A clatch of boffins

It's officially been a week here living in the tenth arrondissement. Turns out the apartment, which Jacob and I refer fondly to as 'The Servant Quarter's', remains despairingly chilly and damp throughout the entire day, despite the few rays that are caught in the courtyard. Trouble is we're the ground floor out of about five stories, so I suppose there is enough time for all the warmth to escape before it manages to tease us in the dungeon.

Okay. It's not as terrible as I describe it; we do have running, hot water, privacy, and a mini-fridge. If anyone has good receipes for microwave or hot plate cooking, we'd be much obliged. :) The ambiance of living in 'The Servant Quarter's' is exaggerated by grocery shopping and living in Paris on a rather tight budget. A few days ago, we calculated that it's plausible to eat a balanced meal for 1,25euros, provided one shops wisely at the local supermarché. We did manage to spring for the best strawberries I've eaten in years and my favorite: a bottle of cidre (carbonated apple juice, 2% alcohol). A whole bottle only costs a euro!

Last Tuesday, I met with my supervisor on Marne-la-vallee's campus. Madame Alamichel was extremely helpful. Everyone knew about my visa mishap with the ANAEM and offered their support in catching me up. It's comforting to know that I have a small support-base of French English teachers, but the bureaucratic hoops continue to line up.

Though classes start on Monday (I only have classes Tuesday and Wednesday, lucky me), I still haven't received a copy of my contract, nor an employee identification card from the university. This poses me several problems: one must prove (with a copy of one's contract) that you have a job in order to open a bank account, receive my carte de sejour (an extension of my visa which makes me legal in France), get a metro pass to go to work in the first place, and sign up for health insurance.

BUT, this seems to be nothing new to the French. They expect delays, long-lines, yet seem to have an surprising amount of faith that things will (eventually) get done. And to my utter amazement, they do. For those who know me well, you know I color code my classes, make constant 'To Do' lists, fight against procrastination, and may be generally O.C.D. about various things. This is not French, nor does this mindset function well in a French system.

I will have an estimated 100-150 students total amongst seven classes this semester. I've been told there is no attendance list for any of them, only rough estimates. Students may come and go as they please. Many (according to les anglicistes, the other English teachers as they like to be called) will attend the first two or three weeks, then decide they don't want to be in class, drop out, and perhaps show up for the final, which I am obliged to administer to them. In France, everyone has a right to a test. Anyone who shows up to my finals must be given a test and be graded, even if they never attended a single class. In an odd way, this makes me feel less nervous about my first experience teaching because myself and the students are possibly on par as far as how prepared we may be for the semester. The figure has also been tossed about that I shouldn't be surprised if 70% of my students fail their first semester. Seems like a disheartening figure, but the French see it as a way to weed out the bad students. Public universities in France are inexpensive and basically open to all, so everyone goes after high-school though they won't end up staying for the 3-4 years to get their license (bachelor's).

So, with what little time I have to impress some education, English and inspiration on these students I hope to use wisely. There are minimal guidelines for classes. Just general themes to follow to make the students speak English and expand vocabulary. I'd like to incorporate the American Presidential Race in my classes, but I'm not sure how I will work it into the syllabus.

After a week in 'The Servant Quarter's', Jacob and I are going a wee stir crazy, but I try to avoid it by reading outside by the canal and hunting down local flea markets. If you are keeping up on reading this, congrats on coming this far. I promise to post a tour soon of 'The Servant Quarter's'.

Fourth Time's a Charm

The much anticipated trek to Paris finally began last Thursday morning at the Omaha Amtrak station. The California Zephyr was three hours late due to railroad repairs, but no one complained much as the delay allowed more time to spend with Mom and Dad. Over Donut Stop pasteries, Mom conferred wise advice to me: "This teaching experience may not go well and I want you to not discount teaching in the future because of this single experience."

9 a.m. approached and we walked down the platform together. I didn't cry until I actually had to get on the train and watch Mom and Dad walk away into the arriving eastern sun.

This is the fourth time my parents have sent me abroad and it seems the goodbyes get a little bit easier each time.

The Zephyr took 9 hours to reach Union Station in Downtown Chicago. Jacob and I opted for Amtrak because planes are costly and buses are uncomfortable, to say the least. Just East of the mighty Mississippi, massive flooding from over a month ago turned farmlands into a type of everglade. Houses had been carried right off their foundations by the current. We were told by a fellow Amtrak'er that parts of the railroad had been washed clean away by the storms.

Once we arrived to Union Station, we navigated the Chicago Transit Authority system to Logan Square. Allen and Stacy fed us amazing delivery Chinese and housed us on their couches for the night. To my delight, I got to sleep on the couch from Goodwill which Allen and I had bought together for the Pagoda as a Christmas present to each other.

The following day, Jacob and I headed downtown to claim our visas and marvel Chicago's architecture. Jacob received his student visa in the morning, having encountered no problems. However, my appointment was scheduled for 3:30 p.m. and our flight from O'Hare was to depart at 6:27 p.m. We couldn't afford to change our tickets, so we devised a "Get from Downtown Chicago to O'Hare Incredibly Fast" Plan.

I went to the French Consulate Downtown for my appointment while Allen and Jacob got the luggage from the apartment and hauled it down to Logan Square Station. The woman at the Consulate told me to return at 4:30 p.m. to pick up my completed work visa. I paced around the lobby, called Jacob to give him last minute details in case he left for the airport without me. At 4:15, I went back up to the 37th floor, graciously thanked the woman for having it done early, then made a mad dash for the Blue Line at Clark/Lake. I was on the phone with Allen most of this time, giving him the play by play. He directed me to get into the last car and to call when I was a stop away from Logan Square.

At Logan Square, the train doors slid open, Jacob dashed in with his luggage and I leaned out to grab mine from Allen, give him a hug, and pass off my CTA card. The doors closed, it was 4:40 p.m. and I began laughing due to the simultaneous stress and relief. So, here's a big THANKS to Allen for helping us out and taking us to the most delicious vegan restaurant in Boys Town. I hope you enjoyed those chocolate chip cookies.