A Brief Moment of Heimweh

I just got home from my little kids class I teach at an association in La Ciotat, and I have a new perspective on life than I did just an hour ago.

I'd like to say it's the little kids that jump-started my brain, but it was actually a couple of winos outside the Lidl in the center of town. It started when I was talking to Christine, my "boss" at the association. We were talking in English about my mom coming to visit (she'll be here April 18) and this bum overheard us. I feel bad even calling him a bum, since I talked to him for over an hour...but was he a...gentleman? A homeless dude? A shelter-disabled individual? Linguistic nuance and political correctness is probably not particularly important to anyone but me.

Anyway, the reason we started talking is because he was German. He asked us, in German, if we were holidaymakers and I responded, "No, we aren't. We live here." He was drunk, I think, or in some sort of stupor that alcoholics get into when they're constantly drinking. His name was Stefan. He was difficult to understand because of that. He thought I was Swiss. I explained I wasn't, but he forgot halfway through our conversation. He had a rolling monologue of mantra, philosophy, confusion. He quoted the Bible. He sang Alpine folk songs. He asked me about myself.

I told him I had lived in Vienna...his friend was from Vienna! His friend--Fritz--came over and quizzed me on Vienna. (I think I passed.) He told me about his life. He was a legionnaire. He was honorably discharged, has a son and did have a girlfriend, but she kicked him out, and now he's homeless. Same with Stefan. They've been living on the streets for 17  and 19 years, respectively.

The rain came down in faint sprinkles and the longer we talked, the worse I felt for them. Other Lidl customers came to give them money or talk to them. Stefan's French is not so good, but Fritz has a good command of the language, albeit in a thick Viennese accent. Fritz told me about how the doctors want to operate on his leg, but he doesn't want any of it. He said it wouldn't do any good. Today, tomorrow, ten years from now, he was going to die anyway. He asked Stefan to pass the wine.

What amazed me most--and why I think I talked to them for so long--was that my German came back to me really fast. The words just rolled off my tongue. If they had been completely sober, I think my non-native German-ness would have been quite obvious. However, it didn't seem like they noticed at all.  It was a profound and bizarre feeling; and, even after living in France for six months, speaking French still feels sometimes like setting my mouth up in a wrestling match against marbles.

Stefan told me I have eyes like Cleopatra. He made a dirty joke. I figured that was my cue to leave, but then he said something profound. "Always think positively," he started. "God is in everything, after all." My horoscope said something today about meeting new people who would greatly impact the way I think. Chalk one up to astrology? Or coincidence.

Then Fritz said living in France, it wasn't like Vienna. The people were stranger, antiquated, bureaucratic and unfriendly. They didn't see the humanity in others--what was all this about the French being so Cartesian, so adept at philosophy and deciphering human nature? Perhaps all that logic made them unfeeling. The mayor of La Ciotat would rather get them off the street to bring in more tourism than to see Fritz and Stefan working, in a home, in rehab. There's no humanity, just dollar signs down here. "And it's useless," he continued, "because La Ciotat is never going to be able to compete with Saint Tropez. He's defeated before he's started, and we're the ones who suffer."

Fritz continued, "Ich habe Heimweh. Du auch?" (I'm homesick, aren't you?) I nodded. It's strange to think, in my own foreign-ness, last year in Austria, I would have described Vienna the same way Fritz described La Ciotat. It's amazing what a change of perspective can do.

Suddenly, there was a row on the street, because someone was double parked, and seeing as this is France, the owner of the double-parked car threw a hissy fit along with his wife, who threw a bigger hissy fit, since being double parked was his fault. Obviously.

I said my goodbyes to Stefan and Fritz, who both replied: "Man trifft sich immer zweimal im Leben."

You always meet twice in life. There's always an opportunity for a second chance.

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.

La Politesse

It's funny how you get used to certain things abroad, like saying "bonjour" to everyone--not like Belle in Beauty and the Beast but when you enter a shop, a bank, the post office, laundromat, or a common room (for example, the teacher's room at school), you are expected to greet everyone. If you know them, you give them a bise or a peck on the cheek.  You only have to say "bonjour" or bise once a day per person. So, if you see someone at work at 10:00 and again at 2:00, you can say "salut" (the equivalent of "hi") or "coucou" (the equivalent of "hey there" ) but do not say "bonjour" which is only for the first time you see that person that day.

Where I grew up, we don't really say "hello" to everyone in a public setting. At work, yes, because you want to be seen as polite, but probably not to people you don't directly work with, at definitely not at the post office. Since to greet is to be polite in Austria as well as in France, I've gotten a few funny looks this summer when I've had errands to run--the workers stocking at Big Lots probably appreciated a little kindness, at least! This also meant that I was prepared already when I came to France. 

In Green Bay, it's decidedly small town to say "hello" to complete strangers, unless you have a point to make, or a question. Then, you get their attention, say your peace, and leave them alone. If you don't, others might take it as a sign that you've just escaped from the funny farm... You just don't say "hello" for the sake of saying it. But, if you don't say "bonjour" in France, it's considered rude.

A couple of days ago, I caught myself doing that--falling into the French way of thinking--at the laundromat. I don't have a washing machine, and normally I go every two weeks (when I run out of underwear). It's expensive, but so is everything else in France. I recently discovered mold in my apartment, so I hauled more than normal--pain in the ass--but I do not want to find mold in scary places like my bed...

Story: I'm waiting for my load to finish, and these three girls in their early 20s come in. They had taken up all of the 5 euro 30 minute washers (I had to shove my stuff in one of the mega-load 18kg 10 euro washers) and then--then!--they didn't even say "bonjour" to me! 

I immediately thought, "Gee, those girls are rude!" And then they started talking to each other. In English. As far as being able to place their origins, I'd say from their accents they were from New Zealand, but I'm no expert. They were definitely rude by French standards, but I can forgive. They might not have been rude  by New Zealand standards.

I wonder what else about my perception has changed from living abroad. Am I becoming more French as the months go by? Hard to tell.

Thanksgiving in France

This is coming a little late, but I've been busy!

I got a new job...a post on that will come...and my students have (finally) actually been showing up! Which means I have to actually do lesson plans--it's not all fun and games in the South of France! Also, I've had to clean my studio and go to the laundromat and...and...

MAKE THANKSGIVING DINNER!

Yes, I decided to celebrate it this year with my gals--fellow teaching assistants and Europeans all--who had never eaten Thanksgiving dinner before. I made all the fixin's to be as authentic as possible: turkey (just cutlets), stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, squash, sweet potatoes and black beans, and pumpkin pie! The only thing I couldn't get was cranberry sauce. So, I bought red currant preserves and warmed them up...good enough for me, though I'm sure purists are gnashing their teeth. 

The best compliment I got was the admission that American food can be tasty and is not just McDonald's! Vindication! It's probably not going to get much better than that by way of compliments here in France...

I've noticed myself become slowly more patriotic the longer I live abroad. I would like to examine why, but that probably also deserves its own blog post. It might be homesickness, or re-forging an identity after forging an anti-identity as an "ex-pat" wannabe. I haven't lived abroad that long, but I feel as if I'm more accepting of my "American" moniker than I was when I was a student, for example. It might be in part that the American image abroad is improving, or that I'm becoming more mature and thus more accepting of my roots, culture, etc. I don't particularly identify with what is "typically American" but in a way, I don't have a choice when I'm seen as "the American."

And boy, do they know I'm American! It's not like in Austria, where I think some of the teachers (granted, ones I didn't work with) either mixed me up with the TA from the last year or made up a history for me in their heads. One day in early December I was in the teachers' room and the snow started coming down hard. One of the math teachers was sitting next to me. He leaned over and asked, "Does it snow like this in Scotland?"

To which I said, "I wouldn't know. Never been."

I hope, in embracing my nationality in small ways like this, I'm not turning into an Ugly American. That, after all, would be counter productive to being a "cultural ambassador" or whatever the heck I am.