The Sketchy Hotel Story

Ok, better late than never, right?  I know I promised tons of stories from my last vacation.  I don't really have time to write them properly, but they're very interesting.

The first week of vacation, we spent in Marseille.  We went to the Chateau D'If (literature reference anyone?  Just FYI, the movie shows Dantes descending into a pit for his imprisonment.  Utterly impossible.  There is so much sunlight it's unbelievable.)

No pics, no time.  Sorry.

After a few days, we met up with our friend Jonathan from Paris and went to Avignon.  we saw the Palais des Papes, the Pont, and other stuff.  We also took a day to see Aix-en-Provence and Pont du Gard (the Roman Aquaduct).  I wish we'd had more time there.  Sigh.

The bus depot in Avignon is super sketch.  We almost didn't go in it because a) it was night, b) there appeared to be drug-dealer type people hanging around c) it was dark, no windows, and it was creepy.  Somehow we mustered the courage to go inside and lo and behold it was fine.  Still wouldn't go there at night.

Our last night in Avignon together, we went out to a ritzy restaurant.  The waiter really knew his stuff.  In the corner of the restaurant there was an American couple having dinner.  Talk about rude people!  They insisted on speaking English with the waiter and were mad at him when he brought them espresso instead of cafe au lait (well DUH, when you just ask for coffee with your dessert, what do you expect they're going to give you.  It was a classic mistake recounted to me once by a French professor.  That's why we had to laugh).  And then, the waiter (obviously overhearing us speaking English) started addressing us in English.  But then he stopped mid-sentence, apologized profusely, and continued in French.  SOOOO flattering.  He told Laura that if she couldn't figure out the flavors of her ice cream she would have to do the dishes.

The next morning, we bid Jonathan goodbye (and he went off to his super fast train to Paris...Grrr) and we went to Arles.  Then it started to rain.  Then there was a bus strike (they were totally singing Solidarity Forever in French).  Before we knew it, it turned into a national strike of both trains and buses.

When you have a night train back to Nancy to catch, this is not a good thing.

We walked around all day and somehow made it back to Marseille, where we waited. and waited. and waited.  Finally, we went to the guichet and they told us that our train was cancelled.  Could we get a train to Paris? No. Belgium? No.  There were no trains whatsoever.

After a moment or so of intense panicking, we asked for a hotel recommendation and proceeded across the street.  The recommended hotel had closed for the night, but we ran into a guy going into the hotel next door.  The clerk let us in.  Luckily he had one room left.

His "one" room actually belonged to a lady who got stuck in Lyon overnight due to the strike.  So, he cleaned up her personal artifacts (which included a can of tuna, towels, tooth brushes, and other strange items) and told us the bed was clean.  We didn't really believe him as the whole place kind of smelled.  But, as we had no other choice, we decided to make the best of it (we just had to avoid looking into the shower...gross). 

As it happened, he was rather a young guy stuck in a hotel with nothing to do.  When we went down to pay our bill and explain that we had to leave early in the morning, we started chatting.  Turns out, we are the same age.  He tried to get us to stay and talk to him but we told him that we were exhausted and then went upstairs.

Five minutes later, he tried to fix the TV in our room against all our protestations (really, you'd think he never saw a couple of girls before).  But we finally got him out so we could sleep (which we didn't really).

All said, he was pretty nice.  He got up at five in the morning to let us out (and he put on an American flag t-shirt...just for us?).  Awwww.

We caught our train and everything was fine in the end.  We got a little sleep before heading out to Crete the next day.

Saying Goodbye

Tonight and this past week, I've been saying goodbye to all that Verdun has meant to me.

Tonight was my last drink with the French girls, the Spaniards, and the other assistants.  Some of them I won't miss...how could I, I hardly know them? 

I went up to the bartender, Frederick (yep, we're on first-name terms with our bartender...super embarrassing, but a good illustration of what Verdun is all about) and told him and Thierry that tonight was my last night with them.  He gave me la bise, winked, and told me he was coming to Chicago next year to visit me.  yeah right.  It was really touching.  (He owns the place, I think, even though he's kinda young).  As Rosie says, "Never say never" so who knows, I may run into him yet.

Then, as I said goodbye to everyone else, there was an outpouring of people who suddenly want to come and visit me, which was really cute.  The tears aren't coming yet, but I may be a basket case when I see Rosie for the last time.

Last week was also the last week at my lycée.  My students (seconde) were soooo sweet.  They signed a card that said "I love you Mary! Kiss you!  I miss you!" all over it.  Not much variance (the teacher laughed and explained that their vocab was slightly limited).  Then we took pictures together as a group.  Some of my sstudents took celebrity photos with me.  I'm pretty sure that photo is plastered all over the internet by now. One student told me that he will remember me until his deathbed.  Who couldn't help but cry after that?

But that isn't all.  That class gave me two cookbooks and a box of candy.  Another class gave me "a taste of Lorraine" with another cookbook, two jars of jam, cookies, and a pan to cook it.  They also gave me a large bottle of perfum and three smaller samples and a card that had "bon retour"written all over it.  Cute.

The teachers also showered me with gifts.  And the girl I tutored.  Gosh, you'd think the other assistants did absolutely nothing while they were here. I can safely say that I worked hard here, but not enough to deserve all this.

The people here are really generous.  Really Really generous.

 ...my loot.  And this was before I got the candy and the other books.

I still have a few days left of teaching and then a TON of traveling.  It feels so funny to be saying goodbye when I won't be home for weeks yet.

No tears. Not yet.

Germany and Germans

I spent the last weekend visiting Germany and our dear friend the German assistant who left Verdun before the rest of us.

Wow, so much happened...I'll try to condense it.  I have a lot of thinking to do about my whole experience as an assistant and this trip didn't make it any easier. Neither did last weekend.

Anyway. we arrived in Freiburg on Friday.  We hung out for a bit and went to a disco at night.  I'm not much of a disco fan, but it was alright.  The music was all in German (of course!) but they were traditional tunes remixed as rock songs.  Too funny!

The next day, we ate a HUGE Bavarian breakfast.  Afterall, we were in the Black Forest.  There, breakfast includes beer.  No joke, Markus drank a huge pint with his, I had only a few sips.  We ate special sausages, AMAZING mustard, and pretzels.  Rosie has all the pictures of this, unfortunately.

 Then, we walked around town.  It was so pretty.  Well, I'll let you be the judge of that.

 The Cathedral.  It was too big to take a picture of the whole thing.

 Halfway through the day, we stopped at a cafe and had these coffees with vanilla ice cream in them.  An Italian invention, so I'm told.  Rock on, Italians.

 

When I shall think of Freiburg thereafter, I shall remember this particular clock tower which used to be a prison.  Jonas told us that there is a plaque on it that commemorates the last witch that was burned in Germany. True story.

 In this picture you can clearly see the little drainage water thing that Freiburg is most famous for.  There are literally little streams all over the city. In one square, people were cooling off with their feet in it (and a little rack designed to hold their beers in the water to keep them cold.  German ingenuity!

Apparently, though, if you are a visitor and you accidentally trip and fall into one, you will marry a Freibuger.  I didn't fall in, FYI, but I was sorely tempted to "accidentally" trip after I met a certain German-Italian student.  :)

 In the town, there is a small mountain you can climb.  On the mountain, lest you should get thirsty on the climb up, there are beer gardens.  We went two days in a row, it was so much fun.  The first day, we went all the way to the top.  At the top, there is a tower you can climb.  Since everyone else was too tired (or too slow, however you want to look at it), just me and Jonas went up to take pictures.  To be quite honest, the view isn't really worth the climb.  You do it just to impress your friends with your stair climbing skills (learned from living on the third floor).  Trust me people, there is a stair-less way to get to the base of the tower that we would've taken if I had been calling the shots.

 On Sunday, we all went to Mass at the cathedral. It was super cool to go with all my new friends.  Mass in German is super cool.  For the hymns, they had a little digital screen with the song number and verses.  So German!!  Afterwards, we went back to the beer garden for lunch.  I ate schnitzel. Yum!

 So there you have it, Germany.  Goodbye new German friends!! (and German- Italian, and Spanish, and English). 

Oh, you know how in France, pigeons pick at baguette?  Well, in Germany they eat sausages and bretzels.  No joke.  As Maria and Jonas said, they're just waiting for some beer.

Germany: land of pretzels, beer, TONS of meat, beer gardens, and sunshine. 

What makes a place beautiful

I wrote this last week and never published it...oops!
 
Tonight, in Verdun, it is raining.  In fact, it's been raining all day.  As I was walking home from Rosie's, I had the sudden sensation that I didn't find the town nearly as ugly or uninviting in the rain as I had on previous occasions. A few months of hard living can really do that to a person, I suppose.

But it's true.  I had just come from Rosie's hobbit hole (she's a hobbit, no buts about it...she's just a little on the tall side) and my heart was very warm and full of good things.  I was thinking how blessed I am to have friends who care about me.

With the lights beaming onto La Meuse river from the Quai de Londres, Verdun is actually quite beautiful.  It is not beautiful by it own merit but made so by the people who live here.  In a few days, some of my favorite people will be gone, and the town will no longer capture my imagination, love, or appreciation.

I think I've said this before, but I might as well say it again.  It's not about the places you visit, but the people you meet.  Walls cannot speak or welcome you or teach you the essence of a place's culture.  Only people can do that.  The more I travel, the more this has become my motto.

This past weekend I visited our dear friends in Stenay again.  My friend was kind enough to invite us to spend the night in her home with her family.  We had such a lovely time with them, going around and looking at all of the WWI monuments.  It was freezing cold. We took a picnic lunch to eat on the road, but since it was too cold to eat outside, we asked a local cafe if we could eat it there inside.  We bought our drinks from them and had a great time looking at all of their relics from the Great War proudly displayed around the whitewashed walls.  It turned out that it was easier for them to speak English than French because the husband was Irish or something.  Who'da thunk it!!

Afterwards, we went to the theater and then to the home to our other very dear friends in Stenay.  As it happened, their sons were visiting and we all had a good chat in English.   Dear reader, you probably don't understand, but when you've only spoken a foreign language for so long, it is such a relief to speak your own language for a while.  We spoke until 2am and then they kindly took us home.  I really hope we get a chance to see them again (as I wish with a TON of other people here).  They are really two special families.  Oh those polo-playing, posh, intelligent, gorgeous crickets!

In short, my experience here has been a good one, not because of the place (heaven forbid!) but because of the people who live here.  Granted, they never want to leave La Meuse, but that's what makes them so cute. 

I'm sorry, no pics, I don't have time  to upload them. You'll just have to take my word for it that the sons were pretty cute :) just kidding, I'm not that superficial.

The moment when...

...you are about to leave for work and you suddenly remember your umbrella and dash upstairs even though you're late and then later it rains cats and dogs.  Praise the Lord!

Clay birds and apologies

Hello faithful readers, it's me.

I realize that I haven't written anything in a while.  Frankly, I haven't had time.  My life is filled with mini-crises that happen around mid-morning and get resolved by the afternoon. Like when I get mad at my terminals (maybe its because they're boys, but I was never so immature or inappropriate at their age) and then charmed by my 5iemes (little boy with the enormous glasses, I will miss you terribly.  Thanks for being so good in English. I wish my terminals would follow your example).

Yeah, it's the same old story, every day.

I hope...
...my classes this afternoon go better than this morning's classes

I can't wait...
...to do some more traveling.  Face it folks, I'm never coming home :P

I'm wishing...
...I could marry a prince from Luxembourg and live there for the rest of my life.  Each time I go, I say to myself, this can't possibly be the last time.  I went to Luxembourg Ville last weekend for the clay bird festival.  A.MAZ.ING.  Let's just say I'm the proud owner of two whistles (one that works with water in it).

Pictures coming soon.  Maybe.

Until next time,
Mary

i spy

...the horse-drawn garbage truck going down Rue Saint Sauveur on an early misty morning.  After three tries, I finally got a picture!!

Sorry it's sideways!

...the group of English exchange students from another Lycee who look a little lost.  I've run into them twice now.

...my students at the theater.  Yeah, I'm not the only Victor Hugo fan.

...the Spanish assistant, kicking back in our laundromat.

...the pretre doing his shopping.

...my students in Monoprix.  They actually acknowledged my presence.
...the bartender winking at the German assistant.  They don't really draw the line anywhere!


I hope...

...my students didn't see me as I almost got stuck in the undercarriage of a bus trying to retrieve my suitcase :)
...that spring is on the way, like soon.
...that we eat at Le Glacier just one more time!

an iconographer and a cat

If you happen to be in Hania, you can find the fountain, take the road by the Starbucks and follow it past Tamam, up some stairs and on the right you will find Margarita's shop.

Margarita is a Greek-Australian woman of medium height and dark blond hair. She has one of those inviting smiles that makes you like her instantly, and she is an amazing artist, or writer of icons.  If you ask her, she will tell you everything there is to know about icons, and you won't be bored for a second!

