Episode III

FEUILLES FRANÇAISES EPISODE III ~ October 21, 2009

Dear Friends,

Hard to believe that another two weeks have gone by and it is time to write another entry. I've been here for an entire month, how quickly the time flies. Now, as mentioned in the previous episode, this adventure is different from my sojourn in Paris in 2006. Paris was even more extraordinary thanks to the students strikes. For me, most of the last two weeks were spent either at, or preparing for school.

Language assistants are in very high demand here in France, but there are not enough of us to go around, so I am being shared between two schools. One, Littre, is right in the center of Bourges, the other, Jean Renoir, is a bit of a haul, so I take the bus out to school. I am at Littre on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursday afternoons, and every other Friday. I am at Jean Renoir every Tuesday and every Thursday morning.

When I work with students, I work with 10-15 at a time. Teachers keep half their class, and send the other half to me, and then we swap after thirty minutes (usually, in some cases I take half the class for the whole hour, and then the other class the next week). I have 14 groups of third years (which translates to the equivalent of High School Freshmen), eight groups of fourth years (essentially eighth grade), ten groups of fifth years (seventh graders), and two groups of sixth years (sixth graders), so all in all, 34 groups of students which translates to just over 400 kids. Littre works on a bi-weekly schedule, so I have a different schedule in Week 1 than I do in Week 2, which gets complicated considering my schedule never changes at Jean Renoir. However, at Littre, I will have the same students at the same times all year, whereas I will get new classes in January at Jean Renior. This probably sounds very confusing, because it really is.

In order to stay sane, and try to keep my groups straight, I am naming them. They are all named for National Parks. At Littre, the groups are named for Natural parks, so far Grand Canyon, Natural Bridges, Sequoia, Cape Cod, Badlands, Niagra Falls, Monument Valley, and Everglades are taken. For Jean Renoir, all my groups are named for Historical Parks: Minute Man, Independence, and Rushmore have been claimed. I am allowing students to vote for their name. I figure if nothing else, it is a way to keep me sane, and inject a little more American Culture into my lessons, and of course, being a Park Ranger, I do get to put in a little plug for the NPS.

I have not really gotten into much teaching yet, because the first couple of weeks I stayed with the regular teachers and introduced myself and sort of had a question and answer session, where the students could ask anything about me. They were particularly interested in my opinions of the President, and many were shocked to hear that I have shaken his hand. They were very interested in my dog back home. And the girls in particular were very interested in my love life. Of course, I remember being in school and puzzling endlessly about teachers' personal lives. It is very difficult to remember to speak very slowly, and to choose my vocabulary wisely, because if the students don't understand a word, I either need to be able to explain it with gestures, pictures, or descriptions, or else come up with the French equivalent.

This week I have started to take the classes on my own, which does present some interesting problems. Firstly, I am really not supposed to speak French. But this is very problematic when it comes to classroom management. I am having the typical young new teacher problem. The kids are enjoying testing my boundaries and trying to find the right buttons to push. And for the record, French middle schoolers love those pick a number paper fortune tellers as much as American middle schoolers. They also like to pass notes, and whack each other with rulers. Some things just seem to exist on a genetic level and pay no heed to cultural differences (my friends in the biological sciences, I would very much like it if you can isolate this gene and eliminate it from humankind). The trouble with classroom management is, to discipline the class, and be UNDERSTOOD, I have to speak in French, the trouble is, my French is not perfect, and some of the students find it comical when I make mistakes, which makes discipline and maintaining order more troublesome. Did you ever, as a kid, get your father so mad that he was reduced to spluttering incoherently? I think that is how I must seem to the students when I am trying to get the chatting, or ruler dueling to cease. I am hoping this is all just the “oooooooo new teacher” game that I remember playing in school, and I hope after a couple weeks things will settle down and we will be able to get some work done.

I also have tried to use my difficulties with language to illustrate the point that speaking and learning other languages is rough. Every day I get up and I speak French. I know very well that speaking another language is really difficult, for me is it is a challenge every day, it literally makes my brain hurt some days. And on some levels, it is terrifying, I never realized how much confidence it takes to speak in a second language until I first went abroad. Every time you open your mouth, you are doing so knowing that you are going to make mistakes, and you never know how the people you are speaking to are going to react to that. Sometimes you feel like you sound completely stupid, and that is so difficult. I hope seeing that I have trouble with French, but keep trying will help my students to see that it is ok to make mistakes, and learn from them. For the moment, the majority of my kids are keeping quiet in class, I think they are still getting used to me, and getting comfortable with me, so I expect this will take some time.

