The lemon tea that is like crack cocaine. I need like 10 cups a day, from the vending machine ni the lobby of Lyon 2. And the ten million keys that I need to get into my apartment.

Dear Lyon 2- In the future, maybe when you finally finish that construction, could you perhaps think about a better numbering system for your rooms? Having rooms with similar numbers located near each other would be lovely. Or at least indicating somehow on which campus a certain classroom is located? And could you think about not giving rooms two numbers? Just choose one! Or, if you decide that this system really is best, could you make maps or something? That way, when people that I don’t even know (real French people even) stop in to ask where something is, I won’t have to just give them directions to the Departement de Lettres. Because, really, not everyone is going there. Love, Gina

Yesterday, mes amis, I had an incident. A breakfast incident. I was eating at Le Pain Quotidien (ohhh yes- that one! With the wonderful spreads that are addicting like crack cocaine, except not in the same way that the Lyon 2 vending machine lemon tea is crack cocaine) and having a very nice time of it until… our eggs arrived. Rachelle and I had ordered oeufs à la coque, which I knew to be soft-boiled eggs. I was excited- I kept telling Rachelle how I had eaten them like that when I was little. Behold- our eggs arrived- but-alas- they were not open. No worries, thought I, I seem to remember some sort of tapping with a spoon to open them. This yielded nothing. We tried tapping with our knives. Still us, faced with two unopen (but cutely brown) eggs. Rachelle decided that if we could get past this, we could do anything. I thought that it was a forever marked moment in our friendship. This was getting annoying, we wanted eggs. Buuut, we were too ashamed to ask the waiter how the heck we were supposed to open them. I had visions of me whacking the egg too hard and it flying everywhere. What were we to do? In situations like this, there’s only one thing to do- make Rachelle call Laurie, our director, on her cell phone. I’m sure Laurie was thrilled to get a call from one of her students and her GTF inquiring about how to properly open a soft-boiled egg. I could hear her laughing from across the table. But it led to our eventual victory with the eggs, which was happy. And to a lot of mocking, which I’m ok with. Really.

Today, in between to listening to “I thought you were my boyfriend” by the Magnetic Fields like a fiend (thanks Emily Benz!) I managed to run the Centre Oregon all day. This happens every Wednesday, and I admit, I get a power rush sitting at Laurie’s desk. I feel like I’m holding court or something. Students came and went, plans were made for PARIS COMBO on Saturday (me? excited?) which I think involve me cooking dinner for many people, pictures from the France/USA reception last night were viewed and gossip was exchanged. We discussed how many people from the France/USA association had cornered us last night, at this reception at the lovely hotel de ville (mistranslated as “Mayor House” on the invitations), and asked us questions about the States. I myself was cornered by Rémé, who works in the Centre, and the man who runs Lyon International (I don’t really know what they do) and told that I would be attending a reception Thursday night as well. Will there be wine there too? I love being paraded around as an American! And here I was, trying to pretend I was Dutch.

Did I ever mention that a student called me at 1am, completely drunk, to ask where they should go dancing? Because pretty sure that it happened. I get the best calls. But I actually love it. The students make me laugh, and make me happy. And this is pretty much the best job I’ve ever had.

My iTunes just switched into a song that, for some reason, reminded me of climbing the stairs at the U of Oregon library all the way up to the 4th floor to visit my little corner of the PQs. I spent a good portion of my time in Eugene there, especially the last quarter while I was studying for exams. La iPod certainly got a lot of use during that period, because it set me into my own little library world. Am I a huge geek for really enjoying walking through the stacks and getting a thrill every time I found something I wanted (and didn’t have time to) read? Really, be honest with me. April, could you back me up on this? Please?

A blurry but somewhat identifiable picture of some of us in the courtyard of the Hotel de Ville, after the France-USA reception. Strange, but I did get to wear my Diesel heels. 

Then, breakfast the next day at le Pain Quotidien. So much deliciousness. I swear, I could eat there basically every day. 

Yum! 

Afternoon at Le Pain Quotidien with Rachelle and Emily. There's chocolat chaud, 2 croissants, capuccino, cafe creme and crumble au pommes et cannelle. 

The afore-mentioned BEST.GOAT.CHEESE.EVER 

I made this! Warm goat cheese salad, with lots of homemade stuff. 

les couleurs...

for the maahhvelous la.dauphine, as well as E and April who asked me ages ago, les link couleurs? Changed. I don't care if the purple is ATROCIOUS but you can SEE IT now. Now you can comment a-go-go, and you should. Please?

taaa

I am writing this on my terrasse, as I have decided that it is my personal duty to use it as much as humanly possible before it becomes too cold to be out here. Today it’s still sunny, so me and my laptop have found our way out here. It’s quite a lovely terrasse, and I am oh-so-lucky to have it. For anyone who’s keeping track, I believe that it’s a little smaller than a single room at Ripon College. Needless to say, I am much happier to be here than in a single room at Ripon College.

Do you know what happens when you go to Scandinavian bars in Lyon? The bartenders are all Irish, American music is played, there is more rum than coke in your drink, you try and sell your very-blonde friend into the unknown-Scandinavian-slave-trade, and a very old and drunk Irish (?) man tries to set you up with every.single.guy.in.the.bar, after which you have to go and apologize to said guys for crazy person that you don’t know (don’t worry Mom! I’m a smart kid!) At least no students called me at 1am this weekend.

I am still upset about my ultimate defeat at Virgin and FNAC. This is just not right. It has also left me feeling guilty about my persistence of listening to English music. I did not come to France for this! (also, Etam, please take note- I did not come to France to shop in your store and be serenaded by Hilary Duff. Please fix this. Love, Gina) I am out to discover all-that-is-new in French beautiful music. And by new, I mean new since the last time I was here, which was, oooooh, 3 years ago. So, sort of new? First step? Going to see PARIS COMBO on Saturday. Oh yes, be jealous now. Except for the fact that we bought the tickets without really knowing where the venue, L’épicerie moderne, was, and as it turns out, it’s sort of outside of Lyon. But I’m throwing the damn caution to the wind, because I have a ticket for Paris Combo. So there.

Now is the time at Quel est ton problème where I become jealous. Jealous of other people’s typepad blogs. Look at Coquette, at la.dauphine. Go- look! While all of Quel est ton problème’s color madness comes directly from me, my other, younger sister, baby is the brainchild of the wonderful Mayuresh, who works with my mother. He did a lovely job and definitely exploited every available part of blogger, but I still find myself resenting my decision to stay with blogger as opposed to paying for the bells and whistles of typepad. Alas, mes amis. I will remain sans bells and whistles and tags and easier links and photos.

Speaking of photos, I started a Flickr photostream of most of my pictures from Lyon. You can see the ones that didn’t make the Quel est ton problème cut and the many pictures I manage to take of what I eat.

I really hope that my carte de séjour arrives soon, as then I can sign the paperwork at L’école Chevreuil and start work there. I had planned to be more busy, but since my precious music class (which I LOST SLEEP being nervous about!) doesn’t start until, oh, October 20?, I am wider open than I though. Especially with finally going down to real half-time at le Centre Oregon. Maybe organizing the Inter-Centre Soccer Cup will distract me.

I need to buy a tv, Here I am in Lyon and I have not seen ONE episode of Star Academy, which is apparently on almost all the time, or any other bad reality tv program. What kind of a life is that? Well, it is one filled with a lot of cheese and wine and baguette. Ha.

ohhh

Yes, mes amis, the kitchen really is that small. It could be because I am at least 10 meters taller than everyone here, or because I live in the roof. No really, I live in the roof. That's why it's so slope-y. And why I hit my head, basically, all the time.

So, after the initial embaressment of trying to find the famous salle 04 (the 0 makes all the difference), I finally triumphed on Wednesday and located it. It's in the basement, marked as one room, but with a sign taped on the door that says "Salle 04- musique." Well, that makes sense (this actually happens all the time here). HOW ARE THERE SO MANY SALLES WITH THE SAME NUMBER??? It is very difficult to find anything here at Lyon 2. And it's not just for foreign students- the French students are always wandering into our office and asking directions as well. I usually give them directions to the Departement de Lettres, because I know where that is. Oh, and the Departements de Musicologie et de l'Histoire de l'Art. I am SO good at this job. Yesterday I even began the arrangements to organize an Inter-Centre Soccer Cup, where the Centre Oregon will triumph over the Centre Pennsylvanie et the Centre Californie. Then we'll work on playing real French people.

