Interview about my life in France

Yesterday a dear and talented friend of mine, Dean La Douceur, interviewed me for his radio show/ podcast "On the Dean's List."  Check it out! We discuss my dream of living in France and how I made it a reality.

Check Out Business Podcasts at Blog Talk Radio with On The Deans List on BlogTalkRadio

The Lost Year Recaptured

I realized recently that my life (and its recent unexpected series of events) is largely impacted by the existence of my blog, and for that reason, I should be taking better care of it.

As I ease myself back into blogging after a year-long absence, I realized one of the big reasons I was so discouraged from writing was that I dreaded having to write all the "catch-up" entries... A daunting task to be sure, especially after the events that have colored my ever-evolving life in Toulouse. My solution to this problem is to chronicle my "lost year," but in one single entry, in bullet form, no frills, no fuss (that's really hard for me to do!) Here we go!

My 2011 and early 2012 (abridged version)

• I'm now officially a songwriter after meeting an up-and-coming French soul singer Laure Milan. Not only have I penned the lyrics for 5 songs on her upcoming album (sung in English), I've also done a fair bit of design (illustrations for one of her music videos, photography of rehearsals and concerts in Paris, graphic design for posters, web and CD covers) This gig literally fell from the sky, and not only have I been working on some great creative projects, I have found a tremendous friendship in Laure and her entourage.
  
  
• I worked. A lot. As much as I would have loved to chronicle my "American girl teaching French people" moments (gems which never fail to scandalize and delight,) I was simply too busy living my teaching experiences to write about them! Living in downtown Toulouse isn't cheap, even when you're teaching 17 classes a week. For two semesters, my life was literally "Wake up, make photocopies, teach all day, come home, prepare tomorrow's lessons while eating what's left in the refrigerator, falling asleep in the process, repeat." On top of my teaching responsibilities, I was also bombarded by freelance design projects, many of which were for the university where I teach.
  
  
• I reawakened my creative spirit, not just in my design work for others, but for myself. I painted several watercolors, and launched my new art portfolio website: www.jamiealexander.net
  
  
• I was supported by the tremendous presence of my marvelous friends in France. They made the good moments unforgettable and the bad moments bearable.
  
  
• I traveled a bit to preserve my sanity.... (Morocco, Spain, Switzerland, Italy, and pretty much all over France (lavender fields in Provence, the Basque country, the Loire Valley châteaux, the Alps, Le Périgord, etc.)
  
  
• I discovered my inner strength. Losing a close family member, separating from my fiancé, and being unable to visit the United States for a year and a half did wonders on my morale and self-esteem. I was forced to pick myself up from the depths of despair and start again. As time passes, I am more and more convinced I am where I need to be, doing what I need to be doing, and should make no apologies for daring to live my dream.
  
  
• I spent a life-changing New Years 2012 in Paris. If ever your life is turned upside-down, I suggest a week in the City of Lights. Monuments, museums, strolls in parks, red wine, champagne under the Eiffel Tower at Midnight....being carried home from the Eiffel Tower after too much champagne... It was a desperately needed escape from Toulouse, and reality for that matter. While there, I was reminded why I was living in France, and that I was exactly where I needed to be. Of course the company didn't hurt... see below...
  
  
• After 2011 had finished collapsing on me, I very unexpectedly fell in love with a Frenchman, despite the fortress I had erected around myself. He is a major reason for my positive start to 2012. I am starting to believe that I deserve to be loved again. Most importantly, I can laugh with him, which is something I hadn't done much of in 2011. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I can construct a future with someone.
  
  I see change within myself. I'm for the most part more serene, back in control of my life, which for several months seemed out of my hands. My parents told me a few days ago that this is the happiest they've seen me in YEARS. As I reflect, I realize they're right.
  
  In the US, I never experienced anything like what I've been able to live on a daily basis here in France. I feel like I have started to come into my own here. As my mother would say "blossoming." France has taught me that nothing is impossible. How else could an American graphic designer become a law teacher, songwriter, illustrator and world traveler?
  
  It does not mean I'm not scarred or terribly saddened by the difficulties I've experienced. But it shows that I have hope, that things are gradually turning around for me, and that with each passing day I have every reason to smile.
  

