Hi, folks-- just a quick note before I put on my nice shirt and shoes and walk down to get my pass at the Cannes Film Festival.
I have a list of screenings where I get priority access. The good news is that they're screening most of the movies in competition at the festival and for free. The bad news is that the subtitles at my screenings are in French, which might make non-English, non-French movies a bit of a struggle. The good news is that there's a strong showing of movies this year, including these ones that I'm most looking forward to:
Wes Anderson's 'Moonrise Kingdom':
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TtxhDIE6Qbs&feature=fvst
David Cronenberg's 'Cosmopolis' (based on the Don DeLillo novel):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0WpEc-rJQ3s
John Hillcoat's 'Lawless':
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Zl7S1LaPMU
...And many, many more. There will also be restored prints of 'Jaws' and one of my personal favorites, 'Once Upon a Time in America'. Each night, they show movies for free on the beach... this year will feature several James Bond movies, in honor of that franchise's 50th anniversary (speaking of that, is anybody else pumped for 'Skyfall', this year's Daniel Craig installment?).
I have heard rumors that extra tickets to showings in the big theatres (to which, alas, I don't have access) may become available from time to time, so I'm going to hope I can get my hands on those to fill in some of the gaps in my schedule's offerings.
Cannes has transformed noticeably in the last several days... billboard ads, posters for the festival all over, suits standing by every entrance that could possibly be mistaken for backstage access, and now lots of people with festival lanyards (soon to be followed by lots of people with lots of money and nice suits and dresses and adoring fans and... yeah, festival lanyards). Photos to follow.
Anyway, I'm off to see what's what. The festival starts tonight and runs through Sunday the 27th. I'm a bit nervous, but ready to get rolling.
And... action.
-Andy
Showing posts with label Link(s). Show all posts
Showing posts with label Link(s). Show all posts
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
It'sh Pronounched "Budapesht."
I have to be honest, the travel entries aren't my favorites. I love doing the "research" necessary to create them - touring Budapest with Lisa, Molly, Katie, and Ann was lots of fun - but as I said last time, the plot feels a bit thin on these and the pictures tell it best.
So, here are the pictures. And here are a few quick thoughts.
The entry title: In Hungarian, "s" defaults to what English speakers would call the "sh" sound. You need an "sz" to get what English calls the original recipe "s" sound. So, I walked around this city hearing a good deal of words spoken in the voice of a former teacher who used to jokingly swap in "sh" for "s." That was very weird.
Architecturally, Budapest is awesome. All I ever really do in cities I visit is walk around, eat good food if I can find it, and snap photos of cool buildings (and shit that makes no sense... usually in advertisements). Budapest has some very impressive churches and government buildings, but even normal office buildings, banks, apartments, etc. have really cool flourishes. You never know what you'll find next, which is always a fun feeling to have when you tour a city.
I have discovered some karmic balance, I'm relieved to say, in the world of currency exchange. Yes, the Dollar's had a significant disadvantage against the Euro for over two years, and that's not even mentioning the Pound. So, you learn to stop thinking about how many U.S. Dollars you're spending when you buy basic goods and services in Europe, 'cause otherwise you go insane. Until you arrive in Hungary, home of the Hungarian Forint. Coming from the Euro, I can say that it is uniquely satisfying to take a list price in Forints, divide it by about 300, and THEN decide if you want to pay it. And even coming from the Dollar, dividing by 220(ish) is still a lot of fun.
Recommendations include:
--The cafe at the flagship Alexandra bookstore chain (information and location here). It's an impressive bookstore, a breathtaking cafe, and their cake, coffee, etc. are all quite good.
--The Szechenyi baths are a must-do... quite the unique experience, reasonable price of admittance for basic baths/steamroom/sauna/showers access on their extensive, beautiful grounds. Located here.
--The Szimpla ruin bar (here) is a great nightlife spot.
--Centrale Cafe is a very classy old cafe with high ceilings and more good cake. I'm pretty sure this is the address.
--Művész Restaurant and Café (here) had great goulash, a newly renovated room, and taste-bud-opening (that's gonna' be a thing from now on) desserts.
--The Central Market (here) is pretty good for souvenir shopping and good old market-y experiences.
...I also went to the opera while I was there. It was gorgeous, and I had never seen Tosca. It was a good production with great sets and performers. Of course, I probably should have thought more carefully before buying a ticket to an Italian opera with Hungarian subtitles, but hey - the program had an English summary, so it all worked out.
Next stop on this blogging marathon: Krakow.
So, here are the pictures. And here are a few quick thoughts.
The entry title: In Hungarian, "s" defaults to what English speakers would call the "sh" sound. You need an "sz" to get what English calls the original recipe "s" sound. So, I walked around this city hearing a good deal of words spoken in the voice of a former teacher who used to jokingly swap in "sh" for "s." That was very weird.
Architecturally, Budapest is awesome. All I ever really do in cities I visit is walk around, eat good food if I can find it, and snap photos of cool buildings (and shit that makes no sense... usually in advertisements). Budapest has some very impressive churches and government buildings, but even normal office buildings, banks, apartments, etc. have really cool flourishes. You never know what you'll find next, which is always a fun feeling to have when you tour a city.
I have discovered some karmic balance, I'm relieved to say, in the world of currency exchange. Yes, the Dollar's had a significant disadvantage against the Euro for over two years, and that's not even mentioning the Pound. So, you learn to stop thinking about how many U.S. Dollars you're spending when you buy basic goods and services in Europe, 'cause otherwise you go insane. Until you arrive in Hungary, home of the Hungarian Forint. Coming from the Euro, I can say that it is uniquely satisfying to take a list price in Forints, divide it by about 300, and THEN decide if you want to pay it. And even coming from the Dollar, dividing by 220(ish) is still a lot of fun.
Recommendations include:
--The cafe at the flagship Alexandra bookstore chain (information and location here). It's an impressive bookstore, a breathtaking cafe, and their cake, coffee, etc. are all quite good.
--The Szechenyi baths are a must-do... quite the unique experience, reasonable price of admittance for basic baths/steamroom/sauna/showers access on their extensive, beautiful grounds. Located here.
--The Szimpla ruin bar (here) is a great nightlife spot.
--Centrale Cafe is a very classy old cafe with high ceilings and more good cake. I'm pretty sure this is the address.
--Művész Restaurant and Café (here) had great goulash, a newly renovated room, and taste-bud-opening (that's gonna' be a thing from now on) desserts.
--The Central Market (here) is pretty good for souvenir shopping and good old market-y experiences.
...I also went to the opera while I was there. It was gorgeous, and I had never seen Tosca. It was a good production with great sets and performers. Of course, I probably should have thought more carefully before buying a ticket to an Italian opera with Hungarian subtitles, but hey - the program had an English summary, so it all worked out.
Next stop on this blogging marathon: Krakow.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Andy's Weird Grenoble
Since many of you have other blogs to read and other links to click on from Facebook, I'm giving you a choice. You can either read each of my next four(ish) entries about my spring break all the way through, or I can give you the summary of what I was up to for two of the (now many) weeks I've been away from this blog. (And for those of you already itching to get back to that blue-and-white stream of web-links - and for the mashup-inclined - this is my new favorite website.)
So, my spring break in six sentences (and a parenthetical clause):
Grenoble looks weird.
I skied an Alp.
Lyon food - real Lyon food - tastes good.
Paris is weird the second time.
Budapest looks cool the first time.
Krakow is... different.
To make this easier on everyone, I'm going to break the trip down to one destination per entry.
So. Grenoble.
Grenoble has a few really salient visual features. It's an Olympic city, it's got a river and typically French buildings, and - oh, yeah! - it's surrounded by the freakin' Alps. These are all very cool things about the city, and you'd think that it would look great for it.
You'd think. So, have a look at these pictures and see for yourself.
In truth, those mountains are pretty impressive, and the high fortress on the river gives some great views of the city, but I felt somehow that Grenoble was resting on its laurels, if that makes any sense. The French buildings were... well, French buildings, but not terrifically maintained. There's graffiti everywhere (although it seems to be part of a thriving underground art movement, so I won't judge). The river and its surroundings look good-not-great, and there was quite a bit of haze (I'm sure Lake Garda is to blame... somehow...). I should also add that the Olympic structures were all from the 70s (which, loosely translated from French, means "concrete").
