France [A Summary]

Yesterday, while walking past the 15^th century cathedral, I realized that there are some things I will never understand about France.  Everyone seems to know instinctively know where to drive in the unmarked intersections around the cathedral and nearby square.  The French also can eat exorbitant amounts of bread without gaining so much as a tenth of a kilo.  Supermarkets contain at least one entire isle dedicated to yogurt.  It is perfectly acceptable for girls to wear shorts in the dead of winter if they are wearing tights, yet the moment I start wearing my Birkenstocks people gape at me on the bus and other teachers ask me how cold my feet are at school.  

Acceptable

Unacceptable

While all of these are aspects I will never understand, they also happen to be the exact things I love about France.  Firstly, I get to start stories with “while walking past the 15^th century cathedral.”  Without the French appreciation of bread, I could not experience my favorite smell of baking bread while walking past the three bakeries on my 10-minute walk to work.  I would also have never known that so many different types of yogurt exist and that my favorite yogurt is not, in fact, raspberry-flavored Yoplait Whips but is La Mousse au Fromage Blanc sur Fruits. 

For those of you who know me well, and even those who only know me a bit, you know I am a list-maker.  I love lists.  Just the act of making a list makes me feel like I have accomplished something.  I have been keeping a list this year of things I miss about the U.S. and things I will miss about France.  Here it is.

Things I miss about the U.S.:

                Family and friends, of course.  But it’s odd that I miss certain people more than I thought I would.

                The gym.  I went to get a gym membership at the beginning.  360 Euros for a gym with much less equipment than in the U.S. for 6 months.  Yeah… no.

                The boys.  Some French boys are good looking.  Some have better style than me.  Most just have really skinny legs.

                Mexican food. I never realized how much Mexican food I ate.  The spices are just not the same here.

                Nature.  Hiking through the woods. Mountains next to the sea. Kayaking.  Outdoors.

Other places can be beautiful.
Nothing beats home.

 Things I will miss about France:

                My students.  I know that most of my students were just happy to see me because it meant that they had a game day instead of a class day.  Some of them were just happy to not have their regular teacher.  But I really am going to miss these kids.

                My families/rugby team.  I saw one family every Wednesday and one family every Friday.  And my rugby team was constantly helpful and understanding.

The bakery.  I eat way too much bread here.  If I didn’t walk so much I would have gained more weight than I did.

The cheese.  I love cheese. It’s so cheap here.  I’m going to miss chevre and comte the most.

The proximity to other countries.  I went to England for the weekend.  Germany for the weekend.  I also love how close I was to countries that spoke other languages.

Public transportation.  I could go anywhere by walking/bus/tram/train.  It’s getting better in the US, but it’s still not this good.

Just one of many great groups of students

Things I will not miss about France:

                 Men's Jeans.  I don't know why they feel the need to bedazzle Men's clothing, but jeans constantly have patterns on the pockets or fake jewels.

                 Cat calls.  In the US, you are rarely harassed on the street for the simple fact of being a woman. 

                 The idea of Men's and Women's sports.  Yes, in the US there are sports that are mostly played by  men and others that are mostly female.  Contrary to France, people are never astonished if a woman plays a predominately male sport.  When I told people that I broke my ankle playing rugby, I cannot tell you how many times people just nodded and said, "That's why women shouldn't play a man's sport."  Frustrating.

Maybe a tad bit exaggerated,
yet so much more ironic that it's me who's not supposed to play rugby.

Distracted

Whenever I say that word, 'distracted,' I think of one scene in It Takes Two. If you've ever seen the film, you know which part I'm talking about.  If you haven't, then you should really watch it.  It's a great film which exhibits exceptional acting talent and an imaginative plot. Really a must-see.

The aforementioned must-see

 I have been distracted the past couple of weeks and therefore have missed too many bloggable activities.  First, and foremost, I no longer sport my cleanly and fashionable cast around the streets of Nantes.  Since the day my cast was removed, literally to the day, the sun has shone.  I like to think it's because of me.  (But in all actuality it probably has something to do with density differences in the atmosphere.)

The first order of business sans cast was to start planning trips.  My first trip was to Tours.  Courtesy of couchsurfing.com and my handy-dandy Eurail pass, I visited my old friend Kamil and a new friend named Cecile.  My first night in Tours, I went out with Kamil and a German friend of his.  I like Germans.  This one talked a lot.

The sink in my room at the hostel.
We became close.

The next day, Cecile took me around town.  I saw the town of Tours.  It just so happened that it was Carnival the weekend that I was in Tours so I got to see all the people dressed up.  That night, Cecile took me to her house and we had a wonderful, typical French dinner and I got my own room. (With my own shower with a door that closes.) 

