We interupt this broadcast for an update...

Ok, I continue to be remiss in updating on my vacation, but there are some great things happening here.

First of all, it stopped being freaking cold.  It's only regular cold, with some warmish tendencies!

Last week, it was sunny, but below 0˚ every single day, and it was also windy.  In fact, it was so windy that due to the horrible nature of my windows, I could feel the wind through the KEYHOLE of my door when standing in the hallway.  Today's high is 12˚C (54˚F), and tomorrow's is 16˚C (60˚F).  It's absolutely lovely, and I am about to go for a much-needed jog.

Second of all, Elvynia and I went to Paris for the day on Saturday.  We went to an exhibition at the Musée Maillol called Vanité (yes, vanity).  It was entirely made up of artwork that included skulls in some capacity.  Some of you might know about my affinity for skulls.  It's just a funny thing I like, but the exhibit was awesome.  There was everything from paintings to installations, from classical to contemporary.   Picasso, Warhol, Cézanne, canes with ivory skull tops, fruit carved into skull shapes, diamond encrusted skull rings, grim reapers, skeletons with the crucifix.... It was a little expensive; the student rate was €9, but it was really worth it to see a different kind of exhibit.

After the exhibit, we were starving, so we found a brasserie with a €10.50 lunch menu, which included a plat du jour, a glass of wine, and a dessert.  I had steak frites, which was was too much food and totally worth it.  I didn't even finish the fries, a rare thing for me.

Afterward we did a lot of walking and a little shopping.  I have to brag that I found a cropped black winter jacket with a large collar at Zara for  €5.99. It was very exciting.

It was just a really nice day despite the cold and depressingly overcast skies.

Finally, I need to report on my kids.  I think some of them are getting more insane as the school year continues.  One kid (I wasn't there when it happened) apparently pulled down his pants and crapped during recess one day.  This kid is pretty bad, and he drives me crazy in class. He's usually anywhere but his seat, and often that means he is rolling on the floor or hitting another kid or climbing on the radiator.  Christophe told me he was scared to go to the bathroom, so he just went on the blacktop.

Another kid said something vulgar in Arabic yesterday.  Neither the teacher nor I speak Arabic, but most of the kids in that class do.  It was clear it wasn't nice when all the kids started shouting and laughing.  One girl kindly shared with the class that what he said was le truc entre les cuisses des filles. That translates to: the thing between a girl's thighs.  Lovely.  The teacher sent him out of the room.

Today, we finished drawing monsters in CE1 at Jacques Prévert.  The activity goes like this: I say something like My monster has two heads.  My monster has 5 arms. etc.  The kids have to understand and draw the monster. Today I gave the body parts colors: My monster has yellow feet.  My monster has green eyes.  They actually did really well.  But...

Well, have I mentioned Muhammad Ali?  Yes, there is a kid named Muhammad Ali, and he has a pretty appropriate personality for his name.  He's a pint-sized little demon.  Today he decided to draw penises, four to be exact, on his monster.

C'est le sexe du monstre? Jean-Marie, the teacher asked him. Oui said Muhammad Ali, coloring diligently.  At least he didn't go around showing everyone.

Good grief.  Everyday I gain more respect for elementary school teachers, and I become more and more sure that elementary education is not my calling.

And one more thing: Yesterday was Zeus' birthday! We don't know Zeus' exact birth date, but one vet said he was about 6 months old when I ended up with him in September 2008.  In our family, we tend to give our pets birthdays that coincide with holidays, so we can remember them.  (We don't really do anything crazy for them like presents or cakes; it's more of a marker to keep track of their ages... That being said, Zeus had an awesome birthday part last year, which means my friends and I had a party, and Zeus was there. There was also a very snippy little Chihuahua.  He had to be shut in Drew's bedroom.)  Anyway, the estimate that Zeus was 6 months old put his birthday in March, so I went with the 15th.  Not a big holiday, but who could forget the Ides of March?  Well, apparently, me.  I didn't even think about it yesterday.

My monster has four legs.

... and go awry and go awry and go awry...

Dear Readers, I am so sorry that I am tardy in updating my blog. Every time I think about my vacation, it makes me very tired!  Isn't that horrible?  I mean, I am freaking lucky.  I work for 6 weeks, then I get two weeks off, paid!  Not to mention the huge amount of discounts that I can get just for being under 26 and having a student card.  I'm not bragging; I really feel like I am absurdly tired.  I have a theory, though, which I will expound upon in my next post.

So here's the plan:
I work best in outline form, but I already started writing more about Lisbon.  *Update: I attempted to reduce it all to outline form, but that didn't work.... Now it's day-by-day, which helped me organize my thoughts... Hopefully this will convey the incredibly ridiculous amount of things we attempted to do and the multitude of snafus we encountered.  (I don't think that's the correct usage of "snafu"... oh well.)

So the next day I woke up, and I was sick.  Sick sick sick.  But, I was in Lisbon!  And I wanted to see it.  

I put on my many layers, in anticipation of cold and rain, and we headed for Belém.  Except before leaving, I decided I was too hot.  So I took off a layer.  We took the tram, and about halfway there, the tram stopped, and the driver said something in Portuguese.  A couple people got off the train.  The rest of us idiot tourists just sat there and looked at each other.  After several minutes, every one, us included, kind of dribbled off the tram.  It shut its doors and took off.  We had no idea where we were, and why it left us there.  But, lucky for us, we were with tons of tourists! (Who would ever think that was lucky?)  So we all stood by the tram stop for a while until another one came, which we hopped on and headed to Belém.  While we were waiting, I started feeling much much colder than I had before we left.

And  de la chance! It was free to enter the monastery on Sunday afternoons.
Jerónimos Monastery is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been.  Really.  The cathedral part is nice, but when you go to the cloister... It's really like nothing I've ever seen.  Pictures are better.  This one was taken by my fabulous photographer friend, Elvynia:

Here's one of mine:

After seeing the Cloister, I was about at the point of having chills.  I needed food and a warm place to sit.
Luckily everyone else was in agreement, and we went to a sandwich shop where I had the cheapest and most satisfying meal I can remember: a thick kind of potato and vegetable soup and bread, for €1.90.
It was delicious and wonderful.

I considered heading back and skipping the tower, but I didn't.  The tower is also impressive.  We also saw it during something like a wind storm.  It was freezing and raining and wind-ing.  A lot.  And most of what there is to see in the tower is outside.  I was pretty much miserable, but I guess I'm glad I saw it.  Plus, Elvynia took this cool picture of me:

Outline:
Monday Feb 15th: Lisbon Aquarium, which was impressive with its humungous central aquarium with hundreds of fish.  The Lisbon Oceanarium is supposed to be one of the best in Europe, and I think I had my hopes up a little too high.  It was really cool, but I guess I expected something a little flashier.  All of that, however, was made up for by the Big Ugly Fish.  The appeal of the Big Ugly Fish can only be explained by clicking that link.  There were also some pretty damn cute otters of whom I also took a video, but that, sadly, will not upload for some unknown reason.  After the aquarium we went to this huge mall that was close by.  Meredith did some shopping, but I think the rest of us were just exhausted. After eating we walked slowly, in a daze, then just found another place to sit down in the food court.

Mistah Crab?

Tuesday Feb 16th:  We walked around and took one of Lisbon's "elevators," which is actually a trolley car that goes up a hill.  We were somewhat tricked by one of our companions into going to a Basilica.  It was pretty, as Basilicas are apt to be.  I did have a lot on my mind, so I just sat down and took the quiet time to think.  Then we went to a cute restaurant café where I had a much needed Irish coffee.
That night there was a "party" at the hostel, which was fun until we found out the other rooms had heaters and one of these Australian boys got a little too friendly with Elvynia.  She and I then befriended the Polish guy working at the desk who gave us bottles of water for free.

Wednesday Feb 17th:  Of course, for our last day in Lisbon, the sun came out.  Meredith had a mid-day flight back to Paris, and the rest of us were heading for Madrid.  We just made our way back to the water and sat and looked out at the ocean. We found a weird burger place to eat lunch then we wandered back to the water and just sat some more.  Sitting became a recurring theme throughout the rest of our trip.  I think being sick just totally took the energy out of me.  I don't know if the others felt the same, but I was glad other people were into sitting.

