse station. We made it with time to spare.

Always an adventure, right? But in this case, an adventure I'd rather not repeat. "Let this be a lesson to you," my conscience says. "BE PREPARED." For those of you who watched the show Bill Nye the Science Guy, you may remember the little fun fact section where a booming voice would say "NOW YOU KNOW." Now I know not to book flights that get in that late. I know that there were several other options we had, had I been awake enough to consider them. I know to charge my cell phone, and to let the people who are taking care of me know where I am. But all in all, it was a great trip. And it makes for an excellent story eh?

Partie 2 - No pasa res*

* That's Catalan for 'not a problem'

So, Thursday afternoon we arrived in Barcelona! As the plane rolled across the tarmac I could see red mountains through the windows. Not a sight I've seen before. We took a bus to the city centre, to La Rambla, which is a long pedestrian walkway that cuts through the city all the way down to the ocean. A tourist, busker, and therefore pickpocket hotspot, it was teeming with people. I felt a bit silly pulling my carry-on behind me like a pet dog, but it was fun to walk around and see a bit of the city. Laura bought me a cup of horchata, which is a sugary white drink made from some sort of nut. After a little wandering we bought a booklet of tickets that would take us to and from Terrassa, the city where Laura's friends live. It's an easy 45 minutes by train from Barcelona. On the train, we sat across from a man who's hands Laura was 'discreetly' admiring in English. Turns out, he was from Denmark and spoke perfect English.

In Terrassa, we stopped by at the store Traces to see Jordi. Laura had been an au pair for Jordi and his wife Martha the summer before last. Traces is like a Spanish version of Mountain Equipment Co-op. Terrassa is relatively close to the Pyrenees, and a large part of the population is crazy about mountain sports. Biking, hiking, running, climbing... One of Martha and Jordi's friends just finished climbing one of the Himalayan mountains. We hung out with Martha, Jordi, and their two little boys Bru and Bernat. In Spain they eat dinner quite late, so we went out for tapas at around 10pm. I can't even imagine what a Spanish person would think of Canada where restaurants close around then... in particular Lunenburg, where restaurants close at 9 on a Friday... But back to the tapas, they are little appetiser-sized plates of various food, and they are meant to be shared. Laura's friend Albert joined us, and after dinner the three of us went to meet up with Jordi and his guy friends (they have a boy's night every Thursday). We met up in an Irish bar, where I smiled, sipped, and nodded at the rapid Catalan conversation.
*(A little side-note on Catalan - I regret to say I didn't think it was anything more than a dialect of Spanish before I got there. Turns out it's a full on Romance language with aspects of Spanish, French, and Italian. My limited Spanish capabilities were rendered relatively useless in this part of the country. What's more, many people in Catalunya see themselves as Catalan before Spanish, much like many Quebecois. Some hold this perspective to such a degree that they refuse to speak Spanish and would rather the region be independent.) Anyway, when the men left, Albert, Laura, Enric (another friend who had joined us) headed out to another bar called Sputnik. We met a few more locals, and then headed home fairly early. My feet were screaming in pain, so Laura and I sat down on a little bridge on the walk home for a rest. We somehow got on the topic of lullabies, so we gave a lullabye concert to each other and... I guess anyone else, if they were listening.

On Friday we woke at our own pace (aka mid-day for me), had a yummy breakfast, and then took the train back to Barcelona. Having done absolutely no research ahead of time, I had no idea what to see. So we walked around, saw the outside of the Segrada Familia (a church started by Gaudi, that has been under construction for the last 150 years), but didn't go in because it was too expensive. We wisely spent our money on gelato instead. I wish I had looked up what to do, because I think the city holds a bunch of treasures I didn't get to appreciate because I didn't know they existed. Nevertheless, in the evening we made our way down to the beach to meet up with Laura's Canadian friend Robin, who's living in Barcelona for a work term. We hung out on the beach for a bit, stuck our toes in the Mediterranean, and then went to check out Robin's apartment. It was great - old exposed beams, several rooms, and right in the heart of the city. Rob gathered up some overnight stuff, and then the three of us headed back to Terrassa. When we got back, we put the boys to bed, and then went out for tapas again. And then the partying began! There's one street where there are three bars, so we met up with some friends and bar-hopped. It was great fun to go out dancing, but a little difficult to breathe in the bars. Spain remains one of the Western countries that still allows smoking in eating/drinking establishments. The Spanish can party all night, but my Canadian body was used to the bars closing at 2 or 3am. I lasted a bit longer, but then headed for bed. I know, so lame.

