This ship was built to last

So thank you all for the kind words from my previous rant. I do feel better after my vent. Last week wasn't the greatest, and things here just got to me. I am completely fine though, but thank you all for your concern. It means so much to me. I love you all and I can't wait to see you. OH! And also, just for clarification because there has been some apparent confusion- the last thing I wrote on that post was "the hundreds that are on there" statement. The rest were things from the assistants forum.

I went out Saturday afternoon, after the storm had passed. Bordeaux actually fared pretty well, especially compared to cities south of here. I took a few pictures, but I have yet to take them off my camera. So here are a few pictures, stolen from another assistant and the BBC website.

These are what covers the roof of every house in Bordeaux. The streets were covered in pieces of these. It was kind of cool.



This is at the Parc Bordelais. That tree fell right through a metal fence.


This was in Pessac, which is basically like southern edge of Bordeaux.
But yeah, I will post my pictures at some point, maybe. The Jardin public is still closed. I am going to go up there at some point and take pictures. But again, aside from broken glass everywhere, Bordeaux held up quite nicely.

Tomorrow all of France will be more or less shut down because of strikes. There is a teachers strike, a public transportation strike, a train strike, and at least two others that I don't remember. I am a bit bummed because had the teachers strike OR the public transportation strike have happened today or Friday, I would have gotten a day off of school. But I don't work on Thursday, so the only thing it really does for me inconvenience me by having no way to get anywhere and crowds of students everywhere.

I am 2 1/2 weeks away from winter break. I am going to Morocco. I bought my ticket today. I am flying from Madrid to Casablanca on February 15th. I am way excited. And I need to figure out some way to get down to Madrid.

Just let me vent

I am not saying that this is not a great experience. And I know there are much worse places that I could be, under much worse circumstances. BUT, I feel like I just need to say something.
I know sometimes I get negative. However, some days this is just really really difficult. Anyone who does not understand why I feel this way HAS NEVER BEEN IN THIS SITUATION. Please really imagine traveling over 4000 miles away, with no permanent place to stay, in a city you have never been, with only a shaky grasp of the language, ALONE. When you try to find a place to live, they tell you no because you don't have a bank account. When you try to get a bank account they tell you no because you don't have a place to live. You pay double for a cell phone because you don't have a place to live or a bank account. You have to fill out mounds of paperwork in a foreign language in order to get an "advance" on your sad excuse for a salary. The "advance" being getting paid after 5 weeks of work instead of 8. Not being able to get a deferment on your student loans because you can't provide proof of your pitiful income because you have yet to receive a pay stub, despite the job being more than half over and every time you call to ask about it you get told a different answer by a different person (which reminds me, mom or dad can you email me my checking acct balance?). Knowing that in addition to having to continue paying your student loans, the lack of pay stub is also costing you money in the form of the CAF, which is the French government's housing assistance, but of course you need to have proof of your income in the form of a pay stub to receive the CAF. Sitting at school for two hours, during which that time your teacher walks past you 15 times, showing up for class only to have said teacher say "Oh, I don't need you today. I forgot to tell you." Getting mocked for having an accent that isn't English. Having your French corrected and laughed at by 13 year olds who 10 minutes earlier asked you the question "Where you go I can Las Vegas?" but fail to see any correlation. Having your colleagues constantly on your case about your reading material, social circle, and lack of lunch because you would rather sleep an extra 10 minutes than pack a lunch. Most days I just laugh everything off with an "Oh France" and take it as part of the experience. But some days, it just gets to me, and whoever I am currently emailing or talking to gets the brunt of that frustration. Don't think I am unhappy here, despite having those times when I wish I could just close my eyes and when I open them I would find myself in the US, laying on a couch watching American TV while eating peanut butter and drinking skim milk. And at the same time, don't judge me or think I am ungrateful. Because again, until you have been in this situation, it might be impossible for you to really understand. Most days I don't want to leave here, and I know I will be sad when I do have to. And just so you know it is not just me, here are some posts from the assistants forum from people feeling the same thing. And these are just a few of the hundreds that are on there.

This is CREEPING by. Holed up in here reading books and watching the 24/7 Mystery Science Theater 3000 channel on justin.tv. I wish I could travel somewhere but I have zero money as 80% of my paycheck goes to rent. Ahh. C'est beau.

