Fox en France Ep.5: I'm a crêpe, I'm a weirdo

Wednesday 5^th Oct

Enough choice for you?

It strikes me as odd that my day off has been so eventful but clearly I am making a good go at behaving like a local, as an elderly woman stopped me in the supermarket and requested I help her find the organic lemons (?). Unfortunately the poor old thing didn’t know what she was letting herself into – organic lemons were only the beginning of my cluelessness. I had to politely tell her I wasn’t the best person to ask. Frankly, I’m shocked that she hadn’t already clocked me walking in circles around the giant Intermarché, completely lost and unable to find anything I needed. Stick an indecisive person in Leeds’ Sainsbury’s Local and you’ve got a headache and a difficult job, but stick an indecisive person in a colossal French supermarket and that’s half the afternoon gone. And while I didn’t have time to verify it I would estimate that there were roughly seven or eight million varieties of wine, and about the same of cheese. I’d walked in so many circles I was worried I looked like a suspicious shoplifter type. Or perhaps like I was saving on the gym membership and getting my workout up and down the aisles instead.

I was quite the flustered mess once I hit the bakery, and turned round so quickly when leaving that I almost walked into the glass sliding door because it was really clean and I couldn’t tell which part was open. True highlight and will definitely help with my town reputation.  

SO:

Clouds: I lost at least two decades of my life in a supermarket; 40th birthday party invite to come.

Silver linings: Camouflaging with my surroundings well enough to be mistaken for a shop assistant.

Thursday 6^th Oct

"What can you do in Winter?"

The gold moments keep on coming, as this morning saw me briefly get attached to the whiteboard by my dungarees as I corrected a piece of homework. Luck was on my side, though, as they were all staring intently at their books instead of at me.

I particularly enjoyed helping to police a debate about Pokémon Go and Call of Duty (waste of time? Which is better? Is gaming really a sport?) – proving that should you find a subject that the students care about, you’re sorted. The same rule applied in my two seconde classes. Ask them about how many daughters the Wilson family has and you’re not too popular, but carve out some time to ask about music and you’ve got a fair bit of conversation about US rap flowing. …Obviously, I wasn’t a big part of this conversation.

SO:

Clouds: I keep getting attached to parts of the school by my clothing.

Silver linings: Still alive, the students are really nice (so far).

Friday 7^th Oct

Within half an hour of my third official lesson I must have subconsciously become bored of saying “well done” to every student, and so to my surprise I was asked, “Madame, what is ‘nailed it’?” Ha, ha, oh, it means you have done well, but it’s very informal and please don’t use it in your essays. (I can imagine a colleague approaching me in the staffroom: “Nicolas has written that XXX Historical Figure ‘nailed’ that war… You wouldn’t have anything to do with this, would you?”)

I then rushed home like a child to get my apartment ready for my guests. This involved doing precisely nothing except for finding all the glassware I could, and preparing to tell some of them that they were going to have to drink from empty jam jars. Classy. 

Paul Hollywood on a mad one (no, that's just sugar)

No one seemed to mind too much and taking into account some very intense conversations about Trump on the balcony (the conversations were on the balcony, not Donald himself), an impromptu round of crêpe-making in the early hours of the morning and more bottles of wine than I would ever openly reveal, I like to think it was a success. Everyone who came along – thank you for being part of a real-life textbook maths question (if you have eight language assistants and three spare bedrooms, how many single beds are in Bedroom B if three people had to sleep together in Bedroom A?). And no, sorry, I can’t pay for the medical bills of those of you on the floor, who now presumably have severe back problems.

SO:

Clouds: Post-2am-crêpe-situation my kitchen looks like the site of a heated argument between Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood (thanks a bunch, Joel). 

Silver linings: There was a 2am crêpe situation (no but seriously, thank you Joel), my balcony has been christened by heated political conversation (as all good balconies should be, no?), and everyone sneaked their cheese leftovers into my fridge. Angels.

