Salon Nautique

Because La Ciotat is right on the Mediterranean, and since there is normally not much to do here, their annual boat show, or salon nautique was a big draw this weekend. I went with the other assistants, and although I am not much of a boat/ship/sea person, mostly because my life has never occasioned long ocean voyages, I found it interesting. I would have found it more interesting if, for example, I were purchasing a boat, scuba gear or other sea paraphernalia.

There was also an educational pavilion, which had facts on the Mediterranean: historical accounts of sailors, merchants and pirates; animal and plant species particular to the marine ecosystem (you could pet a sting ray!) as well as an environmentally-conscious poster stating how long it takes certain pieces of trash to disintegrate in the ocean. How long? Too damn, long people: stop throwing your trash in the ocean!!!!

A Coke can takes between 300 and 500 years, for example.

There was also a lighthearted presentation/remix of the medieval fair from the fall (because Marseilles is the European Capital of Culture this year, they're doing it again in the summer). The band circled around the pavilion and played us a few songs. It was raining, so the place was pretty packed. Then, there was a sword fight between two rival pirates. I was "kidnapped" by one of them--wrong place, wrong time--but he let me go pretty quickly. I didn't have enough for a decent ransom price. ;)

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.

A Trip to Aix-en-Provence

At the beginning of the month, Epiphany to be exact, I made it up to Aix-en-Provence to look around and do a little shopping. I ended up buying an incredibly delicious chèvre cendrée (goat's cheese with an ash rind--it sounds gross, but it is not! Just don't eat the ash) and Turkish apricots that were to die for at the farmer's market; drooling over a pair (...make that several pairs...) of Ubu earrings at a boutique; and hightailing it to the Musée Granet to see some of the lovely works of native son Cézanne--as well as other Impressionist, etc., artists.

Paul Cezanne lived here once

Santons: little figures for your Nativity scene made in Aix!

For my first trip to Aix, I'd say this was a success! I wish I had enough money to buy myself a pair of Ubu earrings, but the trip itself will have to suffice for my little birthday present to me. I thought about buying some santons, the little Nativity figurines that are made in Aix and a staple of Provence at Christmastime, but I realized, if you buy one, you have to buy a set--and those don't come cheap, either! They're something you buy as a collection: one each year to add to as the years progress: finding the perfect one is half the fun! But for me, I didn't think it was worth it, knowing I probably won't be able to collect year after year...I'm not going to be in France forever! Then there's the question of which figure to collect first: Baby Jesus, because he's most important? Or one of the Three Magi? Maybe Melchior because he has the coolest name...and there's where I left off, because I cannot make a decision, if ever so inconsequential, to save myself.

Here are some more pictures of santons:

And here are more pictures of Aix:

Hotel de Ville

A protest?!? In FRANCE?!?

One thing I learned at the museum, which was small but good, is that Cézanne and Emile Zola met when they were kids at school, and continued a lifelong friendship, even after they each became famous! Definitely cool. I also learned the French for "still life": nature morte. It just seems so much more philosophical and expressive! 

Here is a famous Cézanne nature morte:

Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot?

Happy New Year!

It's that time of year again--the end of it! 

Though all of the hullabaloo over the end of the world about a week ago was all for naught, we can turn the pages of our calendars, or put up new ones, to celebrate the turning of Earth on its axis yet again. For those of us using the Gregorian calendar (i.e. most of us in the Western world) it will shortly become 2013! 

Wow...it seems like yesterday it was 2012! And it was. Sometimes I wake up thinking it's still 2008. Is there such a disease as understanding the movement of time but not internalizing it? If there is, I might have it. I don't know where my time goes. I don't know if it hides from me until it runs out and gives up, or if I don't give it enough incentive to stick around...maybe I just waste it, and Time has decided to bank on better options.

I am a terrible procrastinator, something those nearest and dearest to me have known for a long time. I never send birthday cards on time. My applications, essays, work assignments, etc., sit undone until the eleventh hour. I arrive "fashionably late" to basically every event I'm invited to. I think they will prove some day soon that procrastination is genetic, since my dad and sister are worse than I am, and despite hundreds upon thousands of times they could change, they just don't--and neither do I. It's become so bad that anyone who knows us well enough always gives us invitations for 30 minutes ahead of schedule, assuming we'll be 30 minutes late, i.e. on time.

Here in the South of France, it's not a big deal to be late. In the scheme of things, the French are often called schizo-chronic, a crazy and unpredictable time schedule somewhere between poly-chronic time managers and mono-chronic time managers. In Paris, things are more fast-paced and the schedules seem to run more toward the Germanic/Britannic time schedule (mono-chronic) but in the south, like Marseilles, or here in La Ciotat, things are much more laid back and Mediterranean (poly-chronic). Just about everything can wait until tomorrow. Feathers aren't ruffled by much. 

It's nice in a way...like all the stress I cause by being late in a mono-chronic culture really isn't worth it. I can rip up my schedule and have another cup of coffee before I hit the road, because everyone else--socially and professionally--is going to be "fashionably late" like me! It's a good feeling.

Bonne Année à tous!

Pétanque'd

One of La Ciotat's many claims to fame is the invention of a well-known game in Southern France: pétanque. This is the game you see old men playing a lot in French films and other depictions rife with cliche. It's played with a little ball (cochonnet) made of wood and larger balls made of metal. The point is sort of like a larger, no-stick-required version of billiards: you throw a big ball and try to make it get as close to the little ball as possible without touching it or moving it. You are, however, allowed to knock your opponent's ball farther away from the little ball. It is also called "boules" in English-speaking areas (namely England) which is a misnomer of the balls (boules) for the game itself (pétanque). 

In 1907, native son of La Ciotat, Jules Lenoir, invented the game, which went on to become famous throughout France and certain other regions where French has had an influence. The first recorded version of  pétanque is in Ancient Rome, where they played what is now known as bocce--still popular in Italy! This version, anglicized, is known as bocci ball in the United States, and the version I remember most distinctly from my childhood. 

In addition to the Italian bocce, there is a similar, older French game called jeu provençal where you take running start to throwing your big ball--fundamentally different from pétanque, where both feet must be firmly planted when throwing. The name of the game is derived from this stance, in fact. The field where one plays pétanque is called a terrain. The first person or team to score 13 points is the winner. Interestingly, the area around La Ciotat is the 13th department of France, known also as the Bouches-du-Rhône. The larger region is Provence-Alpes-Côtes d'Azur. 

New Job

As I mentioned earlier, I got a new job!

I've had it for a while, so it's not exactly new...but it remains a second job. Basically, my landlord has a friend who teaches English to adults as part of a job training or self-improvement course set up by the French government. The goal is to take an ESL test at the end of a six-week intensive immersion training course (called the TOEIC) which will make these candidates who participated more employable, and (one would hope) more fluent in English. It is particularly geared toward the unemployed (like everywhere else at the moment, France has a pretty high unemployment rate) or those looking to switch careers--either completely or in the form of a promotion. . It happened very spontaneously because my landlord is friends with the woman who runs the program. Basically, they were desperate. I happen to be a native English speaker. As they say, et voilà!

Anyway, I talked to the woman who runs the operation here in La Ciotat. They were basically desperate for an English speaker, so I was hired without an interview. Though I'm technically not allowed to have a second job here, an exception has been made: provided I don't shirk my high school English teaching responsibilities. Which I wouldn't (I consider myself very conscientious) and besides, there's not much to the high school responsibilities, and there's not much difference between the two jobs. I'm basically putting in more hours, that's all.

The course is a benefit of the French social security system, and my salary is paid for by the French government  Sometimes the students are grouped by their professions, i.e. all secretaries in one group, all flight attendants in another, but my group was quite varied: three med techs, a nurse, a real estate agent, a press agent, a couple of international businessmen, a high-end fashion salesperson, a flight attendant, a tour guide and a dental hygienist.

I'm not really busier than I was in Austria. I've been reusing lesson plans to the hilt (hoping it doesn't show and come off as lazy...) but I've also been tailoring them to a French audience. Since my students started coming, we've been having a lot of fun in class (I think). I'm trying to be as supportive (i.e. as uncritical) as possible to let them embrace learning English, even if they make lots of mistakes. Rome wasn't built in a day, after all, and I think they get enough disparagement from their teachers. If they get more from a native speaker, they'll probably never learn English!

Besides, I must always remember that I myself am a learner of languages. My French is pretty good, but I'm not a native speaker by any means, and I make plenty of mistakes myself. The coolest part of teaching is when I can give the kids slang or regionalisms, and then translate them. I think it catches them by surprise because they're led to believe I don't know any French.

My best example is from yesterday. We were talking about stereotypes of the French vs. stereotypes of Americans. I hinted around about the French being more "romantic" but they didn't get it until I spelled it out. One boy said, "Oh, no. That's more the Italians." I and I said, "Sure. But there are plenty of pick-up artists in France." They stared at me blankly until I intoned, "A pick-up artist is a dragueur, by the way," which sent them rolling in the aisles.

My compliments to French in Action for teaching me that word in the first place!

Kids Today

My students have not been showing up to their scheduled meeting times.

Let me explain the system: I, unassuming language assistant, i.e. "the American" am expected to take a group of 5-10 students from various classes once per week per class to fill 10 hours of "English study." I have 10 different classes once a week. Basically, all I have to do is talk to the kids in English for an hour, they shuffle in, shuffle out and are somehow better prepared for their bac at the end of the year.

That is, if they bother to show up.

Since my hour with them is supposed to be an extra hour of English, in addition to the two that they get in regular English class (three total per week), I have not taught any English classes. I am not in the classroom with them, but in my own, separate classroom to meet with the small groups of students during gaps in their schedules, or what used to be their free time.

Some of them still think it is their free time.

I hope sincerely this will change by the end of the week. I was told it should not be a problem at all, but I am still having a hard time believing 16- to 18-year-olds will willingly wake up at 8AM to come and speak a language they're not very good at (and in every likely scenario despise) to a complete stranger who also happens to be a native speaker of that dreaded language, and is probably fat, boorish and inane like all of the stereotypes of her country suggest.

I hope this is not the case--that this is what French teenagers thing of me and my country. But, I can only guess what they think. Since so few of them have decided to put in the effort of even meeting me, what else can I think?