Last Blog Post of 2012

And so, here begins a résumé of my Year Abroad experiences of 2012.

On Wednesday, 26th September (so two months and three weeks ago) I left my beloved family, friends and country to begin a new chapter of my life in France.

Significant High Points:
* Finding my friends at the MAJO, and the subsequent fun I've had and activities I've participated in. Two themed breakfasts, various spectacles (a comedian, a band, an ABBA homage), learning to play Flag Football and my first Zumba lessons, the town's Fun Fair, going to the cinema and much more.
* Outings to the region's châteaux. Currently checked off the list are: Chambord, Blois, Chenonceau, Cheverny and Amboise. I've also seen some stunning cathedrals, all of which are unique despite the overwhelming preference for Gothic-style architecture.
* Keeping on top of French bureaucracy and successfully opening a French bank account all on my own! It has taught me organisation, patience, and that I do not want a job as a pen-pusher who claims that the order has come 'from above'...
* Travelling around France. I have explored Orléans, Tours, Blois, Amiens, Bolbec and Le Havre among others, not to mention many train stations, during my outings! It no longer phases me to arrive in a town without a map, and just go for a wander based on my sense of direction and adventure. Public transport? No  problem.
* Finding my church. Not only for the support of the people there, and my realisation that God's family is worldwide, but also for all the dinner invitations!

I refuse to write a list of 'Low Points', because it serves no useful purpose and it is not a good idea to dwell on such moments. However, I concede that there have been occasions which have taught me much. Thus...

Significant Learning Opportunities:
* Living in France. As obvious as it sounds, these three words hide a wealth of information and experience which cannot be comprehensively summarised by my words. All I shall say is that to live in a foreign country without your family and friends being physically present is the most worthwhile way (I believe) to find out 1. what sort of person you are, and 2. how much more world there is out there.
* Teaching. The interaction with the pupils and the glimmers of banter that are emerging as we get to know each other better (after they've put me through the horrible experience of testing my limits in the classroom...) are incredibly rewarding. It is also making me a better role model, leader and someone who is more aware that each pupil, and person, is unique.
* Seeing other English Language Assistants. Travelling around and meeting up with old friends here in France, and making new ones, has shown me how each Year Abroad is unique and experiences cannot be exactly replicated. It has also shown me how fortunate I am with my situation here in little Romo, and that I need to take advantage of every moment! I have a great house, great friends, great schools and a salary that provides me with as much pastry as I want and finances my many adventures!

After achieving almost all of my pre-Year Abroad goals (live with French people, find a church, join a sports club - badminton, etc) I thought I'd make some New Year goals and resolutions:
1. Speak less French in the classroom and force them to ask the question in English before I give them the answer they want.
2. Visit further afield in France, namely the North East (Strasbourg and Reims) and North West (Nantes and Rennes).
3. Take advantage of my incredible situation and dare to have more sophisticated, topical conversations in French.

Signing off for 2012, Merry Christmas!

French-English Fusion

So this week, I had 1/3 of my lessons cancelled. At least the teachers warned me not to turn up this time...
However I kept myself entertained during the days by working on improving my French. I am getting far too into looking up new words, updating my mahoosive vocabulary table, and translating various online news articles. There's rather a hoo-har going on at the moment in France regarding marriage for same-sex couples (not just wanting the ceremony to be called 'marriage', but the same rights i.e. with regard to adoption of children), and I don't think they've yet sorted out who won the UMP political party leadership election (despite it happening several weeks ago), so there's plenty for me to keep up to date with!

The French band 'Revolver' - main three members.

My social life is still going strong too, I am glad to say. On Wednesday, I went to a concert by a band called 'Revolver' with some friends from the youth hostel. It was AWESOME! Too good a night to describe here with my comparatively limp and lifeless words. The band members are French, but they sing in English. I appreciated being able to understand the lyrics. At one point I was asked why I looked sad by a French friend, because they had no idea what the lead singer was going on about, whereas I was deep in my thoughts.

And so begins a teeny-tiny outburst of exasperation regarding the current fusion of French and English culture that I have been increasingly noticing over the course of the last week.

1. Take, for starters, the lack of English lyric comprehension on the part of the French audience. I have found it increasingly bizarre that the French are not highly pissed off at the amount of English language music in circulation over here. Radio stations, shopping centres, even the canteen at the collège, play music with English lyrics. Sylvan was singing a song the other day in English, and I asked him if he understood what he was saying: "Non", was the reply.

After listening to Carine's selection of Thai and Japanese pop music in her car as we whizzed around the French countryside (namely lots of flat, open spaces for crops and the occasional scattering of houses), I admit that I began to appreciate how you can enjoy the melody and overall effect of a song without fully understanding what someone is singing about. Nonetheless, I still think the Union Jack fashion craze (see below) over here at the moment takes it a bit too far.

I know it's a quality flag, but... really, France?

2. So, for our main course, take a glance at a recent episode of 'Le Juste Prix' (AKA 'The Price is Right'). As a prize, they gave away a living room suite decorated with HUGE Union Jack flags. Add to this the presence of T-shirts etc with big, bold Union Jack flags on them in at least 3/4 of clothes shops. It doesn't even end there; kids at school have pencil cases and satchels with the British flag all over them. Can you imagine British schoolchildren with the French flag emblazoned on their chests, happily carrying their school books in bags patterned with blue, white and red stripes?

3. With our selection of local wines and cheeses, please consult the inappropriate use of English by clothing manufacturers. In most clothing shops, you can find a T-shirt with something scrawled in English on it. These scribbles aren't even always spelled correctly. I got incredibly frustrated finding spelling and grammatical mistakes on a pyjama set decorated with cookie making instructions - not to mention the designer's ability to miss out step 6 between steps '5' and '7'. It's not like France uses a different numerical system here. And to top it all off, why bother going to the effort of writing 'Soutien-gorge'* on the product packaging, when you immediately follow it with 'Super Push-Up'?
*bra

Miss France for 2013, from the Bourgogne region. 

4. And to cap it all off with a morsel of dessert, I present the Anglicisation of the French language. Words and rules I learnt at school are swept aside as French people ask each other if they would like to 'luncher' (go and have lunch). It is now acceptable to say 'un challenge' (it sounds horrific with a proper French drawl) instead of 'un défi', which I had carefully memorised in class all those years ago. The verb 'to realise' is no longer only expressed as 'se rendre compte de' but also as 'réaliser', despite being expressly told by teachers (back in the day) that 'réaliser' refers to directing a film, for example. The nationwide beauty pageant which was on TV at the weekend is called 'Miss France', as opposed to 'Mademoiselle France'. There was a banner at Orléans Christmas market (where I successfully went today after a Language Assistant training day) saying 'Made in Orléans'. Just why?

To bring this blog post to a close, recent days have highlighted for me the extent of the fusion of Anglo-French culture which is currently à la mode. The music, the clothing, the words, the Union Jack merchandise... All this combined with my improvements in speaking the language, from time to time I forget which country I am actually in. I am certainly not saying that this fusion is a bad thing, and I know that we equally use French expressions and vocabulary, but at the very least I find it confusing that I am becoming increasingly incapable of differentiating between English and French!

