Les bons, les mals, et les français!

Sorry again for the delay. Things are crazy. In good and bad ways. The camera is still out of juice, but I have a phone now that can take pictures. The bad thing about that is that I don't yet know how to get the photos from my phone to my computer. So, in lieu of that, I've made a list good and bad things about Nancy that I've come across.

The Good:
- French bread
- French cheese
- French wine
- Having my own apartment, with a bed (more on that later)
- Teaching (having a blast doing that)
- French students (so smart)
- My anglophone co-workers
- French people (individually)
- I have a French cellular telephone

The Bad:
- University bureaucracy
- Waiting two weeks for a copy card
- My French (seriously, it's pretty bad)
- Not getting paid until Wednesday
- Lack of direction from some of my French professors
- I don't have internet in my apartment yet

The last one is why I haven't been posting as often as I'd like. Hopefully, soon I'll be able to upload my phone photos and show you some cool things. I got to see the Musée de Beaux Arts the night before it closed for a year-long renovation. I will have apartment photos coming soon as well. So stay tuned out there.

Quel délai!

Apologies for the delay in posting. There are two reasons for that. One: things have been getting quite busy around here with school gearing up and whatnot. Two: my camera has run out of battery power and the charger is conveniently located in my bedroom in Indiana. So, I will throw up the last pictures I have for the moment to get everyone caught up at least a little bit on my life.  

About a week ago, all of us lecteurs/lectrices got together at a pub near Place Stan to get to know one another. Good folks, all of them. There's three of us from Ball State, another well-traveled American, a guy from Ireland, a guy from Wales (I think, I haven't really gotten to know him), and three Brits. 

 Sophie was completely unprepared for my candid shot.

I, however, was completely ready for my "candid" shot.

The next evening, Lauren and I and a couple of her friends from Caen caught the light show at Place Stan. It was incredible. I'm sorry that the pictures might not do it justice, but as far as a multimedia production, I was completely blown away.

  

 That is Stan.  

On Thursday, Lauren and I and her friends visited one of her friends' friends (did you get that) who owned a restaurant in a village called Bruyères. It's in the Vosges Mountains. Afterward, he took us on a little bit of a tour of the mountains.

Lauren's friend Hui displaying the wonderful restaurant.

 The first rabbit I'd ever eaten. It smelled so good, I couldn't wait

and ate some BEFORE I took a picture.

 Hiking on a small trail in the Vosges. 

 Basically a sea of rocks in the middle of the forest. No one knows how 

or why they're there. I'm going to go ahead and guess "magic."

 One of the many gorgeous overlooks in the Vosges.

At the summit. Very windy, and the temperature got down to

9* Celsius.  Quite refreshing for a Texan used to triple digit heat.

A very pretty glacial lake in the Vosges.

 Lauren and I trying to stay warm. I think these facial 

expressions sum up how we feel about the other one, no?

 Back at the restaurant, enjoying a few glasses of Champagne.

That takes us up to Thursday. My camera lost juice at the end of that day, so there might not be many pictures until I can come up with a solution. I will fill you in on the past weekend in a later post, possibly later today. But I have some business to take care of right now, so à bientôt!

Les anniversaires sont très amusantes!

Just a fun anecdote from my last 48 hours with the family before I update you on all things français. My mom had made fajitas for my “last supper” with the family. [Side note: they were delicious. You still got it, Mom.] Since this was my “last supper,” I thought that it would be fitting for me to say, ad nauseum, “One of you will betray me.” My mom and brother couldn't help but by responding immediately: “Too late.”

Back to France: if you didn't already know, my friend Lauren from Ball State is also a lecteur/lectrice at Nancy 2 for this school year. She was gracious enough to allow me to temporarily stay with her until I found my own accommodations in the city. [End expository introduction.]

Lauren's birthday was Friday, so if you see here around (you know, in France), make sure to wish her a happy birthday. Even though it's past Friday by now. I will be wishing her a happy birthday once a day for her next 365 days, so maybe you can too. I'm sure she'd love all of the attention. Anyways, being the crafty kitcheneer that she is, she made cupcakes for the occasion, as well as a wonderful stir-fry with rice noodle dish.

  

 Two things, she has a face, and she is not always in the kitchen. It's just been 

a coincidence that all my pictures of her to this point are of her cooking.

The most important ingredient in French cooking? Wine. And it's not 

because you add it to the food. Because we did not.

Que-veut dire “la cuisine délicieuse” en Coréan?

Lauren's cat's name is “Sergeant Pepper.” As in, “Lonely Hearts Club Band.” 

As in, “The Beatles should have stopped using drugs and made a half-way 

decent album that isn't completely overrated after forty-plus years.”

After lunch, Lauren took me on a nice sort of walking tour of the important spots in Nancy. And of course, I was smart enough to take my camera. 

Porte de la Craffe, the entrance to the "old city." I could totally hear a 19^th century 

equivalent of a hipster in Nancy saying, “This place was way better 

before everyone developed a resistance to cholera.”

Place Stanislas. You know, me and Stan—we go way back.

Donkey Kong was watching me in the park.

 

Lauren had a dance party at her apartment to celebrate her birthday. It was a blast. A few of her anglophone friends came, as well as the other Ball State lecteur, as well as some of her francophone friends that she has made here at Nancy. Long story short, everyone is cool. And, hopefully I'll get to hang out with them somewhat often in the future.

  

 Dance party. You and me, Lauren—like old times.

 

We went out to Place Stan after we were tired out from dancing. But not 

tired enough to keep us from smiling ear to ear like grinning idiots.

On Saturday, we kept it pretty low-key. We got me some maps so I can start learning my way around town. I also bought some post cards that I'll be sending to select cool people (yep, that means you, Grandma) sometime soon.

  

I finally found a Parisien (ham and butter sandwich). 

This might be my favorite picture of me ever. 

Place de la Carrière. There was some sort of nature/horticulture 

expo going on and we decided to investigate...

Whoooooo...'s excited to be in France? Not this owl, because he's an 

animal made of metal and devoid of human emotions. That's a 

stupid answer that I would only expect from a metal owl.

We visited the expo on Sunday as well. Lauren and her 

friend Aurora are seeking out some basil.

Tomorrow, I sort of start work. I mean, it's only a meeting for all of the lecteurs, but it's the first official thing that I will have done here in France. Soon to follow are French bureaucratic paperwork (in the words of Bart Scott, “CAN'T WAIT!”) and apartment hunting. So stay tuned, and, in the words of the great Casey Kasem, “I'm half Lebanese.” Wait, what?  

J'arrive!

I made it! And with all of my internal organs still intact! What a win!

The traveling itself overall was not particularly fun. Mainly because there was a lot of said traveling. Two-hour car ride to the bus station, one hour bus ride to the airport, three hours of waiting for the plane, etc. I won't go into every nitty-gritty detail, but here are some highlights (and lowlights):

On the plane from O'Hare to Stockholm, my seat neighbor was a French teacher from Switzerland. She was a very enjoyable person to sit next to for nine hours. We talked about America, France, Switzerland, Texas, cheese, wine, Charlie Wilson's War, and just about everything else under the sun. However, I was unable to get ANY sleep on the plane. So I left at 430pm local time in Chicago and landed at 800am local time in Stockholm, losing a complete night of sleep in all senses of the phrase.

The Stockholm Arlanda Airport was interesting. All of the people I saw there were thin, beautiful, and happy. But, to be fair, if everyone in a country was thin and beautiful (which I am, duh), I suppose that I'd be happy too.

Another interesting thing was the first (foreign) duty-free shop I saw. Think mini-Ikea but with cheaply-made things that aren't furniture. I didn't go in and shop, mainly because I think that Absolut vodka is way overrated anyway.

Your feelings of greed and avarice—now at a discounted, tax-free price! 

I got some of my remaining USD exchanged for SRK (Swedish Crowns) and bought some breakfast. But because I didn't want a weird sandwich or anything that has the word “pickled” or “herring” in the name, I settled on just something to hold me over for a while.

The Swedish breakfast of champions! Which is maybe why they don't win things...

And the grand total for that wonderful sustenance? Only 65 SRK! After I did that math, I figured out that it cost me 12 US Dollars. But, on the positive side, my money helped pay for someone's heart surgery. [Socialism joke.]

 

This was the best picture I could get of something 

Swedish but not airport-related. Still pretty though.

This is me at 1000am Stockholm time, 300am Indiana time. 

Look how happy I am to be alive! 

The next flight was from Stockholm to Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris. This flight almost made me go mental. It was only two hours, but myself and my seat neighbor, a nice young lady from Terre Haute who was going to France for study abroad, were surrounded by Swedish families with young children. In front, behind, beside, it was an ambush! And apparently, there were no common sense guidelines as to how young a child should be on airplanes, I was bombarded with screaming, crying, and the kicking of my seat for two hours. Apparently, unhappy children is why so many Swedes grow up to form death metal bands.

However, I survived and got to CdG Airport. I found my bag (yeah, I travel light) and made my way to the exit. There were two possibilities here: I could either take a cheap shuttle to the train station, or pay and take a taxi. Not wanting to tempt fate and suffer the wrath of screaming future-dark lords of rock and/or roll, I took a taxi. Which was good, because the driver was a nice guy, and I got to practice my French for a good 45 minutes. Overall, considering I'd had zero sleep, I don't think I did too bad. It was a good warm-up, if nothing else, and I at least had the confidence that I could carry on decent and simple conversations with a cab driver.

I got to Gare de l'Est (the train station) and bought my ticket, blah, blah. I was in a pretty rotten mood, but I had at least gotten that far. I bought a wonderfully expensive train ticket (TGV, high-speed train), found my train, and then proceeded to mistake which seat was mine on the train car. So, in addition to being a general annoyance to the other passengers who were already on the train, I held up everyone behind me who was waiting to get to their seat and stow their bags.

To be fair though, I think that this type of situation was why I was accepted to the program. In lieu of picking someone who wasn't going to make mistakes, maybe they wanted someone who wasn't going to dwell on situations and pout and cry after they make an ass out of themselves. I apologized profusely and got on with my life. I certainly wasn't going to turn back around, if for no other reason than to avoid more screaming, crying Swedish children.

  

 A "welcome" sign at Charles de Gaulle. You know this isn't a true 

representation of France because the girls are wearing bikini tops.

My first food en France. They didn't have any ham and butter sandwiches, 

which is what I was really looking forward to. I gave half of this to a 

homeless guy because I AM A WONDERFUL PERSON. 

Gare de l'Est. I mainly took this picture because there were advertisements 

for toothpaste hanging from every part of the ceiling. I found it quite odd. 

25 hours of running around without sleep and counting... 

There was lots of graffiti along the tracks. But I didn't see any that was on 

buildings, just the concrete along the train tracks. Way to be 

mindful about where you commit your vandalism. 

This looked like a cool town, so I took a picture. Wanna fight about it? 

Before my train rolled into Nancy, I was not able to get a hold of Lauren, my friend who I'll be staying with until I find my own place. And because I didn't even know what train I'd be taking into town, she didn't know either. But, she had given me her address, so, if nothing else, I'd be able to track her down that way. As my train slowed down and entered the station, who do I see walking up the stairs to the quai? Yep. You guessed it. The new slogan goes, “Things always work out in France.”

Lauren showed me things as we walked back to her house, buildings, parks, and the like. She also made me a wonderful dinner.  

 Master vegetarian chef!

Get used to seeing pictures of food, because I love food. 

But you already knew that.

But, by about 2200h local time, and after about 31 hours of being awake, I kind of just passed out. And that very unceremonious act ended my first “day” in France.

Il s'approche!

I have approximately 27 hours left in the United States of America, so I thought I'd share a couple of pictures of how I've been getting ready for the big excursion.

I didn't really start packing in earnest until yesterday. And I've got everything figured out as far as what I'm taking and I'm about 95% confident that it will all fit.

Notice my priorities: soccer cleats and three cans of hair product.

A present from my best friend. I've dubbed him, "Saint Bovie," (as in, 

bovine) and he is the patron saint of expatriate Texans. 

Did you really think I'd leave the states without getting Taco Bell first?

Tomorrow is the big day. I'll take some more pictures today, tonight, and tomorrow, and I might get a chance to upload them while I'm at O'Hare tomorrow. If not, I'll definitely try to upload some stuff when I'm in Stockholm on my layover, or at the least, when I get to Nancy. With any luck, my plane seat will be in the midst of the Swedish National Bikini Team (in "uniform," of course). You know I'll have a stories and a picture or two of that if it happens.

Until then, adieu America!