The eleventh hour

My contract for being a teaching assistant in Strasbourg stated that I was to work 12 hours a week, split as 9 hours a week at the lycée and 3 hours a week at the collège. However, it soon became clear to some of us teaching in the city that our hours weren’t going to be quite as we’d originally suspected…


Fear not, it wasn’t as sinister as it might sound. In hindsight, I’d maybe now rephrase that part of the contract to say something along the lines of: “you will be paid for 12 hours a week, assuming you are not the cause of any hours’ lessons being missed, and you should expect to work up to 12 hours a week, depending on the members of teaching staff you work with”.

Part of the contract was that if the main teacher with whose class you were working was absent for any reason, then we were forbidden from working. Not just that we didn’t have to work, but that we weren’t allowed to work in those circumstances. As silly as that may sound, the reasoning behind it was that if something should happen in the class where you need assistance, such as behavioural issues or even a situation that would require medical assistance, it is the job of the class teacher who has undergone the relevant training and has the necessary expertise to deal with it.

In practice, I didn’t need to call in the other teacher whenever these situations happened in one of my lessons. I had a couple of cases of students whose behaviour was becoming an issue, so I just spoke to them directly as I’d seen happen in so many lessons beforehand, and in one case I spoke to the class teacher afterwards who then pulled him from all of my future lessons. On the medical side of things, it required all of my First Aid training and knowledge to tell a kid who was having a nosebleed and was used to them to go to the toilets and clean himself up and come back when he was ready. He was fine and back in the classroom 10 minutes later.

The whole being forbidden from taking a class in those situations was really more of a precaution, but one that given the potential risks, we made sure to follow. As for the advice we were given on the training day of only sending students to the toilets in pairs, because if they fall and hurt themselves then it’s your fault, we didn’t observe that one quite so strictly.

However, because I wouldn’t teach if the teacher wasn’t there and also there were several situations in which I was told I wasn’t teaching at last minute notice, I rarely actually managed a full 12 hour working week (I know, life was very hard for me). Next year back at university and then life in the working world after that are going to be rather different sadly.

The reasons I had for last minute cancellations were great. There was the fairly regular “I’m doing a test with the students”, which became more and more common as the exams got closer, to the point where I’m fairly sure I heard it at least once a week towards the end. Sometimes we had “I’m behind on work with this class”, which didn’t happen too often and was usually either with lower ability groups or ones where the teacher had been away for a period of time. There was the 10 day period when two of the teachers I worked with had gone on a school exchange trip to Boston, so I didn’t have any of those classes and some of the students in my other classes were out on the trip too. Even during the weeks of exam invigilating, I still didn’t manage to do all 12 hours, because the exams taking place meant that my final year classes got cancelled. I’ve also learnt that some methods practised in schools are clearly universal, because as we got to the end of term, there was also the excuse of “it’s the end of term so we’re just going to watch a film”. Fair enough, I can understand that, especially given that a lot of my lessons were the final slot of 5-6pm, when the kids were reluctant to work at the best of times. However, I feel we might have been pushing things a bit when I heard this about 2 or 3 weeks before the end of term…

As for staff absences, most were health-related as you’d expect; either the teacher was ill or their child/other dependant was ill. The prize for the most obscure and also most prolific absence excuse though, goes to the young teacher I worked with briefly at the start of the year. She was pregnant and due to go on maternity leave at Christmas, but just after the start of November she started (brace yourselves) having irregular contractions. When this first started she was signed off for two weeks, but then they persisted in plaguing her, to the point where I didn’t see her back in school again before I left. To be fair to her, she did go in when possible to work with her classes that were closer to exams, but as mine were still a year or two off, they weren’t top priority. But because she would only get signed off work for a week or so at a time, there was no long-term replacement strategy in place, which meant that I just kept getting those lessons cancelled every week. It got to the point where I began referring to her in conversation with my fellow teaching assistant friends merely as “Contractions Lady”, which was also my standard line explaining why I hadn’t had lessons on a particular day.

The ways I found out about these absences also varied. There were a couple of boards up around the school that listed any teaching staff absences for both pupil and teacher reference, which after the first few times of waiting in an empty classroom for half an hour, I got into a better habit of checking every day. I tried to get into a good pattern with my colleagues whereby they would text or call me if they knew that my lesson was going to be cancelled for any reason, but unfortunately that didn’t quite stick with some of them. Of course, when you’re in physical pain or you’ve got something rather pressing to attend to, texting a colleague is probably not going to be high up on your priorities, given that you’d hope that when you ring the school office to tell them, they’d pass the message on, but that rarely happened. Thankfully the one teacher who almost always managed to call me was the one I worked with for two single hour slots when I otherwise wouldn’t be going in to the school. In the case of the afternoon lessons, they were usually after my weekly trip with Liz to have coffee and cake at a beautiful and surprisingly calm pâtisserie that was right next to the cathedral, so I would sometimes get a call midway through my mille-feuille or dôme caramel to say that I didn’t need to come in. I was always keen to reassure her that it wasn’t a problem and thanked her for calling. The other class was a morning one and because I lived so close to the school, I only needed to leave about 15 minutes before the lesson started to still make it there on time before the students. However, the effect of this was that I would still be in bed at 8:30 or so when I was teaching at 10. As such, I came to develop mixed feelings towards the 7:45 phone call to tell me that I didn’t need to go in. On the one hand, it did mean that I didn’t have to get up straight away, but on the other hand I had then been woken up and so a lie-in was less likely. Still, I really can’t complain.

In my final week of teaching before my contract ended, it looked as though I was going to actually teach a whole week of 12 hours of lessons. Granted, that was partially because I’d rearranged my lessons from the week before so that I’d be free to spend time with Meg and Rowan whilst they were over visiting me, instead of having to keep running off to teach for an hour or two, but still. Hell, I was even going to do more than 12 hours because of that at one point, but then I found out that one of the teachers I worked with was going to be absent on the final two days of term when she was sitting some teaching exams to gain further qualifications. As it was, during my final week I did 10 hours of teaching plus just over 5 hours of invigilating in the speaking exam preparation room, a highly glamorous task which involved getting the students to sign their name to say that they had come for their exam and handing them some rough paper, at a rate of 6 or 7 students every 15 minutes.

There was one week when I worked 12 hours, but that wasn’t because nothing got cancelled. It was the week of my birthday and I’d previously rearranged my classes on the Friday beforehand so that I could go to Paris that morning and not have to worry about the two classes I’d otherwise have taught in the afternoon. Having shifted those two classes to the following week, it was only because I ended up having two lessons cancelled for other reasons that the overall total worked out at 12 weeks.

As it was, there were only one occasions on which I actually managed to work a 12 hour week without having rearranged classes, and that was the first week in November. After that time, through one reason or another, I never taught a complete week of my timetable without changes, whether they were last minute ones or otherwise.

Things my students say – Part 3

This is now part 3 in this series, after the previous post became so long that I had to split it into two. Sadly this is also the last in this short-lived series, so I hope you enjoy the third and final instalment!


While the majority of the anecdotes I have are from the lycée with the 15-18 year olds where I spent most of my working week, there were some equally great moments at the collège. It took one of the students I saw on a fortnightly basis nearly 5 months before she realised that I could speak French, despite the fact that I usually ended up saying short phrases or giving complex instructions in French when they didn’t understand the idea in English. The following lesson she came in and was far less chatty than usual. When I asked if everything was ok, her reply was “I’m scared because you speak French.” Clearly it’s a skill to be reckoned with.

Her’s was a strange class though. About 6 weeks before I finished working there, a group of them asked their main teacher what they should call me, despite having quite happily settled on ‘Mister Tom’ less than 2 months into me working there.

It was also one of my classes at the collège that had decided to do an end of year musical, after the success of the play they did the year before. They were reading and studying abridged versions of Matilda, Oliver Twist, and The Wizard of Oz, so I did some listening comprehension work using songs from the various musicals. It would seem that The Scarecrow has alcoholic tendencies, given that several of my students were very keen to tell me that the lyrics was “I’d drink some things I’d never drunk before / And then I’d sit and drink some more”.

Using songs as a means of working on listening skills was a technique I learnt from my A level French and German teacher, so about a month later I employed the tactic again and managed to pass off an hour of listening to Taylor Swift as teaching English. Hey, at least the students were interested and engaged!

With the group working on a class musical I did an introduction to musical theatre one lesson so that they had a clearer idea of what they were doing, which basically involved defining the key aspects of a musical before playing them various songs and getting them to identify the reason what the song was doing in the show and who was singing. One of the boys who was determined to seem too cool for school told his classmates that “because it’s a musical, it has to be pointless”. I later saw said pupil unironically rocking out to Defying Gravity when my back was turned and he thought I wasn’t looking.

When the class came to writing scenes for their musical they decided to use some of the songs from Matilda, The Wizard of Oz and Oliver, so I spent one lesson working on pronunciation for Food, Glorious Food from Oliver. Despite vaguely knowing the song, I realised during that lesson just how obscure some of those lyrics are. “Can we beg, can we borrow or cadge” or “peas, pudding and saveloys” – anyone?

One of my favourite classes to work with at the collège, and sadly one that I only saw sporadically, was a 6ème group (11-12 year olds) who’d just started at the school and were still very much in the young and cute stage. Whenever I was with them, it was almost always together with their main class teacher as extra help in the classroom. The teacher who’d had them until Christmas decided at that point to go on maternity leave (she wasn’t pregnant; she’d given birth just over a year ago but wanted to take some time out to spend with her daughter. No I didn’t quite understand either…), and so the class got a new teacher after the holidays. That in itself made me realise how much a class can change with a different teacher; they went from a quiet, shy and respectful class to a noisy one that was rather hard to control over that particular vacation. One day I was working with the new teacher, at a time when the class had been moved into a different room because of mock exams taking place, and so the class didn’t have access to the bilingual dictionaries that they’d been used to using. Given that I hadn’t seen the class for a while, I decided to reintroduce myself by standing at the front of the room and saying “hello, I am your dictionary!” It seemed to go down well, especially given that later when they were doing work in pairs, I heard one girl tell her partner to ask me rather than their main teacher, on the basis that I was nicer.

I clearly gained something of a reputation at the school, because a few weeks later, after the holidays, one of the other teachers decided just to resplit the group in two, rather than try and remember who was with who last time. She was feeling in a nice mood and so decided to give the class a degree of choice by asking “So, who wants to go with me?” It was quite awkward when no one spoke…

That being said, I was sort of put in my place when one of the other English teachers with whom I worked a few times saw me and promptly greeted me by saying “are you working with me today? No? Good.” Granted, she had 30 French kids behind her and was in a rush, but still.

Ok, so this wasn’t something that came out of my lessons with students, but I did also arrive at the collège one day to find a plant order catalogue in my pigeon hole. As you do…

I learnt that while some of the challenges I faced at the collège were different to those at the lycée, poor pronunciation was to be found everywhere. The most amusing example was when one student had written their own version of Cinderella in a lesson on modern fairy tales and was reading it out to the class. Unfortunately the English ‘r’ sound is quite difficult for native French speakers, so instead of ‘room’, what I heard was, “in her womb, she asked for a life”. Oh holding it together was hard in that moment…

The young group I sometimes saw were always fun to work with, partially because I had the opportunity to get sassy and sarcastic with them, using British humour in French, which usually threw them too. When one boy appeared to have an aversion to sitting still or frankly sitting at all, I did ask him, in French: “Don’t you like the chair? What has the chair done to you? Why are you dancing with your chair?” He soon realised that sitting still was the preferred option from the perspective of a teacher.

The class also got assigned pen pals at one point, and so I was working with them when they had to write a short card to send to their pen pal describing themselves. One pupil who struggled at applying himself wrote 3 short sentences and promptly declared that he had finished. I said I was very surprised that he was able to summarise his entire existence in three lines and got him to write more. About ten minutes later, he came and told me that he’d written another sentence, so I asked him what this fourth and final line that had taken him ten minutes to craft was, a line to bring about the end of literature as we knew it?

