The Two-Month Mark

I've officially been back from France for two months. It hardly seems possible that time could go by so quickly. But still, I've had so many changes since coming back home. For one, I've already moved three times. And instead of taking a teaching job in Salem, I'm holding out for a different teaching job in central Oregon and working at Starbucks in the meantime. Instead of being in the city, as I'd planned, I moved out to the high desert in what many consider to be the middle of nowhere.

But I absolutely love it.

I'm happier now than I've been in many years, and I feel like I have direction and a clear purpose. There are things that I miss about France, of course, but for the most part, I am so very glad to be home.

I'd kill for some good wine on most days, I'd love some moldy goat cheese, and I sure miss the sound of the roaring TGV. But on a crisp Central Oregon morning, when the sun is just rising above the rimrock, and I know that the only thing between me and the border to Idaho is the desert and a few random farms, I just have to smile and remember that, in the end, I love Oregon.

Nothing Gold Can Stay, and other timeless clichés

Well, as things tend to do, my time in France has officially come to an end. I had my last day of class on Tuesday, and later that day filled out the Fulbright Final Report. So I am indeed done with my time as a Fulbrighter to France. It's been an exciting time.

Now, I'm at a hotel near the airport in Barcelona. Tomorrow morning, I'll take the shuttle over to the airport, probably get scanned for the swine/H1N1/Mexican flu, and then be on my way home...in about 20 hours. I'm very excited to get home, of course, but sad about the many things that I'll leave behind. There is, after all, so many wonderful aspects about living in Europe. I'll miss the sidewalk cafes, the slow pace of life, shopping in general, and all the rest that comes from the exoticism of living abroad.

Looking back, I see so much that I wish that I had done, or done more often. But I also see a year spent meeting new people, making new friends, trying new foods, seeing new movies, going new places, learning new things, speaking new languages, and making memories that will last forever. It's been an up and down ride for sure...

But totally, absolutely, and completely worth it.

Good News! More Videos!

Even though my camera cord never returned to me after its trip from Paris via the French Postal Service, I have managed to find an adapter that works with my camera. And voilà! More pictures have been uploaded onto YouTube. Look for them to be finished tomorrow.

You'll find videos from Christmas in Paris, from Rome, from around town in Perpignan, and one short clip from Belgium.

You may access these videos at: http://www.youtube.com/user/leenielou_who

I hope you enjoy these new videos! I certainly am glad to finally have them uploaded!

One Thing I Will NOT Miss: French Bureaucrazy

If there's one thing I hate in France, it's putting up with any sort of paperwork. I don't have a clue why, but the ALL of the French (and yes, that's a generalization because in 16 months of living here, I've yet to see it contradicted!) are slow, inefficient, and frustrating in producing any sort of documentation.

For example, here's a run-down of what I've had to deal with this year alone (my year in Poitiers had its own fair share of frustrations:

- Getting my carte de sejour (long-term visa): I had to wait in October until I was assigned a medical visit that I HAD to have in order to get my visa. I ended up not ever showing this document to another living soul while I was here. On seven separate occasions, I had to wake up early and stand in the freezing cold in line for over two hours; I only made it in twice. By the time that I should have had my document, I was past due in needing it. And the required more documents that I HAD ALREADY GIVEN THEM!! Exasperated, I contacted the head of education in Montpellier (1 1/2 hrs away), and demanded that she help me get my visa. I finally got it...at the end of February.

- Getting my "Carte Vitale": I sent off the request for my carte vitale about two months ago. It came back to me, saying that I had forgotten to attach a photocopy of my identity card. Would have been nice if they had instructed me to include it, don't you think? So I sent them a copy of my passport, and just got a letter yesterday saying that it was not "receivable." What does that even MEAN??

- Getting housing assistance: I've been living in my apartment since December, but I was only allowed to qualify for a program called the CAF once I got my carte de sejour. Although I got my visa in February, I wrongly waited until March to submit my claim. The man at the counter looked over my documents, and told me that everything looked fine, and that I should be hearing from them within 10-15 days. It sounded too good to be true! And, it was. They took two weeks to let me know they had received my claim, and another two weeks to let me know that I hadn't checked two of the boxes (why didn't the man at the counter tell me to check those boxes, hmmmm??). So I resubmitted my claim, included a copy of my visa, and today I get two more letters: one asking me if my apartment has been my primary residence (again, why didn't the man at the counter ask me this a month and a half ago?!), and another saying that my visa will soon no longer be valid, and that I need to wait until it has been renewed. Augh!