Saturday we slept in again, then spent our afternoon hanging out in Terrassa. We stopped at a bakery for a little mid-afternoon snack, and then took the train back to Barcelona and then the bus to the airport. On the bus, Laura looked out the window and saw her friend Enric, who is from Terrassa but was in the city for a bike race. The bus drove away before we could get his attention, but what a strange coincidence! We got to the airport in good time and had some unappetising airport food for dinner. And then, we saw him. The World's Most Beautiful Man. We openly stared for a minute, and only half-joked about going to ask him if we could take his picture. Probably best that we didn't, but that would have been a great souvenir. Shame. By 8:15, we were getting on the plane and saying adeu to Barcelona.

To be continued...

Partie 1 - Bon voyage!

September went out with a bang. Our intense, intensive month-long course ended with a flurry of assignments and tests. On Monday we had a big exam, which was hard but not impossible. I found that my ability to write it and to remember most of what we'd learned was a good indication that I had improved over the course of the month. My listening comprehension is stronger, as is my ability to speak French. Still not fluent, but more fluid. My grammar has not improved significantly, but I now know a wide variety of verbs, expressions, and conjunctions that allow me to have more interesting conversations.

On Tuesday we celebrated. The two conversation class groups of level 8 combined for one large fête with the monitrices. They supplied various goodies to eat, and we played some games. Relaxed, fun. For our langue class we did one last listening comprehension exercise. But rather than the brutal tape-recorded conversations we normally suffered through, this time each student read out a sentence from "Le chercheur d'or", by Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio. The passage had such calming imagery that the exercise turned out to be a really nice way to end our class. Monsieur Langlois brought a homemade mushroom cake that he had baked the night before, and passed around glasses of wine. He taught us a French drinking song, and then dismissed us for our final lunch with Sodexo (domage). Oh, and on Monday afternoon we watched a movie called Welcome. It's in French, despite the name, and it's about a boy from Iraq who tries to get across the English channel from France, illegally. He becomes close with a man who lives in Calais, and the man tries to help him immigrate. It's a beautiful movie, quite sad, but worth seeing. 


Tuesday night was the Soirée International, where all the students were supposed to put on a performance that represented their country. Canada did a remake of the I Am Canadian commercials, but en français, and with a few added points. We dressed up in toques and red plaid shirts (as apparently over here, the stereotypical Canadian is a lumberjack). Unfortunately Matt, a couple of the Americans (Vince and Jessica), and I had to leave part way through in order to catch our train to Paris. We ran to the station and got there with a few minutes to spare. The train ride was uneventful, but more entertaining than usual since I was sitting with friends. It arrived in Paris Montparnasse after 11, and we were greeted by Laura and her mum, who had a stopover in the city that night. We dropped our bags off at the hotel where we were staying, and then headed out to the streets of Paris. Jimmy was in Paris, and so we were to meet him at the Arc de Triomphe. Once we found him, off we headed to the Tour Eiffel. Did you know that when it was built, the French thought it was a monstrosity and wanted it taken down? When we stopped to ask for directions, we were told that the lights would go off in 15 minutes. At first, we just walked faster. But at 12:55, Laura and I ran! Through a park, down one street and then another, across a highway and over a median. But we made it, just in time to see the lights explode into a thousand sparkles. The tower glittered for about 10 minutes, leaving me speechless and Laura crying. I have never, never seen it like that before. The rest of the group caught up minutes later, and we spent some time running around the base of it, drinking it in. 


