Joyeuses fêtes!

Happy Holidays from the Stench! I’m going to ignore the fact that I’ve totally failed to keep this thing up to date over the past several months. One of my New Year’s resolutions is to write more, so let’s just forgive, forget, and dive into the new year together!

During Christmas Eve dinner, I made everyone share their favorite part of this holiday season. Mom and Dad were both happy to have everyone together; Jessica enjoyed wrapping all of her presents (you should have seen them, each present meticulously crafted into a piece of art!); Seth liked putting lights on the house and tree with Ashley, whose favorite part was decorating the tree as a family (Ashley always gets sentimental as we dig through the boxes of ornaments collected over the years); Blake had fun making and eating hors d'oeuvres for the usual Christmas Eve finger-food feast. As for me, my favorite part was getting to experience the season in two countries. Lannion was enchanting, even if rainy, before Christmas: twinkling lights strung across every street, carols playing through the town speakers, mulled wine being served on street corners, the Christmas market in the town center. And of course there’s nothing like Christmas at home: baking cookies and cupcakes, fighting crowds of last-minute Christmas shoppers at Barrack’s Road and the mall, sitting around the game table with family and friends. It was all truly perfect.

Here are some photos taken with the Canon Digital Rebel I got for Christmas! Can’t wait to use it to document new adventures in France, Belgium, and Lithuania in the foreseeable future (who knows where it'll follow me after that!):

(Excited about the new camera...wearing Ashley's new giraffe hat)

(Day-after-Christmas donuts, made with new donut maker!)

Again, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Tyler

hand turkeys!

I'm not sure why, but I am SO into Thanksgiving this year. Perhaps it's because I'll be thousands of miles from my own Thanksgiving table, but I am really freakin' excited to go all out. I'll be celebrating it Friday rather than Thursday (home boy doesn't finish until 5:30pm on Thursday...there's no way I'd be able to throw together a proper feast in time for dinner), and since I'm the only American I know of in Lannion, I'll be whipping up some good ol' 'murrican dishes for my European friends: stuffing, mashed sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, duck (yeah we fancy up in here), and, of course, apple pie! But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The real point of this post is to show off the hand turkeys my CE2 class made today! I gave them a REALLY simple explanation of Turkey Day, complete with visual references I drew myself of the Mayflower, a Pilgrim, a Native American, and a Turkey. I can only imagine how alien they think I am now (YOU try explaining the importance of turkey to a bunch of French 8-year-olds). Anyway, no elementary school Thanksgiving lesson is complete without some good ol' fashioned hand turkeys, so hand turkeys we made! I gave them some basic guidelines, but some of them got super creative! I LOVE them all and want to hang them on my wall. Without further ado:

(Turkeys with flare)

(Goin' all out)

(Turkey family! That's a turkey hatching out of an egg there on the left...)

(Do turkeys have nests? Marine's does!)

(Prepping 'em to hang in the hall of the school!)

portes lannionaises

NEW POST COMING TOMORROWSOON

ouest-france article

I'm famous! This short article and photo appeared in the regional newspaper Ouest-France a couple of weeks ago. The basic gist of the article: a bunch of French nerds are here to teach little ones English. (The photo features only those of us working in ecoles primaires. There are actually about 30 English assistants throughout the Cotes d'Armor department of Brittany once you take high school and middle school into account.)

Love how the quality of the image makes me look like I have braces and am therefore 15 years old.

on being responsible for formative minds

I’ve been in France for two weeks and already I’ve had a visitor from the States! Anthony, a friend from the great state of Texas, has been traveling around Europe since he ran the Berlin marathon two weeks ago. And since his flight home left out of Paris, he decided to come to little ol’ Lannion for a couple of days! Below are some pictures from the day trip we took to a place called Ploumanac’h on the coast. It was beautiful, and I was glad to see the sea, as I live just kilometers away from it, and of course it’s what makes the region famous. We walked for several hours along the Sentier des douaniers, a meandering footpath 19kms long right on the edge of the water. Historically, it was where customs officers patrolled the coast. The sights were unlike anything I’ve seen before, and there was something almost enchanting about the contrast between the pink granite rocks and the blue-gray-green water (In fact, the Breton language has its own word for this color: glasz.) Even the wind seemed other-worldly.

(crazy alien flower!)

In other news, it’s official: I’m an elementary school teacher (say WHAT?!). I taught – and survived! – my first two classes today. I’ve been placed in three schools, two écoles primairesand one lycée (high school). At the lycée, I’ll be doing what I actually signed up to do – that is, assist. I’ll lead discussions with small groups of students to supplement what they’re learning in class and get them to apply the language. At the écoles primaires, however, I’ve got a lot more responsibility. I am THE teacher. As in, they have given me two classes and expect me to teachthese children English. I’ve got one CE2 class and one CM1 (the equivalent of second and third grade), and the age of my students ranges from 7-10. There are 23 of them in one class and 16 in the other. Again, WHAT?!

Needless to say, I was a nervous wreck this morning. I had no idea how to prepare for class, as I had no concept of how much English they’ve already learned. Not to mention I’ve got almost zero teaching experience and even less experience working with children. It was overwhelming and challenging, but I can already tell it’s going to be such a positive and rewarding experience for me. It’s going to push me out of my comfort zone in such a good way. I do, however, feel a lot of pressure to be the kind of teacher and role model these kids deserve. I’ve been told that many of them are “en difficulté” – that is, they come from single-parent households and lack in particular a male role model. It’s going to require a lot of effort on my part, but today’s classes left me feeling so motivated, and I look forward to seeing how the students (and I!) evolve. They are so cute and eager; this morning they walked single-file into the classroom and stared at me all wide-eyed and curious, timidly muttering “bonjour” to me under their breath. We went over simple things like “My name is,” and the names of colors, and I’m already impressed by their level of comprehension – or at least their responsiveness/ willingness to react and repeat. And of course I love walking through the halls, the walls plastered with indecipherable drawings, everything so colorful and miniature!

Anyway, my computer's about to die, and I don't have my charger with me at the cafe. Signed up finally for internet, but we still won't have it for 5-15 days. Oof. It's been a long, exhausting week, but now it's the weekend! Heledd, a friend and fellow assistant from Wales, and I are heading to Guingamp this weekend. Updates soon!

adventure in the great wide somewhere

Let’s be real: my twenty three years of life experience did not prepare me for finding housing, let alone housing in a foreign country. This is, of course, no surprise considering I went to Davidson, where students have to ask permission to live off campus (and even then, it’s pretty much a matter of choosing between two streets). Thus, the hunt for an apartment in Lannion was, for lack of better words, a big fat pain in the derrière. But it was! Past tense!

I am writing this from my apartment, y’all. From my very own chez moi. Well, not “my very own.” I’ve got a Spanish roommate named Roberto. And we don’t actually have internet yet so I’m posting this from a café with wi-fi. But things are actually falling into place, which is more than I could say two days ago. Forgive the cliché, but this week has been an emotional rollercoaster. Because in the midst of my frustration, anger, and pessimism, there was Lannion, which is so wonderfully picturesque it’s impossible to sustain any kind of negative emotion. I’m getting ahead of myself, though.

After several fruitless days of calling people with apartment listings in local newspapers and walking around town looking for “à louer” (to rent) signs in windows (the internet completely failed me), I actually had a choice to make between two places: a totally charming (read: endearingly small) studio in an old stone building right in the middle of the city, just outside of my budget but exactly what I’d imagined; and a large apartment on top of a hill several minutes by foot from the middle of the city, a total eyesore resembling a psychiatric ward from the outside.

Seems like an easy decision, right? The studio? Nope. I went with the latter. For one reason alone: money. It proved impossible to pass up an apartment for 110€ per month (versus 250€ + electricity + cost of furnishing the kitchen, as there were no dishes). I tried so hard to justify spending more than twice as much money on something much smaller but infinitely quainter, but just couldn’t do it. I’m sure I’ll get over it soon, but calling the landlord to tell him I’d found something else certainly tugged on my heartstrings a little. I’ll make the most of the new digs, though, and now I won’t feel guilty about spending a little money to spruce it up a bit, make it feel less like an institution and more like a home! I’m even fixin’ to buy a plant. And a pillow.

Now instead of writing about everything I’ve seen and done since my arrival in Lannion, here’s a summary of my week in pictures. (Aforementioned frustration, anger, and pessimism not included, as they no longer exist as of 10:00 this morning.) (Pictures of my three days in Paris also not included.) (Pictures of my apartment will be posted forthwith.) (Something about blogging makes me cuckoo for parenthetical statements!)

(Cafe les Valseuses, a bar I went to the other night with the guy who let me Couch Surf chez lui all week. We sat out back, where there are picnic tables and plastic chairs, and we just sat there talking and looking at the stars. Unreal.)

(Les escaliers de Brelevenez)

(Just another charming French street)

(And another medieval church...)

(A door on my street)

(Karen, a friend from Davidson and fellow assistant came to visit! She's been placed in Guingamp, a small town twenty minutes by train from here.)

(It may be October, but there are flowers in bloom everywhere)

(Me! In front of le Leguer, the river that passes through Lannion. Keep walking along it for a few kilometers and you hit the sea)

cheese breath

It has suddenly hit me that my departure for France is approaching as swiftly as the winds that ravaged central Texas with wildfires earlier this week, so I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to set some goals for myself, to devise a list of mantras that will remind me to stop and smell the roses (or, more appropriately, take a whiff of that ever-titillating French stench) during my seven-month stint in Bretagne.

Here’s one I came up with today: the sign of a good morning is cheese breath. These nine words may actually represent the most important philosophy I’ve conceived of to date (after a baguette a day keeps the doctor away, of course). I’ll illustrate what I mean by it with an account of how I spent this morning.

Working as a barista has inadvertently made me a morning person. When you’re waking up before the crack of dawn several days a week, “sleeping in” means sleeping until 8:30. For me, there’s usually a moment of panic that occurs in those first disorienting seconds of consciousness (Shit! The sun is out! I must be late for work!), but that fear quickly dissipates into the cool morning light as I realize I’ve got the day off. I’ve always enjoyed the morning hours and the calm that accompanies them. They remind me of the summer I worked at a peach stand on the side of the road – of those tranquil moments before an afternoon thunderstorm when time would slow and dark clouds would crawl over the mountains and cast gray-green shadows on the surrounding orchards.

Anyway, today as I rolled out of couch, I decided I was going to savor the morning hours. After I showered, I headed to Dolce Vita, a coffee shop at 43^rd and Duval. Book in hand, I got a large coffee and retreated to the porch, where I read and sipped and listened to the whirring of fans as the cool breeze that has settled over Austin this week carried the scent of pastries from the bakery across the street. I got a refill, sipped more coffee, read the New York Times left behind by some earlier riser, and tried to soak it all in, my mind drifting from one thought to the next as I realized that I officially have one week left in Texas.

All summer, I’ve been eyeing Antonelli’s, the cheese shop right next door to Dolce Vita. I’ve admired it from afar, imagining myself on the other side of its door but too intimidated (for reasons unbeknownst to me) to cross the threshold. Drunk off my two cups of joe, I decided finally to venture inside. It’s probably for the best that I didn’t go in sooner! This place was amazing, and though I only intended to take a peak, I lacked the self-control to leave empty-handed (and am actually proud that I only spent $7 in there).

Courtney, the cheesemonger (how cool is that title?) who assisted me, read my ignorance as if it were written on my forehead and immediately began to explain how the cheeses were organized in the case. When I told her I didn’t even know where to start, she suggested – to my extreme delight! – that we just dig in and start sampling. So sample we did! We had a great conversation as I tried about eight different cheeses; I told her about my imminent departure, about my year in Lyon, and she told me stories about her time in Paris, her homemade chèvres, and the intensive training process she went through to work there. I eventually settled on 1/4 lb of delicious pavé de l’Aveyron (my second favorite actually, after the Eposses, which is only sold by the 18-dollar wheel because it’s so creamy it loses its shape). Pictured below, this sheep’s milk cheese has the smooth, creamy texture of Camembert, but with a sharper taste and more pungent aroma. Needless to say, I’m excited to eat it. I’m waiting for just the right moment to cut into it, spread it onto a fresh baguette, and wash it down with a dark red wine.

In all seriousness, I do believe the sign of a good morning is cheese breath is a philosophy worth embracing as I embark on this new journey, because it evokes the following important concepts:

- Initiative: to venture out, to admit ignorance, to ask questions, to strike up a conversation, to learn, to share

- Appreciation/Gratitude: of the local culture, of this opportunity, of the transience of this experience (I’ve only got 7 months to get to know this place!), of the kindness and patience of strangers

- Awareness: of “the little things,” of the small moments,” of the background details (scents and tastes and sounds)

Can't wait to share my experiences with you and tell you what happens when I put these ideas into practice!

In the meantime, here's what I did with my afternoon:

(olive oil, salt, arugula, cherry tomatoes, lemon juice, garlic, & mozzarella)

more words. more sentences.

I’ve got it again: that itch to write. I can feel it surfacing from the wrinkles of my brain, tingling in those crevices where the creative juices have coagulated into several months’ worth of lifeless plaque. Not “lifeless,” exactly; they’re down there, the words, in the dark corridors of my brain, respiratory machines pumping breath into their comatose bodies. But what to make of them? Why this sudden re-urge to write?

Because, to begin with, my birthday in a week somehow marks my official entry into the next phase of my life – into that exceptionally confusing/frighteningly exhilarating chapter they call twenty-three: just beyond the college years. I’m stuck in some strange, “post-grad” limbo as awkward as the fragmented sentences of this post – no longer sprawled out on that plush Davidson cushion, but not quite a citizen of that foreign land known as the Real World, either. We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto, and Austin’s as weird as Oz (except it’s teeming with hipsters instead of munchkins).

Which brings me to reason number two for my re-entry into the Blogosphere: Austin itself. This is a city worth words, and Austin’s got its own peculiar scent demanding description. My adventure, yesterday, with public transportation reaffirmed – or rather, rendered conscious – the creative itch, as I realized that these are experiences I should be documenting – for myself as much as for you kind souls willing to listen. My life’s as consistent now as it was in college, which is to say that it’s not consistent at all, and I know I’m going to want to remember this fascinating – albeit brief – foray into Austin culture.

And then, of course, there’s reason number three, the very reason for this blog in the first place, my original muse: France. I’m already starting to smell the sweet, familiar aromas of my Home Away From Home – the baguettes, the wines, the cheeses! Lannion beckons, but it’ll have to wait a couple of months, because life’s too short to live anywhere but the present. I’m a barista now and life is a coffee shop. I’m over-caffeinated and ready to go. But before I embark – before we embark – let’s do it again: let's stop a second, open our eyes and ears, and take a big ol’ whiff of the French Stench, Part Deux.