Guestbook Sign In: Please Reply

Rumor has it that there are quite a few people reading my blog these days. I have no idea if that is actually true, as my mother started that rumor, so it could just be her reading my endless ramblings. To satisfy my curiosity, can you please reply to this post? I'd like to know who I have been writing to all these months. If you'd rather not, you may email me at sgallup@pacificu.edu, but I'd love to know who is out there. Consider this your Christmas present to me. I would love it.

Thanks!

The strike, the wind, and the beat go on...

Today is Day Five of the students' strike, and Day Three of having no school. I heard this morning through the grapevine that the administration is still hesitant to let the mob of students in because of events elsewhere in southern France that have turned violent. In Carcassonne, the tourist town about 1 1/2 hours from Perpignan, a school administrator was attacked and hospitalized by the outraged students. In Prades, a village just to the west of Perpignan, a window in the school building was broken by protestors. In light of these events, the school has stayed closed...for the security of everyone involved.

In other news, the famous Perpignan Wind has come back with a vengance. Today we are having winds up to 120 kl/hr (75 mph), I heard -- and I believe it! Walking to the teachers' lounge just a few minutes ago nearly knocked me right off my feet! The Perpignan natives don't seem to be bothered by it. "Oh that," they'll tell me. "You just have to get used to it." Ha!

And, as teachers are disappearing for the holiday season, I bidding them a quick adieu before I, too, head out. I am leaving for Paris on the 23rd, where I'll spend Christmas Eve with my friend Vicky (another Fulbrighter) and her boyfriend at the restaurant on the Eiffel Tower. Should be a lovely time. After Christmas, I will be heading down to Poitiers to see my two host families. I am very much looking forward to going back to My Little Town. And afterward, I will return to Perpignan and (hopefully!) spend New Year's in Barcelona. Still waiting to hear about that one.

And, what's more important, tomorrow I move into my apartment! I am very, very excited about that!! Not excited about the cost of living there (anyone have a money tree growing in their back yard??), but I am looking forward to having a place of my own in the city. Especially since it has internet access.

Sorry, Teacher, but the Mob ate my Homework

On Friday morning, I woke up to the sound of yelling and chanting outside my window. I looked outside to see a mob of students walking down the road around the school, holding picket signs and screaming in unison. There were hundreds of them, lining the streets and circling the school.

Upon leaving my room, the cleaning ladies filled me in on the details: the older students were on strike, opposed to Sarkozy’s new school reform laws, and, according to them, it was “really bad” when the students went on strike.

I went to class as usual, but there were only 12 out of 30 students there. The others were either a part of the protest or were unable to get in because the mob outside had barricaded the school entrance. Once class started, the teacher had to stop for a few minutes to allow his students to peer out the window and wave to their friends. Halfway through the class, the students on strike flooded the hallways, yelling and screaming, and throwing things at the doors as they passed by. But don’t be worried – when the French are on strike, they are rarely violent; more often than not, they just like to be loud and obnoxious in order to get their point across. This became even more evident when one of the protesters pulled the fire alarm, and our class (by law, of course) had to evacuate and wait outside until we were called back in.

So why, you ask, are these students on strike in the first place? First, French President Nicholas Sarkozy and his Minister of Education have proposed new high school reform laws, and students (and some teachers) are against these reforms, hence the protest. But every time I ask what the reforms entail (and, believe me, I’ve asked many times), I get this answer: “Well, Sarkozy is reforming the high schools, and the students don’t like it.” This, to me, is the pinnacle of French logic. I ask what reforms are being made, and they respond with the obvious: the students don’t like the reforms, so they are on strike. I asked a classroom of French students on Friday what the reforms were, and none of them could tell me, which begs the question: do these students even know what they are striking against?

Yesterday, the strike seemed to be a half-hearted effort – at least, from my view. The mob had diminished to around two dozen students or so, but they were still able to barricade a few people outside and not allow them to come in. Apparently, there were trash cans strewn about in front of the school. This is all that I noticed, but according to one of the teachers, threats had been made.

And now today there is no school.

It’s a little like a snow day, only without the snow. The students who live in the dorms with me are required to stay inside, so at 11 am, they are still in their pajamas, watching TV downstairs. The teachers, however, have the more unfortunate day: even though their students are not coming, they are required to be here, since they are being paid to teach today. I, being a mere non-tenured language assistant, have the advantage over everyone in the situation. Not only may I leave the dorm (because I am not a student), I am also not required to stay at the school. So I’m thinking of going into town to watch a movie. Maybe I’ll buy some stuff to make Christmas cards. In either case, I’m the only one free to do whatever I want today. And I like that feeling.

Who am I?: And Other Experimental Classroom Activities

Yesterday, I tried something new and it ended up failing miserably. I guess that’s one of the fun things about teaching: experimenting with new ideas. Sometimes they work; sometimes they don’t. And something those new ideas surprise you in ways you’d never expect.

But anyway, yesterday I wanted my students to write out a long skit. I broke the class into six sets of pairs, and each group wrote a very short section of the skit (I had written their section out on a piece of paper: “You are a bank robber. You suddenly regret your actions. Why? What do you do next?”) The scenes were supposed to flow together with a semi-coherence that could have been funny. But one group didn’t prepare anything. Another group couldn’t stop laughing. One group spoke too quietly.

I left class disappointed in my activity, so I set out to revise it. And in doing so, I came up with something completely different that turned out to be a huge success when I tried it out in class on Friday.

I wrote names of famous people in U.S. culture (not all from the U.S., though) on a piece of paper. I made sure they were people my students would know: Barack Obama, J.K. Rowling, Angelina Jolie, Steven Spielberg, Michael Jordan, Rihanna, etc. I tried to get people from many aspects of culture: music, movies, politics, literature, sports, etc.

Sadly, I couldn’t pick many people that I consider important: Jon Krakauer, Jane Goodall, Dave Bartholomae. As much as I would choose these people as important, my students certainly would not know who they are…unless they happen to appear on French radio. And last I heard, DB hasn’t recorded any pop songs. But who knows? It has been a while since I read CCCs.

On each piece of paper, I wrote basic information about that particular person. About Tiger Woods, I wrote “Professional golfer, born in California, married to Elin Nordegren.” For Hillary Clinton, I wrote “Politician, future Secretary of State under Barack Obama, former senator of New York, married to former president Bill Clinton.”

What I did was tape a person’s name to each student’s back. The other students would giggle when they saw that it was Britney Spears, or say “I have no idea who that is!” when one girl got Oprah Winfrey’s name. The students then mingled with their classmates, asking only “yes” or “no” questions about their character.

“Am I a woman?” They would ask. “Am I a singer? Do I sing rock music?”

“Am I an actor? Did I play in westerns? Do I direct movies now? Was ‘The Changeling’ an amazing movie?” (in other words, “Am I Sarah’s favorite actor?”)

“Am I a politician? Am I a man? Was I ever vice-president of the U.S.?”

What is important to note here is that they were speaking in English. Not French. By the end of class, two students had not figured out who they were (Sarah Palin and Eva Longoria Parker), so the whole class huddled around, sticking firm to the rule of only answering “yes” or “no” and not divulging any extra information.

The bell rung just as the two guessed who they were. And on their way out, one girl said, “C’est cool, ça” (that was cool)!

And I beamed.

In the Land of Many Paradoxes

It’s amazing to me (and to other foreigners, as well) how much I can simultaneously love and hate the French. I love their culture – their way of looking at life, the way they pay such strong attention to detail, and how strong their relational bonds are – and yet I seem to ask myself “why do they do x or y?” every day.

Some things they do make absolutely no sense to me. For example, Carlos, the Spanish assistant from Colombia, and I were talking the other day about registering at the local university. Enrolling in a French university is much easier said than done. For one, there is no online course catalog. If you want to search for classes, you must look at the paper registry plastered to the walls outside of each department’s building. Want to take an English class? You must go to the Language and Literature building, and scan through the long wall of possible choices. Want to take a Biology class? You must go to the Biology building, and so on. It’s impossible! And then, to enroll, everything is done via paper. Yes, paper. Does the internet exist here? Yes. But apparently, the French didn’t get the memo. Carlos said, “I come from Colombia. Colombia. And we register online. I mean, who do these people think they are?” At least I’m not alone.

But what confuses me the most has only become visible to me now during the holiday seasons. I was told before coming to France about the “no hat” rule. In the past few years, France expanded their secular rules in Academia by passing a law which says that students may not wear anything deemed “religious.” In other words, no necklaces with crosses on it, no WWJD bracelets, no veils for Muslim girls. I was told that this was primarily because girls would come to school in burqas, and it was (and I quote) “distracting.” So, no hats, no veils, no scarves, no headbands. Nothing on anyone’s head.

And yet, despite this strict law, there is a large Christmas tree in the school cafeteria. Colorful garland hangs on the walls. And the staff room welcomes faculty with a hearty “Joyeux Noel” (Merry Christmas) sign. I have nothing against these symbols, of course, but I mean…where’s the consistency? Seriously. It’s odd.

I love being in a country as rich and complex as France. I am constantly learning, constantly being challenged in many areas of my life, and, of course…constantly, completely, and hopelessly confused.

“Whoever Smelt it Dealt it”: Or, the Story of the Worst Class Ever

Before each class period begins, students line up outside their classrooms and wait for the teacher to arrive. When he or she does, the teacher keys into the class, and the students enter by twos, each greeting the teacher with a “bonjour” or “hello, good afternoon” if it’s English class.

They all file to their own seats but remain standing until the teacher has sufficiently arranged homework, lesson plans, etc. The teacher might rattle off a set of announcements or ask for questions, but the students remain standing. When the teacher is ready (no matter how long that may take), he or she then tells the students that they may sit down, and the lesson begins. This is how the students learn to respect their teachers.

For some, however, the standing has become a mere formality, as invisible as tying their shoes in the morning or bringing pencils to class. They remain standing, but talk back to their teachers or hit the student next to them. It is unfathomable the things I have seen here. And makes me grateful that I have chosen to teach in a university setting.

Further evidence of this came on Tuesday, when I was asked to begin working with a class I had not yet seen. It was a class of 30 boys and 7 girls. Yes, you read that correctly. 30 boys and 7 girls. They entered the class not by twos but by clumps of boys hitting each other and jumping on each other’s backs and slamming into the walls. “N’ayez pas peur,” one of the kids said to me. Don’t be afraid. Yeah right, I wanted to say back in French. Too late for that.

It took the teacher ten minutes to calm down the whooping and hollering 30 boys and 7 girls. Then she let them sit down. I was allowed to take half of the class, and somehow, as luck would have it, I got to take the wretched half of the class. “The other half is better,” the teacher would tell me later, “but it was this group’s turn.”

The hour couldn’t go by fast enough, and it dragged on forever. First, the students wouldn’t shut up, then they were running around the classroom, then someone was calling a boy names, then someone’s nose started bleeding…

And then that smell.

“Ewwwwwwwww!” Somebody yelled. “What do they feed you at the cafeteria?” I had to go run and open a window, and several other students did the same. It was wretched. And I was appalled that a student would actually do that in my classroom. The culprit was named, and as much as I wanted to giggle along with my students (okay, so I’m mentally still back in junior high), I had to stand at the front of the class, hands on my hips, with a stern face. “That’s not funny,” I managed to say with a straight face. “Sit down. And don’t talk.”

My students don’t often see Angry Sarah – they are more likely to meet Tired Sarah, Disappointed Sarah, or Oops-I-Need-to-Quickly-Rewrite-My-Lesson-Plans Sarah – but this class got to see the angry version very quickly. Still, since they are immune to yelling (seems teachers here do it often), it didn’t frighten them. So I resorted to my preferred method of discipline: a little something I like to call “distraction therapy.”

Douille housse pic n’glisse? I wrote on the board.

The students stared at the board, their mouths clamped shut, and their heads tilted a little to one side. Everyone was silent. They all knew it was French, but didn’t make any sense. I could see their lips moving, trying to figure it out in their head. Finally, one of them shouted, “DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH??” And they all figured out my game.

Marie qui se masse, I wrote. “Madame,” one said, “Marie who gathers what?”

“No, no,” another said. “Merry Christmas! It says, Merry Christmas! You have to say it out loud.”

Pretty soon, they were all shouting, “More! More!” and answering my riddles. They loved it when I wrote “Guy vomit sous mon nez” (literally: Guy vomits under my nose), which sounds like, “give me some money.” And they especially liked “Ame coquine” (literally: flirtatious soul), which sounds like, “I’m cooking.” Seems that distraction therapy wins, after all.

Too bad I didn’t think of that before someone farted.

Most Embarrassing English Class Moments

Today I worked with one of the other English teachers, and he had me read a series of diary entries from a young Irish immigrant girl named Shannon Ryan. The students in the class are sophomores, so they struggled to understand the text when I read aloud.

The text began: "March 2, 1892. My name is Shannon Ryan, and I'll be sixteen next May..." It then continued on to say that her father had recently died and she was going to American on the HMS Shamrock, hoping to find work, but that she would be heartbroken to "kiss Ma goodbye."

The teacher then asked a series of questions about what the students understood in the text. Apparently, they had more difficulties than either the teacher or I had anticipated. Here are some of the more, ummm...entertaining...answers:

PROF: What will Shannon Ryan do before she leaves for America?
STUDENT A: She'll do Mardi Gras?
PROF: Mardi Gras? How did you get Mardi Gras? Sarah, will you read the passage again?
ME: "I dread having to kiss Ma goodbye."
PROF: Ma goodbye. Not Mardi Gras.

PROF: Where is Shannon Ryan when she leaves for America?
STUDENT B: At the airport!
PROF: It's 1892!

PROF: What's the name of the ship?
STUDENT C: The Titanic!
ME: It's 1892!!


But it's not only the students who embarrass themselves; it's also the teachers (*ahem, me*). Nothing has been as bad as Tuesday's nightmare class session. I was with the same teacher, and he was starting a unit on art throughout history. Now, I've always been bad at art -- always. I enrolled in an Art History class in college, hoping that I might improve, but if anything, I've become worse because I now have too many names and time periods to remember. But still, that does not excuse what I said on Tuesday.

First, the teacher showed an ancient South American sculpture, and I was able to quasi-identify it. Then he showed a picture of a Renaissance painting, and I was able to talk about it intelligently (it's the awe-inspiring command I have over the English language). Then he showed a picture of the Mona Lisa. Oh man, I thought, if these students don't know what this is, they're in trouble!