- Getting my pay for working extra hours in November: This is the one that frustrates me the most. Back in November, I gave up a week of my two-week vacation so that I could work at school and make some extra euros. I was told that the payment process would take a while, and that I needed to be patient. Only in January did I get a letter saying, "In order to complete your payment, we need..." So I submitted the required documents, and waited a while longer. By March, I realized that I was the only one who hadn't been paid for working in November. I started asking around. My contact lady generously agreed to talk to both the Vice-Principal and the secretary on my behalf. When that didn't help, I went directly to the secretary and re-sent my documents to the head of education in Montpellier. That still hasn't worked. I still haven't been paid for working five months ago. And I am nearly to the point of no forgiveness. I am livid. In my American mindset, that is unacceptable -- waiting five months to be paid?! That would never happen at home!!

I love France, but these little things have turned into bigger things that grate on my nerves. I don't understand why they complicate things and make life so difficult!

Makes me so glad to be going home soon. I know the U.S. is far from perfect, but at least we process our documents in a timely manner.

And I'll salute my flag for that.

11 More Days!!

The time till going home is getting closer and closer, and every day I count the days, thinking "What was I doing 11 days ago? Let's see...that would have been April 9, the day Gabrielle and I went to Monaco and Nice and drove back to Perpignan. That's not so far away!" I can't help but get excited, and knowing that everyone from back home is getting excited to have me home makes me even MORE excited!! (Can you tell I'm excited here?)

This week at school, I'm seeing each group for the last time. They're asking me questions about life in the U.S., what I think about France, and when they can come visit. Some of them seem genuinely sad that I'm leaving. Some have asked for my email address, and others still vow to track me down on Facebook.

What I find funny is that the majority of my students don't see me as going home. For them, I'm simply going to the U.S. "You're soooooo lucky," one of my female students told me today. I think I saw a reflection of an "I (heart) NY" tee-shirt in her eyes. They don't see me as returning to my normal life -- with my family, my friends, and my beloved Central Oregon pine trees -- but they see me as temporarily traveling to an exotic place littered with celebrities, where it rains money, and people drive shiny new SUVs.

Although I cannot wait to get back home, I know that I have many loose ends to tie before I leave. I have administrative things to take care of (STILL!), people to say goodbye to, and a whole apartment full of stuff to pack up.

I also know that I'll miss it here. I'll miss the freedom that comes with living abroad. I'll miss the 12-hour work weeks, and the laid-back attitude of the French. And I'll miss my apartment, which I've come to love so very much. I'll probably cry a little bit when I leave because, for better and for worse, this place has been my home for the past seven months.

And I'll certainly miss that part.

Ouch, that hurts...the economy, that is

All year long, I've been hearing stories about how bad the economy is in the U.S. And, all year long, I haven't really had a clue about how bad it is. Because here in France, the economy has been relatively untouched. Nobody is losing their job, nobody is scrounging for extra cash, and nobody is particularly worried. Despite the fact that some of our neighbors (Ireland and Iceland, to name only a few) have been hurting for months, France hasn't experienced any of the economic pain that the U.S. has. So I haven't really seen the impact that this has made. Sure, I've been keeping up via telephone calls and the New York Times, but I haven't really felt the impact.

Until now.

About two months ago, I started looking for jobs upon my return to the U.S. I looked for teaching jobs, of course, and applied for two full-time writing positions. Both jobs, unfortunately, sent me a letter saying that, due to budget cuts, the position had been canceled. I looked for adjunct positions, and looks like I'll have one for sure (yay!), but adjunct work isn't enough to live off of. So I applied for administrative jobs, only to discover that they want people with actual administrative experience -- not teachers. Go figure.

And now, as I'm back to square one, I realize how bleak the job market is back at home. No one seems to be hiring in my field, or if any, there is only part-time jobs everywhere. I might end up working part-time at several different schools. And if it's a job that pays, I'll take it!

I've been in denial the whole time I've been here about how bad the economy really is at home. And now, with only 24 days left till I return, it's starting to finally settle in. And that hurts.

Dear Diary, today I punched the vice-principal in the face...

