Two Days Til I Go Homey Home

The rain has not, has of yet, appeared to stop since le premier decembre. Pathetic fallacy perhaps, in an early chapter of my romain de vie. But, instead of moaning about that, in what is a very British tradition, I'd like to grumble just for a moment about letting people down, which inevitably, is much worse than the weather.
In everyone, there lies a certain element of expectation - that life will not surprise you too much, that you can trust the people you call friends, that you can rely on your own behaviour - the image you have of yourself. In my opinion, no one else can understand this personal expectation; or; indeed, the way in which we all praise or punish ourselves when we make decisions that move beyond this expectation.
I'm sure everyone has, at least once, experienced that moment when a parent has been, for whatever reason, so mad at you that they couldn't even express anger, and they only managed to painfully and simply sigh, "I'm so disappointed". In that sigh, that breath, there lies an element of understanding as to how we tend to punish ourselves. And that heavy sigh of dissapointment weighs down on us, like these oppressive thick grey clouds; like this rain, that seems as if it will not cease for the foreseeable future.
My point sort of vaguely being that, when we make mistakes, or wrong decisions, and others may get hurt or become disappointed, they should find a little solace in the fact that we will all probably be punishing ourselves in a manner far worse than another could ever manage.
Unless, of course, you have no soul (perhaps more common than you might think).
I'd like now, to turn my moans and groans into something a little less encrypted, as on Sunday morning, I awoke and readied myself to leave the house to meet some friends to experience a real French nativity at the cathedral, after the morning service. My excitement was centred around the memory of having once been handed the responsibility of being chief sheep herder in my own nativity at our local church. I recalled agonising for weeks over which bed sheet to wrap myself up in, which tea towel had the best pattern to be fashioned into an elegant and chic shepherdess hat-thingy, and which of my (several) toy sheep would be given the honour of accompanying me in this prestigious role. So, I arrived with the expectation (and thus the theme is carried through) of seeing scenes from my childhood reflected in this strange, cheese-eating culture.
We followed the sound of children's voices, but to no avail - no tiny, terrifying Jesus doll, no Angel Gabriel smothered in tinsel from head to toe, nothing. The bravest of our gang was convinced to ask someone for help and we were led to the Nativity - a small group of perhaps 6 elderly people gazing intently at the wall with a small torch. . . one of those strange, unexpected moments again. . . We spent the next 15 minutes or so being told about some 16th century wood carvings and a piece of 20th century stained glass that showed various scenes from the Nativity. That theme of being let down seems to have continued through as well. . . I understood most of what the leader of the pack was saying, and it was quite interesting - at least when people visit me now, I can seem more wordly and cultured when I show them the cathedral.
In the evening yesterday, my friends that live just beyond the train station, threw a little soiree de noel. I wore a Christmassy, sparkly outfit, for those who are interested (ie: my Number 1 fan - Char Char, The Sister) and everyone had to turn up with a small, wrapped gift. Our petits cadeaux were placed in a pile on arrival and a game ensued - something about a white elephant. Everyone was given a number and each person, in order, had a chance to either choose a new, unknown present, or steal an unwrapped one that someone had already chosen. Having picked out No. 15 at random, I thought I was in the perfect position to get what I wanted, and that my chance to steal the large, chocolate Santa was secure. But, alas, a ripple effect of thievery lost me my Santa but left me not too bad off with a sausage. Needless to say, I soon hurried home to munch on said sausagey prize, and with my Dad's late night Skyped advice, made the decision to rent the flat that I had viewed earlier in the day, and leave my little studio in Le Flore behind! I sign on the dotted line on Wednesday :)
Much love and whatnot, H x

