Our Trip to Norway Part III: Bergen

Could we go to Norway and not see the fjords? Sure, we got to visit Oslofjord, but it's not one of the spectacular ones. We decided to take the "Norway in a Nutshell" trip, which includes the train fare from Oslo to Bergen (6 hours), plus a scenic train route to Flam, a ferry in the fjord, and a bus ride to Voss. We woke up early in the morning and arrived at the Askar train station with 7 minutes to spare. My mother was really nervous, but the rest of us were pretty calm. I kept having flashbacks to last year, when I would leave my apartment and tear through the streets of Montpellier on my bicycle to catch the train to Lunel, where I worked. Once or twice I had to board the train without buying a ticket, and on one memorable occasion I had to take the bus to Lunel and run to the high school! So I wasn't worried. After 4 hours on the train, we arrived at a small Norwegian town and switched to a smaller, older train. It was beautiful inside, made of wood and upholstered with pretty fabric. We only spent about 45 minutes on the train when we arrived in the next town on the itinerary, where we switched from the train onto the ferry. For the next two hours we were treated to gorgeous fjord views, although the weather turned a bit rainy. Luckily it made our photos more spectacular.



Then we took a bus to Voss, the ugliest town I saw in Norway. Jube, my mom, and I stayed at the train station while my brother the Rooster hit the mean streets. He got to see a building be demolished ("that was the coolest part"). Then we got back on a train to go to Bergen. We arrived around 8 o'clock in the evening, and we walked to the hotel. I asked for directions to a restaurant mentioned in my guide where the serving staff dressed up in traditional Norwegian outfits and served Norwegian food. Unfortunately, after walking the streets of Bergen for about an hour and a half and asking at least 5 people, we couldn't find the restaurant! Instead, we ate at a Chinese restaurant.



The next day we woke up early to explore the city. We visited the fish market and the harbour before walking to the aquarium. We got to see the training of the seals and the feeding of the penguins! Jube and I both thought of the force-feeding of fois gras geese, because the tiny penguins swallowed huge fish whole. Afterwards, we took a cable car up the hill behind Bergen. The view from the top was incredible, but we were all really hungry so we didn't stay for long! After coming down, we ate at a small Norwegian restaurant where we ate traditional dishes like potato dumplings, reindeer steak, and pork chops with sweet cabbage. And before we knew it, it was time to catch the train back to Askar!

We only had one day left in Norway, so Jube and I made my uncle's family a tartiflette. Unfortunately none of his kids ate it, because the appearance turned them off. Everyone else loved it. And the next day it was time to leave! My mother and the Rooster left early in the morning for their trans-Atlantic flight. Jube and I had more time, so we went outside to play soccer with Ligne--and then, tragedy struck! Jube picked up the ball to throw it in, and I stupidly tried for a header. My glasses snapped! Ligne didn't think it was a big deal, but Jube and I were both pretty upset. (We fixed them with superglue the next day.) Then we went to the airport and said goodbye to Norway!




Or so we thought. Actually our plane was delayed by about two hours for "mechanical reasons" (the worst reasons of all!) and we arrived in Nice too late to catch the last municipal (read, inexpensive!) bus into the city. We opted for a taxi right to our doorstep, instead. We chose a BMW--oh la classe! And that was the true end to our Scandinavian adventure.

Our Trip to Norway Part II: Oslo

On Monday, still a holiday in Norway, we went to Vigelandsparken, which is a big park full of Vige's stone sculptures. They are all of naked men and women of all ages, from the smallest babies to the oldest people you can imagine. The only thing missing (as my mother pointed out) is a pregnant woman. It's really impressive--all of the sculptures are life-sized (or maybe just a little bit larger), with a huge obelisk in the center made of hundreds of human bodies. Nearby is a bridge that is decorated with more of Vige's human sculptures, this time in bronze. It is beautiful.

Before Vigelandsparken, we had gone to the Oslo olympic ski jump. We paid 70 Kroner to go to the top. You could take an elevator, but not all the way up! I am completely out of shape, and instead of spending the first two minutes enjoying the amazing view of Oslo, I huffed and puffed and leaned on Jube. I never realized how high ski jumps are! I would be really scared if I were an olympic competitor (although I don't really think I could be, with my legs that hurt just from climbing the jump...). It was very cool.

That evening we ate dinner with my aunt's family. [Aside: One of the things that amazed me about Norway was that everyone spoke English. The man at the newspaper kiosk: perfect English directions to the train station. The waitress in the Chinese restaurant: perfect English explanation of the weird shellfish in my mother's dish. The girl in traditional Norwegian dress: perfect English explaining how to get to a certain bar with a unicorn on the sign where they would explain how to reach a restaurant. I have to admit, I'm glad that France isn't like Norway. I never would have learned French if everyone spoke English! It was nice watching CSI in English, though. Jube was surprised at the differences between the French and American versions; in French, the cops all sound really intellectual, whereas in English they sound more like "cops." Unfortunately, the episode we saw was a 2 parter. I want to know the end!!] Her family was really nice, and we talked about how much to tip waiters in restaurants and that the tips were shared between the cooks and the waiters in Norway.

The next day we went to explore Oslo on our own. We first headed to the Folk Museum, where we saw tons of authentic traditional Norwegian houses, including a gorgeous wooden church. It was really interesting to see how the architecture changed according to the region of the country. After that, we went to the Viking Ship Museum. It was pretty small, with only 2 Viking ships, but really gorgeous. The ships were beautifully presented and the explanations were interesting. Did you know that the only intact Viking ships were those that were used in burial ceremonies? The rich Vikings buried in their ships also took horses and servants along with them. They didn't explain if the horses and servants were alive when the ships were buried. I hope not!

After the museums, we took a ferry to the city center. We went to the National Gallery and were able to see "The Scream" (which is called "Shrik" in Norwegian--much cooler!) and lots of other famous paintings. You may remember that "The Scream" was recently stolen, and it looks the worse for wear. It looks just like a bird pooped on it! (Honestly, I don't know if that's a new stain or not. It did look kind of suspicious, though.)

Stay tuned for the next offering: Bergen and the fjords!

Our Trip to Norway Part I: Askar

As you may remember from an earlier post, Jube and I were in Norway last week. That's why I didn't post--I was out having Nordic fun! When we arrived at the airport, my uncle and favorite little cousin, Ligne, were waiting to meet us. As soon as we reached their house, I saw more of my family. My little boy cousins were jumping up and down on my little brother, and my mother was laughing with my Norwegian aunt. We were all very happy to see each other, and the kids received their full Easter eggs a day early to celebrate our arrival. They chowed down on their chocolate, Kinder eggs, and traditional Norwegian gummy men before tempting Jube outside for a snowball fight.

My little brother, whom Ligne named "Rooster" for his new mowhawk, refused to wear a coat for most of the trip. He did put on one glove as a concession to the snow on this occasion. The older kids ran around, throwing snowballs and laughing hysterically, while the smallest made snowballs and handed them to Jube, explaining things in Norwegian. Two neighborhood kids even joined in the battle, although they seemed surprised when Jube shouted things to them in English.



When we went inside, it was time to dye eggs! My mother had brought the kits from America, and the Norwegians provided watercolors, so we made masterpieces depicting eggs, bunnies, and one inspired alien. That evening we took a walk to the local branch of Oslofjord, where the kids showed us their favorite summer beaches and diving platforms. We tempted ducks with stale bread and listened to the Norwegian A-B-C song about 5 times. Then we ate dinner and headed to bed to prepare for the next day.

We woke up late on Sunday and had a huge Norwegian breakfast/lunch, consisting of sweet brown goat's cheese, caviar, roast beef, pate, salted lamb, shrimp salad, and Easter eggs (in any combination) on bread. Then we relaxed and hid the eggs for the kids to find, which they did about 5 separate times (once hidden by the Easter bunny, once by their father, and then once by each child). Afterwards we went to the Sonja Henie modern art museum, where we saw pictures by Picasso and Matisse, as well as an ultra post-modern exposition from a Norwegian artist that left most of us cold--except for the youngest cousin, who ran around the huge exposition hall and climbed on one of the smaller artworks that was exposed on the ground. That night we ate kebabs, and prepared for another day of sightseeing.

