misfortune hunting

I leave Nantes in a matter of weeks. After a weekend filled with farewell activities and last or second-to-last goodbyes, it's getting a little more triste around here. But the sun is shining, flowers are still in bloom, and I haven't opened any umbrellas indoors recently (read on to understand), so it can't be all bad.

I've begun the sorting process that preludes the packing up part of moving. Ugh, what a laborious task.  As the least organized person you probably know, I dread and postpone sorting papers. I've accumulated several piles of said feuilles in the past 6 and a half months and must go about grading them by level of importance, subject, and how-likely-will-I-be-looking-at-this-again.

Sorting through the various caches I have cached around my room, I stumbled over this delightful treat: past assignments. Most likely I will not be looking at these little gems again, hence I won't be taking them with me, but I'd like to preserve the sentiment here. 

One of my first lessons at the lycée was about superstitions in American culture. As homework, I asked my students to explain some French superstitions to me. What I received the following week was a scant number of assignments written in almost incomprehensible English.  I attempted to decipher them then, but these messages are more cryptic than Nicolas Cage's career. Unable to give them grades, I put them aside for later reflection.

Another baffling decision in the life of Nic Cage.

 Although I suspect an on-line translator to be at the root of most of this fancy backwards talk, I can't help but admire my students' laziness. In the name of good-natured fun and in the spirit of being a smart ass, let's pretend that my students said exactly what they meant to say, and let's commence at making fun, shall we?

1. THE CRUEL UMBRELLA THEORY:

I used to think that opening an umbrella in the house would just bring rain. Good lord was I wrong. 

Version I: 

Open the an umbrella in the house it's the 7 year old of misfortune.

Terrifying. Is this seven-year-old delivered to you or is he lurking in your closet, waiting for the first sign of an inappropriately opening umbrella to start gnawing on your furniture? The punishment hardly seems to fit the crime. And how long does this 7 year old stick around for? Until he's eight? How much misfortune does he actually cause? The vagueness is troubling. I'd probably say Bloody Mary three times in the bathroom before trying this.

7 year-old of misfortune.

Version II:  
When we open an umbrella in my house it's not luke. 

This sounds less like a general superstition and more like an ongoing tragedy of one family's attempts at locating Luke. The disappointment after each umbrella opening must be tremendous.  However, I admire the implication of mankind's perseverance to hope. This adage was inevitably created because someone continues opening umbrellas in hopes that their long lost Luke will eventually tumble out. 

Probably the reason she mixed up the spelling of "luck"

2. KARMA'S A BEACH:

Use the crutches of somebody who really needs it can make you undego the same fate, carry crutches in turn.

I especially enjoyed this because it appealed to the barely contained nerd in me. Its cryptic advice reads like a regulation card written for an RPG game. And judging by how many new kids show up with crutches every week, I think there is some merit to the statement.

3. GREEN, THE COLOR OF FEAR:

The green color, it's the color of fraities, who would be furieus of seeing the people concerning it, and specially on friday, day of the death of the christ the cross and of the redemption, from whom they are exclused.

To be fair, I'm pretty sure by the spelling mistakes that this was not the regurgitation of an on-line translator. Still, I'm confused as to who these mysterious regulators of the color are and how/who is excluded from their wrath.

Furieus Fraity?

Or Furious Fairy?

4. THE DREADED NUMBER:

We can't be thirteen to eating because thirteen is a figure misfortune. 

Either I can't have thirteen people in my dinner parties or I can't feed thirteen-year-old children. Either way, I'm saving money.  

5. THE TRIFORCE OF DOOM:

In this student's case, they either sloppily crammed three superstitions into two sentences or they are creating one gigantic megaplex of bad luck involving ladders, black cats, and mirrors breaking. The magnitude of misfortune must increase three fold as well.  

In France, there are a lot superstition as to see a black cat crossed uner an ladder. it carries misfortune to break a mirer cause 7 years of misfortune. 

6. THE DEVIL BREAD HYPOTHESIS:

I like this one because of the background provided.  However, she gets pretty technical towards the end so I blame my incomprehension on her use of unknown baker-jargon.

To present the bread at the table attract the devil. It comes because the baker kept the bread intended fro the excecution back in front under the former regime. Besides a popular coutime wants that we made of the point of the knife a sign of the cross on it to some bread of numerous persons even not relgious make him systematically. 

I know, this was an enlightening way to spend 5 minutes of your time. But you've done a big favor to me if you have chuckled at least once or twice. My lycée students have been a constant source of motivation for the past 7 months to improve my French. Their mockery of my accent and laughter at my misused verb tenses have rung in my ears for half a year now. I know it's not very mature of me to poke fun at them, but, guess who's laughing now? Moi.

Pondering "the What ifs" in Life

The tangled web of the French teenaged mind.

I played a game this week where I presented my students with a lot of unusual situations and they had to respond at random with what they would do. It's been an enlightening look into the mind of the average French 15 year old.

Par exemple:

Q: What would you do if you saw Tony Parker? 

A: I would hit him and ask for autographe.

Obviously the only viable response.

Some of my students are real sweethearts.

What would you do if you were a movie star? I would start a charity.

If you could read minds? I would know who loves me.
If you had a time machine? I would return to my childwood. (yes, childwood)
If you could make a movie? I would make a movie for my mother.

And, my favorite:

If you could fly? I would take Sarah to the sky.

Heartwarming. And it rhymes. Unfortunately his French desire not to put an emphasis on the right syllables prevented him from realizing his extra accomplishment.

Others are slightly more fixated on consumerism. My least motivated student became my most eager participant when I presented him with an opportunity to tell me his greatest desires. I asked him to be creative.


What would you do if you were a movie star? I would buy a car.
If you had a million euros? I would buy the cars (all the cars)
If you had a time machine? I would buy a flying car.


Keep dreamin' big Samy.

I saw so many responses in 48 hours, I feel like I could employ this game as a method of psycho analysis. 

One boy is definitely an at risk conspiracy theorist.

What would you do if you could read minds? I would know my friends' secrets.
If you were invisible? I would watch them.
If you could see through walls? I would spy on Obama.  

.... Hmmmm. 

Other kids had a strange fixation on control. These little opportunists could be the next dictators-in-making. They really shone when it came to authority.

What would you do if you were a teacher? I would be strict. Bah...and I would kill the students.

If you were queen? I would have my own empire.

If you found a wallet? I would take your money... or... I would keep the identity cards. (it's nice that it was an either/or situation for him)
 
I'd say these are normal enough responses (although I hope I never lose my wallet here), but in my last class, Dillan, the class clown, offered a truly unique perspective:

What would you do if you were a teacher? I would fight my students.
If you were king? I would kill everybody. (This wasn't even his question.)
If you found a cave? I would hide...no... I would visit it. (Ok then.)
If you saw Brad Pitt? I would kiss him.  
If you met George Clooney? I would kiss him.
 
A disturbing mix to say the least. Perhaps inspiration for the next HBO villain? The serial celebrity kisser? On reporting his answers to my French counterpart, she merely rolled her eyes.

Because this was my last class of the day and I had done ten of these panels already, I decided to pretend as if this game really did have a broader use in the field of psychology. Instead of scoring answers for correct grammatical structure, I rated the students' personalities. My usually worst class (and by worst, I mean least motivated, most disruptive in the entire school. Their history teacher refused to teach them that day) became rapt with attention.

T., you're a fearless adventurer, B., you're a sneaky spy (couldn't translate conspiracy theorist), S., you're an opportunistic consumer, G., you're a polite young man (he refused to look at girls in the shower even though he could see through walls, despite the other boys' encouragement), and Dillan, dear special Dillan, you're a passionate weirdo.

They were all surprisingly pleased with my classifications and took them seriously. I was like a backwards guidance counselor for a day.

Working on the conditional tense you learn a lot about people. Hence, I hope none of my students ever rule the world.

IRELAND (for real this time)

Part II of the thrilling saga:

On to Ireland.

On the grounds of Kylemore Abby

IRELAND!!!!!!

Beautiful lovely Ireland. Being surrounded by hills and fields and forest and nature was exactly what I needed. It was a little cold but anything compared to Poland this time of year feels like spring. We were lucky to have 6 days of almost perfect sunshine/clouds mix and mild temperatures. There might have been one or two afternoons when it was rainy or misty, but we were never outside when it rained.

Timeline:

First day/night: Dublin. Dublin its self isn’t too interesting. It’s just another big city, thousands of people on the road or in the street going about their business.  Besides witnessing what I'm sure was a leprechaun ducking into a 7-11 for a hot dog around 9am in the morning, I didn't see anything too unusual worth note. I think I was really just craving nature. Maybe if I went back after a summer in the country it would hold more appeal.

Hillary along the water's edge.

Second day/night: Went to Galway.  We spent most of the afternoon strolling alongside the coast, soaking up sun, looking at shells. 

Add caption

 

Then we went to a tea parlor and drank some very delicious tea out of very pretty china and read our books. 

Guinness, Galway, and entertainment

That night we checked out the pubs. We settled in first at the pub: Garavans Ltd. Despite the chilliness of the evening, we opted to sit outside to enjoy the musical styling of this street performer. He had a big, belting voice and sang for at least a couple hours without stopping.  He had the right kind of rough voice for a rousing rendition of "Zombie." Then he requested that Hillary and I buy him a drink as payment for our hour or so of listening, so we did. By this time we had made a couple more Irish friends, Paddy and Porich, who took us on a mini tour of other good pubs in Galway. Apparently this was the RAG week, the last week before exams for university students and the biggest party week for the whole year in Galway. Good timing as always.

Third day/night: We took a bus tour of the Cliffs of Moher. Tourists were everywhere, but it was easy to lose the crowded feeling once you staked out a spot alongside the cliffs, gazed out at the waves crashing in against them, and beheld the immensity of the place. Miles of verdant green grass juxtaposed against the slate blue of the ocean and so much sky...the jagged cliffs are the perfect border between three worlds. So amazing. 

Fourth day/night:  We took a bus tour of Kylemore Abby and Conemarra.  Gorgeous, empty terrain, filled with spindly legged sheep. 

Fifth day/night: We took a bus tour of Glendalough and KilKenny. Glendalough was my favorite destination. A beautiful, moss grown forest, shaking off the morning chill, erupting in birdsong, everything dappled in morning sunlight.  In celebration I even hugged a tree. There's a picture of this but you don't get to see it. I then proceeded to frolic in the woods. There is a video of this but you don't get to see it either.

That night we went out in Dublin. We stuck to the touristy Temple Bar district and settled in at the Aulde Dubliner to  listen to another very cute male Irish singer, though with a different, sweeter voice and calmer song delivery. 

Sixth day: We ate lunch and did some shopping in Ireland. Happily we found the Irish music CDs we had been searching for our dear old Da. 

Highlights:

Driving across Ireland. Getting to see all of that countryside was amazing, comforting, and awe-inspiring all at once. 

Meeting Yolanda, a Polish woman on our bus trip to Connemara. She speaks about as much English as I speak Polish (which isn’t a whole lot).  Luckily having just been in Poland, I could say about 5 words/2 embarrassingly pronounced phrases, such as: Yes, No, Hi, Please, Thank you, You’re welcome, Cheers!, My name is….

She was really quite fun. She sort of adopted Hillary and me for the day and we had some semblances of conversation.  I think having a conversation with someone when you can’t automatically speak English is one of the most gratifying experiences. It means that you both have to be really invested in the conversation and laugh at the mishaps. I was able to glean that her daughter is studying in Dublin and Yolanda is visiting her before taking a larger tour of Ireland. She knows Russian, German, and Polish and a little bit of Latin for medical reasons (perhaps she is a nurse?). She doesn’t think me knowing French is very impressive. 

Apparently that’s not a language she holds favor with. One of the mishaps we had? The bus driver kept referring to her as "Poland" and me and Hil as "Washington." This was a bus full of 20 plus people.  When I tried to explain this to Yoland, she mistook that she was supposed to introduce herself. "YOLANDA!" She excitedly interrupted the tour guide. Crickets..

All of the Irish accents! Along with the nice Irish people! They were really all so nice and charming.  My favorite thing they said was "sorry," as they squeezed by you on the street or in a store. They say it in such a gentle, endearing way they might as well be asking you to marry them (my answer is yes!). I also like how they say "sound" where I would say "cool." And yes my Scottish roommate Gregory says "sound" and I heard it all throughout Scotland, but it just never stuck in my head until one of the Irish tour guides said it to me. Sound.

Getting my nerd on and striking up a conversation about Irish Gaelic with our newfound Galway friends in the midst of a pub crawl. Hillary was embarrassed but I was living out a dream. Real live speakers!

I drank some very delicious beer (Guinness and a Kilkenny) and ate some hardy meals, including the best fried fish I’ve ever had (in Galway) and potato and leek soup (from Kilkenny).

Downsides: 

Leaving too soon! It hurt in my chest when we got on the shuttle to the airport.

No working debit card.

The realization that creepy old men exist in Ireland too. 

I think Hillary had enough of grubby hostels. 

(corresponds to that mystery picture of the first blog of IRELAND series.) It's a Fairy Circle!

Hillary and I were supposed to spend a couple days in Paris, but after one bad credit card situation after another, we just decided to call the whole thing off and return to Nantes early. We arrived in the Charles de Gaulle airport quite late and the next train wasn’t until 6 am in the morning. We resigned ourselves to having to sleep in the airport and/or train station again, until Keri Ann, wonderful roommate that she is, called up her friend living in Paris. This amazingly nice girl let Hillary and I, two complete strangers, crash on her floor. She even made up beds for us. It wasn’t until we got back to Nantes that we learned it had been her birthday the day before. She was really so generous and hospitable! 

We ended Hillary's vacation with a couple extra days in Nantes. The weather was perfect. We went to a park one day with my roommates Keri Ann and Gregory. The next day we took a brief tour around the town itself.  

The Cathedral on a resplendent March day.

Speculoos gelatto in the shape of a rose, charming!

We ended her trip by spending the night at the Nantes airport (because we love airports so much). Then I waved goodbye to my big sister and went home to my nice own comfy bed for some sleep. 

It was a great adventure for me and Hil.  We got to spend a lot of time together, catching up and getting reacquainted (we both might admit we spent a little too much time together). I love my sister! Thanks for coming with me Hil!

to IRELAND (and beyond)

IRELAND

So, you want to know about Ireland huh? Well, I want to tell you, but you’ll have to wait, because first I’m going to tell you about the Charles de Gaulle airport, and Poland, and the Charles de Gaulle airport again. Tricked you didn’t I? heh heh.

 (Bet you want to know what this is...)

This trip took place over my "Winter Holidays" in France.  From February 27th through March 11th. Hillary came over just for the occasion and so we decided to make this a trip about our ancestral orgins. It lasted about two weeks and if you needed one way to describe the two weeks: I did a lot of walking.

A lot. I’m not just being cute when I say the soles of my shoes can speak for me. We covered a lot of ground, uneven, hard, and diversified ground. Look at my boots:

I bought these boots for this trip. Now an inch of heel is gone. I’ve actually worn through about three layers of synthetic/corkish material, making an ideal surface for skidding down rainy cement. I was reminded of this fact when I wore them again for the first time today and proceeded to skate down a stretch of sidewalk. I kept my balance and my cool during the whole 3 seconds. Whoop whoop. Boot-slidin' cement-skatin' fun.

If I chose to believe my beloved old roommates that I used to stomp around our house like a giant (you know who you are), I would blame this on myself.  Instead, I’m siding with the far likelier conclusion and blaming this on shoddy shoemanship (coupled with lots of impressive amounts of walking).

(This blog is turning less into a recounting of my adventures and more of my ongoing misadventures with gray boots.  My love of the aforementioned footwear always leaves me feeling disappointed and used. They never last. )

The trip started for Hillary a full 24 hours before me since she had to fly from Spokane to get to Nantes. When I met her at the airport she was radiant and fresh, not looking at all like the road-weary traveler who had just spent over 30 plus hours awake. Putain.

We didn’t have much time in Nantes before we rolled out to Paris to catch our plane to Krakow. However, we did spend a lot more time in the Charles de Gaulle airport than I wish.  We caught the last train into the airport (getting us there around 10pm) and stayed until the plane took off at 7 am, NINE HOURS LATER.

I was worried we’d be the only people staying in the airport and get kicked out or something, but that was completely false. Almost every chair in our wing of the airport was occupied. Some of the early birds had even staked out what little turf grass there was on the raised platforms and made camps there for the night. Lucky bastards.  At least they got to lay down. The rest of us had to try to sleep sitting up in hard airport chairs.

Home for NINE HOURS.

Not that sleeping was much of an option. Hil and I read or watched Arrested Development most of the night.  Then, a few hours into our stay we realized that we had chosen seats closest to the home of the friendly airport mouse. Before our discovery, we kept noticing people react strangely as they walked by, even shrieking “souris!!!” as they passed. Hillary doesn’t speak French and I couldn’t see anything so it just didn’t register.  Finally the mouse got a little more adventurous and starting making loops around our bench. I tried scaring it off by throwing food in different directions but it just huddled near my backpack or tried getting into my boots.  So we spent the night awake and watching that our little visitor didn’t find its way into our possessions.  

The home of the mouse. Did he roll up the tin foil? or is he still just trying to get inside?

We arrived in Poland the most tired I’ve been on a trip. Poland was freezing but we had sunny skies for four whole days. I got to re-experience a lot of the stuff I wrote about already and made it to new places as well.  I also got to partake in fine Polish cuisine again:

Delicious and cheap.

The biggest difference this time around was the night life. Short on funds and freaking exhausted from all of the walking we did in below freezing temperatures all day, Hillary and I were in bed by 9 almost every night. 

I love Mosquito Hotel.

Highlights of the trip:

Delicious and vegan friendly.

Hil and I found the most delicious vegetarian restaurant where we ate copious amounts of veggie masterpieces.  If I had one of these restaurants in Nantes I’d probably be considered a vegetarian by default. My only complaint? The same I have for all "salads" in Poland. Shredded cabbage, shredded carrots, shredded other things all scooped onto your plate in shiny globs. Do me a favor Europe, stop deconstructing your vegetables and calling it "fancy." It grosses me out.

 We visited the medieval museum under the market square. Hundreds of years of garbage and mud has raised the ground of the original market square by two meters. Below the cobble stones we looked at the garbage that only five hundred years could make so truly fascinating: pointy shoes, crumbling tools, broken jewelry, etc. And the best part? Hillary and I were for no apparent reason, let inside for free. The woman at the counter charged everyone before us. Then to us she simply said, “For you today it’s free,” and we were kindly ushered inside. Fantastic, I’ll take it. 

Another highlight: running into French tourists in stalls and understanding exactly what they were saying. They thought they were being so sneaky in French.  “Look at this hat?” “Oh, so stylish.”  “Margot looks funny.”  Etc, etc. Looks like I'm actually the sneakier one. Operation-become-sneakier continues successfully.

Another highlight: being mistaken for natives or people who spoke Polish. Our first day walking around we were approached by a Polish girl asking for directions (I think). We responded, “Sorry, we only speak English!” and she looked embarrassed, said her goodbyes, and hurried off. This happened a couple other times in Krakow. 

Can you spot me or Hillary in this crowd of Polish people? Me either. Sneaky aren't we?

We went to Kościuszko mound just outside of Krakow. This was a cool monument, with steep winding paths carved up the face of a grassy man-made hill. When we reached the top we were given a spectacular view of Krakow and the surrounding countryside and forests. We were also barraged by a very strong wind.

However, what was most memorable on this particular journey was that I lost my newly bought hat (a necessary purchase because of the freezing weather!).  We spent an extra hour or so retracing our steps and walking up and down the road and paths (precarious with ice traps). I eyed nuns suspiciously as they walked past as they were the main pedestrians on the road. Luckily, we found the hat around the base of the mound. Then, I found my style. Check out that picture.

Stylin' in my winter accessories

Downsides of the trip:

IT WAS COLD!

We left way too soon. We didn’t have nearly enough time, just like the last time. 

My French debit card became locked (you can only enter 3 false pins over the lifetime of your card). This would prove problematic for the rest of our trip in Europe. 

Read my next blog to see just how problematic that debit card problem becomes.