Toussaints

Next week is Toussaints (All Saints' Day), and as a result we had a week and a half break from school. Woohoo! As a result, I took a little jaunt up to Saint Malo and Paris.

To start my trip off right, I fell prey to the French train system. I was supposed to take a train from Albi to Toulouse, then at Toulouse take a train to Nantes (with a stop in Bourdeux), then take a train to Rennes, and finally take a train to Saint Malo, all in under 10 hours! However, once I arrived in Toulouse, I found out that the track in between Montauban and Agen (where my train needed to go) was having issues, so I was herded onto a bus and dropped off in Agen. I assumed there would be a

training waiting for us there, but, being France, we were just left there, with no explanation and no connecting train. Luckily, I was able to catch a train to Paris, wait in Gare Montparnasse for 2 hours, then take a connecting train to Rennes, grab dinner, and finally take a train to Saint Malo, with only 5 additional hours added to my trip!

Saint Malo was worth the additional 5 hours. By the time I got there, it was 9:45, so I couldn't do any sight-seeing, but the next morning, I woke up bright and early. I was planning on going to Mont St. Michel, but I missed the one bus going there. I'm glad I did!

I ended up visiting La Ville Intra-Muros, a walled part of the city right on the water. There are multiple small islands right near the beach,each containing forts built around the 17th century to protect from British and Dutch fleets. Some have paths going up to them, but others you can only reach at low tide. There were a couple that seemed to only be reachable by boat. I spent the morning exploring the islands, and just walking along the beach. Being from Southern California, I am used to having the beach around me all the time. I navigate by it, I watch the sun set over it, and I just generally feel better knowing that it's there. That has been one of the things I missed most living out here. As a result, the beaches of Saint Malo were a welcome

change from land-locked Albi.

One of them, Grand Bé, contained the grave of the author Chateaubriand. This wouldn't have been hugely of interest to me, if not for the sign. It means "A great french writer wanted to rest here to hear only the sea and the wind. P

asserbys respect his last wishes." There was something very beautiful to that sentiment, and as a result I think everyone visiting took it upon themselves to make sure his final wish was fulfilled.

Once I walked the length of the beach, I explored Intra-Muros. There was a beautiful cathedral (Cathédrale St. Vincent) with stained glass windows. That may seem par for the course in France, but this one had abstract glass windows, made of thousan

ds of curved pieces. As someone who has done stained glass, let me tell you, getting all those curved pieces to fit is HARD.

On my way back to the hotel, I walked on the beach again, and saw all these people standing around this inlet digging in the sand with these little rakes. At first, I actually thought they were digging for treasure, since Saint Malo is famous for being a privateer town, which would lend itself to buried treasure. However, as I got close, I realized they were digging for coquillages, which are like cockles. I actually one of the

old women to show me what she was digging for, and she is the one who told me the name.

The next day I went to Paris, and it was weird to be back there after living there. I visited my old stomping grounds, but it didn't feel the same as it did before. The whole time I was just waiting to go back home and buy a cup of coffee for half the price it was in Paris.

Overall, it was a pretty good break, but I am glad to be home and resuming my normal life.

The short, sweet life of Hérisson le Hérisson

This week was definitely an interesting one. We got a new roommate in our apartment: a

hedgehog by the name of Hérisson. "Hérisson" is the french word for hedgehog, but, when pronounced with an american accent, it sounds like the name "Harrison."

Hérisson's brief time in my life began on Tuesday afternoon. I was getting something out of my closet when I hear my roommate slamming the door and shouting up the stairs about bringing home a dying animal that was missing an eye. When she said that, I imagined a bloody animal, perhaps one that had been attacked by a badger

or some other sort of animal. Instead, it was a cute baby hedgehog, a little skinny but definitely not the bloody animal I was envisioning. My roommate, who works at the Primaire in Gaillac,

brought him home after the children at her school found him on the playground. They though he was dead, and, being children, they decided to hit him with sticks. After Kat (my roommate) and the other teachers realized that it was actually still alive, Kat put him in a box, put the box in a plastic bag, and biked the 30 minutes from her school to the bus stop with Hérisson on her handlebars. She then took a 30 minute bus ride to Albi, and another 5 minute bike ride to our house, all the while preventing Hérisson from escaping.

Once they got home, Hérisson was put into Kat's bathroom, and I was left with the task of watching him while Kat went out to get hedgehog supplies. I didn't know what to do with him, so I just watched him run around and stopped him from going behind the washing machine.

