She can do as she pleases: Updates.

OK. So I am bad at blogging. I suppose it means that life is getting in the way. Which can only be a good thing. So, I will give you a long, detailed update on my life in France, as it stands (16-10-2012):

I have left Olivier’s. From tonight, I will be at Brigitte’s, the wonderful woman who is renting me what is, pretty much, a granny flat in her back garden. It is the same size as other places that I went to look at, but better location, cheaper rent and in the back garden of an English speaker. It is gorgeous, for a granny flat. The French just do things prettier. She offered me the place even before she met me, through Olivier. I had been pretty non-committal, determined to go it alone, to sort out everything that I would have had to here.

I looked at a studio on Wednesday, perfect, just perfect. It was up this windy flight of stairs and was a gorgeous place, a little dirty, very studenty, but exactly what I was looking for. But, of course, expensive, unfurnished and I would have had to organise electricity and water. I like my way better. Brigitte lives in Velpeau, just below the Cathedrale district, which makes walking to work a definite possibility. Until the end of October, I will be in Brigitte’s spare room; waiting for Claire, who lives in the datcha (Russian word, basically means wooden holiday home), to move out.

Writing this from the staffroom, my least/most favourite place in the school. This is the place where people test their English on me, I eavesdrop on conversations, not understanding people ever. It is the place that I realised that I say bonjour wrong (like bonjour instead of bonjour). Everyone drinks a million cups of coffee a day and talks very very quickly. I smile, a lot. And that is mostly because everyone says hello. When someone walks in the door, they say, “bonjour/salut/bonsoir,” and everyone says it back, or they kiss on the cheek and because I am just not used to it, I miss the beat where I am supposed to say it back. So I smile.

Now everyone thinks I am super nice and enthusiastic, but with crap French.

It is my third official day of class, following a schedule, learning names and trying to make some students open their mouths and talk to me. I have had classes with five different teachers, met the kids from seven of my classes. I have met kids I am going to love and kids that I am going to abhor. I am teaching three B.T.S classes and my voluntary prepatoire class, which means that four of my classes are with students who have finished lycee. These students range from 18 to 24. Which, yes, means I am teaching students older than I am, a fact they find awfully amusing. Right now, I haven’t really planned a class, just talked to them about me, about them, about school.

French students do not have jobs on the side. These kids do 35 hour weeks and have piles of homework. Yes, they have a two hour lunch some days, but the amount of time that they spend at school fascinates me. My favourite class so far, one that I may not see again (the teacher is pregnant, so I’m not sure what’s happening) had a big discussion about the Australian love of travel and the importance our culture places on it. I said the sentence, “Our universities give us scholarships to travel, in Australia, travelling is learning.” Their mouths fell to the floor. One of the students then went on to claim that unless you are learning the language, what are you actually learning. Marie (the teacher) and I then proceeded to argue with them. That is the thing about the French system; everything is about the academic.

All of the English teachers have said to me that the focus was once on perfected written English, until they realised that without spoken English, it means very little. The exam, for the first year, contains a lengthy oral section. The students seem unable to relax when it comes to learning and are therefore afraid to make mistakes, which is so much a part of speaking another language. We had a trainging day in Tours last Tuesday, with the other lycée/collège assistants, in which Fréderic spoke about this very thing. Their self-esteem is terribly low. They don’t trust themselves to open their mouths and not be wrong.

The training day was great- the other assistants, especially the Americans are really welcoming. It’s very humorous, being very split by country. The Americans, the English and the two Jamaican girls- they all formed groups, although as a whole, it’s a great group. So I spent all day with them, from the training, over lunch- which we spent by the river, eating sandwiches- then coffee once we were finished. They are great, most are around 24, one girl is 27, another 22, but I am the youngest. The youngest who, ironically, will be teaching the oldest students. It was really good to talk to people going through the same things as me, looking for apartments, starting school and getting around some of the crazy French stuff.

I spent last week-end relaxing in the house, while it rained outside. Estelle’s parents spent the day with us at the house on Sunday, looking after the children while Olivier and Estelle were out. I read and studied and played with the cat. Here he is, looking cute:

I had had my first two days (I’ll talk about those next post), but as I have Monday off, I spent the day exploring St Paterne Racan, the area where Oliver lives. It is beautiful, picturesque French-ness. Here are some wonderful, wonderful things that I saw: