Cannes: Day One

I kinda' like this 'day after' format... My schedule, it seems, would strongly agree.

Let's talk about the badges you need for this festival. Badges, I'm told, make a world of difference between getting into the big screenings and not. Apparently, even if you're tenacious enough, creative enough, or just plain attractive enough to panhandle for tickets to the big screenings inside the Palais des Festivals, without some kind of badge you're dead in the water. The badges are all reserved for professionals - movie producers, distributors, agents, actors, technicians, directors, reporters, etc. (Notice, by the way, the proportion in that list to business-y jobs to "creative" jobs.) Badges are given only to those who have a bona fide professional justification to - as one of my least favorite teachers used to say - "run with the big dogs."

I have no such credentials. As of now, I'm just a guy with a few screenplays, fewer contacts, and not much direct experience with this business. I explain all of this to you so that, when I proclaim that I still got a badge (thanks to a local film society), you understand just how freaking long it's going to take me to count all my lucky stars.

Fortunately, that serves a writing purpose beyond telling you something you already know. It also helps set the tone. Cannes is now crawling with people wearing black lanyards with palm frond logos and names of festival sponsors. That's pretty crazy, but it's nothing compared to 6:15 PM.

That's when the guests to the opening ceremony show up. Star light, star bright. Minus the "star light" part. The red carpet was a pretty star-heavy affair. And fan-heavier. Between all the gawkers and the rerouted traffic for black cars to have room, you should never complain about another traffic jam again.

At any rate, since the opening ceremony was in the evening, there were no movies to catch in the afternoon and I didn't have anything on which to write my humble request for strangers' spare evening tickets. The opening film, by the way, was Wes Anderson's promising new comedy 'Moonrise Kingdom', whose stellar cast includes Edward Norton, Bruce Willis, Tilda Swinton, Frances McDormand, and Bill Murray). One of the theatres to which I know I have access (space permitting) will screen the movie on Friday night, though, and it's more out of the way. Which is good for me.

So, after the madness of... all that... I showed a Cannes newcomer around for a while. Lena is good friends with one of the assistants I was pals with this year (said assistant, Krisia, being the one who told me most of everything I know about this here festival). We walked around, scoped out screening spaces, and even found our way into the reception area of the Palais des Festivals, which I had heard might throw me and my less-official badge out if I even got close. They didn't... as a matter of fact, most of the security folks seem very friendly (even when they refuse you access to other areas).

We had dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, where one diner, an older French gentleman, got really, really upset because I was carrying a San Pellegrino bottle around (he would have much preferred that, being in a restaurant, I set it down on his table, at least). I didn't get the whole of his rant (neither did the sweet lady at the next table, with whom I traded chuckling glances). But the gist of it was that apparently that's a particularly unclassy, stupid-looking American thing to do. When I started smiling and thanking him for his kind words - because my earnest inquiry as to his concern was getting me nowhere - he decided all hope was lost for my generation.

But that's the film festival for you - you never know what'll happen next. You might even find an iPhone on the street.

Yeah. It was a 4S. I got it back to its owner, some manager-type lady for a business in Marseille (her business card says), who thanked me profusely and promised to put me on the list for a short film series screening next week she's helping to run. (It's apparently a minor competition of its own, whose jury apparently includes the director of 'The Lion King'). Sounds cool to me. I'm glad it worked out okay and that she could keep working (though not half as glad as she was), and I'm glad that after one day I made it onto a list for something I didn't have access to when I woke up that morning.

Networking is a strange, strange thing.

. . .

This morning, I got up early to go into town and wait with Annie (fellow former assistant and festival attendee) to get giveaway tickets from our film society. It's basically like TKTS in London and New York. You go get in line and you get to pick tickets from whatever screenings they have to offer. We had hoped there would be tickets to big-name, in-competition films, but there weren't. And Annie's schedule for the day didn't mesh very well with their offerings.

But (and here's the teaser for tomorrow's entry)... I like to look on the bright side:

Coup de Grasse

It's over.

