La Coupe du Mondialisation

I saw this sticker graffiti the other day. For anyone who doesn't know, the "Maghreb" are the three french-speaking countries of North Africa: Tunisia, Morocco, and Algeria. In North Africa, the relationships between the countries are a little terse (borders are closed between Algeria and the other two, who want to distance themselves from Algeria's fundamentalism; Tunisia is the tightest with the EU and strives to present itself as Westernized, much to the disdain of the other two; Morocco has by far the highest tourism rate). However, here in France where immigrants of all three nations find themselves in the margins, they seem to be united. Or at least aspire to be:

I got to witness this firsthand at the England-Algeria World Cup match, which I went to watch in State Charlety. This stadium, with its spacey, planet-like ring around it, must have seemed like a great idea when it was rebuilt in the early 90s--rebuild stadium in the dead zone on the Paris perimeter, bring people and revenue to the area. It flopped horribly, however, quickly falling into disuse and disrepair. As an effort to use the space, the Mairie of Paris decided to open it to the public for the World Cup and project all of the French, Algerian, Cameroonian and Ivory Coast World Cup games on the jumbotron. Since the southern suburbs host a lot of Paris' Muslim families, the Stadium attracted an enthusiastic crowd for the Algerian match.

I was thrilled to be in the midst of the excitement. The French, however, were not. I had already heard several racist doomsday prophesies muttered at me throughout the day ("The Algerians are playing tonight? Alas. And it had been so calm up until now. Guess everything will be broken tomorrow. Better stay in and lock the doors...") The huge lines of riot police waiting to heard us along when we got off the metro were a testament to this fear--which seemed completely unwarranted when juxtaposed with the families of women and children passing by, on their way to cheer on their country.

Almost every Algerian supporter seemed to be wearing some form of their flag, be it face paint, a jersey, or even a flag-cape. There were also a sizable minority of Tunisian and Moroccan flags being waved and worn in support of the Algerian team--and surprisingly, with the full support of the bearers' Algerian peers. It had never occurred to me before, but the Algerian flag is, quite appropriately, a visual amalgam of the three francophone countries' flags--it has the star/Moon emblem of the Tunisian flag, and the red and white color scheme, but it mixes those elements with the green of Morocco's flag.

If you watched the game, you already know that it was pretty dull and uneventful. You wouldn't have known from the Algerian supporters' enthusiasm, though--everytime one of their players merely had possession of the ball they would start cheering like crazy, and any attempt at scoring, no matter how ridiculous or off the mark, would produce a roar of approval that sounded no less joyful than an actual goal might have been (had one ever been scored). At halftime, fans stormed the bleachers at the far side of the field with flares and scaled the stadium to wave flags from the top as florescent-vested stadium workers did their best to keep things under control.
The excitement was even greater at the end of the game. Flares were lit across the field, and there was a wild stampede towards the exit to reach the riot-police lined streets, where you could hear the whoops and cries and horn-honks of "victory" (well, of 'not losing'--the game tied 0-0) for hours to come.
I'm a little sad that the Algerian team didn't score because I'm curious to know what the reaction would have been. On the other hand, I'm also glad England didn't win, because I would have hated for the suspicion and mistrust behind the scads of riot police to have been justified. As it was, the Algerian reception of our group of Americans and an Englishman was jolly and playful, and the experience wholly unifying. It's a real shame that America's two favorite pastimes--football and baseball--are so insular, because it seems that nothing brings countries together like sports.

UK Union

The primary reason for Tom's and my recent England vacation was, of course, his brother's wedding. Between venue issues and catering catastrophes I wouldn't say that the getting hitched went off without a hitch, but in the end the ceremony was as lovely as the bride (and to be honest, is there such a thing as a wedding without a hint of chaos?). Here is the bride (in a stunning, light pink dress with an embroidered bodice and long ruffled skirts) and her groom saying their vows:
At the behest of the mother of the groom I was given an expensive Nikon and became a sort of unofficial wedding photographer. This was one of my favorite candid shots of the evening, of a very love-struck looking groom gazing adoringly at his blushing bride:
Apparently it's custom for women to wear hats to English weddings. I was a little alarmed to hear about the rule, seeing as how I've no experience in hat buying, but was quickly reassured by the mother of the groom that this was to be a casual wedding--no hats required. That didn't, of course, prevent some of the more fashionable guests from turning out hatted--or rather, feathered. Turns out that the definition of a "hat" for a wedding is pretty loose and is rarely something big enough to accommodate one's entire head, usually taking the form instead of artistically splayed feathers or a small, bellboy-esque cap pinned on to the side of the head. Odd.
Me and the handsome best man:
Being one of the only French-speaking guests at the wedding gave me a certain level of privilege because I was able to talk to the Algerian mother of the bride and the three Algerian sisters (and yes, I tried a bit of Arabic, but my skills have slipped a lot since last summer and it didn't go very well). The bride being Algerian (and Muslim) meant that the wedding was a little different than others I've attended. Rather than being held in a church or presided over by a priest/pastor, it was presided over by city officials and held in a beautiful town hall complete with stained glass windows, high ceilings and elegant staircases. Best of all, it was only a five minute walk from the groom's apartment, which came in handy when we ran into him still in jeans and a sweater, picking up canapés about 10 minutes before the wedding. He was so pressed for time that he ended up not putting his contact lenses in until halfway through the reception--a fact that Tom exploited in his best man's speech, saying that Nicholas in his blindness had "married the wrong sister"