A la fin d'automne

And so the rain arrives. Thought I’d hit you with a little December update, from the isolation and severe depression of my current situation. So, my sister and her boyfriend braved the grave distance and choppy English channel to come and visit me, and I attempted to provide entertainment for the weekend, which I’m hoping they enjoyed, despite my inevitable constant moaning about children and French people and the rising price of baguettes, etc. Within 4 minutes of meeting them at La Gare Routiere au Mans (after rather a heavy night on the town, I’m not going to lie to you) we bumped into one of the American assistants on the good old reliable tram (I’m a major fan of the trams, not like those crumbly bumbly buses of Leamington Spa). This single event was to colour the entirety of their visit, as over the next two days, it seemed that Charlotte, Tony and myself could not wander down a single French street without bumping into one of my friends. This, of course, made me feel like some sort of local celebrity, with people shouting my name at every corner. I’m hoping it had the desired effect on my sister, and that she reported back to Dadsie that I’m not withering away, spending every minute of my spare time alone, eating huge quantities of cheese and watching endless episodes of ER (as this only describes about 56% of my temps libre, with the other 44% comprising of an equal balance of crying and knitting).

When Charlotte and Tony had strengthened their wobbly little newly born French legs, they flew off to Paris, and my lovely little Robsie arrived (the aforementioned little friend). After walking away victorious from my first real French dispute (the people in my foyer attempting to tell me 47 minutes before his arrival, that we weren’t allowed to have guests in the week, and me simply repeating, “Well, he’s coming” numerous times until they conceded) I went to meet him at the train station. We embraced in an elegant and romantic, Hollywood-esque manner, with him running down the stairs, picking me up and swirling me around while I emitted a sort of high pitched “Eeeeeeeeee!” and then nearly falling over… I very much enjoyed it.

We mainly spent our week cuddling - our favourite past-time. But on Thursday, Rob foolishly agreed to travel into work with me and spend the day in Mamers, as on this blessed day of the week, I have a delicious five hour gap between lessons, and so I was able to plonk him in a café and then go to meet him a little later. He was bitter about this from the moment I poked him awake at 5.30am until we left crazily misty Mamers at 5.30pm. In fact, I think he’s still a little bitter a week later. . .

Last week, Rob was lucky enough to be present at what has been one of the highlights of my Year Abroad so far. Thursday 24^th November was the holiday of Thanksgiving, and as we have befriended so many Americans here, us British were allowed to join in the festivities and celebrate with them. A lovely lady named Liz, offered her apartment for the boum, and no less than TWENTY FIVE of us packed in, bringing food  and alcohol in abundance, to celebrate in a style as traditionally American as we could muster, being that we were undeniably in France…  I happily labelled myself the ROAST POTATOER (although many said this wasn’t really very traditional, I refused childishly to cook the pommes de terre anything other than the GREAT BRITISH WAY). As the chaos of arriving and attempting to correspond the cooking times of each dish died down, we all sat down to eat what turned out to be an UTTERLY IMMENSE repas. Just fab. We all stated mid meal a few things that we were thankful for, one of mine being the discovery of a 10 euro dress in H&M that I had donned for the party! I was also thankful for Rob being there, as well as having met a group of such great people, that make me feel like I really belong somewhere. Je sais, je sais, cheesy, but too late now.

Anyway, on Sunday Robert and myself thought it’d be fun to continue a Leamington tradition of going to feed some ducks (there’s a great lake on campus at Warwick uni where there are ducks, geese and swans in abundance) and so we went in search of ducks and ended up at the Jardin des Plantes, a great park near the centre of Le Mans. The ducks could not have been any less interested. But on Monday, something a little odd happened. I had been writing on the board all day and several times felt a bit of a twinge in my arm. A real muscle ache. It gradually got worse throughout the day, and I started trying to think what on earth I could have done, until at the end of the day, it dawned on me. My arm was aching from having thrown bread at the ducks. I’m genuinely ashamed to be alive and have resolved to overcome this extreme weakness by exercising again! Thus, this morning, I went for a run in the rain, despite my back pain and flu like symptoms. That will probably be the only exercise I do this month, but I felt like I’d made an effort.

I’ll let you know when exciting things happen – which they inevitably will. Pub quiz tomorrow night after work at the British Pub. Score.

