(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...