My last day of teaching was April 20th. I'm sorry that my entries have been rather few and far between recently, but I'm not sorry for all the day trips, dinners, vacations, lesson plans (had to mention those somewhere in here), and screenwriting sessions I've been too busy enjoying to write down. Here are links to a few photo albums, to help fill the gaps:

Krakow (My last spring break stop after Budapest, which was very un-cosmopolitan, very historic, and thus very cool. Also, incredibly reasonably priced and full of more good, hearty, meat-and-potatoes kind of food. Also, though you won't find the pictures in the album, I visited Auschwitz.)

Tende (A small town near the French/Italian border (check it out) reached by the aptly named Train des Merveilles ('Train of Marvels'). Erika and I did a day trip up here and found some terrific hikes, cool winding walkways in town, and a terrific lunch at the lovely husband-and-wife restaurant Le Gourmand.)

I also spent a whirlwind week showing my buddy David Adler around Paris and the Riviera. And I just got back from 4 days in Bologna, Italia, where I got to spend time with the wonderful Giulia Petruzzelli.

I would be lying if I said that the end of my teaching wasn't emotional, and I'd be a liar-liar-pants-on-fire (I wonder how you say that in French...) if I didn't mention the outpouring of affection I got from the kids and my fellow teachers. But first, a few general sound bytes to shamelessly build suspense.

Andy: "Do you like pizza?"
Kid: "I love you, pizza!"

Andy: "How are you?"
Other Kid: "I am hot and happy!"

I worked at three schools, and two of them gave me wonderful sendoffs... The first gave me a huge box of local specialty food products (first photo in this oddball album) and came pouring into one of the classes I was teaching to throw me a going-away party with Orangina, cookies, candy (including chocolates from favorite chain Jeff de Bruges), and a lot of adorable, tearful young children.

The other school finished off my unit on food in the best way possible. American breakfast for my three classes. And there were t-shirts. I can't describe them, and a photo won't do them justice. Ask me in person sometime, and if I can, I'll show you.

It was wonderful. Nice to know I'll be missed and that I did okay at the job that had be quaking in my sneakers last September. I'll take that as an exit from Grasse.

Oh, that's right... the teaching is over, but the blog is not. A few other things.

I'm living in Cannes now (for the month) because my folks are coming over to Europe at the end of May to do some quality traveling (there's a cruise... and fjords).

But until then, I'm just looking forward to attending the Cannes Film Festival. I was awarded a pass to attend screenings at a few of the theatres (not the big ones, since I'm not a professional, although word is you can beg tickets off people if you look good and they have extras). I'm pretty pumped about it... I get free access to lots of (hopefully great) movies and I'll be surrounded by film industry. Sweet. It runs from May 16-27.

I'll try to blog a bit about Cannes if I can (pun!), but I predict those days will be a bit hectic, and I'm not sure what internet will be like on the boat. So, for reference, I'm in Cannes until May 29, traveling until June 15th, and chilling in DC for two whole days before starting work at the 'Center for Talented Youth' at Johns Hopkins on June 18 (through August 7). No idea if they're gonna' renew my contract for next year, and -- hooray for France -- they're almost certainly not gonna' tell me before July. I'm not too worried, though.

I'm too busy thinking about movies.

-Andy

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.

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."

Weekend Things

I think, after this entry, I'll finally be caught up. I've been explorin' a bit...!

Amy Evans and I went to Eze a few weeks ago and took these pictures. Cool place, Eze -- I thought Grasse was isolated up on a hill.

No. That's this place.

But at least it has the views to (more than) make up for it. On a warmer day, I will go back and take the hour-plus hike from the seaside up to the center of town. It's another one of those tightly interwoven cobblestone passage deals, like St-Paul-de-Vence, and it boasts two very, VERY nice hotels/villa neighborhoods. Like, we're talking my entire month's salary for a weekend stay. Amy and I had hot chocolates at the terrace cafe of one of them. You'll see the pictures.

Nice has also been pretty good to me lately... I did a little shopping, 'cause the French government decides when things go on sale, rather than stores themselves. One-euro bus from Grasse to Nice is The Best Thing.

I also had the pleasure of seeing a dance show in Menton a few weeks back. I went with Nice teaching assistant Jenifer Queen (and we ate at Pizzeria Vesuvio, which I mentioned a few entries back) to see this Amnesty International benefit show put together by local dance classes... who were surprisingly good. A third assistant (Jennifer Lindblom) works with Amnesty's Menton chapter, so she told us it was happening. I stage managed dance shows back in high school and always went to Vassar's, so this was a nice throwback as well.

