England

So, one of the perks of being over here in Europe and my work schedule (I got LUCKY) is that I can travel on weekends--pocketbook permitting. This weekend, I had booked tickets on the Eurostar (far enough in advance to be affordable) to bullet train over to England for a couple of days to see Ken & Lynn Wilson; who are, best explained, like my "other" parents Honestly, being in there home feels like being back in Oregon a bit, and even knowing that I would get to see them two weeks after coming back to the continent made it a lot easier leaving my own.

Ken is midway through a theological doctoral program there at Oxford, University. I arrived Friday afternoon and we promptly went to check out The Eagle & the Child, a well-known pub in Oxford. I’ve wanted to visit this pub for a long time because it is the place where the “Inklings” met every Tuesday evening for some 20 years. The “Inklings” were a group of well known men and literary minds of Oxford ca. 1930-40s, most notable JRR Tolkien and CS Lewis. I had my first British ale there. :)



The next day, we got in the car and drove to Stratford-upon-Avon. I was giddy about this because I have studied a lot Shakespeare’s work in the past as well as his life and even the “authorship debate” surrounding his existence. I have wanted to visit this town for over 10 years. Which is a lot of my life, actually.... First we visited the church where he was baptised, married and buried, and snuck around the back of it as well to peek at the Avon river itself:





Then, we visited his birthplace and childhood home.



Outside this home, were some actors in the courtyard, eager to entertain and offered us an outdoor impromptu rendition of the Gravedigger’s scene of Hamlet. It was, to put it in British terms, lovely.



After downing lunch and another wonderful British ale (the French have nothing on the beer to be found across the Channel....) at the oldest pub in Stratford, welcoming its visitor with the sign:



We then took off to catch a glimpse at Warwick (pronounced “Warrick”) Castle, the best preserved castle in England. We took a tour and poked around until after sunset. The most fascinating part was that each level of the castle was dedicated to a different time period, and so each era of the castle’s existence is well represented. I particularly loved the armour....






The next day, we set off for the windy locale of Stonehenge. I have to laugh because I have wanted to see this also for a very long time, ever since the days of “GeoSafari” in my childhood. There was a card for the GeoSafari for the Wonders of the World (and other monuments too) and Stonehenge was on it. As a child I vowed to visit all of the places and I have been checking them off as I travel. It’s awesome.

Stonehenge was amazing. We listened to a highly speculative tour on the matter and I took a billion pictures. Which, is not highly characteristic of me, but I’m trying to get better at it.





That afternoon, I had the idea to go see the newest of the Narnia films. I’d been wanting to see it and cannot find it shown in English in Paris. Also, Narnia was born there in Oxford....it was in utterly American terms this time “way cool” to see it there. (I was particularly impressed by the sea serpent in the film, wow!) Then, we went to an evening service at an Anglican church where the Bishop of Oxford cameo-ed in scripture reading, and a boy’s choir sang. It was beautiful! The next morning, as I had to leave around Noon, we walked around Oxford a bit and climbed the infamous tower, where Bloody Mary’s Christian prisoner’s where kept before martyrdom and looked out on the city....



We stood before the oldest tower in Oxford,



Walked by the church where John Wesley preached,



And I got to buy a book in English at Blackwell’s well-known bookstore. :)



And by that time, I’m sure the Wilson’s were tired from showing me around so well! I came back to Paris the way that I went and returned "chez moi" physically tired but in all other ways refreshed. I got to see some wonderful things, but most importantly had a really, really wonderful weekend with Ken and Lynn. I didn’t know it, but I needed it. Thank you!!

Number 54

So, I'll have to do some retroactive blogging, as I have some great pictures to accompany some equally "brilliant" experiences during this weekend in England with Ken & Lynn. But, due to some recent thought processes and circumstances and being able to meet the places where a longtime literary hero frequented and was born, I have been reminded of this favorite sonnet of his. Still resonates and I thought I'd share:

Sonnet 54
O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give.
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly
When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade,
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth.

-William Shakespeare

:)

Museums

This morning me and my Smartwool (love that stuff!) set out to brave the crisp but sunny Parisian day in hopes of seeing the Bulgari jewelery exhibit at the Musée du Grand Palais by the Champs-Elysées.