Despite, or perhaps because of the fact that I was the preferred teacher in the pupils’ eyes when compared to their main teacher, she asked me after a particularly trying but ultimately successful lesson whether I could go back tomorrow. Sadly (or rather thankfully), I only did one day a week there and was dependent on buses to get in and out of the small village, so I had to refuse. I did later learn that this teacher was also only contracted to teach for 11 hours a week, i.e. less than me! And I thought I had a sparse timetable…

As you’ll know if you’ve read my previous school anecdotes post, I tended to be rather relaxed when it came to using phones in lessons, so when the class who’d been on the trip to Liverpool and North Wales came back the following week, quite a few of the students ended up getting their phones out, albeit so that they could show me their photos. I’d asked them to tell me about what they did and saw, which they did with visual aids (I did give them permission to use their phones in the lesson), although I wasn’t quite expecting to be shown all their duckface selfies as well. That being said, I don’t know what I should have expected from the group of girls who got into the habit of singing James Blunt’s Goodbye My Lover every week at the end of my lesson as they left the room… One of them even proposed to me as a joke in our last lesson together.

My last lesson with that particular class was particularly special though. The cute little kid of the “what do you think you’re fucking doing” story came up to me at the end and thanked me, saying that he felt his English had greatly improved through our lessons together over the course of the year. Heck, one of the girls even asked me to autograph her pencil case.


So yes, teaching English for 7 months certainly has armed me with many anecdotes and fun little stories or quotations from my students. For the most part, I’d like to think I did a good job at dealing with them without being patronising or condescending. I can honestly say that I did try not to laugh at their mistakes, but sometimes it was rather hard not to.

Things my students say – Part 2

* Or technically said, given that I no longer work as a teacher.

Since my last Things My Students Say post back in December, I’ve acquired a whole new set of anecdotes from similar moments, partially thanks to having my timetable switched up and almost completely changed at the end of January, which was just after the halfway point of my time teaching. Of course that meant going through the initial introductions again (always a fun experience… No, small French teenager, my name is in fact not Mr Pregnant… I went with just Tom from that point on.), as well as a whole new range of mistakes and stories that come from working with a different group of people. This change has also meant that I’ll have worked with about 600 different students from the ages of 11 to 18, so if I thought learning all the names last time was rather difficult, I’ve since learnt that I’m better off trying to remember the information and stories the kids volunteer in lessons and building on those rather than constantly checking the register and still getting the pupils confused. I had one student tell me that he’d heard about me from his sister, whom I’d taught earlier in the year. He very excitedly told me that she was a final year student, but given that by that point I had taught 5 such classes and nearly 150 kids in that year, sadly I couldn’t say anything particularly specific. I did also have to explain to one of my students that yes, I still didn’t know everyone’s name by the end of the year, but I remembered all the funny things they’d said and done, and other bits about them, so I did still know who they were in that sense. Thankfully I managed to avoid trying to explain the names I give to them… Let it be known though, the joy that a teacher feels when they can at last figure out who is absence in a class without needing to go through the whole register. It is a glorious day indeed.

Warning: parts of this post contain repeated use of strong language, and unfortunately it’s almost entirely direct quotations from my students. I can only apologise.


Part of the reason I’d chosen to apply to Strasbourg was because it was so close to the border with Germany, and so I figured I’d get the opportunity to speak German fairly often as well as French. Of course, I’d expected that to be the result of regular trips across the border and also just speaking to the various German tourists and Germans that live in the city, such as the few that I met through my choir there. I also had the opportunity of using my German in school a few times, usually when speaking to the German students there or even just to point out when the students had accidentally used a German word, which, given the similarities between English and German, especially in comparison to French, was quite often (I swear, I must have used the phrase “Das ist Deutsch” over a hundred times). However, I didn’t quite expect the use of my German to extend to reprimanding students… Two students were arguing as they came into my lesson and continued to do so as they sat down and got their things out. As I turned to the class and went to begin the lesson, silence fell and I heard one of these students shout “Ich ficke deine Mutter!” (I’ll fuck your mother!). I looked at the student in surprise at the sudden shout into silence and then turned to the board to write something. Being the mischievous thing that I am, I glanced over my shoulder at the student and said, in German, “You do know that I speak German, right?”. The student went as white as a sheet and started stammering some excuse about having only learnt the phrase that day and not knowing what it meant.

In a lesson where we were working on different and creative ways of expressing likes and dislikes for something, one student came out with the very British “This is not my cup of tea”. Bonus points earned there. This was the aforementioned lesson on Room 101, so we also discussed fears as well as dislikes. With ways of saying I’m afraid of, we had creative alternatives such as “I’m freaking out about”and “I poop myself at”. In addition to the recurring use of “shit” in some of these phrases for emphasis, I then took the opportunity to explore synonyms that they could use in other contexts, the results of which included “poop” and “excrement”. Some of my other favourite ways to say I don’t like included “I’m pissed off with”, “I don’t give a damn/fuck about”, “I’m sick of”, “I’m done with your shit”, “it grinds my gears”, and “it’s a pain in the neck/butt/ass”. We also had “I’m pissed”, at which point I did have to stop and explain the difference in meaning depending on American and British English. When doing the follow up lesson on the positive side of things, we had a similar range of phrases, including “I fucking love” and “I could kill for”. Of course, with all these profanities, I did have to explain that they would do well to find clean versions of these phrases for their exams and also generally for use with their other teachers. While I didn’t mind too much if they swore in my lessons, provided they did so in English and correctly, I didn’t think I could say the same for my colleagues.

In the lesson I also mentioned and briefly explained pet peeves, which led to various amusing conversations, especially when trying to explain the word “peeves”. Often this involved reference to Harry Potter with varying degrees of success, depending on the students’ familiarity with the books. Another difficulty was when one student misheard me and thought that we were about to have a conversation about potatoes…

In addition to mishearing things, the class also faced difficulties when individual students’ vocabularies contained words that weren’t particularly common knowledge, as was the case when student said his pet peeve was “when cats start licking their genitals”. “Genitals” turned out to require some explaining to quite a few students, a conversation that needed considerable tact and circumlocution to make the point without being too vulgar about it.

Despite the French penchant for a good strike and general expressions of dissent, they proved to find the task of expressing their annoyance with certain things rather more difficult. This in part was due to the fact that annoyance proved a concept that, at least linguistically, didn’t translate particularly easily from English into French.

In the follow up lesson, I decided to replicate the structure and so instead of pet peeves, we stuck with the behavioural idea and did turn ons. Yes, I did decide to discuss the idea of turn ons with a group of 15 and 16 year olds. Thankfully they kept things very much respectable. That being said, when it came to asking for synonyms for attractive, one enthusiastic lad, quite innocently, suggested “busty”, which did make me laugh. I did then of course explain that while the two may certainly be closely linked in his view, they did not mean the exact same thing.

One of the lessons that I did with some of my more advanced classes was an introduction to feminism, which included watching extracts of Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche’s TED talk, the excerpt from that used in Beyoncé’s Flawless at her VMA performance last year, and Emma Watson’s HeForShe campaign speech at the UN. Part of what I really enjoyed about giving these lessons, other than seeing how the class dynamic sometimes shifted slightly afterwards, was the way that the students phrased ideas or expressed themselves. Yes, there were still some linguistic issues, like the student who pronounced the words “human” and “woman” as indistinguishable to my ears, but there were also some great and interesting moments like the student who corrected herself when she said “girl” and wanted to say “woman”. Equally, there was the moment where English being a foreign language to them meant that they hadn’t yet picked up on all of the usual orders or phrases, when various students spoke about “women and men” and “the equality of women and men”. In one lesson on the subject, I got into a really interesting discussion with some of my students where they’d used models of international development and relations between groups of countries as a model for the patriarchy. For a completely different reason, I also hugely enjoyed the time that I did the lesson with one of my lower ability groups that was made up of entirely teenage girls. They turned out to be the most engaged group in that lesson, despite the fact that their English was more limited than my other groups.

Annual events or traditions are rather useful in the life of an English assistant and language teacher, as you can spin a whole lesson out of them each time one comes around. So naturally, just after term started again after Christmas, I did a series of lessons on New Year’s celebrations and resolutions. The best story and resolution combination was one of the students who told me that he’d had a particularly eventful New Year’s Eve party, and so the line he came out with was: “On New Year’s Eve, I kissed a dog. Next year I will try a cat.” It took his classmates who’d also been at the party to piece together the rest of the story for communal enjoyment.

One day, when there was a trip going on and the main class teacher had kept some of the pupils back to catch up on missed work, I found myself with a class of less than half the usual size, so once I’d found out why the rest of the class weren’t coming, I made some comment about being a bit thin on the ground that day. Of course this was met with some confused glances, so I wrote the phrase on the board and asked if anyone new what the phrase meant. However, French schools being what they are, quite a few of the pupils instantly took up pen and paper and proudly wrote it as the title for that day’s lesson, at which point I made the decision to let it be and move the lesson in that direction instead.

By some stroke of luck, despite being only a few years older than the oldest students at the lycée (and certainly not looking it when stood next to a couple of them!), I managed to go until 20th January, well into my second term teaching before I was mistaken for a pupil. I was going into a classroom that I’d recently booked and so the cleaning staff had gone in just before me, thinking it was free for the hour. I told them that I had a lesson in the room and so they got their things and went to leave, but told me I needed to wait outside so they could lock the room. When I looked at them quizzically, they explained that there had to be a teacher present in the room if it was unlocked, at which point I managed to smile and explain that I was, in fact, said teacher. The poor woman did go rather red and then tried to smooth things over by saying how young I looked, so I did explain that I was the English language assistant and wasn’t a fully qualified French teacher in their mid-20s who’d done a degree and passed the national teaching exams, which made her feel a bit better about the mistake.

Yet despite being mistaken for one of them, there were quite a few times when I was more aware of the age gap and my students did manage to make me feel noticeably older than them. The most direct of these was when a student asked how old I was, before commenting “it’s really old, 21”. Thanks. Another one of my students came in one day wearing a baseball cap with ‘1991′ written across the front. I stopped him and asked what year he was born in (1997) and then pointed at his hat. His explanation was that it was vintage. I’d like to think that I at least managed to pass myself off as sophisticated in their eyes, although somehow I doubt that was the case.

My students did also sometimes try and get away with things that when you’re in school seem possible and like a good idea, but from the perspective of a teacher rarely are. On various occasions I saw students with their phones, some more open than others, like the lads who were Snapchatting each other to their friends in other classes one time, whereas some students did at least try to be discreet about it. One girl though she was being very clever and secretive, texting behind her back, but in a class of 4 people, it’s a lot harder to hide. However, I did opt to take the route of being ‘the cool teacher’ (or at least I tried…), so when they could actually make good use of it as a learning tool rather than a distraction, I was quite happy for the students to use their phones in lessons. I did explain that I was happy to answer any vocab questions they had, although when it came to the more international classes who only knew the word they wanted in Russian or Azerbaijani or Japanese, online dictionaries proved the more effective solution.

In a stunning turn of events, it was often raining in Alsace. So when the sun came out and the sky was a bright shade of blue, I made the observation to my students. The reply I got was “Well of course, it does get sunny in summer in Alsace. Maybe not for you in England…”. Touché.