January kind of sucks anyway, but when you're so far away from family and friends and your "real life," yet are not on vacation (and can't really afford to do much either), it seems especially long (I too am counting the days until February vacances, even though I'm totally not ready to go yet). I feel really ungrateful, especially since everyone who's NOT here is like "you're in France! You're so lucky, you must be having such a great time!" and I do appreciate a lot about it, obviously, but in general I'm just feeling...blah.

It is worth remembering, I think--particularly in January and I as well have a serious case of grumpy-pants-syndrome--that it is normal for people at home to think that every moment in France is fun-filled and care-free; even if we know that it isn't.

I miss: houseplants, my library of books, having more than a suitcase's worth of clothing options, hanging out with known-em-since-high-school friends, knowing I can "invest" in purchases that will "last" for a long time vs. buying cheap shit/not buying anything at all because it won't fit in the suitcase, seeing my family...

I hate feeling guilty that when people make the comments "You are so lucky to be in France; aren't you having the time of your life?" I have to put on a fake smile and say yes.

I went home over the break as well and have spent the last two weeks recovering from it. It was so nice to be back, and so hard to say goodbye and return to this place...seriously, two weeks, and I can't even really put it down to jetlag because I was pretty much done with that after the first week, and even the weather here has been more or less decent. In that it hasn't been raining a lot. How many months left? Oh, yeah, and I'm the girl that says at the end of every week, "Only X more weeks till February vacances!"

i just don't care AT ALL any more... my lesson plans are basically "carry a yearbook to every class and if the teacher doesn't have something, let's look at pictures."

why today is boring

Maryse has forbid me from leaving the house today. This is why.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/7848719.stm

I've never heard anything so loud. It has been going on since around 4 in the morning. It seems like it is slowing down some. I'll take pictures when I am finally allowed to leave.

I could also post this in the Koch cousin food blog...

One of my roommates is a Korean girl named Jeungeun. I call her Jay. Jay and I have some communication issues, given my nonexistent level of Korean, her nearly nonexistent level of English, and both of our mediocre at best level of French. But we get by. One of our common topics of conversation is what she's cooking for dinner. Before Christmas, almost religiously for dinner every night she made what I think of as French Korean goulash. She would dice up up (her knife skill are amazing and would put to shame most of the cooks at Benihana) a little of every food she had at the time, and put it in a skillet, cook and serve. Most nights this started with a skillet full of onions, then she would add hot dogs, broccoli, mushrooms, zucchini, scrambled eggs, several spoonfuls of rice that had been cooking in her rice cooker all afternoon, and a couple pieces of croque monsieur cheese (basically like American cheese) melted on top. Then she would spoon it on her plate, cover it in ketchup, and eat. One night she gave me a plateful of it. It was unique. She must be burned out on it though, because since returning from Christmas, I have not seen her make it a single time. The first few weeks I was back, she lived on moldy squash and the French version of Slim Fast. And now she is eating some sort of BBQ her mother mailed her...from Korea. I don't get it either.
Last night, she made dinner for her friend. It was Korean sushi. She tried explaining to me how it was different than Japanese sushi, but I did not understand what she was saying. I looked up "Korean sushi" and learned that what she made was pretty common, but I still couldn't bring myself to try it. The ingredients of this sushi were seaweed, rice, tuna mixed with mayo, crab (flavored) sticks, strips of egg cooked omelet style, spoonfuls of scrambled eggs, hot dogs, sesame seed oil, carrots, spinach, and Asian pickled radish (google that, food shouldn't be that color, reason number one why I don't drink Mountain Dew). I felt bad turning her down when she offered it to me. I usually try to be open minded and try things at least once, but I just couldn't do it.