I got off the Metro Line 2 and walked the extent of the Champs-Elysées to the museum, listening to my iPod on random and smiling at strangers....It really was a nice day.

The climate in Paris, France is really very much like Portland, Oregon. It rains all Winter, gets some surprise snow every once in a while and then a temperamental Spring and often an Indian Summer. These first few days of January have been beautiful and hearing some birds sing and experiencing some sunshine has given me a welcome sneak preview into what Spring will be like here. Hopefully just a little more green....But I know better, having grown up in a like climate, than to really hope that Winter’s over. It does this every year, it would seem, in Oregon as well. A few days of Spring-like weather in the dead of Winter gets everyone hoping--and then the rain and grey return. I’m not going to be disappointed, I decided, I’ll just appreciate the niceness while it’s here! :)

Anyway, I was trying to walk slowly and soak in everything I described and then got to the museum....



...only to find out that my teacher pass didn’t work for that particular exhibition. *Frown* It was 12 euro to get in and I decided not to pay it since I’m headed to Oxford, England on Friday. I’d save it for a pint, I told myself.

So, instead, as it would easily accessible, I decided to cross the Pont (Bridge) d’Alexandre III:



...and check Les Invalides--about which I had a discussion with Marie Claude Pornay yesterday (remember the couple I met in Alaska at the beginning of the summer....?), having dined with them and spent the good part of the day visiting in Créteil in their home. Les Invalides was an army hospital built by Louis XIV for his wounded soldiers. It’s now where Napoleon is buried and the Musée de l’Armée (Army Museum).



True to French form, the entrance wasn't marked very well, so using my "I'm sorry to bother you, Monsieur" that I'm so good at now, I was directed by a smiling (or smirking, not sure) soldier to the ticket counter (completely on the other side of the building from what made SENSE) and used my wonderful magic teacher pass to get in.

AND, I actually really enjoyed it! So much, in fact, that I decided I should probably start writing about some of my more lighthearted experiences here too....Let’s just say that today I met many a Knight in Shining Armour. Maybe without the Knight part, though....(I left all of them in Oregon). Here are some pics, even if some of them are kind of weird because I had to hold my camera up to the glass so as not to permit glare:









And not all of it was properly French. They did indeed even have also some Japanese armour on display. Way cool:



Then, I when around the back of the building to see the tomb of Napolean. Voici l'entrée:



Et le tombeau:



Kinda cool. Kind of a big tomb, too, for someone so short! I really wished that Dad and my brothers could have been there. They would have LOVED it!

Right around the corner from the Musée de l'Armée was supposed to also be the Musée de Rodin, which I’ve been very much wanting to see, but unfortunately it is closed on Mondays. So, another day, soon I hope. Anyway, I didn’t exactly get to see jewelery, but still, I’d say it was a nice excursion! Mondays aren’t so bad “chez moi”. I just have to get out more.... :)

“Goodbye”, and so said to 2010....

Goodbye feels a certain way. There are certain feelings that come inherent in every "goodbye", even though every one is unique. It’s been on my mind lately. I get asked often here in Paris if I have anybody here with me. “Any friends?” They ask, no one you know? I got asked this again today. It reminded me again how far away I am from my family.

I made a comment to my mom before I left the US that I felt like I had said a lot of goodbyes for my almost 27 years. I said, I have also said “hello” again to a lot of these “goodbyes” and it gets easier, I suppose, but what gets easier is that I just get more and more used to the ritual feelings that accompany said goodbyes.

It’s true. Every goodbye is different as is every hello. Some goodbyes are permanent and some are for a time. Same with any “hello”. This time, when I went home to Oregon I was able to say hello again to many things. My culture, my mother tongue, my family, my upbringing, some dear friends. Actually, a lot of things that I’d been away from for a while. And when I left I remembered acutely what it felt like to say goodbye to where I grew up and everything most familiar to me. Those familiar feelings came back. Not knowing when I would see some of them again. I don’t plan on moving back to Oregon, so when I’ll be back to visit, I don’t know. Weird.

And this time I thought about how fleeting life is. And this time I thought about how joyful some goodbyes are and how difficult others can be. I’m not sure if that means I’m getting old or growing up or something, but what was different about these last goodbyes I said to my family in Oregon is that I said goodbye to sharing a last name with a younger sister and wished my brother safety before his deployment. One goodbye as joyous as possible, and another rather terrible. I have to admit that the juxtaposition of such events has proven a rather emotional roller coaster these couple of weeks!