My apartments shower
with a door that does not close
because it has completely broken off.

  The next day, I had told my ex-roommate that I would love to go see my ex-landlord's play.  But, Cecile had a day filled with Chateauxs in mind, so I opted to tour castles instead of returning to Nantes.  That same day Cecile also skyped with her daughter and her family in Bordeaux.  The adorable, and oh-so-convincing Esteban asked me if I would come to Bordeaux to visit him.  So, my next train adventure was decided. Bordeaux it was.

So this weekend, early on Friday, I left for Bordeaux.  It was at least 75 degrees all weekend.  I stayed with the beautiful family of Sandrine, Phillipe, Esteban, and Ruben.  Bordeaux is a beautiful city, one I wish I had spent more time in.  I'll be back one day.

Sandrine had suggested that I visit a tower that has a beautiful view of the city.  Sandrine and I took the kids to the market in the morning and then I was left downtown to explore.  I found a Monoprix and bought a well-balanced lunch.  I took that lunch and ate between the Cathedral and this other tall building.

The 2 Euro man looked just like this.
Before sitting to eat he asked me for 2 Euros for the bus.
I sit while he asks and receives from someone else.
He comes and asks me again for 2 Euros.

Once I finished with lunch, I decided to find the tourism office for a map so that I could find the tower Sandrine had told me about.  Successful, with map in hand, I began my search for the tower.  While discovering much of Bordeaux on the way, I finally found the tower.  It just so happened to be the same tower I ate lunch by. It also happened to be closed.  It closed 30 minutes before I got there. Story of my life.

That night I had yet another wonderful French meal.  At the dinner table Sandrine asked Esteban what he thought about me.  He simply replied, "Elle est belle."  There's something about hearing a complement from a child.  Adults can give you complements all day long, but when a child compliments you, now that is a different story.  I hope I stay in touch with that family for the rest of my life.

Sunday morning I left Bordeaux at 7:55 so that I could be in Nantes in time to go to Jean-Marie's last showing of the play.  The train rolls into Nantes 15 minutes late.  The trams are all messed up because of the Nantes marathon.  I walk to the tram but I missed the bus to the theater by 2 minutes.  I had two options: Give up or walk it out.  I wasn't giving up.  I walked.  I walked for 2.5 hours with my ukulele in one hand, bag over my shoulder, and backpack on my back.  I get to the theater about 15 minutes late. I ask the people outside if the play has already started.  They look confused and inform me that there is an orchestra playing but no play.  I must have gotten the theater mixed up with the theater he had performed at when I was in Tours.  Awesome.

C'est la vie.  Life is like that.  Some things work out.  Some things don't.  I hope that this week goes as planned.  Thanks to my Eurail pass, I will be discovering Germany [again] this coming Friday.  It should be a good trip filled with people I haven't seen for years and family friends.  It'll be a good opportunity to use the German I've been learning.

  

I'll be catching up on my blog this week.  I started a list a while back about what I miss from home and what I will miss about France.  I'll be sure to include that in my next post.

The Butterfly Effect

aka The Story of the Broken Charger

It all can be traced back to the butterfly. 

No, it really can’t.  I’m going to pin the ultimate blame on financial aid.  That’s where this story really starts.  Financial aid broke my camera charger.

So, over my past couple of years at university, I have accumulated debt.  For those of you who don’t know how American financial aid works, once I receive my diploma I must start repaying my debts after 6 months of losing my ‘student’ status.  I tried to beat the system by not receiving my diploma and maintaining my student status.

Maintaining student status requires a ‘student’ to take 6 credits.  I decided to take African History 315 and Intro to Occupational Therapy.  Choices were limited.  My Intro to Occupational Therapy became more of a creative writing course.  I imagined interviews and frequently wrote about my imaginary class of handicapped children.  While writing one of my many papers I got hungry.

I went to the kitchen and whipped out some rice cakes, layered some tomato slices on top and some chèvre cheese on top of that.  Once it was done cooking, I decided to eat it.  Logical.

Tomatoes are slippery little buggers and one slipped from the rice cake, with cheese on top, right onto my pants.  I immediately went to wash my pants in my sink because nobody wants to smell like goat cheese.  I hung my pants on the radiator because nothing dries in Nantes.

My pants hung there dripping wet while I wrote 5 more papers…

For my British friends reading this:  When I say pants, I mean trousers.

While I went to Clisson with my new French grandmother…

Clisson

While I ate crepes with ‘Mami’ and crutched it through the woods and on the beaches of Noirmoutier…

Cote Sauvage, Noirmoutier

I get back from my exciting excursions and want to charge my camera.  My camera charger had been sitting under the radiator.  Water was dripping out of it when I picked it up and it no longer works.  Thanks, financial aid.

