April in Paris

I am getting alarmingly close to the end of my ex-pat adventure. Which for the last few weeks has been making me panic about fitting in everything that I can while I'm here, within my financial means. The other part of me is worrying about what I will do when I get back. Luckily I have some very supportive and flexible roommates so that has helped cut down on the stress, but I have been searching for jobs and doing everything I can to simplify getting certified to teach from over here.

Teaching has become pretty...intermittent. Remember how I was waiting to actually work a "full" twelve-hour week? Yeah, that never happened. They finally found another replacement for the teacher on maternity leave (two months later!), and he's really nice but says, "For the time being, I don't need you which I'm not really proud of coz a native speaker is a real asset." So I will be working maybe nine hours a week for my two weeks left, and I have two weeks of vacation in the middle, which is just kind of unreal when you think about the fact that I'm still getting paid the same amount despite all of this. But hey, I'm not complaining. Just dumbfounded.

I have been enjoying the teaching that I actually get to do. Recently I have been working on gun control by using articles about Gabrielle Giffords being shot and Bowling for Columbine. I have also been using the language lab and having my students listen to NPR programs and then presenting to the class what they learned, and they seem to be really into it. I'm glad that I have been able to spend my year abroad continuing to prepare myself for a career in teaching.

In other news, Dave will be here a week from today, and is staying for two weeks! I'm so excited to have the chance to pick him up from the airport and to show him Paris after years of going to see him in Los Angeles. He's also never been to Europe, so it should be an incredible experience for both of us. The first week we are spending in Paris, and I'm cramming as much Parisian goodness as I possibly can into it. The following Saturday we are taking a train to Giverny to see Monet's gardens. When I was researching it someone said that renting bikes for the four miles to the gardens from the train station was the way to go. Should be a relaxing Saturday outside of the city.

The next day we will leave for Nice, where I studied abroad last summer. I have never seen water the same color blue, and I am so excited to show him. We're taking day trips to Cannes, Monaco, Cape Ferrat, and maybe Antibes. We will also visit my host family from when I stayed there. Then, when we get back to Paris we'll finish anything we missed, and spend the last Saturday relaxing at Versailles.

We both agreed to have a tentative plan but that the main purpose is to relax and enjoy ourselves. I don't want to be a slave to the schedule.

For the next three weeks the family I au pair for will be out of town (that timing couldn't be more perfect!), so I am spending this week teaching and getting ready for Dave to arrive!

Paris Encore

Just a quick note to say that I made it back into Paris after a whirlwind two weeks in Greece, Germany, and Italy. Pictures and blogs to come. It was an amazing trip, but it feels so good to be back "home." The first thing I did after getting off the RER was stop at the open air market on my street for some fruit. I love the markets here. The sellers are so knowledgeable about their produce, you can tell them exactly when and how you plan to use or eat it and they will give you a perfect specimen. I will miss that. Time to unpack!

My Big Fat Greek Blog Post (Part 2): 2 Fat 2 Furious

The ferry we took back to Athens wasn’t as nice as the"mini cruise ship" that we took to Crete. But this time, we had a plan. We staked out the biggest open space we could find and marked our territory. We got some actual sleep this time, and I even took a hot shower before we got off in Athens.

The plan was to lock our luggage in a locker at the train station in Piraeus and then go exploring until we could meet up with our host after she got out of work that evening.

We took the tram along the coast, and just decided to get off when the beach looked appealing enough. We got to the beach and walked out to the water. Two stray dogs ran up to greet us like we had just arrived at their house and they were excited to see us, jumping up on us and giving us doggie smiles. After saying hello they walked off down the beach like they were friends who stick together. Bizarre and cute at the same time.

We walked along the docks admiring the yachts and watched a group of elderly locals taking their morning swim in the freezing salty water until the restaurant nearby opened at 8 A.M. We ate breakfast (more yogurt and honey with fruit) and planned our day. After getting directions from some friendly Greek policemen, we set off for the Acropolis.

The tram turned a corner and suddenly brought the Acropolis into view for the first time, perched on the mountaintop with its ivory white pillars stretching up into the sky. Maja’s hand instinctually went up to point at it in amazement but she caught herself and casually tucked it under her chin. I understood why. It was the first time I had ever seen ruins like that in real life. I was seeing one of the coolest things I’d ever seen but I didn’t want to act like was a big deal in front of the locals who see it every day, so we settled for whispering to each other how excited we were.

There is a ticket you can buy to visit six different ancient sites in Athens. We bought ours at the Acropolis. I set my student I.D. on the counter and the Greek lady working scrutinized it and then squinted up at me. “Who is this…Grand Valley?” she asked, in a thick Greek accent. I explained that it was my university, and she accepted it grudgingly.

We spent the afternoon at the Acropolis marveling over the ancient ruins and gazing down at Athens below us.

For lunch, we stopped at a place called God’s Restaurant. Blasphemously good food. Even Rick Steve recommended it, apparently. I got some fantastic vegetarian moussaka, and bread with what might have been the best olive oil I have ever had. We made friends with the guys working and even got a free dessert. The one on the left said, "At the same moment that the camera captured my mouth, it did that thing Ben Affleck does with his mouth when he smiles!"

As we wandered around various shops we learned quickly that Greek people love to talk, and will gladly offer you their philosophy on life, usually without being asked. They were as friendly as they were talkative. One guy even showed us business cards of all of his Greek friends who live an America. "God Bless America!" he said. "Don't worry about the Greeks who don't like Americans. It is where the money is, we have to love it!" Usually these spiels ended with something along the lines of "You want something Greeky for your family?" while holding out a tacky t-shirt.

Greek people were extremely helpful. I was standing in line at a metro ticket machine when someone tapped me on the shoulder. A Greek woman handed me a metro ticket and walked away. Maja tried standing by the entrance to the metro and soon someone passed one off to her too. We asked our host Antigone later and she told us that since the ticket prices went up recently there is a movement called “We won’t pay anymore!” in Greek. Well, that makes sense. Since tickets are good for ninety minutes people hand them off to each other in an act of money saving rebellion. This saved us a lot of money on transportation!

As evening drew near, we collected our luggage and headed across the city to meet our host, Antigone. We found a bakery for a cheap meal, and as we waited I ate the best baklava I have ever had, with a flakey layered crust and absolutely drenched in honey. I don’t like honey very much usually; there is a flavor in it I just don’t enjoy. Greek honey was everything I ever wanted honey to be. I could eat that stuff like Winnie the freaking Pooh.

Luckily, I was able to remove all of the sticky honey remnants from my face before Antigone came from her work (teaching English). She looked like she had walked straight out of the ninties, and had an infectious smile. We liked her instantly.

She had a really nice two bedroom apartment that was really cozy and decorated in a beautiful and unique way. She had an awesome fluffy black cat named Kissa, which is Greek for magpie. She told us that her best friend, another CouchSurfer named Leni, would be arriving the next day for the weekend and staying with us too. Maja asked if she could take a shower and Antigone said that there had been a lot of sun that day, so there should be hot water. I like the idea of using solar power, but it kind of stunk when we didn't get much sun for the last couple of days there. Antigone and I had talked and got to know each other before we went to bed that night. She teaches English and French in Athens, but her real passion is psychology. She just went back to school to be a counselor, and I think she'd be a really good one. She is really easy to talk to.

We woke up the next day and Antigone had gone to the bakery and brought home cheese pie, spinach pie, ham and cheese pie, and a dessert pie. So many pies! We ate and talked and planned out the next few days. Then we went out to do more sightseeing and she went to work. She had won tickets to her favorite singer's concert on the radio, so her and Leni were going to go that night.

We spent the day at Monastiraki Flea Market getting more unsolicited advice, enduring spiels, haggling for trinkets, and avoiding gypsy kids. That was something that I had a really hard time with. These little kids trained to get money from you anyway they can, with no chance for a real childhood.

Lucky Greek eyes.

When we had had our fill, we headed back. As we got closer to the apartment a thunderstorm was blowing in. We don’t get them in Los Angeles and so I hadn’t seen once since I left Michigan last July. I was ecstatic; I love thunderstorms. I love the wet earthy smell, the strength of the wind picking up, the eruptions of thunder. We made it back to the apartment just in time, a downpour started as soon as we got inside. It was so cozy sitting in her living room listening to the storm outside, recovering from a day of sightseeing.They offered us drinks as they got ready to go, and we had some good talks until they left. It felt really nice to have a night in to relax. Somehow being a tourist can be really exhausting.

We got up early the next day to take advantage of the rest of our monument pass. We saw Zeus's Temple, the Ancient and Roman Agoras, the South slope of the Acropolis which includes the Theatre of Dionyso and wandered up the mountain and around the Acropolis again, soaking everything up.

Feeling bad about leaving us the night before, Antigone and Leni vowed to take us out the next night when we got home from our last day of seeing ancient monuments. Bars in Athens stay open late…some as late as seven A.M.! So, we went bar hopping. The music was wonderful, a very eclectic mix of things I really wasn't expecting to hear like Violent Femmes and Frank Sinatra. Leni was a fantastic dancer. She just had rhythm and you could tell she really enjoyed doing it.

Antigone and Leni said it is hard to meet men because in Greek culture women don’t really approach men. So even if you like someone you have to wait for him to come to you., and if he never does, oh well. In fact, a lot of my French students have told me that about French culture as well. However, Leni cracked me up when guys would hit on her and she wasn't interested. One guy asked her for the time, and she cooly replied, "Time for you to stop talking."

The only downside was that every bar was super crowded, and everyone but Maja and I smoked. I don't mind when people smoke, but being packed in like sardines and then forced to breathe it in was getting to me by the time we went home at six in the morning. I was exhausted by the end of it, but it was a blast.

Before they went to bed Antigone and Leni both came and hugged us and said their goodbyes, knowing they probably wouldn’t be awake when we had to leave for the airport in the morning. They were right. Leni did stir on the couch and say “Goodbye girls! I am dreaming of you already!” as we quietly let ourselves out of the apartment.

Maja, Leni, Antigone, and I on our last night.

My Big Fat Greek Blog Post (Part 1)

Maja and I flew from Paris to Athens on Valentine's Day (Sorry, Dave!). Our flight was out of Paris Orly, which is a ways outside of the city, and our flight was at six A.M., so we had the bright idea of sleeping at the airport. It is a tiny airport, and to our surprise actually shut down at night. They actually turned the lights off at night. The chairs looked deceivingly comfortable at the start, but quickly proved to be the opposite. They felt like you were sitting in a cupped giant's hand, but they were bolted to the ground so you were lucky if you found two that would face each other so you could rest your head and feet. Then the problem was that your butt would sink down in between the chairs. I propped my derriere up with my suitcase, but it made sleeping nearly impossible. There I was with my body folded up like a lawn chair talking to Maja in the dark when I saw a mouse scurry across the floor, backlit by an airport advertisement. Then, a guy a few chairs away chimed in with a loud, gurgling snore. Let's just say it was one of the worst nights of sleep I've ever gotten.

It was all worth it when we arrived in Athens and felt the warmth of the sun on our skin.

We found our way to the bus, and spent the 45 minute bus ride taking in Greece for the first time. My first impression was that it actually reminded me of LA. Palm trees, lots of people, graffiti, and beautiful weather. The biggest difference was that there are stray cats and dogs all over the place. My Athens host later told us that you see that where civilization is breaking down. How ironic for the birthplace of our civilization.

We found the port where our ferry would be leaving for Crete later that evening, and spent the day lazily wandering around near Pireaus like zombies, eating cheese pies, drinking Freddo cappuccino, and enjoying the coast.

As the sun started to set we made our way down to the port. When I saw the boat for the first time, I couldn't believe it. It looked like a mini cruise ship! As we waited nearby for the boat to open, we endured street sellers coming by every two minutes with the same neon colored plastic needle threader you saw two minutes before as if to say, "Well yes you've already seen this, but mine is better. Just wait until you see this!" and pulling the threaded needle out with a flourish.

The boat was finally ready, and we boarded. I was surprised to see that our "deck" seats were actually pretty much airplane seats. I figured it couldn't have been worse than the sleep we got the night before anyway. Before the boat sailed we wandered around it, exploring the decks, and making a lot of Titanic references. We both wanted to stay awake to watch the boat take off, but we were both fast asleep by then. Until about half an hour later when a couple with a baby sat two rows in front of us. "MAMAAAAAAA! PAPAAAAAAAAAA!" The excruciating cries permeated my earplugs. "What do you want, kid? They're right there!" I thought. Forty-five minutes later, I was about to lose my mind. I had tried to reinsert my earplugs so many times they lost their elasticity and it was like trying to shove Play-Doh into my ear canals, doing nothing to stop the sound.

After 48 hours of no sleep, I wasn't messing around anymore. We moved to the other side of the ship, finally getting some shut eye. We saw an older couple who had staked out a big area of floor and set up a little makeshift bed, pillows and everything. We decided to follow their lead and stretched out on the floor. As I fell asleep Hercules (yes, the old Kevin Sorbo show!) was playing on the T.V.'s mounted above our seats. How fitting.

When we arrived on Crete it was still pitch black outside. We were offered some of the best fresh squeezed orange juice I've ever had as we disembarked. Our host, Antonis, had given me directions on which bus to take to his place. I struggled to keep my eyes open as we made our way through a sleepy Greek town on the quiet bus. Antonis had said he would meet us at the bus station, despite the ungodly hour. His message read: "I really don't mind being waken up (simply, some people do, some do not) :-).”