When Kat got home, she treated him like any mother would treat their baby. She fed him and gave him a bath. The difference was that the food was dry cat food and the bath was given in the bidet (as can be seen in the picture). He was so dirty that the water in the bidet turned brown. We then had to put him in the bathtub as we let the bidet drain. After seeing how many bugs

were drowned in the bathtub, we put him back in the bidet, where Kat submerged him in order to make sure we got rid of them all. We then dried him off with paper towels, and left him to sleep in his warm little box.

Later that night, I was sitting in the living room talking to Kat, when who should I see toddling into the kitchen but Hérisson! He had climbed out of his box, and had decided to explore his new home! He was so cute and peppy after being so limp earlier in the day, we decided to let him run around the living room for the night. He literally did not stop moving for HOURS. We realized at that point that we couldn't possibly leave him alone by himself, since he was just so darn cute, so we ended up inviting friends over so they, too, could experience his adorableness.

The next day, we left him in the bathroom to sleep, and went about our day. However, when

Kat came home, he was crying, so instead of leaving him alone in the bathroom, she took him with her to the couch, where he promptly crawled into her jacket and fell asleep (as seen on right). He snores when he sleeps, so it is just super adorable. When she needed to get rid of him so she could eat, I selflessly volunteered to take him. As you can see in the first photo, he quite happily fell asleep on my arm. When I later needed use of said arm, I just moved him into my sweatshirt pocket. Basically, I was a kangaroo. That night, we fed him cat food and sausage, and once again he spent the entire evening running around the living room.

The next day, we filled up a water bottle with warm bottle for him to sleep next to. He actually purred when he snuggled up next to it. We left him there to sleep for the day, and, when he didn't wake up that night, we figured he just needed to sleep off the stress of the previous few days.

The next day was when things started to go badly. We went to check on him in the morning, and, while he was still alive, he was cold and limp when we picked him up. We tried to warm him up, but unfortunately, he still passed away. That night, we dug a grave for him by the Palais de la Berbie on the banks of the Tarn. We then went to a bar, and toasted his memory with Stella.

Other, non hedgehog-related events

Yesterday my day was chock-full of rugby. In the morning I went to O'sullivan's to watch the game with some friends. Two of them are pretty into french rugby, so it was really fun to be with people who were actually excited about the game. France won a close game against Wales, 9 to 8. My favorite part of those games always comes after, when everyone in the bar starts singing. I'm not entirely sure of the words, but I'm pretty sure it goes "Allez les bleus, Allez, Allez, Allez!" Not the most complex of songs (it essentially means "go blue, go, go, go!") but there is something really cool about having a bar full of people singing a song to support their countrymen.

Later that night, I went to a rugby game, Albi vs. Perigneux, with a bunch of my friends. I actually got really into it, particularly since it was a home game, so there were all these die-hard fans commenting on the game and chanting. It was so violent, way more than any American sport. At one point, this big fat player literally SHOVED a guy off the ruck and broke his leg!

They even had a half-time show with cheerleaders and a man dressed in a bumblebee costume (Albi abeille- nice aliteration). They were not good. Don't get me wrong, they could dance all right, but there were none of the acrobats that we in the US associate with cheerleading routines. The bee was actually the best dancer.

Albi won, so at the end there was a similar cheer: "Albigeois, Allez, Allez, Allez!" It was equally as infectious as the one earlier in the day.

It's late, so I am going to go to bed in my brand new (decades old but new for me!) bed. No more sleeping on the floor for Lindsay!

All settled in

So I have taken a while to write, simplybecause I have been running around like a crazy woman! Before I start, let me show to the world the most pathetic thing I have ever seen:

Poor Pinky. She had a rough day, and now has to wear a cone so she doesn't bite at her leg. This may be the saddest I have ever seen any animal. I have a feeling Pinky will be too ashamed to leave the house now that I have posted embarrassing photos of her on the internet.

I started teaching this week, and I actually really enjoyed it! I am teaching at a Lycée (high school), and my classes have ranged from Seconde (16 year olds) to BTS (18+)

In each class, it was basically the same thing. The teacher would talk for a bit, and then I would go up to the front and introduce myself. I made a point to talk about California, since French people usually get super excited when you say you are from there. The reactions of the kids varied greatly. In the Seconde (15-16) class, the kids seemed to know hardly any english. However, they had sheets with questions they had to ask me, so the period went by smoothly . Then I had a Première classe (16-17) and it was like pulling teeth getting them to ask questions. I just stood up in front of the board, talking about California and praying that some student dare to ask a question. I did get asked whether I liked the Red Hot Chili Peppers in that class though, which was the highlight.