Fox en France Ep.4: Breakfast at Tiphaine's

Monday 3^rd Oct

The first full day was, predictably, twice as mad as the half day last week (my body may be weak but my mathematics is still shipshape), as I finished yet more paperwork and attended five hours of lessons. A new tidal wave of Mannons and Julies and Melvins and Tiphaines (so many Tiphaines, all spelt differently) asking me about my favourite French city, favourite colour, favourite food and whether or not I know French music (sorry, no… Still no).

"Pride and Prejudice" chapter suggestions!

Overwhelmed, I sneaked home between the last two lessons and had a huge cup of tea in the sun on my balcony to calm my nerves before heading back into the wilderness of the terminales class, which was no less intimidating than I expected. Thirty students around my own age stared blankly at me, maintaining a whole ‘nother level of cool-and-unbothered as they told their teacher they couldn’t think of any questions.  The silence ached and it even made me wish briefly that I was back with the fifteen-year-olds, having details of my love life excruciatingly wheedled out of me (kidding, nothing was as bad as that). The pain was made up for later in a literature class, when a group of ten students acted out a page from Pride and Prejudice and had to give their own English titles to the chapter – briefly back in my comfort zone.

I soon returned to my standard state of utterly baffled in an international politics lesson – taught all in English – as the teens were asked about the US elections. “I vote for Trump because,” started one boy, “he want to build a wall for Mexico, and I want to catching Mexicans!” Needless to say my jaw promptly unhinged and fell to the floor, but after two seconds of utter silence and baited breath, the whole class burst into laughter as the boy cried, “No no, it’s a joke! It’s just a joke! Donald Trump is…” (cue the entire room making an array of rehearsed negative gestures, ranging from thumbs down to elaborately mimed gagging). Panic over. Not teaching Trump supporters.

SO:

Clouds: A group of French eighteen year olds have a better analytical understanding of Jane Austen than I ever will, and (had to happen) one teacher has blown my I-Don’t-Speak-French act.

Silver linings: Tea tastes better on a balcony, my students aren’t racist, and I made a kebab joke to a class and they actually laughed. …Okay, so you had to be there.

Tuesday 4^th Oct

While walking through town

Big day. Big, scary day as I headed on the bus for an hour to my training/induction day. After a slight (major) malfunction on one (all) of my bus routes, including a near miss involving a school bus heading in the opposite direction to my destination, I made it to the training centre… And met other people who are also assistants in small towns. Absolutely joyous. Almost on par with receiving my attestation.

We were taught some exercises to use with students (useful, definitely will employ) and given too much free coffee (not useful, buzzing and eye-twitching followed). One exercise involved making up a story to surround a song lyric – and don’t ask me how and it definitely was not my fault at all but ours ended up being about parallel universes, plagues and magical boats. The training leader told me I had “a child’s mind” but she was half smiling so I think it was a compliment about my ability to relate to students. Actually it might have been a grimace at my peculiarity but let’s just pretend it was a matter of cultural misunderstanding.

All the chat about Donald Trump in the politics class yesterday made me think about how much I hate cultural stereotypes about countries’ traditions. ... In other news, ahem, I may be hosting a wine and cheese night soon for all the other assistants I met today to celebrate our first week in France.

Party time! Just a mildly colossal shame that I’ve remembered I live directly above one of my fellow teachers.

SO:

Clouds: Abysmally late to training day: Lou fails at transport again, cheese/wine rave may lose me a colleague and friend, frightening (but comforting/necessary) terrorism drill at the college during training (Europeans panic significantly, Americans shrug and know what to do).

Silver linings: There are others out there like me! (profound), I may be living remotely but “at least it’s in the pretty countryside” (thanks for that suggestion Sam, this week’s Opinion Box is now open if anybody would like to make a cloud/silver lining contribution), and I have made comfortable peace with my lack of oven.

