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
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
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.
“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.
Friday, September 24, 2010
The Old Man and the ....Pond
Monday I decided to take a stroll down the Canal du Midi and around the small, but gorgeous, Compans Japanese Garden. I was in a frustrated mood from being hit on earlier that day by two 30+ year old french guys. I needed nature. At Sewanee, nature was easy to come by. Simply stride all of ten steps from any dorm and your feet would land on grass, a hiking trail, or both. We don't appreciate it, do we? The way Nature gives us beauty and solitude and complete understanding. She listens to all of our problems and quiets our fears. We treat her like we're doing her a favor by hiking her trails or lying in her meadows when she'd still have such things far after we're gone. Anyways, yes, I needed nature.
Entering the garden my eyes drank in the brilliant green of the trees and grass, the tart pink of the flowers, the cool feeling of the wind combined with spray from the water jet in the pond. As I stood there for a minute I noticed a man ahead seemingly kneeling by the water's edge. I had to get some pictures....his quiet presence there seemed picture postcard worthy.
So I pulled out my camera, snapped two photos, and I was just about to abandon the spot when an elderly woman came walking toward this man. She knelt with him there by the water, and I felt almost embarrassed to be intruding on their moment. Instead I walked toward the couple. Coming within a few feet I could see what they were looking at. Fishes! 
The old man wasn't kneeling, he was sitting and fishing. Beside him sat a bucket of water for his catch, a dirty rag for wiping his hands and his tackle box. And the woman, his wife, had been inspecting the small fish in the water, too tiny to catch but there all the same. 
No idea why, but this couple, the man fishing and the woman watching, was so calm and happy that I couldn't tear myself away. I had to snap more photos. So, mustering my best 'puppy dog eyes' face and my best french accent I introduced myself. "Hi. I'm sorry to bother you but I caught some photos of you. Maybe you'd like to see? I am an American student here, just a tourist I guess." After husband and wife inspecting a couple of photos he smiled and went back to fishing. She seemed shy but appreciative of the moment I'd caught on film. "May I take some more? I won't be loud. I won't scare the fishes." The man thought about it and nodded. The next two fish he proudly showed to me, warning me of their sharp fins and whiskers. The humble woman moved out of every photo I took until finally I took her hand and made her be in one. Even then she regarded me as a real photographer and wondered how she should stand and if I wanted her to smile. She and I spoke of her love for hiking and their love of the outdoors in general. This was their life. He fished, she walked some and watched some. It was simple and beautiful.
A couple of times I thought about leaving them to their spot, but I couldn't. I just wanted to be a part of their contentedness for a moment or two longer. Eventually though (after twenty minutes) the fish started being stubborn. It was time to excuse myself. "Avec plaisir et au revoir. I hope I didn't scare the fish but thank you for letting me take the photos and spend a moment with you."
-Tam in Toulouse
Friday, September 17, 2010
Sunbeams on a Cloudy Day
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| Compans Cafarelli Garden (Sept 20) |
Being in France is like living in a worn out old house. You love the staircase handrail worn smooth by many years of holding. You hate the creak in hallway floorboard that always announces past curfew arrivals.
See, in January when I was told I would be funded to come to France for school, I lost myself for a moment, letting loose a few tears of joy. That was before 6 months of emotional ups and downs, multiple rejections, out of pocket expenditures, last minute must-haves & must-dos, and a week here of paying for expenses I didn't know existed and definitely didn't budget for. Now, I am worn out.... I am a cloudy day. No lightening, no rain, no thunder, just hesitant grey clouds now.....
I know that Toulouse is rejuvenating me. I can taste it in the sweet, perfectly ripe peaches I eat daily and the yummy organic eggs I prepare nightly. I can smell it when I'm on the metro riding between intoxicating perfumes and musky colognes or when I'm walking the bridge over the canal smelling the moss and the fish after it rains. I can hear it everywhere, all around me, all the time, new words and phrases just waiting for me to grasp.
My lunches of creamy, tart Camembert cheese and freshly baked bread, the gentle waters of the Garonne swiftly flowing by, the hilarity of ordering a 'royal cheese' (dbl cheeseburger) from a pretentious french MacDonald's, the small child on the metro telling me he's 2, someone assuring me my french is très bien, the patisserie that I drool over because the pastries are mouthwatering.....these are my sunbeams. These are the things that I can call my own, my own happy experiences in Toulouse.
The sunbeams are shining through the clouds.
-Tam in Toulouse
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
3 Hour Course Registration - Hr 3
After selecting my courses, I faced the cork board of papers once again. This time it made sense and I easily mapped out each course by day and time. Thank Heaven Above nothing conflicted! The courses that I really wanted fit perfectly with the courses I was forced to take. Now, to consult my guru about professor reputations. I called Angel to the board and asked her about my selections. She assured me that Mme. Bouchet for 'theatre to make you laugh' would be entertaining, Professor Pascal for 'love poetry' and 'poetry and mythology' was known for being the nicest in the department, Gaillard who is 'adorable' would be teaching me stylistics, Dottin was used to foreigners and would be a good professor for my course on Salome.....I did not have any professors with awful reputations.
Angel and two of her colleagues helped me fill out the official registration document. Before leading me out of the office Post-Grad Angel assured me she'd be more than happy to help if I needed to return for anything.
"Now you must go register in person for Latin and for English," Angel's colleague told me as we walked down the corridor. "Huh?" "Yes. It's lunch time now, but their office opens in a demi-heure. Just go and register for Latin and then go to the other building and register for English. Understand?" No, I did not understand. I just registered for my courses. I knew it was lunch time, and no one messes with French lunch time, so I just shook my head in understanding, thanked Angel's colleague, and trotted off as if I knew exactly where I was going.
One demi-heure later I found myself in the registration office of the classics department in an annoying dilemma. "You've never had Latin before?! Oh la la. You are signed up for 3rd year Latin. You should be in 1st year Latin but at level License 3 the only thing I can offer you is 2nd year Latin."
"Can I please have 1st year Latin? I'm going to fail 2nd year since I've never had it before...."
"It seems that way yes, but perhaps you can catch up or something. I can only offer you 2nd year Latin because you are License 3. Don't worry. Just show up the first day and explain to the prof that you need to catch up and that you know nothing. Don't worry." With this final reminder of not to worry, the ray of sunshine in the classics department shooed me out of her office and shut the door. I wanted to stage a sit in and demand 1st year Latin. I didn't. I swallowed my frustration and fear of Latin failure and went to find the Language Department so I could register for English Language.
Again, a dilemma..."Oh, you don't have your carte d'identite because the computers are down at the main registration office.... well you need your student ID number.... I guess you'll have to go online back at your apartment and try to register for English." "But I don't understand how...." "Oh it's very simple, just go to this super long address written on the board there and type in all these codes for the formation and the course and the time slot and then just hit submit. Voila." "I'm going to screw this up..." "Nah. Have a nice day! Bye now!"........ I wanted to harm the french techie 'helping' me register for English. Instead I opted to leave the office, hop on the metro, and call it a day.
Three hours of registration and I still have to go back tomorrow to tell Post-Grad Angel that I am now in 2nd year Latin instead of 3rd year Latin so that my paperwork will be correct for first day of classes....no worries....c'est la vie... cheese and a croissant will make me happy again.
-Tam in Toulouse
Angel and two of her colleagues helped me fill out the official registration document. Before leading me out of the office Post-Grad Angel assured me she'd be more than happy to help if I needed to return for anything.
"Now you must go register in person for Latin and for English," Angel's colleague told me as we walked down the corridor. "Huh?" "Yes. It's lunch time now, but their office opens in a demi-heure. Just go and register for Latin and then go to the other building and register for English. Understand?" No, I did not understand. I just registered for my courses. I knew it was lunch time, and no one messes with French lunch time, so I just shook my head in understanding, thanked Angel's colleague, and trotted off as if I knew exactly where I was going.
One demi-heure later I found myself in the registration office of the classics department in an annoying dilemma. "You've never had Latin before?! Oh la la. You are signed up for 3rd year Latin. You should be in 1st year Latin but at level License 3 the only thing I can offer you is 2nd year Latin."
"Can I please have 1st year Latin? I'm going to fail 2nd year since I've never had it before...."
"It seems that way yes, but perhaps you can catch up or something. I can only offer you 2nd year Latin because you are License 3. Don't worry. Just show up the first day and explain to the prof that you need to catch up and that you know nothing. Don't worry." With this final reminder of not to worry, the ray of sunshine in the classics department shooed me out of her office and shut the door. I wanted to stage a sit in and demand 1st year Latin. I didn't. I swallowed my frustration and fear of Latin failure and went to find the Language Department so I could register for English Language.
Again, a dilemma..."Oh, you don't have your carte d'identite because the computers are down at the main registration office.... well you need your student ID number.... I guess you'll have to go online back at your apartment and try to register for English." "But I don't understand how...." "Oh it's very simple, just go to this super long address written on the board there and type in all these codes for the formation and the course and the time slot and then just hit submit. Voila." "I'm going to screw this up..." "Nah. Have a nice day! Bye now!"........ I wanted to harm the french techie 'helping' me register for English. Instead I opted to leave the office, hop on the metro, and call it a day.
Three hours of registration and I still have to go back tomorrow to tell Post-Grad Angel that I am now in 2nd year Latin instead of 3rd year Latin so that my paperwork will be correct for first day of classes....no worries....c'est la vie... cheese and a croissant will make me happy again.
-Tam in Toulouse
3 Hour Course Registration - Hr 2
For the remainder of my story I'll be referring to this very sweet young lady as Post-Grad Angel since that's what she turned out to be, and also because I never got her name.
Angel looked at my sympathetically and recommenced from the beginning, answering all my questions first. She explained that my courses were already picked for me, but that I was allowed to choose which professors I wanted. Although the department chose the course, for example Medieval French Literature, the professors could choose within the course what subject matter or authors specifically that they'd like to teach. Dropping to FLE (French for Internationals - French As a Foreign Language) would probably be easier but the classes wouldn't be as dynamic. I would be learning grammar instead of studying Baudelaire. Oh and let's not forget that if I wanted to change my 'formation' (major) then I'd have to re-register as a student studying FLE. "So, Lettres Modernes at level License 3 it is then." I'd have to pick my courses for both the fall and spring semester now and pray I didn't fail the exams, because there would be no option to change my 'formation' (major).
Understanding that I would need time to read over the general course descriptions and then each professor's course description, Angel led me outside the office to the cork board that I'd been to before. She clearly indicated that the board showed the times and room assignments for each professor's class under each course. "After you pick your professors, come to this wall and make sure that the times do not conflict. After you have done that, return to me in the office and we'll sign the official documents registering you for those courses."
"Awesome. We're making progress. Time to choose courses" Needing some fresh air and sunlight to brighten my mood and calm my nerves, I stepped out into a small courtyard and lowered myself onto a bench. The selection process went like so:
Course 16 - Comparative Literature. My choices, by professor, are "Memory and Conscience in Fiction", "Mythical literary figures: Salome from the Bible",or "The Wagnerian hero". Since the first sounded kinda out there and I didn't really know Wagner enough to want to learn about his interpretation of a hero, I chose Salome.
Course 17 (Two Part Course) - Linguistics and Latin. "Ugh, did I read that right?" Two choices for Linguistics.... fabulous variety huh? Choice A puts me studying works that are mediators between Latin and French. Choice B lands me studying the morphology of Latin into French. "Awful... and awful. Great."
The lesser of two evils seemed to be Choice A. For Latin we have.... 3rd year of study, 5th year of study, or those with profound knowledge.... "better choose the 3rd year of study and hope for the best since I've never studied Latin before. "
Course 18- French Literature 19th and 20th Century - no course descriptions given, so close your eyes and pin the tail on your new teacher.
Course 19 - Master's level Spanish, German, or English. "Give me the English please! Let me have one good grade this semester."
On to 2nd Semester courses.....
Course 20 - French Lit. 16th to 18th Century (Renaissance Lit)- Lovely choices.... "Aesthetics of Violence", "Autobiographical Works", "Love Poetry and Fictional History", "Fiction about the Body", "Writings on Liberty", and "Polyphonic Fictions". Definitely not a course on violence, autobiography, the body, or whatever polyphonic fiction is. That leaves liberty or love. Naturally, being in France, I must take a course on love.
Course 21 - Syntax and Style - just like French Lit 19th and 20th Century, this course has no deviations. Choose the time slot that works and go with the flow.
Course 22 - Options of the Discipline! - And my options are.....*sad face* - "Latin Translations", "Francophone Literature 2", "French Lit (two part course)", "Inter-Arts Comparisons with Emphasis on Wagner", or "French and Roman Language Linguistics". Well....."Don't know Latin. No thank you African Literature about political strife. Why does French Lit have to be two parts?! What's up with the Wagner obsession? Clearly I'm not a linguist." Guess we'll go with French Lit, at least it offers some interesting descriptions - 'theatre to make you laugh' and 'poetry and mythology'.
-Tam in Toulouse
Angel looked at my sympathetically and recommenced from the beginning, answering all my questions first. She explained that my courses were already picked for me, but that I was allowed to choose which professors I wanted. Although the department chose the course, for example Medieval French Literature, the professors could choose within the course what subject matter or authors specifically that they'd like to teach. Dropping to FLE (French for Internationals - French As a Foreign Language) would probably be easier but the classes wouldn't be as dynamic. I would be learning grammar instead of studying Baudelaire. Oh and let's not forget that if I wanted to change my 'formation' (major) then I'd have to re-register as a student studying FLE. "So, Lettres Modernes at level License 3 it is then." I'd have to pick my courses for both the fall and spring semester now and pray I didn't fail the exams, because there would be no option to change my 'formation' (major).
Understanding that I would need time to read over the general course descriptions and then each professor's course description, Angel led me outside the office to the cork board that I'd been to before. She clearly indicated that the board showed the times and room assignments for each professor's class under each course. "After you pick your professors, come to this wall and make sure that the times do not conflict. After you have done that, return to me in the office and we'll sign the official documents registering you for those courses."
"Awesome. We're making progress. Time to choose courses" Needing some fresh air and sunlight to brighten my mood and calm my nerves, I stepped out into a small courtyard and lowered myself onto a bench. The selection process went like so:
Course 16 - Comparative Literature. My choices, by professor, are "Memory and Conscience in Fiction", "Mythical literary figures: Salome from the Bible",or "The Wagnerian hero". Since the first sounded kinda out there and I didn't really know Wagner enough to want to learn about his interpretation of a hero, I chose Salome.
Course 17 (Two Part Course) - Linguistics and Latin. "Ugh, did I read that right?" Two choices for Linguistics.... fabulous variety huh? Choice A puts me studying works that are mediators between Latin and French. Choice B lands me studying the morphology of Latin into French. "Awful... and awful. Great."
The lesser of two evils seemed to be Choice A. For Latin we have.... 3rd year of study, 5th year of study, or those with profound knowledge.... "better choose the 3rd year of study and hope for the best since I've never studied Latin before. "
Course 18- French Literature 19th and 20th Century - no course descriptions given, so close your eyes and pin the tail on your new teacher.
Course 19 - Master's level Spanish, German, or English. "Give me the English please! Let me have one good grade this semester."
On to 2nd Semester courses.....
Course 20 - French Lit. 16th to 18th Century (Renaissance Lit)- Lovely choices.... "Aesthetics of Violence", "Autobiographical Works", "Love Poetry and Fictional History", "Fiction about the Body", "Writings on Liberty", and "Polyphonic Fictions". Definitely not a course on violence, autobiography, the body, or whatever polyphonic fiction is. That leaves liberty or love. Naturally, being in France, I must take a course on love.
Course 21 - Syntax and Style - just like French Lit 19th and 20th Century, this course has no deviations. Choose the time slot that works and go with the flow.
Course 22 - Options of the Discipline! - And my options are.....*sad face* - "Latin Translations", "Francophone Literature 2", "French Lit (two part course)", "Inter-Arts Comparisons with Emphasis on Wagner", or "French and Roman Language Linguistics". Well....."Don't know Latin. No thank you African Literature about political strife. Why does French Lit have to be two parts?! What's up with the Wagner obsession? Clearly I'm not a linguist." Guess we'll go with French Lit, at least it offers some interesting descriptions - 'theatre to make you laugh' and 'poetry and mythology'.
-Tam in Toulouse
3 Hour Course Registration - Hr 1
This beautiful, sunny morning in Toulouse I discovered the paradoxically convoluted, yet simple, process of course registration at my university here, Le Mirail. Last Wed. I paid my 'inscription' (registration) fee. The very nice man handed me a tiny piece of paper to keep up with (proof that I'd paid), told me that the computers were down indefinitely so I would not be getting my student ID card just yet, and suggested I come back in a week. He mentioned nothing about registering for my classes. Thus, I assumed (wrongly as you'll find out) that once I returned in a week's time I would be sitting down in the same office to select courses.
I returned today and asked the International Student reception desk for my 'carte d'identite'. "Check back next week." "Okay. Will do. I'd like to register for courses." "Yes and....that's not our area. You must register directly with your department." Interesting.... no one had mentioned that part. "Do I need a rendez-vous?" , I asked. They replied, "How would we know? It's up to the department."
Slightly frustrated, but still excited about choosing my classes, I found my department and started looking for signs reading "Welcome" or "Registration". Every one else seemed to know exactly where they were going as they rushed past. There were several welcome offices and several registration rooms.... I was overwhelmed. Stopping at the international scholarship office I asked for some directions, explaining that I was License 3 - an odd year that the French have between the American equivalent of a Bachelor's and before a Master's - and that I wanted to choose courses. The kind lady took me around the corner to a huge cork board with various papers attached, none of which made sense. "Merci. Au Revoir." Dead End.
'Let's try another office', I thought. This time I dropped into the License 3 office. Surely they could help me. "Hi. I'm sorry but I'm a little lost. I've registered for License 3 and paid, but I'm not sure how to register for my courses." "Blah Blah Blah (very quick incomprehensible French)" "Can you please speak less quickly. I'm sorry. I am American. I have already paid my tuition but I have no idea how to register for my courses." "Blah...Blah... *to her colleague* She doesn't speak very good French. I don't know what she wants.... Blah Blah." This lady shows me to a door around the corner. The door is locked, the blinds are half closed, and the young secretary inside looks very busy with her computer. We both realize this office isn't going to help either. Around another corner, by now I feel like I'm in a maze, she hands me off to another lady with "She doesn't speak 'tres bien' French." 'GEEZ PEOPLE I'M TRYING OKAY!' screams the frustrated voice in my head. My mouth remains closed as I smile and try to look confident.
This young lady looks like she just graduated, which I hope is the case. Ushering me into a chair she grabs a thick green folder from behind her, an official-looking piece of paper, and a pen. She sits down across from me and begins to rapidly explain the process. "Well at least I'm in the right office finally." "Why is she going so fast?" "Is that green thing supposed to be course descriptions?" "What is that document she has?" "Is this the right registration for me or should I switch to French for International Students Instead?" "I can't even understand her, I'm going to fail my courses this year!" She's talking on and on while I'm drowning in a sea of confusion and discouragement.
Finally I put my hand on top of the paper that she's pointing to with her pen..."Excusez moi." "Please speak slower. I cannot understand you. I do not understand how this process works. It looks like there are only a few professors to choose from. It also looks like I must take the courses you underlined. How many courses do I take? Am I signing up for both semesters now? Are there any professors who are known for being nice to foreigners? This is very different and hard for me. I'm sorry but I just don't understand anything."
-Tam in Toulouse
-continue reading for hour 2 of this registration fiasco
-please note that everything I've written in English was said in French but since I am writing for friends and family who do not speak the language I am accommodating.
I returned today and asked the International Student reception desk for my 'carte d'identite'. "Check back next week." "Okay. Will do. I'd like to register for courses." "Yes and....that's not our area. You must register directly with your department." Interesting.... no one had mentioned that part. "Do I need a rendez-vous?" , I asked. They replied, "How would we know? It's up to the department."
Slightly frustrated, but still excited about choosing my classes, I found my department and started looking for signs reading "Welcome" or "Registration". Every one else seemed to know exactly where they were going as they rushed past. There were several welcome offices and several registration rooms.... I was overwhelmed. Stopping at the international scholarship office I asked for some directions, explaining that I was License 3 - an odd year that the French have between the American equivalent of a Bachelor's and before a Master's - and that I wanted to choose courses. The kind lady took me around the corner to a huge cork board with various papers attached, none of which made sense. "Merci. Au Revoir." Dead End.
'Let's try another office', I thought. This time I dropped into the License 3 office. Surely they could help me. "Hi. I'm sorry but I'm a little lost. I've registered for License 3 and paid, but I'm not sure how to register for my courses." "Blah Blah Blah (very quick incomprehensible French)" "Can you please speak less quickly. I'm sorry. I am American. I have already paid my tuition but I have no idea how to register for my courses." "Blah...Blah... *to her colleague* She doesn't speak very good French. I don't know what she wants.... Blah Blah." This lady shows me to a door around the corner. The door is locked, the blinds are half closed, and the young secretary inside looks very busy with her computer. We both realize this office isn't going to help either. Around another corner, by now I feel like I'm in a maze, she hands me off to another lady with "She doesn't speak 'tres bien' French." 'GEEZ PEOPLE I'M TRYING OKAY!' screams the frustrated voice in my head. My mouth remains closed as I smile and try to look confident.
This young lady looks like she just graduated, which I hope is the case. Ushering me into a chair she grabs a thick green folder from behind her, an official-looking piece of paper, and a pen. She sits down across from me and begins to rapidly explain the process. "Well at least I'm in the right office finally." "Why is she going so fast?" "Is that green thing supposed to be course descriptions?" "What is that document she has?" "Is this the right registration for me or should I switch to French for International Students Instead?" "I can't even understand her, I'm going to fail my courses this year!" She's talking on and on while I'm drowning in a sea of confusion and discouragement.
Finally I put my hand on top of the paper that she's pointing to with her pen..."Excusez moi." "Please speak slower. I cannot understand you. I do not understand how this process works. It looks like there are only a few professors to choose from. It also looks like I must take the courses you underlined. How many courses do I take? Am I signing up for both semesters now? Are there any professors who are known for being nice to foreigners? This is very different and hard for me. I'm sorry but I just don't understand anything."
-Tam in Toulouse
-continue reading for hour 2 of this registration fiasco
-please note that everything I've written in English was said in French but since I am writing for friends and family who do not speak the language I am accommodating.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Metros Have No Money Trees
My mother has told me frequently that money doesn't grow on trees. I'm now telling myself that, in Toulouse France, if money did grow on trees, such trees would not be located anywhere near the metro....... or the bus stop.......or the taxi cab station......or the train station for that matter.
My first two full days in Toulouse, a Friday and a Saturday, I learned my lesson about urban transportation: it's EXPENSIVE!
In order to get to Le Mirail from my hotel room I needed to take a bus to metro line A. From university to my potential apartment I then needed to hop back on the metro line A and switch to B at Juan Juarez. To get back to the hotel it was B to A to bus. In the course of two days I spent 1.50 euros for each transfer on these silly little orange slips of paper that you use on the buses and at the metro turnstiles. The number of times I was forced to dig into my wallet so I could pay the bus driver for that orange slip while an entire bus full of French people glare at my incompetence.....it got to be infuriating and embarrassing.
Most cities, if not all, in France with public transportation will have a special card for individuals 18-25. This special treatment for college aged individuals goes beyond transportation. Banks, hotels, restaurants, museums, lots of places have discounts for young adults. I haven't discovered the philosophy behind it, but being 22, and thus a discounted individual, I blindly love it.
Having wasted too much money on single transfer tickets during my first two days here, I decided to visit the Arenes metro/bus station to get a carte pastel. On a whim I took my passport with my extra passport photos inside and my school acceptance letter. After standing in a waiting line for a good twenty minutes ( in France any appointment you have or errand you need to run will be accompanied by waiting so get used to carrying an ipod or a book) it was finally my turn.
The two young ladies helped me set up my carte account with no problems thanks to my whim. Turns out the requirements for a carte pastel are photo id, proof of residence, and proof that you are in fact a student. They were even willing to use my hotel as my residence until my apartment was finalized! I left the office with my inexpensive, rechargeable metro/bus/tram card in hand. Now, all I had to do was swipe my card and transportation was limitless!
Traveling around and seeing the sights can become expensive in a big city since you cannot walk everywhere. If you know you are going to be visiting for any longer than a couple of days my recommendation is to get a ticket for a week or ten transfers OR if you will be living there then get a carte.
-Tam in Toulouse
My first two full days in Toulouse, a Friday and a Saturday, I learned my lesson about urban transportation: it's EXPENSIVE!
In order to get to Le Mirail from my hotel room I needed to take a bus to metro line A. From university to my potential apartment I then needed to hop back on the metro line A and switch to B at Juan Juarez. To get back to the hotel it was B to A to bus. In the course of two days I spent 1.50 euros for each transfer on these silly little orange slips of paper that you use on the buses and at the metro turnstiles. The number of times I was forced to dig into my wallet so I could pay the bus driver for that orange slip while an entire bus full of French people glare at my incompetence.....it got to be infuriating and embarrassing.
Most cities, if not all, in France with public transportation will have a special card for individuals 18-25. This special treatment for college aged individuals goes beyond transportation. Banks, hotels, restaurants, museums, lots of places have discounts for young adults. I haven't discovered the philosophy behind it, but being 22, and thus a discounted individual, I blindly love it.
Having wasted too much money on single transfer tickets during my first two days here, I decided to visit the Arenes metro/bus station to get a carte pastel. On a whim I took my passport with my extra passport photos inside and my school acceptance letter. After standing in a waiting line for a good twenty minutes ( in France any appointment you have or errand you need to run will be accompanied by waiting so get used to carrying an ipod or a book) it was finally my turn.
The two young ladies helped me set up my carte account with no problems thanks to my whim. Turns out the requirements for a carte pastel are photo id, proof of residence, and proof that you are in fact a student. They were even willing to use my hotel as my residence until my apartment was finalized! I left the office with my inexpensive, rechargeable metro/bus/tram card in hand. Now, all I had to do was swipe my card and transportation was limitless!
Traveling around and seeing the sights can become expensive in a big city since you cannot walk everywhere. If you know you are going to be visiting for any longer than a couple of days my recommendation is to get a ticket for a week or ten transfers OR if you will be living there then get a carte.
-Tam in Toulouse
Saturday, September 11, 2010
These Shoes Weren't Made for Walking
If you've read my blog on fashion then I might have you believing that there's no need for those comfortable, molded-to-your-feet-after-years-of-exercise sneakers or your stained, dirty, been-on-three-continents-and hiked-hundreds-of-trails Chacos. There is most definitely a need for such footwear - TRAVEL DAYS!
Trust me. Oh please trust me when I say that travel days are the absolute worst. Even though, and I pray it does, your luggage rolls, your most important item for travel, besides your identification and tickets, is your shoes.
"But I adore my flats!" you say? Well, adore those flats after twenty hours of trekking on and off airplanes and walking miles and miles through concrete airports.
"How about my most comfortable heels?" you think. Yes, go right ahead, doom yourself to a twisted ankle when you are navigating escalators with unbalanced luggage that wants to tip over every five seconds. Love those heels when you are running up and down stairs to make it for your next flight.
"Surely my boots can withstand the travel?" you ponder. Probably, yes they can, but somehow after so many hours of standing up and sitting down, walking here and running there, that extra bit of weight starts to wear on the leg muscles and your nerves. Your ankles and calves will begin to cry mutiny from the constriction of those great boots.
On travel days the feet need support, comfort, and practicality. They are doing a great service holding up your body through airports, metros, buses, stairs, etc. There will be no bellhop at the airport to help. "But Tam" you say "I'll only have a tiny little rolling bag and my purse with me. I think I can manage even that in whatever footwear." To that skepticism I reply,"It's not what you have with you necessarily but how you'll have to manage it on various types of transportation while juggling ID's, tickets, meals to go, cell phone, pet, child, pillow, etc. The last thing you want to worry about during hours and hours of travel is aching feet, a broken heel, or a broken zipper on your boots.
So, pack away the oh so chic footwear and pull out the less fashionable, slide on and go, most supporting walking shoes you own. Your feet will thank you in the end!
-Tam in Toulouse
Trust me. Oh please trust me when I say that travel days are the absolute worst. Even though, and I pray it does, your luggage rolls, your most important item for travel, besides your identification and tickets, is your shoes.
"But I adore my flats!" you say? Well, adore those flats after twenty hours of trekking on and off airplanes and walking miles and miles through concrete airports.
"How about my most comfortable heels?" you think. Yes, go right ahead, doom yourself to a twisted ankle when you are navigating escalators with unbalanced luggage that wants to tip over every five seconds. Love those heels when you are running up and down stairs to make it for your next flight.
"Surely my boots can withstand the travel?" you ponder. Probably, yes they can, but somehow after so many hours of standing up and sitting down, walking here and running there, that extra bit of weight starts to wear on the leg muscles and your nerves. Your ankles and calves will begin to cry mutiny from the constriction of those great boots.
On travel days the feet need support, comfort, and practicality. They are doing a great service holding up your body through airports, metros, buses, stairs, etc. There will be no bellhop at the airport to help. "But Tam" you say "I'll only have a tiny little rolling bag and my purse with me. I think I can manage even that in whatever footwear." To that skepticism I reply,"It's not what you have with you necessarily but how you'll have to manage it on various types of transportation while juggling ID's, tickets, meals to go, cell phone, pet, child, pillow, etc. The last thing you want to worry about during hours and hours of travel is aching feet, a broken heel, or a broken zipper on your boots.
So, pack away the oh so chic footwear and pull out the less fashionable, slide on and go, most supporting walking shoes you own. Your feet will thank you in the end!
-Tam in Toulouse
Friday, September 10, 2010
French Fall Fashion 101
Before coming to Toulouse I wondered what to pack for France. Now that I have already lugged around two 50 lb. suitcases and 7 pairs of shoes and sat for hours people-watching I know the answer to that question.
Here in Toulouse summer is changing into fall. Crisp mornings, cool nights, and chilly breezes throughout the day force the end of tank tops and short skirts. There is no need for air conditioning; simply leave a window cracked. Although I've only been here ten days I have walked the streets in Toulouse enough to recognize the changing weather and the chic french fashion trending for the fall. Let me explain....
When packing to come here I really only needed one suitcase and 3 pairs of shoes, according to the clothing that 8 out of every 10 french girls wear. For my feet I only seem to need a pair of flats, boots, and black heels. Honestly, I've noticed the feet walking by and most are housed in the aforementioned footwear. If you cannot abide heels, or perhaps flats, then note that black Converse seem to be an acceptable substitute in the trio of necessary shoes in Toulouse.
Moving up the body.... I packed dresses, skirts, shorts, jeans, trousers, and leggings. Covering one's legs is a way simpler affair in 'la ville rose'. Stick to dark wash, well fitted jeans (or khakis) or black leggings. That's it, that's all. Toulousiennes, men and women no matter the age, adore dark wash jeans. When dirty, switch to a well fitted pair of khakis. The leggings are more of a feminine fashion staple due to their form fitting manner.
While packing, I felt like I simply could not part with certain tops and blouses. At least I hit the fashion nail on the head with that decision! The bottom half of the body doesn't change that much day to day. But the top half is a show! All sorts of pretty blouses and tunics, tees, mini dresses, and light jackets streaming by everyday while I people-watch!!! I could go on and on! I want to mention is the necessity for a black blazer and a grey cardigan when packing. The French girls of college age here in Toulouse love love love to layer, yet the favorite choice for the top layer seems to be the blazer or cardigan. With the sleeves rolled up or down, the buttons done or undone, these two are musts!
Rounding out this examination of fall fashion here in Toulouse .....the purse! It's as much a part of the outfit as the shoes and just as important since this staple will hold everything from milk and sandwiches to newly purchased clothing to schoolbooks to fruit, and sometimes all those things at once! The typical purses I've seen are definitely heavy duty. Every color of the rainbow, and all textures on earth, these vessels have one thing in common. They are huge, they zip closed tighter than Fort Knox, they have lots of pockets, and they have both short carrying straps and a shoulder strap. It's really a psychological study, the female and her purse. I imagine that the reason for such a monstrosity of a bag that one must carry on and off crowded metros and buses and down busy streets will make itself apparent after a few weeks of school. More on that subject later I think.
If you really want to look chic and french remember to dress slightly monochromatic. Entire outfits of varying shades of grey and khaki are completely acceptable. And black from head to toe is always a good choice. In fact, black shows up in every one's attire whether it's the shoes, the purse, whatever. In America we tend to think of black as a somber color but it can be very simple and pretty.
So, there we are. Like I said, I only needed one suitcase and 3 pairs of shoes after all! Tant pis! We'll see how the fashions progress as winter sets in a few months from now!
-Tam in Toulouse
Here in Toulouse summer is changing into fall. Crisp mornings, cool nights, and chilly breezes throughout the day force the end of tank tops and short skirts. There is no need for air conditioning; simply leave a window cracked. Although I've only been here ten days I have walked the streets in Toulouse enough to recognize the changing weather and the chic french fashion trending for the fall. Let me explain....
When packing to come here I really only needed one suitcase and 3 pairs of shoes, according to the clothing that 8 out of every 10 french girls wear. For my feet I only seem to need a pair of flats, boots, and black heels. Honestly, I've noticed the feet walking by and most are housed in the aforementioned footwear. If you cannot abide heels, or perhaps flats, then note that black Converse seem to be an acceptable substitute in the trio of necessary shoes in Toulouse.
Moving up the body.... I packed dresses, skirts, shorts, jeans, trousers, and leggings. Covering one's legs is a way simpler affair in 'la ville rose'. Stick to dark wash, well fitted jeans (or khakis) or black leggings. That's it, that's all. Toulousiennes, men and women no matter the age, adore dark wash jeans. When dirty, switch to a well fitted pair of khakis. The leggings are more of a feminine fashion staple due to their form fitting manner.
While packing, I felt like I simply could not part with certain tops and blouses. At least I hit the fashion nail on the head with that decision! The bottom half of the body doesn't change that much day to day. But the top half is a show! All sorts of pretty blouses and tunics, tees, mini dresses, and light jackets streaming by everyday while I people-watch!!! I could go on and on! I want to mention is the necessity for a black blazer and a grey cardigan when packing. The French girls of college age here in Toulouse love love love to layer, yet the favorite choice for the top layer seems to be the blazer or cardigan. With the sleeves rolled up or down, the buttons done or undone, these two are musts!
Rounding out this examination of fall fashion here in Toulouse .....the purse! It's as much a part of the outfit as the shoes and just as important since this staple will hold everything from milk and sandwiches to newly purchased clothing to schoolbooks to fruit, and sometimes all those things at once! The typical purses I've seen are definitely heavy duty. Every color of the rainbow, and all textures on earth, these vessels have one thing in common. They are huge, they zip closed tighter than Fort Knox, they have lots of pockets, and they have both short carrying straps and a shoulder strap. It's really a psychological study, the female and her purse. I imagine that the reason for such a monstrosity of a bag that one must carry on and off crowded metros and buses and down busy streets will make itself apparent after a few weeks of school. More on that subject later I think.
If you really want to look chic and french remember to dress slightly monochromatic. Entire outfits of varying shades of grey and khaki are completely acceptable. And black from head to toe is always a good choice. In fact, black shows up in every one's attire whether it's the shoes, the purse, whatever. In America we tend to think of black as a somber color but it can be very simple and pretty.
So, there we are. Like I said, I only needed one suitcase and 3 pairs of shoes after all! Tant pis! We'll see how the fashions progress as winter sets in a few months from now!
-Tam in Toulouse
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Perhaps I Speak French
There are special, rare moments when you are learning a language that bring a smile to your face and relief to your heart. Such moments might be small. Perhaps it is one complete sentence in French with perfect conjugation and a smooth flow of speech. Perhaps this special moment occurs when a lost, English-speaking tourist asks you for directions and doesn't catch on that you aren't french because you seem so knowledgeable.
During my time in Toulouse such special moments have eluded my reach. Stumbling my way through conversations and asking every Toulousienne 'where such and such is' or 'what time such and such happens', I have felt inadequate speaking French here.
But today....
Today I had my moment! That confidence boosting, walking on air afterwards, this language isn't so awful moment!
At BNP, after thirty minutes of waiting for my appointment to open a bank account (with no end in sight to the waiting), in walked two young women. Together they walked up to the welcome desk and asked in English if they could open a bank account, a question to which the guy behind the desk muttered some incomprehensible french something without even looking up from his papers. The next attempt by the two ladies: "Do you speak English?" And the very french reply: "Pas de tout." (Pah duh too = not a bit).
What possessed me to dare translate for them? I have no idea. Yet, almost subconsciously, I found myself saying aloud, "He doesn't speak English. He wants to know if you have an appointment."
The ladies asked if I could translate. And I could, couldn't I?
So back and forth we went. The two young women, who were semester abroad students from India at the nearby business school, asked me when an appointment was possible, what documents they might need, if they could have an appointment together with an English speaking representative, etc. And the french guy behind the desk? With the typical 'rolling of the eyes because the people before him weren't speaking French and the translator clearly lacks correct banking phrases and terms' attitude, he explained the procedure via me, made an appointment for them for a week later, and neglected a 'Merci' in my direction when the transaction was complete. The ladies thanked me and left, successfully securing the all important 'rendez-vous'.
I lowered myself back into my waiting chair with a singular phrase running continuously through my head. 'Perhaps I speak French'.
During my time in Toulouse such special moments have eluded my reach. Stumbling my way through conversations and asking every Toulousienne 'where such and such is' or 'what time such and such happens', I have felt inadequate speaking French here.
But today....
Today I had my moment! That confidence boosting, walking on air afterwards, this language isn't so awful moment!
At BNP, after thirty minutes of waiting for my appointment to open a bank account (with no end in sight to the waiting), in walked two young women. Together they walked up to the welcome desk and asked in English if they could open a bank account, a question to which the guy behind the desk muttered some incomprehensible french something without even looking up from his papers. The next attempt by the two ladies: "Do you speak English?" And the very french reply: "Pas de tout." (Pah duh too = not a bit).
What possessed me to dare translate for them? I have no idea. Yet, almost subconsciously, I found myself saying aloud, "He doesn't speak English. He wants to know if you have an appointment."
The ladies asked if I could translate. And I could, couldn't I?
So back and forth we went. The two young women, who were semester abroad students from India at the nearby business school, asked me when an appointment was possible, what documents they might need, if they could have an appointment together with an English speaking representative, etc. And the french guy behind the desk? With the typical 'rolling of the eyes because the people before him weren't speaking French and the translator clearly lacks correct banking phrases and terms' attitude, he explained the procedure via me, made an appointment for them for a week later, and neglected a 'Merci' in my direction when the transaction was complete. The ladies thanked me and left, successfully securing the all important 'rendez-vous'.
I lowered myself back into my waiting chair with a singular phrase running continuously through my head. 'Perhaps I speak French'.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
First Impressions
I've been in Toulouse for 48 hours, although it seems like longer, which warrants a blog update! Sit back and discover Toulouse through my eyes dear readers....
My hotel, the Nouvel Horizon, is quaint, clean and quiet although the location isn't the best (twenty unlit minutes of walking from the metro next to a hwy). It is located in Purpan, a hospital area of Toulouse. As I'm learning quickly, big cities seem to have different areas with special names. Confusing at first, the names actually help you keep the city straight if you can remember what's located in which area.
The first night here- might I pause to mention that instead of arriving at 7 am I arrived at 6 pm due to airport delays! (the upside was visiting the Munich airport) - I checked into the hotel and decided to begin my apartment search. Through internet sites and word of mouth I'd heard that finding student housing in Toulouse was impossible after September 1st, so I wanted to start looking immediately. Thanks to help of some random french woman, I found a bus that would take me about ten blocks from the first apartment building. Unfortunately the first place I visited, the Estudines, was closed. I'd forgotten France. Plain and simple. I had and I have forgotten certain things about France that you only discover till you live here. Everything seems to close before 8 pm throughout the week, with the exception of bars and restaurants of course. After walking around the streets a bit my jet lag kicked in and I came trudging back to the hotel tired and unsuccessful in my apartment quest.
Day 2 here in Toulouse dawned bright and early after a fitful night of half sleep. I needed to present myself at the University of Toulouse by 9 am. My university is named after the area of town in which it's located: Le Miral (meer eye yuh). I haven't seen much of it yet, but what I've seen so far is cold concrete. It's the exact opposite of my dear Sewanee - gravel paths, blooming flowers, and warm colors, institution and nature combined into one happy existence. Toulouse has been tamed into ugly city rigidity it seems. My 9 am meeting crashed and burned... Is it too much to ask for an English speaking individual to explain how I'm to register for school here? I suppose so. I am in France after all. The woman I met with handed me some papers, told me to come back on the 8th, and was unbelievably unhelpful when I announced that I didn't have housing yet. At least I left the office with my registration papers - now if I could figure out what they say.... I was not paying attention on the bus after Le Mirail and got off at Bellefontaine (another part of town). In an attempt to get directions from the local meat packer I was directed into a strange building just off the square. To my utter amazement he had directed me to the Free Information Center where kind ladies were just waiting to help anyone who walked through the door. I met an English speaking woman named Evelyn. She not only found me directions to the apartments I wanted to visit Friday afternoon, she also printed off two maps and listed the buses and metros I would need and advised me to get a carte pastel (the bus/metro pass for a month). Thank the Lord for unexpected blessings like her! The rest of Friday was spent visiting Apart'City and Estudines. At Apart'City I saw a studio (bed+bath+kitchenette) smaller than a Sewanee single for a little over 600 euros a month. I met a friendly girl from England, named Claire, and her family who advised me to hurry to Estudines and grab the first apartment I could. "We've been here a week and that seems to be the best place, price, and location." At Estudines I was forced, by the semi-english speaking desk guy, to make an appointment for Tuesday the 7th. Apparently they won't allow you to lease the apartment till you've visited one. I protested naturally since the word on the street is that there are no apartments left in Toulouse. I wanted his guarantee that if I visited on Tuesday they would have an apartment left for me. Using his English and my French I traded my fears for his guarantee that they would have a place. After a busy day, back to the hotel I went for a long nap.
Today I just wanted to find an ATM - BNP Paribas ATM's are the best! And one is located about 4 blocks from my hotel! Now that I have money for actual sit down meals I feel much better. I spent my morning and afternoon visiting the Captiol, losing myself among the streets, visiting a park on the river Garonne, and eating at a small burger place. The Capitol reminded me of Spain. The park was full of families and it had benches under these huge willow trees about ten feet from the river! Such a beautiful park next to the river! I will definitely be going back. The burger was interesting, they included some special sauce which tasted suspiciously like tartar sauce. It was yummy though! Finally I came back to the hotel because my body still isn't used to France time. I need yet another nap.
There you are dear readers. My first couple of days in France! Admittedly, I'm quite lonely but Skype and Facebook chat help. I know that moving into an apartment will lend itself to friend making and soon school will start and I'll be busy busy busy. Toulouse is big, but the people here have all been kind so far and helpful!
-Tam in Toulouse
My hotel, the Nouvel Horizon, is quaint, clean and quiet although the location isn't the best (twenty unlit minutes of walking from the metro next to a hwy). It is located in Purpan, a hospital area of Toulouse. As I'm learning quickly, big cities seem to have different areas with special names. Confusing at first, the names actually help you keep the city straight if you can remember what's located in which area.
The first night here- might I pause to mention that instead of arriving at 7 am I arrived at 6 pm due to airport delays! (the upside was visiting the Munich airport) - I checked into the hotel and decided to begin my apartment search. Through internet sites and word of mouth I'd heard that finding student housing in Toulouse was impossible after September 1st, so I wanted to start looking immediately. Thanks to help of some random french woman, I found a bus that would take me about ten blocks from the first apartment building. Unfortunately the first place I visited, the Estudines, was closed. I'd forgotten France. Plain and simple. I had and I have forgotten certain things about France that you only discover till you live here. Everything seems to close before 8 pm throughout the week, with the exception of bars and restaurants of course. After walking around the streets a bit my jet lag kicked in and I came trudging back to the hotel tired and unsuccessful in my apartment quest.
Day 2 here in Toulouse dawned bright and early after a fitful night of half sleep. I needed to present myself at the University of Toulouse by 9 am. My university is named after the area of town in which it's located: Le Miral (meer eye yuh). I haven't seen much of it yet, but what I've seen so far is cold concrete. It's the exact opposite of my dear Sewanee - gravel paths, blooming flowers, and warm colors, institution and nature combined into one happy existence. Toulouse has been tamed into ugly city rigidity it seems. My 9 am meeting crashed and burned... Is it too much to ask for an English speaking individual to explain how I'm to register for school here? I suppose so. I am in France after all. The woman I met with handed me some papers, told me to come back on the 8th, and was unbelievably unhelpful when I announced that I didn't have housing yet. At least I left the office with my registration papers - now if I could figure out what they say.... I was not paying attention on the bus after Le Mirail and got off at Bellefontaine (another part of town). In an attempt to get directions from the local meat packer I was directed into a strange building just off the square. To my utter amazement he had directed me to the Free Information Center where kind ladies were just waiting to help anyone who walked through the door. I met an English speaking woman named Evelyn. She not only found me directions to the apartments I wanted to visit Friday afternoon, she also printed off two maps and listed the buses and metros I would need and advised me to get a carte pastel (the bus/metro pass for a month). Thank the Lord for unexpected blessings like her! The rest of Friday was spent visiting Apart'City and Estudines. At Apart'City I saw a studio (bed+bath+kitchenette) smaller than a Sewanee single for a little over 600 euros a month. I met a friendly girl from England, named Claire, and her family who advised me to hurry to Estudines and grab the first apartment I could. "We've been here a week and that seems to be the best place, price, and location." At Estudines I was forced, by the semi-english speaking desk guy, to make an appointment for Tuesday the 7th. Apparently they won't allow you to lease the apartment till you've visited one. I protested naturally since the word on the street is that there are no apartments left in Toulouse. I wanted his guarantee that if I visited on Tuesday they would have an apartment left for me. Using his English and my French I traded my fears for his guarantee that they would have a place. After a busy day, back to the hotel I went for a long nap.
Today I just wanted to find an ATM - BNP Paribas ATM's are the best! And one is located about 4 blocks from my hotel! Now that I have money for actual sit down meals I feel much better. I spent my morning and afternoon visiting the Captiol, losing myself among the streets, visiting a park on the river Garonne, and eating at a small burger place. The Capitol reminded me of Spain. The park was full of families and it had benches under these huge willow trees about ten feet from the river! Such a beautiful park next to the river! I will definitely be going back. The burger was interesting, they included some special sauce which tasted suspiciously like tartar sauce. It was yummy though! Finally I came back to the hotel because my body still isn't used to France time. I need yet another nap.
There you are dear readers. My first couple of days in France! Admittedly, I'm quite lonely but Skype and Facebook chat help. I know that moving into an apartment will lend itself to friend making and soon school will start and I'll be busy busy busy. Toulouse is big, but the people here have all been kind so far and helpful!
-Tam in Toulouse
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