P.S. to try and render this blog post less whingy, and more amusing, please see below for a Light-hearted Digestif:
On Thursday, I had dinner with a couple from church and thoroughly enjoyed chatting extensively in French. Their four year old daughter had problems saying my name, so for the purposes of the evening I was re-named 'Choozy'.
On Friday, IT SNOWED! I love hearing the crunch of fresh snow beneath my feet. However, I do not like having only trainers as semi-appropriate footwear, and consequently having to teach with wet shoes, socks and feet, and then slipping and sliding my way back to the house because it was just a little bit of snow which melted into slush quickly.
On Saturday, Carine and I saw 'Un Plan Parfait' at the cinema. Absolutely brilliant, and I can't wait to buy it on DVD. We also went clothes shopping, and I bought two nice tops because I've decided that now (not least because I now have a set monthly income) is the time for me to stop wearing jeans and jumpers every day and to try and make a bit of effort concerning my appearance. Better late than never, eh?
I'm also currently in a state of personal pride at my efforts over the weekend at trying French cheese which smells like feet, and not gagging. I also put up a very good show at trying all the different wines I was offered; this was perhaps the reason my French was flowing so smoothly...

Orléans Christmas Market!

Cracking open my Advent Calendar yesterday morning sent several thoughts running through my mind:
1. Chocolate in the morning for the next 24 days! Woohoo!
2. How is it December already? A year ago, I had recently submitted my application to be a Language Assistant in France to the British Council!
3. The First of December? That means Orléans Christmas Market with the Blois girls! Boom!

I had been looking forward to this outing for many, many days. I would be taking the bus at 7.50am from Romo SNCF to Blois, chatting with Erin in her apartment and then meeting Harriet and Amy and we are all going to get the train to Orléans and indulge in the Christmas market. I sat at the SNCF station, finishing off my pain aux raisins, and feeling slightly unnerved that the bus still hadn't arrived, but told myself it had been late the first time I had taken it. Wouldn't it be funny if I had misread the bus timetable?! Hah.

I had misread the bus timetable. On Saturdays, the bus comes at 7.34am not 7.50am.
Oh well, adapt and overcome, as they say. I left an apologetic message on Erin's mobile, and bought myself a train ticket to Orléans where I would meet the Blois girls there.
12€ and missing out on two hours of chats/gossip with Erin = the price of not checking the timetable again thoroughly last night.

Suzie's #1 Transport Planning Tip for Novices:
Make sure you know what time your transport leaves. Particularly if there are only two buses a day.

The dream...

ANYWAY, apart from that small hiccup, here comes forth my ode to the wonders, delights and delicacies of Orléans Christmas Market 2012.

Only.... I might have made a mistake there as well. I am convinced that on Orléans' Tourism website, it said that the Christmas market started late November. I swear. So we all arrive at la gare and are re-united with bises (saying 'hello' takes so long here) and make our merry way into the town centre. As we walk, we remark that it's not particularly busy; it's probably because the entire town's population are amassed at this astounding Christmas market. We found the market. Or, rather, and closed-up stands which are due to become the Christmas market on 5th December. Oh dear. The Christmas lights weren't even turned on because it was daylight.

...the reality.

Nonetheless, the day was still wonderful. We spent the time chatting and catching up, comparing being a Language Assistant at primary or secondary level, and shopping. The Christmas decorations in the shopping centres at least made me feel a bit more festive, and I bought a new hat
which has flaps to keep my ears warm. Definitely my best purchase since my arrival in France. For lunch, we had an Indian (three courses for 10€) and then I indulged in four tiny macaroons as well.

Then we headed back to Blois, clutching (/wearing) our purchases and set about figuring out 1. how to navigate an online order for Domino's in French and 2. what the heck we wanted to eat. Domino's in France describe pizza sizes with how many people it supposedly feeds, not how many slices there are. A 'four person' pizza - how big really is that? And how big are the people? Amy found an online article from a veteran of French Domino's, saying to back yourself and go bigger, so we did. We definitely made the right choice: 'four person' clearly means four skinny French girls who don't even like pizza. We ended up with three pizzas (Hawaiin, Veggie and 'Groovy Bacon'), two sides and a bottle of fanta for the festive price of 7€50 (£6) each. On the way back from collecting our order at the Domino's store, we were nearly back at the apartments when we were waylaid by two Mormon girls who wanted us to come to their church. End result? None of us are now mormons, but our pizza was a bit cold by the time we made our getaway. The evening was capped off by watching 'Magic Mike' i.e. staring at Channing Tatum and Alex Pettyfer's abs, and me and Erin talking til 3.30am even though I was waking up at 7am to catch my bus at 8am...

So yes, we didn't really embrace Frenchness on Saturday (spoke in English all the time, had Indian food for lunch, had Domino's for supper while watching an American film) but I thoroughly enjoyed catching up with the three of them and I got my new hat! Now, it's back to lesson plans for tomorrow, and updating my vocabulary list. Next weekend brings yet another adventure, but you'll have to wait for my next blog post to find out what it is!
                                 ***
(see left:) an image of a hat resembling my new hat. Except mine is better, not only because it has cords hanging from ear-flap-ends so I can tie said hat under my chin like a bonnet. Side effects may include looking like a prat, but being soo cosy.

Gap Year Realisations...

So the other day I realised that I'm sort of on a Gap Year. I didn't do a Gap Year after A-levels, and am now realising just how much of a good idea that was. The idea of writing an essay longer than a particularly enthusiastic blog post puts a green tinge in my cheeks. Reading anything longer than a news article on TF1 brings a tear to my eye. The word 'dissertation'? Oh please, don't - I'm going to have a nervous reaction...

For you see, dear reader, over the last week I have been messing about rather a lot (je faisais des conneries) and living the life of someone with very few commitments or ties. This is the beauty of being a Language Assistant on your Year Abroad: a not-insubstantial monthly salary, only 12 hours of lessons per week, and a whole other country and culture on your doorstep to explore with all of your free time and money!

Here are some of my conneries:
* the FUNFAIR! 

Chi Chis: strips of donut batter, fried, then dipped
in sugar. Nom nom nom. 

Romorantin has surpassed my expectations, and une fête foraine has kindly graced our car park! Yes, I can officially announce that I have turned into my wonderful mother and now detest anything resembling the sensations of a roller coaster. The thing resembling 'Rush' at Thorpe Park generally made me fear for my life at one point (hearing a tremendous crack! when you are at the highest point of the swing is NOT funny). I now know exactly why I haven't been to a theme park in five years.
And then what did the boys I was with want to do? The dodgems, of course. After enduring what seemed like at least 10 agonising minutes of horrific pain in my knees, which slammed into the steering column every time I was hit, and a pulsing sensation in my skull, after I smashed my head on the metal pole emerging from the back of my bumper car (maybe Health & Safety does have a place in society...), the cars finally stopped. I gratefully leapt out of the death trap and headed over to the boys. Sylvan gave me another token and got back into his car - what? Again?! I kid you not....
The chi chis and nutella-smothered gaufre (waffle) were most welcome in settling my churning stomach after these two mentally and physically damaging experiences... I wasn't seeing the 'fun' in 'funfair' yet.  Nonetheless, overall, I did have a really good night, seeing the boys waste copious amounts of euros in the grabber- and coin-pushing-machines, and Sylvan doing really well at the rifle stand only to win a crap little cuddly toy! Turns out funfairs in France are just as much of a con as in the UK...

* MAJO activities
I had an absolute whale of a time at Flag Football on Wednesday, and today (Saturday) we went to Blois to the comic book festival 'BD Boum' (une BD / bande dessinée = a comic strip). We did reports of the event, first filming interviews with authors, organisers and members of the public and then editing them to try and make them appear as professional as possible. Really good, fun day out, and lots of French spoken! One small issue was the amount of background noise. I conducted an interview with one man, we finished, and then my partner who had been filming told me that, for every question I asked him, he had already answered as part of his answer to the previous question! Awks... glad I'll never see him again!
Then on Thursday there was an outing to La Pyramide (the theatrical venue in Romo, no prizes for guessing its shape) to see something called 'Guy Bedos'. When I had signed up, I had noticed that the description put next to it was 'comédie'. For some reason, I assumed that it was a play of some sort. Besides, plays are performed at La Pyramide, that much I knew. So I rocked up with the rest of the gang, noting the empty stage and telling myself it must be a minimalist production....

Gad Elmaleh - the French version of Michael McIntyre

Une petite bêtise: this phrase means literally 'a small stupid thing', but can be translated as 'a little mistake/error'. To quote a well-known member of OTC, I might have had a small whoopsy... Turns out I had enrolled myself in a comedic stand-up performance. Hence the description of 'comedy'. Turns out 'Guy Bedos' is the name of the nationally-acclaimed comedian. I probably should have googled what I was seeing...
Not so bad, I thought - I'm sure my French will have improved enough for me to be able to understand what he's saying. Note, please, dear reader, the difference between understanding French, and understanding French comedy. I won't go into details, but it was an experience which made me feel like I was back to square one with my French language acquisition. I have since discovered Gad Elmaleh who is much better and easier to understand - less politics, more taking the mick out of typical French mannerisms... (think Michael McIntyre, but French and sexier...)

* General socialising
Being a lady of leisure for all but 12 hours every week, when someone invites me for a four hour long chat, I can happily go along. This was officially termed 'training' for BDBoum, but consisted of a three hour chat (about all manner of subjects ranging from comic books to the political systems in France and Britain), followed by a guided tour of Romo, and 30 minute debrief on how to use a camcorder and iMovie.
Ludovic, who was organising our entourage's outing, is a fountain of knowledge about Romo's history. It turns out there is a 'chateau' here. No, I haven't been a mong and missed an entire socking castle in this town. What was referred to as a 'château' means a tower and a pile of crumbling wall... Nonetheless, Claude de France (mother of Francois I and namesake of the lycée where I work) lived there. It was over a ratatouille-making session with my housemate that I was informed that the term 'château' refers only to residences which have housed members of the Royal Family. It is not simply a term for a stately home (une demeure d'époque) as I had previously thought (and advertised on this blog - apologies...).
I also had a lovely time having dinner with a couple from church. I thought we were just having finger food so stuffed my face with miniature pizzas and crudités (I admit it, despite being a spelling and grammar Nazi, I did have to look that one up...) and then they mentioned that a traditional French meal consists thus:

Tea is made with tea leaves, not fruit. Sort it out. 

- apperitifs
- entrée
- plat principal (main course)
- fromages
- dessert
- digestif

Now, I love food, right. And I know that the French are very proud of their food (every French person who has given an opinion on British food so far has said they think it's disgusting!) but perhaps this is slightly over the top. Fortunately, my new friends were a bit more reserved, and stuck to nibbles, then main course then pudding. I was offered a tea or coffee afterwards, and I gratefully asked for a tea. What did I get? Fruit tea. A message to all French: do not raise my hopes if you do not have something resembling Earl Grey or English Breakfast. Get on it.

So yes. You can see that my social life is rather predominant at the moment in my Gap Year. And it is only going to become more so in the following weeks as you will see from my blog installments (no spoilers here regarding upcoming events!!).

Part of me doesn't want to be plunged back into the day-in, day-out routine of lectures and reading (to be blunt, actual proper academic work), but there's a part of me that looks back to before I came to France, and how upset I was at the thought of leaving Exeter. The sadness at the thought of no more group runs along the quay, no more Cheesy Tuesdays, no more OTC, has since been outweighed by my enjoyment of teaching, my pride at coping in another country, and the wonderful people I'm meeting and social experiences I'm having. When people try and speak to me in English here, it hurts not to reply in French. The idea of not being able to speak French every day after April doesn't bear thinking about...
I don't know how to explain it. Maybe it's because of the glow I feel inside every time someone understands me, or I manage to make someone laugh, or when someone complements me on how well I speak French or at least how much I've improved since the end of September...
Regardless, I think even two short months here have given me a real desire to explore the world more, and meet other people who live their lives in a different way. The person who wrote those first few Britain-centric blog posts is long gone.

First week back at school

It's like I've been transported back in time to my school days; there are no more lie-ins, I have to do work (the word tastes sour in my mouth) and I'm no longer prancing around here and there seeing my friends and doing whatever I like...
Nonetheless, it was nice to see the bright-eyed bundles of joy that are (at least some of) my pupils.

View from my new room. Actual room is too
 messy to publicly display. Note shutters!!

My most interesting lessons which I gave this week were on writing Lonely Hearts ads. The aim of this was to get the pupils to use all the personality words I had slaved over teaching them before the holidays.
Highlight: one truly moving annonce by a girl about how she wanted to find someone who loved her for who she was (my heart did melt a little).
Low point: most of the boys saying 'I want to find a beautiful girl'. Both because of the lack of personality description, and the maverick in me that thinks relationships should be based on personality first, and looks second.

I'm not going to bore you with the other lessons. Because they're, well, a bit boring.

My greatest achievement of the week was doing my first proper food shop, and putting my purchases on my very own shelf in the cupboard of my very own house! I hope I don't sound like too much of a loser for saying this, because what it actually betrays about my character is how inordinately lazy I truly am. I starved for 24 hours from Saturday late afternoon through almost all of Sunday on an apple and a satsuma because I wouldn't go to the shops because I was wallowing in my own lethargy. Albeit, when I did try and go the shops, they were closed because it was Sunday so I had to go into town to the only boulangerie which is open on a Sunday and I stuffed my face with carbs.

Thus, here is the saga of my accomplishment: on Monday, I walked the whole 200m to the supermarché (I know, right? How excessive) whereupon I began to wander aimlessly along the aisles, looking for brands which weren't there, and struggling to comprehend the images found on the available packages of food. A few observations were to be made from my excursion:

Pourquoi?

* what the heck is the obsession with tinned vegetables?? It is completely unnecessary - the supermarket has a fresh(ish) fruit and vegetable section, I saw it with me own eyes, gov'nor. Yes, I do like to partake in chilli con carne involving kidney beans from a tin, and yes, I do like to indulge in tinned pears once in a while to remind myself that I am in the bloom of my youth and must err onto the side of madness every so often. But seriously, the tinned vegetable aisle was taking the tinned asparagus (what I like to think of as the 'biscuit' in the world of légumes - an unnecessary addition, but 
 yummy all the same). 
* The number of brands of quality chocolate (Lindt, per se) were equal to the less sophisticated brands (Nestlé was out in force). Cadburys was not stocked. I made the best of a bad situation and stocked up on Malteasers (pronounced like Maltez here - it just makes me think about people who live in Malta...)
* Certain products have 'ticket gagnant' stickers next to their prices. If you buy these products, you get these 'winning tickets' and get money off your next shop. 

My social occasions of the week include:
* A Zumba class in which we learnt the routine to Gagnam Style, among others. Zumba music seems to be massive in (at least this part of) France at the moment - it was even playing in the canteen at lunch today. 
* Playing badminton and nearly being blinded by a shuttlecock. See an earlier post about this, but before I left my little French house with its cute blue shutters barred against the cold and wind into which I valiantly headed in an effort to m'integrer, my colocataire wished me 'Bon badminton!' They really do use the phrase for everything...

Amboise chateau, perched on top of substantial
ramparts

* Going to Amboise chateau with my French amie. Had a lovely wander round the ramparts, the stately home, and then the town itself where I bought a Nonours Guimauvre (a marshmallow shaped like a teddy covered in chocolate). 
* Seeing Twilight in French. I maintain it was to improve my linguistic abilities, but secretly admit that I really liked it! Or not so secretly, now that I'm smearing it all over the internet... 

Failure of the week? I still haven't completely unpacked the IKEA bags of stuff my parents brought me when they visited three weeks ago (although I did make a decent attempt). 
Lesson of the week? Must try harder when it comes to getting out of bed and being proactive...*

*This will be aided by my discovery of how to use the radiator in my room. Fortunately my emergency measure of sleeping in my sleeping bag in my bed under my covers will not be needing to be put into effect. Huzzah!

Vacances de Toussaint

Why hello again, faithful reader. I do hope I find you well. I thought I would take the liberty of updating you on my Toussaint adventures with this installment  if I may. If I may not, then I suggest you go and do something else for a short while because I'm doing it anyway...

On Monday 29th October, my parents and younger brother arrived to save me from the brain-mushifying effects of speaking French all day, every day. After giving them a tour of Romorantin (which took a lot less time than I thought it would, how depressing) and having filled baguettes for lunch by the river in the park, I accompanied them as their French-speaking tour guide to their hotel. Must admit, I felt rather big time asking and answering all the questions. The hotel also allowed me to take advantage of the wifi (pronounced weefee  in French, it's pretty amusing) as I may have made a slight error in as much as my new house has no internet access. Ahem. Scooting over that....

Tuesday was spent seeing two châteaux from the vast list which I had been given by the teachers and secretary in the staff room. Despite stressing the fact we only had two days free for activities, the French were not deterred and I came away with recommendations for about every château in the Centre region, as well as a chocolaterie and a number of museums. A château is our equivalent of a stately home, but literally translates as 'castle'. Some of them are more 'castle-like' than others, with ramparts and defences. Many of them are empty because their contents were destroyed during the Revolution (but not the two we saw).

Chenonceau château 

The châteaux which made the cut were Chenonceau and Cheverny. These were done based on their façades and proximity to my town. However it was not until we walked round Chenonceau, guide-leaflets in hand, that we realised quite how fascinating a home it was. Chenonceau spans the river Cher, which formed part of the demarcation line when France was occupied by the Germans in WWII. As a result, members of the Resistance who needed to flee to the Free Zone (south of the Cher river) would be smuggled through the château and out the other side to freedom! And during the Revolution, Chenonceau's chapel was spared because the women living there disguised it as a store room for wood! There were many other interesting stories about the château over the course of history, too many to write here, and I thoroughly suggest that anyone who is in the area gives it a visit. 

Cheverny château 

Cheverny was also furnished quite luxuriously, and its diameter is only one room across. This means that both the rooms and the corridor are bathed in sunlight, in contrast to a building which has rooms either side of a corridor running through the middle. The gardens were less elaborate than Chenonceau (which had two, geometrically-precise, but still quite pretty, gardens) but this one did have kennels for hunting dogs which the first one did not. We also got a free wine tasting!! I stopped after two glasses though because I wasn't intending on buying any wine and thought it would be taking the biscuit to get completely sozzled...

le Palais de Jacques Coeur

On Wednesday, we went to Bourges. We saw the cathedral which was HUGE, traditional and gothic. The two towers are different sizes. This is because originally they were the same, but one fell down 300 years after being built, and was built even bigger than the original. There are many different styles of stained glass windows (vitraux) inside because of bombing and damage to the originals.

We also went to le Palais de Jacques Coeur (EU students go free!). JC was a rich merchant who was eventually imprisoned for defrauding the king, narrowly escaping the death sentence due to being pally with Pope Nicholas V! His house resembles a fortress in parts, but is a good example of 'private urban architecture' and proved a sumptuous home (despite being empty now and having been restored).

On Thursday, we made our merry way back to the UK, stopping off for lunch at William the Conqueror's birth place, a town called Falaise, and exploring the castle where he stayed a few times. I now know a huge amount more about William (not hard when I started off thinking he was British...) and there are some incredible views from the top of the castle!

After a six hour ferry crossing and a close shave with sea-sickness, I was back in my beloved BRITAIN!!! I was most impressed with the new tunnel at Hindhead - especially the pretty lights. And yes, I know it's a bit of a cop-out going home after a month of my Year Abroad, but I really needed to see everybody in EXETER and was eager to try out a few of the recipes in my recently purchased edition of Paul Hollywood's 'How to Bake'. Classic white bread: check. Tea cakes: check. I think I'll try Apple and Cheddar bread when I'm back for Christmas.

However tomorrow I set off back to la France, for another six weeks of not entirely understanding what is being said to me, over-indulging in patisseries, and trying to keep control of a rabble of French pupils. The more immediately pressing matter however is the 12 hour train journey ahead of me..... Bon courage....

End of an Era.

So today I finished my first term's worth of lessons as an English Language Assistant.

My 3em in the morning were a bloody nightmare, like usual. We were talking about the enthralling topic of 'health' so I thought I would win them over with some risqué video clips. And, granted, they did find Supersize v. Superskinny and Man v. Food disgusting, each in their own unique way (i.e. gross amounts of person v. gross amount of food). However the shock / attention-grabbing factor of me showing them such clips was severely undermined by the teacher showing them an extract of Supersize Me before they had their half hour with me. So far my novelty value + doing something more interesting than the half hour with the teacher (usually consisting of grammar and being told off for chatting) had won me some brownie points. Not today. 3em, if ever the phrase 'drawing blood from a stone' is to be used aptly, it is in your classes.
Actually, I take it back for some of you. One particularly smart boy was able to explain the point of the first programme from just a short extract (no mean feat at all), and another piped up with the word 'anorexic' before I had started to pull my hair out. That's the depressing thing about teaching. There are actually quite a lot of good kids in that class, but they are over-shadowed by the bad behaviour of certain individuals...

However I like to keep these blog posts fairly upbeat and humorous, so I shall move on to how I ended my day:

Namely with my gorgeous, cute, enthusiastic bundles of joy in 4em. Like usual they won my Favourite Class of the Week Award. In the first lesson we were acting dialogues between fussy customers and waiters (they found it particularly amusing when one girl protested that I was not performing, and I proceeded to act both roles on my own in what I like to think was a rather Michael McIntyre-esque fashion...). In the second, we talked about Hallowe'en and they all watched my PowerPoint, enraptured at what I had cobbled together last night in twenty minutes. What I found particularly cute was that when one of the more fidgety/chatty boys started talking another boy got especially upset and told him (in English) to 'shut your face!!'. I probably should have told him off for using such language, but was too flattered by how much he clearly cared about what I was saying.

Note to self: research French translations for words before I include them in lesson plans. Far too many times have I asked for a translation, only to have the same word with a French accent thrown back at me (golf, sport, endurance, calories, vampires, costume, even Hallowe'en which I should probably have seen coming...)

So that's the end of that then. Until 12th November.

To be honest, I am in desperate need of a holiday. I'm glad I only ended up doing three weeks of proper lessons to start off. Six weeks of lessons after the vacances de Toussaint is going to be a trial. The next two weeks of PAID holiday (hah! to anyone spending the Year Abroad at university) are going to be spent exploring this region of France further with my parents and younger brother for a few days, before returning to good old Britain and then heading off down to EXETER!!!!  A thoroughly exciting social calendar has been planned and will be enforced. Watch Out.

The end of another era comes in the form of accommodation. After meeting the charming Kyann and friendly Christel they have decided that I am not a freak, my average French is something they can survive with, and that they are happy for me to live with them. I am going to be living with in an actual house!  So that'll all be happening in the next few days. To cap it off, Carla is moving out to rent a flat in the town centre, Alicia has moved to Paris to work as a surveillant (a role in a school), and Carine won't be here for two months in the spring due to a work placement. So I'm sort of glad that I'll be moving out, as I can spend time with my new housemates and if all else goes to pot, watch horrific amounts of French TV, eating tarte tatin which I have made in my PROPER KITCHEN!! Such Fun.

Other eras coming to an end? Probably my regular pilgrimages to the boulangeries. I'm getting what I have semi-affectionately called 'pastry face'. It needs to stop. I am playing badminton three times a week here (keeno, right?!) and it's a half hour walk each way to school, but somehow I think it's not quite enough, given how my cheeks are now less like English roses, and more like French religieuses...


* (See left for a picture of a religieuse) These delicious edibles (essentially two profiteroles) are so called because they look like a nun AKA une religieuse. 

Bolbec and Le Havre: checked off the list...

So this weekend I decided to pop over to Normandy and impose myself on my lovely friend Imogen. Despite public transport's best efforts, I made it to Bolbec (her town) after five hours and twenty minutes on coaches, trains, the metro and a bus.

Gare St Lazare. Don't be deceived by its size -
it hides a multitude of platforms and hidden passageways.
A bit like Platform 9 and 3/4 combined with Hogwarts.

Let’s just say to cut an incredibly long and arduous Suzie story (of five hours and twenty minutes, to be precise) back to the basics, if I had been five seconds later at Gare St Lazare, I would have missed the train to Bréauté and that would have caused all manner of exclamations (comme putain, merde et conards, par exemple) and problems (i.e. having to take another train, if there even was another to a rural part of Normandy). 

After nearly being hit by a car in my rush (my transfer time between trains left something to be desired), I arrived at the wrong end of Gare St Lazare in Paris (unwittingly - I was deceived by the billboards). I had two minutes before my train was due to leave and could not see anything telling me my train's platform. After accosting two ladies who told me they reckoned my train was leaving from the other end of the station (merci, mesdames) I had to sprint – like an absolute lunatic, not doing much for Anglo-Franco relations – almost the full length of the station. To give you an idea of the length of the Gare, there are over 20 platforms. 

By some act of divine intervention I happened to look up as I tried to beat Usain Bolt's 100m Olympic record, and, lo and behold, on the screen of the platform to my left was written ‘Bréauté-Beuzeville'’: my stop. I skidded to a halt and if my trainers could have left burning rubber marks on the polished floor they would have. Yes, this was the train I was meant to be taking. I fumbled for the correct train ticket and jammed it into the compostage machine. Once more I looked up at the screen showing the train’s destinations, which instantly flicked to 'ACCES INTERDIT' (access to the platform is forbidden).

I grabbed my stuff and sprinted to the closest door to the train. I made it. Almost immediately the train started chugging away from the station.

Relieved, full of adrenaline, dazed and, most of all, sweaty, I suddenly realised that I should probably try and find a seat. I ended up spending my journey next to a very nice French man from Toulouse, who looked at the grey skies outside with evident disgust and commented on the fact that he certainly wouldn’t be here if he wasn't visiting his children.

How Bolbec would have looked if it hadn't been
grey and raining. En français, you'd say it was like
'une vache qui pisse' = a pissing cow

Bolbec itself is about the same size as Romo, and I had a quick mooch round/tour of the main high street by Imogen. The most noticeable shop was the fishmongers, if only for its pungent aroma. I spent a very enjoyable evening with Imogen, and four other girls who are assistants d’anglais, eating pizza, bemoaning French élèves and comparing Australian and British culture on youtube (Michael McIntyre vs. Summer Heights High).

Saturday brought with it a breakfast of croissants and a bus ride to Le Havre where we met with more assistants who gave us a brief tour before we went to a restaurant for lunch. A personal highlight was the placemat which was a piece of paper with horoscopes in French (apparently someone is going to help me ‘to accomplish my mission’ - 1Pl, DEFEAT. Sorry, I just couldn't help myself) and a wordsearch (a ‘mots mélangés’ – a crossword is a ‘mots croisés’ for any vocab keenos out there… why the silence?).

I chose the ‘assiete de terroir’ which means literally ‘plate of the earth/soil’. C’est-à-dire a plate of local meats and cheeses (plus chips and the compulsory slices of baguette). I admit it, I do not like cheese but I think I deserve credit for at least trying to appear un peu française despite my outrageous French accent! (Quotation from…? Answers on the back of a postcard addressed to ‘The Only English Girl in Romorantin, France’. I’m sure they’ll find me…)

Macaroons (Eng) / Macarons (Fr)

After having a thoroughly French more-than-an-hour-maybe-two lunch, we moved on to a patisserie we had spotted earlier for a casual peruse. It was here that I engaged in a momentous occasion: I bought my first macaroons. Yes I admit they were un peu chers (0€90 each <-- note how the French write prices) but I did enjoy my chocolate ganache, praline and passion fruit / raspberry macaroons. If you haven't had one, they're a bit like tiny meringues with a paste in the middle. 

In an effort to then merge into the crowds by feigning Frenchness, we took the tourist ‘scenic view train’ – I love French translations – around Le Havre which also provided us with a very useful booklet in English about the sights we were seeing. Le Havre was seriously bombed during WWII (by the British, ahem, let's quickly skid over that), and in its rebuilding more attention seems to have been paid to creating shelter quickly as opposed to in an aesthetically pleasing fashion. Let’s just say that the architect (Auguste Perret) considered reinforced concrete to be ‘the most noble’* of materials… 

* = my tourist booklet

Sunday was a wet day of little interest. I made it back to Romo safely and without missing any trains, despite my best efforts: I forgot to composter my tickets. If you don’t, you get a fine. The reason you must composter them in the first place is that certain tickets can be exchanged /refunded if not composté. We were given a reminder from the train driver with two minutes before departure, so I sprinted back along the platform – bloody typical that I was in the front carriage, furthest from the compostage machine – and then had to walk the entire length of the train back to my place…

Six hours after leaving Bolbec I arrived back in my room, ready to create a lesson plan for the following morning for my troisième classes! Ah, the joys of being an assistant. Je plaisante (I jest). The real joy was receiving my Erasmus grant today – HELL YEAH BABY!!! Can help to pay off over 11 hours of train tickets…

Bonne intégration!

So Wednesday was the three week anniversary of my arrival here in France. It's quite a considerable time, longer than I have ever spent abroad in any country, let alone France, and as a result a certain amount of integrating has been achieved.
For instance...

Chambord Chateau

• I have been to my first French church service.
• I have been to a food festival and my first ever Handball match with a lovely teacher
• With my new FRENCH friends at the MAJO, I have
• seen Chambourd chateau 
• watched deer at dusk (the sounds they make are called 'braume' here)
• seen my first wild boars
• played Flag Football (mixed, non-contact American football) for the first time on Wednesday - it was SO GOOD!!
• been to an ABBA homage - really good fun
• eaten my first roasted chestnuts - ok, but I wouldn't pay for them
• had my first ever Zumba lesson!
• I have played badminton with the natives and been invited back to play next time
• I have finally been let loose in my two schools with my own classrooms and agendas!! SUCH FUN!

However, there are the occasional moments (at first they were several times a day moments but thankfully their frequency is diminishing) when I feel like I have stumbled into a funeral wearing a clown outfit. Take for example....

• When being asked for my 'nom' and replying Suzanne. For those who do not understand, 'nom' in French means 'surname' and prénom is first name. I don't think I've actually submitted any forms under the name 'Wood Suzanne' yet though... je croise mes doigts (fingers crossed). 
• Tuesday, when I needed to tell the secretary at the bank my surname. I started to spell it: 'W... O...'. However she decided to ignore the 'W' and write it 'OOD'. Then she looked at me as if to say 'what a ridiculous surname' like it was my fault. A friend whose surname also begins with 'W' has also found reluctance from the French to spell it this way; variants are said to include 'V' instead of 'W', but I haven't had this yet. 
• Or one of my favourite things (along with crisp apple strudels - how right Julie Andrews was): being early for everything. Yesterday I ventured along to play badminton with the natives, and, not knowing where the Gymnase was, I left myself a bit of wriggle room. I arrived 10 minutes early, but didn't consider this a problem as it gave me a chance to ear-wig on the mothers of the French children using the same hall to play basketball. At 8pm the man who I could only assume to be in charge of badminton (he was carrying a bag of shuttlecocks / volants - which I would literally translate as 'flyers') arrived, and a kindly mother ushered me along towards him, and told him I had been waiting for 10 minutes for him. I was then chastised - 'why did you turn up before 8pm? I told you 8pm! Don't turn up early!' I think I mumbled something along the lines of 'the English are always early...'

Nonetheless, I still think I am gradually getting the upper hand in this surviving in France lark. 

More of my favourite things:

• The Baguettes. You know bread is good when you can eat it on its own. 
• The Mars bars. They are SO much better here! They are the same as milky way bars, but with caramel. I was beyond excited when I realised what I was eating. 
• Eating baguette and strawberry jam in my room
• but not so much getting crumbs and jam over my bedding...
• Finally getting approved by a bank!!
• haven't dared to look at how to set-up my internet banking though
• I'm really enjoying the teaching. Which is a good thing, since I've got 12 hours per week of it for the next six months!
• The word 'mélange' - far superior to our word 'mixture'. 
• The way the French just whack the word 'bon' in front of something to wish you a happy X, Y or Z. For example: bon appetit, bon weekend, bonne journée, bon fake-tan (je blague)... My favourite is definitely 'bon courage'. Literally 'good courage', but the equivalent of 'chin up' or 'keep calm and carry on'. 
• The way everyone says hello to each other here. 

• I can't enter a room without the occupants welcoming me with a 'Bonjour!' which sounds like they genuinely mean it. It's lovely. 
• Nor can you escape the bises (kisses): the number of bises (one on each cheek, starting on the left) I've given to and received from French chaps and chapesses is innumerable. As a general rule, it's the first time you see them in the day and then you're set for the rest of the day, but with my close friends here it's when I see them in the morning, and in the evening when we go for dinner. I hasten to add that they are on the cheek - naughty (Miranda Hart eat your heart out). Girls give and receive kisses to guys and girls, but the guys here at the MAJO shake hands with other guys. I've seen male teachers at my school give each other bises though, so maybe it's a generational thing. 

• The pace of life here. For example, the way everyone takes two hour lunch breaks. Great if you're having lunch, but not so great if you want to go into the bank (closed from Saturday lunchtime until Tuesday morning), or trying to organise an activity and your only free time is at lunchtime. Everyone just seems so much more relaxed and content. Or maybe I'm just deluded and they've slipped something in my éclair au chocolat in order to keep me as a convert here forever...
• Romorantin. I really am loving living here - it is just SO cute and French! And I love going to a boulangerie or patisserie every day for bread or a tarte aux pommes, and the people are so friendly (I've been given lifts home twice by strangers) and understanding when I make a mistake in French... After constantly moaning about coming on this year abroad, I know it's going to be a tear and a half to leave... 

Slight drawbacks but nothing to buck my stride:

• My timetable still isn't finalised. Don't be silly. 

"Character-Forming" Experiences

I'm sure that other Year Abroad students both past and present were told pre-departure that the year abroad (wherever they would be going) would be 'character-forming', perhaps even that we would emerge from it as 'better people, better equipped to take on life's challenges and experiences'.

I am currently experiencing this period of 'adaptation' in which my new 'character' is formed. I imagine the process is about as painful as it is for a caterpillar to turn into a butterfly, but instead of a huge pair of wings erupting from my back, I am being made to jump through bureaucratic hoops.

Banks: any future year abroaders, take careful note of the following warning: under no circumstances try and open a French bank account without a French person (preferably from your school) present. Repercussions for not following this advice include: headaches (both physical and metaphorical), depression, stress, further requests for forms which no bank in your academie has EVER asked for in the history of Language Assistants, and potential hysterical crying in front of secretaries.

Paperwork: both British and French people here to whom I have bemoaned my bureaucratic botherances have agreed that it's a bloody nightmare. There's no way around it. Just suck it up and get on with signing your life away for the sake of not causing a fuss / if you want to get paid at any point in your seven months as a language assistant. Try and accept your many authorisations in the form of "Lu et Approuvé" as all good vocab practice and you know what they say: practice makes perfect...

Waiting: we Brits love a good wait. Be prepared, as an LA, to spend a lot of time waiting, watching, and then waiting again as your timetable is amended. Don't bother killing trees to print off your timetable til it has been in place for at least a month.

Working stuff out for yourself: this is perhaps the most useful 'character-forming experience' category in my opinion. This ranges from working out how to use a Youth Hostel laundry or internet system, to being understood when asking for directions or a pain au raisin, to taking the right number of items in a school canteen (many thanks to the understanding Dinner Ladies). Perks: immense satisfaction when you get it right and a smug, warm feeling inside.

Learning to map read like a boss: in order to avoid looking like a tourist, it is advisable not to wander around with a map in your hand all the time. I have finally learnt (despite two years of orienteering lessons with OTC) to memorise markers for key points of my journey, and a sense of direction!!!

Adapt and Overcome: yes it may be shit chat, but it's true. Every day I get slightly better at learning which way to look when crossing a road. Every time I go into a patisserie I pronounce 'pain au raisin' slightly better. Every time adversity threatens, my improving French shrug, mumbled 'bof', and slightly-more-relaxed-than-before attitude steer me away from stress and towards a solution (banking experiences excluded - I haven't yet adapted and overcome this particular difficulty but give me time...)

Putting together these accumulated skills of patience + self-reliance + resourcefulness = a character-forming experience, just as promised by our year abroad veterans. Who knows, I might well emerge as a better person at the end of it all...

Introducing Blois

So today I went to Blois. It's a large town about 40mins drive north west of Romo, and I took the bus to get there (getting up at 6.30 in order to get the bus from the train station at 7.30). However I think it was definitely worth it.

In Blois I met up with two English girls and one American girl who are primary school assistants there, and they showed me round Blois. It makes Romo look minuscule  Northern and southern Blois are separated by the Loire river (left) and we stayed in the northern section.
First of all we went to the market which was happening that day in the centre of town, and it was HUGE!! It took ages to do a circuit, and almost every foodstuff imaginable was on sale, not to mention clothing, shoes, bags and books.

Then we ventured into a children's toy shop to look for teaching materials. It was those wonderful and commendable toy shops that barely sell anything that needs batteries i.e. PROPER toys which use children's imaginations and develop more than their ability to spend hours staring at a screen. Anyway, in this lovely little shop there was a lion which, whenever he was touched, would roll around on the floor, laughing. I found this hysterically funny. When the lion had stopped roaring with laughter and rolling on the floor, I bent down to pick him up which prompted him to start the charade again. I was caught in a endless circuit of trying to touch him to turn off his battery, and setting him off every time. In the end the French shopkeeper had to intervene.

The four of us spent the rest of the day 'brochery' shopping at the Office de Tourisme (my new favourite made-up word, meaning going to the OdT specifically to raid its free leaflet section systematically and without mercy); looking at the façade of the chateau (my first chateau!) which comprises of several buildings built at different points between the 13th and 17th centuries and as a result the architecture changes with the different sections - see wikipedia for more info, it's certainly not what I did, ahem... moving on...; and hunting down a patisserie and returning to a flat to savour our purchases while watching The Great British Bake Off. Perfection.

A slight down point was that today it decided to start raining. Not serious rain, just a consistent spittle as if to say 'Suzie, you've been here one and a half weeks, you've settled in perfectly well, and as a result we're going to stop giving you constant sunshine.'

It's true, I have settled in far better than I thought I would. Much of this is due to the lovely former Spanish assistant who has introduced me to all her friends here at my accommodation, all the friendly teachers who have chatted with me during lunch and been patient while I've stammered along, and that I've had so much help with all the bureaucracy from various people. A certain bank EXCLUDED from this praise for reasons it knows only too well, and which are too laborious and tiresome to go into here ever. One lesson has been learnt at least - don't choose a bank based on its name.

Tomorrow I might venture to wash some of my clothes here for the handsome sum of €5 and I may indeed attempt to experience my first French church service. Wait out for that story....

Cheeky French Children

So today I observed my first lessons in the Collège. Up until this point I had only had a quick tour of the building and met the main staff members I would be working with, but after realising nothing would be planned for me unless I asked for contact hours (it seems don't ask, don't get - my timetable is a bit like a yeti: many have heard of it, yet no-one has actually seen it...) I emailed my collège responsable last night for some lessons to observe today. French school starts at 8am (and generally finishes around 4 or 5pm) so I was picked up from my accommodation at the horrific hour of 7.40am. Anyone reading this blog should know me well enough to know that I tend to get up around 11am, and reluctantly at that.

First lesson: watching 30 sixieme students (French 11 year olds) vote for their class representative. Ah the days of School Council... that made me feel really old.

Second lesson: watching quatrieme students (13yrs) struggle with irregular English verbs - I know they're difficult, but French irregulars are just as bad!!

Small break: raining, so I chat to teachers in the staff room.

Third and four lessons: being interrogated by troisiemes (14/15) about Britain, my culture, but most of all my personal life. How old am I? and What sports do you like? dramatically took a turn in an altogether different direction when one confident and cheeky individual asked Do you have a boyfriend? which quickly led to Do you love him? Are you going to marry him? Do you like French kissing?

Nonetheless, they were both very entertaining hours, perhaps the most fun I've had since coming to Romo, and the kids seemed really nice. Many of these children (because this part of rural France has some quite deprived areas which the kid are bussed in from to go to school here) will never leave their departement, let alone France, so I really am exotic and fascinating for them.

Warning: self-indulgent pensive thoughts hereon

This led me to the following sombre thoughts.
Firstly, how depressing it is that this is the case in a 'First World' country and how much I take travelling for granted. This summer alone I went to Germany and Canada before coming here to France, and at Easter I went skiing in Austria.
Secondly, I realised that I really must try and bring a bit of Britain, of the world, even, to them because they're not going to be able to go and grab the world for themselves. For so long the Year Abroad has seemed like an inconvenience to me when I could be at a Cheesy Tuesday in Arena or playing in the mud at OTC.

Only now when I think about it do I realise what a privilege it is for me to be in this position. I have been served a life experience on a plate. This is the best chance I am ever going to get at integrating into France (or any other country) because I am young enough not to have any real ties, and this teaching job is an amazing way to integrate, to learn about another culture, and learn more about what brings us together as people. 'It is in teaching that we truly learn' has definitely taken on a new meaning for me!

Not being fluent in French has really shown me how much of 'language' is actually 'body language'. Particularly in the MAJO where I have made friends with some people my age and they speak very fast and use slang terms (sou = cash, I now know), most of the time I have absolutely no idea what is going on. Nonetheless I can grasp the jist of the conversation from key words and people's actions and tone of voice;  the French in particular like to gesticulate and make sounds to replace words.
Hopefully I have been filled with a new resolve to really make the most out of my year abroad, for both those I am teaching and myself.

Lycée Claude de France

Anyway, that was my time done at the collège. I then sped-walked to the Lycée, rapidly filled out my Erasmus forms - bring on the grant, patisseries beware - and went to see the secretary to give her my bank details so that I can be paid (yet another bonus from being a TA on the YA). Which leads me onto the topic of banks and HORRIFIC French bureaucracy, which shall be left for another blog entry...

Paperwork and Public Transport.

Caution: this blog entry may contain rants, long rambling Suzie stories which have no real purpose (or they do, but I forget them), and general tomfoolery in rural France.
Suggested method for approaching this blog entry: see the headings and ignore what does not interest you.

Navigating SML3010:
So I spent my Sunday morning working out what on earth is included in the module Exeter University use to assess the Year Abroad for those doing British Council placements. Turns out, after bragging to all my friends doing their finals this year, that I actually have quite a bit more work to do for this module than I first thought... But I was not deterred (if slightly put out at the thought of having to break from stuffing my face in patisseries and wandering around chateaux) and I set about making various lists, sticky notes and reminders in my filofax to try and get a handle on the tirade of personal goals, vocabulary logs and 'employability reports' that would be expected of me come August 2013. Which sounds far off, I know, but one might end up waking from a millefeuille induced coma in late July and realise that part of their degree does still require fulfilling.

Left: a millefeuille, for those of you who don't know what it is. It literally means 'a thousand leaves' and is made by layering pastry (I believe filo pastry) and custard/cream multiple times. Scrumptous. I had one today (Thursday 4th) in fact at the Lycée canteen with my lunch (€3.04 for a salad, roll, hot main meal and pudding plus free water).

Rural french public transport:
Upon glancing at my watch I realised that I had to go and get my train to Orléans at 1715 (synchronise watches - one for the OTC people reading!) so I promptly collected my things and walked to the train station in the evening sunshine. I noticed the coaches as I crossed the car park. I noticed the people in the lobby as I crossed over to where the platforms where. I noticed the automatic doors definitely not opening as I got closer and closer. And then I noticed the people watching as I gave the automatic doors a little shove, as if to say 'you know you should really be opening for me. Please.' Feeling perplexed, I asked a woman in the lobby what was going on, and got a reply about how complicated the situation was for the woman behind the counter who was dealing with a Gendarme man. The counter-woman finished dealing with the Gendarme-man, said something in French I didn't catch and the 'complicated'-comment-woman grabbed me and said 'c'est vous! c'est vous!' and pushed me towards the counter.

Counter-woman looked at me. I looked at counter-woman. What did she want from me?? I sort of bleated something along the lines of 'where are the trains?' and pointed limply at the automatic doors barring the platform from me. After a few more confused exchanges about where I was going, whether I had tickets, when I had tickets for, I was essentially told that 1. there would be a coach (the one outside) taking me to Salbris where I could then get my connection to Orléans. And 2. to go away. On my return from my journée d'accueil in Orléans I found the same situation - a coach, not a train to Romo.

