Episode VI

FEUILLES FRANÇAISES EPISODE VI ~ December 7, 2009

Dear Friends,

Another two weeks have gone by, and thus it is time to write of my adventures once more. I cannot believe its December. The thing is, here it neither looks nor feels like December, if it weren’t for the Christmas trees and lights scattered around Bourges, I would think it was early April, everything is still rather green here, and it rains a lot. Based on how things look here, there is no way that Christmas can be 18 days away.

I’ve had an interesting two weeks. Last issue, I was steeling myself to prepare my first-ever Thanksgiving feast. I mean, I have always helped my parents, but I had never cooked an entire bird corpse before. Trying to celebrate Thanksgiving in France was quite an adventure in and of itself. Firstly, turkey was a problem on a number of levels. When I first started to talk to people about doing a Thanksgiving dinner, I was informed that butchers and supermarkets do not stock turkeys until Christmas. In France, roast turkey is a traditional Christmas meal, and like us with Thanksgiving, they seldom eat it any other time of the year. So I was resigned to roasting a chicken. But then quantity became a problem. Every other time in my life that I have hosted a party, roughly 75% of the invitees have been able to come. Originally, there were about 11 invitees to Thanksgiving dinner, and yet somehow, 16 people RSVP-ed, 145% of the invitees, hrm, I am still scratching my head there. But I would have to roast the biggest chicken in the world to feed all those people. So I renewed my search, and to my astonishment, I found a butcher who could get me a turkey. Let’s just say, for the first time in my life, something was killed specifically on my behalf.

Anne, and our beloved beheaded...

After I ordered the turkey, I faced another problem. Here, in France, I HATE walking by the butcher counters at the markets, or past butcher shop windows, because 95% of the time, they feature entire animal carcasses. Just yesterday at the market, I saw an entire rabbit, skinned, with the eyes still in its head. So, here in France, when you buy a chicken, you have to decapitate it yourself. (I expect this is how the government keeps the people’s innate guillotine instinct at bay) So I had a couple days to steel myself to hack of a turkey’s head (and possibly its feet too). However, come Wednesday morning when I fetched the poor bird from the butcher, he was, mercifully, headless. Apparently the butcher pitied us both, the squeamish American who lacks a cleaver, and thus he spared the bird the indignity of my trying to remove his head with a normal kitchen knife.

Me expertly stuffing the turkey

Ok, so we got a little carried away with the tying up business, but we didn't want him to go anywhere... really, not too bad for a first-attempt.

Thanksgiving transpired on Wednesday, November 25, it was more convenient to do it then, since no one had class in the afternoon, leaving us free to cook from noon on (this was Anne’s and my crazy project). I did as much preparation as I could (cutting, and peeling, and such) the night before. First task was stuffing, which, thanks to Dad’s directions (via e-mail) was no problem. I was even able to come up with a passable substitute for Bell’s seasoning by visiting the spice guy at the market. Next came the topic of turkey, and let me say, I am thankful for the internet. You can really find anything on there, eHow and About.com have articles on cooking turkeys, and YouTube has videos on carving turkeys, and let’s just say, I owe my Thanksgiving success to the World Wide Web. It wasn’t the most aesthetically pleasing turkey on the planet, but we did pretty darn well for first timers, the tying it up business was a little confounding.

The table, with imported decorations (Thanks, Mom!)

My international Thanksgiving extravaganza!

Enjoying dessert.

We had everything: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, squash, cranberry sauce (courtesy of Anne’s visiting American friend, Erin), gravy (again imported), bread (German, provided by Viola), sautéed zucchini, cheese (had to have something remotely French), pumpkin pie, apple pie, and cider. And, I must say, everything was delicious! And I am not sure I could replicate it ever again, but everything was ready at the exact right moment! We had 15 guests in attendance (one of the original RSVP-ers bailed). It was pretty much the United Nations: 4 Frenchmen (and women), 3 Americans (hosting), 2 Germans, 1 Brit, 1 Aussie, 1 Irishwoman, 1 Indian (India, not native American), 1 Chilean, and 1 Mexican. Somehow we fit everyone around the table, somehow I found 15 seats in this little house, and somehow everyone found something to eat. It was enormously successful. It made missing on of my favorite holidays more bearable. It was pretty much a perfect evening, definitely one of my favorites since arriving here. Good food, good friends, good conversation. Ton of dirty dishes though.

On actual Thanksgiving, I had school of course, and that was ok. The last two weeks at school, I have been talking about Thanksgiving as an American Tradition. I have even shown some YouTube footage of the Macy’s Parade and American football in class. And of course, there were a few hundred pumpkin pies to be doled out. For the most part, the kids liked the pies. It is very hard to tell if they follow my lessons or not. For the most part they seem to like working with me, either that or they really hate their regular English class. I have a couple classes that are really stellar, and then a few that have me tearing my hair out. But, that I guess is the life of a public school teacher.

I honestly think I could visit Paris every year for the rest of my life, and discover something new each time. Canal St. Martin: a tranquil spot in one of the busiest cities in the world.

What can I say, I have a fascination with lock chambers.

The weekend after Thanksgiving, I decided to spend the weekend in Paris. I am always glad to show someone else my favorite city, but I wanted to spend some time there for myself. My friend Adrien adopted me for the weekend. I wish I could explain it, but something happens to me when I am in that city, everything just feels so comfortable and familiar. It is possible to be in love with a place? If you had told me nine years ago, when I first clapped eyes on Paris, that some day I would feel so comfortable and so at home in one of the largest, and possibly the most popular city in the world, I would never have believed you. It is just as Gertrude Stein said, “America is my country, but Paris is my hometown.” Upon arriving, Adrien and I took a walk by the canal St. Martin, and as we watched a boat lock through the levels, I was forcibly reminded of working boat tours in Lowell, and then I realized this was the first time I had seen a MODERN lock chamber in action.

Aside from staying with my former teacher (Adrien was a PhD student teaching a section of Roman History when I was at Paris VII), I had dinner with my former hosts, Guy and Anne Langellier-Bellevue. They are still housing foreign students, they have a guy from Pittsburg, and a girl from Down Under for the moment. The apartment looks exactly the same, and it was so strange to be there as a dinner guest. 17 Rue des Renaudes was not a place I ever expected to see again, it was like time traveling, going back to another period in my life. It was very cool. It was so nice to see them, especially Guy, he and I became good friends during my six months with them.

The Champs Elysses alight with Christmas spirit.


Sorry for the glare, I only took my smaller camera with me, not wanting to be a tourist, well, not too much anyways.


Ferris wheel and Napoleon's stolen Obelisk in Place de la Concorde (where they used to behead people).

Paris was all lit up for Christmas, with the trees lining the Champs Elysses covered in Christmas lights, an enormous tree outside Notre Dame, and a huge white ferris wheel at the entrance to the Tuilleries Gardens. I have always wanted to see the Champs Elysses illuminated for Christmas, it was really beautiful, elegant, but not over the top. I spent my Saturday doing a few things I wanted to do, off-the-beaten-path things.

I went to Shakespeare and Company looking for a book, which I did not find, but they referred me to the Abbey Bookshop, which is run by a Canadian (non-Quebecois) in the Latin Quarter. I did not think it was possible to find a bookshop more crammed full of books than Shakespeare and Co., but the Abbey proved me wrong. It is smaller, probably a quarter of the size, with the same amount of stock, books are literally piled shoulder-high, and the 20-something staff members say that they owner is the only one who truly knows where everything is. Business was slow on the rainy Saturday, so I chatted with the staff for a while, after they pressed some champagne and birthday cake on me. They were really lovely, so the Abbey Bookshop might become a new favorite Parisian haunt for me.

From the Abbey, I headed to the end of Metro line 1, Chateau de Vincennes. Some of you may remember this site from Paris Papers, on a cold Saturday, I was bored, and rode the metro to the end of the line to see if there really was a chateau at the stop called Chateau de Vincennes. Turns out there is, but in 2006, it was closed for renovations. I figured that three years was enough time to finish renovating, and I have always wanted to go back, so I did. Turns out that the medieval keep has been completely redone and is open, but the Chappelle is now being worked on until mid-February, I guess I have an excuse to go back. Chateau de Vincennes is nothing like the glorious chateau of the Loire Valley, it is a medieval castle. It is actually the first legitimate medieval castle I have ever visited, complete with a keep, drawbridge, moat, and dungeon. Basically: totally cool!

Layer 1, in brown in the outerwall, the moat is in front of that. Once you get over the moat, and through the outerwall, you have to get into the keep... good luck with that.

The plywood part used to be the drawbridge, under it is the (empty) moat. According to the guide, this was one of the first examples of a working Medieval drawbridge.


A real MOAT!!!!!!!!! (You know you are a history nerd when you get excited about a moat)

Bye bye boys! Have fun storming the castle!

Vincennes began as a hunting lodge, but king Charles V built the castle in the fourteenth century. Basically, traditional medieval castles are big square towers that only have one or two entrances, surrounded by a wall, which is surrounded by a moat that can only be crossed by a drawbridge. Vincennes, at six storeys is the tallest medieval keep in France, and originally, there was only one foot bridge connecting the outer wall to the keep. Actually walking around in a true medieval fortress definitely gives one an understanding of a castle as a fortress, rather than a sprawling luxurious palace (like Versailles in the seventeenth century). Vincennes, even today, would be highly defensible, whereas Versailles, forget it. Vincennes was built right in the middle of the Middle Ages, before the Renaissance with little thought for high-art and luxury, and a lot of thought about protection. It was really great to see the inside. If I were an outlaw raiding castles, I would think twice before trying to sack Vincennes.

This is merely a tiny corner of the wine expo. When the French say, "there are a lot of people here," they say "il y a du monde ici," which literally translated means, "there is the world here."

After wandering the Middle Ages, I headed across town to a wine expo. Adrien had a ticket, and was unable to go, so he gave it to me. I expected a small wine tasting, maybe a couple dozen vintners. Not quite, I have found the closest thing that exists to French Black Friday. This little wine-tasting turned out to be the largest collection of independent winemakers in the entire country. Literally, there were over NINE HUNDRED different vintners, and the largest MOB of Frenchmen (and women) I have ever seen. It was a madhouse. The most interesting part: there, in a city of millions of people, at an event with thousands of people, Anne and Julien happened to find me, out of the blue. So we passed a couple of glorious hours wandering around tasting wine.

It is funny how much I appreciate wine after living in France twice. With good wine, I can taste the subtle undercurrents, and the differences in complexity between a 2005 and a 2006. It’s really quite cool, it is not knowledge I ever expected to have in my life, but there Julien and I were talking about undercurrents of pineapple and raspberry while Anne looked at us like we were kidding (it was her first official go at wine tasting). It was a really cool event, but a little crazy, everything was scattered about, and there were too many people, and SO MUCH WINE, after however many thousands of sips (half of which ended in spits, otherwise your tasting comes to an end when you fall over), your tongue just gets numb. Still I ended up with a couple of nice bottles for the coming months. I prefer sweeter golden wines, and I found some lovelies. This is something I will surely miss about France.

After our wine-tasting whirlwind, I parted ways from my friends and made my way to the base of the Champs Elysses to visit the temporary Christmas Market offering hand-made crafts, exotic gifts, and holiday treats. It was not too cold, so I wandered between the stalls there for a bit, and enjoyed the lights on the Champs. Unfortunately, Sunday morning arrived all too quickly, and I needed to get back to Bourges for school on Monday morning, so I took the noon-time train from Paris. It is always so hard to leave. I am not sure I could ever live there permanently, but I do love it so much!

The German Gals with an insane pile of cookies!

Back in Bourges, I was invited to a cookie-making party German-style. The four local German assistants got together and were baking traditional German Christmas cookies, and invited me to join them, so long as I provided music. It was a fun afternoon spent eating far too many varieties of far too delicious goodies. On Monday, it was back to the grind, but Gina, Viola, and I have a new tradition of Monday night suppers together, so that is something to look forward to after a long day at school.

The past two weeks I have had some trouble with my schools not bothering to inform me when I don't have class. It is really annoying to get up at 6, take a bus across town to be at school for 8 only to be told you don't have class. In the last two weeks, this has happened five times, and I am getting very frustrated. Apparently that is just how things are here, but I hate wasting my time like that. Oh well, as we say over here, "c'est la vie."

This issue’s school story comes from my Thanksgiving lesson. I made a PowerPoint with photos about how we celebrate Thanksgiving back home: what we eat, family traditions, etc. One of my bullet points said: “We eat turkey…” and I asked individual students to read aloud and translate the points, and one student read that phrase and translated it as, with an air of slight horror, “You eat… TURKS?” I just about died trying not to laugh. That might be the hardest part about teaching in France, not laughing, but when teaching and learning languages there are always those wonderful little moments.

Chateau de la Ferté Saint-Aubin

This past weekend, I was again adopted by the German clan, and we took a ride to a little town called la Ferté Saint-Aubin, where there is a little chateau, and it was all done up for Christmas. It was very pretty, there were all sorts of neat little activities, and it helped put me in the holiday spirit (as much as is possible without snow).

I am still waiting for my social security card, I have a temporary number, but not the full-Monty, and I was just notified today of another paperwork glitch. I seriously think I deserve a prize, because I am the only assistant who seems to have hit EVERY SINGLE logistical immigration road block that exists in this country, honestly, I ought to start playing the lottery.