On that note, the French verb “toucher” proved to be a rather difficult one over the year. It’s one of those wonderful French verbs that has many meaning depending on the context, and can be translated as to hit, to affect (positively and negatively), and to have an impact on. However, as students of foreign languages are often want to do, the easy option was often taken, despite being a false friend. And so, people were touched by, amongst other things, terrorism, bullets and Obama’s absence at the Charlie Hebdo solidarity walk in Paris. I did start to despair after the 20th iteration…

In the case of two of my weaker ability classes at the lycée, there was somewhat of a tradeoff, in that their English skills weren’t particularly good, but that was usually the result of them being almost all international students who were learning English as their 3rd, 4th, 5th, or even in one case 6th, language (there was English, French, German, Spanish and Russian being spoken over the course of a single hour’s lesson one week) . It was a group where there were no more than 3 or 4 kids from the same country, which made for some interesting discussions of countries and also their families. My favourite was one particularly cheeky young lad who when I asked what his parents did, he told me very straight-faced that his father was the President of Albania. Given the various ranks of international students whose parents worked in Strasbourg at the different European institutions, this was genuinely a possibility at the school. He managed to keep up the act for a good 15 minutes, before bursting into laughter and telling me that actually his parents worked at the bakery in the middle of town. The best part about this was that I think I actually showed more recognition and admiration at this, as it was quite probably my most frequented bakery in the city, and I later realised I’d actually spoken to both his parents just a few days before when I had gone to pick up a baguette.

Having said that I struggled with learning the students names, I do feel that three of my favourite students should get a mention, the three that I came to refer to as The Trinity, which comprise of: The Crawler, Panda Girl, and The Dark Horse. The Crawler earned her name by managing to fall off her chair or else end up on the floor at some point in my lesson every week without fail. Whether it was a dropped pen, someone moving her chair at the last minute or just wanting to sit underneath the table for a while, she always found her way down there every fortnight, to the point where I started keeping a track of how long into the lesson we could get before she left her chair vacant. I think I may have given away my little game when I did say to her in one lesson that 35 minutes was a new record when she fell over, at which point some of her classmates started giggling when they realised what I meant. Oops.

Panda Girl had an aesthetic that bordered on the emo/goth side of the spectrum, and was a particular fan of thick black eyeliner that gave her look of someone who’s painted on black eye sockets as part of a skeleton fancy dress outfit. That being said, she was a pretty good student despite not being overly confident in her English abilities and I also have massive respect for her for the time that she openly discussed her depression in a lesson on Room 101 and things that we disliked.
The Dark Horse, so named because I wasn’t too sure what to make of her at the start, was just as giggly and bouncy as the other two when the three of them were together. She was the kind of pupil who on her own was rather quiet and didn’t speak up very often, but when the three of them were together you could barely get her to stop talking. For all that they were difficult to handle at times and did disrupt the class at times, they were the life and soul of the party in those Monday afternoon lessons, and with the three of them there I always knew I had a few students to rely on to voice their opinions and come and write things on the board when I needed a volunteer. Frankly, they were just too funny together to split up.
In addition to the game of how long it would take The Crawler to fall off her chair, I did also start making notes of the funny things they’d say, mainly for the purposes of including in posts like this and for when I met up with fellow English assistants. At one point when they realised I was doing this, they asked if I told their main English teacher everything they did, to which I responded “I don’t tell him everything… But I didn’t say what I do tell him.” At which point, they then got rather worried and vowed not to speak unless directly called upon in a lesson again. They also said that they felt betrayed and that they’d wrongly trusted me, so I did then relent and explain that I didn’t tell their teacher anything of what they got up to in my lessons, which in addition to granting them a sense of relief, led to them telling me that they trusted and loved me as their teacher and that my lesson was their favourite lesson of the week, as proved by the fact that The Crawler had doodled a drawing of me earlier that day and Panda Girl had written “OMG TOM!” on her hand to show to the other two in the lesson before mine. There weren’t many moment teaching that brought a tear to my eye, but that was one of them.
After I’d explained that I wasn’t in fact reporting on their activities to their teacher, I did also then make the joke that I was writing a movie script about them, at which point they declared that they would soon become Hollywood superstars and gain international fame. While I can’t help but feel that they have somewhat overestimated my writing abilities, I can at least say that, thanks to having friends in various parts of the world, my readership here is at least international, although again I’m not sure “fame” is quite the right word for their notoriety.

At one point in the year, we entered the season of the conseils de classe, which are essentially, a sort of meeting of parents, students and class teachers, with representatives from the former two groups selected to express the views of the group, rather than trying to bring 50+ people together at a single time within the school day. Part of my contract was that when the class teacher wasn’t teaching I was forbidden from teaching on the grounds that if there were an accident in one of my lessons, the main teacher wouldn’t be around to help. As such, when these meetings were happening on an almost daily basis over the course of a few weeks, I had a lot of cancelled lessons, including my fortnightly one with the class containing the Trinity. The lesson the week before with the other half of that class had been cancelled for the same reason, so the class knew that they didn’t have a lesson with me, and so they’d almost all gone home. Communication not always being a forté in my working environment meant that I didn’t find out about this until I got into the school for that lesson, being as it was my only lesson of that afternoon. On my walk into the school, I saw The Crawler and The Dark Horse walking in just ahead of me, so I made a note to ask them why they hadn’t been in the first hour of their double lesson of English with their main teacher. As it turned out, The Crawler had had somewhat of an episode where she was in fits of tears and in no state to be quiet or receptive in a lesson, so she’d been released for the hour with The Dark Horse to look after her. Still, she’d been feeling better after the break from school and so the pair had come back into school and came to the classroom hoping for a lesson with me. I did then explain that the class was cancelled, to which The Dark Horse replied “it’s the first time I’m disappointed about not having class.” I did stop them to ask why they hadn’t been in school for the lesson before and was given a brief explanation, so I sat down and asked whether The Crawler was ok. Her reaction, instead of pretending it was fine or seeming wary that a teacher was asking, was instead mainly shock and surprise, that a teacher actually seemed to care about her wellbeing. That may sound harsh, but under the French system there is no obligation for any of the teachers to pay heed to that, whereas in British high school pupils usually have a teacher assigned to their class whose main responsibility towards them is to check that they’re ok and not having any particular problems with any of their classes. Having a teacher ask about their wellbeing, especially one who only saw them once a fortnight at most, seemed quite out of the ordinary for them.

On a similar note, I also had two girls come at the start of one of my lessons with another group from their class, just to say and hi and that they wanted to be in my class that day. Quite what they had to look forward to in their own lesson, I don’t know, so that may not have been quite the compliment I took it as…

Mock exams in France, or at least in my lycée, were a relatively relaxed affair. I got roped into invigilating some of them (or proctoring, if you’re using the rather-appropriate-in-this-context American English word), but the goings on kept me reasonably entertained. When I made a comment at the end of one exam to the other teacher in the room about how none of the students had needed to leave or go to the toilet at any point, she smiled and said that they’d all had the Philosophy exam that morning, which, judging by the rate of students coming and going, was a diuretic exam.

While there were of course exceptions, quite a few of the students didn’t seem too stressed by the mocks. All the afternoon exams began promptly at 2pm, yet the sight of one student strolling in at 13:59 barely seemed to raise an eyebrow, although whether that was just the student, who knows. Another student in the same room decided after about an hour and a half that he needed a change in posture and so took off his shoes and sat cross-legged for the remaining 2 hours. As you do.

The mocks were relaxed for the teachers as well though. I spent most of the time reading or lesson planning, and one of the teachers I was with came out smiling, saying that she’d managed to get all her marking for the week done during the 3 and a half hour exam we’d just sat in on.

One of the teachers with whom I sadly never got to work directly taught the bilingual students who were taking English exams rather than the French bac. She also did quite a lot of the entrance exam interviews for English for the students applying to the school. And oh, she didn’t hold back. I had the good fortune to be in the room next door with a class on one of the days of interviews, and so got to overhear bits of the discussion, including one prospective student who was somewhat reluctant to speak in English. After she got quite frustrated with this student, she took them outside for a forceful talking to: “Do you want this conversation? Do you want a place here? Then let’s get it over with.” Don’t get on the wrong side of her; she’s a force to be reckoned with.

Despite not working with her classes, I did occasionally get consulted on matters regarding UK universities and English exam technique. By far my favourite such conversation, though, was when I was asked my opinion on how best to quote swearing in an academic essay. As you’ll have noticed, I don’t particularly see it as an issue (although granted this is not an academic essay), especially given that bad language has been overshadowed by content in my essays in the past (the Marquis de Sade’s work is quite an eye-opener…). However, the look given to me when I was asked the best way of writing “you’re gonna see some shit” made it quite clear that the correct response in this situation was using asterisks to star out all but the first and last letters.

On the subject of profanity (well who hasn’t tried to learn how to curse in a foreign language they’re learning?!), I managed to go several months before inaccurate pronunciation led to accidental cursing in my classes. And yet, having never had to face the issue previously despite having heard many a tale from my fellow English assistants, I had to teach the difference in pronunciation between ‘beach’ and ‘bitch’ twice in one week (see also: ‘piece’ and ‘piss’, ‘sheet’ and ‘shit’). Ah, long vowels.

For all that the language has been rather colourful so far, this was all from the 15-18 year olds in the lycée. However, by far the best example of such language was one lesson when I asked a class that had recently been on a trip to the UK (Liverpool and North Wales, no less) if they heard or read anything in English that they didn’t understand and wanted me to explain. At this point, a rather angelic student who could have passed for 10 or 11 rather than the 14 he claimed to be, said that a woman had shouted at him in a shop for touching something and that he didn’t quite understand what she’d said. I asked him to repeat, if he could, what the lady had said, and as he started speaking I began transcribing it onto the board. As luck would have it, his reply was: “Well, I think she was a bit angry, and she shouted “What are you fucking doing?” What does this mean please?” What, dear reader, do you do in that situation? My course of action, having decided from the off that honesty was probably the best policy, was to explain the use of expletives for emphasis in English. The class then being of the lively sort meant that one asked if ‘motherfucker’ could be used in the same way. Of course, one might as well go the whole hog, so when they also had seen the word ‘condom’ written somewhere and hadn’t understand, I explained that to them as well. Thank God another teacher didn’t walk into my classroom on that day.

Sometimes all it takes it a slight slip to produce a sentence that is both amusing in itself and also comically true. When having a discussion about the advantages and disadvantages of the French school system with a group of students whose English wasn’t the best of all my classes, one of them accidentally said “at the end of the day, we are exhausting.” I will admit, I did laugh and say “well, yes”, before he then realised his mistake and corrected himself.

With the same group, one of the other students had forgotten how to say that she was the eldest child in her family, so instead she just told me quite confidently when I asked if she had any brothers or sisters, “yes, but I am the boss.” You tell ‘em, girl.

At other times, the true statements come as the result of not having quite the range of vocabulary to express an idea more tactfully. When talking about cultural differences between France and the United Kingdom, one pupil plainly told me that “in France, people aren’t always very nice.” Hey, I didn’t say it.

In that lesson we also discussed French and British stereotypes, a.k.a. the staple lesson idea for any foreign language assistant, comparing the stereotypes of their country and the one that they happen to be working in. I have two highlights from this lesson across my various classes; the first was when discussing the stereotypes of physical appearance and one student said “dandy moustaches”, and the second was when one of the girls who had a particularly clear accent called out “would you like a cup of tea?” in the Queen-like of accents, little finger pointing and all.

One observation my close friend and fellow English language assistant Liz made was that a consequence of having a language as a foreign language meant that you were more likely to come up with phrases that were quite poetical and yet were a combination of words that no native speaker would naturally come up with, even if there was nothing obviously wrong with the sentence. I had one of these moments whilst discussing the value of literature with a class when a student quite plainly said that “books are travel for the spirit.” I’ll drink to that.

There was also an amusing albeit initially startling moment when one of my pupils wrote something about being “choked”. I asked him who’d choked him and eventually it transpired that he’d meant shocked, and got confused by the French choqué looking more akin to choked rather than shocked. Thankfully I found this out before I called Social Services.

Some of my favourite questions to get asked by students were the ones when we use the French word in English or vice versa. Such examples include: “how do you say chalet in English?”, “what is fiancé in English?” and perhaps the greatest of all, “what’s the English for lol?”. I did stop to explain where the last one came from in English, which the class found quite strange.

