I didn't realize how much time it would take to get settled in Nice. This time last year I moved into a townhouse with three other Hartwick students I didn't know very well, and yet I don't remember the transition being as difficult as this one. Difficult has a negative connotation; it's been challenging adapting to my new home.
Of course, last year, even though my living situation was new, I still had the advantage. I knew how things at Hartwick work. I still had my friends, my professors. I had new classes, but I knew how to tackle school work. I understood the town of Oneonta--I knew where to shop, where to eat, where to have fun. I already had a bank account, a library card, a student ID card, a mailbox, a mailing address. Most importantly, I already had a history.
A history in Nice? Not so much. It's been exciting to get to know the city. I like that part: walking around neighborhoods, finding secret gems, figuring out where I can purchase black beans in a country that has no idea what to do with such a legume. I like going out and getting a sense of the nightlife. I like spending time with new acquaintances, opening up, and forming new friendships. I like taking a new route home after school, weaving through unfamiliar streets, learning the city by heart with footsteps and orientation.
The paperwork, the bureaucratic BS, the establishing official presence, is annoying. And in France, it takes five extra steps. I'm not sure if it is outright xenophobia, or a symptom of not being from the place (and therefore automatic exclusion from insider information), or if everyone, including the French, must put up with the disorganized, backwards way of doing things. Becoming official has taken more time than I'd prefer, and it wouldn't be so bad if there was an end in sight. But instead one thing after another gets added to the list.
Maybe this is what a world without homework is like. At school, I could check off everything on my to-do list in a week, maximum. And then I'd make a new checklist. Here, tasks are clumped together, lists have footnotes and bullet points--in fact, it is one cohesive mess, The List. It will never end.
So I might as well go to the beach. Drink a beer. Take a break.
You probably want to know about my apartment, my flatmates, and my job.
I live in a central part of town--a fifteen minute walk to the beach, a ten minute walk to the old town (the winding pedestrian area), and a ten minute walk to Jean Medicine, the commercial shopping street. I go to a Carrefour express around the corner of my apartment to get supplementary items for meals, but my big grocery shop is a twenty minute walk to the Lidl, a German discount supermarket, similar to Aldi. I'm also very close to the tram, Place Garibaldi, the modern art museum, and a large library (with an unfortunately limited selection of anglophone works).
My flat is small, but has just enough space for my two flatmates and me. We have separate bedrooms, and a communal bathroom and kitchen (without an oven! It's a travesty!). The bathtub has a curtain and a small sitting ledge, but of course has the typically-French hand-held shower head. My room has a view of some other apartment buildings and a church that has very loud bells that wake me up in the morning. I have a nice closet with shelves for my books (and my clothes).
My flatmates are Alessandro and Raphaela. Alessandro is from northern Italy and he studies geography at the university in Nice. He is working toward becoming an engineer. He is very friendly, funny, and upbeat. He speaks Italian, French, English, Portuguese, and some Spanish. He wants to practice his English with me, which I don't mind, but doesn't do my French any favors.
Raphaela is from Freiburg, Germany. She is training to become a doctor and is doing a practicum at the hospital near our flat. She is also friendly, as well as being down-to-earth, and fun-loving. She speaks German, French and English. We speak a lot of English in the house...
Of course, last year, even though my living situation was new, I still had the advantage. I knew how things at Hartwick work. I still had my friends, my professors. I had new classes, but I knew how to tackle school work. I understood the town of Oneonta--I knew where to shop, where to eat, where to have fun. I already had a bank account, a library card, a student ID card, a mailbox, a mailing address. Most importantly, I already had a history.
A history in Nice? Not so much. It's been exciting to get to know the city. I like that part: walking around neighborhoods, finding secret gems, figuring out where I can purchase black beans in a country that has no idea what to do with such a legume. I like going out and getting a sense of the nightlife. I like spending time with new acquaintances, opening up, and forming new friendships. I like taking a new route home after school, weaving through unfamiliar streets, learning the city by heart with footsteps and orientation.
