Soccer update
I don't have any pictures of Jack's first soccer practice with Sporting Club Angevin. The story is... Ella and Ivy's gymnastics coach gives private English lessons to a 10 year old boy (Alex) who plays soccer through SCA's youth teams (a city-sponsored program as it turns out). Kristin e-mailed to ask about openings on the team and, like with gymnastics, we got welcoming encouragement for Jack to come join the fun. The coach also replied that it would be no problem to be on Alex's team (not that we know him at all). So, last Wednesday afternoon (the day of the week that French kids get dismissed from school at noon), we took the bus to the outskirts of Angers for soccer practice. Kristin, Jack and I found the field and walked out to talk with (this part was all Kristin since only French was spoken) the youth soccer director, Damien -- a very nice guy (as far as I could tell from his smile and affirming gestures). When Damien asked if Jack had clothes for practice and Kristin communicated the gist of this question to Jack in English, Jack started to pull off the sweat-pants he had on over his shorts. The mere motion towards this potential public disrobing caused Damien a brief convulsion and he quickly transitioned to a tour of the locker rooms. Just as it seems the French don't wear shorts "in public" -- which is to say while in transit between leg-exposing activities -- nor do they make wardrobe changes in plain view. Now I have another clue why people don't look at me at the rowing club.
As soccer practice got underway, we met Alex's mom, Allison. An added bonus was that Allison is British and so we got to chat about why we're in Angers, how the soccer club's game schedule worked, and how it was nice to have so quickly make the connection with Alex based on the tip from Myriam. Well, we found out later from Jack that there are two Alexes on the team and Allison's son is not the Alex we thought we knew of. But Allison politely and with minimal awkwardness let the allusions to our imaginary mutual acquaintance evaporate from our conversation while we moved on to other pleasantries. We were told about the good supermarket a couple of blocks away from the field so Kristin and I took a walk there to help pass the almost two hours until practice was over. (Now that we're dialed in on soccer, only one of us at a time will be busing out to the field to shop, sit, and hopefully make good enough connections to find a carpool). As Kristin and I were browsing French groceries, we talked about how odd it was that Alex needed English tutoring since his mom (at least) was a native English speaker. Kristin cited the voluminous literature about children who reject the native language of parents when they are raised in a country with a different language and so maybe outside tutoring was strategy to address this scenario. Anyway, since learning the obvious source of confusion, we've cleared things up on e-mail. Kristin and Hugh are at least a little more grounded than first-impressions can imply and one of the Alexes speaks perfect English.
Interesting soccer side note: the field is on Rue de Camus. I had the thought of making some snarky comment about soccer and the meaning of life but I double checked the map and noticed the full street name was Rue de E. Camus. Employing my 21st century artificial knowledge base (wikpedia and google), the next branch of this digression is aided by the discovery that the City of Angers has, on its website, an index of all streets with an explanation of the name. Emmanuel Camus was a resident of a small town whose border with Angers is partially marked by the street now named for him. A veteran of the 1914-18 war, he was later a town alderman, became an officer in the army reserves in 1939, and was killed in Angers by German machine gun fire in 1944. A good reminder to keep playing soccer.
Jack had to skip what might have been his first game on Saturday because we all went along on the student excursion to...
Mont Saint-Michel
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At the tidal island of Mont Saint-Michel, overflow parking is often underwater. |
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It can take as many as 15 muscles to smile |
Not too soon we were able to get off the bus in Saint Malo -- a walled city turned port town with a resurrected "pirate" tradition and bustling tourism industry. Having entered Brittany we followed instructions to take a lap around town on the ramparts and then find a good lunch of moule frites (mussels and chips) and/or galette (savory buckwheat crepes). For the first mile or so of our walk we seemed to be next to a group of the Japanese students who, about every eight steps, tried and failed to take a picture of themselves simultaneously in (one two three jump) mid air. It was cute about five times. Later, our lunch spot was picked for us when we saw three sacks of just-delivered moules against a restaurant's door. As quality indicators; the moule sacks; along with the owner's black wardrobe accented with orange-framed glasses, orange wristwatch, and orange scarf (all matching the restaurant's orange vinyl); proved very accurate.
Next stop was Mont Saint-Michel. Gamma 'bamma Ding-dong had evidently like eaten a like totally huge burger inducing a like total coma and so, the rest of the ride was pleasant.
As you can imagine (or if you can't, there're pictures), Mont Saint Michele is stunning. It's one of those hyperbolic urban designs that tricks you into thinking that life in a rat maze could be calming or even restorative. But then, I gotta figure, any time you see that much cut rock and that much attention to detail you've gotta assume slaves. Speaking of stratification, the island is today divided into four distinct zones. Level 1: parking. Level 2: gauntlet of garish trinket shops, ice cream, and scary meatish products. Level 3: Official ticket counter, official gift shop, and audio-tour sales. Level 4: Abundant vistas, stairways, and tunnels through the church, chapels, abby, and crypts. [New photo albums: Mt St Michel & Hugh's Virtual Gift Shop -- new merchandise weekly].
Middle school update
Ivy, Ella, and Jack's school continues to go pretty well. With all of three weeks of beginning-French completed, their favorite hours of the day are still art, PE, and lunch. Oh yeah, and English. Despite some apparent skepticism by the administrator, she agreed to let them all take English (yes like the old Cheech & Chong bit: "Mexican-American, go to night school, take Spanish, get a B"). They actually learn a lot watching their peers learn a second (or third) language as well seeing how their own language is broken down and taught. Jack's class had a big, standardized math test today which everyone seemed to be anticipating but him. The math teacher, who doesn't speak much English, did his best to let Jack know that it didn't apply to him and he could take it for fun (or go draw). Jack's school friends continue to be a great help with navigating the hallways, the eighth-graders (enforcers of asphalt-soccer customs), and translating teacher instructions and handouts -- as best as they're able anyway.
Ella and Ivy got matching invitations today from a couple of their friends, Elisa and Véda, to go downtown after school next Wednesday and hang out. Last week, it was Veda's birthday and when Ella and Ivy realized that she wasn't having a party (apparently birthday celebrations are more of a family affair here), they thought this was sad and made her cards.Today, Ella and Ivy's class is going on a field trip to a nearby church to connect the art and architecture to recent coursework. The teacher told each student to come with a shoebox. Since we have no shoe boxes here at the apartment, Ella quickly concluded that we all needed to go out last night and buy new shoes.
On the agenda this week
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Perfecting our expectation-lowering skills at the préfecture on a Friday afternoon. Now serving... |
Since I'm pretty sure we don't have tuberculosis, we'll all be heading back out on a student-program bus tour Saturday morning surveying the châteaux of the like Loire.
7 comments:
DOGGEREL OF THE WEEK
Another stutter: Alex, Alex.
Don’t they have enough first names?
Looks like it could be confusing
For the coach of soccer games.
French decorum now has surfaced;
Has to do with, like, sweat-pants.
Do not drop them out in public
You will, like, shame those in France.
On the bus a Georgia co-ed
Trying hard to be, like, chic.
Cured the twins of ever wanting
Sisterhood, you know, like Greek.
Lunch in Malo was, like, yummy.
Mussels and some pomme de frutes.
Georgia belle, who stuffed her belly.
Was now silent in her seat.
At the Mont your goal as tourist
Is to get past level three.
Once on top the vista opens.
What you see is, like, grand prix.
Jack negotiates the hallways,
Takes a mathematics test,
Says that “deux et deux” is “quatre”
When to answer he is pressed.
He discovers that the digits,
French and English, are the same,
Wonders why you couldn’t call them
By identical math name.
El and Ivy get an invite:
Visit Angers “little more.”
“Go a bite” and “hit the front”:
And then to “dountown” go we four.
There are seven pictures, not six - but that's ok.
Six pictures. One scan.
Is it seven? Is it six?
Proper number of the pics?
How to count? Now I forget.
Is it “six”? Or is it “sept”?
diati
Scratch "diati," which was the "word verification" I put in the wrong box.
I can't believe you didn't actually purchase that tattoo artist statue.
Have the French have become more modest, or is this distaste for public disrobing regional? When I lived in France in the 80's there were no dressing rooms, we were expected to strip and try clothes on next to the rack in the store. Perhaps you could test this in each town you visit?
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