Visit to Saint-Malo

I slept in this morning. Nothing happens on Sundays here, anyway. Even the boulangerie nearby is closed. Yesterday I accompanied the other teaching assistants here on a trip to Saint-Malo, the nearest large city to Dinan. Saint-Malo is a short train or bus ride from Dinan. It sits on the edge of the ocean, cornered on the left by the mouth of the river Rance as it meets the sea. It's the ultimate port town; soft, smooth beaches outside of stone ramparts encircling the tightly knit houses and streets that make up the old town. Though it's not obvious at first glance, much of the towers and ramparts around Saint-Malo are new. The city was all but obliterated during WWII, and they spent many years rebuilding it all.
It was a cold but sunny morning when we made the walk from the train station to the port. The gates to the old town are impressive, with the towers of the Hotel de Ville on one side and walls on the other. There, we met the gang of American assistants from Saint-Brieuc, who suggested we visit one of the rocky islands around the city, made accessible by foot at low tide. It was indeed low tide, so we scampered across the sand and over the rocks to the doors of the Fort National, which was closed, of course (the tourist season officially ends  on September 30th in Brittany), but from there we had a very impressive view of the city. The American assistants then left us to explore the city while we attempted to reach the second island, le Grand Bé, where Chateaubriand's tomb lies. Unfortunately, the tide was already lapping up over the path to the island by the time we'd negotiated our way over the sharp rocks to the other beach, so we entered the city walls instead. It's very clear by the number of souvenirs shops and ice cream and sweets stands that Saint-Malo is accustomed to a healthy population of tourists, at least in the old town, but this didn't make the visit any less interesting. We stepped inside the Cathédrale Saint-Vincent, which is curiously asymmetric but has stunning stained-glass windows.
At noon, we returned to the train station to pick up the Italian assistant, Michéle and a Spanish assistant, Nuria, and then went to have a picnic on the beach. It would have been quite pleasant if it weren't for the chilling wind. We stayed, huddled in our coats, long enough to finish our sandwiches and then opted for a brisk walk in town followed by hot chocolate at a café in the sun. It was a good day. Nuria and Michèle accompanied us back to Dinan to spend the night. We played "I spy" on the train home, and made dinner together at the assistant's apartment in the Lycée. Michèle is a good cook. We ate, laughed, and drank wine. It's amazing how being strangers in a strange land can bring a diverse group of individuals so close together. Visiting a new city was fun, but the real point of the outing was just to be together, to enjoy each other's presence.

Internet

 It’s amazing how easy it is to take wifi for granted. Luckily, I have a neighbor in the apartment complex who is eager to share the cost of hooking up a router with me, but for now I'm still having to go to the apartment of the other teaching assistants, across town, in order to do email in peace.

Now where was I... After arriving in Brittany, the assistant teachers gathered together in their separate départements (mine is Côte d’Armor) on october 3^rd for an orientation at which we filled out lots of necessary papers and were given some tips on teaching. It wasn’t quite enough to prepare me for my very first day of class, but I think mine was an extreme case; most assistants don’t start teaching by themselves right away.

I teach in 4 different schools, for a total of 12 hours a week. I teach English in an elementary and middle school in Dinan, and at an elementary school in Lanvallay, the town across the river from Dinan. As ridiculous as it sounds, I’m also teaching Spanish at another elementary school in Dinan, because Lidia can’t yet. There are only 2 students, and although they know almost as much Spanish as I do, I’m getting by all right for now. It helps to have Internet. It’s actually quite fun to dredge my memory for vocabulary I learned in high school.

It seems like school just got started, yet our first vacation is almost here. Toussaints, or “All Saints” vacation lasts from October 22^nd to November 2^nd. I’m still not sure what I’ll do during my week of freedom, but I know the Australian assistants are planning on visiting Bordeaux. I may look into visiting a farm nearby, I’m not sure. It all depends on when I get paid…

            I’ve taken a few pictures of the city. Here you can see the port of Dinan, nestled close to the river Rance. Most of the city is actually up on the hill behind, but there are many nice restaurants and old houses along the river. In the second photo, you can see the bridge I cross to get to Lanvallay. The third photo is of one of the towers on the ramparts, which are still intact.

Hello Brittany!

