Monday 15 December 2014

Belleville Rendezvous

I had a lovely surprise this weekend.
I was summarily summoned to Paris by Dani, where I was told there would be people waiting for me. At first I thought this might be Ron, our old French teacher, but it turned out to be none other than Purzelle and the Nurp themselves, Patrick and Ella.
Purzelle(L), Nurp (R).
Before I relate all the fun we had in the city of lights, I just want to relate one absolutely terrifying moment that occurred in Gare Du Nord. I should preface this story by saying I fully acknowledge that I overreacted and it was only really scary because I'm a country bumpkin who's not used to the big city ways and sees terror everything like the bloody Salem Town Council. But, as I was going to meet Dani at the Paris metro, I smelled a strange smell, very unpleasant, and my mouth began to dry out and tingle as though I'd just eaten something extremely spicy. It wasn't only me, either: all around me, what looked like hardened Parisians were pucking their noses, covering their mouths with sleeves or 'kerchiefs, and moving very quickly away from the area. Then, the police shoved past me and bolted into the underground station below- they literally (and I do not misuse that word) jumped over a couple, bent over their luggage, to get there quicker.
You may be able to guess where my mind went after it put these events together: I was embroiled in some sort of horrible gas attack, and, worse, I'd dragged Dani into it, too (she was waiting for me on the platform). For a moment, I considered just running from the building and gulping in the uninfected air. I wanted to warn other passengers from entering the platform, but all my French had suddenly abandoned me. But then, my sense of proportion returned, and I realised that, were there some kind of gas attack, there might be a few more people panicking than just me. I got myself together and went to meet Dani.
Soon, after a couple of misdiversions, we were united with Patrick and Ella and went to dinner.

The restaurant at which we dined was called 'La Cantine de Belleville', leading to Patrick, Ella and I all making the same joke (hint: it's the title of the blog post), revealing that Dani had never seen or even heard of that film. It's also meant I've had that bloody song stuck in my head for the past three days, and now you will, too.
If I could set that to autoplay, dear Reader, know that I would.

Anyway, after a delicious dinner, Dani said her farewells, and we retired back to the flat in Montmartre which Paddy and Ella had procured for the trip. There, we got blind, stinking drunk on a mixture of wine, apple juice, tonic water, vodka and sugar cubes (Patrick called it 'Portuguese Sangria').
We laughed, and sang and took incredibly stupid pictures:
She's very deer to my heart (she's holding a Reindeer's heart, for the uninitiated).








And then Ella, like Travis and Smallface before her, found the joys of playing with my hair.
She also made me pose like this, I swear.
I liked them so much, I left those Bear Ears (note the incredibly masculine name) in all weekend. I kid you not. Honestly, unless I could actively see my silhouette, I kind of forgot I had them in, and so I was just puzzled by all the strange looks I was getting- although, they might explain why I kept on being given Silly Straws with every drink that I ordered. I was also given a free chestnut:
It tasted like parsnips. I don't know why people eat these. I can only presume that this was a reflection of my hair, as well, which would explain why Ella and I got normal chestnuts and Patrick got a dud.

Anyway, after checking out Montmartre cathedral,

 

 And the view therefrom,



We went back to the flat for more Paella and Portuguese Sangria, cos we're pan-European. There was a lot of hugging and water to the face and improvised French/German renditions of 'Baby, it's Cold Outside'.
SIDENOTE: I love how they put in so much effort into adding consent to this song (notable by absence: "The answer is no" and "What's in this drink?") and then still manage to make it incredibly creepy by synching the voices to children.

It was the perfect way to spend the last weekend I have in France before I head back to Shropshire. It makes my final week of work this term much more faceable, and has given me another possible hairstyle to rock.

Tuesday 2 December 2014

Find the Fun

I've envisaged this blog as many things at one point or another: a balm for those suffering from Post-Year-Abroad blues; a very public diary; the thing which finally catapults me to stardom and allows me to rub elbows with the finest; but today it's going to serve as an advice column for others teaching English abroad.
I had a moment of teaching triumph last week. One of my fellow profs asked me to prepare a lesson on Britain/British stereotypes, and I didn't spend long enough on it: what I'd prepared was dull and staid and mainly revolved watching this news report on French stereotypes of the British vs. British stereotypes of the French:
If you watch the above video, you may notice that it'd be very difficult to understand if you were a second language English speaker. Also, that it's not really news and that it contains Gyles Brandreth and so is terrible. My colleague rightly called me up on it, and said that this wasn't what he wanted or, more importantly, had asked for. He told me that I was being too much like a lecturer and not a teacher (and certainly not an assistant): I was just planning to talk and expecting the students to take notes. "The assistant is meant to be fun," he told me, "They only get to see you once every three weeks and it's meant to be a treat. You're supposed to be a break from the teachers."

He didn't mean it cruelly, but I felt chastened and he was right: it was a long time since I'd been in a classroom, not a lecture theatre, and I'd forgotten what I used to enjoy doing when I was a student. I sat in on a couple of his lessons and then went home and thought about what I could do that was different and fun but still educational.
The next day, I came in and asked the teacher if I could take his next class. He was recalcitrant, especially since he'd not been expecting me that day, but I wanted to make up for the class I'd missed. He eventually acquiesced but said he'd take over again if it looked like the class was bored or confused and took his place at the back with, I believe, some trepidation. I stood up before the class and told them that I was thinking of a British celebriry and they had twenty questions to guess their identity, but I'd only answer 'yes' or 'no'.
They loved it.
We played it four time, covering forty minutes, and for the final fifteen, we played a competitive game of Telephone, which is what you have to call Chinese Whispers in schools now- the kids all called it Arab Telephone anyway, which is the French name, cos they're all racists. Yet again, they really enjoyed it and I was vindicated.
The teacher congratulated me on putting together a much better lesson, and said that this was what he wanted to see more of in future. (He asked me to come back and play it with them again later today). And so I learnt an important lesson about teaching children which I'm pretty sure they already taught me at the TEFL conference I attended: Find the Fun. The fact that this lesson, for me at least, was first professed by Faith from Buffy does not lessen its impact.
She always Finds the Fun. (Spoilers/ In Killing people/Spoilers)
However, next week I've been asked to give another class on slavery, so I might be unlearning this lesson pretty quick.