Phrases and idioms, as any language student will know, are particularly resistant to translation. This proved to be the case when one student, in the context of some of his classes being rather unruly, said to me: “I don’t like Biology, because… c’est le bordel” (it’s chaos), before looking at me and saying “bordel is brothel, no?”. Needless to say, I was quick to correct him before he implied that his Biology teacher was a pimp.

Yet despite all the linguistic flaws, there were also some students whose command of English was very good, to the point that they even started to make jokes and puns THAT ACTUALLY WORKED. In a class with my Première students (16-17) one asked, “what’s is cimitère in English?”. Before I’d gone to answer her question another student had replied “cemetery, or graveyard in British English”, which I found impressive enough that she knew both words and the correct usage. The icing on the cake was when one of my favourite students then called out, “oh yes, people are dying to get in there”. I think it was genuinely one of my favourite moments of teaching.

While some of the more amusing moments from my time teaching were usually at the hands of the classes with a lower level of English (although don’t get me wrong, I still got very lucky in having such able and engaged classes in the schools I worked in), working with the more advanced students meant that we were able to have some really interesting and valuable discussions. Myths and heros was one of the topics for the high school bac exams, and so in one lesson we had a really interesting discussion about what constitutes a hero, including the idea that death is central to hero status. When discussing colours and their associations, one of the students pointed out in the inherent racism in the idea of white being a pure and clean colour, and that led onto a quite critical but equally important discussion of the psychology and social causes and effects of racism. There was also a moment when one of my students said that there were no major diseases prevalent in France, to which another student said “but what about mental illnesses?”, and that in turn lead to a valuable discussion about mental health and stigma.

They were also a rather varied and interesting bunch as a whole, from the young lad who did hip-hop dancing and whose Dad worked in Mayotte, a tiny island off the coast of Madagascar, to the Vietnamese girl who enjoyed cooking traditional Vietnamese cuisine and Mac & Cheese, and from the student who told me her favourite subject was Chemistry because she liked atoms, to the final year who could claim 4 languages as his first, thanks to being born in Vienna to a French father and a Chinese mother whose best common language is English.


I’ll stop there for now, given that this post is already quite lengthy. I’ve still got quite a few more stories I’d like to tell, so I’ll save those for a future post, coming soon to a screen near you!

Rollercoaster on the railway

So it would appear that France wasn’t too keen on me leaving. Whether that’s because I was just such an asset to the country as a teacher of English (amongst other things), or because I hadn’t returned my Carte Vitale (health insurance card) as apparently I ought, who’s to say. But after several journeys to and from the UK, a journey I’d become quite familiar with and nonchalant about, the last one proved the most difficult of all.


Given that I’d had to move out of my apartment the day before, I spent the night at Liz’s, which w as a particularly elegant solution given she was coming back to the UK with me, having never visited the country before. While we didn’t want to leave everything to the last minute, a mid-morning train meant that we didn’t give ourselves hours and hours to get to the train station. Normally that would have been fine. However…

Liz’s apartment is on the far side of the city centre from the train station, so we decide to get the tram to the train station. Problem #1. We get tickets without a problem and hop on the tram. Just before the tram’s about to set off, we see that there’s still a tram sitting on the tracks up ahead, waiting for the next stop about 400m down the street. We umm and aah for a while as to whether it would be better to just walk to the train station, but we realise we’d have our work cut out for us to make it across town in time normally, nevermind with a large suitcase and rucksack in tow. The tram then sets off and proceeds to travel the grand total of about 250m before stopping to wait behind the tram in front. France being France, little explanation was given for the delay, other than the announcement that for the less observant passengers, there was in fact a delay and the wait in between two stops was not a customary one. Thankfully the trams start moving again after about 10 minutes, by which point Liz and I are exchanging rather worried looks and I’m looking up when the next trains to Paris are if we miss the one we’d planned on taking.

Over the course of our 15 minute journey to the train station, we’re visited by not one, but two tram conductors who were checking tickets. Bear in mind the fact that prior to this, I could count the number of times I’ve actually had my tickets checked on any of the trams in Strasbourg on one hand.

We make it to the train station about 10 minutes before our train was due to depart. Now that might not sound that bad, but in Strasbourg the trains usually tend to sit there for nearly 20 minutes on account of it being a major stop.

Neither of Liz nor I had regular access to working printers after we finished working at our respective schools, so we’d opted to print out our tickets from the machines in the station. We’d also taken advantage of the combined ticket deals offered by the Eurostar website when booking a train journey that involves going from Paris to London or vice versa. I’d already done this once before when I booked my tickets to come back to the UK for Christmas, so I was feeling confident that I knew what I was doing.

So we go over to the ticket machines and there we encounter Problem #2: the machines can’t find any tickets booked with either of our credit cards. We try again, cycling through the various options and even asking one of the workers at the station for help, to no avail. We run into the SNCF office to find someone to go through the system manually and print out our tickets, but the joy of French bureaucracy is that even things like impending train departures are not enough to disrupt the system of “take a ticket and wait in the line”. We quickly explain our problem to the guy fending off general queries, to which he helpfully tells us that there is no hope of us getting to see an SNCF worker before our train leaves in 6 minutes, and that our best bet is to just get on the train and explain our situation to the train’s conductor. Essentially a classic case of the French “I don’t want this problem so I will make it someone else’s responsibility”.

We get to our platform and find the train’s conductor, who is a particularly smiley French man. We are immediately suspicious. Thankfully the smile disappears and is replaced by a confused frown when we explain our situation. He tries looking us up on his list of reservations, but can’t find either of us. Given that Proctor and Frothingham are hardly common names in France, this is particularly strange. We show him our reservations from the Eurostar website and he believes that we at least have paid for the train in some capacity. Following his instructions, we get on the train and plan to sort things out once we’ve left the station, given that he didn’t want to make the train late and if we’d waited for the next train to Paris an hour later, we wouldn’t have made it to Paris Gare du Nord in time for our Eurostar to London. However, there’s a catch: we’ll have to buy new tickets from him and get reimbursed for the old ones. Liz’s face drops. Problem #3.

Now this wouldn’t have been so bad ordinarily, given that ticket prices in France don’t tend to vary hugely between booking them weeks and weeks in advance and just buying a ticket on the day. However, part of our joy in booking tickets through the Eurostar website, other than the supposed convenience, was that the train journey from Strasbourg to Paris was costing us the grand total of €8, rather than the €130 we were then told it would cost us each.

After seeing the train off, the conductor returns. By this point, Liz and I are looking drained and exhausted, and Liz’s face has only continued towards approaching the point of tears. Thankfully Cécil the conductor (actual name, great guy) decides to take pity on us. We’d like to think that this is because of how crestfallen we were at the thought of having to pay, somewhat unnecessarily, such a large sum of money that neither of us had budgeted for, but the reality is probably closer to his explanation, which was that it would be too difficult, with regard to the administration side of things, to get reimbursed for the other tickets when we were no longer living in France with a permanent address. We’re shocked, not only because a French person has shown kindness and gone against the system, but also because they’ve openly admitted that the process would be too long and laborious!

We later reach Paris Gare du Nord, and go to the machines there to print out our Eurostar passes, and the machine then decides to print out our earlier train tickets too. Oh well.

The ordeal wasn’t quite over by this point though, as we still had another two train journeys to go. Being the bearer of a UK passport and therefore being a member of the European Union returning to my home country, I waltz through Passport Control with no problem. Liz, on the other hand, with her American passport, gets quite the grilling, including being questioned on not only her occupation and where she was going, but also what on Earth there was in Lichfield and how she knew me.

By the time we actually manage to get on the Eurostar and sit down, we feel quite ready for a rest and a nap. I’m pleased to report though, that once we made it back to British soil, the only further issue we faced was a rather busy train from London to Lichfield where we had to stand up for most of the journey. Being young and spritely sorts, not that we felt it at all by that point, we managed ok, and finally made it back to Lichfield all of about 10 hours after we’d set off from Strasbourg that morning.

The farewell album

Today, 11th May 2015, is my last full day in Strasbourg before I begin the journey back home to the UK tomorrow. Having always been one to find parallels to my life in music and song, I realised that the tracks I’ve had on repeat towards the end of my time here have been helping me in some way to get through the process of ending my time here. Leaving Strasbourg in some ways feels like a break up, in that I am leaving something, albeit a place, that I’ve grown and changed with over the past 8 months, and I have felt a sense of grief for leaving it in some ways. That being said, I’d much rather feel as though I’m going out on a high, which I do feel is the case. I’m also leaving multiple things, organisations or people, rather than just the geographical cluster of buildings that makes up the city of Strasbourg, and my feelings towards leaving each one vary accordingly.

So, here is a list of the things I am breaking up with in Strasbourg, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, and the songs I’m focalising those experiences through.


The time I had in Strasbourg that I could have used better

The Man That Got Away by Judy Garland

“No more his eager call / The writing’s on the wall / The dreams you dreamed have all / Gone astray.”

There were plenty of times in Strasbourg that I ended up sitting in my apartment by myself, not enjoying myself and not doing anything that I felt was productive or helpful or doing anything to better or further myself and my life. And it sucked. But what I think I found even harder to deal with than those times themselves was the sense of guilt I felt about having wasted the time I had. You often hear about how time is the most precious resource, but when you’re young it feels as though it’s a never-ending oasis that goes on for as far as the eye can see, and you just can’t get your head around the thought of it one day coming to an end. Even after the experiences of the past year, I still feel that way quite often, especially when it comes to things like getting all my reading for university done.

There are two similar quotations that come to mind when I think of the way that I’ve since managed to frame guilt in my own mind:

“Maybe there’s more we all could have done, but we just have to let the guilt remind us to do better next time.”

– Divergent, p315 (Veronica Roth)

“Let the guilt teach you how to behave next time.”

– Insurgent, p157 (Veronica Roth)

Both are from the Divergent series by Veronica Roth (while I recommend, especially the first one), and through the idea they convey I’ve managed to at least put a productive if not positive spin on guilt for me. While it’s not yielded perfect results so far, it’s certainly been very helpful in helping me put things behind me and accept the blame for things that I didn’t do and could have / should have / would have done with my time. But we live and learn.

My time in Strasbourg in general and what I did do

I Just Might from 9 to 5

“What to do and where to start? / Things are falling all apart. / Trying hard to move ahead / But keep losing ground instead. / Still I have to take a chance / Putting fear and doubt aside / Had no warning in advance / Nothing left to do but try. / And I just might make it work. / I just might make it after all. / I just might rise above the hurt / Though I’ve suffered quite a fall. / But I have to get a grip / Hold on to it like a vice / Have to face the falling chips / I just might make it / I just might.”

However, I did manage to get myself out of a rut enough to do plenty of things on my Year Abroad, like the couple of little trips I took to Germany at various points, the choir I joined, and the times I spent exploring the city or doing some of the things that I’d wanted to do for a while but never seemed have enough time to commit to doing properly, like writing (see this blog for examples). There were plenty of moments where I felt like I was starting to build up good routines and habits, like doing yoga and mindfulness meditations, only for something to throw me and to lose the pattern again. So one of the things I learnt to do this year, much more so than I ever had before, was how to pick myself and these things up, dust myself down and start again, rather than waiting for a golden opportunity to turn up. As with so many things, I’ve learnt that the sooner you start doing something, the sooner you’ll get better, even if the circumstances weren’t the best at the time.

The good days in Strasbourg

Beautiful by Carole King

“You’ve got to get up every morning / With a smile on your face / And show the world / The love in your heart / Then people gonna treat you better / You’re gonna find, yes you will / You’re beautiful / As you feel. / I have often asked myself / The reason for the sadness / In the world / Where tears are just a lullaby / If there’s any answer / Maybe love can end the madness / Maybe not but we can only try.”