Evening of Wednesday Feb 17th: With all of our things gathered, we arrived to the airport - like the good little travelers we were - just under two hours early.  We sat a while.  Then we found out our flight was delayed.  And delayed and delayed.  The flight left two hours late, and we did not get to Spain until after 1:00 am.  This is were our trip got interesting.  Elvynia and I had planned to Couchsurf in Madrid.  (I will talk about couchsurfing later) But, the metro closed at 1:30, and we were not going to make it.  We decided it would be easiest and safest to share a taxi with Gloria and Sheena to the hostel in the city center.  So we thought.  One hour and €60 later, he finally dropped us off at the hostel.  It should have been a 20 minute €20 ride, but it was 2am.  And we didn't speak Spanish.
The hostel was near the Gran Via metro stop, which, we discovered, is also where some prostitutes hang out.  An imposing man stood at the door to the hostel.  He said something in Spanish, which we didn't get.  Then he asked in English where we were going.  "The hostel," Sheena said.
"What is it called?" he asked.  At this point, we were exhausted, we had been cheated by an evil taxi driver, and we were surrounded by Spanish prostitutes.  We did not feel like being interrogated by a scary Russian-looking Spanish doorman.
Sheena looked at him.  She looked at the sign on the wall next to him and read it.  He did not look impressed, but he said something into a walkie talkie and let us in.  We should have couchsurfed, I thought.  Inside, the deskman was nice, and Elvynia and I ended up with a private double room for the price of a dorm.  Sheena and Gloria went straight away to their room.  But while we were getting ours reserved, some of the freakiest looking people started coming in.  Shiny-pleather-jacket man, bleached-hair-with-black-eyebrows girl.  It was like some kind of creepy meeting of people that only come out after midnight.  We hurried to our room and promptly went to bed.

Thursday Feb 18th: We woke up and met Gloria and Sheena for breakfast.  The hostel was decidedly less creepy in the day light, and I had some very good bread and coffee.  Elvynia and I checked out, and the four of us headed out into the great city of Madrid.
It was overcast and dreary, and Madrid, I am sorry to say, is not one of the prettiest of European cities.  We walked by the Grand Palace, saw some statues, and went to the Plaza del Sol.  Then, Elvynia and I set out to our couchsurfing place: chez Rafael.  We hopped on the metro and arrived a ways out of the city.  We then walked for a good 15 minutes along a busy road.  There was a "sanatorium" across the street.  I will admit, I was a little scared.  The neighborhood looked alright, and when we got to his building I was relieved.  It was nice-looking and a friendly neighbor woman let us in.
Rafael let us in where we met hi parents and his dog, Pipo.  Even after being told that we didn't speak Spanish, Rafael's father continued to talk to us and point at the dog.  I'm sure whatever he was saying was very interesting.
For our first time couchsurfing, we were spoiled.  Rafael and Miguel have a small third bedroom where they host couchsurfers.  There were two twin beds with clean sheets.  They even had a map and small tourist guide set out for us.  Rafael had to go back to work.  We made plans to meet for drinks and tapas, and he dropped us off at the metro station.  Back in Madrid, we went to the Museo Reina Sofia of Contemporary Art.  It was great.  There are a number of paintings by Picasso and Dalì, as well as one of my favorites, Miró.  The main attraction is Picasso's Guernica, and it is impressive.  You also are not allowed to take pictures of it, but I managed this one from the next room over:

I think this picture beautifully captures both Picasso's magnificent work and the modern aesthetic of nazi-esque museum volunteers.  (While at the Reina Sofia, I was told to step away from a Dalí paint -- which I have to add was BEHIND GLASS.  What is the point of seeing a painting in person if you can't get close enough to see the detail?  ESPECIALLY WITH SALVADOR DALÍ. )

After the Reina Sofia, we spent entirely too long finding a place to go and sit for a while.  I am not pointing fingers.  But sit we did.  After a bit, we went to meet up with Rafael and his roommate Miguel.  Rafael and Miguel are awesome.  They didn't know us.  We were only staying one night, and it was a Thursday.  Yet, they took us to three cool tapas bars where we had good food and drinks and fun conversation.  They have hosted over 100 couchsurfers and are both very interested in traveling.  We traded stories and had a really nice time.  Elvynia and I headed back with them and had a nice, full night's sleep.
We didn't bother and try to see Madrid on Friday.  We slept in and headed to the airport.  Did I mention earlier how fabulous the Lisbon airport was?  Well, it was awesome.  Very clean and modern with lots of food options and comfortable places to sit.  The very opposite of Charles de Gaulle.  Madrid's airport was in between, and all of the food was overpriced.  Luckily, our flight was only delayed by a few minutes, and we were on our way back to France.

