Tunneling to Turin

          The Italian Association in Bonneville sponsors a trip to Italy every couple of months. The very deluxe bus (complete with hardwood floors!) left Bonneville at 6:30am. We got to the foot of Mont Blanc and had to wait for it to be cleared by the snow plows. We slowly climbed through the mountains and finally got to the Mont Blanc tunnel. The tunnel takes 12 minutes to go through! And once you're out, you're in Italy!
           The Italian side of the Alps struck me as having a different style than the French side. The French side has wooden chalets while the Italian side has stucco chalets. Both are gorgeous. There are ski resorts nestled everywhere.
           Our first stop was an Italian supermarket where the Italian-origin Bonnevillais like to stock up. I thought I'd pick up some olive oil to take home so I went up to one of the saleswomen and asked her to recommend something for my mom. In French. Then I remembered I was in Italy. So I apologized. In English. She didn't understand (obviously). So I said the same thing again. In Spanish. I tried saying "Christmas", "Noel", "Navidad", and gestured "25" in hopes of relaying the Christmas present message. After ten minutes, she realized I was trying to say "Natale", or the Italian word for Christmas, which, of course, was plastered all over the store. They had lots of samples so I ate my embarrassment in Italian Christmas cake, Panettone.
            It took another hour and a half to get to Turin, where we went to biggest market I have ever seen. There were thousands of little stalls selling fruits, vegetables, spices, cakes, candies, shoes, clothes, sheets, you name it. I wandered around the market for a bit and then ambled into the town. Because the bus got stuck in the snow, I only had an hour to be a tourist but I got to see the Mole, the royal Palazzo Madama, and the Turin Cathedral. Next time I take the bus, I want to go to the Egyptian Museum and tour the palaces! I also squeezed in some shopping and finished up present shopping! We headed back to Bonneville and all of my new friends stuffed me full of the food they had bought and sang Christmas songs!
     

Santa's Helpers

          Santa has himself a little crew of French elves. We wrote letters to Santa Claus today. After I explained "naughty" versus "nice", a fight ensured as to who had been naughty and who had been nice. One girl stood on top of her chair and started pointing at her classmates, outing them for all the naughty things they had done. These included being clumsy and dropping pens. Not heinous crimes in my book, but the students all think one another should be getting coal.
          I had to judiciously avoid the topic of whether Santa was real or not. It brought me back to being six and asking Mom outside the car at the Flower Market whether Santa was real and she told me no, but not to tell Brendan or Cate (yes, it was that harrowing of an experience that I vividly remember it!). I'm very curious as to what the French children think of Pere Noel and when they stop believing, but I got the impression, festively enough, that some of them still believe! This was mostly because one kid reported that he had actually been to Finland, seen the elves working, and written down Santa's address. But he wouldn't share it.
         Joyeux noel!

Le Pire Potluck

          You don't wear the band's teeshirt to their concert, you don't cheer for the opposing team at the Giants game, and you try really hard to bring a delicious, un-French dish to a French potluck. Unless you're me.
          Last night, I attended the film selection committee meeting. The committee picks all the films for the monthly movie night in Bonneville. I had no idea choosing a film would be so difficult - they have to pick films that address particular subjects, are a particular length, and are French, which is oh-so-much harder than you would think. This is because the committee is made up of retired teachers who deliberate a lot about which movie to pick. The meeting was an entertaining learning experience for me!
           Then came the potluck. I was nervous about what to bring. I obviously decided to steer clear of French food, so I was going to do something Mexican, meaning I'd have to make my own chips, salsa, and guacamole. Except the tortillas sold here aren't great and I could not seem to make good chips out of them. I hate Celcius ovens. Anyways, I remembered that Mom always make a delicious melon and prosciutto dish. I went to store and could not find melons. I finally found one melon, the name of which was written in Cantonese. I bought it, and lots of prosciutto. I merrily returned home and started making my dish. I began cutting my melon. It was a pomelo. It had not occurred to me or that when making a dish for the first time, one should ensure one is purchasing the correct ingredients (particularly when said dish only has two ingredients). It had also not occurred to me that it is winter, and there aren't melons in winter. I panicked and decided to make the disgusting dish anyways because, I thought, maybe someone will like it, and I didn't have time to go to the store...
         The dish was a disaster. I was delighted to notice it wasn't brought out for dinner. I hoped it was forgotten. I must have accidentally told the hostess it was for dessert. I cringed as it was brought out and decided to honest about "experimenting". Everyone politely tasted it. And uncomfortably swallowed. And remarked on how odd it was in the US that this meat/fruit dish was served for dessert. Its awfulness was only accentuated by the delicious food the other women made. Le tragedie.

Loving Lyon

            I love Lyon. It's known as the gastronomic center of France, so who wouldn't want to visit? One of my favorite teachers invited me to drive down with his family this weekend and I did! He and his family picked me up and we left a very snowy Bonneville for a rainy Lyon.
            Every December, Lyon hosts the Fete des Lumieres (look at pictures here!). The city was packed. Fabrice kindly wrote me a tour guide for the day. Lyon is shaped like a Y, divided by the Saone and the Rhone. I started off at in the middle at the Place Bellecour. It's in the trendy shopping district of Lyon. I ambled along the very chic streets and storefronts and found a huge Christmas market (where gifts where purchased, hint hint!). Obviously, I had my favorite vin chaud there after strategically discerning which booth had the longest line and therefore the best VC.

View from the river up to Fourviere!

View from the top! 

            Fabrice then told me to take a furnicular up the Fourviere mountain. I started waiting in the furnicular line. I asked several people if tickets were needed and was assured they were not...I got to the front of the line and was told otherwise. Ignoring everyone's orders not to walk up, I walked. It was like walking up my street at home in San Francisco. The view from the top was worth my sore calves (and was good prep for next week's visit home!).

Roman ruins, photo courtesy of my new Roman friends 

            The cathedrale is at the top and it's beautiful, although under complete restoration so I didn't take pictures. In the St. Just neighborhood, there are Roman ruins! My new Italian friends took a touristy picture of me. I also sat on one of the walls and accidentally kicked the side of it and a stone somehow fell off and oddly ended up in my pocket. So, Cate, a bit of Roman is my suitcase for you.
         

St. Jean

           Pillaging completed, I leisurely walked down the colline to the St. Jean neighborhood, which is nestled at the foot of the mountain. It's full of bookstores, art shops, and restaurants...and traboules. Here's a little history of the traboules. They are basically secret passageways beneath and between city blocks in Vieux Lyon. In Lyon, they were originally used by silk merchants for winter-time transport. They were also used by the French Resistance fights in World War Two!        

Traboules!

            I then crossed the Saone again and went to rue Merciere, which is speckled in traditional lyonnais bouchons. I found one that looked promising and as I was waiting, I heard "Excuse me, are you American?" In a huge city, I somehow manage to run into American assisants like me! Apparently my little North Face hat and coat were a dead giveaway. I had lunch with the girls and it was delicious. We had warm goat cheese toasts with salad and typical lyonnais sausages in a beaujolais sauce. And Beaujolais wine. I then scurried off to the swarming, but free for the day, metro. I took the metro to Part Dieu, which is where Lyon's massive mall and train station are. I shopped at Galeries Lafayette and bought more presents and then caught the last train back to Bonneville.

Dancing by Myself

           You know that Robin song, "Dancing On My Own", that everyone is sick of by now? I am especially sick of it today because it became a reality for me this afternoon. I was trying to get the kids to stop talking. Poor kids, they get stuck inside all day when there's snow to play with on the ground! I've found that the French teachers yell to silence them, but when I yell only dogs can hear my high pitched voice. I've been searching for ways to get the kids to settle down. I've tried counting down, but that doesn't work because then they scream in English to show me that they know the words. I have tried looking sad and not talking, but that doesn't do anything, and, in the course of me being quiet, I inevitably overhear something hilarious a kid has said and burst out laughing. Last week I tried talking to myself, and, as if that wasn't embarrassing enough, singing to myself. Neither worked. Today, I tried clapping. I remember my second grade teacher would clap different patterns until the entire class had joined in. The French children did not get this. I tried to ask one of them to mimic my clapping in hopes that it would catch on. It didn't. He just gave me a dismissive, eight year old look. Naively hopeful, I continued clapping for a good minute, adding in a light dance routine. I danced and clapped until all the kids were staring at me in horror. But also in SILENCE. It was golden, even if my dancing and clapping weren't.
            I am also a rapping celebrity in one of my classes. I can "three hundred thirty thieves" very quickly. It's nice to know eight year olds think I'm cool and that I now have a backup career as a professional tongue twister sayer.
           In other eight year old news, I was told today that my writing was "Wow! Bizarre!" which, in French, means "Wow! How weird!" The French students because they default write in cursive. They learn print a bit when they are in the equivalent of kindergarden and first grade. Then they abandon it. I tried to explain why I have to write in print: I used to write in cursive, but then it turned into a curlicue; even allowing for a long stretch, you couldn't call it cursive. In eighth grade, I was fired from my homework recorder duties because everyone complained that they couldn't read my writing. I have relegated myself to print. I also explained to them that American children seem to write less and less in cursive, (thanks to) the Internet, because print is omnipresent. I was attempting to get pity for my inability to write in cursive but they remain unimpressed with my writing. I've consoled myself with the fact that I'm getting better at writing on the chalkboard. I am no longer writing at 30* and I remember that what I write is taken literally. If I put a blue underline underneath a word, the entire class will raise their hands to be allowed to get a blue pen to do the same thing. Now I just need to go sit in on the kindergarden cursive class!

The Turkey Police

        Update to "Turkeytime": I used this lesson in another class. The students think that there are Thanksgiving Turkey police. I'll attempt to explain... We were going through the Thanksgiving feast and the students were intrigued by the specific foods: mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, gravy, turkey, stuffing, pumpkin pie, etc. One student raised his hand to stay that he didn't like turkey and could he please have chicken? (If only I could've made a feast for them.) I said yes, but that would be a bit odd because the food we eat at Thanksgiving is traditional, but, of course, each family has its own traditions. Another student simply answered, basically, "Duh, no. There are turkey police and you will not be allowed to have Thanksgiving if you have turkey." At least turkey offenders would have had fabulous last meal.
         It's snowing every couple of days now and it's beautiful! Bonneville's center is being renovated, so it's not picturesque at the moment. You'll have to ignore the construction site to appreciate the Alps!

Sampling My Way through a Snowy Sunday

         It's snowing in Savoie! We spent this snowflakey Sunday in Annecy at Marchés de Noël. Annecy hosts two markets all December long! Booths were full of food and wine and jewelry and clothes and set up like wee Swiss chalets.
         The vendors were very generous (think Costco on Sundays) with their samples. In appreciation of such generosity, and the busyness of the markets, I mastered the "I am looking intently at your products so you think I am deciding which one to buy, but really I am angling towards your second plate of samples in anticipation of that third plate over there that I've just spotted, as I'm casually elbowing this older man out of my greedy hands' way before said older gentleman snags the biggest piece of cheese" look. I also figured out that, "Can take this on an airplane? I want to bring back French treats for my family at Christmas," landed me loads of mileage and larger, cut-fresh-just-for-me fresh samples. In addition to the delicious sausage hot dog I actually paid for for lunch, I sampled Nougat de Montelimar with #speculoos, about seven different cheeses, cranberry/lemon/ginger/apricot bread, baguettes, Italian chocolates, macaroons, raclette and prosciutto, and several other goodies that I now can't even recall after my day of (glorious) gluttony.
          My favorite snowy treat, however, was the mulled wine. Here's a recipe: Ina Garten's Probably Authentic, and in Definitely English, Mulled Wine. (I will be happy to make this for you at Christmas.)         After the markets, we went to a Christmas concert at the Cathedrale, which was full of my favorite demographic - the over-60 set - and was fabulous.

Me at the Marche!

OFII oopsies

         I am officially legal in France! I passed vers le medecin this morning in Annecy at the OFII office. It started snowing while I was on the train. Not ideal for my bizarre, full-length North Face coat paired with black flats situation. I got there early and indulged in several mini chocolate croissants (which obviously don't count as one normal size chocolate croissant) and coffee. My ridiculous shoewear trapped me inside the mall all day as I waited for my appointments. I didn't think going to a medical visit with hypothermic toes was prudent.
         In any case, OFII stands for Office Français de l'Immigration et de l'Intégration. Visas come from the French Embassy, but long term stays are regulated by the OFII. They process students to au pairs to asylum seekers. Everyone coming to France for more than three months, and who is not an EU citizen, is required to get medical approval for their long term stay. I wouldn't have been allowed to leave the Schengen Zone for Christmas break had I not had my appointment...
        My appointment was at 2:30. I'd been in Annecy since 8:30 because I had to get pulmonary x-rays done first. The train back to the 'ville was at 3:30, and if I missed it, I'd have to wait until 5:30. I went to my appointment 45 minutes early to see if I'd be able to get out in time. The receptionist was very sweet and said she'd try. This unfortunately meant that I cut several people in line, which I apologized profusely for. The doctor taught me all the French names for the standard examinations he was doing. I had an interesting chat with the immigration officer about asylum seekers and immigrants in France. I came out of the appointment to find a hysterical girl crying because she now couldn't go home for Christmas. Apparently she was a Canadian au pair and she'd forgetton her passport, missed her appointment, and now had to rush to pick up the kids from school. I helped her translate her situation to the receptionist, which seemed nice and turned out to be a horrible idea. The receptionist and immigration officials got so mad, explaining that she had missed her appointment and they cannot make exceptions. Except I was standing there, translating, and I had had my own appointment moved. Unfortunately, they realized this and redirected their frustration at me. Didn't I have a train to catch, they demanded? Yes, I did, but since they kindly pushed me through, I had time to help translate before I had to catch my train. This brought further grumbling so I scurried out, guiltily. Le oops.
         In other self-absorbed news, I am not quite certain whether the doctor was making a joke about me having scoliosis or whether I do actually have it. That probably would have been a good thing to confirm. However, another French doctor casually told someone that they have heart problems... When I don't know a French word, I often say the English word in a French accent. This rarely works but it did work with "hypochondriac" the other day...in any case my Kaiser appointment at home is officially booked!

Tricked by a Ten Year Old

          Although I can "can a can as canner can can a can", I can also get fooled by a ten year old. Today, a student asked me if I could count to ten. Obviously, I was offended that she thought I couldn't count in French. To be fair, I probably mispronounce even my numbers. I started counting, trying to sound as French as possible. She said I failed. I didn't start with zero.
          Also, warning parents: I had the students dictate their telephone numbers to one another to practice numbers. I did the example with the teacher and gave my own house number. I immediately realized that may not have been smart, so I quickly erased a 9 and wrote an 8. The entire class immediately got out pieces of paper and pens and wrote down the number. Then they asked if they could call. I told them it was expensive. Thirty nine year olds are apparently planning on using all their piggy bank money to prank call California. I pity whoever's phone number is one 8 off out of my house phone.

Turkeytime

          Ten tricky two-toed turkeys trotted on the table...now say that five times fast! This was our warm-up tongue twister for the day. Every time I teach, I'm amazed by the number of little things I don't anticipate. I thought this was just a funny tongue twister, but it led to a discussion of how turkeys walk and how many toes they have, if any. We talked about Thanksgiving today. The students wanted to know how many people were on the Mayflower, how turkey tasted different from chicken, why Americans ate all day long, why it was on a Thursday, why pumpkin pie was first (it wasn't, I misarranged my flashcards and so they are now convinced Americans eat dessert before dinner), why the Englishpeople left England ("for religious reasons like persecution" didn't suffice for them), why the ship was called the Mayflower, what sort of things did they do with the first people, and many, many other questions. The only answer that satisfied them was that we say "first people" or "Native Americans" and not "Indians", but only because they found that so obvious. Silly Americans.
           In other classroom news, today a student, cutting the feathers for her turkey, lamented "Oh my God." In perfect English, with a roll of the eyes. I burst out laughing and, of course, the entire class repeated it. Not sure how that comports with the religion ban in the classroom but it was absolutely hilarious.
            In the next class, again, cutting feathers out, a girl asked me for help. Her seatmate shook his head and told her "You aren't the queen of the classroom. Don't you think she [me] has other people to help? Do it yourself. Is cutting a piece of paper that hard?" He had, by this point, cut off one of his feathers and I was in the midst of giving him another sheet of paper. She responded, "Be quiet [nice of her not to say shut up, wasn't it?]. You're not the king of Saudi Arabia. I want my feathers to be perfect." First of all, I am glad to be acknowledged as an expert with safety scissors. Secondly, the conversation proceeded into a fight about who was older and therefore could be king or queen. I accidentally cut off her feathers, too, in eavesdropping.

Hitting All the Wrong Notes

           Kat and I had a busy week. We started off with choir on Monday night...or rather, she had choir, and I had a prime standing spot in the back of the soprano group where I learned how to say lip sync in French (le playback). She has a solo and she is fantastic! I tried to reposition myself so as to be associated with her melodious voice, but got the raised eyebrow sending me scurrying back to the very back.
            On Tuesday, I had JumpFit. My jump rope abilities are marginally improving, thanks to the very direct advice from the 8 year olds I've been practicing with at recess. The music the instructor plays is great - I recommended 8tracks.com to him and I hear he's been using it!
            Wednesday has turned into movie night. This week, we watched "Les Intouchables" or, "The Untouchables". It gets all the rotten tomatoes. Truly superb film. It's touching without being sappy and has a dynamic plot line. Watch it in French with subtitles!
            Kat and I attended a talk on the state of the economy in France, with a particular focus on the debt crisis. I'll blissfully pretend I could coherently explain the lecturers' thesis...
            Friday, we went to a big ole French bar in the mountains with Kat's teacher and her work colleagues. An eighties cover band was playing and I loved it.
            Encouraged by my attempts at singing on Friday, I went to our choir's concert on Saturday. Kat had a solo and I thought I would attend, post it in the back as usual, and sing softly. I went to get my sash when the choir directly worriedly asked me if I was planning to sing. I explained my plan. She grimaced. I joked that I could just do "playback" and she didn't laugh. I got out my camera and said I'd just take pictures. And then she smiled. I clearly looked like a choir reject, too, because I matched them in all black. I am not taking their hints nor getting discouraged...it's back to choir on Monday! The town hall was hosting the show and it was an arts, crafts, and music affair. Complete with regional champagne and cheese platters. We went to a cute resto in Bonneville afterwards and then watched "Les Petits Mouchoirs" - another great film. It's so helpful to have subtitles because I find myself learning new vocabulary and figuring out proper pronunciation.