As Christmas approaches, stores are allowed to be open on Sundays to make more time for shopping. Christmas lights have been strung around town, and Christmas trees are starting to appear in windows. But the French do not seem to be that big on Christmas music, I expect many radio stations back home are getting into their non-stop Christmas music phase, but not here, I can’t seem to find Christmas music to save my soul.

Tomorrow I am off to the city of Tours for another gathering of all the assistants in the department, and then this weekend I am off to Strasbourg, in the much-disputed territory of Alsace-Lorraine, a region on the border with Germany which seems to bounce back and forth between the two countries like a ping-pong ball. A political nightmare, but a cultural gem, apparently it is the perfect hybrid of French and German culture, and apparently, NO ONE in the world does Christmas like the Germans, and in this regard, Strasbourg is very German. And, potentially the best part, in Strasbourg, this weekend, the forecast says: SNOW! Once I get back from my mini-adventure in the north-east o f France, I will have only five more days of classes before Christmas Break! I shan’t be blogging during the holidays, but if you are good, I might squeeze out a mini-episode recapping Strasbourg before taking a break from blogging.

That’s about it for news. In the event I do not get a mini-episode up before the holiday, I wish you all the Merriest of Christmases and the Happiest of New Years. I hope you all enjoy a safe, happy, and healthy holiday with your families.

Joyeux Noël!

I remain your snow-deprived Thanksgiving chef extraordinaire,

~Monica


Moi avec Pere Noel!

Episode V

FEUILLES FRANÇAISES EPISODE V ~ November 23, 2009

Dear Friends,

It is a miserable, cold, drizzly day in Bourges, in other words, a perfect day for blogging! These last two weeks have been filled with adventures of a different kind, more of a preview of my life to come… classroom adventures! Since the last episode, I have only taken one trip, I returned to Orléans for an immigration meeting. Orléans is the capital of my region, so all the immigration business has to go through them. I now feel a greater kinship with my ancestors who passed through Ellis Island, I know that several of my ancestors on mom’s side did pass through Ellis Island, and at least two of those families underwent some name changes, which is how they went from a long complicated Hungarian name to simply Czok. I myself have even undergone a name change of sorts, at home I am MON-ih-kuh, but over here it sounds more like moe-NEE-ka. And the last name “Squires” does not exist in French, so more often than not I am “Mlle Skeers.” But I digress.

Immigration, I have decided, is not something I want to make a habit of. I am still confused about the process, despite having gone through it, but I will try to explain. Before coming to France, I required a visa, in order to obtain the visa, I essentially needed an invitation to the country, which came in the form of my appointment document, the letter informing me that I had a job in France. So, the visa, was a form of RSVP, where I declared my intention to enter the country, and they in turn gave me formal permission to do so, and to work in the meantime. However, apparently the visa only gave me the right to come and work, but not the right to stay, and most importantly, a visa is a one-time deal, if you leave the country under this particular visa (which carries a stipulation requiring me to obtain a Titre de Sejour), you do not have the right to re-enter France, which would cause some problems since I have international travel plans for Christmas, and again in February.

The Titre de Sejour, as far as I can tell, is the French equivalent of my Green Card, it gives me permission to live in France, and leave and re-enter the country at will. So, my mission in Orléans was to obtain my “Green Card.” In order to get the green card, I had to pass a medical visit and an administrative interview/check (sounds a lot like Ellis Island, without the teeming masses). First came the medical visit, where the nurse took my vitals, and the radiologist put me in a scary closet and took an x-ray of my chest (looking for TB, I guess), and then I had to go over my medical history with the doctor. Overall, the visit was very easy, I was surprised at how often they just took my word for things. “Do you have this immunization?” “Yes, pretty sure I do.” “Ok, we’ll mark down ‘yes.’ NEXT!”

My "green card," which is, in reality, a yellow sticker in my Passport...

However, the administrative part was rather difficult, because if you do not have exactly the right papers in the right order, you will not get your green card, and you have to go back in six weeks and try again, which means, in the meantime, you are allowed to leave France, but you’re not allowed back in, this can be problematic if you already have travel plans and tickets. You need your employment contract, your visa, the medical visit forms, and official documentation of a permanent domicile in France (this was problematic for me, because I do not have an official lease, nor an electric bill in my name). I was, of course, missing some documents (as were 90% of the non-EU assistants there, if you come from the EU, like Gina and Viola, you get to skip this whole process), but luckily, Marie-Paule was able to fax them to the Immigration office, and after quite an ordeal, I officially have a “Green Card!” But, immigration is not fun, of course the administrative part is terrible, because they get angry when you don’t understand, and if you are missing documents, and they generally are not very happy people, so quite literally, I took my green card and ran, very happy to have escaped in one piece.

Collège Littré



Collège Littré Entrance

These last two weeks have been very busy school-wise. I have all but two of my groups named, all of course, for National Park sites: Grand Canyon, Minute Man, Independence, Cape Cod, Badlands, Niagara Falls, Monument Valley, Everglades, Mount Rushmore, Natural Bridges, Sequoia, Alamo, Boston, Statue of Liberty, Salem, Yellowstone, Death Valley, Devil’s Tower, Rocky Mountain, Yosemite, Denali, Ice Age, Hawaii Volcanoes, Kenai Fjords, Petrified Forest, Zion, Dinosaur, Mesa Verde, Lowell, Acadia, Olympic, and Appomattox Court House.

Learning names is proving to be very difficult, it is hard enough in the states with students with names I am familiar with like Katie, Jeff, Mike, Amanda, and Laura, but here their names are all, of course, French. And with 400 students, there are a lot of duplicates, which actually makes it harder, so for one name, I have to memorize six faces. For example, I have eight girls named Manon, three of them are in the same group, I have eight iterations of Pierre (sometimes combined with a second name after a hyphen). And then there are names I have never even heard of before, like Lala and Cyprien and Flavy. And then there is the student who decided not to give me his proper name (I was not given class lists, so I was required to make my own, and so I had the kids write their name on a piece of paper under their group name). There is a scene in the Anne of Green Gables/Anne of Avonlea movies where Anne begins teaching at a very snooty private school, and on her first day, while taking attendance, no students claim themselves as present. Anne thinks she has the wrong list, and asks the students to give their names, and they do, names such as Wilma I. Ball, Alice B. Heind, Myrtle N. Girdle, and Fanny I. Oppener. This child gave me a rather inappropriate word as his surname, which I used a couple of times, I assumed the class’ giggling was as a result of my pronunciation. Note to self: learn all the swear words and inappropriate slang for a country/region, before you begin teaching there.

Collège Jean Renoir

Again

As you can see, there are as many student problems in French schools as in American ones. I thought originally, that the students were more disciplined. For example, they do not enter a classroom until invited to do so by the teacher, and then stand beside their seats until given permission to sit. I do not like this particular method, it makes me feel like a dictator. Teachers tend to be more… harsh. I have heard teachers out and out yelling at classes on several occasions. Students are not allowed to leave class to get a drink or to go to the bathroom, no one ever asks, it is simply not permitted. All students carry around a little notebook, which is an assignment book, their permission to leave the building, their attendance, and a disciplinary record. If a student does not have their book, they get in big trouble, and if a student misbehaves, the teacher may ask for the book, write the nature of the problem, and it goes home and needs to be signed by the parent. So my first impression was of well-disciplined students, and then I was left alone with classes.

Turns out, French pupils are just like American pupils, they talk, they pass notes, they write rude words on the desks, they say inappropriate things, if you leave the classroom for a moment they draw rude things on the white board, they hit each other with rulers, and try texting under the desk (despite the fact that it is literally ILLEGAL for students to have cell phones in school). So if you think classroom management is hard, try doing it in another language when you are upset and cannot find the words you need, or are confusing tenses. The bright side is, after this, managing a classroom back home in English seems like it will be a cakewalk.

There are also the varying degrees of studiousness. I have several “Hermione Granger” types, who don’t like to give anyone else in the class a chance to talk and literally bounce up and down in their seats raising their hands. I have had several after class chats consisting of, “I know you know the answer, and the whole class knows you know the answer, but you have to give someone else a chance, otherwise, the rest will never get to be as good at English as you are.” I also have the students who know all the answers, and who speak very well, but who just choose never to talk. There is usually a class clown, but they come in two varieties, those that are very advanced, and probably crack jokes out of boredom, and those that couldn’t care less about English class, and are just looking to derail the teacher and pass the time. And then, no class would be complete without the students who stare blankly at the wall and don’t even bring a pen to class. I had sincerely hoped that this was an American phenomenon, sadly, it is not. In every class I have a Hermione, and Silent Sage, a Clown, and a Wall-Starer, give or take. The rest of the students vary in terms of ability, and are very timid about speaking.

I have tried to establish a few simple rules:

1. No one has the right to mock anyone for trying to speak in English. If you mock someone, you leave.

2. Everyone talks.

3. Everyone in this classroom deserves your respect, do not talk while another person it talking.

It goes well most of the time. I have had to split up some chatty friends, which of course, did not make me very popular. So far I have only sent one student off to visit “Vie Scolaire” and he was the whiteboard artist. And then all classroom management aside, there is still teaching to be done.

The general rule is, use French only when absolutely necessary to explain something. It is a last resort. And so, to teach a language, you must have no self-respect, self-restraint, or shame. It is amazing how many memories of language classes and teachers have come flooding back to me in the past few weeks. Sometimes I thought my French teachers were insane, and now I am sure my kids think the same about me. I have climbed on top of a desk to illustrate the meaning of “climb” (I was pretty sure the kids were going to faint here, I guess teachers do not climb on desks here) made grotesque faces to try to solicit the word “gargoyle,” faked swimming in mid-air, laughed uproariously to teach the word “laugher,” mimed tripping to illustrate that the word “to trip,” though illogical, does not mean to travel (in French a trip is a “voyage” and the verb “voyager” means to travel, so if English were logical, “to trip” would mean to travel, but of course it doesn’t).

370 mini pies, that is a lot of baking... Special Thanks to James, the Aussie for the help!

The last cycle (I see all of my students once every two weeks) was spent talking about what we did on our respective vacations. This cycle (currently my teaching cycles are in synch with blog cycles) we are talking about Thanksgiving. This weekend, I spent all day Saturday and all day Sunday baking 370 mini-pumpkin pies for my students to taste while I talk about Thanksgiving.

I find that I have to do a lot of differentiation between my classes. The levels of my classes are very, very mixed up. I have one class of fifth-years (seventh grade) who understand more than most of my third-years (freshmen). Some of my third- and fourth-year classes follow me very well when I speak, and others stare at me as though I am speaking ancient Greek. I have one group of sixth-years (sixth grade) who have only JUST begun to learn English, and so I have a hard time coming up with activities that I think they will be able to handle. Lucky for me, I pretty much expected this, I feel really badly for most of the assistants, who do not have any education training or experience. I am muddling through day by day, and it seems to be getting better. My students are getting more used to me and my way of doing things, and vice versa.

Here the school day is very different; school is in session from 8 AM until 5 PM, with an hour break for lunch. Wednesdays there is no school in the afternoon, and in some high schools, there are required Saturday classes. Most students go home or lunch, but there is a cafeteria, which I am yet to investigate. There are a number of “pauses” which account to 10-15 minute breaks between classes where kids can go outside and run around. It also seems that with parental permission, if students do not have class in the block before lunch, or for the last block of the day, they can go home early.

At Littre, most of my students walk to school, because it is in the center of town. At Jean Renoir, it seems that the majority of my students arrive on the city’s bus system. Class times are regulated by bells, like back home, but kids cannot leave a class until they are given permission, which does allow some teachers to keep them into the next period, which can be problematic, and the kids, like back home, are always late from gym.

We had no school on November 11 for Armistice Day (our Veterans Day). There was a parade and some speeches. It was interesting to think about the end of WWI from the European perspective.

A lot of kids have been out sick since vacation, apparently H1N1 is making the rounds. Loads of kids are absent, and the government has closed over 150 schools because of the flu. This is just a precaution, but I am taking my airborne and wearing a clove of garlic around my neck just to be safe.

Gina, James (squeezed in the back) and Adrien at the Wine & Cheese Party


Anne tasting some yummy cheeses, Julien (not her boyfriend, but a different one) too.


The Spread at the Wine & Cheese Party

In social news, I have joined a basketball team, kind of. I am practicing with a club team, but to join is expensive, and I would not be present for most of their Saturday games (because of course, I like to travel on the weekends). Also, in order to join a gym or a team, you have to have a full physical and a doctor’s note before you are allowed to play, which I thought was interesting. Recently there was also a wine and cheese tasting put on by the famous Adrien who organizes soirees and cultural events for the young folk here in Bourges. I definitely favor the softer northern cheeses, and the sweeter white wines of this region. It was a fun get-together, and we got to try all those scary looking cheese we see at the market without having to buy a whole slab.

Courtesy of Gina and Viola, I found a delightful little salon de thé (tea room), Cake Thé, housed in a fourteenth century wine cellar. It is very cute and cozy and offers just about every kind of tea under the sun, and if that’s not your thing, they have hot chocolate to rival Angelina’s in Paris, and a wide selection of pastries and cakes.

I went to see the second Twilight movie on Thursday, movies in France usually open on Wednesdays, so I got to see New Moon before anyone in the states, but, I had to watch it dubbed in French, you can only see the original versions of films in big cities. I don’t mind that it was in French, but dubbed movies bug me, when their mouths are out of synch with their voices, and not to mention, the voices are wrong! The characters just don’t sound right. Oh well.