Surviving my first week of teaching French University

Well, I survived my first day of university teaching, nearly intact. Although the first day of class is fairly simple, entailing distribution of texts, going over grading policies, and making introductions, I was all nerves; Nausea in the pit of my stomach nervous. My undergrad students range from 18 to 22 years old, and my Masters students range from mid twenties to forties. Since I’m close in age and sometimes younger than my students, respect is a serious concern. It didn’t help that each time I entered the classroom, the male students gawked at me, the females eyed my outfit up and down, staring disapprovingly at my scuffed ballerina flats, and a murmur of reaction filled the room... as if I couldn’t understand French!

“But she’s so young!”

“I thought it would be a guy... Jamie... isn’t that a boy’s name? Like Jamie Oliver?”

“No, silly, it’s like the tv show “Super Jaimie” (The French version of the Bionic Woman)

I smiled and introduced myself to the class, briefly outlined the goals of the class, and instructed them to interview the person sitting next to them, before ultimately presenting their partner to the class. I had them come up with their own questions, which were written on the board. To spice up the boring list of questions (What’s your name? How old are you? What are you studying? Where are you from?) I added my own question to the list: If you could be any animal, which animal would you be, and why? Of course this broke the ice and the response was generally laughter. Phew!

After the round of introductions, I let the students ask me questions... which included:

“What country are you from? Your accent is strange!”

“Aren’t you rather thin for an American?”

“Are you single?”

I used this exercise for all of my 14 classes... and it was the final class on Friday where it took a turn for the worst. During the introductions, a male student presented his partner.

“Zees is Jean-Claude, he eez twenty-two years old, and he would like to sleep with you zees night!” he said with a wicked gleam in his eye.

A hush of horror fell over my classroom, and I also struggled to believe what had just come out of his mouth. Jean-Claude, his partner, turned white, and shook his head vehemently, as if saying he had no part in what had just transpired.

A few long, terrifying what do I do? moment followed. Send him out of the room? Diffuse with quick-witted humor?

I always think of witty responses.... always a few minutes too late... The class was starting to murmur... I could not lose control of them. I’d better assert my authority!

“Excuse me? Would you like to repeat that?” I demanded. “This is your first and final warning. I will never tolerate this disrespect in my classroom, and if you behave this way again, you’re out of this room, and failing this class. Do you want to be in this class? Comprenez-vous? Est-ce que vous-voulez être dans ce cours?”

He bowed his head and mumbled an apology, but it was too late, the entire atmosphere of the class had been spoiled. The rest of the period, the whole dynamic had shifted, and I could not smile. I walked out, deflated. I could never imagine a student in an American university behaving this way.

I had been doing so well this week... what happened?

Interesting how one event can spoil a series of good ones. Off I go to drown my sorrows in a French pastry.

I can't help but recall my first day teaching elementary school last year in France. See my article, First official day of teaching... Epic Failure

This most recent experience is 100 times more devastating! What I wouldn't give to exchange the uninterested stares of young adults for the effortless love and enthusiasm of children. I miss those kids so damn much. French people start off so adorable and full of life as children... what turns them into the painfully thin, cigarette-dependent, indifferent fashion plates that now sit before me? I'm probably being unfair, I need to give them time to warm up to me, and me to them... I'm just going to have to work a lot harder than I ever had to with the kids.

I have to bear in mind that I am living in the south of France... in a gorgeous new city, and realizing a childhood dream... for the second year in a row! "This is my dream" is now written on a post-it on my wall. A mantra to be repeated in times of difficulty.

Let’s hope next week is better... at least now I know what I’m up against. Better start preparing my arsenal of ‘quick witted’ responses now!

Teaching progress

I couldn't let this cuteness go to waste! This is a video of my CE2 students performing "The Numbers Blues." In regards to my dancing ability, if you can't say anything nice.... :-)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ukuZDis5DSc

While my first day of teaching was off to a rough start, I must say that I kicked some primary ASS my second and third days of teaching!!! 

...and I mean that in the gentlest, most non-violent way possible!

