Most likely to what?

Inspired in some bizarre way by more chocolate (I know, I know) and my new “le chill” playlist, I have decided to make a list of personal goals and ambitions. How one led to the other, I don’t really know. Like me, it’s in no particular order, and I may decide to include some goals that I’ve managed to accomplish. And, mes amis, lest you think I’ve gotten all serious, read the list first. It is, after all, me.

*Teach all French drivers about the pedestrian right-of-way.
*Own a small dog that I can prance around town with.
*Marry into royalty.
*Become Olympic trampoline star.
*Become ballroom dancing champion.
*Properly make an omelet, and not just turn it into scrambled eggs.
*Host my own medieval cooking show, on PBS, preferably between “Inside America’s Test Kitchen” and “Breaking Bread with Father Dominic.” (This goal brought to you by my dad)
*Kiss someone at night on a lit-up bridge.
*Move to France. (Partially there- I’m here, but will I be able to stay?)
*Become member of Belle and Sebastian.
*Own the Criterion Collection version of Rushmore.
*Make friends with Johnny Depp.
*Start my own weekend music school, and finance it entirely through grants and underwriting, making it free for students.
*Work for the Lyric Opera of Chicago.
*Work for the Joffrey Ballet of Chicago.
*Eat at a 5-star restaurant.
*Make my parents proud.
*Live in the same city as my best friend for longer than a month.
*Knit a sweater that I would actually wear.
*Have my old chair, in the seminar room on the 3rd floor of West Hall at Ripon, dipped in gold.
*Learn to properly pronounce août and yaoûrt.
*See Saint Etienne in concert.
*Visit as many countries as possible.
*Add extra letters to the end of my name. (If only I had gotten another BA, it would be AB BA MA. Abbama! How cool would that be?)
*Be so loved by someone that they will get off a train/plane/other moving vehicle requiring ticket to chase after me.
*Be an aunt.
*Have at least yearly reunions with various groups of friends.
*Learn Latin.
*Find vintage clothing that fits me.
*Learn to play cello and harpsichord.
*Fly first class.
*Look French. (It works sometimes when I hide behind a scarf, but I’m still obviously. not. French.)
*Convince all of my friends to switch from Livejournal to Blogger.
*Then get my own Typepad blog.
*Learn another song on the pennywhistle.

I’m sitting here eating Swiss chocolate. That I bought in Switzerland. Who hates me? Oh, but my iTunes just switched into a really old, not so great song, so maybe not so much. But really, would someone tell me to stop reading Cooking for Mr. Latte again- this would be the fourth or fifth time, and I bought it in August. The fact that I finally finished the 1400 page behemoth that is A Suitable Boy is not reason enough. I should be reading La vie- mode d’emploi ou Le deuxième manifeste du surréalisme. Sigh.

Remember a long time ago when, upon finding out that I was a French major, people would immediately ask me if I was going to be a French teacher? And remember how I always poo-pooed them and said “Of course not! I’ll never teach French! Never!” I began eating my words two years ago, and I still am. Teaching at Chevreul makes my heart happy. God, that sounds cheesey. But really, when you’re working with a class of 1ère and you ask them to come up with an outline for a detective novel, then you find out one group has made you the detective, and even given you an assistant, how can you not be happy? This assistant is apparently the PE teacher at Chevreul, and though I don’t really know who he is, I have seen a cute guy walking around with a whistle around his neck. And I really need to thank April here for turning me on to Harry Potter 6 years ago, because now I’m working with 13-year-old French kids on it. Teaching them to say “Hufflepuff” was hilarious. But I’m still smitten with the 6e, the youngest. If I do end up teaching, either French or English (here!), I want my students to be just like these 10-year-olds- great little students who are very proud when they say hello to me in the corridors or on the street.

Last Saturday was the distribution of the ultimate-guide-to-Lyon, Le petit paumé (literally, the little lost guy). It comes out once a year and details everything lyonnais, from shopping to movies to museums to bars to a huge section on restaurants. When I say once a year, I mean once a year. It’s distributed one day only in two locations. I texted Marc that I was going to demand my copy and he responded with a goodbye, as he was pretty sure that I was going to die in the mass hysteria that is the distribution at Bellecour. Obviously, I made it out alive. With four guides, no less. You’re only supposed to get one, but Rachelle and I went from person to person as a test of how many we could get. After four my bag was getting heavy, so we stopped. Take that one-per-person! I documented what was supposed to have been my last day, so wait on baited breath for a brand-new photo essay, featuring an easily-distracted-by-macaroons Gina, lunch at my favorite café which will now be forever overflowing with people because it’s recommended by the P.P., and finally our trip to Bellecour with most of Lyon.

There are so many things that I always forget to say, but that are probably interesting, maybe? Like the fact that one of the directors of Chevreul, who I teach English to, told me that they could probably help me get a work visa for next year. Or that I’m starting to work on separating myself from constant Centre Oregon-dom, as it’s hard to be around all the students all the time, especially when they call at 10pm on Sunday for grammar help (not ok. Just not ok). Or that I appear to have finally made French friends. Or that some of the students are still gunning for me to get married, while they’re here, so much so that they’re planning a pretend wedding. Or that my mom, yes, my dear dear mommy, is coming on Thursday. And that we’re going to Paris. Because all of that’s true. When I make up answers, it’s really only for students.

You know what's great? When a cute little 10-year-old French girl in your class says "You're super!" This is why I love teaching at Chevreul so much. Bon week-end tout le monde!

Well, what can I say. Click to make it bigger. 

What happens when you don't turn off your flash at St. Jean. It reminds me of the part of Combray where Proust talks about the qualities of the light coming through the stained glass windows onto the floor of the church. 

This is what Fourviere looks like up close. Note how much better this picture is than any picture I've ever tried to take of it from far away. Also, it's during the day and sunny, and not late at night.  

Lyon from Fourviere.  

Lyon from Fourviere 

Lyon from Fourviere 

The side of Fourviere, complete with clouds! 

Best picture of Mandee ever. "What am I supposed to do with all this lettuce?" Well, it was enough to feed THIRTEEN people 

This is what a kilo of pasta looks like while it's cooking. Too bad you can't see the aftermath, which involved 2 kilos of pasta salad in basically every pot I own. No room! 

Sandra and her chocolat chaud, at my new favorite cafe/bar/restaurant.  

why would you need to cook 2 kilos of pasta?

I think the OL (Olympique Lyonnais, our soccer team) just won, because there’s a lot of unnecessary honking going on outside. I used my incredible powers of deduction to realize that there was a game tonight. And by incredible powers I mean I saw a lot of people wearing OL shirts and the metro B to Stade de Gerland (where they play) was packed. Anyway…

Just in case you were wondering, I don’t think French middle-schoolers are quite ready for the Postal Service. Or the Magnetic Fields. They do, however, all seem to like the newest Green Day cd (which led me to say “oh my god- their first album came out when I was YOUR age!”). Other highlights- someone setting me off on Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch and New Kids on the Block- “oh wait, they were around before you were even born. Nevermind.” and the boy who raised his hand during the cinema discussion to say- “Sometimes Americans make movies that they think are funny, but they are not. Like the new Jennifer Lopez movie. The one with the mother-in-law?” I love this kid. If I ever need a 12-year-old movie buddy, it’s totally him.

This weekend I traipsed all over the ville with Sandra and John (who was very nice and didn’t mind Sandra and I gossiping and reminiscing about, gasp, high school). And, mes amis, sit down, I have an announcement. I have been to Fourviere. Given that I finally got a decent picture of it at night, it was eminent that I actually go. The basilica was beautiful, the views of the city as well, and really, well, you get to take a funicular to get there. I’m all about trips that include funiculars. That was a large part of the reason I agreed to go to the Roman amphitheatre today. What? It’s me, people. You could get me almost anyway by promising a funicular ride. Since Sandra and John are doing a presentation on the Rhône-Alps region, specifically the food, we had to eat a lot. I even stuffed down a salade lyonnaise today, for research and all. What, you ask, is a salade à la lyonnaise? Basically a heart-attack masquerading as a salad. Lardons (thick little pieces of bacon), croutons, a poached egg, creamy dressing and token greens. I prefer the café we ate in on Saturday that specializes in tartines and where they serve jelly-beans with your gateau au chocolat.

Have you ever cooked 2 kilos of pasta? Because I have. I had to do it in 2 batches, because my biggest pot could barely hold one kilo. What can I say, I was really hungry. Or, you know, I was cooking for THIRTEEN PEOPLE. At Taza’s surprise birthday dinner on Friday night (merci à la famille Bonnamour for having everyone over!) she said that the next night, her actual birthday, she’d like to have dinner with “everyone.” Then she stopped and looked at me. This is international for “can we do it at your apartment?” How “everyone” turned into 13 people in the little apartment I don’t know. I made pasta salad and green salad, which is usually quite easy, but considering I had never cooked for this many people before, became sort of hard in the baby kitchen. I did get everything at the marché, though, which is always nice. You would not believe the empty bottle collection ready to be taken down to the recycling bins. Well, you would, because have I mentioned that there were THIRTEEN PEOPLE there? And here I was thinking that it would explode the instant the 8th person entered. Actually, I missed a lot because I spent a large part of the evening sitting on the terrasse with the people smoking (not me!) and talking to Caroline, Omar’s roommate (wait- that’s how it got so big- everyone had their friends around!). It was fun on the terrasse. And this weekend John did what we’ve all been talking about doing and slept on the terrasse, in a sleeping bag. He said it was wonderful. Now everyone wants to come and sleep there, and I think I’m going to have to have a waiting list.

cropped for le blog 

"Maybe it's because deep down I'm the same person as Winnie the Pooh." -Jean

The pistache is also delicious

Mes amis, do you know what is happening on Thursday? DO YOU KNOW? Well, do you? My friend Sandra (who has sometimes commented here), who I have known for nine years, is coming to visit. She’s studying in Metz for the year with the Georgia Tech Masters in Engineering program, and this visit is hopefully the first of many times we’ll see each other. Worlds will collide, friends from different times and groups will meet, and I will have an ally here who is my age and who I have known since high school. Hear that other friends? You too should come and visit! It would be fuuuu-uun! I’m even going to give them a tour of Lyon including new market features! And that, mes amis, is why you should come to Lyon. And stop having important life events, like weddings, without me! Why are you all getting married? STOP IT!!! At least come here!

I’ve been teaching English at the Ecole Chevreul for a week now and I must say, I love it. I’ve gotten over the fact that it’s a Catholic school (there’s not too much Jesus), especially since they don’t wear uniforms. I’m the English assistant (or the Assistante US, as they call me), so I work with all the English teachers and switch classes every hour. It’s a bit bizarre to not have already learned everyone’s names, but I’m still meeting students. I’ve listened to their skits about trying to get on Pop Idol (funny, since I taught my old class about Star Academy, the French version), been asked infinite questions, talked about New York City (thanks Myrna!), helped with presentations on advertisements, watched Finding Forrester, and today worked with my little favorites- one of the 6e classes (10 and 11 year-olds). It was my first time by myself with them, or at least half of them, and I didn’t just get to review, I got to teach them new things. Clothing! Can you say Prada little French children? No, really, it was great and I want to keep them all. Thursday and Friday I’m working with a class that’s been talking about music and movies. I promised to play some American music, then realized what I had done. What am I going to do? You know how I hate the radio! This is what I see happening- Ok kids, who’s heard of the Magnetic Fields? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Then no one will understand “The Luckiest Boy on the Lower-East Side” and I’ll be sad. Seriously though, what am I going to do? This is the time to introduce a new generation of well-dressed French children to cool indie-rock, though. Postal Service, here we come. And I liked them before everyone else did, so I’m NOT a follower. Next week I’ll start my Harry Potter lessons with another class. How fun is that? I’m also going to work with the director of the middle school part of the Ecole on his English. Add all of that to the wonderful English teachers and you have one heck of a job. Oh, and the excitement of signing a French work contract for the first time. I’m legal!

