Today is Now Tomorrow

I’m watching The Day After Tomorrow at the moment (don’t judge - we’re all worthy of a little Hollywood trash cinema once in a while), and it’s making me think about who I’d want to be with if the world froze over. [Interesting side note/middle-of-the-moment realization: I taught the Second Conditional today J ]. If I could fit every person I care about onto one huge platform, it’d be a pretty big platform [OMG, I can’t stop!].

The question becomes more difficult if you limit it to one or two people. I mean - do you choose the obvious (your lover/mate/companion/whatever), or do you choose your kids (or if, like me, you don’t have kids, your parents)? Love or family? Family or love? Which is more important for your long-term happiness? Oddly enough, this is something I’ve been struggling with for a while. I think I’ve chosen love, at the sacrifice of having my family so far away as to be almost non-existent in my life sometimes. I get caught up in moments when I wonder why this has happened (why I’ve let this happen), and whether it’s not going to cause some huge conflict in the long run, my love life somehow in turmoil because I’m out of touch with my kin.

On a related yet positive note, this is partly what led to my resolution to pick up the phone more, and I’m happy to report that I’ve talked to three family members and friends back in the States in the past week, plus seen (in person!) and visited with three best friends in Granada, plus had some great conversations with work mates. Hoo-ray for talky times J

This has been a really difficult week, picking up the old work routine at a runner’s pace, and I’ve felt more stressed and anxious than ever, but the social activity is really helping my mental state. I feel optimistic about most things, and I’m looking forward to seeing how some of my students perform on their exams this semester. I started this week with 4 new classes (1 group of young teens and 3 individual students) , which had me in fits trying to figure out my new planning schedule, but now that it’s over, I really enjoyed all of them. There are only 3 teenagers in the group class, and despite my reservations about teaching group kid classes, they’re actually quite charming in their awkward prepubescent way. Each of them has a really distinct personality, and I get a kick out of watching them interact. And they’re certainly not scary anymore, which is a milestone for me. I think that workshop on Classroom Management at the TEFL conference in Seville really changed my perspective on kids/teen classes. I’ve somehow figured out that they’re just little robots in a way - all you have to do is keep their attention so they don’t get bored, and that’s easy enough to learn how to do once you know what they’re into, which is just a matter of picking from a grab bag of popular media/entertainment. After that, give them “treats” like they're little puppies, and they’ll roll over and (try to) speak good English for you as long as you want them to - or as long as your class lasts! It feels good to have conquered my fear, most of all.

I was really worried about one of my new private classes with an adult student (it’s my first class done outside of an academy, so I want it to go well and possibly lead to more students), and though I had a directions snafu while finding his house (I left them at home!), the lesson went really well and I learned a lot about the student in just an hour and a half - he‘s a really careful learner, even meticulous. It was great because I think I identify a lot with this guy - his embarrassment is extreme when he makes a mistake, and I can see the wheels turning as he files the moment away so as not to repeat the error. I imagine that I have the exact same look on my face when I’m speaking Spanish. I want so hard to get it not just ok, but perfect! It will be interesting to teach a fellow perfectionist. I feel like I have more than just language teaching for this one - I also have a lot of advice (does that sound overbearing?).

It’s the end of the world in the movie now, everything’s frozen and it’s making me feel cold. And I’ve got to turn off my gas heater so I don’t die in my sleep. Suck, suck, suck.

Realizations and Resolutions

Lately I’ve had trouble sleeping. It started innocently enough, due to a series of ear/nose/throat infections that made it difficult to breathe, and thus to get my much-needed shut-eye. But the holidays this year brought more than the usual rest and relaxation for this TEFL teacher. My 2.5 weeks off gave my body plenty of time to repair and heal, but it’s as if all the physical symptoms of illness suddenly became psychosomatic and moved up into my brain. I’ve spent almost every night of this holiday season tossing and turning in bed, my mind filled with questions and uncertainties about the upcoming year and what it has in store for me.

Perhaps the most pressing of these questions and uncertainties for me is “Where will I be living next year? Still in Granada, or another city in Spain perhaps? Or am I finally ready to start a new chapter in Mexico and South America?” The answer to these question is rooted in other questions - the possibility of my TEFL academy getting me a work visa so that I can live in Spain/Europe legally and not have to pinch and save every dime for when I have health problems, or conversely, if they refuse to apply for my visa, will they give me a pay raise so that I can fund my healthcare on my own? In order to manage this “problem,” I’ve presented the idea to the owner of the academy, and time will tell what his decision is. There’s nothing more to do than to wait - easier said than done, of course.

