A Romantic Book-Lover’s Dream: Oxford and London

Greetings folks!

I’m sitting in a cafe in Oxford known as “The Missing Bean”, having thoroughly enjoyed my time in England thus far.  I’m a little tired at the moment, but I think it’s a good thing to be tired sometimes-even on vacation.  It’s a sign of days full of enjoyment-at least for me it is.  So thankful for my wonderful friend Dan, and how awesome he’s been while I’m here in Oxford!  I arrived in Oxford late Friday night Dan was kind enough to meet me even at that late hour.  It was a little crazy getting there, honestly, but mainly because I had limited time before my train left, and 15 min before my bus was supposed to arrive, I was STILL waiting on my bag.  I started getting nervous of course when it looked like all the bags were out, and after looking around some, I realized that a group of students had my bag with theirs, just sitting there.  I was rather frustrated about this, (aren’t they always telling you over airport loudspeakers not to mess with other people’s bags?) but I had no time to inquire-I just had to make that bus.  Luckily for me, it had not arrived yet, so I made it.  Needless to say, I was exhausted that first night, and slept well and relatively late the next day.

On my first day in Oxford, Dan showed me around the town, and I must say that I absolutely love this place.  With all the colleges all around, it’s very easily romanticized into a thriving community of intellectual learning, where inquisitive minds are engrossed in their dissertations in little cafes, discuss philosophy in the streets, and troll used bookstores for volumes of poetry.  Dan informs me however that it is not always a serious intellectual town-the students know how to play as well.  In any case, I quite like it, and I quite like being here.  It makes me wish I was in college again.

Dan and I walked around the city as he showed me different colleges, and parts of town like the busy High Street and the covered market.  Keble College is quite lovely, I think, though apparently lots of folks don’t like it much because it is largely made out of bricks, not stone.  I like it, anyways.  We got to go in Christ’s Church chapel and hall-the hall being special because it was the hall they used for the Great Hall in Harry Potter.  It was lovely.  We rather ate our way through it as well, having a pasta lunch in a place called Taylor’s, getting chai at the Queen’s Lane cafe, and even doughnuts at Krispy Kreme.  Neither of us had had a KK doughnut in a while, so it was kinda fun.    We went to a bop that night (dance party sponsored by the college), and it was interesting, but fun.

The next day, we went to church at St. Aldate’s Anglican Church.  I really enjoyed the service, it was very uplifting and the pastor mentioned C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien in his sermon which was kinda great for a literature person like me.  After lunch, we took a long walk along the Thames River Path, which is an absolutely gorgeous path out of the city in a very pretty part of the country.  The river itself was frozen, and people were walking out on the ice.  We passed over bridges, through the muddy streets, knobby trees, cow pasture, and a quaint village, with the smell of wood fires in the air, and the wind blowing up the edges of my hair under my hat.  I particularly enjoyed watching the people with their dogs on the path.  There was a cute little snowy fur-ball dog that came up to me while I was adjusting a runaway sock in my boot and panted up at me like he was saying hello.  It was all wonderful.  When we reached the end of the path, we saw the remains of an old nunnery, and we went in a little pub called “the Trout” for hot chocolate before walking back.  Dan took me to dinner in Keble Hall, which, fun fact, was actually the first choice for the Great Hall in Harry Potter.  They wanted to change it too much, however, so Keble Hall wouldn’t let them use it.  I will say, however, that it fits my image of the Great Hall much better than Christ’s Church.  In Keble, there are these great gothic windows, and patterns all over the ceiling, in addition to the long wooden tables and benches.  It was kind of magical to eat there.  There was a choir that sang grace in Latin before the meal, and there was a high table where important older people sat.  Very fancy.  We had roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, a little green salad with pears, walnuts, and gorgonzola, and apple pie and cream for dessert.  I enjoyed talking to Dan’s friends, they’re all really nice, and it’s so fascinating to hear about their different projects.  After dinner, we went back for tea and biscuits and continued our conversation there.  It’s funny how comfortable I feel in the academic setting here.  Perhaps I should have applied?  I suppose there’s always my PhD if I decide to go in that direction….We’ll see about all that.