I'm sorry I can't give this entry more of a narrative thrust, but I can sum up my visit with walking around and hiking up to the top of the Bastille fortress (one of the most rewarding hikes I've ever done, I think, and not just for the view). I also saw Another Happy Day, which was a bit intense, but often quite funny and very well-written and -acted. And I ate well. Oh, and there was a modern art museum in there, too.
Granted, cities like Paris and Lyon are pretty stiff competition as river towns, so I probably shouldn't come down so hard on Grenoble. After all, it's in the freakin' Alps, and there's some very good food to be had. If you don't go in so much for my mealtime descriptions, I might simply suggest making a note of the recommendations and hopping up to the next entry. And I imagine I'm giving that tip to pretty much everyone except my mother.
Okay. Food time.
My first recommendation is La Mandala, located here. I started with an order of 12 escargots that were subtle, but good - they had an onion/tomato/olive oil tapenade-thing that was almost as strong a performance: like a really good supporting role. This is a good part of the world, I should add, for hearty food. Hence my decision to spring for the daily special: a veal T-bone in a deliciously seasoned sauce. The mashed potatoes were flaky yet moist, and flavorful - all without being painfully buttery. It was delicious - not a spectacular delicious, an eye-opening or taste-bud-opening (do they even do that?) delicious - but still some very good food very well-prepared. The regional red wine I ordered was good, and the dining room is very warm and atmospheric. This atmosphere was best punctuated by the chalkboard wine list and sizable window that revealed the chef working over impressively high stovetop flames.
I'll tell you what was a grand slam performance, though - the 'Baba bouchon au vieux rhum': house version of 'baba au rhum' with vanilla custard and delicious homemade (I'm sure) pastry. The Chartreuse digestif on the house - with the manager's insistence I try this regional specialty - was also the touch of a good host. It's a France-famous liqueur made originally by monks in their monastery in the nearby Chartreuse mountain range.
The other great sit-down restaurant I found in Grenoble was La Petite Idée, located here, not far from the river and base of the Bastille fort. It's the perfect choice of a restaurant right after the long hike up to the fortress. I don't think I ordered a starter here (had a late lunch that was good, but nowhere as good as this). No starter, no problem, though, because the duck filet I had...
...was every bit as delicious as it looks. So were the salad and potatoes gratin (I wish there'd been more of that). The sauce on the duck had this slight bitter taste to it that actually complemented the sweetness of the meat very nicely. I was nearly full, but I ordered dessert because I feel I owe that to a restaurant that does such a taste-bud-opening-'cause-here-they-definitely-did-that job.
Also 'cause, hey - what if it's good, too?
It was. Crème brulée.
My last recommendation is for a small but impossibly charming little bakery/tea shop: M. Sarrazin right on the Place Victor Hugo (more specifically, here). They had absolutely delicious breakfast pastries (I had an almond croissant and a pain au chocolat) served in a lovely, calm sitting room. The other, dessert desserts - cakes, canolis, everything but cupcakes, really - looked amazing as well. This one's definitely on my list to explore further on a future visit.
And there will be a future visit, if for no other reason than skiing in Chamrousse.
I spent February 25 and 26 in Grenoble proper. On the 27th, I got on a bus out to Chamrousse, a ski resort about an hour from the city (see here). If you're planning to get here from Grenoble (I'd recommend it), then I highly suggest you check out www.transaltitude.fr for their bus service. For 25 euro, I got an all-day ski pass for the whole resort as well as bus transportation there (and back to Grenoble in the evening). You have to pay more to rent gear (20 euro for boots, skis, and poles at any of the (many) shops), and a lot more for the ski lessons (necessary for me). But the surroundings are amazing (see the second half of my Grenoble photo album) and there are slopes for all levels, reachable by free shuttles that circle the resort.
I actually took to skiing rather quickly (the lesson helped), and I can see why it's so popular - get a good spot and some early confidence at it, and that sport is an addiction. It's like sledding, but on your feet and, if you're good enough, on all the really steep slopes your parents would never have let you sled down when you were a kid! Plus, I'm in the freakin' Alps!
I'd also like to boast out that I did not fall down a single time in the act of skiing. Once I decided I was going to ski down a hill, I did, and I did so without falling, or causing anyone else to do the same.
So, I had to call out "Attention!" a few times... And I probably slipped and fell while walking on the ice, and probably in ski boots, which is probably in large part because ski boots probably suck.
Next stop: Lyon. Which is also near the freakin' Alps.
So, my spring break in six sentences (and a parenthetical clause):
Grenoble looks weird.
I skied an Alp.
Lyon food - real Lyon food - tastes good.
Paris is weird the second time.
Budapest looks cool the first time.
Krakow is... different.
To make this easier on everyone, I'm going to break the trip down to one destination per entry.
So. Grenoble.
Grenoble has a few really salient visual features. It's an Olympic city, it's got a river and typically French buildings, and - oh, yeah! - it's surrounded by the freakin' Alps. These are all very cool things about the city, and you'd think that it would look great for it.
You'd think. So, have a look at these pictures and see for yourself.
In truth, those mountains are pretty impressive, and the high fortress on the river gives some great views of the city, but I felt somehow that Grenoble was resting on its laurels, if that makes any sense. The French buildings were... well, French buildings, but not terrifically maintained. There's graffiti everywhere (although it seems to be part of a thriving underground art movement, so I won't judge). The river and its surroundings look good-not-great, and there was quite a bit of haze (I'm sure Lake Garda is to blame... somehow...). I should also add that the Olympic structures were all from the 70s (which, loosely translated from French, means "concrete").
I'm sorry I can't give this entry more of a narrative thrust, but I can sum up my visit with walking around and hiking up to the top of the Bastille fortress (one of the most rewarding hikes I've ever done, I think, and not just for the view). I also saw Another Happy Day, which was a bit intense, but often quite funny and very well-written and -acted. And I ate well. Oh, and there was a modern art museum in there, too.
Granted, cities like Paris and Lyon are pretty stiff competition as river towns, so I probably shouldn't come down so hard on Grenoble. After all, it's in the freakin' Alps, and there's some very good food to be had. If you don't go in so much for my mealtime descriptions, I might simply suggest making a note of the recommendations and hopping up to the next entry. And I imagine I'm giving that tip to pretty much everyone except my mother.
Okay. Food time.
My first recommendation is La Mandala, located here. I started with an order of 12 escargots that were subtle, but good - they had an onion/tomato/olive oil tapenade-thing that was almost as strong a performance: like a really good supporting role. This is a good part of the world, I should add, for hearty food. Hence my decision to spring for the daily special: a veal T-bone in a deliciously seasoned sauce. The mashed potatoes were flaky yet moist, and flavorful - all without being painfully buttery. It was delicious - not a spectacular delicious, an eye-opening or taste-bud-opening (do they even do that?) delicious - but still some very good food very well-prepared. The regional red wine I ordered was good, and the dining room is very warm and atmospheric. This atmosphere was best punctuated by the chalkboard wine list and sizable window that revealed the chef working over impressively high stovetop flames.
I'll tell you what was a grand slam performance, though - the 'Baba bouchon au vieux rhum': house version of 'baba au rhum' with vanilla custard and delicious homemade (I'm sure) pastry. The Chartreuse digestif on the house - with the manager's insistence I try this regional specialty - was also the touch of a good host. It's a France-famous liqueur made originally by monks in their monastery in the nearby Chartreuse mountain range.
The other great sit-down restaurant I found in Grenoble was La Petite Idée, located here, not far from the river and base of the Bastille fort. It's the perfect choice of a restaurant right after the long hike up to the fortress. I don't think I ordered a starter here (had a late lunch that was good, but nowhere as good as this). No starter, no problem, though, because the duck filet I had...
...was every bit as delicious as it looks. So were the salad and potatoes gratin (I wish there'd been more of that). The sauce on the duck had this slight bitter taste to it that actually complemented the sweetness of the meat very nicely. I was nearly full, but I ordered dessert because I feel I owe that to a restaurant that does such a taste-bud-opening-'cause-here-they-definitely-did-that job.
Also 'cause, hey - what if it's good, too?
It was. Crème brulée.
My last recommendation is for a small but impossibly charming little bakery/tea shop: M. Sarrazin right on the Place Victor Hugo (more specifically, here). They had absolutely delicious breakfast pastries (I had an almond croissant and a pain au chocolat) served in a lovely, calm sitting room. The other, dessert desserts - cakes, canolis, everything but cupcakes, really - looked amazing as well. This one's definitely on my list to explore further on a future visit.