Thank you 50 Cent for making my life that much more interesting

Today I was working with my students doing a drawing activity. One student could not keep his pencil quiet. He was tapping the desk, hitting the student next to him, etc. After telling him to stop numerous times, I finally took his pencil away. I had just given it back to him, when he dropped it on the floor. He rather loudly said "PUTAIN!"
Putain, although different in meaning, has a rating similar to our F word on the vulgarity scale. So I yelled at him, to which he replied (in English) "Sh!t that ni**er"

The other day I was working with my little kids on talking about one's appearance. I was having the kids describe their brothers. One boy raised his hand and said "Miss, what is English for les poils?" I didn't know that word, so I said "I'm sorry, I don't know what that word means" So then he said "Comme ("like", and the kids still think it is an English word)this" then he pointed to his chest. I was still confused, so then he pointed to his arm, and the hair on his head. I finally figured out he was asking me the English word for chest hair.

grab your bongo and a megaphone

There is one place, and one place alone that is acceptable to park at O’hare.


Across the street from our house, there is a building. Having too much time, and not enough money to do anything truly interesting, my roommate and I have spent a great deal of time looking out the dining room windows, wondering what they are doing in there. We can see large, industrial machines of some sort or another. So we know that it is not someone’s house. Every weekday, we can see a couple men in there working. From time to time, they look at us staring down at them. For a few months now, we have been joking that we are going to make a sign that says “What do you do there?” So last week, after once again getting caught staring, we decided it was time to make the sign. It was hanging in the window a few minutes, before we noticed the guys were looking and pointing. We took the sign down. Several minutes later, one of the guys put up a sign in his window that said “I slave away”
(Sorry, my picture is blurry).

So then Anya made a sign that said “The mysteries continue.” At this point, it was getting to be quitting time, so he put up a sign that said “See you tomorrow for a new episode” and then he left shortly after. Our conversation has not continued since then, but I have high hopes for the coming months. I am still very curious as to what they are doing in there.

Every Saturday morning, I go to a giant farmers’ market at St. Michel. While I am not the only non Muslim there, I am definitely in the minority. So it is no surprise that the past several Saturdays there have been people passing out pro Palestine flyers. I follow the news pretty closely at home. However being without the evening news, WGN Radio, and a local paper delivered daily in the mailbox, I feel slightly out of the know here. I read my free newspapers I get at the tram stop in the morning. That news seldom sticks with me because I use it mainly as a way to improve my French, and I pay little attention to the stories themselves. Not to mention those papers are so bad that they make The RedEye seem like the Washington Post. Yeah, we are talking THAT bad. Anyway, I vaguely remembered reading about some happenings in Gaza City. In my mind, the details were sketchy at best. So this past Saturday in addition to the usual people passing out flyers, there were several people waving Palestinian flags, and I saw one woman carrying around a doll that was supposed to look like a dead baby. Later that afternoon, Anya, Pat and I were on our way home. We were walking a block down from the city hall, when we heard the roar of a crowd and some chanting. In my four months here, I have seen a teachers march, several students marches, and probably the most memorable was the pro/anti abortion rally that ended with tear gas. I love seeing the protests/marches. So we walked towards the sound to see what was happening, and once again France did not disappoint. It was a huge pro Palestine march, followed by a slightly smaller group of people showing their support for communism.

copy + paste + family friendly edit =recycle!

Driving home from the family Christmas celebration, my siblings started talking about relationships. I don't remember how they got on the subject, but they started talking about why I was single. They told me that I never give anyone a chance, and if I would just stop saying no to everyone who asked me out, I would be happily surprised. I told them that they were full of it, I do give people chances, and it's not me, it's them. Well, one thing led to another, and we ended up making a bet that I would say yes to every person who asked me out until Christmas of 2009. It was originally going to involve money, or something along those lines for the winner (I would win if I was single at Christmas '09, siblings would win if I was not). Then my brother realized that I would purposely end things in order to win the bet. So the winner would receive bragging rights only. Weak.
A few days before leaving for Christmas, I met a guy. I was walking to Auchan (kind of like a Target, my favorite place to get groceries/cheap stuff here), and he rode up beside me on a bicycle. He started talking to me. I really didn't feel like getting involved in any sort of conversation, so I pulled my headphones off, smiled politely, and said in my worst possible French "oh, sorry. I don't understand. I don't speak French." I started to put my headphones back on, expecting him to ride away. Instead, he gets off of the bike, and starts walking beside me, asking me what I was doing in France, where I was from, if I liked it in Bordeaux, etc. I cut the conversation short by saying that I had a lot to do, so I really should be going. He asked for my phone number, saying he wanted to do a language exchange, and he would help me with French, and I could help him with English (which he spoke about 4 words). I don't like giving my phone number to people, especially weirdos, so I said that I did not have a phone. So then he asked for my email address. Whatever. It is easy to avoid emailers, so I gave it to him.
He was creepy, in kind of that maybe someone should go to his house and check for diced up people in his freezer or crawl space kind of way. But there are a lot of people in Bordeaux. I wasn't worried. I thought I would never have to deal with him again.