The paperwork, the bureaucratic BS, the establishing official presence, is annoying. And in France, it takes five extra steps. I'm not sure if it is outright xenophobia, or a symptom of not being from the place (and therefore automatic exclusion from insider information), or if everyone, including the French, must put up with the disorganized, backwards way of doing things. Becoming official has taken more time than I'd prefer, and it wouldn't be so bad if there was an end in sight. But instead one thing after another gets added to the list.
Maybe this is what a world without homework is like. At school, I could check off everything on my to-do list in a week, maximum. And then I'd make a new checklist. Here, tasks are clumped together, lists have footnotes and bullet points--in fact, it is one cohesive mess, The List. It will never end.
So I might as well go to the beach. Drink a beer. Take a break.
You probably want to know about my apartment, my flatmates, and my job.
I live in a central part of town--a fifteen minute walk to the beach, a ten minute walk to the old town (the winding pedestrian area), and a ten minute walk to Jean Medicine, the commercial shopping street. I go to a Carrefour express around the corner of my apartment to get supplementary items for meals, but my big grocery shop is a twenty minute walk to the Lidl, a German discount supermarket, similar to Aldi. I'm also very close to the tram, Place Garibaldi, the modern art museum, and a large library (with an unfortunately limited selection of anglophone works).
My flat is small, but has just enough space for my two flatmates and me. We have separate bedrooms, and a communal bathroom and kitchen (without an oven! It's a travesty!). The bathtub has a curtain and a small sitting ledge, but of course has the typically-French hand-held shower head. My room has a view of some other apartment buildings and a church that has very loud bells that wake me up in the morning. I have a nice closet with shelves for my books (and my clothes).
My bedroom window
My flatmates are Alessandro and Raphaela. Alessandro is from northern Italy and he studies geography at the university in Nice. He is working toward becoming an engineer. He is very friendly, funny, and upbeat. He speaks Italian, French, English, Portuguese, and some Spanish. He wants to practice his English with me, which I don't mind, but doesn't do my French any favors.
Raphaela is from Freiburg, Germany. She is training to become a doctor and is doing a practicum at the hospital near our flat. She is also friendly, as well as being down-to-earth, and fun-loving. She speaks German, French and English. We speak a lot of English in the house...
Here is a picture of us before we went out this past weekend
I'm in Nice to teach English. My official title is lectrice, which is comparable to adjunct. I teach two different levels of English for two different departments--LCE and LEA. LCE students focus on language, literature, and translation, whereas LEA students focus on other topics (like business or law) and take English to supplement their degree. In the LCE classes, we do oral comprehension and oral expression. Basically, for the first half of class I play a clip of audio, like an NPR story for example, and then the students have to fill in a worksheet. For the second half of class we do discussions, role-plays, and presentations. The students give presentations related to a specific topic, i.e. ads in newspapers and magazines. The LEA classes are presentation-based. My level 1 LEA students present on Holidays and Tourism, and my level 2 LEA students choose journal articles (written in English) to summarize and dissect with the class.
It's fairly straightforward. Because I was recently a student, I have a good sense of what to anticipate from my students--or, rather, what tricks they are willing to play to get out of doing work. It's been an insightful experience, working from the other perspective. I don't tolerate BS and am not afraid to call students out when they misbehave. I have noticed the attitude toward students here is different from what I've experienced in the States. It's common in the US to baby undergraduates, and often teachers can get into trouble with the administration if parents call in and complain. Here, it's okay to fail students.
~
I have definitely been enjoying myself; don't get me wrong. Nice is a great city, my new friends are great, I get on well with my flatmates, my work keeps me busy (I presume it'll get more interesting as the semester progresses). I'm seeing new places and doing cool things, like hiking in the Alps and making day trips to nearby beach-towns, like Monaco. I haven't been doing as much reading or writing as I'd prefer--I still need to finish Dreaming In French by Alice Kaplan, and these blog posts make up most of what I've written. I'm playing Dungeons and Dragons on Sunday nights in a campaign with friends back home (they Skype me in), and I'm slowly working through a friend's fantasy novel to give her suggestions (it's not that her work is slow; it's me).
This is my mass Nice update. More musings, Nice-related or not, coming soon.
Challenging, indeed. I find that it comes in waves - just when you get a week of feeling more settled, something happens to upturn all illusions of being grounded. The need for sea legs are the only constant. Hang in there!
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