Much love and whatnot, H x

Robbie feeding the fish

Rob doing the Paso Doble

Just throwing some leaves =)

Impending Visit Excitement

So that tiny 6eme child made me a little hangy photo frame thingy and another got me chocs - they gave me these presents with a handmade late birthday card at the end of my last lesson with them. They said I was their favourite teacher. I have been in their lesson thrice I believe. . . I'm not sure, but I think this means I'm the BEST TEACHER EVER. Or, that even 11year olds will do anything for a good grade in France.
My lovely sister and her boyf are coming to stay this weekend =) and I CAN'T WAIT (am trying to find out a quick way to say this in French, as their version translates, rather longwindedly, as I'm waiting impatiently). Apres ca, my petit ami is coming to stay for a week! > always think that is an odd phrase too - makes it sound a bit cheeky and weird, but I'm told the French do actually say this as 'boyfriend', although it essentially just sounds like I'm dating a child. But am mighty excited to show them all the sites of Le Mans - of which there are many! I'm making a little French list/ liste francaise, which differs only slightly from une liste anglaise, in that the language is not the same, and the French one takes significantly longer to write, due to the siestes I will take throughout and mini breaks for CHEESE AND WINE (Oh Alice, how you'd love it here!).
Only a little update aujourd'hui, as I'm sat in the Salle de Profs again, and must get on with something more productive! Like reading French Harry Potter! Oh and by the way - I have just discovered from the aforementioned novel, that a magic wand in French, is a baguette magique. Could life get much better than this?!
I think not.
Much love and whatnot,
H x

10/11/11 The Return.

So, had rather a lovely walk across London on my recent travels to England. With my large, heavy suitcases in tow, after journeying rather smoothly across a bitterly cold France, I endured this trek simply due to my boyfriend's sterling directions from Earl's Court Tube Station. When I had asked what seemed like the sum total of the inhabitants of old London town where on earth I was (but in reality was about 3 Polish people, some fellows in the local Sainsburys and a man with a small dog), I stumbled down the stairs of the TROUBADOUR (small music venue a Londres), where the man of the moment was rehearsing avec son groupe. Had a great night watching all the acts (a line up of Katie Ellesley, Rebecca de Jouvencal, Fiona Culley, and Cara Winter - of which the last two made a lasting impression), and eventually got a ride back to Brighton in the back of a Peugeot squidged under a drum kit (I only travel in style).
Spent some days in Brighton, some back in Bristol. Had some really lovely birthday celebrations which included beautiful jewellery, small mountains of cupcakes, and inevitably, lots of cuddling on the sofa with Molly the Border Terrier.