Yesterday, Dan and I embarked on an epic London adventure.  We caught the train in the morning (I fell asleep since I had not had any coffee yet), and arrived around 11.  We met Sara Yasin around noon, and she took us to a little cafe near where we met called 22-26, I think.  It was really cool, with lots of artwork and space, not to mention good food.  It was so wonderful to see her, and it was really special to have the opportunity to have a little displaced European Caldwell gathering.  Being a Caldwell Fellow changed my life and shaped my undergraduate experience, as I was continuously edified and encouraged by a community of friends who believed in their own abilities to effect positive change in their communities and the world as a whole.  As a Caldwell, I was appreciated for the things I was passionate about, and afforded the opportunity to share in the passions of my peers.  Altogether, it was an experience beyond value, and I’m so grateful for it.  Talking with Sara and Dan was encouraging and exciting as we discussed what was going on in our lives, and what we had learned from it.  It was fantastic conversation, and so lovely to connect again.

After lunch, Dan and I headed to the British Library-which may sound relatively ordinary, but in fact was a book-lover’s dream.  There were original copies of the Canterbury Tales, Jane Eyre, and Wordsworth poetry, Shakespeare’s First Folio, original copies of Handel, Beethoven, Mozart, and Beetles music, original religious texts, the Magna Carta, documents from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, letters from Queen Elizabeth regarding Mary Queen of Scots, and so much more, it was just incredible.  The things that really got me, however, were Jane Austen’s writing desk, and one of her earlier journals containing a story she wrote for her sister Cassandra entitled “Catherine,” about a young woman who lived with her aunt, and the Codex Sinaiticus and Codex Alexandrinus.  These documents were wholely unbelievable to me, and I was beside myself with excitement, truly.  The library also had rows upon rows of bookshelves, which was very cool.

After the library, we went to Westminster Abbey for Evensong.  Although I didn’t get to really look around much, it was really amazing to be there for the service.  I loved listening to the choir chanting and singing.  I think I prefer actually going to services in churches than just touring around, really.  But good grief, is it gorgeous on the inside! Wow!  After we walked across the bridge over the Thames, and we saw how awesome the Eye and Parliament look at night.  We headed toward the theatre district where we bought greasy fish and chips that were absolutely awful for us, but delicious from a tiny little hole in the wall place.  We ate them outside the Queen’s Theatre, and then went inside to get our seats for the best musical EVER: Les Misérables. It was so good too!!!  I don’t know how you couldn’t love that musical-it’s just phenomenal.  Makes me tear up and wanna go fight for something at a barricade. No but seriously, I love the themes of forgiveness and faith in the goodness of humanity-that life can be turned around and people can care for each other even when there’s nothing in it for them.  So wonderful. Well, I think today will be filled with college and museum visits, visiting used bookstores, and maybe a country walk?  We’ll just have to see.

The Little Things

While there are many things I love about Lyon and many experiences that I’ve enjoyed during this period abroad, I find that it’s often the little things that I enjoy the most and that make my day.  There are so many things I could say, but off the top of my head, here are 50 of those little moments:

1. Strangers saying “bon appétit” to you as you eat your little quiche at the bus stop.

2. A fellow colleague telling me “Courage” during a hard day.

3. My students asking me about something in the United States, just out of sheer curiosity.

4. When the students enjoying the lessons, I can tell they are learning, and they tell come to me after class to tell me how much they like my classes.

5. Those days when we get to drink wine and sample French food during lunch in the teacher’s lounge.

6. Crème fraîche and ham pizza-so good!

7. An endless supply of culinary adventures to embark on-calf’s head, frog legs, pike dumplings, chitlins sausage, the list goes on!