Chamoni(x)

          Kat, Laura, et moi popped off to Chamonix this week. Having a world-renowned ski resort a mere 45 minute train away is quite the life. Chamonix looks like the Olympic Village at Squaw but a truly posh version of it. Example: there is a Chanel boutique. My photos turned out horribly so here is a stolen one:

Chamoni(x)

         When we arrived at the hostel, we had one of those semi-awkward, owner is clearly British, but we are in France so do we speak French or English conversations...which ended up being in everyone's favorite Franglish. Chamonix is clearly the most international of endroits we've toured thus far. All the waiters spoke English and I think I heard more English than French. Makes me grateful we usually get to practice so much French!
          We spend the afternoon meandering. One of my teachers came up to meet us and we had drinks with her - love speaking French with someone who is bilingual. I bombarded the poor girl with "Can I say this...does that make sense...how do I pronounce" - she merited her mulled wine! Can't wait to come back and ski!
          Parentheses explanation: In Haute-Savoie, if you are chic, you don't pronounce the "x" in Chamonix. You'd say "cham-on-ee" while Parisians would say "cham-on-eeks". Remember that when you come visit me on a fabulous ski holiday.

I thought London Bridge was Falling Down

           I'll start with explaining my corny title. As I have oft-lamented, I am terrified of heights. In London, I decided I would try for the umpteenth fois to master heights. By crossing the Millennium Bridge by myself. I started off confidently. But when I made a wheelchair swerve because I refused to budge from my straight path along the stones and narrowly avoided knocking a child's camera off the edge and into the sparking clean Thames (sarcasm aside, the number of trash barges collecting waste in the river is incredible!), I decided to stop feigning bravery. In order to avoid fatalities, I am going to maintain my no-more-than-two-feet-above-ground stance.
           Anywoo, I was in London! I invited myself to stay with Sarah (college best friend who has admitted numerous times that she does not read my blog) for a week!
           Highlights included seeing the Christmas windows at Harrods, afternoon tea at the Wolseley, ambling around Notting Hill, the Tate Modern, the National Portrait Gallery, and drinks with Sarah's work friends!

Christmas windows at Harrods!

Notting Hill

           We attempted to stalk the Made in Chelsea stars at Bluebird. I almost gave myself whiplash every time I thought I spotted one of the stars. If you don't know what Made in Chelsea is, please don't look it up because you'll judge me. Suffice it to say that it is a British TV programme about young, wealthy socialites in London (but if you love shows like this, tell me and we can gossip about it!).
           We also saw Argo, the new Ben Affleck movie. Although I felt terribly culturally uniformed throughout the film, it was excellent. Its plotline progresses swiftly and it was truly exhilarating to watch. On a lighter (not calorie-wise) note, British theaters have both sweet and salty popcorn. Sarah ordered us a large bag, salty on top, sweet on bottom - clearly she goes to movies a lot.
          London was fabulously fun!

Lisburn and Lavery's

         Belfast today! Laura's grandma lives just outside Belfast, in Lisburn. We drove an hour-ish to her house, picking up Laura's uni friends along the way. Laura and her friends gave me a tour of Belfast. Queen's University is gorgeous. It's funny how we often forget the beauty and charm of a place when its part of our quotidian life. The girls were surprised at how lovely I found Belfast but as a tourist, Queen's campus and the city of Belfast are much easier to aesthetically appreciate. Belfast struck me as an approachable city. It's bustling but walkable. Cafes and shops line the cobblestone streets. Lovely place to spend the afternoon!
         We went to a popular Queen's favorite, Lavery's, at night. We ran into all the girls' friends from university and had a great time.
          It's been wonderful relaxing at Laura's house and I'll miss the homecooking and Irish banter with her parents but I'm excited for London tomorrow!

The Craic in Northern Ireland

          Hellos from Limavady, Northern Ireland! Here's the craic: I'm visiting Laura's family here for the week. Her parents are absolutely lovely. They've been giving me history lessons - both ancient and modern. It's a treat being somewhere old enough to have ancient and modern history. The Irish countryside is just as picturesque as I thought: quaint, brick and stone homes nestled amidst rolling, green hills.

Green, green, green from the grass to the gables.

           In Ireland, Halloween is celebrated with parades and fireworks. Limavady is close to Derry, so we headed to its 13th century walls and the brand new Peace Bridge to watch. Derry is a City of Culture for 2013 (along with San Francisco!) so I'm feeling ahead of the times on this visit. 

'Twas quite chilly but here's Laura, her friend Laura, Laura's mum and dad, and me on Halloween in Derry! We were not dressed up. Although I was pretending to be Irish.

          I feel quite at home here. Mostly because the immigration officers looked at my customs form and said, "Welcome to Ireland, Mairead." I was so shocked to hear my name pronounced properly I'm pretty sure I said "Merci" in response. And then I met Laura's parents. And we met neighbors and townspeople and Laura's friends. And everyone knows how to say my name. No "it rhymes with parade", no "don't worry, I know it's hard to pronounce", no "you can just call me Margaret", no "actually my parents didn't make up my name, it's Gaelic." Just "Mairead."

          And I've converted...into a tea-aholic, that is. English breakfast tea, to be precise. For years, I've snubbed my nose at the flavorless, watery concoction I thought to be tea. 

          Cate, as if I'm not inhaling traditional Irish shepherd's pies, and non-traditional, but equally delicious, curries, I've been nibbling on Irish cheddar. It's much better here.

Les Touristes

           We ambled around the Quartier Latin, took touristy pictures in front of Notre Dame, and walked through Les Halles. This evening, we made ratatouille with Christelle and went a 1995 rap concert. I've never been to a concert that's such a show or, in French, "une spectacle". The rappers were incredibly dynamic. The concert was at the Olympia, a medium-sized venue that felt intimate because the rappers were so dynamic. They actually got the crowd clap, move sides, jump, rap, and run...I got my workout in for the day and I felt uber French "singing" one line per song correctly. Here's The Motto video.
           Today, we walked around the Bastille and Laura bought fabulous Aigle rainboots, like mine! We  met her friends from uni and went to a Jewish fallafel place in the Marais. It was literally the best falafel in the world and my fellow Yelpers agree: L'As du Fallafel.

Paris, je t'aime

Typical tourist photo, but at least my fur matches Notre Dame!

         In France, teachers work for six weeks and then get two weeks off. This excellent system means that after three weeks in the classroom, we are now on vacation! Laura and I headed to Paris on the SNCF fast train.
        We stayed with Laura's friend Yannis Saturday night. He lives in the 13th arrondissement, which is chock-full of Chinese, Thai, and Vietnamese shops and restaurants. We went to a pho place for dinner, where I had two bowls of pho with the excuse that it was freezing. You'd think that Bonneville, tucked into the Alpes, would be colder than Paris, but you'd be wrong. Vain side note, I am wearing different clothes every day, but I only brought one coat (and to think that I almost nixed bringing it!) so I've been walking the streets of Paris in shame, like a serial fashion repeater.
         After dinner, we went out on the Grands Boulevards to several Irish bars, where all the Parisians were dressed up for Halloween! In France, Halloween costumes tend towards the scary (think Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girls). The bar was full of zombies and monsters and skeletons and lots of fun!

Quartier Latin

Annecy

        This weekend we made the long awaited trip to Annecy. Annecy has been built up to be the promised land; every single person I have met in Bonneville has told us to go to Annecy, not Geneva, but Annecy. Obviously, I was expecting to be handed champagne, chocolates, and perhaps blocks of gold upon our arrival. Spending an hour to walk what should have taken ten minutes, we circled the same roundabout three times and, by the fourth time we had shuffled past him, started waving to the flower shop man but we made it to our hostel. And then we went for a walk...

Just your everyday 12th century Palais de l'Isle along a lake canal

Kat and Laura along the river canal! 

Little rues in Annecy!

Attempting to dance and being annoying taking pictures.

            Annecy is certainly a gem of a town. And even if we had to buy ourselves a glass of champagne, we will be back!

Witches, wizards, ghouls, and ghosts

          Three weeks into teaching, I'm getting into the swing of things. I developed a little routine. I start each class with "Good morning" and "What day is it?". We then do a tongue twister. My first tongue twister was "Red leather, yellow leather" because many students have difficulty with the "r's". At teh end of the year, I've told them we'll work our way to "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious". As the students learn more basic phrases, like "How are you?", we'll add these into the routine, too.
          Then we progress into the lesson for the day. Typically the teachers and I agree upon a very broad topic. Last week, it was San Francisco. This week, it's Halloween. Here's a sample lesson plan (please excuse the grammatical errors in French!).

       
           I've experimented a bit with what activities and games work. Simon Says is excellent for review of what we learned last week, especially when the kids take turns being Simon. We pass batons or balls to one another in small groups to practice the difference between questions and answers. I use Charades to instill vocabulary and Find Your Partner to review short dialogues. I find myself speaking almost exclusively in French, but the students really don't understand English. I give all simple directions in English, from "sit down" to "raise your hand", along with loads of hand gestures. I've been debating starting to speak more English. Other assistants have said they speak exclusively English but that hasn't been effective for me. Teaching is certainly a dynamic profession. I try to take time after every class to I'm trying to figure out how to avoid the hundreds of photocopies I make a week. They are really vital to the progression of the class but I feel green guilt with so many paper documents. Suggestions appreciated!

Future home

           I took a train, a plane, and an automobile to Geneva today. Just kidding. But I did walk along the highway for 45 minutes to get to a random parking lot (fending off horrible flashbacks of my arrival in Bonneville) where I took a mini bus to Geneva. Whilst traipsing 90m an hour through the French countryside, I looked out the window and saw a decrepit trailer park. There were probably ten trailers and at least five of them had brand new Mercedes SUVs parked outside. The cars all matched so apparently some French family decided to sell their houses and buy a highway-side trailer park compound for some flashy new Benz. How bizarre. 

          Geneva is amazing. I walked around the Old City for several hours. The shopping is to-die-for and there are charming little restaurants and bars tucked into every nook. Everytime I have free Fridays, I'm coming back to window shop for the afternoon. 

          Here are some pictures: 

Bonneville this morning as I walked to the bus "station".

I wine-ed and dine-ed myself. And attempted to read Pillars of the Earth in French.

Little rues in Geneva

Cathédrale St. Pierre 

Further faux

When I am not busy misconjugating French verbs in class, I find plenty of other ways to make grave faux pas. In addition to the Gabriel/Gabrielle fiasco, I accidentally outed a child with a learning disability and threw away a present another student made for me in front of her. 

Last week, we were playing Simon Says with classroom objects. I noticed that one child was sitting with the teacher matching pictures with names. I thought he was helping the teacher prepare the next activity. So we finished Simon Says and I asked him if he and the teacher were ready to join the class for the next activity, trying to usher in the teacher's project. In my French, this obviously sounded very awkward. The kid didn't answer. The class was silent. Then the teacher looked at me with confusion and said, loudly, that this child did his own work and that he would just continue to work by himself. I realized with horror that he may have had special learning circumstances and I had just blatantly called attention to that in front of the entire class. After unsuccessfully scrambling to make something up and cover my big mouth, I apologized profusely to the teacher. He was unfazed. In France, all students learn in the same classroom - teachers are very open about some students learning differently than others. Some students are taken out for short periods of time, but as one of my other teachers explained to me, the new French school philosophy is that students of a particular grade should all learn in the same classroom, regardless of their learning needs. Many of my classes have two different grades in them. This makes it slightly difficult to teach, but I also appreciate how it encourages the younger children to learn, reinforces concepts for the older children, and allows different levels of the same grade to remain in the same class. The same child that struggles with English, for example, might be a math whiz, and being in challenging classes seems to encourage their learning. 

On one of my first days in the classroom with the teacher I am closest to, I was presented with a very carefully colored American flag. I showed it to the class, thinking the teacher had asked them to color it for me. I then discarded it somewhere. Probably the trash. Fast forward a week. Kat told me that the secretary at her school had a daughter in my class who had made Kat a very carefully done British flag. Her mom told Kat that she had spent hours making her the flag. Not putting two and two together, I asked the girl on Friday if she would make me a pretty flag like Kat’s. She looked like she was going to burst into tears and woefully told me that she had made me a flag last week and I had thrown it in the trash. There goes teacher of the year award. I begged her to make me another flag…so hopefully she doesn’t totally hate me.

Jump Fit

            I went to my first “Jump Fit” class tonight, thinking that was the French way of saying Zumba or some other cardio class. Obviously, it was literally jumping. With a jump rope. Which is incredibly difficult. I really need to learn to take English words in French at face value.

            Everyone else seemed to be incredibly nimble, managing to hop on one foot at a time, unlike me, and at three times my pace. For every one perfect “saute”, I had countless jumps in which I got the jump rope wrapped around my hair and my shoe at the same time, slapped myself in the face, or barely missed whacking the instructor.

            Luckily, the instructor’s wife liked us and gave us a discount. She works for our insurance agency and knew we were English assistants - clearly we are known townspeople now!

Des bouchées à suivre

            My only qualification for writing about wine and cheese is that I like to eat and drink, so I am not going to proselytize about the hint of oak in the Burgundy or the lingering taste of herbs in the goat cheese. One bite, one sip in one word. Reviews to come! Des bouchées à suivre...

An Accidental Solo

          I accidentally sang solo in a semi-professional choir this evening.

One of my teachers was dying for Kat, Laura, and me to go with her to her choir. I went, reminding her several times that I really can’t sing and despite ten years of piano, really can’t read music. She promised that was okay. I practiced lip-syncing in the car.

As per usual, the Bonneville singing group’s median age was 60, so we obviously fit in swimmingly. They warmed up with the chords as I shrank closer and closer to Kat, who sings beautifully, in hopes that her voice would suffice for my lip-synching. Unfortunately, I forgot to lip sync during part of one song and carried the note. Solo. The director noticed, and somehow knew it was me. He then chastised me in front of the entire choir for singing when I was supposed to have stopped, for singing too fast, and for singing off key. I suppose I even look like I can’t sing.

Then we started singing in Hebrew, which also didn’t go well for me. Volleyball starts again next week, so I will doe-rai-(see) myself out of that choir.

Thonon-les-Bains

             Today we took the train to Annemasse, which is half an hour away and one of the bigger cities closest to us. Annemasse has loads of shopping and restaurants and young people so I think we’ll come back to shop and go out and meet people who aren’t over 50. We had to go to Annemasse to get to Thonon-les-Bains, which is another half an hour away. It’s absolutely beautiful. We spent the day walking around and stopping at little cafes before we took the last train home. Normally everything in Bonneville shuts down around 8pm, but as we were walking home, we saw our friend from the mayor’s office at one of the bars. She owns it with her husband and we had wine with them and their friends (also over 50) and chatted about our days. We are quite popular with the middle aged set (aka the entire town) of Bonneville. Here are some pictures of Thonon:

 
Typical rue dans la ville. There were some chains but mostly little antiques, clothing, and chocolate shops!

 














View of the town hall. I love how all French mayor’s offices have flowerboxes!






The whole town sits on the lake – you can take a furnicular down to the shore. This is Lac Leman – Geneva is far to the left and Zurich is far to the right.














No, it was not cold enough to wear fur.

Vin-ready

             Today was Friday, or “vendredi” hence my lame rhyme, and I visited my third school, L’Ecole des Iles, which sits right along the river. It’s a charming school because it’s newly renovated and has grass and playgrounds galore, but also because the teachers are amazing. The only glitch occurred when I got locked in the school. It has hedges and gates enclosing it and I didn’t want to seem like an idiot on my first day, so I attempted to climb over the hedge, but was unfortunately wearing harem pants, which got stuck, hoping no one had seen me. Looking like a trespasser I walked back through the mud and all the way around the school, peering into windows to look for teachers and getting lost in the hedges yet again, until I found the preschool entrance. The preschool teachers had seen me attempt to hop the fence and told me to always go out the front – as if I hadn’t realized that by now. Luckily, I will not be teaching their kids. Our third roommate arrived today! Kat is from London and has my dream accent. She is lovely and has spent the summer in Ghana working at a women’s empowerment non-profit. She’s here in France and picked this region for the skiing, so now I have a coach along with my newly stolen skiis from Sarah. I just have to cross out Sarah’s name on her skiis, replace it with my self-appointed French name, which I daily alternate between Margaret and Marguerite, and I’m set. Laura, Kat, and I spent the weekend tooling around the house and the town including an accidental walk along the highway and trek uphill through mud (my fault) in search of the supermarket, where I bought only wine and a notebook. There was a sale, so it was obviously worth it, especially since now I know where the McDonalds is.

Back to school

            I visited several of my schools today and met some of the teachers. French schools look similar to American schools, but inside there are classrooms full of extraordinarily well behaved children. They already speak a minimum level of English – or maybe they’re just good fakers – and were very attentive when I barged into their classrooms. The teachers were welcoming and so excited for me to be there. They want me to focus on the oral comprehension and practice as none of them focus on grammar or even written English. They uniformly felt that an emphasis on written English diminishes the level of spoken English – writing the word “spider” on the board before the kids learn to pronounce it will engrain the word as “speeder” into their brains…thus, according to the teachers, France thinks Toby Maguire is “Speederman”. After I met my teachers and begged them all to correct my French at all times, which they happily did, Laura and I went to lunch and had our first friend citing in Bonneville. The woman from the mayor’s office who has been so helpful sat next to us… local social life is officially established. We noticed that the waitresses sat us in the corner at a table that was semi-crummy (literally) for a good ten minutes and did not seem happy to hear our whispered English, but as soon as we spoke French to them and I asked them all sorts of probably annoying and inappropriate questions about tipping, they warmed up and were super friendly. Almost everyone I’ve met here is incredibly kind, once the veneer of their seemingly natural reservedness wares off. As ungrammatically correct and oddly accented as my French is, I am certainly not afraid of using it that definitely makes a difference with les Bonnevillais. I’ve found, in the two whole days that I’ve been here, that once I start asking questions, people instantly warm up and chat with me, but they are often reserved until then. Laura told me that it’s good I’m here because I am, to paraphrase, overly outgoing and nosy, which is, franchement, true and also effective.

House of Mirrors

             I found the French version of Jersey shore and it’s so good. It’s called “Les Ch’tis a Mykonos” and I flip between it and the news so as to be well-balanced…except that I mostly keep the channel on Les Ch’tis. When not watching reality TV today, I was decorating our apartment. Our appartement is not the house of mirrors. In fact, there are no mirrors anywhere. I was left to see if my outfit looked French enough in the reflection of the windows. Actually, we have shutters, which makes me feel very French. Because we’ve no mirrors and the apartment needs to be personalized, we’ve been going to the little corner store every day, which is hilariously called “Cash”. I am already friends with the owner and he’s lent me his hammer and given me decorating advice, probably because I’ve bought half the store already. The inside of the apartment is coming together nicely, but nothing trumps the views from all the windows – the Alpes surround us! Pictures to come soon.

View from my window! 

Lectures du vin

           Bonneville’s mediatheque was just renovated – here’s a picture. I signed up for a library account today and the librarian recommended good French books for me! He gave me books by Marc Levy, Jean-Christophe Grange, Harlan Cobin, and Fred Vargas. He also suggested I try Ken Follet’s Pillars of the Earth in French, which is a terrific ideas because the language is rich and the vocabulary can be difficult, but I’ve read the book in English. The other novels are mysteries. Reviews to follow! Haute Savoie has a “Universite Populaire” series throughout the towns in the region. UP hosts discussions once a week in Bonneville ranging from politics to the envionment to architecture. Last night, we went back to the library for a talk on Rousseau, given by the dean of Rousseau’s home in Chamonet. He very clearly traced the origins of Rousseau’s theory, from Plato to John Locke, intertwining ancient and modern philosophers to contextualize Rousseau’s social contract. Although I probably missed loads of what he was saying, he was a compelling speaker, particularly because he aided his presentation with diagrams outlining his concepts, such as the power of the individual to accept a ruler. I noticed that the United States was frequently mentioned in his talk and in the question and answer period. He seemed to be implying, in much more specific and eloquent terms, that the US struggled and still struggles to reconcile the fact that to enjoy equality and liberty, certain rights must be relinquished to the state. While obviously that is true, it’s also true in France, but my philosophy nor my French were strong enough to defend the US then. Despite underaging the rest of the audience by about forty years, we really enjoyed the talk. Especially because it was free and there was champagne afterwards. Next week, there’s a talk about the economy and the environment that I’m looking forward to!

Day One

          Today I taught for the first time! I had two classes of CE1. The primary schools in France are divided into CP or “cours prepartoire” (age 6), CE or “cours elementaire” 1 (age 7) and CE2 (age 8), and finally CM or “cours moyen” 1 (age 9) and CM2 (age 10). Before elementary school, schoolchildren go to “maternelle” (ages 3-6), and after elementary school, they go to college for five years. At 16, they start lycee for three years and if they pass the baccalauret, they go to university for three years. The CM1 kids all presented themselves to me, carefully noting their names, ages, and where they are from. Some of the children hesitatingly told me their favourite activities, much to the delight of the teachers. We translated their names into popular American English names and they practiced presenting one another. In CM2, the teacher was a substitute and welcomed me to the classroom with “je vous les lais” or “they’re all yours!” My jaw dropped because I had asked the teachers several times if I should prepare anything and they insisted that I not. Luckily, the students wanted to introduce themselves and that took up a good chunk of time as we reviewed how to do that. It’s hard not to write on the board because I lose track of what I’m saying and what verbs I’m using. I know I’m supposed to speak to them only in English, but doing so was much more effective when I gave directions or explained something in English and then we translated it into French together. When I explain grammar or what something means, it has to be in French. For example, it was hard for the students to grasp what “I’m (age)” meant. In French, you would say, “J’ai (age) ans.” In English, you cannot translate that as “I have (age)”. I was backwards translating “I’m” as “J’ai” until the sub teacher explained that to translate it logically you would say “Je suis” or “I am” – he lamented after class how difficult translating even simple things like age can be across languages. Once we got through ages, he told me to teach them something, so I attempted to teach the body parts head, hands, feet, and the directions up, down, left, and right. He was helpful in making the kids think of where they had seen those words before – in football and in the sports brand Head. I tripped over myself in using “feet” and “foot”, which is of course simple in English and totally confusing for French speakers. My first lesson, for being unplanned, wasn’t a disaster but it was certainly unnerving. Wonderfully enough, English for French children is not a chore – they seemed genuinely eager to learn, but I was warned that once the novelty of my presence wears off, teaching will be more difficult. The teachers advised lots of games and songs, which is perfect, and perhaps even more fun for me to plan than for the kids to do!

Les sports

         Given my wine and cheese diet, my lack of a gym, and my inability to run for more than 8:35 minutes (latest record), I’m joining all the sports clubs in town. Tonight was volleyball, which I assumed was a casual gathering of mediocre players and lots of beginners. I was wrong. Instead, I turned up to the gym to find a team of women who are trying to get on the regional championship team. However, only a small group of them are devoted enough to come to the practices regularly. I was lucky number six – my poor partner got stuck with my uber rusty skills and general confusion about the coach’s directions as I realized I don’t know any body parts or how to speak sports French. I kept telling my scrimmage teammates and screaming “je l’ai” or “I’ve got it” which I thought was equivalent to the “mine” we use in English volleyball. After usually not having the ball, or if I did have it, frequently whacking it in the wrong direction, I learned I should be saying just “J’ai”. The players are youngish and super nice. They weren’t (visibly) offended when I accidentally called several of them old. They patiently showed me how to set properly and I actually got way better as I warmed up…not a terrible game for not having played volleyball in eight years. Volleyball is twice a week and I’m going to attempt to play badminton twice a week on another hopefully casual team with Kat and Laura. My badminton experience is limited to one day of high school PE badminton, but I will embarrass myself playing any sport that enables me subsist on bread and cheese.

Stage

We woke up not so bright but very early to take the train to Grenoble for our training. I met all the other assistants in the region and realized how lucky we are to have cheap housing, let alone any pre-arranged housing at all, and to have such welcoming and helpful “personnes des resources” around us. Everyone else is struggling to find anywhere to live because it’s so expensive to live in HS. The stage didn’t give us much helpful info in terms of teaching itself, but I think we just need to get into the classrooms to figure things out. Nestled in Alpes, Grenoble is beautiful. We stayed in Autrans, which is up above the city in the mountains, but I want to go to back to explore Grenoble.

Bon bon bon

Bonneville is very bonny, but not very villey. There is nowhere to go out. Apparently everyone between 17 and 30 has left for Annecy, as every single person tells us to go there. Annecy is the local college town and it is beautiful (we took the train through it) but it’s also an hour away. We’ve been casually seeking out anyone remotely close to our ages, which meant when I opened my bank account, I spent half the time trying to get the receptionist to invite us out with her, making us sound like complete losers who had no where to go. Embarrassingly, it didn’t work but I did learn where to go out if we got ourselves to Annecy. We went to a fabulous fondue dinner at Kat’s teachers’ house. She and her 17-year-old daughter then took us to a bar in their town. Not only was no one carded, but no one seems to care if teenagers drink here. In fact, they’re encouraged to have a glass of champagne or wine before dinner to appreciate the art of alcohol. The attitude is so much healthier than in the US and they said there are far fewer drinking problems here as a result. And, a 17 year old knows more about alcohol than I do.

