Walking and Falling (Apart)

To finish last night, I met another inhabitant of the Internat, Carine, who lives here Tuesdays-Thursdays.  She teaches P.E. and so informed me that she is always obsessing over the weather.  Carine also taught me how to use the electric stove that’s in the kitchen!  I had foolishly thought that it doesn’t work and had been using the hot plate all this time.  To use the stove, though, you have to turn on the timer first and then the “burner” itself.  I don’t know why that never occurred to me, but now that I know how to use it, I’m plus ou moins unstoppable.  (Not to be confused with Ron Stoppable.  That one’s for you, Stephi.)  Anyway, she’s very nice but is outraged at there not being any heat in the kitchen. 

            Today I was to go to the salle des professeurs du lycée à 10h00.  I left at 9:55 thinking it would be no problem at all.  Naturally, I went to the wrong floor again and walked the length of it.  This time I got to hear some kids making out against a wall, but it was MIXED LOVE, so I let it be.  Slash what would I have done anyway?  I suppose most anyone who went to high school would be used to the sight and sound of this common scene but not me since I went to an all girls high school.  If there was any of that going on, I missed it.  So I went back downstairs and got to the teacher’s lounge without issue.  I was rushed inside by another prof who was trying to get in quickly during the break, which lasts around 15/20 minutes, I’d wager.  Again, I didn’t know what to do and felt silly when I realized I had walked right by Marc when I entered.  So, he scanned the room looking for other English professors and we scurried into the adjoining computer lab hoping for luck when the main room offered no prospects.  There, I met Sabine.   At this point, Marc informed me that I had yet to meet two more of the profs: Flavie and Sandra (I think). 

            We were leaving to go upstairs and find Sandra when we ran into a woman whose name I can’t recall who teaches DNL (Disciplines Non-Linguistics) and who said she might be interested in having me come to some of her classes.  I understood this in French.  As we left, Marc re-said it in English to me that she teaches history and geography but sometimes teaches it in English.  Which kind of made me think about how sad American schooling is (no offense to teachers, especially you, Père).  I mean, I can’t imagine being in a class like that where I’m to learn about history in another language!  Maybe at university.  Then Marc told me that it’s the EURO group, though.  He had mentioned that he teaches this group on Mondays, and it’s led in English.  So, now I think that maybe it’s a select group of advanced students?  Or a group focused on more global things?  Not sure yet.  Anyway, we went upstairs where we met Sandra (I think?) who was tired because she had taken the students on a field trip to the opera in Lyon the night before.  They go on pretty awesome field trips around here.  Yesterday, Nicole said that if there’s room, I can come on the field trip when she takes her students to Geneva to see that physics thing (wow, I sound ignorant) that’s in Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons, which they’re reading in class.  Can you imagine reading Dan Brown for class?  Cray cray.

            The break ended and Marc said I could stay in the lounge and chat with other teachers (terrifying) or I could go on.  I said I was going to go explore Belley, and so I did.  I walked around, making sure to take photos for you, dear readers.  This is the main roundabout, which is actually right next to the roundabout that’s by the school.

I walked up the road a bit until I thought I had seen all there was to see and then I walked back down a parallel street.  I walked up the next one where I stopped into a boulangerie and purchased my first croissant for CWill.  It was delicious, no doubt.  But I think it would have been better had it been warm, but I can’t really complain too much.  The old woman behind the counter was pleased when I handed her exact change: 0.70€.  (Can you believe it?  And to think of how much Starbucks charges!  C’est ridicule!)  This is the view from the street with that boulangerie.

           I continued walking because I wanted to stop in at the Tourist Center to get a map of the city.  Got it!  It fits on one side of a piece of paper.  I looked around a bit seeing if there were any societies or anything I wanted to join.  At the moment, no.  I continued wandering on and came across a Petit Casino!  I went inside hoping that there would be some peanut butter.  Sadly, no.  But I did get a chocolate bar.  Those things are MAD expensive, though.  And I went with the cheapest one, which was Casino brand.  It’s not great, but it’s certainly better than I would expect Ralphs or Schnuck’s chocolate to be.  This is the street with these two places—La Grande Rue.

