 |
| Decorating the tree outside my room |
 |
| A realllly good pâtisserie in Toulouse |
 |
| Bûches de Noël |
 |
| One of my favorite bars |
 |
| Our house |
23 December 2011
Deck the Halls
Ho Ho Ho
'Tis the season to eat eat eat.
I'll be staying in Toulouse for Christmas this year, and I'm not embarassed so say that one of the things I'm most excited for is the food.
Standard fare for the holidays includes champagne, oysters, foie gras, and assorted pastries. Mmm.
The kick-off began on the last day of classes at the school cafeteria for the repas de Noël. I had missed this last year since I was flying home for the holidays. As this is an establishment that regularly serves artisanal unpasteurized cheeses at lunch and had been generating a significant amount of buzz in the teachers lounge in the weeks leading up, I figured it was worth coming in for on Friday even though I don't normally work that day.
I was not disappointed. Indeed there was a feuilletée de canard as an appetizer, filet mignon or fish for the main dish, and 3 choices of desserts. In room where the teachers eat there were heaping plates of roquefort being passed around (eat your heart our FDA), and the red table wine that usually accompanies school lunches (yes you read that right) was flowing more than usual.
Friday night I went to a colleagues house for a champagne and foie gras apéro with some of her ex-colleagues from the previous schools he worked at. They were talking about how they unfortunately missed their school's meal this year and were especially disappointed as they had heard through the grapevine that the school opened several choice bottles of wine from their cave. Excuse me? Apparently it's not uncommon for schools – yes public high schools – to have personal wine cellars. Incredible.
Yesterday Gisèle and I decorated our tiny Charlie Brown-esque tree and swapped Christmas traditions. I introduced her to the Jackson 5 christmas album and told her how my parents, brother and I always left out milk and cookies for Santa on Christmas Eve up until an embarassingly old age, and she told me that in France they leave out a glass of wine for Santa. Why of course, she explained, Santa is old enough to drink isn't he? Vive la France.
A bientôt!
21 December 2011
Elusive Visa
I'm back to rant and wail. For the record I try not to bombard you with too many stories of nonsensical bureaucoracy, however this time I feel I have good reason.
You'll remember that I mentioned how for some mysterious reason the Office of Immigration had mailed back all my paperwork saying they couldnt validate my visa, and how, per their instructions, had waited 5 hours at the Prefecture to find out that I need to apply for a different kind of visa. Keeping in mind that I am the only assistant I know of (first or second year) who has been asked to follow these steps, I contacted the woman who is responsible for the English assistants at yet another office. After over a week of completely contradictory emails, she finished by telling me point blank that she didn't understand my file. She left me with the phone number for another woman, at yet another office. This woman, though very nice and patient, wasn't much help either. When I asked her if she had a more direct number for the Office of Immigration who I'd been trying to get a hold of for some time then (read: had called 30 times and been disconneceted each time), she made a very French sounding and impressive sigh and said that if I managed to get a hold of them to tell her and that they have big problems with their phone system (read: general management??). Okay.
It seems the more I search to do right (read: legally) and iron this thing out the more difficult it gets. Interesting system right?
I resigned myself to tackling the laundry list of documents required for my appointment for this "new" visa. Included was a piece of paper I didn't posess nor had ever heard of. I called the appropriate office and was assured that my work contract replaced it. Okay. Next I need proof that I passed the medical visit at OFII last year which is a number they assign and stamp in your passport after you see the doctor. Well, last year after I got the number stamped in my passport I got a follow up letter from my friends saying they had made a mistake and issued me a new number on an 8.5x11 piece of paper I was supposed to keep with me anytime I traveled for the rest of my life, which I promptly lost.
After tearing significant amounts of my hair out, I decided to take a more direct approach and go straight to the source. The woman at the Prefecture did not know why I needed a different kind of visa, neither did the woman at the Rectorat or the Direccte, so the solution must lie at the Office of Immigration, where this whole sordid affair began. Since it was more than clear at that point that I wasn't getting through using any modern methods of communication such as phone or email, I decided to make a personal appearance.
The things I would like to do to that place are probably best not posted on the internet. I arrive and go straight to the information where the woman is cool as a cucumber which to me seemed curious given the amount of phone traffic I imagined had to go through that place to cause them to have to disconnect incoming calls upwards of 30 times. I imagined a secret back room somewhere stocked with secretaries frantically answering and (dis)connecting calls as fast as humanly possible. Think Mad Men. To make a long story short she did not tell me anything new nor give me a satisfactory answer as to why I am the only assistant obliged to perform these acrobatics but they did reissue me my medical number.
I went to my appointment on Thursday and now have the visa I need to stay here. Apparently according to them it isn't strange that I have to get this new visa but that all the other assistants don't as it's requisite for people returning for a second stay. Effective.
The kicker: upon returning home from my appointment I get an email that the missing paper I had originally called about (the one they assured me I didn't need) was ready to be picked up in case i needed it for my appointment that day. Thanks.
So glad all that's over.
A bientôt!
