Housekeeping!

While I'm in between classes and rapidly consuming my lunch in a very non-french like manner, I thought I'd do some housekeeping for the blog.

You may have noticed (though I doubt it) that I have taken down comments--I feel like blogging has moved out of the age of the comment, and no one was using the comment function anyway.

INSTEAD

I added/added more reaction checkboxes at the bottom of every post.  They're anonymous, fast, and help me decipher what people actually like to read--as opposed to comments which are laborious because of scammers and passwords, etc.

In short: read a post, check the box and send me some love :)

Macdo, WiFi, and the Aquarium of Nancy

Bonjour!

Today, I'm hailing from Macdo because the wireless internet service at my residence is of the disposition to crash and not function twice per month for two days.

This is not the first time, nor will it be, alas, the last time.

Nancy does not have a Starbuck's, so the next best thing is Macdonalds...which everyone calls Macdo.  It's clean, non-expensive and has free wifi :)  The assistants tend to gather here during the breakdowns in technology...

Not to keep fuming, but this situation again reminds me of a question one of my students asked me when I first came to France--is France more modern than America?

One thing that I can say, is if you pay a monthly fee for internet at an apartment building, and that internet for some reason decides to fail, your residence will do its utmost to ensure that you do not go without internet for more than a few hours, let alone days.  That, my friends, is the difference--I shan't answer the question now, but you can just imagine what I'm thinking at this moment...

To better things: I visited the aquarium in Nancy this weekend in an attempt to get beyond the four dreary walls of my apartment.  Take a look:

La femme du menage...

I have to give the cleaning ladies a lot of credit around here--they're made of tough stuff!

Today I went to Macdo (Macdonald's to you Americans) and was sitting quietly enjoying my coffee, flan nature (an awesome pastry that is reminiscent of cheesecake) and reading my book, when I was suddenly surrounded by "horrible teenagers."  They were all eating McFlurries and making a general racket, when a cleaning lady stormed up to them.  Apparently one of them had made a mess in the bathroom that she had just cleaned--so she made them go back and clean it!

Culture clarification: Macdo over here is actually nice.  They have this thing called a McCafe where you can get cheap pastries and coffee (just like in a salon du thé).  Not the best quality, but hey, I'm cool with cheap and still tasty!  Macaroons are still a euro a piece for the small ones...sheesh!

Anyway, I guess what surprised me the most about the scenario is that the kids actually went back with the cleaning lady and did what she told them to do...granted it might have just been mopping the floor and throwing out some paper towels, but still!  In America, I'm pretty sure the kid would have just bad-mouthed her and left to avoid further confrontation.

À bientôt!

Visits and Verglas

Sunday was a horrible day.

I woke up as usual to go to Mass (I love the Basilica for morning Mass!) but as I set foot outside my residence, I began to slip and slide.  The entire sidewalk was covered in a thick sheet of ice from the rain during the night.  It was worse than an ice rink.  

Did I fall?  Yes... heels over head in front of some neighbor of mine clearing away the ice--it was an otherwise empty street thank goodness--but thanks to the slanty way the French build their sidewalks, I slid right down into the street.  Go ahead, picture it... I was not amused at the time. I knew I couldn't make it as far as the basilica, so I decided to try the local parish around the corner (it's a much smaller parish without as many young people...let me clarify, no young people).  I pulled myself up the ramp (no footwork involved) and skated past some old ladies who were trying to decide if Mass had been cancelled.

After some other people who were gathered outside telephoned the priest, it became clear that the priest couldn't get to that church...so we had to look for other options.  Getting home was even more fun--that ramp is more amusing that it seems!  I literally skated home...

I went for my second choice with was the evening Mass at the Cathedral--apparently I wasn't the only one who had a change of plans because some older lady asked me what time Mass was when I arrived in the evening.  (Note of pride: I can actually give people directions and information in French...and they trust me).

On the plus side, I stayed indoors most of the day, made tea and rice pudding and watched my neighbors hacking away at the sidewalks in front of their houses all afternoon.  By nightfall, my prayers had been answered and the path was clear to Mass.

On Friday, I visited one of my visioconference schools--I was Miss Celebrity.

I received questions such as:

-"How many kids do you have?"  I'm not even married.  To which they replied, "then you must not be an adult yet."  LOL.

-"Do you like us?"

-"Can you read French?" Yes.... and they handed me an enormous stack of cards, drawings and messages... 

Afterwards, we had Galette des Trois Rois (for my fourth time!)  Basically, it's a pastry/tart with an almond paste in the middle, and a ceramic statue hidden somewhere in it.  The youngest hides under the table and tells the person serving the tart which piece goes to whom around the table so they don't cheat to get the statue.  I won...again... The first time, I almost broke a tooth. If this keeps up, I'll have a whole Nativity scene...