I arrived at school today to find the staff room crowded with teachers, discussing something seemingly-important. I then spotted my friend Carlos, the Spanish assistant, and asked him what all the fuss was about. "Some kid punched the vice-principal in the face," he told me. WHAT?! I listened to the discussion and got more of the details: Mr. Poite, one of the two vice-principals at our school, had arranged a meeting with this student, who had been missing a lot of school lately. Everyone who worked with this student knew that he had anger management issues...and that he was trained in boxing. Students feared him in the halls. Teachers couldn't control him in class.

Then Mr. Poite holds a meeting to talk with this student about his behavior. I'm fuzzy on the details here, but another teacher came into his office, and somehow the student pinned that second teacher to the wall. Mr. Poite came to help the other teacher, and in doing so, got a swift blow to the ear by the "delinquent" student.

What followed was a lengthy and complicated argument about what should be done next. (I should add in parentheses that the French are lousy at debates. They know this, and I know this. So the "lengthy and complicated argument" was really more like a ridiculous and strung-out series of accusations that really went nowhere.)

By this time, it was 10:20, already 10 minutes into the scheduled class session. The students were gathered outside, wondering what was going on and when their teachers would show up (I'm sure they were hoping to have an extra hour off). Ten minutes later, one of the teachers decided that the conversation couldn't be finished then and there. So he suggested that we all reconvene in the amphitheatre in a few minutes to drag the conversation out until noon.

And thus, just like that, classes from 10 to 12 were canceled.

I decided to sit in on the meeting, just to see what it was like. The second vice-principal came in to make remarks about the incident and to announce, as we already knew, that the student had been expelled from school. He then opened the floor for suggestions on how to proceed with other students who might be considered "dangerous."

Between accusations ("Must be the Inspector's fault! He knew this was a dangerous student, and let him back in to the school! HE should be held responsible!") and victimizations ("He was in my Spanish class, and wouldn't turn off his cell phone! He's a disrespectful student!"), I had to sit back and wonder: was this kid REALLY dangerous? Now, granted, punching a vice-principal in the face is unacceptable and he merited the consequences he received. But really now...no one's life was in danger. He didn't have a gun. He didn't have a knife. He wasn't out to pummel someone into the ground. And because of that, I'm hesitant to call him truly "dangerous" (as school shooting perpetrators are typically the ones we DON'T expect), and much more likely to suggest therapy...and maybe yoga.

An hour into the second discussion, the teachers were still getting nowhere in terms of where to go in the aftermath of this event. A few more diplomatic teachers came to the rescue, saying something to the effect of: "What we need to do is have consequences that students can see. If we can all agree on..." or "This is what I hear everyone saying...., so let's decide what we should do next." And then that hopeful moment would be lost to whomever had the floor (or "the right of the word" as they say in French) next -- someone who felt the need to change topic completely, or talk about their own victimization by the student.

In the final ten minutes, the teachers finally came to a vote about where to go next. Not discussing any sort of protocol, they decided that they needed to get the word out: first to parents, then to the local media, then to the Inspector of the Academy. That was it. No next steps, no further consequences, no future plans.

Meaning that the next time someone gets punched in the face, they're going to be right back where they started.

Now Accepting Donations!

My goal for the end of my year here has been to go on a cruise. I had a dream last night that I was on a cruise headed for Barcelona, Tunis, and Naples (not a bad dream, eh?). I've found a few that I would LOVE to go on (one is for France, Italy, Greece, and Croatia -- the PERFECT cruise itinerary!!), but the problem still is the $$ (imagine those as Euro symbols) factor. So. I am officially accepting donations. :) Think of it as a birthday present. Or a birthday/Christmas present. Or a birthday/Christmas/next year's birthday/next year's Christmas present. I mean...you'd want to do it if you were here, right? :)

The Countdown Begins: 44 More Days

All year long, I've looked forward to several benchmark events: Christmas in Paris, moving into my new apartment, Mom coming to visit, my April vacation. Everything seemed so far in the future and suddenly, without any warning, here I am at the end of my time in France! How did that possibly happen?

I have mixed feelings about the end of my time here. On the one hand, I'm so excited to get back home to Oregon -- to see my friends and family, to feel "normal" again, and to see what is coming next in my life. There's so much to look forward to! Oh, and did I mention Starbucks? Definitely can't wait for some good coffee a la USA.

On the other hand, I still feel like there's so much for me to do here. I feel like I have business at my school that I haven't finished -- people I haven't reached out to yet. Friends I haven't met. I have travels ideas that I don't have time or money for. There's a lot that I haven't done here, but then again, I knew from the beginning that I'd only be here for seven months. And I knew they'd go quickly.

