Exciting times.

It’s been quite a while since I’ve updated the old blog, so a lot has changed and I don’t know how I’m possibly going to update you on all crazy things that have happened to me since the 27th January.

Firstly there was La Chandeleur, 2nd February, one of the many French festivals that absolutely must involve food. This time it was pancakes. Interestingly they don’t necessarily eat pancakes on Mardi Gras, our pancake day, but having lived through January where almost everyday you must eat a special pastry thing, called a gallette, I wouldn’t have put it past the French to have two Pancake days in one month.

Anyway I was put to work in the kitchen, and shamefully produced something that ressembled more fresh vomit than an appetising crèpe à la française.

Then came for me to change host families. After five months at Stef’s and Sven’s, I packed my things and moved into my new bedroom, at Isabelle’s and Laurent’s.

my life, mainly featuring Coco Pops.

A nice welcoming from my new host brotehrs and sisters, Inès, Lucie and Sacha, not quite sure about the size of my ears though.

And my new village of St Hilaire has already named a road after me (and canonised me).

And invetibaly, if you have ever passed time in the Vendée, you will know that somewhere along the way, someone is going to force you to eat oysters. This time however, I really did not appreciate them. I think it was something to do with my family reminding me that oysters are actually living when they are sat on your plate.

And then  broke up for Febuary half term, or more March half term as it was so late. For school holidays, France is split into three parts, and each part has holidays at different times. This year the Vendée had the very latest holiday dates. Just before we broke up though, the other language assistants and I found some absolutely filthy garden gnomes (we think from when the department used to teach Snow White :/) and managed to leave a little hint on our boss’ desk:

Then came a week’s holiday à la neige. My new host family had kindly invited me to come with them on their annual skiing holiday. I had never ever skied for before , but it didn’t do too badly. I took five days of ski lessons, in French!! I didn’t have any major problems, except the first day when I unintentionally slid down the hill in front of my whole group. I got up, but then the instructor told me I should get up with my head towards la mont, kind of slang for mountain. It’s supposedly easier to get up, rather than pushing your head all the way up from down hill. Except that I was not aware of this cool shortening of the word ‘mont’ for montagne, and when I was staring at him blankly and he asked me “Djo, c’est où, la mont?!” ie. “JOE WHERE IS THE MOUNTAIN?!”, I quickly, and maybe optimistically, assumed that mont was just his weird southern way of saying main (hand) and I started maddly waving my hands at him. The instructor then asked mehow old I was, doubting that I should be in the adult group, and probably doubting my mental capacities. I didn’t have the energy to explain that I was English, doing a gap year, staying in a host family that has taken me on holiday with me, so I just kind of stood quietly and waited for the moment to pass. One by one everybody in the group slid off on their skis, and I  slowly followed, sweating profusely.

There was also another funny moment, where the instructor was shouting at me “A droite, à droite! A DROITE!” as I happily skiied off to the left. At the bottom, all the rest of my group where stood there smugly going “Joe, in FRANCE, right is this way”, waving their hands out to the right. Other than that I felt the week was quite an achievement, first time skiing, first time trying to sneak into French society, and I’m fairly sure nobody noticed.

And just before I go I’m going to leave you with a slightly more recent photo of me going insane as I plan lessons late on a Sunday night. This is what most Sunday nights look like.