FIN.

Seven months have passed me by and it is now time to say goodbye to France and my year abroad.

I would never have imagined when I arrived in my small room in Sigean seven months ago that I would be here now. I remember sitting outside a pub in the blaring sun with Jess and mum, going mental about the size of the room, the size of the village, the lack of people and just about anything else that I would be faced with for the next half-a-year. I remember sitting in my room a few weeks later, telling mum I wanted to come home and emailing the university about my options if I left France. I don’t remember the exact point where everything changed, but now I am sitting in my clean, empty room in Narbonne, sad that my time in France has come to an end.

My last full week in France passed by quickly. There were lots of goodbyes, lots of eating out and lots of drinks.

Monday and Tuesday at work were good and I said goodbye (and, in some cases, good riddance) to each class. I arrived back in Narbonne on Tuesday evening and went straight out for Trini’s leaving dinner. Wednesday evening I went for dinner in Botafogo (foie gras, magret de canard and fondant au chocolat get in my belly) with the English girls, Manu and Lucile. Me, Lauren, Cyd and Lucile then moved on to find a bar for a few drinks when we stumbled upon a karaoke at Shiva. I decided to give the people what they had come for and sang two songs. It’s safe to say that between us we rocked the joint and Narbonne will be sad to see us and our amazing vocal talents leave. (Right, Cyd and Lauren giving us all a musical treat.)

After a hungover and thus unproductive Thursday morning, in the afternoon I met Marisa and Chris for a coffee, which evolved into a l’Echoppe night with Jeanne, Alex and Olivia (some lovely Americans, if I have not mentioned them before). We drank beer, ate pizza and played Spite Malice, an amazing card game that requires four, yes four, decks of cards. Intense.

In true Dan Cash style, I overslept for work on Friday, consequently missing my taxi. I sent a text to Lucile, my saviour, to take me from Port-la-Nouvelle to Sigean. Arriving at the collège for the last time felt strange. It’s a place that I detest for so many reasons, but I guess I have grown to love to hate it. At lunch the headmaster said some nice words and thanked me in the staff room, and I said thank you and goodbye to the teachers. I then had my last lesson, cleared out my ‘bedroom’, and before I knew it I was in Lucile’s car going back to the station. Another goodbye later and I was on the way back to Narbonne.

That evening I ended up going to Montpellier with the English girls for a night out with some of the Monty P assistants. It was so much fun and just nice to be somewhere with people in the bars and decent tunes! We got back late and I think I managed to catch around four hours of shut-eye before I woke up and decided it would still be a good idea to go to Nîmes. It was a difficult start due to the unwelcome hangover and by the end of the day I was beyond shattered, but I enjoyed it a lot! We went to the Roman arena and watched some Roman re-enactments, getting our geek on in style. The best bit was the horse (above) which contained seven men. The gladiator bit was also cool.

In the evening I got my last Boite à Pizza with Marisa and Chris and then said ciao. To soften the blow, I was given the green lightsabre spoon from my lovely Scottish friends, making me an official cereal box Jedi and completing my main year abroad goal: to find the green spoon. My most prized possession safely in my pocket; I then went and said ‘laters’ to Lauren. Goodbyes suck.

So, now I am all packed up. I have paid for extra baggage allowance and my heaviest clothes are laid out ready for me to don tomorrow morning. I am going to les anglaises tonight for dinner and to watch a film, then tomorrow at midday I’ll be struggling onto a train with an absurd amount of luggage.

My year abroad was not the easiest seven months of my life. I found it extremely difficult and there were many points where I wanted to give up. My year abroad was, however, the best experience of my life. I have changed, matured, and grown as a person. I have learnt French to a level with which I am more than happy. I have made friends not just from France but from Spain, Germany, Scotland, America, and of course England that I hope to see again soon.
I have had the time of my life.

Once again, I find myself thinking of the quote (Dr. Seuss, I believe), “Don’t be sad because it’s over, smile because it happened.”

When I reflect on the last 7 months of my life, how could I possibly do anything but smile?

I am grateful to so many people for their support during my time in France; I couldn't possibly thank them all on here because… well, I can’t be bothered. But you know who you are. Also, thank you to everyone who read my blog. Thanks for putting up with me either moaning or boasting about my life in southern France! I have had a lot of fun writing so I hope you have enjoyed reading.

So, this is me ‘cashing in’ for the last time. Cheesy, I know.

Merci et au revoir!

DC

+

I have twenty days left in the land of sunshine and baguettes and I just know they are going to zoom past relentlessly.

I have been making the most of my last month here, that is for certain. Two weekends ago was arguably the best weekend I've had during my time here. On the Saturday I went to Avignon with the English ladies where we saw hundreds of shops, the Pope's old gaff, and half a bridge (left). I was more interested in the Edith Piaf wannabe (below) who serenaded us while we dined on some of the finest duck I have ever eaten.

The weather was amazing; bright blues skies and beaming sun. I felt like I was getting my money's worth from my overpriced shades.

That evening, despite being worn out from the hard tourist lifestyle, we soldiered on and went out into Narbonne town. Woo. I drank too much and remember little, but I know I had toast when I got home and that makes it a top night by anyone's standards.

The next day we went to Port-la-Nouvelle beach where I dug a pitifully small hole whilst wearing my new and amazing t-shirt!

