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…