A little over a year ago, I was moving out of the Red Door Inn, the home I had made for myself for the last 4 years. As I was leaving my keys with the new roommate, I felt this pang of sadness, much like you feel at the end a book that you were really enjoying. You're glad to have read it and it had to come to end eventually, but you're going to miss the story. And what stories the walls of that house could tell...
But it was onward up and upward (or just around the corner) for a few months before the big move to France. That summer was a difficult one. There were so many unanswered questions about when we would be leaving and what I was going to do when I got there. Jason wasn't exactly helping the situation with his indecision, though some of it was out of his control, and we fought. He didn't want me to go, and I didn't necessarily want to be in France all on my own but I couldn't stay in Baltimore with nothing to do for an unknown amount of time. I had to go.
A year ago, I was packing all of my worldly possessions into boxes and bags, some to be put aside for later, some to be given away and a special select few got to make the trip across the ocean with me. Those last few days at my parents' house were bizarre, this strange sort of limbo where we were all waiting for what was sure to be something big but we didn't really know what it would be. Looking back on it, I'm not really sure I was excited at that point. I had spent all of my emotions in the weeks leading up to that day and I mostly felt numb. Just get there in one piece.
364 days ago, I had never been to Bordeaux. I had forgotten most of the French I learned once upon a time and it had been years since I had stepped foot inside of a classroom where I wasn't the one giving instruction. I lived in a dorm room in Mérignac and I didn't know a soul in the entire country of France. The whole country! Maybe that's why I wasn't excited. Because I knew what lay ahead would be immensely stressful, lonely and just plain hard.
Fast forward to today. So much has changed since those first moments in France. I am fluent in the French language. I live in a cool apartment right in the heart of Bordeaux with the man I love. I know great places to get good wines for good prices. I have a favorite type of cheese that isn't Swiss or cheddar. I could tell you the best way to get across town from wherever you are (but only if you're taking public transit). I have a job that I enjoy and friends to hang out with on the weekends. I am fairly knowledgeable about French cuisine.
I don't quite know how to explain the intangible changes within me, though. So much about my identity has been shifted this year. I am not French but I don't know if I'm really American anymore, either. I am reading a book whose title translates to "How I Became French" and I can identify with each one of the stories. I no longer fit into nice boxes. In order to integrate into French society, do I have to give up a bit of my American-ness? Am I less like those who share a common birthplace because of my time masquerading as another nationality? Can I ever truly assimilate? Do I have the right to be here and pretend I belong?
What I have found in this last year is that I don't know the answer to any of those questions any better than when I came. The longer I'm here, the more complicated it gets. Bordeaux is my home, the home Jason and I have made together. The US is where I was born and my family and friends are there but it doesn't feel like the same place it once was to me. It has become the place I visit once a year for the holidays. Of course I look forward to going there but I feel like a stranger now. I have to be conscious of how much I talk about France for fear of being that obnoxious ex-pat who can't shut up about their fabulous new life abroad.
But what else do I have to talk about? It's my life. I'm not on vacation, I'm at home. That's the hardest part: A year later, I am still trying to explain that I am not just a tourist, both to the French and to my family and friends back in the US. A year later, I am in another limbo where again, I am waiting. I am waiting to figure out who I am, who I have become. But, unlike a year ago, I am not numb. I am alive.
Happy anniversary, Bordeaux.
Showing posts with label culture shock. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture shock. Show all posts
Friday, November 8, 2013
Monday, September 9, 2013
'Murica
Aside from a couple quick jaunts to Canada that don't really count, my interest in the world abroad really started when I took some summer classes at the University of Salamanca in Spain when I was 16. A teacher at my school told me I would probably be pretty good at it so I went and I have been itching to travel ever since.
When I got back after my first trip to Spain, I had a hard time readjusting to my life in the States. I had obnoxiously started referring to my country as "The States," for one. Even though I was only there for five weeks, I felt like I had grown so much in this place that was so unlike my home and no one could relate. My family is a bunch of homebodies. None of my friends had ever been abroad. No one seemed to get me. Of course a lot of this has a lot to do with the fact that I was an angsty 16 year old girl who was having identity issues anyway, but my first homecoming was not a pleasant one. Neither was my return from Seville four years later after my semester abroad. I went from being a globe-trotting college kid, in a new European city every other weekend, to dead-broke, jobless bum on my parents' couch in rural Western New York. Not exactly a happy time in my life.