The best laid plans of mice and men...

... do often go awry*.

Yes, I am back from Winter Vacation.  In fact, I've been back for almost a week, and I think I've spent the days since then vacationing from my vacation.  It was a good vacation, but... well you'll see:

Our comedy of errors began, oh, so, long ago on Friday February 12th when we took the last train to Paris.  

(Actually, my comedy of "errors" began the day before when Professor Connelly from McNeese State University emailed me to say he really liked the manuscript I submitted for the MFA program and would there be a good time to chat on the phone.  That is another story, which I shall relate later.)

The quote does say "the BEST laid plans," but I'll go ahead and admit our plans were perhaps not the best laid.  One might say they were moderately well-conceived and rather sloppishly put together.  

So the last train to Paris left at about 9:40 on Friday night, and we arrived at Paris Montparnasse around 11:15 or so.  The really great idea we had -- in order to save money -- was to arrive at Montparnasse, rather than Charles de Gaulle, then catch the last RER train to the airport.  This probably saved us less than €20.  Investing that €20 in the train directly to the airport would have saved us from kicking off our trip with confusion and panic.  In Paris, we found out that part of the tracks between Montparnasse and CDG were under construction.  According to the signs, there was a shuttle between another station and the airport.  (Without pointing any fingers, we should have known about this.)

We ended up taking the train to the stop we thought was the right one.  When we got off the train, we were at what could be any anonymous station somewhere within Paris' banlieues.  We stood with several other luggage-carrying foreigners until our savior arrived in a blue coveralls and a yellow reflective safety vest.  

"Charles de Gaulle?" he yelled.  

"Oui, yes!" the crowd of us said.

"Zis way!"

And we followed him.  He led us down the stairs out of the metro and to a coach bus waiting for us.

This brings me to the real genius part of our plan.  We had 6am flights to Lisbon.  Again, they were cheap.  Our brilliant idea was to stay the night in the airport.  Yes, it can be and is done by many people all over the world every second of every day.  But, that is often either done by the involuntary or homeless.  A recap of our night at CDG: it was cold, and it was uncomfortable.  And we were hungry.
I didn't sleep at all in the airport, and it was a relief to board the plane and pass out for the entirety of the three hour flight.  The plane nap somehow revived us, and we arrived in sunny Lisbon.  Despite warnings of sneaky cab drivers, we took a cab to the hostel, and he did not gyp us.  The hostel was very nice and very cheap.  Giddy -- probably from both lack of sleep and the sun, which we haven't seen in ages -- we set off to explore Lisbon.  We almost immediately headed for the water.  We made a pit stop at a corner grocer, mostly because it had an appealing fruit stand outside.  The woman at the counter saw us looking at the bottles of port wine and proceeded to let us sample several of the wines.  That little shot of alcohol only improved our spirits, so when we found ourselves at a rather dingy area of the port (meaning the water, not the wine), we decided to take inordinately silly pictures in which we look a little worse for the wear.  Or, at least, I look very worse for the wear because that 24 hours without sleep had taken its toll on my immune system.  I didn't know then, but I was about to develop a very bad cold.

Then, we went to the Castle of São Jorge.  This meant an uphill hike through Lisbon's Alfama district, one of the most visually interesting parts of the city.  The Alfama district is the only part of the city that wasn't destroyed in the 1755 earthquake.  It was historically the Moorish part of the city and was just beautiful to walk through.

Then we saw the castle.  The thing with castles in Europe is: well, they're everywhere.  So castles kind of become a moot tourist attraction.  The Lisbon castle, however, is cool.  According to Wikipedia the Moors also did their thing on this castle, which makes it different from a lot of the more medieval-knights-in-shining-armor castles.
After the castle, it was much-needed nap time.  I think we tried the famous Lisbon pastries at some point too.  Lisbon is know for these pastries that are one of the best things I've ever eaten.   The Pastéis de Nata are like flaky little quiches with custard filling.  We proceeded to eat one or so of these fabulous pastries every day that we were there.
Anywho, we ended our first evening with the best dinner ever.  Seriously.  Meredith has a friend from Lisbon who reserved us a table at this random little restaurant.  It was crowded.  When I saw the drab looking trays that the food came on, I knew we were in for something good.  It just screamed home cooking.  I had cod, apparently something you are supposed to eat in Lisbon.  I asked the waitress "It's good?" "Si, si" she said, nodding enthusiastically.  And it was.  In fact, I don't think a single meal on our trip could rival that first night.  My cod was cooked in butter and garlic with a side of potatoes and a green salad.  Plus we has a carafe of wine and cheese and bread before the meal.  They charged for the bread, and we still only paid like €11 each, which, when you have been living in France, is downright cheap.

We ate well, and we headed back "Home" (literally, the name of our foyer) where we made a wonderful discovery.  Our room had no form of heating!  At all!  We had to request extra blankets, and I quickly discovered that once I had optimized the position of the blankets and my layers not to move and to go to sleep.

I am going to publish here for now!  I know that is very anti-climactic because nothing too terrible has happened yet!  But I am very tired, and I am having a hard time gathering my thoughts.  Just thinking about everything we did makes me exhausted.  I promise more soon.  Here's a quick preview to whet your appetite: delays! missed rendez-vous! prostitutes! liars and cheats! a nasty cold!

Bonne nuit tout le monde!

*Quote from Robert Burns's Poem "To a Mouse" later became the title of one of the most famous novels in American Literature. Of Mice and Men, which I am embarassed to say I own but have not read.  I added "do" because I think it adds a nice emphasis on the predicate.  Plans do, quite often, go to hell.

Will Travel

Well, in a little over 24 hours I will be hitting the road again.  This time we're heading south to Lisbon, Portugal, then a brief stop in Madrid, Spain, a few days in Toulouse, France, and another short stop in La Rochelle.

Here are two songs that I have stuck in my head, pretty good traveling songs, the two of them:
"Have Love, Will Travel" is originally by Richard Berry ("Louie, Louie" anecdote: when I was a very very small child I looooved the song "Louie, Louie."  So much so, in fact, that I called the record player the "Ooey-Ooey.")
This version is by the Black Keys and is also fabulous:
Have Love, Will Travel
"Silver Stallion" was originally by the Highwaymen (wikipedia refers to them as the American country supergroup).  The version of "Silver Stallion" stuck in my head is also a cover, but I found the video of the Country Supergroup playing it, and it is a requirement that you watch it too:
Supergroup's Silver Stallion The best part is Jenning's little dance at around 1:45.
The cover that, I must admit, I heard before the original is by Cat Power.  Much more mellow, but excellent nonetheless:
Cat Power's Silver Stallion

Yay for traveling music!

I'm really excited about this trip, especially Lisbon because 1. it will be my first time in Portugal and 2. there is supposed to be really good, really cheap food in Portugal.
But, even though this vacation will begin at 4:30 tomorrow afternoon when I leave Marcel Pagnol, I've found myself more fervently counting down the weeks and days until April.  Why?

My parents are supposed to visit.  No tickets have been purchased yet (Mom, get on it!!), but it's pretty much decided.  And I can't wait.  Recently I've been thinking how nice it would be to take a weekend trip home, which, unfortunately, is totally impossible.  It's not like I'm ready to move home -- or anywhere else, for that matter -- but the familiarity of home is much missed.  Seeing my parents is as close as I'll get to Memphis until sometime in July.  And as much of my life as I've wished to be away from Memphis, I always catch myself being insanely nostalgic for it when away.  I had a conversation with a girl I met from Vancouver.  Someone asked if she missed it (vancouver, in particular, i think, because it's supposed to be a nice place to live), and she said "well, it's usually the people isn't it? not the place."  I guess that is a given, but it's a great way to look at it.

