Well, I guess I'm really living in Blois now.
What, Erin? you may be wondering. Haven't you been living in Blois for the past month?
The simple answer to that is, yes, of course. (Don't worry, loved ones, I haven't been homeless or deceptive about my true whereabouts.) But a more complex answer accounts for the fact that there's a difference between being a tourist and being an inhabitant. And judging by my lack of blog posts over the past ten days, I'd say I've crossed that barrier and become a real resident here in France. In other words, I have established a rhythm and a social life. (I have also found a site where I can access all my favorite TV shows and have been enjoying that immensely much to my shame, but for the purposes of this blog, we'll just say that's part of my rhythm in Blois, as not watching TV would feel more touristy than inhabitant-y. I mean, girl's gotta watch her shows sometimes, even if girl's in France.)
So, here's what you've missed:
School
I work at two different schools. I go to École Buhler, located on the other side of the bridge (about a 12-minute walk from my apartment), on Mondays and Tuesdays. I have Wednesdays off, and then go to École Foch, about a 20-minute walk, on Thursdays and Fridays. The schools are very different, and I will regale you with an intense discussion of their characters in another post. Essentially, I spend the day teaching the same lesson over and over again, modified according to age-level (ages range from five to twelve years old), in 45-minute segments with large breaks built in for recess and lunch. For lunch, I have a 3-hour break, which I fill by sitting awkwardly alone in the lunch room before being joined by my rapid-French-speaking colleagues. Then I try my best to follow their fast-paced meandering conversations about their students, French educational bureaucracy, family life, and political goings-on before being abandoned once again while they all go take their smoke break. Alone, I prepare myself for my next lessons and read a bit. I avoid crossing the courtyard where the kids are as they have taken a liking to attacking me with hugs and "HEL-LOH!"s whenever I come into sight.
The kids tend to be rowdy in class, so I've started really laying down the law this week. This includes speaking harshly to them in rapid French, giving them my pissed-off scary face, and calmly asking them to describe what proper behavior in English class should be. Usually, these tactics work well. I have to establish my authority or be walked-over for the next six months.
Brazilian BBQ
I went to a barbeque thrown by the Brazilians last Saturday. They crammed about thirty people, mostly men, into an apartment about four times the size of my room. Yes, it's a big room, but let's remember that my miniscule apartment barely holds four people comfortably, so really it was pretty crowded. We were a multi-cultural group, hailing from France, Brazil, Colombia, and even the Czech Republic. Among us, we spoke six or so different languages. I was the only American and native English-speaker and spent most of the night switching between French and English with a variety of young men who came to perch beside me before going to grab another beer or succulently-grilled meat chunk. I was recovering from a head cold, so I didn't partake in much, but it was fun nonetheless.
Lunch with Charly and Edwige
Charly and Edwige, my brief hosts, invited me over for lunch on Thursday. Charly is the director of École Foch, so we walked over together after the bell rang, picking up a baguette and Charly's cigarettes on the way. Edwige went all out with a whole roasted chicken and spaghetti squash, fresh goat cheese, and fruit from their garden. Delicious! They are planning to paint their living room over the vacation, so may go over to help with that project.
Tutoring
Other fun social events include tutoring sessions with François, our tall, blond, bearded English tutee. He is super nice and speaks English very well. He comes to my room about twice a week for "English lessons," really just two-hour-long conversations in English. Harriet and Amy usually join us, though I think we overwhelm him with our multitude of accents (Harriet has the classic, "posh" British accent that you hear in Pride and Prejudice; Amy has the Liverpool northern accent--sounds like a British/Scottish twist on a Southern Appalachian accent; I have my mutt-like American accent). On Thursday, we moved our English conversation to a pizzeria off the Place Louis XII and had a great dinner out.
Drinks
On Friday night, Carlos the guitar player asked us out for drinks. All his Brazilian friends had already left on vacation and he was all alone. Carlos's native language is Portuguese but he can speak French and English. He is more comfortable talking about some things in French and others in English, so we pieced together our conversation by switching languages often.
The Halloween Party
Saturday night, we babysat for Nancy's grandchildren in a small village near Vendôme (about 40 minutes north of Blois). Nancy's second daughter just married an American, and due to the French and American red tape they had to saw through to marry, they were unable to hold a wedding reception. So, they decided instead to throw a massive American/French Halloween party in honor of their nuptials. Nancy asked us, her three assistants, to babysit for her grandchildren so the adults could party late into the night, but really we just got to be guests at the coolest Halloween party ever.
They rented what is called a "cave" (pronounced "kahv"), a system of interlocking caves built into the rock of the soft hills of the Loire valley that used to serve as dwellings for the people of this region hundreds of years ago. Now they're used as wine cellars, party halls, storage, and, in some cases, honest-to-goodness, state-of-the-art homes (think hobbit holes). This particular cave must have housed some bored soldiers in the Second World War; they decorated the walls of what is now the bar with a tribute to sex through the ages--bawdy images of knights, monks, gentleman, and soldiers molesting their curvy conquests, all dated 1945. The groom's mom brought two suitcases-worth of decorations and candy from America. They swathed the uneven stone walls of the cave with cobwebs and plastic spiders, placed Jack-O-Lanterns in all the crevices, and covered the tables with orange and black table cloths and Halloween candy.
Everyone came in costumes: Nancy was a mime, the bride and groom were the protagonists from Kill Bill, Nancy's husband was a Middle Eastern man bringing the couple a traditional wedding rug as a present. There were a lot of witches, a mummy, a geisha, a biker chick, a pirate; even the dog was dressed up as a clown. Nancy and her husband have converted the shop under their house into a functional theater, and Nancy invited us to dig around the costume closet for costumes to wear. Harriet was a flapper girl, Amy an adorable sailor, and I was the unsinkable Molly Brown per Harriet's suggestion, complete with evening gown, coat, and flowered hat.
Guests brought food to share, but the owner of the cave also roasted four legs of lamb over an open fire pit for the occasion. After the meal, they served a traditional French wedding cake made of a stack of choux pastry balls filled with chocolate cream and drizzled in caramel syrup. Nancy and her daughter performed a skit, and the groom (very American, very bro) played his guitar and sang. Dancing to American rap music closed out our evening, as we had to leave to put the kids to bed. The party continued well past 3am, or so we were told in the haze of the next morning over breakfast.
Amy cared for Nancy's eldest daughter's baby, while Harriet and I tucked in her step son's two little girls, aged four and nine, I believe. We stayed in Nancy's house, one of the oldest in the village. The central tower that acts as the staircase is the town's old watch tower, dating from the 12th century. It has a drawbridge and everything. The rest of the house is more recent, ranging from the 14th to the 17th century (though let's be real--that's still freakin' old). It was really cold and drafty, though not creepy. (Nancy assured us there were no spirits present.) We read the girls a story in French and tucked them in, then had a whispered sleepover in the room next door. The next morning, the girls woke up early and upset, so we welcomed them for a snuggle and more book reading in our bed until the rest of the house woke up. A great adventure!
Vacation
In case you hadn't picked up the subtle clues, it is vacation time in France. November 1st, All Saints Day (or Toussaint, as it is called here), is a major holiday here where families come together to remember loved ones that have passed away. School is out for two weeks around this holiday, so I am officially on my first paid vacation. Harriet and Amy are headed home to England, and I will be setting off on Halloween to meet up with my old high school friend, Betsy, who is an assistant in a small town near Nantes. Betsy also has a blog, which you can read here: http://briocheberets.blogspot.fr/
We will be exploring Betsy's area on the western coast of France, then heading up to Brittany, my old stomping grounds, for a quick peak at Rennes and three days' relaxing in St. Malo. Then she's coming back to Blois with me for a couple of days which we'll use to explore my area.
I will not be posting during the vacation, or at least not while I'm traveling, thus the extremely long post (thank you for reading if you've made it this far--that's true dedication!). So, Happy Halloween and you'll be hearing about my vacation adventures soon!
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