Fête des Lumières

FINALLY!  After leaving my computer on overnight, I woke up to a fully loaded video.  This is fantastic.  And so now, without further ado, the Fête post.

            After the weekend when I went to Flo’s (not the time with my mom, but the time before that), I went into the office in the collège (middle school) to offer my services.  I said that since I wasn’t that busy (aka since I work only 12 hours/week), I’d be more than happy to help at the school.  They said, “We can’t pay you, though,” foolishly thinking that that would deter me.

            But I responded, “Ça ne me fait rien.”  (I don’t care.)  If only you could have seen their faces.  They looked like my head was floating two feet about my hot bod.  I guess it’s weird for French people to want to do something without a reason.  Is anyone surprised? 

After my mom left there was news!  Actually, there was news before she left.  It was November 30 (my mom’s birthday FYI), and I went into the secretary’s office for some reason or another.  Anyway, while I was in there, Chantal, one of the secretaries, told me that we were expecting a new assistant to replace Kirsty.  According to Chantal, the new girl was named Stephanie and she was from New York.  A place called “ee-tack.”  After later discussion with my mom, I discovered that maybe she meant Ithaca.  Srsly, though.  Chantal told me it was Eetack.  How excited was I?  More than words can say.  In fact, I was so excited that Chantal, after she sort of leaned back in response to my elation, had to tell me to calm down.  “Je suis trop excitée,” I told her.  (I am too excited.  Or, I am too sexually excited.  excité means both.  So maybe that’s why she leaned away from her.  Because I just made myself into a predator?)  Anyway, she told me not to get too excited because Stephanie was meant to arrive on December 1, but no one had heard from her yet. 

So I went about the rest of my week, hoping to receive word or see a new bestie in the halls of the internat.  Then the snow came and we kind of thought maybs Stephanie wasn’t coming because she was trapped underground in the snow like in Thumbelina when the mouse tells Thumbelina to marry the mole. (Wow.  I don’t actually know where that came from.  But we really did assume she hadn’t made contact because of the snow.)  The weekend with my momz came and went.  I got called fat.  Then on the following Tuesday night, I heard Michele talking to someone in her room.  I kind of pussyfooted around the area hoping to see someone.  Alas.  Twas some fellow.  A son, perhaps?  I was vair dispappointed.  But on Wednesday, as I was going to the toilet, I ran into a short-ish girl with dark brown hair and a bit of a Tina Fey face (glasses included!) coming out of the restroom.

I smiled at her because I’m so friendly. “Are you Jessica?” she asked. 

So I responded with, “Yeah.  Are you Stephanie?”  Calloo callay.  Twas.

Later we found ourselves in the kitchen together.  I basically summed up Kirsty’s peacing out and the ins and outs of internet usage.  She told me about herself, how she had been an assistant in Paris before, how she has a boyfriend there whom she visits most weekends, how unhelpful the teachers at the collège had been, how she’s studying English at one of the universities in Lyon, and then asked me how did I live in Belley? 

I told her it was tough but that I usually leave on the weekends.  Yeah, I spend a majority of time by myself, but it’s not too bad.  The students are really great and the staff is so friendly that I can’t really complain.  Also, what with rent being 33€/month, it’s much easier to actually make money in this program. 

Then Stephanie kind of paused and said, “I’m depressed to be in Belley.”

Immediately, I says to myself, I says, “Self, this is not looking good.”  Maybe the slogan of Belley should be “Belley: Only the strong survive” instead of “Belley la ville.  Belle est la vie.”  (This is supposedly what Bernod, one of the surveillants, says to himself every morning.)

Stephanie continues, “I think I’m going to keep my apartment in Lyon because I don’t think I could live with myself if I knew that I actually live in Belley.”  Oh good.  Too soon for this attitude, but okay.

So the next day when everyone excitedly asked me if I had met the new assistant yet [because everyone (quite naturally) assumes that the two assistants will be besties.  This might have something to do with the fact that last year, the two assistants (Waleska and Natasha) had gone to high school together. ], I responded perhaps less than enthusiastically.  As we sat in the kitchen and I tried not to judge her for her too soon judgment, we heard fireworks going off outside.  Oh right.  It’s Fête des Lumières (Festival of Lights).  I had no idea that there would be fireworks in Belley.  I thought it only went down in Lyon.  Welp, there goes my opportunity to enjoy the second night of wonder in this hamlet.  (The first was, of course, Les entretiens de Belley—the food tasting.)  Luckily, though, it wouldn’t be my last opportunity to experience the magic of the region of Lyon.

On Friday afternoon, I took the bus to Virieu le Grand and kind of had a panic attack because ah! there wasn’t anybody manning the station.  Was I surprised, though?  Nah.  Did I ever show you the opening times of the gare (train station)?  They are ridiculous.  And when I showed them to Jennifer, she couldn’t stop laughing for about 5 minutes.  Here they be:

TRANSLATION: Welcome to Virieu Le Grand / Belley Train Station
Opening hours at the train station and ticket window:
Monday: 6:10am-11:40am
Tuesday - Thursday: 6:10am-11:30am / 12:35pm-2:30pm
Friday: 7:10am-11:30am / 12:35 to 5:10pm
REAL TRANSLATION: We're never open!  Enjoy the outside!

So anyway, I got on the train, just kind of waiting for the controleur to come up and start fussing over my lack of ticket just so I could set him straight with a, “Yeah, guy.  There’s no ticket counter open.  So I don’t know what you want me to do.”  But, magically, even though it was the Friday afternoon train going into Lyon on the weekend of the Fête des Lumières, no one came around to see if I had a ticket or if I had composted it!  Free ride to Lyon?  Check.

            After I got off, I knew that Katelin was still at school until about 5.  Since it wasn’t yet 2, I set to wandering for some eats.  The problem with me is that I can never decide if I want to sit solo in a restaurant or if I want to get a sandwich on the go.  So I generally end up just not getting anything at all.  (And yet, I need to cut down on the croissants!)  Luckily, as I was stuck in this abyss of starvation, Lyon had arranged some lovely weather for me.

They have a restaurant boat somewhere along here.  I want to go to there.

I made my way towards Vieux Lyon (old Lyon) because that’s where all the pretty stuff is.  As I am my mother’s daughter, when I saw an old, church-looking building, I tucked inside.  Turns out it was Église Saint-Bonaventure, which is the only medieval building not demolished when they were creating the rue Impériale, which is not rue de la République, which is seems that every French town/city has.  Even podunk Belley.  

Paint the cathedral red!

I had a little sit while I watched them set up some stuff, presumably something for the Fête or Advent, until I looked at my phone and realized I had missed a call.  Legitimately, I can never hear that thing ring.  It’s gross.

            So I made my way outside and checked my voicemail.  As I did that, I received a voicemail.  Twas Katelin telling me that she had gotten off early and that I could come around earlier.  BaBOOM!  So I made my way back to Katelin’s but, this time, took a short cut through the Parc de la Tête d’Or.  I saw some people being romantic (and ecologically friendly!) on bikes:

Her: I love you!
Him: I love the Earth!

Saw people setting up for the night’s festivities:

Not as impressive during the day, but a whole lot better for the Earth!

And was stopped for directions (mistaken for a native!  This used to make me happy, but I’m fairly certain I don’t want to be French..  But I’ll take what I can get.), but I couldn’t actually help them.  (There is no picture of this as it brought shame on my family.)

When I got to Katelin’s area, I stopped for a sandwich at a little bakery in her complex and then went on up.  She watched me while I ate.  We also caught up a bit.  Then we sort of just sat around for a bit before going downstairs to get some grub to eat in her apartment.  We were to meet some Spanish guys she knows for the walkabout.

            We set out to our first destination, which was the Parc de la Tête d’Or and tried to go in.  But, for some reason, France thought it would be a better idea to force everyone to go in through the same gate even though there are many more entrances.  So, yes, they decided to funnel everyone who came for the event through the same massive set of gates instead of letting people go is as they pleased.  Way to go.  So, the Parc was basically the firepit.  When you first walked in, there as a guy moving fire from bottom to top:

I am the Great Oz and can move fire from the earth...

...towards the heavens!  Fear my fiery wrath!

Even though I thought this was sort of basic, we stood around looking at it for quite a while.  It’s amazing what fire does to people.  (No offense to burn victims.)  Katelin and I continued around the Parc, looking at all the fiery things they had.  We also noticed that the way to tell if someone was working there was if they were wearing a fedora and smoking a cigarette.  In other news, the Parc had some fire on water!

Fire on water!?  Is this real life!?

       We also spent an inordinate amount of time watching this contraption that had a fake duck flying in a circle and water balloons moving around and a bunch of other stuff, because I wanted to see why it was so involved.  And I was even making a video of it so that I could share it with you. What a waste that was, because nothing actually happened.  The thing just kept going at a snail’s pace in circles.  Great.  It was around this time that Jaume, Katelin’s friend, met up with us.  He’s 19 and talks basically incessantly.  Unfortunately, it’s hardest for me to understand Spanish people’s French—I think because of the difference in r pronunciation: Spanish is all about it and French wants to devour it.  Anyway, he luckily spoke good enough English/kind of insisted on only speaking English so that’s how that happened for the night.  We watched the fire tree before getting on our way.

       We made our way to the electric jungle, which is not to be confused with Electric Ladyland, which was being held in the garden at the Musée des Beaux Arts.  But on our way there, we naturally had to wend our way through the throngs of people in town for the event.  Nearly every street is lit up in some way.  Unfortunately, there’s a lot of jostling that goes on with a lot of people, so many of my photos didn’t come out.  Here’s one I did manage to get, though:

Paper cranes! (?)

            It’s just occurred to me that perhaps you lot have no idea what the Fête des Lumières is all about.  Well, listen, my children and you shall hear.  There was once a time when life was bleak.  There were no cupcakes.  There was no blogspot.  It’s known as the Middle Ages.  Basically, when there was that plague, the municipal councilors promised to pay tribute to Mary if the town was spared.  Unfortunately, Wikipedia doesn’t say if Lyon was actually spared or not, but the end result is the annual procession to the Fourvière on December 8 every year to light candles and give offering in the name of Mary.  It commemorates the day Lyon was consecrated to Mary.  How lovely, right?

            So Jaume, Katelin, and I got in line for the electric jungle.  Katelin and I sipped some vin chaud while Jaume talked nonstop about how much he hates it.  We were nearing the front of the line when we sort of stepped out of it because we were hoping to go through with our friend, Moira (assistant from Canada whom I’ve mentioned before).  So when it got too cold to just stand in one place any longer, we went inside.  It was pretty grool.  It started really slowly as they kind of painted trees on the wall with light:

Boring forest

And then they moved on to having it be a bit more exotic, comme ça:

Exciting one.  The colors, man!  The colors!

           When we got out, we ran into Moira, who recently moved to Lyon from a nearby suburb.  They changed her work schedule so that she only works 2 days per week, so basically she’s on vacation like all the time here.  Sweet, right?  So we went out and they have this fountain all lit up multi-colored and everything.  It was really pretty, but my photos came out crap.

           Don’t worry, though.  As we moved along to Cathédrale St. Jean, I did manage to successfully capture this photo of Moira’s favorite light spectacle:

People of America, I give you prophylactics in the sky!

            At some point, Katelin’s other friend, Theron (an assistant from Colorado), met up with us.  He insisted that we stop to see this massively amazing light show before getting to the Cathédrale.  Video!  (This is the video that has delayed the posting of this update.  So worth the wait, right?)

           We then saw this next video.  I have to admit that I didn't take the video.  But it's only because I watched this one through a tree.  But it was REALLY sensational!  My mouth literally dropped open as I was watching it.

           So we walked on towards St. Jean and stopped to look at this fountain that had rubber ducks in it.  It was pretty, but I was disappointed they didn’t do more with the ducks.  I wanted them to move or something.  That’s the problem with my generation: never satisfied.

Let's go fishing, pappy!

           On we walked to vieux Lyon to the Cathédrale.  We stopped for crêpes before heading in.  As soon as we got inside, we ran into one of the brothers of the church (he looked like a friar!) and were given a “Merci Marie” business card.  On each was printed a passage from the Bible.  I’ve been using one as a bookmark that reads, “Confiance, ma fille!  Ta foi t’a sauvée.” From Matthew 9,22 (“Trust, my daughter/girl!  Your faith has saved you.”  Also, this isn’t actually the one that I’m using as a bookmark, but it’s nicer than the one I’m using.  That’s right.  I just ranked the Bible.)  Anyway, all night Jaume had been just flinging around the word “fuck” and Katelin was supes offended by it, but I was like, it’s the only word that is so versatile.  But, I finally understood why Katelin was so concerned when he dropped it into the conversation with the religious brother.  My hand flew to my mouth in an attempt to stifle my gasp.  Everyone noticed—both the word and my prudishness.

We continued on towards the Fourvière, because we thought it’d be pretty to see the whole city lit up.  We probably thought right, but there was a long line to take the funiculaire, so we bounced.  Also, it was flipping freezing outside.  So we got on the metro back to Katelin’s.  She watched some of The L Word while I basically passed out.

The next morning (really, afternoon), we intended to go to the Musée des Beaux Arts, but Katelin was concerned about paying full price so we scrapped that idea.  We ended up going to the Cathédrale St Jean in the hopes of seeing the clock do its performance that it does 3 times a day.  (We also went because Theron had said how pretty it is during the day and that the effect was a bit lost at night.  All around the church, they had red candles:

Let's paint this cathedral red too!

Then we got ourselves situated to see the clock show.  Alas!  It was just like the British Museum, though.  Well, not exactly like it.  Since that clock at least did its thang after I walked away.  This one just flat out did nothing.  We went outside and watched an impromptu concert (there were a lot of street performances, actually).

Or is it me and the moon?

So we walked on to a marché de Noël that was the most crowded one I’ve seen yet.  An absolute mess.  Here is an umbrella tree they had at the entrance to the marché.  They also had some strange giant trinkets as lights that were replicas of little ones they had on display as decorations.  I still don’t understand. 

I don't know why France was all about umbrellas this holiday season.

Giant cell phone charms.

As we left, Katelin got some roasted marrons (chestnuts) and I got some candied peanuts.  The woman complimented me on my French.  She thought I was being super polite by saying a word that I didn't say (puis instead of pourrais).  She said that I must be from another country because foreigners are always more polite.  Hao nahce.  Anyway, when I bought the nuts, I thought that they would be almonds.  Mostly because I didn’t know that they did it with peanuts.  But, indeed, they do.  They were way too expensive.  But totes delicious.  (Though the ones I got in Berlin with Vicky 2 years ago were way better.  They were, however, heaps better than the ones that I tried to make last summer with Vicky’s grandmother’s recipe that ended in black smoke billowing up from the pan.)  It looked like this as we left:

City lights.

And so Katelin and I headed to the Fourvière to get a view of the city and to see what was up since the basilica is basically the focal point of the Fête.  So we got in line for the funiculaire.  When we were nearly first in line, the funiculaire shut down and they said it could be 5 minutes or 3 hours before they got it started again.  We decided we’d wait for 5 minutes and then, if there was no joy, we’d make the trek.  We were just about to turn away when it started up again.  Once we started to go through to the actual car that would take us up, I realized that there was nowhere inside to buy tickets.  So I hot-footed it back to the ticket machine and ran back to our spot in line.  When I got back, Katelin told me that they had come around selling tickets after I left.  Good.  Then the funiculaire broke down again.  Then it started back up.  

When we got up to the Fourvière, we went inside and had a bit of a pray during the evening service.  As my eye wandered around the walls, I noticed a mural that I am ashamed to say that I had missed my previous time there.  

Joan of Arc did not wear tennis shoes, contrary to what the LeeLee Sobieski movie might have suggested.

For anyone who doesn’t know (and shame on you), Joan of Arc is my favorite saint.  Ever since I was in seventh grade, really.  She’s also my confirmation saint.  Together.  Forever. 

We then went outside, where we could hear some smooth reggaeton beats with French lyrics happening.  On the side of the church, there was a concert going on.  I’m sharing some of the magic that was offered.  

Sorry I couldn’t get the vocalist in the frame.  Especially since I’m fairly certain she was mixed.  We also took some photos of the city, but all of mine came out blurry.  So, it’s nice to know that even though it’s crazy freezing outside, you get to fondly remember it with the blurry photos.  I did, however, manage to get this picture of half of the giant “Merci Marie” sign and the Fourvière.  Regarde!

Alliteration makes this prayer holier than thou.

At this point, Katelin and I got a hold of Moira who had invited us to a concert and she told us to head on over for some vin before going to the show.  So we made our way up to Croix Rousse, another area of Lyon.  This is one of the displays going on in that area:

Blip.  Bloop.  Bleep.  Game Over!

Lite Brite!  Making things with light!

It’s at the top of this massive hill, and as we were walking up, we heard some crazy music being played.  People were basically having a massive party in the streets, which was lovely.  And everytime you thought the music was over, you were wrong!  

When we got to the top of the hill, Katelin and I tucked into a covered marché.  We were immediately greeted by a drunk Corsican salesman with a lisp who was drinking wine and kept offering us samples of Corsican grub.  Who were we to say no?  We eventually managed to extract ourselves from his hedonism and went around the corner where I bought a bonnet that I’ve since grown to sort of hate.  But that’s not really important. 

We left shortly after and headed to Moira’s apartment where she had just finished eating with her co-worker, Spanish Ana, and her friend from high school (Isabel?), and Isabel’s(?) French boyfriend/roommate.  Isabel is also an assistant here.  Well, actually in Toulouse.  There were in town for the weekend.  So Katelin and I helped ourselves to some wine and then we (Moira, Katelin, Ana, and I) headed to the concert. 

As soon as we left Moira’s apartment, we ran into the moving dance party again.  We took part for a bit before continuing on.  This was when Ana revealed that she didn’t actually know where we were going.  So we turned down what she guessed was the street.  We walked pretty aimlessly for about a minute until someone came out of an unobtrusive, unmarked (unless graffiti counts) door and music came blaring out.  “This is it,” Ana said.  So in we went and paid our 5€ and went for some beers.  I was shocked to look around me and see what I can only describe as French hipsters.  I had kind of (aka utterly and completely) been missing hipsters.  French people totally missed that bus, and so I was glad to be among them in this smoky room.  The first band was alright, but the second seemed like they could actually get popular.  Both sang in English. 

After it was over, we decided to go with some of Ana’s friends (these French guys named Yohann and Bruno, as well as this Ecuadorean guy named Andres) to a bar.  We end up walking all the way back across town for some reason to this place where the bartender serves only 2 drinks: a Dark Cloud (kahlua and coke?) or a Singapore something.  It’s a bar that’s kind of 40s style décor but plays one hit wonders from the 80s and 90s.  Everyone gets Dark Clouds, which are kind of horrible and incredibly strong.  Actually, I think Ana gets the Singapore one.  Anyway, Bruno peaces out pretty early on.  Then Moira and Ana head back.  So it’s now me, Andres, Katelin, and Yoann.  But Yoann and Katelin had gone outside.  The bar starts to fill up with actual French people (before, it had been full of middle-aged Americans).  At one point, the people next to us left and Andres stole their drinks and started sipping on juice.  I was certain they were coming back, but a mixture of Dark Cloud and fatigue made me pick the other one up.  I was just sticking in my straw (this is actually really embarrassing and gross to write but what is this blog if not a completely honest portrayal?) when they came back.  I immediately set it down and put girl’s straw back in.  Andres continued to drink his pilfered cloud.  Then they really did leave (paranoid people were drinking their drinks?) and this group of French men came to sit down.  Katelin and Yoann come back up around now.  Andres starts talking to the French men about politics and then the guy asks what we’re doing there.  Katelin says we had a concert, but the guy thinks she said cancer.  Laughter.

The rest of the night I will recount to you exactly as I emailed it to my dear friend, Paula/DJ P-Tain.  (It’s more authentic this way since it was told shortly after the actual occurrence.)  So we're at this bar and it's like 3am/maybe later and Yoann's all, “let's go back to my place.”  At this point, though, I'm so ready to go home but Katelin’s digging him as she's newly in an open relationship.  Anyway, we end up going back to his apartment and we sit around talking (well, Yoann and Andres talk.  I start to fall asleep.  Katelin watches and sometimes gets a word in edgewise.)  

So at 6:30, Katelin's like, “Well, I guess we should go.”  

And so I'm like, “Yes!”

Then Yoann's all, "You guys can stay here."   So then Katelin hem and haws until she decides we should flip a coin.  I try to make the argument that I need to be on a 12:30 train to get the last bus back to Belley so we need to leave now so that we can sleep at her place and then go to Moira’s for breakfast with my stuff instead of staying at Yoann’s, then going to Moira’s, then taking the tram, then getting off the tram for my stuff, then me going to the train station.  I lose and so we stay.  

Then we go into Yoann's bedroom (Andres is sleeping on the couch, which I guess he does quite often.)  And Yoann goes into the salon where Andres is sleeping.  So I take this opportunity to ask, "Katelin, are you and I sleeping on the double bed?  Or what?"  He has a double bed and a single.  

So then she's all tortured-looking and says, “I don't know.”   So then Yoann comes back and nothing's decided so we all stand around looking at his books.  And then he walks out again and I'm like, “Make up your mind.  I'm effing exhausted."  So she says how she's decided that they can sleep in the same bed.  But then Yoann comes back in.  But he's clearly a child and doesn't know how to act because no one in this situation does since they're so obviously going to hook up while I'm sleeping in the same room.  So when he leaves again and I decide that I'll pretend to be asleep so when he comes back everyone can stop being awkward all the time.  So then i get into bed and pretend to be asleep.  And eventually, it’s true.  Don't worry, though.  They do whatever they do for the next 3 hours until my alarm goes off and it’s time to leave. 

My alarm goes off at 10:15 since we’re supposed to be at Moira’s at 10:30—an impossible amount of time to actually get there.  When we start moving around, Yoann offers us coffee, and I’m all, “Nah.”  But Katelin says yes.  I check my phone and see a missed text from Moira at 9:00 telling us we can come over for breakfast whenever.  I tell Katelin and she says, “We should probably get going, then.”  But continues to sit and drink her coffee.  We get out of there around 11:00.  Parting was not such sweet sorrow for me.  For the lovebirds, maybs.

When we get to Moira’s she’s got the crêpes and fixings ready, so we dig in.  Delicious goat cheese and apricot jam.  She had other combinations, too, but why mess with a good thing.  At 11:45, I say it’s time to go.  Apparently not yet.  So when everyone is ready to leave, we deuce it.  Apparently Lyon has far fewer trams running on Sundays (or maybe it’s just this Sunday), so I miss my train back to Belley.  I frantically text Marc and ask if he can pick me up from the next train, which will take twice as long get into Virieu around 8.  Thankfully, he can.  So Katelin and I just sit in her room poking around the internet, essentially, until it’s time for me to go.

When I arrive at the train station, I see a mother walking with her screaming child.  A woman walks by and says, “Quel precieux,” because the French are nothing if not kind to complete strangers.

Sarcastically,

Jess

P.S. Here's someone else's video of the Fête.  It gives a little bit of everything, including some stuff you've seen here, but also a lot of stuff that didn't come out in photos.  Profite!

First Week on the Job

I expected French kids to be totally attitudimuses.  Too chool for school.  Or maybe like this.  Needless to say, I was also expecting to be completely slaughtered by them on my first week, in which I'd be observing classes.  I wasn't!  This week I visited 11 classes, introduced myself to 9 of them, and answered countless questions.

I introduced myself the same way every time: "Hello.  I'm Jessica.  I'm 22.  I'm from Los Angeles.  I just finished college where I studied film, women's studies, and writing.  I'm here as the language assistant."

Here is a list of questions asked:
Where did you study?
Why did you study women? (The teacher, Sabine, asked them to speculate.  "Maybe because women are strange.")
Are you a capitalist?
What is it like to live in America?
Do you speak French?  (This answer was tricky.  In one class, Sabine emphatically shook her head no.  In another, Sandra didn't do anything, so I said, "a little." In another, "Yes.  But not enough to get around."  So, in less than a month since my arrival, I've become a liar.)
Have you met a famous person?
Do you think French people are nice?
Are Americans nice?
Do you like the Lakers?
Do you like France?
Why are you here?
Are you married?  (Some of Kirsty's classes asked if she has children!)

So that's been fun.  Next week I start taking small groups for discussions and activities.  My first one is with three students that Marc will send me and I'm to lead a conversation on globalization (mondialisation).  That doesn't sound challenging.

On Wednesday, Kirsty and I had to go to Bourg-en-Bresse for a training session that was meant to last from 9-5.  We managed to figure out an itinerary and thought that it would be best for us to take the 5:40 am bus from Belley to Virieu Le Grand.  Ooops.  That bus only runs on Mondays.  So we had to wait and take the 6:10.  The bus was a bit late, and then made a bit of a detour for some concerned travelers so that they could get off at an unscheduled stop.  (This is actually the third time I've seen a bus driver go off the route for passengers.  Very friendly, no?)  Sadly, though, this kindness meant that we missed the train at Virieu that we had wanted to take that would have gotten us into Bourg an hour and a half early even though it was at the station when we arrived.  But there were three girls in front of us (who, by the way, couldn't stop talking about dying to go outside for a smoke) and so we couldn't get to the ticket window (guichet) in time.  Ain't no thang.  So we waited at the train station for an hour until the next train to Ambérieu where we switched to a bus to Bourg.  This layover (Is that what it's called for land travel?) offered this view:

Did I mention that while we were on the train a girl asked if we were going to Ambérieu for some training thing?  That's right.  MISTAKEN FOR A NATIVE.

Anyway, we got on our bus no problem.  At the first stop, we were going to get off because it said "Edgar Quinet Sports Center" and our training was to be at the Edgar Quinet Lycée but we weren't sure if there was a lot of Edgar Quinet stuff in Bourg so we stayed on board.  I realized our mistake as soon as we drove on because I swear we drove next to like 3 campuses right after.  Oh well.  We got off at the train station at 8:42 and boogied to get to the training on time.  Unfortunately, none of those campuses we saw had signs so we were late.  Also, when we DID find the right school, we tried a gate but it wasn't open.  We walked down the street and found ourselves at the first place that the bus had stopped (arg!) and a woman came out and told us we were at the pool and sent us back to the first gate.  We just had to push harder to open it--this had like crazy strength magnetic keeping it closed!  Sigh.  We got into the session and took our seats.  Of course, it had already started.  And of course it was a training of only 12 people (it was only for the collège/lycée assistants in the Ain region of Lyon) so we were totes noticed.