Pride goes before what again?

"And Sarah, who painted this picture?" The teacher asked me. An all too easy answer, but I couldn't believe the words that actually came out of my mouth: "Van Gogh." What did I just say?

"What did you just say?" The teacher asked me.

"Well, I said Van Gogh..." The students were starting to giggle.

"Wait," the professor said. "How do you pronounce it?"

"Van Gogh. How do you pronounce it?"

"Da Vinci." Oops.

The whole class was giving me this awkward look, like I'd just said with absolute confidence that I was afraid of falling off the face of the earth.

At the end of the lesson, the teacher recapped everything that the students had learned during the session. He put up the picture of the Mona Lisa, and asked his students, "Sarah said something wrong about this picture. What did she say?" (*insert long, exhaustive sigh here*)

The mocking didn't end there, but carried on after class and into the teachers' lounge. Even the teachers giggled, and I stopped defending myself. How can one defend a moment of total mental vacancy? Of course, I knew it was Leonardo da Vinci! I knew that. I've seen the darned thing! Oh well. Life goes on.

At least I didn't say it was Leonardo DiCaprio.

Let Them Play Pictionary!

Ever since the elections have been over, I have struggled to find something “fun” for my students to do in class. My main struggle? Getting them to speak English instead of French. Since the juniors and seniors have an oral exam at the end of the year, I have been trying to imitate what the exam will look like. Because the exam will either have a picture or a written document, I usually bring in either a cartoon or an interesting newspaper article, and we discuss it as they would during the exam. Seems like a novel idea, except for the fact that they tend to drift back to French after the first sentence or two. And that would be fine, I suppose, if the exam were in French. But it’s not.

Despite my attempts to tell them that they will not pass the exam if they only speak in French (and, if they don’t pass, they may be held back a year), they still continue to avoid English as much as possible. This frustrated me, so I decided that I needed to give them a break and do something fun.

Hence the introduction of Pictionary into the classroom.

I chose words that they would know but that would be funny to see them draw – words like, “sports car,” “lion,” “dinosaur,” “ear,” and “sunglasses.” Sure enough, the game was a hit. The first class that played was standing on top of chairs and desks within a matter of minutes, yelling the words in English so loud that I worried another teacher would come in and tell us all to settle down.

Of course, the competing teams would yell at each other in French (“That’s not what that is!” “Look! We’re ahead of you!”), but their answers were all in English. I had finally succeeded in a) getting them to speak (mostly) in English, and b) getting them to have fun in class.

Next, I’m going to try Family Feud, and see how that works out. Then maybe Scattergories.

When France Feels Like a Third-World Country

First of all, my apologies to anyone who is French and happens to be reading this…

If there is one thing that I despise about France, it is dealing with anything bureaucratic. To put it lightly, they are slow and inefficient with any sort of paperwork. And that is putting it lightly.

One of the requirements of my stay in France is that I obtain a carte de séjour, a long-term visa that allows me to stay in the country for a period longer than six months (which kinda stinks for me because I’m only staying 7 months, but oh well). I must go to the Prefecture to get this done, and it is usually a long and grueling process.

The initial problem comes because there are only 30 tickets granted per day for “foreigners” (read: anyone outside of the EU) and the office is only open Monday to Thursday, from 9-12. Since there are a surprising amount of non-European citizens living in Perpignan (most of which come from Morocco, Algeria, or Tunisia), there are always many people who need to go to the Prefecture each day. The lines are long and filled with people from every corner of the world: the Americas, Asia, Africa, and “Arabia” as the French call it.

I have now been to the Prefecture five times – only once with success. Every other time, I have waited and waited and waited, only to find out that the 30 tickets have already been used up, and that I’ll have to come back another day.

The problem comes on days like today, when the air is so biting cold that even a few minutes outside is hazardous. I bundled up and arrived early, around 7:50 (remember that it opens at 9 am), only to find an already long, long line of people. I saw elderly women in winter coats and felt hats sniffling and coughing in the cold wind. I saw shivering young mothers taking their scarves off to wrap yet another layer around their babies. A woman in front of me told me in French that she was worried about being outside for so long. We were all cold and waiting for the doors to open. Outrageous.

The woman in front of me said that there were people waiting in line who had been there since 6 am. They had already been waiting for two hours in the cold, and had another hour to go! “They can’t do this to us,” she told me, and pulled out a Kleenex. “It isn’t right. We’re all going to get sick or worse.”

I knew that I was already too late to get one of the 30 tickets, but I decided to wait anyway – just in case I got a chance. I hung around and talked to a man next to me who said he was Persian. He told me an incredible story about being in the Air Force in his home country and being kicked out for “dissenting” from the state religion (“more of a philosophy than a religion,” he told me). He then asked if I was a political refugee, and I said no, that I am a language assistant from the States. “Then what are you doing here?” He asked me. “You’re American; the world belongs to you.”

He then continued his story: how he was an interior decorator – an artist, really – and fluent in Persian, French, English, Greek, and Turkish so he could communicate with international vendors in his trade. He was in France because of he was no longer allowed in his home country. “And if I go back, I’m dead,” he said. “The government doesn’t allow dissenters.”

Everyone waiting in that line had a story. Some were from former French colonies, applying for French citizenship. Some were renewing a visa to allow them to stay in France. Some were begging the government to be allowed to stay. And some, like me, are blessed beyond words.

I waited until 8:30, till I could no longer feel my toes and my ears, and I had money in my wallet that wanted to be spent on a hot cup of coffee in a warm café nearby. I had only waited for thirty or forty minutes – certainly not three hours like some of the others. I’ll get up early another day and put on a second pair of socks and another sweater. After all, I have till January to get my visa, so I can wait. And even then, I’m sure I could get by better than the others waiting in line.

Because I’m American, and the world belongs to me. Or something.

New Videos! New Pictures soon to come!

I have added several new videos to my You Tube page. Go check them out!


http://www.youtube.com/user/leenielouwho

At http://www.flickr.com my user name is sarah.gallup


I have more pictures to add, but I will get to those later. As always, you may email me directly if you'd like a copy of anything or if you'd like me to address something in particular in my blogs: sgallup@pacificu.edu

By Request: A Day in the Life of Lycée Aristide Maillol

A view of the Pyrenees from my school.


Apparently, the fame of my blog has been spreading, and it’s being translated into 19 different languages (just kidding). But, by my readers’ request, here is an insight into the more pedagogical aspects of my time abroad. And here, I thought you all just wanted to know the differences between the American and French versions of McDonald’s. Seriously, what kind of Americans are you?

To respond to one of my earlier posts about peer pressure in France, I must say that there is (of course) more than that one difference between American and French students. For starters, the French education system is nearly impossible to understand. Instead of the basic four-year, get all your requirements out of the way, and play sports on the side mentality that we have in the States, for French students, school is genuinely hard work – much like the American university system. They must choose their “track,” whether it is “S” (Sciences), “ES” (Economics, Business, and Social Sciences), or “L” (Language, Literature, Humanities).

