(small town, parte dos)

I didn't expect to have a follow up to the "small world" post of last night, but I should have known better.

On a related note (you'll see why soon)--I'm headed to Argentina in the morning! In the company of two program volunteers I have met twice, I'll be crossing the snowy Andes in a double-decker bus to arrive in Bariloche. It will be my first time heading out for a weekend (a long one, at that) and I can't wait to see what I see!

As we all know by now, Rio Bueno is quite small. It occurred to me last week, in fact, that there's not even a traffic light in town. However, despite my small-town celebrity and tranquil traffic patterns, I was still surprised by my small-town moment of the day. Eric works at a high school in town in the same capacity as I do, and since we both need to get to Osorno (about 30 minutes away, the location of the postcard tray from the most recent entry) to catch our bus tomorrow, he asked if I'd like to catch a ride with him and a colleague of his. I said yes, please. Then I asked where I should meet them to head out. His response?

"Oh, my colleague knows where you live. We'll stop by your house on the way out of town."

I have no idea who this mysterious high school teacher is, or why they know where I live. Something I've learned to do more readily in Chile is to shrug my shoulders and not ask questions. I'll just assume that they know my host family, and thank them for the ride.

(small world, parte dos)

I chatted with a writer friend tonight, and I'm just as rebellious as I ever was about bedtime (even when I'm the authority), so I'm finally back, with a few new anecdotes in my ever-thickening file of "small world proofs " that I think you'll enjoy. There are three.

#1

Anne Kutzner has appeared in my blog accounts on several occasions. This time, she had something new to add in the way of crazy connections. Quick review of Anne as it relates to the encounter--we met when she studied abroad at Berry our Freshman year. Then she went back to Germany, continued her studies, and we've met up more than our share over the past 5 years. She recently caught a quick break from her studies and headed to Manchester, England to visit a friend who is studying there, Manu. I forget the details, but Anne ended up meeting a girl there who studied at Shorter College (the other college in the small, North Georgia Rome) while we were at Berry. I'm starting to start expecting these sorts of things...because they happen so much more often than I would have thought. Nevertheless, I'm still impressed that a German girl would go visit her friend in the UK and meet a girl who studied down the road from that college we went to that most people have never heard of.

#2

Charlie is a dear friend that I know from Berry. He was part of most things that I consider the best bits of college life, and some of the best bits of post-school life, as well. We've traveled in Europe together (with Anne from #1), and he's going to marry another dear college friend (Sarah) in June.

Kate is a newer friend, one I know from Rodez. We had tea and madeleines together often enough at my favorite café, Broussy. Most of our bonds were forged in common experiences of life in small-town France--fighting the paperwork wars, trying to wrest internet service from reluctant providers, and planning the occasional American holiday meal. Oh, and it turns out we lived a few blocks away from each other in Paris at the same time, too.

During my time in Rodez, Charlie and Kate both applied to graduate programs in English Lit. Charlie and Kate both got into the same program at Boston College. Charlie and Kate got the same scholarship for the same program (which Sarah had begun the year before). Charlie and Kate now have poetry class together and are/were "Scansion Buddies."

In short, Charlie and Kate (and Sarah) are going to be BFFs in no time (if all goes according to plan)--and it blows my mind that people from such different parts of my life would know each other in Boston, because of me. And be poetry partners, no less.

#3

This one comes with a picture! And in my opinion, it's the craziest small-world moment yet. As we all know, I'm living in the small town of Rio Bueno. About 30 minutes away is a slightly bigger town called Osorno, and it has a department store or two. One weekend, I went with my sweet host-cousin, Belén, and her mom to scout out a professional outfit--this was on our way to spend the weekend with her mom in the country. I was tired, and feeling bummed out under the florescent over-stimulation in a big store after spending more than a month in a town without a stoplight. After the clothes, we moved upstairs to browse home wares. I was in a bit of a fog, but while Belén's mom was cooing over some wooden mask decorations, I spied a set of trays, cups, and coasters with an old French postcard motif. You know the type--dramatic script, maybe a flower or two and some old stamps. I was feeling homesick for France and lingered over the semi-tacky home decor, and absently scanned the address on the postcard image.

"Hm, that's funny...that almost looks like it's addressed to Béteille...wait...I think it is...how strange, I wonder what other town (besides Rodez) would have a rue Béteille...HOLY COW this card is addressed to 22 rue Béteille RODEZ!!!"

Those were my thoughts, and once I processed them, I started babbling excitedly to Jana and Belén in broken Spanish, "Mi calle, mi calle!" "My street, my street!"

I finally made them understand the significance of this discovery. Wandering around a department store in Osorno, Chile, I just happened to find a postcard-themed set with the street that I lived on a couple months before. No, it wasn't just addressed to the relatively unknown town whose claim to fame is "Rodez was an important town in the middle ages." The address was on the street I lived on in that town. I guess it could have been closer to perfect. It could have been 59 rue Béteille.

All things considered, though, it was pretty damn impressive.


Courtesy of Jana's cell phone, here I am--flabbergasted by the address on this serving tray:


It's hard to make out, but if you know what you're looking for, you should be able to see it:


Oh, and to top that day off, Jana was excited to introduce me to her "panqueques." Turns out they were exactly the same food as a regional specialty (farçoux) that Kate (see #2) and I frequently enjoyed together during Saturday markets in Rodez.

That's all I've got for now. The way things have been going, though, I'm sure there will be a third installment. I hope so--keeps life amazing, and that's a great thing.

(awesome)

You should all check out what Ann Jennings-Grisham and her neighbors have been up to in Bolivia:

http://cooperativaesperanza.weebly.com/

They're just getting off the ground--and I think it's pretty exciting!

(small town, small world)

Baby Josefa has gone down for a rainy afternoon nap, and so have I (almost). I can just hear her mobile churning out the slowing melody of "It's a Small World" over the rain and wind, which has reminded me again that it is, in very fact, a small world. At least in some ways.

It's a small town, where I live, too. I forgot to mention in the last rushed post that I'm famous here--which should give you a better idea of the small town-ness of it all. One of my first days at school, right in the middle of meeting and smiling at and trying to communicate with the avalanche of new colleagues, students, and extended family of the host family, I was presented to yet another new guy. For all I knew, he was another teacher, and when my co-teacher made the presentations, they only went one way: "Oh, this is Emilee, our Norteamericana." This new man then kisses my cheek (it's how you greet women here), pulls out a voice recorder, and proceeds to ask me about the English Opens Doors program, how I like the School, what I think of the town...

"I am very happy to be there, in this town, to teach English for the students and for helping Miss Erna...etc."

That's a rough translation of how I must have sounded to him. And I was flustered, on top of it, because (as is the way of things here, it seems) I had no idea what was going on--and no one felt I needed to know. After the awkwardness of all that, the man takes his leave (another kiss on the cheek) and I turn to my co-teacher with a "What just happened?" and she laughs, puts her head on my shoulder, and informs me that I just gave a radio interview. Well, hurray. I guess that was that.

Turns out Rio Bueno-ians actually listen to the radio here, because not long after that, while out collecting things for my classroom (a classroom I still don't have yet...), I was "recognized." Thrice in one day. As I chatted a bit with the cashiers of different stores, my accent gave me away, a revelation that was followed up with "Oh, are you the American that has come to work in Escuela Rio Bueno? Hey, it's the English teacher!" When I asked how they knew who I was, the response was, "Heard you on the radio, duh." Ok, so they didn't say duh, but it was implied that OF COURSE they listen to the radio programs.

