Letter from France 10

 

Sunday, September 24, 1989

born: F. Scott Fitzgerald 1896

died: Johann Strauss (the elder)1849

 

Folks,

 

It's been three weeks. Things are going pretty well at the school. Was a bit concerned about what I was coming back to, so managed to return in style. Because of the juggling convention in Holland, I arrived a day after school started, with reinforcements. Since I had made earlier arrangements to bring Viktor and Anatoly, two jugglers from the Moscow Circus, to the school to teach a workshop my tardiness and guests were at least partially understood. Our van showed up with me, three other Americans, two Russians, and a German. How's that for a snappy reply to French xenophobia?

 

The schedule didn’t exactly start out on the right foot. First, the administration gave me fourteen first-year students in a juggling class that meets Tuesday and Saturday morning from 9 to 11. An acrobatic class begins in the same room at 10:30 on Tuesday, so I asked if we could just run ninety minutes instead of two hours. The response was to begin class one half hour earlier, for both Tuesday and Saturday. Finally got that fixed so we only start at 8:30 on Tuesday, and now there is a different acrobatic class that starts at 10.

 

Every Tuesday for the last half hour of class I watch diligently for stray juggling objects that may roll under the fragile foot of some gymnast doing a flip.

 

Told the administration I didn't have enough juggling equipment to teach fourteen students at the same time. The response was that I should teach the class in mime. My response was to provide the school with a list of things to buy. Instead of purchasing new equipment they took all the juggling stuff away from the advanced students. Apparently the school bought the students their equipment last year, and the students never paid for it. Finally, after frenching it out a bit, the upper-grade students have their props back, and I am making do with what I have. Most of my time is spent trying to convince everyone to become jugglers rather than tightrope walkers

 

Last week I officially declared my room a Mosquito Free Zone. Unfortunately, the mosquitoes don't quite agree with this policy. They are content to remain passive until I am asleep and then decide to hold protest rallies in my ear. These past nights I have been getting up pretty regularly to go on mosquito patrol. Armed with a trusty rolled up sheet of paper, I patiently wait and scan the entire room. My eyes have become pretty adept at spotting tiny specks, not only on the walls but hovering in corners. Yesterday, after much searching, I finally found a shop that sells mosquito netting. All I have to do now is get the dimensions for the window and figure out how to make the frame.

 

In spite of all this, la vie française is showing petit signs of improvement. There is no permanent director, and it feels like a school without direction. In the midst of all the confusions I am making my way.

 

I go shopping daily with lots of heavy French coins jangling in my pockets as I make my errands. Some of the shopkeepers remember me from before the vacation. I suspect an American in Châlons is a bit strange. All of them still pretend to not understand me. I am patient.

 

It is late enough in the year so the mosquitoes are not quite the main problem anymore. Instead, with the arrival of fall the tall trees looming over the hotel shed their autumn bounty of marron nuts. These are a Gallic type of horse chestnut. Days and nights are full of the ker-splash of marrons dropping into the canal and the crash of marrons on the roof. Sometimes, I get a couple of loud crashes on the roof and, if the angle is right, I also get a ker-splash in the canal from the same marron. I consider this a special treat from the flora and fauna of France and don't mind the many times I am awakened in the night.

 

Interested in some nouveau music? I found out that Dorothée has some albums out. If you would like to hear what the little scamp sounds like, I can send a sample.

 

take care,

 

Todd Strong, Professeur du Jonglage

 

Centre National des Arts du Cirque

1, rue du Cirque

51000 Châlons-sur-Marne

France

 

copyright 1989 by Todd Strong

 

 

Return to Letters from France main page