I had all of these great plans to write more, about my attempts to attend class, about the influx of students, about the un-organization of Lyon 2, but mes amis, I just can't. I'm malade, thanks to les etudiants, who are all getting sick as well. I spent most of yesterday late afternoon and evening sleeping, except my venture out to buy a cd. Why I walked, I'll never know. But apparently this cd is no longer availablein France. Nowhere. At all. At least that's what the people at FNAC told me. And Virgin MEGAstore my ass. WHERE'S THE MEGA WHEN I NEED THAT CD???? HUH??? HUH????? I have been DEFEATED by FNAC and Virgin. DEFEATED.

And that, really, is the end. I'm so not about the making sense right now, even with the trying.

la petite cuisine de Gina

E wanted to know (but on l'autre blog, where these photos also appear) if my kitchen really was that small, or just small in comparison. I thus provide photographic evidence, both of me in my kitchen and of the kitchen itself. I am 5'9'' (well, about), and you can see me touching the ceiling in the first photo. I have to bend over to cook in the second one, and the third is a shot of the cooking/cleaning area. Go small kitchen! But I did make a lovely dinner last night, and it was quite good. Aaaand it made a big mess.

What weekend?

Mon dieu, mes amis, quel week-end occupé ! Really, the only way I can think of (besides writing a novella, which you wouldn’t read anyway) to recount anything without a) sounding like an idiot, b) starting to write and promptly forgetting everything that happened or c) making everything up, is to make a list. Très boring, I know, but I promise to try and make it more interesting than, say, a shopping list.

*The entire week was crazy, with massive amounts of students in and out of the Centre Oregon trying to pick their classes for this term, which starts today. The French university system is very different, and you don’t so much pick your classes as have them chosen for you by your major. This means that there’s no general schedule published, and foreign students don’t know what they’re taking until the last minute. Let’s just say that some have dealt with that stress better than others. I made it through the week without hiding under my desk, but just barely.

*Friday afternoon Taza and I had ice cream, just as it turned from a warm day to a cloudy and cool day. We’re good like that. For the record, you should all eat caramel buerre salée ice cream. Trust me.

*Maria made a peach pie, which I ventured out to her house to eat. When I couldn’t find the apartment, her roommate leaned out of the window to direct me in. The pie was good, and I also had organic wine.

*After said pie, we started the cross-Lyon trek that included us picking up people at various locations. Group assembled, we headed to a lovely bar in Vieux Lyon where I enjoyed the “punch” maison (mmm, cinnamon) and may have told them I would play in a pétanque tournament. But I don’t think that I’m actually signed up. hmmm. I should figure that out. Theeeen, I ended up walking home again. And it rained. But I wasn’t by myself (don’t worry mom!) Also, a very drunk student called me at 1am, while I was still walking, which was, umm, interesting?

*Saturday was the Centre Oregon Scavenger Hunt (written and produced by yours truly). Half of the group showed up on a ridiculously windy day to run all over Lyon finding things. It was also day 1 of the Journées du Patrimoine, a weekend celebrating the cultural legacy of Europe. Basically, lots of stuff is open and free. This year’s theme was “J’aime mon patrimoine,” and seriously? I don’t think anyone needs to worry, because the Lyonnais seem to LOVE their patrimoine, as evidenced by the fact that I couldn’t get in ANYWHERE because the lines were too long! I did, though, find Monoprix.

*Saturday night was Marc-didn’t-forget-that-we-had-plans-night, which ended with us, half a pitcher of sangria, a Spanish bar, me constantly reminding Marc that I had to take the metro home, a discussion of African dance classes, Brazilian music and me finally getting to take the metro home.

*Sunday? I recovered from the weekend. No, really. And I did laundry, but at night, which made the drying-on-the-balcony thing hard. Especially when it started to rain.

And that, people, is the short version.

Liquor-filled chocolate, my French portable, glass of Bordeaux and a copy of "A year in Provence," which you should all read. Liquor and chocolate at the same time? Why not people? Do you need any reminding that I am, in fact, in France? 

My pressure cooker. Isn't it sweet? Actually, it is sweet, because in French it's called a Cocotte minute, which sounds sweeter than "pressure cooker." 