Tied to the decision of what country to live in is the fact that now I’ve invested a huge percentage of myself in a romantic relationship with a European citizen. As to whether that will all end in tears and heartbreak, again, waiting is all I can do. Meanwhile, my doubts about the future hover over me like the storm clouds above Granada that never seem to go away. I find myself in moments of panic, without any explanation as to why I feel so anxious, and I’m beginning to “pull out” emotionally because I’m not sure what all my relationship efforts are worth if they won’t (geographically) withstand the test of time.

These are the two most important factors in my sleeplessness, and also in my relationship strife. Typically, I take these types of “mental crises” in stride, my ration combating with the dangerous emotional overflow that often comes in cycles for women. I use my scientist’s ability to reason, and I (over)analyze all the self-doubt and insecurity that drives me to sometimes make bad decisions in the heat of the moment with my partner. Trouble is, my partner has become my one and only confidant.

I know enough about myself from relationship experiences in the past to know that this is a pattern for me - if I’m content in a romantic relationship, most other friendships become less important to me and I start to put all of my eggs in one basket, so-to-speak. This is natural for me, but that’s not to say isn’t toxic at the same time (though I’ve read that this is ‘normal’ for a lot of people, the adage after all says, “DON‘T put all your eggs in one basket.”). Lately, I’ve noticed my partner’s face as I begin to think out loud, laying my troubles on the table, looking for empathy. I haven’t decided yet if the look on his face in these moments is one of confusion, frustration, or discomfort, but my guess is it’s a combination of the three, and when I see it I instantly feel nauseous. When I note this look, my instinct is to shut up and stop seeking his advice because I know he wants to run for the door, which then leaves me pent-up with emotional overflow that nevertheless will find some way to exert itself in our daily interactions with one another.

In recognizing how damaging it can be to rely on just one person for all your emotional needs, I’ve realized there’s only so much your partner can do for you. For me, this usually requires just an active ear and open mind, mainly to listen, and only to offer me advice when/if I ask for it. But the tendency when I start talking about my worries and insecurities is for my partner to try to solve whatever problems there may be by giving simple suggestions as to what I should do to manage them. Innocent enough intentions, of course, but something in me just boils over when I hear those words: “You should do X.” or “You need to Y.” I want to scream, “Of course I should do that! I’m not an idiot, I know how to take care of this stuff, I’m not asking you to fix it for me!” Truth is, there’s a very thin and delicate balance between offering suggestions to someone (what I don’t want at these times) and saying whatever needs to be said to calm my worries and make me realize I’m strong enough to overcome my problems (of which the exact words are often difficult to define, even for me). I think the distinction between these two is easier for women to discern, and I’m learning to be patient in these moments and realize that in those harmless suggestions my partner really is trying his best to be empathic - his intentions are good, so there’s really no need to get defensive. I think he’s learning too, in baby steps, how to be empathic without seeming domineering.

I don’t consider myself a particularly emotional, albeit sensitive, person, and in every problem I come up against I always look for the most rational solution possible. In the grand scheme of things, the main solution is to WAIT. And to manage all the secondary “seedling” problems, I need to nurture my friendships outside of my romantic relationship more. Obviously, it puts unnecessary and overwhelming pressure on a relationship if each person doesn’t have more than the one outlet for emotional sound-boarding. I’ve got to take initiative this year in picking up the phone, investing in more social activities despite the stress they might impose on my work life. After all, the main thing I embrace about my new life in Spain is the fact that life isn’t all “work, work, work.” People here know when to leave the job at the door and focus on what’s really important - the people in your life and the things you love to do. I guess the American in me still struggles with that, and probably always will.

So, while I don’t expect my insomnia to go away overnight, I’m hoping that in acknowledging some of the negative things I’ve been doing on “auto-pilot” in 2009, I can take action now to repair whatever damage they’ve caused and use new ambition to start making positive changes. Above all, I have to believe in me and in the probability that things will work out in the end. I’ve waited months and even years in the past for things that I wanted to happen; what’s another few?

That said, you can likely expect a call from me sooner or later - if you’re in the States, it’ll be to catch up, and if you’re in Spain, it’ll be to go for coffee or tapas one day soon. You’re all on my radar; I hope this resolution sticks.

People Who Need People

I'm in a strange state of ambivalence at the moment - one part of me feels like it wants to stay inside and watch old movies, cook a good meal and drink some good wine, while the other is frantic and anxious for any opportunity to run hysterically from the quiet comfort of my house.

It's 9:00pm on a Friday night, the first day of my 4-day weekend (due to a festival on Monday, school is closed). I woke up this morning after a night of a bit too much vino feeling quite good, considering, and did some yoga before washing up and sitting down to a good breakfast. I realized this week that I'd earned a little more in September than I'd anticipated, so I decided I can squeeze a new winter coat out of this month's budget, and this is the weekend I chose to do my coat shopping. I've now returned from my coat search empty-handed and strangely frazzled from the experience. I feel like crying, and I don't know why.

I really need people. It blows my mind how strong my conviction is to avoid calling people just for the sake of company. I convince myself that I'm happier alone, that I can be more productive if I stay home, that I don't want to stay out late at night and waste the next day's morning, that I'll just be bored when I meet up with whoever for drinks...knowing full well that's a load of BS. Is this social anxiety disorder?? Do I need professional help, or just a good gal pal?

The situation is dire: I will not make it through 4 days of free time without a single conversation with a live, face-to-face human. Just being in the shops today for 3 hours or so, alone with my headphones plugged in to avoid having to talk to any of the shop clerks, was enough to set me on edge. I feel like I want to jump off a cliff. Or into a good chat...preferably with someone who doesn't suck.

A little gloom never hurt anybody

How personal should you allow yourself to be via blog?? I'm a person who never wanted to be the type of person who blogs (judgmental, maybe?), but I succumbed about 2 years ago, citing the excuse that it's an easy way to update friends and family, all at once, while living abroad. Easy enough justification. Yet no matter how surface-level I try to keep things when I'm writing a new post, some part of me wants to slide into introspection - perhaps due to the cathartic nature of the writing process itself, but I'm afraid it's also because the only time I find to blog is when I'm B-O-R-E-D, (a.k.a. - a little bit depressed).

So, disclaimer: this one is going to be a bit personal, a bit of a purge of self doubts and insecurities and unneccessary worries, although to be point-blank honest about the current state of my life in all sectors (professional, romantic, physical/health), most people have the right to kick me for complaining.

But first, I want to give thanks (to keep things in balance, of course):
Since moving to Spain, I've come into myself. It no longer seems weird to call myself a "woman," and though I don't even know what the world's definition of that is anymore, I'm proud to say I've got my own and I fit it to a T. I'm not afraid of the future anymore, and I'm not sure if that's just a milestone that comes for everyone at a certain point in life or if it's something to feel good about that I've reached it at all, and especially so young. Whatever the reason, I feel secure in myself and my place in the world - and I'm humbled daily by what a big, big world it is, and what a small, small place I hold. This is not to say that I'm naiive, that I think because life is going so well for me now that nothing bad could ever change it all, but just to say I'm thankful to have what I do, and to be open enough to recognize and appreciate it.

That being said, despite all the positive self-development that's happened since moving abroad, I'm shockingly aware as the months drift by of my inequities, namely my glaring lack of a social life. There are things that I want for myself (hello - friends!!!) and that, though I know what I want and how to get it, for the life of me, I can't bring myself to just go out there and get. And I wonder, if I'm so sure that I'm sure about who I am at this point in my life, what's stopping me from making my life not just what I'm comfortable with but what I wholeheartedly want it to be? Some possible culprits come to mind:

1) Laziness
I love my father and that side of my family to a ridiculous degree, but of course love comes with seeing and accepting the faults of the ones you care about. I'm not blind to my father's family's lazy streak - which is so acknowledged amongst the Knox's as to be joked about as if it were an inherited trait. Making light of our faults is fine and all, but I've secretly always been terrified of being lazy. This logically has more to do with my mother and stepfather constantly telling me and my older brother we were lazy-ass good-for-nothings who didn't appreciate what we had. I grew up with my mother and didn't have contact with my father or his family thoughout my formative years, and so never knew their laziness until I was adult enough to see it for what it was, which is fortunate I guess. But in the back of my mind, as scary as it is to admit, I'd be remiss to ignore my inner sloth that, when the heat is on, wants to just retreat under the covers and sleep til 4:00pm, or until someone just happens to come along or call me and I have a reason to get out of bed. It's fine to joke about a behavior as an inherited trait, but I think my laziness is genetic - otherwise, how do you explain my being lazy if I never had the "nurture" side from my father's influence? My mother might be a nut-bag, but she's anything but lazy; my father's Achilles heel is undoubtedly his laziness. So, admission is the first step. Now what??