You can understand, then, why I was nervous to go home at the beginning of August. It had been eight months since the last time I was in the US, the longest amount of time I had ever been away from home. Obviously, I was excited to see my family but I was also I was terrified I was going to have another one of my reverse-culture shock moments and just be that horrible In-France-things-are-so-much-better snob that I could easily see myself becoming.
My trajectory was a bit jacked up from the get go and I knew I was in for some stress first thing in the morning. My original ticket was the second half of the Baltimore to Paris round-trip flight my mom got me for Christmas. (We all remember the difficulties I had on the outbound trip). I had already changed the return date (for $250) and purchased a flight from Bordeaux to Paris (for 50€) and from Baltimore to Rochester (for $100). Why I thought I could get off a plane at Orly at 9:00, gather my checked luggage, take a bus across town, and be on a flight at Charles de Gaulle by 11:15, I will never know. I was shitting myself with anxiety, waiting for this bus that was supposed to be an hour-long trip. I was sure I was going to miss my flight. Lucky for me, though, the bus was only 25 minutes and even after I got off at the wrong terminal, I still had plenty of time.
Like, four extra hours.
By the time I made it to the counter to check in, my service agent looked as though he had had a rough morning. Any time a major international flight is delayed like that, people are going to lose it. In my nicest French, I asked if he thought it was possible to make my connection in Philly. He gave me the classic French shrug and said they would help me figure it out once I landed in the US. I'm not going to be the millionth person to get in this man's face at 11am so I just shrugged right back and went to use my meal voucher.
Once we got to Philly, I had missed my connection by a measly 15 minutes. I fly pretty often and this was the first time I had ever had an issue this major so I figured I was due for it. I went to the counter to figure out some options and they had a lot of nothing for me. I could get on the 9:20pm flight to Baltimore but there wasn't another flight from Baltimore to Rochester until 9:00 the next morning and the difference in fare was $120. Nope. I could buy a ticket from Philly to Rochester for 9:50pm but that was going to be $430. Nope again. I was already exhausted from traveling and didn't have the energy to think. I called my mom in distress, who then got on the phone with the airline and fussed at enough people to get me on that flight to Rochester for free. My mom gets it DONE.
My initial thoughts upon arriving back in the US were, in this order:
1) Everything is HUGE. Big buildings, big roads, big cars, and sadly, big people. Seriously. Obesity is a problem in America. I know we all keep saying that but when you're used to living in a place like France where most people are pretty slim, it's really jarring. Yeah yeah yeah, every body is a beautiful body but when your body is bad for your health, on either end of the spectrum, maybe you should think about changing your habits.
2) Everything is LOUD. Why is everyone yelling? French people don't talk that loud. My ears were bleeding the second I stepped off the plane and the airport staff were shouting at each other across the hall. Walk over there and talk to her in a normal tone of voice. Goodness.
3) Everything is so FAST. You gotta get there and get it done like right now! NOW! People walk quickly, they talk quickly, they eat quickly and then turn around and wonder why they're tired all the time. We had lunch at a restaurant. We ordered, ate, they gave us our check and we were in and out in less than an hour. Any meal out is a two hour minimum ordeal in France.
4) This food is DELICIOUS but makes me SICK. I was nervous that I would become a huge food snob because we're so spoiled living in Bordeaux but I was not disappointed at all with the food I ate back home. The only problem is that after every single meal, I felt uncomfortably full and a pretty urgent desire to poop. Do all the preservatives and hormones and pesticides serve as laxatives as well? Yikes. I think the fullness factor also has to do with the ridiculously large portions (see #1) and how quickly you're expected to eat it (see #3). Your stomach doesn't have time to let your brain know that you're full so you just keep eating everything that's in front of you until they take it away and then you realize you just inhaled your body weight in breadsticks for no reason at all.
