Another Golden Nugget

After I finished yesterday, I remember a charming interaction with my Première ES group during our discussion about food.

Me: What's the weirdest food you've ever eaten?
Students: ............
Me: I mean, for me, it's chicken's feet.  (Shout out to AmyXu.)
Leslie: Jell-o.
Luca: Kit Kats with mint in them.

This is from a country where frogs' legs, snails, and duck liver are normal fare.

Jiggle jiggle jiggle,
Jess

Cool Your Jets

This post is intended as a means of quelling any fears that I may have dropped off the face of the Earth.  Indeed, I am very much staring the Earth's face down.  I haven't yet posted because I've been waiting for my video for the next post to upload.  Maybe you think, "Oh gee whiz.  Why don't you just put it up without?"  TRUST ME.  You will adore me for this video.  Unfortunately, though, I usually have to leave the kitchen/internet when it says that I have about 176 minutes left for my upload.  I've just started uploading now, and it says I've got 269 minutes left.  As much as I LOVE the number 69, I am heartily disappointed to see it in this context.

I will give you some interactions I've had lately.

After a class I gave where I basically described myself, Muriel (one of the teachers) came up to me in the teacher's lounge.
Muriel: When you said you liked Pineapple on your pizza, the boy--he's quite fat--sitting next to me said, "Ah!  Hawaiian!"
Me: ............. (I have nothing to say because I don't know how to respond to discussions about weight that are blatantly insulting.  See previous post about doctor's comments.  Also, she was talking about Jonathan!)

Update: YouTube now says I have 281 minutes left.  IS THIS REAL LIFE?

In my Terminale STG class.
Me: So what did you all do over vacation?
Célia: Sex!

Update: YouTube now says I have 270 minutes left.  I did not stop writing for 11 minutes.  Nor did it take me 11 minutes to write the above dialogue.

In my Euro class in which we are discussing gender as something you learn.
Me: In fairy tales, who is usually rescued?
Students: ..................
Me: For example, in Rapunzel, who is saved?
Marie: They don't know Rapunzel.
Me: Ack.  Uhhh.  In Snow White, who is saved?
Marie: That one works.
Laura: The princess.
Me: What about in Sleeping Beauty?
Léo: The prince.
Me & Marie: You're right.  So that one doesn't work.
Me: Oh wait.  You're wrong.  That does work.

Update: YouTube now says I have 357 minutes left.

Me: Marc, what have you been doing in Bordeaux all of these weekends?
Marc: Well, you can guess what I've been doing.
Me: ............... (Either he is referring to getting drunk or having sex.  Neither of which is something I want to guess.)
Me: ...............  (At this point I'm fairly certain my face has gone through about 357 faces as I'm trying to figure out what to say back.
Marc: I've got someone there.
Me: ................. (Still nothing to say because I only recently found out that he broke up with girlfriend.  And the only things I could think to say were, "Well, I guess you had a reason to break up, after all" or "Well, that was fast."  Neither felt right.)

Me: Oh, Charlène.  I wanted to ask you.  Do you know the band Phoenix?
Charlène: Who?
Me: Phoenix.  It's a band.  Kind of alternative/indie rock, I guess.
Charlène:  I don't know anything about music.  Anaïs is really into it, though.  You should ask her when we see you tomorrow.
Next day......
Me: So, I wanted to ask you about Phoenix.  They're a French band.  But they sing in English.
Anaïs: Are they techno?
Me: No. Have you heard of Phoenix?
Anaïs: Is that a kind of music?
(I directed her to find them on YouTube.)

Now time for some things I've learned recently.

The word bouton means button, pimple, and spot.  Thank you, Charlène.

I was sitting in the teacher's computer lounge on a day when no one showed up for my 4 p.m. class.  I was waiting around because Nicole had told me that there would be a galette des rois (a traditional cake that you will hear more about when I put up the right posts.  Wow.  Getting behind is super inconvenient.) in the teacher's lounge at 5.  So I was sitting on gchat talking to Jimmy.  When I looked to my left, someone was sitting there and smiled at me.  Since people who don't know me will often smile at me in the halls (or maybe I know them but I can't remember their names), I gave her a closed mouth smile as I do not value those as much as ones with teeth before going back to my "work."  When I went to get something and came back I saw it was Marie and so I smiled again, but this time with teeth.  She was working with some teacher on a website and it was all very rushed and it was with the teacher who wears Harry Potter glasses and pleather flooding pants, so I didn't know what was going on.  Anyway, when the teacher went somewhere and left Marie, Marie kind of leaned towards me and asked very surreptitiously, "You speak French?"  When I said yes, she responded really quickly in French, which I was not expecting so I didn't understand what she said.  So then I just responded, "I don't speak as quickly as all that."  I think I responded in French.
       Then lady came back.  When she left again, I turned to Marie and asked what she was working on.  She was trying to navigate a website to apply to university because the future is coming.  I told her that I was sure she'd be fine applying to schools.  Teacher came back.  Teacher left.  I asked Marie what she had said before in French because Jimmy made me feel inadequate for not understanding.  Marie responded, "Charlène told us that you could speak French but that you didn't want people to know because then we'd all speak to you in English."  Guess the cat's out of the bag on that one.  "Did you come here to improve your French?"  Yep.  "That's the best way isn't it?  Immersion?"  Yeah.  But it's still difficult.  "I'll bet."  Teacher came back.  Teacher left.
       I turned to Marie and told her that my mom and Flo had said how good her English is.  "Oh, it's nothing exceptional," Marie said.  "English was my first language."  I nodded as I looked back at my screen before realizing oh wait, that doesn't make any sense!
       So then I turned back and asked, "Wait.  Why?"
       Bell rang.  End of conversation.  WHAT A CLIFF HANGER, RIGHT?
       Luckily, the next day, after I saw her canoodling with her brown boyfriend (aka she's in a mixed relationship aka will anyone EVER be able to top her on my list of favorites?  Probs not.), I ran into her in the hallway and asked why English was her first language.  "Well, it's a long story," she said.  "My mom is Slovenian and my dad is French.  So when they first met, they had to speak English with each other."  Maybe English really IS the language of love.  "So when we were growing up, they taught us all English so that it would be less confusing."  BaBOOM.
       Recently I decided to do some Facebook work on some students, (I don't have a whole lot going on.) and I discovered that Marie is the sister of that kid who I had originally thought was an exchange student.  His name is Jeffrey.  On a related note, I went to one of Muriel's classes with her the other day and Jeffrey is in it.  They're supposed to do presentations on themselves to put on this website that connects students throughout the EU.  Muriel was saying how they'll work in groups and present who they are, what they like, and their activities.  Jeffrey leaned over to one of his groupmates and said under his breath, "Sucking coooooock."  It's nice to know that high school antics are the same regardless of location.  Not that it matters, as I'm fairly certain that the joke went over his groupmates' heads.  Pity.
     So the Great Mystery of Masterful English Speakers in Belley is SOLVED!

I figured it was time to sort them out since I have less than 4 months left here.
This is the FINAL COUNTDOOOOOOOOWN,
Jess

Fat and Hungry

After a far too long period of Belley failing in the morning department, yesterday, it was back on it’s A game with a beautiful sunrise.

"The fog creeps in on little cat feet."

Today I learned new vocabulary.  A pomegranate is called a grenade.  A loofah is called a fleur de douche (shower flower.  Sadly, no rhyme in French.  Their loss.).

The day after moms left, I had to go to Bourg-en-Bresse for a medical appointment in order to get my visa validated.  Because, without this stamp, apparently, they could just show up at the internat and be all, “Fool, what you been doin’?”

And I’d be like, “Aahhhh!  The authorities!”

And they’d say, “Tant pis. (Too bad.)  Come with us.  A la Bastille!”

And I’d be all, “Aahhhh!  My liiiife!”

As great a blog post as that would have made, I decided to avoid it by validating my visa.  Maybe next time, I’ll decide to do the above.  I’m sure it would have been a better day. 

My appointment was set for 2pm at the X-ray office and for 3pm at the OFII office.  Since they weren’t too far apart, I figured life would be gravy. 

The bus that I always take to the train station wouldn’t arrive at the train station until like 5 minutes before the train.  So, because I’m a scaredy cat, I called to have a cab pick my up.  I was bummed because it would cost about 20€, but it seemed a small price to pay for peace of mind.  So I called to have it waiting for me in front of the lycée at 11:10.  At 11:15, it still hadn’t showed.  The bus was coming at 11:20, so I started walking towards it, but always looking over my shoulder to give the cab every opportunity to make some scrilla.  Alas, it didn’t make it.  So, I hopped on the bus after checking to be sure it would arrive on time (not that I had any other options at this point) and plopped into the seat.  This bus that takes me to and from Virieu is a coach bus.  I have never seen more than 15 people on it.  Hi, wasteful.

Anyway, I sat down and pulled out my French phone.  Two missed calls.  This is unsettling because, well, no one contacts me on it.  I knew immediately that it would be the cab driver.  Sadly, I can never hear my French phone ringing, so I don’t know why I even bother with it.  As I slid it open, a voicemail registered.  I checked it and it was the driver asking if anything had changed because he was waiting at the agreed upon spot.  False because I had been waiting there, but I called him back.  The following is him in miffed French and me in “trying to know what’s going on” French. 

“I’m in front of the school,” he said.

“I was there.  I didn’t see you.  I’m on the bus now,” I responded.

“I’ve been here for the past 10 minutes.”

“We must have been at different parts.  I didn’t see you.  Sorry.”

“You owe me 6€.”

“For what?”

“For coming out. There’s a 6€ fee.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do about that.  I’m on the bus.  I won’t be in Belley.”

“You owe me 6€.”

“I’m sorry.  I don’t know what to say.”

“I’ll come find you.”

“Okay.  Bye.”

Completely incensed and embarrassed that the whole bus just heard my pitifulness, I sat in silence.  When I got off the bus, this taxi van rolled up and was kind of following me.  So I dramatically rolled my eyes and pulled out 10€ for the dude.  He smiled and said, “Where do you want to go?”

