Since my real teaching job barely covers the cost of living in France, I also tutor English on the side.  My favorite student is a bubbly 15 year old whose love of English is all the more refreshing when juxtaposed against the attitude I deal with at school, and I’ve enjoyed working with her on her spoken English skills.

But let’s just say that her written work isn’t quite at the same level.

Hi, Mike!

How are you? Wow are you sure? I think it’s a really good idea. You said that you don’t know anythong
about this stort. Well, bungee jumping is an extreem sport ( it’s really safety, there are any fatalitys, ddon’t care;) ).
It comes frome natives who jumps from trees with a bamboo turino for prove their manhood! Bungee jumping arrives in Britten in 1979.
Do you remember Susan? My father’s friend. So, she trued bungee jumping when she was 18. She said me that she has
a lot of adrinaline, that it was incredible; ” You are on a metal platform and you choose to jump or not. Susan said that
the man who helped her to jump was really nice and understanding. She said me, that he give her a lot of advice and when she was finally decided to jump, he gived her a little push. She said that it was horrifiling, really impressive, but not a lot a torture; can’t describe the pleager and the exitation that she felt.
You are require any equipement and any training, juste a litte brieffing before jumping; even desabled people ( blind people or people on wheelchair ) can take the plung!
You can do it! And i’m sure, you‘ll be very proud of you after that.
See you later!

I went to my first football match over the weekend and saw Olympique Lyonnais tie Rennes at the Stade de Gerland.  This was nothing like any sporting event I’ve ever attended in the US — the food was reasonably priced, the stadium was full of smokers, the fans stood on their seats for the entire match, and the cheering was led by a middle-aged man who was clearly not chosen for his singing voice.  Oh, and the bathrooms were nightmarishly typical French. All in all, it was an interesting cultural experience, at the very least, and I decided to talk about it with my students as a starting point in classes this week.

As I began my story, some of my students started to look confused (not that this is any different from any other class), particularly when I mentioned that this was my first ever professional match. I asked them about their favorite team — and they countered by asking if Manchester United was mine.  Confused, I explained that I didn’t really follow football and that I couldn’t name a favorite team, because in the US we prefer sports like baseball and “football américain.

At this, hands shot up.  Mais madame, vous n’etes pas Anglaise ?

I’ve been working with these kids once a week since October, during which time I’ve taught lessons on Boston, the US Elections and Obama, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Martin Luther King day.  Of course this is the class that gave me “bozard” last week, so I suppose  I can’t take it personally.

Two truths and a lie is my go-to lesson after vacation, since it requires absolutely no prep and gets everyone to speak (and to practice the past tense).  One by one, they go to the board and write three sentences — two true ones about what they did over break, and one lie.   The class then votes on which statement is the lie, and the aim is to fool the class into picking incorrectly.

And yes, the title was a real submission.  Needless to say, some of the students are better at this game than others…

…but sometimes my Francophilia gets the better of me.  This week, one of my students wrote a letter to his American pen pal describing Lyon’s major sights, including the famous “musee des bozard,” and he swore up and down that “un copain” had given him the correct spelling.

Unfortunately for him, I’d been to the “bozard” that very weekend, so I tried to explain that he’d been Mondegreened.

So it would appear.  Apps were submitted earlier this month, and I’ve heard back from two schools already.  These were both “fee-waived” or free applications, neither one of which was a top choice, but it’s nice to receive acceptance letters all the same, especially when they include generous scholarship offers.  I still have 10 applications outstanding — four at schools where I don’t stand a chance, two at schools I don’t really see myself wanting to attend, three at “target” schools where my numbers should make me relatively competitive, and one at a dream school that is probably just out of reach.  So the waiting continues…

I’ve been back from Christmas vacation for nearly a month now, and between riots, teacher illnesses and other class cancellations, I’ve taught a grand total of…13 hours.    In trying to save for my upcoming vacations, though, I’ve been reluctant to spend much money, so I’ve been trying to come up with ways to fight boredom.  Among these? Writing articles for eHow. The likelihood of actually getting any significant money from this program is close to nil, but I certainly do have a lot of free time and might as well give it a shot!

How to Apply to US Law Schools from Abroad

How to Choose a French Dictionary

How to Teach English in France

How to Teach Yourself German

How to Avoid Credit Card and ATM Fees While Traveling Abroad

How to Find Long Lost Friends and Contacts in France

How to Explore Lyon, France on a Budget

How to Plan an ESL Valentine’s Day Lesson

If you feel like reading more, please do so; these were all dashed off without much in the way of planning or revision, but perhaps someone out there will find them useful?

No classes today.  I can tell something’s wrong before I even step off the bus in front of my school, when the bus driver curses under his breath at the unmarked police car that’d hastily, crookedly parked in front of the stop.

“Les flics” line the sidewalk leading up to the school’s entrance.  I’ve called it prison-like before, but never has it felt quite so appropriate as today.  As I walk through the gate, past the police officers’ silent scowls, I see the fractured remains of the glass doors leading into the school’s lobby, behind which a swarm of adolescents races through the hallways.  It is 8:30am; on a normal day the halls would be empty and quiet, and I’d make my way up to the Salle des profs, make a few photocopies, and get ready for my 9am class.  My intended lesson was based on a New Year’s resolutions piece I found in the Globe’s kid section, which might have been a bit too advanced for this particular class, but we’d have made something work.  Earlier groups this week had come up with one or two “promises to be a better person or make the world a better place,” so perhaps these kids could have exceeded my expectations.   As I push my way through the crowd, trying to figure out what was going on, such resolutions are the last thing on my mind, and I feel legitimately scared to be an American in Vénissieux.

From the window in the salle des profs, you can see the hillside behind the school — the one that leads up to the dilapidated concrete “HLMs,” or housing projects, in which some of my students likely live.  The hill might once have been grassy; a crumbling stairway connects to the asphalt next to the school, and now an eerily large group of students stands atop this hill, collecting the rocks from the slope and throwing them towards the school.  Their trashcan fires have mostly gone out, but as the Principal tries to gather all of the faculty in our refuge, I can’t help but stare out the window as final a firecracker shoots off, followed by a puff of smoke.  The teachers put forth a variety of theories from the safety of the salle des profs, ranging from the geopolitical “when things are astir in the Moyen-Orient, ca bouge a Vénissieux” to the peer-pressure-based (blame les grands, les lyceens, etc, for inciting the younger ones without any rational reason), but the one thing that everyone can agree on is that no classes will be taught today.

The police make their way up the hill, bring the instigators back down, and then they disappear from view.  I don’t stay long enough to figure out what happens to the perpetrators, or even why they’re so upset.  My teacher sees a golden opportunity to sneak me out the back door, and offers to drive me back to the metro, avoiding the turbulent bus ride altogether and bringing an end to a confusing, frightening and dissatisfying morning.

Once upon a time in December, one off [elf] ate a Santa when Drunkman hurt with a skate. The flying elf is landed in a house and gave a lot of gifts to the inhabitants. THE END.

There were many more where this came from, such as:

• Once upon a time Santa is got stuck in the chimney and is dead…
• Once upon a time a snowman fall in love with this woman and want to be moving for seduce her…(Madame, comment dit-on ’seduire’ en anglais’? )
• Once upon a time Santa Claus is ill. He goes “Achoom ” and Mrs. Claus make a soupe for her Darling.

And yes, this is my most advanced class.

I think I’ve found the best of both worlds: I’m finally experiencing the Christmas season in France, but still have the anticipation and excitement of knowing I’ll be home for the actual holiday. At this point, only 4 hours of teaching still separate me from my flight, and barring more New England ice storms and/or other weather-related disasters, I should be back in Boston around 5pm on Thursday. Vivement les vacances !

That said, Advent in France is a new and wonderful experience, and though mine was partly marred by the LSAT in Paris last weekend, I still caught the tail end of Lyon’s signature festival, la Fete des Lumieres. I’ve also been to a couple of Christmas markets, sipped a few delicious glasses of vin chaud and have been Christmas shopping up a storm, trying to en profiter as best I can.

Chez moi, the holiday season officially begins the night before Thanksgiving, and though I had the day off (French strikes to the rescue!) I still missed the ritual screening of “Miracle on 34th Street” with the cousins at Auntie Anne’s. Fortunately, there are enough wonderful expats in the Lyon area to offer not one but two Thanksgiving dinners, so although I missed being home, I still had an incredibly memorable holiday. But Christmas is another story, and I’m thrilled to be heading back, suitcases full of French goodies for everyone back home.

Joyeux Noël et bonne année à toutes et tous !

Found — where else? — outside a Zurich cheese shop during last month’s travels through Switzerland, Berlin and Paris. Delicious and lucrative? Sign me up.