Thursday, June 30, 2011
Hey, Teacher, Leave Those Kids Alone!
I cannot express how excited I am to go back to university teaching (as opposed to teaching adult professionals as I do now). Late nights of course prep and grading, paid vacations, students who delight you and also make you roll your eyes so hard you think you might hurt yourself. It's worth it, though, to have something semi-intellectual and creative to do with your time. So far, this latest university teaching experience, a new adventure for 2011-12, has been very positive.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
I'm Writing To Apply For the Position Of...
I'm pleased to report that Job Hunt 2011-12 is offically OVER and (even better!) that I have a good full-time (yay!!) university position in Paris starting this September! I'm 100% relieved to no longer have to attend job interviews, send out resumes and wait breathlessly for job decisions. The wait is really the worst and I had butterflies in my stomach every morning when I cranked up the old computer to check the old email to see if there were any decisions in my inbox. And I'm also so so grateful for practical details of my new job, like the fact that I'll have a fixed monthly salary and paid vacation next year! (With private language schools like the one where I currently work, these are NOT luxuries that they offer their woefully underpaid and exploited staff). I'm also delighted that I won't have to change the dates of my American vacation from mid-August to mid-September since the French academic year begins at the end of September.
Unfortunately, although next year should be great, I WILL have to go through the job hunting process again next spring, since my job is only a 1-year position, but I'll have another year of university experience, hopefully some new contacts and the place where I'll work is the largest uni in the Parisian region, so I naively hope that this means that they have lots of available jobs each year... I was also suprised by how many full-time jobs I saw advertised and how many interviews I was invited to, so I feel optimistic for next year. And next spring seems faraway now.
Now that this major life hurdle has been cleared, I can think about other goals for next year, besides repeating Must Find Better Job. Despite the obnoxiousness that is the metro, people in crowds, how neglected my apartment building is, etc., I'm so glad to be staying in Paris. That job I mentioned in Scandinavia? It was in Stavanger, Norway. (Google/wikipedia at will). What I can tell you about it: 3rd largest city in Norway and the oil capital of the country. And dark and cold in the winter.
I honestly thought that if it came down to another year in my current job or a better more stable position even if it were in Norway, I'd take Norway. But felt a little desperate about it, like it wasn't really much of a choice-- like when you have to decide between 2 presidential candadates, and it comes down to the worst and the not quite as bad. I'd still love to visit Norway, but I'm pleased that my final options didn't come down to these 2 possibilities only, as I'd feared.
This year in Paris should be a very different experience from last year, thanks to better pay and financial stability (i.e., the SAME salary every month!) I'm really excited about the possibility of traveling (since it's not something I can afford at the moment) and I already have a list of places I want to go! I took 1 trip all last year to Strasbourg for the weekend and it was ONLY possible because my lovely friends knew I couldn't swing both train fare and a hotel, so they paid for the hotel.
Anways, now that the job situation is taken care of and I should be able to afford both trains and hotels next year, I can move on to some other questions. Like what do I want out of next year in the city of light? Since I love list making and goal setting, (they make me feel so organised and in control), indulge me here.
Professional goals for next year, in no particular order:
-Prep excellent classes for next year!
-Work some extra vacataire hours on the side (at another university where I interviewed but didn't get the job of my dreams). This would be in online distance learning and I'd like to get some experience in this area since it's up and coming.
-Plan some career moves. I attended a TESOL workshop yesterday about career development and decided that what I'd ultimately like to do is be Ken Wilson. Which if you're not an English Language Teaching geek, means more specifically, write/edit ELT textbooks. I decided that I want to have a job in this field in 5 years (since I'm sure you need 10 years of teaching experience) so my deadline is June 18, 2016. Why not send CVs to the ELT companies next year when I'm job hunting, but I imagine that you'd need more than 5 years of teaching experience. I chose my 5 year goal b/c in 5 years, I'll have 10 years of teaching experience.
And some more fun goal setting...
Personal goals for next year:
-Little running goal: run a 5K on a Delaware beach the day of my 33rd (gulp) birthday. I think this would be a lovely way to spend that birthday.
-Big running goal: train for and run the Paris half marathon in March 2012! I plan to join a marathon training group in Sept/oct when their season starts and I'm already on their contact list.
-Continue to work on Spanish and take a class with the Mairie de Paris, as well as keep up my language exchange with a Spanish professor. Hope to place into the advanced beginner level and finish the year with an A2 level (elementary).
-Try to make this blog a little more focused and organised. With different tabs (um, however you do that!!) for running, health (like receipes and also management of a metabolic problem that I have) and funny stories about France and ELT teaching. Maybe these subjects are too varied, and I'll have to figure out the best way to organise them, but I think it's better to have 1 well-organised blog instead of devoting a different blog to each subtopic... I'd also like to get a digital camera so that I can post photos.
Let me just reiterate that it's really a pleasure to be able to move on and think about other things for next year, like blog organisation instead of job hunting!
What are your goals for next year?
Unfortunately, although next year should be great, I WILL have to go through the job hunting process again next spring, since my job is only a 1-year position, but I'll have another year of university experience, hopefully some new contacts and the place where I'll work is the largest uni in the Parisian region, so I naively hope that this means that they have lots of available jobs each year... I was also suprised by how many full-time jobs I saw advertised and how many interviews I was invited to, so I feel optimistic for next year. And next spring seems faraway now.
Now that this major life hurdle has been cleared, I can think about other goals for next year, besides repeating Must Find Better Job. Despite the obnoxiousness that is the metro, people in crowds, how neglected my apartment building is, etc., I'm so glad to be staying in Paris. That job I mentioned in Scandinavia? It was in Stavanger, Norway. (Google/wikipedia at will). What I can tell you about it: 3rd largest city in Norway and the oil capital of the country. And dark and cold in the winter.
I honestly thought that if it came down to another year in my current job or a better more stable position even if it were in Norway, I'd take Norway. But felt a little desperate about it, like it wasn't really much of a choice-- like when you have to decide between 2 presidential candadates, and it comes down to the worst and the not quite as bad. I'd still love to visit Norway, but I'm pleased that my final options didn't come down to these 2 possibilities only, as I'd feared.
This year in Paris should be a very different experience from last year, thanks to better pay and financial stability (i.e., the SAME salary every month!) I'm really excited about the possibility of traveling (since it's not something I can afford at the moment) and I already have a list of places I want to go! I took 1 trip all last year to Strasbourg for the weekend and it was ONLY possible because my lovely friends knew I couldn't swing both train fare and a hotel, so they paid for the hotel.
Anways, now that the job situation is taken care of and I should be able to afford both trains and hotels next year, I can move on to some other questions. Like what do I want out of next year in the city of light? Since I love list making and goal setting, (they make me feel so organised and in control), indulge me here.
Professional goals for next year, in no particular order:
-Prep excellent classes for next year!
-Work some extra vacataire hours on the side (at another university where I interviewed but didn't get the job of my dreams). This would be in online distance learning and I'd like to get some experience in this area since it's up and coming.
-Plan some career moves. I attended a TESOL workshop yesterday about career development and decided that what I'd ultimately like to do is be Ken Wilson. Which if you're not an English Language Teaching geek, means more specifically, write/edit ELT textbooks. I decided that I want to have a job in this field in 5 years (since I'm sure you need 10 years of teaching experience) so my deadline is June 18, 2016. Why not send CVs to the ELT companies next year when I'm job hunting, but I imagine that you'd need more than 5 years of teaching experience. I chose my 5 year goal b/c in 5 years, I'll have 10 years of teaching experience.
And some more fun goal setting...
Personal goals for next year:
-Little running goal: run a 5K on a Delaware beach the day of my 33rd (gulp) birthday. I think this would be a lovely way to spend that birthday.
-Big running goal: train for and run the Paris half marathon in March 2012! I plan to join a marathon training group in Sept/oct when their season starts and I'm already on their contact list.
-Continue to work on Spanish and take a class with the Mairie de Paris, as well as keep up my language exchange with a Spanish professor. Hope to place into the advanced beginner level and finish the year with an A2 level (elementary).
-Try to make this blog a little more focused and organised. With different tabs (um, however you do that!!) for running, health (like receipes and also management of a metabolic problem that I have) and funny stories about France and ELT teaching. Maybe these subjects are too varied, and I'll have to figure out the best way to organise them, but I think it's better to have 1 well-organised blog instead of devoting a different blog to each subtopic... I'd also like to get a digital camera so that I can post photos.
Let me just reiterate that it's really a pleasure to be able to move on and think about other things for next year, like blog organisation instead of job hunting!
What are your goals for next year?
Friday, June 10, 2011
Walking in an Alien World
"I feel like I'm walking in an alien world. But then again, that's how everyone describes themselves. We're all walking in an alien world. For our own reasons." -- From a Middlebury college recruitment video titled "How Did You Get Here?"
How indeed?
Sunday, June 05, 2011
City of Light and the Land of the Midnight Sun
I've been feeling conflicted lately. I suddenly have the possibility of a good, stable possibly well-paying job-- which continues to be the elusive holy grail that foreigners can never find abroad. Unless they are very lucky or know with/date/sleep with the right people.
Since I don't have a stable job with paid vacation and a fixed monthly salary (I'm paid depending on how many hours I work, which just depends on the demand for English classes that month), they've become the most important things that I'm looking for in a job. Especially in a place where the job market is really tough post financial crisis. In France, you have to have VERY specific training for each job; foreigners usually don't have the equivalent of the exact degree necessary, not that the equivalent would even necessarily be recognised abroad. Foreign degrees and professional experience don't seem to count for much. And your great qualifications (like a BA and a BS from prestigious American colleges that are really impressive in your home country) don't mean anything.
However, this job? Yes, it would provide stability, but temporarily (a 1 year contract and the possibility to renew it once). It would probably pay well. It would have a fixed monthly salary (which I don't have now...), housing would be included and there would be loads of paid vacation (which I also don't have now). But the ironic thing is that I don't really want it. Because although it's in a French school, the job isn't in France. It's in Scandinavia. And thinking about this possibility, a temporary year in a country that I have NO connection to, where I don't know the local language and where the culture holds no particular fascination for me, made me realise that there are things I like a lot about where I live now, like:
-picnics in the spring
-stand up comedy (I LOVE this)
-free outdoor movies
-my friends
-speaking French
-free jazz festivals
-running in Parc Monceau, and doing organised races, something I just started in May.
-although I don't always realise it, I do feel a connection to France. When compared to leaving for another completely unknown country, at least.
-my balcony with its lovely view
-my neighborhood
I mean, I could also do a whole list of things I don't like, too. Like the metro, being in a crowd, the HIGH cost of living and the LOW salaries. But these suddenly pale in comparison when faced with the unknown-- especially when I'm not necessarily dying to know about it...
I also realised that there are some things I'd like to do here next year, like:
-keep learning Spanish-- continue my language exchange and take an evening class at the Mairie.
-perfect my French some more. (In the absence of a French-speaking boyfriend at the moment, I think I'll have to take an advanced language class).
-run the Paris half marathon and train with a local marathon group
It also makes me think that if I left France to teach abroad temporarily, I'd like it to be next door in Spain for a year. That would be fun, close to France for easy visiting and it's still mediteranean culture which I'm kind of used to by now. If I left more permanently, I'd like it to be someplace more familiar, like Montreal (still North American, but with a francophone influence). Some possible ideas to try to line up for next year...
Overall, this possible working abroad opportunity has been a very healthy and much-needed reminder of reasons NOT to leave Paris in impoverished disgust, disappointment and not necessarily financial ruin but definite inability to save any money and get ahead. It makes you re-evaluate your current city and realise what the positives are instead of just focusing on the negatives, as we so often do. Especially in France.
A study in the Economist recently named the French as among the most pessimistic people in the world. A stand up comedian I saw recently said it best, the French are never impressed by what's good and don't enthuse about it. "Pas mal" (not bad) is a huge compliment. But they have the rare ability to get extremely animated and excited about negative things, like how bad traffic is, what a jerk their boss is or how rude other parisians are. Parisians are fun to hate sometimes-- and of course, after saying something like that, I have to mitigate it by adding that I have lovely French friends and people are individuals and not cultural stereotypes. At the risk of being reductive again, the French are also often the first to admit stereotypical French shortcomings (since French culture is very critical). Scandinavians might be less fun. Or less endearingly irritating.
Since I don't have a stable job with paid vacation and a fixed monthly salary (I'm paid depending on how many hours I work, which just depends on the demand for English classes that month), they've become the most important things that I'm looking for in a job. Especially in a place where the job market is really tough post financial crisis. In France, you have to have VERY specific training for each job; foreigners usually don't have the equivalent of the exact degree necessary, not that the equivalent would even necessarily be recognised abroad. Foreign degrees and professional experience don't seem to count for much. And your great qualifications (like a BA and a BS from prestigious American colleges that are really impressive in your home country) don't mean anything.
However, this job? Yes, it would provide stability, but temporarily (a 1 year contract and the possibility to renew it once). It would probably pay well. It would have a fixed monthly salary (which I don't have now...), housing would be included and there would be loads of paid vacation (which I also don't have now). But the ironic thing is that I don't really want it. Because although it's in a French school, the job isn't in France. It's in Scandinavia. And thinking about this possibility, a temporary year in a country that I have NO connection to, where I don't know the local language and where the culture holds no particular fascination for me, made me realise that there are things I like a lot about where I live now, like:
-picnics in the spring
-stand up comedy (I LOVE this)
-free outdoor movies
-my friends
-speaking French
-free jazz festivals
-running in Parc Monceau, and doing organised races, something I just started in May.
-although I don't always realise it, I do feel a connection to France. When compared to leaving for another completely unknown country, at least.
-my balcony with its lovely view
-my neighborhood
I mean, I could also do a whole list of things I don't like, too. Like the metro, being in a crowd, the HIGH cost of living and the LOW salaries. But these suddenly pale in comparison when faced with the unknown-- especially when I'm not necessarily dying to know about it...
I also realised that there are some things I'd like to do here next year, like:
-keep learning Spanish-- continue my language exchange and take an evening class at the Mairie.
-perfect my French some more. (In the absence of a French-speaking boyfriend at the moment, I think I'll have to take an advanced language class).
-run the Paris half marathon and train with a local marathon group
It also makes me think that if I left France to teach abroad temporarily, I'd like it to be next door in Spain for a year. That would be fun, close to France for easy visiting and it's still mediteranean culture which I'm kind of used to by now. If I left more permanently, I'd like it to be someplace more familiar, like Montreal (still North American, but with a francophone influence). Some possible ideas to try to line up for next year...
Overall, this possible working abroad opportunity has been a very healthy and much-needed reminder of reasons NOT to leave Paris in impoverished disgust, disappointment and not necessarily financial ruin but definite inability to save any money and get ahead. It makes you re-evaluate your current city and realise what the positives are instead of just focusing on the negatives, as we so often do. Especially in France.
A study in the Economist recently named the French as among the most pessimistic people in the world. A stand up comedian I saw recently said it best, the French are never impressed by what's good and don't enthuse about it. "Pas mal" (not bad) is a huge compliment. But they have the rare ability to get extremely animated and excited about negative things, like how bad traffic is, what a jerk their boss is or how rude other parisians are. Parisians are fun to hate sometimes-- and of course, after saying something like that, I have to mitigate it by adding that I have lovely French friends and people are individuals and not cultural stereotypes. At the risk of being reductive again, the French are also often the first to admit stereotypical French shortcomings (since French culture is very critical). Scandinavians might be less fun. Or less endearingly irritating.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Nous Le Valons Bien
I live far far away from the alterna-hippy-surfer paradise that is Santa Cruz, California but I always loved to visit it when I lived in the SF bay area. Local attractions included some nice coffee shops, the beach, the amusement park, surfer-watching and the surfing museum (open like 1 hour a day) I've actually been there. Not that I remember much about it now. Just that it was really small.
Surfing museum aside, the 80s teen vampire flick The Lost Boys was set here, I once saw Don McLean in concert there and one of my few ever romantic getaway weekends was spent there-- even though it involved some serious camping misadventures like forgetting tent poles and realising that as romantic as sharing a sleeping bag sounded, we really should have brought 2...
It's also the home of a 5 and 10K run called She Is Beautiful which recently popped up on my facebook (I'm a member of a French running group-- custom advertising, go figure) about a million time zones away. Ok, maybe it's eye roll-inducing Oprah Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants marketing to women (obviously), but fit is beautiful is a good message, especially in a world of supermodels and more specifically, my world of anorexically thin Parisian women (I think this is representative of a certain social class-- the richer and more bourgeois, the more starved she looks).
I also really loved that the km markers had little messages on them instead of just giving the numbers (featured in the facebook ad). What a fun idea. The one that I really liked and that I now repeat to myself sometimes, on a run or in tough moments in daily life:
Nobody ever told you it would be easy. They told you that it would be worth it.
Surfing museum aside, the 80s teen vampire flick The Lost Boys was set here, I once saw Don McLean in concert there and one of my few ever romantic getaway weekends was spent there-- even though it involved some serious camping misadventures like forgetting tent poles and realising that as romantic as sharing a sleeping bag sounded, we really should have brought 2...
It's also the home of a 5 and 10K run called She Is Beautiful which recently popped up on my facebook (I'm a member of a French running group-- custom advertising, go figure) about a million time zones away. Ok, maybe it's eye roll-inducing Oprah Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants marketing to women (obviously), but fit is beautiful is a good message, especially in a world of supermodels and more specifically, my world of anorexically thin Parisian women (I think this is representative of a certain social class-- the richer and more bourgeois, the more starved she looks).
I also really loved that the km markers had little messages on them instead of just giving the numbers (featured in the facebook ad). What a fun idea. The one that I really liked and that I now repeat to myself sometimes, on a run or in tough moments in daily life:
Nobody ever told you it would be easy. They told you that it would be worth it.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Pimp My... Run. If You Add Me As a Friend.
Determined to have a good group run this Saturday. Ok, a muy pequeno small group-- just a friend of mine and me!
Planned a nice route, thanks to modern technology. Can I say how great the website Map My Run is? I also like the 3 monosyllabic words in a row. For this reason, it makes me think of Pimp My Ride (not that I've ever even seen this MTV show about how to make your car look flamboyant and expensive). Although EVERYTHING is such a social networking site these days. To see other people's running routes, you have to add them as your friends. I swear, one day just to switch on your computer, you'll have to add it to your friend list.
I think a running partner is the way to go. Best to avoid unknown marathoners from Planet Jogging-- this is the name of the the sports store that sponsored my last race, but now I'm starting to think that maybe it's really some kind of home planet for unfriendly 8 minute milers...
Planned a nice route, thanks to modern technology. Can I say how great the website Map My Run is? I also like the 3 monosyllabic words in a row. For this reason, it makes me think of Pimp My Ride (not that I've ever even seen this MTV show about how to make your car look flamboyant and expensive). Although EVERYTHING is such a social networking site these days. To see other people's running routes, you have to add them as your friends. I swear, one day just to switch on your computer, you'll have to add it to your friend list.
I think a running partner is the way to go. Best to avoid unknown marathoners from Planet Jogging-- this is the name of the the sports store that sponsored my last race, but now I'm starting to think that maybe it's really some kind of home planet for unfriendly 8 minute milers...
Voyeurism at Work
You can take the title of the post fairly literally.
Pourquoi? (This is the most frequently asked French rhetorical question. With barely a pause, you continue with I'll explain).
This week's surreal experience (so far, anyway) was that as I was waiting to drop off my class attendance sheets yesterday (for some reason although this only happens once a month, it always without fail takes like 2 hours and like many things in the city of light, makes me want to kill myself. Lots of cross referencing computer data on computers with impossibly slow internet connections), I noticed... A man taking his clothes off in one of the windows across the way! Ever the classy and elegant professional, I subtly signaled this casual observation to my attendance-verifying coworker, "hey, did you know that you can see nekkid men from your office window?!!"
Turns out that we can see the changing room of the gay sauna from our school. And turns out that everyone at work had a tidbit of information about the gay sauna to contribute. Like that it was the subject of a recent documentary film. It's also connected via underground passage (or maybe a back door patio area) to the gay bar around the corner. It also boasts tous les plaisirs gays as well as excellent customer service because towels and condoms are given out for free.
The changing room is probably the tamest part of the sauna. The other windows are blacked out.
Upon sharing various window/changing room stories, a friend later mentioned that she'd known someone whose window had a view of the local firehouse changing room. This strategic view was optimised when the resident would invite her girlfriends over to check out the firemen and they would oblige by putting on a little show for the ladies.
I somehow doubt lady school teachers would inspire the gay sauna patrons in the same way...
Pourquoi? (This is the most frequently asked French rhetorical question. With barely a pause, you continue with I'll explain).
This week's surreal experience (so far, anyway) was that as I was waiting to drop off my class attendance sheets yesterday (for some reason although this only happens once a month, it always without fail takes like 2 hours and like many things in the city of light, makes me want to kill myself. Lots of cross referencing computer data on computers with impossibly slow internet connections), I noticed... A man taking his clothes off in one of the windows across the way! Ever the classy and elegant professional, I subtly signaled this casual observation to my attendance-verifying coworker, "hey, did you know that you can see nekkid men from your office window?!!"
Turns out that we can see the changing room of the gay sauna from our school. And turns out that everyone at work had a tidbit of information about the gay sauna to contribute. Like that it was the subject of a recent documentary film. It's also connected via underground passage (or maybe a back door patio area) to the gay bar around the corner. It also boasts tous les plaisirs gays as well as excellent customer service because towels and condoms are given out for free.
The changing room is probably the tamest part of the sauna. The other windows are blacked out.
Upon sharing various window/changing room stories, a friend later mentioned that she'd known someone whose window had a view of the local firehouse changing room. This strategic view was optimised when the resident would invite her girlfriends over to check out the firemen and they would oblige by putting on a little show for the ladies.
I somehow doubt lady school teachers would inspire the gay sauna patrons in the same way...
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Baby, we were born to run?
Runners in this new running group I just joined while we were waiting for the others to arrive:
Runner #1: ... I did the London marathon in 4 hours. But that was years ago, not very in shape now.
Runner #2: I could never do a marathon in 4 hours. My body just isn't made that way.
Me (relieved): Me, neither!
Runner #2: I did my last marathon in 5 hours.
I should have taken the metro back home then. Or turned around and run away. At my slowpoke pace. Although, of course, if they wanted to, they could have outrun me.
Not only were the other runners (with the exceptions of #1 and 2) none too friendly, but there was 1 pace group and it seemed like it was 8 minute miles. I was the very last, at least 1 city bock behind them. One other slower runner (although still faster than me) ran with me a little which was really nice of her. I only lasted half of the 9.5K planned. Everyone else already knew each other, had trained together all year and had just run the Paris marathon. Probably in impossibly fast times like 5 minutes, making the previously impressive 4 hour time seem as slow as I was.
A 5K-ish run is still good, right? Especially at around 10am on a Saturday.
Honestly, it's been a hard week, hard month, hard life, etc and running is the one time that I relax and DON'T feel stressed and inadequate (or worry about money-- that's another story). I don't need running to exacerbate these very things that it usually helps me escape. I wasn't enjoying that run. So I stopped.
Honestly, at the start when they ran farther and farther ahead of me, I was near tears and had no idea what I was doing there, in that group, on that run, in Paris, in the world. I haven't been feeling very good about life at the moment. I'm still waiting to hear back about a teaching/course development job that would change my life if I got it and I could have a normal life in Paris instead of living in marginal immigrant poverty like I currently do. And waiting for this decision is making me feel very very desperate.
Anyway, the only bright spots of this generally terrible experience were that runners #1 and 2 agreed that it wasn't normal to have a running group where all the leaders were fast and assured me that it would be worth coming back next Sat. Runner #1 even said that we could do slower Sunday runs together when I start working Sat am again.
Another successful Paris experience, n'est-ce pas?
Runner #1: ... I did the London marathon in 4 hours. But that was years ago, not very in shape now.
Runner #2: I could never do a marathon in 4 hours. My body just isn't made that way.
Me (relieved): Me, neither!
Runner #2: I did my last marathon in 5 hours.
I should have taken the metro back home then. Or turned around and run away. At my slowpoke pace. Although, of course, if they wanted to, they could have outrun me.
Not only were the other runners (with the exceptions of #1 and 2) none too friendly, but there was 1 pace group and it seemed like it was 8 minute miles. I was the very last, at least 1 city bock behind them. One other slower runner (although still faster than me) ran with me a little which was really nice of her. I only lasted half of the 9.5K planned. Everyone else already knew each other, had trained together all year and had just run the Paris marathon. Probably in impossibly fast times like 5 minutes, making the previously impressive 4 hour time seem as slow as I was.
A 5K-ish run is still good, right? Especially at around 10am on a Saturday.
Honestly, it's been a hard week, hard month, hard life, etc and running is the one time that I relax and DON'T feel stressed and inadequate (or worry about money-- that's another story). I don't need running to exacerbate these very things that it usually helps me escape. I wasn't enjoying that run. So I stopped.
Honestly, at the start when they ran farther and farther ahead of me, I was near tears and had no idea what I was doing there, in that group, on that run, in Paris, in the world. I haven't been feeling very good about life at the moment. I'm still waiting to hear back about a teaching/course development job that would change my life if I got it and I could have a normal life in Paris instead of living in marginal immigrant poverty like I currently do. And waiting for this decision is making me feel very very desperate.
Anyway, the only bright spots of this generally terrible experience were that runners #1 and 2 agreed that it wasn't normal to have a running group where all the leaders were fast and assured me that it would be worth coming back next Sat. Runner #1 even said that we could do slower Sunday runs together when I start working Sat am again.
Another successful Paris experience, n'est-ce pas?
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
The Matrix Has You... All Wrong
You know you're living in a virtual world-- and that computers are devoid of standard and respected social norms-- when Facebook suggests you make friends with the person who interviewed you for your dream job last week, whose decision you're desperately awaiting and who hasn't contacted you yet.
Oh, the irony of social networking.
Oh, the irony of social networking.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Um, how did Hemingway pay for his moveable feast?
"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." - E. Hemingway
I'm sure he left because he ran out of money. Or maybe he just stuffed his pockets with as much Fine French Cuisine as possible and fled the restaurant without paying...
I'm sure he left because he ran out of money. Or maybe he just stuffed his pockets with as much Fine French Cuisine as possible and fled the restaurant without paying...
Sunday, May 08, 2011
My First French 10K!
A long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away-- back in a previous life in Northern California, anyway, I loved to run. I was never athletic as a kid, but I took up running in my late 20s in a half-hearted attempt to run a half marathon as a way to get over a bad breakup. I ended up alternately running and walking that race (the Nike Women's Half Marathon in San Francisco) and taking about 3+ hours to finish and a really long nap afterwards. The next day I thought, why not really, seriously run these things? I later successfully ran 2 half marathons.
When I lived in Berkeley, CA, I ran 4 miles every other day to deal with work stress and could comfortably run 10 miles. I was never fast (10-11 min miles), but I did a lot of races for fun, just as a way to be sure to get a nice run in that weekend in places where I didn't usually run. The longest distance I ever covered was 13.1 miles-- the 2 half marathons I did were the Avenue of Giants half in a beautiful redwood forest with my beloved cousin, who is like a sister to me (the only framed photo I have is of us after the race!), and the San Francisco half all by myself.
When I moved to Paris nearly 5 years ago, I found it impossible to keep up my running. Lots of adjustments to make. I was also a student again and after 6 years out of school, I really felt like I had no real free time and had to study so much, precisely because I'd been out of school so much longer than everyone else in my master's program. There were so many excuses. Here in the city of light:
1. The weather's really bad in the winter (it rains every day-- I find the winter really hard psychologically because we're deprived of sunlight for about 4 months).
2. If you don't live by a park, there's no place to run (streets are always too crowded-- unless you get up at 5 am to run).
3. Everyone stares at runners. Especially men. Especially at a woman in a sportsbra tank top. I could write an entire blog post on the regard parisien, or how women are stared at in Paris...
4. None of my friends run. In a huge change from life in San Francisco, I discovered that there wasn't a culture of fitness in Paris, more a culture of espresso, wine and restaurants. Or so I thought...
5. Finally, gyms are too expensive-- you pay upfront for the year rather than each month and it's a lot of money, even if you can pay in a couple of installments.
However, within the last few months I finally started running again. For real. And I wish I'd done it years ago. I had a gym membership and ran on the treadmill in February and March. Then my membership ran out and I couldn't afford to renew, but started running outside again, mainly from my house to park Monceau (about 3K each way) and each loop around the park is 1K. Running outside is good for the body and the soul. Running on the treadmill is phenomenally boring and I could never really force myself to do more than 5K on it.
So, to motivate myself, enjoy my newfound appreciation for my old hobby and spend time with a dear friend, one of my out of town besties and I signed up to do a 10K in the bois de boulogne last weekend. It was my first organised race in France. And like many things in France, there were several challenges involved-- these were the administrative equivalent of running 6 miles before actually doing it for real on race day!
Challenge 1: French websites. To sign up for the race, the computer refused to accept Tiffi's address b/c it was outside of France. After her non-French zipcode crashed with website 3 times, I just lied and made her my temporary flatmate in France c/o chez moi.
And besides reassuring elderly Geneviève the médecin that we weren' t trying to take on Kenyan olympians, what did we have to do to prove that there was nothing that would prevent us from running the race? To test our fitness, we had to do 30 squats and then have our pulses taken. I'm not kidding. She also listened to our hearts again, which she does with a stethescope (of course) and a travel alarm clock. I guess watches are too modern. You're also not allowed to talk to her during the Heart Listening/Alarm Clock Watching. She can only do so much at once.
Finally, Geneviève the Doctor signed off on her inability to find anything preventing us from running, gave us our notes and we were cleared to run 6 miles. Luckily, I can just keep showing photocopies of the same doctor's note for the next year, so no need to do squats for Geneviève again until next year.
Challenge 3: picking up race packets. This was actually easy, but we rushed there directly after getting the medical note, so we were a little worried. I expected the worst: terrible crowds, no record of our registration, refusal of our medical notes, etc. But it was fine. We had to go to a store called Planet Jogging (ridiculous name, huh? It must makes me thing of another Parisian establishment, a Japanese restaurant chain called Planet Sushi. Another shining star in the rich Parisian cosmos...) to get our race packets. Here, we were presented with our fabulous pink t-shirts which we fell in love with immediately. Best race shirt, hands down. Fancy dri-fit fabric, too. In our packets, we didn't have the usual American swag (like loads of power bars and sports drinks). Just one tiny granola bar about the size of a sugar packet and loads of brochures for other races ("Ooh, let's do this one! You run up a red carpet to a castle and the proceeds go to the Make a Wish Foundation for children with cancer!") I think that was when I realised that there was a running community in Paris afer all, and I was kind of part of it now. Ground control to Major Tom (I run to David Bowie an awful lot) on Planet Jogging!
Last challenge: pins! An épreuve the day of the race was that although we had our race bibs in the race packets, there were no safety pins with them (there usually are in the US). I asked some runners if they had extra pins, no one did and one woman showed me that she'd sewn her number onto her fantastic pink shirt, which struck me as exceptionally bizarre, but to each her own. Finally, we managed to track down some pins and I was proud of myself for dredging up the word épingle (French for safety pin). Thank my friend Odile for that one-- we once went to have her new coat altered and she and the seamstress had a lengthy conversation about how much to take it in and where to put the safety pins!
While the shirts were fantastic (as you'd expect from the world's fashion capital), I think most of the planning went into the shirts, as the logistics of the actual race were a little less impressive. It was a nice run in a forest and I really enjoyed it-- so much that I kind of sang along out loud with Blondie on my iPod, oops. Another really positive point was that near the starting line, they had the nicest portapotties I've ever seen. They had mirrors and running water.
However, the main logistical problems were that they ran out of medals and water at the end of the race! But, hey, we looked great in our pink shirts. Who needs water? Now we know: BYO water and safety pins...
Finally: my running buiddy kind of regretted not bringing her camera to the race, but obviously didn't want to carry it or check anything valuable (you could at least check a bag, which was nice. In retrospect, we should have checked on with some water bottles!)
But here are a few pictures, anyway. Here we are after about kilometer 8 each looking at a different photographer (and my glasses look really weird and heavily pixelated)! Although it looks like we're just standing around holding hands, I assure you we're running like the wind, ha! It's just that you can't see our feet. :)
Here I am, booking it to the finish line (booking it is a highly relative term...) In a philosophical, cultural difference, the finish line is called the arrival line (ligne d'arrivée) in French and the starting line is the ligne de départ. I was excited to see the finish line, since we had to run through a gate, onto the racetrack grounds, and past the clubhouse. I kept asking myself, are we done, is there no real finish line? Then finally, I saw the big inflated arch with the time clock. Ah, there you are, finish line!
All in all, great weather and great company! I'm really glad to have a friend who runs, too, and I'm delighted to be doing races again. It's so motivating and now that I'm running again regularly, I feel a lot less anxious about various ongoing existential crisis issues. And now, of course, I have a 10K time to beat!
So the next 10K? In late June in Paris!
When I lived in Berkeley, CA, I ran 4 miles every other day to deal with work stress and could comfortably run 10 miles. I was never fast (10-11 min miles), but I did a lot of races for fun, just as a way to be sure to get a nice run in that weekend in places where I didn't usually run. The longest distance I ever covered was 13.1 miles-- the 2 half marathons I did were the Avenue of Giants half in a beautiful redwood forest with my beloved cousin, who is like a sister to me (the only framed photo I have is of us after the race!), and the San Francisco half all by myself.
When I moved to Paris nearly 5 years ago, I found it impossible to keep up my running. Lots of adjustments to make. I was also a student again and after 6 years out of school, I really felt like I had no real free time and had to study so much, precisely because I'd been out of school so much longer than everyone else in my master's program. There were so many excuses. Here in the city of light:
1. The weather's really bad in the winter (it rains every day-- I find the winter really hard psychologically because we're deprived of sunlight for about 4 months).
2. If you don't live by a park, there's no place to run (streets are always too crowded-- unless you get up at 5 am to run).
3. Everyone stares at runners. Especially men. Especially at a woman in a sportsbra tank top. I could write an entire blog post on the regard parisien, or how women are stared at in Paris...
4. None of my friends run. In a huge change from life in San Francisco, I discovered that there wasn't a culture of fitness in Paris, more a culture of espresso, wine and restaurants. Or so I thought...
5. Finally, gyms are too expensive-- you pay upfront for the year rather than each month and it's a lot of money, even if you can pay in a couple of installments.
However, within the last few months I finally started running again. For real. And I wish I'd done it years ago. I had a gym membership and ran on the treadmill in February and March. Then my membership ran out and I couldn't afford to renew, but started running outside again, mainly from my house to park Monceau (about 3K each way) and each loop around the park is 1K. Running outside is good for the body and the soul. Running on the treadmill is phenomenally boring and I could never really force myself to do more than 5K on it.
So, to motivate myself, enjoy my newfound appreciation for my old hobby and spend time with a dear friend, one of my out of town besties and I signed up to do a 10K in the bois de boulogne last weekend. It was my first organised race in France. And like many things in France, there were several challenges involved-- these were the administrative equivalent of running 6 miles before actually doing it for real on race day!
Challenge 1: French websites. To sign up for the race, the computer refused to accept Tiffi's address b/c it was outside of France. After her non-French zipcode crashed with website 3 times, I just lied and made her my temporary flatmate in France c/o chez moi.
Challenge 2: The Certificat Medical. Then, we had to get our Doctor's notes. To run any organised race in France, you need a doctor's note "de non-contre indication." Seriously, this just means that they write a note saying that they didn't find anything that would prevent you from running the race safely. This was highly surreal, as my doctor is a sweetheart, but also easily 200 years old with a feeble little voice and fairly out of touch with the modern world of organised running. She asked, will you run all 10kms at once, or will you do half and then take a break? She also warned us not to push ourselves too hard or force ourselves and made the realistic prediction that "vous n'allez pas gagner cette course." (You're not going to win this race). We assured her that our goal was just to have fun and run the distance rather than trying to break records of any kind...
And besides reassuring elderly Geneviève the médecin that we weren' t trying to take on Kenyan olympians, what did we have to do to prove that there was nothing that would prevent us from running the race? To test our fitness, we had to do 30 squats and then have our pulses taken. I'm not kidding. She also listened to our hearts again, which she does with a stethescope (of course) and a travel alarm clock. I guess watches are too modern. You're also not allowed to talk to her during the Heart Listening/Alarm Clock Watching. She can only do so much at once.
Finally, Geneviève the Doctor signed off on her inability to find anything preventing us from running, gave us our notes and we were cleared to run 6 miles. Luckily, I can just keep showing photocopies of the same doctor's note for the next year, so no need to do squats for Geneviève again until next year.
Challenge 3: picking up race packets. This was actually easy, but we rushed there directly after getting the medical note, so we were a little worried. I expected the worst: terrible crowds, no record of our registration, refusal of our medical notes, etc. But it was fine. We had to go to a store called Planet Jogging (ridiculous name, huh? It must makes me thing of another Parisian establishment, a Japanese restaurant chain called Planet Sushi. Another shining star in the rich Parisian cosmos...) to get our race packets. Here, we were presented with our fabulous pink t-shirts which we fell in love with immediately. Best race shirt, hands down. Fancy dri-fit fabric, too. In our packets, we didn't have the usual American swag (like loads of power bars and sports drinks). Just one tiny granola bar about the size of a sugar packet and loads of brochures for other races ("Ooh, let's do this one! You run up a red carpet to a castle and the proceeds go to the Make a Wish Foundation for children with cancer!") I think that was when I realised that there was a running community in Paris afer all, and I was kind of part of it now. Ground control to Major Tom (I run to David Bowie an awful lot) on Planet Jogging!
Last challenge: pins! An épreuve the day of the race was that although we had our race bibs in the race packets, there were no safety pins with them (there usually are in the US). I asked some runners if they had extra pins, no one did and one woman showed me that she'd sewn her number onto her fantastic pink shirt, which struck me as exceptionally bizarre, but to each her own. Finally, we managed to track down some pins and I was proud of myself for dredging up the word épingle (French for safety pin). Thank my friend Odile for that one-- we once went to have her new coat altered and she and the seamstress had a lengthy conversation about how much to take it in and where to put the safety pins!
While the shirts were fantastic (as you'd expect from the world's fashion capital), I think most of the planning went into the shirts, as the logistics of the actual race were a little less impressive. It was a nice run in a forest and I really enjoyed it-- so much that I kind of sang along out loud with Blondie on my iPod, oops. Another really positive point was that near the starting line, they had the nicest portapotties I've ever seen. They had mirrors and running water.
However, the main logistical problems were that they ran out of medals and water at the end of the race! But, hey, we looked great in our pink shirts. Who needs water? Now we know: BYO water and safety pins...
Finally: my running buiddy kind of regretted not bringing her camera to the race, but obviously didn't want to carry it or check anything valuable (you could at least check a bag, which was nice. In retrospect, we should have checked on with some water bottles!)
But here are a few pictures, anyway. Here we are after about kilometer 8 each looking at a different photographer (and my glasses look really weird and heavily pixelated)! Although it looks like we're just standing around holding hands, I assure you we're running like the wind, ha! It's just that you can't see our feet. :)
Here I am, booking it to the finish line (booking it is a highly relative term...) In a philosophical, cultural difference, the finish line is called the arrival line (ligne d'arrivée) in French and the starting line is the ligne de départ. I was excited to see the finish line, since we had to run through a gate, onto the racetrack grounds, and past the clubhouse. I kept asking myself, are we done, is there no real finish line? Then finally, I saw the big inflated arch with the time clock. Ah, there you are, finish line!
All in all, great weather and great company! I'm really glad to have a friend who runs, too, and I'm delighted to be doing races again. It's so motivating and now that I'm running again regularly, I feel a lot less anxious about various ongoing existential crisis issues. And now, of course, I have a 10K time to beat!
So the next 10K? In late June in Paris!
Monday, March 14, 2011
Parisian Dream Revisited
Awhile ago I posted about the Parisian dream which I suggested was to be a fonctionnaire, send your French children to a grande école (a top university) or to have a country house in Normandie. I was kidding. But not really.
Here's an update. The Parisian dream, what we want but what remains unattainable to all my friends (French and foreign alike) and me, all kidding aside, is this: a CDI or a permanent job.
This is the magical French sentence that means you have succeeded in French life as we know it: je suis passé en CDI.
Here's an update. The Parisian dream, what we want but what remains unattainable to all my friends (French and foreign alike) and me, all kidding aside, is this: a CDI or a permanent job.
This is the magical French sentence that means you have succeeded in French life as we know it: je suis passé en CDI.
Los Numeros: Week Recap
Desperately Seeking Stability...
Number of emotional breakdowns about how unstable my job is (hourly wage, no guaranteed number of hours per week or per month, etc.) brought on by only having half the teaching hours I need this week and feeling really financially precarious: 2.
1 of these breakdowns resulted in me bursting into tears in the metro and 2 women who were complete strangers to me were really conforting. I was amazed.
All immigrants want is some kind of stability in a foreign country. It seems like you have to be willing to invest 20 years in your adopted country, though, to achieve this. I, of course, am undecided about how much more time I want to spend in France, and, well, more or less everything at the moment. Undecided. C'est moi.
Money is my greatest source of stress in France and I'm so tired of worrying about it.
But on the bright side, number of possible job interviews this week for a more stable postion: 1. At a good international company.
Number of lengthy discussions (in French, English and very very broken Spanish) about new strategy for said possible job interview: 4.
Number of Spanish/English conversation exchanges: 2 (!) One was at my house and the other was at this big British Colonial Empire type cafe called Le fumoir. Fun to go to a new place!
Number of delicious Indian dinners: 1.
Number of workouts: 3. Ran 5 k twice this week (and I always stretch and do crunches for half an hour after) and did Body Pump (a weight training class that resulted in unbelievable back and arm soreness) and Body Balance (yoga) yesterday.
Fastest running pace: 9:05 minute miles.
Dismal total number of teaching hours this week: 9.5. I need double that per week to have a decent salary. Sigh.
Number of fun evenings with friends: 4. The good social life makes up for the unstable professional life a little, though.
Number of emotional breakdowns about how unstable my job is (hourly wage, no guaranteed number of hours per week or per month, etc.) brought on by only having half the teaching hours I need this week and feeling really financially precarious: 2.
1 of these breakdowns resulted in me bursting into tears in the metro and 2 women who were complete strangers to me were really conforting. I was amazed.
All immigrants want is some kind of stability in a foreign country. It seems like you have to be willing to invest 20 years in your adopted country, though, to achieve this. I, of course, am undecided about how much more time I want to spend in France, and, well, more or less everything at the moment. Undecided. C'est moi.
Money is my greatest source of stress in France and I'm so tired of worrying about it.
But on the bright side, number of possible job interviews this week for a more stable postion: 1. At a good international company.
Number of lengthy discussions (in French, English and very very broken Spanish) about new strategy for said possible job interview: 4.
Number of Spanish/English conversation exchanges: 2 (!) One was at my house and the other was at this big British Colonial Empire type cafe called Le fumoir. Fun to go to a new place!
Number of delicious Indian dinners: 1.
Number of workouts: 3. Ran 5 k twice this week (and I always stretch and do crunches for half an hour after) and did Body Pump (a weight training class that resulted in unbelievable back and arm soreness) and Body Balance (yoga) yesterday.
Fastest running pace: 9:05 minute miles.
Dismal total number of teaching hours this week: 9.5. I need double that per week to have a decent salary. Sigh.
Number of fun evenings with friends: 4. The good social life makes up for the unstable professional life a little, though.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Etoiles filantes dans le métro
Métro, ligne 4. Les passagers ne se regardent pas dans les yeux, personne ne parle ni sourit, et tout le monde a l'air impatient et énervé, comme d'hab. Puis, tout un coup:
Mec, vous ne cherchez pas un batteur par hasard?-- mec cool assis qui a l'air jazz/soul.
Si, on en cherche un!-- mec debout très mince indie rock avec une guitare et les cheveux en bataille.
Les groupes de rock cherchent toujours un batteur.
Je suis batteur de rock depuis 10 ans, je vous file mon numéro.-- mec jazz/soul.
D'accord, je le prends, cool. On s'appelle.-- mec indie rock.
J'ai souri en sortant, les gens qui échangent et créent même un lien, ca n'arrive presque jamais dans le métro. Chaque personne est normalement sur sa propre planète dans les transports, mais aujourd’hui il y avait un rare contact entre deux étoiles filantes qui faisaient tous les deux partie du même univers : celui de la musique.
Mec, vous ne cherchez pas un batteur par hasard?-- mec cool assis qui a l'air jazz/soul.
Si, on en cherche un!-- mec debout très mince indie rock avec une guitare et les cheveux en bataille.
Les groupes de rock cherchent toujours un batteur.
Je suis batteur de rock depuis 10 ans, je vous file mon numéro.-- mec jazz/soul.
D'accord, je le prends, cool. On s'appelle.-- mec indie rock.
J'ai souri en sortant, les gens qui échangent et créent même un lien, ca n'arrive presque jamais dans le métro. Chaque personne est normalement sur sa propre planète dans les transports, mais aujourd’hui il y avait un rare contact entre deux étoiles filantes qui faisaient tous les deux partie du même univers : celui de la musique.
Saturday, February 05, 2011
5K Family Fun!
So, like many people, after saying, oh, I have to get to the gym this week and I really have to go running and doing nothing all week and thus wasting yet another week of expensive gym membership, I'm serious about getting back into running shape. The benefits are endless. Your legs look fantastic, you feel little guilt if you eat chocolate and can always rationalise it by saying, I just ran 3 miles. However, most importantly, it's great for stress management. When I was in my best running shape of my life, it was also when I had the most stressful job in my life and I really think regular runs kept me sane despite finding myself in daily life-or-death situations (I worked in animal welfare).
The big motivation here is that my Dad just started running and recently ran a mile, his first since before I was born (and, er, I'm in my 30s!) Go, Dad! So we decided to do a 5K run together in the US when I'm there in August for my annual vacation, and we're both psyched about it. For the past 2 years, my mom and I have done an annual 5K together when I visit. She walks and I run. This summer, the whole family (it's just the 3 of us) will be out 5K-ing!
I'm feeling inspired. If my Dad can get back into running shape, I can certainly get back into doing regular 5ks or more-- I've only been running once every 2 weeks or so lately, which is terrible. 4 years ago when I lived in Healthly Lifestyle Land (San Francisco instead of Paris), I did regular 4 mile runs at least 3-4 times a week, a weekly 10-miler and 3 half marathons. Since I was in good running shape at one point in my life, I am still generally lucky enough to be able to manage 30 minutes on the treadmill, even if it's been months since my last run. But I'd like to retrouver la forme, as they say.
I also feel like there are lots of things in my life that I can't control at the moment, but deciding to run for 30 minutes and then doing it is one of the few things that I do control and that depends only on me and no one else.
Bonne course, alors!
The big motivation here is that my Dad just started running and recently ran a mile, his first since before I was born (and, er, I'm in my 30s!) Go, Dad! So we decided to do a 5K run together in the US when I'm there in August for my annual vacation, and we're both psyched about it. For the past 2 years, my mom and I have done an annual 5K together when I visit. She walks and I run. This summer, the whole family (it's just the 3 of us) will be out 5K-ing!
I'm feeling inspired. If my Dad can get back into running shape, I can certainly get back into doing regular 5ks or more-- I've only been running once every 2 weeks or so lately, which is terrible. 4 years ago when I lived in Healthly Lifestyle Land (San Francisco instead of Paris), I did regular 4 mile runs at least 3-4 times a week, a weekly 10-miler and 3 half marathons. Since I was in good running shape at one point in my life, I am still generally lucky enough to be able to manage 30 minutes on the treadmill, even if it's been months since my last run. But I'd like to retrouver la forme, as they say.
I also feel like there are lots of things in my life that I can't control at the moment, but deciding to run for 30 minutes and then doing it is one of the few things that I do control and that depends only on me and no one else.
Bonne course, alors!
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Psychosis and the City
I was thinking about how some cities have their own correpsonding psychological disorder. Like the Stockholm Syndrome, for example. Although as I understand it, this doesn't literally have much of anything to do with Stockholm itself or the Swedish urban experience. Which is probably for sale at Ikea, but you have to assemble it yourself with no real tools except a little metal turn-y thing.
Not to be outdone by Stockholm, Paris is also part of the proud and the few with their Own Unique Syndrome. And unlike Stockholm, this is really about the experience of Paris itself. The Paris Syndrome is a documented psychological disorder mainly found to affect Japanese people who come to Paris. It's more or less a nervous depression brought on by how little the real Paris lives up to romanticised Japanese notions of Paris, and probably exacerbated, I think, by larger cultural differences between the east and the west. In the 80s, a psychologist studied patients, treated them and most of them returned to Japan. If you don't believe me, you can google, wikipedia or whatever-other-website-names-have-now-become-English-verbs Paris Syndrome... It's even in that big red book of all the psychological disorders known to man.
Paris can sometimes seem to do its best to cause nervous depression, I know lots of people who probably suffer from this psychological disorder. The lack of sunlight all winter is fairly brutal and the skies, buildings, streets and people all start to take on the same shade of Hausemannian grey stone from the mid-19th century. But I think in a strange way, we do have a community and I'm grateful for the form that this takes. I am part of an international community for the first time in my life and I appreciate what a cosmopolitan a place I live in.
Within this cosmopolitan world, most people I know are looking for better jobs and better apartments. There's an element of being on a constant quest here that is by turns inspiring since we're all looking for something and striving towards this elusive goal and that's the human condition, really, but also by turns depressing in that it means that Paris has a high concentration of currently dissatisfied people.
Organised cultural events also help. Community building events in Paris are the annual fêtes when you can tour national monuments for free, the nights when the museums stay open for free and a day when musicians perform on the street all night for free. While most people appreciate these events and participate in them, we also simultaneously hate being in crowds in public...
In the film Crash, one of the characters said something about how we're all just reaching out to try to touch each other and interpreted car accidents as an attempt to find human contact. While car accidents are obviously caused by poor driving and not urban alienation, I do think that being part of a crowd in a city is simultaneously a lonely and violent experience. Just ride the metro during rush hour sometime.
Although everyone is very much in their own world of suffering in the metro during rush hour each morning, for example, I think a recent blogging trend shows how much people want to try to feel connected to those who share their urban experience. Blogs like L'inconnu dans le metro and others give short profiles of everyday people on the metro, or foreigners visiting Paris, or people who work in specific industries in Paris. My new blog also fits into this urban community outreach catagory, too. (It's a collection of profiles of different language teachers in Paris as a way to share and compare teaching experiences). We're curious about each other. We'd like to get to know each other. But maybe just not too up close and personal, despite-- or because of-- how we're always crowded into the same small public spaces. We'll still keep our digital distance over the internet. Where we can comfortably analyse our relationship with crowds and public urban spaces without being IN them and diagnose our own brand of the Paris Syndrome...
Not to be outdone by Stockholm, Paris is also part of the proud and the few with their Own Unique Syndrome. And unlike Stockholm, this is really about the experience of Paris itself. The Paris Syndrome is a documented psychological disorder mainly found to affect Japanese people who come to Paris. It's more or less a nervous depression brought on by how little the real Paris lives up to romanticised Japanese notions of Paris, and probably exacerbated, I think, by larger cultural differences between the east and the west. In the 80s, a psychologist studied patients, treated them and most of them returned to Japan. If you don't believe me, you can google, wikipedia or whatever-other-website-names-have-now-become-English-verbs Paris Syndrome... It's even in that big red book of all the psychological disorders known to man.
Paris can sometimes seem to do its best to cause nervous depression, I know lots of people who probably suffer from this psychological disorder. The lack of sunlight all winter is fairly brutal and the skies, buildings, streets and people all start to take on the same shade of Hausemannian grey stone from the mid-19th century. But I think in a strange way, we do have a community and I'm grateful for the form that this takes. I am part of an international community for the first time in my life and I appreciate what a cosmopolitan a place I live in.
Within this cosmopolitan world, most people I know are looking for better jobs and better apartments. There's an element of being on a constant quest here that is by turns inspiring since we're all looking for something and striving towards this elusive goal and that's the human condition, really, but also by turns depressing in that it means that Paris has a high concentration of currently dissatisfied people.
Organised cultural events also help. Community building events in Paris are the annual fêtes when you can tour national monuments for free, the nights when the museums stay open for free and a day when musicians perform on the street all night for free. While most people appreciate these events and participate in them, we also simultaneously hate being in crowds in public...
In the film Crash, one of the characters said something about how we're all just reaching out to try to touch each other and interpreted car accidents as an attempt to find human contact. While car accidents are obviously caused by poor driving and not urban alienation, I do think that being part of a crowd in a city is simultaneously a lonely and violent experience. Just ride the metro during rush hour sometime.
Although everyone is very much in their own world of suffering in the metro during rush hour each morning, for example, I think a recent blogging trend shows how much people want to try to feel connected to those who share their urban experience. Blogs like L'inconnu dans le metro and others give short profiles of everyday people on the metro, or foreigners visiting Paris, or people who work in specific industries in Paris. My new blog also fits into this urban community outreach catagory, too. (It's a collection of profiles of different language teachers in Paris as a way to share and compare teaching experiences). We're curious about each other. We'd like to get to know each other. But maybe just not too up close and personal, despite-- or because of-- how we're always crowded into the same small public spaces. We'll still keep our digital distance over the internet. Where we can comfortably analyse our relationship with crowds and public urban spaces without being IN them and diagnose our own brand of the Paris Syndrome...
Friday, December 10, 2010
Reve General? Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of the French Dream
Lots of people are familiar with the American Dream. My French students have even asked me if I believe in it, if I feel like my family illustrates it. Originally, it was of course for immigrants to come from their home countries to the new land of opportunity where the streets were paved with gold and pull themselves up by their bootstraps and make a better life for themselves and their children, since at that time there was no food in other countries like Ireland. Ellis Island, Lady liberty, give me your poor huddling masses, or whatever. In the more crass commercial terms of today, the American dream is to make loads of money with no academic education and few, if any, real qualifications. However, in reality, considering the global crisis-induced recession post-bailout economy, to find the kind of opportunity that America was once known for, you’ll probably have to go to China instead.
Which makes many expats abroad think about the national dreams of their respective chosen countries. Since Parisian life is very different than life outside of this great city, I thought more about what a Parisian dream would be, rather than the French dream. I don’t feel like I know enough about the entire country to generalize here, only having lived in Paris.
In Paris, I think there are a few contenders that rest below the collective consciousness as secret cherished hopes. The first one that comes to mind is to have your children attend a grande ecole(the equivalent of an ivy-league university) and thus be assured future success in the French ruling classes. Almost all politicians or people in impressive managerial positions in France attended not just a grande ecole, but probably the same one.
Another possibility is becoming a fonctionnaire (a French civil servant or state employee), possibly just because this is MY Parisian dream, and thus being garunteed lifetime job certainty regardless of actual job performance. This system, while great for the fonctionnaire, is highly illogical and makes it impossible for everyone else who has to try to work with fonctionnaires, like the general public. It explains a lot about why the bureaucracy is the way it is...
So what is the Parisian dream, ultimately? I often joke to the French that to me, it seems that the Parisian dream is to have a country house in Normandy. This is like having a big stamp of approval (stamps are important in the fonctionnaire-run bureaucracy here) of being bourgeois and successful. Country houses are shared within families and passed down among the generations like rare jewels. The best ones are in remote scenic areas within a 1-2 hour drive from Paris that get lots of sun and have strategically placed cows that dot the landscape. This is both aesthetic and functional. Pretty to look at and ensures locally available dairy products, which all French people are obsessed with.
The most successful Parisians then are those who can leave Paris every weekend if they want. On any given Fri evening, traffic getting out of Paris is so bad that it often takes about 3 hours just to get on the beltway and get the access ramp to the highway you need for your remote country house destination.
Sometimes Parisians look offended when I reveal my irreverent observation. Sometimes the laugh and agree by admitting that oui, bretagne est moins bien que normandie (see the bit about sunny weather). The thing about Paris is that although it’s a huge tourist destination, all actual residents love to leave Paris and spend the weekend in remote countryside villages instead. Paris is crowded, people are rude and everyone hates taking the metro. It’s polluted and “speed” (meaning fast-paced) and stressful. The countryside, however is the opposite of all these things. Petting the neighbor’s scenic goats or hiking through attractive forest trails or picking non-poisonous mushrooms or eating cheese on your terrace and sipping cocktails outdoors are apaysant and reposant, these are all the ways in which nature helps us forget the trials and tribulations of the city of light. The weekend in the country house in Normandy is not only relaxing, but allows urban escape, brings a family closer to the region where some or possibly most of its members grew up and reaffirms that generations of that family worked hard to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and make a better life for future Parisian generations.
Which makes many expats abroad think about the national dreams of their respective chosen countries. Since Parisian life is very different than life outside of this great city, I thought more about what a Parisian dream would be, rather than the French dream. I don’t feel like I know enough about the entire country to generalize here, only having lived in Paris.
In Paris, I think there are a few contenders that rest below the collective consciousness as secret cherished hopes. The first one that comes to mind is to have your children attend a grande ecole(the equivalent of an ivy-league university) and thus be assured future success in the French ruling classes. Almost all politicians or people in impressive managerial positions in France attended not just a grande ecole, but probably the same one.
Another possibility is becoming a fonctionnaire (a French civil servant or state employee), possibly just because this is MY Parisian dream, and thus being garunteed lifetime job certainty regardless of actual job performance. This system, while great for the fonctionnaire, is highly illogical and makes it impossible for everyone else who has to try to work with fonctionnaires, like the general public. It explains a lot about why the bureaucracy is the way it is...
So what is the Parisian dream, ultimately? I often joke to the French that to me, it seems that the Parisian dream is to have a country house in Normandy. This is like having a big stamp of approval (stamps are important in the fonctionnaire-run bureaucracy here) of being bourgeois and successful. Country houses are shared within families and passed down among the generations like rare jewels. The best ones are in remote scenic areas within a 1-2 hour drive from Paris that get lots of sun and have strategically placed cows that dot the landscape. This is both aesthetic and functional. Pretty to look at and ensures locally available dairy products, which all French people are obsessed with.
The most successful Parisians then are those who can leave Paris every weekend if they want. On any given Fri evening, traffic getting out of Paris is so bad that it often takes about 3 hours just to get on the beltway and get the access ramp to the highway you need for your remote country house destination.
Sometimes Parisians look offended when I reveal my irreverent observation. Sometimes the laugh and agree by admitting that oui, bretagne est moins bien que normandie (see the bit about sunny weather). The thing about Paris is that although it’s a huge tourist destination, all actual residents love to leave Paris and spend the weekend in remote countryside villages instead. Paris is crowded, people are rude and everyone hates taking the metro. It’s polluted and “speed” (meaning fast-paced) and stressful. The countryside, however is the opposite of all these things. Petting the neighbor’s scenic goats or hiking through attractive forest trails or picking non-poisonous mushrooms or eating cheese on your terrace and sipping cocktails outdoors are apaysant and reposant, these are all the ways in which nature helps us forget the trials and tribulations of the city of light. The weekend in the country house in Normandy is not only relaxing, but allows urban escape, brings a family closer to the region where some or possibly most of its members grew up and reaffirms that generations of that family worked hard to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and make a better life for future Parisian generations.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Stikes, Spares and Globalisation
Bowling alleys are the same the world over. Same lanes, balls, terrible shoes, video games, American pop music, smells and noises of pins going down and balls spitting out of the machine ready for you to pick up to knock down more pins.
I went to "Bowling Sympa" in Paris tonight and this is how I'm now able to make important cultural generalisations of this kind. The words strike and spare are even the same. Except that it's a boule, not a ball and the pins are called quilles (pronounced "key"). I drank a pastis instead of a beer while waiting my turn but we threatened to kick each other's butts (although in French) and double high fived each other for good coups, or shots, as I would have done at home.
I am unashamed to admit that I had a great time bowling as I kind of love any mixed up cultural mishmash experience because that's more or less my life-- I'm an American with British dual citizenship living in Paris...
Although bowling itself is naf and tacky, the last time I did in in California, it was fantastic, since it was with my coworkers who all embraced it ironically but had fun sincerely. Lots of San Francisco hipsters did things ironically. There was even an article about it once in one of the free weekly papers (themselves hotbeds of hipster coolness) that described this attitude with the image: "look, Kyle, I'm bowling. Just like dumb midwesterners. How ironic of me."
The only time I bowled since the coworker party was on a Wii at my cousin's house in the US and believe me, real anything is better than the virtual video game version...
My French friends had a great time, too and it was even their idea. We intended to go to an agressively hip bowling alley/night club on the Champs Elysees (the idea of chic bowling is highly surreal-- it's like Sex and the City meets The Big Lebowski and the Dude developed a thing for Prada) but it was rented out for a chic private bowling party in prada that night. Shocked that anyone else in Paris could possibly be seized with the urge to bowl at 6 pm on a Saturday, we located another bowling alley thanks to another American export, the iPhone. Who knew there was more than one bowling alley in Paris? I was, however, already well aware that there are probably easily about 10 million iPhones in Paris.
Politically incorrect as it may be, I enjoyed this instance of globalisation (I even recognised the brand Brunswick which seems to design the lane and pin placing machines since I remember seeing it in American bowling alleys). I like the side of France that finds tacky American stuff fun, just becuase I do, too. This makes up for other more infuriating apects of life in France, like negativity, French men always thinking they know everything, the administration and no one ever doing any work. So spare me your strikes, France. The next greve will just make me think of bowling...
I went to "Bowling Sympa" in Paris tonight and this is how I'm now able to make important cultural generalisations of this kind. The words strike and spare are even the same. Except that it's a boule, not a ball and the pins are called quilles (pronounced "key"). I drank a pastis instead of a beer while waiting my turn but we threatened to kick each other's butts (although in French) and double high fived each other for good coups, or shots, as I would have done at home.
I am unashamed to admit that I had a great time bowling as I kind of love any mixed up cultural mishmash experience because that's more or less my life-- I'm an American with British dual citizenship living in Paris...
Although bowling itself is naf and tacky, the last time I did in in California, it was fantastic, since it was with my coworkers who all embraced it ironically but had fun sincerely. Lots of San Francisco hipsters did things ironically. There was even an article about it once in one of the free weekly papers (themselves hotbeds of hipster coolness) that described this attitude with the image: "look, Kyle, I'm bowling. Just like dumb midwesterners. How ironic of me."
The only time I bowled since the coworker party was on a Wii at my cousin's house in the US and believe me, real anything is better than the virtual video game version...
My French friends had a great time, too and it was even their idea. We intended to go to an agressively hip bowling alley/night club on the Champs Elysees (the idea of chic bowling is highly surreal-- it's like Sex and the City meets The Big Lebowski and the Dude developed a thing for Prada) but it was rented out for a chic private bowling party in prada that night. Shocked that anyone else in Paris could possibly be seized with the urge to bowl at 6 pm on a Saturday, we located another bowling alley thanks to another American export, the iPhone. Who knew there was more than one bowling alley in Paris? I was, however, already well aware that there are probably easily about 10 million iPhones in Paris.
Politically incorrect as it may be, I enjoyed this instance of globalisation (I even recognised the brand Brunswick which seems to design the lane and pin placing machines since I remember seeing it in American bowling alleys). I like the side of France that finds tacky American stuff fun, just becuase I do, too. This makes up for other more infuriating apects of life in France, like negativity, French men always thinking they know everything, the administration and no one ever doing any work. So spare me your strikes, France. The next greve will just make me think of bowling...
Friday, October 29, 2010
Baby, You Can Drive My Car
"Can you drive?" a friend asked me yesterday. "Of course I can, I'm American," I replied. Although I couldn't resist adding smugly that unlike most Americans, I can handle a standard shift transmission with my eyes closed. Although not literally, as this is a dubious driving technique. Which many Parisians, in fact, recommend. "The key to successful driving in Paris," they explain to me in tones reserved for revealing the greatest secrets of the universe, "is NOT to pay attention to what other people are doing and just continue on your way. If you have to turn, turn. If you have to merge, merge. You can't look at the other cars, otherwise you'll be paralyzed and unable to go anywhere."
Right. This gives you some insight into the safe, sane and legal traffic maneuvers regularly practiced in the City of Light.
Another highly strange traffic law in this country is that merging traffic has the right of way. This is called Priorité de droite. If you're already on the highway, up to YOU to make room for traffic coming off the on ramp onto the road; they have the right of way, not you.
Despite the obligation of allowing merging traffic to cut ahead of me for no real logical reason, I love nothing more than headin' out on the highway, lookin' for adventure.
Or not.
Although this isn't an area that I've researched much yet (que les recherches commencent!), I'm sure getting a French driver's license is annoying, lengthy, expensive and Kafka-esque in its bureaucratic complexities-- or caprices. I've already heard wildly different testimonies about the ease/difficulty of getting a French DL if you're a foreigner with a valid license from your country. I've gotten advice ranging from "go to the prefecture to request a "validation" and then wait a year" to "I drive on an expired American license and have never had a problem" to "go to Ireland and that the test there; it's much cheaper." And cost estimates for lessons and the exam fees in France for folks who already have a foreign license have ranged from 100-200 euros to 850 euros... Still less than the expected 1 or 2 grand that French kids are expected to pay, however.
This seems about right, the lack of helpful standard information. This is France, after all, where the policy du jour depends on which civil servant happens to be in the office that day. I once had my ATM card stolen and had to make cash withdraws at the bank in person for about a month. For the 3 withdraws I made, EACH one involved a different process. Because each time, someone different helped me.
If this is what the bank does, imagine what happens when the national legal system is involved. Especially considering a driver's license in France is valid for LIFE. While you may think that police involvement would suggest an actual easy transparent process that would be the same for everyone, think again. It probably makes it all the more complicated and secretive and will require even MORE of the usual French scavenger hunt (go where for clue #4?) to find all the relevant pieces of information needed to complete an administrative task... It's sure to be a long and winding road without clearly marked exits. And YOU, as a driver on this road, don't even have the right of way.
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