dirty jobs: les vendange

After last Sunday, I have a new appreciation for wine and all 100% fruit juice.

I was invited to partake on a very valuable experience. I was staying with my professor's family in the village. Her husband informed me that one of the families in the village owned a chateau and they asked everyone in the village to help them pick grapes. I joined in on this, not really knowing what I was getting myself into.

After lunch, I jumped in the car. The family seemed confused that I didn't change into "special" clothes. For some reason, I saw no reason to change, because I knew I wouldn't get dirty.

Out at the vineyard, we parked the car and met with the rest of the helpers. I was greeted and then handed a basket, some rubber gloves, and some scissors (actually not really scissors but I have forgotten the name-sorry).

After about 20 minutes of clipping, filling, and shouting "Porteur!", I pondered on the idea of this being a full time job. It's fun and not as hard as I had thought.

On second thought, after about 4 hours of 'up-down-up-down,' clip-snip, dump, I had had enough. My back started to hurt and I could feel the burn in my legs.

This was tough work. Grapes were flying everywhere. My legs were spotted with purple and my clothes were in fact dirty.
Finally, we went back to the vineyard owner's house and watched the grapes exit the back of the truck through a tube to be separated from their stems. While we sat around, we drank beer, ate chips, and laughed as the sun began to set.

The Amazing Race. . . or something

I feel France enjoys making life into a game. Not a fun game, like Candyland or Sorry. I would have to say it is a very difficult game- much harder than the game "LIFE." Which I must add- I miss the cereal LIFE. ^^ You must follow all the rules. Sometimes it can feel as though you are playing with a child who decides to add random rules in favor of himself. I get so frustrated here. . . every time!

This morning, I found this amazingly perfect apartment. The price, location, size were all perfect. I called the lady first thing to see if we could view the apartment, but no one answered. I left an awkward message with my best broken French I could use. I sat at McDonald's stalking apartment websites in hopes that something new would appear if I pressed the "refresh" button. I waited for someone to return my call. Of course, no one called back. I called Laura (a friend who is also looking for housing with me) and she met me at McDo for some coffee. I hate to admit this, but McDo has some pretty tasty coffee. ^^ Anywho, so she arrived with her friend, Pascal. This was great, because he was able to translate. We retried the number and finally it started to ring! *excited* He informed the proprietor of the interest in the apartment. Then she wanted to know incomes, job situations, blood types, duration of stay in France, life stories, etc (so maybe not that detailed, but it was a lot of information that she wanted). At this point, it wasn't a question of looking at the apartment- it was "take the apartment before the others!" Who knows if it even has a bathroom. I'm pretty sure it was unfurnished. That's ok, I think furniture is over-rated, anyways. Going for the new zen minimalist look. I am envisioning "Art gallery chic." So while Pascal got a lecture from the proprietor about what she requires, I was imagining this place as my own. It's lovely stained glass window blocks along the door, the red wall, all of its beauty would soon be. . .
Unfortunately, she said in order to look at the apartment, she needs income to be 3 times the amount of the monthly rent. haha... Yes! This is easy! NOT! While I have tons of benefits working for France, this also means I work less, which means I don't make much money. This isn't really a job, its more of an internship. So, even if Laura was in on this, our combined incomes didn't work. Since this was a problem for us, she also requested that we get a garantie. This normally can be done from parents back at home. Laura called her mother but she was away from the house and wasn't able to fax the required information asap. Next option- get another assistant in on this. This situation just gets more and more desperate. So this two bedroom apartment was now going to hold three of us.

sans domicile fixe

I have been wearing the same clothes for the past three days. Fortunately, I thoughtfully considered the fact that there was a possibility that I might be staying in Bordeaux overnight, so I brought one extra outfit, my toothbrush, and my computer. I am sitting in McDo, using their wifi.