Afterwards, we had our picture taken in front of the school by a journalist... though I think he was a journalist for the school... doesn't hurt to imagine :)

And today?

Despite having to get up super early, two classes were cancelled this afternoon!  Two more are cancelled this week due to some of the kids doing a snow study/activity.  Score!

Cheers!

~Laura

Getting hit on by a French guy can be a pleasant experience

Now that you're actually reading this post, I'll need to clarify, because as we all know, word choice matters: young French guy, non-creepy French guy, sweet conversation.

Armed with that vocabulary, I have a story to tell.  Two stories, actually.

When I first came to Nancy--my first day here, in fact-- I got stuck talking to some old French dude.  It wasn't a bad conversation--I did mostly listening because my french wasn't that great (ok, almost non-existent) and I was just pleased that someone actually wanted to talk with me.  Until he wanted to make it a regular thing.  *shudder*

Brave as I may sound, I have only just now developed the courage (and vocabulary) to venture back into that park.

I've had other experiences since then to improve my opinion of Frenchmen (like the terribly awesome 18-30 young adult Bible study that I found), but the one from this week takes the cake.

For some reason, my residence decided that they needed to exterminate all the non-existent bed bugs--and so all of the assistants from my building were left out in the cold (yes, it is very cold with ice and snow right now!) while we waited for the poison to clear.  I, luckily, found the apartment of the assistants in the other building and we hung out for a while.  One of them had a conversation exchange (one hour English, one hour French) with some French guy who had responded to her internet ad, and since she hadn't ever met him before and didn't want to get stuck with a creep I decided to tag along.  I totally understand the creep thing, as do most of the other female assistants by now.

Perhaps this would go over better in fairytale form:

Once upon a time there were two bees who went out for dew drops with a dragonfly.  Neither of the bee had met the dragonfly before, so it was best that the littlest bee went along for good company.  As it turned out, the dragonfly was not as much of a dragon as they had pictured him to be--in fact, he was rather nice and pleasant.

They flew around the garden and came to rest by the pond in the center of the garden to sip dew drops and practice speaking.  The dragonfly was very impressive in his speaking abilities, as well as the other bee; so much so that the littlest bee began to doubt her abilities when it came time to switch languages she said she would just sit and listen... which was the farthest thing from what actually occurred.  She got so involved the conversation that she almost didn't notice how much the dragonfly was smiling at her and inching closer across the lilypad.  The other bee did notice, and stopped participating in the conversation altogether; when it was time to go, she discretely tapped the littlest bee on the wing, which was immediately noticed by the dragonfly, who got up to pay for the dew drops before anyone could protest.

The other bee and the dragonfly had had an agreement to go to the pond every week for a similar exchange, but when it came time to decide the specifics for next week, he didn't ask her; he asked the littlest bee.  By then she was more acutely aware of his apparent happiness in talking to her, she didn't quite know what to do without offending the other bee (whose rendez-vous it was in the first place).  In the end, they agreed to meet in the evening sometimes so the littlest bee wouldn't have to miss her other obligations that she normally had at that time (even though the littlest bee hadn't--and still doesn't have--any intention of coming back to the conversations).

And the moral of the story is: don't be so wrapped up in have a decent and intelligent and non-creepy conversation that it takes the other bee to tell you on the way home how much a dragonfly likes you!

That, my friends, is how it really happened--the "happily ever after"is not how they lived, but rather how the littlest bee had her mind changed about dragonflies in general.

The end :)

La baguette is not French bread!

Ah, the French and their obsession with bread.  Don't laugh, it's real--and I'm totally with them on this one!

They have special flours for different types of bread--more than just white flour, or cake flour--it depends on the region where it is grown and all sorts of stuff.

There is a rumor going around that a true baguette cannot be made outside of France--and they're serious.  You haven't had good bread until you've ripped off the end of a warm baguette and sunk your teeth into the crunchy, yet chewy crust and soft interior.  Baguettes don't keep very well--but they're not intended to.  Get a couple of loaves fresh every morning.

They eat bread with every meal, no joke.  Apparently you can spot a tourist miles away if they do any of the following:
-keep their bread on the plate and not on the table beside the plate (there is no such thing as a bread plate over here)
-eat the bread before tasting the other food
--or don't tear it up with their fingers (to dip in the sauces of the plate)

Don't go to the grocery store and pick up a baguette (ironically named French bread when it couln't even be classified as pigeon food over here).  It just isn't worth it--you need the real experience, my friends, and then you will see what you are missing.

And I could give you a speech about chocolate, but let's face it, when all we've got is Hershey's, how can we compete?