Today I went in to teach my fifth grade class, and was informed that that wouldn't be happening--I was going to give an interview for the local news station, instead. Alright, then. If anything, Chile is teaching me to shrug my shoulders and go with it, because I rarely have any control over or warning about the path any given day might take. So after oversleeping, rolling out of bed and into class (I hadn't even seen myself in the mirror before arriving), I shrugged and then did my best to not sound like an idiot, formulating answers in Spanish to questions I wasn't prepared for in the first place.

"What is your message for the people of the Ranco Province?"
"Umm... was I supposed to have a general message for the people of the Ranco Province?"

Ok, again--I didn't say that. But seriously. I don't have a message for the people of the Province. At least my Spanish is a bit better than it was for the radio program...I think.

We'll see if people watch the local news as much as they seem to listen to the radio.

Small town.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Back to the "It's a small world" vein, shall we? The more I travel, the more I feel like the world is a bigger place than I realized. Each time I encounter new customs or architecture or weather patterns or cuisines or table manners, I can't help but think about how many cultures, equally as rich, must exist completely off my radar--just like the current new experience was the week before. So what's up with the small world concept, anyway? We say it a lot, and I think it quite often, despite the previous few sentences.

For me, the smallness shock comes from surprising connections to fellow inhabitants in unlikely areas of this giant jumble of humanity.

During orientation in Santiago, I met up with a dear friend and travel companion--Amy--who arrived in Chile a couple of days after me, to teach English with her husband here. Small world, no? Well, that's not all. This friend is from school--but as it so happens, we never once hung out together during our time at Berry. Turned out we were going to Paris at the same time 4 years ago, and ended up having bonds created for us by common travel miseries we shared on an adventure to Italy. We know each other from Italy and Paris, and now Chile--not Berry or Chattanooga or Atlanta. Seems as if we have an easier time getting together when out of the country than in it.

I heard from Molly and Elizabeth (former roommates) last week that they had a "small world" experience of their own that week--on an annual camping trip, they met a new girl who turned out to be Amy's younger sister. I shook my head and immediately texted Amy when I heard it--while the two of us were hanging out in Santiago, her family and my close friends were happening upon each other in the woods of north Georgia.

Small world, no?

Well, get this. Anne Kutzner (you will remember her as a German friend whose family took me in over Christmas of last year) studied at Berry with me, as well--our Freshman year. Now she's finishing up her studies at the tippy top of Germany in a small(ish) University town, where she recently got a new flatmate--who happens to have lived in Chile and has been to Rio Bueno, the town small enough for me to be famous in, on the opposite side of the world. Huh? Really? But...seriously?

I'm impressed.

And today I feel like the world is small.

(por fin)

Por fin means "finally."

After weeks of struggle to get my mac connected to the seemingly incompatible wifi at my host family's house, I now have the kind of internet access I am more accustomed to. For you guys, this means two things that had been too scarce since my arrival in Chile: blog posts and skype dates.

As I write, my host family is finalizing preparation to get on the road to Temuco for the weekend, so I only have a short moment to let you all know that I am, in fact, alive and thriving waaaaaaaaaay down South in Rio Bueno, Chile.

Get ready for some bullet points with the basics of my new life:

• Río Bueno is a small town (about 15,000 inhabitants) on a low plateau, at the foot of which runs the "Good River"--Río Bueno. Nobody was feeling very creative on the days they named stuff here--The river is Río Bueno, the town next to it is Río Bueno, and I´m working at the oldest public school which is called--you guessed it--Escuela (school) Río Bueno. At least it´s not all called Río Malo (Bad River), right?
  
• My host family is very nice and full of women. My host dad Tío Beño (short for Bernardo) is the only guy around and is a fantastic cook. He makes lunch for us (the main meal here) every day, with white bread and everything else from scratch. Last night he stayed up late making us empanadas for our trip. My host mom, Tía Adela, is a teacher at my school, as is her daughter, Caren (who's my age). They teach 2nd grade and special ed, respectively. Tía Adela is very motherly, which I almost always appreciate ;) It's an adjustment coming to live with a family after 6 years of living on my own with friends, that's for sure. During the school week, a cousin named Belén lives with us. She´s almost 18 and studies at the semi-private school in town, but her family lives in the country. She is completely precious and is probably the most patient with me and my cultural/linguistic deficiencies. I saved the best for last: la Josefa Emilia. Josefa is Caren's 6-month-old daughter, who livens up the house. She's a very happy baby, and a pleasure to come home to after school. We're teaching her English, and I swear she totally understands the term "happy feet."
  
• The school has been a challenge, to say the least. I have to admit that I'm disappointed with my co-teacher (the full-time regular English teacher who is supposed to direct our course of study and "guide me along" in supporting with speaking and listening skills what she teaches). Suffice it to say that I am getting no leadership from her, and have to struggle to get her to even make lesson plans for me to work with. (She doesn't have time to make lesson plans, apparently). The classroom promised in order to receive a volunteer is still not ready, but they said Monday...hopefully so--I can't wait to get in there on my own with the students and start involving and encouraging them.
  

• It's cold! Everyone tells me that Winter is on it's way out here, but I'm not totally convinced... Here, central heating is practically unheard of, and the heat for houses and stoves comes from wood burning. I'm getting more used to being chilly, but one of my favorite parts of the day is still climbing into my warm bed at night--it's got two thick blankets, a sheet, a fleece blanket, and a heavy down cover, as well! I'm looking forward to sunnier, warmer weather, and promises of cookouts in the country to celebrate the National Holiday on 18 September.

Well, that's all I've got time for, now. Pictures to come soon--promise! But for now I'm heading off with the hosties.

(full day)

What did I do today?

1. I learned about how to teach from two very experienced and engaging women who work for the Chilean Ministry of Education.

Being taught how to teach, even before getting into the classroom, makes a surprising difference in my confidence level and readiness to tackle the job almost at hand. It's not that what they say necessarily seems revolutionary, but nine months of existing in survival mode in the French classrooms makes me very appreciative of the strategies they're sharing with us. Hearing their suggestions, most things sound pretty straightforward and intuitive--but as I learned outnumbered and in the heat of many moments, that just isn't always the case. I feel like these cursory workshops could completely transform my experience as a teacher. Hurray!

2. I was kissed by the Chilean Ministra of Education at the Chilean Presidential Palace.

The program I'm here with is an initiative of the Chilean government, and all the participants are volunteers, so as part of our orientation day today, we all went to the Palacio de la Moneda (there's a picture of it in the last post) for a picture with the Ministra, who wanted to thank us for coming. After the picture, we were allowed to go into the courtyards, and while looking around, I was suddenly embraced and kissed on the cheek by the Ministra who smiled and looked very moved, patted my arm with a "Gracias" and moved away towards the exit. I was completely caught off-guard by her warmth and genuine emotion. Chile has generally been far more welcoming than France was, and this bodes well for my time in Rio Bueno (where I'll be going). It's nice to feel wanted.

3. I enjoyed a free admittance to the Rapa Nui (Easter Island) Culture museum at the end of afternoon Spanish classes (my teacher was a language assistant in France last year--small world!).

4. I came to an opinion about the perros callejeros of Santiago.

Perros callejeros is the term for the ownerless dogs that live on the streets of Santiago. I like them just fine. They are everywhere, but they are calm and don't bother people or bark too often. They just share the city with everyone--accompanying you for a stretch, perhaps, or napping in corners. They even respect the traffic patterns--it's strange to watch dogs crossing at crosswalks and at the appropriate time. Additionally, there seems to be about 90% fewer dog turds on the sidewalks here than in France, where almost all of the dogs are personal pets with "responsible" owners.

