I finally got to go to Brussels!
I went there three years ago, though just for a day, most of it spent riding the bus around the city while lost on my way to the train station. The city struck me as gritty, gloomy, gray. I didn't have a real desire to go back. But, some of my students told me that Brussels around Christmas was a must-see, so I decided I'd give it a second chance.
Really, I wasn't going to see the city of Brussels, but rather the Christmas Market they have every year. For the month of December the city center becomes a village of shopping and food stalls flanked by winter-themed activities. A quick Google image search got me excited: Lights! Ferris wheel! Mini-luge!
I went up there on Saturday morning and spent the afternoon wandering the aforementioned village. It was cute. I bought a few things. I sampled the chocolate (and oh, what chocolate. . .). This wasn't the market of my Google dreams, however. For that, I had to wait.
The market came to life after sunset. The lights came on. The ferris wheel and ice skating rink went up. The food and drink stalls (many, many drink stalls) lit up and radiated heat and smells through the crowd. And crowd it was. Shoulder-to-shoulder. In fact, it was so packed that after a while we became one giant herd shuffling slowly in a U-turn through the village. If you wanted to look at something, you had to swim crosswise through the tide and jump out. After several U-turns, shopping bag weighing heavily on my shoulder, I'd had enough.
On Sunday, I felt like I'd pretty much exhausted the Christmas Market. (I visited the Rene Magritte museum instead-- more on that later.)
Nonetheless, apparently addicted to Christmas markets, I went to the city of Amiens on Tuesday to see what their market was like. It was basically a rip-off of the Brussels market on a smaller scale, but I had fun anyway. I'm posting pictures of this below, including a short video of an animatronic kids' ride. Maybe you'll get as much of a kick out of it as I did.
So the Amiens market was comparable, but not on par with the Belgian one. I'm really glad I decided to venture to Brussels a second time. Short as it may have been, it revised my memories of the city for the far better. And more chocolaty.
mercredi 15 décembre 2010
samedi 4 décembre 2010
Green Tents for a Greener Life
Well, I was planning to blog about the Christmas market in Brussels this weekend. My travel plans, however, have been waylaid by snow. Even though it's only a couple of inches, the local bus system has been shut down since Thursday.
So I'm stuck in Péronne.
A pause in the snowfall allowed me to get out of the apartment earlier, which was good not only for me, but for the neighbors above me, whom I was ready to severely maim if they did not stop blaring bad techno and running power tools. (Really people, what are you building up there? An ark?) On my way home, I found something to write about.
Two green circus tents, like the kind you'd buy fireworks at in a parking lot, sat near the high school. They looked unoccupied. A sign explained, "Le Chapiteau Vert"(The Green Tent), and gave a website.
Le Chapiteau Vert, according to said website, hosts shows for children that illustrate the importance of recycling and reducing waste. The shows are called, "Welcome Inside My Trashcan." The website linked a couple of YouTube videos, which I'll post here. One features clips of a past show; if you want, you can skip to 3:30 and watch Poubelle-man battle the Trash Monster, put a kid in a trash can, and lead the 6-year-old audience in raising the roof. ("Poubelle" means "trashcan," FYI.) The other is a karaoke rap by MC Poubellos.
The Chapiteau Vert seems like a fun and effective way to teach kids the importance of green living. If I had kids, I'd make them go. . . or rather, I'd use them as an excuse to see the show for myself.
So I'm stuck in Péronne.
A pause in the snowfall allowed me to get out of the apartment earlier, which was good not only for me, but for the neighbors above me, whom I was ready to severely maim if they did not stop blaring bad techno and running power tools. (Really people, what are you building up there? An ark?) On my way home, I found something to write about.
Two green circus tents, like the kind you'd buy fireworks at in a parking lot, sat near the high school. They looked unoccupied. A sign explained, "Le Chapiteau Vert"(The Green Tent), and gave a website.
Le Chapiteau Vert, according to said website, hosts shows for children that illustrate the importance of recycling and reducing waste. The shows are called, "Welcome Inside My Trashcan." The website linked a couple of YouTube videos, which I'll post here. One features clips of a past show; if you want, you can skip to 3:30 and watch Poubelle-man battle the Trash Monster, put a kid in a trash can, and lead the 6-year-old audience in raising the roof. ("Poubelle" means "trashcan," FYI.) The other is a karaoke rap by MC Poubellos.
The Chapiteau Vert seems like a fun and effective way to teach kids the importance of green living. If I had kids, I'd make them go. . . or rather, I'd use them as an excuse to see the show for myself.
lundi 22 novembre 2010
Quality Saturday in St. Quentin
I just posted pictures from my recent trip to St. Quentin, a small city (eight times the population of Péronne) an hour's bus ride from here. After receiving intelligence that there are ten teaching assistants there-- that's a lot!-- I decided it was time for a visit.
St. Q was just getting into the holiday spirit. Men were hard at work building a miniature Christmas village in the town center, complete with a gingerbread duplex and a statue of a pirate/Revolutionary/Ichabod Crane reading a book. I hope to visit again when it's finished. . . but can it compete with Péronne's festive disco ball? We'll see.
It was Saturday, so I had the good fortune to see St. Quentin's version of my favorite weekend activity: the market. Of course, it was more extensive and crowded than the market here. And the roast chicken stand didn't seem to be as popular. My favorite display, though, was definitely the cart of live rabbit and baby pig. No, these animals were not intended for dinner (although that was my first reaction). Instead, they served as visual aids for a woman selling cough drops to Save the Animals. I bought a box of cough drops and she let me pet them. So I petted a pig this weekend. Another life experience accumulated.
When I had exhausted the market, I visited St. Quentin Cathedral. The cathedral dates to the 12th century, although it's been bombed and re-built and re-bombed so many times that not much of the original remains. I've posted pictures of the visual highlights. I did not post a picture of the reliquary containing the "hand of Saint Quentin," which the church officials had mercifully relegated to a small side transept.
I met up with other assistants in the afternoon. There were eight of us in all. They proved to be fun, pleasant people. It helps that we all have something in common-- this boat called the teaching assistantship program-- and most of us were on the lookout for travel partners and day trip ideas. They also found the nerdy humor in the action figures I bought for my fiancé's nephew (Napoleon and Admiral Nelson doing battle). It's a good group. We went for coffee, then the St. Quentin-ites showed us a lovely park with a petting zoo. The park also featured a miniature work-out center for children (literally, see the pictures below) and a little play area modeled after castle ruins.
I wish I could think of a more inventive way to end this post, but it was a good day. That's probably true about any day that ends with a playground.
St. Q was just getting into the holiday spirit. Men were hard at work building a miniature Christmas village in the town center, complete with a gingerbread duplex and a statue of a pirate/Revolutionary/Ichabod Crane reading a book. I hope to visit again when it's finished. . . but can it compete with Péronne's festive disco ball? We'll see.
It was Saturday, so I had the good fortune to see St. Quentin's version of my favorite weekend activity: the market. Of course, it was more extensive and crowded than the market here. And the roast chicken stand didn't seem to be as popular. My favorite display, though, was definitely the cart of live rabbit and baby pig. No, these animals were not intended for dinner (although that was my first reaction). Instead, they served as visual aids for a woman selling cough drops to Save the Animals. I bought a box of cough drops and she let me pet them. So I petted a pig this weekend. Another life experience accumulated.
When I had exhausted the market, I visited St. Quentin Cathedral. The cathedral dates to the 12th century, although it's been bombed and re-built and re-bombed so many times that not much of the original remains. I've posted pictures of the visual highlights. I did not post a picture of the reliquary containing the "hand of Saint Quentin," which the church officials had mercifully relegated to a small side transept.
I met up with other assistants in the afternoon. There were eight of us in all. They proved to be fun, pleasant people. It helps that we all have something in common-- this boat called the teaching assistantship program-- and most of us were on the lookout for travel partners and day trip ideas. They also found the nerdy humor in the action figures I bought for my fiancé's nephew (Napoleon and Admiral Nelson doing battle). It's a good group. We went for coffee, then the St. Quentin-ites showed us a lovely park with a petting zoo. The park also featured a miniature work-out center for children (literally, see the pictures below) and a little play area modeled after castle ruins.
I wish I could think of a more inventive way to end this post, but it was a good day. That's probably true about any day that ends with a playground.
vendredi 12 novembre 2010
Teenagers for Retirement
I feel like I have to say something about the recent demonstrations over retirement age reform.
I know that people in the U.S. (and maybe elsewhere) were bombarded with images of burning cars and stone-throwing. I assure you, however, that these incidents were limited to Lyon and the suburbs of Paris. Throughout France-- including in Péronne-- the demonstrations were relatively tame.
So what was the issue, anyway? One of the other teachers explained it to me:
Sarkozy raised the retirement age from 60 to 62. Nobody was happy about that, but the French are aware that they have one of the lowest retirement ages in the world, and the age itself was not necessarily the main cause of alarm. Rather, people felt that the president was robbing them of a treasured social benefit. One they had worked hard to obtain. This generous retirement package was one of the spoils of electing, after a long struggle, a socialist president in the 1980's.
The strikers also floated a sort of domino theory: if the president takes away this right, what will he take away next? Since France tends to be a model for other European countries, people also worried that this move would make foreign leaders feel free to take away the rights of their own people.
But why so many high schoolers, you may ask? What do they care about retirement?
Good question. Indeed, teenagers made up the bulk of demonstrators in streets throughout France. The reasoning they gave to TV interviewers was that, if the older population keeps their jobs longer, then fewer jobs will open up for young people. I think that general anti-Sarkozy sentiment and the sheer coolness of joining a social movement didn't hurt, either.
Strike day in Péronne started at 7am sharp. You would think these teenagers would take advantage of being on strike and, you know, sleep in a little. Instead, I woke up to the sound of cheers, horns, and vuvuzelas leftover from the World Cup.
The teachers at my school had already informed me that I didn't need to bother showing up to class that day. There wouldn't be many English teachers at school, and even fewer students. A rumor floated around that the kids were going to blockade the entrance to the high school so that no one could get in or out. That never happened, but they did crowd around outside the school to chant and make noise. The police were there-- not doing anything, just watching and chatting with each other. They looked bored.
In the afternoon, the students had a parade through the town. They started at the high school, walked down the main street, rallied in the town square, then looped back. They chanted in unison ("Sarko! Sarko! Something Something Something!") and held hand-drawn banners ("Don't Extend Retirement to the Grave!"). The police followed slowly in their cars, just in case. I followed them for a while-- at a distance, since they had small fireworks like Black Cats that they left in their wake.
I took some videos on my iPhone that I'll post here. One is of the rally in the town square. There is also an up-close video of the parade that I took later in the day, after things had quieted down a bit and the kids had run out of Black Cats.
As someone told me, "It's been a few years. . . About time for a big strike!"
I know that people in the U.S. (and maybe elsewhere) were bombarded with images of burning cars and stone-throwing. I assure you, however, that these incidents were limited to Lyon and the suburbs of Paris. Throughout France-- including in Péronne-- the demonstrations were relatively tame.
So what was the issue, anyway? One of the other teachers explained it to me:
Sarkozy raised the retirement age from 60 to 62. Nobody was happy about that, but the French are aware that they have one of the lowest retirement ages in the world, and the age itself was not necessarily the main cause of alarm. Rather, people felt that the president was robbing them of a treasured social benefit. One they had worked hard to obtain. This generous retirement package was one of the spoils of electing, after a long struggle, a socialist president in the 1980's.
The strikers also floated a sort of domino theory: if the president takes away this right, what will he take away next? Since France tends to be a model for other European countries, people also worried that this move would make foreign leaders feel free to take away the rights of their own people.
But why so many high schoolers, you may ask? What do they care about retirement?