8. Exploring a part of the city I haven’t seen before just on a whim.

9. Complimenting restaurant folks on their incredible food and seeing how much they appreciate it.

10.  Being a “regular” at the bakery near my school.

11.  Getting asked for directions (and being able to give them).

12. Anytime I’m able to explain something difficult and have people understand me.

13.  Seeing and understanding French movies.

14.  Discovering random food items that I can’t live without (speculoos cream!!!)

15.  Cheering for Lyon at a football match.

16.  Running along the quai in the evening and enjoying the fantastic lights on the buildings.

17.  Visiting friends for the weekend or an evening and conversing in French.

18.  Absorbing the incredible beauty all around me, particularly the old part of Lyon.

19.  Walking along the river on market day and just watching the hustle and bustle.

20.  Successfully getting on and off the metro (like a boss).

21.  Being able to say “Yeah, I know where that is.”

22.  Learning how to cook from one of my teachers.

23.  When French comes naturally and I don’t have to think too hard (starting to happen a lot more!)

24.  Going to class in the evenings on Mondays and Wednesday!  I like taking the tram to the University with my schoolbag in tow and just admiring the beautiful old architecture of Lyon Lumières 2.

25. Being a student again; I love learning.

26.  The cute little 6eme boy that always asks me how I’m doing, and all the kids that say hi to me in the halls or yell it at me excitedly across the street.

27.  Observing cute French kids.

28.  Drinking French coffee at Le Tasse Livre. (It’s like the Cup a Joe of Lyon)

29.  Dinnertime with les trois américanes.

30.  Reading “Le Monde” on Tuesday afternoons.

31.  Getting mail!

32.  Putting postcards in the letter boxes.

33.  Going to church and reading my French Bible.

34.  Particularly interesting people watching.

35.  Eavesdropping on people and understanding what they are saying.

36.  Watching Le Petit Journal with Yann Barthes!  He’s hilarious.

37.  Buying and enjoying French magazines.

38.  Crossing the bridges over the rivers, and watching how quickly they flow away.

39.  Collecting fall foliage in October, and the first snowfall recently this week.

40.  Connecting with my students over music, movies, and other stuff.  I love it when they tell me things I can’t miss in the city and when they want to know if I’m enjoying Lyon.

41.  The smell of croissants and pain au chocolat in the morning in the metro.

42.  Offering my seat to an older person on a bus or metro, and making them smile.

43.  Singing with the school caretaker after classes are over.

44.  Flirtatious eye-contact on the metro.

45.  A glass of wine at a restaurant.

46.  Walking the cobblestone streets past the magnificent cathedral  and amidst the narrow roads of Vieux Lyon.

47.  The pure joy of trying new pastries when I get a chance (If I tried a new one each day, I couldn’t possibly get to them all!).

48.  The view from my window of La Part-Dieu.

49.  Composting train tickets-I like the noise it makes!

50.  The times when I feel like I’ve arrived, that I am connected to this beautiful city, that I belong

Adventures in Cross-Continental Travel, Or Strikes Aren’t Fun When There Are No Newsies Involved

Hey folks.  A lot has happened since my last post.  I went home for Christmas, and returned to Lyon.  The trip back home was, to say the least, insane.  I’ve probably told the story about 30 times to different people, but it deserves to be chronicled:

My flight home was supposed to go out the Saturday after school ended, however, on Friday, I learned of the major strike happening at Lyon’s airport.  Basically, 100% of airport security refused to work, and worse, they would not say when they would stop striking.  This wasn’t a fun “We won’t sell your papes to you pay us more, Mr. Pulitzer” *commence with song and dance routine* kind of strike.  I later learned that it lasted so long that the government actually broke it, which was a big deal.  I read in the paper the other day that there are going to be some changes made so a strike this affecting and messy doesn’t happen again so easily.  Pretty crazy.

Anyways, Saturday morning rolls around and I’m supposed to fly out at 6:55 in the morning.  One of my incredible teachers met me at 4am and took me to the airport since the airport trams don’t run at that hour (can you blame them?) I arrived about 5, and the airport folks at AirFrance told us to go home and call the airline at 6:30 to reschedule-there would be no flights out today and the airport was closed.