Fox en France Ep.3: Boulevard of Broken English

Friday 30th

PANIQUE! I am immediately eating my words – never should I have sneered at the idea of pretending I only speak English. For the sake of their English skills, it was requested I tell the students I am completely unable to speak French, and it turns out that thinking that would be easy was a silly, silly mistake.

have you ever realised how weird the word "pigeonhole" is?

Do you know how hard it is to pretend you understand nothing going on around you, after years of French lessons telling you to listen and understand and reply? When a girl asked me, “You don’t even speak one word?” I laughed and said a tentative, “Bonjour” and she fell into fits of giggles, saying to her friends in French: “Oh she’s so cute! Oh it’s too cute! Listen to her saying ‘bonjour’!” as if I were back in Year 2 in my first French lesson. And I have to smile blankly and pretend I can’t hear a thing. 

Later, a boy said in French, “Can you understand what I’m saying?” and I had to bite my tongue to keep from replying. His friends laughed, saying, “She doesn’t understand French so you can’t ask her in French if she understands French, you idiot.” The pinnacle of banter. Not to mention the: “You can ask her some questions about herself and England.” The selection of questions was as follows:

• -          “You like what star?” (Not the Kardashians) “Ian Somerhalder?” (Er, sure)
• -          “You watch Game of Thrones?” (Sorry, no…)
• -          “What music do you listen to?” (Anything... Probably more indie music than I naturally would because I do this thing called student radio? Because we have this playlist thing and oh my god there is way too much technical vocabulary in this answer so I’ll just say I like Beyoncé)
• -          “What do you study at university?” (I can’t say French or they’ll realise I can speak it – instead I say English)
• -          “So why are you in France?” (Very good question)

Very very hectic first day.

SO:
Clouds: I should have watched Game of Thrones, and I have no bowls in my cupboards.
Silver linings: The school food is incredible and I get it for cheaps, win.

Saturday 1st Oct

Celebratory croissant

NEVER in my life would I have thought that a slip of paper saying "attestation" could bring quite so much joy but such is French life - the magical signed form that lets me get a bank account. And a bank account means, admin-wise, that I can get wifi and a phone contract. I could have sworn angels appeared and started singing as the Headmaster's secretary handed me the file.

Navigation skills around town are improving a little. A.k.a I know where to buy bread (200m) and how to get to work (20m) so that's impressive from me.

First actual day working tomorrow...

SO:

Clouds: Still no oven, but you can’t have everything. I bid farewell to my father (sob, sob).

Silver linings: Temporary wifi situation SORTED, as well as a bank (Monsieur at the Bank you are the absolute dream & so helpful), and got bus tickets sorted for my induction day on Tuesday... Travel plans for October holidays may be underway.

Fox en France Ep.2: Rennes, Forrest, Rennes!

Wednesday 28th Sept

During the day time when we’re exploring nearby towns and sorting out paperwork or when I’m with my colleagues and being shown round the school, I feel almost calm and like this year is going to be weird, different, but really cool and quite special.

Brittany cider ain't bad

But then I get home... And I still have no oven, the kitchen light doesn’t work and I potentially may never have housemates – and after Leeds, which had one of the former and eight of the latter, this is taking some serious adaptation already. My solution is to get a radio hooked up ASAP and find the French equivalent of Capital. Or something.

The paperwork continues to be on top of me and I may in fact purchase an avalanche alarm for when the ever-growing pile inevitably topples over and buries me for days.

Shockingly, the language barrier is actually the easiest part of the culture shock so far, and as of this moment I’ve only once needed to actively stop someone talking and tell them I don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on.

SO:

Clouds: Kitchen lighting iffy, public transport a mystery, am potentially only 20 year old in Brittany, will have “ADMIN OVERLOAD” on gravestone.

Silver linings: Saw a beaut medieval town, am breathing, I found out my official address and I literally live on a “boulevard”. How’s that for a classy French year abroad?

Thursday 29th Sept

Place de la République, Rennes

Good day: drove over to Rennes (making the most of my dad’s car…) to meet a Leeds friend who goes to university there. It’s a gorgeous town with lots of old buildings and pretty streets, great shops and three/four universities so loads of young people (nearly fell over at the sight of people my age). It was great meeting some of the uni students there and knowing that I have people to see if I ever manage to sort transport from this little place.