Crutching: The sport of champions

I like to think of my life as a movie. Or maybe a very long television show.  I already have the soundtrack started.  Before recent developments, I would have classified my life as a comedy or maybe even one of those cheesy teen-girl movies that I love too much. 

Matt Costa's 'Yellow Taxi' will be my theme song

Recently, my life has turned into ESPN/America’s Funniest Home Videos.  Each sport always has its own jargon and I have developed the language of the sport of “Crutching”.  This is a sport that requires exceptional back strength, adequate arm strength, sufficient abdominal strength and superior balance.

A Flash:  Crutcher’s life flashes before their eyes.  Could be the cause of a Chiquita, a Speedy, or a number of other moves. ‘The chipper’ is frequently confused with or executed at the same moment as a flash.

Chiquita: Named after everyone’s favorite banana lady, is the unfortunate incident of the slip of one crutch.

Speedy: When sufficient speed is used while crutching or freestylin’.  A move normally employed whilst catching busses.

The Chipper:  The feeling of intense fear of chipping a tooth while hopping up stairs.

The Legolas Crawl: The technique most frequently used to climb stairs on rainy days.  The crutches are lodged in between the backpack and the person for easy access while crawling on hands and knees up the stairs.

The 5’3” Sprawl: Crutcher goes from upright to sprawled in less than 2 seconds.  The number is crutcher-specific and dependant on height. 

Freestylin’:  The act of hopping without the tools of the trade. Most 5’3” Sprawls are performed while freestylin’.

Now that we’re on the same page…

Today my lesson was a road trip around the USA.  We made ‘stops’ in Miami, New York, and California.  Somewhere between New York and California things went downhill fast.  Actually there was no hill.

While speedy freestylin’ with exceptional gracefulness, Keri Ann Moore experienced a flash which resulted in a 5’3” Sprawl.  The crowd, being her class of 16 year olds, especially enjoyed the finale.  Executed with extraordinary precision and poise she remained on the floor the rest of class.  Floor: 1. Keri Ann: 0.

They say bad luck comes in 3's

The sun is finally peeking through the clouds. I have officially had my cast on for 3 weeks and, if healing went as planned, I should only have another 3 weeks to go.
At the beginning of my time in Nantes, I remember writing a letter to friend. In the letter, I noted that one rarely spots wheelchairs roaming the streets of Nantes. I have figured out why. According to a recent article, Nantes was deemed the most handicap-friendly city in France*. This is sad.

Curbs in Nantes are 4” instead of the usual 6.

Maybe if wheelchairs could climb stairs, off-road, and fly then they would be practical in France. I’ve had some awesome adventures in my chair. So far Jennifer, Sophie, Rhys, and Krista have pushed me. I think the common consensus is that it is just easier to use crutches. On my first outing, the wheel got stuck in the tram track. I hopped out of the chair (much to the confusion of the 2 men helping us) and one proceeded to pull the armrest from the chair while the other successfully freed the chair from the track just in time for the oncoming tram to pass.

If I were a stick figure, I too would abandon this chair.  Luckily my chair locks up when I go too fast.

After the tram disaster, and gracefully falling up the stairs to Candace’s apartment, I decided the next night I would stick with the crutches. It just so happened that the next night was my rugby team’s first home game. One of the girls from my team came and picked me up. While watching the team warm-up and living through Gargoyle: Part 2, I gave in to my urge to recount my adventurous day to Krista. My phone was nowhere to be found. I checked the locker room. I checked my backpack. I checked the car. Nowhere.

Photographer: 0            Keri Ann: 1
 I successfully ruined this photo by holding up ¾ of the team behind me while hobbling onto the field. 

It was touch and go there for a while, but I did live through another week of school.  I bought a new phone.  I was ready for the weekend.  I had not seen Rhys since Misty’s party, so we decided to meet for coffee on Friday.  Krista was in town and was nice enough to agree to push me.  I don’t think she will be making that mistake again anytime soon.

Krista & I would fit right in

 We had all finished our Chocolat Viennoises and decided to switch cafes.  They sit at, and I roll up to, the table.  We begin to order.  I decided that it would be a good idea to check the cash flow, but my wallet is nowhere to be found.  I check to my right, to my left, under me, on my lap. Nothing… In all the excitement of switching cafes I must have left it in the other one.  Sarya and Rhys go and check.  Nada.

Broken leg, lost phone, lost wallet… I was afraid to ask the obvious question.  I still am.