Margarita makes all of her icons from completely natural materials.  The paint, for instance, is minerals mixed with egg yolk (or egg tempera for you artist geeks out there).  It takes about a month to prepare the wood for painting.

We spent a delightful morning and a good part of the afternoon chatting with her in her shop, drinking coffee and raki, and petting her cat (who really liked Veronica and kept jumping on her lap).  Raki is an excellent Grecian liquor that is also used for tacking the gold leaf on icons! Talk about ingenuity.

We bid Margarita and Bella (the cat) goodbye and headed to Tamam for a delish lunch of fried cold with a garlic puree sauce.  Just as we were finishing our meal, the waiter came up to us and gave us dessert "on the house."

The people of Crete are some of the friendliest people I have met on my travels.  Granted, we were some of the only tourists in town and so could enjoy personal time with the locals.

A few more examples, we stepped into a shop to look around and ended up buying olive wood things.  The lady offered us some raki (probably hoping we would buy it).

They gave us a discount everywhere we went and were interested in us in a friendly way.  I might just be naive.  I know times are rough in Greece and even harder in off-season for Hania, but I've never met such geniune people on all my travels (and, as of now, I am well-travelled.)

Bucket list item accomplished: make friends with a person from a foreign country in a place where you aren't living.  Check.  Some day, I promise, I will buy one of Margarita's icons.

My Big Fat Cretean Experience

I. Love. Crete.

I think I've probably made you all extremely jealous just by going there, because face it, you SHOULD be jealous.  It is that awesome.

When I left Verdun at the beginning of vacances, it was snowing and I had to drag my suitcase through ankle-deep, digusting white stuff...

But enough about snow. The trip there was mostly without hiccups.  We got stuck in front of the emergency exit on the plane and the stewardesses kept yelling at us in Greek to keep our stuff off the floor (when everyone else was clearly stowing their luggage under the seats.  They didn't even let us keep our purses! sheesh).  It was only when the plane landed that I figured out why.

We were lucky enough to stay with an American family, whose friend picked us up from the airport (the situation was a little complicated).  At the house, we met up with our friend Veronica and cooked dinner (Greek bottled wine isn't bad).

We woke to the sound of the rooster crowing in the backyard and the prospect of Greek yogurt for breakfast (the rooster had actually been crowing all night, but I digress).

I ran out onto the porch, barefoot, and took in the snow-capped mountains in the distance and the lemon tree right before my eyes.  I reached out and touched a lemon.  Yep, it was real and I tried very hard to think that I was dreaming.
(oops, no picture of this.  Laura has one, I think.)

We spent the day in downtown Hania (also spelled as Chania or Xania, only the latter is with Greek letters). On our morning stroll up to the lighthouse, we caught glimpses of octopus drying on a pole between two chairs, people enjoying a coffee and a game or two of backgammon.

That first morning made life look so simple.  I had no desire to use my phone or check my email.  I was so engaged with the people around me.  Crete welcomed me with open arms.

 

There and back again

Hello, I'm back!  (please excuse spelling.  I spent the past two days typing on a French keyboard and my fingers are confused). 

In the next few days I will be posting pictures and stories about my adventures. 

I went to Marseille and the south of France for the first week of vacances and Crete for the last few days.

How did I get home from these places?  I took two planes, a train, a bus, the RER, the metro, the TGV, a train and a bus to get back to Verdun from Crete.  So if you'll excuse me, the stories might be a while in coming.  Times like these require laundry to come first in my life :)

In the following posts you will learn how Laura and I tuckered ourselves on our first day in Marseille, how we ate AMAZING food with Jonathan (the great food connoisseur), how we got stuck in a sketchy hotel in Marseille (and how we got out of it), how we made friends with Creteans (and a cat), and how we hit the beaches with our lovely  friend Veronica.

More to come, people! 

More Adventures

These past few days I've been hanging out with Rosie because the others have abandoned us both for more interesting corners of the world.  So we went to see Les Miserables

Great film, I don't have time to talk about it right now (except to say that a French lady shushed us in the theater...which makes no sense since we weren't really talking and the french can't keep their mouths shut ever.  Plus the fact that the film was in English and she was relying on the French subtitles. Just saying.)

This morning I am leaving on an adventure.  I promise to take lots of photos and enjoy myself and tell you all about it when I return.

Cheers!
Mary

How to walk down a certain street in Verdun

...and (how do I put this politely) keep your shoes clean.

1) Do not step in anything brown, black, grey, green, (or any color other than cement...I wouldn't trust the cement either, but sometimes you just have to take a chance) or moist looking.

1.1) To be on the safe side, avoid sticks as well.

2) Unless is has just rained, do not walk in any puddles or trickles of water, especially around trash cans (hey, garbage can produce water sometimes too!)

3) When it snows...you are in luck! undesirable substances are a good deal easier to spot in whiteout conditions.

 Good Luck!

Mary's Day Off

After a long Monday which included walking back and forth to my lycee two times (for a total of 12k) which was followed by a dinner chez Philippe (interpret: a late night) and then a Tuesday of four hours of me talking about Chicago and another hour of working with my students on a project (during which my voice was completely gone), I was exhausted.  Coupled with the fact that I had a cold, my last two days did not go well at all.

In short, I am taking the day off.  I've cancelled all regular engagements for the afternoon and am going to treat myself to furious novel writing and adventures.

A life between two worlds

On one hand, I can't believe I've been in France for so long, but on the other, I can't believe how little I've written about my experiences.  This blog was never meant to be a play by play of my life as an assistant (of which I am guilty of doing on occasion), but rather to give a slice of what my life is like here in Verdun.  I guess that's what evens it out.

Lately, I've been wondering what it will be like when I return home.  I'm only just getting to know the people here (some I've known since day one, others I'm just starting to know).  As one of my students told me recently when I was explaining about all the friends I have throughout the world (thanks study abroad!) "You really know everyone!" (except in french, everyone comes out as tout le monde, which makes it sound like I know everyone in the world).  I love looking at a map of the world and pointing out places I've been and the different countries where I know someone.  My world map is literally filled with my friends.  That's a nice feeling to have. It makes me terribly sad to think that in a few months, I may never see them again. (although I will probably vow to come back to visit them, or make them vow to visit me).  Some people are just too good to leave behind forever.

I am also very happy and excited to see my friends when I return home, but I know things will not be the same.  I've grown up and changed and so have they.  There may be some friends I have at home whom I may never see again, even though we live in the same state.  weird.  Change is not a bad thing; it's just weird.

Lent

I have exactly one hour before my least favorite season of the year begins--lent (I am eating a chocolate bar as I write this, just so you know).

I hate it, but lent is always really good for me. 

Some lents I give things up, some lents I do something extra, (sometimes I do both).  This year, I am going to get my prayer life more in order and do some spiritual reading.  When things get busy, it's so hard to sit down and make time for prayer.  In reality, it should be like breathing.  When I get busy, I usually go for the most important task I need to do first, when what I really should be doing is taking a breath before the plunge (prayer). Discipline is something everyone needs, especially in the spiritual side of things. I figure that if I can get that part of my life in regimental order, I can do anything.

I am also going without sweets, because it wouldn't be lent without that. 

I don't like lent because it makes me change.  I don't like change, but it's good for me.

 Hello internet, this is what my lent is going to be like (now I have all of you to remind me of the shame I will incur if I don't do what I set out to do).

53 minutes...and one last piece of chocolate before I turn in.

Hello World!

It's me, Mary and I just want to say that I'm back from the dead..not really.

I lost my internet access for a few days, which meant I was haunting Macdo and crashing at the other assistants' place.

Since my last post, I have been to Metz over the weekend to see a chocolate expo, acquired a new roommate whom I shall call Number 3 and who isn't as bad as I thought, got hit by a whirlwind snowstorm (literally), and made crepes twice :)  Sorry, no pictures.  I have started carrying my camera around with me, but I just don't feel that some things are picture-worthy.  Oh well, I'm working on it.  I mean, I have pictures of the assistants playing I Spy on the train to Metz, but those are simply not blog-worthy.

Until next time,
Mary

I would go out, except...

It's raining and I feel like staying in with a nice hot supper (hot sausages and yorkshire pudding anyone? Rosie gave me a crash course in toad in the hole a couple of weeks ago and I've been dying to try it ever since.)

Anyway, my brain feels like it is about to explode.  I am getting a roommate tomorrow and I can't say I'm happy about it.  We'll see.  Both the Principal and the Gestionaire told me about it (only the gestionnaire told me twice...I think he's working too hard lately), for which I am extremely grateful.  Their one consolation was that I will no longer be living alone.  HA! I've been piecing all the bits together, but I guess I'll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out the true story about the new surveillant. (Also, I can tell it's been bothering me all day because I've caught myself daydreaming and cleaning like a maniac at intervals.)  What can I say, I like living alone (well, with a part-time roommate, anyway).  Patience is a virtue.  The last time I got a roommate, it was only ok (just barely).

*sigh* Just as I think life is going just nicely (meaning that our Verdun family as finally adjusted to our newest member), I get a curve ball.

Rain, rain go away, come again some other day (or preferably not at all).

Generalizations [stereotypes] about the French Part 1

This is an ongoing post series, I suppose.  Laura and I have been commenting back and forth about certain things we've noticed about the French.  Not that these are all true or always true.  Perhaps they have some cultural explanation that escapes us.

Why do so many French people walk with a limp?

Casualties from the Tour de France? Too much foie gras?  I really can't say.

French men.  

Maybe it's because we're women, but the men seem a bit more, flirtatious than they are back home.  They stare much more and are bolder in their speech.

They love to tease. They will say something if only to ruffle the feathers of the women nearby.  They think nothing of bestowing lavish compliments on a lady if it will get them somewhere in life (they usually start by, you are the most beautiful...) This is a learned thing.  Some of my students do it do me to get on my good side and I know they didn't think of it themselves.

They also do this weird walk where they strut with their hands in their pockets and their heads held high (not unlike a bunch of roosters).  This is definitely learned.  I saw a three-year-old doing it. 

And you all know my story about me at the bar. Enough said about this subject.

The French are very proud to be French.

They all think that France is the best country in the world (and why shouldn't they?).  A lot of people who live in Verdun are actually Italian, but they consider themselves to be just as French as the next man.  They will only mention their origins if you press them. 

The one problem with this is the"If France is the greatest country in the world, why should I ever leave?" attitude. Sadly, most of my students have never been outside France, some not even to Paris or outside La Meuse.

As one Frenchman once said to me, "I really love my country!"  He had been all over the planet (to Mongolia, even), but he still has a fondness for his own country.  Now that's true patriotism--when you know better and still support your country.

The French love babies and old people. 

I have observed on several occasion, people going up to babies and making goo-goo eyes at them.  The babies are delighted as are the parents.  I have not really seen crying babies in public.  I also have observed the younger generation assisting the elderly to walk around town and do their shopping.  They seem to take good care of them.

Opinions Galore.
 
All the French people I know are very helpful, in fact, I don't know where I would be without their suggestions.  They are so helpful, in fact, that I find them opinionated from time to time.  I have never noted malice, just AHH! I wish they would get out of my hair sometimes. (this is not to say that I am not opinionated...because I am).  A lot of advice stems from backhanded criticisms.  (maybe this is just D, I don't know!).  I think it might stem from language, actually.  Suggestions in French hit me harder in the ear than in English.  I think we tend to soften things with modals too much

La femme en noir

Last night, after a lesson planning party (which included ordering pizza for the first time in France...a story all its own), we decided to watch The Woman in Black, the horror film with Daniel Radcliffe.  I have quite a lot to say about it, so I thought I would rant a little here...

Now, before I start, I think I better say that the conditions for watching this particular horror film were not the greatest.  It was on a laptop (much less scarier than on the big screen, I imagine), the internet connection kept going in and out (so we had to pause the movie a couple of times), and the fact that some of the other assistants were trying to relieve the tension a bit by burping at intervals, making jokes about Harry Potter, and playing the SNCF sound.  (It is an inside joke with us, I'm afraid.  It is certainly the most annoying noise you've ever heard.  I found a music remix of the four notes they play in the station.  Why do the people I hang around with set this noise as their ringtone?!?!? When you've heard it as many times as I have, it is quite amusing and annoying at the same time.)  It also didn't help that Rosie was screaming and whimpering in my ear at intervals throughout the movie (which gave away some of the surprises, I'm afraid.)

After we decided what language to watch it in (English with Spanish subtitles...Chinese with Japanese subtitles was carefully considered, but vetoed in the end) we passed around the red wine and sparkling water (I had the water, just so you know) and settled down to watch the film.

The story takes place mostly in Cryphon Gifford in a haunted mansion inhabited by the woman in black. Daniel Radcliffe (who plays Mr. Kipps, I believe...again, not sure due to the chitchat and frequent burping).  He is some sort of inheritance executor and must go through all of the papers in the house before it is sold.

He soon discovers that the house is haunted by the woman is black.  Every time someone sees her, a child in the village dies by suicide (because her son died by a violent death as well?)  Mr. Kipps tries to appease her ghost by finding the body of her son (who drowned in the mire), but it doesn't work.

The plot is very thin and there is almost no character development on the part of Mr. Kipps.  Rosie assures me that the book is better, but I still don't see the ghost's vengeance tactics as logical.  After all, why would ghost be visible if not to have people see them? It's not our fault if we can see, but entirely theirs.  It's not like every time she comes in contact with an adult she hurts that person or that person's children--just some child from the village, completely at random.

Nevertheless, the film was superbly shot and directed.  The tension just oozed out of every scene.  I became interested in the next thrill or scary thing rather than the development of the main character.  I still don't know what I was supposed to get out of the film. What was the message?  Why did I waste my time watching it?  What is my benefit, the lesson learned?  I guess I'll have to read the book to find out.

UPDATE: After talking with Rosie, its clear that the book is better and makes more sense.  Oh Hollywood!

Let me finish this story by saying that when I got home and was just getting ready for bed, I heard a loud thump in the stairway of death (which usually makes creepy noises at night anyway).  Perhaps I did jump a bit, and perhaps I went to bed quite quickly, keeping the light on a bit longer than usual, considering it was in the wee hours of the morning. The imagination, my friends, is more powerful than the screen.

A day in a French school

There many things I didn't know about the French idea of education when I started working as an assistant (for instance, that they have coffee breaks in the middle of the day.  At first, I thought it was completely random, but now, it's part of my routine).

The day starts in the collège at 8 o'clock.  All the students are dropped off by their parents, walk to school, or take public transportation.  They wait for their teachers in the main courtyard below the classrooms.  The asphalt in the courtyard is marked with the numbers of the classrooms with little lines to separate groups from each other.  After the bell rings, the teacher comes out whenever they feel like it (literally) and escorts the students up to their classroom, two by two.  The students may not find the classroom themselves.  Generally, the students make it there before the teacher and try to kill each other in the hallway in front of the classroom while waiting for the teacher.

When the teacher arrives at the back of the pack, he or she waits until all the students are quiet enough to go inside the classroom. Believe me, this method doesn't work; they are just as noisy when they take off their backpacks and settle in for class.

When they are all assembled, the teacher tells them when they may sit down and then takes the role (or yells at the kids for being too noisy).  This is the point at which the students may ask for a tissue (and guess who they get it from?). "Madame, can I have a mouchoir?"

The teacher stands on a raised platform in front of the classroom to show authority and to make sure all the students can see. I usually stand to the side of this platform to avoid killing myself stepping up and down (as it is, I always nick the corner...ahhhh....).

Most teachers just stand at the front and teach.  As the assistant, I like to walk around the classroom (the kids like it better that way...then they can talk to me one and one and I can hear them).

The classes last about 55 minutes.  They have a 15 minute break right before 10 and again before 3:30 with an hour and a half for lunch (and only an hour on Fridays).  I always know it's lunchtime when I hear the bell ring and hundreds of screaming students rush into the courtyard below my window.  The day officially ends at 5:30 pm (or 5 on Fridays).

What I find annoying is that the students aren't allowed to find the classroom by themselves.  After each break, the teacher goes down to the courtyard, collects the students, and comes back up again (waits for them to be quiet, yells at them when they're not), etc.  The students are old enough to walk up stairs by themselves.  It's not like they don't do that at the other hours of the day. *sigh*  (I asked a teacher once why they do it, and she didn't know...my point exactly).

Today, a student proudly told me that he got the best "note", or grade, in his class.  Grades are a big deal.  I have a feeling that French parents are very hard on their children about this.  Grades are calculated out of 20 (or sur vingt).  Now, a dix sur vingt or 10 out of 20 is considered a good grade.  Below that is pretty bad. As one of my French professors once told me : 20/20 is for God, 17-19 is for teachers, 10-16 is for good students, 10 is average, below 10 is failing.  As far as I can tell, the grades are sometimes administered au pif, or however the teacher is feeling that day.  For example, I went around with one teacher to the hotellerie while she was giving oral exams (kind of).  She had me talk to the students while she graded them (out of 10).  I remember she gave one student 7/10 at which he replied "Oh, thank you madame, that's very generous." --especially since he didn't do so well (partly owing to the fact that his neighbor kept interrupting and asking for my phone number).

Well, now it's Friday, the school day is over, and I am going celebrate by doing lesson planning :(
à bientôt,
Mary