November flowers

So delicate to be blooming in November. Is that an autumnal shade of purple?


The flower vendors at the market are so appealing, and this grey morning I didn't resist.

An expat Thanksgiving

Today, I'm thankful for friends and family worth missing and a home worth returning to -- and in the meantime, for a sunset walk along the sea, though solitary, and the dark-haired girl who didn't once stop smiling in class. I'm thankful for the chance to do something most people only wonder about, and I'm thankful that, difficult though it is, this is one adventure I won't have to regret not trying.

My first strike

Did I ever tell you about the transportation strikes in Paris, back in '07? How we all got up extra early, packed onto one of the few trains that were running, walked miles because our connecting train wasn't running at all, and spent the whole day wondering if we were going to have to walk home or maybe there'd be a bus running for at least part of the way?

So that's one kind of strike. Then there's the teachers' strike.

My first reaction to a strike is to laugh. I mean, really? A strike? Medical, dental, retirement, and how many weeks of paid vacation? And I thought you weren't supposed to skip work when there was work to be done. (Although believe me, I am not one of those people who think teachers have it easy. Oh no. You try herding cats to prepare them for an exam.)

But. Who doesn't have complaints about their job, their boss, or their management, and good grief, all the more so when you work for the government, right? So really the only difference between us and them is that we complain at the water cooler and they complain and strike.

The idea of a strike is to annoy as many people as possible, one of the teachers explained to me, so that there's an impetus to change. But, as I grumbled to myself this morning, why must that mean annoying me? I called my supervising teacher last night, and she only told me that she would be striking, and that I should call the school in the morning to see about my other teachers. See, usually this is how my schedule works: A certain class has English with their teacher; the teacher sends me several (3-14) students from that class. So if the teacher is on strike, the students don't go to class, and I don't have to work. But if I don't know which teachers are on strike, I don't know which classes I have to be at. I called the school at 8:45 this morning to see if those teachers had showed -- they didn't know. I called at 10:15 (my first class starts at 11); they still didn't know.

So I went to school indignant, wishing I could know at least an hour in advance if I was going to be working. *grumble grumble grumble*

It turned out to be one of my favorite days yet. The school was dead quiet, with so many teachers and students gone. I did end up working for my full day, but it was actually a perfect working condition. In my first class, I had three students. We sat and chatted for an hour. The second class I had two students. The teacher and I spent the hour talking with them about Thanksgiving. Also amazing. It was also a chance for the teacher to see me in action, and, much to my surprise/delight/relief, she was really pleased.

Pedagogically, the small classes were brilliant. But we expected that. There was an unexpected effect as well. Since there were only a few teachers in the teachers' room at lunch, I actually had a chance to chat with several people who I'd never so much as exchanged bonjours with. While the other teachers are showing their solidarity in striking together, we back at the ranch had our own little solidarity going on.

French healthcare: Part I

I called the doctor at 2pm today and got an appointment for 4pm, same day.

Gave the receptionist my info and paid in full, to be reimbursed later. 22 euros (Three times my American co-pay, if you account for the exchange rate. Yes, we're comparing copay to full cost.)

Waited for about 10 minutes. Peeling paint and ugly furniture are not problems that can be fixed on a government-run budget, apparently.

Saw the doctor. She was certainly competent and efficient, and although I could have wished for a more cosmopolitan outlook from her, she was not unkind. I had a hard time understanding her, not so much because I was lost on the medical terms (I actually got all that), but just because there are some people who are harder to understand than others. I left her office feeling depressed about that, because I hate being the stupid foreigner who asks you to repeat yourself again and again. Let's face it, there's no way to sound intelligent while saying, "I don't understand." On the other hand, I'm a little proud of myself, because, while it was not gracefully executed, I did get myself through an entire doctor's appointment in my second language.

I left the doctor's office with my prescription print-out of four items, which I took to the first pharmacy I passed. The woman who helped me there was very helpful and patient about my foreignness. She collected the medicines, explained to me how to use them, explained to me how to get reimbursed by my insurance, made sure I had the proper papers, etc. The total cost for two things of antibiotics, anti-septic spray, anti-septic cream, and bandaids was 37 euros.

Because doctor's visits are reimbursed at 70%, some medicines at 65% (including my bandaids) and others at 35%, my 59 euros worth of healthcare will end up costing 23 euros.

What do you make of that?

Amping up the Frenchness

Guys, I'm really excited. I'm going to experience some profoundly, quintessentially French things this week.

Today I have my first ever French doctor's appointment. (Nothing serious. A problem that even the quackiest of quacky quacks has eventually cured.) Because, remember, I have French Health Insurance. If this goes well, I'm going crazy with medical fun.* I could get my teeth cleaned (yes, dental insurance!)! I could get regular check-ups! I could -- I could --

Tomorrow is a very special event in France, one that only occurs all the time. A teachers' strike! The government did something to the teachers (I didn't catch what, I was busy frolicking with my benefits package), and they're going to protest. The idea, as one of the teachers explained to me, is to annoy as many people as possible. So the students will all go to school, but without knowing if they'll have any teachers. I myself do not know if I'm going or not. I might be on a shopping spree with my health insurance.

Full report to follow.




*I should say, I've always been lucky to have great insurance coverage back in the US. It's just realizing that that ends by the time I'm 25, and then what?

A short reprieve

Here by popular demand, a full account of Lenny's visit to Provence.

It was sunny and we sat outdoors and drank coffee.

Yes, the whole day. Well, until it was time to sit outside and drink wine, and then time to sit inside and eat dinner, and yes there was time to walk along the seashore.

What better way to spend the day?

A good day at the ranch

I've been struggling to write a blog about teaching for several days, with no success. No coincidence that the past several days have been a little rough (Monday excepted)? But I enjoyed myself at school today, so I'm jumping at the opportunity to write an upbeat entry.

The English teachers are throwing a dinner party in my honor. They've even set a date, and it's really going to happen. Some of them even talk to me now! And a couple days after this dinner party, I'm going to someone else's house for dinner.

I still have no way to decide if my classes are "successful" or not. Is our children learning? Who knows. But I'll settle for amusing myself. And I laughed plenty today. I had them invent biographies for these random people (mostly pulled off The Sartorialist), and later make up stories using five random words they drew from a hat. While some students were happy to chat in French and ignore their work, some got it together and came up with brilliant stories. Highlights were the politician who killed a fox at brunch with hairspray; something about Star Wars, time travel, and killer-bananas; and finally the guy from the photo who likes "sex, drugs, and rock and roll." I know I'm not supposed to laugh, but you have to understand, these kids do not have a sophisticated command of English, so when they bust out something like this, it just kills me.

And my classic ESL moment du jour: These kids were goofing around instead of working (yes, really), and I asked them reproachfully, "Are you working?" The one boy repeated slowly to himself, "are... you... working...", thought for a moment; then the lightbulb went off and he scrambled to look busy.

My supervising teacher gave me a CD of materials for the terminales (seniors), who have a major exam at the end of the year. On their exam, they will be given an image or a quote, and they'll have to talk for 10 minutes on that subject; my new CD has images that have been used in past years. (That counts as, like, an entire semester course of teacher training! I mean it's really not, but considering how little training I have, it's a bonanza. It was nice of her to think I might need help, too. Because, good god, do I ever.) I'll probably use images I find on my own (that represent multiple facets of the US, rather than just the one), but at least now I know what's expected of them.

So maybe there are undercurrents of snark here -- maybe I'd kind of hoped that everyone I met would leap at the opportunity to listen to me butcher French, that all the teachers would shower me with wisdom, and that every day at school would be a joyous occasion of language-making. But maybe I'm getting there.