Looking back, I see that my year has been marked into two distinct sections: BA and AD -- Before Apartment and After Dorm. My time living at the school seems so far away, and I cringe thinking of when I had to go to McDonald's to get my internet access and all those microwave dinners I ate because I didn't have a refrigerator. I sure do love my apartment, and my mother can certainly vouch why.

Looking forward, I still have a month and a half. And just so I can take advantage of all the time I have left, here is a list of some of the things I'm planning to do before I leave:

- Visit Cavaques, a coastal village in northern Spain where Dali used to live
- Go to Corsica for a week
- Visit a high school friend in Switzerland
- Take the Little Yellow Train through the foothills of the Pyrenees
- Go back to the Riviera, even though I was there four years ago
- Visit Andorra
- Try Catalan food

I know it sounds ambitious, but hey...isn't that the point? Guess I'd better get started.

A Refresher Course in Coolness

Yesterday I started teaching again at school after my looooong and wonderful break. I have a new schedule now, even though there isn't a new semester. I see a few new classes, but mostly the same faces each week. There are good things about my new schedule: no class on Friday every other week, one shorter week, and fewer obnoxious students. There are, however, bad things about my new schedule: the new class at 8 am on Tuesdays, and the 4 hour gap between classes on both Tuesdays and Thursdays. But still, all things considered, it will be good to change things up a bit halfway through my year.

I had my first new class this morning, where I went through the motions again of introducing myself, telling where I am from, and explaining that I don't know any celebrities, no matter how much they want that to be true. "I'm Sarah," I told them, "and I'm the new English assistant." And one of the boys in the back yelled out (in French), "And a good-looking assistant, too!" "What's your phone number?" I totally blushed. Reminded me of the beginning of the year, when I had a lot of embarrassing questions asked.

After seeing the same classes for the past four months, I'll admit that it is nice to have fresh students who are excited to have an American in the classroom with them. The others have gotten used to seeing me every other week, so it's nice to have a little anticipation for the day's lesson. Feels nice to be appreciated. I'm sure every teacher loves that.

I have other new classes for the rest of the week, and I'm both looking forward to and dreading the same ol' questions: "Do you know Brad Pitt?" "Califoooooornia! Yeah! Do you know San Fransisco?" and "You like McDonald's?"

Oh well. At least I'm cool again.

Fun with Mom, and Other Adventures

Well, I am back to school now, after two weeks of vacation. Have I mentioned that, in the 7 months I am here, I have 2 entire months of paid vacation time? I know, I know...you're jealous. Just as you should be. :)

My mother arrived on Friday, February 6, in Barcelona. I went to pick her up, and we came directly back to Perpignan so that she could rest and see my little town. We went out to my favorite little crêpe place in town, and Mother fell in love with the ice cream concoctions they had there! It's ice cream like you've never imagined it before. She took pictures.

It wasn't until Sunday evening that I told Mom about the Big Surprise that I had been keeping from her since November. Maybe some of you knew about it, too, although I tried not to tell TOO many people. The news was...we were going to POLAND!! Since Mom's father's side is Polish, she has always dreamed of visiting the land of her ancestors. So I planned a trip to Krakow for three days while she was here. She couldn't stop crying when I told her, and I wasn't sure if she was happy or just plain mad at me!

Two days later, we were heading down to Barcelona (our train sat in a tunnel for about a half an hour undergoing some minor mechanical work), and the next day we were in the air en route to Krakow. The city was glorious. It was snowing, of course, and colder than all get-out, but it felt like being in a snowglobe. It was the most perfect snow I've ever seen!

On the 12th, we went to the Auschwitz and Birkenau concentration camps. That alone was a memorable experience, to see all the horrors that I had read about right in front of me. We had an excellent tour guide -- a Polish woman whose uncle was executed for treason at Auschwitz I. Perhaps you know that there were three Auschwitz camps: Auschwitz I (the one we call Auschwitz), Auschwitz II-Birkenau, and Auschwitz III-Monowitz. We zere able to visit camps I and II, but the Monowitz camp was almost entirely destroyed by the fleeing Nazis, so tours generally do not go there. It was a humbling and sobering experience that will haunt both of us.

The next day, we went to the Wieliczka (veal-itch-ka) Salt Mines, where we descended into a huge cavern dug over many centuries by salt miners in the area. There were big rooms and chapels and statues made entirely out of the salt rock. It was quite an amazing place -- like it's own little city!

While in Krakow, we definitely ate well. We didn't have any typical Polish food, but booooy, did we eat good food anyway! Mother was particularly impressed that they served bread with butter everywhere we went, and that they gave her a BIG soup spoon with every meal. This was definitely her type of place -- definitely her people.

On Valentine's Day, we left Krakow and headed for Paris. We settled into our hotel, grabbed a special Valentine's dinner, and the prepared for our big adventure the next day. On Sunday, we began our day by visiting Notre Dame during mass, then we waited in line to ride to the top of the Eiffel Tower (NOT recommended for people afraid of heights!!), and then descended to go to the Louvre to see the Mona Lisa (agaaaaain) and the Napoleon III apartments (agaaaaain). It was a full, fun day, topped by dinner with my friend Vicky. Then, we got on a night train headed back to Perpignan.

In Perpignan, we relaxed in my little apartment, went out for dinner, and walked around town. It sure was fun to have "down days" after our busy week flying around Europe. :)

We went back down to Barcelona the day before Mom left to see the Sagrada Familia (Mom accidentally dubbed it the "Sangria Familia") and other Gaudi architecture. What a fun city! Wish I spoke a little more Catalan, though...

Now, I am back at school, and can continue my posts about academic life. If you'd like to see pictures from any of our trips, let me know (sgallup@pacificu.edu), and I can try to make that happen!

Sarah's Tale of Two Cites

My apologies for the delay since my last blog. I left the cord to my camera (the one with the USB plug on the other end) at my friend Vicky's house in Paris after Christmas, so I haven't been able to upload pictures. Vicky was kind enough to mail the cord back to me, but the French postal service was so kind as to lose it for me (*insert much hatred here*). I'm still in denial, thinking that my package could arrive any day now. But really, it's been almost a month since she sent it to me from Paris. I should accept that it is gone forever and move on. But there are pictures waiting to be uploaded and to be shared with the world. Thus, my hatred for La Poste, as it is known, shall endure through the ages. In the meantime, I do have some fantastic stories to share (the pictures will have to come later). So here they are...

ROME:

On January 23, I got on a plane in Girona, Spain, and left to go to Rome! Some of my friends from Oregon were planning a weekend layover in Rome on their way to Tanzania, and I decided to join them. Never having been to Rome before, I was finally given a good excuse to go! It was so good to be around familiar faces again, and to feel a little less of the "Token American." We were everything that I hate about tourists: speaking loudly in English, poorly navigating the host language, bothering locals about which bus line to take to such-and-such tourist destination, stopping every five seconds to check the map... It was great. And I loved every minute of it.

On Friday, we took advantage of the lack of rain, and walked up Palantine Hill after walking around the Coliseum, breathless, saying things like, "Ooooh...Ahhh..." "Woooow", and "Can you believe all the stuff that went on there?" Our walking tour led us to what we believed to be a back entrance into another one of Rome's many hills...instead, it led us straight into the private property of someone's backyard. Oops. Finally recognizing our mistake, we apologized and quickly backed out.

We then ventured to the ancient ruins of a Byzantine-era chapel, now buried underneath a Catholic church. Our tour guide told us that they were the oldest ruins in all of Rome...although our tip might have influenced that extra tidbit.

On Saturday, we set out for our real touristy activities, despite the heavy rain. We were all poorly dressed for our sight-seeing (they, after all, had packed for African weather!). We signed up for a tour of the Coliseum, and learned all about the gladiatorial "games" there and the many people and animals that were slaughtered within the walls where we were standing.

By the time our tour of the Coliseum was over, we were all soaked and ready to go back to the hotel. We changed into dry clothes, warmed up a bit, donned our umbrellas, and began heading for Vatican City. Since we arrived there late in the day, we had to rush through in order to see everything and get our 14 euros worth (although my student card got me in for 8 euros...tee hee hee!).

Although we followed the signs for the Sistine Chapel, we were led through a maze of other rooms first. Each room was filled from floor to ceiling with piece after piece of artwork. Even the ceilings in most cases were covered in frescos! We saw everything, from original artwork of the Renaissance to modern artwork to sculptures and mosaics. It was stunning all of it, but exhausting at the same time. My mind could hardly focus! And then we got to the Sistine Chapel...and it was nothing what I expected it to be. There was art all over! And the famous work by Michelangelo was stunning. Some of the paintings were disturbing, and some were hopeful. My friend Wayne and I stood in the middle of the room, with both of our chins up in the air, staring at all the pictures. If we could have taken pictures in the room, I'm sure it would have been a funny shot.