For now, however, I do love living here.

All of this is probably compounded by the fact that I'm anxiously awaiting grad school decisions, which will determine where I live for the next two to three years.  I guess this is good as a place as any to announce that Memphis accepted me into their MFA program.  One of my professors sent me a very nice email that said I was accepted with a unanimous "yes."  It was a nice way to kick off the week.

Anywho, blog readers, if you're there, I'm again traveling sans computer, so I'll be in touch when I return from the vacances!
À bientôt!

(my will-travel picture)

Qui a la droite? C'est moi!

So after a somewhat tongue-in-cheek analysis of the French obsession with doling out rights like disproportionate war-time rations, I can now stick my foot in my mouth, right there next to my tongue.

Why?

Well, I received a letter Friday from the friendly neighborhood CAF office.  I receive letters from the CAF office about twice a month.  Usually the letter requests that I provide some sort of official government document/proof of income or residence/vials of blood so that they can continue reviewing my case for another few weeks until they realize they need clippings of my hair and the impossible-to-receive stamp from the Office of Immigration.  Then they send me another letter requesting such items.

Although I've probably explained it, I'll bring you up to date: as a young person with a low income, I am eligible for government housing assistant to ease the burden of paying rent.  As this is France and as the CAF is a shining example of French bureaucracy, I expected the process would be slow and tedious.  Then, the immigration officials changed the rules for people like me living in France.  In years past, I would have received a carte de séjour, a residency permit to prove I was allowed to stay in France for a certain period of time.  But the Office of Immigration, OFii, no longer requires it.  Instead, I have to get a stamp from the office in Nantes on my visa.  But I cannot get the stamp without first having a medical examination with OFii.  A medical visit, that is, that I cannot schedule.  I have to wait for them to send me a letter with a date, which I have not received.  Confused yet?  What does this have to do with the CAF?  Well, no one bothered to update the  CAF about the changes, and it continued to demand the carte de séjour. In fact, one conversation with a CAF employee went like this:
"Ms, you can get the CAF when you have a carte de séjour."
"Mam, the carte de séjour no longer exists for me.  They changed the rules."
"No. Without the carte de séjour, you DO NOT HAVE THE RIGHT to the CAF."

But, someone finally updated the CAF, now they know that we are waiting for OFii stamps on our visas, which basically means nothing except our conversations with the CAF are now slightly more polite.  And I continue to receive letters requesting information, and I continue to send in that information.

Then, this week, Elvynia received a letter notifying her that she would receive a fairly large sum of back pay from November to December.  And she did.  It was deposited directly into her bank account.

Then, a day or so later, I received a letter from the CAF.  Per usual, I expected a request for several documents that I didn't have.  Mais, non!!  It was a similar letter with the following sentence:
Vous avez droit à €686.79.  You have the right to €686.79.

The amount is back-pay from October to December, and because I live in a foyer it won't be directly deposited into my account.  But, I talked to the girls who work here, and it's the real deal.  I'm getting financial assistance.  Of course, the whole process continues to be convoluted, and it is paid in a sort of credit to the foyer where I will only pay the difference in rent (which should be zilch).
The funny thing is: I still don't have the OFii stamp.
But who cares!  My monthly net income is now at a level where I won't cringe after purchasing each plane/train/bus/boat/hot air balloon ticket!

A final thing:  all of this having the right/not having the right, reminded me of my favorite children's books, Eloise by Kay Thompson.  Eloise in Moscow is probably one of the most hilarious children's books you'll ever read.  It was published in 1951 when the Cold War was just getting going, and Eloise gets to shake up the Soviets a little.  Their fabulous tour guide takes them around the city and explains "Is possible to see...." "Is not possible to go" here, here, and here.  It's not that funny here, but read it.  Trust me, it's hilarious.

You gotta fight, for your right...

One thing that French people love to define is what one does and does not have the right to do.  For example, the French have the right to 30 days of paid vacation per year, housing assistance (if at a certain income level), and a 35 hour work week.  They have the right to eat baguettes whenever the mood strikes, to drink wine at lunch, and to drive like crazy people.