I left, had good times at home, and arrived back in Bordeaux Friday evening.

After finally dragging myself out of bed around 2 on Saturday, I ventured out to go grocery shopping. I was still jetlagged, a little homesick, basically just kind of out of it. I was walking home from the Auchan, headphones in ears, thinking about other things, when all of the sudden I see a bicyclist ride up next to me, hop off the bike, and start walking beside me. I look over, and sure enough, it was the same guy. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying "Are you kidding me?" One million people in Bordeaux, and he's the person I see again. He starts rambling on about a ski trip he is taking this week. Under normal circumstances, skiers are second only to Cubs fans in the hierarchy of my weaknesses when it comes to guys. It wouldn't matter if this guy went skiing across the roof at Wrigley, he is a freak, and my normal guy standards do not apply to him. Then he asked me what I was doing that night. I said I was still very tired from my trip, and I was just going to be going to bed early. Then he asked what I was doing Sunday. My thoughts jumped back to the bet I had made with my siblings. I pondered for only a moment, before telling him that I had other plans. So, I blew my sort of New Year's resolution when the first opportunity presented itself. However, I would rather lose bragging rights to my siblings than be the reason all of this guy's neighbors are asking "What is that horrible smell coming from his crawl space?"

crazy bones in all her glory

While I was home, I was asked by a few people why I did not have any photos of Maryse. I said it was because it would be too awkward to take a picture with her. However, I found these gems in my bedroom. And a picture of a picture is second to none. Although she is wearing sunglasses in all of them, I think they really capture her sense of style quite nicely, especially the gold fanny pack in photo 3, and the starfish earrings that coordinate with both her blouse and her backpack (and I'm sure her belt as well, although it is not seen in the picture). And also, please notice her shoes in photo 1. There are no words...

a good idea for birth control is to have people ride on planes with kids

I was really excited to go home for Christmas. Unfortunately, I blinked and I found myself headed back to the airport. I did a lot in those two weeks though. I saw people, did lots of Christmassy things, had a job interview, worked several nights (not what I had originally planned, but I was really happy to see everyone at PQ and the money is definitely needed), and most importantly I had a lot of immediate and extended family time.
I was asked several times if it was weird to be back home. Initially it was. I saw these two women going through security at CDG

Before even hearing them speak, I knew that they were American. After this, Anya and I spent the rest of the time at our gate, and a while on the flight, guessing whether people were French or American. It felt bizarre to see so many Americans in one spot. But as soon as I saw my family at the airport (or maybe the next morning because by the time I got home that night I was so tired that I couldn’t sleep and that whole evening seems like a bit of a blur), it felt completely normal. Aside from a few times when I said “pardon” to random strangers after stepping out of their way, and having to bite my tongue to keep from saying “Merci. Au revoir” to cashiers, it felt like I never left.
I have never been one of those truck driving, flag wearing/waving, gun toting, proud to be an American, meat and potatoes kind of people. But I saw this painting in a store window a few weeks before I left Bordeaux.