With my two little private students, Bastian and Mathilde, we have been having fun. Bastian was studying physical descriptions in school, so we passed and afternoon playing Guess Who, which is called “Qui Est-Ce?” And for a bit of fun, last week, I sent them on an English scavenger hunt around the house, which worked out incredibly well, I wish I could do that with my school kids, but I think that would cause a little too much mayhem.

At Jean Renoir, I am also now responsible for an English Conversation Club on Tuesdays after school. This is a chance for eager students to have some supplementary time with me trying to improve their English faster. We had our first meeting, and it was great, sometimes in class it can be hard, because English is requires, and therefore you get the kids that want to be there mixed with the kids who don’t. But this club, which I am calling the Language League, is really great, because all the kids are there to learn. It is very nice to have enthusiastic students.

I did a ton of shopping on Friday, because I am preparing to throw (in conjunction with the other American, Anne) a huge Thanksgiving bash on Wednesday (because we are off in the afternoon) for all our new friends here in Bourges. I actually did manage to procure a turkey, which is no small feat. Here in France turkey is really only eaten at Christmas, so getting one a month early was rather tough. The best part is, it is a surprise, the guests think we are having chicken, because turkey was not available, but little do they know… Tracking down some typical Thanksgiving items was an adventure, for starters, pumpkin pie filling had to be imported from the USA (thanks to Mom, Dad, and Maria) as did pumpkin pie spice. I had to look all over creation for molasses (I eventually found it, not cheap, in an organic food store), and all the squashes here are ones I am not familiar with, but I did find an organic farmer selling butternut squash. I had to make my own Bells seasoning, and the spice merchant looked at me like I was a little strange, but when I explained he asked for the recipe. So wish me luck on Wednesday, this will be my first-ever attempt at roasting a large poultry, and cooking Thanksgiving dinner.

Speaking of shopping, here is a little cultural difference; you HAVE TO bring your own bags. In the US, we are trying to go green and encouraging people to bring their own recyclable shopping bags, in France, you have no choice. If you have no bag, you have to buy one, or try to carry your groceries without one. And you have to bag all your own stuff, so if the eggs get broken, you have no one to blame. This was never difficult before, because I never bought much, but doing the Thanksgiving shopping was a little tougher.

Crank window shutter

People actually use shutters here, like they close them every night. I think this is very interesting, because in the US, more often than not, shutters are decorative, nailed to the sides of houses to look pretty, whereas here, we close them. And if you don’t have shutters, most people have a sort of crank external plastic blind that covers the window. I am not sure if this is about heating, or protection, but it’s what they do here.

The back yard with our naked Maple Tree

The weather has been fairly warm. We had a cold snap before break, but it barely got below freezing. Today it is cold and rainy, which is how I expect much of the winter to be. I was surprised to find that here, the leaves change color just like at home, but they have mostly fallen now. I think that raking is in Marie-Paule’s and my future.

That’s about all I have for this issue. This week, I have my Thanksgiving feast; look for photos next time, and another trip to Paris. In the mean time, Happy Thanksgiving everyone, enjoy the holiday, and I will be back in two weeks with more adventure in la belle France.

Until then, I remain your favorite English teacher on the other side of the Atlantic,

~Monica

EPISODE IV

FEUILLES FRANÇAISES EPISODE IV ~ November 9, 2009

Dear Friends,

Sorry for the extra week's delay, I forgot to mention in the last issue that I would be on vacation on the next publication date, sorry. But I'm back now with three weeks worth of adventures to share!

School is going well, though I was not there much in the past three weeks, with vacation taking a big chunk out of school time. Though I have stumbled across a major (in my opinion) flaw in the French school system. At Jean Renoir, I have my own classroom, and so the kids go to the regular teacher for attendance, and then come to me for the class period (teachers have to take formal attendance every period to make sure no one goes missing, so here's a tip, if you ever are a student in middle school in France, don't try to skip Biology, they will find you). One day I waited for 20 minutes and the kids did not show up. So I walked down to the regular teachers classroom to find the door locked, and no noise coming from inside, so I headed over to “Vie Scolaire” (more about that in a moment) and asked where my class was. It turns out that the teacher was absent and so the students were sent to “permanence” which is study hall. France does not do substitute teachers, except in cases of long illness or maternity leave. Granted, as a student, being subjected to a sub was usually a day of busy-work and misbehaving, but at least you were doing some work in the necessary subject area, in France, no such luck.

I do find, however, that “Vie Scolaire” is a very useful aspect of the French school system. It roughly translates to Student Life. This is an arm of the school administration dedicated to the students. There is an office, staffed mostly by teaching aids, who help students out. Vie Scolaire is where students with learning difficulties can get assistance, where students have to check in and check out for leaving school for a dentist appointment, go to talk to someone if then need to, it is the first level of student discipline, it manages scheduling, and makes all announcements and organizes school activities. Basically it is much more like an American University, where there is the administration (President, Chancellor, Deans, etc) and then a completely different arm for student life (Dean of Students, Res Life, Campus Activities). I suppose in American middle/high school terms, it is combination Guidance office, Athletic Director, and Student Advisors.

Every kind of cheese you could ever want, except cheddar.

Spices from every corner of the globe!

Marie-Paule, my host, and of course, me.

I actually finally spent a weekend in Bourges with Marie-Paule, our schedules never seem to align on weekends. But the weekend before I headed off on my Toussaint holiday adventure, we spent a weekend together. Saturday was, of course, market day. Markets are a huge part of French culture. Much more so than in the US, where there is the odd Farmer's market in the summer and fall, but its much more of a novelty in the US, I think. In France, on Saturdays and Sunday mornings, every city and town has a huge market offering local produce, meat, and cheese, and everything from fresh fruits, to fresh eggs, to fresh lingerie. Shopping at the market is much more time consuming than going to the grocery store, but it is cool to watch people haggle prices, and argue with vendors over the size and quality of this batch of pears, or that hunk of meat. Also on Saturdays, Marie-Paule and I have accidentally started a tradition of wine tasting. She has her preferred boulangerie (bakery) for bread, and it happens to be right next to a wine shop owned by a friend. So after we buy bread, we pop in to say hello to her friend, and he typically thrusts a glass of some very delicious very expensive wine into our hands. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday morning.

View of the vineyards of Sancerre

Picking cosmos outside of Bourges

Fall in the Loire Valley

And I have figured out why everything (mostly) is closed on Sundays, first off, it is actually a LAW. Only restaurants can CHOOSE to be open on Sundays, but all other businesses are legally forced to close, except in highly touristy areas, where loads of business from tourists would be lost. Sunday is meant to be a day of rest, a family day, and though it is commercially inconvenient (too bad if you need more eggs for your soufflé) but if people are working, that is time they cannot spend with their families. Sundays are a day for big meals, and family time. At the start of the Toussaint holidays, Marie-Paul's older daughter Chloë came home from college (she goes to school in Lyon), and we had a big Sunday dinner, and Marie-Paul's boyfriend took us for a ride out to Sancerre, a town about 30 km away known for its sweet white wines. We spent the afternoon walking around the town looking out over the vinyards. After we passed through another tiny town (the name of which completely escapes me) known for its artisan pottery. On the way home, we passed a huge field filled with wild cosmos, and stopped to gather a huge mound of them to decorate the house.