But even with all of these clearly defined rights, here is one of the phrases that any one should/will learn quickly when living in France: On n'a pas la droite - One does not have the right, on means one, but really it is used more like English speakers use you to refer to people in general.  To what does one not have the right?  Lots of things: You do not have the right to sit in the grass in the park.  The police do not have the right to enter private property without a warrant. You do not have the right to the CAF (Caisse d'Allocation  Familiales - government aid, for me, this means housing assistance) without furnishing the proper documents. (Unless you're Elvynia, who just miraculously received her money!)  All of this having/ not having the right to do such and such permeates even the minutiae of French existence.  So much so, in fact, that school children often try to tell each other what they do and do not have the right to do.  For example, "take out your colored pencils," I say to the 7 year olds.  "Color the apple red.  The apple is red." (Draw out the words for emphasis, accompany them by a coloring motion, and you'll have an idea what I look and sound like.)  Almost instantly, there are choruses of: "Cassandra/Lyed/Farouk elle a dit les crayons couleurs, tu n'a pas la droite! Allie!!! il/elle le fait avec les feutres!!!"  That's to say: So-and-so, she said with colored pencils, you don't have the right!  Allie!!! he/she's doing it with markers!!!"  It sounds so funny translated from the mouths of those small children.  I guess it's the equivalent of English speakers saying "you're supposed to/ not supposed to do such and such."  

The point:  Do you know what else one does not have the right to do?  One does not have the right to leave L'École Primaire de Jacques Prévert through the cafeteria.

Yes, that's right, on n'a pas la droite de sortir l'école par le cantine. But why?  I haven't a clue.  Today, my horrible CP class was cancelled without any warning, which was great.  Dominique, the CP teacher and directeur de l'école (the principal), had a meeting, and the CPs were distributed throughout the other classrooms.  I got to leave work 40 minutes early.  But, since Dominique was not there, and the elusive secretary was, as usual, nowhere to be found, I thought I'd leave through the cafeteria.  Why would I think such a crazy thing?  Well, first of all to leave through the front gate you have to have either a key or have someone (Dominique or elusive secretary) buzz you out.  Second of all, the bike rack is next to the cafeteria, so there's the ease of getting my bike without leaving through one gate and re-entering through another. And I have entered the school through the cafeteria.  So, I went to the cafeteria and opened the door, where I was greeted by three disgruntled cafeteria ladies who sat eating what I presumed was their own lunch.  To be polite, I asked if it was okay if I left through the cafeteria, expecting a friendly bien sûr, pas de soucis.  Instead I got: 

Normalement, on n'a pas la droite, mais vous êtes déja entrée, allez-y.

Basically, "normally, no, you do not have the right to go out through the cafeteria, but seeing as you've already entered, go on."  I was a little shocked and thus made a beeline for the door.  Only after I left did I stop to wonder, BUT WHY?  Why doesn't one have the right to leave the building through the cafeteria?  The door is unlocked.  I am not a student.  Next time, I'll ask why.

Another endearing thing that I forgot in my last post, although this was not with one of my students:

I was jogging in the promenade behind my building, and I saw this little boy looking worriedly into some bushes.  I slowed down a little, and he said something about his ball, so I stopped and looked.  His ball was stuck in a prickly bush.  Ça pique! He said.  -- Piquer is a fabulous word that means to sting, bite, or prick.  It can be used in reference to an insect, a spicy dish, or even a prickly bush.  I love the word and its multifunctionalness (I also enjoy creating nouns, like multifunctionalness). -- Anyway, I tried to get the ball out for him, but it was too far on the other side. So the two of us went around into the courtyard of the building, and I was able to pull it out. Merci, madame, he said.  I don't know, sometimes things like that just make you feel good.  It was also hilarious that he called me "madame."   

Also, the days are getting longer!  Wherever you are reading this, unless maybe you live in the Southern Hemisphere -- amy, are you there?? :) -- I guess your days are getting longer too.  Every year my mom tells me that, during the winter, she always looks forward to being able to tell that the days are getting a little bit longer.  For some reason it seems like the days have been unreasonably short this winter.  But now they're starting to get a little longer, which is great.  We've also had a couple days of sunshine, which has been even better.  It's still cold, but it's nice to know the winter won't last forever.  AND according to my book on the Loire Valley, spring is one of the best times to visit -- it's supposed to be beautiful here.