From there, they spend their four years working towards the difficult Baccalauréat (the BAC) exam that is a week-long intensive exam of every subject they have taken. Yikes. Some fail and have to re-take their senior year (called a “belle année,” or beautiful year…heh). If they pass that exam, they have several choices: a) leaving school and getting a job; b) going to the university; c) staying at the high school and getting their BTS degree (not really sure what an American equivalent would be – it’s higher than an AA/AS degree, but…different somehow); d) staying at the high school and working towards entering the Grandes Ecoles (we don’t have an equivalent, but it’s a specialized school for certain subjects that was started by Napoleon).

The students I am teaching are the equivalent of high school sophomores, juniors, seniors, and I do have some of the BTS students who have already passed the BAC. They are students from all tracks; some are studying science, many are studying business, and (sadly) few are studying in the humanities.

In a typical class session, I take half of a regular class. I’ll have anywhere between six and sixteen rambunctious high school kids for about 45 minutes. Luckily, I don’t have to grade anything that they produce, so my job is just to have fun with them and get them speaking English.

For the older students who are working towards the BAC, I am more serious. I’ll bring in documents similar to what they will have on their exam at the end of the year, and we work with it just as they will for the test. Not as much fun, but they are serious students and take it seriously.

For the younger students, I typically share cultural aspects with them. Since, like most teenagers, they love music, I’ll bring in lyrics to songs. We’ll go through the lyrics line-by-line so that they understand what is going on, and then I play the song at the end. They really like that activity.

Other times, I’ll bring in fun news articles I find. I found one on a soup kitchen that opened for dogs in Germany, and we read that as a class and discussed it. I think they had fun talking about how silly a soup kitchen for dogs was during a time of financial difficulty. Each class that worked with that article spent the hour with crinkled up foreheads, and saying “Je ne comprends pas…” (I just don’t understand).

One of my favorite activities began as an impromptu idea. I have pictures with me of Oregon and the Pacific Northwest, so I handed out a picture to each student with the instruction not to let anyone else see it. They then had five minutes or so to write sentences describing the picture. Then, when they were finished, they stood up and read their sentences one by one. After each sentence, the class had to draw what was said. We’d then share our pictures (I’m a lousy artist, which makes them feel better) and laugh and giggle. It turns out to be a lot of fun!

So that’s a brief idea of what I have been doing in the classroom and the history that the students bring to each class session. They are really a fun set of kids, but they have an incredible responsibility regarding their studies that is hard for Americans to understand. Suffice it to say that I’m glad I didn’t have to go through it, and I applaud them for the diligent work they do every day.

The Elections...à la française

In the time that I have been in France, obviously the most important subject matter has been today's elections. Everyone I have met has asked me my opinion, and who I think will win (as if I have some supernatural ability to discern the future). That question is usually answered by me with another question: "You mean, who do I WANT to win?"

I've also heard students, from middle school to high school, discuss the elections in their classes. Some of their ideas of today's elections, as well as American politics in general, have made me giggle. Some excerpts from what I have heard (complete with French pronunciation). My apologies to any of my students who might be reading:

"The job of the president of the US is hard. The president is in charge of the Army, Navy, and Hair Force."

"I take 270 electoral votes to be elected president."

Me: In which country does a person need to be born to be President of the USA?"
Student: Washington, D.C.?
Me: No. In which country?
Student: Virginia?
Me: *sigh*

"I don't know anything about John McCain, but that's okay. Obama will win anyway. But it doesn't matter. Nothing will change anyway."

And my favorite: "PAS DE FRITES DE MCCAIN! PAS DE FRITES DE MCCAIN!!" (No McCain Fries, No McCain Fries!) = apparently, there is a brand of French fries in Europe called "McCain." Match that with the whole "Freedom Fries" thing, and...yeah. Oy.

The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly...minus the Eastwood

Living in the south of France certainly has its incredible benefits. Yesterday, my new friend Gabrielle and I went to the beach and just sat next to the water for hours, making fun of French men wearing Speedos and watching little French children playing in the sea. I still can't get over how beautiful the weather is; even at the end of October, the sun is shining brightly, it's an easy 80 degrees outside, and there is a light wind. It definitely feels like fall, but it's warm! That is lovely.

The bad part of living in France is the inconveniences that come up unannounced. Yesterday, Gabrielle and I were waiting for a bus for an hour that never came. We had practically given up on it, thinking it was some sort of French conspiracy against us, when we learned that yesterday was the end of Daylights Savings Time in France. Guess we didn't get the memo. No one told either of us! You'd think, at least, that our teachers would tell us so that we'd come to class on time. Oh, but wait...it's vacation. Their minds are checked out, just like their students' are.

But the worst part of living in France is the lack of respect for certain groups. Don't get me wrong, I love it here, but there are ingrained cultural aspects that I cannot seem to forgive. There seems to be an overall lack of respect for people in positions of authority. France, for example, is the only place where I have seen an ambulance stuck in traffic. I mean, seriously, people...in what universe is that okay?

There is an overwhelming lack of respect for teachers. In class, students sometimes "tutoie" their teachers (using the informal "you" rather than the formal "you" -- a concept that is hard to grasp for Anglophones), which used to be seen as unacceptable. It still is, but sometimes they don't care. They don't stop talking, even after a teacher has yelled at and threatened them -- and even when they are taking a test.

But what gets me the most is how women are treated. When walking down the street, I have had the most vulgar things said to me. I have no fear about anything happening to me, but men take advantage of harassing women when they feel like it. I mentioned this to one of the English professors at my school, and he said that men (sometimes Frenchmen, but more often, men of Arab descent) won't respect women, but they'll respect the man behind a woman. So he advised me to say that I'm married and wear a ring on my left hand. Heh. I'm not quite used to that.

So, in light of all this, I want to say a big THANK YOU to all the men in my life who have ever held a door open for me, walked me home late at night, paid for a meal, driven me somewhere, given me flowers, given me a hug, laughed with me, encouraged me, or challenged me to become a better thinker, learner, scholar, or person. You did this not because you had to (I can take care of myself, thankyouverymuch), but because you have respect for me as a woman, a friend, and a human being. And I appreciate that more than you know -- especially because I don't have it here.

Seriously...where is Clint Eastwood when I need him??

Just FYI: Pictures and Videos Posted

I am busy creating a space to post my pictures and videos that I have taken. If you go to http://www.youtube.com and search for videos under my name, leenielouwho, you will find several videos that I have posted online of my travels thus far and of my dorm room.

I am also working on a space on http://www.flickr.com My name there is sarah.gallup, and as you can tell by my sideways pictures, I'm still trying to figure things out on that site. But feel free to check out what I have already posted! I hope to get more online soon!

D & G or not D & G...That is the Real Question Here

One of the questions that my students like to ask me is “what are some of the differences between American and French high schools?” An excellent question. I usually lie, though, offering an answer along the lines of, “well, in the States, we don’t have that awful BAC exam at the end of our four years of high school.” While that is true, I don’t see that as the primary difference between the two cultures. I don’t dare tell them that the main difference is openly evident: peer pressure.

In the States, we throw around the phrase “peer pressure” so often that it becomes this unbearable cliché that is inevitably linked to smoking or drugs or sex. But I don’t think our culture understands the extent to which French high school students are exposed to peer pressure. Their form reaches beyond smoking and drugs and sex, and into the realms of classroom performance, fashion sense, and even spending money. In short, the French version of “peer pressure” is expensive. Period.

Because it is the fashion capital of the world, France and its people is inextricably linked to dressing well. But more than that is the pressure to wear designer-label clothes, shoes, and glasses. I have yet to pass a spectacle-wearing French person whose frames didn’t read (in large letters, mind you), “Prada,” “Diesel,” “Armani,” or “D &G” (for Dolce and Gabbana). At school, I see teenagers wearing these same designer clothes. There is the boy who wears his black “Prada” shirt several times a week. Or the girl I saw yesterday wearing Christian Louboutin stilettos. When was the last time you saw an American teenager wearing $1,000 dollar shoes? I mean, seriously. Designer-label clothing isn’t a splurge; it’s a must. If the name isn’t clearly displayed, then obviously you don’t have the money (or the fashion sense) to afford the “cool clothes.”

This pressure often transfers into other aspects of my students’ lives. They are encouraged by their classmates to act out in class, each one of them trying to outdo themselves by being annoying. This, as I’m sure you can imagine, turns out to be great fun for teachers (ahem, me). Never in my life have I seen such unruly kids in a classroom. They are genuinely good kids, and I love talking to them after class, but class time is usually terrible. Augh. I leave class, wondering if they got anything at all from the lesson, and then a girl will come up to me and say, “thank you, Sarah. Can I ask you some questions about x or y that you said in class?” So at least I know they are paying attention. And I love talking to them.

As long as they are wearing Dolce and Gabbana.

And the Award for the Most Exotic Teacher goes to....Me?

I've never thought of myself as "exotic." Far from, in fact. I'm more likely to compare myself to "Sarah, Plain and Tall" than Sarah Palin. Growing up in Dallas, Oregon, doesn't exactly rate high on the list of "Cool Places to Say You've Lived." And yet, somehow, I've suddenly found myself as the "cool" one -- the person who has not only been to the United States, but who has actually lived there. On top of that, I speak English, meaning that I can understand the obnoxious music being played in every French store and watch American films in their original language. AND, to top it all off, I have actually been to Hollywood and seen Grauman's Chinese Theatre. That right there makes me the coolest person on the planet in the eyes of my French students.

From the "oohs" and "aaahs" they elicit when they hear me easily speak my native language, one might think that I am one of the celebrities they claim I know so well. "You are from the United States," they say. "Don't you know Fifty Cent? Don't you love his music?" (*insert gagging noise here*)

I was beginning to think that I was completely and totally alone here at my school -- that only the English professors knew my name, and I was doomed to walk around the campus as "that weird girl wearing flip-flops outside." After teaching a half a dozen classes already, I am starting to recognize faces, and I wave to students I know. Still, nothing prepared me for the initiation of the post-lunch Sarah Gallup Fan Club.

It started with the 10th grade boy from one of my classes the day before. Yesterday, he asked me how old I was ("'ow ould aaah yoo?"), and then quickly added, "Yoo aaah veddy bee-oo-tiful!" (*insert uncontrollable blushing here*). When I saw him in the hall today, I heard him say, "It's Sarah, the American!" Then he gave me a little shy smile and a wave, so I waved back and winked at him. Hee hee.

I walked past the boy, and into the next hallway, where a girl I recognized said, "Hello, Madame." I waved hi, and walked past her, where another girl said, "Hi, Sarah!" That was followed by, "It's Sarah!!" That remark made the rest of the hall turn their heads and look at me as I walked by. Lined on both sides of the hallway, the students broke out in cries of, "Helloooo, Sarah Gallup!!" "It's Sarah Gallup!!!" "Helloooooo!" "Sarah, hi! Hi, Sarah, hello!!" I felt not unlike a movie star basking in the glow of her fans.

It's funny, too, because it's my students that I see as exotic. I mean, seriously, to an American growing up in the boondocks of Oregon, anyone who speaks French, lives along the Mediterranean, and has fashion and style embedded into their genes is the one who is exotic -- not me! But here it is the contrary. I tell my stories about men in cowboy hats in Central Oregon, who talk on their cell phones as they ride a horse into town, and I watch as their eyes widen in disbelief. I tell them that I have been to Beverly Hills and, although I cannot recall seeing any movie stars, that's where many of them live.

They seem confused by the fact that I don't listen to rap or eat at McDonald's. They don't understand why I don't own a gun (because apparently, all Americans are supposed to own one) or why I don't hang out in East Harlem. They are surprised that I have never been to New York, but most of them have never even been to Paris!! I consider that a weekend trip (and am doing so this weekend, in fact).

I didn't expect to be this "famous" in Perpignan, as the token American in their school. But I'll certainly take advantage of it, and bask in its glory...as long as no paparazzi show up.

"Do you know Brad Pitt?" "Do you have a boyfriend?" and other questions I will be asked daily from here on out

Today was my first day of teaching, and I worked with two English classes. The students spent a few minutes writing down questions they had about me, and the rest of the class time was spent with them asking me those questions. Funny thing was, many of the questions I had already anticipated. They have odd misconceptions about the States -- heightened, of course, by Hollywood and the media in general. Rather than ask about my family (or even the upcoming elections!!), they asked questions like these:

- Do you know Brad Pitt?
- Do you now Chris Brown or Rihanna?
- Do you know Maroon 5?
- Have you ever been to a famous concert? (still not sure what that means -- does the Point of Grace concert I went to count??)
- Do you loooooove Los Angeles? (Answer: NO)
- Do you watch One Tree Hill? (That one made me giggle)
- Do you watch Grey's Anatomy?
- Do you have a boyfriend? (No, then) What's your phone number?

Sigh. It will be an interesting year. I hope that we will all benefit from it.

Fire in the Hole!...I mean, in the 15th century home

Today has given me something to talk about for weeks to come, at least. I was on my way into town to go to the Préfécture (can't think of an English equivalent), where I would get my card to stay in France. While on the bus, I noticed dark smoke in the distance. When we turned the corner, I saw a LOT of smoke coming out from behind the Castillet, one of the historic landmarks in Perpignan. There were firetrucks everywhere, and police officers and fire fighters blocking off streets. I'll admit that I feared it was the Castillet burning down, but silently hoped (as horrible as it sounds) that it was the Préfécture, so I could delay getting my carte de séjour for a while longer.

According to Le Figaro online, the fire started early this morning, around 5 am, in the perfum shop on the first floor of an apartment complex. The buildings in this part of town date back to the Middle Ages (I'd like Natasha to note that I didn't say "the Dark Ages") and are located in the oldest part of the town. Thus, any type of fire in them (and in a perfum shop, nonetheless!) is disastrous. The people living above the perfume shop were evacuated, but the fire was really, really bad. According to the report, one firefighter is in critical condition in the local hospital and another has been treated for smoke intoxication.

When I arrived at the fire, I noticed that it was next door to the Préfécture. Two police officers were blocking off the road where I needed to be. When I told them where I was going, I was surprised that they let me pass. There were already about 30+ people in line for the Préfécture that morning, and we were all standing next to the burning building. I couldn't believe it! The smoke was right over all of us, shielded only by the side of the old building. There was ash falling around us, and our shoes were getting soaked by the water coming from the firefighters' hoses. Frankly, I still can't believe they let us get that close! Later, there were journalists who showed up, asking questions and taking pictures.