Bienvenue chez les ch’tis (speakers)

Schoolyard chants in French woke me up this morning – school definitely starts at 8am here! I lured myself out of bed with the promise of a chocolate croissant. 90¢ of heaven of pastry heaven. I got my first daytime glimpse of Bonneville as I inhaled my croissant and contemplated buying five more. It’s a charming little town and looks just like the pictures. The main square is being redone, which is a shame because otherwise it’s picture perfect. There are some chain banks and phone shops, but the shops are mostly independent. A third are flower shops, a third are insurance offices, and a third are hair salons. Seriously. And everything else is a patisserie. Following my mini tour and not so mini croissant, I met my teacher and we went to the superintendent’s building, which is in one of the primary schools. I’ve been bombarding poor French teachers with emails all summer and now I’m finally meeting them – to apologize for my incessant questions, of course. The superintendent and the secretary are just as lovely as my teacher. I already love them because they told me my French was better than the last assistant’s. I had loads of paperwork to fill out, which Chantal the secretary had already done for me. I got my teaching schedule for the four schools – with a grand total of twelve hours par semaine. Apparently my time here will be spent eating croissants rather than teaching. The school told me to find the Orange shop for my phone and internet, go to the mayor’s office and arrange the housing papers, go to the bank and open an account, and get insurance today. Their emphasis on the insurance explains the ten insurance offices I’ve spotted so far…I can’t count how many times I’ve promised I will lock the door. Frustratingly, I have to wait til my bank card comes to open a phone and wifi plane but they let me open a pay as you go account and now I have a French phone number! I signed the lease papers at the mayor’s office for my insanely cheap apartment, went to the bank to make an appointment, and went to the insurance office to start an account. Everyone I spoke with today was so encouraging of my French and very patient. I kept interrupting myself to ask if I was saying something properly but they were so patient. The woman at the insurance office is super stylish and I asked where she shopped, hoping it was some local and semi inexpensive shop, but, of course, it was Comptoir des Cotonniers. She also taught me the most popular Savoyard word: “souci”. I’ve heard “pas de souci” lots today and simply nodded in clueless response, but I know now that means “no problem”… so exciting to learn my first Savoyard slang word! I returned home to meet my roommate from Belfast! Laura is hilarious, completely fluent in French, knows how to pronounce my name, and wasn’t fazed when I invited myself to Belfast within five minutes of meeting her. We went back to the mayor’s office and insurance office (which is in an apartment building and hard to find. Laura was amused that I figured out where it was by stalking a French woman and wandering into a building and somehow finding the office) to finalize papers. Then we found the grocery store, Intermarche, and had a deliciously stereotypical wine, cheese and bread dinner. We watched the French film “Chez les Ch’tis” which mocks Northern French accents. It’s quite funnay, as Laura says, and lets us in on the national humor…despite half of it going over my head. This was a blockbuster French film and it’s so different from American blockbusters – it has an independent, quirky feel, and you either have to be French or sitting next to someone who speaks/gets French to appreciate it because it’s clever. I highly recommend it, especially because it made me feel better about my weird accent.

Bonjour et bienvenue à Bonneville

Finalement, je suis arrivée! I flew into Geneva, where my luggage was not lost and where I was admitted to the EU by an incredibly hot border guard, who grossly inflated my sense of how good my French is with his charming compliments. I choose to ignore the fact that I was only being complemented as an American who could manage to get by in a language other than English. I took a train (which, Dad, did leave the station at precisely 3:13 because it’s Switzer(watch)land) to downtown Geneva. I was told the bus station with trains to France was several blocks down from the train station, towards the lake. Schlepping my Longchamp, backpack, and two massive suitcases, I made it out of the train station and made my first Genevois friend by asking for directions, which were very patiently given as he helped me with my bags. I had to wait for the bus for several hours and unfortunately couldn’t walk around Geneva with 125 pounds of luggage, but I did make my first call from a pay phone! The experience was not glamorous. My turtle of a self couldn’t fit into the booth with my backpack on so I basically did the splits in the booth and left all my luggage sitting outside and out of view, which in retrospect was a poor decision given I had no energy to chase anyone but this was Switzerland and everyone in my 2 hours formed opinion was so nice they would have probably called to report lost luggage. I had to use the pay phone to call my teacher so she could collect me from the train station. The train ride was beautiful as the Alpes are remarkably imposing. The sheer height of them in contrast to the lows of the valleys is breathtaking, or was breathtaking when I woke up from my nap at 5:30pm amidst a bus full of normal, commuting French people. The bus to Geneva is quite a good deal – very comfortable, only 8 euros, and 45 minutes. I got off the bus with all my luggage and found myself in the middle of a parking lot. The bus driver and a local woman noticed my confusion and the kindest woman offered to drive me into town after I explained what had happened and that I had no cell phone. She called my teacher’s phone and drove me to her. I thanked her profusely because without her I would have literally been stranded at a U-turn in the middle of the country with no phone. I then said I would love to get coffee with her sometime and continue chatting – she had been telling me about her job in Geneva – when I realized the way I had phrased my casual coffee was the way you phrase asking someone on a date in French. But continuing with her gracious French-ness, she was so sweet and I had made my first French friend! My teacher and her son were at the former bus stop to greet me and they, too, demonstrated that French graciousness as I accidentally kissed left to right hellos and almost kissed them both smack dab on the lips. After that, they drove me to the school where we will be staying and dropped off my suitcases. Then we went to her house, where she lives with her partner who is also one of my teachers, for a delicious dinner whipped up in ten minutes. I hadn’t been in a French house for a while and loved observing all the differences between French and American homes. French homes are cozy – space is used economically but never to the point of clutter. Pieces of furniture and patterns don’t necessarily match the way the Ethan Allen American style mandates it must, but everything somehow goes together. After two glasses of wine, the husband kindly walked me home. I made my bed with the square French pillows and collapsed.

Hello, across the pond

Stuffed with (surprisingly good) Camembert (from France) and (appallingly bad) red wine (from California, thank god), thanks to the practically empty flight, I arrived in London! And smack dab in the middle of a sparkling Harrods in the airport. After picking out new flats and a pair of sunglasses, I regained my bleary-eyed (from the makeup I forgot to take off on the plane) senses and instead purchased Hello! It’s a truth universally acknowledged that a young woman in a country for two hours must be entirely up to date on said country’s gossip. Whilst reading, I was comparing the British Hello to its American sorority sisters, like OK! and In Touch that’d I just read. Despite it’s subjects having posher accents, the British and American magazines are equally trashy. Yet the British magazines tell a sensational story about a celebrity, not just a paragraph or a sentence catch-up of what everysinglepersoninHollywood is doing/eating/wearing at all times. I doubt that there are more celebrities in the US, but we are clearly so preoccupied that we only allow each celebrity a line. Like the French comedy skit Bref, British Hello! talks and talks and talks about every single detail of this one celebrity’s marriage, when en bref, they just got married. Obviously, I read the entire magazine cover to cover.