Elise's Mississippi Adventure

Delta-isms

2010-07-15T19:54:00.000-07:00

As if we weren't challenged enough in our daily endeavors to close the achievement gap, Corps Members also faced the constant challenges of what we like to call "Delta-isms." Whether its the accent or the way they use the term, we are constantly trying to decipher region-specific language.

Imagine trying to teach a lesson and your student raises her hand and says, "I gotta use it." I am already somewhat annoyed that my lesson is being interrupted especially when behavior management starts to go to you know where when students' attention turns from me to someone else.

I ask, "Use what?"

"I gotta use it."

"Use what?" I ask again, further annoyed.

"Use IT!" My student reiterates.

Further confused, I mumble something and turn back to my lesson... whoops.

Delta-ism #1: I gotta use it = Can I go to the bathroom?

Delta-ism #2: I nee a PAN-cell/ PAN-cer = I need pencil.

Delta-ism #3: Es-kurz me = Excuse me.

Delta-ism #4: Ma'am? = Could you repeat what you just said?

And as if it isn't enough to try and navigate the accent and word-usage, we also have to remember how to pronounce names that I have decided were created specifically to look like one thing while sounding like something exactly the opposite. Try teaching a lesson, managing a classroom and pronouncing these names at the same time. Here are just a few examples:

Syh'lence = Silence (seriously. no, seriously)

Am Unique = This is one of the most popular names in our school...

Chakaviante = Sha kay vee on tay

Zakwon = Zay kwon

Zimarion = Zy mare ee on

Exzarius = exactly like its spelled, but still

Ja'marqavius = Ja mark ay vee us

Urhyness = Your highness

And my personal favorite La - yia = La dash ia

Miss Claiborn

(This is a compilation of names I have heard and names I have come across. Luckily we usually don't have all of these in one class. It would be like our own personal tongue twister.)

Wrapping Up the Hardest Five Weeks of My Life

2010-07-14T16:29:00.000-07:00

For all of you who do not know exactly what I have been doing this summer, here is a quick recap.

Induction: June 8-12, spent time getting to know our region, sessions on specific challenges we will be facing in the Delta

Institute: June 13 - July 17; five weeks of intensive teacher training, which includes four weeks of teaching summer school in local schools; regional corps come from all over to the Delta for Institute, I just got lucky because the Delta is the site for Institute

During Institute, I have been teaching entering third grade math and reading along with my Collab (collaborative) who is another Corps Member. We each teach a two hour block of either reading or writing. My collab this summer has been a wonderful Kappa (for my aunts) who is going to be working in the Charlotte region.

We are now entering the final days of Institute, and I believe everyone is ready to be done with this schedule. Its hard enough to be living in dorms again with people you had never met before, but add in an average of four hours of sleep a night and days that stretch into 15 hours of work, and you get one hot mess (as my southern friends would say). We're all tired and a little burned out and much more cognizant of the fact that the next two years are not going to be a walk in the park. Students in the fourth grade in the Delta are, on average, 2 years behind in reading. Eighth graders are, on average, 3.5 years behind in reading. Think about teaching your students how to write a math word problem when they cannot read or write let alone form full sentences. That is the reality of the achievement gap, and, after Institute, the 2010 TFA Corps has gotten a healthy dose of reality.

Institute has been rough. It is not for the faint of heart. However, TFA believes in trial by fire. The people who weren't completely committed to the cause at the start of all this have long since dropped out, and the ones that are left have the tenacity it takes to make it through two years of fire.

Yeah its hard, but, geeze, I have never felt so productive! We've built relationships that will last beyond these five weeks. We've gotten to know ourselves better than ever before. We've discovered that waking up at 4 a.m. day after day is actually possible. We've prepared hundreds of students for their next year of school! We've gone from the top of our classes at university to the depths of despair about ever becoming a real teacher to building a foundation for strong student achievement in our regions. Most importantly, we've survived.

When you step back and take a look at the big picture, its pretty cool, no?

Anyways, I am moving now into an unfortunate flex time after Institute. Since I have yet to be placed in a school, I cannot find housing, which puts a kink in everything. If worse comes to worse, I'll be living in what they call the "TFA mansion", which is where they put all the unplaced corps members while they wait to get a job. Its not ideal, but right now, it looks like that may be a very real possibility for the first part of August.

So for now, I'm finishing up and playing the waiting game.

Miss Claiborn

P.S. We tested our students in reading today, and each of them made significant gains!

The Funnier Things in Life

2010-07-08T20:01:00.000-07:00

I've realized that I haven't shared any of the hilarious things that happen in my class. In between the serious times of behavior management and learning, learning, learning there have been some rather entertaining bits.

We have one student, Tiona, who is very tiny and very sweet. She barely talks in class, but when she does its usually to tell me, "I like your shoes, Miss Claiborn." In the mornings we have reading, and all the students sit on the carpet in the back of the room while I read aloud to them. When I do read aloud, I try to do the voices of every character to make it more interesting for the class. Most days it works out just fine, but this particular day it backfired big time. That day we were reading about Little Billy, who was very bored and so he wandered, against his mother's wishes, into the Forest of Sin.

Miss Claiborn: "In our story, Little Billy is very bored. While he is looking out his window into the Forest of Sin, he hears a voice (using my best scary voice), "There are no monsters in the Forest of Sin. Your mother was lying."

(I stop and look at the students. Tiona is staring at me with her big eyes, waiting to know who is talking to Little Billy in such a voice.)

"Who do you think it was talking to Little Billy?" (I pause for dramatic effect....)

"It was the Devil!"

Tiona then proceeds to hug her knees closer to her chest as her eyes get bigger and she yells out in front of the entire class, "OH MY LORD! NOT THE DEVIL!"

I then realized that as eight year olds who have grown up in the bible belt, my students may have a healthy fear of the devil instilled in them by hundreds of "Fire and Brimstone" sermons. I had probably made it worse with the voices and dramatic flair given that the Devil isn't even a minor character in the novel, he's simply the reason Little Billy goes into the forest. As we kept reading, I hoped that some other parts of the story would draw her attention away from the tiny blip about the lord of the underworld. Little Billy is chased by a Gruncher. He climbs a tree and discovers a tiny people living in the trees. He then goes on to ride on a swan and kill the Gruncher in a daring chase through the forest.

Alas, all of these events failed to take her attention from that one part of the story, evidenced by how she answered the assessment at the end of the day:

1. Name a character in the story

The devil

2. Name one event in the story.

The devil whispered in Little Billy's ear.

3. Give a summary of the story.

Little Billy listened to the devil.

4. What was our big problem in the story?

The devil

5. How was our problem resolved?

Little Billy stopped listening to the devil.

And on, and on, and on.....

Note to self: avoid books with the devil in them when you are teaching in a state where parents use the devil as collateral for making their children behave.... I wish I were joking....

Oh well. Live and learn and try to traumatize as few children as possible.

Miss Claiborn

P.S. Asked one of my students what he wanted to be when he grows up: a professional eater specializing in hot dogs.

The Second Worst Day of My Life, and The Day After the Second Worst Day of My Life

2010-07-01T18:22:00.000-07:00

So this week started out just like I though it would. I hadn't gotten enough sleep, as usual, but I felt more prepared going into the class than I had the week before. Unfortunately preparedness was not the issue. Its not enough to have all the papers copied out and in order, and to have all your notes on the board, and to have the pages flagged in the book you are reading that day, when, in the middle of the bathroom break, I'm on the floor of the boys bathroom, holding one of my students in safety position trying to keep him from attacking one of my other students. Its not enough to be prepared.

After a grueling two hours of being flipped off, called a various schmorgesborg of expletives, and twice having to physically restrain a student from hurting himself or someone else, I was done for the day. Luckily, my CMA (Corps Member Advisor), the SD (school director), and the CS (curriculum specialist in charge of classroom management), had by then recognized that with eight days of teaching under my belt, I was not quite capable of dealing with those kind of problems on a daily basis. They quickly reorganized some of my students so that the five that were the most difficult as a group were now spread out in five separate classes. Their quick action kept me from packing up and leaving last night. I never seriously thought about walking away from it all until I was sitting on the floor, alone in a room of twenty, eight year olds, while one of my students screamed and kicked in my arms and the others stared in shock or cried at their desks. But with the support of capable people and a long nap back at the dorm, everything came back into perspective, and I realized it can only get better from here.

Just as yesterday was unique, today was unique as well. I got through my entire lesson, without one student in the chill out chair. I felt like a teacher for the first time, instead of a baby-sitter. We still have the students that can't actually read, so they get bored and act out, or the students who are three years ahead in reading, so they get bored and act out, but overall, there is a definite sense of control and calm that was missing before. I'm not a perfect classroom manager yet, but then again, I've been in a classroom for nine days, so I'm going to say it can only getter better from here.

In some ways, I feel like a failure. I didn't like seeing my former students at lunch today because I was just getting to know their story and just starting to figure out a tiny part of their lives before all hell broke loose. One was pouting and refused to look at me because he just didn't understand why he had to leave my class. Unfortunately, I couldn't explain it to him. For some reason, our class was the perfect storm of too much energy and too much anger for one, inexperienced teacher to handle.

On a happier note, I'm going to New Orleans for the Fourth. Be jealous!

Miss Claiborn

P.S. Thank you for all of the Birthday wishes, cards, and presents!

Sunday is God's Day of Rest, Not Mine

2010-06-27T13:19:00.000-07:00

The weekend has flown by at a speed I cannot even comprehend. Its amazing how weird it feels to wake-up at 8:00 on Saturday and think about how during the week, I've already been awake for four hours!

My suite mates, who are the sweetest people in the world, took me out for a lovely cup of coffee at our newest discovery, Crave. Sitting in its sleek, coffee-filled interior, I could almost pretend that I was back in Boise or Spokane, drinking my latte, reading a book, and relaxing. It was only when I looked out the window and saw Dodge's Fried Chicken, Fred's Fried Catfish, and Delta Cream Donuts that I remembered I was in Mississippi and that the only books I have time to read now are The Enormous Crocodile, Rumpelstiltskin, Fantastic Mr. Fox, and Song Lee and the "I Hate You" Notes.

After a relaxing, almost other-worldly stint at Crave, we headed back to campus for some much needed work time. Outside the classroom, the life of a teacher is surprisingly predictable: drink coffee to stay awake, write lesson plans, and grade assessments. It is inside the classroom that the future becomes frighteningly dependent on 20 eight-year-olds' decisions to learn or not to learn. They really should have commentators in the classrooms. Bets could be made on how many times IS (can't put his real name) gets out of his seat to sharpen his pencil. Friday, it was at ten. Monday could be twenty.

Anyways, after lesson-planning for a while, we went "downtown" (I put downtown in quotes because its really just a street in the middle of town that they call downtown) to a great bar called Backdraft. Its run by a very nice lady who has a framed matte on the wall for all of the TFA-ers to sign when they come in. We had a wonderful dinner of stuffed shrimp and salad. Salad and unbreaded meats have become delicacies to all of us. After two weeks of fried chicken, fried ham, and fried salsbury steak, you begin to wonder if the cows and pigs in Mississippi are born already breaded to speed the process of frying. Needless to say, a night away from the cafeteria was more than refreshing.

Today is full of things to do. There seems to be never-ending lesson planning, and even when the lesson planning ends, we have printing and copying and grading and reading and tracking to do after that. Minutes become precious. Luckily after two full nights of rest, tackling all these tasks seems less daunting than usual.

Thank you for continued thoughts and prayers!

I love getting emails, but I cannot promise that I'll have time to answer them.

Love,

Miss Claiborn

2010-06-25T21:14:00.000-07:00

Ah, Friday.

My first week of teaching is officially over, and the learning curve, I have discovered, is quite steep. Every day I do something better than I did it the day before, but then I realize something else that I need to work on. I knew I wouldn't be an amazing teacher on day one, but, geeze, I underestimated it like Napoleon underestimated Russian winters.

Because my class is made up of fifteen boys and five girls, containing all the energy becomes an issue after about 9:00 in the morning. I made up a chant for character traits today to try and get out some of the energy. It went a little something like this:

Physical Trait! (Kids repeat the lines back to me)

Its what we look like!

Personality Trait!

Its what we like!

Its what we don't like!

Its what we doooooo!

It seemed to help for a bit, but there is only so much chanting I can do on three hours of sleep. Speaking of sleep, the weekend is upon us, and my suite mates and I are pretty impressed that we made it through the first official week of teaching. We're all hoping to get ahead in the next few days to try and end the seemingly never-ending game of catch-up. When we finish for the night, we're never actually finished. Finished = there is not enough energy left in my body to continue on. We steal moments on the bus and in-between meals and sessions to finish lesson plans or practice our delivery or grade assessments. Its amazing how productive we have all become in two weeks.

But life is definitely not all bad. I've met some pretty amazing people; people who could be doing anything and are here learning how to teach. One of the corps members, a retired judge, is sixty-five, and he's keeping up with the early wake-up calls and the constant work. Those are the kind of people TFA attracts, which is amazing to be a part of.

Yesterday, I got extremely angry. Not at a student, not at myself, but at some unknown entity that is our school system. Why was I angry? Because one of my students who is going into the third grade is reading at a pre-1st grade level. She struggles to write letters, let alone full, correctly spelled words. She's supposed to be learning how to predict what will happen next in a story, but she cannot write a full sentence. I am angry at an institution that has, so far, failed this child. But then again, that is why we are here, n'est-ce pas?

Anyway, enough ranting. It really feels good to be surrounded by talented people all working towards the same goal.

Love,

Miss Claiborn

Also, I love emails its just that I may not be able to respond due to time constraints. However, I still read and enjoy them!

First Two Days of Teaching

2010-06-22T21:06:00.000-07:00

To all teachers who have ever been and ever will be: I commend thee.

I have officially been teaching for two days now, and I cannot believe how much work goes into a two hour lesson plan! I'm not even teaching a full day, and I'm exhausted by the end of it! So two enthusiastic thumbs up to all of you.

To say its been difficult is probably an under-statement. I'm teaching reading to third graders for the next two weeks. The first day, the students showed up twenty minutes late to the classroom due to bus issues. Trying to teach them all the procedures, rules, and regulations and have time for our read aloud and shared reading was virtually impossible. Luckily, the kids were scared enough about the new situation and new teacher to stay fairly quiet.

The second day, two third grade boys (not my students, thank goodness, but third graders nonetheless) started punching each other in the hallway during the bathroom break. One was taken away with a bloody nose, and both were sent home for good. The brand new teachers in the hall, including myself, were left in the hallway, flabbergasted (one of our vocab words) at what had just occurred. This was the first time that I realized my students were facing some challenges I never had to face as a child.

The second realization occurred when I graded their introductory spelling tests. One student is at a fifth grade level, which is fantastic. However, the vast majority struggle with spelling "float" (its the 'o''a' combo that is confusing for some). The achievement gap is a literacy gap, and now I have proof.

These past two days have not been easy. My Corps Member Advisor (CMA) has been extremely supportive and is always available, but even with that help, it is difficult to be positive on less than four hours of sleep every night. My suite mates and I give each other thirty seconds to vent when we get home every day, but after that, no one can say anything negative. It helps us focus on what we really need to be doing, which is closing the achievement gap, not complaining about having another three lessons due by eight tomorrow morning or how one of our co-teachers forgot to go over line-up procedures. Every night is filled with planning and assessments and trackers and a unusual delirium derived from a seemingly unhealthy mix of zero sleep, highly caffeinated drinks, a frightening amount of fried chicken and momma's meatloaf from the dining hall, and an even scarier drive to succeed.

Exhibit A: Today, one of my suite mates was simultaneously crying because she was afraid her students had not learned what she had taught them and laughing because she knew that it was ridiculous to be crying all the while planning the next day's lesson.

I'm telling you Zero Sleep + Caffeine + Fried Everything + Scary Drive to Succeed = Delirium.

So that is a general overview of my first two days. Thanks for the prayers. I could always use more.

P.S.

One of my students, one who always wants to be at the head of the line so that she can stand next to the teacher, came up to me after class while I was sending students to the bus. She put her hand in mine, smiled and said, "Have a good day, Miss Claiborn."

The First Week At Institute

2010-06-18T18:11:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry I haven't posted lately, but once you read my daily schedule below, you might be able to forgive me.

So the first week I was here was Induction, which is basically a week of getting to know the area that we will be living in for the next two years. Looking back on that week, I should have realized that having to wake up at 6:00 am to be at an info session by 7:30 was really a vacation compared to this last week.

Monday marked the beginning of Institute. Five other corps from the surrounding areas, Houston, South Louisiana, Charlotte, and I cannot remember the other ones..., have joined the Delta Corps at Delta State University for the next five weeks. Institute is where we are trained in everything from classroom management to lesson plans to how to ensure our students become life-long learners. This week, which we have fondly named Teacher Boot Camp, has been focused on preparing us for Monday. Why Monday, you ask? Because Monday is the beginning of the next two years. It is the day when we are given our own classroom with real live students who are depending on us to prepare them for the next grade level. I will be working with incoming third graders, teaching reading and literacy the first two weeks and math the second two weeks. TFA takes the whole sink or swim analogy extremely seriously.

Luckily, I have a fantastic CMA (Corps Member Advisor) who has taught in the Delta for the past three years and whose job is to make sure that the ten Corps Members he is responsible for have everything they need to succeed and ensure their students succeed in the upcoming weeks. Its been fantastic to see the caliber of people that Teach For America hires. Every single person I have met or worked with in the past two weeks has been driven, ambitious, organized (albeit sometimes flirting with obsessive/compulsive tendencies...), and completely committed to closing the achievement gap. It is nothing less than inspiring.

Just to give you a taste of what this last week has looked like, here is an excerpt from Wednesday:

4:00 Am - Wake up, take shower, get ready for the day

5:00 - Breakfast

5:23 - Load bus to take us to school site

5:30-6:30 - Bus ride

6:30 - Campus meeting (all CM's and CMA's)

7:00-7:20- Lesson Plans

7:25-9:15 - Reading Comprehension Overview

9:20-10:15 - "How To" Daily Vision Setting

10:20-10:30 - ISAT Tracker Case Study

10:35 - 12:20 - Management 1: Developing a mindset, voice and a plan for strong management

12:20-12:50 - Lunch

12:55-2:20 - Planning M-T-W Lesson Plans

2:25-4:00 - Management 2: Teaching Students your high expectations for behavior

4:00-4:30 - Campus Meeting

4:30-5:30 - Bus ride back to DSU

5:30-6:30 - Dinner

6:30-9:30 - DRA Testing Session

10:00 pm - Bedtime

It is amazing what you can get done when you wake up at 4:00 am.

Have a lovely weekend. Send me an update email if you want, but I can't promise that I'll respond too quickly, I just like to know what is happening in your lives: eclaiborn10@my.whitworth.edu

Love,

Miss Claiborn

P.S. The Delta State University mascot is the Fighting Okra...

The Many Firsts of MS

2010-06-12T08:24:00.000-07:00

The first time I saw a mosquito truck. Its a truck that drives around in the evening shooting a seemingly unhealthy-to-humans amount of bug spray into the air.

The first time I ordered a soda/pop/coke but didn't have to pay for it .

The first time I have been forced to cover myself in bug spray any time I want to venture into the great outdoors.

The first time I have been stopped in the street by locals, asked if I'm in TFA, and then thanked for being a part of their community.

The first time a man tried to allay my fears of alligators by telling me that they only eat big fish and little children...

The first time a local had to explain to me the proper way to kill a mosquito with your hands.

The first time I said "ya'll" and meant it.

The first time I have been mistaken for a Duke fan because of the colors I was wearing that day. Its just football people.

The first time I have been invited to a catfish cookout.

The first time its been too hot at night to use a blanket, sheets, or pajamas.

The first time I willingly shopped in Wal-Mart.

The first time I smelled a magnolia or saw one for that matter. Did you know they are trees?

I still haven't seen my first firefly, but they're supposed to come out in July and August, so I'll let you know.

Mississippi and Induction

2010-06-10T19:37:00.001-07:00

Hello Friends and Family!

I have now embarked on a new adventure. This adventure, much like my last one in France, involves a different culture, a seemingly different language, and an upsettingly different shopping experience. Unlike in France where the wine flowed freely and the designer stores were chock full of the overpriced outfits of my dreams, Mississippi flows with brownish tap water and an unusual propensity to adore Wal-Mart.

We are now at induction, which is sort of an introduction to the Mississippi Delta for the 280 Corps Members (CM's) that will be serving in this area. We are staying at Delta State University in Cleveland, MS, and the town has laid out the red carpet for the incoming Teach for America CM's. A 10% discount at the Pickled Okra is just one of the perks that the famous TFA CM's enjoy in lovely Cleveland. Its been a hectic three days of traveling and training and ten thousand introductions. By Sunday, there will be another 300 CM's from various other TFA districts, and we will all begin what has been described as five weeks of the toughest training we have ever gone through.

Overall, I am impressed by what I have seen of Mississippi. When I remember to say my "Thank you, Ma'am and Sir's", the people are extremely kind. There is a certain sense of welcome that the residents have already extended to us. It is wonderful to know that they are aware of why we are all here (to teach their children) and that they are so happy to have us.

I have yet to get placed in a specific school district, but tomorrow I have interviews with some of the schools in which TFA works. I will hopefully have a placement within the next few weeks, but it might take all of July to be hired. I would love some prayer for my interviews and my placement.

I miss you all.

Love, Elise

Ah, Aix.

2009-05-09T01:05:00.000-07:00

I'm back in France for a couple of weeks to finish up classes and to spend the days in France eating croissants and baguettes. Spring has finally come to the South of France, and everything has exploded with green. There is nothing like the diversity of plants and trees in the South, and I am trying to soak it all in before heading back to the States. As it is getting warmer and warmer, more and more people are wandering the streets and parks. Its lovely to finally see some color in the clothing, and, although it is not much, it is a huge change from the neutrals of the winter months.

I had a wonderful time being in the States, but it has made me realize how much I am going to miss of France. The food, the wine, the people, the croissants, the ridiculously small cars, the fact that I can walk all around town, the language, the diversity... I could go on and on and on. There are a few things that I probably won't miss, but I'll think about those once I'm permanently back in the States.

I had the opportunity to hike up Mont Sainte-Victoire the other day. Aix is surrounded by many hills, but there is only one mountain anywhere near the city. My friend and I took a bus out into the country, found a path, and then started climbing. I had heard that its fairly easy to make it up the mountain, that is, if you choose the right path. Per usual, my friend and I had chosen the wrong path. We spent some painful hours scrambling up a few rocky paths before losing the trail and having to slide back down the side of the mountain. After a few minutes of crashing through the brambles, we made it back onto the trail... And then went the wrong direction, not towards the mountain but towards where we had begun. By the time we had figured this out, it was one in the afternoon, we'd been thrashing around for about four hours, and we decided to end the day with a three course meal at a restaurant at the foot of the mountain. Overall, it was a lovely day, and maybe, just maybe, I'll have the chance to make it up there before I leave for good.

I hope everyone is doing well!

Elise

Ah, America.

2009-04-21T15:03:00.000-07:00

For all of you who are wondering, I am back in the States for two weeks. I have quite a long spring break, and both my parents and I felt that it would be a good chance to come home for a bit before finishing out the semester in Aix. I had an eleven hour flight from Paris to Salt Lake City, then an hour flight from SLC to Boise.

Once I was off my first flight, I was jet-lagged, malnourished, and my ankles had swollen to cankle (calf/ankle) proportions. However, I was aware enough to realize the novelty of my surroundings. After wandering around and staring at all the people for a bit, I sat by one of the concourses and jotted down a few of the things that I was first struck by as being unusual.

Here is the list:

1. Color. (French wear neutrals or muted colors.)

2. Bellies.

3. Flip-flops.

4. Sweatshirts.

5. Sweatpants.

6. Pajamas.

7. Portion size. (The smallest ice cream cup I could find was still too big to finish.)

9. Uggs.

10. Fake tans.

11. The Hair styles.

12. Donuts!

13. Girls wearing athletic clothing.

14. The handbags. (French men often carry bags.)

15. Smiles. (French people don't smile at strangers. Ever.)

The Week with Amy

2009-04-14T07:44:00.001-07:00

Amy and I had a wonderful week of galavanting all over the south of France. Saturday, we spent the morning on a bus to Nice, and then, once we got there, played around the beach and the town for a while. The weather wasn't perfect, being somewhat cloudy, but it was a very lovely temperature outside and the beach wasn't crowded so we could run and jump and take silly pictures without disturbing the sun-bathers who would have typically littered the beach on sunny days.

On Sunday, Easter Sunday that is, we visited Eze, which is a very tiny town that sits on top of a hill overlooking the ocean. The only thing of interest in the town is its perfumeries. Perfumes are created by a master of scent, called Le Nez (The Nose). A Nez spends years and years in schooling, teaching their noses how to identify every type of scent. There are only 40 in the world, and the majority of those are in France. However, because of the sensitivity of their noses, they can only work two hours a week, so it takes quite a while to create a new perfume. Once a perfume is created, the perfumerie then sells it to a designer like Armani or Versace, who names the scent and then retails it as their perfume. Amy and I were able to visit the same perfumerie that I had the chance to go to the last time I was in Eze. It is a very dangerous place because there are too many things to spend your money on. The Asian tourists, especially, seem to be overcome with the desire to buy everything in the store.

After, spending some time and money in Eze, we tried to find the bus to Monaco, but it turned out that we had just missed the it and the next one wasn't coming for another hour. We decided to wander around for a bit, and while we were wandering, we found a sign that said that Monaco was only 5 kilometres from Eze. Amy and I decided to be adventurous, and since we walk over 5 km on a daily basis, we thought we might as well try to walk to Monaco. After about a half hour of walking and picture taking, we passed another sign that read "Monaco: 5 km". Then a half hour later: "Monaco: 5 km". This is where we started getting a little worried.

Finally, after over an hour of walking, the sidewalk ended abruptly, and Amy and I were left standing on the side of a very busy highway, apparently still 5 km from Monaco and who knows how many kilometres from Eze.

We stood there for about five minutes, watching the rich people watch us as they passed by in their Porsches and BMW's and Lamborghini's, until, finally, a very nice taxi driver took pity on us and gave us a free ride into Monaco, which, if you were wondering, was definitely more than five km from where we had been stranded.

Once we had finally made it to the actual city, we had a lovely time taking pictures of all the very rich men with all of their very plastic girlfriends. Money paves the streets in Monaco. You can name the designers of each article of clothing that the women are wearing as they walk by: Prada, D & G, Prada, Yves Saint Laurent, Prada, Chanel, Prada, Hermes, and so on and so forth. Another fun game to play is to count the number of Lamboghini's that pass by, which is quite fun given you can hear them coming from a half-kilometre away (which from the lesson we learned trying to walk to Monaco, means a half kilometre plus a half kilometre plus another half kilometre...).

Overall, we had a very fun weekend getting stranded, watching the rich people, and spending time on the beach. The Cote d'Azur of France is unlike any other place in the world, and once you get over the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that you feel being surrounded by that much wealth, you can generally have a good time. It is a very beautiful area, and it is no surprise that the rich and famous flock there for the holidays.

Lesson from the weekend: Never trust road signs in France.

I hope everyone is doing well!

Elise

Monaco

2009-04-14T07:36:00.000-07:00

Pictures from Monaco and Eze

2009-04-14T07:30:00.000-07:00

More pictures from Nice

2009-04-14T07:08:00.000-07:00

Amy and I were trying to jump by the ocean, but it was surprisingly difficult to get any height off the rocky beach.

Pictures from our first Day in Nice

2009-04-14T06:37:00.000-07:00

Rooftop Barbeque

2009-04-08T14:14:00.000-07:00

Pictures from a lovely day and evening in Aix.

2009-04-08T14:08:00.000-07:00

These are pictures from our lovely day at Cassis. Its a wonderful town, made even more wonderful by the beach, the market, and the overabundance of gelato shops.

Amy, Aix and Cassis

2009-04-08T13:54:00.000-07:00

Life has once again become exciting. My friend Amy, whom you might all remember from the Paris trip, is visiting me in Aix for the week. We have already had some extremely fun adventures. The first night she got in, we went to a rooftop barbeque for the university students at church. There was an amazing view of the rooftops of the city, and we had a very good time playing games and sharing kabobs. The next day we spent wandering around Aix and having some extremely yummy gelato. Tuesday night, there was a very exciting football (that's soccer in the States) match: Manchester United vs. Portugal. We were lucky enough to squeeze into O'Shannon's Pub, which has an amazing widescreen that is perfect for football matches. We were also extremely lucky because we had with us a British guy who could explain every nuance of the game to those of us who had grown up watching American football (which most Europeans consider a terrible name for a sport that barely involves the usage of that certain appendage). He gave us a very complete outline of British football teams, the highs and lows, his preferred teams, and the general outlook for the next World Cup. Its very exciting to be sitting in an Irish pub in Aix, with a cold pint, watching some extremely talented footballers.

Today, due to the fact that most of my friends in Aix have friends visiting them this week, we decided to take all of the new comers to Cassis, a small coastal town about an hour from Aix. Although we nearly missed our train and then had to walk for a half hour in search of the actual beach, we had a lovely time playing in the water and eating some extremely buttery croissants. Tonight, we are too tired to head out to another pub with the English chaps for another match, but we've had a lovely time so far.

This weekend we will be heading down to Nice and Monaco for a couple of days, which should be a very trip. I will let you know how it goes!

And even more from Paris

2009-04-03T14:13:00.000-07:00

More from Paris

2009-04-03T13:36:00.001-07:00

Just found some more pictures of Paris that I thought I should share. The first picture is of Amy and I at the Centre Pompidou, which is a very modern building that houses Paris' post-modern museum. The weird things behind us are the fountains outside of the museum.

The second picture is of the grounds at Versailles.

The third is of us eating the best crepes in Paris.

Next is a picture of me staring at my favorite painting in the Louvre. I have seen it plenty of times, but I still love it. Its called La jeune martyre by Delaroche.

And finally, the Louvre at night.

Spring in Aix

2009-04-03T09:09:00.001-07:00

Spring has almost made it to Aix, but as you can see in some of the photos, the weather hasn't been the clearest or the brightest. Yesterday, I walked into the grocery store with my coat off and my sunglasses on and came out ten minutes later to find the streets nearly flooding with a freak downpour. But even though unpredictable, spring is transforming my usual walk into a new adventure of color.

Another trip to Marseille

2009-04-03T08:58:00.000-07:00

Here are some pictures from my latest visit to Marseille. The weather was dreadful, but we were able to walk along the beach, which was a first for me in Marseille. We all also witnessed two protests, one (as pictured) was focused on freeing Tibet (I think) and the other was protesting the actions of the Israeli government against Palestine (there is a very large Muslim population in Marseille).

Oh, and that's not me in that picture, I was the one taking it... I thought it would be simpler if I clarified that fact...

2009-03-25T06:11:00.000-07:00

Spring has finally come to Aix. Everything is blooming, and the sun is always shining. It has been a beautiful week, and nearly the entire population of Aix has spent the majority of the day lounging around the parks. The one cloud on the horizon is that the situation at the university has not improved, and in fact, may have worsened.

Monday, no class. Tuesday, no class. Wednesday, no class. The reason for this can be seen in the picture at the right. The students on strike have taken the chairs and tables from the classrooms and barricaded the doors and the halls. This is a picture of the main hall in my university building. The students in the picture are from my class. It took us a while to decide what to do with our days, since we had planned on spending most of the time learning. The sign says "The struggle is class against class." (This meaning class as in upper class and lower class, not class as in under-water basket weaving.) There are always students hanging around the barricades, making sure that no one tries to sneak through. It's quite intimidating.

Sarkozy is trying to make the French university system more competitive, which includes some major reforms that no one seems to like. All the students who are trying to go to class, mainly the international students, are hoping for a quick resolution.

In the end, the question is who is the strike actually hurting?

Even more of Paris

2009-03-21T16:08:00.000-07:00

We got to see a very interesting sight while under the Eiffel Tower. This model was trying to do a shoot under the tower with the tourists just grouping around her. I felt so sorry for her because 1) it was freezing out and she must have weighed a hundred pounds, 2) the men kept trying to get in the shots with her, which would make her laugh, and then ruin the shot, and 3) everyone was trying to get a picture of her so there was a huge mass of people that she had to try to work around (including my friends and I...)

More of Paris

2009-03-21T15:56:00.001-07:00

Very small door in the Louvre that had been removed from some building and placed against a wall. Its purpose? I obviously do not know.

Very nice shot of the Seine with Notre Dame in the background.

Amy and I jumping for joy.

Shot of the very modern pyramid that sits outside the museum and serves as the main entrance. There was a decade of debates over whether or not that pyramid was a disaster or a triumph. I haven't decided because I'm afraid a French person will ask my opinion of it, and then I'll be told, in very strong language, exactly why I am wrong.

Le Louvre

2009-03-21T15:48:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you, but I would have loved to have elementary school field trips in the Louvre.

Amy and Nicole were trying to reenact the the sculpture.

Two shots of my favorite rooms in the Louvre.

Winged Victory

2009-03-21T15:45:00.000-07:00

Nothing Special

2009-03-20T16:44:00.000-07:00

Since I do not have anything that is of particular interest to write about this week, I figured I would do another, "This is why the French are crazy," post, except backwards. Living in a foreign country has helped me gain a better perspective of the American culture, which can be seen as a blessing and a curse. I came up with a little checklist to help anyone traveling abroad be able to spot their fellow Americans in a crowd.

How to spot the Americans in a crowd:

1. Look for smiles. Americans tend to be overly happy.

2. Listen for poor pronunciation of common French words. If Bonjour sounds like "Bun-jer", watch out.

3. Keep an eye out for books titled "The Essential French Phrase Book: All You Need to Know for Your Vacation," or "The Beginner's Guide to French," or "Speak it like a Native."

Over the weekend, my friend and I stayed in a small, French hotel near the center of Paris. Being the only one who spoke French, I had to communicate all of our wishes and needs to the concierge. He explained to me that there had been a problem with one of the wings of the hotel, and they were going to have to move us to another hotel. I then translated this into English for my friends. The concierge then asked me where we were from, and I told him that we were from the States. He looked at me for a moment and then complimented my French. I assumed he was complimenting the fact that my accent was not strong enough for him to automatically assume that we were Americans. He said, "No, its just that most Americans think they can speak French, but cannot." It didn't sound much like a compliment after all...

4. Beware of beer-bellies, sweatshirts, and baseball caps.

All dead giveaways.

I had one specifically harrowing experience on the metro while in Paris that was so stereo-typical of Americans, that I could not keep from laughing. Three or four people squeezed onto the metro with backpacks and luggage (doesn't automatically mean American). My friend and I were sitting on seats that face the doors, so as these people were trying to get on, we had a front row seat to what French see as typical American. One of the guys, in particular, had just barely made it into the train because his potbelly was so big that he was having trouble squeezing in. He decided to try and turn a bit so his backpack wouldn't get caught in the doors. By turning, he virtually blocked me from any avenue of escape. When his wife kindly mentioned, "Honey, you're about to squish that poor girl." (insert me trying to awkwardly turn my head so I didn't eat his backpack)

He replied, "What?" (spoken at typical American volume, which is about ten decibels higher than the French)

"You're about to hit that girl with your bag." (Insert other passengers beginning to stare) "What? Oh right, sorry. I mean desolee." (insert very poor pronunciation of the French word for sorry)

So the man adjusts about two centimeters, I can now face forward in my seat. Then, the train decides to take a turn, and the very large man loses his balance. Bam. Face full of backpack loudly accompanied by more poorly pronounced "Desolees".

5. Watch for the chronic line-makers

If someone is trying to form a line, anywhere, everywhere, whether it is necessary or not, assume they are American.

If someone becomes upset over the fact that there is not a line, assume they are American.

If someone becomes uncomfortable due to the fact that the European version of line is "form a compact, semi-circle around the cashier", assume they are American.

If someone leaves so much room in between himself and the next person in line that other people are cutting in because they didn't realize there was a line, assume said person is American.

I have done a few posts bashing some ridiculous French habits, so I thought I would just remind myself that Americans can be just as ridiculous. These are mostly extremes, but I have come across most of them (or been guilty of them) enough times to realize that there is some truth behind all the French grumbling.

Until next time.

Elise

Paris

2009-03-18T10:56:00.000-07:00

One of the best things about France is that it has a very fast train that runs directly to Paris from Aix en Provence in about three hours (when the workers are not on strike). I decided to skip class on Friday so I could head up to Paris for a long weekend with one of my friends who lives in Spain. This trip was interesting because neither of the girls I was going with speak any French, only Spanish, which meant I was the translator...

Once I got over the mind-numbing fear, I was actually quite excited to show the girls around one of my favorite cities. We spent the first day in the Louvre, which, even though I have spent about twenty hours in the museum, I still find new rooms and new paintings that I have never seen before. Its an overwhelming feeling knowing how many masterpieces are in one building, and how many masterpieces I just cannot seem to appreciate. There are only so many paintings of a somewhat masculine-looking Mother Mary holding a blonde haired, blue-eyed baby Jesus that I can stare at before I have to move on to another era. But the girls were extremely impressed with the size of the museum as well as the amount of art, and my love for the Louvre has grown every time I have been, so I was happy to see the Mona Lisa for the third time. We had quite a bit of fun trying to dodge the Japanese that seem to have overrun nearly every part of Paris. They tend to surround the Mona Lisa, which is never a problem for me because I stand a head taller than all of them, but the other girls had to use their best European manners to shove their way through the throng.

Throughout the weekend, we were able to hit most of the major sights: Le Tour Eiffel, L'Arc de Triomphe, Sacre Coeur, and Versailles. We spent a lovely afternoon biking around the grounds of the Chateau Versailles, which is just outside of Paris (Marie Antoinette lived there until the Revolutionaries beheaded her...) It is always moving to be in a place with so much history. We saw the bedroom of the queen and the door that she had escaped through the first time the Revolutionaries stormed the palace.

One of the highlights of the trip was being able to see a concert in the Opera House of Paris, which was the inspiration for the book, The Phantom of the Opera. Usually tickets are about 100 Euro a seat, but when they have open seats, they sell them to students for 10. It was quite the deal, and we were all very excited about it. The Opera House is so beautiful that its very hard to concentrate on the music because your trying to memorize all the details of the hall.

In the end, a long weekend in Paris turned out to be just the thing I needed. The stress of living in the South of France, having perfect weather all the time, and being so close to the ocean, sometimes makes me want to get out of town for a while. Paris was the perfect answer.

Hope everyone is doing well. I love get emails!

2009-03-12T04:38:00.001-07:00

I'm heading to Paris for five days, so I will be back soon with photos and more stories, hopefully.

La Greve in Real Life

2009-03-11T04:42:00.000-07:00

Today was the day that La Greve affected me, personally. I had heard various rumors circling around that Le Fac de Lettre (my university) was going to be barricaded last night, but this wasn't the first rumor that had circulated about blockades. So today I woke up with every intention of going to class and learning. My first clue that the rumors may have been true was that the typical stream of students that flow towards the university in the morning, was surprisingly light. It was myself and about five others, and once we reached the gate, we realized that last night's rumors had been fact. The gate entrance was shut and locked and the doors to the buildings were blocked as well.

Its an interesting experience standing outside a locked gate, looking onto the barricaded university, holding your books and papers, and just staring. It usually took about a minute for the students to walk up to the gates, stare at the locks and fences, and then turn and walk away, most likely going to find something else to fill their day. I stood there a few minutes longer than most because it was hard for me to accept the concept of being locked out of my university, when I had every intention of attending all my classes, like the good American student that I am. Its hard to know that students in America pray for snow days or cancelled classes or just decide to skip anyway, but students in France, pray that they can get their undergraduate in four years, instead of having it drawn out into four and a half or five years because of all the strikes.

Some of my friends from Denmark were explaining to me their fears of La Greve because one of their friends was here last year and had to take an extra semester of classes to make up for the semester he lost during another strike. Last year! It hasn't even been a calendar year since the last time they barricaded the doors. I am lucky enough to still have professors willing to teach but that hardly makes a difference when we can't get into the building.

On the bright side, the weather is fantastic and barricaded doors could mean that the end is in sight. We'll just have to wait and see.

Elise

La Lutte, La Greve, & Life in General

2009-03-05T06:56:00.000-08:00

Well, I witnessed my very first French protest. Actually, that is not true. My first time in Paris, three years ago, we were lucky enough to be in France during all of the uprisings in the banlieues (suburbs) of Paris. Cars were being burned, the police were entering previously declared "no go" zones, and there was general discontent. I got lucky enough to see one of the protests outside the hotel window. I think it was something about racism, the outrageous level of unemployment in the 18-25 age group, and the fact that Chirac wanted to make firing an employee less difficult.

You have to understand that a french business cannot fire an employee (except for something like stealing) until after the employee has worked there for two years. The philosophy behind this is that workers will not have to worry to much about job security. Instead, this policy has lead to employers being overly cautious when hiring, which has left the younger age group with a poor chance of finding a job. So Chirac had the brilliant idea of making firing employees a bit simpler, which would then help to free up the job market. As with any change, the French people were in uproar, and there was general mayhem. It was for this reason that Parisians were protesting, but the greater problem was within the banlieues.

For all their claims of being modern and forward-thinking, France is still caught-up in issues that should have been dealt with generations ago. One of the main issues is racism. Its hard to describe the banlieues of Paris as suburbs, because in American terms, a suburb is a beautiful grouping of single-family homes, full of bicycles, picket-fences, and general domestic bliss. The word banlieue, in French, has a more negative connotation. It is in the banlieue that all the immigrants live, because of the lower cost of living. It is extremely difficult for immigrants to find respectable jobs, even for the second-generation immigrants. It was the unemployment due to racism in the system that lead to a sort of revolt in the areas outside of Paris. There are still "no-go" zones in the banlieues and there is still racism in the system, but for now, there has been a general declaration of peace for the moment.

So because it is the French way of life to always revolte against something or someone, and because the problems in the banlieues have settled down, they have turned their attention to the education system. Seventy universities in France are now on strike. My friend's university in Pau was barricaded shut by some of the students. I have been lucky enough not to be affected by la greve (the strike), but it has been extremely difficult for some of the other, less fortunate students when their professors refuse to teach.