My teacher took my rather distraught self home and I skyped my parents to try and figure out what to do.  I knew I would be hard pressed to try and get out that day, as flights for Saturday were already taken by folks whose flights were canceled on Friday, and I wasn’t sure if I could find a train to get to the Paris or Geneva airports even if I could find a flight that was leaving Saturday.  My parents called Delta however, and by a sheer miracle, they were able to switch my flight to Paris, leaving at 13:30 to Atlanta.  Of course, I still had to GET to Paris.  Luckily for me, I live right next to the train station.  Literally right next to it-like 50 meters.  I found a train that left in an hour from La Part-Dieu (station), and would get me to Paris at about 10:30 which should be plenty of time (hopefully!).  I wasn’t exactly sure what the situation was like in Paris, but I knew it was better than Lyon.

So, I booked that ticket, grabbed my stuff, ran to the train station, printed my ticket at a kiosk, and even had about 25 min to spare before my train arrived.  Once I boarded however, I was so exhausted that I absolutely COULD NOT keep my eyes open, so I took a little nap, but when my alarm went off, I didn’t know that the train had fallen behind while I was asleep.  So in fact the stop I was preparing to get off at was NOT MY STOP.  You can imagine my surprise when I got off and saw signs for some other train station-not Charles de Gaulle.  I had gone up an escalator from the platform to the station, so I frantically ran back to the other side to get the escalator back down.  I got really turned around and I was out of breath from running, but I got on, and I was wide awake after that.

The train was late of course, so once I got to CDG 2, I booked it to the Delta desk.  The people told me to get in line for security straight away because of the strikes.  See, they were striking in Paris as well, but they were running on about 50% security workers as opposed to 0 in Lyon.  50% is a lot better than 0, haha.  The line to get to security stretched the entire length of the check-in part of the terminal and doubled back again.  I ended up waiting in line for about 2.5 hours, giving people dirty looks and holding my ground if they tried to cut me in line.  I was absolutely determined to get home!  It was a madhouse.

Once you actually made it through security, we were herded in different directions according to what type of flight we had, and in the meantime, airline staff were pulling people to the front of the line if they had a flight that was supposed to leave right then (even some that technically should have already left-they were holding planes so as many people as possible could get on).

I finally made it through the insane crowds to my gate, with about 10-15 min to spare.  I was absolutely ecstatic!  It took another half hour for them to let us on the plane, and another half hour after that as they tried to get everyone on, but as soon as I was on that plane, I was just so thankful that I didn’t care about anything else.  I sat next to some really nice folks-one guy who let me use his blackberry to send an email to my parents, and another who was a student from TX.  I got to see “Midnight in Paris,” which was an incredible movie, and I was still so tired that I actually slept on the way back to the States.

When I arrived, I had missed my connecting flight from Atlanta to Raleigh, but as a consolation, I was awarded a free dinner voucher, which I happily spent on DD coffee and a chicken wrap.  I even ran into my good friend Rachel who was taking the same flight home.  We got to sit together on the plane and catch up, which was wonderful. When I arrived home and saw my parents and brother, I was reminded how blessed I am and I was so incredibly grateful.  The next day was my friend Heather’s rehearsal and rehearsal dinner, and I was honored to deliver a little toast there.  My ridiculous journey made it a really special thing to be there since I wasn’t even sure that morning if I would make it in time for the Wedding, let alone the rehearsal dinner.  The rest of the break was spent joyously with old (and some new) friends and family in Raleigh and Mocksville, NC.

So that’s the story!  I’m glad I got around to writing it out.  It’ll be a fantastic story to tell my kids.

On Heather’s Wedding Day!

Grateful

Two posts in a row, so crazy!

