Back Stateside

I made the tough but good decision this fall and moved back to the old USA. After spending the summer in Minnesota, I returned to France in September with the solitary goal of finding a good job. And then as time passed, my goal devolved into finding any job. And when that didn't work out either, I jumped ship and came back.

To be honest, what led up to this decision, the decision itself, and its inevitable aftermath have created what is undoubtedly the most challenging situation I've ever dealt with. I invested a LOT into my two years in France: I moved over there alone without knowing anyone; I negotiated my way through setting up housing, insurances, internet, everything; I met and made some of the best friends I'll ever have; I encountered a ton of problems with housing, insurances, internet, everything; and I survived. All the ups and downs of life still exist when living abroad, but it's all magnified due to the newness of everyday occurrences and your unfamiliarity of the country. I started to realize that I need a wider net of people to catch me when bad stuff happened, to hold me up when things just got tougher. My mom continually told me, "It doesn't have to be so hard!" And it just got too hard when job-searching bore absolutely no fruit and the stress got too heavy, I knew the time had come to go home.

So I'm moving on! The first few weeks were the hardest, but luckily I came home right before Thanksgiving so the family/friends/food distractions were myriad all the way through Christmas. I'm dealing with it all pretty well, although I still cry at every movie I watch (I even cried during"Tangled" at the movie theater. How embarrassing) and even during some TV commercials. Job hunting has been unsuccessful thus far, although I've had a few interviews to keep my hopes up.

The most difficult part of these giant changes -- and the reason why I cry during Disney movies and TV ads -- has been leaving behind two important people in France: my friend, Whitney, and my boyfriend, Jeff. Whitney and I became like sisters in our lives in Pertuis (and most Pertuisians thought that till the end!): we arrived at the same time, went through hellfire and heaven together through all of our individual and mutual experiences, and shared everything as we lived it. We both even adopted dogs this fall from animal shelters! I felt so bad for leaving her there, felt almost like I was breaking away from my Siamese twin so that I could leave. :( Thanks to Skype and telephones, we're making it through. The time for change has come for both of us, and Whitney will be moving back to the states this summer, when we'll reunite our dogs as well.

Jeff and I have had a tumultuous year, but we're making it through all these changes as well. During one of my interviews this month, I met a Dutch man who is married a Minnesotan woman. He told me that he had met her in the early '80s during a brief vacation to the US before he started his military service in the Netherlands. They wrote letters to each other all the time but were only able to call once a month to speak in-person. They visited each other when they could, but it was only once or twice a year. They carried on like this for several years until he was able to move to the United States to be with her; he told me that looking back, they must have been crazy, but they did it. Now, they live on a farm in central Minnesota with their two children.
I told this story to Jeff, and it made us feel better and stronger, because we're trying to do this relationship long-distance for now as well. And it's tough! However, we've been together for about two years now, and now that I've come to the decision that I can't live in France for the rest of my life, we've got to figure something out. He's been researching and calling French schools in the US to find a job for next fall, and assuming that works out, he'll come here this summer to see if he could live here for good.

Life never gets boring, that's for sure! And while I certainly miss the wine, warmer weather, and my friends in France, I know I'm making the right decision for myself by being here.

T-Minus 8 Days & I Have H1N1

Drama and suspense in life is much more exciting than the humdrum normalcy of the expected, right? Only eight days until our plane leaves to go back to the States for Christmas, and I have the H1N1 influenza. On Saturday afternoon, I got a sore throat out of the blue, and then on Sunday evening when Jeff and I were in Aix for a date (we ate at Subway --delicious after a year of rien-- and then went to see the floozy of a movie called "Twilight 2"), I felt like Planet Sick suddenly smushed me. I haven't left my apartment since and spend most of these days sleeping punctuated with internet surfing.

Luckily, France is still old-fashioned enough that doctors make house calls; yesterday, my doctoresse (aka woman doctor. Nice, huh?) came by at lunch and dubbed me sick with la grippe A. Good news is that I have a special certificate announcing to my employers and insurance company that I can't work for a week but I should still be paid. Jeff had stopped by for lunch at the same time that the doctor was there, and she told him that he's been skipping in the danger zone by spending so much time with me. Thus he may be a ticking time bomb, and any day now, he should be getting sick if it's going to happen. With only a week left until we're supposed to leave, the suspense is thick! Cross your fingers that by next Thursday morning, we're healthy and ready to go.

We Made It a Whole Year!

Whitney and me celebrating our 1-year anniversary in France



Jeff giving moral support while I roll the pasta dough



Me, Whitney, Lorriane, Jeff, and Nico eating our homemade pasta

Getting Back on the Blog Horse

Well, I've successfully evaded blog-posting guilt for the past 8 months, but I've resolved to change my ways. Now that Real Life is starting again after 3 months of stupor-filled vacation, I feel a little twinkle of motivation to write again. Wow!

I'll try to do a quick catch-up so as to not waste time:
I eventually returned to France after finishing up a cold week in Prague and another cold (but better) week in Vienna with Jeff. I taught all the way to the end of June, when my contract in the schools ended, although I did make a surprise visit to my family in Minnesota during the spring vacation at the end of April. At the end of July, I moved to a bigger and waaay better apartment a few blocks away from my old one; it happens to be in the same building as Whitney's apartment, so it's been almost like living in the dorms again.

My apartment from the mezzanine (that's right, I have more than 1 room!)

Two days after I signed the lease and dragged all my stuff up the stairs to the new place on the 5th floor (n.b. the definition of "my stuff" has dramatically shifted from a squat pile of clothes and books to a mountain of bags and boxes and suitcases of clothes, books, dishes, a TV, and much, much more...sweaty work, indeed), Jeff and I went to Tuscany for a week with a couple of friends. We rented an apartment in Florence and did the museums, bridges, and gardens there, and every couple days, we took day trips to places like San Gimigiano, Lucca, Sienna, and Pisa. It was beautiful and humid, and I don't believe I've ever eaten so well in my life.

Jeff and I in Lucca, Italy

The summer job that I had counted on as a gardener fell through at the very last moment in June, so I ended up doing odd-jobs for my old landlord, the American woman. I scraped, sanded, painted, and varnished windows, furniture, and doors. I think I could learn to be a real handy man someday if everything else falls through. I barely earned enough money to scrape by, however, and for the first time in my life, I've had serious financial stress. It's been a valuable and painful lesson in budgeting and humility, which isn't lost on me.

Whitney and me in Roussillon in July

The good news is that as of October 1st, I've once again begun earning my keep as an English teaching assistant. Whitney and I found out at the end of August that our contracts were renewed for this school year, but this time only for 7 months rather than 9 due to national budget cuts. We had both already planned on staying since finding out in June that we were accepted to a Masters program at the university in Aix-en-Provence starting this fall. Last week, we began our classes at the Fac (French talk for "university"), the same week we also began our re-orientation as teaching assistants. After such a slow-moving, deathly-hot summer, things have been picking up quickly! It's going to be a really busy year, but I'm ready to be finally productive again.

Vineyard in Pertuis - May '09

Also, I have two new additions to my French family : Eleanor and Harriett, baby Hermann tortoises. I never imagined that I could fall in love with a tortoise, but I'm in deep for them both. I fixed up a nice little place for them in a [new] litterbox, and I sing them songs while I feed them their delicious lettuce. I'm positive that they love me, too. I haven't introduced them to their older brother, Marcello the beta fish, because frankly, he would kill them both in the blink of a fishy eye. Sometimes siblings are best when kept separated.

Eleanor and Harriett

I'm still with Jeff, my teacher Frenchman à moi since January, and if he receives his renewed passport in the mail soon, he may be coming with me for Christmas to the USofA, his first visit. I really want him to come along, but I'm more than a little worried to bring a guy from the sunny South of France to snow-blown, frozen-tundra style Minnesota for his first visit to my country. He'll hate it. Ah well, I guess that's the hard reality of dear ol' Minnesota in December; just have to man-up and get used to it.

J&J at la Fontaine de Vaucluse

In other great news, my family's coming to visit for the first time in a couple weeks. Even though they're only planning to stay for a few days (Oct. 15-19), I'm thrilled to show them around my adopted home and show them what good wine is really about. It's going to be psychologically good for me to finally join these two lives --American and French-- so that there's more wholeness to me. That sounds corny, but it's been a real struggle for me lately to have such different versions of life with different sets of people who don't know each other. I guess that's what I get for moving to France by myself, but it's going to be a treat to finally mix the jennifer pieces up.

Poppy field near Pertuis - June'09

Since I'm doing the Masters program now, I've signed up for another two years in France, assuming everything goes according to plan. I'll have to find a job other than being an assistant next May, but I'll deal with that hurdle when it comes. Sometimes, I really wonder what I'm thinking, making all these grand efforts to stay in this strange, backwards country when I could be back in the States, comfortable with my friends and family and earning real money. There's no one forcing me to stay here, where people look at me like I have glittering horns when I refuse to eat frog legs or tell them no, I've never tried rabbit before and I don't even want to. I'm in over my head now, can't put the toothpaste back in the tube. I love France, but it wasn't until I came here that I realized how much I really love being an American more than anything French. What to do now? My answer for the moment is to stay and see what happens. :)

That wasn't so quick. I promise to write again before next June!

Last Day in Prague

I'm back at the hostel early today, partly because my Achilles tendon is protesting from the extraordinary amount of walking I've been doing this week and partly because I'm tired. And believe it or not, the sun actually decided to show its face today for the first time since I've been here. I'm feeling kind of bitter about that given that it's my last day in Prague, but hopefully the weather will be even better in Vienna (I've pre-ordered 80 degrees and sunshine).

My hostel stay has been pretty nice, mostly due to the free internet access and well-equipped kitchen, but there seem to be a lot of college students staying here during their party vacations. Being the old lady and walk-happy tourist that I am, I like to sleep for solid periods of time during the nighttime hours. Last night was particularly bad. I went to bed a little after midnight, and all throughout the night, drunk guys were coming in to collapse on their beds. This morning at 7:30 am, a new Portuguese guest came in and decided to take a shower, which led the chatty group of Colombian guys to get up, too, even though they had gotten in last night at 3:30 am and loudly talked and laughed for anywhere between 45 minutes and an eternity. After about half of this eternity, I was ready to punch the boy sleeping in the bunk below me; whatever drunken story his friend was telling him incited him to laugh continuously and shrinkingly like a gaspy little girl on helium, making me feel meaner and madder than I ever have (blame it on lack of sleep...?). The good news is that the boy's life was spared when he finally passed out, most likely from lack of oxygen caused by poor laughing habits.

I woke myself up last night as well -- probably soon after I went to sleep the first time -- because I was laughing and talking loudly in French (yes! language inebriation-1 point). The only other girl staying in the dorm room was [luckily] the only witness to this spectacle, and I opened up my eyes a crack to see her come to the doorway of the adjacent room where she sleeps. I remember thinking to myself, "Ah, she wouldn't understand," not in relation to the French or the reason why I was laughing and speaking to no one in the dark, but rather I knew that she wouldn't understand whatever inside joke it was that I found to be sooo funny. Hoo boy. A slight sense of shame hit me only this morning, but it is what it is, I guess.

Random fact #1: I saw a well-dressed man with a handsome face vigorously kick a pigeon today, The poor pigeon had been just minding his own dopey business on the sidewalk with his pigeon buddy when along came the big human foot. I'm sure the bird died after being catapulted toward a bridge, and I've been thinking all day about the bizarre look of mean satisfaction on the man's face. Jerk.

Random fact #2: I'm incompetent at finding the Jewish Cemetery in Prague. I've searched for it multiple times with my map in hand, and each time, I find myself more confused than the last. Does it even exist?? I gave myself one last chance to find it this morning and ended up on the completely wrong side of town, so I bought myself a sandwich instead and called it even.

Random fact #3: This morning, I saw a little girl of about 4 years old chatting away animatedly with her mother on a side-road in a historic neighborhood of Prague. This would, of course, be perfectly normal except that the little girl's pants and underwear were around her ankles, bare behind fully exposed and a telltale puddle at her feet on the sidewalk. Her mother was handing her a wetwipe, like this behavior was perfectly normal and expected. Also notable about this sight is that the temperature here is no warmer than freezing. Huh.

Czeching My Reflection

Today is my last day in Prague before heading off tomorrow morning for Vienna. It's been an adventure! I must admit that I spent my first day or two here feeling rather weird and lonely, but I've definitely gotten over that and have enjoyed my time here immensely. There's no better way to fully appreciate your independence than spending time alone in a foreign country where you don't understand the language. The high I get from this part of the trip is comparable to what I experienced in moving to France last fall; when you know that you can only trust yourself, you realize how much you are independently capable of accomplishing.

My understanding of the Czech language remains limited to a vague comprehension of "hello" and "thank you," both sounds of which I would be unable to reproduce with a gun pointed at my head (and luckily, this hasn't happened yet so I may be home-free). After several long hours of eavesdropping at Starbucks, I have a theory about the origins of Czech (and yes, I said Starbucks. Give me a break; I'm used to little old Pertuis). It's rather complicated, but I suspect that after a lifetime of practice, it might not be so difficult. Pay attention, kids: Czech is a trifold language. First, every third word is, in fact, an English word spoken backwards; it has the same accent but is just pronounced in order from the traditional last letter to the traditional first. For example, "transportation" becomes "no-ita-tropsin-art." Second, every third word is borrowed from the Russian language. Since I don't understand Russian, I am unable to provide examples and am thus we come to the crux of my Czech-speaking problem. Third, every third word is the name of a cheese from somewhere in the world. At the church I visited the other day, the priest repeated "cheddar" six or seven times, so I theorize that American cheeses hold some importance for the Catholic sector of the population. I haven't yet discovered if cheese names translate into more profound meanings or if they just especially appreciate cheese here. This may always remain a mystery.

***NB: I believe that I'm so fixated on my inability to understand/speak Czech because I've been working so hard to ameliorate my French language skills these past few months. I don't actually expect myself to speak Czech after 5 days in Prague...

While walking in the streets yesterday afternoon after returning from Kutna Hora (photos to be posted later), I composed a short masterpiece about my time here. And yes, it rhymes.

Czech Me Out Now
>>> an original poem by me <<<

Heavy, grey skies stole my Provençal joy and left me with muddy shoes
Until I remembered my umbrella
And didn't feel so yella'
In my solo fight against the Praha blues.

Fast walkers -- but no stalkers! -- march down the street in rank.
Although I try to keep the beat,
I don't have their Czech fire under my feet,
And end up eating their stank.

But along came an old-glory castle and a bone church in the hills...
While drinking too much coffee in the afternoon,
I felt an appreciation bloom
For this place whose unique charm now gives me the chills.

The "golden city" doesn't acquiesce in its insistence on lovin'.
Somewhere between enchanting me à la golden fleuri
And teaching me its ancient and colorful history,
I wish I weren't leavin' but were comin'.


...trust me, it sounds better in my head and while on a good-exchange-rate/caffeine high. :)