La France, pays des luxes

France is definitely a culture that values luxury. They they take their meals, vacation, and any other leisure time seriously. Once a week I join my collegues for lunch in the school cafeteria. The sectional for teachers is separated from the rest of the dining area, and we're allowed to hop in line in front of the students. The food is served in separate dishes for each "course," and almost everyone eats one dish at a time, first the entree, then salad, cheese, fruit and dessert. Some teachers also sip on a small glass of table wine (something that would never happen in the States), and after eating, everyone chats and drinks coffee to finish the full hour alloted to the meal.

Last week, when I sat down, the professor next to me was shuffling some papers around and complaining to everyone at the table. "What is this?" She asked angrily, "What kind of institution is this?" I asked her what was was wrong and she explained that the secretary had put out an outline for a meeting later that day, "On the table! During the meal! That's scandelous!" Another prof. chimed in that they should boycott the meeting since the administration had the nerve to trespass on their lunch hour and dining space.

It's impossible to buy anything (unless you're at a restaurant) between the hours of 12 and 2 pm. Everyone is eating lunch for two hours. It's also difficult to buy anything, with the exception of fresh bread, on a Sunday. Much is closed on Monday too, but boulengeries are always open limited hours to furnish French meals with fresh baked goods. They don't eat stale baguettes here.

Yesterday I drove to Paris, and I had to stop in Poitiers (where I lived last fall), to change my license plates. I left the car at the garage for an hour and wandered around. I stopped for a snack and took my time mapping out my route to Paris, trying not to miss my former navigator/boyfriend too much as I did it. When I finally felt comfortable with the trip, I checked my phone and realized that I couldn't make it back to the garage before noon.

The thought of delaying my trip two hours lit a fire under my ass and I started walking as fast as I could towards my car. I knew that most things close for lunch, how could I have lost track of time? I was cursing myself and lugging my bag with all my valuables that I didn't want to leave in the car, plus the atlas, plus a litre of water I was too cheap to dump, and all the while praying that this garage was an exception. And heaven smiled down on me, because when I arrived breathless, my car was ready, and the cashier showed no sign of closing. I know if I had chosen a private or local garage, it wouldn't even have been open on a Monday. I went with the chain that doesn't offer close for lunch. Maybe meals are sacred here, but I'm glad that some businesses opt for less leisure when it comes to their hours.

Existential Crisis

Fueled by a caffeen and sugar rush (diet coke and cookie dough -- counter-intuitive, I know), a long conversation about social injustice, and about ten minutes of pacing, I have a huge desire to express myself. My head might explode if I don't vent my current thoughts, and since I'm not at home with my journal, I'll share it with anyone who cares to read my blog.

Kelly and I just had a long conversation over dinner that started with her description of classicism in Columbia. That forced me to recall the economic disparity I witnessed in Haiti and Senegal, as well as a few articles I've read about corruption in several African countries and international drug trafficing. When I was in Jacmel, Haiti, almost every night a black hummer would cruise around the streets with a party in the back seat. That never failed to upset me, because it stood in stark contrast to the glaring poverty that ravished the country. Someone explained that the owner of the vehicle was most likly involved in cocain trafficing.

Just a few days ago the local paper put out an article about the triangle drug trade that involves French "beurettes," or female of North African descent, who go to South America (probably Columbia, in fact) to collect cocain, stop in Haiti or the Dominican Republic, and then return to France to sell the product. This kind of trade is disturbing to me not because cocain is illegal, but because it involves the exploitation of vulnerable third world economies. The thing is, that kind of exploitation is occuring everywhere, and with the legal consent of much of the world.

Kelly explained that much of the trade in her country and other Latin American countries is run by companies in the United States. Columbia has more to offer than cocain, and their other exports (coffee, oil, etc.) are monopolized by North American capitalists. Apparently there is an offer in motion from a large investor hoping to purchase land from a national forest preserve in Chili. How easy will it be for a desperate economy to refuse millions of dollars, even if it means sacrificing an area of sacred land?

Rich North American's are not the only ones seeking profits in such slippery ways. Another article that shocked me, this one from Le Monde, France's national newspaper, revealed the findings from a French investigation of corruption in five different African administrations. These presidents and their families have invested obscene amounts of money in Parisian neighborhoods and hotels. The investigation uncovered multiple French bank accouts for each of the chiefs in question, as well as purchase records for multiple luxury cars. No judicial action will follow these discoveries, because Sarkozy has backed down after the Africans protested with cries of "neo-colonialism" to the corruption charges. The French are basically paralysed, since they can't step in as if they know what's best. The only hope now is that the UN will get involved.

I can't help but feel scandalized when considering all these issues simultaneously. I'm reading Camus' L'etranger, and the combination of his existentialist musings and my current bewilderment are wreaking havoc on my conscience. After four years at my private liberal arts college and six months of world travel (Haiti, US, Egypt, France, Spain, France, Germany, France, US, France), I have spent (and borrowed) a very large sum of money. You have to admire the irony of my current crisis... It was my education and travels that have allowed me to really understand the injustices that I've outlined above, and yet the money I've dispensed on myself could go far in a place like Haiti or the Congo or Columbia.

Camus says the world is absurd, so I won't try to rationalize these exploitations and the consequences evident everywhere. He also says we should enjoy what is beautiful in the world and do what we can to make it more just. I think I often appreciate beauty and experience la joie de vivre (love of life), but I'll have to post later if I figure a way to fight injustice. Right now, my head is empty and pounding, and my blood sugar is taking a nose dive.

French Kissing

I think I've finally gotten the hang of French bisous. When you greet and say goodbye to friends here, you always kiss both cheeks of your companion. When you meet a friend of a friend, you kiss them too. I'm never really sure which side to start on, so I usually just follow the lead of my friend or new accquaintance.

This weekend, I had the oppourtunity to practice this custom when my roommate and I attended a soirée each night. On Friday, we joined a lively but small group for delicious French and Spanish appetizers, wine, dessert, and coffee. I never really imagined that teachers got drunk together and went out to bars, but now it's not all that surprising. Kelly and I were easily integrated into the group of French teachers and often asked to compare America (or Columbia, in Kelly's case) to France. We talked about education, taxes, and music, before we went out for another drink and dancing. I believe I was the only sober member of the party (I drove), but that didn't limit my fun. We left when Kelly started falling asleep at the club and finally went to bed around five. A good night overall.

On Saturday night, we joined a German assistant, and made crepes at another teacher's house. It was a low key, and delicious meal. We didn't do anything besides eat and talk, but with four people from four different countries and cultures, the conversation was constantly stimulating. I left that night with a list of musicians from France and elsewhere to look into and expand my own music collection. The night ended with farwell bisous, as to be expected, and an early bed time after the previous nights adventure.

I feel very fortuate to have been included this weekend, and I think I've learned something about the French. They are constantly stereotyped as cold and snooty, but I think that once you get passed the formality of introduction, you're "in." As Kelly's friend and roommate, I was immediately accepted and included into two intimate gatherings this weekend and didn't catch a glimpse of the famous French frigidity (if that is a word). I think kissing on the cheeks is a good marker of that kind of openness. They aren't immediatly open, but if you can get into the network, you're a part of the party!

Car Troubles

I decided to sell my chaming and fickle car a few weeks ago and posted an ad on Paris' Craig's List. That's where we found it in the first place, so I felt comfortable seeking a buyer online. The car immediately brought several inquiries, all of which were from people with relatively poor grammar and typing skills. I'm not one to judge typing errors and poor translations, but the lack of professionalism made me a little wary. I eventually settled on a buyer, a foreign man (not French, British, or American) looking to buy his girlfriend a car for her birthday.

I tried to cover all my bases to avoid scams, and I was pretty sure that the buyer was serious. When his assistant wrote me a check almost ten times the correct amount, I knew that somethig was up. After apologizing for the "inconveince," the buyer then asked me to transfer the money to a third party. I have no idea how he was planning on working this sale (or swindle), but the involvement of his annonomous client and the pressure to hurry the process "for his girlfriend" was too suspicious. I tore the check up yesterday and backed out of the deal, explaining with proper grammer and spelling that I won't deal with such complications. There is no harm done, but I can't help feeling irritated that I was halfway to a sour deal. God knows paperwork is complicated enough here, and the last thing I need is to get screwed out of money and into a beuracratic nightmate.

I have another interesting car misadventure that I neglected to include in my last post, but it's worth recounting now. When I was in visiting my roommate last weekend we went out to a bar with several other language assistants. The group consisted of six Americans, including myself, and three Spanish assistants from Columbia and Mexico. We were waiting on a narrow street to enter a bar just across from a Kebab resturaunt. The restauraunt had just opened, and the owner was immpatiently trying to move his car so he could start serving people. In his rush through this very skinny street he tried to push through my group. Before anyone really realized the danger, he'd essentially run over an American girl who started crying and swearing in shock.

A crowd gathered to check on Jessica and scold the driver, who eventually took her to the hospital. Before she left she was laughing at the absurdity of the situation and still swearing at the inconvenience. The man whi hit her didn't make any sales at his restaurant that night, and I can't imagine that he'll be so careless next time he moves his car. Aside from a sprained foot, nothing came of the accident, but it was a disturbing event that put a damper on the evening.

I guess these problems happen all over the world, but I'm looking over my shoulder now for loose-cannon drivers and "buyers" looking for an extra buck.

Overdue

I've been meaning to post for at least a week now, though I struggled to find something interesting enough to merit a few paragraphs. I started exploring the coutryside, and saw a family of muscrats paddling around after a storm. The weather's been rainy, mild, and cold in the that order. We've finally had a few frosts that remind me that it's winter and not a bizarre combination of autumn and spring.

Honestly, for awhile I didn't have much more to write about other than the weather. My fortune has changed in the last few days, however and I have a few new sources of excitement. I now have a roommate for half of every week. She's from Columbia and does the exact same work I do, except with Spanish students. She spends the rest of her week in a nearby and livelier city. I think I can get along with almost any assigned roommate, but I already feel lucky to have Kelly as my chance companion. When I met her, it wasn't five minutes before she invited me to stay with her this weekend and attend an international comic/graphic novel festival.