The week that followed was a standard week at work with the kids ranging from beyond irritating to unintentionally hilarious. I spoke to the headmaster who said he would arrange something in the staff room before I leave, which was nice. I also received a thank you card from one of my classes. Ironically it was the one class I detest and that I will be glad to see the back of, but still it was a nice gesture.

Also last week, the first of the assistants, Anne, left Narbonne! I cannot tell you how weird it felt to be saying goodbye to someone here when it feels like only last week I was saying goodbye to friends in Exeter and Salisbury. We went to a few bars, drank a few beers and danced to songs I would never dream of dancing to if I were in England. I guess you have to adapt to survive.

On Monday I went to Perpignan with Marisa. I had already been but that does not mean I could find my way to any of the sites. After much walking and venturing to closed tourist information centres, we eventually managed to find our way to the Palais des Rois de Majorque which overlooks the lovely mountains. There was a plague of English people, drinking pints and talking loudly as we do. After a man went into the bakery and asked for everything completely in English, without even stretching himself to say 'merci' or 's'il vous plait', I was temporarily embarrassed to be English. Then I realised how awesome us English people are and I didn't feel so bad anymore.

Today was a big day for me because I finally did what I have wanted to do for a while now. It took me months to decide what to get, but after deciding it only took two days to go through with it. So, me and Marisa investigated Narbonne in search of the best place and I explained what I wanted. An hour later I was laying on his chair-type thing with a needle pumping ink into my skin. Fifteen minutes after that, he said "bienvenue au club" and I finally had my tattoo.

I have twenty days left in the South of France and I refuse to let them pass without providing me with even more of those annoying stories that start with, "This one time, on my year abroad..."

Well, better that than, "This one time, when I was wasted..." I guess.

DC

Come so far. Reached so high. Looked each day & night in the eye.

I have not written a blog post for a long time and this time I have a reason that does not involve laziness or lack of internet.

Quite simply, I no longer feel like I am on an adventure or having lots of new experiences that I feel I need to log (or brag about). Instead, I have settled in to life here. It has taken five months, but Narbonne has become my third home (Salisbury and Exeter being the other two, of course).

So, when I booked my one-way flight from Toulouse to Bristol today, I felt slightly saddened. Don’t get me wrong, I am looking forward to going back to England, but I feel I could definitely stay here longer. As long as I did not have to work. Teaching French teenagers is something I could never miss. I will miss, however, some of the teachers, getting paid a lot of money for little work, and having a work routine. It is as if I will be regressing when I return to university: having gone from studying to working and finally back to studying.

I have been quite busy here in the South of France. I meet up with the other assistants a few times a week, enjoying the sunshine, hanging out, speaking a variety of languages. My French continues to improve and comes more naturally now, but that does not stop me from making mistakes that are apparently funny to other people. I just avoid saying ‘beaucoup’ where possible to avoid accidentally telling people they have a beautiful arse.

The pupils have been the same as ever. Last week, the music teacher intervened in a fight between two girls, one of which then hit the teacher in the eye. The girls got excluded for three days. This week, a boy held out his fist, threatening to punch one of his classmates. He was excluded for a week. I cannot help but feel that discipline here is not the best in the world. In the last week I have also had to break up a fight and other teachers have had a variety of things happen in their classrooms. Teachers are at breaking point. Me, well, I’m just trying not to look too smug when listening to their stories, safe in the knowledge that I have just twenty-nine hours of teaching left.

Last weekend I went to Sète with Anne, Lauren, Marisa, and Trini. We also met Victor, Tatiana and a friend there. It is a nice town with a big canal (as if I haven’t seen a million canals since being here) and some lovely sights. We walked to the view point. It was ridiculous. We used every last ounce of energy we had after an afternoon of walking, and trekked up… hill after hill after staircase after hill. Upon reaching to the top, and unable to breathe, I was disappointed. Sure it was a nice day and the view (above left) was nice, but the juice was not worth the squeeze. Instead, we all laid down (below) and I got sunburnt.

That evening I went out with Lauren, Tara, Alice, Cyd and three of Cyd’s friends. Getting hyped was a challenge as my legs felt like they each weighed the same as Adele after a seven-course meal, holding her six Grammies, whining about love. After some drinks and a top-notch prelash, however, I was as pumped for Botafogo as it is possible to be. I know it was a good night because I do not remember all of it and I woke up feeling like death.

On Sunday my new housemate, Marine, arrived. I only met her for half an hour as Lucile picked me up to take me to Shit-gean, but she seemed cool. Last night we ate dinner together, chatted, and watched some Dr. House (which is the same as House, but dubbed over in annoying French voices). It was nice to finally have someone in the house who was neither a recluse nor a bagpipe wanker, and wanted to hang out for a bit.

The weather here has been incredible. Anyone who is in a sunny place for their year abroad will agree with my next point: whenever you talk to someone in England, they insist that the weather is amazing there too. They then refuse to believe that it might just be warmer and sunnier in the South of France than in England. It almost makes you regret being somewhere so nice when you could be at home, still enjoying the sunshine. Well here I am, putting into writing what we are all holding back when we speak to our loved ones back home: NNYYYAAAAGGHHHHH!

I am loving life here at the moment; I have met some awesome people and made some amazing friends from all over Europe (well, from about five countries in Europe). Six months ago I first saw my room in Sigean. Five months ago I almost gave up and wanted to book a one-way flight to England. Now, I have booked this one-way flight and my emotions are very mixed.

People tell you a year abroad is the best experience of your life.

I hate when other people are right.

