Honey, grab a suitcase and put the kids in the car. We're going to Anglodonia!

One of the quirks of the French is that they seem to see the entire Anglophone world as one country. I learned this early on last year, when a teacher put me in front of the class and said "teach about Ireland." Momentarily, I considered singing the Lucky Charms jingle, but since France never jumped on board that magically delicious train, I knew my performance would be lost in a sea of blank stares. So instead, it went something like this-

Me: Uuuuhhh...I'm not Irish. Umm...I've never been there...The capital is Dublin.
Teacher : Yes. Ok. Good. Go over this test on Ireland with the kids.
The test included questions about Ireland's government and Gaelic football. The teacher, knowing full well that I am American, not Irish, was shocked at my lack of Ireland knowledge.
"But you speak English..."
French people, when you tell me what you are doing for the Fête nationale du Québec, then I'll tell you about the last time I ate bangers and mash while waving to Queen Elizabeth or give you a run down on Mary McAleese's (president of Ireland, I learned that from the test) life.

A few months ago, some of the teachers at the primary school were looking at a teach English magazine. The magazine was published in France, by French publishers, for French schools. Knowing that bit of information, it makes perfect sense that the October issue of a monthly magazine's cover would feature St. Patrick. This cover inspired the teachers to plan a St. Patrick's Day Festival. Then it changed into simply Ireland Day. The other English assistant at the school is from London. We kind of laughed that the school had two English teachers from different countries, but decided on a country neither of us knew much about. I was supposed to teach an Irish Song, the other English assistant was supposed to teach an Irish dance. A month or so ago, Ireland Day was changed into Anglophone Day. My task was changed from teaching an Irish song, to teaching an American folk song or the Star Spangled Banner. I know a lot of American adults who can't sing the SSB, so I thought teaching it to 12 classes of French primary school kids in a day would be nearly impossible, but funny nonetheless. Last week, they told me that I would be teaching all 12 classes "Head Shoulders Knees and Toes"

Great. I THOUGHT that would be way easier, since the classes I teach already know it. Plus it is obviously a way shorter song than the SSB and one that is intended for kids.
I was wrong.
Since I had to teach 12 classes the song, the teachers asked me if I minded arriving at school when it starts (8:30). I have around an hour and a half commute to school, but I agreed to it anyway. Then they changed my schedule around. And despite it being Anglophone day, they outFrenched themselves by not telling me about the switch. So I arrived at school around 8:15. I had my first class shortly after 9. No worries, because why would I want to get up at 6:45, when I could get up at 6:00, and sit at school doing nothing for 45 minutes?
Then the classes started. The thought didn't cross my mind until immediately after the first time I sang the song yesterday, BUT the HSK&T dance is basically just squats. I've never felt so out of shape in my life. By noon, it was PAINFUL to walk down stairs. I figured out that I did over 800 squats yesterday. I strained my quads on both legs, and am moving oh, so slowly today. I went to a birthday party last night, and considered taking the bus instead of riding my bike. But I hate the bus, so I opted for my bike. I don't know if that was good or bad, but the pain got worse as the night progressed, and it was a very very painful ride home.

Anglophone day ended with me standing in front of the entire student body, as well as the entire faculty, and singing HSK&T with the kids. One of the teachers video taped it. He said he would give me a copy after the break. We'll see if that actually happens.

Other thoughts on Anglophone Day:
-There are really only 3 types of French perfume-the scent worn by last year's contact teacher at Jean Zay, the kind worn by last year's first hour teacher at Jean Jaures, and the kind that last year's landlady/host mom wore. I ate lunch sitting next to a teacher who was wearing Mama DJ's (last year's landlady) perfume. Therefore, I spent the entire lunch hour feeling like I should be hiding what I'm eating to avoid criticism and being told it was so "américain" or holding my phone up to my ear and talking with no one to avoid conversation with her.
-The school prepared a special "Irish" lunch. I ate it. No part of it was Irish. Someone (who I am PRETTY sure is Anya, but I might be wrong, so sorry this wasn't you, Anya!) has a theory that the French are excellent at preparing French cuisine. When it comes to any other kind of cuisine though, they are lacking. Yesterday's lunch was definite proof of that theory.
-I got to work with the youngest kids in the school yesterday. SO cute, and of course better dressed than me.
-Thanks for the Skype date, Eliza!
-I never, ever, ever, EVER want to sing HSK&T again. So after vacation, my classes will start working on "I Just Can't Wait to be King" from The Lion King. It might be waaaaaay too hard for them, but I think it will be funny.
-Overall it was a really long, really tiring, but pretty fun day. All the teachers were so nice and expressed their thanks to me over and over again for staying all day. A lot of times we joke that this job is meaningless, and we are nothings in the schools. So it was nice to feel appreciated. And the kids were super cute yesterday.

