My life is ridiculous

What the flying fuck, my school is blocked for another week. That makes a month, and according to rumors flying around classes won't start until april 14th, which is technically our spring break that they're planning to cancel. Being foreign students, we're not even responsible for that week of class, which means that I'll basically have had a 2 month vacation in the middle of the semester. What the hell?! I have absolutely no structure in my life right now. My brain has dwindled to the size of a pea. Nay, the size of a...wow I can't think of an inanimate object smaller than a pea right now. THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. Brain activity = 0.

Today we had a meeting with one of our professors to hand back our papers that we turned in a while ago. Seeing as how no one did spectacularly, she let us know that we can either redo the papers or write on another subject. "When do we turn it in?" "Whenever you want." "Uhhh...meaning?" "When you finish it." "Okay..."

The problem is that I'm not taking any initiative to counter this lack of productivity on my own. I've got a house full of French novels, and I've read 10 pages of one. I've got online news sources and blogs at my fingertips, and I spend all day watching America's Next Top Model. The reason I haven't blogged in so long is because I do nothing all the time. If I actually blogged every day, every single entry would look something like this:

Today I woke up at 1 in the afternoon. Had lunch, then watched ANTM for the next 5 hours, only interrupted by occasional bouts of Facebook stalking. Dragged my ass out of bed at 7 pm for dinner and barhopping. Told everyone I wanted a quiet night out, but ended up coming home at 5 in the morning on the first tram.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

I suppose this whole ordeal is a test of motivation for me, one that I am failing miserably. In fact, as of right now, I'm going to get out of bed and pick up some Voltaire.

Or maybe I'll just catch up on the new Gossip Girl.

Bordelais holiday

The weather at Bordeaux has been perfect these last few days - sunny, mid-70s, cool breezes clearing the air once in a while. Stepping out in a t-shirt has been a refreshing change from bundled scarves and wet umbrellas. We decided to capitalize on this probably short-lived string of blue skies by having a picnic at jardin public this afternoon, a public park near downtown Bordeaux. I'd never been there before, but fellow-EAPers had staked out sunny patches of grass ever since the sun came out. 

Since the school is still on strike and blockaded, our translation professor's guilty conscience decided to invite the handful of foreign students in the class to her home this morning. It was actually delightful - her house is charmingly set away in a narrow side street, filled with sunlight from the beautiful stone garden in the back. She's Canadian, too; I found out after she remarked on the flag sewn on my backpack (yes, I am still using that backpack). We had class in the kitchen, and between discourses on the present perfect her French husband and her adorable teenage daughter stopped in to give her messages.  I think a bit of wishfulness passed through all our heads. Gorgeous French home? A French husband and French kids? Yes, please.

After class we grabbed sandwiches and headed over to the park, which is beautiful - and gigantic. I didn't even explore all of it but already there was a pond filled with ducks and swans, towering leafy trees, a botanical garden, and yards and yards of sprawling green lawns. The grass was packed with people. The thing I found the funniest was the blatant self-segregation - on one side of the park was the older crowd, more or less quiet and subdued. Towards the back, where we sat, were all the young people. Look around and you'd see hookahs, smell weed in the air, hear acoustic guitar being strummed by a guy rocking dreadlocks. There were jugglers throwing pins and lovers cuddling in the shade. Alexa arrived, toting a 12-pack of Kronenbourg, chips, salsa and guacamole, which we demolished in no time. When our shoulders turned pink from sunbathing, we strolled to a snack shack and found relief in fruity popsicles and Coca Cola. Laura said something like, "I can't believe this is our life now, eating popsicles and picnics in the park."

She's right - this entire semester has felt like a suspesion of time and reality. To be sure, things aren't perfect all the time and frustrations with France crop up frequently - but even still, I have no desire to go back home. This afternoon especially was as carefree as I've ever felt on the other side of the Atlantic. I can't believe this is my life either, and I'm certainly not complaining.

Click for full size.

And for good measure:

My brain is The Waste Land

Am now scrambling to finish a paper comparing (IN FRENCH) the salient poetic characteristics of Apollinaire, Ezra Pound, and T.S. Eliot , while simultaneously trying to shoot myself in the face.

That'll teach me to complain about lack of mental stimulation. Karma's a bitch. A wet, black, bitch.

That's a reference, just in case you thought I was being a racist pervert.

Going on strike: the solution to everything!

Let's not lie here, quality of education was not high on my list of concerns when I was picking where to study abroad. In fact, I had a hard time deciding between a semester here or in Paris, where I could study at the world renowned Sciences-Po political science institution. I picked Bordeaux because I wanted to really soak in French language and culture, and I knew it would be easier in a small, intimate city rather than a sprawling cosmopolitan metropolis. I don't regret sacrificing a stimulating academic environment for a more authentic experience of la vie francaise, but all the same...

This is fucking ridiculous. 

Let's backtrack, shall we?

There's a reason I've kept entries about my classes to a minimum. Mostly because the overwhelming majority of them have been a complete and utter waste of time. Unimaginative curriculums aside,  strikes and demonstrations at the school began within a week of classes starting. I have to admit that I know embarassingly little about the rationale behind the strikes, but it has to do with educational reforms at the national level. Sarkozy is notoriously unpopular in the southwest of France, and teachers and students alike stopped showing up to class as a protest against his measures. The French word for strike is grève, and the first week or two we laughed it off as another French idiosyncracy. "The professors are grève-ing!" We'd joke in Franglais at this charming, unapologetically fulfilled stereotype. No school? Cancelled classes? It seemed like a sweet deal; all it meant was an extra night of staying out late.

Our amusement quickly subsided as the grèves began in earnest. There was no way of knowing if your professor was a gréviste, a striker, so we had to trek to school and find out through trial and error. We'd show up to our classes and find them empty (keep in mind that some of us have 45 minute commutes to campus). Professors would spend two hours discussing the protests instead of going through the course material. We'd step into our lecture halls, only to find them taken over by general assemblies voting on various measures. Few of us have any idea what kind of work we're supposed to be doing outside of class, when to turn it in, how we're being graded. We'd try to get into classrooms and buildings, only to find them blockaded by students waving banners.

Recently they have been voting on a blocage total, which would barricade all university buildings and effectively halt classes completely. Today, it passed.

Look, I can appreciate the French sentiment of political activism. It certainly can be a refreshing change from the apathy that's so ubiquitous in America. I know there are nuances in the organization of educational institutions in France that I don't fully understand, but somehow I find it hard to believe that PHYSICALLY BARRING students from their classes is the best solution to dissatisfaction with the government. One of the reasons these reforms are being implemented is because France is lagging internationally in higher level education. It seems a little ironic that the prevailing reaction is to halt it altogether. 

On a personal level, I am starting to get really annoyed that I'm paying out-of-state tuition to sit on my ass. Sure, going out all the time is great, but even I have a limit - and my brain is reaching its rotting threshold. I have not once felt mentally stimulated since I've been here. I didn't come here looking for the same caliber of education as Cal, but this is just too much. I have to say I expected a little more from the country that gave us Descartes, Rousseau, Sartre, Montaigne (and Camus, for Jacob). Unfortunately, all I've been served is a healthy dose of waste-of-time.

--

Tiff's take on the subject here:

http://whereyouvelanded.blogspot.com/2009/02/by-way-school-is-joke.html

http://whereyouvelanded.blogspot.com/2009/03/french-universities-for-win.html

Things I am excited about

1. Garorock!! If you want to see the website in English, there's a small icon to the right. Basically this is the stoner French equivalent of Coachella - a grungy three-day music festival of reggae, rock, and electro. It's taking place in early April at Marmande, a nearby city. Everyone camps out and we've already got our three-day passes (which only cost 60 euro by the way...why can't American music festivals be like this?) I'm going with Alexa and Laura and my three host sisters, Anna, Lisa, and Sarah, along with all of their friends. I ran into Anna at school today and we walked home together while she painted me a scene from her last time at Garorock - she and her friends clustered around a fountain, knocking back drinks in the early afternoon until everyone was drunk enough to jump in and frolic. It definitely appealed to the Berkeley in me, and even though I am now deeply averse to fountains, I loved this story...and plan to be drunk for three days straight.

2. Willow, our new French dog. He's a husky-golden retriever mix and fucking ADORABLE. Just look at that mug:

He's only two years old and incredibly energetic. I was actually scared when he first got here because he runs around like a bullet and I was afraid he was going to topple me over. He's like a big furry teddy bear and gets along incredibly well with people (stick your hand out and he'll shake it - kills me every time). The problem is that he's attacked poor Billou (the other dog) on almost a daily basis and no one can figure out why. I think it must be some alpha male power play, but if he doesn't get his shit together he's going to be sent away. Sadface.

3. My photography class is proving to be one of my favorites. I almost never know what's going on in terms of assignments and due dates, but there's a studio we get to play with and we've had pretty interesting projects so far. The one due today was on "Folds," and our next assignment is to photograph images of the economic crisis. Some of the other kids are really talented, and it's inspiring to see all the stuff they come up with. Here are a few of my photos from the folds project:

4. Last but certainly not least, 14 MORE DAYS!!!!

Too much French class

My brain is obliterated after 6 hours of French grammar lessons (the last of which consisted of 8 ruthless pages of fill in the blank done at lightning speed), 2 hours of French writing methodology, 2 episodes of Mad Men, and 1 fatty duck leg. Seriously, J'AI BESOIN DE VEGETABLES. I'm used to a 50% green diet and all I've been eating thus far is beige beige beige beige. I can't take credit for that comedic genius - Kelly was the first one to point out France's monochromatic diet. The food here is great, but I'm starting to think there's only so much bread, cheese, potatoes, and meat I can take. The only color in my diet so far has been wine, which is probably not a good sign.

[Note: I'm not sure I've made it through a single entry without mentioning alcohol. Also probably not a good sign.]

Since I have a grammar quiz tomorrow I haven't started studying for, I'll take this time to explain a little about the class I'm in. That's right, I'm not just here on a five-month alcohol tour of Europe, though that will probably happen at some point.

These first weeks have consisted of ILP - Intensive Language Prgram. That translates into a very French woman beating the life out of us with inane grammar exercises at ungodly hours of the morning. Actually, Isabelle, our instructor, is hilarious and the only thing that makes class remotely bearable aside from French hangman with Tiff. Isabelle is a woman whose her entire wardrobe consists of black, leather, and fur. Lots of fur. Fur with little feet hanging off it. Isabelle is a woman who loved Britney Spears's last CD and makes sarcastic remarks about our exercises - "What enormous suspense! Let's read out loud in dramatic voices, or everyone will fall asleep." Isabelle is a woman who terrified me on day one. When calling roll, a few kids, myself included - answered with "ici," the literal translation of "here." After going through the list, she looked up and said, "When I call roll, say 'présent.' 'Ici' is for dogs."

Our generation gives me hope, though. When retelling this story to Piga, the host of the French party, I got this response - 

Piga: pfffffff
elle est trop bète (she's really stupid)
ca a l'air d'etr une vieille naze (she seems like an old naze[?])
Lisa: HAHA
naze, c'est quoi? (what's "naze?")
Piga: suck

French youth may need to work on their English, but at least they get to the point.

Next entry: my woes with the French University system, in which NOTHING is online. That or my awesome host family, depending on what kind of day I'm having.