General merriment in Bruay and Auchel and Berck

So, I thought I'd take a moment to quickly recap the events of the past little-more-than-week. Saturday, the 18th, we headed off to Bruay-la-Buissiere, where I ended up staying. In the above block of pictures, you'll see that Bruay is the really old looking church at the bottom.

While we were there, we led kids' clubs and hosted an international night, a concert, and a theater night. During all of these evenings, the city was invited, and we had quite a few people passing through. It was really a great time, and a great opportunity to meet a lot of very interesting people in the north of France.

We also had a free day. Along with 4 friends, I headed off to see the English Channel at Berck Plage. It was absolutely freezing and rainy the whole time, but very, very fun. I ordered a Gaufre (waffle) while I was there, because, being so close to Belgium, I thought I'd better seize the opportunity.

All in all, I found that the North is a really interesting place--like nowhere I've ever been before. The people were really incredibly nice--constantly offering food and drink and anything they could offer. The weather was horrendous--it rained nearly everyday, and seemed cold as winter (In fact, there was a man from Brazil there, who mentioned that summer in the north of France is colder than winter in Brazil...) Of course, the down side is that the people there are Cht'is who have been made famous by the French film Bienvenue Chez les Cht'is. As a result of this, I barely ever had any idea of what was going on, and so, perfected my nodding and "Oh yes," skills. At first, I though, "Has my French really deteriorated this much?" but over the next few days, I realized that, in fact, what was happening was that they were pronouncing any word with a "c" or "s" sound with a "sh" Instead of "Ainsi", they said, "Ainshi." And instead of "Merci"; "Mershi." It was interesting adapting to the "new language."

Highlights:

1) I can now say "Over there is a chair" in Cht'i

2) I have visited the site where Bienvenue Chez les Cht'is was filmed

3) I met Michael Jordan (who happened to be a very, very small, German man. Not quite the basketball champion I was hoping for)

4)I ate at least 10 different types of cheese...not many of which I'd like to eat again. :)

As a short anecdote, we had a concert at church (as I mentioned) on Friday night. The singer was an ex-cabaret singer. You would have been able to guess that upon hearing the first few measures of his first song. He was very flamboyant--huge, toothy grin, the shuffly walk, the showman's voice. In any case, there was a man who came in late and sat next to me. From the minute he walked in, I knew he was drunk. He just reeked of alcohol. Somewhere during the concert, the singer said, "Next I'll sing 'Oh Uppy Day'" (which I later found was in fact "Oh Happy Day") and as he sang, the drunk man next to me grabbed my hand and said, "Let's dance." Everyone was standing and clapping, but no one was dancing. I said, "Well, I don't think anyone else is dancing." But he urged me, and me, having no idea how to dance or even what to do in this situation, started awkwardly jumping around. The drunk man let go of my hand after a few minutes of this and said, "I didn't mean dancing like that." And he started jiving away--rolling his head around, shaking his hips, clapping his hands. But when the song ended, he sat, and said, "I think I'm going to throw up."

So, interesting concert all around. It was definitely a highlight when the singer walked down the aisle, singing, and the drunk man beside me reached out and grabbed his rear-end. I can't say anything like this has ever happened to me before, but wow. Memories of the north. I'll treasure these forever.

Until the Next time...

Hello from rainy Pontault-Combault (I took this light pole picture about an hour ago. I'm starting a new goal to take more photos while I'm here. When I'm old and can't remember anything else, I want to be able to look through my France years).

In any case, although I find it hard to believe that anyone would find it surprising if I didn't write for a week, I still thought I'd officially point out that I'm headed off to a campaign in Bruay-la-Bussiere for the next 8 days. We're working alongside two local churches in B-l-B and its sister city, Auchel--kids clubs, international soirees for the community, miming, and such. So, keep us in your prayers while we're there. We're a small team--only 4 of us from the office, and I think only 11 total.


And guess who I'm driving over with?


Yes, that's right: Michael Jordan.


I'm very pleased with this. Although he claims to be a caucasian, 27-year-old German, I have my doubts. I'm pretty sure he'll be wearing red, will have an exceptionally intimate knowledge of Chicago, and will be very adept with basketballs. Let's cross our fingers.

And, by the way, speaking of sports, I thought I'd also mention that if any of you are Tour de France fans, be sure to watch the race during its final stage (the 26th, I think). They'll be riding through my town, Pontault-Combault, on the way to the finish in Paris. The one time something exciting happens here, I miss it... Oh well. I'm comforting myself with the thought that I'll meet Michael Jordan. He's got to be more exciting than Lance Armstrong, right?

I Joined the Bank!

Today I had an appointment at the bank.
I didn't want this appointment. In fact, I'd been dreading this appointment, but in order to get health insurance, I was required to show a form that stated that I, Katie, had a French bank account. Hence the appointment at the bank.
Last night, I could barely sleep thinking about it. Everyone at the office assured me that I'd be fine going on my own, but I had my reservations. I don't really have a broad banking vocabulary--I know the French word for "money", and that's kind of where my knowledge ends. But despite my protests, everyone assured me I'd be fine. (Plus, I'd been there on Saturday to make an appointment, and the teller spoke so painfully slowly that it would have been impossible NOT to understand her. I've never seen someone's lips move that particularly over words.)
Anyway, I walked in at 11:00 for my 11:15 appointment, and the woman at the counter took one glance at my rendez-vous card, and said, "He'll be right out."
So, I stood and waited...
...and waited...
...and waited...
A half hour later, a young, skinny man dressed in a very small suit came out of his office and said, "Come with me." Even from just thse few words, I could tell he talked fast. I started praying then that I'd be able to understand him.
But he put me at ease really quickly--asked if I felt homesick, if I liked France, if I was allowed to use the cars at the office. We joked around a while as he typed my information into the computer.
Then, he turned to the page that listed my monthly salary, and said, "Good God! How do you live on this?"
I didn't say anything at first, because I couldn't believe he'd just said that. I just looked at him, a little bug-eyed, and he repeated, more politely this time, "Do you find it hard to live on this salary?"
I smiled and replied very diplomatically, "It can be difficult...especially when the stores have sales."
We both made those awkward, obligatory laughs.
But I couldn't believe it! I would think that in banking school, the first thing you'd learn is not to comment on someone's monthly salary...especially not to say, "How do you live on this?"
Oh well. I don't hold it against him. He was nice.
But then, he started scribbling all these things on different pieces of paper, and asking me to sign inside several boxes. As he wrote, he began telling me that people normally put 500 euros in their account to start off with.
I don't have 500 euros. Nothing near it, in fact. Not even in my Jane Austen Tour savings account. So I just nodded and said, "Oh, really? 500 euros?"
He asked how much money I had.
I replied. "I have 20 euros with me."
I think he wanted to laugh right then, but he had the dignity to keep it in. I handed the money over, and only had a little difficulty easing my grip on it. He then stuffed it in something that looked like a freezer bag, and asked me to sign the bag. I did. And then, he mentioned again something about needing 500 euros. I gave him a shrug that I hoped said that would be no problem.
At that point, he started talking...a lot. About what? I'm not sure. I understood maybe a fourth of what he said, but just kept nodding and saying "Ok," despite the fact that I really had no idea what he was talking about. I only noticed he kept saying "500 euros."
After our meeting, he walked me to the door of the bank, saying, "Have a nice day."
I said, "You too!" over my shoulder, but I was so humiliated, I couldn't even look behind me.
I got home, and Simon, the accountant here, asked if I'd opened my account. I said, "You know. I'm not sure."
"How can you not be sure?" he asked, and I told him about my lack of 480 euros.
"You shouldn't be required to have 500 euros in the bank," Simon said. "Let's look through your papers. Let's see what you've signed up for."
So, I pulled out the packet of papers that the man had signed, and turns out, I not only opened a regular, run of the mill bank account, but he also signed me up for a savings account.
Turns out the man gets comission off of how many savings accounts he opens.
Interesting coincidence.
So, now, tail between my legs, I have to make another appointment with him tomorrow to cancel my savings account. This is probably the shortest lived savings account in world history.
I was feeling pretty bad about this day, and my level of French, and my banking skills in general.
However, Simon sat down with me today and said, "Would you have gotten this far 6 months ago?"
"No," I said. And I wouldn't have. I wouldn't have had the courage to walk in the door of the bank, let alone talk to the banker.
"See?" Simon told me. "Every day gets better."
And I guess that's true. Despite all the flops and failures, today I did something that I couldn't have done before. I joined the bank. Hooray for me.

Happy Bastille Day!

It's 2:23 in the morning on France's national holiday, Bastille Day. I don't have much to say, but just wanted to take the chance welcome in the day.
Though I've spent a July 14th in France previously (4 years ago for a language study abroad), I can't say that I remember anything exceptional happening on this day. But this year is already different. Tonight at 11:00, the city of Pontault had the kick-off with a half-hour fire works show at Hotel de Ville. Tomorrow is another day to brag about, as there will be a huge fireworks display at the Eiffel Tower. Pretty exciting.
I'm not going to lie: I'm pleased about these developments, because the July 4th activity was non-existent (not surprising, I guess, since we're in France and not the US). I can't help loving national holidays...

So, as anti-climactic as this post is, that's that.

Vive la France!

A Bird in the Bathroom

So, as always, it's been a while since I last wrote. If only good intentions wrote blogs, huh?
In the last month since I've written, there's been one major occurance in my life: a bird in the bathroom.

The windows here don't have screens, and we don't have much in the way of air conditioning (or maybe it just isn't turned on. Who can say?), so I often leave just my bathroom window open. The bathroom is connected to the bedroom, but while the bedroom window is huge and completely open, the bathroom window is smaller and has iron bars curling over the window. It's always seemed much safer to me to leave the bathroom open.

However, I left it open all of one Sunday afternoon, and I headed out to church. I then spent the afternoon with Stephan, and when I came home at night, I went into the bathroom (which I'd left closed), and I closed the door behind me. I was getting ready to wash my face, when I heard something flapping around over head. I screamed and screamed without really looking at it. I was so afraid it would be a bat. But anyway, after a while, I calmed down, looked up, and saw that it was just a tiny bird--a swallow maybe. By this time, I wasn't so scared anymore--just frustrated. I opened the bathroom windows as wide as they could be opened, and started yelling, "Get out! Get out!" Dominique and Lexi who were both asleep downstairs (did I mention this all happened at midnight?) rushed upstairs to see if there was an intruder attacking me and eliciting these types of screams.

But soon enough, they saw the bird, and Dominique went out in the hallway and said, "Flip me. I can't do a thing. I just can't--birds--I just can't--"

Lexi was standing at the door laughing, but also unable to help.

So, Dominique did the only thing she could think of. She called her dad in London to figure out how we could rectify the situation. He suggested we try and catch it inside a garbage bag and then free it from the window. I didn't think this sounded too easy. His second suggestion was to try and guide it out the window with something else--a bat, a broom, something with a long handle. This sounded more up my alley. So, I found a co-worker's suit coat that she'd left at our office/house, and I tied it under my chin, grabbed the broom, and went running after the bird. I tried guiding it, but it didn't seem to want to be guided, so after a few discouraging attempts, the guiding turned more into batting, and next thing I knew, I'd hit the bird and it fell flat on the ground.

I felt horrible!

I grabbed a garbage bag, scooped the bird up, and tossed both the bird and the bag out the window. I felt so bad all night, thinking about how I'd killed the bird. And his feathers were still sort of stuck to the ceiling and walls where he'd flapped against the room.

So, the next morning, I got up, and went outside the bury the bird.

Guess what?

There was just an empty bag and no bird. So, I conclude that, in fact, the bird lived, and had only been stunned when I'd hit him with the broom. Great news, huh?

Vive la paix

This car was sitting outside the church where we have classes at Asnieres sur Seine. I was 1) amazed at how parked-in it was and 2) in love with the paint job.
Peace. Love. France.

The Professor on the E

Today, I carried my camera around all day, looking at every minute as a possible "picture of the day" opportunity. And, rather than post one single picture, I have a few for your viewing pleasure...
After I got home from work, I was walking through the park, and the sky started rumbling and the air smelled heavy with rain, and I looked up at the sky. It was a beautiful gray, blue and the clouds almost faded right in, except the edges of each cloud were tinged yellow, and quite frankly, glowed. My first thought (as always) was "Christ is coming back right now!" My second thought was, "Picture of the day!" And so, I snapped a few pictures of the sky. The first one wasn't quite to my liking, and neither was the second, so I'm posting both in the hopes that, with this combined effort, you'll feel at least a little amazed at how lovely the sky was.

And now, another unrelated picture...

As I got off the train today, I thought, "Not everyone in Indiana would quite know what this feels like--getting off a train." While we Hoosiers do have the People Mover between our Indianapolis hospitals, we're not quite European in our transportation. So, camera firmly in hand (what a benefit to these Picture of the Days!), I took a picture of getting off the train. A little banal, but what else could Picture of the Day imply?

I spend a lot of my life on these train platforms. When I first came here, I was really intrigued to see what particular trash littered the tracks at each station. In fact, one day, I took a list. Here's what I wrore:

Pontault-Combault--bottle caps, cigarette butts, Coke can presumably filled with urine.

Noisy le Grand- glass bottles, candy wrappers

Noisy le Sec- boxer shorts

Val de Fontenay- Evian bottles, Orangina, deflated lotion bottles, Starbucks stir (richer area?)

After taking these notes, I got it in my head that I'd write a story about a girl who moved to France and chose her home based on the type of garbage on the train tracks at each station. I talked to my roommate, my coworkers, and friends about the story line, and overtalked the story line so much that I never got around to writing the piece. Not really a shocker.

So, above is the station at Villiers.

But anyway, speaking of trains, I think I saw my French professor from Olivet Nazarene University on the E today. I boarded the train at Val de Fontenay, and immediately sat down and pulled out a book. My eyes were focused down, and I saw her feet, which seemed oddly familiar for feet. At Rosny Bois Perrier, I looked out the window, and got a better look of her...or rather, her neon pink spandex leggings. At Noisy Le Sec, I was very curious, and as I stood to get off the train, I looked at all of her--the faded mumu-type shirt, her leggings, her orthapaedic shoes. I was way too surprised to say anthing, and I was still in the process of deciding whether this really was my professor from French 101. But after thinking about it, I feel pretty sure it was her. I'm sure that was the woman who told my class about her summers in France and watching old men play something akin to cornhold and most definitely, i remember her tirades on the dangers of dieting.

"You don't ever want to look like this!" she'd say, wagging her belly at us. "If you diet in your youth, you'll look like this when you're old."

That's when I decided never to diet.

So, an Illinois professor on the E. What are the odds?