I thought it was the best quote that I have ever heard. And when the customs officer in Chicago stamped my passport and said “welcome home” I wanted to kiss him. I was so happy that America is my home, and that I was there. Part of me felt like I was being over dramatic. There are obviously people who go away for a lot longer and to much worse places than southwestern France. But I felt how I felt, and I make no apologies for that.
My trip back to Bordeaux was less than pleasant. Traveling is never enjoyable. Being other places is, but the actual act of getting there is not. To get home I (all the while carrying two suitcases, a backpack, my computer bag, and purse) walked from my apartment to the tram stop, took the packed tram to the train station, took the TGV to Paris, took the Paris Metro to a different train station, left my two suitcases and computer bag in lockers at the train station, then got on a different Metro line to get to the hotel. The next day I took the Metro to the train station, got my luggage, took a train out to CDG, had a 10 hour flight home (actually closer to 9, but we sat on the plane an hour before it took off, it was fun), a 20 minute walk to customs, another 20 minute wait in line at customs, a happy airport family minus brother reunion, then a 2 hour car ride home. The trip back here made my trip home seem like nothing. After choosing between Twilight or some lame James Patterson novel at the sad excuse for an airport bookstore, I only had a little time before boarding, so I went to my gate. My gate was at the end of the concourse, so several gates were arced around a wide open tiled space. I sat down, and quickly noticed there were 3 kids, ranging in age from probably 5-9, playing in the open space. They had their shoes off and were sliding on the tiles, playing tag, screaming, rolling around on the ground, etc, right in the middle of the crowded concourse. I sat there watching them, feeling slightly annoyed. But I wasn’t worried, there were several gates in the area, so I was thinking that they probably wouldn’t be on my flight. Plus I had heard their mother speaking to them in English, so I was even less worried. Then, I heard their father start talking to them in French, and the kids answered in French. I still wasn’t that worried though, because a 767 is a big plane. They probably would be nowhere near me. When they called my group to board, I saw them get up too. I thought, okay, there are several rows in each group, I was probably still okay. I got to my seat. I was in the left seat of the 3 middle seats. The two boys were in the other two seats. Their sister was directly behind me. Their mom was diagonally behind me, across the aisle, and their dad was behind her. Mom was throwing a fit because they were so spread out. I saw my opportunity, and I ran with it. I kindly offered to switch seats with mom or dad, that way they could be sitting next to their boys. Mom said “Oh, thanks. I might do that. I will think about it.” I guess she decided she wanted a break from her horrible offspring though, because about 5 minutes later she said “Oh, you poor thing. Have fun.” I guess that answered that. For the next 8 hours I had sister kicking the back of my seat. The boy next to me kept putting his feet on my lap. He spit on me every time he leaned over me to yell at his mom. He knocked into my shoulder every time he turned around to yell at his sister. His sister spit on me every time she left her seat, came up to my row, and leaned over me to talk to her brother. The boy got butter and bread crumbs all over my blanket when he was eating his dinner. And the two boys wrestled around almost the entire time. The parents slept like babies for most of the flight. I did feel slight vindication when the flight attendant yelled at the mom as we were landing. The boys were sleeping, and not wearing their seat belts. The flight attendant asked me if the boys were wearing theirs. I gave him my “I don’t know and I couldn’t care less” shrug. Then he asked where their parents were. I pointed to the woman still sleeping soundly behind me. He woke her up, and made her come and put the boys’ seat belts on. She put the middle boy’s belt on, but not the one on the end. Then she went back to her seat. The boys continued sleeping. As the plane continued its descent, the flight attendant came by again. He saw that the end boy’s belt was not on, and he tried waking him up. He didn’t stir. He tried again, then he said to the woman “You need to come and fasten his seat belt” She must have given the flight attendant a look, because then he yelled so loudly that probably most of the plane heard “Ma’am, he is not my responsibility, so you need to get up here and put his seat belt on.” At this point he pulls the boy up, grabs the seat belt which had fallen between the seats, and fastens the boy in. Then he looked back at the mom, and said “I did it. You can just stay sitting there. Thanks for all your help” And then he walked away. As a final going away present, the mom wasn’t paying attention when we were in the customs line, and she walked right into me.
The American/Euro trash family was not the only thing that made my flight less than enjoyable. I have an irrational fear of flying. I especially hate take offs. I am always positive that the plane is going to take off, get a little bit off the ground, then crash back to the ground, or explode midair. The plane had been in the air for all of about 2 minutes, when it hit the worst turbulence I have ever experienced. The whole plane was shaking, especially the overhead bins. I was positive that this was the end for me. The turbulence continued for most of the flight. I was also sitting right above the landing gear, so I heard/felt it when the landing gear came up, and went down. I am in awe of planes, but I don’t like thinking about the mechanics of them. It freaks me out. And I especially don’t like knowing that when they are coming up and down, the things that stand between me and a fiery death sound like my car trying to start on a February morning. An hour bus ride, a 3 hour wait in the 35 degree train station, and an almost 4 hour train ride later, I was back in Bordeaux, a short 26 hours after leaving home.