Strikes, riots and gingerbread. In a street-vendor-roasted chestnutshell, that’s the long and short of it in my part of the world at the moment. Mid-November - ‘strike season’ apparently - was all 
about worker solidarity and in my case, trudging through the snow at 6.30am to catch a train to Nancy that didn’t arrive. One day of snow (right) – apparently arrived much earlier, too.The railway unions walked off the job for nine days straight in protest against the government’s plans to bring up their retirement age to that of the rest of the workers in the country. This poor mob of train drivers, inspectors and others benefit from a special pension system aimed at alleviating their supposedly back-breaking work by allowing them to work for 37.5 years before taking their state sponsored retirement, as opposed to 40 years for the rest. When the government tried this one 12 years ago the country was paralyzed and the state backed down. If I had needed to use the trains more than I had I would have been mightily cheesed off. I might have even let loose a putain, (ou deux). I’m with Generalissimo Sarko on this one – its about time things change here. I’m all for unions in the social partnership but to my mind, this culture of throwing up the barricades and chucking a strike as a first rather than last resort is not exactly a deed of good faith. People recognize the need for change here too but the process often seems both too complex, too slow and at times a little too much hard work and nothing much happens. Meanwhile, the country sinks deeper into debt.
Riots. Two youths were killed in an accident with a police car in the outskirts of Paris a few weeks back and that unleashed a bit of argy-bargy in the banlieue (the outer suburbs). It raised the spectre of the Parisian riots two years back and had a lot of people there on their toes. Thankfully not much came of it but the racial perspective did bring to light the recent history of St Die, which has apparently been a town with far-right rumblings. Although that could have been something to do with the German sausages popular ‘round here. I’ve been told that a few students here run around with some likeminded gangs. A sobering thought. Makes me all the more determined to do some classroom activities showing our indigenous population in a positive light.
I’ve begun to use some songs in class too. God bless les Beatles. I’ve already racked up All Together Now and Hello, Goodbye and won’t be eviscerating that eternal creature any time soon. Oasis’ She’s Electric has worked well, as has Van the Man’s Brown Eyed Girl for the level four students working on description. Managed to tie Police on My Back to a comprehension activity about an English crook whose severed finger was found at the scene of his crime. Who said 15 year-olds aren't up for a bit of gore?
Last Friday I met up with James, the American assistant based in a lycée in town. We downed a couple of beers in a great little bar in town called La Cabane. The sheer variety and diversity of beers there was just so cool – even Christine Oglethorpe would have found a beer to s
uit her tastes. Experiencing the variation between regions when it comes to landscape, architecture and food in France is a constant delight; something far less pronounced in Oz. Saturday we grabbed the train out to Strasbourg, a seriously stunning city on the French side of the Rhine. The main deal here is the German tradition of the marché noël – the Christmas market that fills the centre of town each December. A crap load of stalls pushing trinkets, decorations, food (mainly pain d’épice (gingerbread) and biscuits) and of course vin chaud (right), which is warm, spiced red wine. Everyone was doing it so why not me. I also spotted some hot orange juice for sale. I bravely resisted the urge to go for some snail-butter covered baguette as I thought it wouldn’t mix too well with the Nutella crepe I had just inhaled. We basically spent the whole day there in the drizzle and checked out the little part of town called Petite France as well as what once was Europe’s tallest building – the cathedral. We scaled the 60 metres to the viewing platform at dusk to see the town gradually illuminate. A good day.
Strasbourg santas. They're not real.
In Strasbourg
Reni, une grosse bise pour ton anniversaire. Je penserai à toi :)
‘Typical French Behavior’ – tolerating the bloody strike. Best meal – A tartiflette at Séb’s place (partner of Cécile, one of the English teachers). It’s kind of like a gratin (potato bake) with bits of ham and heaps of cream inside, topped with stanky grilled Reblochon cheese). Serves as a main course on its own. The weather – coolest days -1 to 4, most days 3 to 6. Drizzle, cloud and a bit more drizzle. Bienvenue aux Vosges. On my iPod:
Nina Simone – Do What You Gotta Do. Bloody fantastic. An interpreter without peer. The Go-Betweens – Bye Bye Pride. The door is open wide. James Carr – These Ain’t Raindrops. Fraught and desperate. From someone who knew well what that was like. Crowded House – Not The Girl You Think You Are. Damp, groggy and very Lennonesque. Sean Lennon – Dead Meat – Deadly, meaty and very Elliott Smithesque.Get a leg on BOB!