Mostly, they are fighting against the French public university system in general. They want more housing scholarships, more university residences, and they want more equality in diplomas. What that means is that there are some universities in France that are extremely renown, and that, if you are lucky enough to get into one, you will be set for life after graduating. It's kind of like Harvard on steroids. The students and professors are fighting for more equality among the universities, so that graduating from one or another will not help or hinder them in their future employment.

Today, I witnessed the protest that was filing down the main road in Aix. There was quite a bit of yelling, both from the students and professors, and from the crowds surrounding them. I heard one man yell, "Go back to work!" while the students and professors were yelling, "Resistance!" I wasn't too worried about safety. It is required by law to inform the police before a protest, so the event was very well covered by men in uniforms (although French police don't have the same kind of freedom to use force as they do in the States, but that's for another post). Anyways, the most interesting part of the protest was the volume of everything. Having spent the last two months with French people who whisper on their cell phones so as not to disturb those around them, it was quite a statement to have them raise their voices to that level (somewhere in between a normal, American conversation, and a yell).

I have yet to see the results of this action, but, as one French man once told me, "The only way to get anything done in France is to strike." So I sincerely hope that this will make a difference, or else I'm afraid every student will have to take another semester of classes to catch up after this little episode.

From Flappable France,

Elise

Now I know why books are written about the French

2009-03-01T12:00:00.000-08:00

One of the best parts of my travels during winter vacation was that I got to spend a lot of time with younger and older generations of French people. There have been chapters written on the differences between how the French and English view personal space and personal matters. I know understand why they were chapters and not just sentences randomly tacked onto the end of another subject.

Differences:

1) Names. It is not rude to ask people's names over and over again in France, because its not considered an important part of meeting someone. Usually you just mumble it while going in for the kisses on the cheeks, and if you turn out to be an interesting person, they will ask you for it again, because now they consider it worth knowing.

2) What makes a person interesting. I have been trained, from infancy, on the specifics of how to make conversation and how to keep it going when meeting someone new. You ask their name, what they do for a living, where they grew up, if they enjoy their line of work, etc. In France, most, if not all, of these questions would be considered rude. The French, when meeting someone knew, instead of asking questions, bring up an interesting topic, such as whether or not Barack Obama is really a Christian or whether the stimulus plan will actually be effective. From the ensuing debate, small bits of personal information will be unveiled. That is how you make an acquaintance and how you decide whether or not remembering their name will be worthwhile.

3) The idea of what is personal. A very lovely French couple invited Claire (my friend in Pau), her roommate, and I to dinner at their house. When we made it to their house, the host asked all of us our names and then wrote them down in a little book so he if he forgot any of them he could just look in his little book, which he did from time to time. In America, I would have already gone through a basic background check (SSN, friends and family, facebook, etc.) before inviting someone to dinner.

So even though they will invite almost strangers into their homes, those aforementioned strangers would be out of their minds to ask to use the bathroom or to expect a tour of the home. Dinner might be easy to get invited to, but do not expect to see the rest of the home or the kitchen. These are considered private areas of the home and only family will ever be invited into them.

Insert funny story:

The lovely older couple that invited us to dinner mentioned that she was German and had moved to France during college, while he has lived in Pau all of his life. She adores traveling, and one time on a flight from the States to Paris, she sat next to a WWII veteran. When he heard her speaking in French to her husband, he says, "Oh, Madame, I fought for you at Normandie!" She didn't have the heart to tell him that she was German and that he had actually fought against her country. So she just quietly thanked him.

Ironic?

4) Their language is everything. They will correct you when you get it wrong. I have heard Americans complain that even though a French person knows English, they will still speak in French. Typically, they do this because they think that we have as fond of feelings for our native language as they do for theirs and would rather not offend us by making mistakes in English.

The French often talk about how rich their language is, which is interesting because in English we have thousands and thousands of more words than they do. However, the French will say that we stole most of our words from other languages. French is rich because each word has a specific meaning that was carefully defined hundreds of years ago; a meaning which has not changed in five hundred years. Also, the verbs and order in which the words are used will affect the general tone of the word. Even their slang is respectful of the language. Instead of creating new, vulgar words for things, they instead switch around the letters in the word. "Fou" (fool) turns into "Ouf". The French even fight against accepting American words into the vocabulary such as camera, start-up, cool, etc. They have an academie that decides which words will be accepted or not. We do not have the same worries about the English language.

As a professor once said, "Mademoiselle, to learn French, you must love French!"

Anyways, that is what I have learned on my travels!

Keep sending emails.

Love,

Elise

The Flower Market

2009-02-28T12:02:00.001-08:00

So one of the interesting things I discovered about Aix, while showing the girls from Pau around was the fresh flower market in the center of Old Town. This is a picture of the fountain (in Aix, there are always fountains, everywhere) and the flower market in the background. In the morning, the scents from the flowers mingle together into a fresh breeze that covers the square. These are the mornings in which it is hard to imagine being anywhere more satisfying.

Rediscovering Aix

2009-02-28T11:49:00.000-08:00

One of the best things that happened during my winter break was that I was able to show a few of the girls from Pau, France around my town, Aix-en-Provence. It was interesting because we discovered even more amazing parts of Aix. One morning we found the Hotel de Ville (every French town has one; it was home of the government for centuries, but now its just a pretty building) which houses a fresh flower market every morning. We sat in the sun, sipping cafe, watching the florists go about their work. I also found two different cathedrals in downtown Aix, both of which we were able to go into and listen to mass, something I have never done before.

Here we have a picture of all of us standing around Paul Cezanne's statue in downtown Aix, a picture of us in front of one of the cathedrals, inside the cathedral, and then the big tower is the Hotel de Ville. All located in my town!

Pau

2009-02-28T11:28:00.001-08:00

I was lucky enough to have a friend that lives in Pau, France, which is about seven hours west of Aix. The town boasts a beautiful castle built by some king, quite a few years back. It also has an amazing view of the Pyrenees mountains which stretch along the border between France and Spain. There is a picture of the castle, the boulevard that runs in front of the castle, Claire (my friend), Emily (her roommate), and I sitting a one of the fountains in the town, me pretending to be a statue in the middle of the castle's courtyard, and a picture of the downtown cathedral.

San Sebastian and Friends

2009-02-27T12:57:00.001-08:00

So I'm sorry that I haven't written in quite a while. I have been on many, many adventures and I am just now catching up on sleep. These pictures are of a day trip I took to San Sebastian, Spain. It is a beautiful town on the Atlantic Ocean. These are pictures of the main bridge, the Hotel de Ville, the Aquarium, and one of the cathedrals in town. Its a beautiful city, and has a very interesting vibe. Even though the high was only about 10 C (45 F), there were people out all day surfing.

La Greve

2009-02-18T12:34:00.000-08:00

The reason I haven't written quite as regularly as the past few weeks is mostly due to the fact that I have finally gotten into a fairly routine way of life that does not lend very many note-worthy (or blog-worthy) experiences. Altough nothing in my daily life has been terribly exciting this week, there is an aspect of French culture that is affecting nearly every student at my university: La Greve.

La Greve in French is a strike. Unlike America, strikes in France are common and tend to be terribly disruptive to the daily lives of the French. When I was planning on taking a train down to Aix from Paris, I was worried that the conductors would go on strike, and I'd be stuck in Paris. However, my friend informed me that there is less of a chance of a strike on Fridays because over the weekend conductors are paid time and a half. Luckily enough they did not go on strike the the Friday of my departure; they went on strike the following Monday.

At the end of last semester (end of January), the majority of the professors in L'Universite de Provence decided to go on strike. It has not affected me because my professors are kind enough to show up for classes since we are foreigners and have no power or influence with the French government. However, I have a friend who has yet to start any of her classes. If the greve ends soon, hopefully my friend will be able to make up for lost time by having classes during breaks, but if it continues, it could mean that she will be forced to take another semester of classes.

During my time here, I have met with some shocked expressions when I tell other European students how much my university costs every year (thank you parents). They, as is common in Europe, do not have to pay for college. Their parents are taxed through the roof, but the system allows all young people the opportunity to go to university if they wish. Many students have mentioned that they think the American university system is too elitist, that it only allows for rich people to go to university and leaves the poor in an endless cycle of uneducated generation after generation. I laugh at this because I have never been described as rich, and even when I explain that I received scholarships, they still have a fairly negative view of the system.

The only I can say now is that I have never and most likely will never have to deal with a professorial strike that threatens my education. It may be that its free, but if it means that students are forced to deal with the influence of the French government in their education, it is not worth it; especially given that the length of their education is left up to the whims of fate and their professors.

I left America as a capitalist and am now quite certain that I will return with an even greater passion for privatization.

Elise

The Saturday Market

2009-02-15T06:33:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I was lucky enough to chance upon the outdoor market in the older areas of Aix. I can't believe I've spent this much time in the city without having gone to the market. It was exactly what you expect the French Saturday market to be: cluttered, buzzing with people, and amazing. There was everything you could possibly want: hand-made soaps, herbs, old books, flowers, a ridiculously old, vintage Louis Vuitton handbag, cheese, fruit (fresh and dried), jewelry, and a million other things you would expect to find. I was lucky enough to make it out with only having bought some dried apricots, but I have the feeling that the next time I go back, I won't have the strength to be so frugal. Its just too much fun! I'm going to try to get some pictures the next time I go down. Between the lavender, soaps, and herbs, its a violent rainbow of scents and colors. Definitely one of my best discoveries so far... although I can't really say I discovered it given the fact that I was lost and stumbled upon it...

The pictures I posted are of another fountain in Aix that sits on one side of the market. The other is one of the sunsets I was lucky enough to witness out my window.

Classes and Cours

2009-02-13T11:42:00.000-08:00

Well, shockingly enough I just realized that I have been in France now for four, full, crazy weeks. As I look back on my time in this strange land, I remember the stress and resulting gray hairs that have come from trying to adjust to the culture. We all remember the Sunday where I ate my body weight in Nutella because I had forgotten that the grocery stores, in fact all stores, are closed on Sunday. We also remember the many blunders I have made while trying to converse with the locals, namely the one where I answered the question, "May I help you?" with, "Bonjour." This specific blunder is poignantly clear due to the many times my good friend Will has referred to it.

Needless to say, its been an adjustment. I have only thought twice about buying a plane ticket back to the United States, once after downing the Nutella and once after meeting my language professor. Its not so much that she is somehow scary or intimidating, its that she is surprisingly scary and intimidating. I have only heard one "Well done!" come out of her mouth so far, and I can assure you that it was not directed at me. When you think of the French in general, you will be thinking of my professor. She rarely gives compliments or encouragement, she is strict, and she is extremely protective of her language.