I had a similar experience in my Terminale (17-18) class. In that one, however, the teacher left me alone, so I started rambling about absolutely random topics as she left me in the classroom for WAY longer than the 5 minutes it should have taken to make copies. They stopped asking me questions way too soon, and I had to fill up the rest of the time talking about random topics. It was the most awkward experience of my life. The teacher came in, and there were random and drawings on the board: "awesome", "homecoming", a picture of the jaws shark.

The next two classes I had were BTS, which is for people who have graduated from high school but aren't going to go to a real college. It's like the french equivalent of community college or vocational training. The people are all at least 18, so I was essentially in a classroom full of my peers. The main difference between these classes and the lycée level ones were that these were filled with mainly guys. As a result, the class dynamic was hugely different. The guys got super into the conversation, and were actually really fun, particularly the second class. That was the class where a kid who reminded me exactly of Anwar from Skins said he would be my boyfriend if I needed one. I decided not to take him up on his offer.

In my free time, I have been trying to integrate myself into french society by taking various classes. The first one I am taking is a figure drawing class. It takes place in the Toulouse-Lautrec Museum, which is in the Palais de la Berbie, a medieval castle on the river that has beautiful vaulted brick ceilings. It does have a nude model, but that wasn't the weirdest part of the class for me. I was just sitting there thinking, I'm thousands of miles away from home, and somehow I ended up in a room in a 13th century medieval fortress in a class full of old people having art tips about the nude model I am currently drawing told to me in french. There were points when I literally had to stop myself laughing from the absurdity of it.

The little old ladies in the class loved me. They kept coming over to talk to me, and one kept saying things like "elle est si courageuse" (she's so brave) to the teacher. It was very sweet. I am personally hoping they will introduce me to their french grandsons.

The other class I am trying is yoga. While at the art class I could basically get away without using any of my french skills, for the yoga class I had to be able to understand what the instructor was saying. I did learn that "aspirer" is to breath in (like aspirateur- vacuum cleaner), but besides that I was pretty lost. It was the most painful when the instructor would come over to correct my position. Since I do not know specialized anatomical terms, this proved to be very difficult for me to understand. It got embarrassing near the end, when he just switched to english in order for me to understand.

On the apartment front, the place is coming together. We have a working washing machine now, which I am very excited to use. Our stove needs a gas line and a small gas tank (called a bombonne) in order to work, which terrifies me a bit. I have also fixed my bed after it broke, and unclogged my shower. I definitely feel a sense of accomplishment over all that we have done with this place. Slowly but surely, we are making it a home.

Bises!

Move-in time

As of two days ago, I have successfully rented an apartment in France. I am living with a friend in a 15th century building about two blocks away from a cathedral. We are so close that in the morning, I can hear the church bells.

Our street appears to be a bit of a tourist attraction. The buildings are a great example of medieval architecture, so we constantly have people taking photos of the street our apartment is on. In fact, since we are classified as a UNESC) world heritage site, we can't hang up brightly colored curtains in the apartment, since it would essentially ruin all the tourist's photos.

We live above an art gallery, owned by a lovely older woman named Nadine. She seems super sweet, and every time we pass by she invited us in or comes out to talk. We haven't really had time to take her up on her offer, but we will! She has this dog name Ulysse that is just the cutest thing ever. He's this super fat old dachshund who sits at the door looking at the people passing by, and when he sees me he gets so excited that he jumps up to lick my hands. Basically, he's going to act as my Pinky replacement this year.

Our first day, we had no furniture, no dishes, no nothing. It was actually a lot of fun, since we didn't have to worry about messing up the furniture or anything, and we just made a sort of pile of cheese and bread in the middle of the floor. We had people over, and everyone just sat on our pillows. Basically, it was a great way to welcome ourselves into the house.

The next day (today) the furniture hunt started in earnest. After sending out what seemed like a million emails, we found a relatively cheap fridge. So we walked halfway across town, and arrive at the seller's house. As soon as we enter their garage, we just see stuff everywhere: furniture stacked on top of furniture, towers of empty boxes of shoes, appliances shoved in wherever there was room. Not only did we get a fridge, but an awesomely minty green couch and a table! They had rented a truck for us, and they drove it over and helped us bring it to our apartment. And all of this without even introducing themselves. Literally. French people never give their names.

Then later, our friend's host mom gave us a TON of stuff, including a coffeemaker, a microwave, and a full set of dishes. So we're ok.

We have decided to accomplish one thing per day. So hopefully tomorrow we will get either a stove or reliable internet. Here's hoping!