Today I don't feel like doing anything

I wish I had a good reason why I have not posted on this for almost two weeks, but I haven't. In truth, I have had too much free time and have spent most of it either in bed, watching Friends, playing the guitar or Facebooking.

Last week was the first week back teaching after the school holidays. I expected it to be a lot more difficult than it was; I settled easily back into the routine and even enjoyed some lessons. Teaching the younger years has opened my eyes to the many advantages of teaching, but I still would never consider it as a career choice. Not enough money and too many kids. I taught the pupils how to speak about hobbies and activities they like doing. I gave the,a picture sheet of hobbies and objects you might use for these hobbies. A highlight was when a child wanted to express how people use goggles to go swimming but instead said 'I use a mask to go swinging'. Another was when a girl told me that over the holidays she did her granddad. I did not alert social services.

Other than my classes last week, I have had a very lazy couple of weeks in Narbonne. I met up with Marisa, Anne and Trini on Thursday for a coffee but it was so sunny and warm, we opted for an ice cream instead and sat by the canal. Later in the evening, we headed to l'Echoppe where I managed to drink two beers and go home, as I had to be up early for work the next morning. I never knew such will-power existed within me.

On Friday night the English girls and I went to a couple of bars. The most annoying thing about Narbonne is that there are no food places open late. There are no burger vans parked outside clubs, no 24 hour McDonalds, not even a pizza delivery service. The girls', however, had heard of a new delivery service to provide us with such greasy nourishment. I went back to theirs but this new business was too new: they had no food. There was a whole pasta incident and potatoes were flying everywhere. It was crazy.

The weekend drifted by and I left the house once, to watch a film at Marisa's. We watched 'The Tourist'. If you have not yet seen it, don't. While Johnny Depp is the amazing actor he always is, I did not know Angelina was playing an English character until she told me. Her bad English accent rivals that of Bridget Jones. Terrible. As for the plot, it was actually quite good. Until the end. At the end, you realise that there is no point to the film. You have, in a way, wasted an hour and a half of your life. But at least it got me out of the house.

I called in sick this week. I had no means of getting to Sigean on Sunday evening, and after the ever-failing French public transport system, I simply could not be bothered with the hassle. So, taking the easy option, I faked a cold. I did feel slightly guilty, but after a few days of doing nothing, I now feel great!

I left my bed three times on Tuesday; for food, to shower, and to go for dinner. I went with Marisa, Anne and two French teachers to a little restaurant that serves pizza on bruschetta. Or something like that. It was nice and chilled, and I spoke a bit of French. They played 'Someone Like You' around three times. The French love Adele. Sometimes I wish they would just take her.

Yesterday was the first time since being back that I did anything requiring energy. I went ice-skating with Cyd, Lauren and Manu. I have been before, years ago, but I do not remember it much. I would like to say that I stepped on the ice, kicked off and within no time at all I was going backwards and spinning and weaving in and out of people. But no. For the first long few minutes, I held on to the side and failed to understand how to make the skates work. Eventually, Lauren grabbed me and forced me to move away from the side. I tried to make myself go along, but I cannot lie: she was pulling me around. The main reason I was reluctant to try is that I was expecting to fall, as was everyone I had told I was going ice-skating. For a normal person, falling is slightly embarrassing but you just get back up and go. For me, the ground is a long way down and when I fall, I hurt. But, after a while, I manned up. By the time we were ready to leave I was skating around, away from the sides, having found, for the first time, my centre of gravity. I did not fall over once. Not because I have good balance, but because I wanted to prove a point.

All in all, I have not done much over the last two weeks. However, tomorrow I am going back to school and then I will start my work routine all over again. The worst thing about this week is the pitiful amount of French I have spoken. However, I can rest on the fact that I speak to teachers at my school so tomorrow I will ensure I spark up plenty of conversations. In the meantime, I have started listening to French music (yes, started. It is not usually very good, especially in comparison to Anglophone tunes). Someone recommended  Christophe Mae, so I listened to a few of his songs. About three of them are stuck in my head and I know the lyrics to not one. Instead, I mumble nasally, almost in tune.

The best thing that has happened since being back is that Jean-Baptiste, or Bagpipe Wanker as he is now known, moved out. He took his patronising language corrections and obnoxious Scottish instruments out of the house, and drove away. All the way to Lille. Me and Matthieu sighed a long sigh of relief and waved him a two-fingered goodbye. We are currently waiting for a new housemate, whom we are told is a girl. I am going to use this as an opportunity to feign confidence with my French and really try to tighten up my language over the next two months. I just hope she is not a recluse who spends her time on online computer games, shouting to other players through a microphone, like Matthieu does every evening until 3am.

Hopefully next time I write I will have done more with my life. I have around seven weeks remaining in this country and I know they are going to fly by. It feels as if I am waiting for it to end, and I guess I am in a way. I know I will miss it once I have left, but I will not miss it as much as I miss England right now. I am going to try and make the most of my time left here, even if it just means spending more time in the sun.

Not today, though. I have lessons to plan, a guitar to play, and people to stalk on Facebook.

DC

On my year abroad, I went to Arena.

Sunday in Narbonne is never a busy day. I should be planning lessons and preparing for the first day back at school tomorrow, but instead I have been playing Lego House on guitar and now writing a blog post. Wild, I know.