The wifi/SIM card debacle ceases to end and I have now more confusing options, a SIM I may or may not be able to use, and dying hope for the future. Just kidding, that’s a bit pessimistic. My hope is not dying but rather just pretty seriously ill. Comatose. Very, dormant, like a volcano you let tourists potter around on because it hasn’t surfaced for literal millennia. Anyway.

I am trying to listen to French radio to feel all French and like a properly dedicated language student immersing herself in the target language but I’m very certain the station I found this morning just made a horrific joke about Syrian child refugees using a remix of the “Bear Necessities” from the Jungle Book. So I think I need a different station.

....Aaaand the song that just played on the new station is one I’ve already heard twice yesterday. I feel like French pop is even more limited than I thought.

SO:

Clouds: iii-soooo-laaaaa-tion, noticing the echoes in my apartment, French radio is like being submitted to a 24/7 special of Eurovision.

Silver linings: Rennes is lovely, my colleagues are so kind, and my balcony gets loads of sun during the day.

Fox en France Ep 1: It's Brittany, bitch.

Right well, here I am, overtired and baffled, sitting along in a big, big flat somewhere in France. It is a ridiculously big flat and I’m still a bit confused as to if/where other flatmates might appear from but at least it’s very very nice and brand new. Clothes away, diffuser out (rooms that smell good are A*) and I even have a microwave (this morning I had pretty much zero furniture). I even have two irons and a big sofa, a desk in my room and lots of chairs. Lots of chairs. I hope I make some friends to sit in them or I’ll be going all Marius-in-Les-Mis (“Empty Chairs at Empty Tables”, for those less in the know).

I met some of the other English teaching staff today, and had lunch with them – they all seem lovely. Some are even kind enough to speak to me in English a bit. Nadine said she could drive me to the shops every week, so she’s currently top of the bae list. They have also told me I am not allowed to speak French to any of the students, nor tell them I can speak French at all (ha - oh no, how terribly difficult that will be). 

Meanwhile, others only spoke French to me and I actually kept up (surprised). They chatted a lot about previous-assistant-Brian, who was American. He, and I quote, “had a very kamikaze approach. Oh he was such good fun! Didn’t speak a word of French”. This means I have such a lot, but also so very little, to live up to there – so thank you, Elusive Brian.

They all admit that public transport is genuinely a bit of an issue here, but a lot of them commute to other towns so hopefully I can nab a few rides. There was a bit of grimacing when I said I didn’t have a car (great) so that bodes well.

So I am here. Bit scared but hopefully tomorrow’s big admin day will help sort my main questions (am I seriously living alone in an apartment that the Von Trapps could comfortably inhabit? Where’s that pesky oven at? Etc)

Bring on da cheese.

Sobbing to my dentist & talking to cats

“Ooh, a year abroad! How exciting,” smiles the dental hygienist, putting on plastic gloves. “Where are you going?” 

There is a moment where I almost say Sydney. Toronto. Los Angeles. Heck, I almost say Melbourne, I even almost say Paris. Because then at least I haven’t lied about the country.

I swallow. “Brittany.” Silence. Does she need clarification? “Northern France.”

She is polite, and if surprised, she hides it well. “Lovely! You study French?” she coos, getting out the mini-mirror. I nod but say nothing. Mostly because there’s a mirror now wedged in my mouth.
“That must be beautiful! By the coast?” And it’s tempting to just murmur "mmmhmm" or some sort of affirmative, and be done with it. Because if I say no, she’ll look confused, and I’ll want to explain, and I’m worried it’ll all come out in one gushing torrent (tears and all) and she won’t be able to stop me even with a local anesthetic and dental drill:

No, not by the coast. Central Brittany – in what seems to be the only non-coastal town – and a tiny town at that. Smaller than Leeds by about six hundred thousand people, smaller than Guildford by about fifty thousand people. Tiny. An hour and a half from the capital city of Brittany. But you can get there by train? No, no train. But by bus? Nope. Two hours, sure, by getting a train north for an hour then southeast for an hour. The two longer sides of an isosceles. You see?! I'm so wound up and nervy I've managed to remember the word "isosceles"!

