Monday, November 23, 2009

Too much dairy

15h France time

This past weekend, I took off with two American assistants named Alex and Lacey to the Beaujolais region. Beaujolais is located close to Lyon, and every year, the region releases a new wine called the "Beaujolais Nouveau." The wine has been aged only six months, and so, from what I've heard, it's not great. I tasted it, and I couldn't tell you one way or another. But it was released at midnight this past Thursday to enormous celebrations, and the festivities continued into this weekend.

Alex, Lacey, and I visited a medium-sized town called Villefranche, where we saw the majority of Beaujolais Nouveau celebration. We first came upon a "Beaujolais Marathon," where French men and women were preparing to run (or finishing up the race, or both?) equipped with a shiny, golden cape (which looked like a space blanket) and a bottle of the new wine. Everything you need to run a marathon. Then we found the wine festival in the center of town, where vendors of wine, cheese, baked goods, and chocolates lined the streets. We tried lots of little glasses of the Beaujolais Nouveau from different winemakers, cheese samples, and these revolting chocolates that had wine in the center. We also got to see/participate in various musical performances up and down the street; we saw at least three percussion ensembles similar to the one I saw in Toulouse. We also caught a performance by a Michael Jackson impersonator who danced pretty well.

Beaujolais performing groups in Villefranche

After we left Villefranche, we visited a little town called Beaujeu, then continued on to our bed and breakfast. While it took us quite a long time to find, it turned out to be adorable, run by a lovely woman who had the biggest dog I have ever seen. She directed us to dinner that night, then fed us breakfast the following morning. On Sunday, we went back to Lyon, where we spent about an hour in "Les Halles," a big, bustling indoor market near the center of town. Then we hopped a train back to Limoges.

Today I found out that I won't have to teach one of my classes tomorrow because its teacher will be a "gréviste"-- a striker-- in the teacher protests. I wonder where the demonstrations will be. Maybe I'll get to see some of the action!

Toulouse highlights

This is the percussion ensemble we saw at the market in Toulouse. Apparently, these ensembles are a very popular way to celebrate in France.

This is a French man on the moon-walking machine at the Cité de l'Espace. He seemed to have a great time. :)

Friday, November 20, 2009

Shoot the moon

14h France time

This past weekend, I took off with Paula and the Romanians to Toulouse, a city in the south that borders the same river as Bordeaux (the Garonne). It wasn't a terribly long drive, and the city was absolutely wonderful. Before we left, I called around to a few hotels to find us an inexpensive room, and a man at the last place I called told me he could give me a room for four for fifty euros. Not bad. He told me he had a bunch of free rooms, so I didn't think we needed a reservation. It turns out that by a "bunch of rooms," he meant seventeen in total and one for four guests. He had given said room away when we arrived, so we began to ask him if we could just work out some sort of arrangement where one of us would sleep on the floor of the room for three. We insisted that we could find a way to fit in there and offered to pay him extra, but he said no. In the event that something happened-- a fire, etc.-- the insurance wouldn't cover a room for three that had four guests. I was about to give up when he said, "You want to see? I'll show you that you can't all stay in this room." His mistake. We went to room #10 and found out that it had one twin bed and one enormous bed; Paula sat down on the big one and we all said, "Oh, we can totally fit in there!" He gave up, telling us that it was our problem, that he didn't know we had a fourth person, that if something went wrong it would be up to us to take care of it. Hahaha. It was great. I always hear about people doing things under the table in France, and here we had an opportunity to rent a hotel room semi-illegally.

We left the hotel soon after we arrived and argued a while about parking (this became a regular feature of the trip; it can be a chore to have a car in France). Then we drove into the city center, when by some bizarre stroke of chance, Andreea and Alexandru saw a German friend of theirs from their college studies in England. This friend of theirs, Daniel, turned out to be the handiest person ever, as he knew how to navigate the city. He directed us first to the Basilica of St. Sernin, the “largest and most complete basilica in France” or something like that. It was an enormous church, full of relics and frescoes and somber people, which apparently used to be on a pilgrimage route. Then we went to see the Church of the Jacobins, which didn’t much resemble a church inside, but had brightly colored windows and these enormous pillars. And the remains of St. Thomas Aquinas. When we were about to leave, I went to peek through a door in the corner of the church, but the women at the information desk there stopped me because I needed to pay to go through. The cloister and the abbey of the Jacobins was apparently what was beyond, and I didn’t think it sounded too interesting. But my friends and I found that if we could all present our expired student ids, we would get in for free.

In the abbey, we found a beautiful garden (the kind with the hedges that you walk through) and a couple of chapels. We all kind of gasped when I opened the door, it was so pretty. No other tourists were around at the time, so we had the space to ourselves to enjoy. After we left the abbey, we went to visit the Garonne to take pictures by the Pont Neuf, a famous bridge in Toulouse. There were tons of people at the riverfront as well as tons of pets; Andreea and I saw a dog try to start a fight with a goat.

That evening, Daniel left us to have dinner with his friends, and we proceeded to get lost and confused. We finally worked our way back to the hotel, from which point Alexandru, Paula, and I went back out to a bar. We met up with Daniel and some of his French friends to push our way through the overcrowded brasseries, then finally settled on a pub near the town center. Everyone there was really friendly to us, and we just hung out there until the bar closed. When we returned to the hotel, Andreea told us, “I have some bad news; there are bugs in the bed.” Hahahaha. She started pointing out these little cockroaches that were crawling around, and I threw a few of them out the window until I gave up and went to bed feeling itchy.

The next morning, we woke up way too late to see anything in the town center, so we sat at a street café and drank hot chocolate. While we were sitting there, a troupe of brightly colored… noisemakers… appeared and started playing in the streets. There were about twenty people of different ages playing drums, shakers, bell-type things, and wearing floral dresses and scarves. Each of their pieces lasted at least five or ten minutes, and they exuded so much energy and made so much noise that they drew a big crowd from the area. We watched for a long time, and Paula and I speculated as to what their purpose was. I pulled aside one of the members of the group and asked him what they were celebrating, and he said, “Oh, nothing! We just do this on Sundays.” It was fabulous. I can’t believe that a French city would be so lively on a Sunday.

We meandered through a Sunday market set up there close to the percussion group spectacle, and then we took off to the Cité de l’Espace in the outskirts of the city. The Cité de l’Espace is a museum that reminds me of a more confusing version of the Science Center. Since Toulouse apparently has a thriving air and space travel industry, the Cité de l’Espace was built to teach people about space, physics, the weather, space travel, etc. We walked around to tons of exhibits that I was hard-pressed to understand, not only because they were explained in French, but because I can’t wrap my mind around mathematical and physical phenomena. A lot of it made no sense. But! There was this machine in the museum that was supposed to make visitors feel like they were walking on the moon. I actually got hooked up to the machine twice because I hit up two different workers; visitors were strapped into a sort of seat that would hold up their weight while they bounced around the room. I took videos of pretty much everyone who did it. It was really the adults who liked it best—little kids just seemed confused. I personally laughed my head off. My friends and I also got to see a movie in the Imax there—an American film about the moon that was dubbed in French. We ran around taking pictures, and then we made the trek home.

Since my trip to Toulouse, I’ve had an incredibly busy week. I keep tripping over opportunities; it’s astounding. On Tuesday evening, I went with my French friends Renaud and Marie to a tiny bar in the center of Limoges. They introduced me to the bartender and owner, a man named Ivan who is so generous that he never turns out profits. He has apparently had five bars in the last ten years. Ivan plays the accordion, as does Marie, and he let me try to play it. When he found out that I play piano, he asked me to sit at his piano and read some of the sheet music he had while he played accordion. I was terrible, but he told me that he was very interested in learning to read notes. He proposed a cultural exchange: he would teach me what he knew about music (presumably to play the accordion) if I would teach him how to read music. I said absolutely! Sign me up. He also let me borrow “Jean de Florette” from his little library of books. Then Renaud and Marie taught me a humorous little drinking song that I keep humming around town. It was a lovely evening.

On Wednesday, one of the teachers from my school gave me the opportunity to see the French countryside around Limoges. She grew up near a little town called Eymoutiers, and her sister inherited the family farm and now raises cows (and veal in particular). The two of them—my colleague, Françoise, and her sister, Maryse, told me all about the cows, the region, the plants that grew there… everything. It was like a tour, but with just me. Maryse had me put my hand in one of her cows’ mouths. Cows only have incisors on the bottom of their mouths. Who knew? The two of them also had me help them to do work while continuing the commentary on farming and what it was like to grow up in that region. Françoise fed me an enormous lunch, complete with cheeses that she picked up just so I could try more French cheese. Then we went apple picking and hiked around the Maryse’s property. The whole day was lovely, and the territory was absolutely gorgeous and peaceful; I wish I had pictures. And when we left Eymoutiers, I was exhausted, so much so that I pretty much dozed while Françoise talked to me. Thank goodness her attention was on the road.

And today I had a wonderful day at school! My kids are absolutely precious; one of them sees me on the bus in the mornings and comes up to faire la bise with me every time. My classes were all very well-behaved today, in my opinion (a rarity). I kept my ten-year-olds engaged in a discussion about foods, and they positively freaked out when I talked to them about peanut butter and cream cheese. Apparently a lot of them like peanut butter. Then I told them about BLTs (and realized how much I missed them), and they were so interested. It was pretty funny. I collected their notebooks today, and they were so in earnest about doing things right and copying down everything I’d written on the board. Which actually doesn’t happen often. I really like these kids.

This weekend I’m going to the Beaujolais region/festivals for wine tasting, which doesn’t really fit with me because I don’t drink much wine. But I’d love to see the festivals! I’ll be traveling with two Americans that I don’t know very well at all. Hopefully it will be a nice trip.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Where is that famous French snobbery?

18h France time

The French don't always seem to be particularly joyful, and the paperwork here can be excessive. But you know, I have found the people of Limoges to be really hospitable and warm. And I love dealing with people who work in shops and the like; they are always incredibly helpful and honest. I'm almost shocked at how not difficult people make things for me sometimes. For example, the other day I went to the Office of Immigration to pick up some stickers (literally) for my passport. The OFFI had taken a long time to contact me, but I didn't expect them to be very quick. When I was at the office, the woman I talked to (who bears a striking resemblance to Cruella de Vil) asked me to show the letter I had received from the OFFI telling me to stop by. I had forgotten it, and was about to resign myself to coming back another day. She stopped me and said, "No, I probably still have your letter here in our system." I was stunned as she looked through files on her computer, pulling up my letter and telling an intern that was seated beside her that this way, the "mademoiselle would not have to return home." Before I came to France, I was told to expect to be turned away, that French civil servants would not make things easy for me. Maybe it's just Limoges. I've heard (from French people I've met here) that people are snobbier elsewhere.

Salespeople in stores also try to do what's best for their customers. I was about to pick up some tights from my favorite girly French clothing store, and I asked the girl behind the counter if she thought they would fit. She came around the counter, looked me up and down while saying she needed to get a feel for my height (I'm tall here), then told me not to buy them because they were probably too short. Thank you, Camaieu girl, for saving me 8 euros. People working in stores in Limoges are always willing to give opinions, and they rarely rush, even when lines get a bit long.

And the woman at the boulangerie near me asked me if I wanted "the usual" the other day when I popped by for a baguette. Then she asked me if I had liked the cookies I had bought the week before. These people are all so pleasant!

A week ago I went to this sort of language exchange program for the second time. I dragged a couple of English-speaking friends along with me, and it's a good thing I did. This time, about twenty (if not more) French students had shown up to chat with the four English speakers who arrived. They were swarming us, they were so eager to speak English. I was totally giddy. And then they fed us desserts they had brought and taught us how to play a very enjoyable French game: Loup-garou ("Werewolf"). It was a sort of "Murder in the dark" game, and we played it once in French and once in English. They want to get together again at the end of the month, but I wish we'd organize these events all the time! I had tons of fun. And I'm all for a slew of free French friends.

I chatted with a teacher the other week about how he was supposedly supposed to do a "stage," an internship, in the spring. He told me that he had to learn about art history, because starting next year, primary schools (or maybe just my school) want art history classes for their ten-year-olds. Amazing. And, on the subject of teachers, they already want to strike. I'm not sure if they will all strike; I've only heard teachers say so far that they don't want to participate. But someone distributed newsletters to all of the schools that say "Strike on November 24th!" and list reasons that the teachers of the area should unite against... I'm not sure whom. Possibly the school district administration.

I started up work last Thursday and am feeling really good about teaching today. I've had a couple of classes turn into horrible (but funny) messes, yet I feel undeterred. One of my friends pointed out that teaching is a lot of trial and error. And it's a challenge, but a good one. I'm enjoying myself.

Yesterday was Armistice Day, the end of World War I, and most of France had the day off. Apparently, the U.K. doesn't even take off for Armistice Day, which shows how big and terrible a part of French history the first World War was. Or maybe it just shows how much the French like holidays, which they do. I found out today there was a ceremony for it very close to my apartment, and I missed it! I'll have to keep up on those ceremonies and commemorations.

I want to eat a French pastry. (I have a new one pretty much every day. I should start up a pastry journal.)

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Solidaire

8h France time

Today I'm celebrating a personal victory over rain and French red tape. I wanted to get my bus pass today, so I went to the bus information center to get it. The center had moved due to construction, and I was about to walk home when I decided to go there anyway. I hopped onto line 2 to go somewhere I'd never been, and when I got off the bus, I couldn't figure out at all where I was. I got some wrong directions from a couple of people, but then began to head in the right direction as it started to rain. By the time I found the center (after almost turning back again and asking a bunch of people), I was absolutely soaked. And there were lines outside of the center because the bus system has recently changed and everyone wanted a new bus pass. A nice man let me stand under his umbrella while we waited outside, and half an hour later I had my shiny new bus pass. Then I made my way back and got rained on some more, but I was laughing and smiling and confusing the Frenchies because I was proud of myself for actually getting that damn pass.

Cuter than this story is what happened as I was on my way back home. As I was making my way through the mall (the best way to go home), I saw my friend Andreea, who sprained her ankle recently and has to get around using crutches. I chatted with her for a bit, then offered to help her get home. As we left the mall, I heard a man saying, "On est solidaire (we're united). You see? She has crutches, too." I turned around and saw a dad talking to his six or seven-year-old son, who was also using crutches. The little boy was looking at Andreea, and I said to his dad, "Solidaire?" The man said, "Oui!" I told them goodbye, and the little boy said "au revoir" to me. Then his dad picked him up and took him to their car.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like "I love you"

5h15 France time
I’ve been bad about blogging. I’ll try to be better, as I am now on my first French break. Ah, the French and their vacations. This vacation is, for my primary school and primary schools across France, that of “Toussaint,” or All Saints’ Day. (These are public schools, mind you. France remains très catholique.) It lasts all the way until the 5th of November! My other working friends are jealous.

Last Friday, a week and a couple of days ago, I was taking the bus home from school when a French guy informed me that I needed to get off of the bus two stops early because of some “protests.” I understood exactly what he said, but I didn’t see how protests were related to me getting off the bus, especially when there were people getting onto it. So this guy turned to the bus driver and said, “She didn’t understand.” “She didn’t understand?” “No.” Then a whole slew of people began to say, “Il faut descendre! You have to get off!” So I left, still totally confused. Now I think that those people who were entering the bus were going the other direction. Anyway, I began the trek home and noticed there were no buses on the street like usual, so I stopped to talk to a policeman. I asked him what was going on, and he said that farmers from the region were holding an enormous protest over the exploitation (I think) of their products, like milk. They didn’t appreciate that sellers of their products were making such a profit. So I continued to my apartment and had the wonderful luck of walking right through the strike! I was ecstatic and I stuck out like a sore thumb as I grinned at all of the confused French farmers. They all wore shirts that paraded their cause and carried signs that said, “Sarkozy! Does agriculture have to pay the price?” (I have not met a single French person who likes Sarko, by the way.) They were just standing about peaceably, talking to one another, though apparently (if I understood correctly) they later built a barricade in front of the prefecture. I missed the action! (Strikes and protests are a big part of the French way of life, and barricading things and setting them on fire is also quite popular here.)

Then on that Friday I went to a festival in Limoges called “Les petits ventres” – the little stomachs, literally. Two of my friends and I wandered around these streets sampling spice cakes (pretty good), boudin (blood sausage; I wasn’t too fond), chocolate moelleux (amaaazzing), quiche with veal (gross), and apple cider. This last thing was all right, but I have to say, I think that the French screw it up a little bit. “Cidre” is always alcoholic and is not as apple-y as cider in the U.S., so I don’t prefer it. But there you have it: a French food festival. My friend Mei tried to ask for what she thought were mushrooms, but when she found out they were six euros, she left. I asked the man standing next to me what they were, and he revealed that Mei had tried to buy some sheep testicles. Yum. There were musicians at the festival, a sort of guitarist and a saxophonist, which was an entertaining combination. They were wonderful, I thought, and I was dancing in the street a bit. They really seemed to enjoy that; everyone else just walked by. The French don’t… they don’t really look. They don’t make eye contact. At least, not that I’ve seen. And I realize I stick out because I can’t help but smile and look at all kinds of things.

After the festival, I attended my first (and only, so far) rehearsal with the anarchist/revolutionary choir whose members I had met the weekend before. We met up in this big building, a warehouse of sorts, that did have a heater but didn’t feel heated. Then, when most of the people had gathered, one of the men got us started on warming up exercises. We warmed up forever, and then we finally we moved on to the music. The music, it turns out, was not notated; we only had the text written down, and veteran members of the choir sang the tunes at us newcomers until we figured it out. It was not like any choir I’ve been in before, but it was really enjoyable. Then after the rehearsal, all of the choir members sat down for dinner. Everyone had brought something for a sort of potluck (I had brought some cider from the festival) and we all served each other and talked politics and exchanged names. One of the women there was teaching another girl to play accordion, so the two of them played away at their respective accordions until the experienced player broke out the drinking songs. That was pretty fantastic; all of the French people knew these hilarious, bouncy little songs and they just sang away. Then my girlfriends and I helped with clean-up and we went home.

On Saturday, I made my trip to Bordeaux with my Romanian friends, Alexandru and Andreea. It was actually a terrible decision on my part, because I was still (still!) sick. I felt fatigued and headache-y and was leaking snot like a faucet, but I decided to go anyway. I’m glad I did, because Bordeaux was just beautiful! It’s much bigger than Limoges and it’s full of life and gorgeous sites. When we arrived, Alexandru pressed for us to go to a sort of carnival that was happening in the city center. I wasn’t interested at first because I figured we could see a carnival anywhere, but when we entered the site I was dazzled. There were rides going on right next to nineteenth century sculptures (a hilarious juxtaposition), and the food booths all sold crèpes and “barbe à papa” (Papa’s beard, or cotton candy). I helped myself to an enormous thing of cotton candy, twice the size of my head, while Alexandru went for a crazy ride that would surely have made Andreea and me incredibly nauseous.

After we left the carnival, the three of us went to see the river, some fountains (one was dyed pink and had pink sashes around the naked female statues that adorned it for Breast Cancer Awareness month), too many shoe stores, and a number of enormous monuments. Andreea pushed for us to attend a service at the Cathedral of Saint-André, a massive church in the city center, without realizing what a Mass is like (or how long it is). It was pretty entertaining for me to make the comparison between church at home and in France, and I got to see how French cantors operate. After we left the church, we went to a bar and drank coffee and hot chocolate. I think by this point I had a fever (oops), but we kept on anyway and went to sit at the river’s edge while night set in. It was such a fantastic view, what with all the lights and bridges and buildings, and the city was still so alive even as it got to be ten or eleven at night. (Limoges pretty much falls asleep by nine o’clock.) We took pictures around town, stopped into a wine shop to see the exorbitant prices for wine and run away (Bordeaux is most known for its wine), and saw sushi menus outside of restaurants advertising “foie gras sushi.” Disgusting. I laughed so hard. At about 11:30 or so we went on home, and I passed the heck out for the entire three and a half hour trip.

Andreea, Alexandru, and me in front of La Cathédrale Saint-André


Me playing around in the "Miroir d'eau," a reflective fountain-type-thing in the city center


Barbe à Papa


The carnival at Bordeaux


This past week I got to experience a number of things, notably a visit to the Limoges porcelain museum and a European dinner party with Paula, Andreea, and Alexandru last night. After our visit to the museum (which was full of exquisite things and free to enter), Paula and I provided the food for the big dinner; we ate gnocchi, pizza, salad, grapes, baguette, cheese… it was delicious, and we all got to sit and talk and be friendly. It seems that meals often last an eternity in Europe. After we had finished, some friends of Andreea’s from Lebanon showed up and talked with us in French. (Someone tell Lisa!) They were fun and chatty, and they were really complimentary of my French and of Paula’s accent when she spoke English. We discussed, of course, cultural differences, and I realized that foreigners in France become awfully nationalistic and defensive of their own countries. These two guys talked forever about how Beirut was better than Paris and about how Lebanese women are the most beautiful women in the world. Alexandru and Andreea are always talking about how beautiful Romania is and defending it from stereotypes, and Paula does the same for Scotland. I have to admit that I’m not terribly defensive of the U.S., but at the same time I appreciate what’s good about it and realize that for me, a U.S. citizen, life is quite a bit easier back at home. (Not that I don’t like the challenges I come across here.) Paula says that being abroad just makes you aware of what you like and don’t like about your home country, as it makes you understand better what you do and don’t like about the country in which you’re staying.

This morning, Paula, Alexandru, and I headed to a public pool in the older part of the city for a swim. When we tried to enter the pool room, Alexandru was stopped by a lifeguard and asked to change out of his Bermuda shorts into a “slip de bain.” At the public pool here in Limoges, men are required to wear speedos! Paula and I had a field day, and poor Alexandru had to buy a new swimsuit. After we went to the pool, the three of us went around the enormous Cathedral of Saint-Etienne and checked out the Botanical Gardens. They’re not very garden-y at this time of year, but they’re still beautiful, complete with stone walls and architecture that’s hundreds of years old. This part always astounds me- the medieval architecture that one sees everywhere in France. Cobblestone streets and buildings that date back more than 200 years always remind me of how weird it is that I’m here. I love it. And you know, this is commonplace for so many of the people I’ve met here! Europeans all have castles in their backyards. It’s not fair.

Things have been going pretty well at the schools where I’m teaching, and I’m still trying to figure out how to get my kids to behave so that their teachers will be happy. The other day, I confiscated my first item! The ten and eleven-year-olds can be a bit of a handful. My class of six-year-olds is absolutely adorable, though; the kids are excitable, but they love that I can name them all, and the other day three of them came up to me to give me a kiss. Another one asked if he could braid my hair instead of telling me his favorite color. They’re so, so sweet.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Ma Mère l’Oye

4h30 France time

Today I was thinking I would go to the bank and the prefecture to take care of some official business, but as it turned out… I didn’t want to. It was my long day at school—I teach five classes—and I’ve been a bit sleep-deprived. My classes this morning and afternoon were a teensy bit more challenging than normal, but you know, I wouldn’t really care if I thought no one else did. When the kids get really excited and loud, I honestly don’t mind all that much. But French teachers are a little stricter, I believe, than teachers in the U.S. or Britain, and so I have to figure out how to keep things under control. Today some of the kids in one of my older classes were brandishing rulers by the end of the English lesson, and their teacher approached me in the Teacher’s Lounge. When I understood that he was about to talk to me about how to teach, I wanted to sink into the floor, but he was actually very nice and diplomatic. He said a billion times that he didn’t want to “interfere,” but that I might want to include more written work in class and maintain more discipline. And I let the kids walk around the classroom for an activity this morning, which I realize now is not something French kids do during class.

But I like being the fun teacher. :(

Yesterday I went to a meeting for the English assistants that was really boring and little stressful. But at the end of it, Mariella, another American, approached me and said, “What are you doing today? Do you want to go shopping or something? I don’t want to sound desperate, but I’m not around a lot of people these days and I thought we could hang out.” Poor thing. We’ve all been there. So I went with her and Paula to get something to eat (Paula had the most delicious crème brûlée) and then Mariella and I went shopping. Please, someone, freeze my bank account. I’m getting a little crazy with the French fashion. I go into these clothing stores, and everything looks attractive. Everything looks like something I might like to wear. And as I live behind a mall, I walk through it several times a day. The temptation is enormous; it’s killing my pocketbook. But I feel so well-dressed these days!

Tonight I’m pondering going to a language exchange program called “Tandem.” The English assistants were encouraged to come and chat in English with future French English teachers, and I figured that the program meant a free French friend. Then this weekend, my Romanian friends want to go to Bordeaux, and I’m determined to join them. I have things to do, lessons to plan, but I know I’ll kick myself if I don’t take every opportunity I can to travel in this fabulous country.

Oh! And I went to the library this week. Incredible. It’s beautiful and full of wonderful things. I looked through the classical music section, which was at least twenty times bigger than that of our local library in St. Louis, and I found things that I never found at Missouri State. I think that’s pretty sad, actually. The DVD section had seasons of Lost and Arrested Development, which I thought was amusing, and there were a million books. I also picked up a pamphlet about activities in Limoges—I’m hoping to find a yoga class. Heh. Not that I can do yoga.