Cathedral Saint Croix in Orléans

The solution to my puzzlement came in the form of a French lady who offered me a lift back to the MAJO from Romo station. Breaking every personal safety rule I had ever been given by my parents, the British Council and society (i.e. don't get in a car with a stranger) I gratefully took it. I think a little OTC-inspired part of me was thinking 'I could take her...'. And it was when conversing with this lady that I asked if it was always a coach that took people from Romo to Salbris, and what about in the other direction towards Gièvres? 'Oh it's always like this', she said. 'The railway hasn't worked in ages. First they said September, now they say November...' Why, why, why had that girl behind the counter not told me this when I bought my bloody train tickets?? With my thick English accent and stammered, grammatically wonky French*, how could she have possibly thought that I would know that the trains don't work in the countryside?
* which is apparently so incomprehensible that the girl at the boulangerie couldn't understand 'un pain au raisin s'il vous plait' - very depressing.

So the moral of that story is, take lifts from strange French ladies who you don't know (but reckon you could beat in a fight) because they will tell you more about how to survive rural French transport than the people in charge of giving you your train tickets.

The best things about the Journée d'Accueil...
* most of the day being in English so that we English Assistants were 100% clear on the important details of teaching, bureaucracy etc. Having a day where my brain didn't start melting from French over-exposure was bliss. 
* being able to have a really good chat with some English and American Assistants who are living in Blois (a town not too far from Romo). I have been a bit deprived of company which is my age recently, I hope it didn't show through...

Discovering the reason I came to France...

So today I discovered the reason why I chose to come to France: THE FOOD.

I got up at 10am in order to get something out of the morning instead of lounging around or watching Gavin and Stacey, and ambled along in the direction of the town centre via la Mairie (the town hall) and the Mediatheque (media library, so audio and film resources, not just books). Romorantin is a really cute little town, full of winding roads with front doors sitting right on the pavement, shuttered windows and various tabacs and cafes dotted around. La Sauldre river runs through it and there are some beautiful (if small) parks beside it.

Musée de Sologne

Then when I was about 100m from La Halle, the smell of roasting chicken accosted me. French markets, how I love thee. La Halle is essentially a large hall / warehouse / urban barn where, several times a week, it comes to life and is filled with all manner of local French produce. I bought myself some melon and bananas, and just stared at all the other delights on offer. A Chinese stall (I found the takeaway and restaurant earlier today, and there's a MacDo's! - McDonald's, not that I'll be going there); a counter selling all manner of cooked and uncooked meats; many fruit and veg stalls; an oyster stall; a patisserie; whole populations of cheese; a massive machine full of spits of roasting, melt in the mouth chickens with optional pommes frites; oh yes, and the slightly gruesome sight of entire skinned rabbits complete with staring eyes. Disturbing.

So yes, that was my morning complete. Feeling very French I wandered back to my room along the river where some people were fishing. A few cultural observations:
1. French people (on the whole, and from my experience to date) don't seem to like dogs any bigger than a border terrier. It wouldn't be fair to call them rats (although there have been a few leashed-rats about asking to be trodden on) but the single Alsatian and normal-sized mutt I've seen are a distinct minority.
2. The French don't seem to mind if you walk infront of them while they're driving. I personally haven't dared to do so, but have watched in horror as many locals simply walk out in front of them. The first time this happened I was shocked when there was no outburst of authentic French swear words - putain!! par exemple - or honking of horns, but no, the driver meekly slammed on the breaks and motioned for the pedestrian to pass. Life as a French person seems much more laid back than in Britain - having a two hour lunch break (the world literally stops turning) and buying bread twice a day would be impossible with my British lifestyle.

3. The French seem to very nice as a whole, I don't think I've had one look of disgust when I've admitted that 'je suis anglaise', and all the teachers have been extremely welcoming. Case in point below.

This lunchtime I was due to have lunch with a teacher and her family, and in fact we went to a once-a-year food festival celebrating Turkish, Morrocan and Portugese cuisine. There were loads of women in the back of the tents freshly making the food on huge hot plates, and many baskets of desserts dripping in honey. Lush. And then they drove me around the town, pointing out the cinema, where I can go swimming and ice-skating (the only ice-rink in the region is in my town), the park Beauvais or something like that where I embarrassed myself and displayed how poor my French really is by trying to explain that quaint British passtime of 'conkers'. It's really difficult to explain, not least because even if you say it correctly, they couldn't believe that the British would be so weird as to do such a thing!

So it has been a very food-themed and -filled day!! I am yet to purchase anything at a patisserie - I think I'll use my first paycheck for that...                                   

Smashing the French. Language, that is...

So I'm sitting in my room in the studenty youth hostel thingy. The room's pretty basic (Holland Hall girl coming through) but nonetheless I do have my own functioning bathroom, it is furnished, and my bed is made. Plus I have my homemade millionnaire's shortbread - WIN.

It's Friday 28th, and I left Wednesday morning. It's been quite a couple of days!
WEDS: Took the Eurostar successfully to Paris (despite getting pulled over at security at Ashford due to my washbag containing a penknife and nail scissors), then crossed Paris to Montparnasse using le Metro. Let's just say that by the time I got to the platform for my train to Tours, I was rather sweaty, red in the face, and had my feathers generally ruffled by lugging a HUGE suitcase (plus heavy rucksack and Waitrose bag full of stuff that wouldn't fit anywhere else PLUS wearing my winter coat coz it wouldn't fit either!) up and down countless flights of stairs - where on earth were the escalators??? They're a perfectly good invention. What I particularly like is when one has the choice between stairs or escalators, and if one is without luggage they can spring up the stairs like a gazelle and feel very smug when they beat the escalator's passengers to the top. The awkward bit is then waiting for your companions on the escalator to arrive....
Anyway, I arrived in Tours on a bright, sunny afternoon and set off in search of my hotel. After getting a bit lost and already a bit tired, I decided not to try and map read any more and instead I accosted a young mother and her child (thinking they fitted the profile of someone least likely to A. bundle me into the back of a white van and drive off, wheels screeching or B. just ignore me as I bleated 'excusez-moi') who helpfully showed me the way and tried to bolster my spirits by telling me I was not far off.

I had a nice conversation with the hotel owner, had a shower, and once feeling refreshed, set off into Tours armed with a better map which actually showed some places of interest on it (see below).  

Cathedral Saint-Gatien

Hotel de Ville

A beautiful large town / city which I thoroughly enjoyed wandering around, and where I first began to Smash the French language. I first of all bought a French PAYG SIM card (which runs out after a certain amount of time here - the more money you pay, the longer it lasts). But Suzie Smasher of the French did not stop there, oh no, she went on to conquer the SNCF 12-25 rail card too.

THURS: After staying at a teacher's house for the night, she drove me to the Lycee where she worked, situated in the town where I shall be an assistante d'etrangere francaise (please 'scuse the lack of squiggles) for the next seven months: Romorantin. I was introduced at the Lycee, and at break wandered down to the College where I met my future colleagues and was given a whirlwind by a bubbly and extremelyfasttalking secretary.
And then I got a lift here, to my unhomely 'home' (well, for at least the next month) where I further dominated the language to the extent that I was complemented, and I managed to buy some lovely much-needed internet.

FRI (today): I had lunch at the college which was nice - only €3.20 for a hot meal, a salad, a yoghurt and a piece of fruit (plus unlimited water). I know where I intend on eating my main meal - ridiculously yummy patisserie pastries can fill in any gaps!!
Lunch with Valerie and her family tomorrow, then off to Orleans on Sunday for my Journee d'Accueil!!
A bientot.