And there will be a future visit, if for no other reason than skiing in Chamrousse.
I spent February 25 and 26 in Grenoble proper. On the 27th, I got on a bus out to Chamrousse, a ski resort about an hour from the city (see here). If you're planning to get here from Grenoble (I'd recommend it), then I highly suggest you check out www.transaltitude.fr for their bus service. For 25 euro, I got an all-day ski pass for the whole resort as well as bus transportation there (and back to Grenoble in the evening). You have to pay more to rent gear (20 euro for boots, skis, and poles at any of the (many) shops), and a lot more for the ski lessons (necessary for me). But the surroundings are amazing (see the second half of my Grenoble photo album) and there are slopes for all levels, reachable by free shuttles that circle the resort.
I actually took to skiing rather quickly (the lesson helped), and I can see why it's so popular - get a good spot and some early confidence at it, and that sport is an addiction. It's like sledding, but on your feet and, if you're good enough, on all the really steep slopes your parents would never have let you sled down when you were a kid! Plus, I'm in the freakin' Alps!
I'd also like to boast out that I did not fall down a single time in the act of skiing. Once I decided I was going to ski down a hill, I did, and I did so without falling, or causing anyone else to do the same.
So, I had to call out "Attention!" a few times... And I probably slipped and fell while walking on the ice, and probably in ski boots, which is probably in large part because ski boots probably suck.
Next stop: Lyon. Which is also near the freakin' Alps.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
A Fable
Just as a side note, it has occurred to me since I first heard the real version of this story -- well before seeing Charlie Wilson's War -- that the zen master could be either very zen, or a neurotic who never gives up. Food for (nervous) thought.
There was once a zen master, a young man who knew well how to ride the frequently oscillating currents of life. This zen master also wrote screenplays, kept a blog, and (occasionally) taught adorable little French kids to speak English.
One day, the administration told the zen master he would be teaching all by himself. His neighbor consoled him for the hardship, but the zen master simply said:
"Well, we'll see."
It turned out his life was much simpler without having to coordinate unnecessarily with several teachers. "This is wonderful," his neighbor said. The zen master replied, "Well, we'll see."
Then, one day, the zen master's fellow teachers asked him to give his students evaluations, since no one else could. Everyone consoled the zen master, but again he replied, "Well, we'll see."
After grading tests for several hours, camera close by, the zen master returned them to students. He also posted several dozen photos of their funniest mistakes for friends and family to enjoy. "This is wonderful," the neighbor gushed, "These photos are great!"
"Yeah," the zen master replied, "They're freaking hilarious."
There was once a zen master, a young man who knew well how to ride the frequently oscillating currents of life. This zen master also wrote screenplays, kept a blog, and (occasionally) taught adorable little French kids to speak English.
One day, the administration told the zen master he would be teaching all by himself. His neighbor consoled him for the hardship, but the zen master simply said:
"Well, we'll see."
It turned out his life was much simpler without having to coordinate unnecessarily with several teachers. "This is wonderful," his neighbor said. The zen master replied, "Well, we'll see."
Then, one day, the zen master's fellow teachers asked him to give his students evaluations, since no one else could. Everyone consoled the zen master, but again he replied, "Well, we'll see."
After grading tests for several hours, camera close by, the zen master returned them to students. He also posted several dozen photos of their funniest mistakes for friends and family to enjoy. "This is wonderful," the neighbor gushed, "These photos are great!"
"Yeah," the zen master replied, "They're freaking hilarious."
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
A Disconnected Mess of an Entry
First and foremost:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=edYHlnhxyOI
Now that your day has been brightened, hopefully you won't be as cross that I've got almost no governing principle behind this entry, other than a desperate desire to catch up with the present. Accept my apologies and (forthcoming) stories about adorable little French kids. Also, if you like, check out my updated photo album.
Since starting up again in January, I've introduced the weather as a unit of study. I had a lot of really good classes on it (although I'm getting the sense I need to either change my methods or move on to new material). I even dabbled in arts and crafts this time around, having them make more attractive versions of this thing:
Okay, so it's been riding around in my backpack a while.
But it's fun. They get to draw, they get to write the names of the weather, they have it as a study guide for the test I'll give in three weeks, and they get to turn it to whatever the weather is.
Speaking of weather... Beautiful for about 3 weeks. Then, today:
I had my first snow day in five years... which was fantastic. I want to take a minute to share my flatmate Erika's particularly French story about hers. She goes in, and half the teachers are on strike, half the students are missing because the buses are on strike, and then at 10:30 they close the school for a snow day even though there's no snow on the ground (yet).
French kids? French kids!
...
One day, one of the boys comes in with "an English song" on his flash drive that he wants to listen to it in class. "Oh, cool!" I think. Maybe this is like the kid in my oldest class who had lyrics and dance moves for 'Hello, Goodbye'. "This kid's really getting into English class, and maybe this is something I can use!" I take this kid's flash drive and look for the song. I find the song.
"Party Rock Anthem" by LMFAO.
...
Andy: "Today, it is chilly!"
Class: "Today, it is chully!"
Andy: "Chilly!"
Class: "Chully!"
...
Andy: "Hot and cold are opposites! Now, how is the weather today?"
Boy: "Today, it is opposite."
...
Andy (to one girl): "Chilly!"
Girl: "Chilly!"
Andy (to the girl): "What is your name?"
Girl: "Chilly! Uh, non..."
...
There's a little kid in the CP (ages 4-6) class who always goes to the bathroom around 9:55. I know because, on his way to and from, he spends a minute or two standing and watching from the hall just outside the space where I teach. Maybe it's me he finds different, but I rather suspect that that's how I looked when I was that age watching the bigger kids do what they do.
...
That's all I got for now.
Also, two good restaurants (mostly for pizza) that I've stumbled across in recent weeks (told you this entry was all over the place). Chez Xavier (in Cannes... more specifically, here) makes really good, reasonably priced wood-fire pizza in a charming setting that's secretly really close to everything. Second is Pizzeria Vesuvio, way over east in Menton (here) and thus close enough to Italy that any Italian dish you order will be good (same goes for the complimentary limoncello they served us after). Friendly service, too.
So, I put in to renew my contract for next year. Same region, unless they honor my request to transfer to Lyon (unlikely), but different town than Grasse, unless I don't have the final say in that matter (certain). I like being in France, working with the kids, having writing time (very productive, even if this blog doesn't show it), and riding out the storm of a tough job market back in the States. To my friends braving said hurricane, I wish you bon courage.
But I'm also doing it because I've learned a good deal of things, mostly from my students. Like this: next time you see lightning and hear rumbling afterward, don't be afraid, even if thunder usually scares you. Because, according to one of my kids, that's not a thunderstorm.
It's a flunderstorm.
-Andy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=edYHlnhxyOI
Now that your day has been brightened, hopefully you won't be as cross that I've got almost no governing principle behind this entry, other than a desperate desire to catch up with the present. Accept my apologies and (forthcoming) stories about adorable little French kids. Also, if you like, check out my updated photo album.
Since starting up again in January, I've introduced the weather as a unit of study. I had a lot of really good classes on it (although I'm getting the sense I need to either change my methods or move on to new material). I even dabbled in arts and crafts this time around, having them make more attractive versions of this thing:
Okay, so it's been riding around in my backpack a while.
But it's fun. They get to draw, they get to write the names of the weather, they have it as a study guide for the test I'll give in three weeks, and they get to turn it to whatever the weather is.
Speaking of weather... Beautiful for about 3 weeks. Then, today:
I had my first snow day in five years... which was fantastic. I want to take a minute to share my flatmate Erika's particularly French story about hers. She goes in, and half the teachers are on strike, half the students are missing because the buses are on strike, and then at 10:30 they close the school for a snow day even though there's no snow on the ground (yet).
French kids? French kids!
...
One day, one of the boys comes in with "an English song" on his flash drive that he wants to listen to it in class. "Oh, cool!" I think. Maybe this is like the kid in my oldest class who had lyrics and dance moves for 'Hello, Goodbye'. "This kid's really getting into English class, and maybe this is something I can use!" I take this kid's flash drive and look for the song. I find the song.
"Party Rock Anthem" by LMFAO.
...