Baguettes, chocolate, mirabelles, quiches, duck, wine, cheese--ahhh!  It's all too much!

Let me leave you with the wise words of my Parisian friend: You cannot use words to describe food, only feelings...

Time for dinner...

Cheers!
~Laura

Hat tip to my little guardian angel over here!

To the cute blond guy who is always around when I need help carrying up my suitcases, I just want to say thank you.

Seriously, he appears out of nowhere, doesn't say much, and carries my suitcase all the way up to what Americans would term the fourth floor and then leaves with just a "de rien!"

What I find particularly noble is that I always meet him coming outside the building, which means that he must have just descended the stairs before offering to help me go all the way back up.

Good manners (particularly to total strangers) will never cease to impress me.

Cheers!
~Laura

When gentlemen are gentlemen, ladies notice...

In some ways, the Europeans are more well-mannered than the Americans.

French ladies tend to wear skirts and very few people walk outside in their pajamas or sports clothes.  All the teachers instruct the students to say hello to me (individually) before class because it's a sign of politeness.  I have never seen a French child running through a store screaming (or screaming in public period).

The French teach their kids well: the other day I saw a daddy and his cute little girl (probably around 4-5) crossing a big intersection (with the tram) and like a typical French person, he started to cross the street while the light was still red.  The little girl didn't move and told him they couldn't cross yet--so. adorable.

On Thursday I went to visit a preschool (école maternelle) for a special one week project I'm doing (AHHH those babies are so cute!  They are babies too--ages 2.5 to 6 years old).  The other two assistants that are participating in the project are dudes from Italy and Spain--and they're super gentlemanly.  For instance, as we were touring the school, they would open all the doors for me and the other teachers and stand to the side so that we could pass in front of them going through doors and sitting down.  Not much, but to a girl who has had countless doors slammed in front of her face by American jocks, it felt really quite civilized.

La bise.  At first it creeped me out, but now I think it's quite sweet.   For those of you who do not have a French vocabulary, la bise is that kissing thing the French do when they greet each other: you do right cheeks first then left, lightly touching cheek to cheek and making a kissing sound--though some people actually smooch each cheek which can get a bit slobbery with a whole group.  I prefer the delicate, more elegant method.  When my teachers give me la bise I feel like I'm more integrated into society (they shook my hands at first).  Too bad it doesn't fly in America--I'm going to miss going to a social gathering and getting smooched by half a dozen cute French guys in rapid succession.  Ok, it doesn't happen that often...but it does happen :)

Living life in Lorraine...ça vous plaît?

Cheers!
~Laura

La Maison de Jeanne d' Arc

We arrived in Domremy-la-Pucelle around noon--and since everything in France is generally closed until 2 or 3pm we decided to check out the parish church.  And since a picture is worth a thousand words and since I don't put enough of them on this poor blog:

 

This is the statue of St. Margaret that St. Joan of Arc prayed  in front of when she was a little girl...awesome, right?

2012 was the 600th anniversary of her birth in Domremy-la-Pucelle.

We later found out that the replica of her house was closed for Christmas, but we saw the outside, and later found out that what we were standing in was actually her house:

Then we hiked over (ok, we drove because of the rain) to the Basilique du Bois Chenu--built on the site where St. Jeanne first heard the voices:

This last picture is of the sweet restaurant/pilgrim welcome center where we had lunch.  Ok, Domremy is a small town, and given our collective Parisian, Roman, and general American attitudes, we spent so much time in the parish church that we had forgotten that restaurants close at 2pm around here.  At about 2:30pm we arrived at this restaurant and were relieved to discover that they were open until 3pm.  So we knocked.  It was locked and there was no one in sight.  Going around the back we found someone to let us in... and yes, we were the only people in the restaurant.

They gave us a menu with just sandwiches and cold drinks...ham or cheese or ham and cheese...that sort of thing.  Mary and I were about ready to accept whatever food we could get, but Jonathan spoke up and asked the lady for their menu--which they didn't have because they stopped serving lunch at 2 (like everyone else!)  He must have looked really crestfallen because she took pity on us and offered us some roast chicken, salad and fried potatoes.  It was the best, most amazing country meal that we had ever had!  So warm, so delectable--quite the respite from the rain and the cold!  Besides, they had mayonnaise with mustard in it which was super tasty.  All five of us followed up the chicken with some warm mirabelle tart--the likes of which you've never had before!

It was a fine day!

Then, of course, we tried stopping at another small shrine which the sister told us was closed for Christmas...whatevs!  We drank the spring water, took pictures in the rain and went back to Verdun to eat a simple meal of sausage, bread, cheese and wine and to play Euchre until the wee hours of the morning--yes, we are all fanatics about that game...the wine didn't help either...  It was really quite splendid.

Cheers!