I had always read and been told that the French start studying languages much early in school than Americans, but I am quickly discovering that is not the case in Bourges. The elementary schools occasionally have language assistants, but it seems to be extremely basic. So for my sixth years, it is their first official year studying English, which makes my job rather tough. I am not supposed to teach grammar (not that I could were I permitted), and I am really not supposed to speak French in order to be understood. So dealing with the sixth years is a real challenge. Generally, my fifth years are a little better in terms of comprehension. My third years are the students I am most excited about, because they are at the level of really being able to create with the language, and we can have some real conversations. But again, all this takes time, so for the moment, things are rather frustrating.

I never really expected this to be easy, but I didn't anticipate it being this hard either. In one instance, I have one of my colleagues telling me that I speak English incorrectly. The student text book teaches the phrase, “I have got two sisters.” Does anyone ever even say that in spoken English? I asked two Brits and an Aussie, and neither of them say it that way either, they say, “I have two sisters.” And so we have a definite conflict between text-book English, and practical English. I have decided that there are really two ways to go about using a language, you can learn a language with the goal of becoming a translator, which is to say, you need to be perfect, technically speaking. Or you can learn the language for practical use.

When I began learning French, I began learning it on a much more practical level, I started learning very young, and the grammar and writing came later, it was much like learning a native tongue, babies learn to speak first, and then learn things like grammar and spelling. The initial focus for teaching babies is vocabulary. However, in schools, more often we are told we need to learn a language before we are allowed to speak it, which I think is fundamentally wrong. But I am not going to turn this into a pedagogical rant on language acquisition.

Bastian waiting for chocolate chip cookies (yes, that was a language lesson) :o)

Mathilde, who is adorable

In France, younger students do not go to school on Wednesday afternoons, so I am tutoring two local kids. They were born in Texas to French citizens living in the states for work. They came back here six years ago, and when they left the US, both the kids, Bastian 10, and Mathilde 8 were speaking only English, but in the last six years, they have lost a lot of the language, so I go to their house and work with them (it is more like playing than working) in English. I am having a lot of fun with them, today, for instance, we baked chocolate chip cookies, but of course, we were only allowed to speak in English, which was fun. They are delightful, and I am really having a blast with them. (I am sorry that I have no photos of school or teaching, but it is against the law to take and post pictures of students without parental permission here, just like in the states)

Victor, of Mexico

Anne, from Wisconsin, she is a Badger, but since we are strangers alone in a foreign country, we'll allow a temporary alliance between a Black Bear and an Badger.


James, that crazy Bruce from Down Under

When I am not in school, and not tutoring the Brels, I spend time with the other assistants. There is a small colony of us here in Bourges: Anne is from Wisconsin, Gina is from London, England, Victor is from Mexico, Loreto is from Chile, and Viola is from Germany. Since there is not a huge support system in place for us here, we decided to create our own little club of assistants, and hold weekly meetings over dinner at someone's residence to talk about teaching and just to try to help each other through this difficult transition. There is nothing like moving abroad. Even though I have done it once already, culture shock still bites you in the butt every chance it gets. It is nice to have a group of people to go through it with. There is also an Aussie named James, who is not an assistant, but he is enjoying his “gap year” by traveling the world. Apparently for Australians, it is common to take a year off between High School and college and do some world traveling.

At the Cafe des Langues

Adrien, Gina, and Viola at the Cafe des Langues

There is also a decent population of young professionals here in Bourges, and we all meet on Friday nights in a pub called O'Brian's to hang out. These is also a “Café des Langues” where we can go and practice speaking in a language of our choosing, and that is a good time. It is nice to be part of these groups. The young French are particularly helpful because they know the ins and outs of the system, and are full of useful advice, Particularly one young man named Adrien, who is originally from Normandy, but he now lives and works in Bourges, he has really adopted all the assistants, and taken us under his wing and helped us with everything from housing, to paperwork, to meeting other people.