On a separate occasion, Jenifer Queen and I also saw The Descendants and found dinner at le 22 septembre, located here in Nice. Outstanding food on a very affordable 4-course menu (we could barely finish it all). I had a warm mushroom quiche, a steak with (basically) fries, a cheese and salad course, and profiteroles for dessert. 17 euros. And it was all delicious. Plus, they had tables available with no reservation required at 10 PM. We had a great time. A big thank-you to Molly Smego for the recommendation.

Another thank-you goes to Amy, who introduced me to (the oddly named) Choopy's on the corner of Rue Vial and Rue du Marc in Antibes. You can get a full breakfast (eggs, toast, tasty preserves, hot chocolate, genu-ine bagel sandwiches, and even cupcakes) here in a cozy little cafe with a pal. Nice way to spend a Sunday morning.

My promise to you: the very next entry will bring narrative focus back.

-Andy

A Case of the Randoms

I promise you that, one day, my entries will go back to having some sort of organizing principle.

Today, however, is not that day.

...

Last week, I had my oldest kids playing "Point-To," which is about as simple as it sounds. I put a bunch of flashcards on the board, two kids come up, I say "Point to... 'Raining'!" (or "sunny" or "foggy" or "flunderstorming"). First kid to point to the right answer wins. They love it. Before we started on this particular day, I realized there were exactly 16 kids in the class.

OH SNAP IT'S TOURNAMENT TIME.

'Cause I know y'all just can't wait to see how this ends...

Final round, folks... place your bets.

Ta-da...!

...

A few of my classes had ski lessons scheduled for this week, where they would leave school as a class and go on a bus up to the mountains for their P.E. Those lessons were all cancelled because of unsafe driving conditions on snowy roads.

Ski lessons. Cancelled on account of snow. So French! SO FREAKING FRENCH!

...

This is a brick of peanuts. I bought it. And yes, a brick.

...

A dear friend of mine from back home, one David Adler, is coming to visit from April 21st-29th. It's gonna' be rockin' awesome. If you're reading this and likely to still be in Paris/Riviera during any of that time, let me know.

...

Andy: "What do we say when... *ah-CHOO*?"
Kids: "Bless you!"
Andy: "Good! And what do we say when... *cough*, *cough*?"
Kid: "Not bless you!"

...

G'night, folks.

-Andy

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

Only Lyon

So... my screenplay ate my blog. For a while: I met my draft deadline on that last Friday, so now I get to play more catch-up here. Which is nice, 'cause I missed this. Just to give you an idea of how far behind I am, this entry will recount the results of a brilliant last-minute decision I made. I booked train tickets, snagged a hotel room space, and spent the weekend of December 9-11 in Lyon for the annual Fête des Lumières ("Festival of Lights"). I am so glad I didn't miss it.

Yeah. I'm that far behind.

I almost didn't go, but thanks to some last minute cancellations (both mine and another assistant's), I snagged a spot in a hotel room and joined a few assistants from the Toulon area. Toulon is the big city in the 'Var' region of France, which is right next to the 'Alpes-Maritimes' region I inhabit. Regions are somewhere in between the sizes of America's counties and states. Both A-M and the Var are grouped together in the same administrative school zone, that's called an Académie, and that sense of nervous confusion you feel in trying to keep all this straight is just a taste of what it's like when I try to figure out exactly which organization I answer to as an English teacher.

Anyway, I booked tickets and hopped on the train on Friday afternoon, and spent most of the ride grading the tests I discussed (and photographed) at length last time. I got into Lyon around 7 and walked around a few hours before meeting the others back at the station, at which time we walked around some more.

In my walking-around time, I was immediately taken with just how cool this whole thing was. I don't know what you envision when you think of a festival of lights, but the Fête des Lumières is almost more like an art festival than anything else, but with exhibits based on light, color, and sometimes music. Artists with a range of renown do the installations, which you can find on event maps all over the city - in parks, in the middle of a particular sidewalk, by the river, and projected onto the walls of important public buildings.

Here are the photos. They are probably the most important part of this entry.