Didn't you pick where you were going? Only by vague region. But… there
will be another assistant, right? At your school? Apparently not. But there’ll be stuff going on in the town, right? All French towns have things going on! Well, a terrifying night using Google street view promised a few restaurants, a couple of banks and a MacDonalds. The height of French culture and cuisine, clearly. That night ended in sniffles, some hyperventilation and snapping my laptop shut so quickly in frustration I almost cracked the screen.

So all in all, it takes four hours to travel anywhere of note, I have hundreds of free hours per week but nothing to do with them, and am scared I’ll have fewer friends than when I was four years and old and went to nursery in Switzerland and everyone spoke French but me. Haha, oh wait, it's France, so it’s exactly like that time I went to nursery in Switzerland and everyone spoke French but me.

I can’t help but think it’s just another smidge of proof that if my life were transformed into a script and popped on Channel 4, it’d be the new farcical, Miranda-esque show for Britain to laugh at. "Rural" doesn’t even cover what’s happening to me. Come on, guys, show’s over, time to reveal the cameras. Nice prank! Where am I really going on my picturesque, romantic, chic French year abroad eh?
No?
For real?
Okay.

I'm worried I may devolve into a socially inept creature who scuttles around on all fours and speaks to cats. Or something. I’ll be rooting through people’s bins by fourth year!!! Look out, the Menace of Hyde Park strikes again!

That said, I know it's only daunting because it's a mystery. Certainly a mystery, but I’m sure I’ll live. It’ll be fun and great and I just need to have a lot of faith and hold tight, etc. etc. etc., thank you all for your advice and support. Expecting the worst means it must be better in comparison. It’ll be so different from anything else and today’s shudder-inducing nightmare is tomorrow’s hilarious blog post and so on. Yas yas.

...At the end of the day, in that dentist’s chair, I do just smile and nod ambiguously. Suuuure, it’s by the coast, why not? The woman isn’t a therapist so she doesn’t need me bursting into tears and sobbing until I choke to death on her dental implements. That’s not a fun day out for anybody.

I am so intrigued – perhaps almost excited? – to see how this year pans out. Expect blogs, maybe lots of them. Apart from that, expect absolutely nothing. Because I really, really don’t know what to expect myself.

Growing up with NCS

Brief silence. A hand shoots up. “Social enterprise is, like, when Jamie Oliver teaches homeless people to cook, right? Social enterprise is a charity business.” A small pause as she recalls the second question I’ve asked her. “Oh, and I want to work in events management.” And so another year as Summer Staff at NCS with the Challenge is well underway. I’m lost for words as I look at my team of Young People. Although they have already impressed me last week with rock climbing, hiking and canoeing, showing fearsome team support and bonding as soon as Day One, today already seems to be topping even that.

Next. “I want to work in artificial intelligence.” “Um, graphic design.” “I’d quite like to… Be Prime Minister.” Oh right – nothing too difficult, then. Was I this sorted when I was sixteen? Surely not. This lot are incredible.

Although, after five summers at NCS with the Challenge, I should have learned: they always are. A fact completely unanticipated in July 2012 when, a week before the London Olympics began, I sobbed in the car, begging my mum to take me back home. “I don’t want to go! It’s going to be… Weird!” the sixteen-year-old me whimpered. “I won't like anybody!”

Yet four years later, and the Rio Olympics in the limelight, I'm still coming back for more, and not one year of my journey with NCS has failed to impress or amaze me. Starting with my own 2012 experience as a participant after my GCSEs, completing two years of volunteering as an Associate Mentor then Senior Associate Mentor, and then beginning my journey as a Senior Mentor in 2015, I truly have seen the ins and outs of the entire programme and feel lucky to know both sides of the process. How I respected my Senior Mentor four years ago continues to inspire me as I work with my own team now, and my own memories of my time on NCS with The Challenge give me absolute faith that with the right encouragement and empowerment, every single young person we work with has the potential to achieve incredible things.

(Clockwise from top left) Me as a participant in 2012; me as a member of staff 2016: during the talent show, Dragons Den day, dressed as a "Roadman" by my team

Hiking on the Isle of Wight, 2015

I used to think, in fact, that NCS attracted the best of the best (how else would team after team after team succeed so perfectly and be so motivated, intelligent and hard-working? How else would I see so many original campaigns and inspiring speeches?) – young people who were without fail driven, kind, supportive, eager to be creative and willing to volunteer. The stars of their school, the rare gems of their community. I was astounded that whatever the challenge, they managed to take responsibility, think for themselves and make a difference. However, I was wrong. NCS does not simply bring in a specific streamlined breed of young people who are all automatically equipped to inspire and destined to change the world. Instead, the NCS programme has the ability to include and involve any single young person in the country, and then coax out that inevitable, dazzling talent within them – regardless of who they are. That’s right – watch out, world. They are all capable.

And when it comes to raw material to work with, we are ready for, and actively welcoming of, anything. The entire programme is about social mixing and inclusivity – any background or past is welcome and an astonishing number of tailored staff roles are at hand to cater for any severity of anything from a physical disability, to a mental illness, to a learning difficulty. Rest assured that you will be on a learning curve, no matter the part you play, but the challenges faced become the glue between a staff team, the bond between young people, and ultimately the most valuable lessons each participant takes with them for life. ‘Challenge yourself’ is on our code of conduct, and with good reason.

It has been a joy to watch NCS with The Challenge develop since I first became involved: only six years after the initial pilot of the programme, the ball is well and truly rolling, and I have faith that the momentum won’t be lost any time soon. NCS does not simply tell the young people of today to go into their communities and change what isn’t good enough; it shows them how to do so, and then encourages them to do it themselves. If ‘teaching a man to fish lets him eat for life’, then NCS is the equivalent of teaching a person the necessary skills to fish sustainably, to create a fishing business and then to divide produce amongst those unable to fish themselves… With some guidance on campaigning for endangered fish in their free time.

So… Why do NCS with The Challenge? Why work with us? Why participate?

I've been to Sussex. Durham. Isle of Wight. Devon. I’ve visited countless charities, businesses and local high streets. I've managed teams, made films, organised talent shows, directed workshops, been moved to tears, been confided in, and been utterly humbled. I’ve had Total Eclipse of the Heart sung to me while frozen with fear at the top of a high ropes course. I’ve had my hand grabbed as I jump, shrieking, into the sea. I’ve campaigned about social media and mental illness in teens, given speeches on the dangers of stereotyping, visited Make-A-Wish foundation, listened to stories about the Second World War from people who were there. Now, years later and a member of staff, I’ve performed S Club 7 tributes, been dressed up as a “roadman” (twice), witnessed the most seemingly unlikely friendships grow time and time again until I have come to expect them, dealt with complex situations I never thought I would, learnt to cherish the unexpected, held myself and others together (and in turn been held together too), watched fundraisers and performances of a lifetime, been made to laugh until I was in pain – and it’s my job. Is it any wonder that four years on, I still consider NCS an essential part of my summer?

I genuinely believe that NCS with The Challenge is the beginnings of the revolution of thought we so badly need in this society and across the globe. Social mixing, acceptance, respect, team-building and communication are being instilled from the ground up, from the generations that will form our future leaders and communities. NCS with The Challenge is encouraging, year by year, the foundations of the change our messy society is thirsting for, through a committed ethos of inspiration and social action.

Current affairs may seem bleak, but have faith: there are good things coming… And while they may be only sixteen years old today, just you wait. They could well change the world.