I’ve also decided that it’s time for me to make some new real-life French friends. I love spending time with the students (even when they call me with weird problems, well, sometimes), but they are mostly younger and it’s really time for me to have my own friends. I’m also beginning to seriously look into staying here for longer than a year, and if I have no friends I won’t be very happy. But even without real-life French friends (except for my lovely Marc, who makes fun of me like we were never separated for a year) I’ve been sortiring quite a bit. Actually, a lot. Everyone who ever told me I needed to get out more would be very proud. I. am. going. out. a. lot. To other people’s apartments, to Vieux Lyon, to Ninkasi (which is very like McMinnamin’s in Oregon and serves burgers and fries and really really good beer. Come to visit and I’ll take you there). I may have been to Ninkasi (at least it was more than one of the locations) three days in a row last week. And may have been out late the night before we left for Geneva and gotten about 4 hours of sleep (at 12:30 this scene happened- Gina: I have to leave now, I’m going to Switzerland in seven hours. Zach: You’re going where? What? Gina: I’m going to Switzerland for the day. That’s why I have to leave right now. Zach: What? Wait, Switzerland? Gina: Yes, I’m going to Switzerland. Zach: Oh, I thought you were talking about Sweden. This was especially funny because I kept checking the map to make sure that we had booked a day trip to Geneva, Switzerland and not, say, Lake Geneva Wisconsin. Because that would be one long-ass day trip). Then I may have been up late on Saturday night and out late on Sunday. Today I slept a lot in between work times and after work.

I know I’ve been très absente in the comments sections of everyone else’s blogs, and I’m très sorry. I only have internet at the Centre Oregon, and now I’m only there three times a week. Sometimes I write at home and then post at work (like I’m doing right now), but sometimes I forget. I’m working on being better, I swear. And on answering emails in a timely fashion. And on updating my links list (which right now is only April because I was testing the template. By the way, do you like le nouveau template? Besides the fact that the user picture has become screwed up and now is more of Jasmine than of me. Hmphh). This also why there has been a higher frequency of long entries as opposed to many shorter ones. We’ll see how this year plays out, and if I can get wireless at l’apart.

Hey, my Breton butter cookies (Galettes Bretonnes to all of you out there who have a Carrefour) have a triskel on them. That’s sweet. I am such a sucker for cookies. And yogurt. If you’ve never seen the yogurt aisle in a French supermarket then you are missing out. And yes, I mean aisle. Or two. I try a new kind almost every time. I’ve just started with the Mamie Nova brand, thanks to a recommendation from Molly at Orangette, and rejoiced this morning in my Miel d’Acacia et Sucre (Acacia honey and sugar) pot, surely to be equaled when I try the rhubarbe rose variety. The pistache is also delicious. If I didn’t walk EVERYWHERE I would weigh about ten zillion pounds because, mes amis, I eat a lot. And now my peach and currant tea is ready. See, this is another reason why people should come to visit. Even if we only lived on cookies and yogurt and tea it would be exciting. Oh, and chocolate. And cheese. And coffee. And maybe some wine? And baguettes from the boulangerie that are only 60 CENTS here. What is everyone waiting for? Oh fuck, I’ve just had tea, and it’s already getting late and I have to open the Centre Oregon tomorrow morning, because if it’s Wednesday, then it must be Gina-alone-at-the-Centre-Oregon day. Goodnight?

Take the Chocolate and Run!

Mes amis, presenting a brand-spanking new photo essay- Take the Chocolate and Run! or Gina's day in Switzerland. Yes, day in Switzerland. Geneva is 2 hours away (by slow train) and so some friends and I decided to go for a Saturday. It was beautiful, I ate fondue, I bought mass amounts of chocolate and a pink swiss army knife. Hey, what would you expect from me? Check out the pictures here, and the rest on Flickr.

Petit Dejeuner a Geneve- Jean and Allegra are drinking chocolat chaud, which was served as hot milk into which you mixed swiss chocolate. Yum. This cafe was called La Maison du gateau, literally, the Cake House. How cool. I would like to live in a house of cake! 

Breakfast cafe (larger than in France), Rachelle's hands and my portable 

I don't even know what to say about this, except that it was the first picture I took. 

A street in Old Geneva, proven by the Swiss flad you see hanging from the building. See, I really was in Geneva! 

The merry-go-round adventure. I have the world's most hilarious video of the girls trying to make this thing work. And I watch it at least once a day. 

Old Geneva apartments 

If there were ever anything that would make me join the police force in Geneva, it would be this. Check out the car! If you look closely you can also see a bumper sticker that says something like "I 'heart' police" How sweet 

Near the Cathedrale Saint Pierre 

The first of about 2 million attempts to take a picture of my phone saying "Swisscom" instead of "F SFR." None of them worked. 

Rachelle and Jean on the teeter-totter of fun. Note the expression on Jean's face as she clings to Rachelle for dear life. 

The Palais de Justice, which we passed at least three times due to our inability to plan anything before we stepped off the train. 

In Old Geneva 

My new house! 

L'Horlage fleurie. I thought it would be cooler. 

Part of the shopping district of Geneva. Right after I fell in love with the man in the H&M posters. I live a sad, sad life 

Fondue for dinner! How typically Swiss of us! Here you don't see the mass amounts of chocolate that we had purchased, which were being safely stored below the table. 

Emily- I'm sure he'd like it- I know a lot about polyrhythms!

Still, at the Centre Oregon. But now with questions-
*Should I buy the hat that I like, even if I'm not sure if it looks silly?
*Is it wrong to go up to well-dressed, unmarried (I know because there are no rings! no rings!) young men on the streets and start the conversation with "Marry me so I can stay in the country!"? Well, is it?
*Are my funky tights Catholic-school appropriate? For teaching, even?
*How much tea is too much tea?

Gina- You know what I want? A beer.
Emily- I want an aperitif! Let's go out.
Rachelle- Let's go get a beer!
Emily- No, come with me!

What?

Saturday night, at Paris Combo. Far away, but if you look you can see the group. Really, I was there. Picture stolen from Taza. 

Saturday night, at Paris Combo. I know it's dark, but blame Taza- it's her picture. 

Saturday night, post-Paris Combo. Lyon 2. No really. It's Lyon 2, at night. What? Don't you believe me? 

Saturday night, post-Paris Combo. Another failed Fourviere at night picture. 

Saturday night, post-Paris Combo. What, what's that? A DECENT picture of Fourviere at night? Oh yes, that's what I thought.  

Saturday night, post-Paris Combo. Harry Potter love, in French.  

Last Saturday, pre-Paris Combo. Everyone, sans Mandee, chez moi. 

Vespa round-up, Vieux Lyon. The drivers were all sitting in a nearby cafe, with matching helmets. Oooh yeah. 

Paris Combo

It is Sunday night, I’m at home, I’m tired, I’m STILL SICK, but it’s all ok because of Saturday night.

The weekend started out with not so much a bang as a tinkling crashing sound. I had looked forward to Saturday night and Paris Combo all week, even though I knew that getting out to Feyzin (read- not in Lyon) was going to be tricky and getting back even harder. I knew that I was cooking dinner for 6 or 7 people besides myself beforehand, that the apartment was not yet clean, and that my roommate would clean none of it (or really even clean the bathroom, like he said ten million times he would and did not do until many hours after everyone had left). Friday I felt like I never left work (this feeling actually lasted until Saturday afternoon), gave advice like there was no tomorrow, got disappointed and missed doing something that I had been looking forward to for a long time through no fault of my own. Saturday dawned, and I realized that I just wanted to get through the day that I had thought would be so fun. I had to call TCL, the public transportation system in Lyon, to reserve a bus for that evening. Yes, reserve a bus. The night line only runs out to Feyzin if someone reserves it, and the job fell to me (adding to the feeling that I never left work, compounded with people calling me and asking me how we were getting places). I called people, and stated, I think using the word “fucking” a lot more than usual, that we now HAD to take the bus, no matter what time the show was over. I was mad, tired, not feeling like cooking a huge dinner and ready to just wave a wand and make it all better. There were glimmers of hope. The man who owns the Italian grocery store nearby was impressed by me, the American living in France making risotto who refused to buy pre-grated parmesan or pre-made risotto. I went to the market and bought more of the famous best.goat.cheese.ever. It was colder out, and finally felt like fall. But I was still sans enthusiasm. Then everything set in.

I had told people to come over around 5. I had to make everything and eventually change. Mandee and Maria knew I was stressed and didn’t believe my repeated statements that I didn’t need help and told me they were coming over early to help. Zach, who we’re always afraid we’ll lose and be unable to contact not only called at 3 but showed up 20 minutes later, cheered me up, switched the cd player from my habitual Saint Etienne to Prince, and kept me in wine while I cooked. Mandee showed up later, a bundle of cheerfulness, and promptly joined Zach to become the best sous chefs ever, washing and chopping everything I threw at them while I grated cheese. They were the ones who insisted on using so much garlic, who washed all the mushrooms and who made me laugh. Emily busted through the door yelling, was put in charge of the tea, and filled up my glass all night, even if sometimes it was the wrong color. Maria came in, also without ringing the interphone (apparently the door was open downstairs), bearing wine, bread and pastries and promptly fell into a conversation with Emily about iPods, Joni Mitchell and Elliot Smith. We drank tea, ate the pastries and I continued sautéing. I even got to pass off the chopping of the onions. I couldn’t find the recipe, everyone yelled at me not to use it. Right before I put the rice in, Rachelle wandered in with more wine, using the interphone (answered by Maria). We continued talking, the wine hissed in the pot, Rachelle came and talked to me in the itty bitty kitchen since I couldn’t leave the pot and after two repeats, the Prince came out of the cd player to be replaced with iTunes “shuffle” (shuffle my ass). I asked where Taza was at least 10 times before I realized she was only 5 minutes late and she walked in. She was the first to compliment the food after we all sat down. Having 7 people around the table (and using every chair in the apartment) made me happier than I ever thought it would. All of the stress went away just by sitting there. There was talking, laughing, me realizing I had never changed, Mandee realizing she had left her ticket at home, and general disorder for a few minutes. Babak showed up to meet Maria and wandered around the 4th floor of the building for a while even though I told him I lived on the 6th and I yelled that we all had to leave NOW.

We took metro D all the way to the end, then took a bus into Feyzin, where we wandered around lost for a while before finding l’Epicerie Moderne. Finally there and seated we listened to an opening group and then, after all the waiting, Paris Combo. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. We were up close (actually so that we could sneak out a bit early to catch the bus) and had a great view. This was seriously one of the best concerts I’ve ever been to- Paris Combo is definitely a live group. We ran out to get the reserved bus, and were treated to being the ONLY ones on a huge cushy bus with a hilarious bus driver blasting techno music. Back into town we split into groups and went our various ways, but I couldn’t stop smiling. After yet another night of walking back from Vieux Lyon (and, just maybe, FINALLY taking a decent picture of Fouvière at night, but definitely not of Lyon 2), I came home and saw the apartment, which looked exactly as I thought it would- like a bunch of people had just walked off in the middle of a dinner party. But instead of sending me running screaming at the thought of cleaning, it made me happier because everything felt so lived in. It was messy in the way that 7 people eating in a small apartment with a tiny kitchen is. A happy messy. This morning I was too tired to think about cleaning, so I put on a sweater and a huge scarf and went back to Vieux Lyon to go to two markets and enjoy fall. I did finally clean up, then settled into an afternoon with the surrealists and the MA essay (yes! it still exists!). And that, mes amis, is the story of le weekend.