The festival runs that weekend in December every year, from the Thursday to the Sunday. I'm told the first and last nights are the best, and that includes a local opinion. That probably has something to do with the four million people pouring into the city to partake, mostly coming on Friday and leaving Sunday during the day. There were two times when we all got stuck in a jostling crowd of people so thick that we were packed together and literally could not move apart from the general flow of humans surrounding us, and hardly then. I can't help but think: that's what molecules of Nutella must feel like all the time.

The festival actually began as - and technically still is - a religious celebration in honor of the Virgin Mary (which is why it said "Merci Marie" in lights on the hilltop next to St. Mary's Basilica). The festival of lights began as Lyon citizens (called "Lyonnais") lighting candles in their windows all over the city. I'm told this still happens on the Thursday, but there was a lot of buzz this year about many Lyonnais boycotting that tradition as a protest against how commercial the festival has become. I kind of get that. But at the same time, the festival as I encountered it was pretty sweet. At the very least, you're generating a lot of money for the local economy, and you're doing that via a thriving creative endeavor. That last part isn't so easy...!

While the city was far too busy for us to get a table at a "bouchon," a traditional style of Lyon restaurant, we did eventually find a good dinner at Farfalla Caffè, a stylish little Italian place without throngs of tourists (like us!). Excellent stumble-upon. If you're in Lyon, try to get to one of the bouchons, but if you find yourself in the same position we did, the address is here.

Basically, we spent the weekend walking around. Lyon's a beautiful city, both during the day and during the festival, so we had good old touristy fun. Highlights included the center of town with its quaint shops and restaurants, Saint Mary's Basilica high on top of a hill with a stellar view of the whole city, vin chaud (hot, spiced wine) in the streets at night, and general marveling. We all had a good time and I plan to visit again when the weather gets warmer.

Also, I was just teaching my littlest kids, and one of them spent a good five minutes meditating while the others colored.

-Andy

Finals

We're all just going to pretend I wrote this two weeks ago. Cool? Cool.

It feels, in some ways, like I'm still in college. I spend a lot of my time hanging out with cool people my age, I spend overall very little time at school, there's some French in there somewhere, and I still have that good (bad) old end-of-semester crunch. The only difference now is that I'm the one making, giving, and grading the tests instead of simply studying for and taking them.

So, yes, I had to take care of everything involved with giving each of my 8 sections a test. There was a lot of overlap in subject matter... most everybody had to label basic parts of the body and a few had to match feelings to drawings (like sleepy or happy, which they often pronounce "appy"). My more advanced classes did days of the week, directions (N, S, E, W, etc.) with U.S. cities, and American money (e.g., "A penny is worth one cent."). There was an oral exam as well... My oldest class had to (one at a time) make small sums with actual American coins. Everyone else had to come out into the hallway (one at a time) and answer the four questions:

1.) Why is this night different from all other nights?
2.) Why do we have to eat matzoh for the next week solid?
3.) What are bitter herbs?
4.) Should we use blue pen, black pen, grey pencil, or colored pencil, and should we write in cursive or print?

Ha. Not really. But they actually ask me permutations of #4 all the time. For more details, go back to this entry.

They actually had to answer:

1.) What is your name?
2.) How old are you?
3.) Where do you live?
4.) How are you?

My oldest class had to use actual American coins to make a few small sums (6 cents, 35 cents, etc.).

...The results were pretty widespread, which made me more than a little nervous about my teaching ability, the merit of my tests, and other such things. But a handful of kids did very well, and one or two teachers told me the results were consistent with their expectations.

I should also note that grades in France don't necessarily follow the same expectations as grades in the States. In the U.S., the goal is generally 100%, because unless your teacher is a jerk (or makes the test unclear/too long), everything on the test has theoretically been covered in class. In France, however, the assumption is less strict. I've heard that, to some teachers in France, kids who get a C (or equivalent) are doing just fine.

Another example: before I started taking French university classes two years ago, I was told that, to get 18, 19, or 20 (out of 20), you basically had to be smarter than the professor, and they had to admit it.

I hope that's the case. My French is good now, but I started at age 5 and I sucked at it for a good ten or twelve years. So, I hope the grades aren't as big a thing, 'cause learning a foreign language takes a long time even with good teachers like mine.

The other heartening part of this whole testing thing was the wonderful new batch of English mistakes. Of these, the greatest hits can be found here.