Linz
You'll remember that I mentioned how for some mysterious reason the Office of Immigration had mailed back all my paperwork saying they couldnt validate my visa, and how, per their instructions, had waited 5 hours at the Prefecture to find out that I need to apply for a different kind of visa. Keeping in mind that I am the only assistant I know of (first or second year) who has been asked to follow these steps, I contacted the woman who is responsible for the English assistants at yet another office. After over a week of completely contradictory emails, she finished by telling me point blank that she didn't understand my file. She left me with the phone number for another woman, at yet another office. This woman, though very nice and patient, wasn't much help either. When I asked her if she had a more direct number for the Office of Immigration who I'd been trying to get a hold of for some time then (read: had called 30 times and been disconneceted each time), she made a very French sounding and impressive sigh and said that if I managed to get a hold of them to tell her and that they have big problems with their phone system (read: general management??). Okay.
It seems the more I search to do right (read: legally) and iron this thing out the more difficult it gets. Interesting system right?
I resigned myself to tackling the laundry list of documents required for my appointment for this "new" visa. Included was a piece of paper I didn't posess nor had ever heard of. I called the appropriate office and was assured that my work contract replaced it. Okay. Next I need proof that I passed the medical visit at OFII last year which is a number they assign and stamp in your passport after you see the doctor. Well, last year after I got the number stamped in my passport I got a follow up letter from my friends saying they had made a mistake and issued me a new number on an 8.5x11 piece of paper I was supposed to keep with me anytime I traveled for the rest of my life, which I promptly lost.
After tearing significant amounts of my hair out, I decided to take a more direct approach and go straight to the source. The woman at the Prefecture did not know why I needed a different kind of visa, neither did the woman at the Rectorat or the Direccte, so the solution must lie at the Office of Immigration, where this whole sordid affair began. Since it was more than clear at that point that I wasn't getting through using any modern methods of communication such as phone or email, I decided to make a personal appearance.
The things I would like to do to that place are probably best not posted on the internet. I arrive and go straight to the information where the woman is cool as a cucumber which to me seemed curious given the amount of phone traffic I imagined had to go through that place to cause them to have to disconnect incoming calls upwards of 30 times. I imagined a secret back room somewhere stocked with secretaries frantically answering and (dis)connecting calls as fast as humanly possible. Think Mad Men. To make a long story short she did not tell me anything new nor give me a satisfactory answer as to why I am the only assistant obliged to perform these acrobatics but they did reissue me my medical number.
I went to my appointment on Thursday and now have the visa I need to stay here. Apparently according to them it isn't strange that I have to get this new visa but that all the other assistants don't as it's requisite for people returning for a second stay. Effective.
The kicker: upon returning home from my appointment I get an email that the missing paper I had originally called about (the one they assured me I didn't need) was ready to be picked up in case i needed it for my appointment that day. Thanks.
So glad all that's over.
A bientôt!
Linz
14 December 2011
Fête des Lumières
This past weekend I went East to Lyon for their annual Fête des Lumières or Festival of Lights, no relation to Moses. I stayed with my friend Sarah who I visited last year in Lyon for a weekend as well. This year she insisted I come to see this particular festival.
Basically it consists of upwards of one hundred light installations all over the city - in 3 nights of roaming the city from when it got dark around 6pm until it ended at 2am I still didn't see it all. It is funded by the city with the help of some private sponsoring and the installations are mainly Lyonnais artists.The exhibits took on all different forms as the goal is just to use light in creative ways. A lot of the time this took the form of projecting light shows onto the facades of important buildings accompanied by instrumental music - cathedrals, theaters, town hall, etc. This was one of the most popular at the Place des Terreaux where there is a large fountain of 4 horses and a woman - the show essentially animated the story of the fountain. Then there was this one that turned the Théatre de Célestins into a giant pinball machine. There were tons of other kinds set up in different places in the city - parks, fountains, trees, etc. this was one of my favorites.
I felt like I was in Harry Potter walking the narrow cobblestone streets of the old city center with all kinds of whimsical light shows visible from everywhere and people selling hot wine every few meters, it was a very cool experience.
As touristy as it was in the sense that between 3 and 4 million people descend on Lyon for this weekend, I felt like it hadn't become a touristy attraction.I really liked how the installations changed depending on the neighborhood you were in to kind of highlight the spirit of the different areas of the city, and how featured the local artists were. They also had many exhibits that were designed by school kids and realised by aritsts. One evening Sarah and I had wandered around the packed center, and the climbed up to Croix-Rousse, the hippier younger neighborhood to see what they had going on. We stumbled upon a guy with a microphone infront of a bed sheet strung up between 2 tree telling a story to a crowd seated on the ground in front of him. Behind him, shadow puppets animated what he said. All around him in the trees were illuminated animals made from paper mâché. You could tell it was the last show of the night as his comrads behind him often took of into their own rendition of the story and he frequently had to pause to put them back on track. The fact that there was pot of steaming hot wine within reach I'm sure didn't help. It was very amusing.
28 November 2011
Thanksgiving
Today in my shopping basket: Roquefort, Comte (cheese), Lindt dark mint chocolate, and a hyacinth bulb.
Woman in front of me: A Bordeaux, a single sausage, some mozarella.
Maybe we should get together and have a potluck.