5. Lastly, and most pleasantly, I enjoyed a reunion long in coming with a good friend who arrived here this morning with her husband. The friend is the famous Amy from the infamous "Getting to Italy" story that so many of you have heard in all its gory glory. Despite the fact that all three of us graduated from Berry, we seem only to see each other in foreign countries. It was a bit surreal that we were just meeting up in Santiago like it was the most normal thing in the world...but at the same time, the general pattern of my life seems to be ensuring that unlikely international rendez-vous become just that-- the most normal things in the world.

(a weekend's worth)

In the interest of expediency, a selection of photos from the last couple of days in Santiago without much commentary:

Part of the Andes from the plane early Saturday morning. The mountains on the other side of the plane were more "majestic" so to speak, but I was more than impressed with my side of sunrise peaks.

First food in Chile, and first spending of Chilean Pesos. I went on a short walk Saturday evening before dark (which is early here, as it's winter) after 5 hours of blissful sleep under heavy blankets and all stretched out in a real bed. I went in the first place that looked warm and not too busy. I figured this way I could stumble through some rusty Spanish without feeling rushed. It was just the right place to stop--I had a chance to confess my green(go?)ness and ask for her suggestion. This is what she handed me--a hotdog buried in tomatoes and mashed avocado, with a little mayo on top. Oh, and that's pineapple juice she made for me right then--amazing juice seems par for the course here.

Obviously, if this is the land of fresh-squeezed juices and avocados as a standard condiment, I'm in the right place. :)

A couple of blocks from our hostel is the where the President (a lady named Michelle Bachelet) lives. It's the Palacio de la Moneda. Unlike the White House, there's access just up to and even into an inner court in the building--traffic runs just in front of the entrance.

Adjacent to the Palacio is this sign, reading, "Best justice, best country." Alright, then.

On the way up the cerro Santa Lucía, a hill peppered with interesting (and pretty European-looking) architecture, which affords some great views of the city and the surrounding mountains. There are peaceful sleeping dogs everywhere, too.

Another shot on the way up the hill. I love the Yellow so much I'm going to capitalize it.

Going directly from summer to mid-winter with no gradual autumn transition gave me an opportunity to appreciate the differences between summer and winter light in a new way. This sunny day had such a distinct atmosphere than a sunny day in July at home.

Challenge: find the Emilee!

No ordinary paint job.

Getting closer to one of Pablo Neruda's homes...

...with a Llama on the way! His house was right near another hill (that I haven't been up yet)--which has a zoo. There were, naturally, llamas to ride outside, face painters, and all sorts of kid-friendly vendors.

Mural outside Neruda's home. The text translates to, "...And it was at that age that poetry came looking for me. I don't know, don't know where it came from, from the winter or the river."

This residence is called "La Chascona," which is a Chilean term for "the messy-haired one." The property was designed as a secret hideaway for Neruda and his mistress/third wife, who had crazy hair. I really enjoyed the tour, and only regret that it seemed a bit rushed, since our otherwise-fantastic guide was ready to get home after the last tour. No other pictures, as they weren't allowed. But know that it was fascinating!

Well, that's it for now. Today was the beginning of orientation, which will last for the rest of the week. Not too much else to report, except that I'm happy to remember what it is I love about travel and the person that changes in context force me to be.

The Spanish is going well enough, and I'm eager to improve. On a funny note, the instructor for my Spanish course this week was a language assistant in France last year--it was fun to converse a bit with someone in Chile who recently returned from the same French school adventure as I did!

Buenas noches!

(chilly)

Just a quick word from the hostel in Santiago--after a whirlwind 3 weeks, I´ve hit the third continent, and officially entered Winter #2 of 3 for this calendar year! All I know so far is that it is, in fact, Winter, but sunny, and that the Andes I saw from the plane and the trip into town are seriously breathtaking!

Wish me luck as I try not to accidentally speak French to everyone!

I´m off to a nap before I go exploring--this trip was about 27 hours, but easier with my luggage checked and no train-loading to speak of :)

Bisous, besos, schoene Gruesse and much love!

(america)

Well, there you have it. After a 25 hour train ride, a happy weekend of parties in Berlin, and a 23 hour plane adventure, I've made it safe and sound at least as far as Atlanta. It's strange to be back, as expected, and I'm not even quite "back" yet--James is picking me up from Molly's apartment later this morning, which I'm at because my awesome old roommate came to get me when I didn't make my last flight. There will be more updates soon--there's even a play-by-play of my train ride that I'll be posting here soon, when I have my own computer up and running and am a bit more settled.

Coming home to a place that doesn't feel like home anymore is always strange, but a generally positive experience, all the same. Homesickness for a life in Europe that already seems so far away is setting in, but I'm enjoying the rediscovery of American pleasures I'd forgotten about: I could grab a sandwich at midnight, Molly poured me up a big glass of milk to drink with a Savannah pecan praline, there's air conditioning to combat the oppressive humidity, and I'm certainly excited about the series of giant reunion-hugs coming my way oh-so-soon.

On the neither up nor down side, however--I'm not sure how I feel about arriving home and finding out that the pennies look different. Even though it feels like I might never have left at all, there are those little elements that reassure me that a great year in Europe isn't a figment of my imagination, after all.

But seriously, what's up with changing the pennies?

(recess)

It's recess, and I have a mission (given to me by Mathieu, age 8): When I go home to America, will I please say hello to Monsieur Obama for him?

Thomas doesn't ask me to do him favors for something he can do himself. He informed me he'll just say hi to Monsieur Obama in person, after I bring him to America with me in my carry-on.

I made no promises.

And apparently I'm famous in Rodez, at least in my students' eyes--Romain asked me today, "Are you also famous in your town in America?" Sorry to disappoint him, I said no. He looked bewildered by this revelation of my ordinariness.

Maybe I will bring a couple of them home in my carry-on, after all. Who doesn't need a travelling band of tiny French fans?

(au revoir & hola)

It has been a VERY long time since my last post, and for that I suppose I can't complain if it turns out no one is checking up on my blog anymore...but for those who still have hope, I'm back! I've got pictures from a weekend in Provence to share later, silly student stories, and eventually some long-awaited Ireland pictures (I'm waiting to get my copies of the rest of them before deciding what to put up).

All of that, however, is for another time. As it turns out, and rather suddenly (doesn't it always?), my year in Rodez is speeding to an end. I leave for Berlin to fly home in just over two weeks, and my roommate, Sandra, is heading home to Colombia tomorrow. It's officially time to start feeling bittersweet about leaving the little impermanent life I built up in Rodez, and definitely a time to be looking towards the next thing with excitement and trepidation-- something that is becoming a bit of an annual ritual with me.

So--the next thing. Believe it or not (even I'm still getting my head wrapped around it), I'm moving to...

CHILE

...in 6 weeks.

I just found out that I've been accepted as a volunteer through English Opens Doors, a Chilean/UN program that gets English speakers in the classrooms, interacting with the students and getting them excited about (as well as more competent in) speaking English. Yes, it sounds familiar because it is very similar to what I've been doing in Rodez this year. There are a few differences, however:

--I am only going to be able to stay for 4 months--meaning I'll be Stateside by Christmas.

--I'll be speaking Spanish instead of French.

