suitcases are for bums

We trained into Paris today...slight gong show. First of all...the land lord only gave the four of us ONE key for the door to the apartment building...not to our apartment, but to the building. So we all have a set of keys, 3 of which are useless. I left Nemours and had to BURY the keys in the dirt in a secret location and then email the girls where I left them. It's like I'm Dark Wing Duck or something. Ya, that's right, Dark Wing Duck. Anyway. Val and I got on the train and I realized I forgot my passport in Nemours, but Geoff and I need it when we fly to Rome...so off the train we get. The worst part is that Val's luggage got messed on her flight over, and now her suitcase is missing a wheel, a very vital wheel, one that makes the luggage roll and steer. We get back to Nemours and realize we have 10 minutes to get back to the apartment, get my passport and get all our luggage to the next train platform. So we devise a plan...a genius plan. I will take both the purses and sprint to the apartment, dig up the keys, unlock all the doors, get my passport, bury the keys and sprint back to the platform...meanwhile Val will take my duffle bag, her duffle bag and her POS suitecase, down a flight of stairs, under the train tracks and then back up a flight of stairs...This plan is fool-proof...
Not too worry we made it in time...just in time for metro traffic in Paris...awesome.

Safe and sound...a few steps in front on the Eiffel Tower

It's time for a baguette. 

Montargis!

Yesterday Val and I went on a true adventure. We got on the train and went in the opposite direction of Paris. We got off on the last stop and just waled around the town. You wanna know what we found? A town that Joan of Arc travelled through. WHAT! HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN? Literally, we walked through history. Montargis has the most canals in France, apparently its called the Venice of France and it has a spectacular primary growth forest, with a track in the middle of it. I found a track in the middle of a forest. Only in France.

Forest in Montargis

Joan of Arc was here in 1419

Does this need a caption?

Enjoying our wine..the French way

Wandering around Montargis after a titch too much wine

Pere Lachaise

Pere Lachaise is like a town for the Dearly Departed

Kissing Oscar Wildes tomb...its what you HAVE to do, only a 9000 euro fine

Pere Lachaise

Today Val and I spent the day at Pere Lachaise (cemetary) in constant awe of the tombs. Some of them are small houses. The cemetary is so beautiful, its impossible to feel sad when one is surrounded by that much beautiy. If you took the graves away it would still be a gorgeous garden.

C'est la vie

The past few days with Val have been good. We went into Fountainebleau where every French king from the 12 - 18 century lived. The castle was magnificent and the forest garden surrounding the castle was just as grand. I was super jealous of all the runners, running through an ancient royal forest without a second thought. No words can actually explain the days here. Yesterday we trained into Paris and spent some time at Sacre Coeur, my favourite basilica here. It the most amazing place, you know that God is there the second you see it. Afterwards we walked around Paris and took more (and more) photos of The Eiffel Tower. It doesn't get old! Today we're going to take the train in the opposite direction of Paris and explore the country side. This is truly the good life, but don't mistake me, I miss everyone at home to n'th degree, it's *hard* being away from you guys!

Val is here

Inside Nemours Castle

I found Val! She is ok. Not having a phone and not having wi fi means trusting even when it seems silly to. Last time I checked in with Val was the day of her departure, a day before she would arrive here. I gave her some instructions of how to get from Paris to Nemours and I told her that I would meet her at the train station in Nemours at 4 or 5. I would check twice, giving her either 2 or 3 hours to arrive here from Paris. Turns out the train comes every 20 minutes during rush hour, so I visited the train station every twenty minutes for 4.5 hours waiting for her. I didn't know what had happened to her. On the last train that I was going to visit before walking the 20 minutes to wi fi, I saw her, waiting on the bench. It was unbelievable...and then her story....also unbelievable. She took the metro in rush hour with 2 suitcases, one with a broken wheel. Then just decided it wasn't worth it and got off, and took a taxi to the train station. Then the ladies at the train station put her on the wrong train by not telling her she had to switch trains half way. Val finally figured out that she was on the wrong train and got off...then took a taxi to Nemours, kinda like taking a taxi from Okotoks to Calgary. But alas she arrived. God took care of her!

Teaching in the 18th century

Recess time on the cement pad

Yesterday was a shock to the system. Courtney and I taught for our first full day. We have to teach Aesop's Fables , 10 stories in 8 teaching days. The teachers have asked us to teach the story moral, which is incredibly difficult with the language barrier, not to mention the school culture. School in France is night and day from school in Canada. We were asked to prepare a worksheet for body parts in English, that's how the children are expected to learn. The children come into class, sit in their little desks in rows and learn curriculum through memorization and work sheets. The children are shushed when they are working on their worksheets. There is no Reggio here, there is no inquiry here. There are blackboards and text books. Its hard to approach the children with the lense of inquiry and then be expected to teach in a typical French way. Its even harder to sit and watch how the children are treated when they misbehave. Some of the teachers publicly yell at the students and ask the other students to wait, and other teachers physically remove the child from their classroom and tell them not to come back until their work is finished. I feel as though childhood is not respected in the same way here as it is in Canada. The image of the French child is unequal to adults. Its hard to experience.