To Catch a Thief

I'm in an Alfred Hitchcock mood. That is, somewhat catty and melodramatic, but also well-composed and ironic.

Someone stole my picnic table two nights ago and played kick ball with a potted plant. I cleaned up the plant and talked to my landlords about the table. Their little son said, with a worried look on his face,"Mais comme il y a des gens méchants!" ("Some people are just not very nice!")

They--possibly the thieves, or some other wise guy in the neighborhood-- also defaced my window shutters with a bad word. I found the permanent marker "F---" so ghastly I took to it last night with nail polish remover. It mostly came off, but there is some residual marker, and I didn't want to scrub too hard and ruin the green paint.

I don't know how things are done in France: if my landlords will chalk it up to a loss and forget it, or if they will press charges. There were a bunch of rowdy young men (that I heard--there could have been women too) outside my flat that night. I was in bed already and assumed they would just go away on their own. Well, they did and took the table with them! They must have been strong, or had a car, or disassembled it, because that was a big-ass wooden table. 

I feel terrible about it, though I know it's not my fault. The gate to my garden is not very secure--about four and a half feet tall with just a bitty lock anyone can reach over and unlock:

The sad thing is, petty crime seems to run rampant around here, in and around Marseilles. I've heard horror stories about three guys in Marseilles (also teaching assistants--from last year) who were in their kitchen on the third floor of an apartment building, when some thugs came in through the front door (with guns) and robbed them; I believe it was mostly computers and electronic equipment they stole. The guys moved out the next week.

But still! If someone stole my computer, I know at the moment I don't have the means to replace it! Then again, who would steal this computer? They'd have to be desperate: it's five years old and needs a new battery.

Then, there was a girl who's another teaching assistant this year who had large amounts of money stolen from her twice. I can't remember the first amount, but it was one of her first days in Marseilles, the money stolen by a pickpocket.. She came with her parents and they thought Marseilles (by reputation) was far too dangerous, so they asked the Academie  to give her a new placement outside the city. She still comes in to Marseilles on the weekends (don't we all, who live in neighboring small towns?) and had 300 Euros in cash on her, which was stolen from her purse at a club.

Needless to say, things could have been much worse, and I am unsettled, but hopefully things will be set straight. At least the thieves did not steal my canvas chairs, which went with the table--they didn't think enough of making a matching set!

Le Castellet

Le Castellet is a tiny medieval town about a half-hour from La Ciotat. One of the teachers I work with took me there this weekend. It was very lovely, and reminded me of a Provencal Door County, in a way: lots of little boutiques, gift shops, restaurants, etc., cashing in on the ancient aspect of the town. 

According to Wikipedia, 111 people live there as of 2009. It wasn't exactly crowded when we went, but I can imagine how crazy it might get in the summer. There is also a medieval festival/Renaissance fair each year. I think they do some sort of Knights Templar re-enactment in front of the church.

Eglise St. Anne

 The Mayor's office is particularly cute, being made out of stone, and the view is amazing: Le Castellet is perched on a hill, all the better to see your enemies coming from miles away, I suppose. I'm sure the ramparts are not particularly useful anymore, except to keep tourists from falling down the hill...

Chateau Mairie

One of the coolest parts was the "four banal" in one of the shops, which dates from 1447. A "four banal" is roughly translated as a "community oven." The one in Le Castellet is round, like a turret or a spire (probably the best way to expel the smoke) and it was used up until the 20th century. Basically, the townfolk wouldn't be able to bake their own bread at home, because the building and maintaining of an over would be way too expensive individually. So, they would pay a tax to some noble with a big enough house to have an oven (and it was big--think 20-30 m diameter, at least) and thus secure a spot in the oven for their bread on baking day. Ingenious, no?

I Can't Get No (Job) Satisfaction

To begin with, the title of this post is more an attempt at a playful bon mot  than how I actually feel about my job: from the Rolling Stones song of a similar name...

However, my job--though I'd like to retain it--is not exactly ideal. No one's is, which is a problem, but also a fact of life. I've discovered a number of things since the start of my teaching "career," and a few of them are starting to become a headache.

I'm trying to decide if I'm sick of teaching, or sick of being a teaching assistant. As a teaching assistant, my role is not taken all that seriously, by students or teachers. Then again, teaching is not taken all that seriously, either. 

Take the teacher's strike--not last week but the week before--I think it was January 31. No one told me about it before I got to school, but I ran into one of the Spanish teachers in the teacher's lounge, and she explained it to me. I think I got brownie points by being there, since the vice principle made rounds during the day to see who was actually doing their job...

Since the teachers didn't show up in protest, the students were a step ahead, willing to stay at home that day. I had two out of four, which is actually better odds than normal!! As far as I know, it was a national strike (here's some media coverage, in French) and the French do have a reputation for protest--it's like it's their national pastime!

What are they protesting, exactly? Well, higher wages for one (pretty standard) but the one that really gets me is this: the French government (and recently elected Socialist president François Hollande) wants to extend the school week from four days a week to--gasp--four and a half days a week! By the way, France is the only Western country to NOT have a five-day school week for children. (I heard this tidbit on the evening news the other night.) Currently, almost no one works on Wednesdays. A full-time teacher works 24 hours a week. I, part-time, work 12 hours a week. 

There is also the peripheral item on agenda of protection against firing of "unnecessary" teachers that has been a threat bandied about since Sarkozy's reign (circa 2007), but like I said, that's probably not a real threat. Personally, I do think it's criminal to fire someone without notice, but sometimes, some people (yes, even teachers!) don't deserve to keep their jobs. As for having to work more hours, I have this to say: suck it up, people. It's called work for a reason! 

In fact, I would like to be doing a hell of a lot more work than I am doing. I feel completely dejected, as my emails go unanswered, students do not show up to my lessons, and when they do, they sit passively, sleep in class, or otherwise act like a sack of bricks. (Thus leading my to believe that perhaps the sack of bricks has the edge on an IQ test...) 

I also have the problem of comparing everything to my previous experiences in Austria. That doesn't help matters, since I'm sure I complained just as much then. But, I'll say this: Austrian kids ARE better at English. A LOT BETTER! Maybe it's because the languages are similar? Because Austrians see a point in learning English? Because Austrians have fewer preconceived notions about Americans (or Brits)? Who knows? I've been told (by certain students embarrassed by their bad English) that the level of Spanish is much better in France than the level of English. 

What do I say to that? Whoopee.

I feel like I've complained an awful lot on this blog, for which I apologize (to my two regular viewers who have heard it all before on monster Skype sessions, I'm sure. :) ). Anyway, I will try my best to think more positively in the future. Just think: when I was 16, I wanted to move to France forever! I'll just have to remind myself of the reasons why, I guess, and hope they still ring true.

There was a point when I really liked teaching. When was that? Please remind me. I want to believe again.

Un, Deux, Trois, Poulet!

I don't know why, but it seems I tend to live in places with "themes." Last year it was hedgehogs, this year, chickens. I guess it's a Provence thing (chickens, that is).

I noticed it around mid-December, and took pictures, but never uploaded them. Here, for your perusal, is my chicken collection--for wont of a better description:

A smaller collection than the hedgehogs, but then again, this is a smaller apartment! I found myself looking at mugs with chickens on them at the store the other day, thinking, "Oh how cute!" and then realizing I had been corrupted. I stepped away slowly. It's the only way to cure a chicken habit like this.

Laughter is a Bitter Pill

Here's an unexpected cultural difference for you: laughter.

My students laugh at me all the time. They laugh when they're nervous, they laugh when I say something funny. They laugh when they don't know the answer, they laugh when I try to explain something in French.

Isn't it rather cruel, or is that just teenagers?

My American kiddos were always to petrified to say anything out of turn.

My Austrian kids were always so serious, except for the one jokester (der Spassvogel). There's one in every class.

Laughter makes me nervous. Laughter makes me sad.

I wish I could laugh back at my students, but someone has to be the professional in the room.