Wednesday morning, Matt and company left to catch their flight while Laura and I were still sleeping. There was no need to rush, so she and I had a leisurely morning. Her mum had given her a voucher for a free breakfast at the hotel, and we told a teensy white lie that "neither of us is very hungry, we'll probably just have a coffee. Could we split the voucher?" And bless her heart, the woman at the desk said she would make an exception. So, we ate like kings. Full breakfast buffet with all the fruits, eggs, bacon, and baked goods you could hope for. We casually stuffed a pile of food into our bags for our lunch and strolled out of the hotel. We walked down the Champs Elysées and found a pleasant park in which we could have our picnic. I find that food tastes better when it's free. Once finished, we went to the Grand Palais to see a Monet exhibit. We had to stand in line for about an hour to get in, but oh my goodness was it worth it. I've been a fan of Monet my entire life, and to see over 100 of his greatest works displayed together like that was unforgettable. The colours, the colours! He had such a way of showing light and shadow. I snuck a couple of photos - I wasn't supposed to, but I had to. 


At 4pm we were running late. Laura and I were supposed to meet up with Ben, my friend Steph's boyfriend who lives in Paris. A few minutes later we were in his neighbourhood, the Place de la Madeleine. It's a beautiful area, full of elegant stores, restaurants, and people. And right in the heart of the city! Ben took us up to his wonderful one-room apartment, a 'penthouse' if you will. We spent the afternoon relaxing there, chatting with Ben and his friend Sammy. The four of us went out for dinner at a tiny Thai restaurant just a few streets away. Everyone's meals were so, so tasty. Afterwards we walked over to the Louvre to Laura could see it. Even at that hour of the night it was bustling with tourists, but the buildings absolutely glowed golden. The boys had to leave for the night, but Laura and I continued walking around. We really, really wanted a crème brûlée for desert. We asked one man if he knew where we could go. Turns out he is part of the Blue Man Group, lives in Japan, is from California, and lived in Paris 20 years ago. He said he would show us where to look, so we walked with him a ways. After a while we weren't sure quite what to make of him, so we invented plans and stopped at a little restaurant for a tiramisu. We said goodbye to the man, and went back home. On the way, we weren't quite satisfied at not having found a crème brûlée, so we stopped at a different restaurant where it was on the menu. September was our 'fat month', our month of eating all the delights that France has to offer, without guilt. We've still got 8 months to work it off. Exhausted, but happy, we returned to our little home. 


Thursday morning, we woke up in good time, packed, and made our way to Ladurée, which has got to be the best tea room in the world. Back in grade 11, when I went to England/Scotland with my school, we had high tea at Harrods in the Ladurée tea room and I remember it being the best I've ever had. My memory did not fail me. Laura ordered a white coffee, a pistachio croisant, and an apple macaron. I had a caramel tea, a haselnut/chocolat croisant, and a caramel macaron. I could have died right there, and been utterly satisfied. Ladurée claims to have invented the macaron, that most delightful of all baked goods. Here's a link - http://www.laduree.fr/public_en/produits/macarons_accueil.htm. Whether or not they invented them, they certainly know how best to make them. And the tea room is eye candy as well. Gold leaf, painted ceilings... it's a sensory experience. Our fat month could not have ended more successfully. After that, we rushed to the place where we would catch a bus to the airport, drove off, and in no time, we were flying to Barcelona!


To be continued...

plusieurs photos

To market to market!

Jardin du Mail

The market

It's real...

Alexandre, the guy who's couch Jimmy is staying on

Jardin du Mail

Former house of one of the Angers' mayors, built in the 1500s

The roundabout in front of the university

My favourite house in Angers - the picture doesn't do it justice, but it's like a real life version of the witch's house in Hansel and Gretl!

I mean just look at the windows!

Alors, on danse!

Finally time to update my blog!

This week passed much like last, very very busy and full of work. But so many high points!

Last weekend I went to Paris to hang out with Mum before she left, and to see Anne-Marie and Jean-Pierre. It was so great. I took the same train into the city as Dave and Jenna, two recent X grads who are at CIDEF too. Spent most of the trip sleeping, and when I arrived Mum was at the station to greet me. So wonderful! She gave Dave and Jenna some advice on what to do in Paris, as she is now rather an expert. Then we took the train back to A-M and J-P's. When we arrived in Chatou (the suburb of Paris), it started to rain, big lovely fat drops. Mum and I took refuge under a tree and then booked it home. It was so nice to see A-M and J-P in their home. It was so comfortable there. There's nothing like great neighbours eh? Well, they don't technically live across the street any more, but they're still neighbours. They made me feel so welcome. I was absolutely exhausted, so after dinner I went to bed. Mum and I stayed up for a while to chat about life though, which was nice.