Still on the subject of food, this past weekend, like a good American, I celebrated Thanksgiving not once but twice...back to back. I just unbuttoned my pants. It assure you it was worth pushing through that uncomfortably stuffed sensation to show those frogs what we're made of - As though they don't already have an awfully skewed view of the correlation between "American" and "obese" and that one of the first things we are acredited with when presented as "American" is he who bequeathed fast food to the developed, and undeveloped world. ANYWAY. I had to show them that we can stuff our faces and get obesce with more than just "McDo" but also turkey, and stuffing, and mashed potatoes, and pies...
Friday we celebrated with a kind of French/American collaboration at an obliging friend's parents house. We were 25 and for the diversity in the kitchen had a surprisingly spot-on rendition including 2 turkeys and all the appropriate sides. Greatest surprise: Stuffing with sausage, celery, mushrooms and dried cranberries. Biggest disappointment: an attempt at pecan pie - it's just not the same without corn syrup.
I unfortunately was unable to procure a turkey for the dinner I hosted chez nous on Saturday. When I went to the poultry woman at the market in St. Cyprien and asked about ordering a turkey she looked at me as though I had 2 heads assuring me that it was impossible in all of France to find a turkey before Christmas, the only sensible time anyone would want one. I badly wanted to prove her wrong but instead she proposed 2 lovely farm raised chickens that I took her up on. My friend Helen whose teaching a few hours outside the city came for the weekend and helped me cook for Saturday. We did the produce markets in the morning and that afternoon prepared, ahem: these excellent balsamic braised brussel sprouts with bacon bits and breadcrumbs, a one hit wonder cauliflower gratin, a pumpkin pie that I made from the single can of pumpkin I trafficked from the US, astutely remembering the battle of Lindsay v. Raw Pumpkin from Thanksgiving 2010, and a French silk chocolate pie topped with homemade whipped crean, late raspberries, and hazelnuts. Where are my stretch pants?
My friends brought stuffing, mashed potatoes, creamed sinach and we roasted the chickens with rosemary and thyme.I always thought it was about the sides anyway, n'est pas?
I bought these tiny pumpkins to decorate the table that I'm going to try to cook tonight and stuff with roquefort and leftover bread crumbs. I refuse to be squashed-out just yet!
A bientôt!
Woman in front of me: A Bordeaux, a single sausage, some mozarella.
Maybe we should get together and have a potluck.
Still on the subject of food, this past weekend, like a good American, I celebrated Thanksgiving not once but twice...back to back. I just unbuttoned my pants. It assure you it was worth pushing through that uncomfortably stuffed sensation to show those frogs what we're made of - As though they don't already have an awfully skewed view of the correlation between "American" and "obese" and that one of the first things we are acredited with when presented as "American" is he who bequeathed fast food to the developed, and undeveloped world. ANYWAY. I had to show them that we can stuff our faces and get obesce with more than just "McDo" but also turkey, and stuffing, and mashed potatoes, and pies...
Friday we celebrated with a kind of French/American collaboration at an obliging friend's parents house. We were 25 and for the diversity in the kitchen had a surprisingly spot-on rendition including 2 turkeys and all the appropriate sides. Greatest surprise: Stuffing with sausage, celery, mushrooms and dried cranberries. Biggest disappointment: an attempt at pecan pie - it's just not the same without corn syrup.
I unfortunately was unable to procure a turkey for the dinner I hosted chez nous on Saturday. When I went to the poultry woman at the market in St. Cyprien and asked about ordering a turkey she looked at me as though I had 2 heads assuring me that it was impossible in all of France to find a turkey before Christmas, the only sensible time anyone would want one. I badly wanted to prove her wrong but instead she proposed 2 lovely farm raised chickens that I took her up on. My friend Helen whose teaching a few hours outside the city came for the weekend and helped me cook for Saturday. We did the produce markets in the morning and that afternoon prepared, ahem: these excellent balsamic braised brussel sprouts with bacon bits and breadcrumbs, a one hit wonder cauliflower gratin, a pumpkin pie that I made from the single can of pumpkin I trafficked from the US, astutely remembering the battle of Lindsay v. Raw Pumpkin from Thanksgiving 2010, and a French silk chocolate pie topped with homemade whipped crean, late raspberries, and hazelnuts. Where are my stretch pants?
My friends brought stuffing, mashed potatoes, creamed sinach and we roasted the chickens with rosemary and thyme.I always thought it was about the sides anyway, n'est pas?
I bought these tiny pumpkins to decorate the table that I'm going to try to cook tonight and stuff with roquefort and leftover bread crumbs. I refuse to be squashed-out just yet!
A bientôt!
21 November 2011
Une Sale Histoire...
Hello all. So as some of you may have heard, my house in Toulouse was robbed last Friday night. Everyone is fine and no one was home. I went out at 9:30 to meet my friend Alberto in town, and at 10:00 my roomate Ofelia called me in a panic saying she had just gotten home and the lights were on and things missing from the house. I called Gisele and told her what I knew and Alberto and I took my bike back home right away. We all arrived home at about the same time - Gisele and her friend Christine whose house she had been at, Alberto and I, and the police. Ofelia was of course already there with a friend also. As soon as I saw the lights on in my room I knew they had been in there, something I had been fighting off assuming on the ride home. I looked though the window and saw the room I had left clean and organized just half an hour earlier in total disorder. My clothes were all over, suitcases, toiletry bags, and the likes that I had stored under my bed were open and strewn everywhere, etc. Basically the place was a mess.
