LEARNIN'

Every Monday morning, my alarm goes off at 6:45 (this morning was especially painful because of daylight savings time starting yesterday). In the past three months, my first class has shown up twice. TWICE. Two times in three months. Impressive record, no? Every week I go to my classroom, I sit with the lesson I have prepared, and I wait. The students never show up. So each week I wake up at 6:45 and on a good week, my first class starts at 1:30, other weeks it's not until 2:30. I can't really complain. This Monday "second job" is what pays my rent. Since Christmas, there has been one Monday when I worked a full day. And recently, I have worked three hours, tops. Last week, I worked two hours. The week before that I worked two. The week before that I worked ONE hour. Being notified that the classes are cancelled would be nice. But that one hour that I work each week is worth about 85-100 €. So again, I can't complain. The only other way I could earn that much an hour would be to become a drug dealer or a lady of the night. I prefer to stick with forcing spoiled teenagers to copy lines such as "Laura is here to help us. She is not our babysitter." and "Yes, it is warm outside. No, we cannot have class in the courtyard" Every week, I think, the kids will show up this time. And each week, they do not. I have one more Monday left at Tivoli. It has taken me several months, but I am learning. I don't think I am going waste my time planning lessons for my first 3 classes that day.

On April 29th, it will be two years since I received the email with this on the subject line "Félicitations/Congratulations ! - French Teaching Assistantship Program 2008 - 2009" Has Bordeaux really been a part of my life for 23 months? Has it really been over 18 months since I got off the train at Gare St. Jean, set off searching alone for the hostel in a city I'd never been, in a country where I barely spoke the language, where I knew no one, carrying everything that would fit into two suitcases, and wondering "What have I gotten myself into?" It doesn't seem possible, and at the same time, it seems like I have lived here my whole life. The thought of leaving makes my stomach hurt, but I know that it is time for a change. I've always known Bordeaux was temporary.

I spent most of the summer of 2008 trying to figure out how I could get out of coming to France. Leaving terrified me more than I can possibly ever explain. But my life was as follows- I lived with my parents, so I didn't have to worry about breaking an apartment lease or finding a subleaser. I worked in a restaurant. So I didn't have to worry about leaving somewhere with a lot of potential or that gave me a lot of job satisfaction. I was single. The closest thing I had to kids were my two cats (who I love dearly, but let's be real, cats love whoever feeds them). Thankfully, I had no excuse to stay because coming here has been the best desicion I have ever made. I can't imagine where I'd be had I chickened out. And honestly, right now, there is nowhere else I'd rather be.

Two months from now I will be in Seoul. A feeling I recognize all too well has returned, the feeling of what have I done and how can I get out of it? But, I have learned so much the past two years. I've learned time passes SO quickly. I've learned to take advantage of the opportunities I am given. I've learned to appreciate wine. I've learned that going somewhere alone is beyond scary, but the strangers become friends, and then those friends become family. I've learned to yell at kids. I've learned to say no. I've learned that I can do things. I have learned self confidence.
I'm sure I'll cry when I leave for Korea (sorry, Dad, I can't help it). And Korea might suck. But at least I'll know. Years from now, I will not be wondering what would have happened if I had taken the job in Korea. And what is waiting for me at home? What excuse do I have for not going? My boss from the restaurant is a lovely person and has always welcomed me back, but as far as professional jobs, there are none. I am careerless, carless, single, apartmentless, furnitureless, and dollarless. And with that, I am going to go listen to some Korean for beginers podcasts. 모두들 기쁜 월요일 That is from Google translator, I don't know a word of Korean :-)

한국???

Soooo, sorry if this is repeat news for anyone, but I got a job in Korea. The details are still a bit unclear right now. But if all goes according to plan, I will be in Seoul from May 2010 until May 2011. That is a whole year.
A WHOLE YEAR.
TWELVE MONTHS.
PLENTY OF TIME FOR YOU TO COME AND VISIT. I ♥ visitors!

hello there Greek gods

One of the earliest and easiest lessons that I learned last year was to ALWAYS bring my camera with me. Unfortunately, lessons learned early and easily are the first to go.

Yesterday was beautiful. It was about 70 degrees, a slight breeze blowing, and impossibly blue sky. Even though they're much milder than Illinois, winters here are no less depressing. Aside from the occasional sunny 50 degree day, they might even be more dreary. The rain starts around the end of October. And for about 3-4 months, the Sud-Ouest enjoys gray skies, rain nearly every day, and temperatures around 40. So when winter begins to release its grip, the French become different people. They flock outside to parks, the quai, and cafes' sidewalk tables. Their demeanor goes from frosty to lukewarm. And they even incorporate a little color into their clothes. The black coats are replaced by dark gray (small steps). Bordeaux is like a different town. In my excitement to get out and enjoy the sun, I left home without my camera. I didn't think much of it, until yesterday evening. I was riding my bike to Kate's house for a St. Patrick's Day dinner. I was admiring how perfect Bordeaux is when the weather is nice, wondering why there was a helicopter hovering over the city, wondering when the ice cream stores would open for summer, etc. I was suddenly snapped out of my day dream by a large group of people chanting. Despite being a semi frequent France occurrence, I never get tired of seeing demonstrations. Deciding to be just a bit late to dinner, I headed towards the commotion. As I got closer, I saw cops everywhere, two large charter buses, and a mass of people standing outside of The Regent Grand, what is without question the most luxurious hotel in Bordeaux. Then I remembered my roommate had made mention of some big soccer game (or football match, as she called it) that night. What I came across yesterday evening was a rally for the opposing team, Olympiakos. Bordeaux was trying to advance to the quarterfinals in the Champions League. I don't pretend for a second to know anything about soccer. Offside, inside, onside, outside, alongside. It means nothing to me. My soccer knowledge can be summarized in one sentence-soccer players are hot.

As I stood in the crowd of people, watching this visiting soccer team board their bus, I momentarily thought about becoming a soccer hooligan. I wanted to wear a team scarf and chant things in Greek. Then I realized every one of the Olympiakos soccer players looked like he had just stepped out of the pages of an Abercrombie catalog. I reached for my camera, wanting to document and remember forever these unfairly beautiful people, and realized my camera was chez moi, sitting on my desk. Zut.

And in case you are curious, good looks do not equate with soccer talent. Last night at Stade Chaban-Delmas, Olympiakos was defeated. So that means Bordeaux advances to the quarterfinals. If you have any more questions on the subject, you'll have to ask my roommate. I need to focus my attention on spring training.

Unrelated story. On my way home last night, I rode past an Anglophone bar (they are always crazy on St. Pat's). Standing on the street outside of the bar there was a girl, a little younger than me, stumbling around while trying to get on her bike. I chuckled a bit, and continued riding. Shortly after I turned down another street, I heard someone behind me say "OH LA!" I slowed my bike down, and turned around. It was the girl. I asked if she was ok. She said she was fine, but the road was just really bumpy. I said okay. A few seconds later, I stopped at a red light, and the girl ran the red light and passed me. She was ALL over the road. The light changed, and since I was riding in a straight line, I caught up to the girl quickly. She seemed to be doing okay, until she had to make a left turn. She did an awkward circle, and then waaaaboom! She was laying face down, in the middle of the street, with her bike on top of her. I paused for a moment, expecting her to get up. She didn't move. I asked her if she was okay. Her head popped up. She looked at me and said yeah, I'm fine. A few seconds later, she started trying to get up. It was a struggle. The average French girl probably weighs about 10 lbs less than a bicycle, and this girl was no exception. She flopped around on the street a little. I asked her if she needed help, and she muttered something I did not understand, but then successfully escaped from under the bike. She stood in the middle of the street, looking confused, holding her bike. I again asked her if she was okay. She said yes, but continued to just stand in the middle of the street. I told her that maybe the sidewalk would be better for her. She walked over the sidewalk and sat down. I wished her a goodnight, she thanked me, and I continued on.

Which aisle are the Faberge Eggs in?

I returned Saturday evening from a great two weeks in Spain (most of the pictures are on my Shutterfly site, and I even split them up into different city albums! That's kind of like labeling them, right Mom?). I was very good about using up most of my food before I left, so I had little waste. I was proud of myself, but that meant I returned home to an empty fridge. The stores were closed by the time I got in Saturday night. Since they are not open on Sundays, my food options were limited. I had half a jar of curry paste, a moldy onion, half a bottle of sour UHT milk (which I did use in my coffee Sunday morning, not a great way to start the day), two pieces of three week old bread, and coffee. If I was the Iron Chef, I could have no doubt made a feast that would wow the judges and keep me fed for a week. The theme ingredient would have been MOLD. But since I am no Morimoto, I accepted defeat and hungrily went to the grocery store last night.

France has a lot of laws that make no sense to me. For example-sales. I am cheap. I don't like to spend more than $20 on any article of clothing, aside from a winter coat. My shopping M.O. is to find an article of clothing that I like, covet it, obsess over it, look at it every time I go to the store, look at it online, etc, until that special day when I see the red tag dangling off its sleeve. That is not really an option here. France has some rule about sales. I don't understand them, and probably never will. What I do know is that there are big sales in France twice a year- once in winter and once in summer. The sales last for about a month. The French people go CRAZY for them. The stores are almost unbearable during this time. Aside from those two months, nothing is ever on sale here. The winter sales ended a month ago, so imagine my surprise as I approached the grocery store and saw sale signs hanging in the window. When I got close enough to read them, I saw the "sale" was a two day special on the basics, the "necessities"

I wondered momentarily how the store had gotten around the no sales law, but then focused my attention on my incredible luck. Despite sharing rooms with 10 strangers and finding the cheapest food possible, vacations are always hard on the wallet. So I was excited about this sale on the basics. I guess in my excitement, I forgot where I was. I logically assumed that by basics, the store meant THE BASICS-milk, bread, eggs, maybe yogurt or a couple kinds of produce. Not in France. For two days only at the Monoprix in Bouscat, you can pay low low prices on the "basics" such as ready made ham, cheese, and egg crepes, canned cassoulet, carbonated water, and this pink fish paste that I don't actually know what its name is but I tried it once last year. If you are curious about what it tastes like, go lick the nearest fishing dock.
Since none of those things were on my grocery list, I paid full price for a shopping basket full of American basics. Quel dommage.