--I'll live with a host family (yay!).

--I'll be working a whole lot more (a full work-week, which should be a cultural adjustment of its own after this year of vacations in France). :-P

I don't know where I'll be in Chile. They'll tell me the general area about two weeks before I leave, and then I'll find out more when I arrive at orientation in Santiago.

So that's the update. It's going to be a crazy six weeks and then a crazy four months after that, but I can't wait to dive into something so totally different. Oh, and let me clarify "a crazy six weeks." I will wrap up life in Rodez and move out of my apartment, then begin a 4-week period that will in which I will spend time in 4 countries: France, Germany, the US, and Chile. Whew! But as insane as all that will be, and as nervous as I'm getting, I am flabbergastedly pleased with this next step. Hurray for adventures!

In conclusion: Ack!!

(ferocious!)

As previously decided (see the post below), Thursday was a good day.

I love it when my lesson takes on a life of its own and connects that much more effectively with my little learners. I hadn't seen my CP class in about a month, what with their trips to the pool in late March and my 20-day Spring break (hey, now--I can see that eye-roll. Oh, fine, you're right--it is ridiculous.). The long hiatus plus the fact that six-year-olds don't tend to retain a whole lot when you only see them once per week freed me of any hesitation to hit the animal kingdom again with them.

Out came my animal picture cards. We'd just learned about "good," "bad," and "okay" talking about their vacations, and when I queried, "Are you ready to learn about animals?" I was met with a grinning and thumbs-upped "GOOD!" Well, I had to smile that at least they got the general idea of that one. So we moved on, but not before Maël urgently raised her hand (I expected her to ask if she could go to the bathroom) and announced, "Moi, j'aime tous les animaux sauf les plus féroces, parce qu'ils me font trop peur. Comment dit-on féroce en anglais?"

"I like all the animals except the most ferocious ones, because they're too scary. How do you say ferocious in English?"

I had planned to review the animal names and get the kids listening for words they recognized within more complex sentences by asking "Do you like lions/cows/etc?" But the kids were so electrified by this new word, ferocious! (pronounced with the exclamation point), that I went with that instead.

Is the BIRD ferocious?

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Is the LION ferocious?

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!"

Is the CAT ferocious?

"OOKAAAY!" (Their best approximation of "sometimes")

Who knows how many of the animals they'll remember. I've long resigned myself to the fact that my job with them has to be getting them excited about English and getting their brains hearing and imitating its sounds in preparation for next year. Thus, vocabulary retention is more of a happy byproduct than a primary goal.

I have a feeling one of the few words that might stick, though, is "ferocious!" During recess most of that class could be heard yelling "ferocious!" at each other and miming the scary animals. Of all the words for six-year-olds to know in a foreign language... Sure, someone will painstakingly re-teach them how to introduce themselves and remind them of the colors next Fall. But I like to think that I gave them "ferocious!" and imagine next year's English teacher chuckling curiously to him/herself upon hearing it proffered as proof of Maël's passion for the English language.

:)

(plus belle la vie)

I snatched the title of this post from a French soap opera that I've never seen and probably never will (it doesn't come on one of our three TV channels). I have, however, become familiar with the tones of passionate devotion in which most of my 11-year-old students pronounce it. These girls love this show, and it's rare to hear them talk about the most recent plot twist without at least one heavy, contagious sigh making its rounds among them. The show moves their souls.

This morning, I woke up before my alarm and feeling good--about the classes I'll teach soon, the tea I'm currently drinking, the sunshine brightening the apartment, the Skype date set for this afternoon... More than that, even, I'm up feeling chipper as I recall good conversations and reconnections from the last couple of weeks, excited about finding time to read good books, and yes, even feeling for the first time in a long while that I've got a couple of writing projects bumbling around up my sleeve.

There is, of course, plenty that could damper my morning spirit (what the hell I am going to do with my life after June, for example), but today it's not going to happen. I decided. To quote the illustrious George W., "I'm the decider" and I think I've made a very wise decision.

Nope, this morning I've decided to borrow the bright eyes and keen interest that my devoted students accord to the show whose title translates to "Life, more beautiful" with one adjustment--I'll appropriate their admirable fervor to my own life, more beautiful today for the good start it's off to.

(teaser)

I've been in a strange fog of adjustment since arriving in Rodez from Dublin early this morning. My body is certainly back in Aveyron, but my mind and (dare I say it) my heart are still in Ireland.

Seeing something new is always invigorating. Throw in spectacular natural beauty, good company, excellent timing, a small car, adventurous spirits, a couple hundred baby lambs, several pints and a dash of poetry--there's not much more you can ask of a Spring break.

I'm still in the process of managing the photos. Looking through them, I can hardly believe the week I just wound up. I'm completely knackered at the moment, so it's not the time for a giant picture or adventure re-cap. It is, however, the time for me to avow my strengthening attachment to the Irish poet W.B. Yeats (a rediscovery that began the night of the last post, when I devoured a borrowed anthology of his poetry waiting for the sunrise).

I didn't realize it, but that spark of connection to the poet fell in perfectly with my approaching trip, and my Irish experience was far richer for it. Our very first real stop, in fact, was Coole Park (click here)-- the setting for Yeats' poem The Wild Swans at Coole. I wouldn't have thought of stopping there on our way to Galway, but I lucked out having an astute Yeats-lover for a driver who did think of it and got us there. The serenity of the park and lake under a bright, dripping sky quietly astounded me, and set the pace for a week of frequent, soul-soothing and soul-stirring beauty. That said, it's no wonder the Irish have such a rich cultural heritage.

The Wild Swans at Coole

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.

The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Under their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the aire;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away.

W.B. Yeats

(nuit blanche)

I wrote a post a few years ago about Nuit Blanche--a night in Paris when the museums and cafés and metro stations stay open all night and the citizens stay out until dawn. The term literally means "white night," referring to the lack of darkness during the customarily universal down-time. It can also refer to what we know as an "all-nighter," that miserable institution of the remorseful college student scrambling to get that paper finished before morning.

Last night Sandra and I enjoyed a different, and my personal favorite, take on nuit blanche. After an unexpectedly lovely evening with a couple other assistants, we moseyed home and somehow just ended up never going to sleep. Instead, we colored pictures, listened to music, watched the daylight savings kick in on the computer clock, read some borrowed Yeats, laughed about the preceding evening and made ridiculous jokes that could only resonate with minds alert beyond their usual boundaries. Then somehow it was 4:30 and it seemed only reasonable to wait for sunrise. The last hour of consciousness, between 5:30 and 6:30, was a bit zombie-fying, but we made it and marched up to one of the lookout spots in town (obvious advantage to living in a town on a hill) to wait for the sun. Best idea yet. I'm sure we looked a bit ridiculous to the couple of cars that passed us--two girls with their backs to the road, palms to ears, doing aerobic steps back and forth to keep warm. We stood there for an hour, until all the streetlights had switched off and the birds had simmered down, until the sleeping cat in the flower pot below us stretched awake and cows appeared on a near hillside to graze. Eventually we headed back home, trying not to feel unsettled by the awareness that our morning escapade was made possible by the fact that we are, in fact, all hurtling through space and spinning. By 7:30 we were quite ready for a hot chocolate, if less ready for bed than we'd anticipated :)

(camus)

"On voyage pendant des années sans trop savoir ce que l'on cherche, on erre dans le bruit, empêtré de désirs ou de repentirs et l'on parvient soudain dans l'un de ces deux ou trois lieux qui attendent chacun de nous en ce monde..." -- Albert Camus