So, all in all the whole process went well, even if it's the reason I'm so behind on blogging. I think I'll try motivating myself to test them more often this time so I can focus on just one or two subjects per test. I'd also like for their trimester grades to depend on more than just one exam. I'm still learning their 150+ names, though, so we'll see how that goes.

Happy 2012, everyone. With any luck, there shall be many more French adventures ("adFRENCHures?") to come.

-Andy

Classic

Backtracking: GO!

About three weeks ago, Amy, a fellow primary school English assistant, had a great idea. We went to Nice for "C'est pas Classique," a classical music festival taking place all over the city. Free concerts all over the city, from squares to churches to the big events inside the 'Acropolis' (DC folks: pretend the Kennedy Center was built in Nice in 1970s concrete). We saw all sorts of groups: little string quartets, choirs who were rehearsing, a 20+piece band, the Nice Philharmonic Orchestra accompanied by soprano Barbara Hendricks, a French gospel choir...

Yeah. American gospel music sung by French people. Complete with clapping. And robes. And thrown in pump-up ad-libs (in French), with "hallelujahs" (in... whatever the language is). Yeah. Actually, I was pleasantly surprised-- the festival had not advertised a comedy hour, and yet here we were.

I don't know much about classical music, but I liked what I heard. Seeing the Nice Philharmonic (and for free!) was a real treat. Amy and I had a great time touring around Nice stumbling onto the various bands. I should also note that that included a band on wheels (which included a piano on wheels) in Place Masséna and a chamber orchestra performance of Vivaldi's 'The Four Seasons' back at the Acropolis on the Sunday.

That's really about it. I only have two other details to add:

1.) Double-click on this sentence to see my photos from the weekend.

2.) The event name "C'est pas Classique" is, technically speaking, grammatically incorrect. To negate a verb in French, you put "ne" before (or "n'" in the event of a vowel) and "pas" after. The correct version would have been "Ce n'est pas Classique," but casual spoken French tends to do away with the "ne." I'm still not sure why they called the weekend that, since almost all the music we heard was classical, and I typically think of France as being very proud of its language, rules and all.

Close Enough For Government Work

Some of the kids call me "Teacher."

I would say that I don't know why, but that would mean I haven't noticed the very structured (this coming from me) and adult-revering educational system in which these children find themselves. Let me say it more sensationally.

I have discovered the source of French bureaucracy.

Until a week or two ago, my classes consisted almost entirely of oral exercises. We'd sing songs, drill words and structures, or play games. The procedure was clear and simple, they followed it, and nothing struck me as out-of-the-ordinary.

Then I added more written work. A sentence or two on the board for them to copy down in their notebooks. A direction to copy today's date and the days of the week on printer paper because that was the paper I found.

"Teacher? Teacher? What color pen should we use?"

"Teacher? Teacher? What page of the notebook do we write it on?"

And one from a kid in the class that got printer paper. This one's my favorite:

"Teacher? There are no lines on this paper."

Starting from a wee little age, French kids are taught to take notes and follow instructions just so. One color of pen(cil) for one sort of exercise/notes, another for the next, and a particular format to follow and style of cursive to be upheld. I can't tell you the number of times my 10-year-olds painstakingly write on the board in perfect cursive (boys included), only to even more painstakingly erase one or two letters to rewrite them the proper way, even though said letters were already perfectly legible (key word being "perfectly"). You should see how eager these kids are to hold up their copying and show me as I'm walking around just to make sure everyone's on task.

Erika corroborated this with her own observations from her high school exchange experience. When these kids grow up, their class notes are works of art. Paragraph form, color-coded by subject matter, impeccably formatted and indented. I take good notes, but even I use a little shorthand, and I know full well that a lone mechanical pencil is unsurpassed in utility: quick, eraseable, and fit for almost any handwritten task. But the trade-off is that my notes don't look professional. They're "close enough for government work," as my folks always say. Just, perhaps not close enough for this government's work.

It is little wonder, then, that an adult paperwork system with so many precise procedures thrives here... in a country where even 8-year-olds take notes just so, constantly checking with the teacher that they've got it exactly right.

...

So, what have I been doing with these kids, anyway? Most of them are still on basic stuff, but I've moved on to feelings ("I am happy," "I am thirsty," "I am angry," etc.) and days of the week. For my oldest class, I made up a worksheet to teach them directions (north, south, etc.), which doubled as a geography lesson about the United States. I've got a sheet about American money all ready to go for next week. That will be somewhat of a review: we've played "store" already with the American cash I had on me when I arrived and the various electronic devices I keep on me every day. Just to give you a better idea of what I'm up to, here's a peek inside my oldest class:

The kids are mostly getting it and they seem pretty enthusiastic still. I have the impression that my novelty is wearing off, as they're getting more comfortable (that's French for "rowdy") around me these days. I'm focusing now on varying the sorts of activities I do, so they don't write off English class as the place where they just do drills all the time. But even my most challenging class had a relatively good day on Tuesday. I'm content.

Let's see... other good moments recently...

Andy (the example question): "How old are you?"
Andy (the example answer): "I am 7 years old."
Student (to herself): "Uh... no."

Andy: "How are you?"
Student 1: "I am happy!"
Andy: "How are you?"
Student 2: "I am sleepy."
Andy: "How are you?"
Student 3: "I am slappy."

Let's end with a game of "Caption This Photo":

"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

All Hallows

Forget Halloween as you experience it. Teenagers "trick-or-treating" without a costume and/or TP'ing your house (if you're Larry David and don't give them candy), adult parties where the costumes are basically polyester pick-up lines, or your and your friends' real costumes, which are variously clever, abstract, elaborate, inside jokes, gory, and/or downright genius. No, no - scratch all that. Think of all the most basic elements and images of Halloween. Ghost costumes, kids carrying cute little bags of candy, going door to door with smiles once a year...

That distilled version of Halloween? The one they (and I) teach in elementary school? That's Halloween in France.

I had asked a teacher (who was instrumental in the construction of my costume) at one of my schools if her kids were going trick-or-treating. Oh yes, she said (in French): a skeleton, a devil, a ghost, and she was going to be a witch. These were pretty much the same costumes I saw on kids who were running around the center of town on the afternoon of the Monday in question. It was pretty adorable. But it struck me that, as far as celebrating is concerned, they really don't spring for the theatrical over here. No Halloween specialty stores (perhaps for the better, but who knows), no fake blood on sale to complete your vampire costume, and unless you already dress like Jack Sparrow, good luck pulling off anything that ambitious. Over here on Halloween, it seems like they're grinning (or shrugging) and bearing it because everybody else in the world seems so into it.

As for Halloween At The Assistants'?

Well...

Creative? Perhaps not. Appropriate? Absolutely.

Ella and Katie joined us for dinner, which was a nice treat. Erika's delicious pumpkin soup and pie went nicely with a bottle of wine and my homemade... candy... I still can't cook.

...

I came back to work Thursday. Same as before, really. The kids all come running up shouting "Hello!" (often several times) and I say "Hello!" back in as many different voices as I can think of. They all pay oddly close attention during my largely repetition-based lessons on "How old are you?", "Where are you from?" - this week we added feelings and "How are you?"... Just like before the break, They seem to love it (and mostly get it), and just like before the break, I feel like things can't keep going this well without Karma getting steamed.

Before break, I mentioned my Halloween lessons, where I mini-mohawk-ed my hair to demonstrate my Tintin costume and gave out little caramel bars at the end of class when the kids would come up and say "Trick or Treat!" and "Happy Halloween!".

What I don't think I mentioned: one of my kids gave me a picture of a jack-o'-lantern he colored in (rather neatly). Just... for me to have. Another student left me with these exact words:

"Andy, you are my favorite teacher in English."

StayCation

So, here I sit on my balcony. It's October 30, 68 degrees, sunny, and clear. Erika and I made mimosas with French champagne. I don't go back to work until Thursday afternoon, I'm making plans to go to Barcelona in two weeks, I had several awesome day trips this week, there's internet in the apartment...

This is pretty much what I signed up for.

I spent this week exploring the region with pals in a series of day trips. This is cool for two reasons. One: I'm in a beautiful region of a beautiful country with nothing but time to explore it. Two: I actually got my act together and explored it, as opposed to not doing so, but saying I would as an empty justification for not having made fancier travel plans.

Here is the photo album for this week.

Monday, 24 October 2011

Erika and I got up really early to catch a bus to Nice and a connecting bus up to Saint-Etienne-de-Tinée. This was our route. We spent about half the day on a bus. But that's okay! Because the two hour ride from Nice to St-Etienne followed the Tinée river through an incredible valley that was stunning for every minute, even despite cloudy/drizzling weather.

We arrived around 11:30, walked a bit in the drizzle, and saw about 75% of this small ski resort town. It's adorable, and I'm certain that the mountain views are stunning on a clear (or snowy) day. We got lunch at pretty much the only restaurant that was open. I had a mushroom ravioli in this sauce that I could not figure out how to describe. It was good, but I was fighting a cold and probably wasn't tasting it properly. The cream sauce had this almost-bitter, dry kick to it that Erika decided was "astringent." I had never heard that word used for anything other than skin care products, but she volunteered the word, and I decided in a later conversation that it probably came from the wine used to make the sauce. We agreed, and we walked some more.

We explored a few trails, couldn't get into the tourist office for Erika's much-desired regional hiking maps, hiked some more, and finally found a cozy little cafe. We ordered coffee and hot chocolate, respectively, and Erika taught me Gin Rummy, which we played for an hour while waiting for the 4:15 bus back to Nice.

Tuesday, 25 October 2011

Wednesday, 26 October 2011

I didn't do much on the 26th, either.

Thursday, 27 October 2011

Today, I went over to Menton (geographic context), a charming little town right up next to the Italian border. I met up with Krisia, a fellow assistant placed in Cannes, and two assistants from up north for whom this region is a set of fancy travel plans. We had a three-hour lunch of pizza on the seaside while watching hilarious pigeon antics and wondering why the servers were willing to let us spend so much time taking up this great table on this beautiful day.

I had a thin-crust pizza with cheese, lettuce, parsley, and smoked salmon. It was very good. I could only finish half of it, though.

Afterward, we walked around, the ladies did some shopping,* and we got some gelato. There's basically one busy commercial street in Menton, and it has a few gelato stands, but I figured we should pick the one run by an Italian woman. I was right. One scoop of sweet, tart lemon and one of juicy strawberry for the win (it's my standby for a reason, and it was only 2euro50). We walked some more, snapped lots of pictures, and caught the train home.

The only thing I can't figure out: why does the limoncello flavor taste creamier than the lemon flavor?

Friday, 28 October 2011

Today's destination: St-Paul-de-Vence (everybody loves a link to Google Maps). 7 of us found our way to this very picturesque little town. I couldn't quite get a far shot, but it's a walled city on a hill, not unlike the famous Mont-Saint-Michel up in Normandy. This town is almost totally composed of cobblestone pedestrian paths and really cool shops.

...

...

...Sorry. I just praised a town for its shopping. I needed a minute to take that in.

A lot of artists have studios here, and there are lots of neat little gift shops, as well as little bistros and boutiques for food/wine/etc. All of this for sale in a bunch of charming, artsy shops. All very… not “down-to-earth,” because they are all rather upscale, but IF any of them were condescending (and I don’t think they were), then their classy factor easily overwhelmed it.

I had a pâté sandwich for lunch. It was awesome.

The Weekend

We finally got internet in the apartment (no thanks to SFR). So, U.S. folks, I am much freer to Skype/email/what-have-you.

Also, between now (Sunday) and November 6, our time difference is reduced by one hour (France ended daylight savings today, instead of next week). I hope everyone had a great Halloween weekend, and for those still celebrating (as you should be), Happy Halloween.

Pictures of my awesome (and rather appropriate) costume to follow.

-Andy

------------------------
*General Note: The gender ratio among assistants means that I am the only guy I hang out with.

It's Another To-Kill-For Sunrise.

Hi, folks-- not much to report today, except I'm finally posting some photos from the last month. You can find them by double-clicking here.

If that doesn't work (or if you want the link itself), copy and paste the following into the address bar of your browser:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150863681675179.754085.734690178&type=1&l=7b3eb7c686

This should work even if you're not on Facebook (or shouldn't be, in my parents' case). If you can't see it for whatever reason, let me know and I'll look into it.

First week's going pretty well. I have to run to class (it's in Grasse, so just running - no buses or carpools today), but my next post will be peppered with a few details about social goings-on.

This message brought to you by government-sponsored free internet even closer to my apartment than the McDonald's.

-Andy

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



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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.