Andy: "Today, it is chilly!"
Class: "Today, it is chully!"
Andy: "Chilly!"
Class: "Chully!"
...
Andy: "Hot and cold are opposites! Now, how is the weather today?"
Boy: "Today, it is opposite."
...
Andy (to one girl): "Chilly!"
Girl: "Chilly!"
Andy (to the girl): "What is your name?"
Girl: "Chilly! Uh, non..."
...
There's a little kid in the CP (ages 4-6) class who always goes to the bathroom around 9:55. I know because, on his way to and from, he spends a minute or two standing and watching from the hall just outside the space where I teach. Maybe it's me he finds different, but I rather suspect that that's how I looked when I was that age watching the bigger kids do what they do.
...
That's all I got for now.
Also, two good restaurants (mostly for pizza) that I've stumbled across in recent weeks (told you this entry was all over the place). Chez Xavier (in Cannes... more specifically, here) makes really good, reasonably priced wood-fire pizza in a charming setting that's secretly really close to everything. Second is Pizzeria Vesuvio, way over east in Menton (here) and thus close enough to Italy that any Italian dish you order will be good (same goes for the complimentary limoncello they served us after). Friendly service, too.
So, I put in to renew my contract for next year. Same region, unless they honor my request to transfer to Lyon (unlikely), but different town than Grasse, unless I don't have the final say in that matter (certain). I like being in France, working with the kids, having writing time (very productive, even if this blog doesn't show it), and riding out the storm of a tough job market back in the States. To my friends braving said hurricane, I wish you bon courage.
But I'm also doing it because I've learned a good deal of things, mostly from my students. Like this: next time you see lightning and hear rumbling afterward, don't be afraid, even if thunder usually scares you. Because, according to one of my kids, that's not a thunderstorm.
It's a flunderstorm.
-Andy
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
"Where You Going?" "Barcelona." "Oh."
Big points to anybody can spot the title without the use of the internet. Here are the photos for this entry. And, as usual, my recommendations are in bold, with a nearby link to the location on Google Maps.
So, another week, another French holiday - and by golly, I actually had somewhere to go this time. As sort of an early birthday present to myself, I made plans to see Barcelona and meet up with my friend Alanna, who's studying in Valencia this semester. I got in on Thursday, 10 November and left on Sunday, 13 November. Alanna and I had an incredible time, whose wonder is matched only by the awful pun at the end of this (very long) entry.
Thursday
After a delayed flight, I found the hostel... Garden House Barcelona. It's affordable, well-maintained, and secure, and the staff and people are friendly. It's way up in the northern (residential) part of the city, but at least it was on a great metro line. I was going to explore downtown a bit, but I got in around 9, I was exhausted, and they were making paella right there in the garden, so I bought some (and a glass of sangria) for dinner. I befriended two French university students on vacation, and made plans with them to tour the city the next day.
Friday
My new friends had spent Thursday seeing all the big attractions, which worked out really well. I was able to tour around with them and save the must-sees for when Alanna would be there all day Saturday.
We started with the Arc de Triomf (which is pretty much what it sounds like) and a cute little nearby park. These were right next to Barri Gotic, the 'medieval quarter' full of neat shops, pretty side streets, and two fairly impressive gothic cathedrals. Somewhere in here, we stumbled upon what must have been an architecture school, which had some very cool models of very cool buildings in its very museum-like lobby.
We also found the Cultural Museum (not fully sure... we only walked around a small, free part, but it was still neat). We then spotted and scoped out a nearby market with a very cool Gaudí-esque rooftop (photo in the album). We almost got lunch there, but I remembered a friend's recommendation that we eat at a different, bigger market that wasn't too far away. So, we walked over there.
Ever make a suggestion and regret it later?
I don't mean that I regret visiting the Mercat de la Boqueria (located here). On the contrary: don't miss it. It's a huge fresh vegetable/fruit/fish/meat/candy/wine/cheese/everything market: more like a bazaar, really. I mean I regretted spending too long tracking down a friend's recommendation for lunch (a sit-down counter, I realized) when we were more in the mood to picnic. Although I did succeed in finding - of all things - a crepe stand. It's run by this very friendly guy who made very stylish crepes with Spanish ham, mushrooms, sautéed onions, and all that sort of good stuff. Not exactly a traditional Spanish dish, but definitely the best crepe I've had in Europe this time around (possibly in life as well). After lunch, the three of us found our way to the harbor.
Now's a good opportunity to mention that Barcelona is in its own unique time zone: the future. Every time some movie takes place in a futuristic utopia where sleek, classy architecture runs free with sculpture (its true love), remember that you could be in that city tomorrow if you booked a plane ticket. The harbor has all sorts of cool sculptural flair, lots of pretty sailboats, and a big building that - although a shopping mall complete with Starbucks - looks very cool. If Sony has any taste, the PlayStation 4 will look quite a bit like it.
Next set of stops involved a giant park area set into a small mountain on the south end of town. Lots of pretty trails and gardens leading up to panoramic views of the city and sea from an old fortress. We timed it perfectly: sunset. Several photos later, we meandered back down to the city itself, where I parted ways with my French pals to meet Alanna at the train station. After finding our way back to the hostel and settling in, Alanna and I tried our hand at looking in the hostel area for food. It was too suburban. Downtown we go!
...And we get lost...
But we found a Gaudí building, and eventually picked a tapas place on La Rambla, the main drag. Despite my efforts to order exotic, I wound up with basically a plate of chicken fingers in mayo sauce (although they were crispy and delicious). I also got a tapa that was crab meat wrapped in smoked salmon that was also tasty and a bit more... grown-up-y? Second round was an effort to order more chicken fingers, as well as a ham and cheese something... the word "bikini" was involved.
Because I pointed to the wrong thing, the chicken came out as a potato salad minus the potatoes, plus mushrooms, pineapple, and chicken. I... I just didn't know what to do.
And apparently "bikini" is Spanish for "grilled ham and cheese sandwich."
And Alanna convinced the come-to-your-table rose vendors that I'm allergic to roses.
Saturday
Parc Güell was on more of an incline than we realized, but that's a small price to pay for all the super-cool-super-crazy Gaudí work. Quick summary: he's a famous abstract (I say surrealist, but what do I know) architect born and raised in Barcelona. His architecture is a big draw that adds a lot of flavor to the city. You'll just have to look at the pictures. You have to visit this park: architecture, walks, and a lovely panoramic view. If you're on the clock, pick this over the fortress.
The reason you should try to spend 3-4 days in Barcelona is this: it takes a few screw-ups getting to know the place before you start getting things right. The upside is that, since I'd fumbled around the Boqueria marketplace once already (and, once again, located here), Alanna and I easily found my other friend's fabulous recommendation from the day before. El Quim de la Bouqeria is a lunch counter the size of any of any other market stand, but make no mistake: it's a fully functioning restaurant. And oh, how beautifully it doth function...
If you don't care so much about the food talk, skip to the second paragraph after the photo. But for those of you who have been awaiting detailed reports, today is your day.
Appetizers: Alanna stuck to tapas. To start, an omelette/tortilla/awesomeness, baked bean croquettes (croquettes are basically chicken nuggets, but not necessarily with the "chicken" part... evidently), and olives in a sauce (I don't recall what). All very good. Around the same time, I ordered mussels. I expected just a few (tapas style), but I got an appetizer portion of the little guys in a vegetable-rich tomato broth. I don't normally like tomato things that much, but this was so sweet and so rich in flavor that I was completely happy with it.
They gave us some bread, but to make absolutely sure I didn't waste the sauce, I put all the mussels in before eating any, put the shells on the side, and took a spoon to the whole thing: like a soup. Great decision... just like my decision to order a San Miguel beer on tap. I don't normally drink beer, but I had watched other diners enjoying tall, attractive, golden glasses of the stuff, and I said "Sure, why not?" It was cold, crisp, tasty, and not too bitter: perfect.
Main course: Alanna was waiting for her last tapas to show up: lightly fried potato wedges in a mayonnaise-based sauce. In the meantime, I was presented with this:
A leg of lamb, incredibly tender, and those potato wedges... Spain understands how to fry things. Not excessively, like you often find in the U.S. (deep-fried Oreo, anyone?), but enough to give you a crispy, crunchy outside yet still maintain a tender, potatoey inside. And that sauce you see? I could see all the little spices, it was light and nimble on the taste buds, and yet it is beyond my understanding. It was simply magic. Alanna's order of potato wedges (she made me help her with half) was pretty magical, too.
