Les Autres Assistantes: Day 4

Statue of Jean of Arc in Orleans

I woke early this morning, 5:45am. Yuck. The orientation day is in Orléans and I had to catch the train at 7 to make it. Raphael  took me and tired as I was, understanding each other was a definite chore. We talked about what he does- A mechanic? A mechanical engineer?- I talked about what a beautiful area it is while he made that face. The face that says, “I know you’re trying to say something and you’re trying really hard, but it is not working.” He thinks I want to translate books for a living and I assume he thinks I will not be very good at it.

Arrived at the station:

Machine wouldn’t find my reservation. Line for a ticket was too long. Missed train. Bought new ticket. Began 40 minute wait. Train announced 10 minutes late. Looked for toilet. Discovered that there was a fee. Had no change. Ran away from lady at toilet place. Sat down for 5 minutes in defeat. Took a deep breath.

I managed to right myself, buy a bottle of water, get extra change and then return to the bathrooms and turn over my 50c, triumphant, to the very worried lady who must have thought I was crazy. It was very very very cold in the station. My breath was visible. And as the day before had been so nice, I was only wearing a cardigan*.

Stuff like this is funny, I’m finding these moments where everything is too much, everything is  too hard and too overwhelming. And then I sit for a minute, then get up and go fix whatever was wrong or I don’t do it again. Which is the best feeling. Everything that goes wrong is another thing that I can do right later.

The train was incredibly slow. Of course. Some sort of problem, they didn’t really say. I don’t think. But when I got to the Lycée, nothing had even started yet. People were milling around awkwardly, drinking coffee and orange juice. There are about 200 of us in the district. Which lead me to the realisation that I am bad at making friends unless I am stuck with someone. Which I wasn’t. Lots and lots of French people talking, some things I understood, most things I didn’t. Very disheartening.

We went on a tour of Orléans, with a tour guide who is actually from Tours. He got lost. It was funny. But ORléans is pretty and he knew tons of stuff, just not which street we needed to turn left onto. The tour was with other assistants in Tours, which was nice. People tried to start talking to me in French, and both parties would try and then it all got too much. When there is a limit of things you know and you’re both stuck for a subject, it’s pretty difficult. Ended up chatting to an American and  an English girl about language, spelling and slang.

The American, Sara, and another American, Megan, had lunch with me. They are from Ohio and Kansas. There was this poster on the wall near us, sexual health, fairly straightforward, pictures of condoms etc, and they were laughing about how it would not be found in an American cafeteria. But the French are so like that. Not that Australians wouldn’t have that poster, it just that in our later session it came up that there are basically no taboo subjects in France.

During the final session, I realised that I am so lucky to have Olivier. I knew before, having done my research, that there was a chance that I would have to do it all on my own, that my contact might not only not be welcoming, but not be nice. Olivier goes above and beyond. The American girls have nice contacts, but are basically sorting things out on their own. And I know that I could do that, but this is way way way better. Olivier will take me to the bank tomorrow, will help me find a house and has welcomed me into his home, into his family. It’s more than I could have hoped for.

Bid farewell to the girls at Tours station and explored for a bit around Cathedrale St Gatienne, along rue Colbert (busy nightlife) and a bit behind the cathedral, Tours-Est, which is where I want to live. Olivier and I had just gotten underway when Salomé called- disaster- there are no baguettes at the house. Went for a monster search to find a still open patisserie. Yes, the French are a massive cliché when it comes to bread. Also, croissants are like 50c AUD. We got stuck into the baguettes on the way home- so good- and the family doesn’t eat till 8, starving.

At dinner, the kids were quieter, apparently I am becoming part of the family and am therefore less exciting. But Salomé plays with my bracelets constantly, Chloé stares at me while I eat and Gabriel pouts at me across the table (he is always grumpy- it’s very cute). Estelle raged about the situations some assistants find themselves in. She doesn’t understand how other people don’t welcome them. For her, it is an obligation, the humane thing to do. They are alone, in a new country and they are here to help. Not only can they be incredibly useful, but they are people, above all.The more time I'm around her, the more French I understand, the more I like her. It is the most irritating thing, seeing how great she is and not being able to communicate with her.

The American girls and I talked about this very thing. It is so easy to be yourself in your own language. I am so shy and quiet. Which at times I am at home, but this is all the time. It’s hard to be animated. When I am with the children, especially, I say very little, but make faces. I understand them (some of the time) but it’s hard for them to follow me and it takes too long, they lose interest. I’ve heard this so many times, that you become someone else in another language, but it’s so true.

*Yes, mum. I know.