The Old Man and the ....Pond

Monday I decided to take a stroll down the Canal du Midi and around the small, but gorgeous, Compans Japanese Garden. I was in a frustrated mood from being hit on earlier that day by two 30+ year old french guys. I needed nature. At Sewanee, nature was easy to come by. Simply stride all of ten steps from any dorm and your feet would land on grass, a hiking trail, or both. We don't appreciate it, do we? The way Nature gives us beauty and solitude and complete understanding. She listens to all of our problems and quiets our fears. We treat her like we're doing her a favor by hiking her trails or lying in her meadows when she'd still have such things far after we're gone. Anyways, yes, I needed nature.

Entering the garden my eyes drank in the brilliant green of the trees and grass, the tart pink of the flowers, the cool feeling of the wind combined with spray from the water jet in the pond. As I stood there for a minute I noticed a man ahead seemingly kneeling by the water's edge. I had to get some pictures....his quiet presence there seemed picture postcard worthy.

 So I pulled out my camera, snapped two photos, and I was just about to abandon the spot when an elderly woman came walking toward this man. She knelt with him there by the water, and I felt almost embarrassed to be intruding on their moment. Instead I walked toward the couple. Coming within a few feet I could see what they were looking at. Fishes!

The old man wasn't kneeling, he was sitting and fishing. Beside him sat a bucket of water for his catch, a dirty rag for wiping his hands and his tackle box. And the woman, his wife, had been inspecting the small fish in the water, too tiny to catch but there all the same. No idea why, but this couple, the man fishing and the woman watching, was so calm and happy that I couldn't tear myself away. I had to snap more photos. 

So, mustering my best 'puppy dog eyes' face and my best french accent I introduced myself. "Hi. I'm sorry to bother you but I caught some photos of you. Maybe you'd like to see? I am an American student here, just a tourist I guess." After husband and wife inspecting a couple of photos he smiled and went back to fishing. She seemed shy but appreciative of the moment I'd caught on film. "May I take some more? I won't be loud. I won't scare the fishes." The man thought about it and nodded. The next two fish he proudly showed to me, warning me of their sharp fins and whiskers. The humble woman moved out of every photo I took until finally I took her hand and made her be in one. Even then she regarded me as a real photographer and wondered how she should stand and if I wanted her to smile. She and I spoke of her love for hiking and their love of the outdoors in general. This was their life. He fished, she walked some and watched some. It was simple and beautiful. 

 

A couple of times I thought about leaving them to their spot, but I couldn't. I just wanted to be a part of their contentedness for a moment or two longer. Eventually though (after twenty minutes) the fish started being stubborn. It was time to excuse myself. "Avec plaisir et au revoir. I hope I didn't scare the fish but thank you for letting me take the photos and spend a moment with you."

-Tam in Toulouse

 

Sunbeams on a Cloudy Day

Compans Cafarelli Garden (Sept 20)

I've now been in Toulouse for two weeks. People back home keep saying things like, "I bet you are just so happy to be back in France!" and "You must be having a great time seeing the sites and making friends!" I wish my "yes, of course" was completely truthful.

Being in France is like living in a worn out old house. You love the staircase handrail worn smooth by many years of holding. You hate the creak in hallway floorboard that always announces past curfew arrivals.
See, in January when I was told I would be funded to come to France for school, I lost myself for a moment, letting loose a few tears of joy. That was before 6 months of emotional ups and downs, multiple rejections, out of pocket expenditures, last minute must-haves & must-dos, and a week here of paying for expenses I didn't know existed and definitely didn't budget for. Now, I am worn out.... I am a cloudy day. No lightening, no rain, no thunder, just hesitant grey clouds now.....

I know that Toulouse is rejuvenating me. I can taste it in the sweet, perfectly ripe peaches I eat daily and the yummy organic eggs I prepare nightly. I can smell it when I'm on the metro riding between intoxicating perfumes and musky colognes or when I'm walking the bridge over the canal smelling the moss and the fish after it rains. I can hear it everywhere, all around me, all the time, new words and phrases just waiting for me to grasp.
My lunches of creamy, tart Camembert cheese and freshly baked bread, the gentle waters of the Garonne swiftly flowing by, the hilarity of ordering a 'royal cheese' (dbl cheeseburger) from a pretentious french MacDonald's, the small child on the metro telling me he's 2, someone assuring me my french is très bien, the patisserie that I drool over because the pastries are mouthwatering.....these are my sunbeams. These are the things that I can call my own, my own happy experiences in Toulouse.
The sunbeams are shining through the clouds.
-Tam in Toulouse

3 Hour Course Registration - Hr 3

After selecting my courses, I faced the cork board of papers once again. This time it made sense and I easily mapped out each course by day and time. Thank Heaven Above nothing conflicted! The courses that I really wanted fit perfectly with the courses I was forced to take. Now, to consult my guru about professor reputations. I called Angel to the board and asked her about my selections. She assured me that Mme. Bouchet for 'theatre to make you laugh' would be entertaining, Professor Pascal for 'love poetry' and 'poetry and mythology' was known for being the nicest in the department, Gaillard who is 'adorable' would be teaching me stylistics, Dottin was used to foreigners and would be a good professor for my course on Salome.....I did not have any professors with awful reputations. 
Angel and two of her colleagues helped me fill out the official registration document. Before leading me out of the office Post-Grad Angel assured me she'd be more than happy to help if I needed to return for anything.


"Now you must go register in person for Latin and for English," Angel's colleague told me as we walked down the corridor. "Huh?" "Yes. It's lunch time now, but their office opens in a demi-heure. Just go and register for Latin and then go to the other building and register for English. Understand?" No, I did not understand. I just registered for my courses. I knew it was lunch time, and no one messes with French lunch time, so I just shook my head in understanding, thanked Angel's colleague, and trotted off as if I knew exactly where I was going.

One demi-heure later I found myself in the registration office of the classics department in an annoying dilemma. "You've never had Latin before?! Oh la la. You are signed up for 3rd year Latin. You should be in 1st year Latin but at level License 3 the only thing I can offer you is 2nd year Latin."
"Can I please have 1st year Latin? I'm going to fail 2nd year since I've never had it before...."
"It seems that way yes, but perhaps you can catch up or something. I can only offer you 2nd year Latin because you are License 3. Don't worry. Just show up the first day and explain to the prof that you need to catch up and that you know nothing. Don't worry." With this final reminder of not to worry, the ray of sunshine in the classics department shooed me out of her office and shut the door. I wanted to stage a sit in and demand 1st year Latin. I didn't. I swallowed my frustration and fear of Latin failure and went to find the Language Department so I could register for English Language.

Again, a dilemma..."Oh, you don't have your carte d'identite because the computers are down at the main registration office.... well you need your student ID number.... I guess you'll have to go online back at your apartment and try to register for English." "But I don't understand how...." "Oh it's very simple, just go to this super long address written on the board there and type in all these codes for the formation and the course and the time slot and then just hit submit. Voila."             "I'm going to screw this up..."        "Nah. Have a nice day! Bye now!"........ I wanted to harm the french techie 'helping' me register for English. Instead I opted to leave the office, hop on the metro, and call it a day.
Three hours of registration and I still have to go back tomorrow to tell Post-Grad Angel that I am now in 2nd year Latin instead of 3rd year Latin so that my paperwork will be correct for first day of classes....no worries....c'est la vie... cheese and a croissant will make me happy again.
-Tam in Toulouse

3 Hour Course Registration - Hr 2

For the remainder of my story I'll be referring to this very sweet young lady as Post-Grad Angel since that's what she turned out to be, and also because I never got her name.
Angel looked at my sympathetically and recommenced from the beginning, answering all my questions first. She explained that my courses were already picked for me, but that I was allowed to choose which professors I wanted. Although the department chose the course, for example Medieval French Literature, the professors could choose within the course what subject matter or authors specifically that they'd like to teach. Dropping to FLE (French for Internationals - French As a Foreign Language) would probably be easier but the classes wouldn't be as dynamic. I would be learning grammar instead of studying Baudelaire. Oh and let's not forget that if I wanted to change my 'formation' (major) then I'd have to re-register as a student studying FLE. "So, Lettres Modernes at level License 3 it is then." I'd have to pick my courses for both the fall and spring semester now and pray I didn't fail the exams, because there would be no option to change my 'formation' (major).
Understanding that I would need time to read over the general course descriptions and then each professor's course description, Angel led me outside the office to the cork board that I'd been to before. She clearly indicated that the board showed the times and room assignments for each professor's class under each course. "After you pick your professors, come to this wall and make sure that the times do not conflict. After you have done that, return to me in the office and we'll sign the official documents registering you for those courses."
"Awesome. We're making progress. Time to choose courses" Needing some fresh air and sunlight to brighten my mood and calm my nerves, I stepped out into a small courtyard and lowered myself onto a bench. The selection process went like so:
Course 16 - Comparative Literature. My choices, by professor, are "Memory and Conscience in Fiction", "Mythical literary figures: Salome from the Bible",or  "The Wagnerian hero". Since the first sounded kinda out there and I didn't really know Wagner enough to want to learn about his interpretation of a hero, I chose Salome.
Course 17 (Two Part Course) - Linguistics and Latin. "Ugh, did I read that right?" Two choices for Linguistics.... fabulous variety huh? Choice A puts me studying works that are mediators between Latin and French. Choice B lands me studying the morphology of Latin into French. "Awful... and awful. Great."
The lesser of two evils seemed to be Choice A. For Latin we have.... 3rd year of study, 5th year of study, or those with profound knowledge.... "better choose the 3rd year of study and hope for the best since I've never studied Latin before. "
Course 18- French Literature 19th and 20th Century - no course descriptions given, so close your eyes and pin the tail on your new teacher.
Course 19 - Master's level Spanish, German, or English. "Give me the English please! Let me have one good grade this semester."

On to 2nd Semester courses.....
Course 20 -  French Lit. 16th to 18th Century (Renaissance Lit)- Lovely choices.... "Aesthetics of Violence", "Autobiographical Works", "Love Poetry and Fictional History", "Fiction about the Body", "Writings on Liberty", and "Polyphonic Fictions".  Definitely not a course on violence, autobiography, the body, or whatever polyphonic fiction is. That leaves liberty or love. Naturally, being in France, I must take a course on love.
Course 21 - Syntax and Style - just like French Lit 19th and 20th Century, this course has no deviations. Choose the time slot that works and go with the flow.
Course 22 - Options of the Discipline! - And my options are.....*sad face* - "Latin Translations", "Francophone Literature 2", "French Lit (two part course)", "Inter-Arts Comparisons with Emphasis on Wagner", or "French and Roman Language Linguistics".  Well....."Don't know Latin. No thank you African Literature about political strife. Why does French Lit have to be two parts?! What's up with the Wagner obsession? Clearly I'm not a linguist." Guess we'll go with French Lit, at least it offers some interesting descriptions - 'theatre to make you laugh' and 'poetry and mythology'.

-Tam in Toulouse

3 Hour Course Registration - Hr 1

This beautiful, sunny morning in Toulouse I discovered the paradoxically convoluted, yet simple, process of course registration at my university here, Le Mirail. Last Wed. I paid my 'inscription' (registration) fee. The very nice man handed me a tiny piece of paper to keep up with (proof that I'd paid), told me that the computers were down indefinitely so I would not be getting my student ID card just yet, and suggested I come back in a week. He mentioned nothing about registering for my classes. Thus, I assumed (wrongly as you'll find out) that once I returned in a week's time I would be sitting down in the same office to select courses.

I returned today and asked the International Student reception desk for my 'carte d'identite'. "Check back next week." "Okay. Will do. I'd like to register for courses." "Yes and....that's not our area. You must register directly with your department." Interesting.... no one had mentioned that part. "Do I need a rendez-vous?" , I asked. They replied, "How would we know? It's up to the department."
Slightly frustrated, but still excited about choosing my classes, I found my department and started looking for signs reading "Welcome" or "Registration". Every one else seemed to know exactly where they were going as they rushed past. There were several welcome offices and several registration rooms.... I was overwhelmed. Stopping at the international scholarship office I asked for some directions, explaining that I was License 3 - an odd year that the French have between the American equivalent of a Bachelor's and before a Master's - and that I wanted to choose courses. The kind lady took me around the corner to a huge cork board with various papers attached, none of which made sense. "Merci. Au Revoir." Dead End.

'Let's try another office', I thought. This time I dropped into the License 3 office. Surely they could help me. "Hi. I'm sorry but I'm a little lost. I've registered for License 3 and paid, but I'm not sure how to register for my courses." "Blah Blah Blah (very quick incomprehensible French)" "Can you please speak less quickly. I'm sorry. I am American. I have already paid my tuition but I have no idea how to register for my courses." "Blah...Blah... *to her colleague* She doesn't speak very good French. I don't know what she wants.... Blah Blah." This lady shows me to a door around the corner. The door is locked, the blinds are half closed, and the young secretary inside looks very busy with her computer. We both realize this office isn't going to help either. Around another corner, by now I feel like I'm in a maze, she hands me off to another lady with "She doesn't speak 'tres bien' French."    'GEEZ PEOPLE I'M TRYING OKAY!' screams the frustrated voice in my head. My mouth remains closed as I smile and try to look confident.
This young lady looks like she just graduated, which I hope is the case. Ushering me into a chair she grabs a thick green folder from behind her, an official-looking piece of paper, and a pen. She sits down across from me and begins to rapidly explain the process. "Well at least I'm in the right office finally."    "Why is she going so fast?"        "Is that green thing supposed to be course descriptions?"      "What is that document she has?" "Is this the right registration for me or should I switch to French for International Students Instead?" "I can't even understand her, I'm going to fail my courses this year!"     She's talking on and on while I'm drowning in a sea of confusion and discouragement.
Finally I put my hand on top of the paper that she's pointing to with her pen..."Excusez moi." "Please speak slower. I cannot understand you. I do not understand how this process works. It looks like there are only a few professors to choose from. It also looks like I must take the courses you underlined. How many courses do I take? Am I signing up for both semesters now? Are there any professors who are known for being nice to foreigners? This is very different and hard for me. I'm sorry but I just don't understand anything."

-Tam in Toulouse

-continue reading for hour 2 of this registration fiasco
-please note that everything I've written in English was said in French but since I am writing for friends and family who do not speak the language I am  accommodating.

Metros Have No Money Trees

My mother has told me frequently that money doesn't grow on trees. I'm now telling myself that, in Toulouse France, if money did grow on trees, such trees would not be located anywhere near the metro....... or the bus stop.......or the taxi cab station......or the train station for that matter.
My first two full days in Toulouse, a Friday and a Saturday, I learned my lesson about urban transportation: it's EXPENSIVE!

In order to get to Le Mirail from my hotel room I needed to take a bus to metro line A. From university to my potential apartment I then needed to hop back on the metro line A and switch to B at Juan Juarez. To get back to the hotel it was B to A to bus. In the course of two days I spent 1.50 euros for each transfer on these silly little orange slips of paper that you use on the buses and at the metro turnstiles. The number of times I was forced to dig into my wallet so I could pay the bus driver for that orange slip while an entire bus full of French people glare at my incompetence.....it got to be infuriating and embarrassing.
Most cities, if not all, in France with public transportation will have a special card for individuals 18-25. This special treatment for college aged individuals goes beyond transportation. Banks, hotels, restaurants, museums, lots of places have discounts for young adults. I haven't discovered the philosophy behind it, but being 22, and thus a discounted individual, I blindly love it.
Having wasted too much money on single transfer tickets during my first two days here, I decided to visit the Arenes metro/bus station to get a carte pastel. On a whim I took my passport with my extra passport photos inside and my school acceptance letter. After standing in a waiting line for a good twenty minutes ( in France any appointment you have or errand you need to run will be accompanied by waiting so get used to carrying an ipod or a book) it was finally my turn.
The two young ladies helped me set up my carte account with no problems thanks to my whim. Turns out the requirements for a carte pastel are photo id, proof of residence, and proof that you are in fact a student. They were even willing to use my hotel as my residence until my apartment was finalized! I left the office with my inexpensive, rechargeable metro/bus/tram card in hand. Now, all I had to do was swipe my card and transportation was limitless!

Traveling around and seeing the sights can become expensive in a big city since you cannot walk everywhere. If you know you are going to be visiting for any longer than a couple of days my recommendation is to get a ticket for a week or ten transfers OR if you will be living there then get a carte.
-Tam in Toulouse

These Shoes Weren't Made for Walking

If you've read my blog on fashion then I might have you believing that there's no need for those comfortable, molded-to-your-feet-after-years-of-exercise sneakers or your stained, dirty, been-on-three-continents-and hiked-hundreds-of-trails Chacos. There is most definitely a need for such footwear - TRAVEL DAYS!

Trust me. Oh please trust me when I say that travel days are the absolute worst. Even though, and I pray it does, your luggage rolls, your most important item for travel, besides your identification and tickets, is your shoes.
"But I adore my flats!" you say? Well, adore those flats after twenty hours of trekking on and off airplanes and walking miles and miles through concrete airports.
"How about my most comfortable heels?" you think.  Yes, go right ahead, doom yourself to a twisted ankle when you are navigating escalators with unbalanced luggage that wants to tip over every five seconds. Love those heels when you are running up and down stairs to make it for your next flight.
"Surely my boots can withstand the travel?" you ponder. Probably, yes they can, but somehow after so many hours of standing up and sitting down, walking here and running there, that extra bit of weight starts to wear on the leg muscles and your nerves. Your ankles and calves will begin to cry mutiny from the constriction of those great boots.

On travel days the feet need support, comfort, and practicality. They are doing a great service holding up your body through airports, metros, buses, stairs, etc.  There will be no bellhop at the airport to help. "But Tam" you say "I'll only have a tiny little rolling bag and my purse with me. I think I can manage even that in whatever footwear." To that skepticism I reply,"It's not what you have with you necessarily but how you'll have to manage it on various types of transportation while juggling ID's, tickets, meals to go, cell phone, pet, child, pillow, etc. The last thing you want to worry about during hours and hours of travel is aching feet, a broken heel, or a broken zipper on your boots.
 So, pack away the oh so chic footwear and pull out the less fashionable, slide on and go, most supporting walking shoes you own. Your feet will thank you in the end!
-Tam in Toulouse