I believe all things happen for a reason.  I don’t know why bad things always happen at the same time, but they do.  Maybe I’ve finally passed the test, learned my lesson, turned the corner.

I was recently informed that my cell phone was found in my friend’s car.  A gentleman from Paris named Vincent Kervella found my wallet, found me on Facebook, and returned my wallet to me.  Things are most definitely looking up.  With only three more days of work before the two week vacation, the sun seems to shine brighter each day. 

* http://www.francesoir.fr/actualite/societe/handicap-nantes-ville-plus-accessible-perpignan-bonnet-d-ane-71788.html

What is pain? French bread

[no caption needed]

After watching Remember the Titans two more times today*, it got me to thinkin'.  Remember the Titans is just a good movie.  No matter what I want to teach, I could find a lesson in this movie.  I happen to be teaching about segregation, which is a sufficiently obvious theme of the movie, but I could have almost as easily taught about obesity in today's youth or women's rights or French stereotypes.  Almost.

I felt like the movie was speaking to me today.  And it wasn't just any voice, it was that of Denzel Washington.  "What is pain? French bread." The French love their bread.  They also love it when other people are in pain.  Maybe they don't love the fact that you are in pain, but they do love to help people when they are hurt.

I have had more strangers talk to me in the past week than ever, in all my time spent in France.  On the way to the symphony an 86 ½ year old woman let me on the bus before her.  I have had more men try to help me walk than can be humanly expressed.  Just today I had 4 people talk to me.  This is abnormal. Maybe I can find insight into this behavior in Remember the Titans.  I should watch it again.

Other than having a slight ankle malfunction, the weekend was fantastic.  I received a delicious dinner made in my own home by Charlie, free symphony tickets, Super Bowl fun at Lindsey's, and great company all weekend long.  (Greg, Melissa, and Krista helped fill up the apartment.  It made it feel like home.)

The best way to spread American cheer
is singing loud for all to hear.

 
Next weekend I told my rugby team that I would dress up like a cheerleader and come and cheer for the team's first home game.  I'll take pictures.

If cheering doesn't work out, there's always jousting.

*Total for the past 2 weeks is now at 16

With dreams of camels and sand dunes stuck in my head…

The day began, like any normal rugby day.  My bag was packed, waiting for me by the door.  I rolled out of bed at 5:30 and started my 40 minute walk to the stadium.  I arrive, climb on the bus, get comfortable, and continue my slumber. 

I hear vibrating and out of instinct I reach for my phone.  It’s my good friend Krista Schilling.  Just the night before I had been in her small French village, situated just outside of the thriving metropolis of Nantes which I have come to call my home.  I had gone to visit Krista partially to plan our next vacation together and partially to load up on groceries from her oh-so-cheap grocery store.  We had originally planned on going to Morocco for our upcoming vacation but, when airfares rose, we decided to visit Austria and Romania instead. After picking up, I hear that Krista has found cheap airfare to Morocco.  We decide to act fast and purchase the tickets.  Morocco it is.

After the 7 hour bus ride, we arrive at the final destination of Pujols. It's a quaint, typical French village.

Pujols-Le-Haut
Where it all went down.

 Pre-game traditions commence.  Changing, distribution of jerseys, pre-game talk, warm-up.  We put up a pretty good fight the first half.  But talk in the locker room is tense at half-time.  Spirits are down.  The second half begins.  I get the ball.  I get tackled and I hear a snap.

I've never broken anything before, but I'd always imagined it would happen like that.  I'm just really glad I didn't break it falling down the stairs or walking on flat pavement - which are both ways I would break my ankle.  Rugby is notorious for being a brutal sport.  It's better this way.  Less self-pity.

Rugby is full of pain.
Men, women, big, and small

Since I broke it in such a small village, the coach thought it would be a good idea for me to wait until we got back to Nantes to go to the hospital.  Once we arrived at 1:30 a.m., of course there were no radiologists at the hospital, so they drugged me up and told me to come back the next day.  Welcome to the French medical system.  I have a cast and crutches (the type of crutches that kids with polio normally use).  I have to give myself a shot daily.  I've tried to look it up online and I still have no idea what drug I am giving myself with a needle.

My team has been great.  All of the ladies are so supportive and ready to help and the coach is fantastic too. Teachers at school have been very understanding.  One fellow language assistant, Consuelo from Spain, even held my bag for me while we walked home yesterday.

The adventures just keep piling up!  I just hope my next adventure is a fun one. I'm not sure I like this one very much.

I'm in the middle of profiting.