The Préfécture opened late today because of the fire, and by the time we got in, I felt like I was in a refugee camp. A line of about 60 at least had formed (all different nationalities, of course), and we were all a little wet, grouchy, and tired. Babies were crying, old women were coughing, and young men were demanding to get in to the Préfécture. When I got up to the gate, a policeman blocked my entry and said, "pas d'étrangers!" (No foreigners) He let a few French people in to get their drivers' licenses renewed, but I stood outside, still getting a little wet from the hoses. That was, perhaps, the first time I felt discriminated against.

Don't worry, though; I finally got let in, dried off, and waited...for four more hours. But I left with the documents I had come for. And a good story of the Fire of the Year.

I'd like to thank the Academy, and, surprisingly, McDonald's

It's true that McDonald's is the true American Embassy. With familiar food, free bathrooms, and free internet, it is a little piece of home. Still, even though there is one right across from the high school where I am teaching, I only come here for the internet (I don't have WiFi yet installed in my room). It's funny, though, to see rail-thin women both working at and buying food from McDonald's (called Macdo here). For all the hoopla that France has made about McDonald's taking over their country, I must admit that it is much more healthy than our American version. They have smaller portions, much more fruit to choose from, strawberry milkshakes that actually taste like strawberries, unsalted fries, and fresh salads. Amazing. Still, I am only here for the internet.

Thanks to Macdo, I was able to reconnect myself with civilization. I now have Skype, for those of you who also have it. My Skype name is sarah.e.gallup, so please feel free to give me a "call"!!

If you would like my address or phone number here in France, please send me an email at sgallup@pacificu.edu, and I will happily give it to you! Hope to hear from you soon!

Fitted Sheets, 3-prong outlets, and other things from home I already miss

Just a quick list of things I jotted down yesterday while walking around town:

I almost forgot how much I LOVE:
- French food in general
- unpasteurized goat cheese
- aisles of yogurt and chocolate at the grocery store (really, itùs unfathomable!)
- open-air markets (fresh and good for you!)
- walking everywhere
- the train system (especially the TGV) (love, love, love!!!)
- the way people dress (so classy!)
- Carte d'Or caramel ice cream (*droooooool*)
- LU cookies (you can buy them in the States, too)
- old Renault cars (so cute and stereotypical)
- the French countryside (so calm)


New things to love:
- wind energy (this area relies primarily on wind energy; it is so efficient! Love it!)
- Palm trees and sunshine
- being close to the beach
- Rousquilles fondantes de Roussillion (like powdered donuts, but much, much better!)


Then again, there are things that I would have rather forgotten. Things that I DON'T love:
- doggie doo on every corner
- porn shops on every corner
- dirty, smelly streets (sometimes I wonder if I'm not in a third-world country!)
- no recycling
- beggars everywhere in the center of town (they are never violent, but can really get in your face)
- Sundays (everything is closed; it's like a ghost town!)
- "me first" attitude (a kindly-looking older gentleman stormed in front of me at the grocery store the other day. I couldn't believe it!)
- everything is expensive (yikes!!)
- anything bureaucratic (and therefore complicated and slow)
- graffiti everywhere
- round pillows (they give me a headache)


New things to hate:
- the alarm system at my school (it woke me up at 7 am this morning)
- foot pain
- weekends at my school (everyone leaves)
- no WiFi in my room (yet)
- having to use a converter
- no kitchen in my room (I would like to be able to cook. *sigh*)


So there is my list of things I love and hate about France. HOPEFULLY, I will be able to upload pictures, at least, so you can see my town. Maybe that will inspire you to come visit me! :)

A très bientot!

Dorm Sweet Dorm: Enfin à Perpignan!

(First of all, I want to apologize in advance for what could be a post full of errors. I am typing on a European keyboard, and it is a bit different from the ones back home. So bear with me...)

On Friday, I took the slooooow train from Paris Austerlitz to Perpignan. NINE HOURS LATER, I pulled into the station that I will get to know very well this year. Because I arrived at night, I wasn't able to see the city at all, so on Saturday, I got a nice tour of the ville. It really is a very pretty city (I think), with palm trees all over and a nice mixture of very Parisian- and very Catalan-influenced buildings. The Parisian buildings are large and square, with ornate window decorations and long, lean windows themselves; the Catalan buildings are narrow and tall, painted in bright yellows, oranges, and reds, with red and blue shutters. It's quite a striking contrast.

In the middle of town, there is a canal that is really quite something else. It is set below the city streets, and has gardens surrounding it on either side. Palm trees line the canals through the center of town. I can't wait to show you pictures!

My school is nice, too. Right now, I have a lot of bureaucratic issues to take care of; today, I've already jumped through more than a few hoops to get keys fixed, get a food card, etc. Later on, I have to *gulp* open a bank account. Le pire (the worst), as we would say in French.

The people here are very nice. I have a nice little room where I get to stay for free -- I don't yet know if I'll stay there all year or not. I have the option of moving into the apartment across town; yesterday, I got to see the area, and it is beautiful! There is a nice, family-oriented park at the end of the road that is lined with palm trees. So we'll see about that.

This afternoon, after I open my bank account, one of the English professors (who is British) is going to take me to Canet-Plage, the nearest Mediterranean beach. Should be fun!

Bienvenue à Paris!

Well, I made it! I had a very easy, very quick plane ride from Portland (even got some sleep!), and made a few friends along the way. Right now, I am sitting at one of the Starbucks in Paris, waiting for one of the other Fulbright girls to show up. I am so glad to meet someone before orientation begins.

But first, a bit of some true-to-France information: when I got off the plane in Paris, I went over to one of the buses to take me into town, bought a ticket, and waited. Then the guy in front of me says, "Y a des grèves aujourd'hui" (there are strikes going on today). Oh great, I thought. And hello back to you, Paris! So it was a slow trip into Paris, since most of the trains and buses were on strike (and thus everyone was driving their car). But I am here, I am wide awake (thank you, Starbucks), and I really, really miss my cell phone. I am a little too dependent on certain technologies!

After I meet up with the other Fulbright girl, I plan on checking in to my hotel, freshening up a bit (because I am sure that I look looovely after a long flight!), and then getting some things in order before orientation begins tomorrow.

One last thing: I guess I had forgotten (or willed myself to forget) how expensive everything is in Paris! From the 15 Euro bus ticket to the 10 Euro locker rental in Montparnasse to the 3 Euro shotglass of coffee at Starbucks, I can already feel my bank account screaming at me! Luckily, I have everything (and more!) that I could need, so all I must buy for now is food and some other essentials. Well. I say that now...

Waiting at the Airport!

Well, I am now waiting at the Portland airport for my flight to Philadelphia (then to Paris). I can hardly believe that this day has come already -- it sure got here quickly! I'll get into Charles-de-Gaulle around 11 pm (Pacific Time)/8 am (Paris Time) tonight. It's strange to think that in just a few hours I will be hearing more French than English. I haven't quite prepared my mind for that.

We are boarding! More later when I arrive in Paris!

Thanksgiving in September

Hotel des Invalides

Paris,
France






With only six days left until I leave, I have been keeping busy with things to do: packing, cleaning out my room, giving stuff away, throwing stuff out, and saying good-byes (or rather, "see you laters") that I would just rather not say at all.