(It’s funny because I thought that it was so busy out today but you would never be able to tell from my photos!)
        I came out and went down a street I hadn’t traveled before and just kept walking wherever.  I passed some historical sites, each carefully marked with a placard, and read about them.  Each is pretty but I didn’t take photos this time.  (I like to keep you coming back for more!)  At the end of one street was this building, though, which was just too beautiful for me to not take a photo.

I got to the end of the road and it said no entry, and the signs said it was Palais Episcopal so I didn’t really care that I couldn’t go inside.  For the moment, I was satisfied with my photo.  On the gates, a sign said the cathédral and the bibliothèque were to the right.  Having gone through London with my mum, I knew that I should pop into the cathedral for some culture.  

It’s a historic site.  I went in and walked through it, pausing to say a prayer for you hooligans back home and to buy a postcard.  (Postcard bought on the honors system, I might add!)  Having always been partial to Mary, this is where I sat down for a bit.  (I guess it’s the feminist in me.)  

Pretty ceiling, no? 

            I came out and really wanted to find the library as I guessed that it would have the internet if I were in a pinch.  I walked around and around.  No luck!  I could’ve asked the guy who was parked outside of the cathedral pumping the techno music, but I decided to just come back a different day.  (I got home and looked at the map I had been carrying around with me.  Turns out that the pretty yellow house IS the library.  I'm idiot.  Will return when possible...)

            I came home and ate lunch while talking to Jennifer, who’s in Strasbourg.  I took a nap after listening to some more NPR (I’m gonna be super educated when I come back.  Watch out.)  Then I woke up and broke my earring that I got at a Manchester Christmas Market.  Wah wah.  I want some cheese with my whine.  Honestly, it’s an easy fix with some Krazy Glue.  Where am I going to get that, though?  Tell me.   Also, I’m sure that I got my Toms a ½ size too small.  If anyone wants to trade me a size 9 for my 8 1/2s, I’d be much obliged.

            Then I went for a run and did some serious damage to my right shoulder, which has been acting weird since I arrived.  Punishment for insulting the French way of life by running in the first place?  You tell me.

            Living in fear of Marianne,

                        Jus

Fat Plate

Tuesday

Last night Marc asked me if I would come to the school at noon to meet the English Department.  Even though I’m suuuper busy (jokes), I said I could come.  Since I was in bed around 11, I figured I didn’t need to set an alarm.  I mean, on Monday, it was quite noisy what with all the students returning.  Well, I wish I had set an alarm because I was a bit panicked when I awoke at 10:30.  (Guess I’m still jet lagged.)  That’s not to say that it takes me so long to get ready, but I didn’t know where exactly I was supposed to meet Marc.  He said to meet him in the teacher’s lounge, but there’s many different buildings at the campus.  So, I got ready without issue and made my way over to the campus (which is just on the other side of my building). 

            I walked around the courtyard not really knowing which building I was meant to enter.  There’s about 4 buildings, and there’s hardly any signage.  I decided to not go into Le Mariste simply because it looked a bit different and was semi-removed from the rest of the buildings.  Score one for me.  (It goes downhill after that.  But don’t get excited.)  I was near a building on the right and two women came out speaking to each other.  I should have asked then, but I thought I could do it on my own.  I decided to not go into that building because younger looking kids were coming out (the lycée/high school and collège/middle school share a courtyard).  So I went into the other large-ish building and went down the stairs just inside the door.  There were some students loitering outside doorways and lots of signs about science and ingénieurs (engineers).  Not wanting to ask for help, I just walked the length of the hallway looking for “la salle des professeurs du lycée.”  I reached the other end of the hall and came upon an emergency exit.  I turned around, careful not to make embarrassing eye contact with the students in the hallway, and went back out to the courtyard.  Having previously made a note of where the two women were going earlier, I wandered over to them and asked where the room was.  (Mind you, as I’m doing all of this, the students are coming outside for lunch.  So as I’m walking over to the women, there’s two mecs/guys behind me saying, “Hey girl.  Hey girl” in English.”)  The women kind of laughed and said I needed to go to a completely different place.  They pointed me in the right direction, which was, of course, in the building I had just exited.  So I went back and went up the stairs but then exited on the other side to see parents waiting to take their kids home for lunch, I presume.  I turned around, bewildered, and saw that I had been in the building with the sign “Lycée du Bugey”!  So I wasn’t idiot after all.  I went in and saw a petit office that looked like a secretary’s and a woman inside.  I said I was sorry and where was the salle des professeurs du lycée.  She walked me to the stairs and showed me where to go.  Successsssss!!

            Getting into the salle, though, didn’t make things much easier.  Marc wasn’t yet there so I didn’t know what to do.  I just kind of stood there waiting for him.  A medium-height brunette looked at me and started speaking in English.  I don’t know if I reek of English or if Marc had told her that I was coming already, but anyway, she introduced herself.  Nicole works in the English department and also introduced me to her blonde lunchmate, Ingrid (who is also the most French-looking person I have met thus far).  She asked if I would like to have lunch with them, and I said sure.  Because at this point I thought she knew I was waiting for Marc.  Whoops!  As we were making our way to the cantine (cafeteria), Marc came up and Nicole said, “Tu as un rendez-vous avec Marc!”  A surprise to her.  Oh well.  No skin off my nose.  We waited for Marc and then continued onto the cantine.

            To eat here, you have to have this card that scans your barcode and then a tray is released.  Needless to say that I don’t yet have this card.  The machine that accepts cash was out of order as well.  So Nicole told the cook the sitch and he said I was lucky to catch him on a good day and he gave me a tray.  (Fo frizzle!  Money in the bank!)  We continued along the food line and I picked up salad, an apple, crêpes (with nutella!  At a cafeteria!  Heaven?), and a plate with what I thought was lasagna, some rice-y thing, and brussel sprouts with carmelized onions.  They also had pieces of bleu cheese, bread, a cakey thing, poached eggs, and some other things as well.  Best cafeteria food I’ve ever seen.  As I was finishing the line, one of the women working at the cafeteria stopped me to say that I had taken two desserts.  I didn’t know what she wanted me to do, but Nicole stepped in to say that she hadn’t taken one so it’s okay.  The woman proceeded to say that she didn’t really care but that the students ought to not see.  Duly noted for next time.

            Because of this interaction, I wasn’t able to follow Marc and Ingrid as closely as I had been before and so when I walked in the direction that they had I found a room full of students eating.  No Marc and Ingrid.  Nicole came up from behind and asked if I was lost and showed me the separate eating area for professors.  I took a seat and started eating.  Well, I got WAY too much food.  And felt sort of awful about it as I noticed that all of the other profs had essentially taken the perfect amount so that their plates were cleaned at the end, their empty yogurts carefully stacked on top of their empty plates and empty bowls. 

            People asked where I was from and when I said Los Angeles, everyone was impressed.  (Thanks, Mom and Dad, for settling down there.)  I don’t have to work for accolades.  I tried to keep up with conversations, but it’s difficult.  Everything is so fast.  And there’s so many conversations at once.  And they’re often talking about things that I don’t really know much about.  But I did manage to effectively communicate some things in French.  Nicole seemed interested in women’s studies (which I had to describe in English).  She doesn’t seem pleased with the current government, which sounds like it is making it even more difficult for women to do more.  Later, there were some jokes about what Philip will name his child who’s due December 24.  Some suggested names were Jesus, Marie, Marie Jesus, Jesus Marie, Marie Jeanne, Jeanne Marie.    Eventually, the meal ended, and Marc offered to take me on a tour of the school.

            It seems nice and everyone is very friendly.  I’m a bit concerned about all that’s left to do in terms of paperwork.  It sounds like they’re going to help me set up a bank account soon, which will be great since apparently my credit cards don’t work here.  Apparently there’s a lot more paperwork for Americans than for those from other countries who do the program.  Tough break.

            Then I came home, talked to Chelsea Welsea, watched Mad Men, and listened to NPR.

            Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me!

                        Jess

Tuesday's sunset from my window:

           

             

            

To Market, To Market

Monday

I tried to get my life started today.  Somewhat in vain.  I waited until about 12:30 to leave the dorm since Natasha (who was the teaching assistant last year) told me that nearly everything in Belley is closed on Sundays and Mondays and every day from 12-12:30.  It’s quaint but perhaps inconvenient.  Anyway, I used the internet(!) to discover that the Carrefour is open Monday-Saturday.  Rejoice!  Rejoice!  (Still, I waited in case they take lunch.)  So I made the long trek over there. 

            Carrefour is located in the “centre commercial” (mall) de Belley.  This means that it has a shoe store, a clothing store, a card store, the grocery store, and the cell phone provider!  Huzzah.  I went into the portable (word for cell phone/mobile) store and did my best to tell the guy what I needed.  I managed to get it all out alright except that I asked for a sim card and a “plan” for my phone, forgetting that “plan” in French means “map.”  In any event, he understood what I meant, asked how long I was in France and complimented my French.  Thinking that he was just being friendly, I told him that I would be in France until April.  Alas, I found out when I looked at my plan and received text messages from the company (hours later, I might add) that included my number, that he wanted to know how long I would be around because that’s how long the sim card works.  And this, dear friends, is why my phone will only work through 30 avril.  Even though I’ll be here through May 13.  Junk.  No bigs.  I’ll just have to be out of the country for the majority of those last two weeks!

            I then ventured into the Carrefour itself to get me some groceries.  I started off with bread.  Easy enough.  I wandered over to the spreads aisle.  Since they had all kinds of jam, I figured that they must have something to go with it in the aisle as well (peanut butter, dur.)  Fail.  I looked up and down nearly every aisle of that store and came across nothing that seemed even close to it.  I came across something that was the same color, but from what I could gather from the label, seemed to be a spread made from cookies.  Mom had mentioned peanut butter being something a bit foreign, but I really had no idea it was this serious.  England got the flavor of peanut butter all wrong, but it at least had a substitute!  Its heart was in the right place..  And so, I put my sandwich bread and jelly back and replaced them in my basket with small baguettes, Camembert, and lettuce.  (Not very creative but at least a lunch!)  By the way, this store had guacamole and tortillas but no peanut butter.  What a crock!  [Listen to Sandra Tsing Loh’s recent commentary on frugality for crock joke.]

            I came home and made myself that sandwich and got on the internet for a bit.  Managed to catch up with Jen who’s doing the same program but in Strasbourg (a few hours north, for those of you unfamiliar with France’s geography), with Lilly, whose in Japan teaching English, and with Camille, whose in med school at UVA.  All quite good.  Almost as soon as I logged into skype, though, I got a phone call from Flo!  It was really great to talk to someone not so far away!  As usual, Flo was just so nice.  Honestly, I think it’s hard for me to believe that someone can be as nice as she is all the time.  She offered to come pick me up as she and her family are going to their chalet this weekend and insisted that I take some towels and dishes from her when I see her.  See!?  Unbelievable generosity!  [For those of you mightily confused by this, Flo was Alex (my sister’s) au pair when my family lived in Boston—when I was just a twinkle in my parents’ eyes.  We’ve kept in touch over the years and I visited Flo and family (who live in Geneva) when I was in London during Fall 2008.]  Sadly, I can’t go this weekend as there’s a gathering of Lyon assistants in the city.   BUT Flo mentioned being able to get peanut butter at a market chain called Casino!  Which is near their home in Geneva!  Someday, my friends!  Someday SOON!

            Anyway, it wasn’t until I hung up with Flo that I realized that I had forgotten to ask about a card for the internet for my computer.  I’m idiot.  Forgive me.  Perhaps I’ll trek back tomorrow. 

           

Eating pasta with sauce that really just seems like thick tomato soup,

            (Non Star-)Trekker

Weekender

Saturday

I’m a master at overpacking.  As I was unpacking my two GIANT (aka normal-sized large rollerboard) suitcases, I would pull things out and say to myself, “Won’t need that…  Won’t need that…  Won’t need that…”  You get the gist.  Hooray for the first people to visit me who will also be able to take some of my mountains of junk back home.

But all you probably care about right now is that I’M HERE!  In Belley!  All of my travel plans went smoothly, which many of you who heard of (or who were affected by) my ridiculously long trip from Jersey City to Red Bank will be pleased to hear.  Big LUU dropped me off at the airport on Friday morning at 6 a.m. and I got checked in and updated you lot after I was reminded of my overpacking abilities.  Slept nearly the entire flight from Los Angeles to Charlotte (except when I read from the books I brought with me—big ups to Gwen and Chelsea!) and then got off to transfer with an hour and a half wait.  [Side note:  Biggest complaint about this flight is that there were NO movies played.  There weren’t even screens on the plane.  These cutbacks have gone far enough!  Let me see The Next Karate Kid or the next Jennifer Aniston flick if I want to!]