The actual day of my birthday was a real treat - a day that, in all honesty, just kept on giving. Unfortunately, the only gifts were MISERY and STRIFE, as I hurdled (with my suitcases still in tow) broken ticket machines, missed trains, delayed trains, the slowest passport control I have EVER ENCOUNTERED, broken French metros, cruel cruel Parisian bus folk, and hidden taxi ranks. I felt like Frodo, on his treacherous journey to Mordor to destroy the 'one ring'. I, too, was on a voyage of epic proportion, battling my way across an unknown territory. At the end of that young hobbit's journey, he has a nice sit down and a convenient ride home on a massive sort of bird, whereas my day ended by eating some cold, overpriced chips, which I consumed like a ravenous animal, and by spilling Fanta all down my jeans. Not a good look.
But skyping with my bessie, a young Alice Garrett, for 3 heures on my return, rather lightened my mood :)
Have had a few lovely jours et soirs avec mes amis en France this week, having had a rather delightful birthday meal at a friend's house, followed by a night out, sampling the delights of what Le mans has to offer (a vodka lemonade for 6 beastly euros! and lots of VERY BAD dancing. . .)
Going back to work, I have sampled new realms of pleasure. I am, of course, pulling your leg. . . On Monday, I literally fought with a 15 year old child. I was being totally unreasonable in all honesty - I had asked her to read 2 sentences out loud, from the sheet in front of her, that I had just read aloud myself. . . IMPOSSIBLE?!?!! I did, bien sur, win the battle, as after she refused to read it 6 times, and refused thrice to even leave the room (!), she DID end up reading. Perhaps it was childish of me to slowly applaud her efforts after sardonically, and ask her in a baby voice if it was difficult. .. ah well, it's a learning curve for us all!
I have bored the rest of my classes with Guy Fawkes related fun - thought they'd love it! it's got a bit of everything - attempted murder, the anticipation of huge explosions, torture, suicide, FIREWORKS. But I'm not sure they could have been any less interested. Going to quite literally jazz it up a bit next week, with some Jamie Cullum classics.
Two more bits of fun to share, and then I PROMISE, I'll bugger off:
1. I went to an International Soiree at Le Flore on Tuesday > was rather educational. Just lots of residents talking about travelling and became a heated debate about immigration, foreign policy and national spending. I didn't have a CLUE what was going on!! But people were getting very passionate about it all. The leader woman, then asked us foreign students to share a bit about why we have travelled to France, and I cracked some joke about being stuck in Mamers (stupid tiny town) for work, and about how much paperwork we need to do. . . It got a laugh, but didn't really seem appropriate after the harrowing topic of growing political and civil unrest in different parts of Africa. . . Was just proud I'd spoken vaguely coherently in front of all those Frenchies though!
2. Finally, i want to quickly tell of a little 6eme girl (11 years old). This girl came up to me on Tuesday at the end of the lesson, about 3/4 weeks after my initial question and answer sessions had taken place, where the students were supposed to find out more about me, and she said in French something like, "Harriet, Happy Birthday! I'm so sorry it's so late. I really like horseriding just like you!" and she just scurried away. What a cutie!
Looking forward to my impending visits from various wonderful people now, wahoo! Will fill you in later,
Much love and whatnot, H x

18/10/11 -Things are looking up

To be completely honest with you, the title of this update is almost entirely based on the fact that I'm going home in TWO LONG DAYS as it's my birthday next week ( The big TWO ONE) and so I'm train-ing it back for an OVERWHELMING cost. I also get to spend lots of time avec my aforementioned boyfriend, whose name I'm still yet to remember.
As we speak, I'm sat in the Salle de Profs of the college, trying to keep my head down, lest someone should attempt to start a conversation with me. YET, I'm feeling less fear for that nowadays, as I have been getting a few lifts home with teachers, which forces me to actually speak to les francais - something I thought I would be able to avoid for the duration of my time here. . . This little French filled room is, however, the sole place i can seek refuge from the tiny, shouty children, thus rendering it a sort of exotic paradise.
My day yesterday, while being long and hard (. . .) was saved by the fact that, finalement, a 13 year old boy asked for my phone number during a question and answer session! While being an utterly inappropriate request, that I responded to in the negative immediately, I finally felt like my initiation as a language assistant is almost complete. This is enhanced by any children I have taught literally screaming "HELLO HARRIET" down the corridors at me wherever I go, either because they are insanely excitable or cruel and scathing in their open mockery of me. I'm going to embrace the former.
Have taught my first real classes alone this week, and have had some great nights with my new friends. France has evidently made me wild and reckless. I attended a birthday party - thrown for un de mes nouveaux amis called NIK. We had fajitas (a classic French dish...) and I managed to munch on enough nachos to sink a small rig. My friends proceeded to roll me into town, and we went to a few bars, mainly those pour danser.
But forgive me, I must pack for my voyage home. Woop.
Much love and whatnot,
H x

La deuxieme semaine

The other day, I bought a tiny, pink rug from the 2€ shop - it has butterflies on, and I can dry my feet on it when I climb out of the shower. However, I'm too scared to actually have a shower, as while the temperature did not fall below 30 degrees in Week 1, Week 2 has seen a rather terrifying turn in said weather. The heating has not however been turned on as of yet at my foyer, so I'm afraid if I get into la douche, I'll never muster up the courage to get out again - trapped for eternity in the painful caresses of the French Power Shower!