How things change. I was also privileged to be present for my dearest friend’s farewell to single life while I was home. She is another one, too, to whom I’ve often had to say “goodbye”, but this time was more different than ever before. Another goodbye to her that was said in joy and total happiness. And a goodbye that for her comes with a hello to a new life and a new partner in it. It’s particularly beautiful when it’s right! And this time it was. Very beautiful.

I also said goodbye to a big year. 2010 had a LOT packed into it for me. In some sense, I was not sad to see it go, and I was very happy to say hello to a new year. Hello, 2011, I’ve been waiting for you. :)

“Goodbye.” It hurts sometimes--even when it's for the better--and is exhilirating at others. And it can make one feel any myriad of emotions on this spectrum. Sounds dramatic, huh? I guess it can be.

Saying “hello” again to Paris was easier and better than I thought it would be. It was hard to leave home, but easier to come back to life here than I expected. In fact, this time I landed, I was coming back to a little bit of a life that I’ve spent the last couple of intense months building. And actually, having taken a bit of a hiatus from Paris to go home to Oregon, I feel some small sense of accomplishment coming back to even just a few people glad to see me. Thank God for that, it was kinda hard getting there. :) I’m looking forward to the rest of 2011 and the next 6 months of it here in Paris. I hope that I have spent the last part of 2010 settling into a little part of my life that I can just enjoy for the next half of this year. That said, I’ve already begun.

Bureaucracy, Chartres and “Sinking In”

I believe I made a comment in one of my previous “installments” mentioning something to the effect that I hadn’t yet begun to “sink in” to what I’m doing here yet. Well, I think I can safely say that I’ve begun. For better or for worse!

Just in the last couple of weeks so many dynamics have changed at home, at work, and in my heart. It’s good. Also, some crazy events and some very FRENCH experiences.

First: BUREAUCRACY. French bureaucracy. Experiences with such are almost never pleasant, short, or effective, and recent events have proven to be no exception. The word makes me shudder even on State-side of the ocean--but it’s way worse here.

So, I’m supposed to fly out of Paris on December 17th. In 3 days. My temporary work visa has not yet been validated and while leaving the country should be no problem, getting back in could be an issue without the validation “stamp” that I supposedly get....eventually.

When I moved here, I had to send in my immigration papers as soon as imaginably possible after acquiring a legitimate resident address. Then, since I hadn’t heard anything back after two months, I showed up (after being so advised by my employer) at the immigration office across town to find out what was going on. I was instructed to just fill out the papers again and this time with my e-mail address. “For quicker”.

Nothing. I got an e-mail from Washington DC instructing me to go to my local “préfecture” to get a simple “visa de retour” to come back without worries. Supposedly a simple process, and the necessary paperwork was efficiently listed for me.

I did my homework and found out that in Paris there are two “préfectures”--one for the Police and then the regular one. The “préfecture de police” was where I supposedly needed to go. So, I did. And stood in line twice only to have the lady tell me, rudely, twice that there was nothing they could do and that they didn’t issue “visas”. The room she works in is called the “salle de visa”: visa room. Go figure.

So, tried the regular “préfecture”, and explained my situation and was promptly and kindly directed back to the “préfecture de police”. When I described my previous and disagreeable encounters there, they called the woman herself where I once more was told that she knew not of my situation or what to do. Go back, said she, to the immigration office and get instructed on EXACTLY what you must do.

I went back to the Office Français d’Immigration et d’Intégration. I waited en queue, of course, like a good French immigrant. Then, when I approached the counter to “get instructed” I was not sure how to feel about the fact that the guy at the welcome desk recognized me from my previous visit. Everything in me said, “not good when immigration recognizes you”. But anyway, he was cute (though married....) and I got helped. And by helped I mean “got instructed” that I would be OK coming back into France even without this mystical and so very unattainable validations stamp because I’m from the United States. “Ils acceptent cela, c’est pas grave...” (They’ll accept that....) ??!!

I then got an e-mail a few days later from the Rectorat of the school district instructing us imposing immigrants to NOT go to the préfecture because they can’t do anything....