"We travel for years without really knowing what we're looking for; we cast about in the noise, tangled up in desires or regrets and then suddenly, we find ourselves in one of the two or three places in this world that has been waiting for each of us..." --Albert Camus, my translation

I stumbled upon these lines by Camus today while walking up a street--isn't that lovely? To be met with written insight far from a library or even a book? A few friends and I took hold our Spring Saturday by piling into Gaston (the little Ford Fiesta) and heading off to traipse around the Tarn area, around an hour from Rodez. We started out with a really beautiful walk through Cordes sur Ciel, which is where we saw this quote of Camus' posted at the beginning of our ascent through the cluttered medieval town whose name means roughly, "Rocky Heights on the sky." Camus' words struck a "corde" with me (ahaha), and I couldn't wait to share them with my fellow traveling souls, so there they are. But of all the quotes and all the little French villages, this one was posted there because of the bit of quote that follows:

"...Le voyager qui, de la terasse de Cordes [sur Ciel], regarde la nuit d'été sait ainsi qu'il n'a pas besoin d'aller plus loin et que, s'il veut, la beauté ici, jour après jour, l'enlèvera à toute solitude."

"...The traveler who takes in the summer night from the terrace at Cordes [sur Ciel], knows then, that he need not go any further, and if he wants, the beauty here, day after day, will lift him out of all loneliness."

After that testimony, I don't suppose it's necessary for me to insist that it was certainly a spectacular place. But it was.

(oops)

I forgot one last Bristol picture. However, to fully appreciate that picture, you must first understand the wonder of aligot, a traditional dish from my region in France, Aveyron. Outside of Aveyron, people don't really know about aligot, but within the region, it enjoys celebrity status. Think cheesy mashed potatoes. Think reeeeeeeally cheesy mashed potatoes. Then make sure the cheese is a special regional cheese that only comes from a special variety of local cows, and multiply the amount of cheese you were thinking by 10. Add garlic. That's aligot. It is delicious.

If you look it up on google images, you'll often see people with a giant vat of it, spooning huge quantities of it as high as possible to show off the smooth, very elastic texture. Like this guy:

Now you are ready to appreciate the following photo of me and the tiny tub of aligot I carted to Bristol with me from Rodez. You might also like to note PAB's super-English apron in the background. Or the fact that my scarf is wrapped around my head (I don't remember why). This picture is just all-around great.

(strike fruit)

Guess who's on strike again today? You got it--the French teachers (and probably other professionals, but I can't keep up). What does this mean for me? It means a lovely sunny day off. What does this mean for you? It means the final installment of photos from my British adventures in February! Get ready for London and a couple moments from Bristol (the "home" base of the trip). Above is the only bit of sun I had during my whirlwind day trip to London. It happened as I arrived at Buckingham Palace, and had disappeared by the time I made my way into St. James' park. I can't complain, though--what with all the other sun we'd had for the rest of the trip, a rainy London day seemed fitting, even.

Buckingham Palace on a Wednesday in February when there wasn't even the changing of the Guard. I can't imagine how crowded it is under more tourist-friendly circumstances. I also think I'm glad I never had to live there. This was the first stop on my solo run-through of the capitol, which was squished into the few hours left open between the two three-hour bus rides from and to Bristol.

There is a lot of Queen Victoria all over the place. I think she looks especially intimidating here, with her back to the Palace and her face looking towards St. James' park.

St. James' park seemed like it must be really nice at times--and I did enjoy watching kids feed squirrels and teenagers bothering ducks. However, on a rainy day, with the pond drained, it left a bit to be desired, aesthetically speaking. For instance, there was an umbrella graveyard (and big pipes) where the pond normally is. I had to wonder, though, how on earth so many umbrellas get separated from their owners, and end up in a broken, silty pile. Do people not notice that their umbrellas are gone or something?

I spent the most time at Westminster Abbey--I am just such a sucker for an audio guide! This was also nearer the beginning of my day, so I had all sorts of illusions about having plenty of time to see everything I wanted (the list was already pretty pared down). It was worth the exorbitant time overage, though. I was fascinated by the strange melange of epochs in the small space. It reminded me of a very classy, historical flea-market table, crowded with artifacts and stories competing for visibility and and a spot in the collective memory.

Before seeing the sign that said no pictures, I got this guy chilling out on his elbow for eternity--I discovered that this was a fairly common position for these burial statues. Doesn't seem very comfortable to me, but maybe that ruffle under his chin helps out somehow.

Right after this photo, I saw the no photo sign. If you make it to London, I highly recommend checking the Abbey out so you can see the rest.

And here's Big Ben.

While scarfing down a hot dog along the Thames, I made my way to the reconstructed Globe Theatre and Shakespeare museum. It's only been there since the late 1990's, but I learned that it was reconstructed not only to the original specifications, but also using the original building methods. There are plays here during the summer, and the tour guide who showed it to us was an actress in the company that performs there. For some reason I can't upload my picture of the inside.

Practically next door to the Globe is the Tate Modern--it's an art museum in an old factory. Unfortunately, hitting up this fascinating collection coincided with the dreadful consciousness that I was running out of time before having to catch my bus. I limited myself to one exhibit on the surrealists, then had to rush back towards Victoria Station.

I did at least manage to plot a quick walk-through of Picadilly Circus on my way back to the station--it was quite bright, quite busy. That's about all I got to gather of it. All in all, the day in London was quite a success--I managed to cram in lots of sightseeing, but not so much that I couldn't enjoy the seeing of the sights (with the exception, perhaps, of Tate Modern). And, if I ever get back, there's still plenty I have left to see!

I don't have too many pictures from Bristol--D'yon and I did lots of wandering and visiting in what I have deemed the Baltimore of England. I enjoyed the town, but the main attraction there was definitely my hosts. D'yon and I generally have loads of fun together, as evidenced by this photo of us having fun with the Chinese masks in the children's corner of the Bristol Museum's exhibition.

This is looking up the street in down(up?)town Bristol. That's the university at the top, which is next to the museum where we found the masks and not far from D'yon's work, where we went for a lunchtime concert (curtesy of D'yon and PAB for my birthday!).

This is what you'll probably see if you google image Bristol--their suspension bridge. One day, while PAB was at work, D'yon and I took a long, winding walk along the river Avon to the base of the bridge, walked up and across, enjoyed views of the twilight city, and headed home for a homey dinner and Mario Kart Wii :)

Oh, and while in Bristol, I became acquainted with the pleasures of meat pies. Yum! Think chicken pot pie, but with all kinds of yummy fillings, on top of mashed potatoes and drowning in gravy. The English may have a reputation for bad food, but between meat pies and fish and chips, c'est pas mal. (That is a French compliment, meaning "it's not half bad.")

Not to mention that they've got the whole tea thing down. Tea is awesome, and scones with clotted cream are even more so. And yes, clotted cream sounds gross, but it is my theory that the grossness of the name is inversely proportional to its yumminess--which is good news for my scone!

So, in conclusion--England was great. Friends are great. Two-week vacations in February that allow you to combine the two: impeccable, as the French would say. Or perhaps, in the spirit of my vacation location, I should say: brilliant.

(cardiff)

I am slowly, slowly catching up to my February break pictures! Today it's the documentation of my trip to Cardiff, the capitol of Wales. It was only about 40 minutes from Bristol and made for an excellent day excursion.