For the next hour we were in a kind of terrible stupor. The police were less than unhelpful, I couldn't believe it. I'm sure they see a lot worse than a nonviolent breaking and entering, but they didn't even pretend to be concerned . They looked around, took our information, and essentially said that the doors they had forced weren't very difficult to break and that someone would be by the next day for fingerprints. They then smoked a cigarette in the driveway, spoke breifly to the nieghbors and left. That night I slept at my friend Alberto' s place. The next day the forensic expert was even less cordial. Connards. Excuse my French.
The same day the 3 of us went to the police station to make a declaration of what was taken: computers, cameras, iPods, cash, jewelery, handbags, etc.
After the initial shock, it's a terrible feeling to know someone has been in your space and touched your things and to imagine your property in someone elses house. It is more that than the fact they took from me what they did that is difficult to get over. I didnt sleep well the first few nights and for the moment am sleeping in a guest room in the house. We have all been working on cleaning the house and reinstalling a good ambiance there. We had a dinner where we invited everyone who was there that night (except the police of course) which helped. I'm thinking about rearranging the furniture in my room after I clean and do what I need to there. I want to move back in there but know that I can't force myself.
My colleagues and friends have been nothing short of wonderful. Monday night I ate at a Spanish colleague's house. We talked all night and I ended up sleeping there. Sunday I went to my favorite market, St Aubin with all my assistant friends from last year. It was gorgeous out and there were lots of musicians per usual - a harpist, guitars, couple belting out Edith Piaf, and an ecclectic symphonie on the steps of the cathedral. I appreciated the music with new ears no longer having an iPod or computer to play music on! I saw a Brazilian man who made me a pair of beautiful earrings last year. We chatted for a bit and he ended up giving me another pair to rebuild my collection. I've never doubted the kindness of people here, but after a destabilizing and unpleasant experience I was just overwhelmed with how beautiful people can be.
This past weekend I escaped to the farm with Dominique and Cyril. The Norweigan couple, Jacob and Kathrine from Halloween were there too. It was great to get away from the city and the house. I slept and ate wonderfuly. We cooked a ton (as usual!), jarred apple jelly from the rest of the apples not used in the juice, I went to the market with Domi Saturday morning and Jacob and Cyril killed and skinned 2 sheep. Sunday the 5 of us butchered the meat for them to freeze. I'm becoming more and more of a farmer, n'est pas?
On the whole things are going well and I'm focusing on future projects: next up, Thanksgiving that I'm hosting here, my first ever!
That's all for now, I promise a much shorter post next time.
Bisous.
For the next hour we were in a kind of terrible stupor. The police were less than unhelpful, I couldn't believe it. I'm sure they see a lot worse than a nonviolent breaking and entering, but they didn't even pretend to be concerned . They looked around, took our information, and essentially said that the doors they had forced weren't very difficult to break and that someone would be by the next day for fingerprints. They then smoked a cigarette in the driveway, spoke breifly to the nieghbors and left. That night I slept at my friend Alberto' s place. The next day the forensic expert was even less cordial. Connards. Excuse my French.
The same day the 3 of us went to the police station to make a declaration of what was taken: computers, cameras, iPods, cash, jewelery, handbags, etc.
After the initial shock, it's a terrible feeling to know someone has been in your space and touched your things and to imagine your property in someone elses house. It is more that than the fact they took from me what they did that is difficult to get over. I didnt sleep well the first few nights and for the moment am sleeping in a guest room in the house. We have all been working on cleaning the house and reinstalling a good ambiance there. We had a dinner where we invited everyone who was there that night (except the police of course) which helped. I'm thinking about rearranging the furniture in my room after I clean and do what I need to there. I want to move back in there but know that I can't force myself.
My colleagues and friends have been nothing short of wonderful. Monday night I ate at a Spanish colleague's house. We talked all night and I ended up sleeping there. Sunday I went to my favorite market, St Aubin with all my assistant friends from last year. It was gorgeous out and there were lots of musicians per usual - a harpist, guitars, couple belting out Edith Piaf, and an ecclectic symphonie on the steps of the cathedral. I appreciated the music with new ears no longer having an iPod or computer to play music on! I saw a Brazilian man who made me a pair of beautiful earrings last year. We chatted for a bit and he ended up giving me another pair to rebuild my collection. I've never doubted the kindness of people here, but after a destabilizing and unpleasant experience I was just overwhelmed with how beautiful people can be.
This past weekend I escaped to the farm with Dominique and Cyril. The Norweigan couple, Jacob and Kathrine from Halloween were there too. It was great to get away from the city and the house. I slept and ate wonderfuly. We cooked a ton (as usual!), jarred apple jelly from the rest of the apples not used in the juice, I went to the market with Domi Saturday morning and Jacob and Cyril killed and skinned 2 sheep. Sunday the 5 of us butchered the meat for them to freeze. I'm becoming more and more of a farmer, n'est pas?
On the whole things are going well and I'm focusing on future projects: next up, Thanksgiving that I'm hosting here, my first ever!
That's all for now, I promise a much shorter post next time.
Bisous.
