Les choses sucrées que j'adore en France

If there's one thing the French do absolutely right, it's their cuisine...and that which comes from just about any pâtisserie. In honor of sweet French desserts everywhere, here are some that I've already digested (not all at once, of course)...

La tarte au chocolat avec un fruit d'amour

Chocolate cake (it was warm and gooey too) with a love fruit (the fruit has a very tart yellow berry center with inedible leaves surrounding it). All four of us ordered it and the waitress smiled in understanding, saying, "of course chocolate for the girls."

Un arc-en-ciel des macarons (rainbow of macaroons). These were from Carrefour (the huge grocery store) and weren't very good. However, these little guys have been known to adorn the sides and tops of cakes in pâtisseries everywhere and are absolutely divine when they are freshly made.

Finally, in the center is AJ's favorite tarte aux framboises (raspberry tart) and la tarte aux pommes (apple tart) next to it. And no, I didn't polish these off all by myself. I had a team of champion sweet tooths helping me out.

Hopefully more dessert snapshots to come...

20 Things I Miss About England...

1. Gaining one hour upon my arrival

2. The BBC, keeping up with Eastenders

3. Pub lunches and ales

4. Savoury pies (Sweeny Todd's in Reading)

5. Mr. Cod


6. Stone churches




7. Overly polite strangers


8. Tea with scones, clotted cream, and jam



9. Thames walking paths





10. London and it's Eye





11. The atrium pub where Christmas exploded and where Maggie and I had wine


12. Pub names like "Pavlov's Dog," "Great Expectations," and "the Hobgoblin"


13. Speaking English


14. Seeing James Bond in English at the cinema


15. Restaurants of all ethnicities


16. Cozy fireplaces, cushy chairs, and hot drinks after a long walk




17. Green grass during winter


18. Tiny English robins

19. The Globe Theatre

20. And above all, my friends there...

Bonne Année 2009

Another year is here, and with each one that comes, I get a little less enthused about celebrating New Year's Eve. It's not that I don't like it, but I'm starting to dislike the hype and the commercialization that comes with every holiday. Perhaps that's because New Year's Eve is at the end of a long string of holidays that started with Halloween. It's exhausting.

I spent NYE '07 and '08 standing in the freezing cold streets of Budapest and Madrid respectively. It was definitely something I'm glad I experienced, but in Budapest I had mono, so I couldn't have celebratory champagne or anything else for that matter. Regardless it was thrilling to be in the heart of Budapest, hurled fireworks nearly missing my head. In Madrid, I learned that the Spanish stuff grapes into their mouth during the countdown for good luck, a grape for each second. It was amusing to see their squirrely pouched cheeks. Not amusing to know that after an all-nighter in a crowded coffee shop, the next train home was at five in the afternoon.

This year, I spent the holidays in England. My friend and I spent New Year's Eve afternoon turned evening in a cozily dark Dickensian pub playing pool and quiz games for hours. After that followed one of the best dinners that I've ever had at an Indian restaurant. We fell asleep until ten till midnight and watched the fireworks along the Thames and London Eye on TV. It wasn't the most exciting New Year's Eve, but I must say it was genuinely pleasant and enjoyable.

I'm back in France now and tis the eve of my first day back teaching from the holidays. I think I've forgotten how to teach (then again, I feel this way every Sunday night) and I may have become a little rusty with my French.

It was worth it. I loved England and will post more about my time there soon....

In the meantime, here are my photos...

La Raclette

Tis the season for work Christmas/Holiday get-togethers, parties, or dinners. Always necessary, often awkward, sometimes interesting, but usually never without someone getting too drunk.



I was invited to my school's raclette party on Tuesday evening in the teacher's room. I was a little nervous about going, as I haven't been able to feel completely comfortable around my colleagues. But I was also very curious to see what it would be like and how differently they'd act at a Christmas dinner.



Because I have French class in Lyon on Tuesday nights, I had to miss the beginning of it, but arrived at nine, just missing apéritifs. This proved to be an important part of the night and when Sylvie, the directrice sat me next to two normally serious colleagues that don't generally say a whole lot to me, I noticed that most of the table was quickly on their way to drunk.



As I was getting settled in, the charcuterie plates were passed my way and those sitting next to me began to put slices of meat, rolls of meat, and potatoes on my plate. They shoved the cheese plate into the raclette grill and told me to wait a few minutes. The cheese heats up, bubbles, and then is poured over meat, potatoes, vegetables, or whatever is on the plate.



The American cracks began when the man next to me asked if I liked eating the skin of the potato. When I said I did, he exploded into cheer shouting, "an American who likes potato skins! A normal American!" another tipsy fellow responded with, "yeah, the only one!" I just smiled politely while I watched the bottle of red slowly empty.



The night was interesting, because I don't know how to read my colleagues. They seem to be friendly and warm at one point, then at other times, they seem to whisper and ignore me. Maybe this is just my over-paranoia, but I was completely thrown off when someone turned off the lights and everyone started singing "Happy Birthday" in English. Sylvie brought out a gorgeous tarte aux fruits with presents. My birthday had been a few weeks ago, but Sylvie had been sick and wasn't at school. I had no idea how to react. I was stunned. I'm not really fond of that much attention, especially at a huge table of French elementary teachers. Even more challenging was reacting in French. Do I act all giddy? Do I act reserved, but grateful? I tripped over several "merci's" and "c'est trop gentil's" and hope that sufficed.



The number 28 lit with a candle stood on the cake and the man next to me said that normally it's not polite to acknowledge a woman's age. I guess all the rules go out the window with a foreigner. Thank God. The presents turned out to be two stainless steel mugs with coasters and even more interestingly, what I think is a set of Chinese table settings with chopsticks (baguettes in French) sauce bowls, and bamboo placemats. We all had trouble figuring out what it was at first and had to ask Sylvie. I have absolutely no idea when I'll use chopsticks in my kitchen in France. Nonetheless, I'm grateful for the thought.

My birthday cake topping

As the night wore on and I managed to cut the tarte aux fruits horribly, the more wine disappeared and the louder my colleagues got. At one point, the man next to me returned to his chair with a ribbon on his head and just sat there smiling. The next minute he was laughing so hard that tears were running down his red cheeks.


I learned that many of them can speak English, but the man next to me doesn't want to teach it to his students. This is the first time I've heard some of them speak it. With alcohol came the English sputtering out of everyone's mouth.


After coffee and chocolates, we all got up to clean up and go home. Suddenly this party-atmosphere, table with champagne, pastis, wines, and raclette grills was transformed back into the teacher's room, where everyone is usually serious and busy. And so went the hysterics.


I got a glimpse of a different side to my colleagues, a real side. They can loosen up and be "salty" as I believe the French would say.

How to Pull an All-Nighter at La Fête des Lumières

1. Try to get as much sleep during the day, or at least lie in bed, thinking that the more time spent in close proximity with bed will make you less tired (thanks Leslie).

2. As pénible and annoying as it may be, stay amongst the crowds. The jostling, families who refuse to unlink their five body chain as you walk into them like a game of Red Rover, icy glares, and drunks will most certainly keep you awake.

3. Ride the ferris wheel. The fresh air (aka biting winter cold air) will keep those eyes open. Not to mention the flashing lights from Place Bellecour and the screams of people who don't want you to rock the car while at the top.

4. Stop to see the spectacular sights. The constant changing of lights on the St. Jean cathedral keep any tourist camera ready, but remember to warm up with some vin chaud.

5. Be utterly awestruck at the front of the same cathedral. A good time is also guaranteed if you look the other way, at the crowd and their gaping mouths and huge eyes. Everyone, children and adults alike are captivated by the detailed light projection.

6. Spend a good two and a half hours to three hours eating dinner. Bonus points if you have to wait to get into a restaurant, which is quite likely seeing as though "tout le monde" is in Lyon at the festival. It's wise to order the menu (an entree, a main course, and a dessert). Try to close down the restaurant if you can, because after that, you're out on the streets again.

7. Find a bar or better yet, a discotheque that's open until 5am. If not, roam the streets with the rest of the all-nighters.

8. If you're lucky, find a local that will show you the secret boulangerie that opens at 4 am everyday of the week. (Was it rue Prefecture something?) Open the door to what looks like an apartment entrance and knock on a pale blue door with no sign. No indication of baked goods. A very small, very old woman will open a small window, and you can see men with pants dusted with flour, huge ovens, and stacks upon stacks of baguettes. Order a croissant, pain au chocolat, quiche. Munch and savor the feeling that you ate something you shouldn't have.

9. When all else fails to entertain, ride the metro around when it opens and until you reach the terminus. At least you can snooze for a little while and be warm.

10. Camp out at the train station cafe until the earliest train can take you back to bed. When that train undoubtedly gets canceled (supprimé) or delayed, go back out into the city and shop to soothe your tired soul. By this point you've reached your 5th or 6th wind and can stand to peruse the shopping streets of Lyon but immediately get envious at every passerby and their shining bright eyes, knowing that they've probably slept the night. You catch a glimpse of the bags under your eyes, mussed up hair, and grouchy scowl. Head back to the train station and wait it out with a Snickers bar. This should give you enough sustenance until you make it home.

The Joys of Teaching 10 year old French children

French children:

They begin school at 8:30 Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. No school on Wednesday. They finish school at 4:30.

They get three recesses. One at 10:00, a two hour lunch between 11:30-1:30, and one at 3:00.

That pretty much leaves one hour stints of class broken up by a half hour of running around in the courtyard screaming, jumping in sand, playing football, jumping around, and hiding behind columns.

These kids really get to know the meaning of "childhood."

I like my students. I have no problems with them. Some don't listen. Some chew on their glue. Some throw their rulers around like javelins, but they're just kids.

Sometimes I complain about teaching. Maybe because it's the knowledge that I'll have to be "on" for the entire day. But once I'm teaching, it's okay.

I like witnessing how they learn and handle a foreign language.

My favorite:

Me: "What's your name?"
Student: "What's your name Kevin."

By this particular student's logic, all you need to respond to someone is to repeat what they just said.

I can teach them that this is not right. And when I see them next time, sometimes they make the same mistake. But sometimes they don't. And this is what's great about teaching.

Le Mistral Provençal

A band of assistants decided to head south for the weekend, in search of Roman ruins and warmer weather. We got the ruins, but instead of delightful Indian summer breezes, we got caught in the path of Provence's notorious mistral, a strong, wind that sweeps down from the northwest through the Rhône Valley, particularly cold and biting in the winter.

Between sightseeing, we made frequent/emergency stops for chocolats chauds/hot chocolate, making sure to warm our hands with the mugs. We met in Orange and headed to the Ancient Roman Theatre, one of Orange's biggest claim to fame. One of the benefits of going to Orange at the end of November was the lack of crowds. Besides us, there was one other couple roaming around the theatre. It was peaceful. The wind howled down the aisles and the clouds glided through the bright blue sky like cars driving down the street.

The Ancient Roman Theatre of Orange is one of three in the world that still have its stage wall.

The wealthy sat up front, while the lower classes of society sat in back and were therefore more boisterous. The acoustics were important so that everyone could hear. Also, the costumes, masks, makeup and colors that the actors wore were exaggerated so that everyone could see. Just like we enjoy Seinfeld and The Office today, the ancient audiences also preferred performances that focused on the simple humor of everyday life.

The head of the Emperor was detachable, so it could be changed when there was a change of emperor.

Les Palais de Papes, Avignon

Evidence of the mistral's power. No one really bothered to fix these plants.

Roofs of Avignon and Le Pont d'Avignon in the distance.

View of Les Palais des Papes from our "Bates Motel" hostel on the opposite side of the Rhône.

View of Le Pont d'Avignon (Le Pont Bénézet) from a park. The other half was destroyed in a massive flood and never rebuilt. Not many people had ventured out onto the bridge that day. The risk of being blown off was probably too high.

Here's the chorus of the famous song, "Sur le Pont d'Avignon"

Sur le pont d’Avignon

L'on y danse,

l'on y danse

Sur le pont d’Avignon

L'on y danse tous en rond

On the bridge of Avignon

We all dance there,

we all dance there

On the bridge of Avignon

We all dance there in a ring

I had gone to Avignon six years ago when I was studying abroad in Grenoble during college and our group had walked out onto the bridge. Our 85 year old Armenian professor had made us make a chain, sing and dance. At the time, I was recovering from food poisoning, so I hadn't put forth my best effort, but still danced.

It was nice to go back to both Orange and Avignon years later. Six years ago, the July weather had made us sluggish, sweaty, and (because of my food poisoning) a little delirious. The crowds were huge and it was difficult to see the city. But this time, with the cold Provençal winds clearing out the majority of tourists, both Avignon and Orange had a more local, peaceful feel.