Trois Châteaux, enough for one day.

 When one of my colleagues proposed an outing this week, I enthusiastically agreed, taking all opportunities to explore a little. What’s more, the invitation to se balader un peu is one I am happily becoming familiar with. What with vineyards, forests, and mountains for the seasoned walker, and cute villages to wander around for the more feint-hearted, “going for a walk” tends to be a little more exciting than a quick half an hour round the block or a stroll through the local park. Today we visited Ribeauvillé, a town displaying its French-ness slightly more overtly than other villages adorned with German names. Aware our visit would involve a walk to see a chateau (my first since being here), it was to my pleasant surprise to learn that Ribeauvillé possesses the ruins of not one, but indeed three castles dating back to the middle ages. Guide-book in hand we set off, mounting a rather steep incline that left me a little out of breath just 15minutes in. Little did we know this was just the beginning. What we believed to be a relatively straightforward walk turned out to be a little more adventurous, in total taking the best part of 4 hours! Luckily we were well prepared with water and fig-roll biscuits, which sustained us on the ascent. What’s more, when we reached each stop on our historic and vertiginous tour we reaffirmed that il valait la peine  - the effort was definitely worth it.  With the highest, le chateau de Haut Ribeaupierre (clue is in the name right) at 640m, the panoramic view over the town and surrounding mountains made the aching legs slightly more bearable, as did the break afforded by taking time to wander around what would have been the rooms of what was once an impressive home and remains an imposing structure. After a slightly easier descent, we found refuge indoors, proud of our achievement and more than ready for something to eat. Deciding it was time I tried one of the local specialities, we celebrated with a tarte flambé, both opting for one named les trois chateaux, in acknowledgement of a successful if surprisingly adventurous randonée.  Although admittedly a little tired and sporting un peu de mal aux jambes, I am pleased this evening to have spent a day outdoors and to have seen a little more of what Alsace has to boast of. The trois chateaux, visited and consumed, combined the best of both worlds. I learnt on the way home that a neighbouring town trumps even Ribeauvillé in possessing all of 5 chateaux! We of course decided that this visit could wait for another occasion. Three castles was enough for one day.

Chez moi, à la française

It has been a little too long since I last updated this, safe to say the weeks following my last post were slightly more real-life daily adjustment than anything remotely adventurous or exciting. The odd motivated pupil and pleasant afternoon chatting to someone other than myself being as interesting as it gets. C’est la vie. The quest to feel “settled” (something I am beginning to doubt will happen) was however interrupted to my great pleasure by a visit from Maman et Hannah. Everyone I told about the visit assured me that ca me ferait du bien, and they were right. It did do me good indeed. We spent a lot of time sat around my kitchen table drinking the “proper” tea kindly brought over to replenish my supplies, cooking what we eat at home, and having lots circular conversations (the norm chez moi).  Thus the trip was more home-from-home than adventures in Alsace, but for me this was just right. It is funny how much we can miss seemingly trivial facts of existence, and even things that normally are more a source of annoyance than the substance of fond memories! 

We did of course do a little exploring - I couldn’t not show off Alsace’s finest picture-postcard villages. We also braved the cold to spend the day in Colmar, where it was necessary to do what the Graces do best and seek refuge in eating/drinking establishments. This was accompanied by what the Graces do even better – walking aimlessly for up to an hour each time in search of said establishments, increasing both appetite and tension in a prolonged and indecisive search for the perfect spot. Thursday lunchtime this spectacle commenced, but luckily as ever it was when we were on the brink of giving up that we stumbled across our refuge from the cold, this time providing hot soup, fresh bread, and even pots of tea to follow. Refreshments aside (though to us the detail of primary importance), it was 4 days I was sad to see come to an end. Un peu de chez moi at just the right time. 

Life at Lycée Storck

I have now completed two weeks in my role as Language Assistant, overcoming the first stage of challenges: including locating classrooms, learning the names of my colleagues… and then less successfully navigating (or falling face-flat at) the second round: inevitably the teaching-the-students part of the whole affair. It started off quite well, with introductory sessions being relaxed and my own English-ness proving a helpful novelty. Then it got a little harder. On day two, left in a class-room with 12 French teenagers and an instruction no more detailed than “just make them talk”, I felt a little out of my depth.  The principal struggle has been motivating the pupils to do more than just show up to class. I can choose engaging topics, plan creative activities and mobilise my ‘cultural resources’ until the cows come home, but ca ne sert a rien when what is staring back at you is a sullen face and a blanket response that they don’t understand, and don’t speak English anyway. Frustrating much. Then there is the small problem of trying to assert some authority when you could probably pass for most of your pupil’s younger sibling. The highlight of my crash course in what it really means to be a teacher (my idealistic visions of ‘making a difference’ went out of the window on day one) was a lesson with a group of trainee-chefs. What I considered to be a relevant and suitably challenging session based around BBC Foods finest cooking resources was treated with complete disdain, as if it was me wasting their time. Before the hour was through I was almost ready to concede to their peer-pressure and give up before I embarrassed myself further. I have come to fear the prolonged silence that signals pupil disinterest and ultimately lesson-failure. I am already tired of repeatedly giving an instruction that is repeatedly ignored and battling against the awkward silence’s not so appealing alternative in the form of a decidedly French undercurrent of conversation that is clearly a whole lot more interesting than anything I want them to talk about.

Lets not be melodramatic, it hasn’t all been horror-story material. Perhaps I was simply a little too optimistic, or did not fully realise the reality of what teaching English to teenagers actually entails. To avoid complete educator’s-despair, I will once again embark on the necessary pleasure-in-simple-things mantra and take recompense in the small things that have gone right – a successful conversation class (where they actually spoke), a fun session spent playing speaking games, a lesson based on The Apprentice that was neither too difficult nor too easy.

I may not be set to revolutionise the teaching of English in vocational colleges, or even work out when Je ne comprends pas doesn’t translate as I can’t be bothered, but I wont hand in my notice just yet. Apparently the move from language-student to enseignante de langue takes a little more than two weeks. And in my case, at least things can only get better. 

The night "Je ne comprends pas" was entirely acceptable

Just when I thought my dose of renseignement cultural was sufficient for one week, I recieved an invitation this weekend to attend an evening that put ‘trying something new’ on a whole new level: Issenheim’s very own “Soirée Alsacienne”.  An annual event in my locality, this Alsatian affair comprised of 200 French people, some interesting traditional costumes, and an evening of entertainment all held in a dialect described fondly to me by Monsieur Amm as like German, but deformed. The evening got off to a flying start when I managed to get in without a ticket, it seems being the new fille anglaise in town has its perks (confirmed when a glass of wine and dessert followed). Free refreshment aside, the evening was enjoyable, if in a slightly unusual way. During the comedy sketches I encountered the amusing experience of sitting amidst almost raucous laughter and not having any idea what on earth was so funny. And during the songs I watched bemused as the audience sang along with clearly well known folk numbers and joined in with the swaying and clapping as luckily this didn’t require translation. Although it was considered a great shame by those I spoke to that I couldn’t converse in the language of the evening, my lack of comprehension didn’t bother me that much. Though I did feel for a moment a strange sense of relief when there was a brief interlude of songs in French. It was slightly surreal but enjoyable realising my second language (the one that leaves me with a blank face when someone tells a joke) was for one evening instead the one that put me at ease. It also made me realise what a good experience it is to participate in the sharing of a language and culture, whether it is one we understand or not. As jokes went over my head, and I failed to grasp fully the significance of wearing clogs and hanging storks from the ceiling, I was content to watch the people of Issenheim preserve something so fundamental to the history of their region and in doing so foster a sense of commonality and community that it was a privilege share in. 

One Administrative Head-ache and One Cultural Exchange

Yesterday I attended the Reunion d’Assistants in Strasbourg, a ‘training day’ for individuals like myself posted to Alsace on a “mission” as “Ambassadors” for our language and culture (I enjoyed the way they put it, made my 12hour working week seem slightly more significant). The 6am start meant I was a bleary-eyed traveller, but all complaints were silenced by the number of teenagers on the first bus out of Guebwiller, as clearly departing before 7 is all part of their daily routine. And I didn’t have 8hours of lessons to follow! (increasingly tempted to conclude French young people work slightly harder than their English counterparts). The day didn’t get off to a fantastic start, proving nothing more than a lesson in bureaucracy French-style, as two hours were spent attempting to explain the functioning of the social security system and of course the multiple stages of perilous paperwork to be conquered before we can claim our rights French-style. However, the day did pick up. The highlight for me was the chance to meet other Assistants. Somewhat conversely, I did not seek or find solace in meeting my fellow Anglophones, but ended up spending the best part of the day and a very enjoyable lunch break with some friendly Germans. We wandered into the city centre, bought nice foods of the breaded variety and sat in the square observing the passing of hour a midi when all of France joins together in taking time to eat (or so it seems…). As the common language, we decided to parler francais, interjected occasionally with random words in English and German. I felt like a true student/language learner, participating in a veritable cultural exchange in which the fille Allemande et Anglaise attempted to navigate their linguistic and cultural differences and unite through speaking and eating like the French. Perhaps the best part of this echange culturelle happened slightly later, on the train home. Yet again encountering a friendly German placed in Colmar (they seem to be everywhere!), I took the opportunity to practice my beginners German and was kindly treated to a lesson in the basics. My sheer excitement at learning some new words resulted in a rendition of Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes, (version Allemande) on my part. No doubt a source of major annoyance to my fellow passengers, proud of my progress (and possibly at that stage of tiredness that leaves you feeling a little deranged) I ended the day on a high note. I may not have gone beyond elementary German, and the administrative headache is sure to continue, but to be honest I enjoyed my (alternative) day of cultural exchange.

Kopf, Schulter, Knie und Fuß,

Knie und Fuß

Kopf, Schulter, Knie und Fuß,

Knie und Fuß

Augen, Ohren, Nase und Mund,

Kopf und Schulter, Knie und Fuß, Knie und Fuß.