I do have some decent-sized pockets of free time here, the odd free afternoon, and weekends (I wish I could go traveling every weekend, but unfortunately, that is not practical). I thought I might try to volunteer at the cathedral (seeing as it is a UNESCO World Heritage Site), or the Palais Jacques Coeur, or one of the museums to do translations or even guided tours in English. This was how I came to find out that volunteering is illegal in France. Business, tourist attractions, etc are not legally allowed to have volunteers. And of course, my visa does not really allow me to have an additional job. Also, even if I could be hired, all guides have to be nationally certified in order to give sanctioned tours.

Could you resist a picpic with this view? I think not.

Julien, boyfriend of Anne, and kind host.

Last weekend I popped up to Paris with a couple of the other assistants for the weekend. I am not sure I will ever get over the novelty of just being able to go to Paris for the weekend. Its less than two hours away by train, so in the grand scheme of things, that is nothing. It takes longer than two hours to get to Boston back home if there is traffic. It was a fantastic weekend in the city dearest to my heart. We ended up staying with Anne's boyfriend, Julien, who is French. We commenced our weekend with a picnic of bread, cheese and wine on the Champs de Mars right next to the Eiffel Tower, if we'd had a beret amongst us, it would have been the most tourist-y thing in history, but it was perfect. Nothing like a proper welcome back to the city I love so much.

Monet's Waterlilies

Volia and Gina atop L'arc de Triumphe

On Saturday, I spent the day with Gina and Viola cruising around. We stopped at Angelina's for the best hot chocolate in the world, visited Monet's waterlilies in the Orangerie, walked the Champs Elysses, ate crepes, climbed l'Arc de Triumphe, visited les Halles, passed Pompidou, strolled Isle St. Louis, said a brief hello to Notre Dame, climbed Montmartre, listened to street performers, rode the Metro, and capped the evening off with dinner in the Latin Quarter, and another reunion and toast at the Tour Eiffel. I don't think I will ever tire of Paris, every time I go, it feels new and different, but at the same time, comfortable. Its been three years, but I scarcely had to look at the metro maps. I just knew where to go, and where everything was. It was like being back in Merrimack or Orono, I just know it so well. It just felt so wonderful to be back, UMaine was having their homecoming back home, and so I had my own in Paris. Interestingly enough, Viola knows Paris very well too, she was an au pair there in 2006, and it turns out that she and I were living just a few blocks away from each other, and never met. How crazy is that?

Oh the Louvre...

This might be my new favorite statue, its by Chaudet, and is of Phorbus finding the wounded baby Oedipus on the mountain side, I love the expression of compassion on Phorbus' face, and the dog licking the baby's feet.

Detail of Phorbus and Oedipus

This statue is one in a series, and is entitled: L'hiver (Winter). Incredibly fitting. Hard to believe that this began as a hunk of marble.

In Napoleon III's apartments, I just like taking photos from beneath chandeliers.

Not sure I am on board with Napoleon III's decorating style, it seems just slightly over the top... just a tad...

My personal all-access pass, with a terrible photo (they will not accept ID photos if you are smiling, so everyone's photo looks like a prison photo)

On Sunday morning, I got up early, and crept out of Julien's apartment, which had turned into a Youth Hostel, because when you have an apartment in Paris, everyone you know comes to stay on the weekend. I visited Notre Dame quickly before heading off to the Louvre to meet up with Viola (she and I, having school on Monday morning, needed to leave Paris early to get back to Bourges to prepare lessons, etc.). Oh the Louvre, I had almost forgotten how wonderful it is to just get lost in the largest museum in the world. And the best part is, being a teacher in France, I have what is called a “Carte Professionel” which grants me free access to EVERY museum and monument in all of France, which probably makes it the most useful thing ever. So Viola and I wandered the Louvre from the Egyptian collections, through the nineteenth century Greco-Roman revival sculptures to Napoleon III's apartments. I could spend an entire week in each wing of the Louvre. I love it there, I miss living just down the street from it.

Leaving Paris was extremely hard. Being away for three years made me forget how much I love the city. I love everything about it, from the way it smells (which is not always pleasant), to the noises, the bustle, and the pulse. I never feel lost in Paris, it really is a home away from home for me, and I never thought I would find that in one of the largest cities in the world. In 2001 I fell head-over-heels in love with Paris, and nine years later, that love endures. If I had a million dollars, my one frivolous purchase would be a small apartment there so I could go any time I want. For the moment, I must be satisfied with the odd weekend. It is terrible being so close, and not being able to be there all the time.

In the mean time, here in France we are gearing up for the Toussaint (All Saint's) holidays. November 1 is All Saint's Day (France being a predominantly catholic country, they get a week and a half off). The French also, sadly, skip Halloween entirely. So next week I am being joined by Maria, a fellow Park Ranger from back home, and we are going to be touring the South of France. I have covered much of the northern half in my travels, but the south has remained depressingly unvisited, until now. Next week I will add Nice, Marseille, Avignon, Aix-en-Provence, and Lyon to the list of cities I have visited in France. So less education babble and more adventure next issue, I promise.

The little gold rectangle is some kind of chip that is on all credit and bank cards here, not sure what it does, but apparently it is essential.

In other news, I FINALLY got my bank card. This has been a point of much stress, because here, a lot of the time, my bank cards and credit cards do not work, because they do not have the micro chip that cards over here do. So after three weeks of waiting, I now have a functioning bank card.

There still has been no official word on my social security, though my contract was nearly voided, and thus my visa due to a clerical error, so that was a bit fun. The French definitely like paperwork. Again, I am not a fan of the immigration process, there is a lot of waiting, a ton of questions, and very seldom are there answers.

Did you know that the price of baguette is regulated in France? A bakery is legally not allowed to charge more than 0.85€ for a baguette. I think that is very interesting, it is such an important part of their diet and culture that it is regulated by the government.

Also, in talking to my students, it seems that there are very few original French series on TV. Most of the television that the French watch (in terms of series) are American shows that have been dubbed, though they are usually a season behind over here. Apparently French shows just could not compete with the high-budget, high-talent shows we have in the US. I found this slightly disappointing, because I would have liked to start following a French sitcom, it bothers me to hear Dr. House speak in a voice that is not Hugh Laurie's, and for his words to be out of synch with his mouth.

I think I have gone on long enough for this edition of Feuilles. But I will be back in two weeks with more adventures to share. Until then, don't touch that dial!

I remain your linguistically challenged English Teacher,

~Monica

Episode II

FEUILLES FRANÇAISES EPISODE II ~ October 6, 2009

Dear Friends,

Welcome to Feuilles Françaises. You might call this the sequel to my critically acclaimed Paris Papers of 2006. Due to the success of PP, my editors (mainly Me, Myself, and I) saw fit to send me on another adventure about which to blog for your viewing pleasure. This time the name of the game is slightly different. I am here to work, yes, it's all legal, or so the consulate told me, though with how the system works, I still fell like there is a chance I will be deported, but more on that later...

My adventure began on September 24, at 6:00 PM when I boarded Aer Lingus flight 136 bound for Dublin Ireland. I was lucky enough to cadge an emergency exit seat, so I had plenty of leg room. It was a good day when I learned to ask for the emergency exit row on a plane. Six hours and change later, I landed in Ireland, the land of my ancestors. Aer Lingus is a very inexpensive airline by comparison, the only thing is, you do have to go through Dublin first, that's the catch, but I didn't mind one bit. It was a chance to visit another new country and get another passport stamp (Ireland's, by the way is green :oD). I had a 14-hour layover, so that was sufficient time to get down into the city.

Dublin itself is a smaller city, which was good seeing as I only had a day to visit. I took the Aerocoach into the city center, and immediately hopped on a double-decker tour bus to get the 90-minute tour of Dublin to get myself properly oriented. The tour passes Trinity College, the Molly Malone Statue, Christ Church, Dublin Castle, the Park, and one other famous place, but I forget the name, some guy brewed beer there one upon a time I think...

After the tour was over, I hopped off the bus, and headed to Trinity College, a very nice campus in the heart of Dublin with large stone buildings. In the center of the campus, there was an on going student organization fair, and I was forcibly reminded of the mall at UMaine. Trinity College is known for its Library and for housing the Book of Kells. The Book of Kells is an amazingly illuminated manuscript of the four Gospels of the New Testament. The transcription and decoration was done by Celtic monks sometime around 800 AD. Each page has the text copied in Latin with beautiful calligraphy, and then it is decorated lavishly with colored inks and images, some pages are full-page illustrations. Its really quite lovely. (Unfortunately, if you try to take a picture of the Book of Kells, you probably get tossed into some scary Irish prison, so I have none to show you). The Library itself was incredible. Two storeys high, full of ancient leather bound books with busts and statues of all the famous writers of the world. It smelled ancient and it was dusty and beautiful. Just perfect for a library.

Molly Mallone

From Trinity, I paid a quick visit to Molly Malone, perhaps you know the song...

In Dublin's fair city,
where the girls are so pretty,
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,
As she wheeled her wheel-barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!

The statue sits at the base of Grafton Street, the wide, commercial pedestrian street in the heart of Dublin. It was full of different stores and of course, many street performers. I made my was up Grafton Street, and caught a Taxi to Christ Church.

Irish Taxi Cab

Christ Church

Another View

Ok, so not really a Taxi, it was kind of neat. There were a number of young people standing around with these sort of rickshaw things offering free rides around Dublin. It was sponsored by Sprite, so I took advantage, and received a private tour from a very nice young Irish bloke who conducted me to Christ Church. Parts of the Church date to the year 1038. In Dublin, they charge you to enter the Cathedral, which I thought to be a little odd, never in France, Italy, nor Spain have I had to pay to enter a Cathedral, but in Dublin, I did.

Does this really require a caption?

I hopped back on a tour bus, because my ticket lasted all day, and headed up to the Guinness factory. I was advised, unless I really loved Guinness, to skip the tour, because of espionage they no longer really let you into the factory itself, and I was not hankering for a 20-Euro pint of a beer I don't like, but I did hop off and look around a bit. It smelled just like the Bud factory in Merrimack.

My final stop before heading back to the airport was Dublin Castle, which is not really a castle. It was originally, during the Middle Ages, build as a defensive structure, the buildings now form the governmental complex in Dublin. Dublin castle has been constantly used for the seats of the various and sundry governments in Ireland.

Along the street in Dublin

Dublin was decent. It was not as exciting as I expected it would be. I am glad I went, but as it has been pointed out to me, you don't go to Ireland to go to Dublin (except maybe on St. Paddy's day), you go to see the countryside, so I suppose next time, that is what I will do. I could see, from the higher points in the city, the rolling emerald hills that Ireland is known for, so yet again, rather than curing my desire to travel, seeing Dublin only deepened my interest in Ireland.

From Dublin, I headed south (on a tiny little plane) to the city I know and love above all others: Paris. I stayed with a friend who I know from my Paris VII days, he was kind enough to take me in for the night. Adrien lives in the Maurais, the Jewish Quarter where I used to spend my Sundays, right around the corner from where I used to go with my flat mate for felafel. After 36 hours of traveling, however, I was in no condition to do much enjoying of Paris, not to mention it was late at night, so my first night back in France was spent pursuing the ever-so-exciting sport of snoozing.

Only in Paris do you round the corner and see things like this...

Tour St. Jacques

However, Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny, and rather than get to Bourges and sit in a hostel (no real chance of working on the housing scenario on a Saturday in France, as I will explain later), Adrien suggested that I spend a leisurely day in Paris. And so I did. He proposed seeing a photography exhibition in a little gallery across from a little museum called the Louvre. To get to said gallery, we wound our way through the Maurais to a little rue called Rivoli. Turning the corner on to Rue de Rivoli, I was confronted by the Tour St. Jacques. It is the only remaining tower of a large Cathedral. The last time I saw it, it was covered in scaffolding, and looking very forlorn. Now, three years later, it is pristine, gleaming white, perfectly and expertly restored. It was a sight to behold, and it was so incredible to have proof positive that my city that I love, got more beautiful in my absence than it was when I left. I cannot describe to you the joy that being in Paris brought back to me. So much happened there, I became so much of who I am there, I will always be in love with Paris, and I will always be comfortable there.

After the photography exhibition, which was very interesting, photos of old Paris before Baron Haussmann, who really changed the layout and architecture of the city, Adrien and I did what most Parisians do on a Saturday afternoon, and took up residence in a cafe for a glass or two of wine. In Paris, in the little cafes that open to the street, all the chairs face the street so you can watch people as they pass. I don't think I could ever tire of sitting in a Parisian cafe, drinking lovely French wine watching the world go by. Absolutely the right way to commence my second long-stay in France. Reluctantly, I had to leave Paris, because my new life awaited me an hour and a half south west, in Bourges. I took a cab (a real one this time) to the train station. And as if to underscore the sense of wonder I felt being back in Paris, the cab drove right past Notre Dame, and right past Paris VII, my school, presently boarded up for renovations because of asbestos.

On the evening train to Bourges, I was fortunate and ran across three young girls in their Terminale (final year before the Bac examination) year of lycee (high school). They were from Bourges, and had passed the day shopping in Paris, imagine, being close enough to Paris to just swing by for a day of shopping! They were very nice, and offered me a lift to the youth hostel, which turns out, was very far from the train station, and I am very glad I did not have to drag roughly 120 pounds of luggage up and down the hill that is the city of Bourges. On our way through the town, I saw the Cathedral, all lit up (as they do with monuments here) and it looked massive.

Bourges is also known for the medieval houses lining the streets, shops are beneath them, but people still live in these houses, and they are not retro-style, they are that old.

A bird's eye view of Bourges

Bourges is right in the very center of France. France is divided into 22 regions, which are subdivided into 100 departments, and Bourges is in the region Centre, and the department Cher (named for the Cher river). Bourges is the capital of the Cher department. It is technically a city, but has the feel of a small town. Bourges has approximately 72,000 (well, 72,001 if you count me) residents. The city is on a hill, and at the top is the Cathedral, and the city kind of trickles down the hill from there. Rue Moyen is the main road, and there are lots of little side streets packed with shops and businesses.

The Cathedral

Again. Sorry no pictures of the facade, but it is currently covered in scaffolding.

Inside...

One of the lovely stained glass windows.

Would it be one of my blog posts if there WEREN'T pictures of stained glass?

The Cathedral is called Saint-Étienne de Bourges, and construction began in 1195, it is on the UNESCO list of World Heritage Sites. It it, of course, a Gothic cathedral (note the flying buttresses), one of the earlier examples of that style, actually, and it is, absolutely massive. The facade is currently undergoing some restorative work. And of course, my favorite part is les virtaux, the stained glass windows. And they are lovely here in Bourges, I checked them out pretty early on on Sunday morning. How could I resist? You can also climb one of the towers, and so I did and took a look out over the town and the surrounding country.

People dancing in the park on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

I spent much of the first week trying to find housing, exploring the town, filling out paperwork, and hanging out with the other teachers. Bourges is fortunate, and has three English teachers that I know of, two Spanish teachers, and one German. Bourges has a very old-world small town feel. Walking through the streets the whole first week, I had the opening number of the Beauty & the Beast movie running through my head. It feels a lot like that. People even do talk to you from their windows that overlook the streets. And every Sunday, when the weather is nice, there is a live band and a dance floor in the park beside the cathedral.

My room!

My desk... from which I will be blogging

The school was not overly helpful with the housing situation. They offered to help find housing, but I would have to allot about 2/3 of my salary for housing alone, not including utilities. So I, and the others had little choice but to find our own. I was very lucky, I was looking for a room to rent, because an apartment would ultimately be too expensive, and very difficult. Furnished apartments are hard to come by. I also liked the idea of not living alone. Through Adrien, who seems to know every single resident of Bourges, I met Marie-Paule Masson, who was renting a room in her home. She has two grown daughters who no longer live at home, and she was widowed in 2005, she is the same age as my parents, actually. I was able to meet her, and decided to rent the room she was offering. She is very, VERY nice and so far things are going very well. It is really nice to come home at the end of the day and have someone to talk to. It's her house, and I pay rent to her, but it is more like having a maternal roommate than a landlady. So all in all, I am very lucky. The best part is, I live just a few minutes walk from one of the schools where I am working.

As I mentioned before, I am being shared between two schools, two collèges (middle schools). My primary function is to teach and facilitate conversations. My official title is Language Assistant, but I will be responsible for planning lessons, teaching, etc, but in France, I cannot be legally part of the grading process, and am not certified as a teacher in France. One of my schools, Littre, is right in the center of town, about ten minutes from my house on foot. The other, Jean Renoir, is about four kilometers away, which with a car would not be an issue, but it is a little far to go on foot, so I bought a bus pass and have had an interesting time learning the bus system here in Bourges. All total, I have almost 20 classes who I will be working with for the next seven months. Collège is four years instead of three. Most of my students are between the ages of 11 and 15. In France, foreign language Education begins in primary school. Today I started work with students in the third year, which in France means they have three years left before they sit the baccalauréat, which all students must take to graduate from high school. In France, the grades go backwards, their equivalent of “Senior year” is called terminale. Junior year is “first year,” their equivalent to sophomore year (though for them this is the first year of high school) is “second year,” and so on. The students understood English very well it seemed, so long as I remembered to speak slowly, but they were very timid when it came to speaking. It took a lot of poking and prodding to get them to speak. It is also hard for a lot of them because many French English teachers speak English with a British accent, and so my accent is very strange to them.

School itself is going well so far, I've only just started really, but the logistical part of things is going terribly. The French really love bureaucracy and paperwork. I now cannot understand why anyone would want to be an immigrant, because that is what I am, and it's a non-stop headache. Before I could do any paperwork, I needed an address, and that took a couple of days to organize. Secondly, I needed a bank account, because in France, that is easier said than done. In the US, as I recall, opening a bank account is pretty straight forward, you walk into a branch, ask to open an account, specify the type, plunk down your initial deposit, and five to ten business days later you get a bank card in the mail. In France, you have to have official documentation of your residency in France in order to open a French account, I needed a signed attestation from Marie-Paule, and I had to take her passport to the bank. I also have to PAY for the bank card, something along the lines of 20 Euros. And with a French bank account and card, there are all sorts of rules and fees. I can only make a certain number of withdrawals per week, I can only make a certain number of debit purchases per week, etc. And by the way, you have to wait two to five days for your account to process before you can open it. I needed the bank account ASAP, because in France, your only option to be paid is direct deposit, and in order to be paid by the end of October, all the paperwork needs to be filed by October 10, otherwise, no pay until December. I think I have the bank business squared away now, but here you can never be sure.

With the domicile and money thing off the list, next comes the process of becoming “French” for the duration of my stay. Working in France means I am paying taxes, paying taxes means I qualify for French Social Security and Health Care, but in order to do that, I need to “become French.” How this is done, I am still not certain, and no one can seem to tell me. This all circles around a document called a Carte de Sejour, which as near as I can tell, amounts to a Green Card. Now, I presently have permission to be in the country under my Visa, but staying in the country is the sticky wicket. The immigration rules very recently changed, and no one seems to be exactly clear about what they are, least of all the immigrant (me). So I am currently sitting in immigration limbo while the schools, federal and local governments figure out how this all works. Basically someone needs to decide whether or not I need this card before I can do much else. In my next life, I would like to be born a citizen of the European Union, because they do not need to worry about any of this nonsense. In the meantime, I fill out endless forms, which I mostly don't understand, and hope I don't get deported. :o)

The Loire River

Joan of Arc in front of City Hall in Orléans

The Cathedral at Orléans

I had not seen a stained glass window like this one...

When I am not in school, waiting to be deported, or filling out forms in a vain attempt to avoid deportation, I have gotten a chance to travel a bit. I recently visited Orléans, which is the capital of the Centre, for a conference of all the foreign language teachers (there are some 150 of us in the region). The city is perhaps best known for being liberated by Joan of Arc in 1429. The Loire River runs through the city, and it is the unofficial capital of the Loire Valley. According to my hosts, the Loire River is the last completely wild river in all of Europe. We did get to take a short tour of the city including the Cathedral, but I think I will need to visit Orléans again, because it is hard to get the measure of a city from a 60-minute walking tour. Still, the brief visit was enough to pique my interest.

City Hall in Tours, it looks a lot like the one in Paris

The Cathedral in Tours

The Briand Family

Given that I was already out and about for the weekend, I decided to take an old friend up on an invitation to visit his family in Tours, the largest city in the Loire Valley. I met Benoît under interesting circumstances while working at Lowell National Historical Park. He was visiting Boston (his father having sent him to stay with an old school chum from a study abroad stint), and we happened across each other in Lowell, and I ended up showing him around Boston and New Hampshire for a couple of days. Thanks to the miracle of the modern technology of Facebook, we stayed in touch, and now that I am back in France, it is his turn to be the host and guide. I spent a very leisurely weekend with my hosts, the Briand family. Who were fantastically kind.

A View of the Tours Opera house from backstage.

In Tours I visited the Opera house, which is very much like the Paris Opera house, only smaller. It was very interesing, because they were having an open house, and allowed the public to go back stage, to the dressing rooms, into the light booths, and into the costume cache. It was very neat. Also in while touring Tours, I got to visit the Cathedral, and just walk around the city. It is called Little Paris, and it does very much resemble the French capital. Tours definitely merits another visit!

Tours is in the heart of Loire wine country. Allegedly, the French spoken by the natives of Tours is said to be the purest French without any trace of accent. Tours is home to another cathedral (built in the 1500's), and is near many of the famous chateau of the Loire Valley. The Loire Valley is home to more than 300 chateau many of which were occupied by the kings of France up through Francois I. The kings would spend the summer months, as well as the hunting season moving from chateau to chateau with their entire court and entourage. Until King Louis XIV (the Sun King) the Loire Valley was the seat of royal power in France.

The Chateau at Amboise

From the back yard

Inside the King's chappel at Amboise, it is basically a miniature Gothic Cathedral

Da Vinci is burried in the chappel at Amboise

During my weekend in Tours, I did have the chance to take in the Chateau at Amboise, which compared to many of the others, is small and plain. However, it was the favorite chateau of Leonardo Da Vinci, who at the end of his life, was the honored guest of King Francois I. He even designed a staircase for the king at Chambord. It is because of Da Vinci's friendship with Francois I that the Mona Lisa came to be in France's possession where it remains at the Louvre. When Da Vinci died, he left the smirking lady in Francois I's possession. Leonardo, the embodiment of the Renaissance died in the Loire Valley in 1519. He requested to be buried at Amboise, where he remains today. So I paid my respects at the tomb of possibly one of the most brilliant men who ever lived.

Inside the Great Room in the Chateau at Amboise

The chateau at Amboise is slightly infamous for the death of a king, Charles VIII, who bumped his head during a tennis match and died several hours later, presumably of intracranial bleeding. Amboise saw the crown of France passed around very quickly from the death of Charles VIII, who died without and heir, to his cousin, the Duke of Orléans, who married Charles' widow. The Duke of Orléans became Louis XII, none of his three royal marriages produced a son so upon his death the thrown went to his first cousin's son, Francois I. Sorry, I could not resist the history lesson, and for all the Park Rangers reading this blog, all this information came from a fantastic guide at Amboise.

Now that the history lesson is over, it is time for everyone's favorite feature, my color commentary on life in France. In my first week, I encountered many interesting things about France. I was forcibly reminded of some things: people bring their dogs in shops, EVERYTHING (and I do mean EVERYTHING) is closed on Sundays, and the ground floor of a building is floor number zero. But I came across several new things I had either forgotten or not observed.

The French, in general seem to be much more energy conscious than many Americans. Their light switches are even positioned thus: in a hall way there are two switches, one at each end to turn the lights on and off. So that you can walk the length of the hall with the lights on, and then turn them off at the end, and usually the switch for the next room is right beside the hall switch. I think it might be because electricity is more expensive here, but I cannot be sure.

Here, in Bourges, everything closes in the middle of the day for lunch. Stores, banks, etc, everything but restaurants close from noon until 1:30. So tant pis pour toi (too bad for you) if you need to do anything on your lunch break. Monday is kind of an odd day too, most things, banks and the like, are closed on Mondays as well as Sundays, so there are two days out of every week where you cannot do much.

I forgot completely that the French use military time all the time. So I am constantly subtracting 12 in order to know what time I am supposed to be somewhere. I suppose this all leads to less confusion in the long run, but for the moment, it just makes my head hurt. No need to clarify AM or PM, just do a little math, which for some of us, is a big problem.

Students are in school for a full day, that is to say, 8 AM until 5 PM, though they do get an hour for lunch, and many of them do go home. But because of the long day, most sports and extra curricular activities take place on Saturdays, so in general, French students are in school a lot longer than American students. They also get more vacations than American students. In France, they pretty much get a two-week vacation every two months.

I am sure I am forgetting things, but for the moment I have prattled on long enough. Besides, I have to save something for the next edition. That's it until next time, until then, I will remain your favorite potential deportee,

~Monica

Me at Dublin Castle