After the Sistine Chapel, we went through St. Peter's Basilica -- a massive church filled with relics and sculptures and Latin engravings.

On Sunday morning, we visited the catacombs a long-ish bus ride on the outskirts of Rome. Here is where members of the early Christian church would hide underground during times of persecution -- where they would bury their dead in shallow graves in the wall, and where they would also worship. It was an amazing place (and, quite literally, a maze).

I left on Sunday afternoon, but the rest of the group stayed until Monday. I had a hurricane -- I mean, work -- to get back to. Well, actually, we did have a near-hurricane while I was gone (184 km/hour in my town!). What a perfect weekend to be out of town!

PARIS:

Just three days after getting back from Rome, I packed up again and went to Paris, this time for business. We had our required Fulbright mid-year meeting, and I was scheduled to speak with the other four Fulbright ETAs about teaching in priority-level schools. The other Fulbright scholars were there, too, and shared about the progress they were making on their individual projects. I'm sure it is like this every year, but everyone's projects were so varied and interesting that it was easy to get enraptured with each presentation. There was everything, from studying a museum in the Louvre to studying hip-hop music in the French banlieues to studying the color-changing powers of carbon nanotubes to studying addiction disorders. The weekend reminded me of why I love higher education so much, and how I love being challenged by colleagues.

The best part was WHERE we gave our presentations. You may have never heard of the Ecole Normale Supérieure in Paris, but you can bet that the French have. It's the most prestigious university in the country -- akin, let's say, to the graduate schools at Harvard or Princeton or Yale. A big deal, nonetheless. And I got to give my presentation there!

The bad part about Paris was that I brought a cold back with me. I haven't been too sick, but it's been the first case of the sniffles that I've had since I've been here. And that's good, considering that I was sick the whole time I lived in Poitiers. I've been drinking lots of tea and watching movies in bed, so I feel a lot better now.

And that's good, considering what is next: Mom's visit in only three days!!

Omelette, the Crowned Prince of Denmark, and Other Tales

Yesterday in class, while trying to work with a group of unruly 15-year-old boys, I gave my students a crossword puzzle that I had created to give them something fun to do. It was an easy puzzle where all the answers were names of countries in the EU. For the clue, "it is shaped like a boot," the obvious answer is Italy. For the clue, "the concentration camp, Auschwitz-Birkenau, is located in this country," the answer was NOT Austria, as many of my students guessed. And for "Dracula's castle is located in this country," I had to tell my students that we do not spell it "Roumanie."

The best for me, though, was the student who suddenly yelled out, "Sarah, where was Omelette from?" Omelette? "Yeah, it says, 'According to Shakespeare, Omelette is the prince of this country'." Oh, Hamlet! I couldn't help myself, and I started to giggle a little bit, realizing a moment too late that this boy hadn't intentionally mispronounced Hamlet's name. I caught myself and said, "Ahem. I'll give you a hint: it's in northern Europe." Someone yelled out Denmark in French, and we translated it together.

The Omelette story has reminded me of all the funny things that Europeans (not just the French) have said to me during my time here. Although Americans are typically pegged as the blubbering idiots of the human race, I'll admit that some of the funniest (and most ridiculous) questions I've ever been asked has been while I was overseas. Here are just a few...read them while anticipating the sigh that comes as my response:


- What's the most popular type of car in the States? Citroen?

- Well, that [heart attacks] is normal, what with everyone eating hamburgers all the time...

- (when a package didn't arrive) Could the post office in the States be on strike?

- You know what Africa is, don't you?

Me: How many states are there in the U.S.?
Student A: 12!
Student B: 72!!

- So, you all drive big cars?

- Why don't you have a gun? I thought all Americans had one!

Me: What is the capital of the U.S.?
Student A: Hollywood!
Student B: New York!!

But my favorite of all time is this:

- You use the Euro in the States, don't you?


Sigh. Sigh. And sigh.

You know you've been abroad too long when...