The training was, quite unexpectedly, run in French.  Even though they were going through crazy important information like social security, finding a colocataire (roommate), medical coverage.  Whatevs.  Nothing you can't figure out on your own?  Whatevs.  When we had a break, the girl in front of us (Katelin) turned around and I said how we had hoped to come in late and unnoticed and she said not to worry.  She told us that she had come in a bit late and the guy leading the session said, "You're late."  Uh, thanks.  Like I didn't already know that.  At least they didn't call Kirsty and I out.  Actually, it was funny because they started talking about transportation shortly after the two of us waltzed in and one of the side guys said it's not too hard to get places unless you're in Belley.  And he looked at us and goes, "That's where the two of you came from, right?"  I love his grasp of our plight.  (Side note: Katelin just finished at USD where her freshman year roommate was Yesenia Barbarena with whom I went to high school.  Why is the world getting smaller by the minute?!)

Then we went into the second part of the session where they talked about the importance of cultural immersion and everything.  Joining clubs and how to work with students and balancing your relationships with the students so that they're comfortable but respectful.  Pretty basic stuff.  Then we broke for lunch, which was FO FREE!  (Though each of us had to hop/limbo the turnstile to make it so.)  We went to the lycée's cantine and one of the girls, Livia from Australia, stopped to take pictures of everything.  No joke.  Pictures of the signs, of the food, of the conveyor belt for the trays.  Crazy!  She majored in photography, which I guessed considering she had a massive camera around her neck.  As usual, the food was great.  (The day before, I ate at teh cantine in Belley.  Cous cous.  COUS COUS.  At a high school cafeteria.  And it was delicious.  Sadly, though, I also picked up a container of what I thought was yogurt, but it was actually what tasted like softened cream cheese.  Fromage blanc n'est pas délicieux.)  I put together a salad of beets (for ma sœur), hearts of palm, artichoke hearts, and cous cous.  They also had broccoli and chicken.  I got mine sans poulet, so the chef gave me a bona fide mountain of broccoli.  I also got a morceau (slice) of brie and a chocolate thing.  I've learned that the French eat really large lunches and then smaller breakfasts and lunches.

Kirsty and I were at the end of the line so there wasn't space for us and another girl, Heather, at the large table, so the three of us sat separately.  Heather's from Manchester but goes to uni in Newcastle.  Pretty sure we saw one of the lycée profs drinking wine at lunch.  Actually, am positive.  Love it.  I downed a cup of coffee with Daddy sugar cube in it.  (Get it?  Sugar Daddy.  So darling.  With really the hippest packaging.  I tried to find a picture and typed in "daddy sugar" for the Google search.  MISTAKE.)  It's all colorful.  Bright colors!  Not enough of those here.  Did I already say how everyone in France wears black?

Anyway, after lunch we went back to the room.  They asked if we had any questions, and when we said no they released us!  It was an unexpected treat considering that we had all expected to be in that room until 5 pm!  So we all went to an outdoor café (we've been very lucky with weather) and had some wine or café au laits.  (Except Livia who had to leave with her ride--the dude who knew about the transportation woes of Belley.)  Bourg is really lovely.  Such a shame that the people who are teaching there complain about it being so small and everything.  They've never been to Belley.

I honestly just love the architecture in France.  Everything is just so beautiful all the time.  It's either incredibly quaint and endearing or utterly majestic.  I can understand why so many defect.  (But you needn't worry about me....yet.)

Anyway, we all chatted for about 3 hours.  There's Mohsin from Manchester, who's studying at Oxford. Katelin from above.  Moira from Halifax, Canada who's teaching in kind of a medieval town with, surprise surprise, beautiful architecture.  She studied philosophy at uni and is kind of a hipster/hippie.  Katie from Canada who still has one semester left but this is a year off for her.  She says she never wants to finish college.  Helen from Britain.  Becky (who I mentioned in my last post as the girl whose mum gave her directions that led her to the motorway) from Britain.  Trudi from Jamaica who's kind of crazy and has only had one semester of French.  She memorized responses to expected questions and is just here, it seems, to fall in love.  She also taught us to say raas (I don't know if this is how it's spelled, but it's pronounced just like the Indian dance.  What up Diwali?), which means merde.  She says her mom will let her say "shit" around her.  But not raas.  She also said, "You should meet my cousins.  They're rastas.  And their dreads.  You know how they say 'Be fruitful?'  They got six kids."  There were a few others, too.  But these were the ones with whom I spoke.

Then we walked back to the train station and managed to get on a bus 2 minutes before it was leaving for Ambérieu.  Really just lucky timing since we were meant to be on a much later bus.  We got back to Ambérieu to switch to the train and the same girl who mistook me for a native was there and we smiled the smile of natives to one another.  And it felt AWESOME.

The next day I went in for classes again and in this one, it was a bit different.  Since Sabine's class had been discussing stereotypes, she asked me what are some stereotypes of French people.  I told her people (aka only Jimmy) has asked me if I've stopped shaving and bathing.  So here's the list:
No shaving
No bathing
Smelly
Always on strike
Don't like Americans (One student said immediately, "Oui.  C'est vrai!" And he said something abotu politics and everyone groaned.  When Sabine asked who would like to go to the US, only three people raised their hands.  She assumed that they hadn't understood the question, and so she asked again.  This time everyone understood and everyone except the voice of discord raised his/her hand.)
They all smoke
More vacation
Good food ["Ouais, bien sur." (Yeah.  Of course.) from one student.]
All are attractive (Surprisingly, no response to this one.)

Then they told me their stereotypes of Americans: We're fat and eat Macdo all the time.  I told them I couldn't remember the last time that I ate at McDonalds (Macdo here) because I wasn't including my cappuccino.  Funnily, the girl who said we eat there all the time eats at Macdo 3 times/month, which is way more than nearly everyone I know.  When I brought it up with Kirsty, she certainly didn't deny that this is a stereotype that everyone has of Americans.  Triste.

Kirsty and I went for lunch at the newly opened crêperie because I realized I had been in France for too long without having a crêpe prepared just for me.  I got one with jambon (ham), fromage rapé (grated cheese), and pommes (apples--there was something special about their preparation, but I can't recall it just now).  It was really good.  The salad that it came with, though.  The dressing tasted like mayo and mustard mixed together.  Kirsty called this salad cream?  Not sure.  Dislike, though.  I wished I had gotten a sweet one, though.  I saw someone do it after I had placed my order.  I had thought that I would be looked down upon for getting a dessert crêpe in the middle of the day, though.  Never again will I let that mess keep me from an afternoon of caramel and chocolate in a thin pancake.

Friday was a glorious day.  I had to be in for classes at 8, but I didn't mind.  I got to see the sunrise.  (Sorry that this blog is kind of a folder of the view from my window, but every day I just can't believe it.)

The classes I went to were fine.  One of them is studying Jack the Ripper.  And I'm pretty sure that they have an American exchange student, but I will report back with details as they become apparent.  Marc invited me to go to the food festival, which is the biggest event of Belley, with him and his friends, so I was super happy!  Even if he only invited me out of pity, which surely he didn't because I'm so lovable?

Market during the day.  Aka empty/vide.

Um... Freshest honey ever?  Yes.

Afterwards, Kirsty told me that she was in town and there was a market, so I decided to go.  I was hoping for Borough Market's Belleyanne cousin.  In vain.  I ended up with some olive tapenade made with chataignes (chestnuts).  So delicious.



When we came back, I had some actual lunch and then went for a run because I knew I was going to live obesely (as is the supposed American way) in the evening.

Kirsty hadn't gotten tickets for the event because we both thought that it was on Saturday and her mum was coming into town.  So when Marc asked if I was going and informed me that it was later on Friday, I was eternally grateful.  Unfortunately, there weren't any tickets left when Kirsty went to the Tourist Office, but she came along anyway to mooch.  We went into city centre about 8:00 to meet Marc.  As soon as I walked up he said, "Ca va?  Tu as commencé de boire?" which means "How are you?  Have you started drinking?"  Fool of fools.  I hadn't.  Because the meal ticket had 4 glasses of wine included.  Oh well.  Although, it would have been better because studies show having some drinks in you makes you more comfortable speaking an acquired language.  Maybe I should do shots before Monday?

Anyway, we went to meet up with some of Marc and his girlfriend's, Isabelle, friends: Sandrine, Nadia, Sébastian, Michael (Séb's brother), Jean Claude (who invited himself to visit my parents' house in Los Angeles), Ton Ton (Séb's uncle), and Booch (TonTon's wife).  SO many two cheek bisous.

Sébastian is a mess.  Just in general.  He speaks crazy quickly (Marc says Sébastian even speaks too quickly for him to understand sometimes.  And when he's drunk, he's totally fou/crazy.) and found it impossible to say Kirsty's name.  All night he would say, "Jessica!  And Rolalala" or something like that to refer to me and Kirsty.
[Related story.  There's this other Marc who lives at the school and when I first met him he asked for my name.
Me: Jessica.

Him: Comment?
Me: Jessica.
Him: Pardon?
Me: Djesseeka.
Him: Ah.  Bon.
The pronunciation of my name in French apparently changes ability to understand it.  Anyway, Sébastian obviously says my name Djesseeka.]
Sébastian is also learning Spanish and would often start speaking it (see what I said about being more comfortable?).  He asked for besos, and since I spent my summer at The 2-9, I knew exactly how to respond appropriately and en espagnol.

Well, needless to say there was a lot of drinking involved.  Almost immediately after meeting Marc's friends, Kirsty and I went to get some wine--the sparkling kind that's Belley's specialty.  I asked if Kirsty could pay for a glass with money and the dude said no but when he asked if we only had one ticket, I said yes.  (I'm no fool.)  So he gave us the two glasses for frizzle.  Kirsty promptly spilled her entire glass on the counter between us and the server.  He kind of laughed and then re-poured it.  That's right, suckas. Three glasses of wine for the price of one.  Gettin' slizzered.  Anyway, we went over to talk to Marc et al and he explained that in Belley everyone drinks a lot and then eats.  In Lyon, they eat and drink at the same time.  So when I went back for a second glass of wine (this time red), Marc said I was like a native of Belley.  (Count it.  TWO native compliments in one week.)  Then some of us put together our tickets to get a bottle of wine.

We managed to find a table, even though it was SUPREMELY crowded--literally crawling with people, which was quite different from every other time I've been about town.  So, this meant it was time to get to grubbin.  Before I forget, this dégustation (tasting) was being held because Belley is the birthplace of Brillat-Savarin so these people take their food very seriously.  The first course was quite good.  Unfortunately, I can't recall the names of anything.  Anyway, I took a bite and insisted Kirsty try it.  She didn't like it at all since it was covered in egg.  I didn't know that Kirsty doesn't like egg.  Oops.  Anyway, Marc asked if I knew what it was, and I didn't.  He said he wouldn't tell me until he had finished.  He said, "Like if I were in Scotland, I'd try haggis (which Kirsty's never tried), it's important for you to have this here."  Once I had finished it, he asked if I liked it.  I did.  He said it's made out of sang bouillé.  Boiled blood.  Of a pig.  Regardless, it was delicious.  Too bad pork is bad for my blood type (and actually all blood types).  Surely, though, the blood is an exception?  (Sorry no photo!)

The next course was ginger rice with pintade (guinea fowl) in a soy sauce. It was good, but the rice looked like mashed potatoes--probs because we didn't start eating until like 9:30.

Then, of course, as it's France, we had a fromage course.  The cheese was Brillat-Savarin.  Dude was so epic that they named a cheese after him.  It's quite creamy and had like a citrus bit in the middle.  Kirsty doesn't like citrus.  But she liked the rest of the cheese.

The second to last course was dessert.  (Last was coffee, which I didn't take.)  There were two choices: chocolat noir  or chocolat blanc.  Because I'm not generally a fan of white chocolate, I went for the dark (on the left).  Mistake as it was clearly inferior to the other one.  Luckily, Marc let us try his, though.  At least I know what the possibilities are.  Both kinds of chocolate were combined with raspberry: the dark with a rasperry sauce on the side, and the white with kind of a fluffy raspberry concoction.  As you can see in the above left photo, some people couldn't get enough cheese.  Sébastian and his friends kept on going back for more and loaded our table with it.

(I hope that you've read the above menu and realized just why I am a flexitarian and not a strict vegetarian.)

Then they started to clean up the spread.  Sébastian is in fine form now and starts walking around and joking with everyone.  At one point, he picks up a bullhorn and starts singing/taunting all of the bargoers.  Everyone is actually really enjoyable.  It's all quite funny because Sébastian's pop is a policeman, so there's this public drunkenness that is totally acceptable even though you'd think he'd have to keep his stuff together.  He says to me, "Je vais t'épouser."  I tell him okay, but not now.  Later.  So, guys if I don't come home in May, it's because I'm époused.  

After Marc and Isabelle go to the hospital where Isa works to get a cup of coffee while Nadia, Booch, Kirsty and I have some drinks at Le Télégraphe (the first bar Kirsty and I went to last Friday).  I had a demi-pêche, which is beer mixed with peach syrup.  It was top drawer, really!  All these European countries (aka England and France) have mixed their beers with something actually good tasting, and always come out with a winner.  I loves it.  When that bar closes, we continue onto the next bar down the street and Nadia tries to get something to drink, but it's already closed even though there's a bunch of people hanging out inside.  This is apparently the wino bar where weirdos go.  I'm glad to know it.  Marc and Isa return and we make our way down the street to Marc and Isa's apartment.  We all sit down.  Nadia and TonTon have beers.  Booch has a tea.  Marc and Isa have Chartreuse.  Nadia later had some and offered me a sip.  As I don't generally enjoy drinking straight booze, I wanted to decline.  But, for you, dear readers, I said yes.  It was...let's just say "not good."  It tasted like nature with mint.  Or like a pine tree.  But it's made by monks, so there's that.

Isa asks Marc to put on some music but they ask if anyone can play the piano.  Actually, they specifically ask Kirsty and me if either of us can play.  I say I can play like 2 songs (gross exaggeration) and they insist that I do.  Well, too bad that for some reason, the keys don't sound quite right so I flail around on the ebony and ivory in less than perfect harmony for five minutes before saying "Desolée" and going to my seat.  Then Marc goes to sit down and just whips out "Comptine d'un autre été" like it ain't no thang but a chicken wang.  I'm embarrassed. 

We all sit around chewing the fat for a bit and the Séb arrives and sits on a chair before passing out.  Snoring.  Shortly after, his aunt and uncle leave.  It's nearly 2:00 now, so I'm super impressed with their stamina.  I know my parents peace out pretty early.  So Nadia starts looking for the camera and laughing about Séb when I say that in the US if someone falls asleep before everyone else, they get written on, which is actually something that I've never personally done, but I know its possibilities.  So Nadia thinks it's just the best idea ever and they go to town on Séb.  They start slowly with an earring, a belly button ring, and a wedding ring.  But as it continues, Isa and Marc get in on the action.  They write fake phone numbers all over: his arm, his leg, his back.  I dare to participate, writing "con besitos" on his back. 

It says, "Chartreuse?"

That's Isa with the glasses and Nadia looking on.

When Isa and Nadia go outside to smoke, Kirsty and I talk with Marc for a bit, but then I say it's time to go home since it's after 3 and I'm a tired turkey.  And so we do.

Sleeping like a baby,
Jess