I started laughing and smiling like a fool when I realized that he wasn’t my crazy cab driver!  I hustled into the gare to buy my ticket and then ran over to the other side of the platform to wait for the train.  I don’t know why I hurried.  There are rarely more than 12 people at the train station.  It’s not like he wouldn’t have been able to find me.  But he never showed.  So I’m forever 6€ in debt to a Belleysanne cab company!  Suckas.

Had a lovely train ride to Ambérieu where I was to make a connection to a bus that would take me the next leg of the journey to Bourg.  When I got to the screen that lists the departs, what should meet my eyes but the fact that my bus was supprimé.  DELETED.  Awesome.  The next train would leave at 2:17pm.  Hmm.  Perfect.  Except that I would completely miss every appointment I had scheduled.

So I went across the street to a tabac and, after the clerk jokingly asked me if I was invited to the store, asked for a cab company that he could recommend.   He gave me a phone number and I went to stand in front of the station and make the call.  “Sorry,” the voice on the other end said.  “I’m busy today.”  Because that’s how French cab companies sometimes work.  If they have something else scheduled, tant pis pour toi.  So I went back to the man.  He was shocked.  Then he told me to go look at the tourist wall outside the station where it listed cab company names.  So I went over and called one.

“When would you like it?”

“As soon as possible, please.”  He sounded a bit annoyed but said he’d arrive shortly.  I went to take out some cash from the ATM and about 3 minutes after I’d done that, the cab showed up.

We went via the highway.  It cost 60€.  Good thing I scammed the other cab company.  Otherwise, this day would have been a wash.

I was about 30 minutes early for my appointment, so I just walked around outside for a bit.  Eventually, I decided to just go inside because I felt like a dumb.  Naturally, since it wasn’t yet 2, the whole building was on a lunch break.  I went inside and sat on the bench in front of the X-ray technician’s office. 

At 2pm, and not a moment before, the staff showed up and let us inside.  I checked in and had a seat for two shakes of a lamb’s tail before I was called in.

“Take off your shirt,” the woman said.  Uhhhhhhhh.  I started while she walked out.  When she came back, I was still in my bra.  “That too.  And your jewelry.”  Oh good.  I’d like to be as uncomfortable as possible in the least amount of time possible. 

Then she showed me into the next room and told me to press myself against this massive rectangular machine.  Then she went into the other room while the X-ray machine does what it does.  The woman came back in and told me I could wait in the other room (where I had gotten undressed) while she made sure that the photos came out.  “But don’t put on your clothes yet.”  So I did.  Naturally, the camera loves me, so the photos came out in the first go.  Regarde!:

Thumb and chest.

That took about 10 minutes.  So I now had copious amounts of time to kill before arriving at the OFII office.  Not wanting to waste time, I started walking over, trying to check the map, which was hopelessly useless.  I found the road after wandering some back streets for a bit and started looking for an impressive looking building.  When I looked up, I realized, I had passed the building.  Hmmm.  So I doubled back.  Next to a faded wooden door, in the window, was a paper sign barely still taped up declaring this teeny building the OFII office.  I pushed the (already open) door further inside and knew I was in the right place when I heard Trudi’s Jamaican accent coming from down the hall. 

            I went and told the woman I was here, and she told me to go to the waiting room down the hall.  While I was waiting, Trudi came back and told me that she was there with another assistant, Katie.  We chatted until an older dude called me into his office.  I sat down and we discussed my medical history, inoculations, my family’s medical history, and the like.  He asked me at one point what something was.  Sorry, I’m not a doctor, so I don’t know what Adacel is.  He excused himself and when he came back, he told me that Google told him it was multiple vaccines in one.  America’s always the first.

            Then he told me to take off my shoes and sweater to go stand on the scale.  After he took my height, he told me to lose 2 kilos.  Okay, guy.  As we went over for me to lay on the doctor’s bed thingy with the paper on it (don’t know what this is called), he started asking me about how often I eat croissants, because you know they’re like eating 4 tartines (pieces of toast).  (For those of you also concerned with my weight, I think I’ve had about 4 in the whole time I’ve been here.)  Then he started talking about the French diet and how rich all the foods are.  So much cheese.  The patisseries.  Okay, guy.  Shut up!  It’s okay to have them once in a while, but not too often.  Also, all of this is in French, so I can only smile like a fool and just keep saying “okay.”

            When I lay down, he raises my shirt and picks up my stomach fat and goes, “That’s right where you need to lose it.”  Okay.  Where am I?  Is this for real?  I awkwardly laugh with him because, zOMGz, this is the funniest!

            When he’s finally done, I go sit in the waiting room until the woman from before tells me that I can come back.  She asks if I speak French, and when I say yes, she seems happy.  (Trudi had been speaking English.)  She asks how my journey was.  I tell her the bus was supprimé.  She is appalled as she kindly stamps my visa.  Success.

            When I leave, I have (once again) tons of time to kill before my train leaves.  Since it’s not horrifically cold outside, I stop in a park and have a bit of a read before heading to the train station.  I’m also really hungry, but since the doctor told me that I really shouldn’t ever eat again, I just look at the boulangerie with longing.  Sometimes, I find myself just licking the air, like this.

            My return journey went off, miraculously, without incident.