- You start referring to the French as "us" and Americans as "they"

- You have to translate dollars into Euros

- You allow extra time at the grocery store or bank because you know there will be a wait

- The bus is five minutes late, and you think, "oh, they must be on strike"

- You realize that you can indeed live without a car

- You hear complaints that it might be 15 degrees on Inauguration Day, and you think, "that's practically summer!"...until you realize it's NOT 15 degrees Celcius

- People stop asking where you are from in England

- You have more frequent member cards in Europe than in the States

- You check Le Monde before you check the New York Times

- You realize that you cannot go without eating 3- or 4-course meals

- You cry at the thought of the sad cheese aisle in American grocery markets

- You refuse to call yourself "American," but rather Etats-unisien(ne) (from the US)

- You forget that you're abroad, and are just having fun living your life!

Christmas in Paris!

Honestly, I never thought I would be able to say that I spent Christmas in Paris, but now I can. If I couldn't go home to be with my family (because of high airplane prices and the closure of the PDX airport), then at least this was the next best thing.

The weekend before Christmas, I was in Perpignan, and stayed back to go on a hike in the Pyrenees with Graham, an English teacher from my school (who now I know is reading my blog, so "Hi, Graham!"), and DouDou, a philosophy teacher from another school in town. The weather was nice the day we went, but windy. We had to stop our first hike because the wind was too violent to continue, and we had really only begun.

We drove quite a ways to the hilltop village of Montferrar, near the Spanish border. We had a view of the Mediterranean from the village and ate lunch there. It was splendid. Then we started hiking further up the mountain, which was difficult for me because of my brand new, unbroken-in shoes that I was wearing. Ouch and ouch! But alas, I made it back down alive, with only some damage to my ankles, but that view...was fantastic!

On the 23rd, I went up to Paris to spend Christmas with my friend Vicky and her boyfriend, Mike. On Christmas Eve, we all went to the Jules Verne restaurant on the Eiffel Tower for lunch/dinner. I had booked reservations over a month in advance, and it was a good thing, as we were the last table to be seated. Amazingly, we had a table for three right by the window, with a superb view of the Arc de Triomphe and the 16e arrondissement, which included the Ecole Militaire (you'd probably recognize it if you saw it). And yes, I took lots of pictures and videos!!

Our meal was incredible, to say the least. We were all enamored by every new plate and couldn't stop saying, "wow...oh yum, wow..." I was careful to take pictures of everything we ate, too! The waiters even helped Vicky and me push in our chairs. What service!

The bill is another story. Let's just say I took a picture of that, too. Hopefully, I'll never pay so much for another meal for the rest of my life!! But, when comparing it to the price of a plane ticket back to Oregon (that I probably wouldn't have been able to make because of the snow there), it was much, much less.

For Christmas, we had a good, relaxing day. We slept in, opened presents, watched movies, and Vicky's Chilean roommate Victoria made us an excellent Christmas dinner. We had two of Victoria's friends come over, both Chilean, and it was a wonderful, multilingual Christmas dinner. Victoria and her friend Patti only spoke French and Spanish, whereas Patti's cousin Andés only spoke English and Spanish. So we went back and forth between languages, and it was so much fun.

After Paris, I went down to Poitiers to visit my host family. It was so good to see them, and felt so strange to be back in the town where I lived after four years. Some things had changed (a new theater was built, a building in the center of town had burned down), but most had not. The saddest for me was that my beloved Greek restaurant, where my friends and I dined each Thursday at noon, was gone. I was looking forward to a good chicken pita, but no.

I stayed in Poitiers for two days, and then came back to Perpignan. It had snowed in Perpignan while I was gone, and had already melted. By the time I got back home, it had started snowing in Paris. So no snow for me this year. And I'm pretty glad about that.

On the other hand, however, Perpignan is supposedly having its coldest winter weather spell this week since WWII. At least, that's what one of the teachers told me. It's perfectly beautiful outside -- the sun is shining, there isn't a cloud in sight, but the air is frigid. Realistically, it's probably freezing (can't be much colder), but everyone is panicking by this "winter weather." What a perfect time, then, for the heating to go out in my new apartment. Let's just say that last night was extreeeeeemely cold and unpleasant. Should be fixed today.

Now, I am back to school, back to the grind, with a new year ahead of me. I have a lot to look forward to: my mother's visit in less than a month!, my tentative trip to Ireland for St. Patrick's Day, and my planned trip to the Greek Isles in April. I am certainly looking forward to all this year will bring.

Forget FERPA

For the past five years, for different reasons, I have had FERPA (the Family and Education Rights and Privacy Act) drilled into my head. “And what do you say,” I can still hear the Dean of Students from Pacific University saying, “when a parent calls saying that she desperately needs to get in contact with her son?” And I can hear myself as part of a chorus, repeating: “I can neither confirm nor deny that your son is even a student at this institution.” In other words, you need to get in contact with your son? Call him. Don’t call the school. We are not the middle man.

This is what I practiced for years – from being a House Tutor/Academic Resident Assistant at Pacific to being a writing instructor at Oregon State. I learned these rules well. You don’t share information about your students with other faculty members. You don’t tell outsiders about your students’ progress. And you certainly don’t let other people’s parents know how well other parents’ children are doing in class. That’s just wrong.

Not so in France. At the beginning of December, I attended what is called a “conseil de classe,” or “class council meeting.” You see, French high school classrooms are constructed much like American elementary classes, where each year students have the same classmates for every class. They do not change individually from class to class like American high schools, but rather the class as a whole moves from subject to subject. As a result, the “conseil de classe” can evaluate the entire class on its behavior and academic progress.

Yesterday’s meeting discussed a class of Terminale STG – in other words, these are high school seniors who have not chosen to specialize in the sciences, humanities, or business, but rather more hands-on subjects (sometimes the STG are stereotyped as the kids who take shop class instead of AP European History). I work with these students once every week, so I was allowed to sit in on the meeting. Here are some of my notes:

In attendance: 2 student delegates, 1 parent delegate, about 10 teachers (all the teachers who work with this particular class), the Vice Principal, and me.

Without the delegates: The vice principal has projected a screen with an Excel document of every student’s individual file, as well as statistics for the class as a whole. From a FERPA perspective, this is dangerous information. There is everything on every student, from personal information to their class rank to their individual grades and comments. Wow.

I was shocked by the opening remarks: “Let’s start with so-and-so. His father is handicapped and lives in Paris.” Inserts “ohs” and “now, I get its” here. (?!) Another girl’s record of absences was discussed. It was suspect, was the general opinion. “She’s, ummm…particular, that one,” one teacher said. Particular.

Enter the delegates, 2 students from the class and a mother of another student.

One teacher gives a long interlude on his opinions on the class as a whole. Their work is too mediocre, he announces. Not sufficient to sustain them through the BAC exam. “Oh, and have we mentioned that they had a total of 251 absences in one trimester?” Insert more disturbed “ohs” and “now, I get its” here.

The vice principal continues the speech, turning to the student delegates and warning them about the dangers of failing the BAC. “You must work hard this year,” he tells them. “This is serious. If you don’t pass the BAC, there isn’t any guarantee that you will have a place in the class next year.”

The vice principal allows the parent to speak. She first begins with benign comments: “oh yes, I agree with what you have said. I have heard similar comments from other parents…” etc. Then she got a little defensive: “My son was really lost at times this trimester. He didn’t know what to do to prepare for the BAC.” Was she pointing fingers at the teachers present? Or simply reiterating what she had perceived?

The vice principal allowed the students to speak. One said that he agreed with the comments, but had no idea that there were so many absences. Were the numbers correct? Really, he said. I had no idea there were that many.

The rest of the session focused on individual critiques. What the teachers did was evaluate each student, looking at his or her grades and teachers’ comments, and write global comments and suggestions on their report cards. For one student, all the teachers agreed that she was fragile. She needed encouragement. So, on her global commentary, the vice principal wrote, “Keep going! Keep pressing on.” And to the teachers, he instructed that they encourage her more, both in her studies and in regards to her behavior in class.

Other commentaries were not so nice. “Student A has an attitude,” one teacher explained. “I mean, wow…look at her grades. Insufficient.”

And another: “Student B was held back (“She’s getting better!” someone yells out). If she’s a 5th year senior, she needs to work a little harder. And seriously, she’s getting a 9 [out of 20; approximately a C] in gym class? What is she doing there?”

But even the best student in the class could not escape criticism. His grades were unspeakably good – all high As, except for in philosophy (might I add that the highest grade the philosophy teacher gave was a 10/20 – in other words, a C?). The vice principal and teachers were ready to write, “Way to go! Congratulations!” when the philosophy teacher raised his hand and said, “I don’t think his work is good enough for a “Congratulations!”. Can’t you tone it down to a simple “good work”? The vice principal looked disappointed, but relented to the request. “Good work,” he wrote.

It’s a pretty bleak world when the best student in the class is reduced to a simple “good work” instead of a “congratulations!” But that is the strict nature of the French education system. Everything is noticed. No one gets out unscathed.

And everyone knows about it.