La Paix
Pour moi, la paix était toujours quelque chose qui venait de l’intérieur. C'est clair qu'elle peut être déstabiliser pars les éléments qui viennent de l’extérieur. Mais quand ça m'arrive, je ne m’inquiète pas, car je sais qu'elle reviendra. Il y a des choses qu'on ne peut pas me voler: les sources d’où viennent ma paix:
Le marché St Aubin les dimanches matins avec mes amis qui m'aiment, qui me soutiennent quand j'en ai besoin, qui me comprennent. Avec le bijoutier du Brésil qui m'a fait une paire de boucles d'oreilles car ils me les ont toutes volées. Avec les musique variées, les sons des instruments qui se mélangent pendant que je marche parmi les étals - une harpe, une seule guitare, un couple qui chante Édith Piaf à pleins poumons, et au finale: une symphonie panachée sur les escaliers de la cathédral. Et maintenant, qu'est ce que j'apprécie la musique au moment ou je ne peux plus en écouter. Avec la joie des gens qui sont venus se promener pour passer une dimanche ensemble, je me sens caressée.
Le goût d'une vraie fraise chez mes amis les agriculteurs Dominique et Cyril.
Le plaisir de déguster la vie avec les gens que j'aime.
Les gens, ma famille, mes amis.
Mon voyage dans le sud de l'Espagne avec mon ancien amour.
L'amour.
Cette maison avec tous les bons moments que j'ai vécus, et ces souvenirs heureux que je garde à moi toujours.
Le souvenir de tous mes amis réunis dans un salon au grenier d'un hôtel dans un Istambul sous la neige.
Le rire de mon ami James, qui peut me faire rire même si un océan nous sépare.
Les yeux de mon petit chien guadeloupéen qui disent: Aimez-moi.
C'est peut être romantique. C'est peut être idéaliste même.
Mais pour moi, c'est vrai, il y a des choses qu'on ne peut pas me voler.
Ma paix.
Le marché St Aubin les dimanches matins avec mes amis qui m'aiment, qui me soutiennent quand j'en ai besoin, qui me comprennent. Avec le bijoutier du Brésil qui m'a fait une paire de boucles d'oreilles car ils me les ont toutes volées. Avec les musique variées, les sons des instruments qui se mélangent pendant que je marche parmi les étals - une harpe, une seule guitare, un couple qui chante Édith Piaf à pleins poumons, et au finale: une symphonie panachée sur les escaliers de la cathédral. Et maintenant, qu'est ce que j'apprécie la musique au moment ou je ne peux plus en écouter. Avec la joie des gens qui sont venus se promener pour passer une dimanche ensemble, je me sens caressée.
Le goût d'une vraie fraise chez mes amis les agriculteurs Dominique et Cyril.
Le plaisir de déguster la vie avec les gens que j'aime.
Les gens, ma famille, mes amis.
Mon voyage dans le sud de l'Espagne avec mon ancien amour.
L'amour.
Cette maison avec tous les bons moments que j'ai vécus, et ces souvenirs heureux que je garde à moi toujours.
Le souvenir de tous mes amis réunis dans un salon au grenier d'un hôtel dans un Istambul sous la neige.
Le rire de mon ami James, qui peut me faire rire même si un océan nous sépare.
Les yeux de mon petit chien guadeloupéen qui disent: Aimez-moi.
C'est peut être romantique. C'est peut être idéaliste même.
Mais pour moi, c'est vrai, il y a des choses qu'on ne peut pas me voler.
Ma paix.
08 November 2011
Business as Usual
One of my no-longer-so-secret favorite things to do is spy on what people in the grocery line with me are buying. It's like an amped up version of people watching. At smaller (read: more expensive) local grocery stores it is even better, as people really boil it down to the essentials. I love to imagine (read: judge) what kind of life that person might have. Recently I've seen:
A single shallot, one steak, creme fraîche, and chocolate pudding. A bachelor feeling especially inspired?
Toilet paper and a bottle of red wine. Girl after my own heart.
Whisky and a candy bar. Typical Thursday night.
And 3 different kinds of cat food. I'd rather not to know.
Tomorrow I'm heading back to the Prefecture to figure out this visa business. Sometimes I hate France. Good thing the wine is cheap.
A single shallot, one steak, creme fraîche, and chocolate pudding. A bachelor feeling especially inspired?
Toilet paper and a bottle of red wine. Girl after my own heart.
Whisky and a candy bar. Typical Thursday night.
And 3 different kinds of cat food. I'd rather not to know.
Tomorrow I'm heading back to the Prefecture to figure out this visa business. Sometimes I hate France. Good thing the wine is cheap.
03 November 2011
A Paperwork Inferno
Sometimes my life is a carefree rendition of Beauty and the Beast, where I ride my antique bike around Toulouse amongst the townspeople who wish me "Bonjour!" by name, filling my basket with fresh produce along streets that run with wine. OK, maybe not that last bit, but the rest.