Hungrily,

Juice

Mommy and Me: à Genève

Alors, mom was meant to get in at 6pm on Thursday.  As soon as I returned from my errands, I received a phone call from Flo telling me that since it was snowing so ridiculously, I ought to encourage mom to stay in Geneva for the night.  When I went to the kitchen for the interwebs, I found an email from maman telling me that her flight from Amsterdam to Geneva had been delayed because they had to de-ice the plane.  After I finished reading that one, I saw another email had just arrived from her saying she was getting her car and hitting the pavement (or the snow that was laying on top of the pavement).  I immediately phoned her to tell her to try to stay in Geneva because even though I was dying to see her, I didn’t want her to get lost in the mess that is France in snow.  She didn’t answer so I started to wait.  A few hours passed when suddenly my phone started a-ringing and mom was at the Carrefour down the road!  So I stayed on the phone with her and tried to give her directions as I put on my boots and coat to get downstairs for the greeting.  Mom said she thought that she was outside as I was running down the stairs and as the tears started welling up in my eyes.  She managed to find me.  We were both crying when we hugged. 

            I got in the car and we started driving around to see where we could eat.  As we drove, she told me the saga of her journey.  Basically, it took Mom nearly an hour and a half (I think?) to get out of Geneva and into France.  Then she got down to Chambéry somehow because there’s rarely adequate signage in this piece.  Anyway, while down there, naturally everything was closed/closing.  She saw a couple leaving a Carrefour down there and asked them for directions to Belley.  Guy generously offered to lead her halfway to me.  And that’s how it went down. 

            We managed to find a restaurant that still had lights on and so we roamed around looking for parking for a bit before mom wiggled into a spot with her oft-displayed parallel parking prowess.  Into the Chinese restaurant we went.  While mom took advantage of the toilet, I asked if they could accommodate two people, figuring it was easy peasy as there were empty tables and the place was essentially hopping.  “Non,” the man said.  Uh, okay.

            So we went to the other restaurant that had been lit up but by the time we arrived there, it was also closed.  So on we went to the brasserie next door to ask for some food.  Nope.  So we ended up getting two glasses of red wine.  Not so good. 

            As we came to the roundabout right before my lycée/home, we drove around 2/3 times before deciding to go to McDonalds so we could at least eat something.  (Don’t judge.  The average lycéen/high school student will go to Macdo 3 times per week because it’s cool.  This is an actual truth.)  So we went to the drive through and ordered the special advertised on every window at the Macdo.  They were out.  How is this possible?  So we got the other special.  FYI, it wasn’t the American, which is a burger in a bagel.  This is not American.  But apparently bagels are decidedly so.  So we took it back to the internat and had a picnic on the bed before going to sleep.

            The next morning, Flo called bright and early about the luggage that was to be delivered (because oh, did I mention that the airline lost mom’s luggage?) but it was just after the company had called mom and we had decided to go pick it up at the airport on our way to Geneva.  Mom and I ended up sleeping until about 10:30.  I decided to give her the grand tour of Belley so’s we could be on the road by 11.  HA.  Jokes.  (But not really.) 

            As soon as we got outside, it started snowing again.  So I showed her the main roundabout in town (which was in front of the brasserie where we had had deux verres/two glasses), some of the historical buildings in town (including the birthplace of Brillat-Savarin), the female wolf that is the mascot(?) of Belley, the patisserie where I tutor, the fromagerie where we got some cheese to bring to Flo, the library (which was obvio not open), and the Cathedral.  As expected, she loved the Cathedral.  You know what I didn’t love?  How cold it was in there.  It’s called heating and it’s time they caught on.  We saw a few more things (aka random old buildings) before finishing the tour.

"You have thick hair.  Like a wolf"

Then we decided to hit the road to Geneva since we didn’t know how long it would take with snow and everything.  We couldn’t decide which route to take to Flo’s: the small roads that seemed most direct, the big ones that would take longer but were more likely to be cleared, a made up route.  At the last minute, we decided to live dangerously and go small routes based on directions Mom had printed off and my map-reading skills.  It went swimmingly. 

Sometimes I thought we was lost in Siberia!

            We got to the airport and went in to claim the lost luggage.

Mom: Quelqu’un m’a téléphoné pour récuperer ma valise. (Someone called me to come get my suitcase.)

Guy: C’était pas moi qui vous a téléphoné.  (It wasn’t me who called.) with a smirk.  But then he went to get her bag.

            Back out we went to use Flo’s directions to get to her house.  For the most part, okay.  When we got to the last turn, though, Flo had said to turn right by a fountain.  There wasn’t one.  When I felt like we had gone too far, I said we were supposed to turn.  Huzzah!  I was right.  So we parked and got out.  We looked at the fancy Christmas decorations all over the place: big wooden cutouts of Bethlehem and the Three Wise Men.  Behind each set of decorations: a fountain. 

            We hemmed and hawed in the entryway of the auberge for a bit before someone asked what we were doing/what we wanted.  We asked for Olivier, whom mom had thought she saw in a meeting in the dining room.  But he was actually out, so they told us we could go up to the Martins’ apartment.  We went up, first to our room, and mom unpacked the massive amount of things she had brought for me: fuzzy socks, normal socks, popcorn, letters from home (so lovely), Christmas presents, requested articles of clothing, Emergen-C, etc.  Basically a bounty.  We went across to the Martins’ apartment to see about some lunch as it was nearly 3pm now.  But we felt a bit awkward about it, so we went down the road to a restaurant we had seen.  Whooooooops.  It was closed.  Even though the lights were on.  So we went back to the auberge and looked in the cupboards to see about making some cookies.  Because when there’s no real food to be found, cookies usually come in handy.  We couldn’t really find most of the ingredients that we needed and so we made a list.  Then I went on the interwebs to see where there was a market nearby and off we went.  While at the market, we picked up some apples for lunch. 

            We headed back and I set to making cookies straight away.  By this time, Gregoire was home from school and was helping himself to some panettone.   As I was finishing up, Olivier came upstairs with a glass of wine for mom and told us that we’d be meeting Flo at a skating rink nearby as she was having an outing with some friends, “Les Gamins.”  Mom and I had actually been dreading going ice skating as its neither of our cup of tea, but we wanted to seem up for anything.  So, Mom drove Olivier’s car with me, Antoine, and Greg inside and we headed to Coppet (not far) for fondue and skating.

            When Mom and I arrived, we were thrust into speaking French as we sat down with Flo’s friends.  (Flo wasn’t yet there.)  We were seated next to Flo’s friend Mouna who has family in Los Angeles.  She mentioned wanting to set me up on a friend date with a British girl who’s working/living in Geneva.  Since I love British people and need all the friends I can get, I eagerly said yesplz! 

            Flo arrived and got in on the fondue action.  She asked if we wanted to go skating and we said no thanks.  And she was all, “Good.  Me neither.”  Saved! 

            Eventually, we headed home for some zzzs. 

            The next day (Saturday), mom and I slept quite late.  After we had showered, Mom went outside to find a note from Flo saying that she had taken Antoine to get some shoes but that if we went downstairs, there was some breakfast waiting for us.  So down we went and the waitress/hostess woman whose name currently escapes me showed us into the café and then brought us a basket of breads and a tray full of Olivier’s homemade jams: 2 kinds with quince, raspberry lemon, amaretto peach, nutella but richer, grapes and rum, orange, and a few others.  So good.  She also brought us a pot of tea.  About 10 minutes after we had sat down, Flo returned and had a spot to eat with us. 

            When we had stuffed ourselves full enough, Flo said it was time to hit the road as she wanted to take us around a bit.  So we hit the road and made a drive along Lave Geneva, stopping to take photos of the vineyards.  At one point, Flo pointed out this little island in the lake that has a single tree on it.  It was planted for the Queen of England.  Sorry.  But I forgot my camera in Belley.  All these photos are courtesy of my mamita. 

We wound our way along the vineyards and the coast to Montreux, a Swiss town known for its jazz festival.  We got out and took some photos with the statue of Freddie Mercury, who considered Montreux a haven.  

I swear I wasn't in agonizing pain even though this photo would suggest otherwise.

We made our way along the waterfront Christmas market while sipping on some Christmas tea with a rum floater.   Gotta get warm somehow, right?  So anyway, part of this Christmas market was waay expensive out of my league.  Like, they were selling these fancy knives that I’ve never heard of, antiques, jewelry, antique jewelry, and the like!  It really just goes to show just how right Kawai’s boyfriend Greg was when he said, “The Swiss are just like the French but with more class.”  I have yet to see anything that suggests otherwise.  Oh wait.  Except Swiss people are nonstop friendly.

            Anywho, we went into this covered section of the Christmas market where Mom and Flo got some vin chaud (which is delicious and not to be confused with mulled wine, which is not) and some pretzels.  I, on the other hand, had this thing with goat cheese.  Noms and warm.  Can’t get mad at it.  Flo also bought a hat.

Flo in hat.  Mom with first vin chaud EVAAARR!!

            We chatted for a bit and then crossed the street to get to even more of the Christmas markets.  They crazy for this mess over herre.  But it’s really a nice tradition.  It’s surprising Amurrica ain’t jumped on that bandwagon.  There’s money to be made.  The cold is no excuse.  Did you see the snow going on?  (Though we actually had lovely weather on Saturday.)

Looks different in the dark and in
 the winter.  Use your imagination.

            We took a walk along the lake back to the car where we then zoomed over to Lavey-les-Bains.  Hot springs!  In the snow!  In the mountains!  It was crazy.  Well anyway, so we looked for parking for a bit before finding a spot.  We went inside and got a token so we could get a locker.  Then we each waited for a changing room, which is where the transition is made.  We went through.  I was all modest slash completely confused so when I came out I was wearing socks, my coat, and my swimsuit.  Surely I looked a mess.  And I felt idiot too when I noticed that there was a constant floor cleaning machine being driven around.  So my socks were wet.  Upon seeing me, Flo laughed.  So did momz.  Whatevs so they had already put their stuff in a locker.  I found one too.  Guess what the number was.  696969696969696969!!!!  It was a great day for locker-finding.  Mom even made a joke about how it’d be easy to remember.  (69 will never stop being funny.  Thank you, Bert.)  