It was the weekend du patrimoine in France, which is when all the museums and sights across the country are either free or less expensive, so the entire monde was in Paris that weekend. We didn't feel the need to stand in the way-too-long lineups, so we didn't plan any touristy things for Saturday. Instead we got up, went to the local market (so fun - so much fresh fruit!), then came back home where I learned how to bake a chocolate cake from scratch. Mm mm goood. Thank you to Anne-Marie for the recipe and lessons! After lunch, Mum and I headed back into the city to wander around. We got off the subway at Les Halles, which is a massive underground mall. We couldn't move, there were too many people! After getting a little lost in the maze of stores, we made our way out and into Le Marais, the old Jewish neighbourhood of Paris. At around 5, it felt like the right time for a little je ne sais quoi, or as Winnie the Pooh would say, time for a little smackerel of something. We found a patisserie where you could sit down, and we each ordered a little piece of heaven - an opera and a millefeuille, two completely delicious cakes that you should eat if ever given the chance. Then we got back on the subway and returned chez nous. We had a lovely dinner, and A-M and J-P helped me with my homework.

Sunday, we went to see two sights. The first was the castle once owned by author Alexandre Dumas, who wrote The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers. It was beautiful, and in the garden was Dumas' little writting house. I'll post pictures later. The second was the holiday home of Josephine Bonaparte, Napoleon's wife. It was fairly simple, as manor houses go, but pretty nonetheless. And there were real orange trees growing out front! After that we came back to the house for an hour or so, and then Jean-Pierre drove me to the train station. It was like having a tour of Paris' most famous sights in a half hour! We drove through the giant 8-lane roundabout that encircles the Arc de Triomphe, down the Champs Elysées, past various government buildings, Notre Dame, and in the distance, the Eiffel Tower. Then Jean-Pierre and Mum said goodbye to me at Montparnasse station and I went back to Angers. It was so nice to have a home-y weekend like that.

This week was quite similar to the final month of school - all the professors realise just how much stuff they've yet to teach you, panic, and so dump a truckload of work on you all at once to make up for it. But it this case, the time was reduced to a few days. But no matter, it's all done now except for our exam on Monday.

For my langue class, I had to conduct a survey. I unwisely decided to pick a topic that I found interesting, rather than one that would be easy. I chose 'the effect of the European financial crisis on the city/people of Angers'. Throughout the week I interviewed various people. On Wednesday I went to the Jardin du Mail, the most beautiful park right in the heart of the city. There are benches everywhere, so after significant time spent plucking up my courage, I approached a few people. It was worth it just to be there though. It was a warm, sunny day, and being there with my bike was perfect.

By Friday, my survey was completed and handed in. We got Friday afternoon off, which was a godsend. I'd stayed up until the wee hours of the morning to finish writing my survey, and I was one big lump of grump. Matt and I decided to be proactive and get some errands done. Matt had been told that for our visas, we need to send a bunch of papers to Nantes (which I had done before, but it got sent back to me with instructions along the lines of "get thee to the prefecture"). For the privilege of sending these papers, we must buy 55euro stamps... That would be $76 at the current exchange rate. So we went to the post office, thinking that would be the logical place to buy stamps. But, bien sur, we were mistaken. The woman at the post office redirected us to the local cigarette store. Why didn't we think of that? The first tabac we reached didn't have any of the kind of stamp we needed, but that woman redirected us down the road. By now thoroughly frustrated, we headed to the other store, and were finally successful. Then we went to the train station to buy tickets to/from Paris for next week, and then back to school to talk to the Secretary. Matt gave in his new stamp and I got instructions for how to assemble my papers. That being completed, I went home and had a much-needed map.

Friday night was another soiree at one of the international bars, Falstaff. We hung out there for a while, and then transferred to K'Lypso. They're fun bars, but I would really love to branch out to some local haunts. I feel like we're segregating ourselves by going there. But we had a great time dance dance dancing the night away!

