Ballooning in Bazouges

Sorry blogosphere, the last six weeks have been a whirlwind. I started work and spent a lot of free time (fruitlessly) house-hunting.  But let's focus on the fabulous!

Through my old university, I met one amazing woman in September! NT is a pilot, race car driver/navigator, helps the blind, and not least of all owns a hot air balloon! At the end of what seemed to be a rough week for everyone in Paris, she casually mentioned that she and some friends were heading down to the chateau where she keeps her montgolfière and invited the Irishman and I along.

The next day we found ourselves racing through the Gare de Montparnasse as fast as my chubby and high-heeled little legs could carry me.  Safely aboard the train to Le Mans (with a full 2 minutes to spare!), we settled into our separate seats and I got to do the NYTimes crossword puzzle on the Irishman's iPad for a while until he found me and took it away to read BBC Sport.

Arriving in Le Mans, we were met by NT's dashing French husband and her American-naturalized-French friend who happens to look EXACTLY like Joan Cusack circa 1993. She must get a lot of people staring at her trying to figure out where they've seen that face before because she's got a great, aren't-you-cute-now-stop-staring wink. I've got to get on developing one.

The chateau was indeed a little French castle of a design comparable to Bagatelle, and when we arrived it's lovely owners, an American former supermodel and her aristocratic hubby, were serving up the red and a delicious lentil soup while a splendid fire roared away under a bust of one of the rois Henri.

Le Retour

Here it goes!

The city's still a dream in sandy stone and wrought iron.  This time there's a charming Irishman around to make everything more fun. In the evenings we cook and walk around the 16eme; on the weekends we vow we'll stay in and rest and then don't. Work doesn't start until October 1st so I have loads of time to roam around and search for an apartment of my own as well as play the femme au foyer in the teeny kitchen of the Irishman's flatshare.

One of the best parts of returning to the sprawl of sandcastles on the Seine has been revisiting a few old favorites. Now-Former Host Mom greeted me with a big hug and tizane in the same chic apartment, having just returned from my old nemesis, la piscine. Another highlight was finally bringing the Irishman and a friend to Le Temps des Cerises (31, rue de la Cerisaie, 4e) my favorite little bistro tucked away in the Marais. They've raised their prices (about 19 euros for a main, 8 for appetizers or dessert) and added a vegetarian option to the menu (yay!), with the same cozy ambiance and friendly staff.

The settling in process is a bit of a drag as I search for cheap, furnished accommodation. One problem I keep running into is the necessity of a French bank account to do just about anything.  HSBC already rejected my request saying my salary as a teaching assistant will be trop juste to make me worth their while. Quels snobs! Trying again with Société Générale on Thursday. Any bank recommendations out there?

Apart from my continued mission to improve my French, I've now added 3 more goals:

• Not deform any of the young minds that will be in my charge for 12 hours each week,
• Get my cardiovascular fitness up to par with the Irishman so I don't have to stand and pant on the sidewalk while he jogs on all Rocky-like up the Champs Elysées.
• Find gainful employment over here-- gainful meaning something that gets me above the French equivalent of the poverty line.  

Bises, y'all

...And We're Back!

Yours truly got the good news last week: it's back to France in the fall, this time as an assistant étranger d'anglais at (a) primary school(s) in the Académie de Créteil!

"What the heck is the Académie de Créteil?" you ask.  Why, it's the totality of schools on the western half of Ile-de-France.  Which could be awesome (life within the bounds of the Paris Métro ligne 8, s'il vous plaît) or awesome in a more rural, La Vie tranquille sort of way.  Of course with the Irishman living somewhere between Palais Royal and the Champs next fall, I think you know which I'd prefer...

 That's Créteil hugging the eastern side of Paris for dear life in this inset. (Depressingly,  this is a graphic showing how many jobs were cut in 2011 by académie.)

Oh, and the best part: they're paying me to come over this time -- roughly 800 euros a month to speak English to French children for 12 hours a week. Mmmhmm.