Forgot to mention this ... before Ross arrived, he asked if I wanted anything from America. Of course there was a list from here to China, but I reigned myself in to just the essentials:
Lucky Charms - I don't know why, because France has Frosted Flakes and Golden Grahams, but I crave Lucky Charms and haven't been able to find them. From his suitcase Ross pulled two Tupperware containers packed full of lucky charms (most of which have been eaten by now with immense satisfaction). I like the marshmallows and how the milk turns blue!!!
Gummy Vitamins - I'm clearly not an adult yet because my stomach rejects the Centrum vitamins for women that I brought with me to France. I knew that some companies made children's vitamins that look and taste like gummy bears because my cousins eat them - While Ross was in Toulouse, I fed these children's vitamins each day to myself and to him. Now that he's no longer in the same city, I get these treats all to myself. Staying healthy never tasted so good!
Macaroni and Cheese- there is no cheddar here - yummy sharp, eat it from the package block cheddar! And what's worse, there's no macaroni and cheese from a box a.k.a. the American staple comfort food that I have been missing a lot! Ross brought a box for me though so I can celebrate finishing French exams with some comfort food from home.
Cosmo- Yes I'm aware that Cosmo is a trashy superficial magazine...but with all my french reading there's no way I'm buying a book to read for leisure. So, I asked Ross to bring something in English that I could peruse, something short and mindless = cosmo.
Advil- I'll stick with my tried and trusted American brand headache pain reliever thank you.
Loofa - there's no way I'm paying multiple euros for a little daily exfoliation. No way. A loofa is not a luxury item FRANCE it is a necessity - geez get with the program. Ross picked out and brought a light purple, perfectly sized loofa for me. Yay!
Deodorant - in America I never have to examine my 'deodorant' (I put it in quotes for a reason). From my experience all the deodorant I've ever bought has been anti-perspirant plus deodorant meaning it blocks sweat and has a pleasant odor. Here in France, that doesn't seem to be the case...it's one or the other. When you are in too many layers to take off on the metro, or the metro is too crowded, or you are walking a lot during the day even though it's cold outside, sweat happens....I don't want to be that girl with stains and smell. So, I asked my boyfriend to bring Degree for women (clear solid) which he did.
Ghirardelli Dark Chocolate Squares - my guy knows my weakness....tis all I can say.
I must be the luckiest girl in the world to have a boyfriend who will stroll up to the check out counter with the above items. I'm blessed indeed not only that he was man enough to buy those items, but that he brought them to France for me!
Friday, January 7, 2011
Dream Vacation day 2 - Turin night
My feet must have had a sixth sense for taxis because without seeing a sign or any direction I walked straight toward an awaiting taxi fleet in front of the train station. There was no possibility that Ross and I could figure out the Turin tram system or how to walk to our hotel so taxi ride it was. The kind Italian stowed our bags, demanded our destination, and sped off for Hotel Alpi Resort. Ross paid attention to the driver, seeming to converse in a half english/italian pseudo-conversation while I stared out the windows drinking in the sights. All the old, gorgeous buildings were lit up with lights to accentuate the magnificent architecture. The Christmas lights over the roads caught my attention immediately. Suspended on wire frames, constellations in blue and white lights rolled by all down one long street. Then we turned onto a street with all white lights in the shape of various circles and symbols. I thought it might be religious symbols and planets but no, just random pretty lights. I vowed to get pictured of such magnificent Christmas lights while in Turin.
We pulled up to the Hotel Alpi Resort, payed the friendly taxi guy, and said our goodnights. When Ross and I entered the hotel building he was very confused. Thankfully I'd done way too much research online and knew that the hotel was located on the third floor of the building, with the first two being residential. We skipped the tiny three by two foot wide elevator that we couldn't figure out how to work and lugged our stuff up three winding flights of stairs. At the top of the third floor we found ourselves at the hotel Alpi, a plush warm place decorated in golds and reds with little rooms but lots of charm! Because of all the travel, I had a splitting headache and Ross and I were both impatient for food. We stashed our things in our rooms and asked at the front desk where the nearest open restaurant was. (I complained enough about the pharmacy being closed that the sweet young gentleman at the front desk gave me a tylenol for my headache from the hotel's supply). The guy told us that we could visit the pub or the take-away pizzeria a couple blocks away. Ross and I opted for the pizzeria but instead stopped in at the first place we saw with a flashing pizza sign conveniently located less than a block away from our hotel.
Inside the pizza place, I stared down in disgust and disappointment at the pizza slices covered in hot dog slices, french fries, and other odd ingredients. Clearly the man behind the counter was proud of his gross assortment of food so I didn't so much as frown while I looked it over trying to decide what Ross and I could order that wouldn't make us sick. Ross was up for anything bless him and I was too tired to care all that much, so we exited the pizza shop with a box of various slices of reheated pizza and two soft drinks. Our first 'dinner' in Turin was interesting indeed, and neither Ross nor I complained as we hungrily munched our pizza while contemplating sightseeing for the next day. I must admit I was proud of us as a couple. A long day of travel, some unexpected glitches, and a dinner more suitable for someone fresh out of the nightclub ...yet we kept calm, positive, and comforting each other throughout. That "what if?" question about us not traveling well as a couple vanished. We were going to be fine, more than fine, traveling together after all. The thought didn't surprise me.
We pulled up to the Hotel Alpi Resort, payed the friendly taxi guy, and said our goodnights. When Ross and I entered the hotel building he was very confused. Thankfully I'd done way too much research online and knew that the hotel was located on the third floor of the building, with the first two being residential. We skipped the tiny three by two foot wide elevator that we couldn't figure out how to work and lugged our stuff up three winding flights of stairs. At the top of the third floor we found ourselves at the hotel Alpi, a plush warm place decorated in golds and reds with little rooms but lots of charm! Because of all the travel, I had a splitting headache and Ross and I were both impatient for food. We stashed our things in our rooms and asked at the front desk where the nearest open restaurant was. (I complained enough about the pharmacy being closed that the sweet young gentleman at the front desk gave me a tylenol for my headache from the hotel's supply). The guy told us that we could visit the pub or the take-away pizzeria a couple blocks away. Ross and I opted for the pizzeria but instead stopped in at the first place we saw with a flashing pizza sign conveniently located less than a block away from our hotel.
Inside the pizza place, I stared down in disgust and disappointment at the pizza slices covered in hot dog slices, french fries, and other odd ingredients. Clearly the man behind the counter was proud of his gross assortment of food so I didn't so much as frown while I looked it over trying to decide what Ross and I could order that wouldn't make us sick. Ross was up for anything bless him and I was too tired to care all that much, so we exited the pizza shop with a box of various slices of reheated pizza and two soft drinks. Our first 'dinner' in Turin was interesting indeed, and neither Ross nor I complained as we hungrily munched our pizza while contemplating sightseeing for the next day. I must admit I was proud of us as a couple. A long day of travel, some unexpected glitches, and a dinner more suitable for someone fresh out of the nightclub ...yet we kept calm, positive, and comforting each other throughout. That "what if?" question about us not traveling well as a couple vanished. We were going to be fine, more than fine, traveling together after all. The thought didn't surprise me.
Dream Vacation day 2 - to Turin
Day 2 began bleary and early. To the train station Ross and I headed with our bags and our excitement for the next week. With exams the Monday after our week of travel, I made doubly sure to pack notes and flashcards as well as my mp3 player. Deluding myself, I imagined I'd be able to tear my attention away from cuddling Ross on the trains in order to study. One walk to Compans Caff, then a very short metro ride later, Ross and I found our way onto our first train for Valence. We were fortunate enough to have seats next to each other and spend the ride engaged in all the normal travel distractions: mad libs, crosswords, talking, dozing, watching the scenery flash by....
At Valence we found sandwich lunches from a stand inside the tiny train station, watched people stroll/run by in all assortments of garb and appearance, then made our way to the next train headed to Chambery. On our first train we had had reserved seats. This leg of the trip was not the same. The train an hour earlier to Chambery had encountered some issue and so all the passengers had been advised to find room on the next train, incidentally the train Ross and I were about to get onto. Once the doors opened the waiting crowd turned into a frenzied mob with people shoving, complaining, and rushing trying to secure the few seats available. For the rest of us the trip would be spent sitting on bags in the aisle or standing mushed up against someone in between cars like sardines in a tiny tin can. Ross and I thankfully got an aisle position which allowed us a little more standing room and the option, if we could manage it, of putting our bags on the overhead shelf. We were positive about the situation, holding hands and talking of little things while the train sped past little tiny french villages. I was just happy we weren't in between cars where people had to shift and find even more room that didn't seem to exist since each stop between Valence and Chambery revealed more and more people crushing themselves into the train in order to get to Chambery.
Chambery had an even smaller train station than Valence, a veritable corridor between the street and the awaiting trains and maybe enough sitting for a couple dozen people. Cold in the station, and desperately needing to use the restroom, I convinced Ross that this was the perfect time to spend our hour long layover at a cafe getting drinks.
Directly across from the train station sat a cafe with neon green lights and a dated interior and two customers inside. While not the best looking place it seemed okay enough so we entered with our luggage and sat down at a booth facing the counter/bar. Cokes and fries were ordered, drank, and devoured while Ross and I fiddled away our hour. At last we climbed back aboard a train headed for Turin (this time with plenty of open seating and room for luggage). Just as Ross and I were starting our 5th game of gin while two french kids ran up and down the aisle stopping every so often to watch our card play we pulled into a snow covered little train station. Everyone gathered their things and began to leave the train while Ross and I looked around confusedly. We weren't in Chambery yet....
I asked three different people who all told me that the train was broken and so we were being bussed to Turin. Okay, fair enough Ross and I thought, trying to remain positive despite our tiredness and the realization that a bus trip was going to take considerably longer than a train ride. Directed to one bus we dragged our bags and our feet only to be told to try the next bus. Ross stowed our bags and we began to climb aboard the second bus, but we were told to go back to the first bus. Ross went to get our luggage while I stood waiting by the first bus. Onto the first bus we climbed, finding that it was overfull and we'd probably spend the next few hours standing. Right about this time Ross and I began to complain to each other. The bus driver complained of not being able to drive on the highway with standing passengers while some other transport official rushed around trying to get a proper headcount and ordering taxis to take some of the passengers to the next closest town. The other buses to Turin pulled out of the station. Ross and I complained more as we watched a half hour tick by. Finally, the bus was unloaded enough by those headed to the next town over (going by taxi) that Ross and I were able to nab seats. A few hours later we were in Turin Italy, dropped outside the train station in the cold, past time for restaurants to be open, and very late for hotel check-in.
At Valence we found sandwich lunches from a stand inside the tiny train station, watched people stroll/run by in all assortments of garb and appearance, then made our way to the next train headed to Chambery. On our first train we had had reserved seats. This leg of the trip was not the same. The train an hour earlier to Chambery had encountered some issue and so all the passengers had been advised to find room on the next train, incidentally the train Ross and I were about to get onto. Once the doors opened the waiting crowd turned into a frenzied mob with people shoving, complaining, and rushing trying to secure the few seats available. For the rest of us the trip would be spent sitting on bags in the aisle or standing mushed up against someone in between cars like sardines in a tiny tin can. Ross and I thankfully got an aisle position which allowed us a little more standing room and the option, if we could manage it, of putting our bags on the overhead shelf. We were positive about the situation, holding hands and talking of little things while the train sped past little tiny french villages. I was just happy we weren't in between cars where people had to shift and find even more room that didn't seem to exist since each stop between Valence and Chambery revealed more and more people crushing themselves into the train in order to get to Chambery.
Chambery had an even smaller train station than Valence, a veritable corridor between the street and the awaiting trains and maybe enough sitting for a couple dozen people. Cold in the station, and desperately needing to use the restroom, I convinced Ross that this was the perfect time to spend our hour long layover at a cafe getting drinks.
Directly across from the train station sat a cafe with neon green lights and a dated interior and two customers inside. While not the best looking place it seemed okay enough so we entered with our luggage and sat down at a booth facing the counter/bar. Cokes and fries were ordered, drank, and devoured while Ross and I fiddled away our hour. At last we climbed back aboard a train headed for Turin (this time with plenty of open seating and room for luggage). Just as Ross and I were starting our 5th game of gin while two french kids ran up and down the aisle stopping every so often to watch our card play we pulled into a snow covered little train station. Everyone gathered their things and began to leave the train while Ross and I looked around confusedly. We weren't in Chambery yet....
I asked three different people who all told me that the train was broken and so we were being bussed to Turin. Okay, fair enough Ross and I thought, trying to remain positive despite our tiredness and the realization that a bus trip was going to take considerably longer than a train ride. Directed to one bus we dragged our bags and our feet only to be told to try the next bus. Ross stowed our bags and we began to climb aboard the second bus, but we were told to go back to the first bus. Ross went to get our luggage while I stood waiting by the first bus. Onto the first bus we climbed, finding that it was overfull and we'd probably spend the next few hours standing. Right about this time Ross and I began to complain to each other. The bus driver complained of not being able to drive on the highway with standing passengers while some other transport official rushed around trying to get a proper headcount and ordering taxis to take some of the passengers to the next closest town. The other buses to Turin pulled out of the station. Ross and I complained more as we watched a half hour tick by. Finally, the bus was unloaded enough by those headed to the next town over (going by taxi) that Ross and I were able to nab seats. A few hours later we were in Turin Italy, dropped outside the train station in the cold, past time for restaurants to be open, and very late for hotel check-in.
Dream Vacation day 1 - Toulouse
After spending the last few holidays alone, I couldn't sit still while waiting for my boyfriend, Ross, to arrive in Toulouse on the 26th of December. His visit to Toulouse and our trip to Italy were to be my Christmas presents and my opportunity to travel in Europe. We'd secured hotel rooms in our two chosen cities, Turin and Milan, and made all the necessary arrangements beforehand.
The day of Ross' arrival I traveled to the Toulouse airport way too early, but I was excited of course. I stood outside the baggage claim area (which is separated by a pair of colored, glass sliding doors) straining with all of the other individuals to catch a glimpse of those waiting for their bags on the other side of the doors. So many people came through the separation doors during the hour and a half I waited - the screen on the wall kept scrolling the words "Heathrow Arrival. Passengers Deboarding." the entire time I waited - then finally Ross walked through the doors. After a very long, breathless bear hug and a quick kiss greeting, we headed toward the airport shuttle hand in hand. With his hand in mine everything frustrating and difficult over the last semester seemed to melt away. I couldn't stop smiling and thanking the Lord for this gift.
As we rode the shuttle toward Compans Caffarelli I thought to myself, "What if I've gained weight? What if this trip sucks? What if I cling to him too much during our time together? What if we can't handle traveling together?" Basically I was worried that our college relationship which had now moved to the post-college adult world of real life would be damaged by his visit rather than strengthened...
Knowing that our options for dinner were slim since it was the 26th of December and most places would be closed, Ross and I picked a few options around the Captiol/Place Wilson area. Our picks for food were closed. I tried to walk us around the Place Wilson circle, looking at all the menus, but all the restaurants seemed to be serving the same inedible typical French things, tartare and foie-gras. Finally we stumbled into a Brasserie and somehow managed to dine on salad, steak with caramelized onions, and french fries. The meal was delicious! Ross was surprised by the medium rare cooking of our steaks...I wasn't because I'd heard about the French conception of cooking meat only one way for every customer (the medium rare way). However, I really wanted Ross to like the food, so his downcast, surprised face made me nervous. He ate his entire plate, despite the meat's preparation, and he even helped me finish my plate. The brasserie interior was beautiful and full of people! It was a lovely first night in Toulouse and a great start to our European vacation together!!!
The day of Ross' arrival I traveled to the Toulouse airport way too early, but I was excited of course. I stood outside the baggage claim area (which is separated by a pair of colored, glass sliding doors) straining with all of the other individuals to catch a glimpse of those waiting for their bags on the other side of the doors. So many people came through the separation doors during the hour and a half I waited - the screen on the wall kept scrolling the words "Heathrow Arrival. Passengers Deboarding." the entire time I waited - then finally Ross walked through the doors. After a very long, breathless bear hug and a quick kiss greeting, we headed toward the airport shuttle hand in hand. With his hand in mine everything frustrating and difficult over the last semester seemed to melt away. I couldn't stop smiling and thanking the Lord for this gift.
As we rode the shuttle toward Compans Caffarelli I thought to myself, "What if I've gained weight? What if this trip sucks? What if I cling to him too much during our time together? What if we can't handle traveling together?" Basically I was worried that our college relationship which had now moved to the post-college adult world of real life would be damaged by his visit rather than strengthened...
Knowing that our options for dinner were slim since it was the 26th of December and most places would be closed, Ross and I picked a few options around the Captiol/Place Wilson area. Our picks for food were closed. I tried to walk us around the Place Wilson circle, looking at all the menus, but all the restaurants seemed to be serving the same inedible typical French things, tartare and foie-gras. Finally we stumbled into a Brasserie and somehow managed to dine on salad, steak with caramelized onions, and french fries. The meal was delicious! Ross was surprised by the medium rare cooking of our steaks...I wasn't because I'd heard about the French conception of cooking meat only one way for every customer (the medium rare way). However, I really wanted Ross to like the food, so his downcast, surprised face made me nervous. He ate his entire plate, despite the meat's preparation, and he even helped me finish my plate. The brasserie interior was beautiful and full of people! It was a lovely first night in Toulouse and a great start to our European vacation together!!!
Friday, December 24, 2010
The Salon
I adore the salon! But I already knew this - When I was in Aix, my host mother took me to slightly pricey salon where my head was massaged and washed and I was served coffee/tea and cookies while my hair was cut and styled. It was a wonderful experience!
The block I live on here in Toulouse is amazing! A pizza shop, a hair dresser, supermarket, ATM, fax place, pharmacy...it's got everything! And of course there's the lovely Garonne flowing by my building. Out of convenience, I set up a hair appointment with the salon on my block....now that the experience is over I have to say that my block rocks even more and I still love French Salons.
Strolling in for my appointment, I pushed the nervous butterflies in my tummy down down down as far as they would go. I'm always nervous about my hair - not that I have fabulous hair - I just don't know how I want it or what looks good...and often I wish the hairdresser would just tell me to sit down and she'd choose for herself what to do with my mane. Ah but the French hairdresser....now there's a keeper.
After the kind mid 50's beautician helped me out of my coat and hung it up, she ushered me to the wash basin...."but I washed it for you". She felt of my hair, decided it was not good enough and turned on the water...guess I was having my hair washed again for the second time in just a few hours. When she touched my head every hint of annoyance left my body. She massaged, she hummed, the water was perfect...I was in a state of bliss. With a dreamy smile I let myself be led to a station where she and I discussed my bangs..."I don't want bangs straight across my forehead...but sweeping to the side....but I want to be able to style them on either side too." The hair dresser thought about it while she ran her fingers through my now chin-length bangs, then she said "Okay, I know what to do.We'll do something 'souple' (soft/flexible) and 'jeune' (young) and 'degrade' (tapering). "
In nervous anticipation mixed with the little chills your body gets when someone's playing with your hair I watched as she cut, combed, shaped, and dried my mane... She took her time, she was gentle, she knew when to talk (it always annoys me in the salon when you want to be immersed in the experience and the hairdresser wants to chat away about nothing), she didn't fill my head with product (also annoying that all the salons I've been to in America spray this and that on your head which makes hair look fabulous and shiny for that day but the next day it looks like one greasy, limp mess), she didn't leave me to answer the phone or chat with a colleague...all her care and attention was on my hair and I loved it.
Furthermore, she asked my opinion...the American hairdressers I've had simply go to town on my head after the initial discussion of the look I'm going for and then straighten my hair repeatedly at the end as if that counts for styling it.... this french woman somehow tamed my mess into soft curls with just her fingers and the hairdryer and she also asked at a couple different points if I was okay with the cut so far.
The price was a reasonable 26 euros for a wash, cut, and loose styling...oh and I got chocolate candy at the end too! If you come to France...whoever is reading this...go to the salon and let yourself be treated like an old friend. It's a truly wonderful thing.
~Tam in Toulouse
The block I live on here in Toulouse is amazing! A pizza shop, a hair dresser, supermarket, ATM, fax place, pharmacy...it's got everything! And of course there's the lovely Garonne flowing by my building. Out of convenience, I set up a hair appointment with the salon on my block....now that the experience is over I have to say that my block rocks even more and I still love French Salons.
Strolling in for my appointment, I pushed the nervous butterflies in my tummy down down down as far as they would go. I'm always nervous about my hair - not that I have fabulous hair - I just don't know how I want it or what looks good...and often I wish the hairdresser would just tell me to sit down and she'd choose for herself what to do with my mane. Ah but the French hairdresser....now there's a keeper.
After the kind mid 50's beautician helped me out of my coat and hung it up, she ushered me to the wash basin...."but I washed it for you". She felt of my hair, decided it was not good enough and turned on the water...guess I was having my hair washed again for the second time in just a few hours. When she touched my head every hint of annoyance left my body. She massaged, she hummed, the water was perfect...I was in a state of bliss. With a dreamy smile I let myself be led to a station where she and I discussed my bangs..."I don't want bangs straight across my forehead...but sweeping to the side....but I want to be able to style them on either side too." The hair dresser thought about it while she ran her fingers through my now chin-length bangs, then she said "Okay, I know what to do.We'll do something 'souple' (soft/flexible) and 'jeune' (young) and 'degrade' (tapering). "
In nervous anticipation mixed with the little chills your body gets when someone's playing with your hair I watched as she cut, combed, shaped, and dried my mane... She took her time, she was gentle, she knew when to talk (it always annoys me in the salon when you want to be immersed in the experience and the hairdresser wants to chat away about nothing), she didn't fill my head with product (also annoying that all the salons I've been to in America spray this and that on your head which makes hair look fabulous and shiny for that day but the next day it looks like one greasy, limp mess), she didn't leave me to answer the phone or chat with a colleague...all her care and attention was on my hair and I loved it.
Furthermore, she asked my opinion...the American hairdressers I've had simply go to town on my head after the initial discussion of the look I'm going for and then straighten my hair repeatedly at the end as if that counts for styling it.... this french woman somehow tamed my mess into soft curls with just her fingers and the hairdryer and she also asked at a couple different points if I was okay with the cut so far.
The price was a reasonable 26 euros for a wash, cut, and loose styling...oh and I got chocolate candy at the end too! If you come to France...whoever is reading this...go to the salon and let yourself be treated like an old friend. It's a truly wonderful thing.
~Tam in Toulouse
Thursday, December 23, 2010
I've become Laura Ingalls
I never tried washing my clothes in the machines here. There's a set of machines in my apartment building as well as a dry cleaner's on the corner of my block so it's not like the option doesn't exist. When I moved into my apartment, I thought hard about the cost of washing and drying using the machines versus how many crepes I could eat with said cost. Wisely, I chose crepes.
After a trip to the supermarket where a kind lady pointed out the 'meilleur' washing powder (brand name: Genie), I came home prepared to learn to wash clothes by hand in my bathroom sink (since I have no tub). I'm not talking about just my delicates....nope, I was committed to washing EVERYTHING in my bathroom sink. And for the last few months I've become very experienced with the process.
It sounds like I've lost my marbles but really washing my clothes in the sink is relaxing. There's something about plunging my hands into the hot soapy water. I pretend I'm kneading dough as I smush and swoosh my clothes against each other. I even bought a little cleaning brush to scrub any spots or stains. It only takes minutes as opposed to a half hour washing cycle in a machine and I can attack the parts of the garment that are dirtiest. I listen to music or tape up note cards I'm studying to the bathroom mirror..... I multitask.
After washing my clothes I hang them on the special rack that I also picked up at the supermarket which stands diagonally in my shower. It takes a few days for really heavy items like jeans to dry, but I usually speed up the process by bringing said rack into my living space and setting it in front of the heater.
The other day I realized my sheets and blankets needed to be washed....a task impossible for my little sink and rack in the bathroom. So, I payed 14 euros to watch the machine brutally attack my linens and dry them to a crisp. Besides the obscene price for my one sheet, two towels, and two tiny throw blankets to wash and dry, it occurred to me that I prefer my laid back bathroom method.
I think I'll definitely be sticking to those crepes and to hand washing for the duration of my time here. :-)
~Tam in Toulouse
After a trip to the supermarket where a kind lady pointed out the 'meilleur' washing powder (brand name: Genie), I came home prepared to learn to wash clothes by hand in my bathroom sink (since I have no tub). I'm not talking about just my delicates....nope, I was committed to washing EVERYTHING in my bathroom sink. And for the last few months I've become very experienced with the process.
It sounds like I've lost my marbles but really washing my clothes in the sink is relaxing. There's something about plunging my hands into the hot soapy water. I pretend I'm kneading dough as I smush and swoosh my clothes against each other. I even bought a little cleaning brush to scrub any spots or stains. It only takes minutes as opposed to a half hour washing cycle in a machine and I can attack the parts of the garment that are dirtiest. I listen to music or tape up note cards I'm studying to the bathroom mirror..... I multitask.
After washing my clothes I hang them on the special rack that I also picked up at the supermarket which stands diagonally in my shower. It takes a few days for really heavy items like jeans to dry, but I usually speed up the process by bringing said rack into my living space and setting it in front of the heater.
The other day I realized my sheets and blankets needed to be washed....a task impossible for my little sink and rack in the bathroom. So, I payed 14 euros to watch the machine brutally attack my linens and dry them to a crisp. Besides the obscene price for my one sheet, two towels, and two tiny throw blankets to wash and dry, it occurred to me that I prefer my laid back bathroom method.
I think I'll definitely be sticking to those crepes and to hand washing for the duration of my time here. :-)
~Tam in Toulouse
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Ira (Latin for Ire)
I realize that this blog gets happier and happier .... okay that's exactly the opposite of what I mean. But I can't help it. As I sit writing lists of words I'm supposed to learn for Latin (2 years' worth), going over my notes for my final paper on Salome, and attempting to memorize the morphologie from Ancient French to Modern French I get angrier and angrier. I'm angry because my notes don't match what's in my text book (even though they were copied exactly from the board). I'm angry because nothing makes sense no matter how many hours I study it.....I'm angry with everything....
And I don't know how to stop being angry or how to force it all to make sense either.
Did the homework? Yep.
Went to classes? Yep.
Went to 8 am Latin year 1 every week even though I wasn't enrolled? YES!
Asked pertinent questions? Yep.
Got help from classmates? Yep.
Looked at it in English online? Yep.
Made notecards? Yep.
Did samples and exercises? Yep.
Should pass the exams right? Kill me now (not literally).
I feel stuck in quicksand ... why not give it my best right? Continue flailing my arms and legs in an attempt to free myself.
~ Tam (mad at the world) in Toulouse
P.S. In case anyone still reads this, I promise to have happy posts from Christmas to New Year's.
And I don't know how to stop being angry or how to force it all to make sense either.
Did the homework? Yep.
Went to classes? Yep.
Went to 8 am Latin year 1 every week even though I wasn't enrolled? YES!
Asked pertinent questions? Yep.
Got help from classmates? Yep.
Looked at it in English online? Yep.
Made notecards? Yep.
Did samples and exercises? Yep.
Should pass the exams right? Kill me now (not literally).
I feel stuck in quicksand ... why not give it my best right? Continue flailing my arms and legs in an attempt to free myself.
~ Tam (mad at the world) in Toulouse
P.S. In case anyone still reads this, I promise to have happy posts from Christmas to New Year's.
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