I tried to get a really cool picture of the trees outside my window.  The buildings block all but the very tops of the trees from the sun, and the sun was shining brightly yesterday afternoon.  The tops of the trees were bright orange while the rest was normal looking.  Anyway, here are pictures, even though it didn't turn out quite as cool as it looked in real life.  Proof that the sun has graced Angers with its presence, at least for a little while:

Finally, there 5 working days left until my next vacation! We leave Saturday, Feb 13th for Lisbon, Portugal.  Then we'll make our way up the Iberian peninsula to Madrid, followed by Toulouse, with a final stop in La Rochelle.  Elvynia and I have been counting down the days religiously.  I guess we've become rather French, expecting all of this vacation time.  The vacation time to which, I might add, we do have the right.

The brats can endear to the tired Tea-chair.

So, I continue to be a tired tea-chair, and I have decided I do not have a long term career in child education.

For example, my CPs just entirely wear me out.  In that class, there are 3 or 4 horribly disruptive children, then there are 6 or 7 incredibly chatty kids, then there are between 3 and 5 who cannot stay in their seat, in a class of 20 kids, that is a problem.  The teacher himself has no real control.  It is a circus.  I leave that class each Tuesday and Thursday with some form of a headache.

But, every once and a while, one of those kids does something that kind of surprises you and makes you feel all warm and fuzzy.  (Not to be totally lame or anything)

One of my favorite kids, Walid (who was describing his salty sweet chichi snack to me) moved suddenly.  The teacher didn't know he was going to be changing schools.  So one day he was at Marcel Pagnol, and the next he was not.  But, he was at Jacques Prévert, the same day that I teach there.  I said hi, and he looked a little wild-eyed and confused (being only 7 and being left at a new place without anyone familiar).  But he looked really happy to see me and asked me to say "bonjour" to Madame Goupille's class.  

When I saw Mme. Goupille's class, I said "Bonjour from Walid."  She said to the class "Walid is at Allie's other school, so we can send him messages through her!"

One little boy, Farouk, said "Dit à Walid que je suis toujours son ami."  (Tell Walid that I am still/always his friend.)

Then the whole class made illustrations for him, which I delivered.  When Walid heard Farouk's message, he gave me one of his marbles to give to Farouk.  

How absolutely adorable!  He asked me today if I had given him the marble yet.  I hadn't because I hadn't been to the school yet, and he wanted me to show it to him to make sure I still had it!

Another great story:

One of the boys in CE2 at Marcel Pagnol gave me a folded up piece of paper, which I promptly unfolded:

I had to laugh.  M. Beauvais took it and looked at it, and he laughed.  He gave an approximate translation, and the poor kid turned red and covered his face!  But, I told him I'd keep it, and I have!  I tacked to the wall above my desk.  

I just want to know why all the CE2s want to draw American flags for me!

In other news, the sun came out Sunday.  Meredith and I went for a walk, which was really nice.  I took some pictures of Angers, and we stopped at a café and had a coffee. The café was small and had nice burnt-orange colored walls.  It was a clean, well-lighted place.  There is a Hemingway story called "A Clean Well-Lighted Place."  It is one of my favorites.  I recommend it.

When we left the café, we stopped in one of the very very few little shops open on Sundays, and as we headed back toward, someone called after us.  Another assistant, Ben, who we've seen very little of was on his way to see Le Cercle Rouge a Jean-Pierre Melville movie (this meant nothing to me, but apparently he is one of THE French film directors to know.)  The movie was made in 1970, and it is awesome.  It is French and thus has some very French moments and a rather French ending.  But, it begins with some amazing cinematography, wide shots of fields, close shots of this convict being escorted on a train, an intense chase in the woods; it includes a cabaret with excellent dancers, a jewelry heist, and a drunk's hallucinations; it ends with intensity.  There is surprisingly little dialogue, which was helpful in that I didn't have to focus all my energies on comprehending the French.  Anyway, check it out.
There's always more... for now, here's winter in Anger: