and so is the story of the long forgotten blog. and yes laziness is a large part too. in fact, the only reason i’m here now is because my domain expired which reminded me i had a blog in the first place. in order to ease the guilt of the $17.99 purchase to renew it for another year, i decided i should at least give it a little shout out. so hello. and goodbye.

I have classes of up to 22 students. Most classes are 12-15 students. About half can’t speak English. Worse yet, I was told to NOT let them know I speak French so that they’d be forced to speak English. Well, after about 4 weeks of speaking like a drunk robot (you know, slurring and mechanically unnatural – or worse yet pronouncing words like a French person) I finally gave up and started speaking in French to help them understand when they were lost. Not only did this help my rapport with them, but it made them more comfortable to make blunders in English since I did it all the time in French. However, while for some it worked, I do still have groups that are just awful to work with. There are actually some that I’ve considered meeting with the principal about to ask if I can not teach them anymore. The way I see it is that most (about 9 out of 12) classes really enjoy their time with me, learn from the classes I give, participate to their relative ability, and look forward to seeing me. The other 3 classes scowl at me and talk the whole time. When called on they stare at me and speak French. I tried playing games with them to warm up to them and show that I’m not “bad teacher,” but they got so bad I had to become bad teacher (and because the teacher next door complained about their noise making).  So I’ve began taking carnets* when necessary, but I don’t actually know what to write in them so I always give them back at the end with a “next time I am writing in it!” warning.

(*a carnet is a sort of disciplinary booklet that students are required to carry around. It gets checked by the administration on a regular basis. Too many notes and you will be suspended or expelled.)

I guess I don’t really have any advice to give you, just thought I’d let you know you are not alone in your frustrations! Sometimes those 55 minutes are the most unbearable minutes of my life. I am not a confrontational person so reprimanding students has been hard. The other day two of my students started asking me what right I had to reprimand them when I wasn’t even a real teacher. You have no idea I mad I got! And for what reason did the confrontation happen? They were watching Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech with French subtitles and put their heads on their desks. When I told them they HAD to watch it they said “but I’m not interested.” I’m not interested? You’ve got to be kidding me! It felt borderline racist.

Sorry to vent. Sometimes it’s just hard to believe people can raise such annoying and disrespectful children!

————–

This story is true. But I do have many classes that I absolutely adore, especially when I’m trying to get 15 year old girls to figure out if women receive equal treatment to men. Silly girls. If they don’t listen now, they’ll learn once they grow up.

For today’s rosé purchase I spotted a wine I didn’t want to buy but couldn’t resist: the first 2009 on the shelf. Why you ask did I not want to buy it? The label. You see, I’m a bit of a label snob and find that many affordable (read: cheap) French wines have labels so god awful it’s almost painful to look at them. Bad labels are not encouraging for perspective impulse shoppers. However, the fact that it was a 2009 vintage beat out the fact that the label made me want to barf, beat up an old lady, and burn down French country homes all at the same time. The label is predominantly white and pink with the quintessential French chateau beautifully perched over a river with an ancient bridge crossing it. Below that is a horrendous lineup of a pink roses. At the bottom of the label is the wine makers name set in gold over a bright pink strip. It’s the kind of label you would find framed at goodwill. It’s the kind of label that looks like a terrible prom corsage mistake. It’s the kind of label that makes me wonder why France is even a country.

Label aside, I purchased this 2009 Cabernet d’Anjou from Les Maitres Goustiers (the name itself should have made me steer clear, damn). I’ve never had a vin de primeur rosé, and probably not even a non Beaujolais vin de primeur.  For those of you who don’t understand my fancy French wine lexicon a vin de primeur is essentially the French term for premature wine. It’s kind of like giving birth to a 6 month old (or in this wine’s case a 3 month old): they can survive but it’s not really a good idea and it’s generally just better to wait for proper gestation. So I didn’t expect much from my rosé, but was willing to give this preemie a try. However, it wasn’t until I returned home that I noticed it was only 11.5% alcohol. You see, in the world of wine 11.5% just isn’t a good sign (for me at least, I like alcohol!) with a few exceptions. 11.5% tells me under ripe grapes or more likely residual sugar, neither of which I want unless I’m intentionally seeking it out. And that’s when I knew it, I’d just bought a slightly sweet rosé. Turns out had my wine geekdom been a little more fine tuned I would have known that Cabernet d’Anjou is a sweeter rosé style. Damn Loire valley and all their sweet wines. Nothing is wrong with a little residual sugar, but when you’re expecting dry and sassy, sweet and pretty are not really welcome characteristics.

So how did this 2009 youngin’ do? Well, let’s just say if I were a 16 year old girl and wanted to get drunk this would be perfect. In fact, I may give this to some of my sophomore students and encourage them to mix it with sparkling water: it would make a delicious wine spritzer. (This is a joke. I would never encourage a minor to drink. Even though they do anyways.) What I might do is save the bottle until I have sparkling water myself and make my own afternoon teenage aperitif.  I must clarify that the wine is not terrible, but my problem with it can be explained by the same reason I drink martinis instead of lemon drops: I just don’t like sugary booze.  (Unless I’m intentionally pairing it with something. Or it’s a ridiculously priced Alsace wine that you can’t help but swoon over. And tawny port and chocolate cake will never lose a special place in my heart. But back to my point…) So the wine is sweet. Not too sweet, but sweet. Its color is a pretty rose pink with salmon tinges. The nose is reminiscent of raspberries and lychees with a touch of nice limestone minerality. The mouth is, as I’ve mentioned, sweet but not by any means cloying. If you’re a wine nut (or German) think halbtrocken and you’ll be about there. It has a mouth coating richness and a nice acid backbone to balance out the sugar. It’s actually decent, but falls flat. Good wine sings in my mouth, and this wine just babbles. However, it would be much improved by a nice spicy meal. Maybe I’ll go eat a jalapeno.

For this wine I give you two pairing options:

1. The 16 year old

Music: whatever the kids are into these days

Food: none. 16 year old girls don’t eat. Mix it with bubbly water and drink until you giggle.

2. The Food Savvy Hipster

Music: Deerhoof

Food: Thai or Chinese food that is spicy enough to make your eyes water and authentic enough to not be entirely certain what you’re eating.

this list is a response to the beginning of my fourth month living in a foreign country. i guarantee the equivalent will be formed after four months of living back home…

Wanting to find another rosé to review I popped in the shop to purchase a bottle because I knew for a fact they had at least one extraordinary rosé: Jean Maurice Raffault 2008 Chinon. An extraordinary and affordable rosé with beautiful minerality, hints of white pepper, and the subtlest background of wild raspberry. I used to have a glass of this wine for my shift drink every night after work over the summer, that is until we ran out. However I didn’t want to try a wine I already knew, so despite the risk I tried something new. As I walked into the shop I noticed the shop keeper was helping another lady. Relief! I won’t get harassed today. I made a bee-line for the rosé section when suddenly someone walked up to offer his sage wine advice. It wasn’t however the shop keeper. It was his son. His son is 16. No joke. 16. I don’t think I really need to point out the absurdity of someone recommending wine who won’t even be legal to drink said wine for another 5 years in my country! Granted, we are not in my country, we are in France, but still…

Wanting to help him make dad proud, I accepted his services. “Can I help you with your selection?” he asked in French. “Sure,” I replied doubtfully, “I want to buy a rosé.” “Are you looking for something completely dry or more fruity?” he asked. Well, the two aren’t mutually exclusive, but I catch your drift, so “dry and minerally” I replied. He pointed out a 3,75 euro Corsican rosé. I’ve haven’t yet had a Corsican rosé – and I will soon – but not one quite so cheap. “Maybe something a little more expensive,” I told him. He scanned the bottles insecurely with his fingers and landed on a very pale rosé. It’s only name was “Gris Blanc.” I decided to put him to the test, “What varietals does it have?” “Uhhh…” he picked up the bottle to look.  Grenache noir and grenache gris. “Okay, I’ll try it. Why not?”  I said.

The real reason I agreed to try it was because it was the palest rosé I’d ever seen, and more so because I wanted to say I’d bought wine from a 16 year old. For 6,75 it cost less than I had intended to spend, but it was rosé, what did I have to lose?

I walked home and put the Gérard Bertrand Vin de Pays d’Oc 2008 Gris Blanc on the exterior of my window sill for instant chilling while I made myself dinner. So how did the wine hold up to the 16 year olds recommendation? Exactly what you would expect from a 16 year old I suppose. He was on the notch with it being dry, though it wasn’t exactly minerally.

Appearance: The wine is almost white and at first I questioned if I can even count it as a rosé since it calls itself a “gris blanc” which translates to “white grey.” (Okay technically grey white, but in this case the grey is functioning as a noun which… never mind. French grammar lesson will come another day.)  Some French rosés are called vin gris (grey wine) – in Corsica for example – so I’ll assume it’s emulating that style in the palest way possible. And it is after all made in the classic French rosé tradition of using red grapes to make rosé rather than blending red and white grapes (which is illegal in the EU now, except in Champagne). Anyways, the wine is pale. The color is so pale it makes me think of finishing a glass of red wine and then pouring in a glass of white wine without a rinse in between. Not that anyone should do that, or that I ever have of course… It also reminded me of Jamie Ivey’s book about seeking out the palest rosé in France. This would have to have been one of the contenders.

So anyways. The wine. Here are my notes:

Nose: Super herbaceous and a little woody. Smells like the south of France in a big fat garrigue way. Doesn’t offer much in the way of fruit, but that is what I was hoping for. There is however the slightest hint of under ripe white peaches. Notes of ocean air. It actually smells a lot like prosecco, which took me awhile to recognize. Maybe candle wax? lanolin?

Mouth: Very dry with minerality and a mouth coating texture and a tart acid metallic finish. It’s so unctuous it verges on slippery.  There is nothing special about this wine what so ever, aside from all the subtleties on the nose.  It is extremely different from  the Tavel I last wrote about. It’s okay, but not something I would buy again. I like my roses with a slight bit more color, a little more fruit, and a more self assured character. This feels lost, uncertain of its character, where it comes from, or who it is. Perhaps it’s because it’s a vin de pays d’Oc which tells me it is probably from a bit of everywhere. On the bright side, this wine makes me nostalgic as it reminds me very much a Provencal white wine I drank over the summer with my boyfriend in Portland. Similar rustic woodiness that I can only attribute to garrigueness that I don’t actually know is a note associated with whites or rosés in the South.

Music: The Police. Why? Because you’re drinking mass produced mediocre rosé. Food: Scallops. The sea breeze notes begs for seafood, and the texture is telling me scallops.

That said, I do feel like it’s due time for a bit of an update, a few remarks, and some pointed tips for personal improvement (mine and others).

1. To the high school teachers of France – If you decide to go on strike and cancel your classes – which in turn means my classes – please inform me before I’ve taken the half hour bus ride to school.  And if that is not possible please – this is for you Mr. Secretary of the school – don’t tell me a teacher will be there for class when she wont be. I’m all for striking and political dissent, but I don’t like being at school for five hours when I could have been there for only one.  God created email and cell phones for a reason – use them!

2. I didn’t join couchsurfing.org as a dating service, so please stop writing me and asking me to come stay with you in Paris. I won’t.

3. Always keep one eye on the ground when walking. This is the only sure measure against unwittingly stepping in an enormous wet dog turd. Which leads me to 4…

4. Please pick your dog turds up after they have dispensed them. Really gross things happen when you don’t.

5. Please stop making everything so much cheaper for those who are 25 and under. Just because I’m aging doesn’t mean I’m rich. Adults are children too and deserve 50% off train fares. Besides, everyone tells me I look 20, shouldn’t that count for something? The new policy should be like that off the OLCC: everyone who looks 36 or younger gets carded, or in this case, the discount.

6. Perhaps rulers should be reinstated in classrooms as a form of discipline. I’m not one to promote child abuse, but I’m beginning to think some teenagers could use a good whack on the head here and there to set them straight.

7. White trash French people exist and they all shop at the same discount super market. More on this subject later…

8. Whoever told me (that would you Madame High School French Teacher) that French people don’t get drunk like Americans has never walked in the neighborhood of bars on an early Sunday morning and counted vomit splats.  No it’s not just pre, post, and current American fratority members that drink until they purge their dinner.

I recently taught my students about American politics. This included a simple 16 question quiz to determine their imaginary American political affiliation. Despite the fact it seems nearly all the students like Obama and haphazardly shout out “Yes we can!” during class, a whopping 20% are deep down McCain/Bush loving war mongers. I assume this is the part of the population that explains the near election of the neo fascist nationalist Le Pen as president in 2007.  Another 26% of students are what I have exacted as conservative democrats, though I think really they’re more like liberal republicans (I like ze guns, ze war, and ze marijuana! taxes? zey are too expeensif”).

Other findings follow.

1. Don’t assume 15 year olds are intelligent just because they’re French. Stupid people fill every nook and cranny of the earth, and that includes France. I just wasn’t prepared to have to explain to the kids why they don’t pay to see the doctor or to go to the hospital. I figured their 15 year old minds had figured out they lived in a socialist country where their taxes (or those of their parents) contribute to the collective good. Apparently I was wrong.

2. Not surprisingly most French teenagers are democrats. And for this I am grateful. Moreover, the older they get, the more liberal they become. I attribute this to their more highly developed mental facilities allowing them to reflect  intelligently when asked if the war in Iraq was a mistake.

3. A surprising number of French teenagers support the death penalty, which is illegal in France.

4. An even more surprising number think abortion should be illegal. (Can we say catholic?)

5. However, most agree that marijuana should be legal.  When asked why responses ranged from the infamous “Yes we can!” to “I like smoke ze marijuana” to “it make you fly.” After explaining that money spent jailing marijuana felons could be redirected to education, they seemed to like the idea because “maybe if Americans are smarter zey don’t smoke ze marijuana so much.” Touché.

6. Students are up in the air on being gay. Half think gay marriage should be legal, a quarter say civil unions are fine but not marriage, and a quarter say a lesbian is just a woman lost without a man and that gay men are unnatural. (These are some of the same kids who need to feel the corrective sting of my wooden – or maybe metal – ruler).

7. Studies find the generally more annoying and disobedient the student is the more likely he or she is to be a republican.  Once again rulers come into play here. Rulers = a good excuse to beat a republican.

And that is that. This is France.

1. universal health care – this is obvious to anyone with an ounce of intelligence on their shoulders and the french think we are insane for not having it. and they are right.
2. affordable wine – we produce some good wine in america, however if you want to buy anything under $10 you run the risk of having to pour it down the sink along with all its fake oak fruity full bodied american flavors. however a recent 3,50 euro beaujolais villages kicked some serious cheap wine ass.
3. cheese – need i say more?
4. trains – they aren’t perfect and if you want to get from rural village in region a to rural village in region b it can take forever, but mostly they are fast, cheap, and environmentally friendly.
5. free education through doctorates degrees
6. super market meat departments that offer it all – pigs brains, cow tongue, veal liver, whole rabbits with eyeballs and everything. i may not be interested in eating any of these and prefer my rabbits to appear as unbunny like as possible, but i like to know that someone is making use of them. can you imagine a safeway with dead bunnies in it? i can’t…

and on the contrary, here are a few things france should emulate from america:

1. driving behavior – please slow down french drivers. unless your grandmother is dying in the hospital there is no reason to be in such a hurry.
2. international wine selections – this is one thing we do right with wine – we sell it from countries all over the world. you can buy american wine in france, however the only american wine i have seen in chaumont (aside from the bottle of oregon pinot noir i brought with me) is gallo chardonnay. what’s worse? the situation isn’t much brighter for closer international selections. chianti? gruner? rioja? nope. how about wines from the rhine in germany that i’m only a few hours away from? nope. in all fairness i am comparing a city of over 1 million people to a town of under 30,000, though i do hear american wine is hard to come by even in paris…
3. service in restaurants – it hardly exists here. i don’t like the overly attentive i-want-to-be-your-best-friend american style service, but i also don’t like being ignored when i want another drink.
4. milk/half and half – how can they do cheese so right and milk so wrong? warm shelved boxed milk is a travesty to the poor dairy cows that produced it. please stop at once.
5. mexican food – i can’t get no satisfaction…
6. portland oregon – i still love you.

it really is a fascinating difference between america and france. certainly we close some things down on sunday, like the post office – so as to keep people from going postal i imagine – and government branches and banks (we don’t want disgruntled overworked employees becoming unpatriotic or worse yet finagling our financial system). but closing down everything? can you imagine how america’s gdp would suffer if we closed the malls, the walmarts, and all the grocery stores? what would americans do if they couldn’t spend their free time wasting money at corporate chains on products they don’t need made in impoverished countries by underpaid workers!? quelle horreur… (to note, i will say the french do have this behavior as well, just not on sundays…)

but really, sundays in france are quite different. most sundays are very quiet and peaceful and for me involve either a certain degree of gastronomic creativity or outright fasting. i’m very bad at planning meals in advance and so a day without a trip to the grocery store is a rarity in my life. yesterday was sunday. too lazy on saturday to go to the market, i planned on a very dull and sober dinner of either rice and carrots or pasta and sauce. however, what i didn’t plan on was free wine, donkey petting, live caged poultry, and french folk music. such are some of the many wonderful surprises one stumbles up on living in france!

yesterday turned out to be the annual autumn artisans market where you could buy handmade local wool products (itchy sweater anyone?), sample bison terrine and pigeon paté (raised proper, made proper, tasted proper), and, god bless france, drink free wine -all to the tune of french singing and accordions. i didn’t actually know the market was going on, but my first clue was when i was walking home from chaumont’s fabulous 19th century viaduct and spotted a horse drawn carriage slowing traffic as it traversed a roundabout. now chaumont is a small town and the haute marne is indeed a rural place, but we are not quite that behind in transportation options.

i eventually made my way to the town center where we hold our wednesday and saturday farmers market. it was there that i spotted a large crowd of mostly children oohing and awing over two rather annoyed looking donkeys dressed in some sort of traditional french animal attire that resembled crocheted donkey ponchos. next to the donkeys were potted flowers and leafy vegetables for sale and on the other side of the outdoor terrace was my favorite: live caged fowl and poultry for sale. i’m not certain if these animals were for immediate consumption, home farming, eggs, or other uses that only the french could imagine, but moms with strollers, young men out of place, old men with canes and hobbling old wives meandered about glaring into the cages of the poor frightened birds and occasionally daring to stick their finger in. the best of it was the old fat lady who continuously said “cock a doodle do” (which is actually “cocorico” in french) to every bird she stopped at, even if it was a pigeon, a duck, or some other unidentifiable bird oddity.

once inside the market there were vendor booths everywhere. you could buy local honey and syrups in every flavor, black currant liquour made according to their grandmothers recipe from the early 1900’s, hats, scarves, candy and cookies, and all hand made within proximity to the haute-marne. you could even buy our regionally made belgian style beer called la choue from the keg to drink on the spot or in bottles to take home. and while the bison terrine and pigeon paté were both fascinating and disturbing in appearance, it was the regional winemakers that piqued my interest. it took me wondering around a bit and standing intently at booths before i got up the nerve to ask for a taste. unlike in america, where you would be offered a taste upon approaching and looking interested, in france the custom seems to be to ignore as much as possible. for as long as i would stand at their booth looking at their wines, pamphlets, and having a staring contest with their sample glasses not once was i offered a taste. eventually i gave up hope that they would ever just pour me some and hand it to me, and finally i made eye contact with the kind lady and asked her if i could taste her champagne. she cordially poured me a taste of delicious haute-marne brut followed by a taste of the brut reserve. both were outstanding. at 12-14 euros a bottle these were by far some of the best champagne values i’ve ever had, or even imagined existed. they were supple, perfectly balanced, toasty and wonderful. on top of that they were made nearby from a small producer probably not even heard of outside the region. sure champagne of the haute-marne doesn’t have all the flash, glamour, and advertisements with anorexic super models the grand marques of reims and epernay have, but it has something large world renowned wineries often lack: heart.

i finished my tasting and as i was buying a bottle of deliciously affordable champagne the couple standing next to me began to inquire about my camera. was it good, how was the lens, did it need to have such a wide angled lens, and should he buy one. responding in foreigners french prompted the question “with such a big camera and an accent you must be a journalist!” “no, not a journalist, just an english language assistant with a big camera” i replied. i then paid for my champagne, thanked the lady, said good day to the couple, and left in search of more wine samples. i eventually was overwhelmed the crowd, the need to ask for samples, and got hungry and so i made my way home to make my uninspired sunday dinner and resist the temptation to open the champagne i bought. fortunately i did resist, and although the pasta was a bit bland, the sunday itself was good and not bland at all…

LWI(IB) – life without internet (in bed)

day one

day one of LWI(IB) included numerous trips to internet stores in desperate hope of instant internet. i left defeated. even once i have a bank account (which won’t be until next wednesday), it could take up to three weeks to get internet installed. why you might ask? as the shop clerk put it “with strikes, and holidays, and weekends, and everyone else who wants it, it’s just like that.” in a word, france.

next, it was time to finally get a cell phone, and while the temptation to sign a 2 year contract and get a fancy phone with unlimited internet on a tiny screen was terribly strong, i opted for the cheapy pay as you go deal with a phone that weighs less than my pinky. rumor has it you can break cell phone contracts here if you have proof you’re leaving the country (i.e. you’re an american and the government is about to kick you out because they don’t want you here unless they are under paying you to occasionally teach english, but mostly fill out paper work), however i was so indecisive as to just how much cell time i needed that i went sans abonnement. this way i will be punished instantly if i decided to make a stupidly expensive call to the states in a fleating moment of missing m. or drunkness (or more likely both at once). better using all my credit up on one call and being cut off than getting a 100 euro deduction from my bank account for going over the limit without knowing it.

eventually i made it to school after a 30 minute bus ride and, after waiting at school for 40 minutes, i did a 20 minute introduction. during 40 minutes of waiting i theoretically could have used the internet in the teachers lounge, but i forgot the password for my login at home. so close to internet, and yet so so far away. to say the least, i have since memorized my password.

finally, after another 30 minute bus ride to the town center i caved and went to mcdonalds to use their free wifi.  i ordered fries and a coke out of guilt for freeloading. i messaged with m., looked for a car, and then ran home in the rain, fearing all the while doom to my laptop. i’ll never have internet without a computer. hallelujah the laptop remained dry and i poured  myself a campari and graperfuit juice for dinner. i proceeded to make a perfectly detailed lesson plan for my first classes and then took melatonin to get tired. that’s when i started writing this…

there was no warning on the melatonin label about not writing while under the influence, but i think perhaps there should be… i do however believe there is a warning against combining it with bitter italian alcoholic aperitifs. oops… had i had internet this may not have happened (but probably would have).

day two

today was a much longer day at school, and as being such i had time enough to finish my first weeks lesson plan, check my email, and unsuccessfully attempt to log onto facebook. it would appear that site is blocked from the schools server. after some brief introductions in classes, i discovered that most the students here haven’t a clue as to what they’re doing, how to speak english, or what i’m saying. it’s going to be a joyous year…

i did however get one step closer to internet today, and that was meeting with the landlords where i’m living to sign papers, and while doing so i got the name of the last person who had a phone line here. strange as it is, in france you need to give the name of the last tenant who had a phone line in order to get internet. why they don’t just set up a system with all of the info there for them i do not know, but such is france… so, that means that hopefully (fingers crossed) once i get a bank account i can just as easily get set up for internet. well, just as easily meaning within their three weekend time frame of someone finally being bothered to come around.

i also was so fortunate  enough to have a bike given to me on loan for my time here. it will come in very handy until it gets to be 0 degrees celsius. then i will freeze, give up, and take the bus. oh, and when its raining? the half an hour bus ride isn’t so bad after all.

