France. I love/hate this place.

Along the bumpy road of language learning, there are a few essential pitstops. These are designed to test you, to see how proficient you are, and whether you can hold your own in said language. They include (in vague chronological order):
- Being able to order food;
- Being able to hold a phone conversation;
- Being able to count to 100 (in french, instead of saying '97' you say '4 20 17', meaning (4x20)+17. ridiculous);
- Being able to begin a sentence without already having planned the end of it;
- Being able to watch (and understand) television;
- Being able to navigate oneself through the impenetrable maze of European higher education bureaucracy;
- Being able to follow courses in advanced international humanitarian law and geopolitics; and... my favourite...
- Being able to engage in a shouting match with a real estate agent.

These last three items have pretty much been the flavour of my time here thus far. Uni bureaucracy? Oh my gosh.. They make me laugh and make me cry (like the Hunters & Collectors song). Following the classes? Wow. I knew it would be tough but I had no idea. My brain hurts. Pretty much all the time. And the real estate agent... let's just say the other day I was sitting in my room and suddenly 3 total strangers walked in! The landlady has sold the house, and the future owners decide fairly often to come over to take photos / get the electricals fixed / install an alarm / show their friends. They have been here for at least an hour every day this week! They just randomly pop over and let themselves in with a key! So tonight my housemate Leila and I decided to request that they desist... Let's just say that hell hath no fury like a real estate agent scorned.

Here's a picture of the Law Faculty of the Université Paul Cézanne - Aix-Marseille III:

I know it's quite a lot prettier than my uni in Australia (Monash), but the utterly shambolic disorganisation leaves me yearning for the comfort and familiar surrounds of the concrete-covered Clayton wind tunnel. Anyway, I won't elaborate because I'll cry, and you'll hate me for coming to France and then whining about not having any handouts. And having 48 hours of class per week. And not getting the timetable for each week until the Saturday evening before. And finding out that I had a room reserved for me in the student housing for 140 euros a month instead of the 400 I'm paying now because the uni forgot to tell me. And having classes on Saturdays. And having days where there are 10 hours of class scheduled with no breaks. Whoops. I'm complaining...! I'll stop.

Obviously, living in France has its perks! *Everything* tastes better here. I love walking down the little narrow streets and looking upwards, to see what wonders await my investigation. There are crepe sellers on every corner. People speak French. There are new and exciting things in the supermarkets, including brands of sugar I recognise from when I was a kid. OH! And Ebly - which is wheat, but you cook it like rice and it is sooo good. Shown here:


OK I think that's enough random photographic entertainment for now. I'll try to be better at writing blogs!

And please - if you haven't taken any action on those Sri Lankan asylum seekers... get onto it!

A la prochaine,

:) Jessie