My funky new mini rug



I have been breaking up my days by making small missions for myself, which seem less terrifying than the larger challenges that they make up. For example, on Friday, my only mission was to buy stamps, which I succeeded in completing in the afternoon with new friend Jen in tow. The stamps were hugely overpriced, and the only envelopes that la poste were selling already had French stamps on... the post office lady seemed to be denying the existence of any other countries at all on Jen's enquiry about how one could post something to Angleterre... After what seemed like rather a lot of hoo-haa, we walked away totally nonplussed - a feeling I'm rather getting used to.

 

Since I have been in France - officially two long weeks today! - I have watched the entire season 3 boxset of Dawson's Creek (which, before you judge me, was actually a hotbed of teenage angst and emotional flux based around Joey's romantic indecision between boy-next-door Dawson, and bad boy Pacey Witter - who turns out to be rather charming after all), and my addiction to Vampire Diaries and Glee has been rekindled with both new series despite my foreign climes... French subtitles have been utilised a little when I have been feeling slightly guilty about my lacking intake of French language and culture.

 
But things have taken a rather desperate turn for the worse. Between having incredibly slow internet, and being an unwilling participant in the apparent Global Blackberry Meltdown (contributing to me having completely forgotten my own boyfriend's name due to lack of contact), FRANCE DON'T KNOW WHAT SQUASH IS. There is no Robinson's. There is no own brand. In fact, there is no squash at all. Thus, as I become gravely dehydrated and increasingly isolated, too afraid and weak to leave my little studio, lest a French waif should make some incomprehensible proposition. I suppose I should make some sort of lesson plan for Thursday's festivities - more roudy French ados to contend with. They threw books today. They shouted, slid on the floor under desks, and spoke French that I (obviously) didn't understand... I hid behind my hair, turned insane and fluffy because of the stupid shower - another string to my bow of shower fear!

So glad I did though - it was so hot and so
beautiful!

In ref to being a little lonely/ isolated, I went to
this garden show in the Old Town alone. . .



On Friday night, we went on an ERASMUS night out... I had about 5 of my new friends round (a very healthy melange of an American, a Spaniard, a Mancunian, a... Newcastlian... and an Essex gal) and it was very pleasant. I broke all the rules of my foyer in one foul swoop, as we drank wine, we listened to music in my studio after 9pm, AND when I returned after the night's hard core partying and didn't understand why the doors wouldn't open, I FORCED them open with my bear like strength, only being told off when I finally gained entry, as there is apparently a buzzer by the door that we just had to press to be let in... The night was however tres amusant and we frequented a real French bar - what a lot of scary people! And then started getting cocky as the wine flowed more freely - eventually talking to some French youth about a possible boite de nuit that we could party the night away in. They led us what seemed like miles through the cold streets of Le Mans, and we finally arrived at an incredibly smokey, very empty, rainbow coloured gay bar. We were unimpressed to say the least. They played one Abba song, which was a small consolation, but it was all very odd, and the other clientele (amounting to about 6 people) were staring rather a lot. Needless to say, we boogied a little, and then returned home to our beds.

Mes nouveaux amis - Jen et Dave

Anyway, I shall round off with a humorous exerpt from my morning class with the secondaires. The school I am working in is a very windy 2 hour bus ride from Le Mans, in a tiny place called Mamers. When I ask the various children what one can do in Mamers, they simply laugh. The class in question however was on giving directions, so having learned from previous lessons that the local swimming pool is something of a big deal, I decided to ask if they could direct me there. After being stared at, deer-caught-in-headlights style, I decided to try again:

     "Come on guys, I REALLY want to go for a swim, can someone tell me how to get to the pool?!"

A student then responded, a girl, "Oh, I really want to go swimming too, come with me!" I tried to explain that she should be directing me, and she only replied, "No, no it's fine just follow me, I'll take you there." After I attempted to take control once more and stated, "No, look, you have to give me directions. Can you direct me?", she simply replied "No" and just turned away.



