Here to stay

As I made my way to La Rochelle on Tuesday I felt like a bumbling idiot. Trying to board a moving escalator with two large suitcases was nearly life threatening. I tried many fruitless maneuvers including putting one suitcase on the track first to fare on it's own, and then jumping on behind it with the other suitcase in tow. Of course the first suitcase tips over and almost takes out the man in front of me. I was so out of sorts it was laughable, but he didn't seem to think it was funny. As a sleepless foreigner with absolutely no grace, the French seemed far too smooth, efficient and quiet.

When I finally got on my train to Poitiers (unabashedly following a couple with Harley-Davidson Poitiers t-shirts), I could not find my seat or a place to put my luggage. This made everyone seem even quieter. My exhausted insecurity roared like a car alarm. These things happen, I suppose, and I eventually sat down and took deep breaths as the train whirred [quietly] over the tracks and the green countryside passed by.

I then realized that though I was a little stressed I was in no way homesick or regretful. I have never had the feeling of choosing to leave a place I love to go far away to live on my own. This should have happened when I started college but Oregon is Oregon. It should also be a bit scary, not having the choice of driving 4 hours down the I-5 to visit home or being able to flirt with the idea of transferring.

Instead, I have found great comfort in the fact that I will be here for a long time. There is no valid question of whether not this arrangement will work out or not; I must make it work out. This is liberating in a way, as I don't have to pass judgment, figure everything out immediately, or closely monitor my progress. I am here, and I am here to stay. This might seem stifling to some, but emotionally it reassures me, as if this thick block of time were some kind of physical support.

If you read my first blog entry, however, you probably picked up on the fact that this support isn't extremely necessary, as I have walked into a truly amiable situation. Katia and I are still [I would hope] getting along well, and I think I will be able to rent my room long term (yay for no apartment hunting, hefty deposit or a potentially long trek to downtown). Yesterday afternoon I visited Josue Valin, the high school where I will work for the majority of the week, starting Tuesday. I met Isa, the woman who I've been in contact with this summer. She is extremely welcoming and introduced me to the school and the other teachers, who all seem very friendly (sorry that's all I've got so far).

Isabelle suggested that I go to Collége Beauregard, the middle school where I will teach at 3 hours a week, today to "present myself." I wouldn't have guessed, but is an uncomfortable idea to an American to just show up without notice. I asked if I should call or email first to know what time I should go and they said no, why would I do that? It is far better just to drop by.

And of course they were right. Everyone at Beauregard was expecting me.

On my trek back from Beaurgard I was at least able to get some pretty pics (the story of Katia's bike falling apart as I wove through the narrow streets of Centre Ville is another, kind of boring story).

I made it!

The language assistants' handbook that I received two months ago says that the weeks before you leave for France and those in which you arrive will be "challenging, but wonderful." However, perhaps because I was not very responsible about realizing what going to France for a whole year would feel like, I wouldn't describe the past few weeks before my departure as particularly challenging. In fact, they were exactly the opposite. I experienced two weeks of being completely unemployed and blissfully without obligations in Portland, which chose to give me a whole week of glorious sunshine so I would remember it fondly. It worked of course. It seems that this summer, I've been able to have my cake and eat it too. Lots of cake.

The photos of us laughing, eating, drinking and dancing could go on forever. Also! We were once in Grants Pass.

After two weeks of playing, eating out far too much and tying up loose ends, it was time. I didn't get around to mentally preparing at all [how do you do that anyways??], but my parents came up, and it felt more real. On my last morning we went to Jam where I ate blueberrychaioatmeal pancakes and was made fun of by the waiter (this always happens to me there...I think because I get stupid giddy over those damn pancakes), and it rained hard and I kissed Trevor goodbye and gave him my rainpants. XOXO Portland.

I usually like flying for the jitters of going someplace far away, especially when I travel alone, but this was just a very long, exhausting journey from plane to plane to station to train. I was rather zombie-like and speaking French was a bit of a nightmare. This is where my experience began to correspond with the handbook. It was challenging. More challenging than I had expected.

For some reason in Mexico I was fine speaking terrible, broken, cavewoman Spanish, and everyone seemed perfectly content with it. Here, I unintentionally hold myself to a higher standard and blush at my hesitations and constant need for repetition. I am living for the time with Katia, a teacher of French lit. at my highschool, and her three children. None of them speak English confidently, though Katia tried until I assured her that I would eventually get better at French if we kept struggling to communicate. It is so bizarre only understanding 50% of what she says, especially as she has been my guide these first days. I usually understand the gist of things and we get along great despite the blank nods I give her so often.

It is the details that are difficult. At lunch yesterday 7-year-old Annette became upset and cried and pouted and I couldn't figure out why even though Katia told me. When Katia placated her by covering up her food with mashed potatoes, I decided she was in tears because she didn't like fish. On my first night here, the kids' dad came to the door and they all yelled "Papa!" and leaped from the dinner table. Katia gave me a pained and vacant look. She explained that he had left her last year. She said "suddenly" in both French and English, and said it was hard for the children. All I could say was I am sorry and that it must be very hard, but I wanted to say much more and understand more of what she was saying.

The house looks unassuming from the outside. Number 4, Rue Normandin

For some strange reason, Katia seems confident that I do understand most of what she says and seems to enjoy talking with me. She asked me to take Annette to school this morning, after she left for work. She repeated the time a couple of times, and I knew she said 8:30-8:45. After she left, though, Ana sat on the stairs outside my room and sniffled a bit and paced around. She walked up to my open bedroom door, but not come in or let me see her. When I came out she would run away, and when I asked her if she wanted to play a game or read to me she claimed to not understand me, and just looked at the floor. I think she was just scared that I didn't know what time we need to leave.

Eventually we left, ten minutes early, and immediately she was happy. She began to talk to me and understand what I said to her. We got to school early of course, and we sat on the steps and she made herself a mustache with her ponytail and giggled a lot and I asked her a lot of simple questions. French children are adorable, partly because they all pull along rolley backpacks and clank them carelessly up the stairs like they are incorrigible puppies.

Two important things: we have a beautiful garden and my room is really cute with a lofted bed. An assistant I met last night described it as a tree-fort bed (she has one too). And see the big polka dots on the walls? Looks like a target ad.

I know I haven't described it at all yet, but La Rochelle is really, really lovely. More soon once I take some pictures!