Tuesday I taught at Ecole Elémentaire Van Gogh, which was an older age group (9 - 11 years old) and consequently better behaved, with the exception of the student who thought it would be funny to adorn his name tag with a vulgar phallic representation.  In the space of a millisecond, my face must have gone from horrified to amused to stern.  I don't know how I managed to swallow the fit of laughter, but thank God I did. For a few terrible seconds I had no idea how to handle the situation, but swiftly recovered, ordering him to copy the English phrase "I will behave respectfully in English class." 20 times on the board.  Such an old-school punishment, I realize that, but it worked! The rest of the class fell silent very quickly when they realized I meant business. Other than that, my four classes at Van Gogh were very successful. The kids seemed to take to me very well, and were eager to respond to my lesson.  I also showed them photos from my life in America, to which they responded enthusiastically.  When they saw the photo of my house with my six year-old Chevy Cavelier parked in front, the class responded with gasps of awe "C'est un Ferrari! C'est cool!" I didn't correct them.  Anyone who wants to think I drive a Ferrari is okay by me! They were also especially fond of the photos of my dog, Sherlock, as well as the photos of my family.  Without fail, each class wanted to know everyone's name.  I was also thrilled that I had decided to reinflate my globe and give it another go, because it worked beautifully, just as I had originally imagined it!

Thursday I was back at La Plaine, the school that had caused my Monday meltdown.  There, I unveiled a new strategy of using different funny voices when drilling my students, so they don't get tired of hearing the same phrase over and over again.  Suddenly, everyone was desperate to participate, because they couldn't wait to hear what funny voice I would come up with next, and they had so much fun repeating the phrases, they had no idea they were learning English in the process!  I also taught my CE1 students "What's Your Name," and my CE2 students learned "The Numbers Blues." These songs have a pop/rock feel, and seem much more contemporary than a lot of the ESL songs I've heard, and they were massively successful.  My kids quickly picked up the words, and were delighted when I invited them to stand up and dance it out. While I consider it a very successful day, this is not to say that I didn't experience difficulties with the students.  Gilles did have to come into my classroom again to quiet my kids down, and advised me to send problem kids out of the room, which I ended up doing twice.  The La Plaine kids, cute as they are, are a handful, and I hope I'll learn how to effectively handle them as they test their limits with their new teacher.

Overall, I feel like I've recovered so much confidence, and I'm actually looking forward to my next lessons!  Perhaps I can promise them rides in my Ferrari as an incentive for good behavior.

First official day of teaching. . . Epic failure.

I find it truly amazing how the very things I feared the most about moving to France (getting a bank account, finding a place to live, setting up a cell phone plan, navigating the bus system) have turned out to be the simplest of tasks.  Likewise, everything I expected to accomplish with ease has proven without question to be the most challenging undertaking of my life.

Take teaching, for example.  

I arrived at Ecole Elémentaire La Plaine with all the confidence in the world.  After receiving the superstar treatment during my observation period last week, how could my kids NOT adore me? I had spent hours creating their first lessons, which were equipped with visual aids and an inflatable globe to engage their multiple intelligences (Thank you, TESL class!) I was smartly dressed in kid-friendly colors, even sporting a flower in my hair.

I was greeted with la bise by Gilles, the directeur, who led me to my own English classroom. The children filed in without a sound, but as soon as he left, they erupted into chaos.  By chaos, I mean they literally became a room full of monkeys, throwing things, talking over me, and sporadically falling out of their chairs.  Although I had prepared ample material, at one point I noticed I still had 15 minutes of class left, and honestly did not know how I would survive it.  At one point, Gilles returned to the room to admonish my class for being too loud, and I felt like a failure for being completely powerless to control them. I failed to win their sympathy when I told them that I was sick with a sore throat and that it was important for them to listen carefully to me. What happened to the lovable little cherubs I met last week? 

One of my activities involved tossing an inflatable globe to each student, so that each one could say their name and where they were from.  In my visions, I saw an orderly class who smiled gleefully as they gently tossed the globe to one another.  In reality, they tried to chuck the globe with all their might over one another's heads, cheering when their classmates had to chase it into the hallway.  It became a rather violent ordeal, to say the least.  

The four classes passed in the same fashion, with me about to pull my hair out during each 45 minute lesson.  Thankfully, for the last two classes, the teachers were still present in the classroom, which defused some of the talking and violent globe throwing.

After teaching them to say "How old are you?" and "I am ___ years old," they weren't able to grasp the link between the two.  No matter how much I drilled them or explained it to them in French, the exchange would go something like this:

Me:  Juliette, how old are you?

Juliette: How old are you?

Me: (in French) Ok, when I say "How old are you," you say "I am 8 years old." Do you understand?"

Juliette: (in French) Yes, ok! (in English) I am 8 years old!

Me: Very good! Now let's try it again. Juliette, how old are you?

Juliette: (with a huge grin) How old are you?

I felt rather discouraged after class, especially when the teacher who had observed my last class asked me if I'd ever taught English before.  I explained that I had taught catechism before for a year in America, and had gotten certified to teach ESL, but that was it.  She seemed exasperated by this, and went on to extol the virtues of the previous assistant, who apparently walked on water last year.  I told her I would do better, and that I had been trying to assess the class's level of English to get a feel for what material to teach them.  She replied that I had attempted far too much for the first lesson and advised me to contact the previous assistant so that I could learn the "correct" way to teach the students.  I thanked her, fighting back tears, and walked out quickly.

On the bus ride back to downtown Metz, I struggled to carry my bag, my globe, and my big binder full of teaching materials.  At one point the bus lurched, causing me to drop the globe, which bounced down the aisle of the bus.  As I went to retrieve it, I dropped several papers from my binder all over the ground.  Not one person raised a hand to help me.  They stared indifferently ahead, but there was no way they didn't notice me and my ridiculous balancing act. Flustered, I rushed about to collect my things, stuffed them into my bag, and slumped into a seat. I squeezed all the air out of my globe, feeling every bit as deflated.  I remember buying it in the States before I left, and how excited I had been to use it in class.  I never envisioned it turning out this way.  

My negativity began to bear its fangs.  It went something like this.  What the hell am I doing here? How am I supposed to last nine classes here, much less nine months? I am so out of my element. There is not a single day that passes where I don't make a complete fool of myself. Whether it's speaking the language, figuring out how to open the door on the bus when I need to get off, walking down the street without tripping on a cobblestone, trying to eat like a European, or even opening a normal door, I am bound to reveal that I'm foreign.  Even the most basic activities here are different, and I have never been so self conscious in my life.  And now I'm a failed English teacher. Oh, and I'm dying of the French Plague, cough cough.

As it turns out, my Australian friend Elli had an equally disastrous first day of class, and had also been chewed out by an instructor.  She was handling it much better that me.  It rolled right off her back.  Her rationale? "The schools didn't hire me, the French government did.  They knew fully well I had never taught before, and they still hired me. These are MY English classes, and I will conduct them as I see fit.  I'm not going to lose sleep over what they said, and neither should you."  She went on to tell me she was sincerely worried about me, and that I would probably suffer an anxiety attack if I continued to harbor such high expectations.

I did not enjoy hearing her say she doubted my ability to survive here for nine months, and a surge of rebellion filled my chest.  She's right, I wouldn't let a situation like this rattle me in the States, so why here in France?  Being here has been my dream since I was 12 years old. Now I'm finally here, and I'll be damned if I will allow anyone to ruin this for me.  Look what I've accomplished! I've found a place to live with a wonderful family, and am leaving this awful foyer. I've opened a bank account, started a cell phone plan, and filled out scores of paperwork... all in French. I've figured out the layout of Metz, where the best shopping is, and how to pick up essentials.  I've managed to accomplish all this while battling the worst flu I've ever had.  Thanks to the illness, I've learned scores about French drug vocabulary as well, having frequented several pharmacies. In a few weeks, I've managed to carve out an existence here in Metz, which is something to be proud of.

Today was my first day of teaching, but it seems the most important lesson today was mine to learn.

Almost Famous

Her bag. Her hair. Her shoes. Her smile...

Her every angle was scrutinized by throngs of fascinated citizens of France, several of which managed to break away from the crowd to throw their arms around her and express their undying adoration.

Who was this creature? Actress, dignitary, or supermodel?

Pas du tout! The object of the crowd's affection was none other than moi, the new American English teacher... and the fascinated citizens of France were indeed just that... although they were only 7-8 years old.

I only meant to sit in the back of the classrooms this week to acquire a feel for the four different grades I will be teaching next week in eight classes divided between two French elementary schools.  I wanted to observe the discipline techniques and subject matter covered in my future classes, in hopes to better prepare, and set myself up in the back, quietly jotting down notes. My presence was a great distraction however, and many children simply turned around in their chairs to stare at me throughout their class period, after which many proceeded to hug and (attempt to) kiss me, hold my hands, and basically treat me like a celebrity.  

Walking out into the recreation yard during recess, little girls waved shyly, shrieking with delight when I waved back and scurrying away to peek at me behind the cover of their other companions. I could tell some of the other teachers were none too impressed with the disruption my mere presence caused when they tried to march the children back inside.

The colleagues at the schools seem very nice.  At my first school, Ecole Elémentaire La Plaine, where I will teach 7 to 9 year-olds on Mondays and Thursdays, I was impressed by the discipline of the children. There is a very strong emphasis on penmanship, and the children diligently cut and paste little worksheets into their notebooks, which are periodically inspected by the teachers.  It seems strange to me that they are gluing directly over perfectly unused paper rather than simply putting their worksheets in folders or binders, but this is their way. They use special pens with ink cartridges, no ball points here. Even their notebooks are different! Unlike our lined paper, theirs is a grid pattern. Teachers are called "Maitre" or "Maitress" as a sign of respect.  In America, I don't remember seeing so many male teachers for such a young age group, but in my schools, it seems to be mostly men, which is interesting. The tactic appears to be overly strict, with brief moments of tenderness where the teacher will pat the child on the head.  

At my second school Ecole Elémantaire Van Gogh, where I will teach 9 to 11 year-olds on Wednesdays and Fridays, the colleagues are also quite friendly.  Two of the ladies (who I had met the previous day while eating in the cantine with my colleagues from La Plaine,) greeted me with la bise, the French custom of kissing friends once on each cheek as a greeting or farewell.  I wasn't expecting it, so I kind of mimicked their movements, and let them take over. I made the kissing sound with my lips, but my mouth did not actually make contact with their face. It was more like a cheek brush with sound effects. I was too startled to notice if my mouth was actually supposed to touch their cheeks or not.  I was delighted to be greeted this way, as it was my first time experiencing la bise, and I felt assimilated!  As an American, I don't think I will ever be confident enough to initiate la bise, but will definitely welcome it if someone else does.

Again, I was gawked at, but since this school is an older age group, the response to my presence in the classrooms was less overt.  The first few classes seemed well behaved, but the last class, which had a substitute teacher, looks like a nightmare.  I don't know if it is simply because the teacher was absent, or if they are simply that awful.  They were throwing things, talking over the poor substitute, dashing out into the hallway to disturb other classes, and some even walked brazenly to the back of the classroom, sitting down for a game of checkers.  After being so impressed by the French discipline in the schools, this class has proven to me that people are generally the same wherever you go.  Just like in the States, a substitute teacher is a prime target for abuse.

I officially begin teaching Monday... Honestly, I haven't a clue what I'm about to be doing.  Our orientation wasn't that informative, and I still don't have a clear guideline of what I'm going to have to teach my eight classes by the end of the year.  It seems like all the primary assistants are as much in the dark as I am... which I suppose is reassuring.  

One thing is for sure, I'll have my celebrity status on my side... at least for the first few classes or so!

Officially certified to teach English as a second language!

Despite being one speeding ticket (no points), a U of M parking ticket, and $950 (class cost) poorer, as of today, I am nevertheless officially certified through Oxford Seminars to teach English as a second/foreign language (TESL/TEFL). Although not required for my upcoming teaching position in France, I decided to take the intensive 60 teacher training certification course to gain confidence in the classroom.  

My anxiety over teaching in a foreign country has diminished to a tolerable level, and I definitely have a firmer grasp of lesson planning, classroom management techniques, and teaching speaking, listening, reading, and writing. 

Needless to say, it's been three sleepless weeks, as the workload of this course was heaped onto my piles of other responsibilities (French paperwork, doctor's appointments, packing, freelance design work, etc). I was so relieved to complete the class that I promptly came home for a 4 hour nap. 

I leave in 28 days... and so much still needs to be done... including informing my boss that I'm leaving... the scariest part of all! 

I just need to have faith that I'll get everything done... Miraculously, up until this point in my life, I always have.