So, after my week of France’s Fails, I was due to head to England for a week. It could not have been more welcome. I was going to attend a family party, then make my way to Exeter to surprise my girlfriend on Valentine’s Day. It was the first time I flew Ryanair and it was not the best experience. A delayed departure and the most uncomfortable seats made me sure that I am an Easyjet man through and through. I arrived safely in England where I was met by my mum and driven to Salisbury. We took the scenic route through the lovely English countryside. The joys of SatNav.

Being in Salisbury was like being in the centre of a tornado; it was crazy. The family party was such a good night. The theme was ‘things starting with B, C, or R’ so I went as a chimp (NOT a bear, thank you very much). Everyone looked amazing and with house doubles for around two quid, I prepared myself for some drunken antics. Well, if there were any antics I do not remember them. I do remember, though, putting my name forward to sing karaoke at the beginning of the night, and my name being called near the end of the night. I could neither speak nor read the words on the screen. My sincere apologies to those who were in the room.

No sooner had I arrived in my hometown than I had suited up and boarded a train to Exeter. I arrived to my vaguely surprised and very excited girlfriend. We went for dinner at Prezzos and mocked all the other couples, especially the couple who spent the evening either on their mobiles or in the toilet (no, not together).

I spent most of the next day with my mates Andy and Chris. What a shame I would not be able to go on a night out, I thought. The next day I booked a different flight home. Thursday night was a musketeer outing to Arena. It felt so good to be in a British nightclub, with student drink prices and decent music. With the best company. The next night we got a bigger group together and hit up international night at Arena. Let’s just say that by the time it was midnight, I thought I was in an episode of Takeshi’s Castle. (Can I say that? Probably not… Oh well.) On the walk home, myself and Chris decided to watch a muted version of Toy Story through Richer Sounds’ window. An ingenious idea not appreciated by everyone…

Saturday rolled around and I had lost the will to live but we had to be up and in town to meet a friend. One spinning shower session later and I felt alive again, although the lingering taste of sambuca certainly slowed things down. We went to Harvester for lunch. I had problems, I won’t lie, whereby my hands were shaking so much I could not use my cutlery. It took me a ridiculous amount of time to cut meat from its bone, and I was dropping food all over the place. I’m beginning to think that drinking is not the healthiest hobby.

My stay in Exeter was so chilled and so fun, I did not want to leave. I had caught up with some of the best people that have graced this planet, and lived a week in the student life I love so much. However, my floordrobe in Lucie’s room was reaching new levels of untidy and I wanted to see my family again as I had another opportunity. So, I headed back home.

Going to Dani’s for some drinks and snacks with Kim and Dom was a highlight. It was chilled and it’s safe to say we all over-indulged on crisps, chocolate, and sweets. Dani had the bright idea of going to the beach at midnight, but half way there we decided that a road trip through the New Forest would be a better idea, as it was not so far. It was like being in the middle of a horror movie, I was convinced the car would break down and a madman would come out from the trees to murder us. This did not happen. What did happen was blasting out some absolute bangers and proving to everyone (well, badgers and horses) that we are the world's next supergroup.

I also went to see Woman In Black with Jess, Drew, Sheryl, and Anushka. Well it’s not the best of the Harry Potter movies, but it’s certainly the scariest. Okay, scary is not the right word. It’s more jumpy. As in, you spend the whole film waiting to jump, and even when you are prepared you still jump a mile. Daniel Radcliffe was not too bad in it, but I just do not understand why he can’t walk properly. Retard.

Before I knew it, I was back on a cramped Ryanair plane and then back in the house that Jack built in Narbonne. Since being back, I have chilled with les angalises, played guitar, and now written this essay of a blog post. Now, I need to find inspiration from somewhere and plan this week’s lessons...

Oh, and Pancake Day was awesome.

DC

France's Fails

Once again, France is in my bad books.

Last week was going splendidly. My new pupils continued to be angelic, I had a lovely Wednesday evening at the English girls' house, Thursday was relaxing and I was up bright and early on Friday morning for my commute to Sigean, which went smoothly. I enjoyed teaching, spoke lots of French, and had a lot of spare time to continue reading Game of Thrones on my Kindle.

The week had gone well. Too well. After we had both finished for the day, Lucile dropped me at Port-la-Nouvelle train station. I was twenty minutes early for my train and it was freezing cold, but at least the station was open so I could sit inside. I forced my way through the heavy door, made even heavier by the strong winds, and looked up at the departures board. My train would be forty minutes late. Oh well, I thought, at least I can sit inside where there is no wind.

Twenty minutes passed and myself and another lad were ushered outside so they could close the station. At five o' clock in the afternoon. Brilliant, twenty minutes in the cold, with icy winds hammering against my exposed face. I thought reading some more Game of Thrones would help pass time, but the chapter was about two people travelling through snow, making me feel even colder. 

Twenty minutes passed. As did another twenty. Ten minutes after that, the train finally edged towards us and came to a stop. Walking as if I had only just learnt how, I stumbled on to the packed train where I began to defrost. Twelve minutes later, still without feeling in my fingers and toes, I was in Narbonne, ready to run home. Run I did, resembling Phoebe from Friends, and finally I was indoors. I jogged to my room, turning on all the radiators on my way, and got into bed. I ordered a pizza and from that point til Sunday evening I spent around 80% of my time in my cosy, warm bed.

Saturday brought along a new problem: no internet. I use a wi-fi hotspot in Narbonne. Lucile gave me the log-in details of one of her friends and it works as well as you could expect it to. However, on Saturday my computer was telling me that these log-in details no longer existed. There it was, a weekend without internet. After I got over the initial shock, it actually benefited me a lot. I played my guitar for hours and wrote the opening few chapters of my novel. Exciting. Productivity was in the air despite me still being in the mourning stage. Sunday night crept upon me and I returned to the internet haven, Sigean. Life was good again.

Until Wednesday. I had made the decision to stay in Sigean on Tuesday evening so I could have the internet for one more day. I regret it because at seven in the evening, Lucile text me with new log-in details. It was getting colder and windier by the minute, so when I went in search of food that evening my journey time was halved as the wind pushed me along. I will assume that the heating is broken in the school because the only other explanation is that it's run by morons who do not put the radiators on in the evenings. My room was freezing.

Wednesday morning arrived and I slept right through it. At around midday, I picked up my phone and tried to ring a taxi company. I had run out of credit. Well, that's not true. It had expired, because in France you have about a week to use up your credit. So, I picked up my English phone and began wasting my money while I listened to various taxi firms tell me they were either busy or visiting other cities. Brilliant. I got angry and plastered both Facebook and Twitter with abuse about France. 

Eventually, a taxi firm took pity on me and agreed to pick me up after they closed, at half five. I waited for twenty minutes in the Baltic conditions that have hit the South of France. Deciding that even if she turned up, I would miss the train, I ran inside and went slightly cray-cray. I sent a text to Lucile, who I knew was in Perpignan all day, and asked if she was back and could save me from the prison. Ten minutes later she was there and my sanity had been saved. Just.

That evening we went to Narbonne, met up with les anglaises, Manu and two other teachers, went for a KFC and bowling. I went from knocking down no pins to being third out of eight. I even got a strike. A lot more chilled, mainly due to beer, I returned home where I put my heater on full and curled up in bed with Friends. 

Today, I got up late and spent the early afternoon speaking to people from home on Facebook and Skype. Just as I said good bye at around four o' clock, the house was plunged into darkness. Power cut. Great. I played around with the fuse box but nothing helped, so I got dressed and headed to Monoprix. Worried that the electricity could be gone all night and I would have no way to cook, I bought crisps, chocolate and sweets. Alas, three hours later and the lights came back on along with the heating. 

My dislike for France is at a peak. I know it is irrational to blame a whole country for this series of unfortunate events, but I have never been rational. The French public transport system has failed me one too many times. My attitude towards living abroad has gone full circle. From detesting everything about this foreign land, to seeing some positives, to loving it, to re-discovering its faults and now back to detesting everything about it. The milk, transport, constantly closed shops and their security guards who follow and watch each customer under the age of eighty, lack of good bacon, excessive number of pizzerias, arrogant teenagers, and crazy drivers who make crossing the road feel like one of Jigsaw's challenges. 

I am sure that in a few weeks I will love it again, but I think that right now we need to go on a break.

The school holidays start next week, but they started for me on Tuesday. I have to call in sick tomorrow, sure, but my travels will begin! I am going to tour some of  France in the hope that it will reignite the love that once existed between us.

I will try to blog soon, hopefully with lots of exciting and positive experiences! My iPod is ready, charged and loaded with top class songs, massive anthems, chilled tunes, guilty pleasures, and One Direction.

Bring on tomorrow. 

DC

Tout va bien

Today, the second half of my year abroad began. Okay, so technically the half-way point has already passed and the end feels fast-approaching, but today I started teaching the two younger years in the collège. At first I was apprehensive. Five minutes into the first lesson, however, and any apprehension evaporated. My new pupils are aged between 11-13 years old and the sixty-or-so I taught today were all keen to be my favourite. My lesson on family trees, therefore, went very well and they were all fascinated at how I could not fit all of my family on the board. Ten aunties and uncles, all their children, and their children's children (and this is not including my two step-families) would have been a struggle to say the least.
Instead, I pulled out the family tree of my good friends: the Simpsons.

My language has helped a lot today, too. When I started with the two older years, my French was abysmal. And that's being polite. Now, however, I can set the rules firmly in place in their mother tongue before continuing in English. They know I understand what they say. They swear; I glare. They swear again; I (figuratively) kick some ass.

So, now to look back on this week. Wednesday was Burn's Day, so Narbonne's token Scot, Marisa, invited us for Burn's supper. Obviously, seeing as we are in France and all, haggis was off the menu so we ordered pizzas. An American lady is teaching here on an exchange programme, so she came along with her son. It was nice chatting with everyone and meeting some new people. As an experienced teacher, she had some stories that made me feel infinitely better about the bad week that I had had with my pupils.

L'Echoppe night was good this week, with many new French faces joining us! Spanish, German, French and English were flying around the table but I managed, for the most part, to stick to French. I met a French lady who lived in Australia for a year and who had also once lived in Newcastle. Her English accent was brilliant! Some words were Australian, some were Northern and some were Franglish... and still she insisted that she could only speak 'un petit peu' English. Yeah, right.

I did not do much this weekend. It was chilled. I ate lots, slept too much, played the guitar for hours on end and finally wrote Chapter 1. In terms of productivity I do not consider it very successful, but I have made progress with two hobbies and that is just as important, in my opinion.

On Saturday evening, I went to les anglaises' house to watch a couple of episodes of Grey's Anatomy. Well, that was my intention. I became for too involved with these fictional doctors, interns and nurses. By the end of the fourth episode I was hooked and I plan to buy the box-set, ready for some fourth-year procrastination. Say what you want about Americans, and trust me I say a lot, they make bloody good TV. Except for Lost. That sucked.

Sunday was a day to catch up with friends and it was very eventful! Chandler and Monica got together, Ross and Emily got married and then divorced, Joey went to Las Vegas for his big break but that failed... Mental.

I would like to point out that I did also catch up with real people.

Washing machines hate me, I have decided. The first time I washed clothes in Narbonne, a couple of months ago, they came out soaked in water but were no cleaner than before. I hung these clothes up where they then proceeded to drip litres of water everywhere. Giving up, I packed them into a suitcase and lugged them to Sigean, where the washing machine is not retarded. I learnt that my Narbonne washing machine had broken, which is why my attempt had failed.

This Sunday, I dropped a plate-full of pasta-in-sauce on my bed. So, I loaded my bed covers into the lave-linge and waited for just over two hours. When I retrieved my sheets, the same thing had happened as before. The tomato sauce was still there and the covers were drenched. Currently, they are in a heap on my bedroom floor because I could not be bothered to sort it out. I expect I will return to a large puddle.

I do not know if it is my fault that this happens, but I expect so. I could not be bothered to speak French on Sunday, so I did not warn my housemates. But it's okay, they'll soon find out for themselves.
This is me being a responsible adult.

Tomorrow, there is a teacher's strike... again. This means I get some lessons off.

Sometimes I can't help but feel that the French have the right attitude. Sometimes.

DC

Perpignan, Photos & Pupils.

I promised I would post some photos of my day in Perpignan. I was going to do it last night but, during a Skype and a Facebook conversation, my internet decided to stop working.

First, however, I would like to thank Miss Alice Hajek for the new photo that I stole from Facebook to frame my ramblings.

This is a photo of Perpignan's canal, which is much nicer than Narbonne's. You can see the beautiful snow-capped mountains in the distance. I realised that it was the first time I had seen such mountains and I got slightly snap-happy whenever I could see them.

This is a religious building. I am making an educated guess by saying it is a Catholic church. The architecture is impressive as are the paintings and stained-glass windows. It was the first time I had seen a confession booth, seemingly designed for skinny people.

This is the view of Perpignan and, once more, the mountains. The sun is shining, the sky is blue and the houses are mismatched. I feel this sums up the South of France. Perpy G, I love you.

The journey home was quiet, as you can see. We were all tired from being up early and walking around all day. This did not hold us back when it came to Botafogo later on that evening (refer to previous post). Oh, and you can still see the mountains. Exciting, I know!






I know I wrote lots yesterday but today has been a crazy day, so I will share.

My lesson on music and Someone Like You continued to go well. This morning, at least. The pupils were chatty and loud, but at this school that is the best you can hope for. However, the classes were progressively worse and I lost all tolerance. Carnets (kind of like behavioural records) were flying at me every which way and a lot of teenagers will be in trouble this evening.

A teacher asked me to do the same thing as her; a speaking activity at the end of which the students would present a conversation and I would give them a mark. Half of the class got on with it while the other half decided it was an opportunity to mess around. Knowing what the consequences would be, I ignored the latter and helped the others. I had already been pushed too far.

The lesson after lunch was even worse and I got nothing done. Pupils were shouting at each other and at me. One girl told me she hated me to which I replied, 'I don't care if you like me or not, it is my last class with you and if you continue to shout I will make this the worst hour of your day'. She stopped.

The first thing that happened in the next class was that a boy threw his pair of compasses at the ceiling and they were stuck there. I took both the pair of compasses and his carnet. Then, after they had presented their conversations, two boys broke out into a fight. Shouting in the best French I could muster and marching over to them, the others fell silent and the two boys continued to shout. It was a whole 'ya mum' thing. I took their carnets and they will have a meeting with the headmaster tomorrow. My Franglais was heard by the entire corridor and I received a lot of 'ca va?'s from the other teachers afterwards. My reply was, I believe, 'bbaaaahh, oui'.

The final lesson of my day was not much better. I asked for two carnets but they were already in the school office. Again, these boys will be seeing the headmaster this week.

Do I feel disheartened? No. But then again, I have never really been 'heartened'. I attempt week after week to plan interesting lessons and the pupils neither care nor attempt to do the work.

This was the worst day's teaching I have had here so far. It was also the day I got offered a job here next year, or maybe the year after. It was an offer I could not turn down fast enough.

Yesterday I said I was content. That was misleading. I am content with every aspect of my life but teaching is the exception. Only three more months, though.

Teaching will never be a career option for me after my experience here. This school is particularly bad, and I take comfort in that, but I refuse to have this stress for the next forty-five years of my life.

Maybe it's time to write that best-seller.

DC

Right Now.

Every time I sit at a computer to write a new post, I try my hardest not to sound too much like Craig David. It would be easy and uninteresting if I simply reeled off the days and what I did, especially seeing as it would not come in the form of a song. Then again, my weeks consist of more interesting things than meeting girls, buying them drinks, 'making love' for three days and dumping them on Sunday.

I know I say this in almost every post, but time really is flying. My working week (all three days of it) was pretty standard. I did lessons based on talent shows and the contestants thereof. It was one of those subjects whereby I severely misjudge the interest of my pupils. I thought they would enjoy talking about celebrities and music, learning about English television, and discussing the impact of talent shows on todays entertainment industry. Instead, they enjoyed mocking Susan Boyle, imitating Simon Cowell, singing Kelly Clarkson songs and asking if I had more pictures of One Direction... Eventually they fell into a stunned silence when I showed them a photo of Jedward.

Wednesday quickly arrived and I was back in Narbonne. As I arrived at the train station, I was greeted by some smiling English faces. It was a happy coincidence. I gave the girls the grand tour of my house and it is such a great house it inspired them to say, 'feel free to come to ours whenever you like'. An offer I am not taking lightly, gutted. We went to a bakery and got lunch in the sun, visited Shiva for a casual beverage and returned to their house to play on the Wii. Just Dance is not just for Christmas so it seems. That evening, we graced Botafogo with our presence and had dinner. Four French teachers joined us, so we spoke in French for the majority of the evening and were told off when English fell from our tongues. Torn between duck and a steak, I eventually chose to devour some cow.

Thursday evening in Narbs is l'Echoppe time. Les Anglaises invited me for dinner, I was introduced to Grey's Anatomy, and we headed to the pub. Again, it was a very French affair and English was a rarity. The beer at l'Echoppe is glorious. I always have a pint (none of this half-pint European madness) of La Chouffe, an 8% Belgian beer. Lovely stuff.

I was back at the English house on Friday evening to watch a film. We landed on Inception, possibly the longest film ever made. After my mind was, once again, blown by the Christopher Nolan head-fuck, I stumbled home in a daze and fell into my bed.

It was an early start on Saturday because I tagged along with Les Anglaises to visit Perpignan. Quelle belle ville! The train journey was pleasant, with views of the sea and the snow-capped mountains. We arrived and put on our best tourist faces. Armed with cameras, we strolled around the town and its monuments. I cannot upload photos now as I am in the staff room, but I will put them on a different post later today.

Upon our return I went home and played my guitar for hours. Not only do I really enjoy it and feel as if I am learning a new skill but it also covers up the sounds of my rampant housemate and his girlfriend. Bonus. I then dug deep to find my last few ounces of enthusiasm and energy, and went once more to the English house to have some drinks ready for a Narbs night out.

Shiva was a quiet affair, but provided cheap drinks and some well, interesting, tunes. We moved on to Bota where it seems the whole of Narbonne had joined together for one big party. Ten euros (for entry and a drink) later and we were on the floor cutting some hectic shapes. The music goes in stages, from Spanish tunes to wedding classics to club anthems and finally to motown. I exhibited my hidden dance talents and showed the girls how to stop traffic and let cars through. Possibly the campest dance move known to humanity but I could tell by the other clubbers' faces that they were jealous. If you can't dance, have fun instead.

I did nothing on Sunday and I did not feel one bit guilty. I had already planned my week's lessons so I did not have that lingering worry. I did have a new worry, however, because Lucile text me saying she was ill. I needed to get from Narbonne to Sigean and I did not know how. I had no credit and I know how difficult it is to get taxis here, especially during the weekend. So, I had a mad panic, bought credit, and rang various taxi companies until one took pity upon hearing the plea in my voice. Upon arriving in Port-la-Nouvelle station, I then waited for 15 minutes for the taxi. She was late because her usual car had broken down, but that is not the reasoning that went through my mind. I was stood alone in the dark working myself up. I must have said something wrong on the phone. Maybe I misunderstood her. Or perhaps my French is so bad that she misunderstood me. I would have to call her again. However, just as I had planned a conversation and all its possible digressions in my head, a car came round the corner and the panic was over.

Today I have taken three out of four classes. They have gone extremely well because it is about music. Apparently the biggest song over here at the moment is still Adele's Someone Like You so I prepared a listening activity on the not-at-all overplayed or whiny ballad. Ah sarcasm is hard to convey in a blog. However, this activity is at the end of the class so they have to be quiet for the rest. Nothing like a bit of bribary to get the class to shut up. As it is my last week with the troisième and the quatrième, I took an entire class of 14-15 year olds today. The teacher observed. I was nervous and felt sure that the lesson would fall flat on its face but, thank God, it went well and the teacher even praised me!

Right now, I feel very content. Everything works. Three days in Sigean, Four in Narbonne. I have things to do, people to see, places to go, and there is fun to be had. I have few worries and fewer problems. My language is at an all-time high, as is my confidence. It is a shame that next week my timetable changes and my perfect routine will change. Working on Fridays is going to result in more stress and big taxi fares, but I don't really care.

Right now, I feel very content. Why worry about something that has not yet happened?

DC

Reflection

Sometimes I stop for a minute and just think about my life, as it is, this very moment. I did that today, whilst sat sipping champagne in the staff room, and smiled.

I have been reflecting upon myself a lot recently. The reason for this is not necessarily philosophical, though. In fact, the main reason is due to the new Facebook Timeline. This new-ish feature of the social network provides even easier access to your Facebooking history. I have looked back on old photos, statuses, conversations etc. and I find it difficult to believe that I was that person. It got me thinking. 

I used to have an electric guitar. Just a basic one, with a small amp and the 'Guitars for Dummies' book. I never really got into it because I lacked patience. I became familiar with the instrument, learnt a few chords and such, but I never learnt a full song. However, during my first three months in France it is safe to say that I have acquired the oh-so important virtue of patience. To put this to the test, this weekend I bought a guitar.

Don't ask me what make it is, I have no idea. What I do know is that it is beautiful and I am in love with it. Bring on the calluses.