For all that I’ve talked about the difficulties and challenges I faced over the year so far, there were also quite a few genuinely wonderful days I had in Strasbourg, especially towards the end when it was late spring already moving into early summer at the end of April, when the sun was shining and it was warm with a gentle breeze outside and I’d managed to plan my lessons and teaching far enough in advance that even though I still had a few weeks of teaching left to go, I didn’t have to do any more prep work for teaching. It was those days that I remember most fondly, when I woke up with more energy than on the days when I had things I needed to do, when my heart felt open and bright, when I felt like skipping or dancing around the streets and exploring the city in a much more comfortable way than I could when wrapped up in several layers to protect against the damp winter cold of the city.

The city of Strasbourg

River by Emeli Sandé

“If you’re looking for the big adventure / And gold is all that’s on your mind / If all you want’s someone to take your picture / Then I won’t waste your time. / See maybe I’m too quiet for you / You probably never noticed me / But if you’re too big to follow rivers / How you ever gonna find the sea?”

While I did take a considerable number of photos during my time in Strasbourg, less than a quarter of which made it onto any public forum such as Facebook or this blog, I often felt as though there was a sense of expectation that I was going to take and share hundreds upon thousands of photos and other quick and easy snapshots that would somehow document and preserve every aspect of my Year Abroad and time spent in Strasbourg. But part of what I learnt and taught myself to do over my time there was to discover and in many ways create the path through things that worked best for me, rather than trying out the various options presented to me and just going with the one that seemed to be the best fit. The result at times was often similar to what I might have done on the suggestion of others, but having found my own course to follow meant that doing so felt more rewarding in that I enjoyed the benefits of it more, but it also felt much more personal, as though I’d found my own way through the city that had hitherto been otherwise ignored. While I know that’s not really true in a geographical sense, the lifestyle I found for myself in Strasbourg was one that I created. It wasn’t big or flashy, it didn’t involve jetting off on trains and planes to other parts of Europe every other weekend to spread myself as much over the continent as possible, but it was mine.

My apartment

Autumn Leaves by Eva Cassidy

“Since you went away / The days grow long / And soon I’ll hear old winter song / But I miss you most of all my darling / When autumn leaves start to fall.”

Having arrived in Strasbourg in on 22nd September at a point when the city was still in the grip of late summer, with clear blue skies most days and temperatures in the mid 20s, I first got to know the city in summer. By the time I’d been there two weeks, October had arrived and autumn had started to set in, and it was then that I explored the city and began to understand the ways around the city and its culture and people. The time I spent in Strasbourg, despite starting and ending with summery weather was distinctly the wintry half of the year, and with that and the Christmas markets, it’s certainly the time of year that I saw most of during my time in Strasbourg. But having said that, I think the time that I associate most with Strasbourg, even if I don’t remember it particularly well, is autumn, when all the trees that lined the river around the centre of town were starting to change their colours and lose their leaves, when walks through the Parc de l’Orangerie were a feast for the eyes with all the shades of red and gold and the leaves that would gently drift downwards as they fell from the trees. And it’ll be around the end of September again this year that I leave Lichfield where I’m living at the moment to move back to university, just over a year after I arrived in Strasbourg to start that chapter of my life.

The lycée

Quiet by Natalie Weiss

“What’s the perfect balance / Between yelling too much / Or not yelling enough / So that people don’t walk over you? / Is it a crime / Just to wanna be nice / To avoid confrontation / And show everyone a little respect?”

There were a lot of times that I really enjoyed working at the lycée, when I got to spend several hours a day chatting to motivated and enthusiastic students about a whole range of topics and they came out with great one-liners, mistakes or stark truths (see here, here, and here). But one of the things that I didn’t enjoy so much about working there was, unsurprisingly, the admin and the skirmishes regarding mock exams or how they were going to organise my timetable and which classes I was going to be working with and in what respect. Having said that, after I did finally speak up in a more forceful way, we did manage to strike a new balance that seemed to work better. From that experience I’ve certainly learnt that while it might not be the most pleasant thing, especially if you’re like me and try to avoid confrontation, the result is often worth it, particularly because in such situations you are never someone else’s top priority, so if you don’t bear yourself in mind and take care of yourself, there is no guarantee that someone else is going to do that for you.

This is a photo I took of the school on my last day there and the poem that I wrote a couple of days later about coming to the end of my time working there.

The image of a place I knew,
Lies distorted in the stream,
And though I recognise the view,
How different does it seem.
A façade seen straight through,
The illusions faded and fleeting.
But people seen, and clearly too,
In this place and cause for meeting.
The names I’ve learnt, the stories told,
The faces I’ll remember.
But few with whom I shall grow old
As April comes to September.
The towering spires, the angular rooves,
The stairs I used to climb.
The water flows, the image moves,
Such is the passage of time.
Time now spent, though well I know not,
The days have come and gone.
From winters cold to summers hot;
It’s time to journey on.

The collège

Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson

“Since u been gone / I can breathe for the first time / I’m so moving on / Yeah, yeah! / Thanks to you / Now I get / What I want / Since u been gone.”

Much like the lycée, the issues I faced with the collège were of an administrative nature, the chief of which being when there were some miscommunications regarding when I’d agreed to rearrange my lessons for after I’d asked about moving things so I could have the day off after Easter to grant me another day in Frankfurt. In true French bureaucratic style, the root of the problem seemed to be that, in addition to clearing and organising my timetable with the head of English and the English teachers I was going to work with to make up the hours, I also needed to have it cleared by the Deputy Headteacher and the Headteacher of the school, all of whom were unaware of the clause in my contract about being forbidden from teaching if the main class teacher was absent. This was a point that I had to explain more times than I care to mention to pretty much every single other teacher I worked with in both schools. It was also one of the many things that was stressed to us at both training days by the rectorat, but the message never quite seemed to get from them to the schools. Speaking of which…

The rectorat

Wherever He Ain’t from Mack & Mabel

“Enough of being bullied and bossed / Ta-ta! Auf Wiedersehn and get lost!”

Ah, the Rectorat, or the Local Education Authority as such organisations are known in the UK. Essentially, the organisation that for me came to present and represent all the difficulties you face when dealing with French administration: the long and seemingly endless procedures to be followed for what seems to be the simplest of tasks, the complete and utter rejection of the individual’s ability to use and follow common sense, and the piles of paperwork that you are promised will one day result in a health insurance card… that arrives a month before your contract ends and it’s no longer valid. For more information on this delightful institution, see here and here.

L’Arrach-Chœur

Ghost Town by First Aid Kit

“I swear I can be better / I could be more to you / But there are things that lie in my path / That I just have to do. / If you’ve got visions of the past / Let them follow you down / For they’ll come back to you / Some day.” 

L’Arrach-Chœur was the choir I joined with Liz back in January, and it soon became one of the highlights of my week. Every Thursday I’d go along to the university for a 2 hour rehearsal with a choir made up of not only native French speakers, but also people from other parts of Europe, including Germany, Hungary, and Poland, all of whom were very warm and welcoming to foreigners who were only in the city for a relatively brief period of time. When I told them that my teaching contract had finished and so I would soon be leaving the choir and Strasbourg to move back to the UK, the director of the choir took it upon himself to enquire about the possibility of extending my contract so I could stay longer, or at least long enough to take part in the concert series they were doing at the end of June. Sadly the combination of various things meant that it just wasn’t feasible for me and the situation I was in, but I did at least get the opportunity of performing with them in an Easter concert in the largest Protestant church in Strasbourg. It was definitely one of the highlights of my year, getting to sing some gorgeous music in French and German as well as Latin in such a beautiful building and then getting to go out for celebratory drinks with most of the choir afterwards.

Anna

And I Am Telling You from Dreamgirls

“We’re part of the same place / We’re part of the same time / We both share the same love / We both have the same mind / And time and time / We’ve had so much to share”

The Eddy to my Patsy, Anna was the British friend I wanted and needed during my time in Alsace. Sadly removed as she was from Strasbourg by a good couple of hours, I still got to see her on many an occasion and much hilarity was had on each and every one of them. I still remember the first training day when we met and I was determined to befriend her on account of her wonderfully sarcastic British humour and her take on the utterly thrilling talks that comprised that first training day… Without her for company, I would have laughed a great deal less during my time in Strasbourg (even if some of those laughs were at her expense…).

Liz

The Parting Glass by Celtic Woman (I have specified the Celtic Woman version in this case, because of a moment when we bonded over the group, and also because they were most definitely the featured artist on my St Patrick’s Day playlist when we celebrated together in typical American fashion.)

“Of all the comrades that e’er I had / They’re sorry for my going away. / And all the sweethearts that e’er I had / They’d wish me one more day to stay. / But since it fell into my lot / That I should rise and you should not. / I’ll gently rise and softly call / Good night and joy be to you all.”

Liz is, was and forever shall be the best person I had the good fortune of meeting and the best thing to have happened to me during my time in Strasbourg. It is to her that I owe the improvements to my French, both by virtue of having a very impressive command of the language herself and also for all of our conversations in French and the opportunities I had through and with her to speak French. Without her I would not have found and joined the choir that I did and without her I wouldn’t have found such a close and wonderful friend with whom to share so much of my time and experiences in Strasbourg. I owe her more than I can ever truly say and I will forever be thankful to her for it. She is a friend I do not intend to part with for a good many years to come.

The person I was last September, before I arrived in Strasbourg

Moments in the Woods from Into the Woods

“Let the moment go / Don’t forget it for a moment though. / Just remembering you’ve had an ‘and’ when you’re back to ‘or’ / Makes the ‘or’ mean more than it did before. / Now I understand / And it’s time to leave the woods!”

I’ve had quite the series of ups and downs over the course of my time in Strasbourg, though I’m glad to say that the overall trajectory has definitely been an upwards one, and for all that there are many things I shall glad to be free of, there are also many things I will miss. Of course in an ideal world I would be able to keep all the things that I’ve enjoyed and that have benefited me in this city in my life, but sadly a lot of them are somewhat tied to this place, and so I have to leave them behind. Still, the lessons I’ve learnt here I won’t be leaving behind when I get on a series of trains that will take me back to the UK very shortly. So, to the person who came to Strasbourg on 20th September, thank you for everything you’ve given me and that I’ve learnt from you, and goodbye.

Singers in Strasbourg

Last week, I had the pleasure of being joined in Strasbourg by two of my friends from Oxford, Meg and Rowan. I know Meg and Rowan from the choir that we’re all part of in Oxford, the Oxford Singers, and so despite the fact that they’re both a year above me at Oxford, we’ve got to know one another reasonably well despite having been together in the same city for the grand total of just under a year over the course of the past 3 years. As a result of their being in 4th year, their Finals are rapidly approaching, and so in a bid to speak a bit more French before their oral exams, they came to Strasbourg for a brief break from the bubble.

EDIT: Both of these lovely people have since poured their creative energies into depictions of their time in Strasbourg visiting me, which can be seen here and here.


Being the warm and welcoming host I try to be, I went to meet my guests at the airport on the Sunday when they arrived, name sign in hand that I had carefully crafted on the train to the airport with the winning combination of a piece of paper and a whiteboard marker pen. Once we’d found each other, we proceeded to wait at the small airport train station for over half an hour for the next train back to the city centre, although the time was far from wasted as we chatted away, and even managed to help a fellow Brit figure out how to validate his train ticket.

Once we got back to the city centre, we went to my apartment to drop stuff off before heading out to Au Brasseur, a restaurant that has become a firm favourite of mine for it’s reasonably priced yet surprisingly filling dishes as well as being a great example of Alsatian culture, in that the standard fare there is a beer and a flammekueche of some kind.

