fête de lutte

I think it's time I show you a snapshot of what life is really like in France.

The French go on strike a lot. It's called la grève and everyone here knows it's just a part of life. Does it accomplish anything? I really have no idea, but it's become a part of the bureaucratic system and there's so sign of it ever stopping.

Of course I'd heard tell of this long before I came here. (Last year, the students at the university went on strike.) Thus I knew it was only a matter of time, but I was still not excited to learn that the buses were going to grève on Thursday. I live about a twenty minute bus ride from school, which is far enough away that I would have to wake up even earlier than I already do to walk and make it on time. Was not gonna happen. Fortunately, the buses still run on a limited schedule, meaning they come every twenty minutes but not on any given schedule. Meaning I had to basically guess when the bus would come and if I missed it I was screwed.

To make things even more ridiculous, this is what I saw out my window when I woke up Thursday morning:


A beautiful day for a grève!

I got ready as quickly as I could, not wanting to be late but also not wanting to be too early and have to wait in the cold. By the time I got out the door and had walked to the bus stop, the sign said the next bus was in 20 minutes. Fuck.

So I listened to Fresh Air and wandered around taking pretty pictures of the snow while I waited for the bus.





I ended up being almost an hour late to class. (Each class is two hours long.) Fortunately for me, Amanda and Molly were on the same bus as me, so I wasn't alone in my failure.



This is what greeted us when we finally arrived at campus, which is incredibly ugly by the way. Normally snow makes everything so beautiful, but here the world just looks more bleak.



These piles of rocks are supposed to be art, apparently.


These are the depressing-as-hell barracks where we have class. Never imagine that everything in France is beautiful.

The next day I arose expecting another catastrophe but attempting to avoid it by getting to the bus station earlier. However, it was to no avail because there were absolutely no buses running! Catastrophe indeed! Emma and I just stared at the little informative flyer in amazed consternation. Fortunately, Emma's host mom was nice enough to drive us part of the way to school, otherwise we would have literally had to walk over an hour to school, in the show, uphill, like somebody's grandma.

Voilà, the insanity that is France.

I've tasted wine; I've visited castles; I've experienced a grève. Now I really know what it is to live in France.