So today is November 24th, the fourth Thursday in November.  For most of the people I know, this day conveys quite a bit of meaning, being that it is Thanksgiving (in the U.S. that is-Canadians celebrate it the second Monday in October!  Ohhh the teacher facts I could tell you about Thanksgiving…I’ll spare you).  Right now, my family and friends are gathering together to share a meal, talk, laugh, and enjoy being with each other.  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish I was with them.

That being said, I have a lot to be thankful for, and one of the things I am thankful for this year is actually the experience of being away from my family on a major holiday.  I know that sounds strange, but let me explain.  Being away from them for Thanksgiving is kind of a big deal for me.  I’ve always been pretty set on spending holidays with the fam.  I remember when I was about 10, and I didn’t want to do church competitions in the spring because it meant I would be gone on Easter, and I didn’t like the idea of having Easter apart from my family.  So this Thanksgiving, I’m thankful I am away from them because it afforded me an opportunity to evaluate holidays, and what they mean to me.  It made me realize that for me, most of the significance of holidays involves being with my family.  Without them, today felt like just another day as I went to classes and taught children about Thanksgiving.  I almost forgot Thanksgiving was today, til’ the children raised their hands and asked, “Isn’t that today?”  It just felt different.

After I left school, I thought about it further, and I’m grateful for many things in my life, but today especially, I’m grateful for the family that I miss.  Being apart from them makes me realize how important they are to me, and how it is really being with them that makes Thanksgiving, really Thanksgiving.  In my family, on both my mom and my dad’s sides, we pour out our love for each other on this day through food, laughter, conversation, games, and just being with each other.  We tell each other through our actions and the act of being together how much we love each other.

That being said-love comes in many forms.  It’s so beautiful to think how we as humans have the opportunity at any moment to spread love to others, to build each other up, and participate in the shared experience of being human.  In France, I have found love and support, and I am grateful for that as well.  While it pales in comparison to the Kenney/Forrest family Thanksgiving meal, tonight my two friends and I did share a meal together.  We got food that reminded us of Thanksgiving at home, and we celebrated together-our own little family.  Being apart from my biological family, it was such a blessing to be with these girls- just celebrating in our own little way.  Being with people I cared about made it feel like Thanksgiving, even if I couldn’t be with my family.

So this year, I’m grateful for my wonderful French adventure, for my family and friends (far and near), for possibilities in the future, and for how much more I will appreciate being with my family when I am able to do so.

Here’s a picture of our little Thanksgiving meal-les trois américaines style   Not bad, right?

Here’s another picture from my October vacation!  This was taken in beautiful Luxembourg City.

On Jumping In and Taking Risks

It’s been about a month since I last wrote.  A lot has happened since then.  Instead of trying to fill in the gaps between this post and my last, I think I’ll just write and see where it takes me.  I did say last time that I would talk about teaching.  I’ll start there.

Coming into this position, I rather expected my daydreams about teaching to be quite different from the actual experience, and I was right.  Being a romantic, I rather liked the mental picture of myself in front of a class of interested pupils, smiling and calling on them as they raised their hands politely to ask questions.  I imagined worksheets, and presentations, and moments of recognition when the students understood what I said.  For the record, I didn’t really expect for this scenario to actually play out.  I knew that it could be risky, but that if I wanted to do a good job, I would just have to jump into it and see what happened.

Actually working as a teaching assistant is not exactly like this idealistic picture, as you might imagine.  Parts of it are really great and parts of it are not great at all. We’ll start with the bad and move to the good, because I like ending on a positive note.

I knew that middle school would be a tough crowd.  I’m not so far removed from my own middle school experience that I don’t remember how much I hated it and how much I hated being there.  I also remember how mean kids were to each other and disrespectful they could be to their teachers, at times.  In France, I’ve found that some kids want to be there about as much as I did at their age.  That’s ok too. It’s just how they deal with this feeling sometimes that bothers me.  Some students make fun of each other, are disrespectful to me, and even sometimes have an attitude of superiority, entitlement, or just disinterest.  It’s hard to get through to a student that doesn’t want to be there.  I’ve tried many ways to try and interest them, and a lot of time it works, but some students still persist in their disinterest.  That part is frustrating, but I’m not throwing in the towel just yet.  I continue to try and think of ways to make class interesting, informative, and beneficial in helping the students to practice English.  I cope with the disinterest, but it’s disrespect I can’t stand for.

