Le Changement, C'est Maintenant!

At 8:00 pm (20h00) pile, it was announced that François Hollande is the new President of the 5e République Française.  Although Sarkozy put up a good fight for "La France Forte" he earned only 48,1 % of the votes, with Hollande earning 51,9%  What a battle!.  It has only been two weeks since the primary elections.  You could not go anywhere in France without coming, quite literally, face to face with the upcoming elections.  Students were buzzing about the elections, even in their riveting English class!  Although how much of what they said came from them, and not from their parents' mouths, I am unsure.  And no, they did not defend their choices in English! 

In a country where the voting was done calmly by hand, then hand-counted by volunteers, I was especially impressed by the efficacité of this process. We found out the results only a few hours after the polls closed today.

Each voter, after presenting their voting card and ID, proceeded to pick up an official envelope, then a piece of paper from each pile.  Above, we have the primary election, where there were 10 different candidates.  The voter then took all the slips of paper into the booth, placed only the name of their preferred candidate into the envelope, threw out the others (quelle gaspillage!), exited the booth, checked off their name in a large spiral book, then slipped their envelope into the glass box.  Viola! Voting in France.  Also, it must be pointed out that both the primary and the final election took place on a Sunday.  The townsfolk, old and young, traditionally would go to church, then to vote.  Today, hardly anyone in France goes to church with any regularity, so now, people dress up in their best just to go vote.  But of course!  You are quite likely to encounter everyone you know while waiting your turn to vote!

What a neat experience for us!!

Udderly delicious!

Food is very important to the French.  Most parts of life seem to revolve around mealtimes, which, by the way, are strictly set and, for the most part, rigorously followed.  The French sit down to a meal like some people sit down to perform religious rituals.  It is almost a spiritual experience.  Dan and I have been very open this year in expanding our tastes and enriching our palettes.  I, who generally do not like anything that comes from the water, have tasted many fish and seafood platters to humor my hosts.  Surprise, surprise - some of it wasn't too bad.  We have dined on quail, rabbit, lamb, veal, horse, frog, snail, seaweed, and...our most recent discovery...cow udders! That's right!  Apparently ALL parts of the cow are edible!
We had gone out with some new friends for a few drinks, which turned into dinner in a nearby restaurant around 10 pm.  We had eaten here before with the same friends and instead of the pizza (which is excellent!) I ordered the specialty that evening - couscous.  While being served our apéro, they set down a little plate with cooked squares of something and some toothpicks.  It smelled delicious.  Being the courageous Americans that we are, Dan and I each grabbed a toothpick and speared a steaming square.  I popped it into my mouth.  It was hot and juicy, very tender, and almost sweet.  Our friend, Marie, asked us what we thought it was.  (That should have been our first clue!)  I thought it might be cake, a savory cake that the French serve as an appératif, often with olives or meat.  "Non...." she answered with a smile.  Dan thought it might be a fatty piece of bacon.  "Non (giggle)".  Hmmmm, we couldn't quite put our finger on this new taste, which was not unpleasant.  "C'est du pis!"  Okay, this was a new word for me, but I assumed it was a special cut of meat.  (Many French people are frighteningly familiar with the anatomy of most animals and are capable of showing you exactly where your dinner came from on the animal).  So, I was surprised when Marie mimed the universal sign for milking a cow.  Confused, I repeated, "pis?!" She confirmed, miming and repeating my question.  Okay, so we were eating cow udders.  Another dinner companion (also called Marie) then suggested that we re-taste to savor the delicate "milkiness." I tried, I did notice it (whether or not it was my imagination) and then, pleased with how far out of my comfort zone I was, refrained from thirds! 
By the way, the couscous was delicious!

dining with the students

Dan and I were invited to have dinner at one of my student's family's houses during the vacation.  The mom had pulled over one day after dropping her daughter off at school to ask me if
I wouldn't be opposed to having dinner at their house one night.  Sure, I said.  After all, a Fulbrighter never turns down an invitation!  My student discreetly slipped me a note a few days later reminding me about the invitiation, with a phone nubmer to call and make a date.
Then, we went to Maroc and I forgot to call.  Upon our return, I tried to call to set a date and time.  The man on the other end of the line was a little perplexed about this "Louise" I kept mentioning, but kindly let me babble on for a minute before he informed me that I must have made an error and that there was no Louise who lived there.  I'm sure that made for some exciting dinner conversation:
Honey, who was that?
I don't know.  Some foreigner who was looking for a Louise...
Hmmm?!?
Shame and fear of repeating the same mistake made me wait another day to call again.  This time, success, a dinner date was in the future.
It could't have been more enjoyable.  Although, I must admit that Dan and I are getting much more confortable in what many would consider awkward situations.  Perhaps they no longer seem awkward, or maybe we just don't care any more...We had a lovely time with my students and their very friendly parents.

what is cheating?

I will never get used to the difference of what we perceive as "cheating" in different cultures.  I have explained and reexplained to my students in France that, to me, cheating is looking at another person's paper, asking a friend a questions, flat out asking the teacher what the answer is...I even had one kid get up, walk over to another student, and look dorectly over his shoulder to get the answer!  These are just understood as wrong in our culture.  You don't normally need to remind students in the US what does or does not qualify as cheating.  After reading Margaret's post, I have to say I'm not that surprised with their reactions. 
In the US, cheating is such a bad thing.  I remember that I cheated once, in elementary school.  I'll never forget the shame I felt.  We had those little desks and I had cleverly prepared a little cheat sheet to keep at the edge of the pencil groove.  No matter how hard I tried, I just could not learn the Roman numerals.  (I still don't know them - see? cheating is good for nothing!)   I did slip that little 3x5 notecard out to get my answers, but I was so ashamed of myself and felt even worse when I get the test back.  I don't think it was perfect, but I couldn't even be happy with the grade that I had gotten.  Anyway, I digress.  Point is, I don't think the little Frenchies have the same moral compass that we do.  They just don't see it as cheating.  It might be part of their "systeme D," a way to get things done, bend the rules if need be. 
It drives me crazy but I know that no matter how worked up I get, I will not change their view of cheating. What is cheating to me is simply a part of the test-taking process to them, I guess.  They must be as baffled by my reaction as I am by their chatter during a test.  *sigh*  At least it makes for good impressions and reenactments.  A typical test day goes like this...
me:  Jeanne!  I said no cheating!
her:  But Madame, I am not cheating!
me:  You just looked at her paper and asked her a question!
her:  Yes. I didn't know how to write that word!
me:  It's a TEST - that IS the test - to know that word!!!
her:  (blank stare, big, blinking eyes)
me:  Just..... get back to work!!!

Ouest France

Dan and I were chaperones for the 4e visit to the headquarters of Ouest France in Rennes.  Ouest France is the largest daily newspaper in France. It is the largest Francophone (French language) newspaper in the world.  Take that, Le Monde!! :)  We arrived (after two hours in a bus full of rowdy 8th graders) in the evening around 9pm, which is apparently when things get exciting.  On our tour we saw special page-size computer screens made just for the layout.  We saw frazzled reporters "scotchés" to the TV, waiting for the final seconds of a "football" game.  As we walked the halls, I could feel the excitement, the history being written before our eyes.  The students?  Well, when I asked the following day "what was your favorite part of the visit?"  several students agreed it was when we stopped for a drink at the water cooler.  Yes, we were visiting one of the largest newspapers in the world and they were impressed by the water cooler.  8th grade is 8th grade no matter where you live, I guess.