Bon Anniversaire!

Yesterday, Jube and I celebrated because it was our anniversary! Hooray for us!

The best part about anniversaries is that they give us an excuse to go out for dinner. I chose the Mexican restaurant. We were driving into town, ready to turn onto Avenue Gambetta, when he suddenly turned to me and said, "Gem, I really don't want to eat Mexican food. We already went to that restaurant twice, and I don't like those beans they have." This was funny because he had just convinced me that he really wanted me to choose the restaurant, and that he really didn't mind going "a little crazy" at Poco Loco (that's the name of the restaurant, hilarious, eh?).

Instead, we headed to a "creole" restaurant--more specifically, réunionnais. I had the porc cocolombo, Jube chose the fricassée de crevettes, and we shared a selection of appetizers. The ironic part of the meal was that it was served with the same beans you get at the Mexican restaurant! We finished with desserts, gâteau aux patates douces for me and tarte coco for Jube. He was pretty jealous of mine, since it was made with rum and didn't actually taste like sweet potatoes at all.

And then, how did we finish off this amazing anniversary? We went home and fell right asleep, because we were really tired. Why so tired? At 5:00 that morning, Jube sat straight up in bed and said, "Oh no, il faut faire mes voeux!" [I have to make my wishes!] Kind of weird, eh? He had to request his job placement for next year, in case he can't come to the US, and they were due on the 13th at 8:00am. Why he couldn't have waited until we woke up at 7:00am to do it, I'm not sure, but he was woken from a deep sleep with the urge to do it at that very second. He did, and we were tired for the rest of the day.

Um, Like

Three weeks ago, when I was in the US, I attended the recruiting weekend of a large Virginia university. Since I attended Wittenberg University, a small, liberal arts institution in Springfield, Ohio, I was unprepared for the size of the student union. I knew in which rooms the weekend program would take place--but how to find them in such a huge building?

My mom and I headed to the information desk. (Yes, my mother came with me. A lot of the other prospective students thought this was a little weird--a mother at a GRADUATE recruiting weekend?--but I wasn't going to drive to an unknown city alone and forgo the chance to spend the time with my mommy!) "Excuse me, can you tell me where the spring recruiting weekend is?" I asked.

"Umm... I haven't heard anything about that," the girl said. She looked like she was about 16 years old. "Nikki, can you help these people?"

Nikki turned to us. "What's up?" she asked. She was dressed in sweats with the university's logo and chomping on some chewing gum.

"We're looking for the spring recruiting weekend," I said.

"Umm, does that have, like, something to do with graduation?" she asked.

"No," I said, "It's for graduate school."

"Ohh, yeah, that's it. Down the hall and to your right," she told us, pointing with her pencil.

As soon as we were out of sight, we burst into laughter. Moving back might be a shock...

Vacation

In less than a week, Jube and I will be going to Norway. It was a Christmas present from my mother, who will be meeting us there with my crazy little mohawked brother.

I've been looking forward to this trip for a long time, and I can't wait to go! Belle-maman's dream has always been to go to a Scandinavian country, so she was going to come too. Unfortunately, Pépé, her father, who has been ill for a long time, was just hospitalized. She called us last week to tell us to cancel her ticket. So now, I'm feeling rather ambivalent about the trip. I can't wait to see my family (not only are my mother and brother coming, we'll be staying with my uncle and aunt who live in Oslo), but I know how much Belle-maman had wanted to be able to go. She had her first passport made and had already changed her Euros into Norwegian Kroner.

I've also been feeling guilty for awhile for wanting to go back to the US and bring Jube with me. I know how much le Pacha and his parents will miss him, and I feel like I haven't given him the choice to say no. He assures me that he wants to come, too, but I still worry. I feel like I've managed to adapt relatively easily to French life, and because of that, I should look for a permanent job here instead of continuing my education in the US--and expecting Jube to leave his secure job as a civil servant to take up something like substitute teaching or data entry in Virginia.

I am still somewhat optimistic about the future, but it worries me a lot.

Lazy Sunday

Sunday was one of the best days I've had in awhile. I put on my new shirt from Zara, a cute skirt, and headed to the market. At first, Jube and I couldn't find a parking space. Finally we parked in front of the Monument aux Morts, around the corner from the harbour. No, it wasn't a legal parking space, but we figured that since there were already about 10 people parked there and that it was a Sunday, we wouldn't get a fine. We were right!

However, parking at the Monument aux Morts meant that it was a "little trot" to the center of town. Since the day was nice and we walked by the sea, it was no problem. On the way, we saw tons of people on the beach sunbathing. I mean, yes, it was a nice day, and definitely sunny, but neither Jube nor I would have wanted to lie on the pebbly beach in a bikini--much less in a thong like Naked Butt Boy. Actually, he wasn't really a boy... he was more like a grandfather. Here are some pics for you--you have to click on them to really see his tanned naked butt.



We also saw some dogs diving in the water after pebbles. They were really cute, but both had amazingly loud barks. We then walked into the center of town, onto the Cours Saleya, where the market was winding down. We bought some cheap strawberries (4 Euros for 2 kilos) and then looked at the rest of the market. The market here is well known for its flowers, and I noticed that the new asparagus was being sold with daffodils:



We continued walking along the Promenade des Anglais into town, because I wanted to eat at a great Japanese restaurant that has pretty cheap menus at lunchtime. Unfortunately when we arrived, they had changed the cheap lunch menus to read "sauf le dimanche." No luck for us! So we hiked back to the Old Town, passing a chocolaterie on the way, where they were already displaying Easter eggs. Easter eggs aren't the same in France as they are in the US; here, they are pretty big eggs made of chocolate and then filled with little chocolates. You break open the egg and then eat the sweets inside. It can last for a few weeks, if you ration yourself (but most likely only lasts a few days, especially in the Gem/Jube/Belle-Famille tradition). This particular chocolaterie had the most expensive Easter eggs either of us had ever seen. Here's my arty picture of the most expensive:



That's right--220 Euros! As I was taking my photo, a family walked behind us, checking the eggs out. The father exclaimed, "I would buy that egg and have it varnished! Bring it out every year at Easter! Never buy another Easter egg!"

We decided to eat at a restaurant where they served all-you-can-eat mussels and fries (for me) and pizzas (for Jube). We were completely stuffed afterwards, and walked back to the car. As we passed, we saw that Naked Butt Boy hadn't moved; he was still tanning his butt off with his family. We also saw a car commercial being filmed; it was for Mazda, and I took these pictures:



And then we went home and watched Video Gag before going to sleep early for work the next day.

Happy days are here again

About a month ago, I turned to Jube and said, "You know, I was pretty depressed earlier this year. I'm glad that I feel better now!"

He said, "I know you were depressed. It was pretty obvious."

This surprised me, because I always think that I do a good job of hiding disappointment and depression. I suppose that it must have been really glaring, though, when I think back on it. I refused to admit that Nice seemed like a pretty good place to live; I cried every weekend when I thought about going back to work on Monday; and I didn't feel like going anywhere, after work or on the weekend. Even when we were on vacation in Gallargues I managed to be depressed for about two days straight because I was not accepted to my first choice university.

Ohh, did I forget to mention to the blogging world that I was applying for a master's program? Well, when I didn't know if I was accepted, I didn't want to jinx it. After I was cut, I didn't want to talk about it because it was pretty painful. But now, I have lots of good news for the future, and thinking that one university didn't want me doesn't make me feel (very) bad anymore, especially since my last choice school has turned out to have a really great program and I don't know why I didn't apply there in the first place. I recently received an e-mail welcoming me to their program. I am also going to be a senior staff member at a summer camp here in Nice. Everything seems to be shaping up well.

Maybe you, my readers, were able to notice my depression, too. I'm here to tell you that I'm feeling lots better. Helping out is the wonderful daylight saving time I found on my return to France. Here in Nice, it doesn't get dark until about 8:00pm (and I'm sure you've heard the rumours of the perpetually sunny weather--almost totally true!). I even went to Zara yesterday and bought a new shirt. The real Gem is back in action!

You Heard It First Here!

I'm watching Chirac's address to the nation right now. It's a really important speech, in which he will announce his decision on whether or not to retract the CPE. There is a problem with every. single. one. of the microphones on 5 out of 6 channels--and the 6th isn't showing Chirac. And... no! He has "maintained" the law! He did change 2 parts: he lowered the trial period from 2 years to 1, and the employer must tell the person being fired WHY they are being fired. Jube just turned to me and said, "Bon. Mardi y'a pas cours. No school next Tuesday!" Then he started playing the guitar, and I haven't heard the rest of Chirac's speech. Not that anyone else has. I'm sure that after his announcement, everyone across France stopped listening and turned to each other to debate.

Like the Wind...

I just want to write a short update to my post from earlier today. I got to work on time and finished the book I picked up at Heathrow, Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguru. I finished it in about two days--what an amazing book! I was almost late this morning because I couldn't put it down to get out of bed! Anyway, I definitely recommend it.

And that's all for tonight. I will write a real, nice, long, GOOD blog entry when I am not as tired.

Uuuuuugh

I'm back in France. I'm tired. I worked for 9 hours yesterday. I'm leaving in 5 minutes. I'll talk more about my trip when I'm more awake.....................

Safe and Sound

I made it in to Washington, DC on Wednesday afternoon an hour early. No strike, no turbulence to bother my trip, only a screaming baby on the plane to annoy everyone. I was even able to buy a new bag in Heathrow during my layover. I've seen my mom, been woken up at 3:30am by her dog, and eaten my little brother's inventive cuisine. I've also attended the first day of the recruiting "weekend" at a Virginia university.

I got a free tee-shirt!

On Saturday I'm meeting my newlywed friend to ramble around Washington, DC (or maybe just the Washington area's malls).

I miss Jube terribly, but hanging out with my family is great.

Stay Away, Grève Générale!

For everyone who doesn't know, France has been rocked by some big protests lately. Were they against the war in Iraq, like the protests in the UK and Italy? Were they a continuation of last fall's riots? No, they are against a new employment law, le Contrat de Première Embauche, or the First Employment Contract. Basically, it extends the probation period for a long term job contract from the average of 1.5 months to 2 years--but only for workers under 26. In return, the companies that hire them receive tax breaks, and can get rid of the CPE worker without explaining why they were fired. University students, high school students, and unions have joined together to protest the new law.

Now, completely honestly, I had no desire to "tackle the issue" of the CPE because it doesn't really affect me. I don't go to university (many of which have been blockaded for at least a week), I don't use public transport anymore (Jube had to hitchhike to work because the buses were blocked last Thursday), and lately I have been more worried about my own right to work than the right of a French university graduate to get a job for life. That admission of apathy out of the way, I am now worried. The protestors have given an ultimatum to the government: repeal the law or face the wrath that is a grève générale starting Tuesday night. A grève générale, or a "general strike," involves shutting down everything that can possibly shut down: no trains, no school, no driving in the city center, no flights (at least, no AirFrance flights)... you get the picture.

On Wednesday I am going back to the US for five days. Thank God I didn't buy my tickets from AirFrance! Unfortunately I can't forget that about two months ago, the air traffic controllers went on strike. Passengers were trapped in airports for days. I can only hope that if they do strike, they will wait until after 8:10am on Wednesday morning...

What a Week!

I know that I haven't posted during the week for two weeks, but I think I'll have more time now. I finished late Monday through Thursday and started early every day of the week, going to the Prefecture and waiting for them to tell me to leave. On Tuesday, the crowd rebelled, with people shouting and pushing and shoving. The security guards were called and since there was a troublemaking American right in front of me (Faites votre travail! he would shout in a heavy accent--Donnez un ticket!), I was physically pushed out of the room. Finally on Thursday, after arriving at 7:00am (when the parking lot opened) and waiting for four hours, I was allowed to talk to the workers. What did she do for me? After a week of telling me that they no longer stamped the prolongations onto the forms, she went in the back and stamped it for me.

As I walked away, I heard a woman screaming "Je vais la tuer! I'm going to kill her!" The police ran past me towards the cave. Yippee. I'm going back in 3 months.

Luckily Friday was much better. I worked a long, but normal day (9am-5:30pm) and then picked Jube up after his conseil de classe. We ate Mexican food and went to see Capote. As I was looking up the times for the movie, I didn't know what they had changed the name to for the French public. I headed to the French Google and typed in "capote," and received the strangest responses--I had forgotten that in French, capote is slang for condom! Oops! But, although I was a little bit nervous, I finally found the new name (Truman Capote, wow, what a difference!) by typing in "capote film."

My Life Isn't All Prefecture...

I forgot to mention what Jube and I saw on Friday after we finished our hours of line-waiting confrontations at the Prefecture. We drove back into town where we saw a huge line of teenagers outside of a museum on the Promenade des Anglais. We parked the car nearby and walked by, wondering what they were all waiting for (since we had just finished our own experience). We threw out some ideas:

"It's spring break time in the US. Maybe they're a group of high school students waiting to go into the Museum."

"Maybe there's a star who's giving a concert tonight and they want her autograph."

As we passed, we heard groups of young girls singing the latest pop hits--notably "Aimer jusqu'a l'impossible."

"I know what it is!" said Jube. "It's the auditions for Star Academy!"

Our idea was confirmed by a woman who told us that the kids had been waiting "since this morning."

I thought that the kids must be happier than I had been just a half an hour earlier at the Prefecture, but as we continued along the road, we saw a girl sobbing, tears rolling down her face. "He could have at least listened to me sing!" she cried, heartbroken.

Three Days at the Prefecture

My carte de séjour (something like a French green card) expires on Saturday. Hmm, in fact, that's not true--the proof that I have applied for a carte de séjour expires on Saturday, because they haven't made the actual carte de séjour in the six months after I applied for it. (I've already had to renew it once before, and it was very quick--a trip to the Prefecture, and they stamped the back of my receipt for 3 more valid months.) I woke up early on Wednesday and drove in to the Prefecture and waited in line for about a half an hour before a worker announced that they weren't giving any more tickets out and that we should all go home. A bit disappointed, I went to work and set my alarm clock earlier for the next day.

Thursday morning I woke up and drove to the Prefecture--again. I waited in line--again. But this time I waited for two hours before the same worker announced that she wasn't giving out any more tickets. I decided to try my chances at the front desk, even though I knew I wouldn't receive a ticket--but then, I thought that I didn't need a ticket, because the last time they had renewed it with the crunch of a stamp. However, the woman behind the desk (the same one who had told us all to go home) told me that I would have to come back on Monday with all of my papers and they would make me a new receipt. ("But last time you just stamped it," I said. "I don't do that anymore," she answered.) After two and a half hours on my feet, surrounded by screaming babies, line cutters, and innumerable foreign languages, I had accomplished nothing, and I no longer had the right to work. I made it to the car before I started bawling.

When I say I bawled, I want you to know that I didn't cry. I cry a lot. The first question my mother asked me when I wore contact lenses for the first time was whether they hurt when I cried. I once cried in front of the family because Jube read me a local newspaper article about a little dog who had been poisoned by some mean hoodlum. I even cried when I first came to Nice and realized that it's not the same city as Montpellier. I say this because the tears that came out of my body on Thursday were not the same as my normal drizzle. I sobbed and screamed and had to use lots of tissues before I could leave the parking lot at the Prefecture.

Now that I read my depiction of the Prefecture, my breakdown doesn't seem very merited. You have to understand--the section for the "foreigners" is all the way at the back, like a cave, filled with red metal chairs and a long, long, never-ending line that starts at a desk set in the back of the cave with a door behind it. Postulants from the line go up to the desk, and the Women (I don't know why the workers are primarily women, but they are) receive each immigrant like he is a 3-year old child who has some unreasonable request that is basically impossible to fulfill, but maybe, just maybe, if he has all of the required papers, She can give him a ticket and he can go sit in a red metal chair and wait for another hour before another Woman looks at his papers again and gives him another paper in exchange--and suddenly, he can work. While you're in line, you have to stand as close as possible to the person in front of you, or someone will try to cut (I've seen it happen). Everyone smells bad after about a half an hour because of the close conditions, and because the cave is kept at a very high temperature. Since no one knows how long the process will take, most immigrant women come with their children, who scream and cry and run around the cave. Sometimes the Women disappear behind their door for fifteen minutes at a time. The line moves around while we talk to each other, wondering if the Woman will come back, or if she's preparing to tell us all to leave.

I went back to the Prefecture today, with Jube, hoping that we could figure out exactly why my request was refused. Basically, there are now new laws concerning immigrants, one of which concerns the stamping of the receipts. This is now verboten, and so everyone whose papers take a long time--that means everyone--needs to come back and have a new receipt printed off for them. For that, we need a ticket. To get a ticket, we need to arrive (at the latest) at 8:00am, an hour before the Prefecture opens. And that's why I cried.

The most touching moment at the Prefecture: An old Moroccan man interrupts me while I'm reading a book. "Mademoiselle, would you mind filling in this paper for me?" I don't understand why he's asking me, exactly, but I explain that the paper is really easy--he just needs to write his name, date of birth, and nationality and then sign it. "But Mademoiselle," he says to me with a little smile, "I don't know how to write." I fill in the short form and show him where to sign. He thanks me profusely and heads off to another part of the Prefecture. The young man behind me catches my eye, and we smile together--a brief smile before we are sucked back into the stress of waiting.

The most bizarre moment at the Prefecture: While I'm sitting on a red metal chair and gazing blankly in front of me, a young man pushes past me and approaches Jube. I can't hear what they're saying to each other, but I notice that the seat of the young man's blue jeans are full of fashionable holes. I look up at Jube's face in time to hear him say, "Oui, j'ai compris"--"Yes, I understand." The young man scowls and then stalks to the back of the line. "What was that?" I ask Jube. "He told me that if I didn't let his girlfriend go in front of us, he would give me a knuckle sandwich!" he responded incredulously.

Useful

When I got back from work tonight, late late LATE, I had missed the news and the evening movie had already begun. I immediately fell on the computer and began reading e-mails and blogs because my life really did depend on it--I needed to relaaaaax (or "decompress," as we would say in French...). Jube was still grading papers (all the papers he didn't finish because he was working all weekend on the bacs blancs), and we sat for a bit in silence, with the movie playing in the background.

After awhile, Jube asked me, "Is it a good movie?"

I hadn't really noticed what was on TV, but I glanced up from the glowing computer. "Oh, that's called 2 Week's Notice." I also gave him my opinion of the movie and a summary, but sheesh, I won't tell you, because 2 Week's Notice doesn't really need any help from me...

Then Jube looked at me admiringly. "I'm so glad I have an American girlfriend. It's like having a film encyclopedia!"

Random Hobbies

One of Jube's favorite pastimes is to do everything he can to bug me and then enjoy my reaction. Sometimes I get really riled up, and sometimes I just laugh it off. (I guess that's the attraction--it's hard to predict what I'll do.) Anyway, this weekend he has been grading Bacs blancs, or practice copies of the national proficiency exam, le Baccalauréat. The practice copies are actual exams that have already been given in earlier years, and boy do I feel sorry for the kids who got this one! My post isn't about the Bac blanc, though, it's about Jube's practice of his annoying hobby while he's grading.

Jube's grading routine: While I'm at the computer, he monopolizes the rest of the apartment. He connects his mp3 player to the home cinema and listens to 20-minute-long progressive rock songs. He mutes the television and switches channels. Every five minutes or so he interrupts my surfing to ask me a grammar or vocabulary question. Then, just to break up the monotony a bit, he decides to get up to do something and lose his pen, his mp3 player, the copy of the test he was grading, or the remote control. Afterwards he asks me where I put the pen, the mp3 player, etc etc. How should I know where it is?

AND THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT!

"Oh Gem, what did you do with the remote control now?" he'll ask, after I tell him I haven't touched it for about 3 hours. Of course that really gets me riled up! And then he'll come over and kiss me to make sure I know he's kidding. He just did that, and then couldn't find his pen, so we had another mini-argument about it--and then he remembered that he had it in his mouth last time we kissed-and-made-up... and there it was right in my lap!

Now I'll digress on the word "hobby" for you. As you may know, in French, the sound "h" does not exist. (That's why the word "hors d'oeuvres" is pronounced ordERVES.) Also, the stress always falls on the last syllable (see above example). So lots of French kids pronounce "hobbies" as though they were saying "obese." Be aware.

It's Thursday Already!

I think going back to work after a vacation is way harder than going to work the week before vacation. I have been out of the working rhythm all week long, and a little bit sick, too!

On Tuesday night, Jube and I went into town to check out the final night of Carnaval. The King is burned (don't worry, it's a float) and there is a fireworks display. Now, I consider myself a pretty experienced fireworks-watcher, since I've seen "Red, White, and Boom" in Columbus, Ohio; the fireworks on the Mall in Washington, DC; and most spectacularly, the amazing fireworks of Las Fallas in Valencia, Spain. The fireworks for the end of Nice's Carnaval couldn't compare with the amazing displays in Valencia, but they were much better than, say, the fireworks for the 4th of July in Delaware, Ohio. Let me tell you how it went down:

I arrived home a bit late from work because a lot of roads were closed (since there was the Carnaval!). As soon as I walked in the door, we headed out again. We walked along the beach and listened to the music. Then we tried to find a place to watch the fireworks. Unfortunately, the Promenade des Anglais was chock full of people, right up to the barrier above the beach. Luckily we found a way DOWN to the beach, and then we pushed our way right up to the best vantage point. First, they burned the King of the Carnaval out on the water. I have some pictures of it, but it looks really bad, so I'm not posting them. Here are my (pretty crappy but better than the pics of the burning King) pictures of the fireworks.



I like the reflections in the water.

This is the very end. There were tons of these gold fireworks. You should click on this one to make it bigger; that way you can see the two boats that shot off the fireworks.

Vacation Recap

Our week in Gallargues went really well. On Wednesday, Jube, Belle-maman and I all went to Arles. The day was kind of gray and rainy, but we had a good time wandering the streets. Also, the Arles museum was free for the day, so we got to check it out.

On Thursday, we went to Nîmes to meet some of Jube's friends, Herbé and Caro. They are a couple of music teachers who Jube met when he was completing is first year of stage in Alès. They have decided to get married this summer, and so they had come to Nîmes to de-PACS. PACSing is basically a civil union. Homosexuals can enter into a PACS, as can heterosexuals. It provides some of the rights of marriage, notably (in teachers' cases) benefits on where civil servants are placed throughout France. Herbé and Caro had PACSed a few years ago so they could both work in Alès; Jube and I PACSed in December 2004 so he wouldn't have to move to Paris (and I wouldn't have to move back to the US). Herbé told us that it was really funny when they went to de-PACS; both of them were smiling and holding hands, and the civil servant in charge told them that they didn't have to de-PACS since their marriage would automatically cancel it. But since they had driven for an hour, she did it anyway.

Jube and Herbé originally bonded because of their love of guitars. In fact, Herbé saved up his salary for two years to have a guitar made especially for him. It cost him €3,600 (check it out here and here). After having a quick drink in a café, we all went to a guitar store. Caro and I chatted about her wedding plans while Jube and Herbé drooled over the instruments. Let's just say that when we entered the store, it was light outside, and when we left, it wasn't. Luckily that means that I can drag Jube to the mall with me whenever I want and I won't have to feel guilty.

Afterwards we went to Montpellier to have dinner with another couple of Jube's friends. These are friends that he's had since he was about 6 years old and they all lived in Mende. I've always had a hard time enjoying our dinners with them. This is because when I first met them, I couldn't speak any French at all; and then, even when I could speak some French, I discovered that half of the time they talk about "the good old days" when they harassed their German teacher or wrecked a friend's motorcycle and lied about it. Last night was really great, though, because we talked more about the present instead of the past (although there was an involved conversation about the new stores opening up in Mende).

All in all, we had a really great vacation, although I'm still not ready to go back to work tomorrow!