For fear that I haven’t mentioned them before or that I’ve merely failed to do them justice, I will take a moment to share my enthusiasm of this, the mightiest and yet humblest of Alsatian dishes. To most people I have described them as the thin base of a pizza, covered with a creamy cheesy sauce, and then traditionally topped with onions and diced bacon. Being a vegetarian, flammekueche have proven problematic on occasion, but most places will offer alternatives with other toppings along the similar lines of pizza toppings.

Whether out of genuine enjoyment or for fear of the consequences if they did not agree, my guests seemed to enjoy their flammekueche. Afterwards we took a gentle walk around the city centre back towards my apartment, pausing on the way to show them my lycée, a building too good-looking not to show off to everyone who’s visited me here, before heading back to my apartment so that the weary travellers could get a good night’s rest.

Being with two fellow Brits, we ended up having porridge for breakfast during their stay, although we made sure to incorporate a French (well, sort of) element by adding Nutella and Speculoos (the spread, although to my mind the biscuits are but a pale imitation of the true glorious viscous form).

Once we’d mustered our forces, we headed into the city centre, stopping for hot chocolate from a rather fancy place that does hot chocolate to go with an impressive choice. Detox, hot chocolate anyone? (That makes it healthy, right?) Following that, we walked down to the Petite France area, generally considered to be the prettiest and most picturesque part of the city. Having previously told Rowan, a fellow tea fanatic, that Strasbourg offers quite the choice when it comes to tea shops, we ended up making our first stop shortly after finishing our hot chocolates. Rowan ended up buying some Thé des Sages (Tea of the Wise People), possibly in the hope that imbibing it would imbue her with newfound knowledge ahead of Finals. The results remain to be seen on that front, but only time will tell…

We also found this in the shop...

We also found this in the shop…

Afterwards, we walked up to the top of the Barrage Vauban that marks the split in the river around the city centre and offers an excellent panoramic view towards the city centre and the cathedral.

We headed back into the city centre, stopping off to buy things for a picnic lunch (which turned out to be essentially brezels, cheese and strawberries), before hopping on a tram to take us out to the eastern edge of the city. Despite some difficulties in finding the most direct and easiest route, we navigated our way to the Jardin des Deux Rives (Park of the Two Riverbanks), also known as the park with the footbridge that connects France and Germany in Strasbourg. We found a bench overlooking the river and Germany, where we decided to stop and eat our picnic lunch.

In the park, there’s also a scale model of the planets of the solar system. Because why not?!

In the park, there’s also a scale model of the planets of the solar system. Because why not?!

Being three French students, two of whom had come with the main aim of speaking French, it seemed only logical that we should escape to Germany for a brief moment on their first full day here, so we headed onto the bridge to admire the view, before popping over to the other side. Admittedly we didn’t stay very long at all (read: about 5 minutes), and we spent most of that time laughing at Rowan’s unfortunate hiccoughs, but we did at least stay on the bridge long enough to find the impressive plaque that marked the border line between the two countries. Ah, the Schengen Area.

The plaque, that measured about 15cm across. Blink and you’d miss it.

The plaque, that measured about 15cm across. Blink and you’d miss it.

Like so many bridges in Europe, there were plenty of lovelocks, although there were some more unusual inscriptions…

Like so many bridges in Europe, there were plenty of lovelocks, although there were some more unusual inscriptions…

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Once we were done with Germany, we headed back to the city centre, stopping off for a brief look around the cathedral, before getting ice cream (my first of the year, much to Meg and Rowan’s disappointment. To be fair, they both did their Years Abroad in the south of France, so my Alsatian (apparently northern) lifestyle and Year Abroad seemed somewhat of a foreign concept to them).

Last summer, just after she’d finished spending most of a year in France improving her French for her French degree, Rowan decided she quite liked German as a language and so spent some time in Berlin on a language course, where she met a guy who’s a student in Strasbourg. We’d already met up a couple of times since I got to Strasbourg thanks to Rowan’s help, but now that she was in the city, we made contact again and we arranged to go for dinner at another of my preferred restaurants in the city, if only for their Nutella tiramisu dessert.

Monday night is also Trivia Night at one of the Irish pubs in Strasbourg, so the four of us went along and met up with Liz and a friend of her’s in Strasbourg, Jérôme. Given that normally, it’s just Liz and I, sometimes with Jérôme at the quiz, it made a nice change to have so many people to help! Being at an Irish pub, the quiz is done in French and then English, but it still provided the opportunity for much Francophone interaction. That was especially the case when it came to the 21 question music round, as the quiz also offers bonus points for dancing along to the songs, so Liz and I usually spend most of that particular round on our feet in any free space we can find.

Unfortunately, it was getting pretty late by the time they’d finished the questions, and as we didn’t think we’d done well enough to win, even with our bonus points for dancing, we decided to leave before they announced the results. Of course, that way we can still try and persuade people that we did win, and there’s just no proof to say whether we did or not…

The following morning, we headed out to one of my favourite places in the city and somewhere that Rowan had been quite excited about visiting ever since I first mentioned it: Thé des Muses. In this teashop-cum-café, you can spend your time with a pot of tea relaxing in their elegant upholstery or you can just buy any number of the teas or related paraphernalia that lines the walls in one particular corner. We originally started in the café part, where we were greeted with the 15 page menu of teas to choose from. Both Meg and Rowan seemed rather overwhelmed at this, although I think while Rowan might have been having a minor existential crisis over which tea to go for, Meg was starting to wonder what all the fuss was about, given it was “only tea”… Rowan turned out to be rather happy with her choice of tea though, as she ended up buying some before leaving.

Unfortunately at about this juncture, I had to abandon my guests in favour of paid employment. While I had succeeded in rearranging my classes at the lycée during their stay, I wasn’t able to do so with the collège, so I had to go and teach there as normal on the Tuesday afternoon.

When I returned to the city centre around 3 hours later, I found Meg and Rowan by the cathedral, enjoying the marvellous weather we’d been having, and relaxing after having spent the afternoon indulging in a lunch of European kebabs and waffles before climbing up the cathedral tower to admire the aerial view of the city.

Just before the February holidays, Liz and I were chatting when she expressed a wish to eat more baguettes and French bread in general while she was still here and had the opportunity, a sentiment I heartily agreed with. At around the same time, I’d fallen into a habit of buying a baguette on Tuesdays on my way back from working at the collège, so I invited her to join me one evening for a wine and cheese style affair. Thus #BaguetteTuesdays was born, an event which has since become a weekly one, as the name might suggest. And so, while Rowan, Meg and I were in the city centre, we got brezels and two types of baguette from a bakery in preparation for our plans for the evening. Not wanting to leave the good weather behind too soon, we went to the Place de la République near my apartment and proceeded to sit and chat on the grass for a while before the sun started going down.

In a similar vain to many a #BaguetteTuesday, we spent the evening chatting away in a mix of English and French, with the soundtrack of the evening being a great selection of songs from musical theatre, which were, on occasion, combined with dancing and singing around my room. And as usual, we ate excellent French bread and equally excellent French cheeses, accompanied by wine (apparently you need wine to help digest the cheese. Who am I to argue?!). The particular vintage we enjoyed that evening was a bottle of €2 Cava which was surprisingly good. Add that to the list of things I’m going to miss when I have to leave this place.

The Wednesday was Meg and Rowan’s last day in Strasbourg, so, not wanting to miss out on the glorious sunshine and warm weather we were having, we walked up to the Parc de l’Orangerie for a chance to brush up on our animal vocabulary at the small zoo there (their bird selection is particularly impressive, and I don’t just mean the many wild storks). Whilst also in the park, we did things like play Ninja and have stick fencing fights on the small bridges over equally small streams. I also managed to pick up a copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix in German from the book exchange hut there.

Not wanting to miss out on a quintessential French experience whilst in the country, we decided to have galettes for lunch, followed by waffles. As Meg found out, explaining the guy who runs the waffle shop that it’s your last day in Strasbourg earns you extra helpings of toppings.

Much to Meg’s delight, as seen here.

Much to Meg’s delight, as seen here.

As if the tea she was taking back wasn’t quite enough, Rowan also decided to spend the few remaining Euros she had brought on as many brezels as she could, so that she’d be stocked up for the journey back to the UK. Just to be clear, I can in no way blame her for such a decision; if I could get them cheaply imported to the UK for when I’m approaching Finals next year, I definitely would.

By this point their flight time was rapidly approaching, so we headed back to my apartment so that they could finish packing their things, and then we headed off to the train station. I saw them safely onto the train back to the airport, although unfortunately I couldn’t go with them as I had a private tutoring session to go to.


It was lovely as always having friends come to visit me in Strasbourg, but I think this was a visit I particularly enjoyed for a few reasons, beyond the fact that I get on rather well with Meg and Rowan. When I had my first few visitors come to Strasbourg, it was still very early on my journey of getting to know the city, so I didn’t have the same knowledge of where to go and what to do that I’ve since cultivated. It was also nice knowing that both of my guests had previously been to Strasbourg for a brief stay before whilst interrailing, so it meant that I had to try and be a little more creative with ideas for what to do, rather than just suggesting the standard tourist things.

It was also both reassuring and helpful for me getting to spend time with two people who are a year further along their academic journeys than I currently am. Not only in terms of the practical pieces of advice and suggestions they had for what is helping them at the moment with Finals just around the corner, but also getting to talk to them and discover their attitudes and experiences of the Year Abroad and Finals. Given that the obvious end goal of Finals is the same for them as it is for me, it was really interesting and thought-provoking getting to have some of those discussions with them that I’ve been having with myself at various intervals over the past year or so. On that note, I must give a shout out to Lara, another 4th year French student friend from the Oxford Singers, with whom I’ve also had similar conversations more recently.

Especially now as my Facebook feed seems to be becoming evermore filled with status and posts about Finals and life after graduation, I’m rather glad in a lot of ways that I’ve had this year of getting to face some of those challenges with the knowledge that I have another year of academia to go before I have to start facing those same challenges and more where their impact is more long-term and consequential.

And now for the weather

Ladies and gentleman, there is no need to panic. This is merely a customary announcement to inform you that, much to the surprise of everyone in the region, Alsace has been experiencing some strange weather patterns recently. Instead of the perpetual grey skies that I have come to associate with being quintessentially Alsatian*, there has been a frankly rather alarming amount of sunshine in the past few weeks. (*For those of you who are somewhat perplexed by my associating grey skies with Alsace and not my native England, I will say that it’s a different kind of grey sky. Perhaps somewhat unsurprisingly, I am more of a fan of the variety found in that green and pleasant land, where even the greyest of skies still have some variation in cloud type and apparent texture. Alsatian grey skies, I have come to realise, are often one continual shade with relatively low and complete cloud cover, resulting in a sky that looks not too dissimilar to the grey ceilings one might find in a hospital or a dental practice.)

This recent surge in good weather has brought on two moments of revelation for me. The first such epiphany was that I may well in fact be part-plant. Since we’ve started having clear blue skies and longer sunnier days, I’ve noticed a dramatic increase in my energy levels, my mood, and my wellbeing in general. Despite being a December baby and having Christmas in the same season, I am not a particular fan of winter on the whole, and my fondness for that colder and darker time of year has only diminished over time.

My second realisation has been that I appear to have developed a peculiar condition during my time in Strasbourg, one that is more common in Alsace than in other parts of France and the world in general. Alas, my dear reader, I do appear to have a mild case of Alsatian vampiricism.

Alsatian vampiricism. Symptoms may include: very fleeting and occasional glimpses of one’s own shadow on days when the clouds are perhaps a little thinner than usual, a general pallor of the skin that comes somewhere in between Snow and Light Cream on the Dulux colour chart, and an alarming degree of photosensitivity that requires that you wear sunglasses on any day when there appears to be more blue than grey in the sky.

Having conferred with a friend and colleague prior to writing, I can confirm that the golden orb’s presence has been reported in other parts of Alsace, and that this is not a phenomenon specific to Strasbourg. Moreover, This fearsome beacon has even proved strong enough to result in sunburn where victims have failed to cover every inch of exposed skin in Factor 50, applied evenly and at hourly intervals.