And sometimes my life is a paperwork/immigration/bureaucratic inferno, like today. It all really started before the vacation, when I realized that the problem that I had never received my social security card last year had not resolved itself in my summer absence. Then, over the vacation I got a call from my cell phone company that they were missing a signature on some form asking me if I couldn't just breeze back over (for a third time) s'il vous plait and merci. Then, upon returning from farming, I found a letter waiting for me from my friends at the Office of Immigration. Inside there was all the paperwork I had carefully filled out, photocopied, and sent by registered mail to ensure it arrived weeks ago, along with a letter saying they regretted to inform me that my request to validate my visa had been denied. Something to do with the fact that I had already done that the previous year, and they "invited" me to please take a "rendez-vous" at the Prefecture. Finally my friend Helen left her computer charger when she came to visit and needed it overnighted, so the post office was tacked onto my list too.
So, that is how, this afternoon, I found myself with a daunting to-do list incuding: the post office, the Prefecture, the MGEN office of social security, the bank, and the cell phone store. Now, to any American this might seem like a busy afternoon of errands and "running around." However here, in France, it is much more than that, and it's not because I don't have a car, or an unlimited cell phone plan to call these places ahead, or that this isn't my first language. Ça fait rien. No, it's that the French foncionnaires, or civil servants, are among the most miserables ever sit behind a desk. Ask anyone. I promise.
So, me: experienced enough to know the nightmare of what I was in for, yet not experienced enough to have left it all for the same day. Merde.
I started at the Prefecture, which is basically a place where general administration for the region is directed, because it was sure to be the most hellacious. I arrived at 2:45 and saw on the door that they closed at 3:00. (In fact I have a theory that there is a direct correlation between how miserable the workers are and short the hours are.) Immediately upon entering the room I felt my impending bad mood intensify. I could feel the crushed dreams, the wasted hours, days, years people had spent there as I looked at dispirited souls half-heartedly knitting, pawing old newspapers, and trying to keep restless kids in check. I edged my way up to the information desk and began explaining why I found myself there, in the dregs of French bureaucracy. I lasted about 3 seconds before I was cut off by the woman facing me, "What is your question?" I pushed the letter I had received forward. the woman didn't even lower her eyes but pointed ominously further down the hallway to a sole ticket machine amongst a crowd of poor souls slumped in folding chairs or leaning against the wall for support. She added, "Since there's not too many people there, you still have time to go ahead and take a ticket." Not too many people??? I didn't want to see the other waiting areas. Maybe they included the bodies that had perished there in their count too.
I walked over, pushed the button and received my ticket: Number 547. Hour: 2:47. People in front of you: 55.
I looked up, saw the 110 eyes staring at me, sizing up what I was made of. I laughed out loud. Then left.
Maybe tomorrow.
And sometimes my life is a paperwork/immigration/bureaucratic inferno, like today. It all really started before the vacation, when I realized that the problem that I had never received my social security card last year had not resolved itself in my summer absence. Then, over the vacation I got a call from my cell phone company that they were missing a signature on some form asking me if I couldn't just breeze back over (for a third time) s'il vous plait and merci. Then, upon returning from farming, I found a letter waiting for me from my friends at the Office of Immigration. Inside there was all the paperwork I had carefully filled out, photocopied, and sent by registered mail to ensure it arrived weeks ago, along with a letter saying they regretted to inform me that my request to validate my visa had been denied. Something to do with the fact that I had already done that the previous year, and they "invited" me to please take a "rendez-vous" at the Prefecture. Finally my friend Helen left her computer charger when she came to visit and needed it overnighted, so the post office was tacked onto my list too.
So, that is how, this afternoon, I found myself with a daunting to-do list incuding: the post office, the Prefecture, the MGEN office of social security, the bank, and the cell phone store. Now, to any American this might seem like a busy afternoon of errands and "running around." However here, in France, it is much more than that, and it's not because I don't have a car, or an unlimited cell phone plan to call these places ahead, or that this isn't my first language. Ça fait rien. No, it's that the French foncionnaires, or civil servants, are among the most miserables ever sit behind a desk. Ask anyone. I promise.
So, me: experienced enough to know the nightmare of what I was in for, yet not experienced enough to have left it all for the same day. Merde.
I started at the Prefecture, which is basically a place where general administration for the region is directed, because it was sure to be the most hellacious. I arrived at 2:45 and saw on the door that they closed at 3:00. (In fact I have a theory that there is a direct correlation between how miserable the workers are and short the hours are.) Immediately upon entering the room I felt my impending bad mood intensify. I could feel the crushed dreams, the wasted hours, days, years people had spent there as I looked at dispirited souls half-heartedly knitting, pawing old newspapers, and trying to keep restless kids in check. I edged my way up to the information desk and began explaining why I found myself there, in the dregs of French bureaucracy. I lasted about 3 seconds before I was cut off by the woman facing me, "What is your question?" I pushed the letter I had received forward. the woman didn't even lower her eyes but pointed ominously further down the hallway to a sole ticket machine amongst a crowd of poor souls slumped in folding chairs or leaning against the wall for support. She added, "Since there's not too many people there, you still have time to go ahead and take a ticket." Not too many people??? I didn't want to see the other waiting areas. Maybe they included the bodies that had perished there in their count too.
I walked over, pushed the button and received my ticket: Number 547. Hour: 2:47. People in front of you: 55.
I looked up, saw the 110 eyes staring at me, sizing up what I was made of. I laughed out loud. Then left.
Maybe tomorrow.
a TON of apples
Just got back to the big city after 10 days in the country working on the farm of Dominique and Cyril. The same farm about an hour southeast of Toulouse where, if you will remember, I worked at last spring with my friend Lauren.