  Much love and whatnot, H x          

PS Finally saw the crazy robotic Nantes elephant, that I think was the thing I was genuinely most excited about doing my whole year abroad! I wasn't disappointed - it even squirted me with water! x

So. What have I learnt after just 6 jours a la France? Alors... my Dawson's Creek DVD comes with French subtitles? You can buy a bag of crisps the size of a small child for less than a euro? My name sounds like a local delicacy meaning I get laughed at frequently when introducing myself..? Oui. All of that, PLUS, living in France is hard!
Some people are friendly. These 'people' frequently include les hommes. Les hommes francais are maybe a little too friendly.
Another lesson I've learnt is that all French people are totally incomprehensible until they have repeated something at least quatre times!
In the last week I have explored Le Mans, une ville about une heure to the South of gay Paris. I'm staying in a hostel where alcohol is totalement banned, and I'm not allowed friends in my petit studio after 9pm... Along with having to get up for school, whatever the context, I feel like a ten year old again.
But suddenly having the responsibility to shape about half a percent of a child's mind (if that) actually feels like quite a burden... Naaahh.
I'm writing this up on STUPID LINEY FRENCH PAPER, which I appreciate about as little as the STUPID FRENCH BASS FILLED MUSIC that is thumping through the walls after my 13 hour day at work, when I have to get up at 6am again tomorrow.
Other stuff in France is less stupid though. Comme du vin, du pain, du Boursin.
Much love and whatnot,
H x

Exams

During my exams, when the lengths which I was willing to go to, to procrastinate, became a little out of control, I thought I’d share with you my manifest desire to FAIL MY EXAMS. This all occurred on an inevitably cold and rainy May 20th:

1.       Made my dad a birthday card

2.       Then made my dad an early father’s day card, just so I’m ready

3.       Shopped for dresses online even though i have no money left

4.       Shopped for shoes online even though I have no money left

5.       Tried to do some fashion drawings

6.       Bought a book about fashion drawing on ebay

7.       Tried to find out about becoming an interior designer

8.       Bought a book on interior design on Amazon

9.       Developed a taste for tea, and made about 4 cups of it in 3 hours

10.   Read the home feed on facebook about 46 times

11.   Had to wee a lot as a result of drinking so much tea

12.   Kept my bedroom UNUSUALLY and FRIGHTENINGLY tidy

13.   Vacuumed

14.   Emptied my bin

15.   Watched half a series of gossip girl in 4 days

16.   Watched videos on how to plait different parts of my hair

17.   Plaited different parts of my hair

18.   Listened to the news on the hour, every hour

19.   Washed my bowls up

20.   Hunted around my room for my lost spoons

21.   Washed the elusive spoons

22.   Read  a magazine so it won’t distract me later

23.   Made my bed

24.   Cut my apple into bitesize pieces

25.   Sharpened my pencil at regular intervals, even though I use a biro

26.   Did yoga

27.   Watched YouTube videos about polar bears

28.   Went for a run

29.   Had my second shower of the day

30.   Went to Asda to buy ice cream

31.   Filled my car up with petrol

32.   Wrote all of this down

Much love and whatnot,

H x

On returning to the house I share in Leamington Spa with no less than NINE fellow students, my fears are that of your classic student: how many tiny mice babies will I find nestled in my washing pile? As of 4 hours and 43 minutes I haven't come across any yet... but there's still a fair few hours left in the day. Having hoovered and then vaguely given up on any sort of tidying to watch a little Vampire Diaries (I know, I know, but it's my weakness), I'm starting to settle back into relaxed (and slightly damp smelling) uni life. Back to drinking everything out of my Winnie the Pooh mug, and getting that nervous feeling right in the pit of my stomach every time I have to go into a bathroom that a young adult male has entered in the last 12 hours...
While I am totally aware that after five and a half weeks of Easter holiday I should have at least started ONE of the four essays due in over the next few weeks, I find myself struggling to recall having done anything at all in response to the vague questioning of my housemates. I know I should be preparing myself for this rather delicious exam period, but instead, I think I'll eat a Muller Corner, surround myself with cushions, and watch a bit of Dawson's Creek...
Much love and whatnot,
H x