Two hours a week of teaching is obviously great and I'm sure you're all very proud of how hard I'm working, but like any sensible megalomaniac I want more, more, more.
And the good news is that the work is there. I'm already up to 6 hours a week! I'm starting a second course on Monday which is a 1-to-1 and I had an interview this morning which led to me getting a couple of hours with a student at another school.
Add to that the 800 bars and pubs that I've applied in, and I should be well on my way to earning enough money not to die a lonely death on the streets of Strasbourg. I should be. I'm not yet sure.
Having left my appartment in Toulouse in such haste, I didn't have time to give the contractual one month's notice nor to find anyone to take the room. So whilst the girls are doing everything in their power to find a flatmate, as things stand at the moment, it's me who pays the rent for March. Shit. Not really something I can afford to do as the money will have to come out of my deposit, which I will be needing if I want to move in to my own houseshare (which I'll have to do by the end of March at the latest as Sophie is coming home for three weeks and there aren't enough beds for us all here!
So, things are tight at the moment. In fact, tight is not really the word. Desperate is much more accurate. Fortunately, as far as I can make out from my French contract, monthly pay means calendar month, which means that in 4 days (thank Christ it's February and not one of those horrible long months like, say, July. Ugh!) I'll be receiving my very first pay check from Gera-langue, my new employers. It will be for 6 hours of teaching plus 3 times the milage fee (I have to get where I'm going and they pay me for the miles) which works out as around €100 before tax ( = €80 net). So that's about enough to cover the food and beer that I've consumed since being here but not even a start towards the cost of the flight, the potential payment of March's rent in Toulouse or my planned purchase of a second-hand scooter to get around on let alone HA! any money to put aside for silly things like paying rent. But still, it's a start. It'll be the first money to actually go in to my account in France for a very long time.
So there it is. My financial situation in a paragraph.
I'll let you know how things progress as I battle against students, rip-off language schools (much warned about, little seen as yet) and the sometimes crushing loneliness that comes with having just moved cities and once again not knowing anyone. Cinema on my own tonight? Why not. It's what I did last night after all...
Love from,
Rob
xxx
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
I'm a teacher!
Done! Done and done! Done and done and dusted!
I've taught my first ever paid, professional lesson. And, my, didn't it go well?
It was 2 hours, but didn't feel too long. My 3 students were attentive and interested and asked the right questions and knew and didn't know what they were supposed to know and not know.
It's all very lovely.
All I need to do now is find a way to occupy the remaining 166 hours of the week.
I'm trying to put myself about as much as possible, and things are looking reasonably hopeful. The school for whom I'm teaching right now have already told me that March will be a lot busier and that they're 'reserving' lots of hours for me to teach once the contacts are signed. Let's hope so.
But, for now I can at least say that I've done my first day of paid work since December (and have a proper employment contract for the first time since June 2006) so all is looking good.
As for the house hunt: well, that's another story. And it's one I haven't even begun to write about yet. I guess what I'll do is stay here in the warm, free, internet-furnished home of Sophie's dad until... well, until I have my first pay cheque maybe? Until I find something else? Until he gets sick of having me scrounge of his generosity (although I'm doing all my own shopping so it's not really costing him anything other than a bit of privacy).
Let's see what happens, eh?
See you around,
Rob
p.s. My postal address should anyone feel postally inspired:
Rob Levy, chez Bertrand Lebrou
9 Rue Des Veaux
Strasbourg 67000
FRANCE
I've taught my first ever paid, professional lesson. And, my, didn't it go well?
It was 2 hours, but didn't feel too long. My 3 students were attentive and interested and asked the right questions and knew and didn't know what they were supposed to know and not know.
It's all very lovely.
All I need to do now is find a way to occupy the remaining 166 hours of the week.
I'm trying to put myself about as much as possible, and things are looking reasonably hopeful. The school for whom I'm teaching right now have already told me that March will be a lot busier and that they're 'reserving' lots of hours for me to teach once the contacts are signed. Let's hope so.
But, for now I can at least say that I've done my first day of paid work since December (and have a proper employment contract for the first time since June 2006) so all is looking good.
As for the house hunt: well, that's another story. And it's one I haven't even begun to write about yet. I guess what I'll do is stay here in the warm, free, internet-furnished home of Sophie's dad until... well, until I have my first pay cheque maybe? Until I find something else? Until he gets sick of having me scrounge of his generosity (although I'm doing all my own shopping so it's not really costing him anything other than a bit of privacy).
Let's see what happens, eh?
See you around,
Rob
p.s. My postal address should anyone feel postally inspired:
Rob Levy, chez Bertrand Lebrou
9 Rue Des Veaux
Strasbourg 67000
FRANCE
Monday, February 19, 2007
New number (attention: boring post!)
My new telephone number (as of about 3 months ago: Sorry to anyone who texted me in that interval) is
+33 (0) 612 701 996
Sorry it took me so long to post it.
+33 (0) 612 701 996
Sorry it took me so long to post it.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Spires and Inspiration
Dearest all,
I wrote a marvellous blog entry all about how wonderful everything is here in Strasbourg but I clos*d the motherfucking wind*w before I saved it. Bollocks.
Suffice it say that things are great here, I'm happy and well, Sophie's dad is great and his flat is luxurious and in the middle of town and my boss calls me 'tu' and is very friendly (she's chilean!).
Ah, it's such a shame that my earlier waxing lyrical should have gone down the digital dustbin and you be left with this prosaic drivel. Piss. Never mind, I'm sure more things will happen in my life before the whole blog thing goes out of fashion...
Until next time drivel fans,
Rob
I wrote a marvellous blog entry all about how wonderful everything is here in Strasbourg but I clos*d the motherfucking wind*w before I saved it. Bollocks.
Suffice it say that things are great here, I'm happy and well, Sophie's dad is great and his flat is luxurious and in the middle of town and my boss calls me 'tu' and is very friendly (she's chilean!).
Ah, it's such a shame that my earlier waxing lyrical should have gone down the digital dustbin and you be left with this prosaic drivel. Piss. Never mind, I'm sure more things will happen in my life before the whole blog thing goes out of fashion...
Until next time drivel fans,
Rob
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Why is it always sunny when you leave somewhere?
Call it Sod's, Murphy's or Levy's law. Call it what you will, but it is a truth universally acknowledged that as soon as you buy your ticket out of some god-forsaken rain-drenched misery den, the sun starts shining and you start to see things in a whole new light.
Today I have had the most charming of charming Toulouse experiences imaginable. Having luncheoned with my flatmate Claire and her friends, I shelled out 2 euro 30 for a copy of the International Herald Tribune and spent two hours on the terrace of a studenty cafe, broiling in the heat of a mediterranean sun that I haven't felt on my shoulders since the heady days of 2006 (if you can remember it, you weren't there...)
Truely sumptuous.
Things on the job hunting front have really taken off, with emails flying in from all 6 corners of the country (local reference. Mum, you should get that one) asking me to show up for interviews etc. etc.
BUT, my decision is made. My flight is booked and I'm off to the last great right-wing bastion of France, Strasbourg in a little under 48 hours.
I'm nervous and excited and scared and worried and confused all at the same time. I hadn't really thought when I noticed that the plane was 20 euros cheaper and around 11 hours shorter than the train that I was going to be moving house. This means taking everything I own. You can take whatever you can carry onto a train (bike sometimes included) whereas with the flight, I've got to ask myself some serious questions about how it's all going to work.
I have my Hachette 2007 (a large, much beloved dictionary), my Beatles Bible (never left my immediate possession since the age of 15 or so) and a nicked bicycle that I have to think about.
I'm also leaving behind two rather distraught French girls who will soon be back on the search for a flatmate. Clair told me she cried the other day when she thought about me leaving. I think that's what she said anyway; she might have been telling me it was raining (it seems to be virtually the same verb). And I still haven't got off with Sophie, the sexy one. Ah, so much unfinished business.
I've also got to say goodbye to everyone I've ever known in this great city (about 4 people) and inform my landlord that I'm leaving. This is the thing currently giving me stomach ulcers. I don't know why but I'm terrified of my landlord. I think it dates back to the marching me to a cash machine episode when I'd forgotten to pay the rent for January. I'm not exactly delighted at the prospect of phoning him and telling him that all his worst assumptions about me as a foreigner are true:
"Hi Monsieur Braux"
"Yes?"
"Remember how you thought it was a terrible idea that the girls have a foreign, unemployed scumbag move in, and that you assumed he would run off at the first possible opportunity, leaving you without rent and another lodger-hunt on your hands?"
etc.
So, less than delighted at that prospect. Plus I don't know the French words for scumbag. Perhaps "Anglais" is a suitable translation.
So if I don't email for a while or get in touch with those I really should do, it's because I'm running around Strasbourg trying not to get noticed by skinheads, die of starvation or get mobbed by angry landlords.
I genuinely hope that those with easy, comfortable lives don't for an instant take any of it for granted and that you spare a moment, whilst nestling into your favourite armchair, to think of your trusty friend/family member/random blogger Rob as he attempts to make his way in the frozen, mountainous north of France, armed only with a single cardigan, a 4-week teacher training qualification and just enough French to say "I'll only agree to sell my body if the skag is really of the finest quality".
Until next time e-chums,
Rob
xxx
Today I have had the most charming of charming Toulouse experiences imaginable. Having luncheoned with my flatmate Claire and her friends, I shelled out 2 euro 30 for a copy of the International Herald Tribune and spent two hours on the terrace of a studenty cafe, broiling in the heat of a mediterranean sun that I haven't felt on my shoulders since the heady days of 2006 (if you can remember it, you weren't there...)
Truely sumptuous.
Things on the job hunting front have really taken off, with emails flying in from all 6 corners of the country (local reference. Mum, you should get that one) asking me to show up for interviews etc. etc.
BUT, my decision is made. My flight is booked and I'm off to the last great right-wing bastion of France, Strasbourg in a little under 48 hours.
I'm nervous and excited and scared and worried and confused all at the same time. I hadn't really thought when I noticed that the plane was 20 euros cheaper and around 11 hours shorter than the train that I was going to be moving house. This means taking everything I own. You can take whatever you can carry onto a train (bike sometimes included) whereas with the flight, I've got to ask myself some serious questions about how it's all going to work.
I have my Hachette 2007 (a large, much beloved dictionary), my Beatles Bible (never left my immediate possession since the age of 15 or so) and a nicked bicycle that I have to think about.
I'm also leaving behind two rather distraught French girls who will soon be back on the search for a flatmate. Clair told me she cried the other day when she thought about me leaving. I think that's what she said anyway; she might have been telling me it was raining (it seems to be virtually the same verb). And I still haven't got off with Sophie, the sexy one. Ah, so much unfinished business.
I've also got to say goodbye to everyone I've ever known in this great city (about 4 people) and inform my landlord that I'm leaving. This is the thing currently giving me stomach ulcers. I don't know why but I'm terrified of my landlord. I think it dates back to the marching me to a cash machine episode when I'd forgotten to pay the rent for January. I'm not exactly delighted at the prospect of phoning him and telling him that all his worst assumptions about me as a foreigner are true:
"Hi Monsieur Braux"
"Yes?"
"Remember how you thought it was a terrible idea that the girls have a foreign, unemployed scumbag move in, and that you assumed he would run off at the first possible opportunity, leaving you without rent and another lodger-hunt on your hands?"
etc.
So, less than delighted at that prospect. Plus I don't know the French words for scumbag. Perhaps "Anglais" is a suitable translation.
So if I don't email for a while or get in touch with those I really should do, it's because I'm running around Strasbourg trying not to get noticed by skinheads, die of starvation or get mobbed by angry landlords.
I genuinely hope that those with easy, comfortable lives don't for an instant take any of it for granted and that you spare a moment, whilst nestling into your favourite armchair, to think of your trusty friend/family member/random blogger Rob as he attempts to make his way in the frozen, mountainous north of France, armed only with a single cardigan, a 4-week teacher training qualification and just enough French to say "I'll only agree to sell my body if the skag is really of the finest quality".
Until next time e-chums,
Rob
xxx
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
The Rob-Bus rolls on
This is all going to be a bit rushed so I apologise for the lack of the usual 8,000 carefully chosen words on a variety of stimulating topics but I'm in an internet cafe where the time counts DOWN and not up meaning I've got 8minutes and 14 seconds to write this blog entry.
Having returned from Hungary with a Pass 'A' result in my CELTA qualification (that's good by the way!) I was filled with enthusiasm and drive to find work, but also a mild sense of disgust with Toulouse and it's unemployed population, dragging their feet around town trying to dodge the dog shit. It was a stark contrast to Budapest which is really a thriving, moving and exciting place. It's just all happening there whereas in Toulouse it feels like it's continually the day after a massive party and the streets are filthy and everyone's hung over and pissed off.
So I decided to do what in technical terms is probably called Denial-Of-Service hacking and is strictly illegal: I copy and pasted the email addresses of every language school advertising itself in the Yellow Pages for Toulouse, Paris, Montpellier, Nice and Strasbourg and wrote one big uber-email saying: "I'm here. Who want me?"
and someone wants me.
Strange huh?
So, I've booked my flight and I'm moving to Strasbourg on Saturday. That's really it. My love affair with Toulouse followed all the usual patterns: teething problems (no flat, no job), honeymoon (Alliance Francaise), comfortable marriage (my time spent at Jonny's house), a wild affair (the fun had with my two french housemates for the last two months), followed by a growing disgust and eventual divorce.
I start work on Monday in Strasbourg with a grand total of 2 teaching hours per week and have 200 euros left in the world after my flight purchase to make my new life work.
Don't say I don't make things difficult for myself. If I live to tell the tale, I'll let you know how it goes.
Your foreign friend,
Rob
xxx
Having returned from Hungary with a Pass 'A' result in my CELTA qualification (that's good by the way!) I was filled with enthusiasm and drive to find work, but also a mild sense of disgust with Toulouse and it's unemployed population, dragging their feet around town trying to dodge the dog shit. It was a stark contrast to Budapest which is really a thriving, moving and exciting place. It's just all happening there whereas in Toulouse it feels like it's continually the day after a massive party and the streets are filthy and everyone's hung over and pissed off.
So I decided to do what in technical terms is probably called Denial-Of-Service hacking and is strictly illegal: I copy and pasted the email addresses of every language school advertising itself in the Yellow Pages for Toulouse, Paris, Montpellier, Nice and Strasbourg and wrote one big uber-email saying: "I'm here. Who want me?"
and someone wants me.
Strange huh?
So, I've booked my flight and I'm moving to Strasbourg on Saturday. That's really it. My love affair with Toulouse followed all the usual patterns: teething problems (no flat, no job), honeymoon (Alliance Francaise), comfortable marriage (my time spent at Jonny's house), a wild affair (the fun had with my two french housemates for the last two months), followed by a growing disgust and eventual divorce.
I start work on Monday in Strasbourg with a grand total of 2 teaching hours per week and have 200 euros left in the world after my flight purchase to make my new life work.
Don't say I don't make things difficult for myself. If I live to tell the tale, I'll let you know how it goes.
Your foreign friend,
Rob
xxx
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