Paula and I have moved around a lot in Scotland over the last week-- Edinburgh to Glasgow to Edinburgh to Crieff to Glasgow again-- but we slowed down over Christmas. My Christmas with her family was lovely; we went to visit her Uncle Ricky and Auntie Mouse, their children, and everyone's friends (myself included). It was a small little party of about eleven people, and after we ate a delicious traditional British dinner (the second one I'd had on Christmas), we played charades and Trivial Pursuit. It was really fun, and I was paricularly amused when the rival team got the question, "Who was the first U.S. president?" I know I sound obtuse, but it hadn't occurred to me that this would not be ridiculously common knowledge to people outside of the U.S.
And they stuffed me. I keep eating traditional British things that I'd only ever read about in Harry Potter: crumpets, Yorkshire pudding, trifle, bread sauce, parsnips and brussel sprouts. The first day I arrived in England, I got a "bacon roll." The boy working behind the counter asked me if I wanted ketchup or brown sauce with it. I asked him what brown sauce was, and he paused and said, "...So you'll be having brown sauce, then?" Apparently no one can really tell me what it is.
Last night, Paula's mum and their family friend Peggy kept suggesting that Paula and I find a "ceilidh," pronounced kay-ley. This is a traditional Scottish dance party, and I found mention on the internet of a ceilidh held in a bar in Glasgow every Saturday night, so Paula and I set out to find this place. When we finally got there, two people were finishing up an unenthusiastic dance, and everyone else was sitting about the bar looking miserable. The place was pretty deserted to begin with, so Paula and I picked up a couple of drinks and then watched the poor accordion player begin another number. We expressed an interest and finally got a couple of men at the bar to come dance with us, and after a few dances there were several couples dancing on the floor. Not many people joined in, but it was really fun all the same, and I learned some real Scottish dance. I was laughing my head off the whole time, of course. It was lovely.
On Wednesday we'll be going to Romania to see Alexandru and Andreea for New Year's. Every time I tell someone we're going to Romania, they look at me strangely and ask me why on earth I would want to do that. I think it should be very interesting.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The Vicar of Dibley
I'm in Scotland for Christmas, and so far I absolutely adore it. I've seen quite a bit of Edinburgh, the capital, while visiting Glasgow the rest of the time. (Paula's family lives in Glasgow, but many of her friends are in Edinburgh.) Yesterday I got my tooth fixed (I had lost a filling) for five pounds. I'm not even an EU citizen. Britain's health care is incredible. Paula let me find my way back to Edinburgh by myself after I got my tooth fixed, and I did! No problem. I love growing up.
The Scottish are seriously the warmest, most congenial people I have ever met. I think that the French I've met have all been wonderful, but it's a sharp contrast with the openness of the Scottish. Lovely people. And the cities are beautiful-- Edinburgh in particular is very open, nicely planned, and full of things to see. I have some videos that I'll have to put up later.
It's snowing in Scotland, and it actually has been snowing everywhere in Europe. Interestingly enough, none of the Europeans seem used to it. Right before I left, Limoges experienced a few inches of snow that left it hilariously paralyzed. No one knew what to do, and my school let out for the second half of the day. Instead of teaching classes, I pretty much played with the kids; my six-year-olds and I made snowmen. Traffic was ridiculous and plane flights were canceled. Paula and I were lucky we made it into the UK!
So much has been happening, and I should be keeping a better journal. Maybe I'll put it on a list of New Year's resolutions. Merry Christmas, anyone who might be reading this, and Happy New Year!
The Scottish are seriously the warmest, most congenial people I have ever met. I think that the French I've met have all been wonderful, but it's a sharp contrast with the openness of the Scottish. Lovely people. And the cities are beautiful-- Edinburgh in particular is very open, nicely planned, and full of things to see. I have some videos that I'll have to put up later.
It's snowing in Scotland, and it actually has been snowing everywhere in Europe. Interestingly enough, none of the Europeans seem used to it. Right before I left, Limoges experienced a few inches of snow that left it hilariously paralyzed. No one knew what to do, and my school let out for the second half of the day. Instead of teaching classes, I pretty much played with the kids; my six-year-olds and I made snowmen. Traffic was ridiculous and plane flights were canceled. Paula and I were lucky we made it into the UK!
So much has been happening, and I should be keeping a better journal. Maybe I'll put it on a list of New Year's resolutions. Merry Christmas, anyone who might be reading this, and Happy New Year!
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
I'll be seeing you
12h France time
I did get a chance to see the strike last Tuesday! I don’t know how I could not have, really, since it went right past my apartment, but on Tuesday morning I found the group of teachers and college students in front of the rectorat of Limoges. Paula came with me on the strike, and we marched all the way to the prefecture behind this big van that played reggae music. The students and teachers were all carrying flags and shouting out songs that they must have learned before the strike; Paula and I spent our time trying to discern what they were saying. “Hosanna? Oh, no, aux armes!” The education system has been suffering over recent years from layoffs and cutbacks, and so the “syndicate” decided it was time to strike for one day. Paula and I had a wonderful time, playing French protesters, and when we arrived in front of the prefecture, we decided to hop into the post office for a moment while a man at the forefront of the strike gave a speech about what the strikers wanted. When Paula and I got out of the post office, everyone had left. In five minutes. I asked one of my colleagues, who was still there, what had happened, and she said, “I guess everyone went to lunch!” Oh, the French. They’re so hilarious. Anyway, this was apparently quite a small strike, which is why the ending was so disappointing. So I can’t wait for the next one! I hope it’s enormous!
This past weekend, Ansleigh and Alex, American assistants here in Limoges, decided to throw a Thanksgiving dinner for the assistants and our friends from abroad. Paula and I brought our Romanian counterparts, and present at the party were people from all over the place—Venezuela, Italy, the UK, Colombia, France, etc. We all had the most fantastic time. All of the non-Americans were stunned by how good the food was; they kept saying that they couldn’t believe no one had ever told them about this American tradition. It was delicious food, and all of us ran our mouths off the whole time, mostly discussing cultural differences (the number one topic while one is abroad) and politics. The American assistants and I realized how many of us are blonde, and you know, I’m becoming acutely aware of how rare it must be to be blond. I’ve noticed that not even many French people have blond hair. They’re usually brunettes. Anyway, we then proceeded to the apartment of Adam, one of the British assistants, where we all talked and danced with even more internationals. I learned how to dance like South Americans. Sort of. It was all great fun.
Then on Sunday, Paula and I went to Mass at St-Pierre. During communion, there were no ushers to help people know when to go to the Eucharistic minister; everyone (on the side of the church, at least) just walked in a cluster toward the minister. And at the end of the service, the priest had four candles for the servers to carry, but seven servers. They all clamored for a candle to take with them, and he patted the rejected three on the head after he handed the candles out. Quite cute. Then, in the evening, I had my first accordion/piano exchange with Ivan the Bartender. It was kind of strange, but fun, as I learned a little bit of accordion, played the piano terribly but helped keep him in rhythm, and got free pineapple juice.
Last night I saw two Michael Moore documentaries. I don’t know how this happened, since I’d never seen one from start to finish before yesterday afternoon, but now I feel informed and confused and totally suspicious of corporate America and Wall Street. In addition to “Capitalism: A Love Story,” I saw “The Big One,” which I thought was very good. And the French ladies that I saw “Capitalism” with kept asking me all kinds of questions that I didn’t know how to answer: “Well who would vote for Republicans? Only the very wealthy?” “In France, we have life insurance to help support families. You don’t have this in the U.S.? Why would you insure companies for employees that die?” At times like this, I wish I were more informed and that my French were better.
I cannot believe it's December.
I did get a chance to see the strike last Tuesday! I don’t know how I could not have, really, since it went right past my apartment, but on Tuesday morning I found the group of teachers and college students in front of the rectorat of Limoges. Paula came with me on the strike, and we marched all the way to the prefecture behind this big van that played reggae music. The students and teachers were all carrying flags and shouting out songs that they must have learned before the strike; Paula and I spent our time trying to discern what they were saying. “Hosanna? Oh, no, aux armes!” The education system has been suffering over recent years from layoffs and cutbacks, and so the “syndicate” decided it was time to strike for one day. Paula and I had a wonderful time, playing French protesters, and when we arrived in front of the prefecture, we decided to hop into the post office for a moment while a man at the forefront of the strike gave a speech about what the strikers wanted. When Paula and I got out of the post office, everyone had left. In five minutes. I asked one of my colleagues, who was still there, what had happened, and she said, “I guess everyone went to lunch!” Oh, the French. They’re so hilarious. Anyway, this was apparently quite a small strike, which is why the ending was so disappointing. So I can’t wait for the next one! I hope it’s enormous!
This past weekend, Ansleigh and Alex, American assistants here in Limoges, decided to throw a Thanksgiving dinner for the assistants and our friends from abroad. Paula and I brought our Romanian counterparts, and present at the party were people from all over the place—Venezuela, Italy, the UK, Colombia, France, etc. We all had the most fantastic time. All of the non-Americans were stunned by how good the food was; they kept saying that they couldn’t believe no one had ever told them about this American tradition. It was delicious food, and all of us ran our mouths off the whole time, mostly discussing cultural differences (the number one topic while one is abroad) and politics. The American assistants and I realized how many of us are blonde, and you know, I’m becoming acutely aware of how rare it must be to be blond. I’ve noticed that not even many French people have blond hair. They’re usually brunettes. Anyway, we then proceeded to the apartment of Adam, one of the British assistants, where we all talked and danced with even more internationals. I learned how to dance like South Americans. Sort of. It was all great fun.
Then on Sunday, Paula and I went to Mass at St-Pierre. During communion, there were no ushers to help people know when to go to the Eucharistic minister; everyone (on the side of the church, at least) just walked in a cluster toward the minister. And at the end of the service, the priest had four candles for the servers to carry, but seven servers. They all clamored for a candle to take with them, and he patted the rejected three on the head after he handed the candles out. Quite cute. Then, in the evening, I had my first accordion/piano exchange with Ivan the Bartender. It was kind of strange, but fun, as I learned a little bit of accordion, played the piano terribly but helped keep him in rhythm, and got free pineapple juice.
Last night I saw two Michael Moore documentaries. I don’t know how this happened, since I’d never seen one from start to finish before yesterday afternoon, but now I feel informed and confused and totally suspicious of corporate America and Wall Street. In addition to “Capitalism: A Love Story,” I saw “The Big One,” which I thought was very good. And the French ladies that I saw “Capitalism” with kept asking me all kinds of questions that I didn’t know how to answer: “Well who would vote for Republicans? Only the very wealthy?” “In France, we have life insurance to help support families. You don’t have this in the U.S.? Why would you insure companies for employees that die?” At times like this, I wish I were more informed and that my French were better.
I cannot believe it's December.
A small education strike in Limoges
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