I flew into France on September 25th and found myself once more in the city of Paris, where I studied 3 years ago. This time, I would not be staying long.
I've been accepted into the Teaching Assistant Program in France, in which young people like myself are temporarily employed by the French government to teach their native language to French public school students. I will be teaching English to primary and secondary school students in a small town in Brittany, northwestern France. My contract is from October 1st to April 30th, though my visa allows a little leeway on either end. To find out more about the program, follow this link: http://www.frenchculture.org/spip.php?rubrique424&tout=ok

It was a blissfully uneventful series of flights that took me from Portland to Seattle, Seattle to Reykjavik, and finally Reykjavik to Paris with Icelandair. I met other teaching assistants in Reykjavik, heading to other parts of France. One of the girls was on her second round of assistant teaching in France.
Once in Paris, I headed straight for Aloha Hostel, located in the 15th Arrondissement. It was the closest hostel I could find to the Montparnasse train station, where I would be taking the train the next day to Rennes, and finally to Dinan. It was a fine hostel, despite the silly name. I picked up a deliciously greasy kebab from a restaurant nearby, found a bank, took out some money, and went so sleep at around 7pm.
The next day, I met with my good friend Nayla for coffee before rushing off to the train station. My contact person in Brittany, Madeleine Reux, came to meet me at the train station in Rennes.  She is the head of languages for the primary school district of Dinan, where she trains teachers to teach English. She is a kind and very funny person, who I've gotten to really like. I ended up staying with her for the next week, as it turned out that the hostel in Dinan, which I had contacted before leaving, had decided to close early.
To make a long story short, I eventually found an apartment with the Foyer des Jeunes Travailleurs, an organization that provides housing for young people, and have now settled in. I have made friends with the 4 other assistants assigned to Dinan; 2 Spaniards and 2 Australians, but one of Spaniards, Lidia, has broken her foot and will not be able to join us for awhile. I went to visit her in Rennes last weekend. We communicated a lot by email before I left because she is also the only other assistant working in primary schools, like me. The other three work in the high school, where they are also housed.
My first week of classes was a bit rough; I realized how little experience I have actually teaching little kids after my first class with rambunctious 7-year-olds. I left crying after class #2, when I completely lost control of the class. It's not that they are intentionally badly-behaved; they are really sweet kids one-on-one, I just hadn't learned how to handle a class by myself. This week was better, though it's still scary.
Dinan is a lovely town. Surrounded by medieval ramparts, the town center is full of half-timbered buildings, cobblestone streets, and two churches. There's an open-air market on Thursdays, where I do most of my shopping for the week. Cider and buckwheat crepes are the traditional specialties here.

More to come soon, I promise!

fotos de Barthelona

Barthelona

Classes finished on May 15th. Last Thursday I finally picked up my stuff from the printmaking studio, made some last prints, and said a tearful goodbye to everyone there. Now I only have packing and picture-taking to think about during my last week in Paris.
Summer has arrived. Outside the sky is blue and the sun is shining brighter than ever. The coats and sweaters I've accumulated during my stay are now completely useless, and while walking around I look longingly at the sundresses displayed in shop windows.
I woke up late this morning. I've been exhausted ever since I got back from Barcelona late Wednesday night. It wasn't so much the trip that tired me out, but the flight. So many hours were spent getting to and waiting at the airport, all for a flight that lasted only and hour and a half. Barcelona, on the other hand, was fabulous.
I went with my friends Kathy, Peggah and Colman, who all go to Sarah Lawrence college. Kathy and Peggah are in the Paris program, and Colman is here for a visit. Kathy, the red head, is a lot like me in many ways. Those three turned out to be a great group to travel with; we all have similar interests, are relaxed, and so the 4 days we spent together were amazingly stress-free. We got a room for 4 in an excellent hostel a little ways from the center of town, far from the clubs and noisy streets of las Ramblas. We saw a lot of the sights: la Segrada Familia, the Picasso museum, the Cathedral, Gaudi's park, and many of the buildings he designed. Compared to Paris, Barcelona seemed extremely laid back, happy, and cheap. I've been told that Barcelona is an expensive city, but it's nothing compared to Paris. It was so nice to find good food for under 10 euros!
Speaking spanish again was difficult after 4 years of French. My vocabulary has been reduced to almost nothing, and I'm limited to speaking mostly in the present. However, unlike here in Paris, people really seemed to appreciate the fact that I was trying, and were so friendly and helpful. I also never once felt uncomfortable walking the streets, even though I was told by several people that Barcelona was dangerous. I suppose it's the same as any big city; you just have to be reasonably careful.
I should go soon; I have to go tutor in half and hour. Down below my window I hear the sound of suitcase wheels on concrete sidewalk. It's an almost constant sound here in Paris; people are always coming and going, leaving and arriving. When I first got to Paris the sound surprised me because I resembled that of my mother's wheelbarrow on the gravel driveway, but now I hardly notice anymore. In 8 days that'll be me dragging my own heavy luggage around the city and up and down metro steps. I will leave no trace behind. Paris will go on being a beautiful city full of strangers, artists and lovers and people like me who don't quite know why they're there.
Love to you all!!

Ahh, the French

Romantic sculpture in the Jardin de Luxembourg

Wine cups "to go," safely sealed for you lunchbox. Red, white, or rosé.

I thought it was about time that I gave a taste of French culture.

The French are so funny. They love to argue loudly about current issues over a café at a Brasserie, or over the dinner table. They discuss things with such fervor that to a foreigner it often sounds like a full out argument. I think they disagree with each other on purpose, just to draw out the conversation.
The people are for the most part very thin here. Especially in Paris, where looks and fashion are everything. Even the elderly ladies take their looks seriously; it has happened more than once that I've caught a very fashionably dressed older lady checking herself out in a store window. Scarves are very big here; even before it had gotten very cold, people whipped out their winter wear and sported their stylish neck protection, rain or shine. Many people firmly believe that if you go out without a scarf you are sure to fall ill.
The French are proud of their own culture. As one would expect, cheese, wine, and good bread all hold a very high importance. The US is often criticised for its' negative impact on French culture and the younger generations, however it's a love-hate relationship. The French LOVE American movies, food, music, etc. I've never passed by a McDonalds or a Starbucks in Paris that wasn't full of people. They are crazy about exact change(I've gotten glared at countless times for paying with a 20 euro bill), proper manners, good looks, and they enjoy silence on the metro. They pretend not to look at each other, but in reality they silently and secretly judge everyone around them. The French can also make a miniature café last for hours, as they sit and talk the day away.

At the beginning of the year we were given a long talk on "les bonnes manières," or good manners in France, during which we were instructed to do things like be on time and don't ask indescrete questions. From experience, however, I've found the French to be no more time obsessed than Americans, and although discretion is important to them, people have said things to me here that I never would have heard at home. Weight, for example, is not a taboo subject of conversation. It's not unusual for people to remark on the status of one's weight(whether you has lost or gained weight recently), and every time I eat lunch at the art studios I get lots of comments on what I'm eating for lunch. It seems as though all Parisian women are on a constant diet.

That having been said, I think I'll leave now to go get my pain au chocolat and enjoy every bite.

Wwoof, wwoof! (continued)

Belmont was cold. I haven't been so cold in a long time, especially at night. When we arrived there were small patches of not yet melted snow on the ground, although with the sun out the temperature was actually quite pleasant. Once the sun set, however, the air got colder and colder, and crawling into bed at night felt like crawling under sheets of ice. It reminded me much of my childhood. The house was heated by a wood stove in the kitchen, and although the kitchen was nice and warm, the rest of the house remained pretty chilly most of the time. It was so cold that I didn't want to take off my clothes, so I just went to bed every night in the shirt and sweater I had worn that day.
The Martinals lived a pretty simple life. Many conveniencies that most people would consider necessary, they had no problem going without. The bathroom had no door on it. A wall hid the shower and toilet from sight, and turning on the light warned the rest of the house that the bathroom was occupied, but this didn't stop Jessica and I from the constant terror that someone would walk in on one of us. It was also awkward to know that there was nothing much muffling the noise of your tinkle ( or whatever else you happened to be doing), as the bathroom was not far from the kitchen and the entryway. Then there was the toilet, which was missing its' seat. I've gotten used to squatting here at the Cité Universitaire because of the dubious cleanliness of the bathrooms, but something about the closeness of the wall to the toilet at the Martinals made relieving one's needs even more difficult.
Aside from the bathroom, the house was more or less normal except for the kitchen, which didn't have hot water or a fridge. As the days passed, I got more used to the family's way of life. We would wake up in the morning, eat a breakfast of tea, oatmeal and dried fruit, and then set about doing the tasks the farmer found for us. Meals were simple and healthy, and mostly consised of things that the Martinals either produced themselves, bartered for, or bought at the bio store in town. We ate goat cheese every day for lunch and dinner, no matter what else we were eating.
The area around Belmont was absolutely stunning. From the hill in front of the house you had an amazing view of the whole valley and mountains behind. Jessica and I took several long walks up into the mountains, down into a larger village called Artemare, and up on the hill where a 14th-century castle looked down on the farms below. The night before we left, Jean-Yves invited an old historian to dinner to tell us about the history the castle and the rest of the area. He stayed for at least three hours telling story after story about old ways of life, community festivals and traditions, counts, barons, and revolutions that changed the people and the countryside.
We had a great time. I'd love to go back.