But one thing has me very excited: I am having Thanksgiving this Saturday! Yes, that is right: Thanksgiving. My mother asked what one thing I wanted to do before I leave, and I decided that I wanted to have a big dinner, with family and friends over, in order to say good-bye to them all at once. And I added to that when I decided to make that a Thanksgiving dinner, since I won't be here in November to celebrate (and I'll probably be teaching that day, too!). So, on the menu is the traditional turkey, stuffing, cranberries, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie, etc. etc etc -- but with the added bonus of having it earlier in the year, and with family and friends who ordinarily wouldn't be able to come! I am certainly looking forward to it!!

Here are the details of the week to come:

Sunday, September 21: Leave for Paris (Portland --> Philadelphia --> Paris) at 9 am.

Monday, September 22: Arrive in Paris

Tuesday, September 23: Begin orientation in Paris

Wednesday, Sept. 24: Attend party for the 60th Anniversary of the Franco-American Education Commission at the Hotel des Invalides (the big, gold-domed building where Napoleon is buried)

Friday, September 26: Take the train to Perpignan


I am very excited to leave, but also getting nervous. I still have a lot of things to do, and I am quickly running out of time! But I am certainly looking forward to the adventures that are yet to come.

And, of course, the Thanksgiving dinner.

Two Weeks Left!

(<-- Yes, this is Perpignan! Please feel free to drool)






The countdown is on: I have two weeks left until I leave for France! Part of me is oh-so-excited; part of me knows that reality hasn't quite settled in. And in either case, I definitely haven't started packing...

Today at my store, something unbelievably coincidental happened: a lady came in, and I talked to her for a minute, noticing her strong British accent. I asked where she was from, and she said, "France" (I was convinced she was English!). We began speaking in French, and she told me that she was from Lyons, in eastern France. I told her that I was moving to France in two weeks, to Perpignan. "C'est pas vrai!" (No way!) She said. She is going to Perpignan next week! It was totally bizarre. So we started talking about the town (still in French, mind you) and her impressions of it. What fun to be able to talk to someone who has been there and who knows the culture. She warned me of the strong southern accents. "You won't understand them at first," she warned me. "Or at least I don't." Great. But the best part was that she told me my accent was perfect -- that I didn't sound American at all, but close to a true Poitevin (someone from the Poitiers region). Awesome.

With the limited time I have left, I've started making a list of all the things I am looking forward to when I arrive in France. I thought I would share some of them with you:

- Going to FNAC (my favorite store in France; like a Virgin Megastore meets Best Buy meets Borders)

- Taking a train everywhere and not having to drive (yay, Carte 12-25!)

- Carte d'Or caramel ice cream (oh, if only you knew...)

- Red wine. Oh, the red wine!

- Saturday markets (so wonderful and cheap -- I love it all, except for the skinned rabbits)

- The relaxed culture, so laid-back and at ease (it's great until you need something done RIGHT NOW)

- The food. Oh my. Meat with fruit. Exquisite desserts. Delectable pastries. Fois gras (yeah, I'm inhumane like that). Bread. Cheese. Wine. Have I mentioned the wine? (Need I go on?)

- My apartment. Granted, I won't be moving in until late October, but that won't stop me from being excited. I can't wait to be there! It looks soooooo cute!

As you can tell, I am really looking forward to going back "home." I will keep you updated as the time gets closer! And if you are interested in coming to visit, please let me know! I'd love to have visitors.

Visa Application Completed!

One of the requirements for teaching abroad is getting a long-term visa. I will admit that I was pretty nervous about this, because the French Consulate is very specific about what documents they require and how everything is to be filled out. Worst of all, I had to go down to San Francisco in person to get my visa - a $300 dollar trip for what I thought would be a 15-minute meeting.

The good news is that my mother came with me, and we stayed with my great-aunt in San Jose. So we turned our trip into a mini-family reunion. That part was so much fun. I am so glad that we went and visited her.

As for the meeting at the French Consulate in SF, it went well, too. I thought I would be the only one with an 11 am meeting, but no...there were about five of us. That meant that I got to wait in line for almost a half an hour before anyone would see me. I had way more paperwork than I needed, but I had it all organized, so I was able to give them just what they needed. My application was approved faster than everyone else's in line (thanks to my obsessive double-checking of required documents!!), and all I had to do was wait. And wait. And wait.

Over an hour later, my passport was returned to me with my visa in it. Yay! They say that this is valid for three months after I enter France, but in a way, it'll only last me one month, as I'll need to apply for a carte de séjour during my first week in France. That won't be easy, since I'll be in Paris for the first four or five days of my stay. But it'll get done. I know it will.

In the meantime, the countdown begins: I leave one month from today!

Making Time for Vacations

I haven't arrived in France, and already I am planning vacations. My last "brown package" (as my mother calls them) from the Fulbright had my official, stamped contract from the Ministère de l'Education Nationale de Montpellier. In it, I learned that my lycée was part of Zone A for vacations. (France, you may know, is split into three "zones" and are on completely different vacation schedules; this works out quite well) So, here are my vacation times (if you'd like to come visit):

Vacances de Toussaint: Saturday, October 25 - Thursday, November 6
Vacances de Noel: Saturday, December 23 - Monday, January 5
Vacances d'Hiver: Saturday, February 7 - Monday, February 23
Vacances de Printemps: Saturday, April 4 - Monday, April 20

Yes, the French really know how to vacation!! So, here are some ideas for trips that I am thinking of already:

Trip Idea #1: Basque Country
- Toulouse – Lourdes – Pau – Biarritz – Bayonne

Trip Idea #2: Absolute Mediterranean Paradise
- Aix-en-Provence – St. Tropez – Nice – Corsica

Trip Idea #3: Going North
- Paris – Brussels – Bruges – Luxembourg

Trip Idea #4: Return to the Familiar
- Bordeaux – Poitiers – Futuroscope – La Rochelle – Ile de Re

Other places I'd like to visit:

Eastern France: Colmar, Dijon, Lyon, Grenoble

Outside of France (to the South and East): Andorra, Barcelona, Florence and Venice, Corsica, Greek Isles

Outside of France (to the North and East): Brussels and Bruges, Luxembourg, Switzerland, London (by Eurostar)


We'll see how many of these trips actually happen. Until then, I will have fun daydreaming!

So Much Uncertainty

Right now, I feel very vulnerable about everything that relates to the Fulbright. There is still so much unknown, and I keep waiting to hear from somebody -- anybody! -- about what I do next. I remember before I went to Poitiers, I got so many handouts and how-tos and whatnot about every step of the process in getting to France.

Step One: Walk to the Post Office.
Step Two: Pick up a Passport application (if you do not know where it is, ask someone).
Step Three: Fill out Passport application.
Step Four: Send Passport application.

At least, that's what it felt like. Now, I have a feeling I will be on my own. It is MY responsibility to contact the French Embassy and find out what immunizations or medical examinations I need before leaving the country. It is MY responsibility to find out when Visa applications are due. And it is MY responsibility to set up a French bank account. Thankfully, I've done all these before...then again, that was almost five years ago. I've forgotten what I did to get my Visa, and I'm pretty sure I remember signing my life away to Crédit Agricole when I signed up for a checking account.