Starting on Monday, October 26, I was on vacation for a week an a half for All Saint's Day (Toussaint). On Monday I headed up to Paris to stay with Anne and Julien again to be able to collect a visitor at the Airport very early on Tuesday morning. Maria Cole, one of my coworkers for the last five years decided to cross the pond and check out la vie française. I spent much of Monday wandering around Paris visiting a number of my old haunts, just for fun.

Sainte Chappelle from the outside, as seen from the top of Notre Dame.

Sainte Chappelle... imagine this ALL around you!

On Tuesday morning I collected Maria from Charles de Gaulle, and we headed to our hotel to drop off our luggage and begin to explore Paris. Of course, top of the list, was French pastry for breakfast, and then we headed to Sainte Chappelle (those of you who followed PP should know this one very well). We headed there first in an attempt to beat the line, an attempt which was moderately successful. Sainte Chappelle is one of my favorite spots in Paris, it is well-known to tourists, but with good reason. The Chapel was built to house relics of Christ brought back to France during the crusades (a fragment of the crown of thorns, and a piece of THE cross). But whether your Catholic, Protestant, Jewish, Buddist, Hindi, or Atheist, you need to check this spot out. It is home to some of the most impressive stained glass windows in the world. Sainte Chappelle is known as the “jewel box.” The inside is pretty much nothing but stained glass on three sides from eye-level to the ceiling probably 40 feet up.

The Lady of Paris



Has there ever been an issue of my blog without a photo of a stained glass window? This is my favorite window in Notre Dame.


Another rose at Notre Dame.

From there, we skipped across the street, already being on Isle de la Cité (the larger of the two islands in the Seine River) we paid a visit to The Lady of Paris, Notre Dame. She, again, is undergoing restoration, but she is as lovely as ever. Interestingly enough, I have been to France three different times in the past eight years, and there has always been scaffolding somewhere on Notre Dame. Oh well. Going for the trifecta of Parisian churches (moving coincidentally in my personal order of preference) we headed up Mont Martre to Sacre Coeur to see the white basilica and the impressive mosaic inside (of which photos are forbidden). We lunched at my favorite spot in all of Paris, Place du Tetre, where the artists hang out (PP followers should recognize this one too). I broke tradition and did NOT buy a painting this time.

The tower as it appears every night, for comparison...

In 2006, I saw this from afar, at 1 AM, the turn off the gold flood lights, and just let the tower sparkle, I thought it was incredible then, it was even cooler up close as part of the light show.

Many years ago, I think it was in a French text book, I saw a photo of the Eiffel Tower lit up just like this, and I have always wanted to see it illuminated like the French flag... one more item off the Bucket List!

This is just a sample of the technicolor light show we were treated to!

More colors!

All colors! This was really fantastic to see!

L'Arc de Triumphe in my old neighborhood.

I managed to have Maria in Paris for almost an entire day without going to the Eiffel Tower, but that most certainly would not do. At nightfall, we made our way to the Tower, and were treated to a light show. I was unable to discover the reason for the illumination extravaganza, maybe for the holiday, but it was very cool. We got to see the Tour Eiffel turn all sorts of beautiful colors. It was very impressive, and something I had never seen before. While we were out, we took a stroll up the well-lit Champs Elysses to check out l'Arch du Triumphe. Not a bad first day.

Quasi? Is that you?

UGLY! And yet cute at the same time, and irreverent! It is funny to think of a Medieval sculptor thinking to have a gargoyle sticking his tongue out, I guess that some gestures and facial expressions never change.

I love the details, especially the goofy face front and center.


Up close and personal with Notre Dame

On Wednesday morning, Maria and I launched ourselves out of bed early to head to Notre Dame to beat the crowds to climb the towers to see the gargoyles. Notre Dame is impressive and beautiful from afar, but getting up close and personal is even better, by climbing the towers, you can appreciate the details of the architecture from the filigree to the “uglies.” So we spent a good part of the morning hanging out with Quasimodo's pals atop the towers of Notre Dame.

Are you pondering what I'm pondering? Because I have been pondering the same thing for the better part of a century... and my head hurts.

The Kiss by Rodin

We had lunch at one of my favorite restaurants on the planet, l'As du Felafel, in the Maurais (Jewish Quarter), they have incredibly felafel. And we headed to the Rodin Museum. There, I think we spent some time contemplating a well-known work. :o) We also saw “The Kiss” which is probably the hottest piece of marble on the planet. Some of Rodin's work I love, such as The Kiss, how he brought such passion and emotion out of a block of stone I will never understand, the only word to accurately describe it is sexy. But I find that some of his other work is, lumpy, it looks like it is partially melted, but on the whole, I enjoy his work, and the Rodin Museum is always a treat. We met some of Maria's friends for dinner, the Woolsey family. James is a former Park Ranger now working for the American Battle Monuments Commission (they help manage important battlefields of WWII in Europe) and living with his wife, Liz, and two kids, Hannah and Teddy in Paris. The kids attend an international school, and of course, they speak lovely French.

As it always is, our visit to Paris was too short, but the south of France awaited our arrival. On Thursday we took the train to Avignon (Ave-in-yawn). Avignon is probably best known for its part in the Great Schism from 1378 to 1417. Did you know that the Catholic Church once had three Popes at the same time? History lesson time! From 1305 until 1378, the seat of the papacy switched from Rome to Avignon, France in what was known as the Babylonian Captivity. Political tensions forced the papacy out of Rome, and to Avignon, where the French pope was more comfortable. However, seven successive popes were Frenchmen, and so the papacy rested in Avignon, where much of the rest of medieval Europe felt that the French kings held too much power over the church, and the church was viewed as being very corrupt. The papacy returned to Rome in 1378, and a new non-French pope was selected (Pope Urban VI), but he proved to be more corrupt and tyrannical than any of the popes of the Avignon papacy, and thus, a second pope (Pope Clement VII) was elected, and took up residence in Avignon. And thus the battle of the popes began, where even a council of Cardinals in Pisa claiming to attempt to resolve the issue, elected a third Pope. This issue divided Europe and the Catholic church. The issue was finally resolved in 1414, and the whole issue basically amounts to a Catholic Civil War.

Papal Palace

Frescoes in the Papal Palace.

So the Palais des Papes has been home to seven legitimate, and a few not-so-legitimate popes during the Middle Ages. It is a neat place to visit. You know how much I love my historical places. Some rooms are very lavishly decorated with frescoes and beautiful tile, but unfortunately, as is the case with much of France, the Papal Palace was ravaged during the revolution, and so no original furnishings remain.