So, hopefully I’ll be able to get back into France after I go home for the Holidays. We’ll see. That could be a whole ‘nother blog entry just waiting to happen....

ANyway. I decided that day to book it out to Chartres anyway. If I played my cards right I could have a few hours out there and be back in time for dinner.

As soon as I had left Paris proper on the train south, it began to dump snow. It was beautiful! I was giggling like a little girl, sitting on the train and watching people’s reactions to the weather at every train stop. I thought nothing of it until, due to the snow--somehow--and 5 kilometers before arriving in the town of Chartres (RAIL CREW THIS IS FOR YOU!!!)....wait for it....a TREE fell on the railroad tracks and the train stopped indefinitely.

I had to laugh. Having spent the amount of time that I have on railroad tracks and faced as many railroad issues as my last 4 summers have afforded, I had to LAUGH. I also just sat there and listened to the updates on the work at watched the flakes flurry until I realized that a group was forming to actually walk to the town of Chartres. I had worn a skirt, and hadn’t planned on hiking in my boots. However, as soon as I saw the smorgasbord of French people that were going to brave the snow, I was NOT going to let them be more hard core than me. I’ll admit that it’s slightly egotistical if not a little judgmental, but I think it would have wounded my Northwest American heart. At first I kept sliding around the ice in my ill-equipped footwear and I momentarily considered hitchhiking. But, I decided not to since A) all the male members of my family would kill me and B) the French do not know how to drive in the snow. Seriously, Subaru would do well to open a dealership or two in the suburbs here....

I hiked, and it was beautiful. We walked along the Eure river and by some beautiful homes--including one that looked like a castle and I caught my breath as I watched a goose take flight from the water at one point. I hadn’t realized how much I missed wildlife until I had that brief moment. I was so glad I’d gotten off the train. That 5 km jaunt is one I’ll never forget.





I finally got to Chartres about an hour and a quarter later than I’d planned. I finally saw the church that I’d wanted to see for over 10 years. I first learned about this famous cathedral in my “première année” of French studies. I’ve wanted to see it ever since. It’s famous for having two architecturally different types of towers, and it’s remarkable. It’s also known for it’s stained glass windows, which I had a few moments to appreciate before nightfall. It really was beautiful.





Since I had gotten there too late to explore the local museum, I walked around the town (which felt like Narnia) and then popped into one of the cafe/tea houses to try and jot down some of the day. My train was supposed to leave at 6:40pm, but due to weather I didn’t leave till after 7pm and eventually returned a very tired girl after stopping to purchase dinner on the way home at a very bad Chinese restaurant. Note to self: probably the worst Chinese food I’ve ever eaten.

I had to work the next day and the weather was still bad. Nevertheless, I got on the train out to Rosny sous bois in the banlieue and then found out the buses weren’t running in the town. I had to walk 45 minutes again in the snow to school. Once again, it was beautiful and I was happy to do so, as you can probably see:



At home things have changed so much. A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of accompanying Madame to the train station and back with her heavy suitcase. I have been amazed since at what a difference such a gesture has made in her demeanor.

She calls me “la petite” and gets worried if I’m out late (past 8pm) because I’m usually home fairly early, and so I’ve learned to call. She loves to hear about my adventures and both she and Nicolas like to laugh at my crazy escapades...such as walking to Chartres from the train.

In France, they celebrate their name saint days. Saint Nicolas day was last week and Madame made a wonderful meal for all of us. And I do mean wonderful. I’m really blessed to begin to see this more generous side of her. I also love to hear her stories about how she got to Paris and how she packed her bad one time and headed to the airport to see where she could go with a week off and no passport. This last weekend I had a friend in town and my heart was warmed with the reception Madame gave her in “our” home...I think I’ve somehow broken through with this woman. Last night the three of us, Nicolas, Madame and myself when to the Champs-Elysées to experience the Christmas market going on there. She hung onto my arm the entire time, and I have to say it feels good to be in the granddaughter role again. :)

I leave in a couple of days and I am very excited. I’m also very excited that I probably won’t be dreading coming back either. I’m still pretty sure I’ll never be a city girl (Madame referred to me today as her little field mouse, which made me laugh!), but I am beginning to sink in and enjoy my 9 month foray into this very, very big city. Already I know there will be things I’ll miss immediately upon leaving, like *ahem* the FOOD, and even the language. Which is also starting to click....I think I might be “sinking in”. I’m glad. It certainly hasn’t looked like I would have imagined, but then, nothing ever does. Bonne nuit et à bientôt. :)

Nuances and Approaching the French

I’m getting a little more comfortable. (Insert smile here) This is a relief. Though, I still have a long way to go and I’ll never be a true Parisian. Nevertheless, there are some nuances to my short term “life” here in Paris that I’m beginning to pick up on, if not rely on a bit. For instance....