I can't tell you how many times I have used Frenchisms in the past couple of days.  "I'm going to search a sandwich," "Is it possible for one to do that,"....  Hence my title.  "Profiter de + something" means that you are living it up while you have the opportunity.  One can profit from their time spent somewhere.  One can profit from the sun.  There are lots of profits in life.

 I had originally planned to blog weekly.  Laughable.  As is now clear to the world:  Resolution #1 has been broken.  Resolutions are meant to be broken.  Just normally people’s resolutions last longer than one week. But I assert that Resolution #1 was not, in fact, first priority.  Resolution #3, “take advantage of opportunities as they arise”, was.  At the fault of Resolution #3, Resolution #1 was broken.  Resolution #2 remains never started*.

Whilst “taking advantage of opportunities as they arise,” I have experienced many adventures over the past couple of weeks.

Nantes Bretagne XIII
Adventure #1

  Adventure #1:  My rugby team travels quite frequently all around France.  A couple of weekends ago my team went to play Marseilles.  The Marseilles match reminded me of my first match against University of Idaho.  Many injuries occurred, gentle and loving words of affection were exchanged, and the game ended with no social.  Fortunately, the French are too nice to spit in people's faces.  If that weren't the case then this match would have been a complete deja vu moment for me.

Team America
Adventure #2

Adventure #2: The "Baby-Foot Cup du Monde" aka International Table Soccer Federation's World Cup.  Broadcast live on Eurosport2, this sport attracted supporters by the tens.  Actually, I think the only supporters who were not in some way related to a competitor were us.  We came out loud and proud.  During one finals match between US and UK, tensions were high. But, naturally, the US team won.

Rhys and Me at Misty's Birthday Masquerade
Adventure #3

Adventure #3:  There's not a lot to say about this party.  I had to leave early because of my match, so I missed most of it. Rhys was black. Misty, my love, is one year older. Happy Birthday, Misty!

Some homies from the motherland

I was thinking about sending this picture to my dentist to ask if I need my wisdom teeth out yet.
Adventure #4

 Adventure #4: I spent last weekend in England.  I love spending time with my British family so very much, and last weekend just happened to be the birthday celebration of Dad and Sophie.  Now that I'm living significantly closer, I decided it would be a good idea to take a weekend trip to England.  We sang, we danced, we conquered.

The last couple of weeks have been action-packed.  I'm a little ready for a down weekend.  I don't know if I'm capable of relaxing.  I guess we'll see.

Welcome 2011

Since my arrival in Nantes, France, I have been surrounded by a very special group of people.  Secrets can rarely be kept, we teach each other our language (all different forms of English), and everyone keeps a blog.  The only people I knew before coming here who kept a blog were either English majors or angst-ridden teenagers.  Mary, Mary, quite contrary… blogs are hot items.  Turns out you can start fights over blogs  AND have your grammar and spelling analyzed by the world*, as well as update friends and family about life without ceaseless repetition.  So, for the New Year, I resolve to become a blogger.

 

So, hello world.  My name is Keri Ann Moore and I am currently living in Nantes, France.  I am from a city near Seattle and I miss Seattle almost as much as I miss my family and friends.  A couple of weeks ago I was in Antwerp and I almost cried when I walked into the Starbucks.

I just upgraded apartments here.  My old place had a small problem.  Pun intended.  Actually I really moved so I could look at all the cool posters on the wall of my new place.

Cool Poster #1

Cool Poster #2

There’s a lot more where this came from.

The new place is quite a bit smaller, but the atmosphere is priceless.

So, about school.  My school – Lycee Clemenceau – is a very prestigious school in the area.  Jules Verne went to the school.  My students are rockin.  They’re high-schoolers and prep students.  The prep students have already finished high school but they take the two years after high school to study for a big test that lets them in to the Ivy Leagues of France.  It reminds me a lot of the high school I went to except it’s beautiful and everyone speaks French and it’s well-known and a lot of famous people went there. 

 The staff at the school are something else.  I can’t figure them out.  There are the workers, the same three guys who basically live in the teacher’s workroom.  There are the drinkers, who drink coffee between classes together and sit together at lunch while discussing world issues over wine.  There are the sitters who sit in the teacher’s lounge and work while the drinkers drink.  I mostly socialize with new English teachers.  There’s one new teacher doing her practicum work at school who is fabulous and energetic.  There’s another who just switched to Clemenceau.  It’s refreshing to see teachers who have not yet lost the passion to teach.

I want to have passion for everything I do.  If I’m going to commit to something, I want to do it all the way or not at all.

Resolutions for 2011:   Blog. Save money. Take advantage of opportunities as they arise.

Go big or go home - when going home’s not an option.    

*This shout-out goes to Carly