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
Monday, January 08, 2007
Hungary for more....
I'm very excited to announce my successful arrival in Hungary and to celebrate this wonderous fact I have taken a solemn vow. Of vow of courage and valour. I've vowed to never tire of making the Hungary/hungry joke and to persist in doing so even when all other possible purpose has been obliterated by gross mis- and over-use.
Fun / Nice things that have happened to me so far (in a bulletted list form to celebrate my new status as teacher in training) :
The only downside to this cushy scenario is that my exciting 'new' for which read 'shit' phone won't send calls or texts to anything but Hungarian numbers. The only Hungarian I know is the girl I met at the airport and she has a french SIM card. Shit.
I'll just have to seriously apply myself to making some Hungary friends. So, come on feet, off I go into the Magyar night (look it up) to find some people I can spend 100 Hungarian Florints (HUF) on texting for the rest of the month.
Hurray!
Fun / Nice things that have happened to me so far (in a bulletted list form to celebrate my new status as teacher in training) :
- Met a nice Hungarian girl at the baggage carousel at Budapest Airport who spoke no english but fluent french, who offered to take me in her parents car to where I was staying, and gave me her number so I could "meet her friends and go for a drink" while I'm here. Sweet.
- Met a classful of what seem like really nice, reasonable people on my first day as a trainee EFL teacher.
- Queued for 3/4 of an hour to buy toothpaste and ibuprofen in a drugstore (ah, eastern Europe!)
- Tried to get directions to said drugstore by someone who spoke not a word of english, and got nowhere until she used the internationally recognised magic word "Burger King" to describe where it was.
- Randomly asked a group of Hungarians where an english boy could go to get a little conversation and maybe drink a little red wine and got offered 2 tickets on the tram for free as the girl said the place you buy them was closed. Ace!
- Agreed a flat-share scenario with a nice english girl called Hazel who's from Shropshire (no, I've never heard of it either. England apparently...). This is because we both requested shared flats but both got given single flats. You do the math....
- Learned Malay.
The only downside to this cushy scenario is that my exciting 'new' for which read 'shit' phone won't send calls or texts to anything but Hungarian numbers. The only Hungarian I know is the girl I met at the airport and she has a french SIM card. Shit.
I'll just have to seriously apply myself to making some Hungary friends. So, come on feet, off I go into the Magyar night (look it up) to find some people I can spend 100 Hungarian Florints (HUF) on texting for the rest of the month.
Hurray!
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Well it's off I go to sunny Hungary...
Eugh! So much to say and so little life left in which to say it.
A summary then (not a habit of mine, keeping things brief, but I'll do what I can):
New Year's Eve which threatened to be such a lonely disastrous affair turned into an absolute delight: I took the decision to get out of my appartement and onto the streets of Toulouse to try and find my fortune, or at least someone to celebrate with. Found a top bar, made friends with the barman, got hopelessly drunk on free drinks and chatted to pretty much everyone in the place. We completely missed midnight and the countdown and all that. We were simply having too much fun. Top stuff.
So Hungary. What's that all about I hear you ask....
My parents being the wonderful examples of human beings that they are have paid for me to go and do a TEFL course (teaching english to foreign adult learners for those who don't know) and the cheapest one is in Hungary so I depart tomorrow. It's going to be Toulouse-Paris by train and Paris-Budapest carried by eastern europe's first low-cost airline. 10 years ago this description of an airline would have struck fear into the hearts of those hearing it, but time's have changed. The EU's expanding and the website for the company looks posh, so I'm not worried.
This means four weeks of speaking, and teaching english, in foreign (france no longer counts) climates and something fun and constructive to do upon my return.
Yay!
So I'm happy, all's good. Hope you can say the same for yourself in this new and exciting-sounding year, whoever and wherever you may be, dear reader.
See you on the other side of the iron curtain (not sure about this historical reference. someone surely will correct any inexactitude)
Rob
A summary then (not a habit of mine, keeping things brief, but I'll do what I can):
New Year's Eve which threatened to be such a lonely disastrous affair turned into an absolute delight: I took the decision to get out of my appartement and onto the streets of Toulouse to try and find my fortune, or at least someone to celebrate with. Found a top bar, made friends with the barman, got hopelessly drunk on free drinks and chatted to pretty much everyone in the place. We completely missed midnight and the countdown and all that. We were simply having too much fun. Top stuff.
So Hungary. What's that all about I hear you ask....
My parents being the wonderful examples of human beings that they are have paid for me to go and do a TEFL course (teaching english to foreign adult learners for those who don't know) and the cheapest one is in Hungary so I depart tomorrow. It's going to be Toulouse-Paris by train and Paris-Budapest carried by eastern europe's first low-cost airline. 10 years ago this description of an airline would have struck fear into the hearts of those hearing it, but time's have changed. The EU's expanding and the website for the company looks posh, so I'm not worried.
This means four weeks of speaking, and teaching english, in foreign (france no longer counts) climates and something fun and constructive to do upon my return.
Yay!
So I'm happy, all's good. Hope you can say the same for yourself in this new and exciting-sounding year, whoever and wherever you may be, dear reader.
See you on the other side of the iron curtain (not sure about this historical reference. someone surely will correct any inexactitude)
Rob
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Do I know it's christmas time at all?
Happy Hannukah to all... Oh and I think it must be christmas around this time of year too. And what am I doing to celebrate this joyous coming together of religious drinking opportunities?
Well, it's a strange story.
I thought originally that I would be serving myself a big plate of cold turkey and morose potatoes on my own in my poorly heating new appartement in Toulouse but as it happened a kindly angel decided to pass by my text message inbox and glory shone all round. I found myself invited to Bordeaux to pass Xmas and New Year with the delightful girl I knew here in the summer (see posts from august for more details). What could be finer?
Filled with festive cheer I organised myself what is called a covoiturage which explains itself if you know that voiture is french for car. I turned out to be sharing a car with a guy who's girlfriend of three years ran out on him a week earlier taking their 4 month old daughter with her. Instead of an explanation, he received notice that she was taking court action to ensure he would never be allowed to see his daughter. What a christmas present huh?
So we discussed this at length, me trying to be sympathetic but also constructive in French, something that would have been hard in english but I think I more or less managed. This having sapped me of some of my festive cheer, I arrived to a Bordeaux that struck me as being grey and white, or at least sepia, after the all-pervasive pinkness and beauty of Toulouse. I was picked up by my hostess' mum (Ornella was still in bed when I arrived, and would be so for a good long while after I arrived).
When I did finally see her, I found her to be in less than cheery mood and it is for this reason that I find myself alone in a strange internet cafe instead of in the bosom of her family home. It's been a bit strained: Ornella hates christmas with a passion that she is unfortunately unable to hide. Her dad is permanently hospitalised as he has very advanced alzheimer's and her mum and her sister's dad divorced around a year ago making this the first christmas of separation for the family.
For the good of Ornella's little sister (aged around 12) he was invited on Xmas eve (this is when they celebrate here) but both Ornella and her mum can't stand to be around him so the atmosphere was a bit strange.
On top of this, Ornella seemed to have forgotten when she invited me that she has exams straight after the Xmas holidays and she is in the middle of some serious cramming. This means that not only has she no time to entertain me but my very presence seems something of a burden. This is absolutely the last thing I wanted. I can stand being on my own and I can even stand being told to go home, but hanging around in a sort of limbo trying not to get in anyone's way (my bed is in the living room so there's nowhere to 'hide') is my worst social nightmare.
Last night we went out with some friends of hers but sadly they're all girls who haven't seen eachother for a few precious gossip weeks so I was very much sidelined while they nattered at top-speed in french about people I didn't know. Not top.
Happily the night ended at Ornella's boyfriend(!)'s house and his friends were all guys and all really cool so my sense of social self-worth was salvaged as we finished off the night in a much more fun, general chit-chat kind of way.
I still find that it's really really important for me to be actively included in the conversation and that people take a specific interest in talking to me if I am to play any part in the evening at all. This is of course true in any language but last night I got the feeling that the girls wanted to talk to each other and if they talked to me it was just to explain in idiot tones whatever I was unable (or just too uninterested) to follow. I was more the booby prize if everyone else was in the loo or on the balcony smoking a cigarette.
But hey, it's hardly the end of the world. I'm not seriously complaining. It's just a bit dissappointing to be invited somewhere and then not made to feel welcome.
I'm scheduled to be staying until New Year, but I think I'll organise my route home earlier as it's still another four days to new year and that's just too long to be feeling like a burden.
We'll see how things go. It's certainly an important reminder, if one were needed, of the power of distance to make people seem better than they really are. The girl I once thought I might be in love with has turned out to be no more than a petulant teenager still fighting with her mum and making her feel bad in order to make herself feel better. It's not really a world I'm accustomed to any more.
Next time I'm staying at home (by which I mean Toulouse!). It takes a period of separation before you know you're really attached to a place, and so far this little journey is working wonders.
Long live La Ville Rose.
See you in 2007.
Rob
Well, it's a strange story.
I thought originally that I would be serving myself a big plate of cold turkey and morose potatoes on my own in my poorly heating new appartement in Toulouse but as it happened a kindly angel decided to pass by my text message inbox and glory shone all round. I found myself invited to Bordeaux to pass Xmas and New Year with the delightful girl I knew here in the summer (see posts from august for more details). What could be finer?
Filled with festive cheer I organised myself what is called a covoiturage which explains itself if you know that voiture is french for car. I turned out to be sharing a car with a guy who's girlfriend of three years ran out on him a week earlier taking their 4 month old daughter with her. Instead of an explanation, he received notice that she was taking court action to ensure he would never be allowed to see his daughter. What a christmas present huh?
So we discussed this at length, me trying to be sympathetic but also constructive in French, something that would have been hard in english but I think I more or less managed. This having sapped me of some of my festive cheer, I arrived to a Bordeaux that struck me as being grey and white, or at least sepia, after the all-pervasive pinkness and beauty of Toulouse. I was picked up by my hostess' mum (Ornella was still in bed when I arrived, and would be so for a good long while after I arrived).
When I did finally see her, I found her to be in less than cheery mood and it is for this reason that I find myself alone in a strange internet cafe instead of in the bosom of her family home. It's been a bit strained: Ornella hates christmas with a passion that she is unfortunately unable to hide. Her dad is permanently hospitalised as he has very advanced alzheimer's and her mum and her sister's dad divorced around a year ago making this the first christmas of separation for the family.
For the good of Ornella's little sister (aged around 12) he was invited on Xmas eve (this is when they celebrate here) but both Ornella and her mum can't stand to be around him so the atmosphere was a bit strange.
On top of this, Ornella seemed to have forgotten when she invited me that she has exams straight after the Xmas holidays and she is in the middle of some serious cramming. This means that not only has she no time to entertain me but my very presence seems something of a burden. This is absolutely the last thing I wanted. I can stand being on my own and I can even stand being told to go home, but hanging around in a sort of limbo trying not to get in anyone's way (my bed is in the living room so there's nowhere to 'hide') is my worst social nightmare.
Last night we went out with some friends of hers but sadly they're all girls who haven't seen eachother for a few precious gossip weeks so I was very much sidelined while they nattered at top-speed in french about people I didn't know. Not top.
Happily the night ended at Ornella's boyfriend(!)'s house and his friends were all guys and all really cool so my sense of social self-worth was salvaged as we finished off the night in a much more fun, general chit-chat kind of way.
I still find that it's really really important for me to be actively included in the conversation and that people take a specific interest in talking to me if I am to play any part in the evening at all. This is of course true in any language but last night I got the feeling that the girls wanted to talk to each other and if they talked to me it was just to explain in idiot tones whatever I was unable (or just too uninterested) to follow. I was more the booby prize if everyone else was in the loo or on the balcony smoking a cigarette.
But hey, it's hardly the end of the world. I'm not seriously complaining. It's just a bit dissappointing to be invited somewhere and then not made to feel welcome.
I'm scheduled to be staying until New Year, but I think I'll organise my route home earlier as it's still another four days to new year and that's just too long to be feeling like a burden.
We'll see how things go. It's certainly an important reminder, if one were needed, of the power of distance to make people seem better than they really are. The girl I once thought I might be in love with has turned out to be no more than a petulant teenager still fighting with her mum and making her feel bad in order to make herself feel better. It's not really a world I'm accustomed to any more.
Next time I'm staying at home (by which I mean Toulouse!). It takes a period of separation before you know you're really attached to a place, and so far this little journey is working wonders.
Long live La Ville Rose.
See you in 2007.
Rob
Monday, November 27, 2006
Sleep/Reflection/Recovery
I think the secret to 'successful' blogging, if such a concept exists, is to write when you have something to say. I would prescribe whatever the opposite of 'little and often' would be: 'lots and infrequently' has none of the same poetry to it but the point is clear.
I can scarcely, however, leave things as they were when last I wrote.
The evening following my last blog entry turned out to be a little bleak. I genuinely can't think of a time when I've felt more... more what actually? I think the word is empty. Like all the juice of my Rob-ness had been used up and I just had this big unwieldy body to drag about the place. I foolishly decided that the way to solve the spinning head and sick stomach I had after receiving the news that the last concrete opportunity I had lined up for finding a job had gone down the toilet of French indifference was to go and get drunk.
For those amongst you who have ever get drunk on an empty stomach and found it to be an unpleasant idea, I suggest you stay away from the drunk-on-an-empty-soul experience I had that night. It was not pretty. I sort of thought I was going to cry I one point but when I started, it turns out I was just on the verge of being sick. This is the least fun you can have with bodily fluids.
I've always thought the expression 'tomorrow is another day' was an expression for the feeble-minded or the original-thought-deprived but it turns out that it's virtually impossible to go to bed drunk, blue and nighttime-minded and wake up to a bright november day and feel the same as you did the night before.
In the same way that drunken exploits which seemed like a great idea at the time come back to you in horrifying technicolor as the actions of a different person, my mood of the previous night seemed like something unfortunate that had happened to someone else.
True, I was still in the same luckless, hopeless, hapless situation but it somehow didn't matter as much.
So the search goes on. The life of nothing-to-do continues but so does the social life that I've worked at building here. I have a regular French squeeze (she expressly told me I'm not allowed to use the word 'girlfriend' so I use the word squeeze out of pure spite!) and at the pub quiz we went to last night, my current housemate and I managed to muster up three genuine french friends without have pull them off the street.
To make matters Frencher, at the end of this week I shall be moving out of Jonny's spangly riverside appartment and into something altogether dingier, further out and much more french. I'll be living with two french girls called (disappointingly enough for those fans, like me, of sexy french names like Aurélie or Aurianne) Sophie and Claire.
They're both really nice but I've recently found out (had she been hiding it up until I signed the dotted line?!) that Claire is a heavily involved Christian. No problem with that of course, but I hope my lifestyle of sin and idleness doesn't upset her too much.
Maybe by the next time I write in this blog, I'll be redeemed, chaste and bound for the kingdom of heaven.
Or, much less feasibly, maybe I'll be in work.
Much remains to be seen.
Your newly re-juiced french correspondant,
Rob
I can scarcely, however, leave things as they were when last I wrote.
The evening following my last blog entry turned out to be a little bleak. I genuinely can't think of a time when I've felt more... more what actually? I think the word is empty. Like all the juice of my Rob-ness had been used up and I just had this big unwieldy body to drag about the place. I foolishly decided that the way to solve the spinning head and sick stomach I had after receiving the news that the last concrete opportunity I had lined up for finding a job had gone down the toilet of French indifference was to go and get drunk.
For those amongst you who have ever get drunk on an empty stomach and found it to be an unpleasant idea, I suggest you stay away from the drunk-on-an-empty-soul experience I had that night. It was not pretty. I sort of thought I was going to cry I one point but when I started, it turns out I was just on the verge of being sick. This is the least fun you can have with bodily fluids.
I've always thought the expression 'tomorrow is another day' was an expression for the feeble-minded or the original-thought-deprived but it turns out that it's virtually impossible to go to bed drunk, blue and nighttime-minded and wake up to a bright november day and feel the same as you did the night before.
In the same way that drunken exploits which seemed like a great idea at the time come back to you in horrifying technicolor as the actions of a different person, my mood of the previous night seemed like something unfortunate that had happened to someone else.
True, I was still in the same luckless, hopeless, hapless situation but it somehow didn't matter as much.
So the search goes on. The life of nothing-to-do continues but so does the social life that I've worked at building here. I have a regular French squeeze (she expressly told me I'm not allowed to use the word 'girlfriend' so I use the word squeeze out of pure spite!) and at the pub quiz we went to last night, my current housemate and I managed to muster up three genuine french friends without have pull them off the street.
To make matters Frencher, at the end of this week I shall be moving out of Jonny's spangly riverside appartment and into something altogether dingier, further out and much more french. I'll be living with two french girls called (disappointingly enough for those fans, like me, of sexy french names like Aurélie or Aurianne) Sophie and Claire.
They're both really nice but I've recently found out (had she been hiding it up until I signed the dotted line?!) that Claire is a heavily involved Christian. No problem with that of course, but I hope my lifestyle of sin and idleness doesn't upset her too much.
Maybe by the next time I write in this blog, I'll be redeemed, chaste and bound for the kingdom of heaven.
Or, much less feasibly, maybe I'll be in work.
Much remains to be seen.
Your newly re-juiced french correspondant,
Rob
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