I found Cyril and Dominique as I left them, whimsical, teasing, thirsty for cultural exchange and hungry to cook good food together, although slightly more tired following the intensive summer/fall harvest than the previous spring. I also found a full house: there was an Irish couple and a German girl also working there, plus a Norwegian couple who joined us later in the week.
The extra hands were needed as they were preparing to make, pasteurise and bottle the organic apple cider they sell at the market. All in all we harvested 1,700 kilos of apples from 11 different apple trees, that's almost 2 tons!!
On Monday, Halloween, we rented a press from an association and began the long process. I only stayed for 3 presses and left just as they were firing up the large metal heating tank to pasteurize the juice. They were expecting to do at least 10 presses and yield about 1000 liters of juice.
It was wonderful to be back at their old farmhouse which is surrounded by the Pyrenees mountains. The leaves were just changing colors that week and in the hilly countryside we had outstanding views of the surrounding woods. I had one of those holy-smokes-is-this-really-my-life moments when I was sitting on the hill looking at the mountains with one of their dogs next to me, eating an apple I had just picked off the tree next to me.The second night when Dominique pulled out a scrap piece of paper to scribe our "menu" for the week, complete with a homemade dessert for everyday, I knew I was among my kin. We ate just as well as I remembered last time: meat raised on their farm, fresh seasonal vegetables, and inventive dishes prepared with care. For them, taking at least an hour to prepare lunch and closer to two hours to prepare dinner is completely normal. Being down one or two people midday to cook is simply worked into their routine as enjoying eating and eating well is valued and it considered natural to spend time and energy on meals.
Unfortunatley the rabbits were very sick with a fatal illness. We took care of them for a few days but eventually they died. In happier news, they have a new piglet named Valentine who is absolutely adorable. She has taken up with Edmund, their massive male pig. Apparently the had originally put them in separate pens separated by an electric fence, but she "fell in love" and jumped the wire two times to be in the same pen as him, so now they are together, sharing the same little pig-house. Never one to miss a meal, she wiggles over his massive sleeping body blocking the doorframe to eek herself out to be the first to eat. Too cute.
In addition to going to the Saturday market in Muret, Dominique and Cyril have also started a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture), or an AMAP (Association pour le Maintien d'une Agriculture Paysanne) in French. It is a "contract" between community members who would like to receive fresh produce on a regular basis and their local farmers. The community members are responsible for organizing the AMAP, and typically buy a "share" or "half-share" yearly and receive a basket of a constant weight each week containing different produce or products made from produce harvested that week. When I was there our baskets contained: potatoes, a little bundle of parsley, a few last summer peppers, carrots, chard, heads of fresh lettuce, fresh onions, beets, cabbage, and a bottle of their homemade apple cider. The agreement is based on the responsibility of the consumer pays the totality of the order up front, and the farmer, who provides the goods weekly. This system permits the small scale farmers to have a weekly income which they can count on, as it is more dependable than going to sell at a market. The community members come to pick up their baskets on a fixed evening.
This idea started in Japan in the 1960's when urban housewives and mothers feared the quality of the industrial produce they could find in the cities and organized the first teikis with smaller-scale local famers who did not cultivate using chemicals. This idea later spread to the US around 1985, and then to Canada. To find a CSA and support local farmers near you, try any one of these websites: Local Harvest, Farm Locator, or Eat Well Guide.
Back to work tomorrow. I'm starting to give more private lessons which is taking time. That's all for now.
For more photos from my farming check my Flickr account: http://flic.kr/ps/24jdkf
À très vite!
23 October 2011
Toussaint
Since I didn't know I was coming back, I closed my bank account last year. I am still working with the very nice woman who opened my account last year, however, in typical fashion, immediately after opening my account, she left for two weeks vacation. Once you open an account you don't have access to the money until you receive your ATM/debit card, which takes about a week.
 |
| My little "foyer" |
Having only the cash that I came over with (that I ran out of days ago), I was naturally counting the days until that card came. She had said the card would arrive either Thursday or Friday so on Thursday between classes I stopped into the bank and spoke with the secretary. I explained what I was there for, and she begrudgingly obliged to check to see if it had in fact arrived, though seemed skeptical that it would be there so "soon." I waited patiently and she came back with raised eyebrows, as if she were personally offended at my efficiency and lack of waiting. When I explained that I did not yet receive the pin number in the mail she quickly corrected me saying that was "normal" as she herself had only received the card this morning. Best not to get uppity and try to speed things along, the longer you wait the more respect your earn in these parts.
 |
| View from inside the bathroom, looking out |
 |
| The reason I came to France |
 |
| My first "mayonnaise maison" |
Tomorrow I'm off to Cassagnabère for a week on the farm. On the agenda: continuing the normal harvest of carrots, squash, potatoes, etc, and also making the jus de pomme, or apple juice, that they bottle and sell at the Saturday market. I'm very excited.
 |
| Our torteaux, pre-cuissance. |
A bientôt!
 |
| Neat concert I happened upon last night in my neighborhood, St Cyprien |
Linz
19 October 2011
High School Blues
I arrived last Wednesday (only a week ago today, wow!), started classes on Monday and am already looking forward to the first vacation. Good thing is starts this Friday. Ten days for Toussaint, yes you can hate me. I will be going farming with the couple who I stayed with last spring!