Disrespect comes in different forms, I’ve found.  There’s the malicious mocking (Malicious being the key word-I can deal with the funny kind, I know I have a funny American accent), the throwing things across the room, the pranks, the defacing of furniture, the standing on chairs, the intentionally inappropriate questions, and the general defiance of your authority when you tell them to do something or stop doing something.  So yes, it comes in different forms.  At first it was a little shocking, but now, in my own quiet victory, I’m learning to recognize the signs of mischief, to express my disapproval in a way that makes a difference, to head things off before they get too far, and to call them out and show them I mean business.  If you know me at all, then you will know that I really don’t like confrontation.  Well, like it or not, I’ve found that these situations require it.  When all of that fails, I will ask my teacher after class to handle it.  The thing about being an assistant is that you are just that-an assistant.  Though I might teach the kids in a class by myself, I am not their real teacher.  The kids know it, and you know it.  Still, I want and deserve to be respected.  So I do my best in each class; I try and learn from my mistakes and the difficult situations for next time, and then I do my best to just move on.  Luckily for me, I see each class once a week, so it’s easier to start over in that way.  Teaching isn’t personal, so I remind myself of that.  When you’re a sensitive creature like me, it’s easy to forget.  It’s the difficult situations, however, that show me what I’m made of.  They have the power to break me down or to ignite perseverance and determination.  I learn from both of these experiences.  When I am broken down, I use it as incentive to persevere with the next time.

So that’s the not so great, but here’s the good:

It does my heart good when the students arrive interested and ready to ask questions about grammar, how to say something, or about whatever subject I’m teaching that day.  I love it when they ask a question, and I answer, and they respond with nods and recognition in their eyes.  It gives me joy when I give them a worksheet or tell them to practice dialogues, and they try.  I love it when I can tell them that they got a question right, or that they did a good job reading or answering a question in English.  I’m delighted when they get excited about my holiday presentations, or my Charlie Brown film clips.  I even kinda like it when they think parts of American culture are funny, because at least they are interested and paying attention.  There are some wonderful students that consistently are sweet and interested, that will join in to tell the others to be quiet when I’m trying to calm them down, and that go beyond whatever subject we are studying to ask thought-provoking questions.  There are even some students that started out standoffish and disinterested, but slowly began to start asking questions and pay attention.  All of these things make the difficult classes and the difficult students easier to deal with.  They reward me for my efforts, and give me hope that if I keep pushing, keep learning, keep trying, that maybe I can reach the difficult students as well.

This experience as a whole has taught me about taking risks and jumping into things even when they scare me.  It’s scary to put on your game face and walk into a class room of kids.  If you think about it though, (and I have-a lot) the safe life is really not a life lived to it’s potential.  As humans, it’s natural for us to want to be comfortable and familiar, but it’s not in the familiar that we grow and that we learn about ourselves.  Often times, I think we’re afraid to take risks because we don’t want to allow ourselves to be vulnerable.  Vulnerability has such a negative connotation, because it reminds us that we could be hurt.  This is true.  You never know what could happen, but if you never take the risk, then you WILL never know.  Being vulnerable, being open, taking risks-they open us up to a new realm of possibilities, and some of those possibilities are beautiful and wonderful.  So it’s your choice, and it’s mine.  We could live our lives safely between the lines, or we can take some risks and see what happens.  This world is full of incredible, beautiful experiences to be had, if we can bring ourselves to go for them.  I can’t say for certain, but I’m guessing that many people at the end of their lives aren’t wishing they’d played it safer.  But those are my thoughts.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!  Here are some vacation pics from Mont St. Michel:

In the parking lot. Ignore the bus-just look at how awesome that abbey is.