While preparing for my semester abroad (a preparation, which I must admit, did nothing to prepare me for the real France), I had read somewhere that the French go about teaching in a different way than Americans. When an American student gets something wrong, the teacher says, "Good guess, but no. Would you like to try again?" When a French student gets something wrong, the teacher says, "No, no, no." When an American student gets something right, its "Yes! Well done!" When a French student gets something right, its met with, "Moving right along..." Its an interesting difference that I can't say I find unattractive. I really actually enjoy the criticism, truthfully, I do. The fear of being wrong has a funny way of clarifying your answers.

Classes, in general, are very interesting. I found out very quickly that although I can drift off in class while the professor is speaking english and still be able to answer correctly, it is not so in French. I have never concentrated this hard in my life, which is one of the draws of the classes. Everything is interesting and new because I am constantly learning new vocabulary or new ways to express ideas and opinions. Its a constant challenge to keep up with everyone else in the courses but that's what makes it so fun.

Classes are run differently by the French, and I have learned quite a few nuances of classroom etiquette. Cell phones are, in general, allowed, and in one particular case, my professor's cell phone rang during class, and she spent the next ten minutes in the hallway chatting.

I've also found that having a classroom with twelve students from twelve different countries is the recipe for a unique experience:

Austrians, because of their educational system, will always question and debate with their superiors. Its just the way they have been taught to interact with their professors.

Moldovans will always raise their hands before speaking and treat the professor with utmost respect.

Italians will always try to make Italian words sound French when they cannot remember the word in French. They always roll their "r's".

Algerian females are quiet, timid, and above all, always have their hair covered with beautiful scarves.

Algerian males are talkative and confident, the result of growing up in a male-dominated society, unlike France or the U.S.

Poles come from a country that forces its citizens to be tough and strong. The higher quality of life in France is one of the first things they will talk about when they describe their time in France. They love how much the French squeeze out of life.

Spaniards also always roll their "r's" and have a very hard time switching in between the different accents, which I don't blame them for. Its all the same vocab, just different pronunciation.

And lastly, Americans. Americans have the worst accents of all the groups. I don't know if we were just born deaf compared to most people, but for some reason, we cannot hear the nuances of the French language. I know this is a fairly well-known fact because of how many times my european friends have commented on how terrible American accents are, and after hearing all the other accents one might have, I would take all of them, combined, if it meant getting rid of my American accent.

Anyways, I'm having a wonderful time here. Thank you for all the notes and emails. I love hearing from everyone. Have a beautiful weekend!

Elise

Sundays & Mondays

2009-02-09T07:00:00.000-08:00

I realized something yesterday when I was sitting on my bed bored to tears. I realized that I have yet to really get used to the French way of life. I figured this out when, knowing full well that everything is closed on Sundays, I chose to go home instead of grabbing extra groceries on Saturday night and when I didn't plan ahead for lots of activities to do on Sunday.

Note to self: Make a plan for Sunday. If you don't, you'll be singing to yourself by four o'clock.

Note to self: Buy groceries on Saturday. If you don't, you'll be consuming your body-weight in Nutella.

So Sunday passed slowly with very little interaction with other people, which is unfortunately typical on Sundays.

But Monday dawned with a beautiful sunrise that lead to a beautiful day. A day in which I was able to wander around the town in the sunshine and find a great book to take up some of the evening, which makes up for any boredom of the weekend.

Its interesting that each town has its own personality; they are all very French, but some, such as Aix, are calm and simple, whereas Marseille is the definition of a bustling port city. I also realized that I'm just not used to the amount of history that can be in each town. Marseille's old port is the definition of old, which is difficult to be in a country where the cobblestones are older than most of the United States. Aix has more fountains from the middle ages than can be counted, and Arles is dominated by still intact Roman amphitheaters.

Another adjustment to be made is the amount of time everything takes. I've realized that I am truly American. I walk fast, I eat fast, I decide things quickly, and I expect everything surrounding me to be as streamlined as I want it to be. The French, however, are a culture that is in many ways more mature than Americans. Not to say that each individual is more wise, but the group as a whole seems to have learned a certain amount of patience from centuries of existence. Many inefficiencies of time result from lack of care or planning, but many result from the decision to ensure that something is done well no matter how long it takes. It is quite the adjustment for Americans, one that will take me years to make (if its even possible, which is still suspect).

Well those are all of my observations for now. 'Til next time then!

Elise

A Day in Marseille

2009-02-07T09:26:00.000-08:00

So the Danish girls that I met last week decided to go down to Marseille for a day trip. We took the bus from Aix which was surprisingly cheap and took about twenty minutes to get to the city. The pictures I posted are of a church that faces the port, the port, and an arch that sits in the middle of the city.

Marseille is a very interesting city.
Because it is a port city, there is more diversity than in Aix. The majority of the people are immigrants and therefore very dark haired and dark skinned. Also, travel guides warn visitors to stay away from certain areas of the city due to the fact that many of the neighborhoods are impoverished and therefore dangerous for women and men traveling alone or in small groups. Unfortunately, our bus stop was right next to one of these areas so we spent the first twenty minutes trying to get out of a somewhat dilapidated area of the city.

Nearer the old port there are plenty of beautiful areas. We made it down in time to see the vendors selling their fresh fish and eel along the harbor. We also trekked up to the top of a hill that overlooks the city. Sitting on the hill is a beautiful black and white marble church (pictures are further down in the blog) that was built to bring safety to the sailors who sailed in and out of the port. It was the perfect day for sight-seeing, although a little chilly when the sun went behind the clouds.

Overall we had a great time shopping, walking, and taking pictures of the city, but by the end of the day, we were all very happy to get back to the tranquillity of Aix after the bumping and jostling of the crowds in Marseille.

2009-02-07T09:22:00.000-08:00

2009-02-07T09:19:00.000-08:00

These are some pictures of the church. It sits on top of a hill that overlooks the city and the harbor. Its an amazing view.

2009-02-07T09:17:00.001-08:00

Scary Week, Number 1

2009-02-04T08:15:00.000-08:00

Well, I finally, finally began classes this week. It has been such a long time since I've been in a classroom that I had almost forgot how much I squirm in my chair. I had also almost forgotten that I'm really not that great in French. I've found that it is easy to think that I am proficient when the only thing I have to say is "Bonjour," "I would like a baguette please." "Merci, Au revoir."

I had taken my oral test last Wednesday, during which the nice lady who was giving the test told me that I spoke very well (always good to hear) and that I would probably be placed in B1-B2. Niveau B is an intermediate level, and I was very, very content in that level because that way I would have nine hours of French every week and could choose two electives to take on top of the language course. She then explained that she would read my written test and that the final results would be posted at five o'clock Friday. This woman was the first French woman who was truly nice to me, who told me tangible facts, and whom I believed was telling me the full truth.

Lesson 1: Do not listen to nice French people, they turn out to be liars. The others, although mean, at least know what is going on.

I went to my university early on Monday to see my results and find out when and where my first language class would be. The results were confusing to say the least, and after asking too many questions to the secretary, I was finally given a list of elective courses, one list for Niveau B, one list for Niveau C (the higher level French). Because no one seemed to be able to translate the results for me, so, going on what I had been told during the test, I chose my electives out of the Niveau B grouping. I went to a couple classes, had a good time.

Lesson 2: If it feels comfortable, the French will find a way to end it.

Today was my first language class wherein I was told that I am not actually in Niveau B but in Niveau C, the higher level French course. A shiver of trepidation ran down my spine as those words were spoken. I do not suffer from false modesty, I'm a Niveau B, and I like it. I explained the issue to my professor, and she gave me this advice, "Well, its better for you in the end anyways. Now you have something to work for." Ah, yes, and something to cry about. So now, I am choosing different courses from the higher level French and praying that I can somehow pretend to be a Niveau C.

Lesson 3: Sympathy is not something that I should seek from my professor.

Needless to say my day ended with a French-induced headache and a sincere craving for chocolate.

Elise

2009-02-04T06:27:00.000-08:00

This is one of my favorite fountains and also one of the oldest in Aix. I walk by this when I go to my favorite coffee shop on the Rue de 4 Dauphins (Four Dolphins).

2009-02-04T06:13:00.000-08:00

These are pictures of some of my favorite areas around the town. The church in the background of the first picture is beautiful, but I couldn't get close that day because there is construction going on all around the church. The second picture is a house that I walk by every day when I go downtown. There are vines that cover all of the walls, and I cannot wait until spring when everything blooms.

2009-02-03T23:16:00.000-08:00

These are great shots of the buildings in Aix. I love all of the detail. The orange building is one of my favorites so far. It took me hours to figure out what it was, because most private residences are walled and this one was strange because its open to the public. The picture below is a close-up of what the sign on the gate says.

Photo Time! Encore...

2009-02-03T11:44:00.000-08:00

Its a cardiologist's office building!!! Who would have thought.

Two Weeks Down, Sixteen to Go

2009-01-31T10:17:00.000-08:00

I was reflecting on the past fourteen days in France, and I wanted to record what I had learned, as of right now, so that in a couple months I can look back and see how little I knew.

1. French men spend more time on their hair and their outfits than any self-respecting American man would ever dream of, and the French men always try to act like they just rolled out of bed looking that way. Accept that they are high-maintenance.

2. Cobblestones and heels do not mix well. I don't know what the Romans were thinking when they laid out those first uneven rocks, but I can tell you what they were not thinking of: the ankles of the future generations of stiletto-ed women.

3. It is hard to beat a sunny day and a warm baguette.

4. Enthusiasm is never a reason to raise your voice in public. Only when they are angry will the French stoop to shouting.

5. French mothers walk their children to school everyday, which they accomplish without even a hint of a sweatshirt or ponytail.

6. French men will stare at blondes. It doesn't matter how pretty they are or aren't, who they are with or what they are wearing, they will always get attention.

7. When in doubt, choose black. It doesn't matter if it is sunny, rainy, windy, morning or evening; black is always accepted.

8. And pertaining to the note above, if you have to wear color, make sure that the article is at least made by a moderately well-known designer. The French will forgive you for wearing color when its Louis Vuitton.

9. Baguettes are only good for eating on the day they are purchased. After that they become weapons of mass destruction, specifically, to your teeth.

10. You must grow up in France to understand the inherent reason for a bidet.

11. Smiling is one of the first ways foreigners are pegged as foreigners. You can have a terrible accent, an even worse sense of style, but it is the smiling that will give you away.

12. If they find out you are American one of two things will happen: 1) if you are talking to a man, they will automatically be more friendly, and, 2) if you are talking to a woman, she will first be surprised that you are not overweight or wearing a sweatshirt, and then she will tell you that her favorite show is Sex and the City.

13. American culture is everywhere. Its on the radio, on television, on advertisements, in magazines, and in newspapers. You cannot hide from it.

14. If a French person asks your opinion about Obama as president, follow these three steps: first, always assume that they have read more about his policies than you have because 90% of the time it will be true. Secondly, ask their own opinion on the topic. If your opinions differ you will be caught in a deluge of French that you have never heard and barely understand. Thirdly, (if you aren't very supportive) be very positive. Something like, "Well its really the start of a new era for American politics, isn't it?" And, if you are supportive, be overwhelmingly excited (while keeping your voice at a calm monotone, see #4), because the person you are talking to supports Obama and will be happy that you agree.

15. French people don't hate Americans. They only hate American politics, manners, style, language, laws, ethics, food, and the former president.

Well, I think that is close to all of my knowledge that I have so far gained from this trip, besides the inner workings of the French bureaucracy. I will continue to keep you updated on my findings.

Elise

Just some pictures from the day.

2009-01-30T10:54:00.000-08:00

2009-01-30T10:42:00.000-08:00

Arles et Les Baux

2009-01-30T10:30:00.000-08:00

Today, I was lucky enough to join in on a day trip that my university puts on for its international students. The only thing I had to do was show up, which, at eight-thirty in the morning, is more difficult than it sounds. I was a little afraid at first because I literally knew no one when I got to the Office de Tourisme, but right as we were filing on the bus, a lovely Danish girl invited me to sit by her. She had somewhat selfish reasons for asking me to sit by her, the reasons being that she knew four other Danish girls on the trip and it was too easy for her to only speak in Danish the entire time, so she had invited me to sit by her so that we would only speak French. I must confess that I was quite happy that she had selfish reasons for asking me to sit by her because I had overheard a few Americans further back in line, and it would have been too easy for me to sit by them and speak English all day long.

So it was a lovely hour long ride (all in French, of course) to our first destination of Arles. I've actually visited Arles and Les Baux before, but this time it was more fun to be learning everything in French. The pictures that I posted above of the ampitheatre, the yellow house, and a few others are all of Arles. Its a beautiful town, and the Rhone flows through it which makes it even more interesting. It is also well-known because Vincent Van Gogh spent most of his time painting in Arles. The yellow house is where he lived until he died. There are posters and postcards everywhere with Starry Night and Le Cafe.

Our next stop was one of my favorite places, Les Baux. Its a very odd town because it is, for one, tiny, and two, its built into this old fortress that sits above a valley. Everything is built into the stone. The fortress dates from around the 11th century. I love this area because it represents the true Provence. Provence is known for its lavender, soap, and olive oil, all of which you can buy in Les Baux. Its a beautiful area that overlooks little farms tucked into the sides of the rocky slopes of the fortress. Overall, it was one of the most satisfying days I have had so far especially since I spoke in French for the entire day. Its amazing the difference it makes.

Thank you for the notes and emails! Keep them coming!

Elise

Sunsets and confusion

2009-01-27T08:54:00.000-08:00

So this is the beautiful, sunset view from my window. I had a very leisurely day in Aix. We finally have beautiful, typical southern weather. I spent most of the day figuring out where to find a small English bookshop in the downtown area of Aix. It was a lovely store and has one of the first coffee shops I have seen in France (besides the Starbucks in Paris, but those don't really count). I was able to sit with a cafe creme and a magazine for a few hours in one of the corners of the shop. It could become my new favorite place because it is within walking distance (in good weather) of my dorm, and the proprietors, although English, speak in French to the patrons which means they can guess what I'm trying to say when I mess up in French, which happens all too often.

Right now I'm trying to fill my days with wandering the city before classes get going. I have an oral exam tomorrow that will tell me my level of French from which I will be able to register for classes. I am getting antsy to begin because it is difficult to meet people outside of class, and I'm getting to the point where entertaining myself day in and day out is losing its appeal.

I did have quite the experience today when I received an email from Amira, the person in charge of international students here in Aix, that stated that I would be moving out of my room today. I received it at 3:30, and not only was it the first I had heard about moving rooms, it wasn't even sent to me directly. It was first sent to Whitworth and then to me which added to the confusion. So right now I am trying to figure out whether or not I am moving. This experience is furthering my belief that not only do you have to drag information out of the French, but they may be trying to purposely keep it from you. I think its probably a game they learn in elementary school just like hop-scotch, although this is called "How to keep them guessing".

I also found out that the picture I had previously posted, the one of the street lined with trees and what looks like a giant bush, has more to it than I first realized. The "bush" is actually a very, very old fountain that spews hot water from the warm spring that lies under the city. It is covered in moss all year round and is always pouring out hot water. For centuries it was the only source of naturally warm water for the city. I had taken this picture because I love the area surrounding it, but now it has even more meaning given the history behind the bush. Only in France can you take a random picture and then find out that its not random at all but instead has centuries of history behind it.

Until next time and perhaps from a different room,

Elise

Pictures of my last days in Paris

2009-01-26T09:00:00.000-08:00

So one of the pictures is of me standing on one of the bridges in Paris, overlooking the Seine. We went to the Louvre that day which is across the river from where William lives.

The second picture is of Will in Vernon. It was this tiny town that we spent the

morning wandering around. I don't think you can tell from the picture but the buildings

were all leaning on each other. It was a

precarious looking street, and it looked so typically French countryside that I had to take a picture.

The third picture is of me in front of the TGV train that Will and I took from Paris to Aix. I took this because I thought my dad would want to see the train. It goes up to three hundred miles an hour and is arguably the best way to travel around France.

Note to self: France is closed on Sundays

2009-01-25T09:48:00.001-08:00

Well so far my stay in Aix has been somewhat uneventful besides the general annoyances with the bureaucratic regime of residence halls. Today, I was happy to find that although the French tend to not care too much about space or the lack thereof, they do enjoy parks. There is a lovely park right done the street from my residence hall that had benches and pathways all around it. It was fairly large, and I am very glad it was because I found out that Sundays are the days to go to the parks. There were people everywhere with their children on bikes or roller skates. There were also what can only be described as French hippies with music playing and a ton of games and tricks going on that each dread-locked member seemed to be quite adept at. So I spent my lunchtime in the sun (the first that I have seen since coming to France) and watching the general relaxation of the other park-goers.

I also found out today that everything, everything in France shuts down on Sundays. I have no idea why given the country is self-declared a-religious. But it seems that the French do love their weekends so I guess this is just a good way of making the most of it. The Australian girl that lives next to me invited me to go find a cafe with her for dinner, but after standing at the bus stop for about a half hour we realized it wasn't coming. After asking a passer-by, we found out that nothing runs on Sundays. Good to know for the future. Get everything you need on Saturday so you can hunker down and do nothing on Sunday with the rest of the country.

I do admire them though. Americans never stop. Everything is open, every day of the week, and we get annoyed if they aren't open. I wonder if we wouldn't pay less for our anti-anxiety medicine if we were absolutely forced to sit down in a park on Sundays. It would be an interesting experiment to try.

Well, it seems that the French have decided it does work so I need to remember to grab an extra baguette on Saturday.

Elise

Pictures of Aix

2009-01-25T03:59:00.000-08:00

This is the view from the window of my dorm. The second picture is a photo of a street in downtown Aix. The last picture is of one of the building fronts in the older part of the city. You can click on any of the pictures to enlarge them.

2009-01-25T03:10:00.000-08:00

This is a picture of one of the fountains in the center of town. Aix is known as the city of fountains and I believe it as there is one on every corner. I wonder if Seattle shouldn't be named the city of Starbucks. The town is very beautiful, and it is built somewhat in the same style of Paris. There are large etoiles (literally stars, but in this sense they are points in the city from which six or seven streets start from and so if seen from above they look like stars) so you cannot follow certain streets to get to different areas because they will most likely dead end and you'll have to start all over again. Most of the etoiles begin around large fountains like this one. This is the Rotonde Mirabeau which is a short bus ride from the university.

If they can get it done in one phone call, why not try three?

2009-01-24T03:14:00.000-08:00

I finally made it into Aix-en-Provence, my final destination. Will and I took the TGV from Paris to Aix which was a very fun experience. The trains are well kept and never cross any roads, anywhere so there have never been any accidental deaths due to the trains. I thought this was especially smart of the French.

My admiration was quickly forgotten once I had made it to campus and discovered that the French tend not to be concerned about efficiency. We got to my grouping of dorms where the information office gave us a piece of paper and then told us we have to walk across campus to pay for the rent. Why couldn't they take payments there? I'm still not sure. There was a slight miscommunication about my rent which translated into countless phone calls, information that I was never given or told about, and quite a lot of time walking back and forth from the dorm office to the payment center. To top it all off, it was raining, hard, all day long which I was told rarely happens in Aix, but I guess we just got lucky.

And so, wet, tired, and beginning to understand the inner workings of French bureaucracies, Will and I finally made it to my dorm room. Which was another learning experience altogether. There is a sink in my room with two faucets, one hot, one cold. This did not seem so odd until I turned it on and realized that I will never have lukewarm water, it will always be ice cold or dangerously hot. So I'm going to have to figure out how to juggle between the two so as not to get seriously scalded.

Also strange, the French have an apparent fear of drawers. There are no drawers, just open shelves, everywhere.

Another interesting factoid. The bathrooms are down the hall. The toilet paper, you have to buy on your own, and the sinks are in your room. So using the bathroom is quite the journey: grab the toilet paper, in preferably a less obvious way than just the roll, go to the bathroom, go back to your room to wash your hands. Its exhausting!

There are a couple redeeming factors of my room: I have a perfect view of downtown Aix from my window, for a single, the room is somewhat spacious, and it has a mirror and and fridge, both of which I was not expecting.

Will and I then wandered down to the newer part of town which has a Monoprix, kind of like a Target but with better grocery options, an H&M, and a very lovely fountain which made me very happy.

It will be an adjustment, one which I'm sure will take some time, and like the French, quite a few phone calls.

Elise

2009-01-23T13:02:00.000-08:00

Here is another lovely one in the Champ de Mars, the park in front of the Eiffel Tower. That's me on the right in the saucy fedora and Will on the left.

2009-01-23T12:55:00.000-08:00

Sorry about having so few pictures on my blog. I didn't take my camera with me to very many places because my batteries were dying quickly and I had more somewhere in the mess of my baggage. Luckily, Will was smart enough to grab his and we got some good shots. This is us on a freezing cold night at Montmartre in front of Sacre-Coeur which is a beautiful white marble cathedral that sits on top of a hill in Paris that overlooks the city. After this chilly site-seeing, we found a lovely cafe which had a jazz duo playing music for the patrons. Will and I sat down for a while to defrost, listen to some wonderful jazz, and sip on an irish coffee. That was one of the moments that I really wished my family could have experienced with me. It was everything we could enjoy together.