I really hoped that was true as I called him at 5:15 A.M. "Good morning! It's Kelly!" I said. "We're at the bus station, near Nescafe!" He laughed and said "No, no, don't buy anything! I have stuff here! See you in a minute!" in his fantastic Greek accent.

In about two minutes we saw a young man with long hair striding into the bus station from an entrance opposite us and flounce past us. "You think that's him?" I asked Maja. "Probably." She said. We were too tired to make an effort to find out. Sure enough, in a minute he was back and marching toward us. He had long hair, glasses, and a broad smile. The walk back to his apartment is a blur but I remember being thrilled that he wanted to go back to sleep for a few hours too.

Then, I awoke to the smell of chocolate. Antonis was making breakfast. "Who was sneezing earlier?" He asked. I raised my hand guiltily. The dry air on the ferry had aggravated my allergies. "Do you think you can survive cold milk?" He asked. I laughed.

We ate breakfast and chatted. Antonis is one of the coolest people I have ever met. He is an engineering student, and was born on Crete. He takes Cretan dance classes (although he wouldn't show us his moves!), is a member of a mountaineering club, and somehow knows how everything works or is made. He was a fountain of knowledge about his culture. After breakfast there was a knock on the door, and Antonis told me to answer it. As I pulled it open his friend Alexandros literally jumped into the room. He was what I told him we call in English a "spaz" after being around him for about five minutes. He had the attention span of a three year old and the energy of someone who just drank twelve cups of coffee. And I quickly learned he was always hungry as he raided Antonis's kitchen for our breakfast leftovers.

So our unlikely group set off on a tour of downtown Chania. They told us it only rains there about ten days a year and that day happened to be one of them. They led us through the tightly packed streets past palm trees, stray animals, through windy walkways through beautiful buildings and down to the sea and showed us the lighthouse and what Antonis called the "unimpressive" fountain at the center of the main square. After a tour of the Naval Museum, we went to the grocery store to get ingredients for a lunch they wanted to cook for us. I had told Antonis that I am a vegetarian but I would eat whatever he made to experience Greek culture. In the grocery store he handed me a huge sausage and said "This is for you, my dear!" and walked away laughing.

He told me that actually most traditional Greek food is vegetarian, which was nice for me, but if I left Greece without eating Souvlaki (basically a meat stick) that I would be laughed at. By whom, I have no idea.

I asked if I could get wine to go with the meal, and Antonis picked up a carton of red table wine. "Despite its packaging, it's the best wine here." He said. Maja and I looked at each other doubtfully, especially after reading the container, which said "Party's wine."

Then we went over to Alex's dorm, which was bigger and nicer than any American dorm I've ever been in. On the way over, we passed a bus stop that was crowded with students. Antonis told us that the bus doesn't run very often so people will pick up students on their way back into town, like a big hitchhiking collective.

As we were going up the stairs we were almost knocked over by a furry yellow torpedo. It was Gilmour (named after the Pink Floyd drummer), Alex's dog. Who was basically Alex in dog form: a constantly hungry spaz.

Maja and I played with Gilmour and chatted with Antonis and Alex as they made us a Greek meal. They wouldn't let us help at all. Which I have to admit was a nice change of pace. I like that in a lot of European cultures it is not considered a "feminine" thing to enjoy cooking.

They served us a giant salad with tomatoes, cucumber, tons of delicious Greek cheese, anise, and a hard brown bread. They also made scrambled eggs with lots of veggies, and cheese and veggie stuffed mushrooms. It was to die for. I was surprised when we all sat down and Alex just started digging into the salad bowl with his fork. They told us that in Greece you just kind of ...go for it. Which was actually really fun. I'm not normally very into salads but that might have been the best one I've ever had.

Later, Antonis had a mountaineering club meeting, so Maja and I wandered down by the coast. The sea breeze felt so good as we walked along the glassy black water and gazed at the lighthouse illuminated on the horizon. We stopped in a restaurant right on the water, and I had my first Greek yogurt experience. The waiter brought my plate of thick, creamy (they don't mess around with low fat yogurt over here) white goodness, drenched in gooey honey. It was one of the best things I have ever eaten in my life.

Antonis met us after his meeting and took us to a cool little Greek bar. I mean literally tiny. It was like a really chic cave with great music (Beatles!), and packed to the gills with Greeks. And almost all of them were dancing. Despite being almost pushed up against the door we had a fantastic time trying Cretan beer and dancing with Antonis's mountaineer friends.

The next morning Antonis announced that he wanted us to try a traditional Cretan breakfast. He served us Greek coffee, yogurt with honey (he even sprinkled a little cocoa on top!), and spoon sweets. They are made with figs or with the rinds of an orange like fruit found in Greece. They are boiled in sugar and served with honey. "I prefer a fork." Antonis said, digging in. As we ate he explained how olive oil is made. He was so knowledgable!

Antonis had some things to catch up on so Maja and I set off on our own. It wasn't raining, and the sun felt like heaven on our skin. We got overly excited and even wore sandals. When Antonis saw what I was wearing he squeezed my arm and laughed saying, "You look like a summer tourist!" He was right, judging by the looks we got from the locals that day. But, it was sixty degrees and after Paris it was summer as far as we were concerned.

We went back down to the coast to see it in good weather. I fell in love with Greece that day. The sun, the vast blue sea, the green palm trees, the lazy dogs and cats, and the friendly people made it an unforgettable experience. We walked past fishermen and out to the lighthouse, with the sea breeze whipping through our hair and the sun on our skin. We made our way down the beach and walked in the cold water and felt the sand between our toes.

For lunch we ate right on the water. We found a restaurant with tables on a dock jutting out into the sea. It was perfect. Until we forgot that cuttlefish is actually squid and not fish, and our lunch had a whole lot of squiggly little legs. Luckily there were a lot of stray cats around to feed the legs to. :) I have to admit the squid was pretty good though, once I got past the slightly rubbery texture. The waiter gave us a shot of some locally produced liquor and we were on our way.

On the way back I stopped to get some snacks for our ferry back to Athens that night. When we got back to Antonis's, Alex yanked the door open and immediately seized my shopping bag. "What did you get? Is it for me?" He pulled out a bag of banana chips. "I LOVE these things! Can I open them?" Yep, pretty much a dog in a human body.

Then Antonis, Alex, and his girlfriend came with us to wait for the bus we would take to the ferry. Alex was quizzing us on the Greek words he had taught us. "And the word for sorry?" He asked. I recited it like a parrot. His girlfriend started laughing. "That does not mean sorry!" She exclaimed. "Shhhh!" he said, but it was too late. Turns out they taught us to say a really vulgar word instead, the equivalent of “f*** off!” in English. Lovely. Good thing we found out before we got to Athens and tried to apologize for stepping on a stranger's foot or something!