I was going to tell you all about my fabulous weekend (which I will), but first I must tell you about the traumatic (well, not exactly traumatic) thing that happened to me this morning. Upon arriving at le Centre Oregon, comme d'habitude, I decided to go down to le department de musicologie to make sure that the room for my crazy MA music class (which I'm afraid of) has not yet changed. After determining that it hasn't, I decided to take an exciting trip to find this famous salle 4 (and possibly the unfindable salle 2), which is supposedly in the basement. I get down to the basement and there's a huge group of people standing in the hallway and talking. As soon as I walk onto the floor, everyone stops talking and looks at me. Oh fun. After staring at me for a second, some designated person asks me if I'm looking for something. Not wanting to admit that I am, in fact, a dork and looking for the class two days ahead of time, I made up a story about looking for a room for the students, because no one could find it. Actually, that part was true. But as I fumbled around, they said that they, also, had no clue where this room was. Great. So I accomplished nothing and got stared down by French students. They weren't mean, just curious. I guess. And I have just been told that there is more than one salle 2. Oh great.

Just as with the people and things in the other photos...

I, also, am in Lyon.
That would be me and Marc, last Saturday night. Picture by Taza, stolen by me. I swear it was taken in Lyon, and that I haven't been paying someone to take pictures of the city for me while I hide in Iceland or something. (randomly, did you know that the phone book in Iceland is by first name?) I really am here. And I really did start my morning with a cafe and crossaint in a cafe Place des Terreaux. And a trip to Credit Lyonnais, which is always exciting.

And now, in the category, "The things I do for April," I present what shall now be referred to as my.first.meme.ever. Claire would be oh-so-proud. Umm, I'm supposed to, list 7 songs that I like, I think? And then ask other people to do it? Wait, is that really what I'm supposed to do? I'm going to check with April's site, please hold on a minute. Ok, I was right. But April's using the terminology "force" and I'm not sure I can force anyone, hmm. Buuuut-

1- Lightning Stikes Twice- Saint Etienne (off the new album! hurrah!)
2-Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend- Marilyn Monroe
3-Queen of the Savages- Magnetic Fields
4-Seventeen Years- Ratatat
5- My Boyfriend's Back- The Raveonettes
6- The Test- The Chemical Brothers
7- Amorino- Isobel Campbell

But really, that's just today. It could even change in an hour. As for other people, well. Umm. Claaaaaire, Lauren, Heather, Sandra, Kirsten? And yes, I can count and know that's only 5. But everyone else was already, umm, tagged?

market, beyotches

Who needs peach moisturizer or body spray when you can just eat the real thing and then have your hands smell like it? And, mes amis, I did not just eat a regular peach, oh non non non, I ate a peche du vigne, or a vine peach. This is not, in fact, a peach that grows on a vine, but a peach that grows near grape vines, so that some of the red grapes color the outside and half of the inside dark red. It has a slightly different taste and is much prettier than a yellow peach. I picked a few up yesterday at the market at Place Jean Macé, a block away from the apartment. Yes, I am shopping at markets! Ha! Ha! Take that American grocery stores! I also picked up regular peaches, fresh lettuce and tomatoes, the most bizarre fruit ever, which it turns out is from a cactus, and tons of fresh cheese for the petite soirée I had here last night.

!!!We now interrupt this post for an important announcement- I have found THE BEST GOAT CHEESE EVER. EVER. Really. I picked it up for 1€40 at a farmer’s booth- it’s homemade, fresh, creamy chèvre like you would never find in the states. I am in love with this cheese. I’m thinking about sending out wedding announcements. It’s just a bit thicker than crème fraiche or sour cream but holds it’s shape and can be cut into slices. I want to eat it all the time, with everything. We now return to our regularly scheduled Quel est ton problème!!!

So, yes, this has been an exciting weekend, and it’s not even over yet. Friday I spent time exploring the Centre Commercial (which is apparently the biggest mall in Europe) with two of the students on the program, Taza and Kesley. Several hours dodging people can make you really hungry and not necessarily put you in the mood to cook. I had managed to go the entire time here so far without eating at a restaurant or café, but broke that streak when Kelsey and I started exploring the neighborhood (she lives about a block away) and decided on a little restaurant-pizzeria that I pass every day. Very good, not expensive and cute. Everyone there seemed to know each other, and we are determined to become regulars. We then ran out to Vieux Lyon to meet up with some other people at a Spanish café, then run out again to catch the last metro home. Saturday was a blur of market shopping, cleaning the apartment, getting myself ready and figuring out which button on the interphone buzzes people in. I was having some people over for wine and cheese (how very cliché Gina!) and then we would go out, as a post-birthday celebration (hey, it’s hard to celebrate on a Tuesday). People called me from right outside the building because they had forgotten then number of the door, made it inside, ate the lovely cheese, drank wine, etc. Marc gave a few of them mini-courses in how to tell which wine is which by the shape of the bottle and how to properly open a bottle. No one made fun of me for choosing wine based on the labels. I flew back into teacher mode for thirty seconds to explain the difference between “bien” and “bon” (adverbs and adjectives, anyone?) then realized what I was doing and flew back out. We went back to Vieux Lyon, very late, only to end up in an Irish pub that I spotted because there were Breton flags hanging in the window. Taza thought she was going to eat Styrofoam, I tried to eat other people’s candy and Marc tried to eat my hair. This is actually true. For future reference, my hair is not, in fact, edible. As has become a theme any time Marc and I go anywhere, we walked home. I managed to laze around for long portions of today before venturing out to catch a showing of Broken Flowers with Maranda and some friends of hers, Mathieu and Sophie, who then had us over for dinner. For the record, the theatre was packed- people are crazy for Bill Murray here. And the movie, yes, you should all see it. What I want to say I can’t because it will ruin the end. Ask me later. I also saw my very first episode of ER at Sophie and Mathieu’s. Yup, I had never seen it until tonight.

In other news, the lipstick I bought is supposed to have a scent, and thus I am not crazy for thinking it does. No longer will I make other people smell it to prove my sanity. And while we’re on the topic of scents, let me talk about my trouble with laundry detergent here. I have no washer or drier in the apartment, so I’m trying to hand-wash everything that I can. This is not the problem (I may even be able to do my jeans here, in the bathtub). The problem is the stupid detergent. I decided not to buy Woolite here (what I use in the states) because it’s so expensive. So off I went to decipher the various symbols on bottles here. The first time, I managed to come home with something that’s specifically for wool. Way to go, me. I wonder if I could use it for other things as well… I then made it to Carrefour and, after spending fifteen minutes looking at all the options, found something that appeared to work in both a machine and by hand. Victory! Or so I thought. I never buy scented detergent. So maybe this makes me more sensitive to it. But seriously, mes amis, this detergent makes my clothes smell like candy. No really, it does. It has been confirmed by friends (although they thought it was more like cough syrup than candy). So I can’t tell if my clothes are clean or just smell like candy. Actually, I know they’re clean, because even if they smell like candy they were washed in detergent. It is sort of funny.

This literally means "Party with the tramway!" Although I do enjoy the tramway, especially it's sometimes air-conditioned nature, it would not be my drinking buddy of choice. But to each his own. 

Velov station on Cours Charlemagne. Velov is a great program where after signing up, you can take bikes from any of the stations in town and ride them around. You can return them to any station you like and take another if you want. Lyon is covered with people riding these red bikes! 

Doctor on his cell phone, on the roof of the hospital across the street.  

My terrasse in the rain. 

Eglise Saint Blandine. The Romans tried to kill Blandine with lions, but it didn't work so well. Now she's a saint and has a church in Lyon! 

What's better than a birthday in France? A birthday in France where you get a second job teaching English, eat macaroons, and then have an incredible dinner with your landlords. Go birthday! Happy 24 Gina!

Ladies and gentlemen, mes amis, announcing the arrival of a baby sister for Quel est ton probleme. Her name is Ginette a la Lyonnaise, and she was born earlier today. Right now she has unnaturally pink hair and eyes, but as cosmetic surgery is still all the vogue, her features (ahem, template) will be changing soon. Look for the bandages to be removed within a week or two. Until they, rejoice in her beginning presence, learning how to be a baby blog in Lyon.

A bigger picture of Fourviere. 

Fourviere, the basilica on the hill, and some of the surrounding buildings. I took this picture from the Croix Rousse, a part of town on another hill where all of the silk ateliers were.  

Resto Pirate, for all your high-seas cravings in Lyon. 

One of the interior courtyards in Vieux Lyon. Not the original color, but probably pretty close. 

St. Jean, other side and much closer. And, sadly, with the top cut off. 

St. Jean, from a distance