Don't not ski in the alps

Just as I was sitting down to write this entry I remembered I'd taken some pictures and I thought I'd better upload them. I haven't uploaded any pictures since I got here so I pulled out my box of cords and things and set to looking. After ransacking every storage device in my room I died a little inside. I could not believe I'd left my camera cord at home. Of all things to leave at home. In desperation I searched all the little inputs on my computer hoping to find something memory card shaped and popped a little piece of plastic that was....just the shape of a memory card. So that's a total releif. Unfortunately I wasn't much of a photographer on this trip.

I'd been given all the tickets and instructions for taking the kids on the train from Paris to Annecy(oddly the town that I applied and was accepted to study in). Annecy is in the Alps and about 30 minutes from Geneva by car.

I wasn't super excited about the trip and had even at one point said I wasn't really interested in skiing but later took it back because if you get a chance to ski in the Alps for free you don't just say you don't really feel like it. I didn't really feel like it but that wasn't the point. I was also consumed with anxiety for not only the skiing but for the transporting of three fairly strong willed children from the apartment in Neuilly all the way to the train at Gare de Lyon. There had been some talk about taking the bus from the apartment to the metro(about a 20 minute walk) but we decided against it because the bus is slow and I'd have to buy tickets at the metro station etc. However I predicted that there would be a minor mutiny from the kids over it. I was totally right.

We made it to the metro where I bought tickets. By then it was about 4:50, the train left Gare de Lyon at 5:50 and it was all the way across town....by public transit. Four fifty on the metro is a little crowded but still manageable. Four fifty on the RER A(a faster train which I only use once in a blue moon and had no clue how to navigate)or 5:00 as it was by then, is an absolute nightmare. The upside of the RER is that it goes faster and stops less, the downside is that it's less frequent. We waited for it fifteen minutes while I pep talked the kids about RER procedure; hold on tight and don't let go no matter how much people push and pull you. The RER is not a place for kids, it's far too dangerous, crowded and fast. The only way I knew that Noe was still with us was by his tightly gripping hand and intermittent whimpers. Everytime the RER stopped and it wasn't our stop I shouted to the kids, "hold on to me and don't let people push you out!" Each stop is roughly five seconds, same as a metro stop. When we reached the Gare I tugged Noe through the crowds, carrying three bags with the girls trailing and 10 minutes to spare.We made it on with no casualties but it was close. The first words out of my mouth were, "I'm never taking you guys on the RER again". Five seconds later that was repeated par Agathe over the phone to les parents. Oh well. I sat back and dozed.

Anne picked us up at Annecy and we drove to the Chalet in La Clusaz, a small village in what was surely the nearest town to Heidi or the Abbey that Maria lived in. I remember once when I was twelve or so someone asking me where I wanted to spend my honeymoon. Maybe the oddity of the question is why I remember it but at the time I knew where I wanted to go:the Swiss Alps. Even though I had no interest in honeymoons at the time I had the idea that they were to be spent in the most idyllic place imaginable. Well, even though this was the French Alps I was right in thinking it idyllic.

It was nighttime when we arrived at the Chalet and I pretty much went to bed right away. In the morning we bundled up and headed down to the ski area. After getting my skis Anne waited with me for my instructor. When we found him Anne said, "elle parle Anglais, vous parlez Anglais?"
"Euh, no speak English," he said turning to me.
"C'est pas grave," I responded reasuringly. Whatever, it was totally grave. Maybe I'd be able to understand him telling me to bend my knees and all that but French ski lingo isn't something I studied in school and the last thing I needed was an added confusion slash humiliation. So I said bye to Anne and began the ski lesson.

We were working on this slope with a plethora of tiny children zooming by and various non-french adults crashing hazardously all about. I won't relive the mortifying and frustrating experience of being taught to ski by retelling it at great length but I will say that falling doesn't hurt in the moment but kills later and that after falling it's super difficult to get back up so you have to sort of thrash about until your teacher comes to the rescue. This guy was long suffering, especially with my success at turning right time and again and my absolute failure to master the left turn. As I was being toted up the hill by a thing completely unlike any ski lift that I'd ever seen before, I had time to contemplate my attitude towards my own incompetence. I'm usually game to try something but if I'm not good at it right away I'm convinced that I will never be good at it. Thats probably why I don't take on too many athletic activities. The fatalistic attitude kicked in pretty quick and my frustration was apparant to my teacher as I waxed elequent in mild French and English swear words and such useful phrases as "ca marche pas!(it's not working)" and "je peux pas(I can't)". This promptend lots of "C'est normal", and in English, "relax". After my lesson I continued to go up the slope and down, finally mastering both turns, a degree of steering and a little speed until my punch card was used up around lunch time. After lunch I went back the Chalet for a nap. And let me just say that walking the slippery uphill kilometer to the chalet in ski boots carrying my skis and poles was so far beyond any exertion I'd ever put myself to that I collapsed shaking in a heap while I tried in vain to take off my boots. I now have bruises from where the boots pinched my feet and calves.

The next day I was determined to take advantage of my oppourtunity to ski in the Alps. I'd taken the lesson but hadn't done much more the day before, and on Sunday I was going to not only get better at that same slope but also go to another. Armed with the generous encouragement of the whole family I put on my skis outside the door of the chalet from which we were going to ski down the few slopes to the resort. I should have just saved myself the stress and walked but I decided to brave it. I fell three times before deciding to walk down.

The kids are all stellar skiiers and definitely at their best when teaching. They were all very helpful when I managed to lose my skis and poles in a particularly jarring plumet off a slope. Agathe helped me reattache myself and Jade carried my extra skis while Noe explained that falling was normal and that everyone learns by falling and how fun it was to see me in skis etc. I bought a morning pass for the same slope and went on it a few times with Jade who is an excellent teacher and cheered me on when I made it to the bottom with no tumbles. I skiied the rest of the morning gaining speed and confidence before going up the mountain in a real enclosed lift to a new set of slopes where we were going to have lunch with another family. This other family stayed wth us a couple months back and I really like them. They've lived in the states for about seven years and their son who I babysat is completely blingual, speaking with a perfect American accent which was disarming when he responded to my first orders of the evening with an "aww, c'mon, you seem nice, you're not going to make us work." I definitly made him work. After a long lunch of tartiflette, a potatos, bacon, and reblochon gooey mess of goodness I was presented with the full range of choices for the afternoon; stay and nap in the lawnchairs(which I'd been doing for forty-five minutes while I waited for everyone for lunch), go back to the chalet for a nap, ski on the debutante slopes, go back down and ski some more on the same slope I'd been on in the morning, etc, etc. But then Anne asked if I wanted to go on a long 'promenade' back to the chalet. I said yes but didn't really anticipate the gruelling trail of tears it would be. I didn't cry but I was close enough. I completed about thirty epic crashes, one of which involved another skiier and half of which involved losing one or both skis. All of this was distributed between kilometer long flat stretches where we pushed ourselves along at a snails pace.

Although the skiing was a trial in many respects I'm not opposed to doing some more of it, maybe with a couple more lessons. I completely adored being in the mountains. The drive back yesterday was beautiful. I was happy to be approaching our destination at a speed of 180-200 kilometers per hour but I klutched my seat in terror as we rounded mountainy bends and FX performed drums, guitar and vocals to blaring Coldplay. It was good times. I love traveling in France. Thats why I'm super excited to go the Strasbourg in a few weeks time.

Driving has always been an adventure for me

It's a the pleasant typical winter morning in Paris. And that means that its drizzly and grey. Of course I hadn't looked out a window so I was surprised to feel it dropping on my uncovered head when I left the house. On Wednesdays there is no regular school. My kids go to an American school extension program for the morning. It's further outside Paris so I drive them into St. Cloud. Normally I take the mini which is small and adorable and already has the school in the GPS. Well, since we're going to Annecy to ski this weekend there was a little bit of a car shuffle and instead I ended up with the four door diesel, stick shift that FX normally drives. When they asked me last night if I could drive I said yes but I didn't really clarify that I meant I could drive it in the loosest possible meaning of the word.

It all went well until I got to the school where I realized at the gate that the pass to get into the school was on the visor of the mini. So I rolled down the window to explain this to the man that I see every week.

"Ma carte, c'est dans l'autre voiture." Anne has always said the security at this school is a crazy paranoid American thing. I just think it's a crazy paranoid crazy thing. After asking my name a couple times and telling me he didn't recognize me he smilingly waved me through telling me, "t'inquete pas(don't worry)".

After running back and forth after forgotten notebooks and classrooms I finally got back to the car to drive home. I turned the key in the ignition and then looked at the gear shifter: crisis approaching. Rather than having the five gears and then directly below the fifth, an 'R' for reverse there were six gears and far to the left beside first gear there was an 'R' for reverse. Okay, this should be no problem. I let off the emergency brake, took hold of the gear shifter and pulled. It felt and looked like it was as far over as it could go but it also looked exactly like it was in first gear. I tested it. Nope, I was definitely nudging the curb. For awhile I messed around with it and then pulled out the manual. Other than teaching me French vocabulary and detailing the difference between a gasoline stick and a diesel stick it really didn't help me. In near desperation I called Anne and then texted with no answer: "is there any secret to the reverse on this car?"

After sitting there wondering how I'd get out I glanced around looking for help. There are two gates and about fifty speed bumps to get into the parking lot and another to get out. At each of these gates stands two men and in between about three more to direct the parking of roughly fifty cars(I know, outrageous). The thing is these guys are real sticklers. They make you repark if you park crooked or too far from the car next to you. So they are all sort of standing around. Considering how everyone in France drives a diesel stick I knew these guys could help me out. The only thing was this was some serious vocabulary. I didn't know what reverse, manual transmission, borrow, any of that was in French. So I went and asked for help from one of the guys gate. He called for someone who had a license and three men standing at the other gate came walking down. Six of them stood in a little crowd around the car, the last car in the parking lot. I was looking distraught, they were looking amused. I considered telling them that I was American and of all my acquaintances in my generation I didn't know but maybe one girl who could drive a stick. I also know no one who drives a diesel car let alone a diesel stick. But it wasn't necessary, as I expected they were perfectly friendly and overly helpful and gave me lots of bilingual advice. Apparently there is a special little ring on the under side of the shifter that you have to lift to reverse. Who knew?

At least when I go pick up the kids I know they'll recognize me....as the only person they've met who can't drive.


On a different note, I recently heard about this blog from Elise but keep seeing stuff about it everywhere. It's written by a wife recording things her husband says in his sleep. Here are a few of my favorites:

"Give me back my hands! Limb thief!"

"Fluffy bunny + big ears + twitchy nose = great stew."

"You can stop clapping now if you want. Really. You'll need your energy for cheering me later."

"Hey, don't...don't say anything. Why don't you put it in an email, then I can ignore it at my pleasure."

"Your mums at the door again. Bury me, bury me deep."

"Vegetarians will be the first to go. That's my plan. Vegans haven't got a hope. 'I eat air, I'm so healthy...' Bollocks!"

So have a lovely day!

International Flight: My Favorite!

It's been about a month and a half since I posted here....

Well, now that I'm in Paris again I have time to do whatever I want. Sort of. I spent 24 hours in transit. I remember being excited about flying and enjoying it but things have changed a bit. I don't mind it really but going away from where I wanted to be made it kind of a drag. However it's totally awesome to start flights at MCI. You don't have to get there very early and security takes about a minute. So my flight from Kansas City to Chicago was nice and I slept most of it. For my three hour layover in O'Hare I pretty much snoozed in limb numbing positions and read I, Robot (why doesn't blogspot have an underline button? You underline books, right? I can't believe I'm uncertain about these things). We started boarding early which I thought was good but since I'd changed this flight only two weeks earlier I knew I'd be sitting in the back(the same thing happened with my flight home but Air Canada could also be named Air Awesome so it was no problem). As soon as I got down to my seat I knew there were going to be problems. The flight had been over booked. There was no room for carryons in the over head compartments so it had to be put in business and first class. My seat wasn't directly behind a seat but rather behind half of two seats so there was no place to put my backpack underneath the seat in front of me. One young married couple and their baby ended up without a third seat and separated. I think their marraige partially dissolved from the strain.

The flight was really pretty normal except that it was over an hour late because people just weren't sitting down. They were running around looking for places to sit and put their stuff and then forgetting things and running back to their bags and it was just pretty chaotic. About half way through I got sick and passed out. After some water and ginger ale I sat back in my seat and watched Slumdog Millionaire. I love that movie. The first time I watched it, when it got to the end and everyone started dancing I remember thinking "this movie just got a hundred times cooler."

So anyway, I missed my connection from Munich to Paris and ended up getting a flight that left at 2:45 rather than 10:30 so I waited there for about four hours sleeping in limb numbing positions on the chairs in my gate. Then we were oddly shipped out of the gate by bus and driven all around the terminals until we got to this huge parking lot with lots of tiny planes. So we got on and I promptly fell asleep and slept until we got to Paris, where the ground was covered in snow(the ground was covered in snow at every airport). After walking like a zombie to my lugage I got a taxi home. No one was home when I got there since the cleaning lady had been recruited for some fill-in babysitting. But about five minutes later they showed up and I drifted about the house like a ghost until the kids dad got back. He told me that he and their mom would not be staying at the house together anymore. So though one parent will always be home I guess both won't be for the time being....not sure what to think about that. I definitly didn't know what to say.

Jetlag is the wierdest thing ever. I slept a normal night after getting back and then last night i didn't get to sleep until about four and then I woke up at noon. There went my day.

So this weekend I'll get caught up with everyone and everything will be back on track. I'm determined to make this stay in Paris fruitful.