When the bus came Antonis said "I hate goodbyes." He gave us each a hug and strode off. After five years of a long distance relationship I appreciate his style. I hate goodbyes. I could have stayed on Crete much longer. After only two days I felt like I had known Antonis forever. Maja and I were talking about how we wished Antonis was our cousin or something so we could be guaranteed to see him at family functions at least. I will really miss his unique personality.

For my readers' sake, this is going to be a two parter to avoid you going cross-eyed. And I actually know what it's like to be cross-eyed. You're welcome. To be continued...

When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie...

My entire life I have been hearing stories from my mom’s side of the family about our family in Sicily. My Uncle Dave made contact with some distant cousins, and when I was a kid I heard about him going there and it became a dream of mine to go as well. I think as Americans we like to cling to some kind of roots, because we just don’t have a sense of culture like other countries do, with most of us being some kind of mutt. I never realized how true this is before living here and seeing what is means to French people to “be French.” There is just a deeply ingrained sense of centuries of practices and values that we cannot conceive because we truly are a young country, with a wide variety of backgrounds.

So, perhaps in part of my own search for "roots", I always had a burning desire to get to Sicily, my own personal “motherland”, pun intended. Being in Paris put me that much closer, and I finally bought a plane ticket. I could only go for a weekend, but my extremely friendly relations there encouraged me to come whenever and I decided to make it happen, or so help me!

I rose at THREE THIRTY A.M. to catch a taxi to Porte Maillot in Paris, to a shuttle bus to Beauvais airport outside of Paris. The upside of all this travel misery is that my tickets were dirt cheap.

On the way I chatted with the guy next to me in French. We quickly discovered that he was learning English and I was learning French so we spoke, him in English and me in French, to practice. He was from Senegal, and had left his country and his parents to try and pursue a career as a musician. He was on his way to Italy to visit his brother. We hit it off pretty well, and ended up sticking together at the airport. I checked in before him, “Après toi” he said. I waited for him, and when he came back I could immediately tell that something was wrong.

“I can’t go.”

“What?” I asked, startled. “Why?”

“They want thirty five euro to check my bag, and I don’t have it.”

I immediately had a flashback to the previous summer, when I had a similar situation with Ryan Air trying to charge me ridiculous fees for my bag; that’s how their tickets are so cheap. They have absurd regulations and charge outrageous fees for them. I had ended up boarding my flight looking like a sumo wrestler because I wore several layers of my own clothing to save weight in my bag.

Sidy was visibly upset. He went back up to the check in desk, and then went outside. I found him out there with his bags open, trying to decide what he could part with and what he could consolidate. He sat back on his haunches, and looked up and me. I saw the same look of frustration and desperation that I knew I had had as I padded myself with layers upon layers of clothing the summer before. He sighed. “I asked if they would take 25 euro for it. That’s all I have. They said no.” He stared into his bag as if it would pay for itself.

“So you can afford twenty five?” I asked.

He nodded.

I pulled out the ten euro bill I had in my wallet, and held it out to him. He looked up at me incredulously.

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.” I said.

I’ve been on the receiving end of more random acts of kindness than I deserve. I just told him to pay it forward someday.

The rest of our time together he referred to me as his guardian angel, and said that our sitting on the bus together was an act of fate. Me? I have no idea. I just know that I happened to have the money on me, and wasn’t hurting for it at the time. That and I just traveled across the Atlantic to see the love of my life thanks to the kindness of the people in my life. My first time in Paris, I never would have found my way without the kindness of a stranger, and DeAnna wouldn’t have made her flight to Spain without the kindness of yet another one. It felt really good to finally pay it forward.

On the flight he told me about Senegal. How everything is “local” and “organic” by default because they simply don’t have means for it to be any other way. How there is no need for retirement homes because people take care of their families. How people prepare extra food for dinner because it’s common for travelers, neighbors, or family to stop by. So, in exchange I got some insight into a different culture that I never would have learned about otherwise. He also gave me his last copy of his single, which cracked me up. I made him sign it for me. Call it naive, cheesy, whatever, but those are the kinds of experiences I live for when I travel. I think it’s really unfortunate when people travel far away from home, stay in a hotel with all of the comforts of home, and remain tragically separate from the local people and culture.

So, I left my new friend Sidy (who I actually got an e-mail from yesterday!) in Milan, and found my gate for my connecting flight to Palermo. Using my suitcase as a pillow (getting up at 3:30 AM was getting to me); I was getting some shut eye when I was startled awake by loud, raucous singing. Confused, I sat up on the hard airport bench, to see a large group of drunken football (not the American kind) fans at the airport bar, singing loudly in Italian, patting each other on the back, and grinning. It became clear after three more inebriated renditions that I was not going to be getting anymore sleep, but luckily it was almost time to board anyway. Surprise, surprise, my drunk “friends” were on my flight. I sat in the front, and the crew was debating about kicking them off when a female flight attendant ran up to the front screeching “One of them just licked my hand!” The male flight attendant who had checked my ticket as I boarded looked at me and said “in the States, they’d already be in court, eh?” They sure as hell wouldn’t have been on board anymore, that’s for sure.

Much to my dismay they were allowed to stay onboard, even the hand licker. It made for an interesting flight. As soon as the “Fasten Seatbelt” light was turned off they were out of their seats, talking loudly to each other, rubbing each other’s heads and other strange drunken signs of friendly affection.

Ignoring them, I watched out the window as we flew over the blue Mediterranean. I could see the white caps of the waves, and as we began our descent and the plane dipped to the right, I finally saw Sicily for the first time. I was floored by the thin coast, and the beautiful cliffs jutting out into the blue water. The green of vegetation led into the majestic mountains that made up the middle of the island. I was glued to the window as we landed. I was literally the very first one off the plane.

At this point, I started getting really nervous. I had talked with Enza Maria and Giuseppe online, but I really didn’t know them at all aside from they were really nice and enthusiastic (because they used a lot of exclamation points!!!!!) and that my uncle promised they would take good care of me. I stopped in the bathroom to see how horrible I looked after four hours of real sleep (suitcase sleep doesn’t count), and a day of travel. Not bad considering the circumstances. I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked into the airport.

There they were, waiting. We recognized each other instantly. There was a whirlwind of big smiles, greetings in English and Italian, cheek kisses, and totally unexpected emotions. I found myself choked up to finally be here, on this island, where my great grandparents were born and had lived, where they had left to find a “better life” in America. Everything had come full circle and my tear ducts reacted before my brain could.

Fortunately, before I became a basket case they whisked me off into the car. I sat in the back with Melania (seventeen) and Federico (eleven). Enza Maria sat in the passenger seat and Giuseppe drove (a Ford, interestingly enough!). Enza Maria is the only one who speaks English. The kids studied it in school but weren’t fluent. Sitting in the back of the car with my distant relatives, staring up at the mountains of Sicily, floored by the fact that I was actually THERE, I heard a familiar song come on the radio. For those of you around my age, it was Eamon’s hit single from when I was in high school, "F*** It (I Don't Want You Back). If you don’t know the song, let’s just say it’s a ridiculously vulgar break up song that I hadn’t heard in years. Uncensored. And loud. And I was the only one who could understood it, judging from the head bobbing that was going on in the car. It took all of my self control not to laugh. At least it cured my basket case problem.

The weekend flew by. They showed me their bright and warm apartment, and I shared Melania’s room. The first night I played Wii with Federico, and then we all went to dinner at Enza Maria’s friend’s restaurant. It was fantastic. This was the beginning of a pattern I would see throughout my time there: Everyone knows everyone in Terrasini. Enza Maria was greeted warmly by several people, and had to go and say goodbye to the owners of the restaurant before we left.

THEN, they took me to a café near their house, and we got dessert. I couldn’t say no, I was in Sicily for God’s sake.

The next day they took me to breakfast. I wanted to be polite, and asked Enza Maria if I could pay for breakfast. I will never forget her response. She looked at me as if the answer was obvious. “That is not possible.” she said, and smiled. And it was apparently not possible for me to pay for anything during my time there. I was really glad I had at least brought them a gift from Paris when I arrived. Then, they drove me to Palermo and showed me the old part of town that was heavily influenced by Turkish invaders. The architecture was beautiful.

I toured a lot of churches that were beautiful in a completely different way from the ones of Paris, and in fact, made the cathedrals of Paris seem a bit sparse. They were covered in mosaics, usually made of mostly gold, and in some of the most intricate detail I have ever seen.

Then, after lunch, they took me to Bar Aluia (my mom’s maiden name), and I got a picture outside. Then we walked around the new part of Palermo, and saw the theatre where the orchestra plays. There were horses and carriages among the cars. It was such a beautiful and charming town.

This was the first time I had ever experienced a language barrier, and to be honest it was a lot harder than I could have ever imagined. I could talk to Enza Maria, but sometimes I could tell she didn’t understand me, or wouldn’t tell the others what I said. My Italian was limited to what I picked up that weekend, and you can only say “Good!” and “Beautiful!” so many times before you start to feel like a parrot. I felt a little stuck in my own head that day, being unable to really express myself. It was really frustrating because Giuseppe was so nice, and I couldn’t just walk up and talk to him if I wanted to.

Later, Enza Maria and I dropped Federico and his friend off at the movies. It was the tiniest theatre I had ever seen! We inevitably ran into more friends, and one of them was complaining he had tried to see a movie twice and it was sold out both times!

Then, we went to get a pizza. I was really excited about real Italian pizza. We went to a place where of course, she knew everyone. There was a tiny Italian man who asked her about me, and tried to ask me if I knew his relatives in Detroit. He was adorable, kind of like a tiny BFG, and I hated to disappoint him.

We got to watch our pizza crust be tossed, topped, and then thrown into a wood fired oven. I have to be honest, it was really the best pizza I have ever had. The perfect crust, the fresh and flavorful sauce, and the authentic mozzarella cheese were all unbelievable. Together, it made for an unforgettable pizza experience that I cannot properly describe in words, and this picture really doesn't do it justice, but here you go.

Giuseppe had me try a couple of his favorite beers with it. The kids were out, so the three of us sat around and talked about life as Enza Maria translated, and got to know each other. Then, Giuseppe got out the rum.

He poured us each a shot. We said “Salute!” like they taught me, and I tossed it back. For the first time Giuseppe said something I could understand: “Wow!” I realized he had sipped his shot, and immediately blushed. I tried to lamely explain, “Sorry, I just graduated from college…” but he cut me off by finishing his and pouring another. Uh oh. I think he had the impression that I didn’t drink hard liquor because I couldn’t finish my Limoncello the night before (like lemon flavored gasoline), and he realized he had underestimated me. I was just happy to be communicating with him on any level. Four shots, a rough but rewarding conversation in “Engliano”, and lots of laughter later, Enza Maria cut us off. “We’re going for a walk!” she announced. I giggled and put on my coat. You might imagine my surprise when we headed for the car…hahaha. Then they drove me around Terrasini, and showed me important parts of their community. They showed me where my great-great grandfather, Matteo Aluia lived. All while cheesy old American songs like the Spice Girls played on the radio. It was a pretty unforgettable night.

We finally ended up down by the coast, and stopped the car. We sat inside for about fifteen minutes before I finally got the courage to ask Enza Maria if we could get out and go look around. She was starting to say no when Giuseppe asked her what I said. When she told him, he said “Si!” and jumped out of the car, and I scrambled out after him. We walked along the edge of the cliffs (don’t worry, there were guiderails!) and watched the blue seawater crash against the coast, listened the sound of the waves, and smelled the salty sea spray. It didn’t last long, but it is one of my favorite memories of my trip.

The next day, Enza Maria took me to see their new house. Giuseppe is an architect, and designed it himself. It is absolutely beautiful! We went to breakfast at a café in the main square of Terrasini, and once again ran into friends of hers, and as we ate our beignets and drank our coffee, they came up and said something in Italian, blew us a kiss, and walked away, while Enza Maria shook her head. I asked her what they said and she told me they had paid for our breakfast.

She told me that community was very important in Sicily. “Sometimes, it’s hard to know everyone so well.” She said. “But, it means you are never alone. It’s very important.”

This is a new concept for me, after not only moving around several times in the last few years, but having moved between two major cities in the last year.

She further proved this by taking me to her work, on her day off, because it was one of her co-worker’s birthdays. That would NEVER happen in the U.S.! I loved it. They sang “Happy Birthday” in Italian and I got to eat a piece of FANTASTIC pistachio cake. Everyone was so nice, and told me to come back soon. One lady even grabbed my face and said “Bella!” Hahaha. I loved it.

Then, Enza Maria had arranged a tour of the museum in Terrasini in French for me. I learned more about Sicily’s sea based culture. There are carts that proprietors would use to carry and sell food and other goods, and they would paint them to show how rich they were. I noticed one painted in black and white, and it featured a huge black octopus with each of its legs strangling a man. In French, the tour guide explained that it represented the Mafia. I asked if the Mafia still exists in Sicily. I could tell she didn’t want to answer me, but said “Yes. We don’t like it, but what can we do?”

We headed back home for one last lunch together. Enza Maria made amazing creamy salmon pasta, and a slew of Sicilian side dished and salads. I loved helping in any way that I could, and seeing her and Giuseppe cooking together. Then, it was time to go to the airport. They drove me, and walked me all the way to security. We stood around and talked for a bit. Then, to my surprise, Enza Maria’s eyes started to glisten, and she told me it was time to go in a choked up voice. Which of course made me get choked up. I gave them all hugs and thanked them for everything. They stood and waved until they couldn’t see me anymore. I am so lucky to be touched by their unbelievable generosity. I really hope I can make it back to see them again someday.

Surprise!

Happy New Year! As many of you probably already know, I was secretly busy in November and December raising money through crowd sourcing to come home and surprise Dave for New Years. We were talking in November about how much we hated not to be able to see each other for the holidays, and I said, "I wish I could just get 1,000 people to give me ten dollars!" And he laughed and said, "If anyone could, it's you." Then he completely forgot about it, but I became a madwoman. I sent out messages to everyone who knew us explaining the situation and as politely as possible explaining my idea. The crazy thing is...it worked! He had no idea that all of our friends knew I was coming home and were helping me with coordinating schedules, money, and rides. It is probably one of my proudest achievements that I managed to pull it all off from another continent. I wish you could put those kinds of things on a resume! I feel so blessed to have such supportive friends! It was an incredible experience that I will never forget, as was surprising him.

I left my apartment in Paris practically skipping down the sidewalk, in my head singing "I'm going to America!" My suitcase was chock full of French goodies for my friends in California to try. I had a flight from Charles de Gaulle to Dallas. I had a long but good flight, having knocked myself out with French cold medicine because my sinuses had been horrible before I left, and I didn't want them to hurt from the pressure of take off and landing. Getting back to the States in Texas was a little embarrassing. There was a promotional video playing with sights of America, and inspirational type music playing. I was adjusting my luggage at baggage claim when I felt a warm furry thing bump my leg. I said "Hey, buddy!" to the Beagle staring dolefully up at me. Then I realized he didn't want to be my friend, he was pointing my bag out to a customs worker! She asked me if I had any produce and I had a momentary panic before I realized I had grabbed my leftover apples before leaving, and had planned to eat them but they gave us so much food on the plane that I forgot. Merde. So, I had to go to Agriculture and surrender my dangerous French apples.

Then, I had to go through security again. I was worried they'd make me go through the new nudey scanners, but luckily I got sent through the other line. I was gathering my stuff when I heard a security worker ask the guy next to me, "Is this your pink cup?"

I looked up, dreading what I was about to see. It was my purple water bottle. You'd think someone who works for the TSA would need to have better descriptive skills. I reluctantly raised my hand, "It's mine."

He looked down his nose at me and said, "You'll need to come with me." He shook the water bottle at me. "This tested positive for explosives." Double Merde. I had had my French cold medicine in the water bottle. What the heck is in that stuff, anyway?!

So, I got patted down by a very nice elderly female TSA worker, who complimented my sweater. How nice. Turns out I'm not a terrorist, so they let me go.

So for the next part of the plan: my flight from Dallas to LA. I had no working cell phone because my U.S. phone is shut off for the next few months. I had to find my roommate, Oley when he got off his flight two hours after I got into LAX, and then we'd find our ride together. I arrived at LAX completely bedraggled and exhausted. At this point it was a full twenty four hours since I had left my Paris apartment, humming to myself about going to America. I was a mess. I managed to wait the two hours for Oley's flight without falling asleep. I waited as his flight arrived, and people started streaming by. And waited. And waited. Finally I accepted that he wasn't coming, and asked someone who looked nice if I could use their cell phone. I reached Patty, our ride, who said, "I've been waiting for you to call! Oley missed his connection in Salt Lake City; he's not going to make it to LA tonight." Triple Merde. I could have been home already! I found out later that my friend Lauren was keeping tabs on me, and tried to call LAX to tell me what was happening. They never did page me, we think because they thought it was a prank. You see, her last name is Houston. "I need you to page Kelly Boston and have her call Lauren Houston...I'm aware that both of our last names are cities, but this is serious," did not go over well at the airport. Go figure! Ha!

Finding Patty was a nightmare with LAX holiday traffic and no cell phone, but we finally managed to find each other and got the Hell out of Dodge. Needless to say, I slept well that night.

The next day, I had to take Oley's car to pick him up at 10, and then Dave was due in at 11. After almost 5 months of not driving, plus the fact that it was LA driving in the rain, I was a little nervous. Made it just fine, and then played the waiting game. I waited in our room, and when he landed I got this:

Just landed back in la. Not sure if you'll get this, but I love you so much and can't tell you how badly I miss you. Hope you made it to Brittany safe and sound. Have a great time babe. Enjoy your travels. Love you.

I had told him I was in Brittany with the family I babysit for...muahahaha. He really had no idea I was on the same continent, let alone in our apartment! This only increased my excitement. Our friend Bethany got in at the same time and coordinated rides, so she was texting me with updates as he got closer and closer to home. I got more and more nervous the closer that they got, until I was practically shaking. Then, I got the "Hereeeeeeee :) :)" message, and about lost it. I adjusted the red bow I was wearing (I was his Christmas present, after all), and got ready. I heard the front door open, and my heart sped up. Finally, our bedroom door opened, and he walked in. And then immediately jumped back like he saw a ghost. Which I found out later, was actually his first thought when he saw me, hahahaha. I went up and gave him a hug, and his heart was pounding. I had to sit him down, he was so shocked! Once I explained everything, he was still completely floored but extremely happy. I had to prove that it wasn't a dream several times that day. :)

After that, we just made the most of our time together and with our friends in Palm Springs. Our friends planned an amazing celebration for New Years, but still understood our need for "stolen moments" as it got dubbed anytime we kissed or anything...hahahaha. I love our friends. Here are some pictures of our fabulous NYE weekend:

Group shot.

Stolen moment. :D

View from back of the house...unbelievable.

On the red carpet, entering the party.

Jocelyn, the bartender.

Leaving was harder than I could have possibly imagined after being with Dave again, but it was a great refresher of how it feels to be together. That and I got to confirm that I still want to live in LA, and I really do. So now my focus is on improving my French as much as possible, passing my tests this summer, and working on my transition to being a real person in LA. :) I love Paris and I am enjoying my time here, but my heart is in California.

I see London, I see France...

So, the family I work for went for a “holiday” to London in December, and I jumped at the chance to go along to babysit. We arrived Friday night by train. It was freezing cold! Standing in line for a funny looking British taxi was painful, it was so cold. I stayed with Lawrence in the room and they went for a drink, and then I brought him down the pub they were at so we could

all have dinner. It was weird because I came in holding his hand, and we found them. When the bartender came over to get our orders, he kept asking me questions for Lawrence, and I realized that he thought Lawrence was MY son, and they were his grandparents! It just kind of struck me. I have classmates from high school who have and are having kids, but that it could possibly happen to me in any realm of reality never really reached my consciousness until that moment. I am an adult human who could create life and presumably be responsible for it. Scary! Haha. After a great meal of “proper” fish and chips and an English Ale, I was off for the night.