My housemate, Jean-Baptiste, also plays an instrument. When he plays it, it is as if angels are playing their harps. If angels could play bagpipes, that is. I must be living with the one French person on the planet who can play Scotland's primary cause of headaches (the second cause being whisky, of course). He also has 'small-pipes' and a trumpet. Last week I was treated to a personal concert of said instruments. He played the small-pipes first, because they are the 'quietest'. I sat in silence and ate my dinner, trying my hardest not to screw my face up and cover my ears. He then explained that he would not play the bagpipes as they are too loud. He went on to play the bagpipes. One perforated eardrum later I retired to my room where, without intention, I listened to him play, walls cushioning my damaged ears. 

I have seen all of Narbonne's assistants, bar one, since being back. On wednesday I went shopping with Lauren and an English teacher at her school, Manu. I bought a wooly jumper. It is like wearing one big hug. We then treated ourselves to a Chinese takeaway... Well, 'treat' is not an accurate description but it was a nice change nonetheless.

On Thursday evening we all went to the quirky pub l'Echoppe and spoke lots of French. It was nice to catch up with everyone and drink some fine Belgian beer. It is my favourite place to go in Narbonne.

Saturday night we went to Shiva where us English people were the life and soul of the party. I say that, what I mean is that we were the only ones at the party. Still, it was nice to chat, drink some beer and get some free beverages courtesy of the legendary bar staff. We then searched for somewhere livelier, which is not an easy demand of Narbonne, and failed. We called it a night and walked home in the baltic conditions that have suddenly hit the South of France. 

It was not a busy week nor was it a busy weekend, but it was good. I am the happiest I have been since coming to France. This is all due to there being some top-notch people here, my new toy, my ability to have full French conversations, and the fact that half of my lessons have been cancelled this week. I really am beginning to believe that a year abroad is the 'best experience of your life'.

I plan to start updating this more regularly, as I feel I am leaving bigger gaps between each post. Maybe I will post more about my lessons, as they are providing me with many laughs at the moment. Not to my pupils' expense, I swear.

Maybe I will also start posting some of my writing on here, just because I can then at least pretend that people will read it. 'Maybe' is the key word of that sentence. I do not wish to appear even more pretentious and self-involved than I already do.

Now, I must plan lessons, play guitar, get some food and write some stuff.  

It's a hard life.

 

DC

Return

Bonjour mes amis !

Aside from the brief post on New Year's Eve, it has been a long time since I have posted on here. In fact, continuing writing for this blog was one of the things I was most excited about upon my return to France. Consequently, I have not waited long to scribble another page; I have been in Narbonne for approximately two hours.

Christmas already feels like months ago, so I will not bore you with the details. All I will say is that it was, without a doubt, the best Christmas Day I have ever had. Ever. My sisters were excited (especially big sis Jess), I was back in England, we had all spoilt each other as always, and there was beer-a-plenty. Parfait. The days surrounding Christmas were also brilliant. Two of my second-cousins turned 18 which, of course, resulted in some heavy drinking and a horrendous hangover. The most important thing, though, is that I saw lots of friends and family and had an amazing time in England. And my Wiltshire accent has come back, stronger than ever before.

So, today I returned. The journey here went much more smoothly than my journey from Narbonne to Salisbury, thank God. My mother, accompanied by my lovely aunty Belinda, drove me up to Bristol Airport. After I checked in (and shamefully removed 2 kilos of stuff from my hold luggage to my hand luggage) we sat and had breakfast, but I was not keeping track of the time. All of a sudden, I realised I should probably head through security. By the time I had taken off my coat, watch and boots, removed my laptop from my bag, and emptied my pockets (and sorted myself out again) I was running very late and had to do the awkward half-run towards the terminal. On the plus side, there was no queue to board the plane. Then again, that was because everybody had already boarded EasyJet's finest airbus, made themselves comfortable, and even had time to give me judgmental stares and tuts as I went to the nearest free seats I could find. At least I did not trip over whilst walking towards said seats...

I have been ill all over these past few weeks. Therefore, I was expecting this plane journey to be mildly uncomfortable. I was wrong, it was excruciatingly painful. My ears popped as soon as the plane left the runway and they continued to pop until eventually I could not hear anything out of either ear. My head felt as if it were in a continually compressing vice. During the one hour and a half flight all I did was sit in silence, massaging my forehead and holding my hands over my ears. I hope I was conveying the pain I was enduring, rather than appearing like an escaped mental patient. Seeing that I had already tripped over on the plane, I expect it was the latter. (I did not trip over.)

Everything else went smoothly. There were minor issues with the taxi driver because I was still around 80% deaf, but at least it was not the language barrier causing problems in understanding! I then sat in the train station for two hours to wait for my train, where I got chatting to two guys about my Kindle (Christmas present, thanks mum). We had a conversation in French but when they saw that the book I was reading was in English, they chose to practise their English. Selfish. My train finally arrived and I got in an argument with the conductor when she insisted I put a 20kg suitcase in overhead storage. My response: No problem. If you can lift it up there, it can go up there. I've been up since half-six and I am not moving from my comfortable seat, which I have paid for. She left. I won.

Now, I am in Narbonne. It is comfortable and it was* quiet and peaceful. I have bought some food and had a pizza. This evening I will watch some of my Friends boxset (Christmas present, thanks Lucie) and go to sleep early.

I am glad to be back. I feel fresh and I feel ready. Ready for the language, ready for the pupils, and even ready for the 'milk'.

I am ready for France, but is France ready for me?

Probably.

DC

*I say Narbonne was quiet and peaceful because halfway through writing this post my housemate... well, his bed began to creak loudly. I was not aware his girlfriend was here. I hope she is.