Wait, how many? : a solemn address

I’ve been meaning to post about this for a long time and finally got around to taking a picture the other day (though really, the picture isn’t really necessary). I pass this street all the time, and I think it’s hilarious. For those non-french speakers, this can be translated as “people shot in world war two street”. Definitely a little more edgy than naming it after a tree or a president. Also, I think it’s funny to think that everyone who lives on the street has an address claiming a different (and all probably grossly inaccurate) number of people shot. Can you imagine writing a letter to someone who lives at 95 people shot in WWII street?

Life in the Bike Lane

Not all that much to report here. Things have returned back to normal after the break. The kids are still (generally) very cute. One day last week different kids kept on running up to me at recess and handing me flowers/weeds that they’d picked. I had a fairly good-sized bouquet by the time the bell rang. However, I’m not sure if they’re getting any more accustomed to my teaching methods. The other day we were learning emotions and I suggested we play charades. Silly me, I thought it would be obvious that they should charade the emotions we’d just spent 40 minutes going over, but the first girl to go started to mime going fishing.

I had the task of teaching everyday life in the US this past week. After a few days of panic of not knowing what to do, I managed to find enough to talk about. This lesson also gave me a chance to make a plug for iced coffee, as I explained that Americans not only weren’t scared of ice but they add it to all kinds of crazy things like coffee. I was about to tell them that adding ice to coffee was the best idea since sliced bread, but then realized that argument wouldn’t really work here in the land of baguettes. The kids were flabbergasted to learn that there were not eight bakeries on every street in America and that we bought bread loaded with preservatives (I was extra careful not to make the mistake of saying “préservatifs” which happens to mean condoms) that lasted for days.

Another funny and somewhat embarrassing moment from this week was when I was standing by a group of students as they were coming in from recess and I was “rangé-ed” (basically, pushed into a neat line) by the teacher thinking I was a student. When he realized who exactly he was pushing he blushed and apologized and with a resigned sigh I admitted it was not an uncommon mistake to make.

This past weekend was no ordinary weekend for St. Dié. As is was “vélo-datienne” (a play on the word for what people from St. Die are called—déodatienne). It came in two parts. Friday was a legitimate bike race for the serious of cyclists. A little mini Tour de France right here in Saint Dié. And having been to the actually Tour de France, I can assure you it really wasn’t all that different aside from the number of spectators (tour de France= millions. Saint Dié: a handful of people standing on the corner). I was reading on a bench along part of the designated path and every now and then a car with a siren would drive past followed by a cluster of bikers. So, not really all that thrilling.

Saturday, however, was a whole other story. This was the day for the less serious of bikers to participate in the 24-hour relay bike race. But not just normal bikes—wacky decked-out bike constructions-basically anything that was powered by pedaling. There were groups from local businesses and associations, but also just groups of townies who got really into building crazy bike contraptions.

Here are some photos I snapped.

Yes, that is a man covered in soda cans. And my favorite:

It seemed like the whole town was out, be it participating or spectating. All the teams had tents set up around the track and were grilling on their little barbeques while they weren’t cycling. And for the non-riders there was the usual clump of churro and waffle stands that appear whenever anything happens in town. In the park later that night, as people got bored watching the same bikes pass by every five minutes, they moseyed over to the park where there was a cirque de soleil–esque performance going on complete with scantily clad men and women holding each other up by their tongues (not actually) and impressive acrobatics with weird gladiator plotlines.

As my time in this fine town draws to a close, I’ve been starting to count down the time I have left in normal ways (ex: only 17 more days of class!) and less normal ways (ex: the number of packs of yogurt I will most likely buy before leaving). I have mixed feelings about the whole thing really. The fact that the internet will most likely be down for the rest of my time here is one thing making my approaching departure a little easier to handle.

Spring Vacation: Do the Polska!

The adventure begins.

Metz “two dous” : My night train to Berlin/Wroclaw left around midnight from Metz, a city I hadn’t really explored at all, so I decided to go in early and spend the afternoon there. I spent the first part of the day at the newly opened centre pompidou—a museum which looks a little bit like it should be inhabited by smurfs. It was a cool space though and I enjoyed the visit thoroughly.

After the museum I kind of just meandered around the center of Metz for a while getting a feel for it. I apparently looked lost since someone came up to me and offered to help me find where I was going. When I explained that I was just trying to explore the city, he kindly offered to be my guide. His name was Amadou and he turned out to be Malian (which helps to explain his extreme friendliness) so I was, yet again, able to indulge in my nostalgia for the country. He showed me around the university area, we had kebabs, and at the end of the night he walked me to the train station. And then I was off!

I got my first taste of being out of the language comfort zone when on the train, asking about a stop, I asked someone if he spoke English or French and he responded, in French, “never”. In Poland, a lot of people spoke English, but randomly some of the people who you’d really expect to, like the international ticket office lady at the train station, did not. But with the use of some hand gestures and some friendly eavesdropping Poles, I was able to get everywhere without a problem.

Stop 1: WROCLAW

First impression: pretty!!

Second impression: Why am I looking at Antoino Banderas? (he was everywhere)

Wroclaw is pretty small, so very walkable, and there are lots of really nice restaurants, funky cafés and parks so I had a very pleasant visit. I even came across a movie being filmed (actually more like I was about to walk on set but a guy in a vest held out his arms to stop me saying “Cinema. Cinema.”) The hostel I stayed at was also super nice, despite it being totally empty. The only other guy there was this Polish dude who just hung around in the common room watching Polish TV all day and chatting with whoever was at reception.

I had my first taste of Polish cuisine which did not disappoint. I participated (aka ate) in the Polish milk bar tradition, translation: a cafeteria where you can fill up on tons of hearty polish food for super cheap. Thank you communism.

Stop 2: KRAKOW

After help from the locals figuring out the only-polish train announcements, I squeezed onto the train heading to Krakow. The trains in Poland are all compartment trains which is cool and it was nice to be able to open the windows.

The first thing I did in Krakow: leave Krakow. After arriving pretty late at night and getting up early, I hopped on a bus to Oswiecim aka home to Auschwitz-Birkenau. I knew it would be tough, but at the same time, something I really should do. I don’t want to sound too cliché, but I just cannot put into words anything that would do justice to how a place like that makes you feel. I didn’t really feel like going around snapping pictures, but I did take this one:

Back in Krakow, I walked around and explored what it had to offer. Primarily:

-lots and lots of churches and more nuns than I’ve ever seen. And lots of tributes to ex-pope John Paul II. Think it’s a Catholic country?

- Obwarzanek: They’re like bagels but kind of twisted and thinner with a bigger circumference. For all intents and purposes, they’re bagels and they’re delicious and they’re EVERYWHERE. I am so proud to be descended from their inventors.

-Lots of very very old buildings.

-A castle (I didn’t go in though)

-a 24 hour pierogi restaurant—yummmmm

-lots of really cool cafés (especially in the jewish quarter), like this one who’s tables were all old singer sewing machines. When I ordered a tea at this place—they randomly gave me rose.

-really cheap and really delicious street food. Krakow’s got reputation for a good party scene, so obviously they need the food to accompany a night out drinking, primary zapiekanki, pictured below. It cost a buck.

Before I knew it, it was time to head back home. I struck up a conversation with the Polish woman who helped me find my train, who turned out to be working for IHOP. For a split second I thought I was in the presence of a pancake pro, but it turns out IHOP is the international house of prayer, obviously. She was moving to Berlin and invited me to stay with her. Had she been a pancake pro I would be more inclined to accept.

On the night train back to Metz, I shared a compartment with quite the motley crew of travelers. There was a French guy who was decked out in hardcore combat boots, studded dog collar jewelry and was pierced everywhere possible on his face. Soon after the train departed though, he proved to be quite docile as he munched on gummy bears and at one point applied foundation to his piercing-speckled face. There was a German lady who every hour or so (bear in mind this was the middle of the night) would break into her seemingly unlimited stash of sausage. Then there was a pair of Australian girls in the midst of creating an educational television series where a girl time travels and learns about different eras in history. Girl 1: but how could we trigger the time travel?

Girl 2: Hmmm….she could get really drunk?

Girl 1: oh yeah, that’s brilliant, she’ll just get really wasted!

Australian education at it’s best.

And then I was back home in good old St. Dié.

Without internet.

Ugh.