I stayed with a couple, Helen and Chris, in West Ealing, and “commuted” to the hotel each day by tube (The London Underground). It really does look like a tube. Since I was in London for eight days last summer I had done most of the big stuff already, and just wanted to hang out with some locals and go to a pub, etc. Helen and Chris are one of the cutest couples ever. He is Australian, and she is British (but her family is from Spain originally). They were so

accommodating and sweet! Not to mention hilarious. We all had a lot in common and got along really well. Chris and I talked about Australia a lot, and I have to say he made me bump it up a few slots on my “Places to Visit” list. It sounds utterly amazing. On my last night they took me to a comedy show. Of course, I got picked on a lot for being American (all in good fun, of course) including getting serenaded Wham’s “Careless Whisper” by a chubby Brit wearing a spandex cat costume and one nipple tassel. But that’s another story. ;) I had a fabulous weekend filled with good conversations, lots of laughs, great food, a lot of tea, and wonderful people.

Unfortunately, it was also a weekend of extreme snow fall for London. When it was time for me to take my train back to Paris, all of the travel was extremely backed up. In fact, the headline of a newspaper that I picked up on the way TO THE TRAIN STATION read “You can’t even escape by train!” Lovely. And it was a good indicator of the rest of my day.

Since travel was so backed up, your ticket time didn’t matter, as long as you had one, you got in an extremely long line (or queue as the British say :-P). Then they just loaded trains on a first come first serve basis as fast as they could, which was not fast at all. After marching through snow to the very end of the line several blocks away, my socks were soaked. Then, I waited in the cold with wet feet for about three hours before even getting inside St. Pancras. The Salvation Army was there handing out coffee, tea, and some hot food like curry and even Domino’s brought pizza. News stations kept filming us and interviewing the people waiting. I waited for four more hours inside the train station before getting a ticket, and another hour and a half inside the lounge. Whew. It was an exhausting day.

When I finally made it back to Paris at midnight, I was ecstatic. I came into Gare du Nord, the same station as last summer when I arrived in Paris for the first time and completely alone because of a flight mix up. Back then I remember feeling so scared, alone, and confused. I had no idea where I was, how to get where I was going, and my French was pretty abysmal. This time, I knew exactly where I was, understood all of the announcements, and even asked the guy next to me if he’d prefer the window seat. It felt so…comfortable. Coming back to Paris was like coming home. I was so excited to be back I didn’t even take the bus the rest of the way with my suitcase, but just walked, soaking up the sights and smells of Paris again. J

Christmas Time in the City (of luurrrve)

After my last class before Christmas, during which I made my students sing Christmas carols, my premières (youngest grade in French high school) stopped me in the hallway. One girl asked me if I could stay for a minute. I was confused, but said sure. The next thing a knew, the rest of the class (it's split into two groups, and I see one group per week) congregated, and one particularly charming kid named Vincent came up with a big brightly colored bag. They all yelled "Merry Christmas!" and presented it to me. It was my first Christmas gift from students, and I was truly floored by their ability to coordinate and how much they must like me, because there were some NICE chocolates inside! Jeff de Bruges makes some goooood stuff, I'll tell you that.

Here is a picture of the chocolate:

However, the best part was the card they made. It cracked me up so much.

Apparently Santa does "all imaginable" badass things in France...

Dave read this and said "Until our spaceship sends us away from Earth which will be the end of relationship." Hahahahaha.

And, of course, a Star Wars reference.

These are the kinds of things that make me love teaching, and motivate me to work harder for my students. :) It really set the tone for Christmas break.

So this is Christmas

Paris cannot handle snow. It snowed about ten centimeters, or a little less than four inches, today and traffic is at a standstill. Apparently it is the most snow Paris has had since 1987. Horns honk impatiently, the distinct “EEE OOO” sound of the sirens of emergency vehicles wails as they try to maneuver through the blocked streets, and the traffic lights cycle through red and green with no movement of traffic because this much snow is incomprehensible. They even shut down the Eiffel tower. Man, these parisiens would HATE Grand Rapids.

I spent the day inside, playing “snowball fight” with Lawrence as fat snowflakes drifted down outside, and we listened to Christmas music on my laptop. I put his coat and gloves on him and took him out on the balcony to experience the snow. He mostly just made snow balls and then sucked on them like they were some kind of candy, but to each his own. Recently Maja told me that her mom said something about how it just isn’t Christmas without children. I have always been rather indifferent to the idea of having children, but that point stuck with me. I can’t imagine the holidays having that “magic” without children to enjoy it and to bring it to life for everyone else. I am sitting in the tiny French café on the corner by my house. I like it because it is so authentically French. It hasn’t been updated since the 70’s it seems like, and it’s always the same barman working, and there is always a crowd of regulars (crusty old French people who speak no English and have been coming here forever). I think the barman thinks I’m nuts for coming in despite old French men hitting on me, but there is something truly charming and extremely French about this place. That being said, the older men are harmless and it gives me a chance to speak French. It is definitely not a place for tourists. Plus, they have a room that consists entirely of windows so I can sit and watch people pass by on the street while I drink my chocolat chaud.

With the winter weather and December sneaking up on me, I’ve been thinking about Christmas a lot recently. It is going to be my first Christmas away from my family. Ever. I keep going around in my head about it. I got invited to join my host family from last summer in Nice, and to see my Sicilian family who I have never met, but I plan to while I’m here. Neither of those worked out, too expensive. I got offered babysitting on Christmas day, and with that in mind, I have decided to stay in Paris. I want to at least spend it with some children. Sandra and Andre are going to London for a weekend during my break, and today they told me that they would pay for me to come if I can babysit when they go out. It would be a fun Christmasy trip. I realized that besides not seeing my family and Dave, it shouldn’t be that bad to be here for Christmas. I mean I’m in Paris for God’s sake. There are lights strung up over the roads, festive markets hawk Christmas items and delicious hot food, snow is falling, and I caught the fresh scent of pine from the fresh pine trees at the stores (45 euro for a tree! That’s like 60 dollars! I guess I’ve never bought a tree but it seems a bit steep!). The best part of Christmas is and always has been the anticipation; hearing Christmas songs, making cookies, playing in the snow. Christmas day I always feel a little deflated, like the fun is over. I had a snowball fight with the other kids I babysit for this week. I had so much fun chasing the boys and dodging the (somewhat pathetic…I am from Michigan after all) cold fluffy balls of snow while Parisiens reluctantly smiled as they passed. It definitely got me in the Christmas spirit. I am just going to try and have as many Christmasy moments as I can. I had my students sing "Jingle Bells" yesterday, and they loved it. They cracked up when I added the "HA HA HA" after "laughing all the way." I asked a student how Christmas is different here. He said, “I sink eet ees ze same as America, just weeth…euh…less decorating.” I laughed. I’m sure he’s seen Christmas Vacation and thinks that all Americans are like that.

So, I’m going to have a French Christmas. I hope to Skype with my family though. I miss them. J

Here is my Christmas playlist if you're looking for something Christmasy too. ;)

Discover the playlist Christmas with John Williams

Too cool for school.

I need to update this more so that I’m not playing an endless game of catch up. Let’s see…

Work has been going well. I asked all of my classes what stereotypes French people have for Americans. I even told them that I was the one time they could get away with badmouthing Americans in front of me. I was shocked at how little animosity they have for Americans…in fact, it was quite the contrary. The worst things I heard were “Zey eat a lot of ze fast food,” or “Zey are…euh…couch potato!” which I thought was pretty funny actually. It made me feel bad about all the annoying comments I got from Americans when I told them I was coming to France, like “Remind them who helped them out in the war!” (What about the Revolutionary War, doofus?) Or, “Well I hope you’ll shower more than the French do.” Why do Americans like to hate on the French? There are tons of French stereotypes; you know it as well as I do. For example, in one of my favorite childhood Christmas films, Home Alone (which oddly enough is called “Maman, J'ai Raté L'avion” – “Mom, I Missed the Plane” – in French), Buzz says, “French babes don’t shave their pits!” We should be what the French call “Les incompetents”, but they actually do seem to like us. Maybe Obama’s international popularity has something to do with this.

My kids love all things American for the most part (except Lady Gaga. They don’t seem to be fans for some reason…). They watch almost only American TV shows and listen to a LOT of American music. It’s kind of an interesting perspective to have, being in their school. I’m like some kind of really cool Martian that they are intimidated by but seem very impressed with. I wish my students in the U.S. felt that way too, haha.

One of the English teachers has had jury duty for the last couple of weeks, so there has been a substitute filling in, who is around my age, Leslie. It’s been interesting talking to someone my age and who also just finished studying to be a teacher. It’s so different here! For example, the French Ministry of Education takes count of how many teachers and substitutes will be needed, and ONLY certifies that many. As opposed to back home, where anyone who qualifies is certified and then we just have to fend for ourselves in the workforce, French teachers are actually placed where they are needed. Not sure which way is better...

It’s also still something I am getting used to that teachers all share classrooms. The high school actually functions a lot more like a university. Teachers have different schedules, and switch rooms accordingly. If a teacher is only sick for a day, they just cancel class. Classes run Monday through Saturday, with classes only in the morning on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Teachers here are only paid for the eighteen hours a week they spend in front of the class, and then other than that are not expected to be at school. When I student taught I learned that in the U.S. you are contracted to be at school from around 7 AM (about 30 minutes before school starts) to help students before school if they need it. Leaving right after school is frowned upon in American schools, and often times being able to coach a sport or being willing to run a club is preferred, which equals even more time at school. On top of that, we still have to lesson plan, grade papers, do parent-teacher conferences, curriculum meetings; the list goes on and on. However, here school is much more academic and less about socializing. There is no prom, or clubs, very few team sports. The focus is entirely on the Baccalaureate which they need to do well on to go to college (and preferably a good one, because the clout of their University really does matter when looking for jobs here). Back home, a kid can go to college with no idea what they want to do. Here in France, that is not the case. Academic competition is pretty cutthroat, and that follows you as you go on to enter the workforce.

There are also no clocks in the classrooms, which drives me nuts if I forget my watch. It is also the first time I have used an actual chalkboard to teach. It’s old school. Pun intended. The heaters don't work extremely well either, so it can be pretty cold in certain rooms. They also don't have computers in every room (only in the teachers' room) like you see back home. There is maybe a TV and VCR/DVD but technology just isn't big in French education.

I am soaking up as much cultural information as I can, and am really enjoying myself. I saw my painter friends, Cerb and Michel again this week. I was working on the computer and I heard them say, “C’est Kelly!” I chatted with them for a while. Cerb asked me if we use “yaoo” in the States. I was like..er.. I don’t think so…until I realized he was saying "Yahoo." Sometimes the fact that the French don’t pronounce "h’s" makes communication really difficult! You can’t hear the difference between “angry” and “hungry” at all when they say it. I made my kids repeat the two after me in class last week, exaggerating the “h” sound on hungry. I’m pretty sure I made them spit all over each other but they were laughing a lot.

Being a language assistant is perfect because it’s everything I like about teaching minus grading piles of papers every night. I’m really enjoying what my professors told me would be the most laid back year of my life. It’s weird after five years of an intense college schedule. Now it’s like I hardly have anything to worry about and I’m learning to relax. I didn't have to teach one of my classes today, and was told I don't need to teach my last class on Thursday or Friday. Still no full work week! No wonder I'm so relaxed.

Another day, another Euro

So, at my school I get a reduced lunch for a measly 2.50 Euro. Which is still $3.40, but for a meal here it's amazingly cheap. It comes with a soup/salad, main dish, yogurt or cheese, and fruit or dessert. So, I went to school earlier than normal to take advantage of this deal. But, I got there later than intended, so when I got to the teacher's lounge with my tray, there was literally NO ONE that I knew. Everyone looked at me when I walked in so I kind of panicked and just made a really fast judgement call on who was the least intimidating. Two guys in their late twenties to early thirties won, so they got stuck with me. It wasn't until I was sitting down that I noticed their paint splattered clothes. They were definitely not teachers. Turns out I sat down with two painters who were doing work on the school...lol. But Michel and Cerb were extremely nice and chatted the whole lunch hour with me in French about America, France, what I should see while I'm here, etc. They were good lunchtime company.

Then, later, I met one of the classes I have yet to meet because of the strikes, then the teacher was sick, and then there was a bank holiday. I have yet to work a full 12 hours a week...*knock on wood*. I was in the middle of introducing myself to the class of about 24 students when a kid called out really loudly "You are very beautiful!" in a really thick French accent. This caused the rest of the class to erupt with laughter and me to blush like crazy. I know it's a compliment but I felt really awkward. Even the teacher laughed at me. :-/

Odile gives me a ride to the train station after school everyday, and I always blabber away in French with her. She is honestly one of the nicest people I have ever met. She invited me to come over and cook an American meal for her sometime. I'm thinking macaroni and cheese. Another teacher was saying that they should take me on a daytrip to Champagne. I love how nice everyone is at my school. A lot of them were language assistants in England so they know what it's like and take it upon themselves to make sure I experience France while I'm here. I'm very lucky.

I am very excited for this weekend for two reasons:

1. On Saturday night I get to eat for free at Mary. They specialize in gelato but they offered a free Italian meal from their new menu for twenty Yelpers, and I got in. Score! Plus, I'm excited to meet and rub elbows with other Paris Yelpers. It's still a really small community, and I have some free time so I'd love to get more involved. Plus, the more French friends I have = the more French I speak = the better I do on my French exams. It's win-win-win.

2. After my free dinner, I am joining some of my fellow language assistants on a party boat on the Seine. I always see boats on the river when I walk by and I have been dying to be on one. We took a boat tour when I studied abroad last summer but this will be so much better because A. I don't have to pretend to listen to a tour guide and B. it's at night and drinks and dancing are involved.

Right now I am very happy to be here. Now I just need to get paid again so I can figure out what in the world I'm going to do for Christmas.