The ceremony itself was pretty delightfully brief--basically just a civil ceremony with an audience. We then moved to the reception hall for a dinner catered by a Lebanese restaurant, followed by drinks and dancing. The highlight of the night occurred mid-reception, when the bride disappeared for 15 minutes and reappeared in full traditional Algerian dress, with flowing skirts, metal bracelets and a headpiece (pictured on the right in the photo below, with her mother in the center). The bride, her three sisters and her mother then lead the guests in an Algerian dance, complete with confetti and youyous (the call of celebration that North African women all seem to know how to make). My only regret is that we had to leave before we got the chance to admire the bride's other dresses--apparently she made a few more changes after we were gone.

Don't tell Oxford on me, but...

While in England, we took a day to tour Cambridge. The first thing on my to-do list was to nostalgically indulge in what had been one of my favorite parts of my semester in Oxford: pub grub for lunch. Steak and ale pie, mushy peas and a pint of cider--delish! Cambridge was, I suppose unsurprisingly, fairly similar to Oxford (fun fact: when you apply to university in England, you must choose one or the other to apply to--no conflicts of loyalty/interest here!). The buildings were old, stone and beautiful, the streets were full of slightly hippie-looking students, there were chic coffeeshops costing much more than the cheap neighboring pubs and posters plastered literally everywhere advertising various events, bars and student shows. The colleges that compose Cambridge even often shared names with those that make up Oxford. However, there was a definite difference in the feel. Cambridge was a bit smaller, a bit tidier, a bit cutsier, with more chain and mainstream shops--definitely more directed at tourists. Consequently, it couldn't (at least in my mind) compete with the culture and history that Oxford is steeped in, nor its narrow, winding roads and dark hovels of pubs with low, crooked ceilings and centuries-old intellectual memorabilia.

But then again, Oxford had already won before I even saw Cambridge. Anyway, on to pictures!

A picturesque row of houses in Tom's hometown of Saffron Walden that we passed on the way to the bus stop (and double-decker ride onwards to Cambridge. Fun fact: if you're British, my name rhymes with 'double-decker')
One thing Cambridge had on Oxford was its bikes. With its newer, more even streets, Cambridge is much more conducive to biking, and the proof is EVERYWHERE. The bike racks around the train station rivaled those in Amsterdam. Here was a cool "billboard" I found for a bike repair service:
And here is King's College, the Christchurch College of Cambridge (for all you Oxfordians...for everyone else, that means it's the rich/big deal/pretty building college).
I found the antique cash register with WiFi sign to be too ironic to pass up as a photo op:
The back of King's College, from across the Cam river and a meadow:
Seeing the students chilling out by the river made me miss St. Marys. And Oxford. Basically, my previous life as a undergraduate.
Cute story: Tom's first-ever job was as a river punter (slash one of the oddly-costumed people that recruit tourists for rides--it's a testament to how young he was that they still made a costume in his size at that age). Here are some lazy punters:

6-month Tomaversary

Because I've lived overseas for so long my mom has grown accustomed to communicating with me through the no-cost method of Skype. We both generally have Skype up whenever we're home, and she'll message me pretty regularly for short conversations. The following is a snippet from a Skype chat conversation between the two of us that occurred less than two weeks after Tom and I started dating. It was awkward at the time, but I saved it under a file called "wow mom" because I figured it would be funny in retrospect. It is.

[12/18/09 2:47:35 AM] Mom: Why are you still up?
[12/18/09 2:48:04 AM] Me: just got done watching a movie
[12/18/09 2:48:18 AM] Mom: Oh--what movie?
[12/18/09 2:48:20 AM] Me: and my stomach hurts a little
[12/18/09 2:48:59 AM] Mom: from the potluck?
[12/18/09 2:49:47 AM] Me: yeah
[12/18/09 2:49:53 AM] Me: Love Actually
[12/18/09 2:50:04 AM] Mom: oh my! that was fast...
[12/18/09 2:50:18 AM] Me: what was?
[12/18/09 2:50:40 AM] Mom: your stomach hurts cause you're in love?
[12/18/09 2:51:04 AM] Me: No!
[12/18/09 2:51:10 AM] Me: the movie, "Love Actually"
[12/18/09 2:51:16 AM] Mom: OH!
[12/18/09 2:51:17 AM] Me: with Hugh Grant and Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman
[12/18/09 2:51:17 AM] Mom: nevermind...

I thought this was an appropriate time to dig this out because our 6-month "anniversary," the first one worth celebrating, falls today, the day of Tom's brother's wedding. I've set this post to delay until then, but by the time you're reading it I'll be off celebrating an eventful 6 months together (seriously...from a dorm to an apartment, from studenthood to work...) and the beginning of another couple's life together. And, on a more basic level, Love. Because Love Actually is all around.

Plus SDF (homeless no more)

We FINALLY found an apartment. It's perfect: fully furnished, plenty of storage, nice wood flooring and big, South-facing windows with full sunlight. The location is walking distance from my job and convenient access by metro from Tom's. We also have pretty much everything we need within walking distance, and are right on top of three main metro lines. The rent isn't cheap, but it is pretty good for central Paris, especially considering the size (about 35m2) and location. The only possible downside (that we've discovered so far, at least) is that it's on the 5th floor (or 6th floor, in American terms) with no escalator. This made moving in a bit of pain (we opted to just use luggage to slowly transport everything we own from one place to the other via metro...resulting in 5 pack-mule-style journeys, with both of us towing two bags and a backpack) but we're young and able-bodied, so it shouldn't be a bit deal from here on out.

However, what with the simultaneous timing of the renting formalities and the moving and my new job, and now the wedding in England to attend, it's been a hectic last couple of weeks. We're quickly having a crash course in the steps of renting an apartment, from the lengthy 'etat des lieux' form (where you and the landlord go around the apartment together and inspect absolutely EVERYTHING to record damages to be compared to the state of the apartment when you leave), to transferring the name of the electricity account for the apartment (a surprisingly involved and linguistically-demanding 25-minute phone call), to settling the question of a 'garant', to buying renter's insurance, to arranging for a WiFi ("wee-fee") technician to come and install some Internet. On the bright side, I'm learning lots of fun new housing/utilities-specific vocabulary; for example, the word for a set of keys in french is a "jeu", or "game" of keys.

I find myself Internet-less for the short term, so updates might be sparse in the interim. Never fear, I shall return triumphant--and with pictures!--after our housewarming party. Until then, dear readers...

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho...

...it's off to work I go.

Yes, just like the seven dwarfs, I've been busy mining the diamonds from the unforgiving gray rock of the Parisian job market. (Fun fact: in the French version of the "Heigh-ho" song, the dwarfs sing "Eh, ho!", which makes more sense in French, I suppose, but has the unfortunate side effect of sounding like "a-hole!" to any anglophone who happens to hear. If you watch the link, skip forward to about 1:15 to see what I mean.) Anyway, my roughly abillionty job applications have paid off, and I finally landed a position that satisfies my three conditions:

1) it entitles me to extend my visa and stay in France (to do so, I would either have to remain a student and work less than 17 hrs/wk, be a language assistant but not be permitted to take on another job to make up for the shitty pay, or else find a company to sponsor me and prove that no one in the EU is capable of doing what they want to hire me to do)

2) it pays (slightly) more than the teaching assistant position would have, and...

3) it forces me to use more spoken French.

To cut to the chase, I am now an administrative assistant at the Paris branch of IES, a private, study abroad company that operates in many different countries and caters mostly to American undergraduate students from upper middle class families. When my student status at NYU expires, I will be enrolled as an IES student, permitting me to extend my visa (and possibly audit some classes for fun...Arabic or film studies, here I come!). I'm also able to evade the hours of work requirement by the position technically counting as a "stage"--somewhere between a work study and an internship, meaning I'm (under)paid via a stipend instead of a salary or hourly rate, leaving me free to pick up a few extra hours of part-time work on the side (although in and of itself, the pay is definitely livable on a frugal budget).

I've now worked a little more than a week, full time (10-5 weekdays), as well as played tour guide a few weekends ago to a summer studytour group from University of Miami, Ohio just passing through Paris. Our two main student groups for this summer just arrived last week, so we've been busy with orientation and introductory programs. I am finding that I do a bit of everything, from answering phones, to helping students, to general office/secretarial work. It's not overly difficult, although the first week was a little stressful due mostly to insecurities about my French and a lack of familiarity with expectations, etc. However, I love my coworkers and the variety of the job, and I'm also using much more spoken French than ever before. I also absolutely live for the student interaction aspect, although more on that (and some specific experiences) later.

I've also landed a part-time gig on the side: English language 'tutoring' for an adorable French family of four girls. The family apparently spent a year or two in California, and the parents are now hoping to maintain/enhance their daughters' levels of English (especially that of the family baby, who is American by birth). The girls seem sweet, if not slightly over-involved (our lessons will be squeezde between school, piano and dance lessons) in the typical manner of children from upper middle class families (they live in a pretty posh apartment just off of the Grands Boulevards of Charles de Gaulle Etoile and the Arc de Triomphe). The emphasis will be on spoken English, reinforced with songs/games, and I will work separately with the two youngest (3 and 5 years old) and the two oldest (8 and 11) daughters. It's hard to gauge how things will go until we actually get started, but the girls seem absolutely adorable. When I arrived for my interview they greeted me solemnly in near-identical pink dresses and pink glasses (the whole family is near-sighted) and when I left, they rose from the couch and stood in height order to bid me farewell, reminding me ever so slightly of the VonTrapp family.

Springtime in Paris!

Look what those April showers brought...

(I do realize it's now June. I'm a little behind on posts is all. Cross my heart these are, in fact, May flowers. And not the pilgrim variety, either.)