            We went into the next room and rinsed off before going into the first big pool.  You started off inside and then went through refrigeration plastic like they have at Smart & Final/supermarkets where they can add more from the back and then go out into the real world.  It’s a rough transition, but it’s gorgeous to be in the water looking up at the mountains all around.  So we used the jets there for a bit before we moved onto the next outdoor pool that was even larger and supposedly warmer.  (I am doubtful still.)  We went in the water than kind of pushed you around in a circle and I went for a foolish little jog in it.  We eventually extracted ourselves from the current and went to lay on the jetbeds they have.  Interesting.  But also made me more susceptible to the biting cold.  No dice.  We went to the “hot tub” part of the outside area.  Nice until some fools started splashing.  Don’t wet my face, foolz!  On we went to these huge faucets they had.  Mom leaned against one for the pressure until dude next to her got too close to his and started spraying his water all over the place.  Most importantly, all over my hair and face.  There goes staying warm.  Because, guess what, wet hair + cold air = disaster.  So then we goes inside because indoor pools are always nice.  Eventually we go to the hamam.  Now, if anyone knows anything about me, it’s that I didn’t apply to UC San Diego because it smelled like the zoo (read eucalyptus).  This hamam smelled like eucalyptus too.  But it was done right.  What can I say?  So we stood in the middle for a bit waiting for a space to sit.  I forgot to mention that it was crazy crowded the whole time we were there.  We eventually peaced and went exploring a bit to see what other treats the place holds.  We went into this steam room.  Nakeds inside!  No peeling allowed.  Mom and Flo didn’t notice everyone in there was nakey.  Welp.

            We decided it was time to get going and rinsed off and hopped in the car to get back to Flo’s where her sister Marion was waiting for us.  We went to another Christmas market.  This one was in a château at Coppet.  Coldest place yet.  Without a doubt!  We were literally walking on ice the whole time.  I can’t believe that people actually work at these little huts and stay there ALL DAY.  I would die.  I can barely even last for more than an hour.  I blame poor circulation.

       We then went for some grub with Flo’s friend who had met us there.  It was in this space that is usually a greenhouse, but for this weekend it was a restaurant that offered 3 dishes: moules et frites (mussels and fries), choucrout (Alsatian specialty of many meats), and one other thing that they were out of.  Moules it was!  Also had some wine because that’s just real. 

            The next day we slept in pretty late again.  (Theme!)  When we got up, we had some toast with jam.  Maybe this seems repetitive to you.  Too bad.  Those jams are MY jam.  baBOOM!  Anyway, we also had soft boiled eggs.  A meal that I have come to associate with Flo.  They are delicious.  I also cracked mine incorrectly and spilled the yolk.  Great day.  The weather outside was frightful so we stayed inside.  I made cupcakes with Antoine while Mom and Flo cut cloth for the foie gras that Olivier sells during the holidays.  The measurements were incredibly precise and it really took them ages to finish it all.   Then I helped Antoine with his English homework because oh wait, that’s my JOB.  Many cupcakes were eaten.  Not by me per se.  But by Antoine and Greg.  And Greg’s friend Axel.  Because did you know that cupcakes are uniquely American?  Imagine your life without cupcakes.  Is there light?  Do people smile?  Probs not.  Anyway, when the Martins paid us a visit in the US, we had cupcakes all the time because Greg and Antoine had grown to love them because their Canadian au pair would make them. 

So many dynamos!  (Dynamos means casks in this case.)

            We then went to take a tour of Olivier’s alcohol making cellar?  I don’t really know what to call it.  But it’s this room in the basement of the auberge where he keeps the casks of the rums and things that he makes.  They smell beautiful.  He told us the backstories and everything but it’s all very complicated and I generally don’t understand how things are made.  Anyway, blahblahblah it smelled good.  We then went back to the apartment to kill some time before dinner, which Olivier was cooking. 

            IT WAS A MASTERPIECE.  Here is the menu.

Design done for Olivier's restaurant.

Menu written specifically so I could reference it in the blawg.

Course 1: Terrine de lapin aux sdets (?) et pistaches / Rabbit terrine with something and pistachios

Course 2: Tartare de chevreuil aux airelles / saladine aux noix (Venison tartare with cranberries / nut salad)

Course 3: Emulsion de foie gras de canard /  intrusion de poivre Serawetz (Duck foie gras emulsion / Serawetz pepper?)

Course 4: Oeuf de poule en cocotte aux truffes de Bourgogne (Chicken egg in hen with Burgundy truffles)

Course 5: Boudin de volaille vapeur aux chataignes / Mousseline d'Agrie et jardinet de légumes (Poultry blood sausage steamed with chestnuts /  essentially mashed potatoes and small garden of vegetables)

Course 6: de "Mojito" récomposé (Recomposed Mojito)

Course 7: Crème brûlée à l'"Or des Anges" (translation not required.  Or des Anges is the liquor that Olivier makes.)

He wrote the menu and then told this nice story about Picasso.  He said, did you see I gave you my signature?  We nodded.  Apparently one time Picasso went to a café and the owner was there.  Oh, Picasso, I love you.  Blahblahblah as people are wont to do.  And owner goes, "Give me a painting and your meal is on the house."  Picasso obliges because he's too legit to quit.  He hands the owner a painting.  Owner's all, "Buddy.  Where's your signature?"  
           Picasso replies, "You said you'd give me a free meal.  Not the restaurant."  ZING!

To bed then.  Next morning we set off around 9:30 since I have class at 12:00.  We made it back and washed up a bit before getting to the teachers' lounge a few moments before class started.  Mom and Flo met Marc.  Marc, of course, complimented mom on her French.

        We then went to my Euro class.  Mom and Flo went to sit in the back.  I said to my students, “As you can see, we have some visitors today.  Can anyone guess who they are?”

            Marie, one of the best English speakers, said, “Inspectors?”  I laughed and told her no and that they could relax.  And she said, “No.  You can relax.”  Zing!

            Mom called from the back, “Can you guess where we’re from?”

            Eventually they guessed Los Angeles, and Marie whispered to Lia, “Is Los Angeles in Las Vegas?”  Well.  We can’t be good at everything.  They figured out she was my mom.  Surprised looks to be sure.

            Then they had to guess where Flo was from.  US?  Canada?  Belgium?  Eventually got Switzerland.  Well done.

            After class, the three of us went to lunch and had some traditional Belleysanne fare.  And massive salads.  Flo hadn’t seen the cathedral so we took her to see it.  And to see the library.  It wasn’t open.  I don’t know why I continue to mention that, as it is more likely to be closed than open.  We kind of rushed around a bit as I had class again at 3.  Flo and Mom dropped me off in front of the internat.  It was a rushed goodbye and I couldn’t shed too many tears as I was about to go run a class. 

            It was really a beautiful visit.  But just way too short.

Bittersweetly,

            Juice

Thanks for stopping in.  Bai!

La Panique à la Grande Neige (Panic at the Big Snow. Pun!)

It was beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

Once upon a time I was extremely delinquent and failed to record things that happened for nearly a month.  (Actually, given the date, it’s been over a month.)  Forgiveness?

            The week after Thanksgiving (yes, this is where my tale picks up), I started tutoring.  I once had a small group (aka 2 people) from Nicole’s Terminale ES spé (a group that gets extra English time) class.  I actually wrote about the two girls specifically (Anaïs and Charlène).  Anyway, Charlène asked me if I was available to tutor her and her sister.  Naturally, I’ve got nothing else to do and I’m always looking to make some cash money and so I agreed.  She asked me for my phone number so that her mom could call me.  Whooooooops.  I still hadn’t memorized my phone number as I’m obvio not giving it out very often.  So I told her my embarrassment and she told me to call around 6/7 that night.  I finally worked up my courage to coordinate this thing (since her mom doesn’t speak English) and made the call.  Well, Charlène knew it was me as said, “En fait, ma mère n’est pas là.”  (In fact, my mom’s not here.)  So she said her mom would call me back.  Panic attack when the phone rang on my end.  She asked how much I’d be charging.  Had briefly asked myself the same question beforehand but hadn’t actually come up with an answer so I said, “I don’t know” and made a mental note to figure out my life.  Then she asked if I had anywhere that I could tutor them.  Uhhhh since I figured my bedroom/the only place I have any right to claim was out of the question, I told her “Eeuuuuhhhh.  Je ne sais pas.”  (Uuuuhhhh.  I don’t know.)  She totes rolled with my pathetic punches and said I could work at the girls’ grandmother’s house and that I could just meet up with Charlène and her sister (Aubane) after school on Tuesday and we’d go from there. 

            Then I went to Maryse’s for the weekend.  (Rememberrr?)

            On Tuesday I waited until 4pm (actually more like 4:02 because I have never felt more uncomfortable than waiting in front of a French high school when I am a teacher.  Someday I’ll grow up, I promise.) and went on out.  Welp, since I had no idea what Aubane looks like, I took a quick look around to see if I recognized anyone.  Nope!  So I awkwardly stood outside the gates trying to look totes nonchalant.  Jokes.  I’m sure I looked 100% chalant.  After about 2 seconds (aka if I had looked for have a moment longer, I would have been successful), Charlène came up and said she was standing on the corner with her friends (all my favorites from my classes, I might add). 

            So she introduced me to Aubane and said she had math class but that she’s arrive at 5 for her lesson.   Aubane and I set off.  Now, I don’t know about you, but I wasn’t familiar with Aubane as a name so I basically made many efforts to avoid saying her name as we tried to muddle through a conversation.  She’s not comfortable speaking English, and I’m okay with my French but as I was to be tutoring her in English, I thought it prudent to force it out of her.  Hmmmmm…  I asked how old she was.  She told me what year she was in.  I accepted it as an answer even though I have only a vague idea of which school years correspond to which ages.  So after a minute in silence after her response, I tried again.  I tried in English.  And when she just nodded, I asked in French.  Success. Aubane is 13.  We went to her mom’s place of work so we could figure out the rest of the details (meaning my pay).  Their mom works at a beauty salon/spa.  I told her it would be 25€ total/week.  This seemed fair since I had asked Camille (a French teacher who lives in the internat—and when I say French I mean both her nationality and her subject.  Tricky tricky tricky.) how much to charge, she said that for an older student (aka Terminale aka Charlène) it could be 20€.  That seemed exorbitant for a small town like this, so I made up a number.  (Also, Belley is supposedly not a small town.  It just feels that way without transportation.)

            She coughed up the dough even before I had started and then sent me and Aubane on our way to chez their grand-mère.  Did I mention that their grandma runs one of the patisseries in Belley?  Well, she does.  And so as soon as we walked in, I was offered cake.  Have I met my dream match?  I said no, though, because I’m idiot.  They looked lost and so offered me chocolates.  Well, alright, I said.  Sometimes I’m just so put upon. 

            We went into the back and up the stairs to the apartment and set to work.  It was alright overall.  A bit difficult, though, as I felt like I had to review some of the basics that hadn’t been discussed in her class.  It seems like these classes sometimes rely too much on memorization instead of giving rules so that things actually make sense.  Aubane was learning about agreement and disagreement.  But for one reason or another, the teacher only calls it accord and desaccord.  So during the session, as I kept on saying “this agrees” or “it disagrees,” I kept getting blank looks.  Or, rather, looks that suggested comprehension but then no response.  So it’s a slow journey but I thought it went okay.

            Then Charlène came home and I switched to her lesson.  Much smoother, obvio, since we already knew each other.  She was in the process of learning how to use connecting words in essays like according to, by means of, because of, etc.  It’s a nice challenge for me because I have to think about ways to give her tricks to remember how to use the words.  Sometimes it’s as simple as giving her the translation in French, but other times it’s a bit more complicated. 

            At the end, she asked me to make worksheets for her and her sister for the next time.  Then she walked me downstairs and I made the short walk home.  It was snowing. 

la neige!

It snowed all through the night.  When I went to school the next day, it was like being there during the grève.  Since maybe 60-75% of the students come by bus, one would think that since they cancelled the buses because of the snow, they would also cancel school.  Nope!  (Also did I ever mention how they are brought by coach buses?  I told one of my groups how fancy they are.  Then they told me how they dream of going to school on a yellow school bus.  I told them that was ridiculous, because their busses are way classy.  But they insisted.)  On the other hand, though, if a teacher is sick or if he/she takes a vacation day, the class is cancelled.  So I went to my classes and was not surprised to have no students sent to me.
           Since it was Wednesday, I went to lunch with the surveillants (the people who watch the students who live at the internat) where they have a dessert club.  Again, my people.  I think I forgot to mention that I started doing this.  The week of Thanksgiving, I went to dinner at the cantine on Tuesday to eat with them.  At the end, this woman Marion invited me to eat with them on Wednesday as each week someone brings dessert for sharing.  Naturally, I jumped at the opportunity.  So now I try to do dinner on Tuesdays with them and lunch on Wednesdays.  It’s basically all the younger teachers at the lycée (including Marc).  I feel special. 

            The cantine is usually pretty dead on Wednesdays since French schools have ½ days on Wednesdays (don’t know why), but that day was especially so.  Marc just kept saying, “C’est la panique!”  (I’m not translating that.)  He was right.  But also not because considering Belley is pretty surrounded by mountains, I wouldn’t want to be driving a bus in the snow (that was continuing to fall) either. 

            I spent the afternoon watching stuff online.  Because as much as I like the snow (which is honestly not a whole heck of a lot.  Call me a product of my upbringing.), I like it waaay more looking at it through a window. 

            The next day saw a return of normal buses.  So the school was full again.  As I sat in the teacher’s lounge, snowballs were thrown at the window from outside.  Muriel stood on the bench to yell outside to tell the kids to stop.  They did for a spell.  Then thwack another one burst on the glass.  Nicole, incensed at this point (though I found it kind of funny), yelled out, “Tu veux un coup de main!?” (You need some help!?)  Then it stopped for realsies. 

            After my classes ended (around 12), I hustled to do my laundry at the laverie at the school because that mess is FREE and FINALLY not en panne!  Success.  I took a seat and waited for my laundry.  Wow.  It took way longer than I had expected.  Probably about 2.5 hours.  So the woman was all, next time, you can just leave your stuff here and come back in 2 hours.  Heck yes. 

Interdit/Forbidden.
Also, candy cane.

         Then I hustled to get to the library to return my books.  What was I thinking?  I completely forgot that the library isn’t open on Thursdays.  No matter, says me to myself.  I’ll just put them in the drop box.  No.  I wouldn’t.  Because it was blocked off.  So, because I think I’m so slick, I crossed over the red and white tape and tried to put my books in the box.  No dice.  The openings were taped up.  Apparently when it snows, the snow will fall off the roof and would land plop on top of the drop box.  I guess it’s a liability issue.  It would certainly make sense to me, then, to move the box to a place that would be accessible regardless of elements.  But I’m a dreamer.  Or am I a logician?  There was another woman who came up just after me and I was all, “C’est bloqué.”  Then these two French women just going for a walk in the snow came up and were all, “That’s why it’s taped up.”    And SO full of smarm.  Thanks, rudes.  Sometimes I just think I’m above the law.

Snow balls? (Boules de neige?)

            So I went to the market and dropped off my recyclables and got some grubs.  All the while, though, I was trying to hustle my bustle because my momz was to be arriving at 6 pm! 

            And around 9, she made it.

            Cliffhangingly,

                        Jessica