The first picture is of me, walking along the beaches around Mont St. Michel. If I kept walking I might have found the quicksand.

house hunting-desperate American edition

So you may (or may not) have noticed that I haven’t exactly posted on here in a while.  Life in France is much more fast-paced than I anticipated!  Originally, when I found out I would only be teaching for 12 hours, I imagined I would have more free time then I knew what to do with.  Well, I couldn’t have been more wrong, but that’s ok.  I kinda like being busy.

So the last time I wrote, I promised to talk about my adventures in finding housing.  Well, my friends, they were certainly adventures.  Almost from the time I arrived in Lyon, I was looking for housing.  The Tuesday after my friends and I got our first Lyon dinner, we set off looking.  It was quite an intense design for the day after I arrived, but it’s pretty much the most important thing to accomplish upon arriving.  I’ve joked with friends about not being able to find a place, and just taking up a roomy cardboard box in a park somewhere, plastic wrapping it against the elements, and building a legend about myself as the crazy American that lives in the park.  That was plan B.

Plan A, however, was to scour the city for cheap furnished rooms.  Having researched lodging before I arrived in France,  I was interested in looking at residences called “habitats jeunes.”  They’re kinda like big dorms, but each one is different.  I’d actually applied to one across the street from the train station before I arrived in France, so my first stop was Habitat Jeune: Part-Dieu.  When I arrived, I talked with someone about my application and was told there were no more apartment-styles left, but I could revise my application for a single room.  I did that, and I was told to come back the next day.  After that, I was off to an older residence to inquire there.  This place was more expensive and not as nice, so I was less inclined to take it, but beggers can’t be choosers.  The last place was WAY out on the edge of town, so I had to walk about a mile to get to it, only to find out that it was full.

So at the end of the day, we had visited 3 residences, with no success, and walked til’ my feet were sore.  Word around the assistant pool was that lodging was hard to come by-especially if you wanted it furnished and cheap.  Many folks had been in Lyon for a week or more and still had not found anything.  This is where I knew this problem wasn’t up to me.  So I said a prayer, and waited for the next day.

In the morning on Wednesday, my friend and I went to Part-Dieu again to inquire about our applications.  To our surprise, the director said our applications were in good order, and if we could pay the deposit, then we were in.  The prospect of having a place to live sent us into a hopeful frenzy and we dashed out again to procure the deposit.  Our frenzy led us on the wrong metro, and thus caused a speed-bump in our quest to get back as soon as possible, but when we returned with money in hand, they accepted, and we knew we were in.  We did some paperwork for our friend so she could also get a room in the building, and before we knew it, the three of us had found a home.

I cannot describe to you exactly how wonderful it felt to know that I had a place to live.  Furthermore, my little room (we got to see them) had everything I could possibly need to get by in France, it was cheap, (for the city) and in a good location across from the train station, the metro, and the mall.  We left the building in a state of bewildered amazement and shock.  The big question-”Where will we live?” had been answered.  Looking back, I’m still not quite sure how we managed to by-pass the usual waiting period that is required for most paperwork to go through, but I’m so grateful it happened the way it did.

So friends, I guess I won’t be needing that cardboard box after all.

I’ll write more soon about the teaching experience.  Bisous!

view from my window on the 8th floor

my cute little room!

Lyonnaise sounds like mayonnaise

So guess what folks?  I made it to France alive and in one piece…if you don’t count the separation of my brain from my body of course.  Usually I feel like I do pretty well when I travel- I figure out where I need to go fairly easily, I get there on time (yes-it’s the only time I do get places on time, but it’s usually if it’s some sort of transportation I need to take-don’t think I take on a new on-time travel persona or something) and I follow procedures.  Well this time was a little different.  Getting out of RDU was fine-even with Mom yelling embarrassing things after me, I got through security without a hitch.  When I got to Boston however, I had just gotten up from a nap on the plane and consequently was a little disoriented.  I know I had to go down to get to my gate, but I wasn’t sure how.  So I accidentally tried to go down an up escalator in front of a TSA officer.  He asked me if I was ok, saying:

“You looked a little startled when you tried to go down that up escalator.  Thought you might fall down the steps.”

I’m pretty sure he was only trying to figure out if I had lost my mind or was up to something or he just thought I was an idiot.  It was not out of concern.  Had I fallen down the escalator, I would have come right back up, I suppose, and I’m guessing he would probably be obligated to bring me back to security or something to make sure I wasn’t drunk or up to no good.  Nope.  I was just tired.  And confused as to why there were two up escalators right next to each other.

The flight from Boston to Amsterdam went pretty well, all things considered.  When I got off however, I had to go through security again.  They called out my big backpack.  Great.  The officer asked to go through it and couldn’t figure out how to get it open, so I had to do it.  Then he picked up a waterbottle and asked if there was anything in it.  I looked at it and noticed that I hadn’t put that in there-so all I could think about was: “Oh great-I brought two waterbottles.  Why did I do that?  I only need one.”   What’s funny is there actually WAS water in it.  My dad must have packed it because it was on the floor with my other stuff and he was helping me pack the night before I left.  Once again, I narrowly escaped getting hauled off to security or something of that nature, it seems.

When I got through security, I had to go down to these gates at the bottom of some stairs-I missed the signs for them the first time.  I had to take a bus from the gate to get to the plane this time.  IT WAS REALLY COOL.  You got to walk up the stairs and down the stairs of the plane like you’re a big shot or something.  By this time, I was exhausted, and excited to be on my last train.  I sat next to a gentleman in a suit that I could have sworn was French, but actually was American.  I found this out in an interesting way.

I was so tired when I sat down on the plane that I just wanted to sleep, but I was having a hard time of it.  I kept noticing the gentleman looking over and such, but I didn’t feel like talking to him.  I figured he probably was thinking about how I was an American girl who looked gross and was wearing a silly T-shirt or something.  My thoughts about him all assumed he was making judgments about me.  Later on when we got on the ground, I saw this man at the baggage station, fumbling through French and gratefully responding in English to the woman helping him.  I felt like a dolt.  Here I was assuming that he was judging me, and for what reason?  Turns out I was the only one making judgments-so I decided then to make a conscious effort to resist assumptions and judgments about others.

Then it was off to take a train to the station, where I met a nice Russian girl who put my suitcases to shame.  She had one bag and a purse for a year, next to my gigantor rolling bag, backpacking backpack, and little backpack.  A really nice French guy helped us figure out where she was going, and when we got off the train, I met Sarah.  We proceeded to the hotel that will forever stick out in my mind as the hotel with the crazy ridiculous stairs.  They were spiraled and curved up in such a way that they were also really steep.  Wish I’d taken a picture.  Just trust me, you don’t want to fall down these stairs.

Sarah, Kelly, and I met up at La Place de Bellecour where there is supposed to be a big sign that says “ONLY IN LYON” with a lion statue.  However they took this sign down because they are having a big film festival this weekend through the next week.  I kinda want to go.  Gerard Depardieu will be there so apparently it’s something rather special.  They’re also having a Science Fiction night where they’re showing “2001, A Space Odyssey.” (Thinking of you, Grant)  Not sure if I will go to that one or not though.  I might just walk around the Place and see if I can see anyone famous or something.  Hey, why not?

For dinner we went down this ridiculously picturesque street of restaurants and ate outside on the terrace of one of them.  We got Lyonnaise salade and wine plus this really good cheese dip.  Delicious.  The Lyonnaise salad has greens, tomatoes, croutons, thick cut bacon, and an egg cooked sunny side up that you break up on the salad like dressing.  It’s really good!  Of course, I was so tired that when I first heard the world “lyonnaise” all I could think was “that sounds like mayonnaise.”  I needed to sleep.

So that’s a fairly complete record of the events of my flights and first day.  More to follow about house hunting internationally with a small budget and no furniture.  Good times.

 

Here’s a picture of the sign that is usually there: