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.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Sunday, October 3, 2010
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
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
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
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
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
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
 |
| 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
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