But the French Embassy? They aren't listed in the Corvallis Yellow Pages. Sure, I've called them before, but I was calling one specific person for one specific purpose (that purpose being returning her phone call). Now I don't know who to call! "Oui, bonjour. Is there, ummm...any medical tests I need to take before going to France?...Who do I talk to, then?...Oh, I need to call THAT number?...Got it." (*insert embarrassed look here*)

I like to be prepared about everything, and right now I just feel so unprepared that it's unnerving. I still have plenty of time to get everything done, but...I just want to know what I should be thinking about doing?

Is that really so much to ask?

Apartment (Not) For Rent

I don't know if it's too early to be looking for a place to live in Perpignan, but I simply cannot help myself. My list of Google searches is littered with bilingual phrases, like "apartments for rent in Perpignan," "louer une chambre perpignan," and "apartment rent perpignan -holiday -vacation." Apparently, to "rent an apartment" in British English is akin to finding a vacation rental for the summer. I don't want that.

I did find one place that, despite being a vacation rental, can also be rented out long-term. It's right in the center of town, nicely furnished, and has a terrace. I talked to the propriétaire (the landlord), and they would be willing to give me a discounted price for the 7 months that I would be there: intead of paying 4 weeks of rent per month, they would give me the 4th week for free. How very nice! But still, it would be 950 euros (almost $1,500 -- yikes!!) month. Granted, the Fulbright Commission would take care of most of that, but I don't want to blow my whole paycheck on my apartment! So I'll keep looking. Still, I thought I would include the link here, just so you could see (I'm looking at the "top floor" apartment):

http://myperpignan.com/Perpignan-accommodation.html

The thing is, I'm in love with the kitchen. But is the kitchen worth 950 euros a month??

Health Center To-Do List

When I got the letter announcing that I had won the Fulbright, I was also sent a lengthy medical form to fill out within three weeks. Not thinking that I had a problem with the deadline, I waited a few days and then scheduled my appointment. Yesterday I met with a clinician on campus to talk about all the tests that had to be done in order for my paperwork to be sent in.

Then the lights went out.

That's right -- all the electricity on campus went out, and I wasn't able to get any of my tests done, except for a TB skin test. But the bad news is that one of my tests takes a bit longer than the rest for the results to come back. So I made a quick phone call to the French Embassy in Washington, D.C., and got the deadline for my medical results extended. Yay!

I remember having a bunch of tests before my last trip to France, but not nearly this many! I suppose that most of these examinations are for those who are going to malarial areas and places in the middle of nowhere.

Still, one thing is for sure: Fulbrighters must be pretty darn healthy!

Catalan For Beginners

For the past few days, I have been googling Perpignan like mad. Maps, Google Earth, tourist websites, school websites -- I've pretty much seen them all. And one thing I have found is this: Perpignan is a bilingual city, speaking both French and Catalan. In fact, many of the students at the high school where I will teach speak Catalan.

This means that I get to learn a new language! Only this time, I am on my own. So, on Saturday I went up to Powell's and bought myself a "Teach Yourself Catalan" guide -- complete with a 2-disk CD set and a how-to book. So I'm learning. Only I'm limited to the basic conversation skills that remind me of my first year of high school. "Hola, bon dia! Com va? Bé, gràcies" and "Jo sóc la Sarah. Com es diu?"

For many people, I assume, it would seem like a hassle to have to learn a new language over a summer -- but for me, I am stoked! How fun will it be to come back to the States and say, "yeah, I'm fluent in both French and Catalan..." Nice.

The region of Catalonia itself (just FYI) extends from just south of Barcelona to just north of Perpignan, and is isolated along the coastline. It's apparently a beautiful area (the Spanish man I ran into at Powell's told me so). You just can't beat mountains and blue waters side by side. I cannot wait to go!

A City by any Other Name

I got a package from Paris in the mail today. That's always exciting, of course, but when I opened this one, I just saw another "congratulations" from the commision d'echanges franco-americains and a bunch of forms to fill out. Sure, I got to find out my pay for the year and transportation reimbursements, but nothing too interesting, right?

Wrong.

As I was looking over the papers one final time, I realized that I had overlooked one important line: "Institution of Affiliation in France: Lycée Aristide Maillol, Perpignan." Perpignan?! That's the city I was hoping for! It's the city in SOUTHERN FRANCE!!!!! No Paris for me! Yippeeeeeeee!!!

Let me tell you a bit about Perpignan (pronounced "Pair-peen-yon"...kind of): not only is it in southern France, it's along the Mediterranean, and close to Andorra and Spain. I'll actually be (much) closer to Barcelona than I will be to Paris. Because of that, Perpignan has retained much of its Catalan culture (and language), so there are Spanish and Catalan festivals throughout the year.

There are about 120,000 people living in Perpignan proper; about 300,000 in the metropolitan area (thanks to Wikipedia for that convenient information). And, because I'm sure you're wondering about the weather (like I was!), it stays sunny most of the year in Perpignan, with some light rain and moderate winds from the Pyrenees in the winter.

I am excited to go Google the Lycée Aristide Maillol (high school) after I finish this post!! Of course, I will tell more about the school and the city as I get more information. For now, this is really exciting! I know where I will be next year!


http://www.bnbfinder.com/innImages/myperpignan_com_Perpignan_France_18201.jpg

(Copy + Paste the link above for a pretty picture of Perpignan; if you want to see where Perpignan is on the map, it is on the farthest southern point on the map below. As you can see, it is no where close to Poitiers, where I lived three years ago.)

The "Congratulations!" Letter

Although I've never had a "formal" blog of my own before (unless MySpace counts), I am excited to begin this one. This is meant to serve as a space where family, friends, and (I hope) future Fulbrighters will be able to track my adventures in France from beginning to end. What I noticed when I first went to France was that I wanted as much information about the process I was going through and where I was going -- but I simply could not find it! This blog, I hope, will partially answer those questions for similarly-curious minds.

And thus the blog begins...

I found out on February 1st that I was being considered for a Fulbright, and that I would hear before mid-May. Most people, the notice told me, would hear in April. And so I waited. And waited. And waited.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love France, but they're slow. There's just no getting around that. So when mid-May passed, and I still hadn't heard from them, that's when I started to get worried. Then I got The Big Envelope (it's a good sign when you get that one; when I applied two years ago, I got the little envelope with the rejection letter...sad day), which began:

"Dear Miss Gallup, on behalf of the J. William Fulbright Foreign Scholarship Board, I am pleased to congratulate you on your selection for a Fulbright award to France..."

My roommates were there, and I'm sure they remember how loud I screamed after I saw that. Of course, I was excited!

But, like everything French, there are still many unknowns. For instance, I have no idea where I will be placed! And I have no idea when I find that out. Past Fulbrighters have been placed in the Parisian suburbs (gross!), in Paris proper (gross, but slightly less gross), and Perpignan (in southern France -- oh please, oh please, send me there!!!). Of course, I have been researching the cities like mad, but I still don't know if the Fulbright Commission chooses my location, or if I have any say in where I am placed.

Also, I have a REALLY long medical form to fill out in the next two weeks. I have to have a super-comprehensive medical exam. Seriously, why do I have to be checked for sickle cell anemia? I guess I'll know how healthy I am after all these tests!

That's a long entry to begin with. When I write, I'm long-winded -- be prepared for that. I'll keep you updated as soon as I can. I look forward to keeping in touch with you this way.

SG.