By living in an apartment whose only windows face north, I have managed to avoid the wrath of the devilish sky dweller. However, the building directly opposite is a rather light shade of white, the sort you might find on your average southern Alsatian vampire, and so I have been regularly blinded momentarily when opening my shutters of a morning.

In these diabolical times we currently face, institutions we once held near and dear have started to fall by the wayside. Most notably among such institutions is the Alsatian Trinity, consisting of: Hat, Scarf, and Gloves, a.k.a. the three things one must never leave the house without if you are attached to your extremities and wish to remain so. Back in October, when I’d only just met Anna, she made a light-hearted joke about how I appeared to be always wearing a scarf. While initially I’ll admit that this may also have been a fashion choice, given the French penchant for wearing a scarf of some kind at all times, this has now proved time and time again to be a more practical decision in this part of the country. Although I may not always have opted to wear all three items of warm clothing simultaneously, I can scarcely remember a time when I left my apartment without taking the complete Trinity with me.

Not wishing to show favouritism to any of my articles of weatherproof clothing and equipment, inanimate though they are, I feel the humble umbrella also deserves a special mention. Part of the joy in having grey skies as can be found in Alsace is that one can never be entirely sure when it’s next going to rain. At times, the clouds can loom dark and ominous overhead for days on end without ever emptying their contents on the land below, and yet there are days when the clouds look deceptively light but they’ll still rain down upon the various citizens trying to go about their everyday lives in a relatively dry manner.

Of course, my students have told me time and time again that Alsace can actually be rather warm and sunny during the summer months, but having almost only experienced seemingly perpetual cold and damp weather for the majority of my stay here so far, I was understandably rather sceptical. That all being said, I have, on multiple occasions in the past month, left my humble apartment without one or other of these items, including one time in particular where I got as far as the nearby supermarket before realising that I’d walked out in what I was wearing inside my apartment and hadn’t even stopped to pick up a jacket on my way out the door.

EDIT (17/04/2015) : Temperatures have since skyrocketed, and although I think this may have been a bit of an overestimation, it was rather warm in direct sunlight this week.

EDIT (17/04/2015) : Temperatures have since skyrocketed, and although I think this may have been a bit of an overestimation, it was rather warm in direct sunlight this week.

Before the parade passes by

This post is mainly going to be an imaged based one, for the sole reason that no amount of prose of mine will be able to accurately relate the spectacle of Carnaval in Strasbourg last weekend. Well, also for the reason that I managed to take over 400 photos in about 2 hours, and it’d be rather nice if just some of those could see the light of day again, rather than sitting collecting virtual dust on my hard drive.


Carnaval (/Karneval/Fasching/Fas(t)nacht… Same thing, different names in different places) is the Germanic tradition and celebration that most often occurs around the time of Rose Monday, the day before Shrove Tuesday. The festival season technically starts in November and goes until Ash Wednesday, but the lack of good weather during this time as well as the sheer number of local towns that host their own parades means that in some cases, the carnival parade takes place after this period of time, as is the case with Strasbourg.

Part of the reason I’m particularly glad I got to go on Sunday was because, despite there being several other Carnaval celebrations taking place in the nearby vicinity, mainly on the other side of the border, this was the first one I’d managed to go to. See Don’t just sit there; do something! for a vague and nebulous explanation as to why, but essentially, this was the first event of its kind that I’d managed to attend.

As it happened, the whole thing came about by chance in some respects. Most Carnaval events tend to happen on or before Shrove Tuesday, so when that came and went, I thought I’d missed my opportunity. The Karneval in Kehl, the town on the other side of the border and only a short bus ride out of Strasbourg, took place fairly early on in January. Having not expected it to be so early, I didn’t find out about it until it was too short notice for me to make plans to go. I found out about the Strasbourg one at similarly short notice after a student mentioned in it one of my classes, but by virtue of being half an hour’s walk away, attending wasn’t going to pose much of a problem. Luck was on my side as well in that my tutoring session was cancelled in the afternoon, which meant that I could stay and watch the whole thing, rather than being forced to leave halfway through. That turned out to be just as well when I realised that I had somewhat underestimated the size of the parade, and rather than following it along, I ended up standing in the same spot whilst watching the parade pass by in a constant stream over the course of just under 2 hours.

Part of the tradition of Carnaval is that the spectators, especially small children, dress up in some way, with the theme being the helpfully specific “fancy dress”. We had no shortage of superheroes or Disney characters, and the animal kingdom was also well-represented. Not wanting to miss out on the fun, Liz and I decided to spruce ourselves up with a bit of face paint. However, we didn’t quite have enough time to sort things out beforehand, so I ended up taking my face paints with me, and painting her and then myself on the side of the road without running water or a mirror. Given that I was painting myself by a mix of touch and the front facing camera on an iPhone whilst hearing the carnival starting to arrive behind me, I don’t think the result was too bad.

Madame Butterfly and Bumble Bee

Madame Butterfly and Bumble Bee

To try and explain some of the photos I’ve included below, I will say a few things. Firstly, Carnaval celebrations tend to include monsters of various kinds whose purpose it is to scare and beat misbehaving children (and adults), so we had no shortage of grotesque woodland creatures that resembled wolves to varying degrees, as well as other characters or creatures from local folklore. Secondly, it would seem that the main purpose of Carnaval is to keep dentists in a job. At least half of the 55 floats or groups that went past were handing out (or in some cases, throwing) sweets into the crowds, aiming for small children in particular. Some performers opted for the gentler gesture of placing sweets into the children’s hands, thereby ensuring that they did actually get them, but occasionally they would just throw fistfuls into the crowd. Being balanced on top of a low railing as well as clearly being over the age of about 12, I rarely found myself on the receiving any sugary delights, but I did manage to catch one after about an hour.

Aside from the costumes and sweets though, there were also a lot of bands and dance troupes that were taking part, so every now and then we were treated to another marching band of some kind. Almost without exception though, everyone who was part of the parade in some way was in costume, ranging from the visually impressive to the downright impractical. (I will point out that the majority of dancers had taken to wearing flesh coloured nude suits underneath their costumes. Although the mercury has certainly risen of late, being outside for at least 2 hours whilst scantily clad is not recommended in Strasbourg at this time of the year. That being said, there were few who braved the weather without the added layer. I didn’t get to see them by the end unfortunately.) There also seemed to be an unwritten rule somewhere that if you were performing in a marching band, then you were expected, where possible, to colour coordinate your musical instrument with your outfit and band’s colour schemes. As such, I saw quite the spectrum of brass instruments, some more garish than others.

As a brief side note: it was also Carnaval at the lycée where I work last Thursday. I had somehow missed the memo that this was happening, so it wasn’t until I got to the school on Thursday afternoon just before 3pm, ready to teach my 3 classes that afternoon that I realised something unusual was happening when a colleague sporting a purple bob wig walked past me in the corridor. I later saw one of the few posters that had been put up to advertise the day to the pupils, but by that point I didn’t even have time to rush home and grab my face paints sadly.

Over the course of the afternoon, I got to see many of the different costumes my students had come in. In one class, we had someone in complete Slytherin robes, another student in a bayerischer Dirndl, and one had even spent an hour before coming to school that morning doing traditional Mexico Day of the Dead make up. The more recent trend of animal onesies was well represented too, including one of my students who told me emphatically that his sheep onesie wasn’t a costume, because we are all sheep, mindlessly following each other. Yes, the French will even use the opportunity for some light-hearted fancy dress as a potential political platform. Throughout the day, I saw several different examples of really good face paint, usually skeletons in some way, as well as some more formal and historical outfits involving top hats, flapper dresses and even a dress that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the latest BBC adaptation of a Jane Austen novel. Of course there was a noticeable presence of superheroes and Disney characters, with one of my students strolling past as Captain America and various others as Maleficent, Cruella De Vil, and Belle. Other films were well represented, with someone dressed up as a character from Pulp Fiction and another striding into my classroom as Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games, complete with full size bow. The day certainly took a turn when one of the pupils in my final lesson walked in, sporting a 6ft inflatable penis costume…

Part of the joy of the day for me came during the short break I have before my last 2 lessons of the day. I went up to my classroom for those lessons, which is on the 3rd floor of the school and overlooks the main courtyard. Just before 4pm, a lot of the students congregated in the courtyard, where someone had brought a decently sized video camera and was running through the crowd filming everyone in their costumes. Once the initial filming was over, the tightly packed crowd moved to create a circle in the middle, which turned into the ring for a dance battle between any students willing to compete. This was of course made even more entertaining to watch by virtue of the costumes occasionally getting in the way (NB: trying to jump whilst wearing a very large ballgown appears to be a great deal more difficult than it might otherwise be). The dancing quickly turned into the whole crowd of several hundred students dancing and jumping together in a very tightly packed crowd – the sort of arrangement that would cause most teachers in the UK to start muttering loudly about Health and Safety Regulations. However, this was France, and so there wasn’t a teacher anywhere to be seen. To be fair to them, I can’t imagine trying to put a stop to a crowd of some 300 or so French teenagers chanting the beginning of Seven Nation Army would end well for the teacher involved.

Unfortunately I didn’t get to take any photos of the school’s Carnaval on account of a) not knowing that it was happening until I got to the school to teach that afternoon, and b) taking photos of my students and then putting them on the internet might not be the best decision if I want to remain employed in my current capacity. Sadly you’ll have to let your imaginations do the work, and enjoy the photos I have from the Strasbourg Carnaval instead!

Right, I shall stop there, and let the photos speak for themselves!

10 Things Teaching Taught Me

As I come towards the end of my time teaching English out here in Strasbourg, I’ve been thinking more about the lessons I’ve learnt here rather than the ones I’ve given. Out of these moments of reflection, I have come up with a list of ten things I’ve come to understand as a result of working here.


1. It’s not about you…

We often forget that hiding behind another’s face there is an entire world, an unfathomably complex existence concealed inside another person, and you will never know everything that happens within the life of someone else. Despite being younger, high school students are exactly the same; they have their everyday worries, the concerns about friends and family, and their hopes and joys for the things that lie ahead, even if that just happens to be a sense of anticipation for what they’re having for dinner or what they’ve got planned for after the lesson finishes. Just as with dealing with people in the retail industry, when a pupil is particularly distracted, unhelpful or moody, 9 times out of 10, it’s going to be caused by something other than you. Yes, as the teacher, you’ll probably face some of the backlash, and it’s still your job to try and get them to focus on the task at hand, but their lack of interest may not be just a reflection on you and the lesson you’re trying to give.

2. But don’t think you’re never to blame.

Sometimes the students won’t be paying attention to what you’re doing because the lesson you’ve designed isn’t engaging enough for them, or it doesn’t cater well to their abilities and interests. Sometimes you can end up saying something a bit crass or poorly phrased that will upset a pupil in some way. The pupils sometimes take their frustrations out on you as an innocent bystander, but that relationship and exchange can work in both directions, and there can be days when you end up being rather too curt or snappy with the class because of something else that’s happened to you that day. The main thing I’ve learnt in this situation is to acknowledge what’s happening without needing to explain it, and apologising to the people you’ve negatively affected, pupils or otherwise.

3. It’s just you up there…

As a language assistant, I’m often sent groups of up to around 15 students at a time and told to give a lesson, usually on the topic of my choice, and so for the vast majority of my work, I am the sole authoritative figure in the room. There is no teacher I can call on for help, with class discipline, teaching practice, or anything else I may be struggling with, and there’s no one else to take over for a minute when I need a break. Thankfully none of my lessons are longer than 55 minutes, so I at least get a minute or two every hour or so to stop and catch my breath, but once the lesson starts, I’m in it for its entirety. I’ve learnt to become resourceful though, and I now appreciate the value of a well-timed partner discussion exercise, meaning that I can get a moment to myself, rather than being on the spot in front a group of teenagers for the full amount of time.

