One of my favorite aspects about couchsurfing is that you don't need to be willing to offer a couch/have the need to crash on a couch in order to participate. There are many people who just use the system to meet people from other cultures. As the idea of the project is cultural exchange, people are extremely happy to show you what they love most about the place in which they live.
Wednesday afternoon, Xavier took me on a motorcycle ride through the mountains of Toulon. It was absolutely breathtaking, and I thoroughly enjoyed being on a motorcycle. As Xavier doesn't speak much english and I don't speak much french, conversation was primarily restricted to, "Ca va?" "Ca va."
But I think we both had a good time. We went out for coffee afterwards and I was able to learn that he planned to spend the next few months as a nurse on a submarine. I told him that he ought to visit me in Colorado after his summer spent underwater. He seemed to think this was a very good idea, so I might be able to host Xavier this October.
A view of Toulon. Such a fun motorcycle ride.
Aurelie and Vincent took me out to dinner with a few of their friends on Thursday night. It was what Aurelie called a "blind test". The owner of the restaurant played different songs and each table had to guess the artist. The first table to guess the artist correctly was poured a free shot. You paid 25 euros (Aurelie and Vincent were generous enough to treat me), and were given a superb main course, bountiful wine, dessert, and however many shots you were able to win.
As expected, I guessed nary an artist. I will stand by my excuse that the majority of the music was French, so it's okay that I remained rather mute as the rest of the partygoers squeezed their squeaky toys and frantically shouted names.
I have never been to such a quirky, adorable restaurant (yes, restaurants can be adorable). It's called, "L'Ane au Salon," which means, "The Monkey in the Living Room." If you are ever visiting this part of France and do NOT make a trip to the Monkey in the Living Room, you are doing yourself a terrible disservice. I had such a marvelous evening. There was a beautifully designed garden outside, a cozy lounge for smokers, and a tastefully funky dining room. If I actually lived and worked in Toulon, I'd make it a point to visit this restaurant every other week. It had such a good atmosphere, mouth-watering food, and a really friendly (mostly crazy) owner. It was a restaurant with personality. Lots of it.
The lounge
Everything in the restaurant is for sale. It's half gallery, half restaurant. I want to make a place like this in Colorado.
My meal of raw tuna, apples, mango, and vegetables
Everyone else ordered hamburgers. Very, VERY tasty looking hamburgers
I adore Aurelie. She has a delightful sense of humor, is an ideal yoga student, loves life, and is bursting with wise one-liners. When asked, "If you could do one thing for one person, what would you do and who would it be for?" she answered, "I would give my boyfriend a great big kiss."
Jerome spent the entire last week at sea, deactivating bombs and doing general navy training exercises. Bibou capably stepped into the shoes of, "man of the house," and Caroline and I carried about our business as usual. The weather has been a lot better in Southern France as of late, but I'm still fairly bitter about the week of snow. I keep hearing from everyone, "12 years! In 12 years, it has not snowed like that!"
I'm a lucky lady.
The snow has long melted, and although it's chilly in the mornings, the afternoons are perfect. I've been taking advantage of the sublime weather by running on the beach (I look a little silly in my baggy yoga pants and casual sweater -- all the other French runners have high tech sweat wicking pants and jackets. They take running very seriously here) and going for walks into town. We had one night of wind so strong that it broke all the ashtrays and moved the dryer one foot away from the wall (the dryer is on the terrace), but I adore wind, so I didn't mind.
The weekend was spent picnicking at the local beach with Antoine, Vincent, Aurelie, Caroline, and Bibou, teaching yoga to Aurelie and Vincent, and visiting a nearby flea market with Caroline and Bibou.
There's a lot of wind in Toulon, so the beach is a windsurfer's heaven.
French picnic. Baguette sandwich and wine.
At the flea market
The try to sell everything here. Phones, makeup, yoga mats, hair dryers, engines, cutlery -- everything.
