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
Monday, January 30, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
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.
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
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
Monday, January 23, 2012
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
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
Monday, January 16, 2012
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 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.
It's a hard life.
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
Friday, January 6, 2012
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.
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.
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