2) Fear
I think I've always been afraid, deep down to my core, of other people. I'm afraid of what they think, afraid of creating conflict, afraid of disappointing others and missing out on opportunties. Lately, my laziness and my fear have been having fireside get-togethers, collaborating and having a fine old time getting to know one another, so now when one has a 'great idea,' the other's always there to back him up for support. When fear sets out to prevent me from putting myself out there, from strolling down to the neighborhood bar where my friend works just because I have nothing better to do than buy a beer so I can chat with her for an hour, my laziness kicks in and says, "Eh, you'd rather not go down there anyway - the conversation is always mediocre." I justify my own chicken-shitness (fear of looking like a retard in front of my friend because I go in there all the time by myself, so eventually she'll notice I'm probably just lonely or bored - both true) by convincing myself I'm happier to spend almost my entire weekend at home, alone in my room playing guitar or wasting time on the internet. Trouble is, though I'm completely aware of this and I know exactly what I want (to make new friends that I can count on, and to have "social outing options" at least 4 nights a week) and what I need to do to make it happen (go out more, call the few friends that I have more, make myself more available, etc.), something always stops me from it because I feel vulnerable and I hate feeling like that. Fear, like everything in life, is cyclical.

I hate that every time I write about insecurities it sounds like I need to read a self-help book. I guess the point of all this is to chronicle the fact that this stuff is in my head, too, despite the many good things which I write about in my blog, which are in no way diminished by the presence of negativity from time to time. I'm still generally happy, but there's always room for improvement, right? Hopefully, my improvement at this stage will come in the way I want it to, and like everything in life, I'll have to get around to putting some effort into it. Otherwise, it won't be worth a euro-cent.

Among (many) other things...

October has arrived.

Professionally, this year has been great. For the record, having a full-time position kicks way more ass than piecing your schedule together hour-by-hour in the first few months of teaching, when it's never a complete month's worth of classes anyway so you have to prepare for small(er) paychecks. I'm teaching 4 full-to-the-brim group classes (12-13 students each) at my main academy, and rounding out the week with a few 1:1's for that school and also some for my other school, with three students that I worked with last year who asked specifically for me again this year :) I've hit the ground running as of September 14 with a whopping 22-hrs/week, which ain't peanuts for a teacher's schedule. I count this as a success, and if I ever feel tired or worn out at the end of the day, my solace is in the recollection of the 40+ hours per week that I used to put in when I lived in the States - I truly don't understand why the American population doesn't just up and riot in the streets the way Europeans do about being overworked. I think they'd be surprised how effectively it could change the way of life there, for the better of most individuals. Also a plus this year is the fact that 2 days a week, my day starts at 4:00pm!! And the other 2 days, it's 12:00noon, and then on Fridays I've got one 1:1 class at 6:15pm that's so easy to teach I could sleep through it. Viva Espana!!

As for the specifics of my classes, I couldn't be happier. While 1:1's are my bread and butter (it's like Jerry Macguire when he says, "Send me into the living room - it's my thing."), and while I may have had more than one near nervous breakdown in the first week of group classes this year (going cold-turkey, from no classes for 2 months, outside of cheeky camp kids, to 12 pairs of adult eyes staring back at you which are each paying a shitload of money for your language instruction, can be quite unsettling), I have somehow found my niche in front of groups. Sure, there are days when I feel like planning straight out of a coursebook is a complete and utter cop-out, which of course makes me feel like a failure of a teacher, but most of the time it's days when I still plan out of the coursebook but by being a few simple steps ahead of the students, I can grab their attention and hold it for an hour and a half solid. I'm learning to be less of a perfectionist, I guess, and to cut myself a little slack - meaning, the coursebooks are there for you to use them, so why make work harder than it needs to be by trying to come up with a lesson plan all on your own?? (Note: this is what I have ALWAYS tried and struggled to do, since Day 1 of my TEFL course. BAD IDEA!! It just means MORE WORK, and not necessarily better work.) Meanwhile, I'm still able to answer any quick-fire question thrown my way ("How do you translate the word 'just' into Spanish?" or "Why isn't "helpful" the opposite of "helpless"?), and I get a little rush in my chest, seeing the impressed looks on my students faces when I'm able to just lay it out for them.

In other news, I've moved into a new house - wow, I guess I should have led off with that. I felt like staying in Granada another year was a bit cowardly, so in order to keep challenging myself I set a goal of NOT moving back into Casa de Tina, where I spent the last year and some-odd months. I have fond memories of that place, of course, but then again it had its problems. I arrived back in Granada after a week of much-needed summer camp deflation in Madrid, homeless and about to start work in 5 days. Some friends of Pierre let me crash at their awesome 2-story condo high up above the city while I looked for apartments, and luck was definitely on my side when I called the first ad I saw on Loquo.com for a piso in the Albayzin (my old neighborhood). I went in and immediately fell in love with the place, which had all the charm and history of the Albayzin carmens but was much better cared for and peaceful than my last accommodations. I told the landlord I was very interested but still not sure, and then 2 hours afterwards while walking around and mulling it over, I called and said I'd take it. I've got a private bedroom in a 3-bedroom house (1 of which is the landlord, Ana's, and another which was recently rented to a nice woman from Greece, here studying for her Doctorate), with shared bathroom (with a tub!), salon, and kitchen. The best part - my room opens up with double doors to a terrace that runs the length of the whole house and lets in wonderful sunshine, and there's enough space in my room to do yoga here :)

I'm really happy in my new place, but it's strange how uncomfortable I feel sometimes around my housemates. I guess that's just a part of communal living, and especially doing it in a foreign language, it's bound to be a bit weird at first. But what's funny is how little speaking Spanish plays a part in any discomfort for me now. Sometimes I find myself alone, thinking or mumbling some off-hand comment, and it comes first in Spanish. ("Que fuerte!?") And I never feel pressured or awkward or locked inside myself from speaking Spanish, the way I did when in France for example or when I first got here to Spain - if I struggle for a word, I just blatantly ask what it is and someone tells me. I file it away and move on through the conversation. I guess my tolerance for this comes from more confidence in my Spanish and also from the time being forced to use it, and maybe also from the classroom where I'm constantly reminded and forced to sympathize with how difficult it is to try to express yourself in another language. Anyway, the awkwardness with Ana and the Greek lady (don't even know her name! but we've had at least 5 lengthy conversations so far, makes me feel really bad!) gets better every day, with every occasion that we have to speak to one another (sometimes there's just no need, so I don't initiate - I think this is part of my problem. I'm sheepish.). Ana and her girlfriend, Yolanda, who's here so often she practically lives here, asked me the other day what state I'm from, and when I said not Louisiana but New Orleans, they flipped out! They were asking me all these questions about Katrina and carnaval (Mardi Gras to us cajuns), about the food and the architecture. I told them when the weather gets cold, if I can find the right ingredients, I'd try to make them my MawMaw's gumbo :)

As for negatives, the weather's getting cold now and my skin's drying out. But I've found a loophole for healthcare through the Spanish system, if I can get my landlord to file the paperwork for me, so maybe I'll get to see a dermatologist here in the next few months! Plus a dentist, a gyno, an allergist (!!!). Hallelujah, eh? All is not lost. Also, Pierre will be moving here from France in a few weeks, so I won't be so lonely in my free time anymore.

That's about it, as for updates. Hope this wasn't too boring!!

Lost in Language

I've been here in Marmande for about 2 weeks now. I've eaten the best petit-fours in Toulouse and I've shopped the biggest sales of the year in Bourdeaux (and guzzled lots of their wine). All the while, I'm picking up French words here and there, which is thrilling and whatnot, but I can't seem to get comfortable with not having a damned clue what's going on in the conversations around me.

I can't ask simple questions of the new people I meet to get to know them better; I can't make small-talk with the lovely people in the boulangeries; I'm lucky when someone in the group knows a bit of either English or Spanish, but I don't get my hopes up, ever; I just put on a placid smile wherever I go (sometimes it's actually genuine) and wear my heart on my sleeve and wait for the human interaction around me to slow down or stop so that I can ask Pierre what the hell was discussed. Sometimes, I wish I hadn't asked. My patience waxes and wanes throughout my struggle to meet people, be myself and make whatever connections are possible with what little language faculty that I have. I find myself feeling so alone, so trapped inside my own skin, the words I'm dying to express just swirling around like a windstorm in my mind, and there's no window to open and let out all the built-up pressure. I get really sad when I find myself in a moment and realize how much I'm missing out on - whether it be random drunken stories told by friends who haven't seen each other in years; subtle nuances in the ways in which people are interacting that would tell me much more about how I should conduct myself here; or just plain small talk between a shop clerk and a customer, the things that make them smile or chuckle or make a strange face as they are buying their groceries. I miss out on all of that because of language, and I figure out some way to guess at the meaning of everything by watching intently like a child. Having your language removed reduces you to a child. It's ridiculously humbling.

I'm taking this as a lesson I need to learn if I want to be a true teacher and especially if I want to travel the world. Here, I'm learning how it feels to have your most self-defining asset (language) utterly stripped from you, to the concern of no one around you, and how to cope with that feeling, manage it, and use it as a tool rather than a hindrance. That tactic I mention above, how I'm learning to pay attention to body language and verbal cues rather than the literal meaning of the sounds I hear - that's a bit of what I'm talking about here. I know I'll be all right, hell I may even come out of this remembering a bit of French! But it's not just a mental process, I guess is what I'm just now figuring out; it's also very much an emotional one.

There's another saddening aspect of learning French for me. I truly love learning new words and hearing the sounds of forign tongues change as I become more and more accustomed to them. But at some point, the French that I heard on occasion which had such a magnetic and alluring mystery to it now just sounds like simple funtional noise, nothing to really marvel at. It's like how people say the more you learn about something, the less you want to learn, or something like that. This feels to me like a coming of age story, like it was inevitable that I had to figure out some time that languages are more than just hypnotic sounds that make my ears perk up to distinguish them or figure out where they come from. Language isn't some mystical, intangible frivolity of nature but a direct, purposeful and unbearably functional manifestation of it. I've always been most fond of art that serves a functional purpose - pottery, if you will, or a decorative coat rack. I guess I should think of language not as one or the other - not a mysterious artform without purpose, and neither a staunch and scientific machine. It's a bit of both - look at poetry, for example. That's one of the aspects of language that most fascinates me, how we can study something to infinity, but at the end of the day there's always something new to learn about it and be awed and inspired by.

Here's to life lessons!

France and stuff

Let's see...where to begin? I left Granada last Saturday and spent a total 14 hours travelling by bus to San Sebastian, where I spent my last official night in Spain for the next month. During the ride, I had a connecting bus to switch to but didn't realize it was at a different station in Madrid, so I obviously missed that one, but all I can say about that now is THANK GOD for ticket insurance with ALSA! All worked out in the end and it only meant 1 extra hour of travel time, and NO extra cost to me for a new bus ticket. It was cool to see the andalucian landscape gradually change during the ride. I did the cheesy tourist thing and took pictures from the bus of the sun setting over the green Basque country mountains.

The next day, I crossed the border by car into France and bought cigarettes en la frontera. Driving up the Atlantic coast, we stopped and I got my first view of the Atlantic from the other side. I was thrilled to see signs written in French. We stayed with Pierre's 'aunt and uncle', who are perfectly liberal French hippie types who have a penchant for French beer, an enormous 'herb' garden, and thus a very laid-back approach to life. I spent my first official day in France sitting at a table surrounded by lovely French people, smoking and drinking Rioja and Bourdeaux, eating european pizza, French cheese, and Spanish chorizo in a lovely garden until sundown. There was a break in between where we went to lie in the sunshine near a lake, and I got some guitar time in. I spoke in Spanish the entire time, far too nervous to break out what little French I barely know, but amazingly, my comprehension was quite good! I was able to follow the conversation and participate quite a bit with the help of translation from Pierre, and his aunt spoke decent Spanish so there was that too. I did go to bed more exhausted than I remembered being for a long time - it was the kind of fatigue that comes from being locked into another language, unable to truly follow the conversation of a group of people without putting every ounce of effort into listening and translating and processing the whole time - I think I did pretty damned well, considering we were talking for a total of about 10 hours all-told!

The next day, I got kinda sunburnt on one of the most remote beaches I've seen in my life. We took a break to eat lunch (hamburgers - real, non-Spanish ones!!) and then drove up the coast to the biggest sand dune in Europe (the Dune du Pila). We climbed up the dune and were met with the blazing sun cast over Sahara-sized sand dunes, with the tranquil Atlantic meeting them down at the bottom. Stretching out in the other direction from the ocean were over 300 miles of French forest, one of the biggest in Europe as well. Pierre and I sat on the dunes taking sun for a while, left and said goodbye to our wonderful hosts, and drove 2 hours to his house in the countryside near Bourdeaux. We had one day of chillax-down-time yesterday, and today he's off to work while I try to soak up the Frenchness.

As for talleys: so far, I've tried 3 French beers, all of which were excellent and one of which I was already very fond (Stella Artois); I've eaten locally raised duck confit (amazing) and ground horse (very similar to hamburger but with a distinctively different flavor); I've bought bread at a boulangerie; and I've noticed so many similarities between France and New Orleans, France and the United States, the French language and the English language...this looks to be the beginning of an eye-opening holiday.