Now we have two weeks off for our winter break. I am leaving tomorrow for Spain, and I can't wait!

celebrate good times!

On Monday, my contact teacher at Tivoli pulled me aside during our 20 minute break in the staff room. She said to me that she received an email from Karin (my roommate and partner in Tivoli induced pain) regarding a bad class she had. My teacher asked me if I had any classes that were that bad. I did not feel like really going into detail about it with her at that moment, so I just said "I have some bad classes, but it's ok." And she looked at me, and said "No, it's not okay. Sit here and tell me about it" So I sat down, and suddenly I felt the death stare of the teacher of my two awful classes. She was clearly listening to our conversation, plus we were speaking in French, so it was that much easier for her to eavesdrop. Then my contact teacher told me there were certain teachers who did not properly use me and Karin, and was kind of hinting that she wanted me to tell her the names of such teachers. My worst teacher was still watching/listening, so I didn't say much. But I was saved by the bell. As I was leaving the staff room, my contact teacher asked me if I would email her some more specifics. I said ok. I kind of grumbled at the thought of that "homework" because I didn't think anything would really change. But I did it anyway. And forget that French nonsense, I wrote it in English because it is easier to say exactly what happened and I didn't feel like having gmail open in one window and wordreference.com open in another.
Our email exchange:
Hi Florence.
How are you?
In answer to your question about the classes I work with, the 3°7 and the 3°3 are completely and utterly terrible. I'm sorry, I was trying to think of a nicer and more eloquent way to say that, but there are no other words. They do not do any work whatsoever during class. I have tried doing just speaking activities with them, but those have all been complete disasters. I have tried giving them worksheets, which are not really fun for anyone, and those don't work well either. I've tried giving them cartoons to look at and describe, and they just color the pictures in and do nothing related to English. I tell them that their work will be graded, but they don't care. Nadine has told them they will be tested on the work they do with me during class, but since we never get anything accomplished during class, there is never anything they can be tested on. There are many days when we get absolutely nothing done.
As far as what they do in class instead of working, they throw things-anything and everything that isn't fastened down (pencils, pens, papers, notebooks, my dictionary, a chair, pencil bags, etc). They get up and walk around, talk to the other students in the classroom, and ignore me when I say sit down and don't get up without permission. A lot of time is spent moving students to different corners of the room when they can't behave sitting with their classmates (but that doesn't work too well since there are only 4 corners in the classroom and there are usually at least 10 students that need to be moved). Sometimes I make them write lines "This is English class, not art class" "I will behave during English class" etc. I have to start each class by hiding all the chalk, and making the students put the carnets on their desks. I told Nadine after the first or second week that the classes were awful, and she said they were like that with the other teachers as well. I thought "well, at least it's not just me." Things continued getting worse, and shortly after the Toussaint holiday, I asked Nadine if I could start giving them detentions. She said no, that generally a detention was only used after writing in the carnets 3-4 times. So I write in the carnets, but it does no good. The students are more interested in learning my last name and seeing whether I wrote in French or English. A lot of days I do not even write in the carnets, because I would literally spend the entire class period writing in every single student's carnet.

For example on Monday, during the 3°7 class, Baptiste and Edouard (two of the absolute WORST ones, week after week) both ran out of class, saying they were going to be sick. I knew it wasn't true, but I could not go after them because I could not leave the rest of the class alone. Of course they came back right as the bell was ringing. Nicolas was the first one to receive a new seat on Monday, and then spent the rest of class period yelling at me, saying I was being unfair, singling him out because everyone was misbehaving, and so on. At one point, when I was trying to talk to Nicolas, Remy and Alexandre started pushing each other, or hitting each other with pencil bags, or something along those lines. That is pretty typical behavior for that class. The "good" students are the ones who don't hit anyone or throw anything, but rather sit and talk to their neighbors (in French, about things having nothing to do with English or the work they are meant to be doing).

