Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot?

Happy New Year!

It's that time of year again--the end of it! 

Though all of the hullabaloo over the end of the world about a week ago was all for naught, we can turn the pages of our calendars, or put up new ones, to celebrate the turning of Earth on its axis yet again. For those of us using the Gregorian calendar (i.e. most of us in the Western world) it will shortly become 2013! 

Wow...it seems like yesterday it was 2012! And it was. Sometimes I wake up thinking it's still 2008. Is there such a disease as understanding the movement of time but not internalizing it? If there is, I might have it. I don't know where my time goes. I don't know if it hides from me until it runs out and gives up, or if I don't give it enough incentive to stick around...maybe I just waste it, and Time has decided to bank on better options.

I am a terrible procrastinator, something those nearest and dearest to me have known for a long time. I never send birthday cards on time. My applications, essays, work assignments, etc., sit undone until the eleventh hour. I arrive "fashionably late" to basically every event I'm invited to. I think they will prove some day soon that procrastination is genetic, since my dad and sister are worse than I am, and despite hundreds upon thousands of times they could change, they just don't--and neither do I. It's become so bad that anyone who knows us well enough always gives us invitations for 30 minutes ahead of schedule, assuming we'll be 30 minutes late, i.e. on time.

Here in the South of France, it's not a big deal to be late. In the scheme of things, the French are often called schizo-chronic, a crazy and unpredictable time schedule somewhere between poly-chronic time managers and mono-chronic time managers. In Paris, things are more fast-paced and the schedules seem to run more toward the Germanic/Britannic time schedule (mono-chronic) but in the south, like Marseilles, or here in La Ciotat, things are much more laid back and Mediterranean (poly-chronic). Just about everything can wait until tomorrow. Feathers aren't ruffled by much. 

It's nice in a way...like all the stress I cause by being late in a mono-chronic culture really isn't worth it. I can rip up my schedule and have another cup of coffee before I hit the road, because everyone else--socially and professionally--is going to be "fashionably late" like me! It's a good feeling.

Bonne Année à tous!

Christmastime, Christmastime is Here Again!

Merry Christmas! I know this is late, but my Christmas was pretty packed. 

After moping for the better part of a a couple of days thinking I'd have to spend it alone, I got two last-minute invitations to Christmas dinner--one Christmas Eve in Marseilles, the other Christmas Day in La Ciotat. Neither dinner was "traditional" in the strict sense, but then again nowadays, who does that? "Traditional" is sort of code for "boring" in my opinion. Not always, but often enough. 

I tagged along to an invite from my friend Marianne on Christmas Eve. She is actually Jewish, so the holiday doesn't mean much to her, but we were celebrating with Frenchies. We had Thai and tons of desserts--a bûche de noël among others. It was a lot of fun!

On Christmas Day, I went to the house of one of my fellow teachers, Valérie. who had her family over for dinner. It was delightful, though she said her Christmas dinner wasn't exactly "traditional" either. She made risotto and roast beef, which is apparently "too Italian" to be French, though we did have a lovely salad and cheese selection along with lots of desserts. She made a fruitcake for the first time. I thought it turned out well.

Here are some "fesitve" pictures of La Ciotat! They put up fish as their town Christmas decorations near the port...I'm guessing in an attempt to cash in on the "traditional fishing village" motif? If Cassis can do it, so can they, after all!

Joyeuses Fêtes!

Pétanque'd

One of La Ciotat's many claims to fame is the invention of a well-known game in Southern France: pétanque. This is the game you see old men playing a lot in French films and other depictions rife with cliche. It's played with a little ball (cochonnet) made of wood and larger balls made of metal. The point is sort of like a larger, no-stick-required version of billiards: you throw a big ball and try to make it get as close to the little ball as possible without touching it or moving it. You are, however, allowed to knock your opponent's ball farther away from the little ball. It is also called "boules" in English-speaking areas (namely England) which is a misnomer of the balls (boules) for the game itself (pétanque). 

In 1907, native son of La Ciotat, Jules Lenoir, invented the game, which went on to become famous throughout France and certain other regions where French has had an influence. The first recorded version of  pétanque is in Ancient Rome, where they played what is now known as bocce--still popular in Italy! This version, anglicized, is known as bocci ball in the United States, and the version I remember most distinctly from my childhood. 

In addition to the Italian bocce, there is a similar, older French game called jeu provençal where you take running start to throwing your big ball--fundamentally different from pétanque, where both feet must be firmly planted when throwing. The name of the game is derived from this stance, in fact. The field where one plays pétanque is called a terrain. The first person or team to score 13 points is the winner. Interestingly, the area around La Ciotat is the 13th department of France, known also as the Bouches-du-Rhône. The larger region is Provence-Alpes-Côtes d'Azur. 

Elle nous enterrera tous

A couple of weeks ago, one of my colleagues invited me to a play in La Ciotat. Ten euros and a sore butt later, I report:

It was the first time I've been to the theater since coming to France, and it was an amateur production--otherwise known as community theater--of a horror/comedy (?) called Elle nous eterrera tous. The play is about mistaken identity, murder, etc. It reminded me a lot of Arsenic and Old Lace, which I've seen probably about a dozen times. There's a 1944 film starring Cary Grant, which is fabulous. Also, my cousin was in a production when we were in high school. He's rather tall, so he played the imposing, Boris Karloff-type character.

This play, though similar, is about a woman who runs a flower shop in a small town in Provence. Her husband has left her years ago to raise three children alone. Then, one day a mysterious man shows up at their door. The children are grown, and the one boy, Abel, murders his father in a fit of rage, only to find out that his father had a twin brother--and his own brother Antoine, thought he did away with their dead-beat dad years ago in Italy!

It turns out none of this really matters. There are some slapstick moments (a private eye gets beaned in the head) and some poignant moments. Ultimately, it was a fun little romp, and very, very local. The friend I went with is from Brittany (northwestern France), and we both ended up having a hard time understanding certain passages. At least the play was not in Occitain (technically a different language, romance, in between French and Spanish)! That has been known to happen in these parts. Though, the language is an endangered one, unfortunately; people don't speak it at home as much as they used to, preferring French because it's more practical.

In sum, I don't know that I will go to another community theater production in La Ciotat, but never say never!

Calanques--Mugel

Here are--as promised--some photos of the other calanques near Parc Mugel in La Ciotat. There is a small botanical garden and a regional park, where the calanques are, as well as a public beach. It's way too cold to be swimming now that the Mistral has come to stay, but these photos were taken a couple of weeks ago, when the weather was still 15C, or around 60F. You can explore the trails, the park or just have a picnic! It's quite beautiful, even at this time of year, since the sun is out most days in Provence, and the sky is a deep blue that goes on forever.

It kills me how people around here are bundled up as if they're leading excursion to Siberia when the temperature hasn't even hit the freezing point (it's about 5C/40F during the day), though I've been known to complain myself...you get used to a warm climate veeeeery quickly, it seems! As mentioned, the wind is what really does you in: wind chill makes all the difference, and I'd wager that drops the "feels like" temp a good ten degress--all the way down to below freezing! Imagine!

Anyway, enjoy the pictures:

Lessons Learned?

The kids have been showing up regularly the past two weeks -- wahoo! Though it is only Tuesday...I have faith they'll be good from now on. There have been stragglers and no-shows, but not entire groups like before: me sitting in an empty room wondering why I got out of bed that morning to come sit in an empty room for three hours. Progress!

At the middle school, I'm in the classroom with the teacher, so that is virtually no problem. I've had to prepare more for these lessons, simplifying mostly, and switching topics every ten minutes (as opposed to every fifteen) for the lower level of the students. Teaching, it occurs to me, is sort of like trying to hit the sweet spot between what the students actually know and the magical test-level knowledge they are expected to acquire. It's like one of those crazy Venn diagrams used by stock traders.

I haven't been preparing much at the high school, since I only see each group once every four weeks. In fact, I've only done two lessons so far: the Introduction and Stereotypes. Interspersed with those, I've done itty bitty grammar lessons, like the use of adverbs (always, often, sometimes, rarely, never) showing habitual action, and past tense (and goodness, they could use the practice). I generally ask them how their weekend was.

This is all A2 level, so nothing ridiculously hard. Unfortunately, I'm finding myself using A LOT more French in class here than I used German in class while I was in Austria. Technically, we're supposed to be doing immersion with them, but if I'm talking slowly (like a snail) and repeating myself three or four times, I'm sorry--switching over! It's not like I can get in trouble. I have the kids in small groups, so there's no teacher, and who's going to rat me out? The kids? HA! I can't get fired anyway, so it's a moot point. I can basically do whatever I like, and what I like is to help them. It's really only a word here or there that I translate, either from a word I've already said in English, or a word they're searching for. If they ask me and not their friend, all the better. Because you know they'll chatter away with the friend about something completely unrelated, but I'll steer the topic back.

The one thing that has made me reconsider using French in the classroom at all is the other day when we did stereotypes. It was a group I'd already had (stereotypes is my lesson #2 in the arsenal) and we were talking about baguettes versus "American" bread, i.e. sliced bread. I tried to explain it six differed ways, but they didn't get it. "What don't you get?" I asked.

"Slice. What is 'slice'?"

"Slice is tranche in English."

"What?"

"Tranche"

Ensue torrent of giggles. Apparently I pronounced it wrong.

May I, in my defense, state that I have a cold? Nevertheless, I think their punishment will be TOTAL immersion from now on.

La Politesse

It's funny how you get used to certain things abroad, like saying "bonjour" to everyone--not like Belle in Beauty and the Beast but when you enter a shop, a bank, the post office, laundromat, or a common room (for example, the teacher's room at school), you are expected to greet everyone. If you know them, you give them a bise or a peck on the cheek.  You only have to say "bonjour" or bise once a day per person. So, if you see someone at work at 10:00 and again at 2:00, you can say "salut" (the equivalent of "hi") or "coucou" (the equivalent of "hey there" ) but do not say "bonjour" which is only for the first time you see that person that day.

Where I grew up, we don't really say "hello" to everyone in a public setting. At work, yes, because you want to be seen as polite, but probably not to people you don't directly work with, at definitely not at the post office. Since to greet is to be polite in Austria as well as in France, I've gotten a few funny looks this summer when I've had errands to run--the workers stocking at Big Lots probably appreciated a little kindness, at least! This also meant that I was prepared already when I came to France. 

In Green Bay, it's decidedly small town to say "hello" to complete strangers, unless you have a point to make, or a question. Then, you get their attention, say your peace, and leave them alone. If you don't, others might take it as a sign that you've just escaped from the funny farm... You just don't say "hello" for the sake of saying it. But, if you don't say "bonjour" in France, it's considered rude.

A couple of days ago, I caught myself doing that--falling into the French way of thinking--at the laundromat. I don't have a washing machine, and normally I go every two weeks (when I run out of underwear). It's expensive, but so is everything else in France. I recently discovered mold in my apartment, so I hauled more than normal--pain in the ass--but I do not want to find mold in scary places like my bed...

Story: I'm waiting for my load to finish, and these three girls in their early 20s come in. They had taken up all of the 5 euro 30 minute washers (I had to shove my stuff in one of the mega-load 18kg 10 euro washers) and then--then!--they didn't even say "bonjour" to me! 

I immediately thought, "Gee, those girls are rude!" And then they started talking to each other. In English. As far as being able to place their origins, I'd say from their accents they were from New Zealand, but I'm no expert. They were definitely rude by French standards, but I can forgive. They might not have been rude  by New Zealand standards.

I wonder what else about my perception has changed from living abroad. Am I becoming more French as the months go by? Hard to tell.