Nights Nineteen through Twenty-Four

Laundry, Life

I went to the laverie last Sunday, did my (very expensive) laundry, and read an article in French Marie Claire that profiled a bunch of different women’s sexual histories. Learned the phrases le pire (the worst), elle a roulé sa bosse (something like “she gets around”) and un fétiche, which should be self explanatory.



I feel like I worked a lot this week. Twelve hours of teaching is way more than twelve hours of work (she realizes, far too late). I believe I have now met all of my students at least once. They range in English ability from abysmal to fluent (I have one student who is a native English speaker and speaks the language better than I do. I am tempted to tell him that the system is failing him and he should demand to be placed in a different class, but I need his help with idioms.)

Abilities and enthusiasm for the language aside, I can honestly say that I have enjoyed every one of my classes. Even the students about whose misbehavior and bad attitudes I am forewarned (I crossed paths with a teacher at one of my schools as I was on my way to my first class with a new group. She looked at my class list and her eyes got all wide and she made the you’re-in-trouble face and kind of shook her head in dismay. And then she said, brightly, “Bon chance! Let me know how it goes!” and took off. Thanks. It went just fine, by the way) are not so bad. At least not so far. Timid, defensive, and reluctant to speak English, yes, but evil and out of control, no.

This week I discovered a lovely, bright, deco-ish café with free wifi, and The Fig and I (oh, quickly: I have a roommate who prefers for her exploits not be – how would you say? – blogged about willy nilly – can I use blogged like flung? Welcome to my linguistically-consumed brain. Anyway, she doesn’t want to show up on the blog. But here is the blog, and here she is in my life, so I must find a way. Coincidentally, one wine-fueled night a couple of weeks ago we assigned each other fruit nicknames. I am the Peach. My roommates are The Fig, The Grapes, and The Pineapple, but I’ll leave it to you to guess whom is whom. So, you can heretofore expect to see my roommates referred to by their fruit names on this blog.) Okay, so the Fig and I have become instant regulars (and complete spectacles. Apparently, no one has ever thought to bring a computer to this café before. The wifi was previously decorative. Why is this whole blog parenthetical tonight?)


Les Fruites

Other happenings this week: I experienced the good French graces of one of my professors, who let me come over to his perfectly arty, funktified, Berkeley-lands-in-Provence house and use his computer, I spent a sleepless night hiding from a GIGANTIC bug that kept dive-bombing my bed, and I made a plan to go to Italy for the first break, now a mere week away. Yay!

Last Sunday we took a little road trip to the Gorges du Verdon. Actually, we didn’t quite make it all the way there, but we had a good time anyway. It’s a story best told in photos, I think:

















Last but not least, a new feature: Idiom of the Week.

This week’s idiom, courtesy of the Colombian: Vete a freir asparagus. Juliana claims that this is a Colombian version of “Go to hell.” Go fry some asparagus? More research is required.