I should also point out that, because of the French holiday, there were a bunch of French tourists in Barcelona. I chatted with a few as Alanna and I waited for seats to clear out at lunch. It paid off, since the pair who was sitting and needed my help with the menu gave us their seats when they were done. I think I spoke more French with French people in Barcelona than I've spoken with French people in France in the last month combined.
After lunch, Alanna and I strolled La Rambla a bit and tried to find a free walking tour of Gaudí buildings. We didn't find the meeting place in time, but decided to focus on some souvenir shopping and then just headed straight for Sagrada Família.
I have traveled a good amount. In my travels, I have often looked for buildings of particular interest, or enjoyed and photographed the ones I found by accident. I don't know a huge amount about architecture, but I appreciate it very much in many forms and locations. It is the reason I visit cathedrals and basilicas, and why I enjoy doing so.
So, when I say that the Basilica Sagrada Família is perhaps the single most impressive building I have ever seen, I want you to understand my full meaning.
Brief history of the place: started at the end of the 19th century, the exterior of the basilica is still under construction (expected completion date is sometime in the middle of this century). The interior was only finished in 2010, and they still haven't installed all of the stained glass windows. As if this wasn't already enough fun and challenge, Gaudí died in a tram accident in 1926, before the plans were finished. So for generations now, the big architects on this job have two jobs (instead of just one) that constitute a Big Deal. One is building a basilica in a major European city. The other is doing so by interpreting sparse materials in order to be faithful to the largely unknown vision of a brilliant and thoroughly weird artist who left no conclusive instructions.
And I actually like that the construction is going to take until at least the 2050s-- after all, Notre Dame took about 200 years to build. If you're building something this big and in any kind of Gothic style, you need the appropriate level of detail and painstaking engineering. In short, buildings on this scale are supposed to take this long.
Antoni Gaudí: brilliant surrealist architect, bouncer.
So, we made it away from crazy basilica land and found ourselves at the Magic Fountain. No, seriously-- that's actually what it's called. It's a big fountain near the park with the fortress where they do a big, flashy, colorful light show a few times every evening, first show at 7. It was cool, I guess... Alanna and I only watched for fifteen minutes because you kind of get the idea by that point. Basically, imagine if Disney directed the fountain scene at the end of Ocean's 11.
More food talk coming up, so feel free to skip ahead a bit. We got dinner at La Pepita, a little bistro just off the roundabout at Diagonal metro (or, more specifically, here). The metro is called that because the streets are a grid around there and the big avenue cutting through - Diagonal - goes on a diagonal to the grid. Personally, I find simplicity and brilliance often go hand-in-hand for things like this.
The restaurant is essentially everything I love about New York (except theater). That doesn't leave much, but what it does leave amounts to a particular experience I particularly love. La Pepita is a bistro sixteen feet wide and very long: cozy, classy, and smartly minimalist in a way that is chic, but not obnoxious. Its one flourish (apart from the food) is the panoramic mirror behind the bar with the daily menu and drink specials written all across it in pretty Spanish cursive in off-white paint. You can walk in with a friend and without a reservation, sit by a window to watch passersby, and eat a stylishly prepared meal -- all at 11:30 PM, and all just off the beaten path of a gloriously cosmopolitan city.
I ordered the appetizer for us to share: Grilled Cazon (it's fish) roquettes with lime mayonnaise sauce on fresh lettuce. Quite good. Main course was better. The "pepita," best I can tell, is basically an open-faced grilled flatbread sandwich with any possible combination of ingredients. Alanna's was a grilled salmon salad with some heart-breaking-ly good salmon. Mine was a heart-attacking-ly good combination of a fried egg, tender grilled beef, potato wedges, and a slice of foie gras. It is everything my own touted "Breakfast of Champions" has ever wanted to be. So, despite my delicious glass of Spanish red wine (Ceres Ribera del Duero 2009), I likely have a coronary on the way. But at least then I can say I literally gave my heart to Barcelona.
Also, it was called "The Golden Pepita." How could you possibly not order something called "The Golden Pepita"?
We then met up with Alanna's college pal studying in Barcelona, code name: "Cousin"... it's a rugby thing... While trying to find her, Alanna and I actually walked through Barcelona's 'Occupy Wall Street' franchise. I thought that was cool; not only is it history and all that, but as an American in Europe, it's generally much more difficult for me to get my 99% on.
Speaking of the economy - and I can't believe that this is a coherent transition - Cousin took us to a really cool bar for relaxed drinks. My final recommendation this entry is Dow Jones, located near La Pepita. This is a laid-back expat bar with a premise that is both ingenious and brilliantly executed. Instead of a drinks menu above the bar, there's a big Wall Street-style stock ticker in the back of the room with drink names and prices: "San Miguel, 3E20 (+2,47%)"... "Mojito, 6E40 (+16,4%)"... etc., and when the cycle finishes, all the prices go up or down in response to what people are ordering. And every once in a while, flashing alarm lights will go off when the market 'crashes' and all the prices briefly drop 20%. It was just the right amount of crowded to feel happening and not overwhelming, and a three-person table was magically open as soon as we walked in.
It was pricey, but I was in Spain, so I ordered a mojito. It was delicious.
Sunday
It's quickly becoming a tradition that I get churros early on my last morning of a trip to Spain. No real point in recommending the place, seeing as how churros are churros are awesome are churros.
After snacking on those, Alanna and I found a cafe where we could sit on La Rambla and enjoy having the city to ourselves in the early morning for an hour or so. We said goodbye on the metro.
After accidentally getting on the wrong commuter train, I made it to the airport (which, by the way, is pristine and beautiful). There had been a 30% chance of rain on Saturday, but drops didn't fall until I was seated on my flight back to Nice. I was sad that I had to leave.
I was glad, however, that the rain in Spain fell mainly when I was on the plane.
-Andy
So, another week, another French holiday - and by golly, I actually had somewhere to go this time. As sort of an early birthday present to myself, I made plans to see Barcelona and meet up with my friend Alanna, who's studying in Valencia this semester. I got in on Thursday, 10 November and left on Sunday, 13 November. Alanna and I had an incredible time, whose wonder is matched only by the awful pun at the end of this (very long) entry.
Thursday
After a delayed flight, I found the hostel... Garden House Barcelona. It's affordable, well-maintained, and secure, and the staff and people are friendly. It's way up in the northern (residential) part of the city, but at least it was on a great metro line. I was going to explore downtown a bit, but I got in around 9, I was exhausted, and they were making paella right there in the garden, so I bought some (and a glass of sangria) for dinner. I befriended two French university students on vacation, and made plans with them to tour the city the next day.
Friday
My new friends had spent Thursday seeing all the big attractions, which worked out really well. I was able to tour around with them and save the must-sees for when Alanna would be there all day Saturday.
We started with the Arc de Triomf (which is pretty much what it sounds like) and a cute little nearby park. These were right next to Barri Gotic, the 'medieval quarter' full of neat shops, pretty side streets, and two fairly impressive gothic cathedrals. Somewhere in here, we stumbled upon what must have been an architecture school, which had some very cool models of very cool buildings in its very museum-like lobby.
We also found the Cultural Museum (not fully sure... we only walked around a small, free part, but it was still neat). We then spotted and scoped out a nearby market with a very cool Gaudí-esque rooftop (photo in the album). We almost got lunch there, but I remembered a friend's recommendation that we eat at a different, bigger market that wasn't too far away. So, we walked over there.
Ever make a suggestion and regret it later?
I don't mean that I regret visiting the Mercat de la Boqueria (located here). On the contrary: don't miss it. It's a huge fresh vegetable/fruit/fish/meat/candy/wine/cheese/everything market: more like a bazaar, really. I mean I regretted spending too long tracking down a friend's recommendation for lunch (a sit-down counter, I realized) when we were more in the mood to picnic. Although I did succeed in finding - of all things - a crepe stand. It's run by this very friendly guy who made very stylish crepes with Spanish ham, mushrooms, sautéed onions, and all that sort of good stuff. Not exactly a traditional Spanish dish, but definitely the best crepe I've had in Europe this time around (possibly in life as well). After lunch, the three of us found our way to the harbor.