Compared to the two 3°s that I work with, the rest of my classes are fine. They have their bad days, but that is normal and expected.
Sorry this is probably longer than you wanted, but if I left out any details you wanted, let me know.

I hope you are having a great week and I will talk to you soon.
Laura

hi Laura,

Thanks for your long email, I'm so shocked it went so far !!....I'm also very sorry about Nadine's behaviour because she obviously can't handle it herself and she didn't give you the right tips!!....

I had already told Mari-DO Lahitte and Patrick Nedelec( Head of college) about that unaccepatable and scandalous behaviour so they went to that clas to tell them off, which is not enough to me!! so I've told their head teacher this morning and trust me, these little fucking terrors will be severely punished !!( excuse my French!! I'm so sorry for you!!!it must have been a nighmare...)

Don't go to those classes from Monday, I will tell them why ! and you won't have them anymore, don't worry !!

rest and take time for you to relax, we'll talk about other classes but just after the holiday.

I'll try to see you tomorrow at school.

take care, Florence.

I have the best brother in the world!

mon amour grandiose

I don't remember how or when my fascination with France started, but I was 16 the first time I stepped foot in this country. I worked a job I hated in order to pay for the trip. I cried when I left home to go the airport. I cried when I said goodbye to my parents at O'Hare. It was the longest I had ever been away from my family (2 weeks), but that is not really what the tears were for. To this day, I don't know exactly why I was crying. I think partly it was because I did not know how else to act. I had never experienced a feeling like that before. I was getting something I had wanted for SO long.
France. In my mind, it did not truly exist outside of the pictures in my French textbook. It did not exist outside of the world of songs, poems, movies, and books. In my mind, a place so perfect could not possibly exist. As our plane was descending into Paris, Mrs. Ernst tapped my shoulder and pointed out her window. She said to me "Look, that's France" and I could not tear my eyes away. It was real. All I could see was grass, shrubs, and dirt. But, that was French grass, French shrubs, and French dirt. It was perfect.
For the next two weeks, I saved every single metro ticket, museum map, store receipt, mini jam jar served at the hotels' breakfasts, hotel soap, etc (which I still have in a box in my room :P). I bought countless post cards, and in the days before digital cameras, I blew through at least 10 rolls of 35mm film. I wrote down every single meal I ate, every hotel we stayed in, and every thing we did. I knew that my trip would only last 2 weeks, but I wanted to make sure France as an actual place stayed in my memory.
Fast forward 10+ years. Living in France definitely takes away some of the romance from time to time. More often than I should admit, the OOOH, FRANCE is replaced by UUUGGGHHHH FRANCE.
I spent the weekend in Paris. I am so lucky to be able to say this, but I have been to Paris so many times that when I am planning a weekend trip, I think I should go somewhere I have never been. But I can't put into words my love of Paris. It's Paris. Paris. PARIS. It is Paris. The lights, the buildings, the romance, everything is so Paris. So French. So perfect. Every time I go to Paris, I feel the same excitement and rush of emotion that I did when I was 16. Whatever UUUUUGGGGHHHH France feeling I have is always replaced by OOOOH, France. I never tire of the "touristy" stuff. It is Paris. Nothing is cliché. Everything is classic.
The only thing Paris is missing is enough accordion players so that there's one on each street corner.

Hotel de Ville, I kind of wish the stop light wasn't there, but still lovely.

quel French...I have no clue what this building is

a visit to the Marais for some falafel

The Seine at night

And on a rainy afternoon

Sacre Coeur, I'd never seen it before. SO BEAUTIFUL.

Montparnasse Cemetery

OFII could at least buy me dinner first

PREFACE
I need to again stress that I love France. I complain about it, but it is really all out of love. I am already dreading my May departure. This country is frustrating, and illogical, and a disorganized mess of paperwork and citizens who are seemingly void of any emotion (unless you consider indifference to be an emotion). But those are all things that make France, well France. Those are all things that make it interesting.