I don’t want to be culturally insensitive but Americans are ridiculous and it’s no wonder we have such a strange reputation in the rest of the world.  Listening to a roomful of southerners prepare to go to Paris is kind of a mess.  “Bah, deddy.  Bah, Taw-mus” translates to “Bye, daddy.  Bye, Thomas.”  Two mature women in t-shirts, leggings (still not pants), and flip flops talking about going to OktoberFest after hitting up Paris.  There is no outfit that says “Hi!  I’m American!” any louder.  Well, except maybe sweatshirts and Uggs.  Sorry I’m so rude.  The most ridiculous, though, was this older woman who stuck her face in this French baby—I’m talking barely over newborn status here—and cooing over what a “precious boy—oh, wait.  Is it a boy?  Oh?  A girl.  What a precious girl” the baby was.  Granted that baby was frickin’ adorable, the manner in which that information was related was plus ou moins obscene. 

The flight from Charlotte to Paris was fine.  I watched Just Wright (Common had surprisingly little common sense.  Pun?  And even less confidence for a pro basketball player who’s been the star of his team for 10 years.  Uh. Hi.  Look at Kobe.)  and Date Night (Not Tina Fey or Steve Carrell’s best work.  But I love that James Franco and Mila Kunis seem to be showing up basically errywherre.  Oh wait!  Common was in this movie too.  Cray cray.)  Question, though.  Why is (500) Days of Summer included in the movie classics section?  Good soundtrack.  Equally good mashup of it.  Slept, ate, had my last dosage of Emergen-C’s Costco equivalent: Immuni-C.  All in all, a fulfilling flight.

When I got off, I went to the toilet (which had only 2 stalls—at what airport is that ever enough!?), through customs and got my bags, exchanged some dollaz for euraz (not the same effect—will look into alternatives for “euraz”) and started looking for the train station.  The signage is a little bit confusing in the airport just because it says the train station is to your right but then there’s no signs and you realize you’ve passed it.  Oh well.  Good thing my flight got in at 7 a.m. and my train was to depart at 9:25.  As I was boarding the shuttle to get to the terminal of the airport with the train station, this girl with short brown hair but with bits of pink and blue in it and also the only other person that I saw schlepping two suitcases asks, in English, where I’m going.  I tell her, “I’m teaching trick high schoolers, fool.”  And she tells me she’s studying in Angers and says, “Let’s stick together, friend.”  (Guess which of those statements is closer to the actual story.)  Everything’s going fine.  We have to wait in this long line to get tickets even though she hasn’t bought hers and I have.  Wouldn’t you think buying them online last month would have saved me from having to wait in this obscene line?  Yeah.  Foolish.  After we finish, girl says she has to use the toilet and so I offer to watch the bags because I already went and I bet it’s not that different down here than upstairs.  (There’s a lot of toilet talk in this post.  Sorry for my potty mouth.  Pun?)  Anyway, I’m just looking around while she’s gone minding my own business and all of a sudden there’s this loud voice talking about moist towels being an option in the bathroom.  And I’m horrified to see that it’s my new chum (too soon to call her this, I’ll admit.  But we haven’t exchanged names at this point.) talking to me.  It is so loud and I am so embarrassed because all of the French people are looking at me like, “What are you going to do about your stereotypical American loud-mouthed chum!?”  Literally, I think every single pair of eyes goes over to me.  I say quietly that I hadn’t seen that in the other bathroom.  And she starts talking about it again AT THE SAME DECIBEL.  I think I look uncomfortable enough that she knows to stop and so we go outside to sit.  I keep my eyes to the front.  Haters wanna hate, man.  I read my book until it’s time for my train to leave.  She kindly offers to walk me to the gare and then I get her name to look for her on Facebook because, like Charlie Brown, I need all the friends I can get.  You try looking up Jessica Williams on the Facebook.  It doesn’t work.  And I love it!

Train ride was fine.  Got off at Lyon where I waited for an hour and a half to transfer to the next train that would take me to Culoz, where Marc and I had decided we would meet.  I got a sandwich with lettuce and Camembert on a sesame baguette.  It’s from Paul, a chain that’s also in London, so I knew it was legit.  Maybe even too legit to quit since it was founded in 1889.  (Napkin trivia.  Get on it.)  Anyway, I was kind of embarrassed because I wanted to order the sandwich as it was labeled “sandwiche avec sesame et Camembert” but I realized that I don’t know how to say “sesame” en français.  Everyone reading this knows how WE say it, but in French, the way that it’s spelled would suggest that it’s pronounced “sez-ahm,” which is perfectly fine, but seems strange because you don’t pronounce the “ee.”  I don’t know why this made me so nervous, but I ended up just asking for the sandwiche avec Camembert. 

I went to eat the sandwich and read until my train was to depart.  I was interrupted by a brownish girl with a gold tooth next to each of her two front ones who stuck a clipboard in my face and asked if I wanted to donate money. Because I’m counting my precious euraz, I said a polite “non merci.”  She looked confused and said “Pourquoi pas?”  I just said that I didn’t want to.  “Pourquoi pas?”  I looked at the paper on her intrusive clipboard and said that I didn’t know my zone postale and she said that it didn’t matter.  Then she said something about it being for the orphans and it just broke my heart.  Jokes.  She kept sticking that clipboard in my face and I said fine to get her out of my hair!  So I put down Jessica Williams Los Angeles (even this Facebook search will not yield me as the first result) and gave her 5€.  She took it and was about to walk away when she put it back in my face and said that people usually give 10€.  Mind you, I saw that of the whopping three names on her list, two had given 10 and the other had given 15, but who gives a care?  I said I was sorry.  [This is similar to, but not exactly like, the time my gma gave a tip to a waiter and dude was like, “Oh!  Usually people tip 15%,” gave her the check back and deuced hoping to get more of that cash money.  You get more flies with honey.   (RHYME.)  So Nora, on her usual pimp game, peaced without adding more.  That’s straight up Mrs. Blankenship status right there.]  Besides, I don’t think she was supposed to be there because later this other girl came up asking for money and I said no this time (learning!) and later I saw her escorted out by the popos.

Anyway, got to Culoz without a problem.  Marc was waiting for me and I was too nervous to be paying attention to his French, I guess so he asked when we got in the car, in which language I’d prefer to rap.  I said I could do either so for a while we spoke in French.  Then, I guess he just decided we’d stick to English.  Am I destined to be a failure at French?  Only time will tell.  Marc took me to Carrefour, one of the grocery chains, so that I could get milk, cereal, and a bath towel.  Then he said, “And now for a tour of Belley.”  It was about 6 minutes long.  He showed me the main street, “La Grande Rue,” and then dropped me off at the school to show me my digs.  Not gonna lie, folks.  This setup is a definite downgrade.  Shared bathroom, which I don’t mind.  Well, I didn’t until I went to use the toilet and found out that I had chosen the stall without toilet paper.  I won’t go into more detail.  (Sorry if that’s too gross.)  No one else is here because anyone who lives here during the week (students and teachers alike) goes home on the weekends.  This, I guess, means that the school doesn’t feel the need to keep the internet up.  That’s what I had originally expected but then Marc said that the school had it for me and I saw the Ethernet cable in the kitchen.  It was all a ruse!  Oh well.  (This wasn’t Marc trying to be mean, by the way.  He’s ace.  He’s also never lived in the dorms here.)  My room ahs only two outlets, and they are in the most inconvenient locations possible.  I don’t have a trashcan and the market doesn’t give out plastic bags so I’ll have to purchase trash bags, which is silly because at least if you get one at the market, then you’re repurposing it.  Whatevs, though.  The school also didn’t clean up before I got here/since the last person left, which is kind of a letdown.  There’s no carpeting, so my feets is cold….   I just tried to turn on the heater and water spat out at me, which I guess is okay, because I wiped it up and used it to get a leftover ring from a cup off the desk.  And once I figured out how to actually turn on the heater (it’s about 60˚F outside right now, and it’s about to be nightfall), I think that they turn that off on the weekends as well… BUT the view is gorgeous. 

                         

Looking out the window,

Juice

Sunday

The reason for both of these posts being put up together is quite obvious.  No interwebs.  So when I awoke this morning, I had some cereal and read until I thought it was an appropriate time to go for a run.  I figured I’d use this time to see if shops were open (duh.  They’re not.  Which I had already expected.) and to get my bearings a bit.  In my run around Belley, I saw some houses, several boulangeries (which are open), and a few people sitting at the tables of cafés that were closed.  The streets were nearly empty, which makes sense since there’s not many errands to be run.  The houses around here are lovely.  The school seems to be in a good location—just up the road from city centre. 

