Les Walters

They don't look too bad after almost 24 hours of travel do they?

Welp the rent are here! After over 8 hours of delay my parents finally arrived in Toulouse Friday evening, and I'm sure my father has a few new friends with AirFrance.

We took a little stroll along the river so that they could stretch their legs and see a bit of the city. That night Gisele prepared a really lovely dinner for us along with her partner Gilou, my roommate Gabby, and her boyfriend Geoffrey. My parents are staying at my house in my room and I'm sleeping in the spare room in the house.

After a solid week of preparing the house and planning their visit, they're finally here, and I have to say, I've forgotten a bit what it's like to have parents.

Case in point: I made the mistake of going out Saturday night to unwind a bit after we spent the whole day together with one of my colleagues. We parted ways after we all went out to dinner, and apparently, they couldn't get to sleep until they heard me come home. Sheesh. Apparently I'll "know what it's like when I have kids of my own."

Anyway, Saturday as I said we spent the day with one of my colleagues who took us in her car to an old town called Revel and then picnicked at a man-made lake called St. Ferrol which was designed by the same man who designed the Canal Du Midi that runs from Setes, through Toulouse, and out to Bordeaux and the Atlantic ocean. The lake serves as a main source for the canal and offers parks, hiking and swimming. We spent the whole day outside which I think helped bypass the jet-lag.

Really cool old covered marketplace or "halles" we went to on Saturday in Revel

That evening we went out to a traditional French restaurant in town:  I had duck confit and my Dad tried cassoulet, a very traditional Toulousain bean-duck-sausage dish. The food was great, despite our love-hate relationship with our garçon. When we sat down he seemed a bit miffed that we were 4 instead of 3, and somewhat haphazardly set the 4th place setting, however when I asked him to suggest a white wine, he lit up like a Christmas tree and when he brought the bottle continued to recount the story of the wine and how it is named after a celebration that takes place in small towns when they refurbish old church bells, and auction off barrels of the wine to raise money for the construction. Things took a turn for the worse however when my father asked me to ask for some butter to go with the bread. Against my better judgement, and, ahem, being the good daughter that I am, I obliged, having some idea of what was coming.

Translated version of the conversation:
Me: "Excuse me sir, could we please have some butter when you have a moment?"
Garçon: "What do you want the butter for?"
Me: "To go with the bread."
Garçon: "Have you tasted this bread??"
Me: "Yes. "
Garçon: "No."

He did eventually return with a neat little terrine of butter, but not before saying that this was "exceptional."

You see in France, to ask for butter means that the bread isn't good and that you want to mask the taste by smearing it with butter.

Cultural differences.

We've been having top ten weather so far, 70s and sunny!

Sunday we hit the marché St. Aubin, came home to eat lunch in the garden, and then toured the city on bikes. St. Sernin, Capitole, Place St. Georges,  Jacobins, I hit all the main sights, stopping for questions, comments and photo ops. I should be getting an hourly rate. That evening we made an asparagus and mushroom risotto with ingredients we bought that morning and ate for a second time in the garden with Gabby.

This morning we biked the canal du Midi for 45 minutes, and grabbed a coffee before I had to go into work. Tonight we're going to the last Mangesters dinner at Bonnie and Alberto's, and tomorrow is Carcassonne!

Wish me strength and patience.

A bientôt!

Un Peu de la Mer et un Peu de la Merde

Ana and I by the Mediterranean

I had a lovely Saturday at the beach. Then Saturday night my wallet got stolen. C'est la vie. 

Saturday 5 of us went in our friend's car to Port Leucate, about 2 hours from Toulouse and not far at all from my colleague's house in Roquefort where I have been several times. The weather was amazing, we even went swimming! The beach was a small and not crowded at all at the base of a pretty steep descent down some cliffs. The water, while chilly, was super clear and very salty - I could definitely feel the difference in buoyancy from the Sound. 

We all went out when we got back to Toulouse Saturday night, and Sunday morning (after only a few hours of sleep) I woke up early to take a train to go meet Martine in Roquefort for the day. While doing my last-minute make-sure-I-have-all-my-essential  check I realized that my wallet from the night before was missing from my bag. There was a frantic 10 minutes where I still could have made the train when I turned my room upside down, then I resigned myself to the idea that the wallet was gone and I wasn't going anywhere. 