Now's a good opportunity to mention that Barcelona is in its own unique time zone: the future. Every time some movie takes place in a futuristic utopia where sleek, classy architecture runs free with sculpture (its true love), remember that you could be in that city tomorrow if you booked a plane ticket. The harbor has all sorts of cool sculptural flair, lots of pretty sailboats, and a big building that - although a shopping mall complete with Starbucks - looks very cool. If Sony has any taste, the PlayStation 4 will look quite a bit like it.
Next set of stops involved a giant park area set into a small mountain on the south end of town. Lots of pretty trails and gardens leading up to panoramic views of the city and sea from an old fortress. We timed it perfectly: sunset. Several photos later, we meandered back down to the city itself, where I parted ways with my French pals to meet Alanna at the train station. After finding our way back to the hostel and settling in, Alanna and I tried our hand at looking in the hostel area for food. It was too suburban. Downtown we go!
...And we get lost...
But we found a Gaudí building, and eventually picked a tapas place on La Rambla, the main drag. Despite my efforts to order exotic, I wound up with basically a plate of chicken fingers in mayo sauce (although they were crispy and delicious). I also got a tapa that was crab meat wrapped in smoked salmon that was also tasty and a bit more... grown-up-y? Second round was an effort to order more chicken fingers, as well as a ham and cheese something... the word "bikini" was involved.
Because I pointed to the wrong thing, the chicken came out as a potato salad minus the potatoes, plus mushrooms, pineapple, and chicken. I... I just didn't know what to do.
And apparently "bikini" is Spanish for "grilled ham and cheese sandwich."
And Alanna convinced the come-to-your-table rose vendors that I'm allergic to roses.
Saturday
Parc Güell was on more of an incline than we realized, but that's a small price to pay for all the super-cool-super-crazy Gaudí work. Quick summary: he's a famous abstract (I say surrealist, but what do I know) architect born and raised in Barcelona. His architecture is a big draw that adds a lot of flavor to the city. You'll just have to look at the pictures. You have to visit this park: architecture, walks, and a lovely panoramic view. If you're on the clock, pick this over the fortress.
The reason you should try to spend 3-4 days in Barcelona is this: it takes a few screw-ups getting to know the place before you start getting things right. The upside is that, since I'd fumbled around the Boqueria marketplace once already (and, once again, located here), Alanna and I easily found my other friend's fabulous recommendation from the day before. El Quim de la Bouqeria is a lunch counter the size of any of any other market stand, but make no mistake: it's a fully functioning restaurant. And oh, how beautifully it doth function...
If you don't care so much about the food talk, skip to the second paragraph after the photo. But for those of you who have been awaiting detailed reports, today is your day.
Appetizers: Alanna stuck to tapas. To start, an omelette/tortilla/awesomeness, baked bean croquettes (croquettes are basically chicken nuggets, but not necessarily with the "chicken" part... evidently), and olives in a sauce (I don't recall what). All very good. Around the same time, I ordered mussels. I expected just a few (tapas style), but I got an appetizer portion of the little guys in a vegetable-rich tomato broth. I don't normally like tomato things that much, but this was so sweet and so rich in flavor that I was completely happy with it.
They gave us some bread, but to make absolutely sure I didn't waste the sauce, I put all the mussels in before eating any, put the shells on the side, and took a spoon to the whole thing: like a soup. Great decision... just like my decision to order a San Miguel beer on tap. I don't normally drink beer, but I had watched other diners enjoying tall, attractive, golden glasses of the stuff, and I said "Sure, why not?" It was cold, crisp, tasty, and not too bitter: perfect.
Main course: Alanna was waiting for her last tapas to show up: lightly fried potato wedges in a mayonnaise-based sauce. In the meantime, I was presented with this:
A leg of lamb, incredibly tender, and those potato wedges... Spain understands how to fry things. Not excessively, like you often find in the U.S. (deep-fried Oreo, anyone?), but enough to give you a crispy, crunchy outside yet still maintain a tender, potatoey inside. And that sauce you see? I could see all the little spices, it was light and nimble on the taste buds, and yet it is beyond my understanding. It was simply magic. Alanna's order of potato wedges (she made me help her with half) was pretty magical, too.
I should also point out that, because of the French holiday, there were a bunch of French tourists in Barcelona. I chatted with a few as Alanna and I waited for seats to clear out at lunch. It paid off, since the pair who was sitting and needed my help with the menu gave us their seats when they were done. I think I spoke more French with French people in Barcelona than I've spoken with French people in France in the last month combined.
After lunch, Alanna and I strolled La Rambla a bit and tried to find a free walking tour of Gaudí buildings. We didn't find the meeting place in time, but decided to focus on some souvenir shopping and then just headed straight for Sagrada Família.
I have traveled a good amount. In my travels, I have often looked for buildings of particular interest, or enjoyed and photographed the ones I found by accident. I don't know a huge amount about architecture, but I appreciate it very much in many forms and locations. It is the reason I visit cathedrals and basilicas, and why I enjoy doing so.
So, when I say that the Basilica Sagrada Família is perhaps the single most impressive building I have ever seen, I want you to understand my full meaning.
Brief history of the place: started at the end of the 19th century, the exterior of the basilica is still under construction (expected completion date is sometime in the middle of this century). The interior was only finished in 2010, and they still haven't installed all of the stained glass windows. As if this wasn't already enough fun and challenge, Gaudí died in a tram accident in 1926, before the plans were finished. So for generations now, the big architects on this job have two jobs (instead of just one) that constitute a Big Deal. One is building a basilica in a major European city. The other is doing so by interpreting sparse materials in order to be faithful to the largely unknown vision of a brilliant and thoroughly weird artist who left no conclusive instructions.
And I actually like that the construction is going to take until at least the 2050s-- after all, Notre Dame took about 200 years to build. If you're building something this big and in any kind of Gothic style, you need the appropriate level of detail and painstaking engineering. In short, buildings on this scale are supposed to take this long.
So, we made it away from crazy basilica land and found ourselves at the Magic Fountain. No, seriously-- that's actually what it's called. It's a big fountain near the park with the fortress where they do a big, flashy, colorful light show a few times every evening, first show at 7. It was cool, I guess... Alanna and I only watched for fifteen minutes because you kind of get the idea by that point. Basically, imagine if Disney directed the fountain scene at the end of Ocean's 11.
More food talk coming up, so feel free to skip ahead a bit. We got dinner at La Pepita, a little bistro just off the roundabout at Diagonal metro (or, more specifically, here). The metro is called that because the streets are a grid around there and the big avenue cutting through - Diagonal - goes on a diagonal to the grid. Personally, I find simplicity and brilliance often go hand-in-hand for things like this.
The restaurant is essentially everything I love about New York (except theater). That doesn't leave much, but what it does leave amounts to a particular experience I particularly love. La Pepita is a bistro sixteen feet wide and very long: cozy, classy, and smartly minimalist in a way that is chic, but not obnoxious. Its one flourish (apart from the food) is the panoramic mirror behind the bar with the daily menu and drink specials written all across it in pretty Spanish cursive in off-white paint. You can walk in with a friend and without a reservation, sit by a window to watch passersby, and eat a stylishly prepared meal -- all at 11:30 PM, and all just off the beaten path of a gloriously cosmopolitan city.
I ordered the appetizer for us to share: Grilled Cazon (it's fish) roquettes with lime mayonnaise sauce on fresh lettuce. Quite good. Main course was better. The "pepita," best I can tell, is basically an open-faced grilled flatbread sandwich with any possible combination of ingredients. Alanna's was a grilled salmon salad with some heart-breaking-ly good salmon. Mine was a heart-attacking-ly good combination of a fried egg, tender grilled beef, potato wedges, and a slice of foie gras. It is everything my own touted "Breakfast of Champions" has ever wanted to be. So, despite my delicious glass of Spanish red wine (Ceres Ribera del Duero 2009), I likely have a coronary on the way. But at least then I can say I literally gave my heart to Barcelona.
Also, it was called "The Golden Pepita." How could you possibly not order something called "The Golden Pepita"?
We then met up with Alanna's college pal studying in Barcelona, code name: "Cousin"... it's a rugby thing... While trying to find her, Alanna and I actually walked through Barcelona's 'Occupy Wall Street' franchise. I thought that was cool; not only is it history and all that, but as an American in Europe, it's generally much more difficult for me to get my 99% on.
Speaking of the economy - and I can't believe that this is a coherent transition - Cousin took us to a really cool bar for relaxed drinks. My final recommendation this entry is Dow Jones, located near La Pepita. This is a laid-back expat bar with a premise that is both ingenious and brilliantly executed. Instead of a drinks menu above the bar, there's a big Wall Street-style stock ticker in the back of the room with drink names and prices: "San Miguel, 3E20 (+2,47%)"... "Mojito, 6E40 (+16,4%)"... etc., and when the cycle finishes, all the prices go up or down in response to what people are ordering. And every once in a while, flashing alarm lights will go off when the market 'crashes' and all the prices briefly drop 20%. It was just the right amount of crowded to feel happening and not overwhelming, and a three-person table was magically open as soon as we walked in.
It was pricey, but I was in Spain, so I ordered a mojito. It was delicious.
Sunday
It's quickly becoming a tradition that I get churros early on my last morning of a trip to Spain. No real point in recommending the place, seeing as how churros are churros are awesome are churros.
After snacking on those, Alanna and I found a cafe where we could sit on La Rambla and enjoy having the city to ourselves in the early morning for an hour or so. We said goodbye on the metro.
After accidentally getting on the wrong commuter train, I made it to the airport (which, by the way, is pristine and beautiful). There had been a 30% chance of rain on Saturday, but drops didn't fall until I was seated on my flight back to Nice. I was sad that I had to leave.
I was glad, however, that the rain in Spain fell mainly when I was on the plane.
-Andy
Monday, October 10, 2011
Day One
Okay, this is it - this is the day I actually write about the teaching I came to this country to do. I have to say that, as the person living it, I found today surprisingly uneventful (not that that stopped me from writing a bloody novel). Of course, considering the alternative, perhaps that's a good thing. Since I cover fairly basic stuff ("What is your name?", "Where are you from?", etc.), most of my commentary will be fairly general, and possibly a bit dry for it. If you find it that way, I do apologize.
In a bizarre miracle, I made it to school on time. I woke up at 6, which is altogether too early for France. I got ready, left a note for Martina and Erika wishing them good luck on our first day teaching, and walked to the boulangerie (bakery) to grab a croissant and pain au chocolat for breakfast. 1 euro 55 cents. First victory of the day. I made it to the bus station by 7:10 to catch my 7:30 bus.
So, now that I've truly earned the title of "my father's son," what do I do for 20 minutes?
Oh. That works.
This bus... full of surprises: 20 minutes late, broke down halfway to St-Vallier, and then - for no good reason - unexpectedly dropped me right in front of the school (instead of a sizable walk away) 5 minutes early. Also, sorry to keep pickin' on my father, but I've found the last untapped way to make him hate his commute more, which is by comparing it to mine:
So, for fear that I actually get to the point and talk about working with little French kids, I'm going to take a paragraph or three to explain how a French elementary school is set up. My students run the gamut from 6 to 11 years old (but damned if I'll be teaching them the word "gamut"). They're divided roughly as follows:
CE1: 6-8 years old
CE2: 8-9
CM1: 9-10
CM2: 10-11
Whereas grades in the U.S. are dictated mostly by age, these divisions are a bit more sensitive to skill level. Naturally, they're not going to put a 7-year-old in CM2, even if he is bloody brilliant, but you can think of these levels as school grades with a dash of meritocracy à la those reading groups you had in third grade.
Also, despite my title of "assistant," I run the show. Resources and staff are supposedly tighter in elementary schools than other levels... I can't vouch for other towns in the region, but it's definitely true up in Grasse and St-Vallier de Thiey. I was alone in the classroom for one or two of my groups today. The homeroom teachers split their classes, gave me half for my 45-minute class, and worked with the other half on something else in the meantime (which is actually how we did it in my elementary school). But I also worked with a few entire classes, meaning the teachers were in the classroom to help. In these cases, they did some crowd control and/or used their English to help me demonstrate question-and-answer routines.
"Which question and answer routines?" I hear you ask. Well, not really, because this is a one-sided conversation typed on the internet, but indulge my unwieldy attempt at a transition.
First up today: about 16 CE2 kids (8-9 years old) a bit on the talkative side. I opened with a very simple song whose title is "Hello, my friends, hello." It's an apt title for this song, because those are the only words in it. But it's a song, it's easy to pick up, and it's in English, so the kids loved it. The rest of the lesson was - and they're all going to be this way - pretty straightforward: I taught them to ask and answer two questions: "What is your name?" and "Where are you from?".
I stuck to oral activities: having them repeat the words after me and building up to the full expression, then me asking them their name, then them asking me my name, then them asking a partner, and finally a unified chain where one says "My name is Jean-Claude" and asks somebody else in the room "What is your name?" Then they answer and ask somebody else until we make it most (or all) of the way around. Same with "Where are you from?" During orientation, they discouraged us from doing too much written work, especially not with the younger ones, and I felt most confident relying on myself as an activity for the first day, rather than printing out tons of color-in worksheets (but those will have their day...s).
For sake of simplicity, I planned to teach pretty much the same thing to all five of my classes today. Of course, my second class (CM1, 9-10 years old) was a bit more advanced and required some improvisation. So, I did, taking the opportunity to explore what they knew and what they didn't. CM1 had the same drill, but when they mastered "What is your name?" and "Where are you from?" fairly quickly, I decided to move on to something a little more subtle.
Big difference between English and French: gendered nouns. In French, the "chair" you're sitting in is female. A "name" is male. Fellow English-speakers, I have to say, I don't think you're missing much. But the point is, French students using possessive pronouns ("his", "her", "its") are used to choosing "son" or "sa" based on the gender of the thing possessed, rather than its possessor. So, can I get a whole lesson - and ten minutes of review tomorrow - out of "What is his name" and "What is her name"?
You better believe it. And you better believe the kids did a rockin' awesome job with it.
After those back-to-back classes, it's now 10:00 AM, and I have a half-hour break. I chat with my very nice colleagues, get a request to tutor that I'll likely take, arrange a carpool, and explain for the fifth or sixth time in the last week that, thank you very much, but I don't drink coffee.
10:30 - time for CM2.
These kids blew me away. They knew "What is your name?" and everything in a 10-kilometer radius. I exhausted "do you prefer _____ or _____?", "What is your favorite color?", colors, "Where are you from," and "How old are you?" This was mostly me reviewing and getting a sense of what they've covered. If I had these kids stand in front of the class and do a fairly complicated introduction dialogue tomorrow morning, I have little dobut they'd all do fine. The best part was that they were still into it and understood basically all of my directions, which means I've got license to do something more complicated and fun with them tomorrow. I had dispensed with "Hello, my friends, hello" because I thought it would be too simple for them and that they might be too cool for singing, but a girl came up to me at the end and asked if we would sing a song tomorrow.
And then it hit me. Ladies and gentlemen, The Fabulous Beatles.
I had visited the school briefly last Tuesday as part of orientation week, and I had arranged to get school lunches for the duration of my contract. For a euro fifty, I got couscous with vegetables, tender turkey cutlets in good sauce, delicious oranges, and bread with brie. Victory count: 6.
That was all at Collet de Gasq, an intimate school whose building I rather like, architecturally speaking. My schedule was a bit tight today, so I didn't have time to get pictures. Those will come soon. (I'm also nearly ready to launch my photo album.) I walked over to Emile Felix for a CE1 class (the littlest ones in my domain), which was the bare basics of "What is your name?" Same drill as earlier, but these kids were so small and had glasses almost as big as their heads and they freaking loved it. It was adorable.
Also, I'm taking wifi off the street and one of the kids I taught today just walked by and said "bonjour". Umpteenth victory of the day.
Last class of the day was another CM1 (9-10)... this one was a little dicey, but mostly went well. "What's your name?" and "Where are you from?", pretty basic. The kids were slightly talkative, and though the teacher was there and helped quiet them down a bit, it didn't always help. I did score a few laughs by demonstrating a question/answer with the head from their model skeleton, Pascal.
One day, when these kids have grown up a bit, one of them is gonna' watch Hamlet, and during the Yorick scene, stand up and shout "That's my English teacher!"
That's pretty much it... Oh, parting thought: I'm in a pretty sweet position, teaching-wise, because I have two things going for me: I smile, and I'm American. Apparently, in the mind of the average French child, this is enough to make just about anything I do interesting. And if my lesson's kinda' lame? It doesn't matter to them, 'cause I'm interesting, and I don't sweat it because my speaking English to them is the most important part, anyway.
I'm fairly sure almost all of these kids learned today's material last year. But they're kids - they forget it from year to year. Which is fine, really - my French is good, and I may have started in kindergarten, but I didn't actually learn any of it until 7th grade. What's really key to teaching youngsters a foreign language - and what I can actually do - is presenting them with a native speaker's accent at a young age and (hopefully) making the language classes enough fun that they'll actually want to keep learning it in the coming years.
Of course, it's also a lot about making sure they want to keep learning it in the coming days. And an enthusiastic chorus of "Goodbye!" when I pass them on my way out the school's gate is victory enough for day one.
-Andy
-------------------------------
The link in the first paragraph is a clip from a classic French film, 'Zero de Conduite', which means "Zero for Conduct" (as in an elementary/middle school grade). We watched it in New Wave Cinema a few years back. I still have no idea why.
In a bizarre miracle, I made it to school on time. I woke up at 6, which is altogether too early for France. I got ready, left a note for Martina and Erika wishing them good luck on our first day teaching, and walked to the boulangerie (bakery) to grab a croissant and pain au chocolat for breakfast. 1 euro 55 cents. First victory of the day. I made it to the bus station by 7:10 to catch my 7:30 bus.
So, now that I've truly earned the title of "my father's son," what do I do for 20 minutes?
Oh. That works.
This bus... full of surprises: 20 minutes late, broke down halfway to St-Vallier, and then - for no good reason - unexpectedly dropped me right in front of the school (instead of a sizable walk away) 5 minutes early. Also, sorry to keep pickin' on my father, but I've found the last untapped way to make him hate his commute more, which is by comparing it to mine:
So, for fear that I actually get to the point and talk about working with little French kids, I'm going to take a paragraph or three to explain how a French elementary school is set up. My students run the gamut from 6 to 11 years old (but damned if I'll be teaching them the word "gamut"). They're divided roughly as follows:
CE1: 6-8 years old
CE2: 8-9
CM1: 9-10
CM2: 10-11
Whereas grades in the U.S. are dictated mostly by age, these divisions are a bit more sensitive to skill level. Naturally, they're not going to put a 7-year-old in CM2, even if he is bloody brilliant, but you can think of these levels as school grades with a dash of meritocracy à la those reading groups you had in third grade.
Also, despite my title of "assistant," I run the show. Resources and staff are supposedly tighter in elementary schools than other levels... I can't vouch for other towns in the region, but it's definitely true up in Grasse and St-Vallier de Thiey. I was alone in the classroom for one or two of my groups today. The homeroom teachers split their classes, gave me half for my 45-minute class, and worked with the other half on something else in the meantime (which is actually how we did it in my elementary school). But I also worked with a few entire classes, meaning the teachers were in the classroom to help. In these cases, they did some crowd control and/or used their English to help me demonstrate question-and-answer routines.
"Which question and answer routines?" I hear you ask. Well, not really, because this is a one-sided conversation typed on the internet, but indulge my unwieldy attempt at a transition.
First up today: about 16 CE2 kids (8-9 years old) a bit on the talkative side. I opened with a very simple song whose title is "Hello, my friends, hello." It's an apt title for this song, because those are the only words in it. But it's a song, it's easy to pick up, and it's in English, so the kids loved it. The rest of the lesson was - and they're all going to be this way - pretty straightforward: I taught them to ask and answer two questions: "What is your name?" and "Where are you from?".
I stuck to oral activities: having them repeat the words after me and building up to the full expression, then me asking them their name, then them asking me my name, then them asking a partner, and finally a unified chain where one says "My name is Jean-Claude" and asks somebody else in the room "What is your name?" Then they answer and ask somebody else until we make it most (or all) of the way around. Same with "Where are you from?" During orientation, they discouraged us from doing too much written work, especially not with the younger ones, and I felt most confident relying on myself as an activity for the first day, rather than printing out tons of color-in worksheets (but those will have their day...s).
For sake of simplicity, I planned to teach pretty much the same thing to all five of my classes today. Of course, my second class (CM1, 9-10 years old) was a bit more advanced and required some improvisation. So, I did, taking the opportunity to explore what they knew and what they didn't. CM1 had the same drill, but when they mastered "What is your name?" and "Where are you from?" fairly quickly, I decided to move on to something a little more subtle.
Big difference between English and French: gendered nouns. In French, the "chair" you're sitting in is female. A "name" is male. Fellow English-speakers, I have to say, I don't think you're missing much. But the point is, French students using possessive pronouns ("his", "her", "its") are used to choosing "son" or "sa" based on the gender of the thing possessed, rather than its possessor. So, can I get a whole lesson - and ten minutes of review tomorrow - out of "What is his name" and "What is her name"?
You better believe it. And you better believe the kids did a rockin' awesome job with it.
After those back-to-back classes, it's now 10:00 AM, and I have a half-hour break. I chat with my very nice colleagues, get a request to tutor that I'll likely take, arrange a carpool, and explain for the fifth or sixth time in the last week that, thank you very much, but I don't drink coffee.
10:30 - time for CM2.
These kids blew me away. They knew "What is your name?" and everything in a 10-kilometer radius. I exhausted "do you prefer _____ or _____?", "What is your favorite color?", colors, "Where are you from," and "How old are you?" This was mostly me reviewing and getting a sense of what they've covered. If I had these kids stand in front of the class and do a fairly complicated introduction dialogue tomorrow morning, I have little dobut they'd all do fine. The best part was that they were still into it and understood basically all of my directions, which means I've got license to do something more complicated and fun with them tomorrow. I had dispensed with "Hello, my friends, hello" because I thought it would be too simple for them and that they might be too cool for singing, but a girl came up to me at the end and asked if we would sing a song tomorrow.
And then it hit me. Ladies and gentlemen, The Fabulous Beatles.
I had visited the school briefly last Tuesday as part of orientation week, and I had arranged to get school lunches for the duration of my contract. For a euro fifty, I got couscous with vegetables, tender turkey cutlets in good sauce, delicious oranges, and bread with brie. Victory count: 6.
That was all at Collet de Gasq, an intimate school whose building I rather like, architecturally speaking. My schedule was a bit tight today, so I didn't have time to get pictures. Those will come soon. (I'm also nearly ready to launch my photo album.) I walked over to Emile Felix for a CE1 class (the littlest ones in my domain), which was the bare basics of "What is your name?" Same drill as earlier, but these kids were so small and had glasses almost as big as their heads and they freaking loved it. It was adorable.
Also, I'm taking wifi off the street and one of the kids I taught today just walked by and said "bonjour". Umpteenth victory of the day.
Last class of the day was another CM1 (9-10)... this one was a little dicey, but mostly went well. "What's your name?" and "Where are you from?", pretty basic. The kids were slightly talkative, and though the teacher was there and helped quiet them down a bit, it didn't always help. I did score a few laughs by demonstrating a question/answer with the head from their model skeleton, Pascal.
One day, when these kids have grown up a bit, one of them is gonna' watch Hamlet, and during the Yorick scene, stand up and shout "That's my English teacher!"
That's pretty much it... Oh, parting thought: I'm in a pretty sweet position, teaching-wise, because I have two things going for me: I smile, and I'm American. Apparently, in the mind of the average French child, this is enough to make just about anything I do interesting. And if my lesson's kinda' lame? It doesn't matter to them, 'cause I'm interesting, and I don't sweat it because my speaking English to them is the most important part, anyway.
I'm fairly sure almost all of these kids learned today's material last year. But they're kids - they forget it from year to year. Which is fine, really - my French is good, and I may have started in kindergarten, but I didn't actually learn any of it until 7th grade. What's really key to teaching youngsters a foreign language - and what I can actually do - is presenting them with a native speaker's accent at a young age and (hopefully) making the language classes enough fun that they'll actually want to keep learning it in the coming years.
Of course, it's also a lot about making sure they want to keep learning it in the coming days. And an enthusiastic chorus of "Goodbye!" when I pass them on my way out the school's gate is victory enough for day one.
-Andy
-------------------------------
The link in the first paragraph is a clip from a classic French film, 'Zero de Conduite', which means "Zero for Conduct" (as in an elementary/middle school grade). We watched it in New Wave Cinema a few years back. I still have no idea why.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)