The floor at my house creaks. I think I mentioned it before. I love it. It feels old and quintessentially Parisian, but also LOUD. I’m learning which way each of the door knobs turn--for they’re all different. I’m learning when to put my wash in a how long it takes to dry and how to take advantage of the natural light in my bedroom during the day and suffer the cold for it too. I'm learning how to make the shower head work to my advantage finally, since the hot water is never reliable or steady. But I'm figuring it out.

I frequent the same bakery every day and the lady knows me. She knows I’m used to the snow and that I teach English. One day, I went in exceptionally early and she was so excited to see me, because she had some customers that spoke only English and they were all struggling. I helped out and now we’re friends.

I’ve figured out the Metro pretty darn well. There are many lines and areas of Paris that I’ve still yet to step foot in, but I now know which part of the train to get on when I’m running late so that I don’t have to walk as far and which platform my train out to the banlieues leaves from and the times that they leave each hour....so much easier now. I have the RER-train-announcer-lady's speech memorized too. And not for trying. Votre attention, s'il vous plait. Ce train desservie tous les gares jusqu'à Villier sur Marne... "Your attention please, this train serves all the stations through Villier sur Marne..."

I get stopped and asked for directions often. I feel complimented because that means that I look like I know where I’m at and where I’m going. Most of the time I can help to, which is amazing considering I’m generally so bad with directions!

I’m learning where to buy my groceries and when. In the morning and evening is when the bread is baked in Paris...by law, and there’s a open air market by my house every Friday with delicious rosted pomme de terres. Also, I am ecstatic to have found a specialty whole bean coffee vendor around the corner from me!! Good coffee beans are not as prolific in Paris as one would think, and I’m fast becoming friends with “Ludo”--he knows me already too.

Everyday I look at Sacré Cœur to see what the weather’s going to be like that day. My favorite is when the sky is blue, no matter how cold, because it makes the church stand out in stark contrast--elle est si blanche et belle.

It’s still weird to me sometimes that, if it’s the right time of day, I only have to walk down a couple flights of stairs to buy bread. Or cheese--that’s a different shop--or go to the bank or get a cup of coffee. It’s all compacted and within walking distance. AND I haven’t driven a car in over two months!

I smile sometimes watching people in the streets or in cafes, because sometimes it all reminds me of the opening scene in Disney’s “Beauty and the Beast” where the whole town opens their windows and runs through the streets declaring “Bonjour!” And then the baker sells the same bread every day, and the same woman orders eggs from the same gentleman every day as well....There so much of that that is accurate!

But, anyway, I’m thrilled to be finding a groove in my neighborhood, in my job, and in my home. I am so glad to be discovering these new nuances that maybe I’ve always taken for granted in the States.

I’m also learning how to approach these French too; those renowned rude Parisians. This is huge. I’ve learned that it is cultural to always verbally greet someone who shares some sort of quotidian commonality. Usually it goes no farther than “bonjour” or “bonsoir” depending on the time of day, but I must always greet the people at school or in the apartment complex, regardless of whether or not I’ve been introduced to them. However, if none of that quotidian common ground is shared, this is not otherwise done in passing. However, upon entering a shop or cafe, a “bonjour” is necessary as well, even if it’s not directed at anyone in particular--it’s still noticed.

If you need help or have a question--which is considerably more than utterly and entirely inevitable in this city--all that is required, is a little politesse: “I’m sorry to bother you, Monsieur (Madame)...” Then you wait for them to say that you’re not bothering them at all...or you talk over them while they’re saying that to do your business and acquire the services or information desired. If the conversation prolongs, you interject at some appropriate point, “I’m sorry, I don’t speak French very well....je m’excuse...” And then they take the time to tell you at least that it’s not a problem or they’ll even disagree and compliment your language skills, all the while bending over backwards IF and quite usually only IF you follow this code and dance this social dance. Sometimes this ends up in a conversation about where I’m from too, Oregon and Alaska and then Sarah Palin...which is *sigh* unpleasant. Sometimes I just say I’m from the West Coast, that encompasses both Oregon and Alaska, right?!

Now that I’ve figured it out, I kind of like it. The magic words are “Excusez-moi de vous déranger....”, a humble attitude and a smile. I’m a student of this culture and this city, the Parisians know this--and as long as they know that I know this too, they will go to great lengths to help.

I’ve found that this motivates me, too, to pass this on to others. If I’m in my neighborhood and see a couple or a group huddled over a map, and brabbling in English, I’m happy to help (and speak English for a few moments too!). The other day I was waylaid by a Portuguese family looking for a particular restaurant in Montmartre. I didn’t know where it was, but I was able to ask. I love that.

Paris is at once easy to access and incredibly confusing. One may have options galore, but to actually fully access them, there is some protocol involved. Honestly, I cannot begrudge the French for requiring a bit of manners to access their goodwill. Perhaps the world could use a few more manners anyway.

That said, I feel that I must take leave with the traditional French (as I promised myself that this blog entry would not be as epic as the last): “Merci beaucoup, et bonne soirée. Au revoir!

Two Months

It’s been two months. I got here on September 29th and now it’s been two months that I’ve been in Europe, and a resident of Paris, France.

I’ve hesitated to write about it for a number of reasons. First, so much has happened that it’s overwhelming. I won’t feel like I’ve adequately covered it all, no matter how hard I try. Secondly and succinctly put, this whole thing has been really hard.

I have been overwhelmed at how much my family and friends have been excited for me and behind me in embarking on this experience, to the point where I’m very humbled. It feels as if everyone is so excited for me to be here, that for it to be difficult and for me to feel anything less than enraptured with my geographic circumstances feels ungrateful and downright spoiled of me. This is the furthest thing, obviously, that I want to be, but nonetheless, I’ve found myself in puddles of tears enough to feel that I must be at some degree honest about how hard this whole thing has been! The first few weeks of my time here, I had a lot of friends visiting, traveling with me, and it was wonderful. One of these said individuals challenged me to chronologue how my outlook on this whole 9 month excursion changes over the length of it. I’ve been reflecting much on that challenge--because I promised her I would do it--but have also struggled with how honest I want to be. So, here goes. This is for me, for sure, but also, this is for you Ash. Thank you for the challenge.

I have concluded that one could not find two more opposite places in quote “western society” that Alaska and Paris, France. On many levels. Alaska is vast, wild, sparsely populated and fairly newly touched--just to name a few of it’s characteristics. Paris is geographically miniscule in comparison (or shall we say contrast), highly “civilised”, immeasurably more populated and not at all without an nearly ancient and just as profound sense of heritage. Not that either extreme is at all in its entirety “bad”, but it is anyway worth noting these pronounced extremes in saying that it has been really hard to adjust from living in one extreme to the next. Also, I believe I mentioned in the last update that I found myself so busy this summer that I really didn’t have time to build up expectations or ideas about what France was going to be like. While I found this to be advantageous, I can also say that I was not prepared and had not previously considered this big differences and how they might affect me!

LANGUAGE:
The language has been hard. I’ve realized that while majoring in French--albeit 4 years ago--has been helpful, I have been much better prepared to discuss literature and philosophy in the language that I’m currently immersed in, rather than doing daily life. I could at one point in college communicate very effectively big, universal ideas and truths and discuss the societal ramifications of literature. But, as it’s now 4 years later and completely different subject matter, I’m struggling! In Ernest Hemingway’s The Moveable Feast (which I am currently reading)--a memoir of his time in Paris in the 20’s--he talks about “writing”, and he says that he “learned to not think about anything that I was writing from the time I stopped writing until I started again the next day....” And that way his “subconscious would be working on it and at the same time I would be listening to other people and noticing everything....learning.” As an amateur “writer” I can totally relate to this phenomenon. But I also find myself hoping that my French language skills will undergo the same kind of circumstance. Only time will tell....

HOME:
Another source of stress has been my living situation, though I think things are getting better. First let me explain a little about my roomates. I’m in an apartment in the 9th Arrondissement, just south of Montmartre and Sacré Cœur--which I can actually see from my bedroom balcony. My Metro stop is the Montmartre stop, which is beautiful but also subsequently always BUSY. I live with an older lady and another middle aged gentlemen. Madame Hélène Vautrin is, I believe, in her 70s, a retired secretary divorcee who raised two daughters on her own in Nice, southern France--while she her self comes from the east area of the country. Nicolas, 46, is a friend of the family and Mme Vautrin’s grandson’s godfather. He’s wonderful, and very patient with my French and very obliging to give advice and cultural insight. He’s also learning English, so I’m often amused when he suddenly emits English explicatives. :) The apartment itself feels like a museum, there are so many antiques, and the floor even squeaks as a good museum does.

As wonderful and (over)mothering as Mme Vautrin may be, she does not claim those she houses on her taxes. Therefore, she did not want to let me use her address for any of my purposes. This is a problem because:

In order to be paid I must have a bank account.
In order to open a bank account I must (French law?) have a “justificatif de domicile” (declaration from my landlord, saying that I live with them) signed AND an adjoined bill from the same address.
In order to get my visa validated AND be covered by French national health insurance (la Securité Sociale) I have to send in my address AND have yet another “justificatif de domicile”.
And lastly, in order to even eat and pay rent I have to be paid. The american dollar that I earned all summer only goes so far...

Eventually, after some tears (she caught me stressed out and in tears at one point) and telling her that I didn’t want her to get into trouble, but I need an address (??!!), she relented and signed the papers.

THEN, I went to open my bank account. Which was a challenge in and of itself given that I had to muddle through legalese in a foreign language. However, It went fairly smoothly until I didn’t get my papers and especially my PIN for my French debit card because my name wasn’t on the mailbox at the apartment. I went in to inquire about this and they told me they’d send the PIN again but there was a possibility of my account shutting down....

Long story short and a dreaded conversation with the “Madame”, my name is on the mailbox. For now. And I have a bank account and a fully functional debit card and now I can eat and pay the rent. And they even call me “Madame Emerson” when I go in the bank. :)

I’ve never before experienced uncertainty about a roof over my head. It’s an interesting sensation. There was a period of time where I wondered if I could stay, and if I would be able to find another place, even. It was incredibly stressful finding a room in the first place, and the idea of having to stay indefinitely in a hostel again and of calling random numbers over and over again to find a home was overwhelming. So, I’m glad the address thing is momentarily ironed out.

Nevertheless, I’m learning more about dear Mme Vautrin. She is highly fiscally conscious. I have made of few “faux pas” in the home regarding the matter. For instance, there is no light in my room. The light switch is broken and the electrician is supposed to come. Sometime. It’s been this way for about two weeks now and she was gone for a week. She’s back now and has made no effort to remedy situation, as far as I can tell. I made do with a clip on light bulb I found in the already cluttered-with-who-knows-what-and-where-it came-from bedroom that I inhabit and promptly got in trouble for using it because it was (drumroll please) 200 watts and too expensive. I also should not have, apparently, roasted a chicken in the oven . I’m not supposed to use the oven either: it’s too expensive.

Suffice it to say, all of this has had me fearing the woman a bit and afraid of doing something wrong! But, as Nicolas says--who was appalled at hearing my stories--one does what one wants when she’s gone. This last week he made a wonderful quiche in the oven and I enjoyed my well lit bedroom.

I think I’m making some breakthroughs with her, though. She came back from her trip to see her daughter with a ton of questions for me about my life and country, because she’d apparently been discussing her “americane” with her family. I also accompanied her to and from the train station with her suitcase, and while it seemed an obvious thing to me--not to mention a pleasure--it seems to have broken some kind of wall down with her. She’s beginning to ask favors of me and take interest in my life. :)

As I live in a big city now, I’m trying really hard to get used to all the noise. But it’s hard, because I hate it. I can nearly follow the neighbor’s conversations through the thin walls, there’s work going on in/on the buildings across the street and rennovation happening in the “square” down the street. There is also a lady that lives in the same building that bursts out in random and very bad operatic notes. I haven’t yet pinpointed the origin of these poorly skilled emissions, but I’m choosing to approach the phenomenon as “quirky” and “endearing” and “funny”, instead of annoying. Hopefully this lasts.

