So long, farewell, adieu!

        It's the "dernière semaine" of classes in Bonneville! Our last class starts, as usual, with a tongue twister. Today, of course, it's supercalifragilisticexpialidocious". The kids have it mastered!

        After our warm-up, we learn Bob Marley's "One Love", because French kids and their English assistant love reggae... and attempting to sing. They've memorized the chorus! 

        We're ending the session with an English classroom favorite, "Heads Up, Seven Up". I explain the rules in English and then we clarify in French. Today, I was going over the need to lower one's thumb if selected when the class burst out laughing. I was confused, thinking I was properly explaining everything - mind you, this was the third time I'd explained the game today. I was not. Instead of saying "lower your thumb", I was saying "*&$@ your thumb". And I was saying it in front of nine year olds, who had to explain to me what I was saying, their giggles complemented with some classy hand gestures. We then took a good three minutes to practice my pronunciation. "BC BC BC BC BC" is now forever engrained in my memory and I will never utter "BEZ-ey" again.

         Finally, we eat! I am making all my classes brownies and giving them the recipe in English, along with my email and a goodbye note as a farewell! I cheated, I am using a package mix. I cannot find the right cocoa powder...and I realized that without a spatula, a big mixing bowl, or a mixer, making 400 brownies would be difficult. I already have to (get to) make my own chocolate chips by stomping on chocolate bars. I wanted my brownies to be an edible labor of love so I'm cheating but the kids love them!

         It was a fabulous first day of a sad set of last days! 

Bordeaux Bliss

     Ah, the bourgeoise bliss of drinking Bordeaux, in Bordeaux. Such was my weekend! Lively Bordeaux encouraged leisurely verbage in me this weekend: eat, drink, and shop...
     As can only be expected, Bordeaux is cork full of wine bars and Kat and I were determined to wet our palettes. Our favorite wine bars were Maison du Vin and Vinset. Luckily, Bordeaux's world class wine connoisseurs are also very patient. I'd ask for a recommendation, they'd ask what kind of wines I liked, I'd attempt to say something remotely connoisseur-esque, cut myself off mid-ramble, and ask for whatever they'd recommend. This un-planned plan worked brillantly. I tasted some amazing wines. My favorites were Campeador (which is apparently from Spain - I didn't know that as I was trying it though!), Medoc Chateau l'Argenteyre, and Chateau la Tulipe Bordeaux Superieur (my favorite!).
      I was introduced to the best little cafe. It's called Karl and it sits in a gorgeous square in Bordeaux. Without even realizing it, I walked past it three times in the past two days. Each time, either the chocolatery pastries or cheese and meat platters lured me in. After my third visit, two waiters told me (separately) that they'd see me tomorrow. I promise I indulged my palette at loads of Bordeaux-ian cafes and restaurants! We especially enjoyed ambling through the Marche des Capucins and sampled cheeses and meats and pastries galore.
      And I went shopping. At my new favorite store, Lily Blake, where I got one pair of fabulous pants and twenty outfit ideas from the fabulous owner. Also, I snagged some sparkly shoes from one of the countless bordelaise shoe shops. Bordeaux boutique-ing is a real treat. The vintage shops are also amazing.
      And, as usual, I had a major French faux pas. I met Kat at Maison du Vin one night and we meet several other young people. One guy said that he had just been "licencié". I responded, "Oh wow! That's fantastic! You must be so proud of yourself!" My smile was met with a look of sheer confusion. He informed me that I had just congratulated him on being laid off. To be fair, "licencié" is a complete "faux amis" and certainly sounds like "licensed". I tried to salvage the situation: "I'm sure this will be a positive opportunity for you - now you've got some experience and more direction so you can find the perfect job!" Again, I should not have opened my "bouche" because, apparently, this was his ideal job and was perfect in every way. L'awkward.
      Bordeaux wasn't all frivolity for me! The Musee d'Acquitaine is a true gem (#eleanorwouldbeproud). I learned all about the history of Acquitaine from antiquity to today. Particularly interesting was the exposition on the triangular slave trade in Bordeaux; harrowing but fascinating. I appreciated getting to see a French presentation on slavery.
      The weekend ended too soon and I had a train back to Bonneville. Although I sound like I'm a crazy train lady, I've been particularly excited about the nine hour train ride I took to come back. I think only my Dad shares this dorky affinity for trains. I am, however, am interested in trains because I can stretch out, not knock over twelve people clambering for the toilette. This was no disappointment. I crossed the entirity of France, from coast to mountains. I read two books and picnicked along views of the wine country, the Mediterranean, and the Alps!
      Bordeaux, from its shops to its squares, proved the perfect way to end my time in France. I had the best weekend!

L'eglise Saint Louis

Les rues de Bordeaux

Kat avec son pain au chocolat

Finalement le soleil! 

The Magic School Bus

      Ms. Frizzle and my seven year old self would have had a field day this week. I was invited to accompany two of my classes on a school field trip...to Vulcania! Massif Central is located in the middle of France. Volcanoes and geysers and craters and mines dot the region.
      The classes have been studying these topics for months so we had an interrupted three full days of volcano-mania. We went on a guided hike of a dormant volcano, explored Vulcania's many attractions and demonstrations about volcanic activity past and present around the world, explored a former mine, learned about stone masonry, and visited a geyser. We played "Heads up, Seven up!" which they loved and Musical Chairs in English ("Everyone wearing a blue shirt" finds a new seat).
      Here's a picture of us at Vulcania:

We yelled "Cheese!"

      I tried to take some responsibility off the poor teachers so I put myself in charge of medicine. This routine took a minimum of half an hour every meal time. The kids were remarkably responsible about taking their medicine and helped me measure everything. I only almost killed one of them. One girl was taking a pain medicine in powder form. She promised me she could take it before eating. So, thinking I was really on top of things, I gave her her medicine while she was still in the breakfast line. Minutes later, she threw up all over the cafeteria. And she turned green. My hands are not red, though, because she recovered (sort of) and managed to eat a bread roll hours later, although that was all. I appointed myself a medicine dispenser supervisor after that.
      The kids taught me lots of jokes so I've got my fake laugh mastered (mostly because I didn't get the French in half of them). The favorite seemed to be: Why do blonds throw bread in the toilette? Because they are feeding the toilette ducks. (Note: they think I have blond hair - my highlighting hero of a hairdresser would be so proud!) In contrast, I also mastered stifling my laughs. Kids devise the most hilarious of problems. They're right at the age when they are starting to sort things out for themselves, but this means that the majority of the time, they are professional tattletales. Someone is always kicking someone else so hard and someone is always being so mean and someone is always pulling someone's hair so forcefully. And then, of course, they are always insults being thrown about. Example: You are a "pain au chocolat". I don't even know what being called a chocolate croissant insinuates because I was so failing to stifle my laughter that I couldn't see who the alleged pastry was.
       My favorite instances occurred when two little girls snuck out of their rooms at night. The auberge was situated so that we could see the lights turning on and see them scurrying out and heading towards the stairs. We took bets - stomachache or headache? Stomachache won out, because said girl had claimed to be vegetarian all day and refused to eat anything except bread and dessert (obviously). As soon as they got near us, Miss Vegetarian started to limp (on conflicting sides) and sob. They made their grand entrance and Friend of Animal Lover had to present the situation over MV's tears. We listened patiently to the complaints and explications of all the pains in every body part and absolute exhaustion and not liking the pillow and missing her stuffed animals and oh-so-much more. The head teacher turned to the malady-ridden girl and said "I'm very sorry you are feeling so badly you can't even express yourself. Now go back to bed and tomorrow you are going to eat." Ouch. MV impudently huffed (while crying) out of the room until she thought we couldn't see her and then ran all the way up the stairs.
       I also intercepted my first love note. The class's very own Romeo (the same one who arrived at school with a rose on Valentine's Day to bestow upon the formerly uninterested Juliet) wrote the now-interested Juliet a note. Which was left on the floor. The lovebirds economically saved trees by writing back and forth on the same piece of paper, exchanging misspelled words of love. The major concern was when they would see each other again. Given that they were in the same group, on the same museum tour, on the same class field trip, for four days - and they attend the same school and are in the same class - this concern is clearly understandable. Accordingly, their notes ended with: We will see each other at break. (You know, in three minutes time.)
      The trip was a blast and I'm so glad I was invited. But you were right, Mom, teachers are so under-appreciated. Next week in class we are going to write (belated) postcards and thank yous to their teachers!
   

Ski Season's Over!

       Today was our last gendarme "sortie!" I was sad to say goodbye to the seven year olds, who have now mastered skiing more than I have...fabulous ski season in the Alps!

Roman, Pauline, me and Lily! 

Preteen Parents

          One of our topics for the week is the family. We've started with flashcards as usual. As I mentioned before, I'm enjoying coloring in my flashcards. The lack of racial diversity in ESL flashcard-land is appalling. Luckily, my students have a wide array of coloring utensils. So I've been coloring all my people to represent all races. This worked well, until we were playing "Who's missing?" and I realized that Grandma is a sallow greenish brown. Unhealthy and unappealing. Our game of "Guess Who?" similarly suffered from my bizarre color selections. I first made the board far too small. I enlarged it on the copy machine (I'm becoming a copy machine guru!) and then taped it all together...on the front side...meaning all those along the Scotch-Tape line are half-white and half-black. The class of blond children I had this morning were confused.
          A similar misstep occurred when I decided to change the words to "We are Family!". "We are family. I've got all my sisters and me!" works fabulously for practicing family member vocabulary. Except that I've been teaching "daughter" and "son" and not "sister" and "brother". Meaning, of course, that seven year olds are now blissfully singing "I've got my son and me!" #englishteacheroftheyear!

Blurry Pictures to Prove My Existence!

Brendan and me in Barcelona! 

Slainte from Siena!

Casey and me dans les rue de Lyon!  

Vatican. Casual.

Venizia

View from the top...of the Borghese Gardens

Mouill-yay

        The weather today is "mouillé". It's dreary out - wet, cold, and doing that miserable raining one moment snowing the next thing, making me look rather silly with my umbrella. In French, it's such a hard word to pronounce and I asked the students to teach it to me. I think it's important that my students think of us as teaching one another so I encourage them to help me with my French. My easy errors in French seem to give them more confidence their English "apprentissage". And I'm lucky because they are fabulous teachers. Today, I was taught "mouillé" as "moo" as in cow, and "yay" as in a rap song. Seriously, they started throwing up innocent gang signs and rapping in Franglais. Mouillé is officially memorized. Sadly, the weather forecast isn't improving so I think I'll have ample time to practice my new perfectly pronounced word.
       One of my classes had a pottery session today. I love that the children learn pottery in school! They are making bowls for their mothers for Mother's Day. I was delighted to see all the "I love you, Mom!'s" written across many bowls. I took advantage of the art time to color my flashcards. It's quite pricey to print in color, so I've been printing in black and white. Meaning, of course, that I get to color the flashcards in! My students have a cornucopia of colors - in colored pencils, crayons, and markers. This often results in creatively colored flashcards - like fushcia basketball uniforms with lime green shoes. I like to think that this just makes it easy for the kids to see the colors. Anyways, in the midst of my coloring craze, I had a chat with one of my students about the United States. She was telling me about a TV program she watched with her parents about the death penalty in the US. We discussed why it exists and how terrible it is. The insights kids have are remarkable. To them, it's simply "wrong" which is so much more effective than my lengthy explanation of all the cons as I tried to fairly list the pros some see. Wrong is wrong. 
        In more positive news, their pottery turned out wonderfully and their "mamans" will be delighted. 

Hungry? Come Pay 5€ to Eat a Churro in Teepee!

        Skiing was a trial today. A trial to pass the "flocon" test, that is. After three months of Wednesday skiing lessons, the children had their exams today. Each group had to ski a certain course, veering properly around cones and avoiding the "chasse-neige" (snowplow). The evaluators are strict because the gendarme's monitors are essentially "taking their jobs by teaching the children" (as they told me).
        My favorite sassy 5 year old asked me mid-ski, "Why do you always have an accent?" I have been increasingly aware of said accent since last week. I accompanied my students to a musical concert last week. The musical was about Louisiana and the lead singer spoke and sang with an American accent in French. When she started singing, I thought with relief that I didn't sound like her...until the student sitting next to me told me that I sounded exactly like her. And then every single student turned to tell me "C'est toi!" (it's you!). The musical was attended by all of my students from all of my schools. I consoled myself with the fact that they (usually) understand me.
        Back to the accent comment from my sassy skier. I responded by asking if I do in fact have an accent, to which she responded with a huge grin. Then she asked me if I understood French. Seven months later, I officially have a huge accent and children doubt my French abilities!
        Had this not been embarrassing enough, I was reminded by the same skier that I fell the first time I took the platter lift. This happened three months ago, so it clearly made an impression on her. She told this to the ski lift operator, who was probably confused given my age. I grimaced and proceeded to miss my turn on the platter lift.
         When we got back to the bus, we learned that most of the children had passed! The children and monitors all asked me if I passed, which I thought was a joke, and when I responded "Obviously!", they said "Really?". But then I was told I improved majorly since the beginning. This encouraged me to ask for an honorary "Etoile d'Or" (Golden Star) award. Fingers crossed it's presented to me next week!

Roman Holiday

         Ciao dear readers! Casey came to visit for a lovely two weeks and we spent our time galavanting (correction: dragging, considering the amount of pizza and pasta we ate) around Italy! I'll do a quick summary of our trip here...
         We spent most of our time walking around new neighborhoods but we tried to hit all the major attractions and museums. We relied on HostelWorld to find the best hostels, Trip Advisor for grubbing, and most importantly, Lonely Planet Encounter Guides (thanks Mom and Dad!) for sightseeing! These pocket sized books cover a city and its surrounding area. The maps and suggestions are practical and precise. Best of all, the books weigh next to nothing and can be easily popped into a bag!
         We began in Milan where we stayed in an AirBnB apartment. I highly recommend using AirBnB when traveling. You get to meet locals, see a typical apartment (obviously this really appeals to my blatant nosiness), get insider tips on what to do, and it's more comfortable than a hostel and less expensive than a hotel! Our AirBnB hostess in Milan was away for the weekend but her friend kindly picked us up from the train station and took us to dinner and drinks!
         Milan is beautiful. The Duomo dominates the downtown area and is staggering to see amidst the posh and modern shops from Prada to Pucci. Milan's the economic center of and has banks galore. Luckily, it was Sunday and the shops were closed. Otherwise, Day 2 of our trip would have entailed far too much time spent at their ATMs.
         We then took the train to Venice, which looks like a Hollywood set (how American am I?!). Casey and I have never felt so lucky to be able to swim (which, luckily, wasn't necessary). Despite being an incredibly inconvenient place to roll suitcases given the fact that there are bridges to everywhere, Venice is architecturally stunning - bright colors abound. San Marco's square was a sight to see. The vibe is convivial and energetic. Our favorite part of Venice were their "aperitivos" and "cicheti". They serve cheap and light drinks and snacks (sandwiches, meatballs, salads, spreads, veggies, you name it!) from about 6pm on. We learned to make the rounds at the best places and so we had fabulous Italian-style tapas dinners every night!
          Florence was next and we loved it. We did the museums round and Casey took hilarious pictures of the David. It was warm and sunny and we walked around for hours. We had one of our favorite dishes from the trip at Trattoria La Casalinga: rabbit-sauce tortellini.
          From Florence we trained through Tuscany and went to Siena. Siena definitely has the most old world feel of all the places we visited and we had a great time exploring the churches and squares.
          The quietness of Siena was soon gone as we headed to Rome. Rome is loud. There is a deafening amount museums, squares, parks, monuments, and galleries to visit - we were overwhelmed! We snuck into the Vatican and got to see the Museums (just wow!) and the Sistine Chapel a day before it closed - talk about the luck of the Irish. The ancient Roman sites were incredible - we wished we'd brushed up on our Roman history before visiting them, though. Our favorite part were the Borghese Galleries. Not only is the chateau itself a work of art, but the collection is awe-inspiring. Five days wasn't nearly enough time in Rome! We had a great trip overall and can't wait to explore more of Italy!
 

At Long Last, a Round of Applause

        It's been snowing up a storm in Haute Savoie so I was looking forward to skiing with the gendarme yesterday. The ski staff at Les Gets, however, was not looking forward to my visit.
       When I got to the first big ski lift, the operator burst out laughing. He said, "Oh great, you're back. Those poor kids." The ski incident of which he speaks happened a month ago (my embarrassing account can be found if you scroll down). Great! Les Gets apparently has me on their "danger to self and others" list.
         As usual, ski lifting didn't go well. I thought I had the children's hands but their little gloves must have slipped out. When the lift came, I skied forward. They did not. Again, I was yelled at by the operators. Luckily I was able to lithely(ish) avoid the chair and cling to the pole in the center. I then somehow managed to ski backwards and grab the children and make it onto the chair lift with them. This merited a round of applause. It was one of the proudest moments of my life, seeing as French ski experts are usually less than impressed with me.
         I wanted to do Valentine's Day grams in English today but I think it's a good thing I didn't. As I was walking to school today, I ran into "Romeo" who was carrying a single rose back to school. I thought it was for the teacher but apparently it was for "Juliet" whom he loves. When we got to school, he presented his rose to his "amoureuse" and we learned that he is not her "amoureux". She loudly announced to the entire class that he likes her and she does not like him. The teacher says he tried to kiss and she slapped him in the face. Such sassy nine year olds! Joyeuse Saint-Valentin!

English with a Hint of German

        Kat and I ventured into German-world this weekend! Sillily enough, I did not remember that we were switching tongues - and forgot to teach myself German.
        How cool is it that Switzerland has three official languages (French, German, and Italian) and English as its unofficial fourth!? Switzerland technically also has Romansh as its fourth official language, but we didn't get to hear that. In Geneva, I've found Swiss people to be welcoming and friendly - and their germanophone countrymen in Lucerne didn't disappoint.
        Carnival was this weekend. Lucerne celebrates Carnival for six days before Ash Wednesday, but the city says Carnival "fetes" the end of winter. Judging from the freezing temperatures, it wasn't quite the end of winter, but it was a festival! From wooly mammoth like children to grim reaper parents, families were dressed phan-tastically. Revelers were meandering the streets - playing instruments, dancing, and singing.
         We got a drink at the Astoria, and had a view of the entire city, dazzling in snow and sparking lights. We had a yummy Lebanese dinner and stopped by the casino afterwards. Switzerland is "tres cher" - needless to say, we didn't gamble, but we heard correctly that it was fabulous. Excellent people watching time!
        On Sunday, I went to the Rosengart Museum, where I met Mrs. R. And talked to her. She's only Picasso's muse. Read about it!
       

The Best Thing Since Sliced Bread

         During our food talks in class today, one student asked me why sandwiches in the US are triangles. I confirmed the question. "Triangles, as in a triangle?" The class nodded in response. Last year, the English assistant was from Trinidad and Tobago; apparently, she showed them pictures of sandwiches cut tea-style. The entire class thought that bread was produced in triangular shapes in English-land. I burst out laughing, thinking of how difficult it would be to match two slices of bread perfectly - sandwiches would be sloppy joes, indeed. I drew a piece of sliced bread on the board, took two different colors of chalks, and showed how bread could be cut diagonally or vertically. They were amazed.
         Then I got to thinking, why do we have sandwiches cut in triangles, or, for that matter, in rectangles? Luckily, NPR hosted the great sandwich slicing debate several years ago and determined that, "Chefs, foodies, an architect and even a mathematician all told us that diagonal rules." The diagonal cut exposes the interior of the sandwiches and tantalizes your senses. It also allows crust-haters to avoid the crust, and graceful eaters to avoid shoving a huge side in their mouths. NPR also posits that triangles are superior because they are reminiscent of the Holy Trinity and the Star of David... Read for yourself! Who knew sandwiches were so much fun?!

Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!

        Today, it was "lions and tigers and bears, oh no!" We learned about farm animals in class, which seemed to bring out some tensions in the barn...
        Animal lessons are fun because a) the kids love them b) the animal noises are different in French, and c) I get to pretend that I'm six. I thought my pig impression was perfectly snorty but you should hear French kids impersonating piglets. We played Simon Says to remember the animal names but differentiating between chicks, hens, roosters, ducklings, and ducks proved difficult. We made frog noises for some of them and a yoodle-ish sound for another. I should have practiced my noises before this afternoon! Keeping calm and oinking on, we played the whispering version of Simon Says, so "meows, woofs, and moos" were hilariously deafened. In French, you say "chouchouter" for whisper - and the onomatopoeia works just as well. The kids were very polite barnyard creatures.
         Until we got to "donkey." I asked, "What is a donkey?" and was told "Benjamin."
         Horribly enough, I burst in a pig-impression snort, but so did the teacher. Benjamin, however, did not join in. Then he threw back a "you're a pig" and a girl was called a cow. I lost track of the animal slurs after that.
          It was clearly time for the all-inclusive, happy "Old MacDonald" song. And boy, did Old MacDonald work his magic. Soon after, donkey, pig, and cow were all singing in harmony.

Near Death Experience for Mice and Elephants

          I recently wrote about the trials of mounting the trails via "tire-fesses" as they say in French (direct translation: pulling your derriere). Today, I was faced with another tribulation. Literally. I was hit in the head with a chairlift.
          The gendarme's "sortie" today was at Les Gets. It's known for having a beautiful village and it's more challenging a "station" than Praz du Lys. And it has chairlifts or "telesieges".
          I was assigned the two worst listeners in our group. Taking little kids up on huge chairlifts is risky enough when you can fully communicate with them so this was clearly an accident waiting to happen, given my lack of French. I thought the operator was making sure the kid on my left got on the chairlift, so I took care of the kid on the right. Unfortunately, so did the operator. My silly trick that you can make a "G" with your left hand, which means it's the "gauche" side (I taught this to the kids to help them remember right and left, because the "L" trick works in English, too), did not come in handy. The kid on the left got whacked in the head with the chairlift. Seriously, thank god he was wearing a helmet. Luckily, he is 6 and was fine two seconds later. After disrupting the chairlift line yet again, we finally got on our way. I made them both promise to play statue and not move at all, having horrible images of one of them falling into the depths of the snow banks from fifty feet in the air. Then I lectured them on how to get off the chairlift properly and I asked them to recite back my instructions. I thought we were all clear. We were not. Upon reaching the top of the mountain, I lifted up the bar. We had planned to lift the bar, wait until I said "go" and then slide off. Of course, as soon as I lifted the bar, they both jumped off. Panicking, I also jumped off, which was incredibly dim-witted of me, but I was trying to go for a "one for all" teamwork-y attitude. I couldn't abandon my team, despite my horrible directions, could I? And this left three of us in the middle chairlift drop-off point, with chairlifts full of people zooming towards us. The chairlift man started swearing loudly. The kids played dead and lay down, apparently my French instructions were finally correct. They weren't hit with the chairlifts and the man pulled them out to safety. I, however, had star-fished literally in the smallest space between snow and chairlift. I could feel the chairlifts skimming my back. And no, it was not a nice massage. Because I couldn't stand up, I didn't know how to get my skis out of their position in a sprawl in opposite directions. The chairlift operator literally dragged me out face down onto the mountain. A more humiliating experience could not have been had. I was crying of laughter and the kids were crying because they thought I had died. No one was hurt, although I managed to kill what slim shreds of dignity I had left on the French slopes.
           Post-catastrophe, skiing went well! We learned to play "mouse and elephant". You play mouse when you are crouching down to make your perpendicular to the slope tracks and elephant when you stand up to turn. It's great that tips for 7 year olds work so well for a 23 year old!

One Night in Paris!

      Sarah and moi went to Paris this weekend!
      I arrived Friday on the train. I originally bought tickets online but needed to arrange to get back to Bonneville in time for my Monday classes, so I went to the train station. The woman at the SNCF booth completely changed my tickets and saved me a huge amount of both time and money - traveler's tip: sometimes in person purchases are better! I forwarded this to Rick Steves and am hoping my simple point gets international recognition!
      I spent the evening with Christelle, my former hostess of "Would you please speak tomorrow?" fame. We had a lovely evening catching up with her and her parents. She made amazing chocolate treats for dessert - one was chocolate cornflake clusters and the other was a Nutella cake! I had brought back American measuring cups and a baking book for her in hopes such delicious treats!
      Sarah popped over from London on Saturday morning. We checked into the ritzy Saint James & Albany Hotel-Spa (thank you Groupon!). Saturday started off as a shopping spree. We hit Haussmann and meandered/bought our way through the floors of Galerie Lafayette. I always forget how amazing the ceiling is - look! I was tres good and only bought one practical and gorgeous dress! We went to Fnac (like Best Buy) afterwards to pick up our Louvre tickets. You can buy Louvre tickets (and loads of other attraction tickets) in advance through their website and then go to any Carrefour (like Safeway but deluxe) or Fnac to pick them up. Paris wasn't too crowded this weekend, but in general, the Louvre lines are daunting and this was a great idea.
       We went to Fellini for a massive Italian dinner, complete with Chianti to toast - can't wait to try it in Italy!
        On Sunday morning, we Mona Lisa'd. The Louvre is simply incredible. I wish we'd had the whole day (or week!) to browse...you still wouldn't get to see everything and to imagine that it's just one museum! Next time, seeing the history of the Louvre is on my list. There's an exhibit at the bottom explaining its history and I've always meant to go and forgotten!
        We had homemade crepes (savory and sweet!) with Christelle and her husband for lunch and then lugged ourselves over to the Eiffel Tower. As if it weren't magnificent enough on its own, in the snow, it's spectacular. At night, the lights are on and glistening in the snow.
        We hit the Marais next and shopped the boutiques and had L'as du Fallafel again, per my very strong recommendation. Then it was training home for me and plane-ing home for Sarah! The train was delayed because of the snow and I met a lovely couple from Nice who gave me nice Nice tips! I took the night train, which is similar to an Amtrak sleeper car - you get a little "couchette" to sleep in, complete with a sleeping bag. Perfect Parisian promen-day! (That doesn't work, does it!?)

Ski School

         Once upon a time, an amateur skier went on a ski day with a group of expert ski instructors and the head of the Ecole du Ski Francais. Unfortunately, this is not a fairy tale. This was my life today.
         Post gendarme skiing Wednesday, one of the directors invited me to ski with them Saturday. I thought it was a casual skiing day.
         Wrong. It was with the "moniteurs" or the extremely competent skiers who graciously lead the sections of the gendarme ski classes, teaching all levels. The head of the ski school was teaching them how to teach.
         Martine, the woman who a) speaks perfect English (a huge plus at 7am) and b) arranged for me to attend, brought her daughter. Her daughter is about to take the baccalaureate (or high school exit exam) in skiing and is going to Switzerland next year to teach skiing. This is the equivalent of an American high schooler going to ski school at Tahoe and then going off to Vail to teach skiing. She kindly skied with me all morning. I told her I'd be her project for the morning. She let me go on one blue and then decided we were doing all reds and some blacks. (The level of runs, categorized by color goes up from green to blue to red to black aka death). She taught me excellent tips that I was occasionally able to use, when I wasn't busy screaming "ah" or praying. Black in France is NOT the same as black in the US. 

         Then we had a huge, hearty lunch and the head ski instructor insisted I go with them in the afternoon. I warned him that despite having told the gendarme that I was excellent, I had realized post skiing in France that I should demote myself to beginner or "needs significant improvement". He laughed (mistakenly) and made me go with them. And soon learned the gravity of his mistake.
         They went on reds and stopped every ten minutes to learn a new technique. I promised I'd be fine skiing along and reminded them constantly that I'd hold them back, but they kindly brought me along. They all ski flawlessly, but he was teaching them how to teach kids to perfect their skiing: from the direction of their shoulders to the position of their poles. They kindly waited for me every time, and, of course, I turned into the dummy for the afternoon. I did not properly position my poles or my shoulders. This is because I was trying not to die by somersaulting downhill in skis. The head instructor occasionally had me follow his path because he knew I wouldn't be able to carve a black diamond by myself, but, alas, I even failed at following the exact "traces" (or path) that he'd made.
         All the "moniteurs" were incredibly gentle and gave me tips but one instructor was particularly encouraging. Mr. Black Diamond kept shouting me "Come on, Maggie!" and thought me capable of following them with they did their final run in formation, like synchronized swimmers but skiing. Luckily, I lost them. But that meant that they were all waiting for me at the end. I thought I pulled off my late arrival well, because little did they know that "Maggie" had just landed in a huge pile of snow. Except, of course, that I was half covered in snow. Mr. Black Diamond noticed and invited me to join his group when I am not needed with the little kids. Their new goal is that I achieve all my "flocons" or snowflakes by the end of term. French skiing lessons, check!
        At the end of the evening, the lovely Martine drove me home and I went to the Bonneville basketball game. They are sponsored by McDonalds, which I've always found to be an ironic sponsor, but thank you corporate responsibility. The Bonneville team won but I can't remember the score, because I was distracted by the creature they have as a mascot. It could be a bear, or a wolf, or a dog. It dances very well. And it apparently raises enthusiasm! Interesting evening, to say the least.
         I joined the Bonneville ski club, which skis every Sunday. Today we went to Saint Gervais, which is a massive resort composed of three mountains. It was another beautiful day in the Alpes!

Pras du Lys

Moi!

Sur la Table

      Tonight we attended a Universite Populaire series about nutrition. The speaker runs a center for green, holistic eating in Auverne, in the south of France. She discussed the changing role of food in the world, and the potential loss of culinary culture in France. Culinary culture is integral to the French identity. Meals are shared time when ideas are exchanged and food is eaten. Eating quickly or alone, which are becoming more and more common, abandons the former. The table "served" as her metaphor. Without a table, she argued, there is no exchange, there is no intellectual, cultural, spiritual nourishment, and thus the "physical" nourishment of merely ingesting food is, too, incomplete. She offered the case of the library: Imagine a library in the US. There are signs everywhere that say or symbolize "no eating or drinking". In France, she posited, this would be superfluous, for a French person would never think of eating alone. It's true, isn't it? I've noted before how much I admire (what I believe to be) the French way of cooking: three larger meals a day, no snacking, emphasis on eating as a family or group of friends, and the balance of all food groups, plus wine! She ended with the difference between saveur (taste) versus savoir (knowledge): in France, and throughout the world, we must strive for a "petite gout" (a little bit) of both.
        In other news, one of my classes presented me with a delightful surprise today! They sang "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" and "O, Christmas Tree" by themselves! Their teacher had them practice over break. A very merry day, indeed!

Praz de Lys, but Hardly a Fleur de Lys

         Well, I've joined the police. Or the "gendarme", as you say in French.

         But I am not an officer. I'm an "accompagnatrice," which is as hard to pronounce as it looks. The gendarme de Bonneville hosts a ski association. On Wednesday afternoons, they take about 80 kids to the mountains. It meets at one of the schools and students and adults hop on huge buses to go up into the mountains. I found out that several of my students are in the club. They all saved seats for me and introduced me to their parents. They still use the informal "tutoyer" towards me, meaning that I am just as popular outside of the classroom (or that they really do think I'm ten). They're all in very advanced groups of skiing, despite being nine. Depending on the amount of stars each child has (from one to fourteen "flocons" or snowflakes), they join one of fourteen groups. Each group has an instructor and four adults - the French police take ski-babysitting seriously. French children don't have school on Wednesday and almost every kid here knows how to ski because the grammar schools do ski trips at least once a year. This gendarme group is one of the best in the area because it goes to all the resorts in the area. Today we went to Praz de Lys. 

Unknown skier blocking my photo of Mont Blanc, which is the highest point in the background. 

            I started with the youngest kids today, luckily enough. My skiing skills, which I had heralded as "excellent" when applying for this program, would not have merited me a "flocon" today. First of all, as soon as I tried to put my skis on, my students loudly informed me that they weren't going to fit my boots. I insisted that they would because I had just had them fitted. I was wrong. After creating a debacle, I trudged back down to find a ski shop. The ski shop I stumbled into had the nicest people who refitted my skis. Back up on the mountain, I rejoined my group and skied with the little kids, who were excellent skiers. They did little snowplow exercises all afternoon. 

          All was well, except for the lift issue. The flatter slopes at this resort use one person, bar ski lifts. The bars hang from the cable and you put the bar between your legs and it pulls you up the mountain. Unless you accidentally cross your skis, in which case it pushes you into the mountain. This happened to one poor little boy every single time. And me, twice. It hurts. But we both got used to it (ish).
          In the midst of skiing, the instructor for my section kindly turned me into the seventh student. And I got fabulous ski lessons. Apparently I "stick my derrière" out when I ski. Thanks to her lessons, I ski "normally" now. On the baby slopes, of course.

         After skiing, all the adults have a little snack. They brought cakes, pastries, chocolates, and pies galore...and my chocolate covered raisins were a hit. And, most importantly, as they had been telling me all day, they brought out mulled wine.

Blurry but picturesque photo from le bus.

Le gateau des rois

         Last night marked my triumphant return to choir. And it was my most successful choir experience ever...we didn't sing. We celebrated the new year and the choir at a local restaurant, where, for a mere 15 euros, we had kir (a delicious, sweet aperitif), couscous and sausages, chicken and mixed vegetables in a spicy tomato sauce, and la galette des rois, and lots of red wine. Apparently, the red wine from the Rhone region can be inferior to that of Bordeaux and Burgundy, but if you know how to find the right vineyards, the quality is the same and the price is lower. That was definitely true last night! We had a lovely Côtes du Rhône AOC, which is the main appellation of the region. 
         In France, Epiphany is readily celebrated with le gateau des rois. Le gateau des rois, in Haute-Savoie, is a brioche filled with a francipane interior (an almond paste). You can try the recipe here. Inside the cake, there are hidden two figurines, or feves, and whoever finds them become the king and queen. Sometimes there are four feves and an evil set of royalty. Feve means "bean" in French and originally, beans were placed in the cake, but they have been replaced with plastic and porcelain figurines. Fun fact according to Wikipedia (I was probably also told this last night, but I haven't yet mastered listening to ten people speaking to me in French at the same time), "the French President is not allowed to “draw the kings” on Epiphany because of the etiquette rules. Therefore, a traditional galette without figurine or crown is served at Elysée Palace in January." Kat was tres chanceuse and found a feve, except that she almost bit into her figurine (la galette des rois is served throughout January, so it must be a busy month for dentists.) Her little figurine read "King of the Pickles." A sour kingdom, but she's now Epiphany royalty!
         The restaurant was charming and quintessentially French. The interior at first seemed ad-hoc, but the result is a functional, familial, and welcoming setting, where the emphasis is on the food, not the furnishings. In the US, I find myself judging new places harshly, wondering how people have critiqued the older wallpaper on Yelp or whether I would recommend the restaurant given the mismatched tableware. In France, such things are often de jure. Certainly the ambiance of a restaurant impacts one's enjoyment of a meal to a certain extent, but really wallpaper and tableware are just things. This same approach, from my albeit limited experience, applies to French homes, too. Furniture, artwork, wall colors, etc. seem to be more carefully selected and maintained. Whether the table's wood matches the chair's wood is irrelevant. Most importantly, ladies, this applies to clothing. We wonder why French women don't get fat. First of all, none of the French women I know snack. They eat balanced meals three times a day, with all food groups making an appearance. (And they drink red wine in moderation!) But most importantly, they expertly tailor their clothes. Clothing is never too tight, it's like the Goldilocks version of fashion - everything fits just so. Shoulders and waists are always defined. French women accent every outfit with scarfs and jewelry. They invest in well made clothes and have them tailored, shunning disposable wardrobes. Disclaimer: I speak from a very subjective, limited perspective but I admire French style beaucoup (right in time for the sales that start tomorrow!).

Gangnam Style in Bonneville

       Back in Bonneville! After a lovely two week break chez moi in Englishland, I've returned to France, with skis, more winter gear, and chocolate covered raisins galore for my teachers. I have vowed to buy all food I share now, post potluck fiasco.
        The dreary-eyed first day back at school turned out to be a delight. I forgot how much I liked being the most popular person in the 3rd grade class. They were all taught how to say "Happy New Year" and every class at every school sweetly cried the greeting at me the minute I entered the classrooms. In my first class, I attempted to teach "The 12 Days of Christmas" which did not quite out as Christmas Sampler-y as I'd hoped. Singing about partridges is not a nine year old's idea of fun. Singing and dancing "Gangnam Style", however, is. After dutifully singing my song, they asked if they could do their own. Enter Psy's masterpiece, which had 25 nine year olds doing the dance and belting out the lyrics. They told me that they spend all of break practicing. We had several minutes left in class, so I thought I'd take advantage of the opportunity to teach an English song. I started teaching the song and, of course, quickly got to the word "sexy". I think I explained that it meant funny. Their poor future spouses.
         In more minute, yet no less entertaining class news, I was invited to a Beyonce concert in Miami by an eight year old, who "might" be going in two years with his sister. And, in another class, a student shoved a pencil case in my hands to ask what it said. It read "take me", in English.