Below is my personal version of my favorite statue, Winged Victory, in the Louvre.

2009-01-23T12:34:00.000-08:00

She asked, "Can I help you?"; I answered, "Bonjour."

2009-01-23T12:09:00.000-08:00

Will and I spent my last day in Paris doing what we tend to do best, shop. We spent most of the day trying to wake up and grabbing a crepe at what is supposedly Paris' best creperie. We then headed to the Opera district which is a very touristy but very, very beautiful area of Paris. It decided to rain on us for the majority of the day, but we braved the weather to wander throughout the Tuileries one last time before heading to the shopping district.

Les Galeries Lafayette is one of the most beautiful malls in the world. The ceiling is made up entirely of stained glass and metal work so as you wander through Prada, D&G, Gucci, and Dior, there is a soft light engulfing you and the other shoppers. It has such a calming effect that it wouldn't be surprising if someone one day found that women tended to buy more in that mall than anywhere else on earth. I myself had to use all my self-control to stop from grabbing something, especially since it is the season of sales in Paris.

The season of sales happens twice a year: once in January and once in July. It is the time when all of the merchandise in every store is drastically marked down so that they can make room for the new season of clothing. It is an amazing thing to think about really given in America we have sales just because its Boxing Day, Saint Patricks Day, or some dead guys birthday.

Needless to say, it was a beautiful atmosphere for browsing the sales. However, while I was caught up looking at a particularly beautiful scarf, one of the shop women came up to Will and I and asked me, in French, if she could help us. I, for some unknown reason, answered, "Bonjour," and then turned and kept playing with the scarf. Will then had to step in and explain that I didn't understand what was going on as the lady gave him an all to understanding look and walked away.

It was a horrifying moment, but one of what I believe will be hundreds of stupid episodes just as, if not more, embarrassing than that.

Afterwards, we met up with a couple of Will's American friends in the Le Marais, which is one of the oldest and most quaint areas of Paris, for dinner. We had a savory dinner that was tainted only by the fact that the waiter was absolutely terrible, one of the many reasons why you do not have to tip in France.

We then wandered over to the Ile-Saint-Louis which is the smaller of the two islands in the Seine, for what Will's friend explained to be the best gelato in France. It turned out that it was the best gelato I have ever eaten. I am constantly amazed because it often happens that the most famous crepes, gelato, and coffee are to be found not at overpriced restaurants in the most auspicious quarters, but at tiny stands in little corners of the Latin quarter. Its one of the many lovely differences that France boasts.

Well, my time in Paris is over, and my adventure in Aix is about to begin! Wish me luck, because I fear I will be answering quite a few more questions with "Bonjour".

Elise

Patriotism or some form of It

2009-01-23T11:41:00.000-08:00

Well, to say my last days in Paris were surreal is nearly correct. Will and I tried to be patriotic by going to a theatre in the sixteenth arrondisement that was projecting the inaugural speech on a large canvas. We made it to the place but not only was Obama's voice dubbed in French, there must have been at least five hundred people crammed into the space, all pushing and prodding each other to get nearer to the screen.

As Will and I were nearly crammed into the bathroom, and because I was beginning to sense that the room was quickly becoming a fire hazard, a few of his friends and I found a small pub and had a drink in the name of freedom. I suppose it could have been considered an expats duty to think of their country on such a renown day, but it seemed that the French had more interest anyway, so we left them to their "Obama in French" and had a magarita instead.

It is interesting because while I was in the Louvre, I met a lovely frenchman who quickly explained to me that Obama is stepping into quite the mess in the States, what with the unemployment rising, the imminent death of our car companies, and the regular upheaval following a turn in the economy. Had I known the words in French, I would have asked him which of those issues France hadn't been juggling for the past twenty years. Its a good thing for him that my vocabulary is grossly limited when it comes to... well everything.

Another interesting thing I discovered while wandering the streets of Paris is that French police are in a word all bark and no bite. They wander around in threes and fours, armed with scowls and disdainful looks, and yet have been given barely enough power to give someone a ticket.

Will is lucky enough to live right down the street from a police station in which there are always five or six officers standing in the entrance either smoking, drinking coffee, or chattering about some fascinating subject. They seem to have quite a bit of time on their hands. I guess that Will's apartment used to be inhabited by a lovely blond who had come to Paris to model. One day she had locked herself out of the building and so walked to the corner police station to wait for the concierge to return. The officers were so willing to help that they spent the afternoon scaling the wall of the building to the sixth story window where the model lived to unlock the door so she wouldn't have to wait in the cold any longer. I have a sneaking feeling that the response would not be the same were Will to misplace his keys.

Now for a stronger form of patriotism; one thing I have discovered America does well: maintaining an influential, if not perfect, police force.

One thing France does well: maintaining a police force which is ever willing to help get a struggling model out of the rain.

Until we meet again,

Elise

Its all Latin to me

2009-01-21T08:25:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I learned about maps, the Latin Quarter, and my own sense of direction. I learned to trust the first, get to know the second, and disregard the third altogether.

I had a chance to strike out on my own, without my trusty tour guide, while Will was getting poked and prodded by men who were trying to make sure that he wasn't bringing any diseases into their country. He got a lovely x-ray of his chest which is now hanging on one of the walls of his apartment. I am only a guest here and as such cannot force him to take it down while trying to explain that a chest cavity does not count as art.

Anyway, on my adventure I decided that I was not daring enough to take the metro all by myself so I instead decided to wander around the Latin quarter (where Will lives). I took a book, bought myself an escargot chocolat (chocolate croissant), and found a lovely park to read in. It was when it started raining that I decided to head back to the apartment to defrost. I learned very quickly that the way I thought I was going was definitely not the direction I had come from.

I wandered for an hour, finding a hospital, an institute dedicated to Marie Curie, the metro station that Will and I use, from which I still could not find the street I needed, and finally, a map, which I read wrong the first time and had to go back to reread again.

I was walking large squares for an hour, and was tired by the end, but I got to know the Latin quarter much better than I had planned on. I learned that you cannot follow a street in the direction you think you should be going because it will eventually dead end and send you in a different direction altogether. I learned that the charm of Will's building is not unique and that there are countless of the same whitewashed walls that can trick you into thinking that you are in the right place.

Overall, it was a lovely day of lost.

Elise

"Sometimes, I kind of wish I was Beyonce."

2009-01-21T08:02:00.000-08:00

That quote is from my lovely tour guide, Will. He mentioned this specific dream of his while we were wandering around Vernon today. We both got up extra early to catch the RER (train) from Paris to Vernon, from there we were going to bike to Giverny, the hometown of Claude Monet. Unfortunately, the weather was pretty much the worst we had had in Paris so far so we had bundled up and were prepared for a long walk when a nice taxi driver explained to us that everything we were going to see was closed. Everything. The museum, the house, the exposition. Everything. It was quite unfortunate.

But we salvaged the day by wandering around the rest of Vernon. It was the first small town outside of Paris that I have been able to explore. You find out quite a lot by walking the streets. I found out that there are almost as many hairdressers as there are grocery stores, that most french homes have lovely lace curtains, that they are very private and do not love passersby trying to look into their yard especially when the fence is six feet tall and I'm jumping to see over it, and that cobblestone is not a friend to heels, ever. Overall it was quite a good day.

2009-01-19T10:34:00.001-08:00

Salut tout le monde! After much preparation, packing, and procrastinating, I am finally in Paris. Will, my best friend that I am staying with, has a lovely apartment in the 5th arrondisement de Paris. For any of you who do not know where or what that means, Paris is broken into twenty arrondisements (or districts) that circle out from the center like an escargot. So the smaller the number, the closer to the center of Paris. The fifth arrondisement is called the Latin Quarter and is known for the students, the artists, and the writers.

"It was originally called the Latin Quarter because all the universities in the quarter taught in Latin, therefore requiring each student to be fully fluent in the language." William of Sawyer

Will's flat is quite the study in space utility. It is on the sixth floor of his building which, because of the charm of Parisian living comes without an elevator. There are women around the city which are a part of what William fondly refers to as the army of bent-over beggars. They are bent at the hips, face towards the ground, furiously jangling their can of coins. If you find yourself with a few extra hours you should sit and watch these talented women for the end of the day, when they straighten up and walk away. Needless to say, the stairs in Will's apartment have forced me into the ranks of a bent-over, breathless girl, trying to crawl up one hundred stairs. It will be awhile before I am sprightly enough to run up them as Will can.

We have spent most days wandering around the city, without a plan or a place in mind. We only decide on something if it comes to mind, the weather is good enough for it, and we are near it. Luckily, Will is a master of the metro, which means that we can be within ten minutes of anything that we may fancy.

My feet have gotten a lesson in walking and my ears have gotten a lesson in listening. I am finding that my professors were quite kind to me when they taught me French. Each had clear, elegant pronunciation and used a modest vocabulary. I have quickly discovered that real French, the French outside of the classroom is never clear and is only elegant when I have stopped sweating from the fear of conversing. I am afraid that there have been countless times when I just stare at the shopkeeper, racking my brain to decipher what he is asking. I am the queen of the blank stares. I have found that I worked so hard on my accent for so long that I fool people into thinking that I actually know what I am talking about. Everyone I have encountered walks away thinking, "Well she didn't know what she was saying, but she didn't sound so bad."

All these experiences have taught me that I love Paris and I love French, it will just take a while for me to understand either.

Until next time dear friends and family.

Sincerely,

the mute american in Paris

One Week Out

2009-01-09T12:51:00.000-08:00

I am one week away from leaving the country for four months and the blind terror has now set in. It seems to be that the closer I get to leaving, the more French I seem to have forgotten in the lull between the end of the semester and going to France. Its not a happy thing to realize. I am stemming the fear by conjugating etre (to be) in my head over and over again to fool myself into thinking that I actually can speak French. Je suis, tu es, il est... My professors would be so proud.

I will be spending the first week of my stay in Paris with my best bud Will who has a lovely flat in the Latin Quarter of Paris. That is where I will write to all of you about my experiences trying to order food, get on the metro, and generally survive while only being able to conjugate etre in the present tense. I am an americain student. Je suis une etudiante americaine. At least I will be able to tell them why I am staring at them with a wide-eyed, lost look in my eyes. Its because, Je suis une etudiante americaine. Je ne parle pas francais. I've always laughed at the sentence je ne parle pas francais (I do not speak French) You are saying that you do not speak French, in French. Ah, irony.

I would appreciate your prayers, your thoughts, your emails, and your money (but I'm only really expecting the first three).

God bless and the next time I write, I promise I will have something more to talk about besides the fact that I am not yet in France, and still cannot speak French.

Elise