PS: I would like to make a shameless request that you, s'il vous plait, "Follow" my blog if you do read and feel so inclined. This serves two purposes: 1. It shows me (and others) that people actually read my blog, therefore making me feel important, and 2. It allows you to be notified whenever I the blog is updated with a new post. Everybody wins!
So, please do. All you have to do is click the "Join This Site" button found on the right hand side of the page and sign in with your existing email address. Merci!
The standard complaining of huffed "J'en peux plus!" (I just can't do it anymore! or "Ohh la la c'est dur la vie!" (Ugh, life's so hard!) already commenced. While I only started this week, I have to remind myself that my colleagues have a full six weeks of teaching under their belts. :) It's going to be a long year.
But really, it was wonderful to see my old colleagues, all of who I kept in touch with over the summer. I spent a very French Sunday before "ma rentrée" with Maryse and her husband: we went cycling in the countryside, had a picnic lunch, then stopped at a café for an ice cream on the way home. There have also been some major changes to the department - two teachers retired, and three changed schools. Among the new additions we have two new young teachers who, par for the course, are uber thin, incredibly well-dressed with chic European haircuts. Last night over a bon voyage dinner for the retirees I found out that one moonlights as a DJ and the other recently married her French beau in Vegas while there for a convention. I think we're going to get along great.
What else? French teenagers are still French teenagers and the 16 year old girls still make me retroactively cringe when I see them traipsing through the halls in heeled ankle boots, blazers, miniskirts as I imagine what I looked like at that age in Nike sneakers and some Abercrombie tee-shirt. Cultural differences.
À bientôt!
PS: I would like to make a shameless request that you, s'il vous plait, "Follow" my blog if you do read and feel so inclined. This serves two purposes: 1. It shows me (and others) that people actually read my blog, therefore making me feel important, and 2. It allows you to be notified whenever I the blog is updated with a new post. Everybody wins!
So, please do. All you have to do is click the "Join This Site" button found on the right hand side of the page and sign in with your existing email address. Merci!
On commence...
Mesdames, monsieurs, merci d'être venus! I'm back, in France that is, and back to blogging away my adventures of food, traveling, and co-habitating with the French.
Speaking of habitation, I'm living at the same address as last year with the same woman, Gisele, who funnily enough, is coming the States to visit New York in about a week and will be staying with my parents for ten days. I have a new roommate Ofelia from Mexico City, and my old roomie Gabby is just across the street in an apartment she shares with her boyfriend. C'est pas beau la vie?
My projects this year include more of a focus towards a career in the realm of urban agriculture and the local and organic food movementif when I return home next year, this means, (hopefully) more WWOOFing, cooking (read: photos of food), and apprenticeships with bakers, cheese makers, and the likes. Very exciting stuff.
I have the same job as an English teaching assistant at the SAME high school as last year, Lycée Bellevue. Last year I had applied to renew my contract, but as it is more uncommon than not to be accepted for a second year, and even more rare to be placed in the same school, I did not have high hopes. Apparently, a British guy decided in September he didn't want to job so my colleagues rallied to try to have me replace him. It worked needless to say and I'm back and very happy to be.
I'm so thrilled to be back in my charming European life, and only slightly miss the creature comforts of life in America like a car to take to the grocery store when it's pouring rain like it is today, amped-up Axe and Old Spice commercials that guarantee teenage boys smell like they showered at least in the past week, and refrigerated milk. However, always the optimist, I have so far shopped exclusively at my beloved outdoor markets (where the brothers who sold me produce last year recognized me and welcomed me back, toute suite!), cruised my new bike all over town, reunited with old friends, and had unparalleled wine and cheese (everyday).
That's all for now. Expect more very soon!
À bientôt.
Speaking of habitation, I'm living at the same address as last year with the same woman, Gisele, who funnily enough, is coming the States to visit New York in about a week and will be staying with my parents for ten days. I have a new roommate Ofelia from Mexico City, and my old roomie Gabby is just across the street in an apartment she shares with her boyfriend. C'est pas beau la vie?
My projects this year include more of a focus towards a career in the realm of urban agriculture and the local and organic food movement
I have the same job as an English teaching assistant at the SAME high school as last year, Lycée Bellevue. Last year I had applied to renew my contract, but as it is more uncommon than not to be accepted for a second year, and even more rare to be placed in the same school, I did not have high hopes. Apparently, a British guy decided in September he didn't want to job so my colleagues rallied to try to have me replace him. It worked needless to say and I'm back and very happy to be.
I'm so thrilled to be back in my charming European life, and only slightly miss the creature comforts of life in America like a car to take to the grocery store when it's pouring rain like it is today, amped-up Axe and Old Spice commercials that guarantee teenage boys smell like they showered at least in the past week, and refrigerated milk. However, always the optimist, I have so far shopped exclusively at my beloved outdoor markets (where the brothers who sold me produce last year recognized me and welcomed me back, toute suite!), cruised my new bike all over town, reunited with old friends, and had unparalleled wine and cheese (everyday).
That's all for now. Expect more very soon!
À bientôt.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)