After the market, we headed back to the Pernot apartment and I taught Aurelie and Vincent yoga on their terrace for an hour. Getting to work with people like Aurelie on a consistent basis is really showing me how happy I could be as a full-time yoga teacher. It's so rewarding and energizing to know that you're helping someone to relax, get a bit of exercise, and feel good.
I've been hankering to get a haircut since I arrived at Moyleabbey in August and woke up every morning with my hair looking like this:
Yes. This is August. I persevered with my perpetual bad hair (as did everyone around me) until February. This is evidence of the strength of character of the people with whom I've been staying.
I woke up the morning of my haircut (it was a surprise, so my hair was still quite unaware of its impending doom), looking like this:
I don't take a picture of my hair every morning, I swear. I just thought it was particularly fluffy and lion-like that morning.
Caroline told me that she was taking Bibou to get his hair cut, and asked if I'd like to come. Witnessing children get their hair chopped off is always enjoyable, and as I'd never been inside a french coiffure before, I naturally leapt at the opportunity. Once we'd parked the car and Caroline had secured an appointment, she informed me that the Pernots was treating me to a haircut of my very own. I was elated, ecstatic, thrilled. The feeling of satisfaction after months of yearning rivaled buying warm boots in Ireland after experiencing minor frostbite. However, I hadn't thoroughly thought through what I wanted to do with my outrageous mane -- just that it had to go. Luckily, Aurelie had given me a magazine with Emma Watson's picture on the cover, and although I find dear Emma a rather vapid actress, I do approve of her hair. So Caroline looked up a picture of the Harry Potter star on her iPhone, and I said, "This with sideburns, please."
What followed was the most professional, pleasant haircut I've ever had. It was also the quietest haircut I've ever had. You know how when you visit a dentist or a hairdresser, you somehow feel obliged to carry on trivial conversation? As the hairdresser spoke very little English and I still speak very little French (despite my best efforts), neither of us felt any such obligation to get to know each other in the typical superficial salon manner. She was very nice and seemed to enjoy cutting my hair, and I silently enjoyed watching my stringy locks float to the floor. If you have the opportunity to get your hair cut in France, I highly recommend you take it.
With our new haircuts. We think we look grand.
To complete the makeover, Caroline taught me how to use makeup. Properly. Not the haphazard, shoddy attempts I made in university that ended up making me look like the homeschool version of Barbie Doll.
I realize that I've just dedicated an entire post to my hair, and that I may hence be perceived as shallow and vain, but I have been wanting a haircut for a VERY long time. It's fantastic to finally have one. A big, happy thanks to Caroline and Jerome!
As shallow as it may seem, one of the main reasons I came to France was to escape the winter. Before you judge me too harshly, be kind enough to remember that I spent a few months farming in Ireland. It was very, very cold. There were days I had to wake up at six to harvest kale and spinach in the dark, and the frozen leaves made my hands go completely numb. I caught (does one "catch" frostbite?) a mild case of frostbite in Galway, and my feet have yet to completely recover. So while I've always been attracted to the language and cuisine of France, from the wet and cold of Ireland, I was particularly attracted to its sunny, mild weather.
Ha. Hahahaha.
That's god laughing at me.
This last week has been unbelievably dreary. I seriously thought that I had been transported back to Ireland at a few of the very low points (I adore you Ireland, but you do have terrible weather). Aurelie told me that she's lived in Toulon for 12 years and she's never seen weather like this.
HAHAHA.
All my friends in the French Riviera were posting pictures and videos of the snow on Facebook. As Whitney Houston passed away the same day, half the facebook posts were, "RIP, Whitney!" and the other half were pictures of snow in palm trees.
The cold weather has turned me into somewhat of a hermit for the past few days, so I have little else to report. I think this was Bibou's first time witnessing a snowstorm, so he went outside with Caroline and laughed at cars skidding down the streets.
There were a lot of cars skidding down the streets.
Last Wednesday was a very special day; a very special day indeed. Once a year, the French Navy has a family day for its officers and sailors. The navy member gets to show his family his place of work, have a free crepe lunch, and then leave work early. As a temporary member of the Pernot family, Caroline worked some magic and obtained a special visitor's pass for me. As Caroline teaches operational English to men and women of the French Navy, I was able to audit and participate in one of her classes. She's an incredibly capable teacher, and as I'm considering getting my TEFL certificate, it was really inspiring to watch her teach and see what a classroom environment could possibly be like. I'd probably have a classroom full of children as opposed to men and women of the navy, but I think I still gleaned a few valuable lessons.
Words that are funny when French people say them:
Ate and Hate. French people have a bit of difficulty pronouncing the H, so many of them leave it out entirely. This results in general confusion around the dinner table when, "I ate za dinner," can mean, "I hate the dinner," just as easily.
Angry and Hungry sound exactly the same. If someone says, "I'm angry," assume that they just haven't eaten in a while. As French people seem to be extraordinarily even-tempered, it's usually the case.
Sheet is often pronounced Shit. Beach is often pronounced Bitch.
This is a funny Dylan Moran sketch on the French -- not completely accurate, but they do eat chocolate bread for breakfast. ;)
After Caroline finished her morning class, we walked over to Jerome's ship. As it's a ship used to deactivate bombs, it's made entirely of plastic. Jerome told me that any metal onboard could cause vibrations in the water that would detonate a bomb. Hence, it is a VERY expensive ship.
That's Jerome's ship in the background
This is what Jerome wears when he dives. He says that it's ridiculously heavy.
Where the officers eat.
Bibou in the captain's seat
A view from the ship
This is what's used to detect bombs.
I enjoy that he has a hat.
Crepes! I just ate the ham, but they sure smelled good.
After touring Jerome's ship and spending a couple of hours meandering around the crepe tent, Caroline took me back to her office. I audited one of her assistant's english classes, spent a couple of hours journaling (it's absurd how much I like to journal -- I can spend hours riveted on the silliest little things going on in my life), and then I met up with a pleasant young officer who offered to guide me through Toulon's oldest ship. It was a win-win situation that made me very thankful to be a native english speaker -- during our hour and a half together, she got to practice her english, and I got a free tour. It was a refueling ship, so while MASSIVE, was not nearly as interesting as Jerome's. The officer gave me a very thorough tour, though. I would have taken pictures, but told me that she didn't feel comfortable with me photographing anything. Hence, the enemy shall not see how Toulon's oldest ship directs helicopters onto its landing pad, where the crew eats lunch, or how enormous its gas pumps are.
Shucks.
I got back to the Pernot apartment around six, prepared a quick dinner for Jerome, Bibou, and myself, and then walked to town to meet up for my interviews with Xavier and Malween.
One month in France, four interviews. I'm pretty happy with that.
Couchsurfing is officially one of the best organizations I've ever come across. I whiled away a lovely evening with Catherine (the workaway girl from England), Lena (the workaway girl from Germany), and two young men I met on couchsurfing. We enjoyed meat fondue, martinis, wine, and pastries (rum raisin ice-cream for me) at his apartment near the harbor. I did my best to speak a sentence or two in French every now and then, and succeeded in thoroughly butchering the impossible language before leaving for the Pernot's apartment around eleven.
A fondue machine? I really don't know what they're called. I enjoy this way of eating though, because it forces one to eat very slowly and enjoy the food. You get a tiny morsel of chicken or beef every two or three minutes, so you have plenty of time to chew and converse between each bite.
The pastry box
Catherine, me, and Lena
After I'd slowly sipped two martinis and a glass of red wine, I was able to muster up enough courage to ask Xavier and his friend for an interview. They both agreed and we set a date for next week. This will be my first time interviewing people who don't speak english since I was in Taglio di Po. Catherine and Lena agreed to join us for the interview and help with the translation (I really don't trust google translator), so that should make things go a bit more smoothly than they did in Italy.
I've been teaching yoga once or twice a week to Caroline and a few of her friends. After our yoga lesson last Friday, Jerome, Bibou and I were invited to stay for dinner. Aurelie and Vincent prepared one of my absolute favorite french dishes (the blood sausage with applesauce I mentioned earlier), and I once again felt overwhelmed by the generosity of the people with whom I stay.
As I'd only spent a few short hours in Nice after flying into France, I decided I'd like to see a bit more of it. Baris was such an amazing host during my last visit that I asked if I could surf with him again. He was quite happy to give up his weekend to show me around Nice, so I boarded the train with Catherine (she was visiting a few friends in Nice at the same time, coincidentally), and set off to meet Baris.
Despite the cold-snap momentarily hitting France, we had a marvelous weekend. He made me a tasty dinner, we chatted over martinis (I'm well on my way to becoming a martini lady), and then went out for a walk along the coast. The walk was very short as the weather was BRISK, but it was nice to get outside and see all the lights reflecting on the water. Baris mentioned that Turkish people are very good at picking up new languages, having none of the difficulties French people have with the soft and hard English THs or the problems that Americans have with the French R. He said that Turkish people really don't have accents. A few minutes later, he started talking to me about how he gaged his fitness level. He confidently said, "If I can vhistle as I vaLk up the stairs, I know I'm okay."
He was completely unaware of the poor L's silent nature. I couldn't help calling him on all his voiced Ls for the rest of the evening. VaLk, taLk, couLd, wouLd, shouLd, etc..
I also learned that there is an age-old rivalry between Turkey and Greece concerning who was the first to invent moussaka, the thick Turkish/Greek coffee, and the fact that they've spent many years massacring one another. I think they're most concerned about the coffee, though. If you go to Greece and order a Turkish coffee, you won't be served. Make sure you know where you are when ordering your caffeinated beverages.
Baris is a phenomenal amateur photographer, so he was quite happy to take me to a Sarah Moon gallery on Saturday afternoon. I don't think I've ever been so affected by photography before -- it was my first real experience with impressionistic photography, and Sarah Moon is one of the best photographers in France.
Baris might be unhappy with me for posting this (sorry, Baris), but here's a link to his deviantart account:
After the gallery, Baris took me out for a few drinks at one of his favorite bars. We talked about various artistic projects, drank red wine, and caught a few minutes of the rugby game every now and then. Being both American and not a big sports fan anyway, I'd never watched rugby before, but I'd heard all sorts of stories about what a violent sport rugby is. However, I believe I've been a bit desensitized to hardcore sports, as French rugby seemed quite mild when compared to Irish football and hurling. Rugby is one of the primary sports in France though, so I shan't be voicing my opinion to any native.
After the drinks, Baris and I hopped on a bus and went back to his apartment near the airport. We ate an absurd amount of sinfully good chocolate and watched a film called "Quills". As everything is dubbed in France (and english subtitles are very hard to find), it was the first movie I've seen in over a month. It was very nice to watch a film in english again. Dubbing really does rub me the wrong way -- can you imagine True Grit dubbed in french? Rooster will lose all of his unintelligible charm.
Sunday was a lazy day -- as most days with Baris tend to be. We walked down the coast at half past twelve, stopped for an afternoon drink (French people drink wine all the time), and then headed off in search of a second-hand store and a hill to climb. We were on our way to the shop when one of Baris's friends spotted us and asked us if we'd like to join him for a glass of wine, some olives, and a rehearsal for his band. As this sounded even nicer than a second-hand store, I immediately agreed.
Baris.
Hearing a Turk and a Greek argue about who invented what first is hysterical.
Olives are served absolutely drenched in olive oil.
Here are a few clips from the band I got to watch rehearse. The woman is singing in a dead Spanish dialect -- much older than the Castilian spoken in Spain.
This is what Baris gets to wake up to every morning
After helping Baris with one of his photography projects, he left for work and I left for the train station. I made the same exact mistake I made last time -- taking the wrong bus #23 -- but I was much better at fixing the mistake this time. I will forever get lost, but I will NOT always panic.
Upon arriving back at the Pernot residence, I discovered that poor Bibou had caught a rather nasty bug which manifested itself in extreme vomiting and diarrhea.
I believe I am slowly transforming into a housewife. The house is not mine, Alessandro is not mine, but I'm really settling down into the routine of getting up early to prepare a child for school, doing light housework, and cooking dinner. Sometimes bathing the child and baking the occasional batch of cookies.
It's almost uncomfortable how comfortable it feels. I still write (albeit probably not as much as I should). I still practice yoga (and teach a few classes to Caroline and a couple of her friends). I still doggedly study french two hours every weekday morning. I still spend far too much time researching grad-schools and TEFL opportunities. I take the occasional jog around the beach.
But that's pretty much it. I am very content living this sort of lifestyle. I don't know how long I could be content with a routine like this (I suffer from chronically itchy feet), but for now, I'm simply happy to be here.
Three-year-olds can be tough, though -- especially uncannily clever three-year-olds such as Alessandro. I'm learning that it is vitally important to take everything a three-year-old says absolutely seriously (they are fully capable of feeling belittled and insignificant and express these feelings through high-pitched whining and half-hearted kicking), but take absolutely NOTHING they say personally. Some nights Alessandro is my best friend and insists on giving me a big kiss before going to bed and cuddling up to me while I read him a story. Other nights he cries for his mother and flails his little fists at me while shouting, "Arrete! Arrete!"
To which I say, "Okay, Alessandro. I'll stop. We will be friends again tomorrow."
"No."
"Okay, Alessandro. You let me know when we're friends again. Now I'm going to turn off the light."
I find myself making many promises regarding tomorrow.
I've been trying to be more active within the Toulon couchsurfing community, and went out to a local pub a few days ago for a drink with three local french fellows and two other workaway girls. As I don't speak french, I had a rather difficult time understanding much of what was being said, but trying to speak a few garbled sentences now and then was really good for me. One of the frenchmen -- a navy nurse named Xavier -- invited Catherine, Lena, and myself to a french dinner at his apartment.
People have been wonderfully warm and welcoming here. Then again, people have been wonderfully warm and welcoming everywhere I've travelled thus far.
This past week has been a bit dreary weather-wise, which resulted in Caroline canceling our horseback-riding outing and me getting all sorts of homesick for Ireland. Since the day was free and the weather was gloomy, Caroline took Alessandro and me swimming at a pool in Hyeres while Jerome prepared for the dinner party the Pernots were hosting that Saturday evening. The changing room at the pool was a bit different from what I'm used to, as it was not gender specific. However, there was a sign up in the shower room that politely asked adults to keep their clothes on out of respect for the children. So everyone was extraordinarily decent.
Upon returning from the apartment, we were greeted by the tantalizing smell of Jerome's cooking as it wafted out under the door. Roasted red pepper, roasted aubergine, various cheeses, toasted baguettes, and mini-pies were all playing musical chairs between the oven, the over-crowded fridge, and the slightly-colder-than-inside terrace tables. The guests arrived at 7:30, and I had one of the nicest meals of this trip yet.
Jerome is quite an extraordinary chef, and it's always a cause for celebration when he commandeers the kitchen. The only drawback to having such a magnificent cook in the house is that whenever I'm in the kitchen, I'm dreadfully insecure.
I took these pictures with my iPhone, so they don't really do the food justice. These were ricotta, basil, eggplant wraps.
Avocado mousse with salmon
I'm not sure what the dough was, but the topping is smoked salmon and chèvre
A gluten-free biscuit stuffed with herbed goat's cheese and roasted red pepper mousse
Mini-pies stuffed with ham, feta, and mushrooms
This might be one of the tastiest things I've eve eaten. Raw beef with parmesan and spices topped with homemade foie gras.