I spent Sunday calling credit card companies and, even more fun, at the Hôtel de la Police to file a declaration of theft to give to my bank here in case there were any fraudulent charges. Sunday seemed to be bring your screaming kid to the police department day. And after waiting in a long line, and kicking it in the waiting area even longer to give my report, I found myself in front of an older policeman who seemed to have never used a computer before. After, no joke, 25 minutes of search-and-pick typing, I started to feel like I was in The Shining and that he would turn the screen around at the end and have been hitting the space bar the whole time. Finally, as the way things go, after much agonizing time and energy, I received a piece of paper that will supposedly be indispensable. Anyway, alls in order now, not too much damage done. It had been a while since I'd dealt with French bureaucracy anyway, I needed a reality check.

The rentals arrive Friday for a 10 day stay. We'll spend Friday-Thursday in Toulouse, probably making a few day trips around the region, then Thursday-Sunday we are going to Roquefort to stay at Martine's house for the 2nd weekend they are here, and they leave on Monday. 

Bisous et a bientôt!

Springtime In The City

Place de la Daurade 

With the heat, all of the bars have started spilling out on the street

My French friend, just after realizing he was already a walking cliché with his mustache and cigarette, he grabbed a baguette and journal to top it off

Kristen, Ana and I at the Prairie des Filtres

Alberto catching some rays

Brittany and her "parasol"

The Spaniards 

and Michaela!

Let's Give 'Em Something to Râle About

 Râler. What a great word. It means to complain, but slightly stronger, more like, excuse my French, to bitch and moan. Complaining happens so frequently and organically here in France, even the French will tell you that their language is built to râler. I don’t like to think I’m a big complainer, and in fact, passing a conversation by simply complaining about things is one of my pet peeves, however, I find but here it’s it's just so damn easy, and sounds so gooood to complain in French: it’s also somehow so much more dramatic and satisfying.

To accompany the myriad of phrases and expressions of angst and frustration, the French also have this amazing array of stock facial expressions and sounds that I swear they master before even learning to speak. One of my favorites is the "Pfff." The way you execute it is you puff out your cheeks and blow out the air slowly, letting your lips pout like a fish. There are some variations; some people like to blow out the air in a short blast, resulting in a kind of unlanded raspberry. The noise can kind of catch you off guard if you’re not expecting it, let me tell you.  The Pfff can also be accompanied by a shoulder shrug, depending on what degree of incredulosity, I-don't-care or I-don't-know you want to express.

So anyway, we were all sitting around in the teacher's lounge the other day (actually, on Tuesday just before my 4-day weekend trip to Grenoble - how appropriate), taking turns râler -ing and pfff-ing about our jobs and the French Ministry of Education in general. The general consensus I get from my colleagues (especially the more leftist ones) is that the French education system is going to the merde. So, they were all swapping their morose predictions of what their fates will be as state workers. I mean, with the retirement age having already been raised to 63, what other abominations could there be in store? A 40-hour work week? Having to come into work at a fixed time in the morning even if you don’t have a class? Covering for colleagues when they’re out instead of calling a sub? Shorter lunch breaks??

We got to comparing school systems and discussing what we think works from others and what doesn’t. England, as described by our only British English teacher, was quickly blacklisted as they have their teachers perform both teaching and administrative duties to cut costs (one of the reasons their education system costs the state so little, and maybe the reason he came to teach in France). Spain quickly took the lead for the model system when one of my Spanish colleagues came out with: “In Spain we work from 9-12, then 3-5.” Unable to contain myself, I ventured an incredulous; “you have a 3 hour lunch?” “Well yes,” she replied, “you know we have the siesta.” 


It was there that I halted my pff-ing right in its tracks. Sometimes, you know, I have to stop and remind myself that I work less in a week than most people I know at home work in a day. Holy merde. How am I ever going to hack it back home?

A Healthy Dose of Nature

Julia and I

This past “weekend” (Thursday – Monday, my life is a weekend) I went northeast to Grenoble to visit my friend Julia who is an English teaching assistant there. Totally motivated from my trip to Lyon about a month ago, I bought the tickets shortly after I got back, and, as the pattern here seems to go, the trip came and went in a flash.

Magnolia tree at Julia's old host family's house

We had am amazingly adventure packed weekend. Whereas my trip to Lyon focused a lot on the city and the history, this weekend was all about the area surrounding Grenoble, as it’s situated right in a valley in the middle of the Alps. Julia is quite sporty (she’s actually running a full marathon in Paris next Saturday!!), and we did everything from gorgeous hikes in the mountains, to camping (for my first time) to rock climbing (another first). Julia studied abroad in Grenoble 2 years ago and knows the area really well. She also has made friends with this awesome couple in their mid-thirties who she babysits for who live about 30 minutes outside of Grenoble in this adorable village that’s perched up in the mountains. What an incredible place to grow up as a kid, it really made me think about moving out of a city, at least for a little while, or at least to somewhere were you can easily get out and away to do something outdoorsy.

Trying to put chains on after getting stuck. Apparently taking your shirt off helps?

Julia and I looking out onto Grenoble from our campsite  the next morning

I arrived Thursday night and we hung out in at one of her friend’s apartments. Friday she had to work in the afternoon so after having a lovely lunch at her old host family’s house, I went for a hike up to the Bastille that overlooks the city. Friday we had pizza and beer by the river with some of her friends, but, I have to say, the Grenoble river scene is nothing like the Toulouse one. They don’t really have a bank, just some stairs, and, it’s just missing that rosy Toulouse charm. Anyway, Saturday we went for a great hike up Charmant Som. After some unforeseen delay of getting her friend’s car stuck in the snow (yes, snow), we raced back down to town to pack for our night of camping – we were trying to catch the sunset from our campsite. On the way back up we stopped for provisions for a BBQ, and just caught the very tail end of the sunset over the city. The campsite was incredible – a tiny plateau at the true tip of a mountain. It was unreal, the only bummer was that as soon as the sun went down a very strong wind started that did not die down till the next morning. We had a cookout with 9 people, but only Julia, myself and her friend Olivier ended up braving the elements for un nuit a la belle étoile. I encased myself in 2 sleeping bags and wasn’t cold at all, but I could literally feel the wind picking up my mattress pad. The sunrise in the morning over the Alps was definitely worth it though, you could even see Mont Blanc off in the distance.

Bundled up like a sausage in 2 sleeping bags

Just starting out

Sunday we woke up and drive down into the town where her friends live and ate a picnic breakfast in a park. We then picked up a harness from her friends and headed off to what we heard was a good rockface for beginners, like me! We ended up climbing for 5 hours, and for the first 3 we had the place to ourself, it was wonderful. Rockclimbing was amazing, it’s something I’ve wanted to try for a long time and now feel a bit spoiled that my frist time was in the French Alps J My shining achievement was a climb about 40 meters up. For me, the hardest part was after I had reached the top, getting my head around the idea that you are then supposed to just let go of this rockface you’ve been clinging to for dear life for the past 20 minutes to repel down. The first time it took me a solid 8 minutes to finally let go and belay down in what I’m sure was the most awkward fashion ever, as I never fully relaxed the way you are supposed to.

And finally Sunday night, after about 40 hours of being outdoors, Ju and I had epic showers and a movie night and painted our nails.

That's me up there!

I got back to Toulouse and it has be absolutely gorgeous: mid 70’s and sunny and none of that annoying Mistrail wind either. We’ve had all the windows and doors to the house open all week, our laundry has been drying in half a day on the line (a nice change from the 3-4 days it took inside mid-winter, the rooms would get so humid!), the markets have made the change to spring vegetables and there’s asparagus and strawberries abound.

Me thinking: "Woah."

Me after my big climb

Last night Ana and I went to the grocery store in my neighborhood to get some bread, cheese, jam, and beer to eat by the river and all the baguettes were gone and there were only a handful of cases of beer left. After we locked up our bikes and walked down to the river bank we understood why: it seemed that everyone in Toulouse had the same low-cost idea for dinner we did. It was 10pm and it seemed like noon. It was like a giant block party with music and everything. I love this city.

A bientôt,

Linz