D'yon and I spent a good portion of our time touring around Cardiff Castle. It's a big complex of castleyness from several eras, walled in by ramparts that reminded me very much of the playmobile castle James and I used to play with.

On entering the compound from the street, "The Keep" is the first thing you see. It's built up for the safekeeping of prisoners, royalty, etc. Built up and surrounded by a moat, it was pretty secure. It's the oldest part of the castle that still exists (the first stronghold here was a Roman one). Note the benches--this is where D'yon and I enjoyed our picnics and sunshine, and where I took my coat off outside for the first time this year!

Inside the Keep. No longer the domain of the royals or their prisoners, on this day it was crawling with a very familiar specimen--black-clad, heavily-banged (hair) French high schoolers. I felt right at home ;)

Unlike home, however, the Keep's toilet system left a little something to be desired. Behold the hole that leads to the moat.

Behold D'yon, participating in one of our favorite activities--AUDIO GUIDES! As we observed that day, they're like a grown-up easter egg hung--where knowledge is your candy!

For instance, our trusty audio guides informed us that this building was transformed into a (and I quote) "Feudal Gothic Extravaganza!" Welsh Aristocracy used to live here, and made additions over the years--so you can see the combination of styles present in the architecture.

The inside of the "Feudal Gothic Extravaganza" lived up to its name. Re-done in the 19th century, it is insanely gaudy. Check out that fireplace.

Not yet convinced? This is the ceiling of one of the guest rooms.

More extravaganza--this is a giant "love spoon." We found it at the love spoon shop near the castle, where we learned about the Welsh tradition of young suitors carving symbolic spoons for their sweethearts. My favorite part is the dragon head.

On the other end of town is the Harbor, where we met these nice statue people and their dog. We also had a nice coffee and cake at a very French café to wind down before heading back under the bay to Bristol.

Oh, and one last discovery--I was born in the wrong epoch--castles have taught me that people used to be my height all the time! Check out the Emilee-sized door.

(sulyvain and lyme regis)

Today you get a peep into the day trip that PAB, D'yon, and I took to Lyme Regis during my winter break. Before diving in, however, you also get the cute kid story of the week:

Sulyvain (a weird name even in France) is 6. He's not actually one of my students, but he looks longingly into the room where I take half of his class twice a week for English time, and always proffers a shy " 'ello" before Carine calls him back. This week I arrived at his school (Fabié) a bit miffed at the previous behavior of a few of my fifth graders, and just in time to walk upstairs with the students as they came in from lunch/recess. In the echoing foyer, amidst a chorus of eager 'ellos vying for my response, I felt an earnest tug on my sleeve and a pat on my tummy. Sulyvain was looking up at me through his thick glasses and pronounced with a rather concerned expression, "Emilee, tu sais, j'aime bien quand tu fais le sourire"-- "Emilee, you know, I really like it when you smile." Upon his declaration, Sulyvain immediately fell in with the rest of his class to march upstairs with his line buddy, and I couldn't help but smile on the brink of the challenging class already awaiting me.

And now, ladies and gents, Lyme Regis. It's a small coast town on the English channel chock full of fossily cliffs (the reason the trip had been planned) which, like Bath, also happened to figure in Austen's Persuasion. PAB (that stands for, and is much easier to say than, Pierre-Alexandre Bourbon), D'yon, and I enjoyed a nice drive down from Bristol at the weekend, ready for fossil-hunting, picnicking, and enjoying the coast. Lyme Regis did not disappoint on any of those counts. As with the rest of the trip, we had uncanny weather-luck, putting "Southern France" to shame ;)

Bundly picnic! My gracious hosts D'yon and PAB.

We picked our way around this area for hours, breaking "stones" with our bare hands and occasionally finding fossils. Mostly we found fossil imprints, though.

This was our first fossil encounter of the day--can you see the giant shell imprint on this stone? It's been smoothed over by the tides.

There were lots of slippery, smooth moss-covered areas to walk across, like this one. I only stepped in a puddle once, at the end--thankfully!

My first (and best) real fossil discovery! A vertebrate of some kind.

Old roommates reunited after a productive day of intense fun-making.

I've still got pictures from Cardiff, London, and Bristol on the way--hopefully I'll get them all posted before I bring home lots more pictures from the Spring Break adventures in the works (hint--Paris and Dublin!). I know, I know. I work too hard here. How I'm managing to survive life with a two-week vacation every month and a half or so is beyond me, too ;)

(two holiday tales)

Last week I asked all my classes about how they spent their vacations. Here is a rough break-down of their responses:

Went to see Grandparents: 52%
Went skiing: 24%
Had sleepovers/went to birthday parties: 14%
Stayed home/played video games: 9%

The very astute among you will have noticed that 1% of my students is still unaccounted for. It's English class name is Homer (after the Simpsons character, of course), and his vacation-relation went like this:

Me: Did you have a GOOD vacation or a BAD vacation?
Homer: uhh...okay.
Me: What did you do?
Homer (pronounced with the cool nonchalance of an Aveyronnais hooligan-in-training): Behn....j'ai embêté des poules.

To which I react with un-masterable, if quiet laughter. In English, "Homer's" declaration was "Ehh... I bothered some chickens."

***

Unfortunately, I didn't have a chance to bother any chickens over vacation, but I did manage to get into some great mischief of my own in England, and more specifically, in Bath. Here are some pictures to prove it.

There was a speed limit of 4 knots here, on the river Avon, just by the Parade Gardens. As there were no boats in sight, I assume it was a warning to the ducks.

Pulteney Bridge, and another view of the gray weather we started out with.

Outside the famous Pump Room. When Jane Austen was writing and Bath was the social center of the day, the Pump Room is where people to socialize and drink the mineral water from the spring over which the spa was built. (The Romans were the first ones to have baths here, thus the name of the town.) In a fun twist of coincidence, I read Austen's Persuasion for the first time on my way to England, and really enjoyed getting to experience the places where the story took place. Like the Pump Room.

And here we have the famous pump in it's room. It brings up warm mineral water (once renowned for its healing properties) so that people can "enjoy" drinking it while benefiting from the sophisticated atmosphere of the restaurant and its society.

"Enjoy" in that last caption was in quotation marks because it's not an especially delectable experience, drinking the Bath Spa waters. It's lukewarm and, well, you can definitely tell that there are plenty of minerals in it. For a video of the water bubbling away just on the other side of the window, scroll down. I don't know why the website won't let me put the video where I want.

D'yon and I rewarded ourselves for drinking our healthy water with my first Fish and Chips for lunch! It was totally delicious, and gleefully washed down with a Bath ale. British English lesson for the day: Chips = Fries, and Crisps = Chips.

On Gay Street, which is a steepish road that leads up towards the Royal Crescent, you can find the Jane Austen Centre, complete with costumed doorman. Austen lived here for a while, as did some of her Characters.

The Royal Crescent is uphill from Gay Street, and is a residential half-circle road. People still live here, in apartments and such. The houses look out across Royal Victoria Park, where D'yon and I got into all kinds of outdoor fun. Notice the sun coming out.

Peek-a-boo windows looking through a tree on the Royal Crescent.

One of the coolest trees ever. We found it on the way into the park where we ambled and played. If it wasn't on private property, we'd have totally been trying to walk the balance beam that is the bottom branch.

As it turns out, though, we weren't lacking for playground equipment. The sun came out in full force just as we discovered this amazing playground--complete with toys we'd never seen before like this spinning version of a see-saw. All D'yon and I needed was a daddy to push us in circles--but bouncing around was quite enough fun.

Look, I'm climbing! How cool is it that the toys on this playground were plenty big for grown-ups? And if you're thinking of a snide remark about me not really being grown-up-sized, it was all big enough for D'yon, too :P

I leave you with this photo of D'yon's and my "Titanic Pose" once we got to the top of the climbing web.

A day of sunshine, mineral water, fish and chips, Jane Austen, tea time, playgrounds and a long-lost Parisian roommate is a good one in anyone's book, I would venture to say. In mine, it's a spectacular one. Look for more posts with glimpses into our forays in Lyme Regis, Bristol, Cardiff, and London!

May you have many days as lovely as the one these pictures are from!

Oh, and don't forget to check out the video of the water we drank here. Appetizing, no? You can hear the music of the Pump Room, and there's a special cameo at the end!

(happy birthday ode)

I have more than my fair share of amazing people in my life--a fact that, when remembered on one's birthday, ensures that said birthday will be a happy one. I am humbled by the presence and caring of the extraordinary individuals that love me and let me share their lives with them.

I can't help but think immediately of my parents. Starting today 23 years ago, they both began the intense labor of loving and raising a child who doesn't always appreciate the sacrifices they've made for her. It's a testament to the constancy of their love that I could ever take it for granted--but I'm slowly learning not to.

My grandparents and other dear extended family have supported my interests and dreams just because I belong to them. They've loved me since before I remember being a person, and always let me know how proud they were of me, whether I felt I deserved it or not. Their unquestioning support has given me courage to trust myself and pursue my own path even when it leads me far from home.

My little brother who's not so little any more is becoming a man to be depended on--and I do depend on him. Our years of rivalry have fizzled out over time and lots of distance, but knowing that this guy will always be part of my life, until we're really old, is one of the most comforting things I can think of. He's my ally.

My few but precious long-haul friends are pretty much--scratch that--just plain up there with family. We've had the reassuring pleasure of discovering by now that our friendships have a stronger base than common interests and circumstances, as we have all gone through several incarnations of both. We have the freedom to watch each other change without fearing alienation and we fall right back into easy interactions when we cross paths, even as adulthood ensures that those paths become increasingly divergent. They are my necessary anchors, who have taught me about constancy and unconditional love.

Roommates who are friends are one of the best things in my life, ever. I have to marvel at the great luck I've had, randomly falling in with people who have turned into near souls, as well as proximate bodies. These are the ones who have crawled over to hold my hand on the kitchen floor as I screamed and cried into the phone, the ones who would bring me a souvenir stick from the first day of Spring, who would set their alarm for 3:30 a.m. without being asked to make sure I really did get up to finish that term paper, who would help justify worthwhile procrastination, sing songs on repeat with me, and who have trusted me to occupy the same role in their own daily lives for a spell.

Smack in the middle of a second year in France, I have accumulated a few friends whom I suppose I could label the foreigners. Much like the roommate friends, we were thrown in together by random circumstance and usually bonded quickly through shared travel fiascos and a sense of co-adventuring and discovery. There's nothing like a facing a night-train horror or a pig foot in the Frenchies' refrigerator for a couple months to bring people together. They share parts of my life that none of the other people I've mentioned do, and make far-away places feel like home. Plus, they keep me on my toes--mentally, culturally, grammatically, and personally.

I have benefited enormously from the great teacher/mentors in my life. Unlike my family, these people have no real "obligation" to take an interest in providing for my development. They have made sacrifices of time, space, and energy to share their experience's wisdom with me, in addition to living lives that demand my respect and make me trust their advice. A few have been around for quite a while, sharing everything from guest bedrooms to recipes to advice and encouragement, and have lent sympathetic ears to often immature musings/perceived injustices on my part with patience.

For all of this and all of you, I am humbled and thankful. And had a happy birthday largely because I remembered to reflect on these extraordinary blessings.

Pictures and England tales to come very shortly.

(sheepish return)

I can't believe it's been almost two months since my last update (ok, ok, a month and a half--but February is shorter)--and it's been far too long.

My life since New Years had been rather quiet up until last week, a fact on which I can place teensy bit of the blame for not having written. However, most of the blame for my "absence" rests on me and the fact that I just wasn't in the mood to write. I wasn't taking tons of pictures, and wasn't doing much out of the ordinary--just traipsing along, contentedly buried in routine and many layers of clothing.

There were a few moments of interest, however. Here's of them to bait you into remembering my blog, as the appetizer for the on-its-way post that will be full of pictures and stories from my trip to England (!!!). And yes, in case you weren't clear, I just took a 9-day trip in the middle of February because the French schools were quite naturally on holiday. Again.

Anyway, onto a short Rodez outtake:

This one is called (a southern soul grows up, sort of).

A couple of weeks ago, I had a totally foreign experience, which my northern friends will laugh at and my southern ones will struggle to fathom. I woke up on a Tuesday morning, dreading the chill that would too-soon succeed my exit from bed. I got out anyway, knowing that some of my most difficult classes were counting on me, and bumped down to the floor between my bed and radiator, heavy under that knowledge mingling with remnants of still-real dreams. Sitting with my back to the radiator in the mornings has become my ritual concession to the rough transition into the cold, waking world. As I sidled up against the heat, I struggled to focus on my surroundings and I soon noticed the roof across the street. I see it every morning, and it was usually black. This morning, though, it was white, and the fuzziness outside wasn't entirely due to my bleary eyes. No, it was snowing. And here's where the story gets worth telling: For the first time in my life, my spirits sank at this realization. No childlike glee for a pretty rarity anywhere. Can you imagine? Oh, don't be sad--I'm sure that there will be plenty of other gleeful snow-finds in my future. But the grown-up southern soul has realized what many of the colder climes have long known--that sometimes, snow just means dampness and slippery sidewalks on the way to a chilly school building. The funny thing about life that I remembered here is that it's really amazing, how our own insides can take us by surprise and buck a life-long attitude in an instant.

But I don't think that's a bad thing to realize. A malleable soul is an asset, I suppose--because it won't always go in the direction of a disappointment. :)

So, that's all for now, folks! Come look soon, for there will be many photos and more enchanting stories than this last one.

(frohes fest)

Ferris wheel at a lingering Weihnachtsmarkt in Berlin (Alexanderplatz)

Well, I'm right where I left off--"home" in Rodez, gearing up for classes. Though, in typical, curious French fashion, I was informed this morning by my roommate that I didn't need to go into my first class today. Apparently when she called in sick, the principal very cheerily wished her Happy New Year and told her to tell me I didn't have to come in, either. Only God knows why, but you're getting a blog post out of my free hour, so no harm done (not that getting time off is ever really harmful...).

