Tuesdays

Tuesday is my earliest day-- I catch a bus around 6:30.  Stepping out into the still-dark morning is a special feeling that often transports me back to rowing practice, when I would be on the water to watch every day unfold. I miss it and it must be prominent in my subconscious because I still dream about rowing.

So, down the street to the bus stop, then the metro, then another bus-- I'm not thrilled with public transportation as opposed to having one's own car, but at least it's cheap in Toulouse.  For young people, it's only 10 euros/month for unlimited bus and metro rides. That looks really good compared to, say, Paris' prices.  The commute takes an hour: on the way there, I nap; on the way back, I read.  I ride to a suburban town called St. Orens, to the high school:

I teach three classes: one of nine sophomore boys who are a bit boisterous and hard to motivate, but they do what I ask, make me laugh, and are altogether intelligent and respectful so I don't mind.  Another is the ideal class: five students, docile, but engaged...

I eat lunch in the cafeteria.  The quality of the food isn't spectacular (it's a school cafeteria) but I find the French-ness of it amusing: a hot main course (like ratatouille), a little salad-- usually including cheese or olives or anchovies or something equally absent in American school lunches-- neatly arranged, then a piece of fruit or a yogurt for dessert.  Everybody gets a mini-loaf of bread, like a baguette the size of your hand.  Today there was also goat cheese... There's two lines, one of which serves greasier food like french fries and one day was a special "American" day: hamburgers  (what else?).  Students never bring lunch to school.  Everyone buys.

In the early afternoon, I ride the bus downtown where I often go to the mediatheque: a 4-story, modern library with a very satisfactory collection of books, movies, music... and it's also a comfortable place to sit and study; I could easily spend all day there:

Last week I met my friend, Gabbie, at a brasserie (bar) and we had croque-monsieurs: the french version of a grilled cheese.  The cheese is grilled on top of the bread, with ham on the inside.  Of the two I've tried, I can't say that it's better than a homemade American version... It's definitely not one of the French's most refined gastronomical achievements, but it's a well-known quick lunch. 

Then we paroozed the little streets and shops; the French take the same approach to their stores as to their food: presentation is everything (except maybe in the case of the croque-monsieur).  We stopped at a couple colorful papeteries.  France produces a lot of high quality stationary...  So much beautiful blank paper almost makes my mouth water (if there was an equivalent expression for the hands twitching to write).

Gabbie in a papeterie

And that brings us to evening, when I go to my French class, where I try to improve in this here language... mardi a fini.