Le Pont d'Avignon, which partially collapsed in a flood

Me and Maria hanging out on the Bridge

Avignon is also known for the Pont d'Avignon (the Bridge of Avignon), originally named Pont Saint-Bénezet. It is a partial medieval bridge over the Rhône River. The bridge has partially collapsed, but it is very well known mostly due to a French folk song:

Sur le pont d'Avignon

(On the bridge of Avignon)

L'on y danse, l'on y danse

(There we dance, there we dance)

Sur le pont d'Avignon

(On the bridge of Avignon)

L'on y danse tous en rond

(There we dance all around)

Sunset from the Pont d'Avignon


Sunset behind the ramparts of Avignon

So of course, there was singing and dancing on Avignon bridge, incidentally, it is also a beautiful place to watch the sunset. Avignon is also surrounded by medieval ramparts that encircle the main part of the city, it really gives you the impression of how a medieval town would have looked.

Marseille, with the orange rooftops, just like my French text books described.


Fishermen in yellow waders, just like back home...


Eeew... I loved this guy, he looked like something out of a magazine with his little striped cap, very French.



The imposing fortress of Chateau d'If



When you are a prisoner on Chateau d'If, you need something to keep busy...

From Avignon, we headed west to the coastal city of Marseille (Mar-say). Marseille is the third largest city in France (behind Paris and Lyon), and it has been a sea port since the Greeks arrived in 600 BC. Naturally, mornings in Marseille feature a fish market where all the local fishermen sell off their mornings' work. I held my breath as we passed the fish mongering. Our first stop in Marseille was Chateau d'If, the prison on the island of If (eef) in the bay of Marseille. Chateau d'If is known mostly because of Alexandre Dumas' book “The Count of Monte Cristo,” the protagonist, Edmond Dantès is held there and makes a dramatic escape. The Chateau was originally built under the command of King Francois I in 1524 as a way to protect the important port of Marseille, but it was converted into a state prison in 1580 when political prisoners and French Huguenots (Protestants) were held there. Chateau d'If is essentially the French version of Alcatraz, if you escape, you have to swim all the way back to the mainland, which is roughly a mile.

Unfortunately, this is the best photo I have of Notre Dame de la Garde in daylight, it was fairly hazy most of the time we were in Marseille, which made photography a little rough.


I'll just let this speak for itself...


Inside Notre Dame de la Garde, it kind of takes your breath away.



Notre Dame de la Garde at night, hopefully makes up for the abysmal daylight shot.

After our tour of If, we headed to the highest point in Marseille, Notre Dame de la Garde, the cathedral atop the hill overlooking the Mediteranean. It is a nineteenth century church dedicated to seafarers. It has a very Byzantine style, like that of Sacre Coeur in Paris, but inside it is incredible. Mosaics, wall to wall, floor to ceiling, everywhere. Extremely ornate, but somehow not gaudy. It is very impressive, and there are model ships hanging all around. I think I will let the pictures speak for themselves and save myself a few words.

Les Stantons of Provence

Cathedrale de la Major, impressive on the outside, less so on the inside.

On our way back to sea level we visited the Abbey of Saint Victor, and the Stanton Museum. Provence (the southern Mediteranean region of France) is well known for small painted terracotta figurines called stantons, the began as nativity sets, and now there are thousands of different varieties. They are collectables, and some family's works are more prestigious and expensive than others. It is quite fascinating. They can sell from anywhere from 5 Euros a piece to 20, depending on which artisan or which family made them, and of course, the quality varies. We also visited another church, La Cathedrale de la Major, which also was a 19^th century Byzantine style church, but not nearly as impressive inside as Notre Dame de la Garde.

Palais Longchamp


Hanging out on the beach in Marseille, playing with the little pebbles.

On Sunday, Toussaint, there was not much to do in town because everything was doubly closed with the combination of the National Holiday, and it being a Sunday. We visited the Palais Longchamp, which is not a palace at all. It began as a monument to commemorate the construction of the main canal in Marseille, and is now flanked by the Museum of Natural History and the Art Museum (both closed for Toussaint). It was a beautiful fountain, though. Having exhausted our touristy options, Maria and I headed to the beach to dip our toes in the Mediteranean, which was not terribly cold. We passed the afternoon sitting on the beach.

El Dia de los Muertos


Massive paper mache sugar skull



Day of the Dead at Hotel de Ville in Marseille, talk about a clash of cultures!

Sunday evening, upon returning from the beach, we ran into a bit of a road block. There was an ongoing parade, but not for Toussaint, it was a group of displaced Mexicans celebrating El Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). It was really neat, they had a Mariachi band, a huge tractor-trailer done up as an altar, and huge 15-foot high skeletons. There was music and dancing, and it was really neat to watch a Mexican festival going on right in front of the Town Hall of the third largest city in France. I found it particularly amusing because for the last two years working for the Hudson Museum at UMaine, I was in charge of organizing and hosting Day of the Dead for local school groups, and I never pulled off anything even remotely close to that cool.

Marseille was nice, but I found it to be very dirty, but I did find out subsequently that there was an ongoing garbage workers strike in Marseille, and a national Postal Carriers strike in France during my holiday, what can I say, the French love to strike.

Welcome to the Riviera


That my friends, is the color Azure.


Not only is the intensity of the blue incredible, but the variety of hues in one body of water...

On Monday we left Marseille for Nice (niece) (our day trip to Aix-en-Provence did not work out, I think we were trying to cram too much into too little time, and a national holiday in the middle did not help). Marseille was rainy and chilly, so it was not difficult to leave, particularly when we reached Nice, which was sunny and 70. After a quick lunch of paninis, we made a beeline for the shore. Nice is located in the south west of France, and the region is called Côte d'Azur (Azure Coast). Now, I had seen postcards, and pictures in text and guidebooks, and even cruise commercials, but to discover that in reality, the ocean can be THAT blue, was incredible. It was positively mesmerizing. The ocean in Maine often looks green close to the shoreline, this was crystal-clear azure. It was beyond belief. A couple of my photos almost capture it, and they have not been retouched. It was astonishing. It took my breath away. (I was so distracted that I forgot to be vigilant about the doggy poop you find everywhere in France, and trod in some while I was gawking at the ocean). I was surprised to find, however, that Nice's beaches are pebbled rather than white sand. So we began our visit with a leisurely stroll along the Riviera.

Inside Saint Rita, very baroque style. I think those same columns flank the alter at Napoleon's tomb.

From there we headed up Castle Hill (which has no Castle anymore) to take in the view. And as it turns out, there were some ruins of a Renaissance-era fortress up there. But it was a fantastic place to take in the expanse of blue. We wound our way down the hill and through old Nice, with its tiny streets and baroque churches on every corner. We visited Sainte Reparte and Sainte Rita, and they were nice inside, but baroque is just not my favorite style, most of that period remind me of Napoleon's tomb, Invalides, in Paris.