4. But you have similar people in similar situations who can help you out.

One of the joys of being a language assistant through the programme I’m doing is that you’re provided with a network of contacts with the other assistants, of various languages and countries of origin. So while you are the only one in your exact position, working with your teachers and classes, there are many other who are facing similar issues who might have found solutions that could also work for you. Likewise, there are times when you’ll find a way of navigating a particular problem that can help out your colleagues, and so the sense of community grows. For language assistants in particular, this can prove rather useful when it comes to lesson plans, as these can easily be shared and used in your own classes for those days when you’re lacking inspiration.

5. You can only prepare so much…

Lesson planning is something I find particularly useful, and almost all the assistants I know out here do it to some extent. Granted, some get given material to work on by the main teachers at their schools or aren’t required to give their own lessons separately, but everyone has some sort of plan or idea to work from when teaching. That being said, no two classes are exactly the same: they will vary in terms of working speed, concentration, willingness to speak, and so on. A lesson plan that works really well with one class may not go down so well with another, and so no matter how prepared for a lesson you may feel, know that things may change as you go along. Like planning an interview or a conversation, you can only ever know half of what’s going to be said, if that. Prepare, but know that things will very rarely go exactly according to plan.

6. But going in with no preparation is not recommended.

However, don’t make the mistake of not doing any preparation. As the old adage goes: “failing to prepare is preparing to fail”. Standing in front of a class who are waiting for you to entertain them and keep them busy for the best part of an hour is so much easier when you have a clear idea of what you are going to do for that time. Sometimes you’ll have a great idea and the time to develop it into a fully-fledged lesson plan that will keep the class engaged and enthused for the most part, but when you don’t have the time or inspiration, even just going in with a vague semblance of an idea or a theme to discuss is better than nothing. Clutching at straws is never fun, and it’s certainly not something that’s improved by having an audience.

7. Laughing and having fun is all well and good…

Everyone has had those teachers that believe in absolute silence and having no fun during a lesson whatsoever, but no one is going to want to sit in a classroom for an hour going through something incredibly dry without the slightest relief. I’ve learnt to find those points in the lesson where I can create a more fun moment, even if only briefly, to give both the kids and myself a short break in an otherwise heavy-going class. Obviously there are times and subjects that require a greater degree of sensitivity when it comes to incorporating light relief, but sometimes it can be something as little as finding a more positive or progressive note to end the lesson on. After all, a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.

8. But there are times when you need to focus and knuckle down in lessons.

As much as having fun can help the learning process, there are times when there is no substitute or shortcut for settling down and putting in the hard work. There is only so much you can do to make a task easier before you just need to get on with it, and similarly, there comes a point in lessons when you need to take control of the situation and get down to work, without the distractions and frivolities.

9. You are not going to change the lives of these kids or make them fluent in English…

The position of an English language assistant in France lasts 7 months, and it’s even less in other countries. Even for an experienced linguist who’s particularly well-trained at learning languages quickly, 7 months is a relatively short time to achieve fluency. Therefore, despite what some English teachers out here may seem to think, we as assistants aren’t going to be able to transform classes of failing pupils into near-native English speakers in a matter of a few months. Beyond the purely linguistic, you’re also unlikely to make a huge difference in any other area of their lives, given that you’re not even with them for an academic year, and I rarely see any one of my students more frequently than once a fortnight in most cases. As I said in #1, the effect you have on these students is relatively minimal, and much less than some people might like to think.

10. But you just might do or say something that has an impact on one of them.

That being said, I’ve been lucky enough to have a couple of students come up to me at various points and say truly wonderful things, like how much they feel their English has improved in the past few months or how they always look forward to my lessons. Admittedly, the reasons for this have been more to do with my relaxed attitude and willingness to let them relax a bit and take the lesson in whichever direction they choose, as long as we’re speaking in English. In general, my rule so far has been that unless it’s clearly inappropriate, either in terms of maturity or their level of English, I’m willing to discuss pretty much any subject that they bring up.

Hello Strasbourg, this is Vienna calling

Last weekend I had the pleasure of being joined in Strasbourg by my friend Laura, whom I met at the summer course I did in Vienna last August. Part of our various conversations in Vienna was about where we would be going back or on to after the summer there, and so when we realised that our particular friendship group as it had become was based in Brussels, Paris, Milan, Madrid and Strasbourg respectively, we realised that Strasbourg was in fact the closest thing to a practical midpoint we were likely to find. Given also that I was most likely going to be the most flexible and that our friend from Brussels’ job involved him regularly coming to Strasbourg, it seemed logical to try and organise a meeting up of sorts for the five of us at some point in the coming year. (NB: Laura is the friend from Milan. For the sake of being clear and concise, the remaining friends in this group will henceforth be referred to by their cities of residence.)

Flashforward to November, by which time I had finally succeeded in finding somewhere to live and had got a bit more settled in: I received an email from Brussels, letting me know when he was going to be in Strasbourg again in the foreseeable future and suggesting that we meet up at one of those points. As luck would have it, the second set of dates, those in March, coincided with the end of two weeks of school holidays for me, so I was going to have more free time than usual. I messaged the others, suggesting the weekend as a time to meet up and for them to come and visit Strasbourg.

Flashforward again, this time to about 3 weeks ago: I realised that we’d had a considerable amount of radio silence on the subject of meeting up in Strasbourg, so I sent out a message to the group just after Laura had done likewise, to find out what the state of play was and when people would be arriving. I got a message from Paris, saying that her university timetable had changed and the upshot was that she wouldn’t be able to come on the weekend we’d planned unfortunately. Strike one.

A couple of days later, I heard back from Madrid, who also wasn’t able to get time off work to come and hadn’t booked flights, so she also wasn’t coming. Strike two.

Finally, I got an email from Brussels, saying that things had come up fairly last minute at work in Brussels, so he wasn’t going to be in Strasbourg until the Monday after the designated weekend. Strike three.

So, with three down and only one left standing, Laura thankfully decided to come anyway, having worked out her schedule and booked her train tickets to get here. And I’m very glad she did. We had a lovely and relaxing weekend, when Strasbourg seemed slightly quieter than normal for me, and calm in the extreme to Laura who lives in central Milan. Other than it still being the school holidays, and the weather being rather bright and sunny (I know, in Alsace! Whoever heard of such a thing?!), I’m not sure exactly why the city seemed so relaxed, but I don’t begrudge it in the slightest.

So, after several hours and two train journeys, Laura made it from Milan to Strasbourg on Friday afternoon. I met her at the station, and we headed back to mine so she could drop off her stuff, before we went out again to see the city. Always one for a clear overview of things, I decided we should climb the cathedral first of all, to the viewing platform at the top near the base of the spire. Given that one of the previous times I’d thought of doing this was when Ele was visiting in October and it ended up being so foggy that we couldn’t even see the top of the cathedral, I was rather happy when the occasion arose again on a very clear and sunny day. Of course, the 332 steps to the top were no easier for it, but it did at least afford us some wonderful views over the city centre.

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Once we’d admired the view and marvelled at the sheer proximity of Germany and how we could see the snow-covered hills in the Black Forest over the border, we headed back down to explore the city a bit more at ground level. We walked around the various picturesque parts of the city centre, stopping to take photos here and there and chatting as we went. Even though I live here and walk these streets fairly often, I really enjoyed being able to show the city where I currently live to someone, especially with the good weather we had. There are also some parts of the city that I don’t have cause to visit particularly frequently, so it was lovely to get to rediscover those areas again.

Once the sun had started setting, we returned to my apartment to take stock and put together a rough plan for Laura’s stay over the weekend. That being done, we went out for dinner at Flams, a restaurant that serves the local tradition and speciality of flammekuchen. I can best describe them as like a very thin based pizza coated with a creamy sauce and usually with onions and diced bacon on top. (Fear not, fellow vegetarians: other options are available… usually.)

I grant you, taking an Italian to dinner at somewhere that serves something often compared to pizza may have seemed unwise, but thankfully Laura became rather enamoured with the traditional Alsatian meal, and we had a great evening.

The following morning, after a slow start due to us both being rather tired, we stumbled out to the Palais Rohan, an old courtly building that now houses 4 museums and galleries. We started off with the Fine Art museum, which turned out to be a lot bigger than I had anticipated, so we spent a good 2 hours wandering around, admiring the collection. What I found particularly special was getting to appreciate the paintings whilst in the company of an Italian who had studied a considerable amount of art history at school, and so who was far more familiar with general art history as well as specific Italian artists than I’m used to.

By the time we were finished there, it was nearing lunchtime, but we decided to quickly look around the considerably smaller gallery downstairs, which was currently hosting an exhibition on the Spanish artist, Ribera. This was a wonderfully put together exhibition, made even better by the inclusion of a large frame for staging your own shots in a similar style. Needless to say, Laura and I took advantage of the opportunity.

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We stopped for lunch at a local restaurant that does a good line in tartines, another local dish. These are essentially thick slices of bread, toasted and covered in the sort of toppings one might find on a pizza or in a pie. The rule, as far as I can gather, is pretty much anything goes.

After that, I had to go and give a private English lesson, and Laura needed to use the internet, so I sent her off in the direction of one of my favourite cafés in the city, What the Cake, an independent café that does a very good line in cakes and desserts, including vegan alternatives. (I know, practically unheard of in France, and Alsace in particular.)

We met back at my apartment after I’d finished tutoring and just chatted for a while, before we went out to a place in the centre of town that does ramen. Again, I seemed to manage to find a culinary tradition that my visitor had some familiarity with, as Laura speaks Japanese and has spent a considerable amount of time in Japan, so I found myself with an expert again when it came to figuring out what was going to be good on the menu.

On our way back to my apartment after dinner, we stopped into one of the supermarkets with the intention of getting a couple of bottles of local wine for Laura to take back with her. As we were browsing the wine section, a security guard came over and apologised for potentially ruining our evening by telling us that we wouldn’t be able to buy any alcohol, as it was after 9pm. Quite whether this is a regulation specific to Alsace, I’ve yet been unable to find out. Thankfully, the supermarket in question was little over 200m away from my apartment, so we just decided to make our choices that evening and then come back the following morning.

So after our morning trip to acquire wine, as well as a baguette for breakfast, served with the winning combination of Speculoos and Nutella, we walked over to the Parc de l’Orangerie, the biggest area of green space in central Strasbourg. Despite the glorious sunshine and bright blue clear skies, the park was still holding onto the remnants of winter in its greenery, but it still made for a lovely Sunday morning walk. Aside from the frankly overwhelming number of joggers, the park wasn’t too busy surprisingly, so the sense of tranquility that had pervaded the weekend thus far continued uninterrupted. The beginnings of spring in the air had also seen the return of the storks, the regional bird of Alsace, to their various nests in the park. Part of the park is a small zoo, which includes an exhibit and hibernation and population support centre for the storks, so I’d seen them before, albeit inside the exhibit when winter was well on its way. This time, however, the nests on top of the larger buildings and various plain trees were occupied with the large birds, and every so often one would flap off to join the group circling high in the sky overhead, whilst another one would gently glide down and alight upon its nest. The birds look a considerable size when they’re perched in their nests, but their wingspan makes them seem particularly large when they fly just a couple of metres above your head.

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The French have a slightly different approach to feeding the ducks...

The French have a slightly different approach to feeding the ducks…

After seeing the park and its regular inhabitants, we walked back into the centre of town to one of my favourite restaurants for another meal of flammekuchen, along with a beer in the style of traditional Alsatian lunch. Following that, we went for a look around the cathedral for a while, stopping to admire the astronomical clock in particular.

By the time we’d finished there, it was getting close to Laura’s time of departure, so we headed back to my apartment before going on to the train station. I waved her off onto her train and walked back to my apartment to prepare for the start of term the day after.