Over the past few days, I find myself people watching in the parks. I am not watching the normal strangers who pass by, but rather the homeless people who approach the average passerby and beg for money. Could this be my fate? I could be the crazy drunk man with the raspy voice begging for cigarettes. Oh my! I always wondered how people get to this point and I may soon find out. Ok, so it isn't that bad. I am not sleeping in the parks or beggin yet. ^^ I still haven't found an apartment. Technically, I am homeless. More homeless than I was in Grenoble when I crashed on the couch at the Fairholme house and stayed in a hotel. My money is quickly running out. I am getting very concerned and I have this great fear of checking my bank statement online.

Seriously, I am so frustrated to the point of packing up my bags and going back home or back to Asia. There is a lack of housing in the city. This is a fact. The universities ran out of student housing, so many of the apartment options that would have been available otherwise are inhabited. This leaves me staying on couches of strangers and colleagues. Yesterday, we had an orientation with all of the other assistants in my area. When the directors asked how everyone's housing situation is going, they were surprised to see so many hands fly in the air for being homeless.

My standards are lowering and my budget is getting higher. This is a problem, right? My goal this week is to find an apartment- furnished or unfurnished.

Since we know I am socially retarded at this point, I have managed to offend one of my professors who I was staying with in my attempt to not offend her. Ah yes, cultural barriers. I think it is harder to deal with this when coming from a culture that wasn't your own in the first place and then going to a completely different culture that still isn't your own. It's worse than reverse culture shock, I think. At any rate, it has been a very rough week and a half in Bordeaux. I have had some serious thoughts about why I am here.

If things don't start getting better, I will be making a few life changes to my goals. I know things are supposed to rough to make someone stronger, but seriously, I don't know how much stuff can get thrown at me in a month's time.

At any rate, my friends (old and new) have been an amazing support. Thank you!

Aside from that, if I am homeless, Bordeaux is a beautiful city to be homeless in. ^^ Many beautiful parks, the Garonne, gelato stands everywhere, and tons of people watching. Today, Chandra reminded me that "life is beautiful." So true.

Re: Culture Shock

In France

My first thought was "Wow, there are so many foreigners here!" In Korea, pretty much anyone who wasn't Korean was considered a "foreigner." It was weird to be able to understand so much of the drunk yelling in the streets. It was midnight, so it was about the time that the drunk were trickling out the bars. Not so different than Korea, except it was about 1 am.

My first problem was meeting with my friend Kyle at an apartment we had rented for the weekend. Neither of us had phones, so I hoped my sense of direction would lead me to the right place. My friend Gasp picked me up from the airport and dropped me off at the apartment, so at least I knew I was at the right building. Not much I could really do now to mess things up. I entered the building and went straight for the elevator. Unfortunately, the elevator was about as narrow as an After 8 mint and as long as a scone, so squeezed my massive suitcase in, throwing my carry-on bag on top, and stuffed myself in with my life. I was to go to the fifth floor and go to the apartment on the left. I rang the doorbell, excitedly waiting for Kyle, he never responded. It was 1 am, so I was hoping he was waiting up for me. I heard footsteps in the apartment, but no one opened the door. Whoever was behind the door just looked in the peep hole and walked away.

Hmm. . .

Long story shorter. . . I was on the wrong floor. I forgot that if someone says 5th floor, this means 6th floor. In the states, what we consider the 1st floor is actually the rez-de-chaussee, and then the floor above that is the 1st floor. So in reality, I was actually on the fourth floor being a creep, ringing on the doorbell of a stranger at 1am in a "special" part of Paris. Upon realizing this, I relocated to the floor above and finally settled into the apartment.

In Korea, I picked up many mannerisms. Things that seemed different at first are now a part of my everyday routine. These things are also very different for western cultures. I have found myself bowing at strangers. In Korea I bowed when I entered an establishment, when I exited, when I met someone, when someone did something nice (as a gesture of thanks), and the list goes on. I did a lot of bowing- we'll just leave it at that. Now this is a hard habit to break! I have found myself bowing on so many different occasions, but it's akward here.

"Merci!" bow. leave. Yup, I'm awkward.

Next thing I still do is hand money to people with two hands or with my left hand under my wrist. This was a sign of respect in Korea. In France, they have special containers on the counter to place your money. At the train station, the lady yelled at me for not placing my money there rather than handing her the money. I was so confused why she was so upset.

The first step to breaking these habits is realization. I am more aware of how weird I have been, so I quickly stop myself now when I bow or when I hand money over to people.

Another cultural problem for me is my wardrobe. France is notorious for their chic fashion. Blacks, grays, neutrals flood the streets. In this river of people, one person can be spotted and thats me. Korea allowed me to find so many unique clothes in such an aray of colors. my teal tights, rainbow sorbet scarf, and pretty much everything else I have packed in my suitcase don't really go with the whole "French" fashion. I sacrificed my platinum blonde hair, but I will not get rid of my clothes. This is fine, I will still continue to wear tutus, tights in all colors, and everything else I got from Korea.

Three little birds

Merci Japan Airlines for my two day holiday in Tokyo!

I dreaded my flight to France. In fact, I almost missed my flight to France, because I had to mail a few last minute things that wouldn't fit in my suitcase. If I had missed my flight that first had an over-night layover in Tokyo, that would have been ok. If only I could read the future.

I had arrived in the Narita airport and checked into my hotel. I was so excited, because I got to meet up with Hiro, a friend from university who was from Japan. He met me at the hotel and we went to an izakaya (Japanese style drinking place) and had many glasses of saké. My flight was to depart at 10h30. This probably wasn't the greatest idea, but I couldn't resist the moment.

The next morning was almost painful. The cheerful sun was doing nothing for my mood. My head hurt, my eyes were burning, and I had lost my sunglasses on a previous flight. Despite being extra "delicate" this day, I jumped out of bed and made my way to the airport. Hiro came with me to the airport and we bypassed the massive line. AirFRANCE. . . I figured I was able to just check in with the computers since my luggage had been already checked through to CDG.

FAIL. When Hiro asked the an AirFRANCE attendant where I was supposed to check in, I couldn't understand a word of what they were saying, but I could tell it wasn't good by the looks on their faces.

". . . strike. . ."

The giant line was for me. I went to the end, but I was still optimistic. The only word I decided to hear from Hiro's explanation was "strike." Of course AirFRANCE would go on strike! And of course this would happen to my plane. The people were in line for meal tickets. I wasn't particularly hungry, so I passed up the line of hundreds of people and went upstairs for a coffee. I had to wait in the airport to hear the news of what to do next. In this time, I realized that AirFRANCE wasn't on strike but that birds had striked the engine.

Crisis Averted?

After waiting for about 4+ hours, we were informed that we would not depart until the following morning for safety reasons.

Back to the hotel
I was so impatient, because I just wanted to stop traveling already. France seemed so far away. Then Hiro explained to me that this was sort a serendipity. True, although I was stuck in Tokyo, I was stuck in TOKYO! I actually meant to visit Japan, but I just never had the time, so it really was a blessing in disguise. Hiro took me to the city on his motorcycle. I finally had authentic sushi, found mustard yellow tights (I have been looking everywhere for these), and bought a gift for one of the English teachers from my school. It turned out to be a great day afterall! Tokyo was very impressive. It was so clean! My only complaint is how expensive taxis were there. . . actually how expensive EVERYTHING was there.

The next day, I left at 5 pm for Paris without any other problems. Finally!

ma voiture est en panne

My car is broken... I have had it for about two weeks and I am already having problems. This is not a problem that I can blame on a bad car dealer. It is my fault. Last night, I drove home from Walmart and I heard a scrapping sound and thought nothing of it thinking that it was a just something that I drove over and the front of my car just scrapped over it. I went outside to go to work and found a giant puddle of oil surrounding my car. I had to go to work, so I drove to the gas station and filled my car up with two quarts of oil to get me to work.
On my lunch break, I went to my car to get something out and found 8 dollars worth of oil puddled around my car. NO!!!! If it isn't problems with transcripts or people jumping in front of my train it is something with my new car. Each week, there is a new stressor. This week it is my car. I went back inside work and informed my manager that I needed to leave and take care of my car problem, but I can't take care of my car today since it is Sunday and every auto mechanic is off, so I have to wait until tomorrow for my brand new car to get towed to a mechanic and looked at by the claims guy from Geico. I can only hope that they will cover it and I will only have to pay the $250 deductible while my car is fixed. I spoke to my friend Miranda's husband (who works for State Farm Insurance) and he said the damage may cost over $1000!!!!!
I am still waiting for my burst of good luck. I know my problems sound so petty, but it is frustrating that I have some sort of major issue that hinders me from doing my day to day activities smoothly. I feel like I am constantly stressing out about something. I know stress can be good, but I think this is true only in small doses. It can't be a good thing if I am always having a problem. My life is like a game and each week I have to figure out how to solve my problem. so this is my rant.
Other than that my transition back to the states hasn't been too bad. I miss Grenoble. Last week, I had a few problems with my transcripts, but I got it all worked out.

Running, Running, GONE

01/10/08
I always wanted to be that person who runs through the airport. I used to imagine where they had to be in such a rush-business trip? honeymoon? It always seemed so exciting and I yearned for their adrenaline rush.
Yesterday was my moment in the spotlight, but I wasn't as successful as my role models and I failed miserably. As fate has it, I am not in Missouri. I had three flights, three layovers, a train ride, customs, security, and a four hour drive home, so there was plenty of room for error. My first flight was through AirFrance from Geneva to Paris. This is where my troubles began. In an attempt to save time, I had the gentleman at the check-in counter check my luggage through my whole trip (my Geneva trip wasn't in my original itinerary and was added towards the end through AirFrance in order to get me to the airport in Paris on time).
On my plane to Paris, I had an epiphany. It hit me that my luggage ticket was marked YYZ (the code for the Toronto airport) when it should have also had STL. Ok. Don't stress. At the check in counter in Paris, I was asked if I spoke English or French. English. Then the cheeky guy replied, "Well I speak French." Ok? Since I have a hard time speaking even in English, I cheated. I explained my problem and he looked at me with a blank stare and said "Ok..." When I asked if there was anything I could do he told me no. I was concerned about the time and he assured me that I would be fine.
I was still concerned when I was on the plane, so I befriended a flight attendant who also told me that I should have enough time to get on my plane. He told me where I needed to go and in which order. I was flipping through the airline magazine and found a map of the Toronto airport, so I memorized my route. I was prepared to run like the wind when I got off the plane.
We landed at 2:30 pm and by the time I got through Canadian customs, it was 2:50. I waited for my luggage to arrive and at about 3:00, my two blue suitcases came passing around on the belt. I piled them up and ran to the exit. I went through another checkpoint where I had to show them my passport again and then the lady informed me that I needed to go through US customs. ah! I had one hour until my flight departed. When I got upstairs, I was running with all of my luggage and I had plenty of strange looks. I was second in line waiting to check my luggage in and a lady went around asking people when their flights were departing. I told her I had 40 minutes and she looked at my ticket and told me "Oh no, you aren't getting on that flight. It has already left. You are too late." I told her "No, I had 40 minutes and it wasn't my fault." I explained the situation and prayed over and over in my head that I could get home that same day.
I was tired and sick and the thought of missing my flight and not getting home made me upset. I started to cry. Then the lady who was rebooking me asked for assistance "because she couldn't deal with this." She handed me a new itinerary and telephone number to call for hotels and sent me on my way. I tried to rebook another flight but it would cost me over $1000, so I sucked it up. I have finally made it back in Missouri after over 40 hours of travel. I am exhausted and the jet lag is killing me.