This morning Laura, Jimmy (former Culture Editor of the Xaverian Weekly paper and recent X grad who is visiting for the week), and the guy who's couch Jimmy is staying on, Alexandre, went to the markets. The big one is next to the Jardin du Mail. There were sooo many appetising-looking foods! It made me so excited to start cooking for myself, to start trying new combinations. It was so great to experience the interactions between the regulars and the vendors, and all the people milling about. After that we went to the small market near the train station. I tried a fresh oyster from its shell! Quite slippery... I'll probably continue to avoid them in future.

Following that I had a highly productive day! I got my watch battery/strap replaced, bought a cell phone (finally), cleaned my room, and saw a movie with Laura and Jimmy. We saw Des Hommes et Des Dieux. I thought it was deeply moving (aka, cried throughout the entire movie). It's about a tiny monastery in northern Africa that falls prey to terrorists. It sounds awful and depressing, and it was very sad, but the fellowship amongst the monks was incredible. Several times throughout the movie the monks were shown chanting. I find that sort of religious a cappella music to be so ethereal. There's nothing like hearing a choir in a huge cathedral. Anyway, if your French is decent and you don't mind sad/slow movies, go see it (I think it's showing at the Toronto film fest).

Sorry for the novel. I'll leave it here for now, and wish you all a bonne nuit!

Je n'en peux plusssss*

*I can't take it anymore!

Oh Mon Dieu. The schoolwork here is getting out of hand! Whoever told me that we don't get homework here lied big time. Let the procrastination begin.

This week I haven't felt so much like I'm drowning in class due my lack of understanding in French. My oral comprehension is definitely getting better, and I can speak with a bit more fluidity. Now the problem is trying to keep myself conscious after two weeks of flat-out work and stress. Nightly homework, added to intermittent projects and presentations, makes for late nights and tired students the next day. A guy in my class fell asleep today while our langue prof was talking.

"Ah, Ethan prend un petit sommeil maintentant."

Hearing his name, he raised a hand but continued to nod off. He hasn't been the only person to struggle to stay awake in class.

Ok, it's not allll because of homework. But we have to squish a social life in too, non? The monitrices have been organising more soirées for us. Last night was 'Chic-Choc', where you had to dress in something chic, but with one shocking detail. I wore my neon yellow safety gilet (the vest you are required to wear when biking at night) and pouffed my hair a bit. My roommate Jamie created an entire cumulonimbus cloud with her hair - taller and puffier than one would think hair could be. Melissa put her hair in pigtails - very Baby Spice. It was my monitrice's (Julia) birthday, so I couldn't not go! But just for an hour. 


On our way back home, Melissa and I were speaking in English. We passed this group of people outside a bar, and one guy turns to me and yells 'Don't speak English here you f******  b****!" So I replied with a few choice mots en Francais. Having a comeback made the situation marginally better, but I still wasn't particularly impressed. I'm sure there are people like that in every country, so this isn't a complaint about the French, just this one idiot in particular. As my roommate Melissa says, "He can go kick rocks."


I did have a couple successes this week. I finally got my bank card from the French bank La Poste. There are a lot of things for which one needs a personal identity statement that comes with all French bank accounts, called a RIB, so it made sense to get an account here. For example, getting a cell phone, or even your carte de sejour, which is something else required by the bloody visa people to allow me to remain in the country. 
Also, this week we had to provide a description and dialogue for a cartoon strip, and my prof liked my version enough to read it to the class. It was nice to feel a little more like I fit in that class. My classmates are great, by the way. We're always laughing. 


I'm really sorry for all this whinging. Let me tell you about other great things that happened this week:


1) I got lost on the way to the post office, but it was a beautiful day, and I came across the most darling house. It had old wooden shutters, elegant lace curtains, and flowering vines growing over the front door. I also discovered a little flowery parkette.
2) I am continuing to meet lovely people from all around the world. 
3) I bought my train tickets for Paris this week
4) My conversation class is toujours amusant!
5) Laura, Sergio, Monica (classmates) and I laughed solidly throughout 2 hours of langue class, over nothing in particular
6) We had a reception at the Greniers St-Jean, which is this wonderful old hall across the river. I'm not sure what it's original purpose was, but the walls are made of light stone, and the ceiling is all exposed beams. It's lit up by these tiny hanging light fixtures all throughout the hall. It struck me as the perfect place to listen to a harp/soprano concert or something. We were served a delicious dessert wine and cookies, and were greeted by the mayor of Angers. 


Ok, now I've got to get back to work. I promise, next time I'll be cheerful! 
Bisous!

Le week-end!

Ah le week-end, that most excellent French word. For those of you who aren't fluent, it means 'the weekend'.

I blague, I blague.


All kidding aside, this was the weekend of Les Accroches-Coeurs, the major festival that Angers hosts once a year. For three days, the city centre is filled with all sorts of bizarre but wonderful performances. In the days leading up to it, Angers is abuzz with chatter about Accroches-Coeurs. "You must go see some of the shows! You can't be in Angers without going!" So on Saturday night, we went. The Michiganders and I got a drive into the city from Monsieur and Madame A's close friend Soren. Once we found a parking spot, we walked through the hordes of revelers who were swarming the streets and crossed the bridge to reach the Cale de la Savette, the grassy park on the bank of the Maine.

There must have been over a thousand people there. We arrived half an hour before the show started, and couldn't get seats anywhere near it. The performers filing along the river to the stage was a performance in itself, as they arrived in a cloud of smoke, sparks, and fire. The show was a combination of light and percussion, so we at least heard the drums. It ended with a spectacular display of fireworks.

We walked back across the bridge, followed the crowds to the Rue du Roi Rene, and saw people lining the streets as if waiting for a parade. Sure enough, a giant yellow truck parked itself in the middle of the street, and a strangely dressed man flung open the back doors to reveal the paraders. The street became a sea of these people with frightening painted faces, mismatched costumes, and various percussion instruments that they played entirely out of sync with everyone around them. They led the crowd down the street, where they were joined by enormous mechanical animals. It was the weirdest, darkest parade I've ever seen, but it was quite the spectacle. Well worth seeing.

The rest of my weekend was taken up by doing homework... not too exciting. But next weekend I go to Paris, woohooo!

Me, the Michigan girls, and Phil from the US

The Cathedral lit up for the festival

The bridge also lit up for the festival

The truck opening with the parade

Parade

Giant mechanical bird 'flying' above the parade

Sheh-pah*

*In class yesterday, we learned how to understand French people when they smoosh their words together. Examples: Shey-pah = Je ne sais pas, folk-tulle-sash: il faut que tu le sache... I'm thinking that's kind of like saying "dunno" for "I don't know"... maybe?

Well well well, the past few days have been interesting. Impressions of the first week of classes:
1) I should not have been placed in the highest level. I feel like I'm treading water in a class of good swimmers.
2) My language prof thinks he's really really funny. He does not think that Laura and I are really really funny.
3) My civilisation prof is great. She's like... a kindergarten teacher for adults... if that makes sense. Really clear, really enthusiastic, and full of real life examples of what she's talking about.
4) My monitrice, the UCO student who teaches our convo class/lab is lovely.
5) French makes even less sense when you're short on sleep (Mum, you're so wise).
6) 9-5 is reasonable for a job, not so awesome for school.
7) We have far too much homework.

Sorry for complaining. I know I'm super lucky to be here, and it's such a great chance to improve my French, so I'll cut it out. Another result of little sleep, so, completely my own fault.

To make up for it, here's a list of things I love:
1) My vélo - God bless it's little metal heart. It takes me to school/city centre in about 7 minutes (without traffic), it gives me exercise, and gives me seemingly more rights on the road than your average driver or pedestrian.
2) Friendly locals - everyone seems to be very happy to be chatty with foreign students.
3) The local style - the current big trend is a mix of golf club and yacht club. Everyone wears sweaters tied over their shoulders, sailor stripes, navy jackets, skinny jeans (boys and girls), pastel-coloured button downs, and brown leather flats. Nary a cotton hoody or Nike t-shirt in sight. Not that they need it, but I approve. 
4) The other CIDEF students! So eager and friendly
5) The local architecture - There are so many beautiful little details to be spotted; a stately wooden front door, an elegant iron gate, an intricate carving above a window...


I feel like my French is improving a little bit. I can carry on a conversation a little more smoothly now. My vocabulary is still pretty basic, but it's increasing. I find I can understand most of what people say to me if they're articulate. I'm afraid my friends and I are often too brain dead to speak French amongst ourselves after school, but we do try sometimes. And chatting with Madame and Monsieur A at dinner helps too.


Last night was 'Soirée C', which was a bar party hosted by the monitrices at the local student haunt K'lypso. Everyone was supposed to dress up as something beginning with C. Laura, Matt, Maria, and I went as Canadiens. I whipped out my knitted Canadian toque that I'd brought for the international night we're having later this month, and my Girl Guides sweater with the maple leaves on it. I think we were rather a hit, but it's possible that the pleasure people were showing was due to them mocking us... hard to tell. It was also Laura's bday yesterday, so we celebrated in style. 


Oh ya, and also! Laura and I went out for lunch, and on our way out of the building we heard the most amazing jazz piano coming from one of the lecture halls. We looked inside to see this real life Schroeder playing away, so utterly engrossed in his music. It was beautiful to listen to and amazing to watch. Laura wondered what he would do if someone were to tell him he could never play piano again. We figured he probably wouldn't survive. He finally broke his concentration when we giggled, and Laura struck up a little conversation, concluding it by inviting him to lunch with us. And he agreed! So off we went to La Gourmandise with our little French copain. I think he may have been a bit wary, but we had a great chat and a great meal. Laura tried to get him to join us at the bar later, but he wouldn't come. Dommage. 


Ok my friends and relations, I hope you enjoy the rest of your Thursday. Love you!

Les photos!

The main administrative building on campus

Laura et Anne-Marie in the city centre

Mama, Anne-Marie et moi

View of the city from across the Maine River

Anne-Marie, Mum, Laura, et Eliane

Laura on our little jaunt through the city

More to come later, just a little taste!
xxo

La vie en rose

Had a leisurely sleep in on Saturday. Left the house on my vélo to go meet Laura by the school. We walked towards the old part of the city, stopped by the tourist bureau to ask for the whereabouts of H&M, and made that our next stop. I purchased my first piece of clothing of the trip (don't worry Mum, it was just one thing! And it's so cute). Then we carried on to a little lunch restaurant called La Gourmandise. Laura had a delicious croque madame and I had a variety of different salads. When we sat down, we asked the people at the table next to us if they'd take a picture (in French), and they replied that they spoke English. They turned out to be a lovely couple from Stratford-upon-Avon in England who were taking their camper van around France for 4 weeks. So we had a nice chat and then they continued on their way. 


Oh funny story, one of the guys we met on Friday night, Olivier, had told us that instead of saying <<santé>> for cheers, you should say <<au chatte!>>. So naturally Laura and I wanted to use the local terminology, so we toasted au chatte before our meal and later when we stopped to get a glass of juice. I found out later that night that one must never say chatte in polite company. It means female cat... you can figure the rest out. You got us there Olivier! 


We carried on around the city, wandering down this street or that to see what we would stumble upon. We eventually made our way across the Maine River and lay down on the grassy riverbank in the shade of some unfamiliar, but beautiful trees. It was the perfect way to spend an afternoon! We read a little bit of homework, but mostly lazed around. There are beautiful rose bushes all along the river, and it really did feel like la vise en rose. By 5:15 we left and I got back on my bike and pedaled home. By bike, my route to school is only 5 minutes - so great. The only hard part is on my way back I have to navigate a roundabout. Not a roadway I'm used to! 


Shortly after going home, Madame and Monsieur A took me and my roommates to the opening of a local bar. The owner is a friend of Monsieur A. We were a little too shy to mingle much, but the three of us practised our French amongst ourselves nonetheless. Then we returned home for a tasty dinner.


We went out (again... zut alors), with no particular bar in mind. I biked to Laura's where she was with her roommate Yeji (from South Korea, she's great), Maria, and Maria's roommate. Her roommate split off after a little bit, and the rest of us met up with Matt (just an update for those of you who don't know, Laura, Maria, and Matt are my fellow StFXers). We couldn't find any bar that looked particularly hopping where we were, so we just picked a random one. It turned out to be a bit expensive, but it served our purpose. A few more CIDEF students walked by and told us they were going to Falstaff, so after a while we went that way too. It wasn't as exciting as it was on Thursday, but we enjoyed ourselves. Sunday's task - finish my homework... Ugh.