5) People are so FRIENDLY. The moment I entered Philadelphia International Airport, there were about a million chatty US citizens trying to get chummy with me in the passport control line. "Bummer about that delay, huh?" My French shrug doesn't quite carry the same weight here. "So where are you coming from?" Why is it so hard to say Bordeaux without sounding pretentious? "I hear it's really nice there but French people are so rude!"And I'm not sure how to respond to this because while I haven't experienced a ton of blatant douchebaggery from the French, they certainly are not the type to strike up a random conversation with a stranger while waiting to clear customs.
Perhaps it's the fact that they have to scrounge for tips just to make something close to minimum wage, but people in the food service industry were particularly aggressive in their friendliness. It was hard not to be cynical about it ("You don't really care how my day is going") after eight months of the if-you-need-something-you-can-come-find-me service in France, but I do appreciate the sense of camaraderie that is palpable in the US. Whether you like it or not, you're going to feel a little bit closer to the people around you when you have to actually interact with them.
6) COMFORT takes precedence of everything else. There's AC in almost every building and it's set at Arctic. You don't have to walk anywhere because you have a giant car to drive on a giant road and there will be ample parking at your destination. You would never think of buying a washing machine without an accompanying dryer because how else would your clothes get dry? Forget about the energy crisis or global climate change. Service workers break their necks to make sure you have everything you need at every moment because it would kill you to wait an extra minute for your decaf non-fat soy latte. (See also #3.) We buy instant meals made from processed "foods" because having to prepare a dish on your own takes away much needed time from watching TV or dicking around on the Internet. All of these things are signs of wealth and prosperity, which should be a good thing, but instead I feel like it has made a lot of people impatient and spoiled.
7) Everyone works so MUCH. When I explained to my family that Jason has 6 weeks mandatory paid vacation on top of the normal government holidays, they thought I was kidding. "I don't know what I would even do with all that time!"I don't know... Go on vacation and see your friends/family you have been promising to see for years. Read a book. Get in shape. Work on that project you started and never finished. Take a break from your hectic job and enjoy your life! Just because you work 50 hours a week for 50 weeks of the year doesn't mean you're more productive. In fact, it's usually the opposite. But we feel guilty for taking time off because everyone around us is working so much and if I'm not working, I must be a slacker. Am I suggesting that we take off from work for the entire month of August like France? No, but I do think we need to take more time for ourselves. You are not just your job.
8) Everyone is so PROUD. American's are known for loving our country and while I was once a bit embarrassed by our over-zealous patriotism, after spending some time in France, I actually kind of appreciate it. On Bastille Day, France's national holiday, I didn't hear the Marseillaise even one time. NOT ONCE. There were a few extra flags here and there, but mostly on government buildings, and I am certain no one rocked a bleu blanc rouge tie to work. The fireworks display was decent but there wasn't even any music with it. This may have been due to technical problems, but had it been in the US, the whole crowd would have stood up and burst into an a cappella version of God Bless America, complete with three part harmony. Followed immediately, of course, by a tearful rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner and at least one accidental gunshot wound. A small price to pay for any true patriot.
So, I didn't have a mental breakdown, I don't think I offended anyone with my stories of my time in France, and best of all, I think I might even love America a little bit more. Sometimes I feel a bit like this guy, but at the end of the day, I'm still proud to be an American and I am happy to have the opportunity to represent my country abroad. You're crazy, 'Murica, but I love you anyway.
When I got back after my first trip to Spain, I had a hard time readjusting to my life in the States. I had obnoxiously started referring to my country as "The States," for one. Even though I was only there for five weeks, I felt like I had grown so much in this place that was so unlike my home and no one could relate. My family is a bunch of homebodies. None of my friends had ever been abroad. No one seemed to get me. Of course a lot of this has a lot to do with the fact that I was an angsty 16 year old girl who was having identity issues anyway, but my first homecoming was not a pleasant one. Neither was my return from Seville four years later after my semester abroad. I went from being a globe-trotting college kid, in a new European city every other weekend, to dead-broke, jobless bum on my parents' couch in rural Western New York. