I'm 23 now, but will I live to see 24?

I’ve been in a choir since 4^th grade. I have never not been in a choir at Christmas time – until now. I’ve been craving Christmas carols, and I recently realized that I normally am singing them not only in my school choirs, but in church choirs. So last Sunday I decided to go to church with Jenna, in hopes of singing some good ol' Christmas songs (but in French).  Jenna somehow found a Baptist church in Nantes, a feat which amazes me. I figured since they’re Baptist, they ought to love singing. Well, they do love singing. I recognized at least 3 of the praise songs from home (but in French). We asked someone beforehand if they would sing Christmas songs, and he told us, “They’re singing one, but the kids think they’re too old fashioned, so just one.” WHAT? Christmas songs never go out of style. So I sat through this service and only got to sing one Christmas carol, and I didn’t even recognize it. I see why they don’t like carols, though – this song was hard. It was way too high and had way too many words in too short a space. So I was pretty bummed out after the service. Jenna was talking to another woman about how we always do Christmas songs in American churches, and the woman said, “Oh, well there’s a carol service tonight at some such church.” Some such church is a ten minute walk from Jenna’s house. “Oh, and it’s in English.” WHAT? So around 4pm I came back to Jenna’s and after a bit we headed out to find this some such church. It really is just down the street. We walk in and run into some girls Jenna’s met who are on a mission from Bethany College, as well as a few people from church that morning. So the service gets going and the Pastor of the church, who is Scottish, tells us all about how it’s a tradition in GB to gather before Christmas and sing, and they’ve been doing it here for the past 4 years. The whole service is bilingual, but all the songs are English. And when I say English, I mean British. Fortunately Jenna and I have an advantage over the Bethany girls – we already know the weird hymn tunes to Away in a Manger and Little Town of Bethlehem. We are surprised by Angels We Have Heard on High, however. We don’t even realize what it is until the chorus – not “glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oria,” but “co-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ome and worship” England is so weird. I also wanna shout out to Dr. Long and the Willamette Chamber Choir – without you all, I wouldn’t have known Once in Royal David’s City or Lo How a Rose Ere Blooming. Cool. Basically, this was the coolest and best part of the holiday season so far, if not only for how fortunate we were to completely stumble upon it. Thank you, GB, for getting homesick and thus making my homesickness a bit more tolerable.

Tuesday, as you may know, was my birthday. Not just any birthday, but my 23^rd birthday. 23 of Blink 182 and Coolio fame, as I’ve beaten into the ground over the past week on Facebook. I’ve not been looking forward to this day ever since my best friend’s birthday in October, when I really started to pay attention to Blink 182’s words of wisdom – “Nobody like you when you’re 23.” Also, spending yet another birthday away from family and friends is never something to look forward to. But my few remaining friends in town outdid themselves once again, and I actually had a very lovely day. First good birthday in 3 years, I’d say. I started if off at midnight with a mug of Cointreau cocoa, the remaining Russian Tea cakes, and Love Actually. Fairly lonely. After a few hours of sleep I got up to see the lunar eclipse (on the solstice, none the less, I’m sure there were people dancing naked and burning things somewhere). However, weather prevented me from seeing anything, so I went back to sleep until 11am. I ate a whole bunch of chocolate and then went into town to meet Richard for lunch. We had pizza (this was my second artichoke pepper and goat cheese pizza in 24 hours, I had the very same with Annika’s parents the night before), and it was delicious. After we went to the Jardin des Plantes, which I’d never been to, and found some goats to feed. I’m fairly certain that I’m a goat whisperer, because these were the 3^rd set of goats I’ve hung out with since August. I mean really, this is getting weird.

my new friends

 After the goats, I headed to what Carly had dubbed the Peter Paul and Mary church (Cathédrale Saint-Pierre-et-Saint-Paul), where I met Carly for ice-skating. French people love ice-skating. I think I’ve ice-skated more in the last 2 months than in the 4 years before that. This was an outdoor rink, special for the Christmas season, and it only cost 1euro for skate rental. Cool. So we ice-skated for a bit, then headed to the Christmas markets to get some praline peanuts (bringing back memories of airlines of old) and a carton of scalloped potatoes with ham bits. Delicious. We then headed to the theater to see Nowhere Boy, that movie about John Lennon. It was pretty enjoyable, especially because it was freezing outside and we still had some peanuts to enjoy. A good way to spend 2 hours. After we headed to pasta box and ate boxes of pasta, then over to Carly’s, where we drank Cointreau cocoa and wine. Keri Ann showed up followed shortly by Jenna, and I enjoyed the last few hours of my birthday lying around with my friends in our pajama tuxedos. A good birthday, all around. I believe I will make it to 24, no matter what Blink 182 says. As it turns out, the song ends with “No one should take themselves so seriously with many years ahead to fall in line. Why would you wish that on me? I never want to act my age.” Agreed.

maroon tuxedo - keeping me warm since 2009

dix

“I don’t have arms, but I have friends”

                -speech bubble from an armless stick figure on a poster about discrimination in one of my schools.

I apologize for my absence of over a month, I have absolutely no excuse, besides that so much has happened that once I missed a week, it just seemed too daunting to catch up. So rather than try to recap the entire fall season, I’m just going to tell you about my friends – I’m lucky enough to have both arms and friends.

Last night those of us who are still around gathered at Carly’s place for a white elephant exchange. The east-coasters (both the residents of the house) call this a “Yankee swap,” which was appreciated by our british friends. I spent the day going to various groceries to find ingredients for Russian tea cakes, my holiday classic (snickerdoodles have far too many non-french ingredients, so I didn’t even try). Powdered sugar is sold in a plastic jar here, and costs nearly 4 euro for no more than a cup. Don’t even get me started on Pecans. I finally gathered everything that I needed and whipped up some teacakes in the foyer’s kitchen, then headed over to Carly’s. We ate treats and enjoyed the Christmas spirit, and I introduced the gang to Cointreau-cocoa, which if you haven’t tried, you should. It’s much like a chocolate orange, in a glass. Delicious. So we’re all sitting around in Carly’s room, sippin on our cocoa, and then the lights dim, and I look up to see Carly walk in carrying a cake, candles and all. All my friends are singing me happy birthday and I’m left speechless, caught entirely off guard. I’ve never been surprised for my birthday before, and I can’t even begin to express how happy this made me. I was planning on a pretty terrible birthday, basically all alone in France, but my friends went above and beyond to make sure that didn’t happen. I blew out the candles (or tried to, as it turns out French trick-candles are impossible to put out, even after pinching with wet fingers they light back up), and then was showered with presents, each one a new surprise. I can’t believe how many people got me gifts, when I was only expecting to walk away with a candy bar or plastic trinket from the white elephant. As it turns out, one of my gifts was a tiny elephant that when blown into makes the sound you would expect a 2 inch elephant to make. I cannot say thank you enough to these people who have made my time here bearable, and my birthday wonderful. You guys are the best, you’ve completely outdone yourselves.

Another gift was broccoli to go with the Ranch dressing that Misty brought. They don't have Ranch here, and I  had told Misty that I liked cooked broccoli with Ranch. Now everyone else does, too.

After the birthday festivities were through, the white elephant began, and having drawn number 1, I picked my package and got some chocolate eggs filled with toys. This was one of the more polite white elephants I’ve been to, with very little stealing, and even less crappy gifts (aside from the package of screws, everything was pretty excellent). In the end I came away with a chocolate santa, which I promptly ate the head of, and because whoever had the eggs forgot to take them home, I got those too. A few people went home at this point and the rest of us started singing Christmas carols. When ‘Away in a Manger’ came along, we all started singing, but soon realized we were singing two different tunes. Apparently in England, they use the traditional hymnal tune. Same for Little Town of Bethleham, I think. This led us to ‘God save the Queen’ vs. ‘My country tis of thee,’ which of course resulted in the Americans trying to remember all the words to the latter. Once we hammered that out, we all headed home. I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday surprise, thanks again, team.

Things that have happened since I last updated, which I can tell you about if you’re interested:

A trip to the LC club, the biggest dance club in Nantes. Power week – ten straight days of going out. My neighbor letting us into a church at midnight to listen to him play the third biggest organ in Nantes. Karaoke, twice. A trip to Ancenis. Iceskating. Hosting Thanksgiving for 35 of my friends. Thanksgiving in Angers. KeriAnn's gangsta birthday, durag and all. Last weekend in Angers before the kids leave.

I may write about some of these things anyway, but let me know if you want an update on anything specifically.

neuf

It’s not dad, it’s dadcula.

This is just one of the gems to come from the age old Halloween favorite, Hocus Pocus (featuring SJP and Bette Midler). Today in France everything is closed, because it is the Toussaint, or all saints day. That makes yesterday Halloween, which isn’t celebrated over here. Yet somehow I managed to spend 24 straight hours fete-ing the day, and let me say, it was excellent. But let’s go back a bit.

I stayed in Angers until Wednesday afternoon, during which time I basically just drank a ton of wine. I mean a huge amount of wine. Just tons of it. After the goats we got back to Annika’s and searched out more wine, then ended up seeing ‘the social network,’ which is one of the better films I’ve ever seen. I highly recommend it. Monday and Tuesday nights were pretty standard – wine, pasta boxes, wine, couscous, wine.

I was pretty upset when the wine was gone

Wednesday I said farewell to Sue and the gang and caught the train back to Nantes. I had to stand in the aisle because the train was so packed, not one of my favorite train rides. I decided to leave on Wednesday because Thursday was announced as a huge strike day, and at least half of all the trains were cancelled (in France, they announce their strikes beforehand so you can be prepared). So on Thursday I went into town with some friends to shop around. Around 3 or so Carly and I went into H&M, and everything was normal. Twenty minutes later we were headed for the door and we noticed no one was going out of it. We approached and got through the people to see the street filled with smoke. We went outside and saw a good thousand people marching through the street, wall to wall, with signs, loud speakers, and drinks. The French word for protest is ‘manifestation,’ which I found entirely appropriate – twenty minutes ago this street was empty, they all just appeared out of nowhere. So we followed the march back into town and Carly headed home. I decided to search out a fabric store for my Halloween costume, and I somehow stumbled into the center of the protest. The marchers were coming down this hill and convening in a park next to the tram line. I’m worse than anyone at estimation, but I’d say there were upwards of 5000 people milling about.

Now let me say a word about protests. If I had been in America, I might have been nervous for my safety in a crowd like this, especially a crowd that’s there to flip the bird at government. But in France it’s entirely different. It felt more like a tailgate than a protest. I felt like I was at the end of a marathon, the marchers coming down the hill were arriving at the finish line and being rewarded with a cold drink and a hotdog, and the celebration could commence (seriously, there were people cooking hotdogs). There was even a van driving along in the middle of the march selling wine for 50 cents and beer for a euro. On top of all this, it was a family friendly event, with children all about carrying their own protest signs. One baby carriage had a sign attached to it that read something to the effect of “protect the future for me.”

At one point some kids got out smoke flares and stood in the street with them. No big deal, I guess, the police standing near didn’t seem concerned. This all continued for about an hour, but around 6pm the crowd began to disperse. By 6:30 there were less than 100 people left. They want their early retirement, but nothing will get between the French and their supper. The remaining protesters piled up the cardboard and paper that was lying around and lit it on fire in the middle of the road  - again, no concern from the police. Kate brought her camera, so hopefully I can procure some of those photos.

Friday Celeste, Carly and I decided to take a day trip to the lovely town of Clisson. Unfortunately the early train was cancelled (thank you, grève) so we milled about Nantes for a few hours before catching the noon train. During this milling we found a great fabric store where I got my Halloween costume for a mere 8 euro, not bad! Upon arrival in Clisson, we realized it was a ghost town. There was no one in sight. There were tumbleweeds. Someone was whistling the theme from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (these last two statements are false, but really, it was deserted). We wandered into the center and saw the remains of a morning market being packed into trucks. We asked someone where the tourist office was, and we were told it was closed. Awesome, Clisson, see you later. We found the office and discovered it was closed til 2.30. Of course, why didn’t we realize, this is not a ghost town, it’s just lunch time. The entire country closed from 12-2. It’s ridiculous. So we found the castle (also closed), looked at a church (not closed), and then decided to wait out the lunch break with some wine. At 2.30 we found the tourist office and were told of all the wonderful things to do in Clisson, including the Castle, which as it turns out, opens for the day at 2pm.

It was bomb. Seriously, this castle was awesome. Half ruins, half slightly more recent, and mostly filled with grass, it was lovely. After the castle we crossed the river and visited a gorgeous park before returning to the gare to catch our train home. I can’t really explain how lovely it all was,but here are some pictures.

This brings us all the way back to Halloween. Saturday some kids from Angers came to stay at my place, so once they were settled in and after dinner I headed over to Kate’s place with Carly, around 7.30. We set the place up a bit and got into costume, and around 9 or 10 the people began arriving. I was telling someone about how French people are terrible at dressing up, how they don’t really do a costume, but rather put together a bunch of goofy things or parts of costumes in a totally nonsensical way. At home we dress up in a costume, here they just dress up. So Kate’s French friends arrive, and one is dressed as a pirate, in a totally comprehensive costume. I’m surprised. Except for some reason he has blood all over his neck. The other one is a different story. He’s dressed in scrubs, cap and all, and has a syringe full of cherry wine. This is great. He also has a knife through his neck with blood running down, and light up antlers that are actually skeleton hands. Good try anyway, French guy. We played upside down bobbing for apples (apple from a string on the ceiling) for which the prize was an 85 cent bottle of hard cider. There were four apples but I only brought two bottles, fortunately the first winner wasn’t too keen on the 85 cent part, so I was able to regift it to the third winner. I’m pretty sure 5 or six people got the last one, by the time I took it down it was mostly just a core. We had a grand ol time, and by 3 am there were 6 of us left to stay the night in Kate’s livingroom/bedroom.

Sunday around 9 Carly sat up and announced that she was done sleeping, thus commencing the laziest day of my life. We sat/layed around for a good three hours, watching youtube videos and listening to music, before finally getting out of bed to clean up a bit, and then getting back into bed for another hour or two to listen to yet more music, only this time some of it live (turns out Kate’s a pro on the ukulele). It seems that the only thing that could possibly prompt us to move about was our stomachs, and around 4 we made a brief exodus to find some kebabs. We were back within 40 minutes, at which point Kate put on Hocus Pocus (which explains the beginning of this post). Finally around 6:30 we got up the strength to leave, thus ending our literal 24 hour stay chez Kate (daylight savings).

Woody Allen, Artemis, Cowgirl, Shadow, Robot, Devil, Cat, Dunno, French ER guy, Cruella DeVille

Best Halloween abroad I could ever ask for. Good work, team.

huit

“I am a hero. I am American. I am a cowboy” 

This is how I introduce myself to the children I teach. Not really, it’s a phrase from an English work book one of my profs gave me to see what they’ve been learning. Turns out the British accent is way cuter than ours, so of course they’ve been learning British English. The cover of the book is the union jack, for crying out loud. Aside from simply implying that all Americans are in fact, cowboys, the book teaches some other ‘british-isms’ that are gonna be interesting to work around. They’ve been taught GArage instead of gaRAGE. They spell “color””colour,” and this phrase is found a few after the American cowboy phrase:

“I’ve got a blue pen. Have you got a rubber?”

They’ve also been learning the verb got. In my mind, this isn’t a real verb. I know it exists, but I don’t think it should be taught to kids. They say “have you got any sisters?” Who says that? Maybe it’s just a British thing, but man I don’t like it. Also, Ten Little Indians is in this book. I’m pretty sure that song stopped being PC a good ten years ago in the states.

But enough about my qualms with British English.The BBC America taught me enough about the differences in the two to find the whole thing more humorous than annoying. So obviously I’ve started going to school, finally. Well, sort of. This past week I was supposed to sit in on classes at all three schools. Monday I went to my main school, the Salentine. It’s sort of a small school, and I think the kids are fairly well off. I work with only three classes, so each class gets to see me twice a week. In one class the teacher introduced me as English, and when I said ‘actually, I’m American,’ all the kids sat up straighter and made various ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ type noises, while the prof said ‘oh that’s even better!’ Apparently at least one of my classes prefers my culture. Let’s hope they can spell color. I work with one class of teeny tiny little kids, probably 5 and 6. In this class the prof put up a world map on the board and asked if anyone could come up and point to America. All of the hands in the room shot up. But here they don’t raise their hands, they point to the ceiling. It’s like being in a southern Baptist church service after the pastor asks “and where gonna go, lawd?!?” I’m telling you these kids are equaly excited about knowing where America is. One girl ‘raises her hand’ every time the teacher askes a question and she gasps when she does it. I really think she might be trying to remove her shoulder from the socket with how hard she reaches. AS it turns out, this is the girl who was chosen to show the class where America is. She came up to the board, and after a few moments of serious consideration, pointed right at it. It being Russia.

One thing I’ve noticed about teachers here is their methods of discipline. Maybe it’s just because I was such a well behaved kid (no really, I was an angel), but it seems to me like these kids are in general incredibly rowdy. They talk while the teacher is talking, they get up and walk around the class whenever they feel like it, and it often takes multiple requests to get them to do what they’re asked. My profs at the Salentine are really nice people, and in general they seem to be great teachers, but at least 3 times in all of the classes I sat in on, the prof would straight up yell at a kid. And the weird part is, this didn’t seem to phase the kids. When my elementary teachers would yell it was like the apocalypse. You did not mess around for at least 3 hours after something like that. And it would never happen more than once or twice a month. Here, it seems like it’s just part of the regular teaching method. I’m not sure if it’s normal, but I don’t like it.

My second school called me Monday afternoon to tell me that they were on strike and not to come in Tuesday. So after a long mid week break, I went to my third school, the Ferrière, on Thursday. This school is bigger and less well off than the Salentine. I work with five classes here, so they only get to see me once a week. I also noticed that the teachers were much friendlier. I only heard one yell all day. After my two hour lunch break, I was crossing the street back to the school and I heard tiny voices yelling ‘salut!’ I turned around and a group of 3 girls from one of my morning classes ran up to me and very excitedly started testing out their English. It was mostly just ‘hello’ and ‘how are you?’ followed by giggles and running away. When I got into the schoolyard this same phenomenon recurred five or six times, several of which involved the same groups of kids. They would run up, say ‘hello,’ giggle, and run away. It was precious, and I don’t even like kids. 

After school I walked 8 blocks to the post office only to discover that the package I’d received was too heavy too carry back that distance. During this walk I passed by a wonderful example of how serious this grève has become. It’s not just the students who are grèving; the sanitation workers haven’t picked up any trash for a good two weeks now. I walked by a park that was entirely littered with Styrofoam boxes. As I got nearer I could smell what they contained, and I unfortunately got close enough see. 

Fish. Fish heads, fish guts, fish skin. It was disgusting. The piles of trash in town have grown taller than me. I’ve been told that the government has to clean up the trash because it’s becoming a health hazard, and here the government means the military. So there are military guys out shoveling fish heads into trucks. Weird.

The weekend, briefly:

Friday morning I was awoken by the peaceful sounds of a jackhammer on my roof. Literally. They’re doing something to the roof of the foyer, so there’s a guy with a jackhammer and a blowtorch from 8 to 6. That evening I ate with Celeste and Cecilia and went to the circus to meet Kate and Richard, but we’d missed the free marionettes by then, so we enjoyed a 1euro glass of wine and then left. The girls watched a free show which involved guys in zoot suits rising out of bushes next to the giant elephant and playing 50s wedding music, then we headed to meet up with some others at a house party where we played a one person long game of 2 truths and lie, a game of 21 which involved a rule to use only the formal vousvoyer, and one of the longer lasting rounds of ‘I’ve never’ I’ve ever played. After missing the last tram home, we called three taxis and somehow my group got the only one that showed up within the hour. We went back to the gay bar by the castle but alas, no Isaac, and I headed back to Kate’s for the night.

Saturday I felt similar to my first day in Nantes, but this time I couldn’t blame Amadhi. Around 2 I packed up my bags and lugged them into town for some more free events at the circus, which included a ‘duo abracadabratesque’ who made far too much use out of their spinning mic stand (think stooges), as well as a supposedly comedic knight on stilts. We didn’t stick around long enough to discover if he was actually funny, and after some vegetarian fajitas I caught the last train to Angers. Sunday I joined Sue and the AHA gang on an excursion to a mushroom museum, goat farm, and cave dinner (if you followed my blog two years ago, this dinner was the exact same thing). Highlights include the tour guide telling us how to use mushrooms to slyly knock someone off, consuming somewhere between a half and a whole bottle of wine in the cave (circa 3pm), and “caressing” goats at a cheese farm (caress is French for pet…). The goats rather enjoyed chewing on my fingers, and one of them ended up breaking the skin. Needless to say, we’re no longer friends.

“I am an American. I am very strong. I am not a cowboy.” Not possible, this guy doesn’t exist. (turns out it was Popeye).

sept

The grève, remember it from a few posts back? It's still goin on, and goin strong. As much as I want to write a big long post about how it's affecting my life, I'm gonna let the status updates that have been flooding my facebook news feed take this one (that said there will probably be a post to follow, when I'm feeling more motivated):

Annika, October 15

7:48 am

la question du jour? Est-ce que je vais travailler aujourd'hui ou pas?

(The question of the day? Am I going to work today or not?)

9:45 am

et la réponse est non, je ne peux pas travailler aujourd'hui parce que tous les étudiants bloquent l'éntrée

(and the response is no, I don't have to work today because all of the students are blocking the entrance)

Celeste, October 15

Cool that when I arrived to school this morning the students had blockaded all the entrances with couches and trash. Hundreds of students standing outside with me amongst them until a French professor came and rescued me and drove me to the one entrance the students neglected to blockade...ohhh the French and their greves.

Keri Ann, October 16

The kids blocked off the schools, they have little security guards making sure none of the teachers get in the school. No joke. I love France

Sophie, Monday morning

got up at 5a.m. for NOTHING! First train to work isn't until 12.30p.m.! Bloody strikes!!!

Carly, Tuesday Afternoon (with a link to her blog, hope she doesn't mind!)

 I hear that in American news, you're more concerned about terrorist attacks. Really, this doesn't concern those of us here in France. Here's why:

On Vit le Reve: On Fait la Greve!

Kate, Tuesday evening

‎... you know how i love a little social unrest.

Misty, Tuesday evening

these strikes are so crazy!! i walked past a pile of burning tires today...not sure what good it did, but very noticeable (the smell at least).

Richard, Thursday morning

My class at 8:00 on a Monday morning - evidently not here

(followed by a photo of an empty classroom)

As you can see, this thing is sort of a big deal here. If you're interested, here's a Times article as well as a link to a the blog of a friend who is much more eloquent than I, and who hopefully wont mind my linking it!

In France, Labor Strikes Head for Showdown

www.nytimes.com

Richard's Blog

six

The French take longer to say goodbye than Paul Jackson with Return of the King. Friday we went to visit our schools and meet our teachers and directors. We were leaving one of Surbhi’s schools and between the first implication of intention to leave and our actual time of departure, I swear at least half an hour passed. It was the most painful thing I’ve experienced since being here. Honestly, it was like each time we turned towards the door someone had an entirely not relevant story to impart as if it were crucial to our survival in the big world outside the classroom doors. It was extra painful because not only was this bond of friendship totally useless to me seeing as this was not my school, but there was only one school after that standing between me and my lunch, as well as my bed. I unfortunately didn’t come home as early as I hoped from a super bizarre concert thursdy night, and all I could think of all day was crawling back into my most inviting bed.

On a side note, I had a very silly encounter at this same hard to quit school. After the horribly drawn out goodbye, we knocked on the door to a classroom to introduce Surbhi to a prof. The door opened to reveal 20 or so 5^th graders staring deer-in-headlights at us as if we were a total spectacle, having interrupted the class in such a way. There was silence to accompany to stares, but not total silence. Only one sound could have made the situation more perfect, and there it was. There were, quite literally, crickets chirping. It was the most wonderfully awkward experience one could have, unfortunately the French haven’t a word for awkward, so of course it was wasted on them all (upon further inspection I noticed the frog tank at the back of the room from whence came the chirping of the inhabitant’s lunch.)

Friday night I tried to go to a circus/costume ball/dance party which was preceded by some sort of mime theater, but the combination of arriving late and the 12 euro entry fee kept me out. Instead we watched a trance DJ and his huge projection screen while enjoying a glass of pretty cheap wine in the street. I’m still blown away by the looseness of drinking law here. The aforementioned Thursday night concert was at a university, where there were more people outside than in, just sitting on the curb or standing in the grass (or even the street) drinking from wine bottles and beer cans, and the occasional 5^th of whisky. And this is normal. But I digress, back to Friday night. After the trance we met up with some friends at an Irish pub where my friend Kate and I somehow got into a fairly long conversation about baptism and Catholicism with a British boy who was raised catholic and finds baptistism (?) rather bizarre. Apparently religious debate isn’t everyone’s favorite bar conversation, for it ended up just the three of us. Shortly after their departure, we gathered up this girl Misty who’s from Idaho and refers to Cider as ‘apple beer,’ and headed across the street to locate the others. We descended the brick staircase at the club across the street and found ourselves in a cave with blasting beats and flashing lights, but no sign of the others. At this point our desire for food took over our desire for friends, so we headed to the kebab shop up the street, where Misty made friends with the Turkish owner and became intrigued with a tiny sampling fork, which she proceeded to use as a sword in a tiny duel with the aforementioned Turk. Food arrives, we leave, Misty having learned to count to maybe five in Turkish, and we spot the gang outside the cave club. We chat with some Brazilian boys then some swiss boys who teach Misty a phrase which they claim means ‘you’re really cool’ but we later discover means something entirely different, and seeing as it’s near 2 and the others have again departed, we head home.

Saturday was drinks at my place with some of the girls. Highlights include rum-and-coke-and-peach-and-tonic, which I’m told is a pretty foul combination, cookies that smell like dog biscuits but taste slightly better, Carly breaking one of my two bowls by knocking over an empty bottle onto it, Shakira video after Shakira video, and Triforce ice.

This morning I was awakened by the bells of Saint Thérèse. This video isn’t much to look at, so I suggest doing something else while listening, but that is the view from my window, and the big red brick building is the church. This week I actually do work, kind of – I’ll be sitting in on four hours of classes each day Monday Tuesday and Thursday. Then Friday until November 4^th is Toussaint vacation, which I certainly need. Because this whole time I’ve been in France hasn’t been vacation…

cinq

If any people were to have an actual civil war, I believe it would be the French. This week I’ve had my first real experience with the grève. For those of you that haven’t been to or studied France, these people love to strike. It all started way back in 1968* when the students decided they didn’t like the way things were being done and that they were going to do something about it. So to protest the overcrowded classrooms, the lack of up to date materials, and the unrealistic curriculum, they cumulatively agreed not to go to class. For three weeks. As it turns out, they had way more power than anyone could have suspected, and as the weeks wore on they were joined by unions of all sorts, and all of France was effectively shut down. So, ever since that terrible three weeks of inactivity, the government has feared the power of the people, and the people have realized their power to effect change. Good work, people. The down side is that the strike (or la grève), has become so commonplace that people have adapted to work around it. Now this doesn’t mean it’s become ineffective, not at all. It simply means that on strike days the busses switch to the holiday schedule and everyone knows that they might be inconvenienced that day. They’ve read about it in the paper the night or perhaps even the week before, many of them choose not to go to work to participate in the ‘manifs,’or protests, and the next day life goes on. These people are the most civil and well behaved protesters I’ve ever heard of. To the American eye, it’s really quite absurd.

*it could be argued that it in fact started in the late 18^th century when the people ‘striked’ against the king, but that was much less civil, what with the beheadings and general bloodshed. 

Unfortunately my ‘culture and conversation’ class didn’t educate me on the current issue of protest, so I’m embarrassingly uninformed about this particular strike. What I do know is that the government is raising the age of retirement from 65 to 70, and people are pissed. The French already enjoy some of the longest vacations and shortest work weeks in the world, so you can see why an extra 5 years of work would be irritating. I’ve run into the slogan ‘pour nous, la retraite c’est 65’ (for us, retirement is at 65) over and over again these past two weeks, and now I see that they really mean it.

Tuesday was my first taste of the grève. Having been forwarned of the strike by my contact, I headed to the bus station at 8:30 to catch the 8:44 bus. Around 8:55 I called her to tell her I must have missed the bus and would be late, to which she replied that her bus had yet to come either, and not to worry about it (here already we see the nonchalance with which the French react to the grève). Around 9:15 the bus finally pulled up and the 20 or so of us waiting there clamored over to the front door. As we waited for the door to open, the driver put the bus in park and stood up. He proceeded to the back door of the bus and, circumventing all of us riders, exited and crossed the lot into the transportation office. This didn’t seem to surprise anyone. So we continued to wait. About ten minutes later, the driver reappeared and walked back towards the bus. He did not, however, reenter to drive us all to our destinations, but rather got into a small car labeled TAN (the name of the transportation company) along with three other drivers, and drove away, leaving the bus parked there on the side of the road, and the twenty of us waiting for who knows what. Again, very little surprise from the French. I called my contact again, and seeing as she had yet to see her bus, we rescheduled for Friday.

Around 5 that evening I decided to head into town to deal with some phone problems, and when I arrived at the tram station, I noticed that the board which normally has the next time of arrival on it said that this tram line was interrupted between two stops downtown due to the protests. I also noticed a road sign saying to avoid centreville because of the riots. So I boarded the tram and when we arrived at the edge of downtown, we were told to get off because this was the last stop. I got out and walked the extra half mile to my destination, and as I walked I could hear hundreds of people chanting. I crossed the road through several scattered marchers with enormous flags and a few vans with loud speakers. After my errand I thought I’d go check out the protest, but it was entirely gone. I saw several people with rolled up flags walking away, but no rioters to be seen. I went to my normal tram stop and sure enough the tram was there, service was back to normal.

I took the tram all the way out to a big shopping center past my residence to do some errands. While waiting for the tram back in, I saw the tram heading the other direction make a short stop at the station. Then another one. And another. And one more. I saw five northbound trams back to back over the course of 15 minutes, during which not one southbound tram arrived. Apparently the protests WEREN’T over and southbound service was still interrupted. Very peculiar.

Today felt much more apocalyptic than Tuesday. I went into town for some errands and found my tram line to be cut downtown again due to the protests. When I got downtown, and maybe this was due to the overcast weather, I felt anxious, and my surroundings reflected that emotion. Because the tram line was cut there were people milling about in the middle of the streets, and I got the feeling that everyone was annoyed to have to be walking instead of taking the tram for the third day in a row. There was a general sense of unease, like in one of those movies where you keep your head down so no one knows that you have a chocolate bar under your coat and you aren’t sharing it with them. To add to this sensation, I could hear someone over a loudspeaker up ahead, but they weren’t speaking, they were just making noise, sort of a whining noise. As I approached the actual protest, I could see flags above the crowd, and a pillar of smoke. I’m sure it was coming from a barbeque or some such thing, but it added even more to the apocalyptic feel. It seems that the sanitation workers have gone on strike as well, for there were papers and flyers blowing about in the street. I went into a super market that seemed to be deserted, with only one checker for the 15 counters. When I walked back up to the protest they had started singing some sort of freedom song, and because of the mist it echoed after me as I walked away. Add to this the sirens of a far off ambulance, the papers tumbling in the road, and the people in disarray all about the tram line, and you really get the end of the world feel. Perhaps it’s unrest after a few days of strike, but whatever is going on, I hope it stops soon, or at least that the sun comes out.

The only photo I got of the thing. Notice the 'pillar of smoke.' Not as pillar like as I remember

quatre

I’ve been in Nantes for a week now. My enormous room isn’t so bad, and after I finally accepted that this is where I’m going to be living and unpacked, it looks a lot better. I didn’t do a lot last week, just a TON of paperwork (French bureaucracy is to be avoided at all costs) and an orientation at which I met some other assistants. I’m teaching elementary level, for which there are only about 20 assistants in the Nantes region, because we all teach at three schools (there are maybe 60 in the highschool level). Of the 20 only maybe 5 are American, which came as a big surprise to me. I figure there are a lot more of us in the world, so you’d think there’d be more of us here, but I guess the French don’t like our accents so much (or so I thought – I’ll return to this point later). The highschool orientation was the day before mine, and Annika came down to stay the night on my wooden bedframe with hardly any blanket…. I also met another American staying in the foyer, Celeste, who is teaching highschool along with Annika, so they found the orientation together. My orientation was pretty standard, I met Cecilia who lives in my Foyer and is from Lake of the Ozarks, weirdest coincidence ever, as well as 6 or 7 others who’s numbers I procured. We went out for a drink after and had some interesting conversation about the faults of our respective countries (America’s being treatment of non-straight people and lack of jobs), and afterward Cecilia and I returned to the Foyer for Yoga. Now, when I think of yoga I think of downward dog and sun salutation, but this woman had us sitting on chairs and rolling tennis balls under our feet. It was weird. The next day (Friday), about 12 of us went out to dinner at an Italian place downtown, which was delicious (gorgonzola ravioli? Yes please), and after were invited to a house party of another assistant. So we found the only store in the entirety of France open after 8 pm and bought some drinks, caught the tram out to the boonies, and found this house. At midnight, after my three alarms on my phone had gone off to remind me, we gathered up the troops and headed back to the tram line to catch the last tram into town (yes, Friday night and the tram stops at 12:30 – what?). We then met up with some other friends at a bar across from the castle, and a very friendly French man named Isaac chatted up Cecilia and me for a good twenty minutes. He informed us that we were actually at a Gay bar, that he thinks American accents are really cute, and that our French was pretty good, despite our cute accents. We also met his boyfriend, and they seemed like the happiest couple I’ve ever seen. We stayed until 2 or so, and after promising Isaac that I would come back someday, Celeste, Cecilia and I walked the 40 minutes along the tram line back to the foyer. Before we left the bar, another assistant Charlie invited us to a party at his house on Saturday night.

 Saturday I spent all morning cleaning and decorating, and around 3pm 4 girls from Willamette who are studying in Angers arrived to hang out with me and check out Nantes. We went into the city and found the Island of Nantes, where we were looking for ‘le Grand Eléphant.’ We found the museum where he lives but he wasn’t in, so we sat in the café for a bit but after not being served decided to leave. Just as we were exiting he was finishing his walk around the island, so we got to see him arrive and even got sprayed a bit from his trunk.

This is him: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWAhT7kgNa0&feature=related

After seeing the elephant we went back downtown and toured around a bit, seeing Place Royale (which wasn’t filled with pandas), le Passage Pommeraye (a huge shopping center), and the Basilique Saint Nicolas, before having dinner and a nice Indian restaurant. Thanks to Claire, Rachel, Lyndsey, and Casey for paying for mine! We then revisited the open late store of the night before to pick up some wine, came back to my place to change, and took the tram out the Charlie’s place. I guess he invited way more people than he intended too, because we couldn’t all fit in one part of the apartment and had to split into two groups. I left the WU girls with some French people who were coincidentally from Angers and joined the assistants in the other room. All of us Americans rather enjoyed when the British assistants would talk to Charlie (who’s also British) because of a certain famous youtube video. We played some games and had a grand ol time before heading out around 2 to catch the last tram home (on Saturday at least the tram runs late).

Sunday the girls and I searched out an open bakery and actually found one, before taking the tram into town. At a stop on the way to town, however, there was a flea market, so I suggested we check it out. It is my new favorite place. I bought a nice tweed coat for a mere 10 euro, as well as similarly priced cot, painting, dress, necklace, blanket that I’m using as a rug, and hangey think to put in the doorway. Because of this heavy load, I sent the girls ahead of me and returned to my place to drop it all off. We met up back at Place Royale for a café, then headed over to the castle where we strolled around the moat. Finally we made our way to the Cathédrale Saint-Pierre-et-Saint-Paul, which was stunning. Turns out they’re having some kind of call for singers, so who knows, maybe I’ll be in the cathedral choir next time I update! After all this we found our way back to the tram only to run into a huge freaking marathon – there were at least 2000 people running in it. I was a little concerned about the trams running because the marathon cut across one of the lines, but we made it back. I invited Cecilia to return to the flea market with me, so after the girls gathered their things we tramed with them to the market and sent them off to the gare. I bought about 10 more things and we came back and invited Celeste up for dinner. I also met my neighbor across the hall who is a French boy from Nantes and friends with Cecilia. After a long and busy weekend, I got to skype with my parents for a good while and then collapse into bed with an episode of Desperate housewives. Overall a good first week, I’d say.

trois

During my week in Angers, Annika and I went out one night and had the most bizarre and hard to describe experience of my life. So of course I’m going to describe it.

It was Tuesday night and we decided to go out for a drink. We went to another old favorite of ours, Dublins. It was strangely empty, in fact just us on the inside. As I was explaining to Annika my theory of why I never get hit on in France (which is that they still haven’t gotten over that old distaste for gingers), two fairly attractive French boys walked in and stood waiting at the bar. I said to Annika how I found one of them to be pretty dreamy, and then they sat that a table near us for about ten minutes, during which Annika claims the less dreamy one kept looking over at us. After said ten minutes, said less dreamy boy approached and asked with oh-so-much charm, “can I sit with me?”

                Well how can you refuse such a question? The two sat down, and for another ten or so minutes we struggled through conversation because they couldn’t understand our American accents in French OR in English, during which time I changed my opinion about the relative dreaminess of the two, finding the second to be in fact much dreamier. We were asked to speak in a British accent so that they could better understand us (lord knows that didn’t happen), and eventually we were invited to their university, where “there is a bar.”

                Now I know what you’re gonna say – “didn’t you see Taken?!?!” In fact I did – Patrick, the genius, suggested we watch it a mere week before my departure (jk Patrick, it was good).

                With Taken in mind, Annika and I decided to check out this “bar in a school” if only for curiosity, and promised one another to GTFO before 1:30 am. So we cross the river with the boys and they tell us about how they wear coats at their school (because it’s an engineering school?) We arrive at what seems to be the entrance to an alley, and they boys say “the main entrance is over there, but we have a secret entrance.” Red flag number one. We go down the alley and they boys swipe their ids to open a gate, behind which is a 400 year old monastery. Annika points out that we have no idea where the main entrance is, and thus cannot get out without the boys showing us or reswiping to open the big gate (red flag number two), and we follow them through a dark parking lot (red flag number three) into one of the super old and awesome looking buildings. We round a corner and come out in a sort of alley between two buildings, and this is when it gets weird. Before us we see about 20 boys, all with beards, wearing the aforementioned “coats.” But let me tell you, these were not coats – they were almost cloaks. They were knee length grey mechanics coats, painted on the backs in different designs, and drawn or painted on the front, all with a number on the left breast. Oh did I forget to mention the ALTAR? At one end of the alley there was an altar of sorts with a bowl on top – oh and it was decorated with what looked like a mix between the Zoroastrian symbol of the gods and the eye of Ra. There go red flags four through 20. Annika and I look at one another and are pretty certain we’re about to be sacrificed. The two boys we came with disappear into a room for a few seconds and reappear as then don their “coats.” Apparently you have to wear them when you’re at the school. They offer us drinks and at this point there’s no turning back so we accept some sealed bottles of Kronenburg (the pabst of France) and start chatting with all our new friends. Everyone is pretty excited to see outsiders, not to mention girls, so they all bombard us with questions of where we’re from and why we’re here, and one of them teaches us the school toast (cheers, wrap arms, say “fraterns” and drink).  Then we get invited to “the cloister.”

               

“ ‘ave you seen ze cloistehr? Eet ees beautiful! You must see eet!”

Nah uh, no way, no how. I stop at red flag thirty five, thank you very much. After about 5 individual invitations, I say to Annika “I guess we have to see the cloister” and a very friendly, very not drunk boy offers to show the two of us. Seems harmless enough, so we follow him. And then it gets creepier. WE go into the next room and as it turns out it’s a tunnel of black sheets hanging from the ceiling that we walk through. We wind up in a big open courtyard between buildings, with open starry night above us, in the cloister, which is in fact, beautiful.  So after a while out there we head back through the creepy sheet tunnel (we were later told it was for “initiating” the first years), and head down to the bar, which after all this time we discover does, in fact, exist. It’s basically in a cave, built into the brick, and furnished with old saggy couches, but it’s awesome. We teach the boys chandeliers, play a few rounds (for which they fill their cups to the brim, where you’re only supposed to fill it a few ounces), and decide to go home. At this point, of course, we’ve completely lost the boys we came in with, but our nice cloister friend showed us how to get out. Annika got his number, but not his name, and ever since that fateful night we’ve been trying to get a second invitation to the strange yet wonderful cult of bearded boys who live in the cloister.

deux

I want to preface this post with a warning: this is basically just an update of what I did for my first week in france. Not too exciting, so if you're crunched for time, save it for later. or skip it entirely.

I made it to Angers, as it turns out*. I was able to contact my host mother via email and my host sister Margot was there to pick me up at the gare. So I settled in again to French life – tartines for breakfast (baguette toasted with jam), long walks to get anywhere, and delicious 2 euro chicken sandwiches. This time I stayed in Fleur’s room because a new host student would be arriving a few days after me, and he would have my old room. Fleur goes to school in Tours now, Margot is still in school in Paris, and my host dad works in Paris, so during the week it was just my host mom and I. What an unbelievably pleasant experience. I found that dinners with just Veronique and me were wonderful – I spoke French with much more ease than in front of the entire family, and I had a great chance to reconnect with my amazing host mom. On Wednesday of that week I spent all day at the train station with Sue (the director of my study abroad program from 2 years ago) and Annika (my friend from said program who is now doing what I do, but in Angers) waiting for the 19 new AHA students (AHA is the name of the program that I did with Annika, under the direction of Sue). This was surprisingly fun, and all the new students seemed quite friendly, though fatigued. My new ‘host brother’ was due to arrive at 6.45, but because of a 4 hour delay in Iceland, didn’t actually show up until 11. Fortunately we were forwarned, so my host mom and I returned home to eat and wait the four hours before returning to find him. He’s a OU student, and despite his psycho killer passport photo, quite a friendly guy. I found myself playing translator the next two days at dinner, as his French slowly returned. It was kind of fun to be a sort of mentor, giving him all the deets about the family and how to go about doing things. Thursday night being my last in Angers, Annika and I decided to have a night on the town. We started with a bottle of Rosé wine, at her NEW apartment (which I must say is the cutest place I’ve seen in a long time, and I’m incredibly jealous). After, we headed to our old favorite bar, K’lypso. This is where our group of anywhere between 10 and 20 would go most nights in Angers. The bartender, Amadhi, became quite fond of us, and would usually clear out the back section whenever we arrived. Before we left France 2 years ago, we all signed a big Oregon flag and presented it to Amadhi, and he returned the favor with a free bottle of champagne. Fast forward to 2010: Annika and I wander into K’lypso and see, right next to the door, our flag. So we order our beers and go sit in our old corner, but with only two it’s not quite the same. Eventually Amadhi walks by and Annika calls him over to see if he remembers us. When she tells him we gave him the flag, he perks up and says he misses us, and asks if we need another drink. So he brings us two pints, on the house. Before we leave, we decide to have one of his special shots (he creates these flavored shots himself, there are about 15 flavors). So we go to the bar and order one, we ask for the best one, and he gives us a mango shot. As well some flavored blue shot. He charges us 2 euro a piece, and after we take our mango shot, pours three mint shots and takes that with us. Well, Amadhi, you are the reason for my awful day of travel into Nantes, that’s all I’ll say.

                The next morning (Friday) I got up and packed and my host mom took me to the gare. Before I left I said goodbye to Sue, saying I would probably not be back before the vacation at the end of October. I arrived in Nantes and was picked up and taken to one of the teachers houses for lunch, where I met another assistant from India, Surbhi. After lunch we went to the school and met a few more teachers, and then I got dropped off at my temporary Foyer (which is like a dorm, kinda). I crawled into bed to sleep of Amadhi’s curse and around seven went out to find some food. All I could find was a tuna sandwhich, which I tentatively ate half of while doing a crossword bundled up on my bed. Much to my chagrin, there was no internet at this Foyer, and I was supposed to stay there until Monday. I texted Sue and she put the idea into my head to come back to Angers for the weekend. So after an incredibly boring night of crosswords and Mansfield Park, I asked the desk at the Foyer if I could leave my big suitcase there and not pay for that night (Saturday), and come back on Sunday. I’m almost sure he broke the rules to oblige me, but eventually we worked it out, I dropped off my suitcase, and took the next train to Angers. That weekend I got to hang out with the new students a lot, and go to the Chateau in Angers for free! I stayed at Annika’s, so I actually saved money (the foyer was 25 euro and round trip train fare was 14). So I said another goodbye until the end of October to Sue Sunday afternoon before returning to Annika’s for dinner. After dinner, however, the teacher who was to pick me up from the foyer early Monday morning called to say it would be in the afternoon. I was pretty upset about the idea of spending another few hours at the boring internetless foyer, so Annika suggested I stay the night, pointing out that I wouldn’t lose any money by doing so. Worst case I would have to pay for Sunday at the foyer. So I did that, and we had cocoa with Sue. Monday morning I went to the Catho (where Sue works and where I had classes 2 years ago) to hang out in the office for a few hours, where I said my third goodbye til the end of October to Sue and all the students. I took the train to Nantes and got my suitcase without having to pay for Sunday night, went to the school to fill out tons of paperwork, and came to my permanent Foyer, where I found out that I was going to be paying 510 a month instead of 480. I wasn’t too happy about this (in fact that along with the fatigue of travel brought me near tears), but one of my teachers worked it out so that I can pay it in installments until I get my paycheck at the end of October. Also, the French government reimburses people who don’t make a lot of money for part of their rent, so it won’t actually be that bad. But, what with all that extra money, my room is HUGE. Way too big for one person. I don’t know what to do with all this space. I wish I had a couch or something. We went shopping for groceries and housewares and I only spent 45 euro AND I got a comforter (sort of, it’s pretty lame, actually). And then I cooked dinner with Surbhi and now here I am, without internet once again (I get it tomorrow, hopefully). And it’s freezing. At least I have that comforter.

*from October 4th. Almost caught up. 

un virgule cinc

I realize that I have skipped a fundamental aspect of this ‘blog’ business – what the heck I’m doing*. I wouldn’t just blog about my everyday life, after all. For those of you that might not know, I’m going to be living in Nantes, France for the next seven months, assisting in several classrooms of 7-10 year old kids to help them practice English. Now don’t ask me specifics, cause that is literally the extent of my knowledge. This program is through the French government, and I highly encourage anyone who has taken at least 3 semesters of French (or Spanish or German) and is under 35 to apply to some such program. As far as I can tell it’s not too hard to get in, and it really is a great opportunity. And if you’re concerned about your language level, I think they actually prefer you to be less competent, so the kidlets can’t cheat and speak the local tongue with you.  So anyhow, France is paying me a bit a month to do 12 hours of ‘work’ a week, and the rest of my time is why I have a blog. If the host family bit confused you, I’ll be staying in Angers (where I studied two years ago) with my host family from said study session for a week before I head down to Nantes, where I will be living on my own, and that’s an entirely different story.

*also from September 24th

un

Well, here I am again*. Prepare yourselves for endless frustrations, awkward encounters, and many a post which will leave you thinking ‘tldnr’ as I embark on my second adventure in France.

              

  Let’s start with frustrations. As I write I’m sitting across the way from a McDonald’s in the Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris. You see, this is the only place that I can find where wireless is free.

That’s right Saint Louis Airport – FREE. Now think about what you’ve done and make it better by May. 

My plane landed four hours ago, and I got through customs and picked up my bag (just one, can you believe it!) just fine. ‘finally, a travel day that isn’t horrendous.’ WRONG. I stopped at this, my favorite Macdonald’s, where I purchased a teenytiny espresso in exchange for a place to sit in this wifi haven. I needed to see if my host mother had responded to an email I sent before I left asking her to confirm her phone number, which seemed to me to be at least one digit too short. Finding no response, I dumped the tiny coffee and  proceeded to the train station, which is a good ten minute walk across the airport, and two escalators down. I go to buy my tickets, and see that I’m just going to miss the next departure. No big deal, I think, trains run all the time. So, the lady tells me, the next train that has seats available doesn’t leave til three. No problem, I can wait. Oh sorry, it’s not til seven thirty. And doesn’t get to Angers til nine. And costs 66 Euro. So I shell out the cash and go back up the escalators to phone my host mother with a number I’m not sure is real, but after asking the info station I’m told I just need to dial 00 first. I try this ‘00’ method about five times, and each time I get what I assume to be a busy tone. So I go back down the two escalators and read for two hours, then up the two escalators and try again. Same thing. At this point I’ve decided that it is not a busy tone, unless Veronique Copin has acquired a roaring social life in the past two years, but rather a signal that I am doing something wrong. This is when I silently thank my parents for making me check the weight of my bag after which we removed fifteen pounds of things to be shipped in order to avoid the FIFTY DOLLAR overweight fee. Because I’ve decided that the only way to contact this elusive or over popular woman is via the internets, which we’ve all learned by now can only be found at the good ol Macdo. So I gather up my 49.5 pound bag and retrace my ten minute walk. This time I forgo the one euro one ounce espresso as well as the slightly too familiar interior and set myself in my current location. Now, I’ve just got to kill another three and a half hours before I board my train, and in a mere five point five I will *hopefully* be greeted by my lovely host mother – that is if she got my email. Otherwise, it’s another night spent on the cold concrete of international travel – that, or cab fare.

*this post was written on September 24th, before I had set up my blog. We'll get caught up soon enough