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Published: September 28th 2008
I don't have internet yet, so I'm sorry about the lack of communication. However, I've been writting a little bit to remember what's going on. This isn't quite up to date, but I'll be sure to write more soon! I miss you all!
“Seven months! Seven months you are in Brest? I sorry.” These were the first words out of the mouth of my taxi driver after arriving this morning by train. My inflated confidence level after surviving Paris toute seule immediately went from being a 10 to a 3.5. In Paris, everything was logical and seemingly easy. The metro system so clear (no translation needed), the food so delicious (yes please, I’ll have another), and the weather absolutely perfect (scarf, anyone? Mais oui!) Even when getting into my taxi in Paris, right off the plane, a jazz version of La Vie en Rose began to play; I knew right then that I must have fallen into a dream. Just call me Sabrina. Nothing could have been more perfect; that is, until the driver changed the radio station. Mustang Sally started to play…and he began to sing along.
My hotel was small, but nice. The room just hardly fit one queen size bed, but had a beautiful view over looking an enclosed garden. One thing I’ve already fallen in love with is that all windows open in France. None of the fake windows like you get in the States. There are no screens, no little turny knobs to open it only a crack in the event that someone wants to jump out; they open wide, without restriction. Maybe the French don’t care as much if someone wants to jump, or perhaps, not as many people actually do.
After checking into the hotel, I immediately changed into my most French looking clothing and went on a bit of a walk to the Champs-Elysee, during which I ran right into the Eiffel Tower. I looked over, and there she was, as gorgeous as ever. I took one quick picture, tried not to linger and be too obvious a foreigner, and headed on my way. After about 30 minutes I hit the Arc de triopmhe and, correspondingly, the best shopping street in the entire world. Ironically, and somewhat sadly, I found nothing to buy, except (and happily) a baguette and a cappuccino.
After returning to the hotel I was exhausted, but, as they say, no rest for the wicked. Plans had been made (thank you facebook) to meet some other teaching assistants for dinner in Montmatre; an area of Paris which boasts the Sacre Coeur and the Moulin Rouge. We went to Les Refuges de Fondues on Rue Trois Freres, obviously a fondue restaurant, but with some unexpected twists. It could only hold about 60 people, sitting side by side on two long tables, the walls were covered with graffiti by past visitors from around the world, and the wine was served out of baby bottles. Yes, baby bottles. Yes, with the nipple. Evidently some sort of wine-glass tax is avoided this way. And if, perhaps, you thought you were smart and took off the nipple the very animated and not-shy-at-all owner would come over and scold you in French. Big hand gestures and awkward facial expressions were involved. It was probably the most delicious and unpretentious fondue I’ve ever tasted. Dinner was followed by a drink at one of the local bars (bonjour Monaco’s) and a nutella crepe (bonjour my new favorite thing in the whole world). Buzzed, full, and sleepy, it was time to get on the metro and head back to the hotel.
Getting up this morning wasn’t easy- I could have slept for days. But breakfast awaited downstairs (a delicious and nutritious array of breads, butter, and jam served with coffee and cream…remind me why the French aren’t fat?), as did my train to Brest. The ride was nothing special, but seeing the country side was wonderful. Four and a half hours of cows, rolling hills, and a chateau or two made for some memorable scenes. I grabbed a taxi upon arrival, during which the driver apologized for my misfortune of being placed in such a gray city, and we rode to Lycee de Kerichen where I am teaching and living. Matt, an undergrad at Cambridge who I am living with, arrived with his parents at the exact same moment as myself, and somehow, up walked our contact person at the school, Chantal. Chantal is another story altogether. She is in her sixties and is, perhaps, as French as one can be. Wearing all black, with short hair and red lipstick, her first words to me were, “Oh good, you are not a fat American” to which I replied, “uhm, thank you...?”
She took us all through the school area, which is enormous. It is, from what I understand, actually five schools on one large campus- all of the buildings though are interspersed with no real logic. It was built in the 1950’s/60’s and has obviously not been updated since. This did not worry me until I saw my room. Room 207 (at the top of four flights of stairs) was a sight to say the least. The last tenant hadn’t seemed to fully move out. Drawers were filled with papers, dust and long brown hairs covered the floor, and the blanket which was provided had quite obviously (and disgustingly) not been cleaned. Horrified, I began to wonder what I had gotten myself into. Matt, Matt’s parents, and I looked at each other in disbelief. Words could not describe what we all were facing. Matt’s room is across the hall and his was only marginally better…minus the forgotten underwear left under his bed.
After the initial shock, the four of us went to dinner. I can’t begin to explain how thankful I am that there are parents here, even if they’re not mine, to look after and feed me. A delicious Italian meal and two glasses of wine later, everything was looking slightly better. Matt stayed in the hotel with his parents (comment dit-on, jealous?) and I was sent home in a taxi. I had decided earlier that night that I would simply wear some sweatpants and a sweatshirt and work on getting a new blanket tomorrow. Unfortunately, the cold weather of Brest and the Lycee were conspiring against me. The heat, apparently, has not been turned on yet by the administration which is a problem in 50F degrees. I was freezing. I put on every warm piece of clothing that I brought. Leg warmers, socks, sweatpants, long sleeve shirt, fleece lined sweatshirt, scarf, hat, and still I was cold. I won’t get into the details, but eventually the forbidden blanket became involved.
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Mama
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Come home right this minute!!!!! Mama