So, I spent the weekend in Angouleme, looking at expositions and visiting with other language assistants. It was a welcome break from the tranquilty and solitude of my own apartment. Not only was I able to meet and converse with lots of different people from all over the world, but I was able to do it in French (since that is the only common language for all the assistants). By the end of the weekend I was thinking almost exclusively in French. I was happy to get back to my own bed, and off the floor last night, but it was great to spend a weekend socializing and digging into a new aspect of French culture.

In other news, I have found supplemental employment in a small restauraunt waitressing for a retired British couple. I'm happy to have the experience, a little pocket money, and the acquaintance of a halarious set of people. I was deemed the "colonial" when I introduced myself and listened as politetly as possible to complaints about pensions in England. My new employers were fun to sit and talk with, hopefully they'll be that nice when they boss me around.

All in all, my life seems to have taken a turn down a more interesting road, and I'm happy to have people to talk to and things to do beyond my apartment and this small village.

I am Legend, or Not

I made my first trip to a French movie theatre yesterday to see Je suis une légende, a French dubbed version of the new Will Smith movie. It was a good transition into French media, because there wasn't much dialogue. There were however, a lot of zombie-like creatures, and I was not expecting this to be a scary movie. I spent a portion of the movie crouched in my chair peeking through my sweater.

Despite my anxiety during the film, I did find myself identifying with the main character. He lives a solitary life with no one to talk to but his dog. I live a solitary life with no one to talk to in English. He likes Bob Marley. I like Bob Marley. He's trying to save the world from a deadly/zombifying virus from which he happens to have immuniy. And, I guess that's where our similarities end. None the less, I felt a connection.

I'm noticing a trend from my limited human to human intereaction. I've begun relating to the media in my life much more. The last few nights I've had dreams inspired by The Simpson's (it was a cartoon dream, I kid you not) and the so-bad-it's-good dance movie, Center Stage. I just started reading Jane Austin's Mansfield Park, and I can already relate to the heroine's shyness and feelings of displacement.

I also felt a bond with Greg Mortenson, a hero of a man who builds schools in Pakistan. I finally finished the book about his work, Three Cups of Tea, and felt both inspired and consoled. He spends months out of every year doing amazing work on the other side of the world, away from his American family and friends. I'm not building schools, or saving the human race. And let's be honest, I am not Legend, but I guess if all these real and fake heros and heroines can make it, I shouldn't have any problem comforting myself in French movie theatres.

Welcome (Back) to France

Traveling all day is inevitably taxing, but changing time zone takes the disorientation to a new level. I left the States yesterday, and while France is buzzing along at it's usual midday pace, my body's clock is aligned with the midwest. And it's very early there.

My intercontinental travels have lead me to sleeping pills which help aid the transitions and minimise my jet lag. For this trip, I don't think they helped do anything but further disorient me. I squirmed in my seat for what felt like hours until I finally pqssed out like a light. When I did wake up, I had only twenty minutes to prepare for landing (which meant rapidly getting ready to re-enter a foreign country and operate entirely in French.)

When I landed, I was not surprised and not happy to find my phone totally drained of battery. That being the case, I had no way getting in touch with my friend/hostess. At least though, I knew where I needed to go from the airport. So I wandered with 70 lbs of luggage to the metro and headed towards Celine's neighborhood. I must have been a sight with my huge backpack, a duffle, a shoulder bag, and a mandolin. I know I looked as dazed as I felt, but since I knew where I was going I could move quickly.

Moving quickly didn't last long, as it soon lead to a blister on my foot (it's quite a hike from the metro stop to the apartment). Navigating Parisian sidewalks also involves much sidesteping to avoid constant piles of dog shit. So after an hour train ride and a half hour walk with all my heavy belongings, I was overjoyed to see my car -- sans parking ticket.

It was a physical and mental relief to unload my bags and lock them in the car. It was another blessing that my car started on the first try. Hooray. After that bout of relief, my good luck ran out.

I had no way to reach Celine and no way for her to reach me. I think it was to much to hope that she'd be home when I knocked, especially since my flight arrived late. I went to move the car closer to her house to stake out the door in case anyone came home, only to realise my joy about the car was premature.

Sometime in the last few weeks, someone hit the front of my car knocking off the grill and busting the brights. She was already in bad shape and the lights were already weak. Now Anita's even losing the dignity of her good looks. Before vacation, I bent and chipped the side trying to get out of a narrow garage. After this recent hit-and-run she looks gap toothed, and the former highbeams flop around like googly eyes.

I think I'm going to adopt a new mantra for my daily life that sounds something like, "Things are bound to go awry, right?" I started thinking that while traveling around Haiti, since transit is so unreliable there. It has continued to help alleviate any surprise or frustration I have when my flights are all delayed, or my car is busted, or I look and act like a zombie for lack of sleep, or there seems to be even more piles of shit in my way than usual. I think things will look up after I get some rest, and if nothing else, my zombie atributes will be reduced.