The Salon

I adore the salon! But I already knew this - When I was in Aix, my host mother took me to slightly pricey salon where my head was massaged and washed and I was served coffee/tea and cookies while my hair was cut and styled. It was a wonderful experience!

 The block I live on here in Toulouse is amazing! A pizza shop, a hair dresser, supermarket, ATM, fax place, pharmacy...it's got everything! And of course there's the lovely Garonne flowing by my building. Out of convenience, I set up a hair appointment with the salon on my block....now that the experience is over I have to say that my block rocks even more and I still love French Salons.

Strolling in for my appointment, I pushed the nervous butterflies in my tummy down down down as far as they would go. I'm always nervous about my hair - not that I have fabulous hair - I just don't know how I want it or what looks good...and often I wish the hairdresser would just tell me to sit down and she'd choose for herself what to do with my mane. Ah but the French hairdresser....now there's a keeper.

After the kind mid 50's beautician helped me out of my coat and hung it up, she ushered me to the wash basin...."but I washed it for you". She felt of my hair, decided it was not good enough and turned on the water...guess I was having my hair washed again for the second time in just a few hours. When she touched my head every hint of annoyance left my body. She massaged, she hummed, the water was perfect...I was in a state of bliss. With a dreamy smile I let myself be led to a station where she and I discussed my bangs..."I don't want bangs straight across my forehead...but sweeping to the side....but I want to be able to style them on either side too." The hair dresser thought about it while she ran her fingers through my now chin-length bangs, then she said "Okay, I know what to do.We'll do something 'souple' (soft/flexible) and 'jeune' (young) and 'degrade' (tapering). "

In nervous anticipation mixed with the little chills your body gets when someone's playing with your hair I watched as she cut, combed, shaped, and dried my mane... She took her time, she was gentle, she knew when to talk (it always annoys me in the salon when you want to be immersed in the experience and the hairdresser wants to chat away about nothing), she didn't fill my head with product (also annoying that all the salons I've been to in America spray this and that on your head which makes hair look fabulous and shiny for that day but the next day it looks like one greasy, limp mess), she didn't leave me to answer the phone or chat with a colleague...all her care and attention was on my hair and I loved it.
 Furthermore, she asked my opinion...the American hairdressers I've had simply go to town on my head after the initial discussion of the look I'm going for and then straighten my hair repeatedly at the end as if that counts for styling it.... this french woman somehow tamed my mess into soft curls with just her fingers and the hairdryer and she also asked at a couple different points if I was okay with the cut so far.

The price was a reasonable 26 euros for a wash, cut, and loose styling...oh and I got chocolate candy at the end too! If you come to France...whoever is reading this...go to the salon and let yourself be treated like an old friend. It's a truly wonderful thing.

~Tam in Toulouse

I've become Laura Ingalls

I never tried washing my clothes in the machines here. There's a set of machines in my apartment building as well as a dry cleaner's on the corner of my block so it's not like the option doesn't exist. When I moved into my apartment, I thought hard about the cost of washing and drying using the machines versus how many crepes I could eat with said cost. Wisely, I chose crepes.
After a trip to the supermarket where a kind lady pointed out the 'meilleur'  washing powder (brand name: Genie),  I came home prepared to learn to wash clothes by hand in my bathroom sink (since I have no tub). I'm not talking about just my delicates....nope, I was committed to washing EVERYTHING in my bathroom sink. And for the last few months I've become very experienced with the process.
It sounds like I've lost my marbles but really washing my clothes in the sink is relaxing. There's something about plunging my hands into the hot soapy water. I pretend I'm kneading dough as I smush and swoosh my clothes against each other. I even bought a little cleaning brush to scrub any spots or stains. It only takes minutes as opposed to a half hour washing cycle in a machine and I can attack the parts of the garment that are dirtiest. I listen to music or tape up note cards I'm studying to the bathroom mirror..... I multitask.
 After washing my clothes I hang them on the special rack that I also picked up at the supermarket which stands diagonally in my shower. It takes a few days for really heavy items like jeans to dry, but I usually speed up the process by bringing said rack into my living space and setting it in front of the heater. 
The other day I realized my sheets and blankets needed to be washed....a task impossible for my little sink and rack in the bathroom. So, I payed 14 euros to watch the machine brutally attack my linens and dry them to a crisp. Besides the obscene price for my one sheet, two towels, and two tiny throw blankets to wash and dry, it occurred to me that I prefer my laid back bathroom method.
  I think I'll definitely be sticking to those crepes and to hand washing for the duration of my time here. :-)
~Tam in Toulouse

Ira (Latin for Ire)

I realize that this blog gets happier and happier .... okay that's exactly the opposite of what I mean. But I can't help it. As I sit writing lists of words I'm supposed to learn for Latin (2 years' worth), going over my notes for my final paper on Salome, and attempting to memorize the morphologie from Ancient French to Modern French I get angrier and angrier. I'm angry because my notes don't match what's in my text book (even though they were copied exactly from the board). I'm angry because nothing makes sense no matter how many hours I study it.....I'm angry with everything....

 And I don't know how to stop being angry or how to force it all to make sense either.

Did the homework? Yep.
Went to classes? Yep.
Went to 8 am Latin year 1 every week even though I wasn't enrolled? YES!
 Asked pertinent questions? Yep.
Got help from classmates? Yep.
 Looked at it in English online? Yep.
Made notecards? Yep.
Did samples and exercises? Yep.
Should pass the exams right? Kill me now (not literally).

I feel stuck in quicksand ... why not give it my best right? Continue flailing my arms and legs in an attempt to free myself.

~ Tam (mad at the world) in Toulouse

P.S. In case anyone still reads this, I promise to have happy posts from Christmas to New Year's.

Two Unrelated Things

I'm not officially on Christmas Break just yet. I still need to go to Le Mirail tomorrow to try to change the class meeting times for two courses next February, but since I'm so close to break (aka no work due), I have been a very lazy bum the last 24 hours. During that time two things keep circling my head, so I suppose sharing them might alleviate the constant 'thought' reel in  my brain.

1) Just give him the chance to do something. I mean God that is.
See, this week has been 'bien mieux' than last week. In fact, yesterday, Wednesday, I couldn't stop smiling - I was lighter than air and every one of my french friends noticed. But last week, ugh last week was horrid as my previous blog posts have revealed. Today it occurred to me, that, had I not complained so much, had I not eaten an entire package of oreos, two medium pizzas all by myself, and an entire box of cereal (all within 48 hours), had I not loathed my french existence and glared at the Heavens....had I not done all that, the outcome still would have been the same and maybe I wouldn't have gained some pounds and pushed people away with my grumpy mood. Eleanor Roosevelt said, 'No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.' I choose to insert mad  in the place of inferior because I think it aptly applies. Her quote is about the active passivity that we all are guilty for. For Christians I think we encounter obstacles and  we complain that God isn't doing anything helpful. Never, do we really give the Lord a chance to do something though. (Trust me I'm a classic example) A bad day at school (well a couple actually) and I wanted to nab the first plane home. One week, that's all God needed to bring me back to happy. One week. But I didn't give him a chance before deciding He'd already botched the job, I only gave Him one day. I think that it's important, when things are going wrong in such a manner that we can't directly help ourselves and it looks hopeless, that we give the Lord a chance to do something. I'm not saying we should block our feelings about it, but the manner in which we deal with such feelings can be quite telling. So...from me to myself to whoever reads this....just give Him some time yeah?

2) Tears. They affect your whole face; dry salty cheeks, brittle eyelashes, a runny nose, a flushed face, puffy eyes...the after-effects of crying just aren't pretty or pleasant. Usually, we're in privacy when we cry, so all this yuckiness is excused. However, there are the rare cases when the public is privy to our mess. Last Wednesday was one such incident. Appropriately, as I sat in 'Melancolie (19th century Romanticism)' telling my friend about my despair, the tears announced themselves.
( I tend to cry about weird things or maybe those things that seem unjust and awfully bad-timed in my sphere. I've cried about plans being changed abruptly, important thing being lost, writer's block the night before a paper is due, feeling overwhelmed....things like that. Yet my eyes have remained dry in the past during breakups, deaths, accidents, being hit multiple times in cheerleading, spraining and straining my body, and high stress real life-changing moments.)
Thus, I was mortified to be silently shedding tear after tear in class while my french friend rubbed my arm and the Professor continued his discussion on spiritual suffering while gazing intently, if curiously, at me....I was doubly mortified because I didn't feel like I had a good reason for crying in public. I even apologized several times to my friend. As if crying in public is 'interdit' in someway....it's not! That's my second point...why are we so ashamed to cry in front of people? If something affects us, why are we ashamed of our tears? We're not shouting or carrying on or interrupting anyone's lives...little salty, itchy, wet things are running down our face....it's not a crime. This shame we carry confuses me indeed.....

Desespoir (part 2)

"So, what do you expect me to do for you?"

Rather than screaming "I'D LIKE SOMEONE TO HELP ME BY EXPLAINING HOW CLASSES WORK AT THIS INSTITUTION FOR INTERNATIONAL STUDENTS, OR IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?!?!?!" .....yes, rather than that, I calmly asserted that perhaps I could be graded like the Erasmus students. Or perhaps I could chuck number grades in favor of a pass/fail system. I didn't know what I wanted because I didn't understand the system or my options....I just NEEDED to understand how I could keep from failing my courses. The entire time I explained this in gorgeous French, E just stared at me like I was an annoying, lost cause while fiddling with a candle on her desk.

"You can enroll in DELF courses. They are French courses that will help your written French." At her suggestion, I succeeded at not groaning aloud. Sure, why not enroll in more classes on top of my already full load? Besides, " this semester is basically over. I will still fail this semester...."
E glanced at the ceiling, thought a second, and said, "well you can always talk to your professors."
At this point in the conversation I considered how much trouble I would get it if I shouted my displeasure at the lack of 'international support' at Le Mirail.
"I have talked to my professors and voiced my fears. They know I'm American. They continue to tell me to do my best - WHICH I AM! However, that does not help us arrive at a way to GRADE MY WORK!" (The words in Caps Lock I did not yell or even forcefully emphasize- I simply yell here in the blog where I can finally release my frustration).
E wrote a name on a post-it, handed it over, emphasized 'batiment (building) 14' and directed me to the door.

What I had was a post-it with the DELF director's name on it and directions to the DELF office (which was closed, by the way). I will try again tomorrow morning ...

Now, perhaps this entire dilemma could be solved if I simply asked a French friend to correct my papers from now on before they are due -  except remembering the fact these students are busy too (though several have offered to 'help'). I feel that it is unfair to make then correct 10 pages line after line of awful french, and such a request is unreasonable during this time of final papers and presentations; it would be nearly impossible for me to try to work ahead so far in advance that they can correct said papers before they start working on their own. I might also mention that I certainly won't be able to turn to them for help during the WRITTEN FINAL EXAMS.
Is it more beneficial that the professors notice my level of written french now, so that the final exam reflects my level throughout the course? Or is it more beneficial to have flawlessly corrected papers now and then stumble through the final? How beneficial is my year here if I fail my courses? And what effect would that have on future French graduate school prospects?

Bah Humbug!
~Tam in Toulouse

Desespoir (despair)

This week I turned in a real assignment. When my professor handed back the corrected version we had a little chat she and I. Apparently I am ungradeable - my spoken french is tres bien, but my written french needs to be corrected in every line of whatever I write. Usually such corrections aren't major, an 'e' here a tense there, maybe a word that completes a french expression the correct way. Nevertheless it is the line by line correction that makes my writing below a failing grade  (despite my vocabulary or my actual ideas). To add to the demoralizing situation, the professor pondered aloud how she should proceed with me...with a paper due this next week and a final paper due in January she voiced a concern about me receiving a grade in her course. What to do?

The dilemma here is my independence. The European exchange students are 'Erasmus' and they are graded differently that a normal French student. Then there are the American students that come to Toulouse (or so I've been told) every second semester with a program from an American university. These students are in a program, so the manner for grading them and the classes they have would be completely different from my situation. I am here all alone. No program, no exchange, no 'French for foreign students'. I chose Licence 3 - Lettres Modernes because in my undergraduate career I was a French Literature major. I did not come here to sit in conversation classes, I came to be immersed in Hugo, Racine, Verlaine, etc.... and I feel like I'm being punished for such an ambitious idea.

Today I visited EIMA - the organization for international students - to seek help about my grade problem. I certainly don't WANT to fail my courses here and I am working hard in all my classes, but it's not enough I suppose. The French student in charge, who very kindly complimented my French and spoke to me in English, was baffled by my situation. "So, your not in an exchange program and you're not in French grammar classes and you're not Erasmus either?" "Precisely." "Hmmm....that's very strange. Go to the International Students office next door." At the office next door I sat down and explained the situation once again to the woman (we'll call her 'E') behind the desk. "I'm going to fail it seems and I don't know what to do, because I'm working hard (going to class, taking notes, doing homework, etc) but my written French is so terrible my professor literally can't grade it."

The response I received made me (for the first time in my life) want to reach across the table and physically harm E....

-continued in next post-
~Tam in Toulouse

A Toulouse Blessing

I think she knew. I'm not sure how, but I think Toulouse (the city aka feminin) knew that Tuesday and today were going to be tiring, irritable, bad mood, bad news days. The expression "when God shuts a door he opens a window" quite literally applies to my life the last 48 hours. I've promised myself, despite my fierce desire to do so, that I shall not write about the academic disappointments and frustrations very recently. Instead I shall exalt the city of Toulouse for her kindness.

The last two days the weather has been ridiculous! Just this weekend we had a dusting of non-stick snow, yet the last two days a warm 60 degree temperature has prevailed. For someone whose mood is strongly tied to the weather (I hate the cold - it makes me irrationally angry), this change has kept me from tears that would have won out thanks to aforementioned annoyances. Along with the lovely warm air, the sun has been shining violently, beaming into the frigid classrooms, helping me stay awake during my courses. The academic door may have been slammed in my face but my apartment window has been thrown open to allow the nice breeze inside.

I've also been immensely thankful for the bakery on my street where I can spend 2 euros on the most mouth-watering 6 inches of bread baked with chocolate chips and a hint of orange and topped with huge sugar crystals. I adore the corner supermarket where the owner waves to me and calls me mademoiselle in a sing-song voice to which I cannot help but smile. Even the Pizza place on my street has contributed to keeping me emotionally afloat with their yummy fresh ingredients and generous portions ( the 25% student discount also helps). My 8 am journey to Latin class on Tuesday was blessed by a gorgeous pink sunrise worthy of a being turned into a postcard.

The city has been a reliable friend this week indeed! Here's to hoping for another beautiful sunrise tomorrow morning!

~Tam in Toulouse

The English Surprise/The French Conspiracy

As I was sitting in class today listening to my french 'comrades' stumble through an English passage, trying to pronounce words like 'this', ' that', and 'her', I began to believe that maybe my lack of friends here can be attributed to my nationality. I'm 'the American'. I speak English. Perhaps, just perhaps, the people in my classes weren't speaking to me or sitting by me out of timidity about their ability to converse with me. Their English needs work, as does my French, so maybe a shyness on both sides was the issue.

The following class period taught me two things: almost EVERYONE speaks English & my nationality has nothing to do with sub par friend making.

Last Wednesday, a girl who'd been sitting next to me for weeks suddenly revealed her English ability. We'd had conversations about educational systems, Christmas plans, career plans, and the 'grèves' all in French during various classes, but as we walked to the metro on Wednesday she suddenly switched from French to perfect English. I literally stopped in my tracks and berated her for hiding her English from me. She, in turn, said that I needed to stick to French since I'm here to learn the language after all.

Today, another classmate (also as we're walking to the metro) suddenly decided to reveal her English language knowledge. I assured her that I detested her (jokingly of course) for hiding her skill from me. After she revealed her capability, she switched back to French and said she'd prefer if I spoke it as well.

In both instances, with both girls, I've said things in English to them before and received curious looks and "je ne comprends pas". I  asked them if they spoke English and both said "no". So, my surprise was overwhelming when both spoke to me in my own language. I asked a couple people from class standing nearby if they knew English as well. "Of course" they said. Of course? Of course!

How come when I've posed questions in class that the professor/class could not understand no one mentioned asking the question in English? How come my classmates hid their ability from me like a 'make the American believe we can't understand her no matter what language she speaks' conspiracy? How come the two girls decided to reveal their knowledge just as I'm starting to speak a little better? If my classmates know English then surely my professors know English which begs the question, why don't they explain terms I've clearly never heard before IN ENGLISH?!

I suppose the English surprise was supposed to put me at ease, but it makes me angry. I'm here to learn French - duh- but I had a rough time my first two months here, and it could have been a lot easier had I just been able to substitute a French word here and there with an English one so that I could express myself or better understand my courses. It would have been nice if English hadn't been hidden from me for the last three months.

So, I take it back, when I was told in coming here that 'everyone would speak English' I was not lied to. It's simply that the French really do almost forcefully PREFER that I make myself speak their language. Another day, another something learned...

~Tam in Toulouse

Titre de Sejour

At the crack of dawn this morning (well the crack of dawn for a Saturday on which I wanted to sleep in, aka 9 am) I rolled out of bed for my Titre de Sejour rendez-vous at OFII.

The Titre de Sejour is a sticker that the French government puts into your passport in order to affirm that you have official resident status in France. If you're a student like me, it allows you to return to the U.S. over the holidays and get back into France afterward or to travel around Europe officially. This sticker (in addition to your visa) is very important, and lots of administrative offices need to see it to know that you haven't forged anything and that the government knows you are in France.

As I was saying, at the crack of dawn I put on my most french outfit (option number one from my last post), gathered my documents, and made my way to OFII. The sun was shining after weeks of clouds and there was a soft dusting of snow quickly melting to create a sheen on the pavement,...good omens for an administrative rendez-vous.

After waiting for so long at OFII that I almost dozed off with my head up against a wall (because you wait for everything in France) I was called into a room for preliminary questioning. "Nationality? Height and weight? Eye color? Do you smoke? Are you pregnant? When were your last vaccinations?" I briefly panicked at the last question, cursing my doubt that I would need my vaccination record in France. A fear gripped my stomach. I knew I'd be sent away and told to return when I did have my vaccination record. Contrary to my fear, the woman simply asked me to recall my record by memory the best I could. Almost in disbelief I followed the woman to a room to be weighed in kilos and to get my height in centimeters.

Here in France I've not exactly been eating nutritiously. I do my best to have at least one serving of veggies a day, I munch on fruit all day long, and I even try not to eat solely bread and cheese every day (though it's a hard battle)...but my downfall is sweets. I absolutely crave something sweet every day as well as something chocolate. Therefore my cupboard is filled with oreos, chocolate truffles, chocolate cereal, and nutella. I also eat about every three hours. In any case, I'd been feeling a bit heavier than usual lately.

I stepped onto the scale, the woman scrawled some numbers and said, "tres bien". I was tres bien? I had no idea what my weight was but if I'm tres bien then bring on more oreos. Her words gave me a thought- if every scale measured weight by words perhaps individuals would feel less obsessed with it. Manger plus, tres bien, normal, pas bien, risque a la sante - perhaps those words would be a better alternative to numbers

The preliminary woman left me in a new waiting area from which I was called into the secondary examination room. "Take off all that." The next lady motioned at my top half shrouded in layers. Obligingly I removed all my outer layers and asked, "Ca marche?" "No, that doesn't work" she said back in French. "Remove all of it. Nude." Come again? She wanted me to do what? Feeling quite awkward and covering my lady bits, I followed her instructions and was lead to an x-ray machine. "Touchez." With a sigh and a tiny huff I dropped my modesty and touched the panel with both hands. "No. With those." She motioned again at my top half as my mouth fell open in disbelief. Could this get anymore weird? As I showed her my best "I hate this" frown and became intimate with the cold panel in front of me, she positioned my arms and took the x-ray. "Fini." I practically dashed for my clothes.

More waiting and then into an examination with a male doctor. My heart beat quickly as I imagined failing a blood pressure test or worse, having my bottom half examined. The doctor ushered me in, related his knowledge about Alabama & Mississippi, asked what course of studies I was following in Toulouse, checked my x-ray, checked boxes on documents while we chatted, and ushered me out again. I was relieved.

The final phase in getting the Titre de Sejour loomed ahead. With excited anticipation I sat listening to American songs over the radio in the waiting room wondering why the French love our music, our cinema, our celebrities, etc. A woman not dressed in a lab coat showed me into a small room. In a pointed, business-like manner she asked for my 55 euro Titre fee (there's always a fee for whatever you're trying to get when it comes to the French government), examined my passport, certificate of residence, and clicked away on the computer. Silently I sat examining the pristine whiteness of the surrounding walls while hoping that my documents were sufficient. A yellow sticker under a shiny clear protective one was stuck onto the passport page above my visa..."Au Revoir." Just to make sure, I asked, "C'est tout? C'est le Titre de Sejour la?" "Oui."

In exiting the OFII building I thought back on the Titre rendez-vous. Quick (by French standards), efficient, and finished. A smile spread across my face. Sometimes things go exactly the way they should here, no missing documents or numbers, no 'return another day', no 'you didn't follow the right procedure'.....this was one of those times.

~Tam in Toulouse

French Winter Fashion

How do they do it?

As I sat in class last week shivering, I looked around and noticed the new wave of apparel all the French girls are sporting. Their garb completely baffles me. Sincerely, I want to ask them if their sanity has disappeared with the colorful fall leaves....

My outfit last week consisted daily of tights under jeans, two pair of socks with my pair of penny loafers, an underarmour turtleneck with a cardigan over it, a hoodie and my peacoat. Also I wore gloves and a jersey scarf. All of that clothing and I was still thawing my poor toes after an hour of being in my warm apartment.

Meanwhile the French girls in class seemed to be split 50/50 on two insane outfits (although admittedly they looked quite pretty in either style).

Half of the girls were wearing black or brown riding boots with black tights (not leggings), sweater dresses with a turtleneck underneath, and had draped around their shoulders chunky, extra long, knitted scarves. These girls sat through class showing off their slim figures and long legs, seemingly not feeling the 30 degree temperature, while I spent my time blowing on my fingers to keep them warm.

The other half of the girls in class donned leggings or skinny jeans, wore flats and had on long sleeve light sweaters under ridiculously two sizes too big knitted cardigans.  I could more easily understand the warmth of these latter ladies; after all their top halves were basically shrouded in knitted blankets in the shape of cardigans...but it's the flats that I couldn't fathom. Within my two pair of socks my toes were numb by the end of the day. How could these girls go through the day wearing thin little flats?

I'd like to dress as the French girls do, but I'm fairly certain that I'd catch a severe cold or lose some appendages to hypothermia - no kidding. H&M has been calling to me for weeks from the sleek ads in the metro, saying "come buy warmer things" but thus far I've resolutely resisted upon principle. Remember how I packed two huge suitcases just bursting full of clothes to come to France? After lugging all those clothes here, I refuse to buy more that I'll have to lug home. If only the french girls would share their secret with me of wearing less while staying warm ..... If only.....

~Tam in Toulouse

A Happy Thanksgiving

If you've been following my blog for the last month or so you may have noticed a decidedly negative tone. Life here hasn't been exactly what I expected.... I already knew about French living, however going to a real French university and having my own apartment were new things for me. Both situations have been getting better little by little, but the process has been excruciatingly slow and filled with multiple pep talks.

 This year is my dream - I've wanted to live in France and go to school here since I was 10. All of my friends have observed my love of Camembert and rose wine. They have sat through tons of anecdotes about "When I studied in Aix-en-Provence..." and "My French family...." I double majored in undergrad in English and French because I loved the history, culture, and literature of this magical place. Yet, despite my 'inner French self', I've been highly disappointed and bewildered at my lack of social/cultural outings and my lack of friends here in Toulouse. Being an extrovert I actually become lethargic and depressed the more time I'm by myself. Conversely, the more I'm around people the more energetic and happier I am. Living alone, completely alone, and having no friends here, combined with tough classes and graduate school worries, has been really hard on my spirit.

However, I think that God has answered the prayers in my heart that I was too sad to say aloud. Yesterday, two girls who are in a couple of my courses randomly came up to me and started speaking to me. Since such situations happen frequently, because I'm the shiny new American student, I figured they'd ask me some questions, say "wow" a few times, and saunter off, proud of themselves for having used their English skills to converse with 'the American'. To my complete delight and surprise they talked with me for quite some time;  one of the girls rode the metro with me, continuing our conversation until my stop separated us. Today in class they saved me a seat and we passed notes back and forth during the dull moments in a mixture of French and English I like to call Franglais.

I'm a bit nervous at this recently development. I have, after all, attempted to make friends here with no luck. One girl and I had Latin together and we chatted for a couple days, but she stopped showing up and, although we have other courses together she does not sit by me in those. Another guy who I also had Latin with used to sit by me and chat a bit until I caught him outside class one day and tried some conversation. After that, he now sits as far across the room as possible, leaving me with an entire row of desks to myself :-(
My third attempt at making a friend was a girl from my 19th and 20th century Lit classes. She sat next to me once, but upon the next class meeting she was back to sitting in her usual spot. We chat sometimes - there may indeed be a friendship there some day, but right now I get the feeling that she pities me more than anything. She's constantly asking if I understand the course and how I'm feeling academically. Today I finally extracted some personal information out of her (she has a boyfriend) and I, in turn, revealed that I have one as well. Perhaps now our conversations can become less focused on my growing fear of French academic failure.

 I've tried befriending English people as well (from Britain) with the same lack of luck. I went to a pub quiz night and had a wonderful time with a mixture of English and French students trying to answer the quiz questions, but those students are leaving in three weeks, and with my GRE's I haven't hung out with them outside of that one encounter, so I suppose that's a dead end. Similarly, I met some kids at the Harry Potter premier who were very kind and witty, but they never asked my name (even though I got theirs), or my number, or my facebook and they ended our convo with "Well, see ya around."

So, although I'm wary that these two new girls will abandon our burgeoning friendship, I'm also really excited at the possibility of retaining some friends finally. People to commiserate with over assignments and to drink coffee with on cold days, a little group to see a movie with or some girls to shop with, someone to check out funky restaurants with; I've missed such interaction.

Today is Thanksgiving in America, and though I imagined I'd miss out entirely on the holiday, I haven't. I get to be thankful today for the continued support and love from friends and family back home, for the opportunity to learn more French and be in this gorgeous, friendly country for the year, for Christmas break in three weeks, for HP 7 (which I saw twice in less than 24 hours), but most of all for the possibility of friends!!! :-)

~Tam in Toulouse

Thanksgiving

It's still days away from Thanksgiving...days away if you reside in America. Here in France Thanksgiving doesn't exist of course - no Native Americans to make peace with. Around Halloween I felt pretty nostalgic, and now I feel more waves of nostalgia crashing down on me as my American friends talk of 'Thanksgiving break' and 'Turkey Day' and 'Black Friday' deals - not that I am in favor of Black Friday - I did it like three times and that was enough for me....

I want turkey, ham, cranberry sauce, my grandmother's stuffing and homemade gravy, candied yams with brown sugar, butter, and marshmallows, the deviled eggs that my grams always allows me to make, green beans with probably too much salt, mashed potatoes with entirely too much butter and sweet iced tea to top off my meal....yum!

I'm not a huge holiday person in terms of throwing parties and buying presents and cooking for five hours for a meal consumed in one. However, I miss being a part of the American holiday season that runs nonstop from October through March, beginning with Halloween and ending in St. Patrick's Day. I miss loads of left over candy from Halloween, Thanksgiving food followed by football games, and I know I shall miss familiar Christmas carols blasting over the radio, 'What a Wonderful Life' & 'The Grinch who Stole Christmas' on television, New Years' from Times Square while I countdown midnight in Mississippi, hating on Valentine's Day by anti-celebrating with single friends, and pinching my friends because they forgot their green in March.

Perhaps I wouldn't feel so detached if I had a group of American friends with which to recreate Thanksgiving in France. Perhaps I would be fine if I knew that I'd be coming back to America at the end of December. Just maybe I might not miss the Holidays so much if I stayed off the internet and facebook.
But the reality is that I don't have a group of American friends, or any friends here for that matter, I'm missing all the holidays I love because I'm here till May livin' my dream, and being on the internet as much as I am helps me stay in contact with everyone stateside.

So, what's a girl to do? Well she's going to go see Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows (twice)! At least that's the plan -if I can't have my holiday day every month I shall find alternate reasons to celebrate !!!

~Tam in Toulouse

Red (rouge) Tape

Thus far I've had several frustrating, hilarious, confusing administrative situations. And thus far I've neglected relating them. However, I feel it is my duty to give a very quick run down of a few of them for anyone reading this that might someday decide to live/study in France.

1) OFII - Can't tell you what it stands for but basically the OFII has power over my 'Titre de Sejour'. That 'Titre' is the piece of paper accompanying my visa that allows me to live here for the duration of my studies. Even though there's an office here in Toulouse, I was supposed to mail copies of important papers to OFII. After a month, I receive a piece of paper in the mail telling me they received my papers and are reviewing them. One month after that I receive the seemingly same piece of paper, except this time my birthday is wrong and there's a fancy stamp on it. I go to the OFII office today. They set me up with an appointment for December 4th and have no idea why I received two almost identical papers. Furthermore they tell me that my address is bizarre. They don't say why, and no one else has mentioned this little tidbit to me, but yes, my address is bizarre.....

2) Vittavi - When you come to France you are required to get health insurance. It's also smart to invest in Traveler's Insurance for when you flit off to other countries sight-seeing. Supposedly when I signed up for school on October 4th they forwarded my paperwork onto my chosen health insurance company, Vittavi. However, one month and one cold later I had received nothing in the mail assuring me of coverage. I visit the Vittavi office here in Toulouse. "You need a pink paper from your school." I go to my school but they assure me my white paper will do. I return to Vittavi. "No, this one doesn't have 'proof of health insurance payment'. We need proof to process your request." Back to my university and this time the woman circles something on my white piece of paper. Back to Vittavi - "Okay. Perfect. We'll give you a provisional social security number for now and an attestation, but you have to mail us some documents." UGH! Okay so I ask which documents they need..."Copy of birth certificate in English and French. Bank account number." Luckily I had my birth certificates on hand. Unfortunately I didn't have my account number. Back to Vittavi the next day with my number - wait for twenty minutes just to hand the secretary my number.....

3)Caf - In France, if you're a student, and depending on other various factors, the government will reimburse part of your monthly rent payment. I filed the Caf in early October. In early November I receive 5 different pieces of paper telling me that I'm missing a social security number, copies of my birth certificate in English and French, and my "Titre de Sejour" - TWO OF THOSE WERE DEPENDENT ON OTHER ORGANIZATIONS!!!! - With little patience I went to the Caf office and handed over my OFII letter saying I had an appointment, my attestation of provisional social security number from Vittavi, and copies of my 'act de naissance'.... "Maybe this will work. Wait for something in the mail..." says the secretary. I foresee another letter telling me that I'm missing things....

The moral of these 3 situations is....always visit the organization at their headquarters - always bring every single important document that you needed to get into France (passport, photos, birth certificates, attestation that you are here on bourse (grant), etc) AND bring any that you received here (attestation of residence, bank account number, proof of housing insurance, proof of university registration, insurance attestation, etc...).

You're going to stand in line, you're probably going to be sent to 5 different offices in 5 different parts of the city, and you're probably going to be told that you are missing some document, number, or form that you didn't know you needed. C'est la vie! C'est la France!

~Tam in Toulouse

Paris GRE weekend Sat afternoon/Sunday

After the GRE, a new friend (named Vallentine) and I hung out commiserating at a cafe for quite awhile. He'd never been to Paris before, and was leaving on a train that evening, so we decided to be touristy and hit the two things you simply CANNOT miss if you visit Paris, the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe. It was gross in Paris; misty sideways rain and quickly coming dusk made sight seeing less fun than expected. Inside another cafe a few streets from the Eiffel tower we warmed up, chatted, and reveled in speaking English. A couple of his friends joined us and dragged us to yet a different cafe in the center of Paris where we all hung out laughing and talk about nothing and everything.

I don't miss speaking English because I can't speak French, because I can. I miss speaking English because slang phrases such as, 'gotcha' 'that's what she said' 'sucks' whatever' etc. don't translate, and the French don't get it when I say such things in English. I miss being able to speak and express myself without consciously trying. It's something that I did not encounter when I studied abroad in Aix because my roommate was American. After a day of French, I could come in and say, "Day sucked. Blarg." She'd know exactly what I meant and how I felt. So, did I cheat all day on Saturday and speak English, OF COURSE I DID and you would too I bet.

After seeing my new friends to their train, I made my way toward my hostel trying to decide whether it would be worth it to see Sacre Coeur at night. First I needed dinner. When I realized that I was starving I was already standing in front of Jules Joffrin, so I simply crossed the street and entered Le NordSud. The cafe looked slightly expensive, but I reasoned that I hadn't had a good meal in Paris. The food menu was small and the wine menu was long, which is usually the case with a really good French restaurant. I settled on pasta, water, and an apple tart dessert. Now, I know that sounds normal and bland. But the pasta was tossed with tomatoes, olives, feta, ground beef, and eggplant and the apple tart literally melted in my mouth. The meal was beautiful and I was sorry that I couldn't finish all of it; it tasted SO good!!! I wouldn't mind visiting again and trying something else from their menu. Everyone around me cleared their plates, so the other items must be as yummy. My waiters where attentive, and although I was alone, I didn't feel so alone sitting side by side with two full tables of middle aged people and positioned so I could watch people pass by the window.

 The hostel was only a few blocks away from Sacre Coeur, and by a few blocks I mean a few flights of stairs since Montmarte is a hill. Up the seemingly endless stairs I went...and I'm so glad that I decided to check it out. All lit up, Sacre Coeur was gorgeous against the black night sky. There was a mass going on inside which I sat through, all the while gazing up at the white robed, glittering, open armed Jesus set against the brilliant blue background of the dome. Sacre Coeur is now, hands down, my favorite church ever. I've visited multiple basilicas, churches, chapels, cathedrals (including Notre Dame), and only Sacre Coeur made me catch my breath and lower my eyes with humility. She's not gaudy or overdone, there aren't tons of alcoves with tombs or symbolic paintings. The interior is just arch after arch and dome after dome of gorgeous grey-white stone, two small areas of fragrant red and white candles, rows of wooden pews, and looking down on it all, a giant painted Jesus. I can't give her justice, but the next time I visit Paris I want to attend a service during daylight. *I'll mention that the view of Paris from the steps of Sacre Coeur is unforgettable - a must see for sure.

After my time at Sacre Coeur I slept long and hard. This morning, I woke up, caught breakfast in the cave once more, made it to my train just in time, and rode through the French country side back home to Toulouse. To be honest, I was quite sad to leave Paris.

~Tam in Toulouse

Paris GRE weekend Friday/Sat morning

This weekend I went to Paris to take the GRE Literature Subject Test. Before I left Toulouse, I made sure I had a well reviewed hostel booked in a part of the city near tourist attractions and an easy metro ride away from my testing site.

The train ride from Toulouse to Paris is 5 1/2 hours, which is long, BUT it's a very pretty ride with lots of vineyards, olive groves, old castles (little ones), and meadows along the way.  Second class was nicer than I expected. Then again, I only carried a backpack and my purse, so I think I had an easier time than people with large suitcases that wouldn't roll down the aisle and were too big to be stored overhead. *little piece of advice-travel SUPER light around Europe and just wash if you need to in your hotel room (most will have hair dryers if you need to dry your clothes quickly*  Montparnasse, the train station in Paris (one of them anyway) seems crazy at first, but it's pretty organized. The metro is connected underground so there's no need to leave the station, and should you arrive hungry or sans travel info there are plenty of info kiosks, wall maps, and little restaurants.

*Thankfully, Paris has reduced price metro tickets for individuals 14-25. However, apparently I only bought the ones that work on Saturday. When you are buying metro tickets I suggest you buy in bulk and seriously pay attention to the zones that tickets are valid for and the days on which you can use them.* Hopping on line 12, I rode to Jules Joffrin and found my hostel literally right around the corner from the metro stop. The Montclair hostel was a good choice~ it was cheap, super friendly, and in a great location! Unfortunately, if you're on the first floor it can be really loud (I'm a heavy sleeper and it was hard to sleep) because the walls are quite thin and the doors naturally slam shut. But the hostel has a cool hippy kinda vibe and it was really clean! The spiral staircase and the cave made me happy for no reason other than it's a SPIRAL STAIRCASE and A CAVE!!! In my dorm style room I made friends with a New Yorker named Alex who ventured around our area with me in search of some travel supplies and dinner. Cafe d'Albert had yummy food for nice prices and a good atmosphere. The best thing though was the crazy, bejeweled painting on the wall of a wolf, a rooster, and a pot. After the long travel day and some good food it was time for me to put myself in my bed, study for a few hours, and get some sleep.

The next morning was surprisingly simple. I'm not a calm person when it comes to test days of any sort. I worry, I wake up way too early and somehow always end up lost, late, or forgetting something; it's just not a positive experience staring off the day. However, I woke up on Saturday morning, gathered my things quietly in the dark of my dorm style room and descended into the cave for breakfast. The metro stop was on line 12 and only a few stops away from Jules Joffrin, and surprisingly, the actual testing site for the GRE was just a short walk down the road. With the odd name 'Eurosites de la Chapelle' I was a bit worried about finding it, but it was a clearly marked white building. I'd made it, with no negative incidents !!! Awesome. I'm going to skip over the details for the test, except to say that it was so GOOD to hear ENGLISH, and that out of all the people taking the test the majority were Language Assistants.
***I'm glad I'm here, but it gets weirder and weirder knowing that Americans usually don't do what I'm doing. They come to teach or to do study abroad with programs. I feel a bit like Lewis or Clark - striking out into the vast unknown.   So, the test was miserable, it was. And it's precisely supposed to be that way: 230 questions to answer in 170 minutes (aka 2 hours 50 minutes) and probably about 215 of those questions requiring you to read long passages and then refer back to those passages multiple times. And we're not talking about simple, factual passages, no we're talking Milton or symbolist poetry or Freudian criticism with words you've never seen before...

 Like any other experience, I survived the test (should get my scores in 6 or so weeks) and it gave me a valid reason to take off to Paris for the weekend!

Strike Some More Why Don't We?

It's after 2 a.m. I'm definitely supposed to be sleeping. Technically I have an 8 a.m. Latin class tomorrow....or do I?

After emailing my professors about missing their classes today in order to take the GRE, their replies explained that I'd missed nothing. "Le Mirail est en grève." My University has decided to go on strike again. Or rather the students have. Or maybe it's both. I'm honestly not sure. Apparently, last Thursday afternoon, the students blocked the doors to the academic buildings once more with tables, chairs, and desks.
I wouldn't know this because I have an 8 am literature course on Thursdays and no classes Thursday afternoon or Friday.

I'm American; I don't know how to handle strikes. Am I to trudge to class tomorrow morning to see if the University is still on strike? Or perhaps my duty lies in sleeping in a bit and getting some extra GRE literature studying done? There is supposedly a student meeting at noon to decided if the University re-opens...does that mean I will have afternoon classes? Or do classes restart Wednesday morning? And how does this affect our courses - we had ten course meetings left as of last week. Between the October strikes, the week of fall vacances  (fall break), and now the November strikes, I feel like exams in late December and early January are going to hit me hard.

~confused Tam in Toulouse

The French Romance

Today was the day. GRE general test day, and I was scheduled to take it at the science university here in Toulouse. Because I live in the city center, it was necessary to take a 40 minute metro ride to the testing location. This ride was followed by fumbling around some academic building on a strange campus until finally arriving at a door marked "Prometric". I expected a prison-like atmosphere with cranky administration and a long list of rules and regulations. What I got was the French manner of handling the GRE, aka the French romance.

For all the infuriating, frustrating things about France (the strikes, the lack of fun, family holidays, the language that I STILL cannot speak fluently) there are counterbalances. And all the counterbalances I can think of are uniquely French, and seduce the individual into loving France. Such seductive counterbalances are the wine (none of which I've had in Toulouse yet), the bread, the language (it sounds so pretty!), the kindness of the people.... and now I can add to that list, the GRE.

Stepping into the outer testing room, I was offered tea or café (coffee) or water. The kind lady told me to sit down and take as many minutes as I needed to compose myself (I'd been running, literally running, a bit late due to getting lost). The administrator helped me put my things in a locker while speaking 'Franglais' (a mix of French and English). She kindly asked for identification and made small talk with me about the weather. After reminding me of the rules, she showed me into the inner GRE sanctum. A room no bigger than a glorified broom closet, the testing room had about 7 enclosed desks and, surprisingly for France, it was nice and warm.
In America the procedure was awful. The administrators were cold and indifferent. The room was freezing! And they even PATTED ME DOWN police-style before I was allowed to take a test that I'd paid over $250 dollars to take! I might also add that I was bitten or stung by something and told the administrator during the break to find out that the testing side had no first aid kit! It seemed like I was inconveniencing the Americans by taking the GRE, while here in Toulouse the administrator seemed happy to be in her position.
I truly believe that this administrator made my GRE experience a positive one today. At least, my score seems to reflect the positive vibe (or it was the more than month of studying - take your pick). She smiled, she encouraged, she reassured.... in short she was both my mother and my friend today. Sometimes you just NEED someone, in your native tongue, to look into your eyes and say, "You'll do great!" Even if it's not true and you fail, it's nice to hear and helps you believe in yourself.

So, for all my whining recently about my university here and all my work and studying, I happily admit that GRE day was a good day here in France. It was a great experience because it was so French, because it wasn't apathetic and intimidating like the experience last November in America.

~Tam in Toulouse

Le Mirail prt 2

The professors come in and lecture, for TWO HOURS....it's infuriating for a student like me who needs to interact with the material to learn it. Out of my 6 courses, 2 involve active participation, and that participation is in the form of translating between French and another language.

The 'cold' feeling of Le Mirail also stems from it's location. Far from shopping or fun cafes or cute french 'places' (squares), the students only hang around the school for class and class only. No sports arenas to cheer on sports teams. No cafeteria in which to eat with people while you study or commiserate over an upcoming test or paper. No student union where you can sign up for fun events or check your student mail box.No lounge areas where you can sit in an armchair and finish your homework or wait for a friend. You sit next to people in class that may live outside of Toulouse, and almost everyone takes the metro to get to Le Mirail from other parts of the city and surrounding area.

Trust me, I wish I could gush about how pretty the school is or how great the atmosphere is, but I stand by my honesty. If I've painted a dismal picture of Le Mirail, it's because for me, an American southerner from a small, private college on the top of a mountain in Tennessee, it is dismal. But I'm getting a challenging, good education here and improving my French day by day. Here's to silver linings !

~Tam in Toulouse

Le Mirail prt 1

After attending class for the last month I've decided that class at Le Mirail is never going to be what I wish so fervently it was, which is anything akin to my undergraduate experience.

The students here are very bright. I'm amazed that they take notes in a thorough manner, using highlighters for important things, underlining, and using their margins. I've never seen an American take such fantastic notes, but EVERY Mirail student I've met does so. Aurora, a girl from two of my classes, says that in high school their teachers write on the board the same way, using different colors and highlighting and such, the students simply picked up the habit. I'm stupefied that the students I attend classes with write EVERYTHING that exits the professors mouth. Their highlighters and pens never leave their busy fingers even though classes are two hours long at minimum.

You read that right. Classes here are two hours long. To be honest, and I'm pretty good at paying attention, it's quite hard to sit still for two hours, urgently copying every piece of information that the professor gives, knowing that you have three more classes after the one you are currently in. My American brain, by the last class at 6:00 pm on Monday, is shot. I can't imagine doing homework or even speaking French after a day of full classes.

One of my Sewanee professors warned me that Le Mirail was 'cold'. She was quite right. Every building looms like the gate to some hideous industrial city. Everywhere is concrete, metal, and plexiglass. The tables are false, plastic wood and metal, as are the chairs I sit in for two hours at a time. The classroom floors are linoleum over concrete. There is no warmth and no pride in the institution at all. Graffiti covers the walls and many things are slightly broken. It's November and already I wear my coat in class because the cold air sinks into the stones at night and never seems to leave. There are no blinds for the windows, merely harsh metal grates to protect the classrooms from further vandalism when the school day is done. I attend class in an urban architectural hell.

The upside to the lack of warm surroundings is the professors, which have all seemed kind, although intimidating. Class is class no matter where you are. The first couple of meetings are spent doing busy work and getting a feel for each professor's style. There are differences though from American university, things that I'm missing terribly. Office hours don't exist -yes I've asked- I've been told by my professors to seek help from classmates or e-mail if I have a specific question about a specific assignment. Syllabi don't exist either. I have no idea where my courses are headed or when assignments are due. I don't know how my professors will calculate my grade or what their emails are....As far as I can tell the process is to read EVERY book you were required to buy, and those on the suggested list,  hope you never have to miss class, and try to keep up. I haven't seen a single student ask questions in class, none of my courses are discussion based, and the professors don't use any one's names because they don't know them. I'm called 'the American', the Anglophone, the 'neighbor' of my classmate, 'next' or 'you'.

Bibliophile <--- GRE word of the day!

I've been here almost two months now. For my semester abroad in Aix, two months was just a little shy of half way through. Two months here is approximately 1/4 th of my total time. Somehow, (okay precisely would be via Amazon Books, the University book store, and the book store at Captiol) I have acquired a ton of books in two months. Here's my current list :

An Introduction to English Literature
GRE Literature in English
Barron's GRE
GRE Advanced Verbal
Grammaire Pratique du Français
Huysmans - Against Nature
Huysmans  - A Rebours
Claude Simon's The Flanders Road
Claude Simon's La Route des Flandres
Initiation a la Langue Latine
Latin/English Dictionary
Ancien Français
Précis de Phonétique Histoire (Ancien Français)
Ancien Français Fiches de Vocabulaire
Chateaubriand - Atala- René
Verlaine - Poèmes Saturniens
Baudelaire - Les Fleurs du Mal
Flaubert - Trois Contes
Oscar Wilde - Salomé
Vigny - Stello
Nerval - Les Filles du Feu/ Les Chimeres

Technically, a few books for my current courses are missing off of that list because they are supplementary texts (supplementary just in name...the teacher 'strongly' encourages we read them for the final exam). So, when you are wondering where the blogs about actual Toulouse have disappeared to, you can blame the aforementioned books that I am drowning in at the moment.

-Tam in Toulouse

Typical Day

BUZZ! Bolting out of my wonderful sleep complete with fabulous, positive dreams, I stumbled my way to my door. Some overly happy fed-ex mailman greeted me BONJOUR! and held up a package with a smile. You are Mlle. Tamra .... - I interrupted his confirmation by pointing to myself (sans actual communication) and motioning for the package. Barely giving him time to hand it to me, and certainly not enough time to sign for it, I mumbled 'merci', closed the door and went immediately back to sleep.

Much later...after some GRE studying, I motivated myself to visit EDF (the electric company). I hadn't received a bill in the mail and definitely did NOT look forward to a late notice for this month's overdue payment. So, I thought I'd visit and seek out the missing 'fracture' (bill). Except that, when I reached the office it had disappeared. I looked at the address from an old bill just to be certain I was indeed at the EDF office; I was, but EDF didn't seem to exist anymore. Bewildered, and annoyed that I had not received a letter in the mail about a change of office location, I asked the nearest person I could find. 'Oh, they aren't working here anymore, you can find an office at 'Place Capitol'. Awesome, what was going to be a thirty minute errand (because of all the walking) was now going to be much longer.

Arriving at Place Capitol,  the town square of Toulouse which has several busy streets branching off from it, I knew I would need help. Timidly I approached the gentleman manning the tourist office's counter. He drew a circle on my map of Toulouse and pointed to the door while telling me it was just a right and a left away. 'Okay'. However, upon consulting my map his circle looked like it was down a side street from the Place. Off I went to discover EDF's top secret hiding place.

I had walked for over an hour down every side street off the Place and asked at least 6 people on the street (all of whom gave me conflicting directions) and still could not find EDF. I decided to ask just ONE more person and was resigned to giving up for the day after that. In front of the MacDonald's on the Place, I approached a gentleman and asked him if he knew where EDF was. He signaled that he was deaf. AWESOME! Okay, not awesome that he was deaf, BUT I knew the alphabet in sign language so this prospect would not be a loss. I spelled out E-D-F and raised my hands in a lost manner. He motioned for me to sit with him and wait for his wife, who was not deaf, but who was in the line getting coffee. I signed m-e-r-c-i, thanking Heaven for my mischievous friends in sixth grade who had learned the alphabet with me so that we could annoy teachers with across-the-classroom 'silent' conversations.

Soon his wife joined us, 'Do you need something?' 'I'm looking for EDF and I have searched and searched and the man at the office of tourism said it was just right here (showing her my map) but I don't really know where that is...' The woman softly turned me toward the Place and pointed straight across from our location to three golden letters, EDF, on the opposite building's facade. She gently rubbed my arm when I admitted my stupidity. I explained that I was new to Toulouse...still. After thanking her, and her spouse, I headed across the square toward the building thinking, "I may not speak French with grace...but at least I know the alphabet, and in some situations it's enough."

-Tam in Toulouse

Diagnosis: Needs Christian Fellowship

I miss Sundays.

Greeting sweet elderly ladies and gentlemen, settling into the pew while admiring the stained glass, feeling a sense of peace as the piano strikes the opening chords of my favorite hymn....I miss church. It's not 'any' church I miss. If that were the case, I'd take a stroll and come across a half dozen Catholic ones. No, I miss my small, close knit Baptist church from home. I even miss the big, beautiful Episcopalian church from Sewanee. To sing together with other believers, feeling the harmony wash over me as the words both challenge and call to my heart, I long for singing. Communion, soft bread turned red from it's brief moment dipped in the bitter wine, remembering the blood and body of Christ that was given in my name, I hunger for Communion. Listening to the teaching, to the message, of the minister while I think about how his words apply to my life at present, I need direction, accountability, scripture. Where is Sunday here?

In defense, I did look up an international church when I got to Toulouse. There's one in a suburb nearby that I'm not sure how to get to. The website for the church boasts lots of Bible studies and Sunday services in ENGLISH! I've just been nervous about going to a new church all by myself. More honestly, I'm nervous that I may encounter beliefs radically different from the Christianity I know. I realize that my lack of spiritual nourishment is no one's fault but my own. However, like all things French, it's not just a general experience I miss, but rather my own, specific experiences unique to America.

Rude Awakening

I was so proud of myself! All of yesterday I maintained my strike. I ate sushi, pizza, and oreos, watched a movie, and sat on the internet till bedtime.
This morning I dragged myself out of bed at the crack of dawn (literally the sun was just coming up) for my 8:30 am Literature class. Warm in my layers, jamming with American music blasting through my headphones, I set out for class.
Arriving on campus, I noticed there were less than twenty students milling about. Then I rounded a corner and saw a mountain of tables, desks, and chairs still blocking every entrance to the academic buildings.....

LE MIRAIL EN GRÈVE?
LE MIRAIL EN GRÈVE!

My university is still on strike! Not that I'm truly complaining since this gives me extra hours to figure out my grad school personal statement, but I fought myself out of MY GRÈVE to go to school today! Not to mention that I need books from the university library and I had a group meeting with fellow students for a project.

The question now is....do I go back to sleep and revel in the University strike even though my strike is over OR do I flout strikes all together and put my nose to the grad school application grind stone?

Birthday Strike?

France is on strike? But am I on strike?

I don't know. I think I want to be. I think I want to be on strike from my reasonable self.

Everyday for three weeks I've juggled latin, ancient french, modern french, english according to the french, GRE vocabulary, GRE math, and GRE english subject test.....my brain is boggled (---GRE vocab word by the way) and my spirit is approaching 'fed up'.

Today it is my 23rd birthday. It doesn't feel like a birthday though. There will be no party, no little pile of presents, no cake or candles (oh how I long for 23 birthday candles to blow out), no birthday trip to Dublin, and I certainly don't feel 23. Nevertheless, lack of celebration or not, I am 23 today, and I think I want to be on strike.

Various birthday possibilities swirl in my head.....I'd like to eat sushi, I haven't seen a movie in France yet, I have a beautiful outfit I could put on 'just because', I don't own any lip gloss and I've been eyeing Sephora for weeks, eating dinner on a canal boat sounds appealing, maybe I could find a mani/pedi place that could fit me in, I haven't bought a blanket yet for my bed or a good book (in English) to curl up with.

The problem is that I'm one of those rare individuals that cannot 'not care'. I literally do not have the ability to mean what I say when I say 'screw homework'. Thus, even though it is my birthday, I foresee hours spent studying despite my unwillingness.

 I wish I could let myself be on a birthday strike.

France on Strike!

Here in France, in case you've missed the news, everyone is on strike. Okay saying 'everyone' might be a bit of a stretch, BUT it seems like everyone. France is raising it's minimum retirement age from 60 to 62 and the reform isn't sitting well with French citizens. At first I thought the strikes were a bit ridiculous. Hundreds, if not thousands of people here in Toulouse, and in other large cities around France, walking through the streets shouting and singing their displeasure at the pension reform. However, I'm starting to realize that the French citizens mean business.
A nationwide strike began yesterday with the intention of continuing into Wednesday. The major effects I can clearly see are the multiple teachers that have canceled class - conveniently since I'm sick and my 23rd birthday is tomorrow - and announcements on bus lines and metros and airline websites that transportation in general will be 'perturbed' (disrupted in French, annoyed in English, so the word works both ways).

So what's the big deal? Well aside from what news articles have sited, I have asked several French citizens of various ages for their opinions. The youth are worried that there will not be job openings for them when they are finished with their academic studies, and the middle-aged/elderly who have been working since the age of 18 are not happy that they now have two more years to work. Unlike in America, France is rather static about employment. High schools and colleges emphasize that students must know as soon as they can which career field they foresee for their future, and they must stick with that choice. 'Just going back to school for a second or third career option' isn't a luxury they have. 

Today I was confused when I came out of class and saw the entrance to one of the academic buildings blocked by multiple desks piled on top of each other. Now students are joining the movement against the reforms. I'm not even sure if I'll have class tomorrow, or if I do, how I would get there. Oddly, the heightened strike action comes just a few days before fall break for my university. Although I had intentions to celebrate Halloween elsewhere, since Toulouse does not celebrate the holiday, it looks like the combination of my cold and the strike will keep my break within the confines of the city. And since I live on a main road between two metro stops and government buildings, the strikers march right below my window, so I'll get a first hand look at the 'manifestation' (as they call it).
~Tam in Toulouse

I Want my Mommy

My body has betrayed me! I thought that we were great friends, I mean I've known my body since I was born - before that moment even - and now it has become my enemy....

I woke up in the middle of last night suffocating in the darkness. Despite having my head propped up by two pillows, the window cracked for fresh, city air, and having taken Benadryl before bed, I woke up needing to blow my nose and take more medicine. Yesterday I felt a little 'off'. You know the routine....sniffles and a few chills here and there. I thought that perhaps it was the 30 degree change in the weather from the day before that was wreaking havoc on my sinuses. Nope. Not the case, or maybe the case, but now I'm past sniffles and on to full blown cold.

Am I self-diagnosing? Indeed. Twice a year, approximately October/November and March/April, I get sick with the changing of the seasons.  I could sniff pollen all day to my heart's content, so I don't think I am allergic to pollen or anything. I'm not sure why exactly but my body just doesn't like changes in the weather. I become comatose once I hit my bed and food tastes like snot for days. Appealing right???
 I usually embarrass myself and trudge to class with tissue shoved up my nose, continuously watering eyes, and the general feeling that I'm dying a slow, ugly death.  I'm sure I scare the people in class with my odd appearance. Imagine me sitting there trying to take notes with tissue escaping my nose and tears running down my face and flushed cheeks. You'd be scared. There's no need to go see doctors anymore. Ever since high school I've learned to let this seasonal pest run its course while I self-medicate with cold and sinus pills and Halls throat candies (and good doses of Disney movies, hot chocolate, and chicken soup of course).

But I am in Toulouse France. I'm in a country where they have no 'over the counter' medicine or cough drops in the supermarket. No chicken soup either. I have class all day tomorrow and Tuesday and I cannot afford to fall behind by missing. I KNEW I should have stocked up on medicine before I came!!!
Sitting here in my bed bundled in my layers hugging water, hot tea, my laptop and my homework all I can do is try to manifest healthy vibes and get better very (and I emphasize VERY) quickly.

false advertising

"If you want to find a book you use the online library catalog." said the woman at the check-out counter while pointing to a wall of computers nearby. As I glanced back and forth from her to the computers with a confused, helpless expression that she clearly missed, she waved me off with a dismissive hand gesture.
This interaction shouldn't have merited frustration and yet, it did.

I'd love to say that my professors here are as amazing as the ones I had at Sewanee. That's not the case. For instance, I have a professor here who doesn't so much as teach as directs us to the library so that we may teach ourselves. I thought that the very long list of suggested texts on the syllabus might not be imperative. Yet, after bombing the second class meeting in which I showed up with incomplete homework (due to not being able to find adequate research materials), I quickly realized I'd be living in the library for this singular course.
So to the library I went after a particularly boggling class meeting. But when I typed the name of the dictionary I needed into the catalog I couldn't understand the results. Yes, okay, I speak French BUT the catalog system here is different than in the U.S. and the catalog in the library also happens to be the catalog for all 39 libraries in Toulouse! See my difficulty?

After trying to get some help from a student at the next station (who apparently didn't speak English) I then tried the check-out desk. The first lady pointed me toward the computers with the aforementioned, frustrating statement. The second lady I asked gave me a library map without even looking up from her computer. The third told me the dictionary was an online text (everyone knows dictionaries in libraries are reference materials and are housed AT the library). 

I honestly think what frustrated me most (and does daily) is that EVERYTHING in France has been like the library. It take 3 or 4 tries or 3 or 4 people consulted to actually understand what's expected of me, where I am supposed to go, etc. I understand what they are saying to me, I just don't understand the arrangement of classrooms among the various academic buildings, the library organization, the business hours when there is a strike, the mail (some of which gets delivered at my door, some of which gets delivered to the post office, and some of which gets delivered to my mailbox) things like that - things the French just 'know'.

I was just about to leave the library and give up for the day when a thought occurred to me. This summer with Duke TIP we had arranged a library tour with our students so they could navigate finding books. I needed a tour!!! Avoiding the check-out desk people I'd already annoyed, I headed for the 'handicapped' check-out line, and in a sense I was verbally handicapped so I didn't feel out of place at all. The kind lady (who did not speak English) set up a 'visit' which I did this morning with a knowledgeable university tour guide (who also did not speak English).

I emphasize that the people don't speak English because I was told before coming to France that "everyone in Europe understands English because of all the tourism", and that's just NOT the case.

Fun fact - The central library on Le Mirail campus arranges it's books by academic subject matter and not in the usual 'fiction' 'non-fiction' 'biography' 'children's lit' 'popular lit' way that we do in America.
It's actually quite useful. Today I was working on Ancient French and found dictionaries, manuals, critiques, fictional examples, etc. all next to each other on the same shelf.
Sad fact for a library dweller like me: the library is only open when academic classes are in session each day.

Now I know how to work the card catalog, which floor of the library on which I'll do most of my studying and find most of my research materials, and how to navigate the building in general. One less thing in France for me to figure out.

PE - Barre a Terre (Floor Ballet)

What if I'm in class with super skinny, super flexible ballerinas? Goodness it's early...why did I decide that an 8 am ballet class on a MONDAY was a good idea? Oh yes, I remember, good way to start my week....right? What was I thinking?
How come I am always the only one in shorts? Don't the french believe in wearing shorts? I knew I should have brought my brown pajama pants instead! How come they have their hair in buns? I'm not doing a bun.
Everyone seems nice. At least there are only a dozen or so of us.The instructor seems very kind.
She skipped the introduction - straight to business then I guess. I like this PE lying on the ground idea - best sports idea I've had yet!
Plank?! Did she just demonstrate the plank as in facedown on my toes and elbows?! I thought this was ballet class? That's a sit up! She totally just did a very slow, very graceful sit up! While laying down kick my leg to my nose? Sit up, straddle my legs and, while keeping my back straight, lean forward till I am diagonal with the ground? Heel stretch? What in the world is this class? I'm not going to live through it!
Point and flex. Point and flex. Point harder. Flex better. Sit up. Lie down. Sit up! Lie down! On your right side. On your left side. On your tummy. Arabesque. Arabesque prettier. Attitude...more attitude. Développé. Bigger Développé. Plié, demi-plié, grand-plié!!! And now we start over.....

So, that's what 8 am floor ballet on a Monday is like. Can't wait till next week....thank God no more till next week. I think my legs are going to fall off while walking to my 10:30 am English class. I think I love it!

PE - Salsa

1, 2, 3, nothing. 5, 6, 7, nothing.
The entire hour of my salsa class passed by with the repetition of numbers and nothings. Surprisingly, it was the best hour of my week.

I think everyone picks up some form of partner dancing at some point in their lives from simply watching others or being taught a step or two by a willing partner. I, myself, have been dying for quite a few years now to take an actual class in partner dancing. I know the base for salsa, waltz, and swing already, and when I saw that Partner Dancing fit perfectly into my schedule here in Toulouse I knew I wouldn't pass up the opportunity to build on my meager foundation of prior knowledge.

Walking into class my heart sank.....where were the cute latin guys? I just somehow figured that a partner dancing class would involve latin guys since it's stereotypical that latin guys love to dance. Guess not...
Well that's okay. I've partnered with girl-friends on the dance floor. There's still a lot I can learn by being both the 'boy' and the 'girl'. So, seating myself on the floor I officially entered the class.
Taught by a spry, elderly gentleman, who clearly loved being the only male in the room, and a gorgeous young woman we were shown the basic salsa, samba, and mambo. At first, all twenty of us were uptight. Like robots we mechanically moved from side to side and back to front. Our movement elicited looks of alarm and distaste on the instructors' faces though they tried their best to hide them. On and on droned the two metal sticks our female instructor kept time with - 1, 2, 3 (pause) 5, 6, 7 (pause). Twenty minutes in, hips began to sway, thirty minutes in, smiles began to appear, at forty minutes in, whole bodies were alive with beautiful rhythmic movement. Somewhere between the awkward beginning and the reluctant ending of class we all must have subconsciously decided that we were lovely, powerful ladies who just wanted to move with the music. No judgement, no self-consciousness, no worries....just dancing.

By the end of class, after I gotten the steps down, I felt very 'Dirty Dancing' and fancied myself a pro (at the basics). I walked out of class, put on my music, put in my headphones, and salsa/samba/mambo danced my way home.

PE - yoga

Yoga. Everyone has heard of it. Most people can even pull off a few poses just from having seen them on the covers of books or DVD's on the subject. Some individuals claim religious ties to their practice of yoga. Others do not. Some religions caution their followers against the practice. It's definitely a hot topic, so I was definitely apprehensive as I entered my first session (at 9 am on a Friday mind you!).

The introduction from the instructor was quick; she wanted to get some actual yoga into our hour and a half time slot. She assured us that if we were looking for meditation or religious history lessons we were in the wrong place. Her class would focus on stretching and strengthening our muscles with the use of various yoga poses and focused breathing techniques. Awesome. Just what I was hoping for.

The class was brutal. I've never worked so hard at striking poses in all of my life! With legs stretched far apart we froze in impossibly deep lunges. Balancing on our just butts we held our arms over our heads and attempted to raise our legs out in front of us so that our body made a 'V'. My body looked exactly like a backwards 'L' instead of the gracefully balanced 'V'. Sitting on the ground (and standing) with knees locked straight we were expected to not only touch our toes but fold our bodies completely in half.

Before yoga class I considered myself a flexible dancer and cheerleader, afterwards I realized I cannot sustain that flexibility for more than a second. Sure my front kicks reach my nose BUT I couldn't stay that way outside of a quick moment. Yoga is going to be amazing at helping me strengthen and sustain the flexibility I already possess.

Despite the difficulty of class, there was also a strange relaxing aspect to it. As we held each pose we were told to focus on breathing in and out of our mouths. With everyone breathing at their own pace it sounded like the soft whooshing of a breeze through trees. From one end of the room to the other one person's inhale would be complimented by the next person's exhale. The atmosphere was very calming though my muscles were dying.

 Yoga made me sore, but I look forward to another session!

PE - Stretching

I walked into my first French PE class a bit nervous. As I looked around I noticed I was the only one in form fitting attire, the only person wearing athletic shorts, and the lone barefoot individual. The other ladies were garbed in baggy t-shirts, black yoga pants or sweat pants and each wore mismatched, colorful socks - even the instructor.
After a lengthy introduction from the instructor and a lecture on using our diaphram, abs, and pelvic muscles, we were instructed to get yoga-type mats from the next room and spread out. Next we were told to lie down on our backs with our eyes closed and simply focus on breathing in through our noses and out through our mouths. At first it was hard to lie still and breathe. Who just focuses on breathing anyway? But slowly I relaxed my muscles and released my entire weight down onto the mat, I focused on removing thoughts of class and homework from my mind, and I forgot where I was. My concentration became centered on inhaling through my nose, the rise of my abdomen, then exhaling, the lowering of my abdomen. I almost fell asleep.
The rest of class was as relaxing as the breathing exercise had been. In various sitting, laying, and standing positions we would tighten certain muscles in our bodies and then release them in tandem with our breathing. Never before have I been completely aware of which muscles are being worked during exercise. The isolation helped me identify which muscles in my body were conditioned and which ones had a hard time staying tightened for even a mere ten seconds.
Stretching class forced me to relax (something that I truly needed after my first week of class) and I loved it! I left class feeling lighter, happier, and ready to take on anything. Surprisingly later that night I was sore! All that tightening and releasing had actually worked my muscles!
As silly as stretching class may sound I cannot wait until this upcoming week's session!

 *If you are reading this thinking stretching class was a huge waste of time then you have missed the point.

Physical Education

Although I said that anyone reading this blog would be discovering Toulouse through my eyes, my eyes lately are a bit limited to the sights and experiences at Le Mirail and my apartment, with little moments of liberty at the park or the grocery store.

 I'm taking the GRE general test in exactly one month and a few days after that the English Literature subject test. Studying for the two requires hours set aside each day, a task that would be manageable by itself but becomes a bit difficult when balanced with my new courses at Le Miral (i'll put a post about my new courses soon). So, what's a girl to do when literally all her free time is taken up by studies of some sort? The answer, at least in my case, is to make relaxing something I'm required to do by some authority outside of myself.

At Le Mirail, assuming you aren't an exchange student or on a French government scholarship, students pay 12 euros as a 'sports activity fee'. If you are super competitive and want to join an actual team or you happen to be an arts major, you can sign up for some type of activity/sport/PE in place of an actual course. You'll have to compete of course if you are on the team and if you are taking that activity as a class then you'll be required to have papers or exams on the history of the sport. These individuals are limited to two activities or one sport only.

However, if you are in neither of the aforementioned categories the university allows you to take as many activities as you want 'a loisir' or 'for your own enjoyment'. I had signed up Tuesday, after waiting in line more than an hour and a half, for dance classes; contemporary, jazz, and salsa were calling my name. My lovely schedule was disrupted just that very afternoon by acquiring another class (at the strong encouragement of my Latin professor), and I was forced to drop both contemporary and jazz and trudge my way home quite unhappy.
At home, I looked over the choices that corresponded to the gaps between, before, or after my academic classes and sports that didn't seem expensive. Although the activity fee is paid for, taking 'riding' for example costs an extra 20 euros per week.
So...choices... Aerobics? No way - there's just something about the exercises and the bubbly instructors that gets on my nerves. Aquagym? Me, in a pool, wading around in laps with the elderly professors - that's a big no. Handball? Tried it once, hurt a lot. I think I'll stay away from self-inflicted pain. Martial Arts? no wooden boards for my hands and I'm definitely not into the violent shouting. Tennis? Football (soccer)? Golf? Badminton? Basketball? Swimming? Volleyball? Nope to all of those.

 Barre a terre? What's that? I Googled it. Barre a terre or Floor Barre turned out to be ballet done lying on the ground. It sounds easy but after watching a few Youtube videos I realized the opposite would be true. That awful '6 inches' exercise you did as a child where you hover your legs half a foot from the ground and hold them suspended for 30 seconds? Barre a terre would be similar but in motion, with pulses, and the exercises would be way harder on the abs and inner thighs. A definite yes in my book.
Stretching? Is there really a PE just for limbering up? Yes indeed!
Yoga? Never really done it. Seems to be a hot subject in the religious world though....let's see what all the fuss is about.
Salsa still works! Thank goodness some dance where I'm standing up and moving across the floor.

Having chosen my new PE courses and registered for them, by the internet instead of standing in the awful, seemingly never-ending line, I looked forward to the next day when I would have Stretching PE.

Love is Everywhere!

I've always heard that Paris is the city of love, but I'm starting to believe that maybe France is the country of love. Whether eighty or eighteen, French couples are 'ouvert' in their feelings for one another - 'ouvert'  means 'open' in french- gotta love the word play between English and French.

America, being the Puritan founded country that it is, strongly discourages PDA (public displays of affection). One can be liberal or conservative, religious, or not, it doesn't matter. If someone sees a couple playing tonsil hockey on the subway the immediate perception is negative. The bizarre part in my mind is that this negativity toward affection is not reserved for unmarried couples alone. Goodness forbid that a married couple has chemistry and cannot keep their hands off one another in the grocery store!

Most Americans have been raised to believe that affection should be for 'behind closed doors'. Hand-holding and hugging are approved of publicly , as is walking with arms around each others' waist. Kisses on the cheek are cute. A quick peck on the lips is for a couples' greeting or parting. Beyond that....well there is no beyond that. It seems to me that it's a curious list and a long one of things you aren't supposed to do in public. So, couples....Don't stare into each others' eyes, 'tongue' is never an option, never put your hand anywhere near anothers' backside. A man should not stand with a woman's backside to his frontside. Women should not sit in mens' laps. Kissing anothers' neck is frowned upon. Caressing the other anywhere but the upper back or the hand is toeing the line. Oh and watch just how high up your hand is on the others' thigh. Should you be in the park on a picnic blanket NO SPOONING and know that one on top of the other is forbidden. I could continue, but anyone reading this probably thinks I'm a proponent of PDA already (which I unashamedly am), so I'll stop.

Here in Toulouse, and everywhere that I've been in France, there is a freedom to love one another such as I've never seen before. Couples do every one of the things that I mentioned above and no one bats and eyelash. In fact, I've seen furtive glances followed by appreciative smiles when a young couple cannot stop staring at each other or an elderly couple kisses on the lips. Perhaps it's because of such freedom that the PDA here doesn't seem so wrong. No one looks guilty kissing another or intertwining some part of their body with anothers'.  No one covers their childrens' eyes so they won't be subjected to such 'mature' content. The elderly do not whisper among themselves about 'uncouth youth today'. Teenagers don't wear looks of disgust after seeing any physical interplay between an older couple. Couples are in love. That's it. That's all.
-Tam in Toulouse

Where's the Grocery Bag?

When I studied abroad in Aix-en-Provence I quickly learned an invaluable European lesson, or a few actually, about grocery shopping.

The Bag: For reasons unbeknownst to me, perhaps being 'green' or forced economic frugality, when you shop in France you must bring your own bag. In America, stores softly encourage shoppers to 'be green' and use their own tote of some sort. However, most Americans shop once a week or once a month, and bringing fifteen of our own bags to the store just seems silly. They provide the bags while we provide revenue. Here in France you either bring your own bag or you pay about 15 cents, and receive an ugly look from the cashier, for each bag needed to carry what you've purchased. They are really thin bags by the way. And don't dare to think that it's worth the money or the annoyance when you are trying to carry ten plastic bags of groceries, your purse, your fragile eggs and bread on and off the metro and through intersections and then the cheap baggie breaks on the sidewalk. Do yourself a favor if you are visiting Europe and you plan on purchasing groceries - bring or buy two good sized, but inexpensive, tote bags with thick straps/handles. They'll weigh nothing in your luggage and provide such a service when you are here.

The Line: No matter what day it is or what time it is expect a line at the grocery store. I've been wondering for weeks why everyone here seems to own an MP3 player (I haven't seen many iPods)....I know now that it is for the constant waiting you will endure in France. Every appointment you have will be running behind, there will always be a line at the grocery store, and each metro ride includes loud talkers or crying babies, but I digress. So, even if you are only getting a couple of things in the store, go ahead and put them in the bag we talked about so your groceries are easier to hold for time spent waiting in line.

Bag it Yourself: In the States some grocery stores still have kind teenagers who bag your groceries and carry them to the car for you. Even if the store lacks such a helpful person it's expected that the cashier is trained in how to organize your bags for optimum efficiency: double bagged sharp items because they tend to break the first layer of bagging, meats with meats so they stay cold, dry goods with dry goods. When you leave America say goodbye to lazy grocery shopping. At checkout here in France you must bag your own items. The cashier is not going to send them down the line in an organized fashion or give you time to get one bag finished before she scans more things you've purchased. She's going to tell you your total and annoyingly hold her open hand in mid-air while you are trying to figure out where to put your eggs. Quick hands is all I can suggest for this situation....and patience. OH! And don't give her the money with the idea that you can just keep bagging once you've been given your change. Once you hand over those euros and the change is handed back your turn is officially over. The cashiers will begin to scan the items of the next person in line. It's a ....delicate, intricate, and trying system in my opinion.

Of course it goes without saying (although I'm saying it) that the store is going to make no sense in how things are organized; bread will be in the sugar aisle and tuna in the vegetable aisle for example. The prices are going to be outrageous (cereal starts at 2.50 euros for a little non-name-brand box of corn flakes and gets more expensive from there). Oh and keep up with how much your items cost and have the money already out, because when you are bagging your own groceries, there is no time to have to dig in your wallet while the other fifteen people in line glare and grumble at your rudeness (how dare you make them wait). Good luck. Shop often and with good humor.

-Tam in Toulouse

I am listening

This morning I woke up bursting to write this. I did not ponder it last night while falling asleep or read it in my Bible lately. Yet, this morning, the following thoughts settled in my mind sans (without) provocation or inspiration.


“Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). Never have I heard a sermon on this tiny old testament verse. Assuredly they exist, but not once have I heard someone speak on 'being still' and knowing God. I'm not trained, nor well read, and I definitely haven't been to church in weeks, but I think I have some thoughts on 'being still' that are honest and should be shared.

From my own conclusions I thought being still had something to do with church. One ought to pay attention during church; don't fidget or be on the cell phone texting or write the cute boy in the next pew a note. I thought that being still meant sitting still enough so that the majesty of God, via the preacher's sermon, could be fully appreciated. To my first understanding of this verse I added another layer eventually. Being still might also mean taking the moment in which God's blessing is made known to you to glorify and acknowledge HIM. Let yourself be immersed by HIS blessing, when you recognize it, thanking him and understanding that HE is the source of such goodness.
This morning, for no reason, I think that small verse has yet another layer. Perhaps it has less to do with our physical dispositions and more to do with our hearts and minds before the Lord. Thanks to an online Hebrew dictionary, I now know that 'being still' is the Hebrew word raphah. It has a dozen meanings but two of them are 'relax' and 'let it go'. When we are still we relax our minds and let go of our troubled hearts (at least that's one way to interpret the verse).
When I pray, I come to God talking, talking, talking. And often, too often, my prayers sound something like this, "Lord I come to you tonight...what is that noise outside? What in the world are those people up to being so loud." or "Lord thank you for the wonderful meal my grams made.... the chicken was really good. She burned it a bit. Maybe she should use a lower setting on the stove top." or "God thank you for this day...tomorrow is going to be so busy. I have that report, need to get groceries, oh and write so-and-so." I never allow the Lord to speak to me. My mind is racing in a hundred directions and I probably couldn't hear God if HE were standing next to me shouting.
Perhaps we should let the Lord talk for once. Just maybe we should sit quietly, allowing God to direct our heart and our mind. I mean completely quietly. No requests for help with a situation or thanks for this blessing or that situation, although glory is certainly due, but rather 'be' (relax & let yourself go) with HIM.
A focusing thought such as "Lord show me please where my spiritual weaknesses are." can open up a lot. You never know what the Lord would like to show you if you'd just allow him the quality time to. Then again, perhaps nothing needs to be said aloud. Maybe giving HIM complete freedom gives us complete opportunity to know his agenda more and ours less.
So, is this meditation. Do I think Christians should meditate? I'm not going to answer such questions, sorry. Why can't a silent, open you simply be 'being still'? So, relax your own worries, questions, and avenues of thought, let go of your own power of speech, be still and know HE is God.