Roman Bath Ruins

Maria was interested in the archeology museum, and so we went, and I was very glad we did. Did you know the Romans settled in Nice between the first and third centuries AD? They did, and we saw the ruins of the plumbing and the baths and the arena. Very cool. My favorite Roman architecture fact: The Greeks built everything in solid marble, which is difficult and time consuming. The Romans wanted to be a good as the Greeks, but did one better, they built in brick and/or a sort of concrete and then marble-plated everything. You know me, anytime there are Greco-Roman antiquities around, I just get all tingly and giddy. We had a fantastic guide, who was originally from Italy, and he was very kind and knowledgeable. After drooling over the antiquities, we called it a night.

Tuesday started early, just a regular day. We left our hotel, strolled down to the water, and went swimming in the Mediterranean. Just your average everyday... :o) It was fantastic, well, or would have been. The water was very warm, there was no debris, like seaweed, but I am unaccustomed to rocky beaches. The thing is, whenever a wave comes in, it kicks around the rocks, and those hurt, and then when you are trying to walk out of the surf, there is no sand to dig your toes into, just painful slippery rocks that jump up and batter your ankles. But still, I can say I took a swim in the ocean in the south of France.

Moscow or Nice? :o)

After our swim, we had some breakfast and headed off to the Russian Orthodox church. I had never seen one. I love the tower tops, and all the colors. The interior was very ornate (no photos allowed again, sorry). It was kind of neat, but I would imagine that the ones in Moscow are much prettier. It is amazing how the more I travel, the more traveling I want to do. You would think it would lessen, but it just gets worse. We wandered the stalls of the open air market place before sitting on the beach for the better part of the afternoon. In the evening, we headed by train to Lyon.

I wish we had a train system this awesome in the US.

Can I just say how much I love trains over here? Maria said a friend of hers made a good point, when you are taking the train, your vacation starts the moment you sit down. You don't have to worry about getting there, because you just sit down, and in an hour or two you're where you want to be. Unlike driving, because driving, for most, is not part of the vacation fun, its time-consuming, stressful, and boring. I love taking the train, I can read, sleep, walk around, write in my journal, anything. I wish we had a better, less expensive system in the US. I know it is not practical to take a train from Boston to San Francisco, but Boston to Philly would be nice, it is possible, but it is expensive. The trains here are fast, affordable, and frequent. I am a big fan of the TGV/SNCF/TER systems here in France.

Roman theatre



Stage fright?

We spent our last day, Wednesday, in Lyon, the second largest city in France, and it was where movies were invented. In continuing with our accidental ancient history, Lyon was settled by the Romans in 43 BC by Plancus, one of Julius Caesar's buddies. Of course, the Gauls were already living in the region, but Lyon became an important commercial hub for the northern part of the Roman Empire. So, naturally, in Lyon, Maria and I, being historians, just happened to stumble across some Roman ruins, an amphitheater, to exact, in great shape, which seats 10,000 people, and is still used for theatrical performances. We also visited the Gallo-Roman museum, which was incredible, they had such a deep, rich collection of artifacts, it was quite overwhelming (no cameras allowed there either). Very worth a visit, if you are ever in Lyon.

Inside Notre-Dame de Fourvière, very elaborate... sculped marble columns, and mosaics, very typical of the ninteenth century.


Of course the floor is pretty too...



And so are the walls,



And ceiling, literally wall-to-wall floor-to-ceiling mosaics.

From there, being already atop the hill, we visited Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourvière which is the main cathedral in Lyon, it was built in the late nineteenth century. It was very elaborate inside, mosaics, and some stained glass. But in visiting all these ornately decorated churches, I definitely prefer the Gothic-style ones. I like the vitreaux, and the dark arches. Having gold leaf everywhere is just not as appealing to me.

Saint Jean from the front.



The rose windows of Saint Jean 1...



2...



3.


Double dose of churches, on top Notre-Dame de Fourvière, and below, Saint Jean.



I loved this piece of modern art, I am usually not a fan, but this was lovely. I imagine it will be a bright spot during the grey winter in Lyon, a reminder that spring will eventually come and that there will be flowers again.

We took a stroll in Place Bellacour, which is the third largest town square in all of Europe. We also visited the Cathedral of Saint Jean. It is built on the site of the oldest catholic church outside of Rome, some of the sixth century ruins could still be seen. Saint Jean was built between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries. It has a very different structure from other churches from the period. It has a more square, fortress-like structure rather than the usual cross. It has four towers, rather than the typical two, but it also had unmistakable rose windows, which were absolutely incredible. Like I said, I am a Gothic girl I guess. We also took a stroll along the banks of the Rhône and stumbled across a very pretty sculpture.

Unfortunately, Maria and I parted in Lyon, she returned to Paris to stay with the Woolseys and I had to return to Bourges to work on Thursday. Overall, it was a fantastic vacation. Maria has a pedometer, and on our excursion, we walked just shy of 80 miles in our nine days touring France. It was really fantastic to see the Riviera, I have always wanted to see it. That was my favorite part I think. But we say many fantastic things, and ate many more fantastic things: stuffed mussels with garlic and parmesan, pork filet mignon with mushroom cream sauce, chocolate cake with crème anglaise, and innumerable pastries.

But as always, after an adventure, filled with many strange beds, and strange city sounds, it was nice to return to Bourges, to the bed I know, and to no longer live out of a suitcase. This week I returned to work on Thursday, which was odd, I wonder why the government doesn't just give us the whole two weeks. The students did not appear overly interested in being back at school either.

It doesn't get more to the point than that.

Only one bit of cultural commentary this time, as you all received an extra dose of history this issue. The French generally, I find are more frank than Americans. We often have a tendency to tip toe around things, the French are more direct, and do not play the same subtlety games we do. I find this to be particularly evident in their cigarette cartons, and I do not mean to offend any smokers, but they get right to the point: “Fumer tue.” Smoking kills. And yet, it seems that more people smoke here than anywhere else in the world. Nothing angers me more than watching my middle schoolers light up in broad daylight. I want to yank the cigarette out of their mouths and tell them to go play dodge ball, or the French equivalent thereof.

Ok, th-th-th- th-th-th- that's all folks! See you in two weeks (no vacations planned for the next cycle, but you never know). Until next time, I remain, you France frolicking blogger,

~Monica

How Monica spends 97.6% of her vacations.
A prize to whoever can guess how many photos Monica took on this trip (Maria, you can't play)

Editors note: there are some formatting issues in this post, blogger is being annoying at the moment, and I had not the patience nor the time to fix them all manually this evening, I have to catch a train tomorrow at 6AM to Orleans for an immigration thing... will work on debugging when I can.