YESTERDAY
So yesterday, a short 4 months after arriving here, I finally had my medical appointment. The medical appointment is the last step needed for making my visa official. Basically it is a superficial physical. I learned last year that they schedule usually around 10 people for each time slot. They have one person doing x-rays, one person doing height, weight, and vision check, one doctor doing exams, and one person issuing the visas. Combine that with the many compulsory cigarette and coffee breaks taken by French people, and it makes for a very slow process. I thought that by getting to the office a bit early, I could maybe be one of the first, and not have to spend all afternoon at this appointment. I arrived 20 minutes early, and was the first one there. By the time the office opened up at 1:30, there were several more people waiting outside. The French word for line is bum rush. So when the doors opened, despite me being the first one there, I ended up with 4 or so people ahead of me. No biggie, I was still thinking things were looking good. When it was my turn to check in, I handed the woman at the reception desk my appointment letter and my passport. She looked for my name on her list, and said "Oh, we had you marked as being absent today."
Ummm...clearly I wasn't absent, so I just responded "oh, strange." The receptionist said she would fill out a form for me to have my appointment, but couldn't find them, so she yelled at a woman sitting in an office behind the reception desk. The woman told her where the correct forms were, and the receptionist started to fill it out. She had it about half done when she pulled out my application that I mailed in 4 months ago. There was a note written on it, that I never did get to see. But the receptionist looked at it, and said, "oh, there is a problem." Great. She then pulled out my work contract, and said "your contract expired in April of 2009." I looked at the contract and sure enough, it was last year's contract.
Me: That was from last year. I have a new contract this year.
Receptionist: You don't work at Jean Zay in Cenon anymore.
Me: No. I work at a primary school in Villenave d'Ornon.
Receptionist: Where is that contract?
Me: I mailed it in with the rest of my papers in October.
Receptionist: Do you have it with you?
Me: No, I mailed it in to you in October.
Receptionist: It is not possible for you to have a medical appointment without your contract.
So then she called again for the woman in the office. The woman in the office came out, and looked at my papers, and said again, oh, strange, it's not possible. How did this happen. Blah blah blah. So then she made me come into her office, while she looked through all of the papers I had mailed in. She handed me the contract from Jean Zay and asked me if the handwriting on the paper was mine. French people have very distinct hand writing, and this writing was clearly not mine. She looked through the papers, saying my contract had expired, it was not possible for me to have my medical appointment, etc. So then she was like, my supervisor comes in at 2. I'll call him then. So I sat and waited until 2. The next 45 minutes or so consisted of her making a few phone calls, coming out to the waiting room, asking me how this happened, gossiping with her co-workers, and saying "it's not possible."
Finally, a little before 3, she came back out, and said those magical words that I'd been waiting for "OK, you can go have your medical appointment now" I don't know what happened, but I didn't question it.
By this time, the people who had 3:00 appointments were starting to come in. Surprisingly though, I was actually able to get in and have my chest x-ray and my height/weight/vision checks fairly quickly.
X-Ray.
x-ray tech: take of ALL your clothes from the waist up. Are you pregnant?
Me: No.
X-R T: Ok, take of all your clothes from the waist up then come into this room.
Height/weight/vision.
More of the same.
HWV checker: Time for an eye exam. Do you where contacts or glasses?
Me: I have glasses, but I forgot to bring them.
HWV: Read this line.
Me (can't see it at all so I started saying random letters): E G I T, etc.
Exam finishes.
HWV: You have a problem with your eyes.
Me: I wear glasses, I just forgot to bring them.
HWV:You should go see an eye doctor.
Me: I see fine with my glasses.
HWV: You have a problem with your left eye.
Me, realizing she was clearly not paying attention to anything I was saying: Really? OK.

Then I had go see the doctor. I again had to remove my upper body clothing, and lay on the table while he pushed and prodded, listened to my breathing, looked at my teeth, took my blood pressure, etc. He was actually really nice and told me I was in perfect health.
Then, all I had to do was so wait for them to actually give me my new visa. OF COURSE, the person right in front of me had problems with something or other, so I had to wait about another 30-45 minutes to get my visa. By the time I finally left, I had been in the office over 3 hours, and if we count the time I spent waiting outside before the office opened, I was there almost 4 hours.
Bienvenue à la France!
But, I am now legal, courtesy of a very unofficial looking piece of yellow paper taped to my passport.