after all this, i met up with the other assistants in town (yes, all six of us), and drank some beer at the local “cool” spot. there is only one in town, and it has a belgian theme. cool? i’m not sure if i’d go that far, but they do have good beer. it was a good distraction to my LWI(IB) problem, and an even better reminder that i’m not totally alone on this french mount top.

day three and four

not having internet seems to have several consequences, one being that i am at least moderately more productive in some ways, and the other is that i still manage to find excuses to lay in bed with my laptop, though rather than googling random facts or checking my email every hour, i am editing pictures i took of chaumont.

it’s 10 :42 am on sunday, and i was engaged in aforementioned editing, when i began to hear a peculiar sound: chanting. it then occured to me, oh that’s right, i live above a church and it’s sunday! wow. seeing as that this is a protestant church in a catholic country, i wasn’t entirely certain as to what aspects of church life i’d encounter living here, but apparently they do have sunday rituals just as in catholic churches. my church going experience is limited, but i’m imagining them all swaying together as they sing whatever sort of french praise they sing to their savior. when it’s all over they’ll all share a little meal in the name of god, exchange pleasantaries, and leave feeling refreshed in their faith, unaware that it was community involvement that gave them sanctuary, not man made religion. yes, that’s me, judging religious people. so even if i’m wrong about the later, i am certain about the former; they shall share food. i know this because i was invited, and while i’m opting to spend the day in bed with my laptop fantasizing about gmail and wikipedia, i certainly will go some sunday. plus they said i don’t have to come for the services i can just come down for the food. what more can i ask for than some free french god food? hallelujah!  (that’s what they said! no, really, they just did)

so moving backwards from this sunday morning to yesterday, day three of LWI(IB). saturday was quite a productive day for me. it all started when i managed to sleep in until 10:30, the latest i’ve slept since i’ve been in france (save the day in paris i slept until 1:30, but that’s another story). i woke up and stared at the white walls of my room for quite awhile while i tried to figure out what to do with myself. i proceeded to make coffee and sit in the kitchen and stare at the white walls in there (they really need decorating by the way). i decided to take a bath at this point, during which i sat in warm water and stared at the wall some more, however rather than white these walls were more of a peach color.

but in all seriousness, aside from some good staring in the morning, i really was productive. i managed to open a bank account at the wrong bank. somehow i didn’t realize i was in caisse d’epargne rather than banque populaire until half way through the process of getting an account. it wasn’t until he told me the monthly fee of 8 euros that i realized i wasn’t where i thought i was. how i can walk into a bank, speak with a teller, go into a private office, sign papers, and look at signs that clearly say “caisse d’epargne” without ever realizing i am not at banque populaire is indeed beyond me. rather than embarrass myself and say i wasn’t at the bank i’d intended, i went ahead with my account, deposited 100 euros, and left. i’ll probably go back and close it and open an account with banque populaire since it’s only 9 euros for my entire time in france rather than 8 a month (hence i guess why it’s popular). but for now, since it is in the prettiest building in chaumont, i will just pretend that i like getting charged 8 euros a month to have the pretty bank.

after my bank flop, i was quite excited despite my mistake because i  finally had this wonderful thing called a RIB. while i already have quite a few ribs actually, this one is even  more special, and potentially more valuable, because this RIB allows me to not only get paid every month, but also to get one step closer to internet ! or so i thought… i started at bouygues, who will hopefully one day be my internet provider, but then was sent to france telecom because i apparently have to get a phone line before i can get internet. however, seeing as that france closes for two hours during lunch, i was forced to occupy myself otherwise during this time. which i did by eating cheese, bread, tomatoes and sardines for lunch. then bought a dictionary and a water filter. finally it was two  pm and i could go to france telecom and open a horrendously expensive phone line (55 euros to open it). it should have a dial tone thursday or friday, at which point i can go back to bouygues and make an appointment for them to give me internet. after all that, it will take between 7 and 21 days for me to actually have internet, as at any moment france go could on strike  and the country could shut down and revert to the dark ages. however, despite being told i needed a RIB to get a phone line to get internet to my cure LWI(IB) problem, they never asked for one. my bank fiasco was in vain, but i think i really would give a rib to have internet…

moving on with my day of relative successes and accomplishments, i decided since i was in the mode of taking care of administrative details, i may as well get a library card. this was certainly the simplest of procedures i’ve been through, and i even managed to not have to pay the 16 euro fee to open it by showing them proof that i’m teaching at a local high school. i’m now allowed to take out as many as 30 books, dvds, and  cd’s for three weeks. the library is quite large for such a small town, and because chaumont has an international poster design festival every may, they have a large section of graphic design books which is neat. however, i opted with two movies, a book on wine, a novel, and some sort of interactive wine program for computers that i have yet to explore. all in french, with the exception of one film in english because sometimes french just gets old… oh, and get this, the library had instructions on how to use their computers for the internet for up to 45 minutes, but i never managed to get it to work…

after the library i took a few pictures of chaumont until it started to rain, then i went home and ate copious amounts of raclette cheese and bread until it was time for my saturday night soiree. you see, i was invited to a little get together by a wonderful chaumontaise, because her and her friends were having a night in honor of the late patrick swayze and their dirty dancing obsession. it consisted of junk food, freakish shrines with candles and photos of mr. swayze, wine, beer, punch, you tube videos of mr. swayze and dirty dancing, and of course, dirty dancing itself in all its dubbed-in-french glory. i have to admit i have always liked that film, but i’m not particularly fond of it dubbed. and while my french is ok, it can still be hard to follow films without subtitles, especially when their lips dont match their words, they speak a million miles an hour, and i’ve had three glasses of wine. however, the night itself was a riot and i learned that there are cool thirty something french ladies who are quite rambunctious, play dress up, and dance around all silly. and that they even exist in a town as small as chaumont!

and that pretty much brings up to the present moment. all the other assistants went for a day trip to troyes, but i opted to save the euros and stay in chaumont. a 100 dollar day trip wasn’t on my list of priorities, given all the expenses of settling into a new apartment/country/getting internet.

The flea market is apparently also the place to buy black market cigarettes, as every 5 minutes a guy opened a sack full of discount brand name cigarettes in front of me. This is a phenomenon I’d heard of the last time I lived in France, and having been a smoker at that time I was almost tempted to seek out said cigarettes  (especially given that the cost of cigarettes lingers around $10 a pack here), but now I am just annoyed. “You don’t smoke miss, I’m sorry for you!” they would say to me in French when I said “Non merci” to their offer.

But the most striking thing about the flea market in Montreuil was the trash. It was everywhere. It was like they had the flea market the day before and everything they didn’t sell they threw on the street. That – combined with the “carrefour” sky scraper looming above the whole scene, the insane amount traffic trying to traverse the round-about, and the honking of angry drivers – brought back an acute memory of Vietnam. Visiting Saigon (or HCMC if you will) to be exact. I guess the carrefour building – carrefour means crossroads in french – was fitting. I’m all for eliminating the stereotype of Paris being the most glamorous city in the world, but I didn’t expect to find out the Parisian suburbs, or at least these ones, are akin to a developing country. Except instead of chicken feet roasting on makeshift barbecues on the side walk it was corn stalks roasting over charcoal. And they didn’t just put the barbecue on the sidewalk like they do in Vietnam, they put them on the sidewalk with a tiny charcoal grill – one that looks like a mini oil drum – inside of a shopping cart. Bonus points for a grill inside of a shopping cart. I’m sure the corn is delicious, but the sight of literally hundreds of freshly munched corn cobs cluttering the gutter along with used shoes, empty cigarette packs, and spit really didn’t make me feel too hungry.

After a few minutes meandering the flea market I took the metro to the Champs-Elysées – the “glamorous” (cough tourist crap) shopping street of Paris – which is unsurprisingly the very opposite of Montreuil. I think I saw some of the same stuff for 8 times the price. But at least there weren’t corn cobs in the gutters.

To say the least  I didn’t buy anything today.