Good question. Indeed, teenagers made up the bulk of demonstrators in streets throughout France. The reasoning they gave to TV interviewers was that, if the older population keeps their jobs longer, then fewer jobs will open up for young people. I think that general anti-Sarkozy sentiment and the sheer coolness of joining a social movement didn't hurt, either.
Strike day in Péronne started at 7am sharp. You would think these teenagers would take advantage of being on strike and, you know, sleep in a little. Instead, I woke up to the sound of cheers, horns, and vuvuzelas leftover from the World Cup.
The teachers at my school had already informed me that I didn't need to bother showing up to class that day. There wouldn't be many English teachers at school, and even fewer students. A rumor floated around that the kids were going to blockade the entrance to the high school so that no one could get in or out. That never happened, but they did crowd around outside the school to chant and make noise. The police were there-- not doing anything, just watching and chatting with each other. They looked bored.
In the afternoon, the students had a parade through the town. They started at the high school, walked down the main street, rallied in the town square, then looped back. They chanted in unison ("Sarko! Sarko! Something Something Something!") and held hand-drawn banners ("Don't Extend Retirement to the Grave!"). The police followed slowly in their cars, just in case. I followed them for a while-- at a distance, since they had small fireworks like Black Cats that they left in their wake.
I took some videos on my iPhone that I'll post here. One is of the rally in the town square. There is also an up-close video of the parade that I took later in the day, after things had quieted down a bit and the kids had run out of Black Cats.
As someone told me, "It's been a few years. . . About time for a big strike!"
lundi 8 novembre 2010
Back to the Beginning
Well then!
Welcome to my blog, a record of my seven-month sojourn as a teaching assistant in France. I'm sorry it took me so long to get this started-- I've already been here for about six weeks-- but I have had some internet issues, which would fill a blog in and of themselves. I have already written a few entries in anticipation of creating a blog, which I will post here. I wrote the first one right after arriving in France. I stayed in Paris for a couple of days before moving on to Péronne, the town where I am stationed. I hope to post weekly, so. . . stay tuned.
"Get yourself a George Foreman grill, they're all the rage in America!"
Today I am visiting the Saturday market. It spans the central square, down a side street, and ends at the chateau. All of the Péronne, and it seems, everyone within a 50km radius turns out for the market. Like them, and for lack of other excitement, it has become the highlight of my week.
Just a few of the things you can find at the Saturday market:
- Clothing
- Furniture
- Mattresses
- Whole roast chickens
- Enough garlic to ward off the Twilight series
- Raw meat
- Fish (or just the head)
- A safety demonstration by your local fire department
- Infomercial demonstrations of cooking equipment
Needless to say, it's quite the spectacle.
However, it's a little disappointing compared to the Grande Foire de Péronne that they had last weekend. There were carnival games, Worlds-of-Fun-type rides (e.g. a giant pendulum that swung people 50 feet in the air over the heads of gawking spectators), and these amazing-smelling snack stands that sold crêpes and beignets and such. I thought they had this sort of Grande Foire every weekend. I've been let down.
But, as I said, this is my entertainment for the weekend, so I'm making the most of it.
Just a few of the things you can find at the Saturday market:
- Clothing
- Furniture
- Mattresses
- Whole roast chickens
- Enough garlic to ward off the Twilight series
- Raw meat
- Fish (or just the head)
- A safety demonstration by your local fire department
- Infomercial demonstrations of cooking equipment
Needless to say, it's quite the spectacle.
However, it's a little disappointing compared to the Grande Foire de Péronne that they had last weekend. There were carnival games, Worlds-of-Fun-type rides (e.g. a giant pendulum that swung people 50 feet in the air over the heads of gawking spectators), and these amazing-smelling snack stands that sold crêpes and beignets and such. I thought they had this sort of Grande Foire every weekend. I've been let down.
But, as I said, this is my entertainment for the weekend, so I'm making the most of it.
Péronne, first impressions
I'm stationed in Péronne, a hamlet of 8 or 9 thousand inhabitants 80 km north of Paris.
There is one main street flanked by a central plaza. From the plaza, where I'm sitting now, you could be in any decent-sized town in France (albeit on a side street on Sunday). There are 3 and 4-story buildings, very pretty, all with different character. However, if you walk a few blocks south, the town just. . . stops. You'll be looking at 4-story buildings crammed together, then when you turn around you're looking at pure nature. It's a little sudden. The "pure nature" is pretty, at least. Very pretty.
There are a lot of young families and elderly people. The people I've encountered have been incredibly nice. In that respect, I am lucky. They also like Americans here. There is a store called American Stock that sells Guess and Levi's. There was also a game atd the carnival last week that was advertised by a picture of a cowboy, an Indian, and Clint Eastwood. I imagine that, being in the country, cowboys are pretty popular here.
So, other than the occasional struggle with boredom or homesickness, I'm doing well.
P.S. They're packing up the market, and a van just rolled by literally within a few inches of my table. I had to move a chair so he didn't hit it. He leaned out the window and said, "Merci!"
There is one main street flanked by a central plaza. From the plaza, where I'm sitting now, you could be in any decent-sized town in France (albeit on a side street on Sunday). There are 3 and 4-story buildings, very pretty, all with different character. However, if you walk a few blocks south, the town just. . . stops. You'll be looking at 4-story buildings crammed together, then when you turn around you're looking at pure nature. It's a little sudden. The "pure nature" is pretty, at least. Very pretty.
There are a lot of young families and elderly people. The people I've encountered have been incredibly nice. In that respect, I am lucky. They also like Americans here. There is a store called American Stock that sells Guess and Levi's. There was also a game atd the carnival last week that was advertised by a picture of a cowboy, an Indian, and Clint Eastwood. I imagine that, being in the country, cowboys are pretty popular here.
So, other than the occasional struggle with boredom or homesickness, I'm doing well.
P.S. They're packing up the market, and a van just rolled by literally within a few inches of my table. I had to move a chair so he didn't hit it. He leaned out the window and said, "Merci!"
Arrival: 9/27
This arrival into Charles de Gaulle went a lot more smoothly than it did when I studied abroad. (For the few of you who didn't hear that saga, just know that it included confusing the words for "escalator" and "stairs" and a solid forty minutes of circling around a staircase.) This was much easier-- only one suitcase, general familiarity with CDG. Nonetheless, I had my moments (I don't care if I'm in your way, I have to get up these stairs!!) Actually, CDG changed some of their escalators into moving, variously-inclined ramps where you have to shift your weight in order to stay upright. It was half-carnival ride, half-mountain climbing. I'm sure I look like an urchin right now.
N.B.: I learned the secret to why French women never look like they just got off an eight-hour flight: they all go into the ladies' room at the airport and re-blowdry their hair. I found that interesting.
So anyway, when I finally found the hotel (thank God for GPS), I was pretty disheveled and beat. All I wanted to do was curl up in my hotel room that wasn't ready yet. But then, the man at the reception desk was so nice. He (kindly) spoke to me in French. I got a seat at the hotel cafe, pulled out my notebook, and ordered this kind of make-your-own-café-crème kit with coffee, hot milk, and hot water. Now I'm lost in writing while sipping a café crème that the bustling proprietor won't let me pay for.
Yes. This is why I do this.
N.B.: I learned the secret to why French women never look like they just got off an eight-hour flight: they all go into the ladies' room at the airport and re-blowdry their hair. I found that interesting.
So anyway, when I finally found the hotel (thank God for GPS), I was pretty disheveled and beat. All I wanted to do was curl up in my hotel room that wasn't ready yet. But then, the man at the reception desk was so nice. He (kindly) spoke to me in French. I got a seat at the hotel cafe, pulled out my notebook, and ordered this kind of make-your-own-café-crème kit with coffee, hot milk, and hot water. Now I'm lost in writing while sipping a café crème that the bustling proprietor won't let me pay for.
Yes. This is why I do this.
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