WORK:
My job has been a real highlight in many ways, though it also presents its own set of unsureties and ambiguities. The children are from ages 7-10 roughly and CUTE as all get out! I’ve never been such a celebrity before, whenever I walk through the school hallways they all shout “Bonjour, Traci!” and I hear them trying to speak English to each other. I love it. Also, the teachers have been very warm toward me, which, I hear is unusual. Many other assistants have horror stories about their teaching situation, but I have to say I’m happy with mine. :)
On a broader scale, however, I’m less and less impressed with the Education Nationale itself. In a word: UNORGANIZED. The teachers know it, too. They hate it, but nobody can change it, so it would seem. Much more on the Education Nationale later. Also, I already have stories about how French education itself is conducted on a day to day basis. Very different, but that’ll come later.... My job is very ambiguous and not very well lined out. They gave us some papers stating what each grade level should know at the end of the year and then a whole bunch of “games”. We have “trainings” too, in which we play these said games. Fantastic. Really, though the kids are adorable and the teachers are nice, I have NO IDEA what I'm doing.

HEALTH:
I have been sick for almost 5 days now. My system crashed and I’ve not been sleeping well either. Things are getting “better”, but I’m definitely looking forward to feeling 100% again. I’ve lost some weight due to walking a lot and healthier eating habits, but I know some of it’s stress too. I came to France in not a very good emotional state. And now that friends are gone and I've gotten a little bit more of a daily routine here, it's catching up to me and I need to deal with it. I’ve spent most of my hours at home these last few days and have found ample time to reflect on this. I’ve come to some good realizations. There will be some elaboration on this fact to come, but I feel as I should leave it at that for now.

ITALY:
I GOT TO GO TO ITALY!!! 3 weeks into “teaching”, the Education Nationale went on a two week vacation and I got to go back to Naples and see my “family” there. It had been 5 years since my stay there over the summer of 2005 and it was actually kind of emotional and certainly precious to be reunited with some really amazing people there. I told my girls there, and it’s so true, that even though it had been so long since I’d been back, I had never forgotten. Naples is a special place.
On that note, I did see other parts of Italy, and overall just fell in love all over again with the country and the language. I also got to re-experience all of this with some dear, awesome friends from Alaska, Rachel and Kristie. Even though I’ve been to Italy several times before and experienced much of it before, this trip and time with them will remain entirely unforgettable. It was rough when they left. :(

I’m still missing Alaska, and very much looking forward to Christmas. It’s been a year since I’ve been home to Oregon and I’ll be hopping on a plane for Canby in a little less than 3 weeks. My sister’s getting married! And really, it's been too long since I've been home.

So, that's some of my last two months. Like I said, it's been hard more than it's been anything else, and that's just my honesty that I've finally decided to give. Some of it's my circumstances and some of it's just me. I'm here, alone, not knowing what I'm doing and trying to figure a lot of crap out. It's good though. As I mentioned before, I'm reading Hemingway at the moment. One of my favorite lines of his at the moment describes the trees of Paris during winter so aptly:

"The trees were sculpture without their leaves when you were reconciled to them..."

I love this because it reminds me of a poem I wrote, once, for somebody else and with them in mind. This quote though, and where I'm at in life has caused me to turn this mirror a bit more on myself. So here it is, and here's me looking forward to Spring--on a couple of different levels:

L'hiver d'un arbre

Once leaving her usual more drapèd state
A silent, barren, and shivering tree
In stretching to invite a new frigid weight
Offers a raw and naked form of beauty.

The snow adorning all original lines,
O winter's blanchèd form of weeping
Paints anew an obscure but divined design
Ne'er perceived till the dawn of summer's sleeping.

Humbled may she be, stripped to naught
Undergoing a brief annual time to remind
A catharsis solidifying what a year may've wraught
A flight back to loveliness found only inside.

But her foliage is come back, and so supplements
A diff'rent season's rendering of natural grace.
The joy of spring's budding is only ever lent
Warm vibrance by foil of a colder place.

So, the winters of life disparage not then
For out of them speak untold colors within.
T. Emerson