Though I'm exactly where I left you a few weeks ago, I wasn't here the entire time--thankfully. No, despite exercises in combat with the French bureaucracy, public transportation strikes, lost baggage and a broken-down train, I've been to Berlin and back. Anne's family was gracious enough to welcome me back to their home and into all of their Christmas/birthday/New Year's celebrations this year, and I'm terribly grateful to have had a family (if not mine) and friends to spend the holidays with. Rodez is great, but I was quite ready for a break and happy to reconnect with people who have known me longer than 3 months. Not to mention that I got to experience a totally new style of holidays in Germany--and let me say, from what I saw, they do it right. Anne's mom, Kerstin, had her 50th birthday on the 24th (the main celebration day in Europe), so before the extensive Christmas celebrations could even begin, we feted Kerstin's life with a giant party on the 23rd. By the time the party was cleaned up on the 24th, we had just enough time to celebrate Kerstin's real birthday with a coffee and then transition to the family room for the Heiligabend gift exchange. Then, naturally, there were guests over for games and then another party for the young'uns into the wee hours. By the time it arrived, we were all quite ready for the 25th, ie "Couch Day" at the Kutzner's. This involved watching movies that the Weihnachtsmann (Santa) had brought the night before and otherwise gathering energy for the continued celebrations and moving to come. We spent a day with Anne's aunt, uncle, and cousins on the 26th, re-celebrating with the new group of people, exchanging more gifts, drinking, and playing video games and then spent a few days moving people around--Anne's room in Greifswald and painting/assembling Ikea items at the new apartment of some friends of Anne's (and mine, by now :-). And suddenly, it was time for New Year's. I flew back to Toulouse on the morning of the 1st and have been here since, mostly napping and doing some intensive cleaning in the apartment.

My time in Germany was amazing, and I couldn't have imagined a better way to spend Christmas away from home. Especially since the invention of Skype. I have been continually astonished at and grateful for the warm, complete hospitality of the people I know in Berlin because of Anne. I'll be happy to see them again when I go back to fly to the States this summer...but I'm not going to think about that right now, because I have NO idea what I'll be doing with my life by then. Again. ;-)

Now, enjoy the pictures:

Happily seated in a sunset-side seat on my flight from Toulouse to Amsterdam.

Kerstin lighting the Christmas tree candles on Heiligabend.

They told me that someone is always Weihnachtsmann and hands out the gifts from a big sack. Naturally, it was my year to be him. Whether this is really tradition or they were enjoying the foreigner, I'm not quite sure...

My surrogate Christmas family--Anne, me, Kerstin, and Bernd. Anne's brother Robert took the picture.

*Trying* to sing along to 80's German pop on Sing Star with Anne's little cousin, Nick. The only one that went sort-of okay was 99 Luftballons.

Cathi, Conrad, Anne and I went to a Christmas market at Alexanderplatz one afternoon to eat 1/2 meter Bratwurst (in my hand), drink Glühwein (mulled wine), and ride carnival rides.

The Glühwein-drinking, this time out of little boot mugs. It's really amazing how much of the delicious stuff I'd had by the time I left.

Me, only half-way bundled up for the freezing bike ride (which didn't actually end up being very fast and windy, since I couldn't really reach the pedals on Anne's old bike) to the other Anne's house for New Year's Eve. The light on my head was for the bike, as well as fashion, natürlich. Anne's mom had to button me into my coat at the end, like a little over-bundled child.

Ok, if you think mulled wine is yummy, wait till I tell you about this drink. It's called Feuerzangenbowle and it's yummy, festive, and flammable! You basically make Glühwein in a pot and then put this sugar cone over it, douse the sugar in rum, and...

...set it on FIRE! The sugar burns and caramelizes, then drips into the wine. I don't know why on earth we don't do this in America. I think I'm going to start.

We had Cheese and Chocolate fondue for dinner as we waited for the 2009. Delicious.

Finally, we all bundled up again to watch the neighborhood fireworks at midnight. We lucked out, as Anne G's neighbors went all out with their firework purchases and provided a good show. You could see fireworks all over, since it's so flat there, and I also learned about Himmelslaterne, which are basically floating blimp-like lanterns. Quite a nice way to ring in the new year--Anne G and Jana even hummed along to Auld Lang Syne with me :)

(kids)

I've had a nasty cold all week, but as I could breathe with at least one nostril today, I decided I should drag my weary, sad self to classes and do my best to dispense a bit of Christmas cheer to my students.

The morning was a bit of a rough go, but by the afternoon I had a few moments of sweetness that shone through what seemed to be a veritable swamp of crazed, almost-Christmas-vacation student behavior. I'm sure any teachers out there know what I'm talking about. Somehow, despite trying to yell over misbehaving voices with no real voice to speak of and watching the snow melt (sad), I came home enjoying the impression that the day had left on me, mainly due to two "breather" moments.

Moment number one:

I had the little CPs today (that's first graders), who generally always put me in a good mood. This day's sweet happening was the spontaneous and overwhelming desire of my kids to explain how Santa gets into each of their houses on Christmas eve. I went with it and let each kid share--it is, after all, almost Christmas, and I don't want to be a classtime scrooge, do I? I heard plenty of explanations:

"I don't have a chimney, so Santa just comes in the front door!"
"Well, at my house, he doesn't come in the front door--he just climbs up a big ladder to my balcony!"
"I hope Santa doesn't try to come down the chimney like the other years because this time there's glass in it!"
"We don't have a balcony or a chimney, so Mom says Santa has to climb in the window!"

My favorite one of all, though, was a little girl with big, believing eyes who explained quite matter-of-factly:

"Well, I think our windows are too small and since we live in an apartment he can't come in the front door (he doesn't know the code), so I just don't know how he does it but the best part is that he comes in and leaves the presents all the same!"

Moment number two:

Immediately following that class I had CE2s, the third graders. This is one of my most talkative classes, and they were in rare form today. I was doing oral evaluations in the hallway and trying to keep an eye on them while they bickered and complained and interrupted. They were really awful, and I was nothing short of pissed. Because of their behavior, we didn't have time for me to read 'Twas the night before Christmas' to them as I'd planned. (You may think it odd that I would read that poem to kids whose most recent challenging English lesson was on colors. It might be, but given that I'm sick, they're crazy, and they don't really hear the flow of English very often, I decided it was an acceptable part of a Christmas lesson.) With my other classes, I passed out coloring sheets, had them repeat and write "Merry Christmas," and then introduced the poem. I told them not to worry about understanding it, but encouraged them instead to listen to the pretty rhymes in English while they colored. In every class, I was pleasantly surprised at how well it went over. The students would settle in with their markers, and I would proceed with an expressive reading of the poem to a completely silent, enthralled audience. Again, those who have ever dealt with several kids at a time know how rare that can be. So back to my CE2s. Flustered at the end of class, I told them they could all go to recess, and as an afterthought threw out the option of staying in and listening to the poem if they wanted. I then went to their teacher to discuss the oral evals and got caught up in a bit of chit-chat. One student, Pablo, came and tugged at my sleeve. Now, you should know that Pablo was probably the most disruptive student of the day, and he'd gotten a special lecture from me already. I turned to him with an exasperated "oui?" I expected him to start explaining away his actions again, but was thrown off guard when he said, "Maîtresse, don't forget--we're waiting for the poem in the other room."

After 45 minutes of deplorable comportment, it was refreshing to smile at Pablo and find 6 of my students, pencil cases and notebooks in laps, waiting calmly for me to come back and read to them. During recess, no less! I happily picked up my sheet and began my hoarse recitation to an enraptured audience of kids who had no earthly idea what I was talking about. A couple kids even wandered in from the hallway to listen. By the time I was finished, I could hardly reconcile the recent classtime frustration with the sweet faces grinning at me. "You were right!" Cassandra exclaimed, and Mathieu and Valentin chimed in, saying "Yeah, I didn't understand it, but it sounded really nice!" and the quintessential French compliment "Pas mal (not bad)."

Sometimes I think there's an automatic emergency brake in the minds of all kids--just when they've done their worst and you're ready to swear off of them forever, their safety feature kicks in with something cute or curious or funny and keeps you on their side. This is very good for the welfare of mischievous children, as far as I'm concerned. I'll try to keep this in mind as I think about going to my more difficult schools tomorrow morning...