People gave me some strange looks while out running.  I surmised it to be due to the simple fact that I was out running.  I don’t think it’s very French, but I didn’t really have anything else to do today.  (I expected it to be seen as normal, though, since in London people were jogging at nearly every hour of the day.)  I suppose it could also be because I’m a stranger to them, but I’d like to think that Belley is large enough that they don’t know everyone.  I tried to run as much as possible but since mountains surround Belley, I quickly realized that the hills were going to make that impossible.  When I was walking, I didn’t really know how to react to people I saw on the street.  I didn’t know if it was customary to say “bonjour” to everyone that I met or to keep my eyes on my own business.  I didn’t want to be the boisterous American, which Passport to Paris (2:06-2:36) shows me how to be.  So maybe I just offended a ton of Belleyans.  Whoops.

I ran around the city a bit before deciding to head in the direction of the Carrefour from yesterday.  It was much further than I recalled.  Before it, though, there is an Aldi, which I learned from St. Louis/JKL’s residential fellow is a supermarket chain in Germany.  So if I’m too lazy to get all the way to Carrefour, at least I won’t starve.  I was hoping Carrefour would be open since that’s also where the cell phone store is located and I’d like to get myself a sim card and (fingers crossed) get a thing/card I can put in my computer so that I can have the internet always, but even this major chain was closed.  Better luck tomorrow.

Walking to the market,

Jess

P.S. Things that are highlighted are links that I can't get to because of the school's internet blocker.  I'll try to remedy as soon as possible!

So i lied...

I'm not in france right now. Instead, I'm at the airport. Wanted to quell the fears that I'd be sleeping in a gutter. Got this email from Marc (my contact at the high school) this morning:
Hello Jessica
Just a short email to let you know that i managed to get keys from the school, so you can stay there this weekend! i'll meet you tomorrow at 2:00 pm at the train station in Culoz.
Hope the trip is ok.
Talk to you soon.
Marc

Calloo! Callay!

I'm checked in and waiting at the gate right now. I had planned to be super spartan/european and only bring 2 bags filled 3/4 each. Jokes on jokes. Who was I kidding? They're both full. (I can't help forgetting that I needed to pack a peacoat!) Also, I got to the airport and was dismayed to discover that I'm only allowed one bag without charge. Already, I feel like a gluttonous American. I'm currently devising ways to downsize before I return...
Fatly,
Jess

I'm Up! I'm Up!

So, tomorrow's the morrow.  For those of you who have forgotten (or are in denial), tomorrow morning I leave to begin an eight month adventure of teaching French high schoolers in a suburb of Lyon called Belley.  (Check out the links on the side to find out more about the region and whatnot.)  Given that I'll be away for nearly a year, this morning I really relished waking up to the dogs barking and jumping all over me to wake up.  I wish I could take them with me.

I am really just so lucky.  There's such a constant outpour of support from everyone in my life.  Cards in the mail, mix CDs (thanks Maryse and Paula!), phone calls, last minute visits... it has really been incredibly moving.  I am so glad to have such amazing people around me, and I am truly humbled by the love that has been shown to me.  Thank you.

I had planned to take a photo of my room to show you all what the current state of my life/packing situation is, but since my room is always in a state of disgrace (slight reference to the ABC Family sitcom) it would really lose its effect.  To give you details, though, I've been running around like a maniac getting last minute things--toiletries, jeans, boots, etc.  The good news is that realizing that I'm leaving for eight months has forced me to get all of my boxes from Wash U out of the living room.  Better late than never, I suppose.

Anyway, I'll be living at the school in Belley.  I didn't find out until yesterday that that might actually prove to be a bit of an issue when I first arrive.  You see, I get in on a Saturday, and my contact just told me that the school isn't usually open on Saturdays.  He's going to try to get me a key.  If not, I guess I'll be finding an alternative.

Keep in mind, dear friends, that although I'm leaving the house at 5:30 tomorrow morning, I won't arrive at a train station near my final destination until 2:01 pm on Saturday.  I'll post as soon as I can...but next time...FROM FRANCE!

Might actually be living in a box,
Jus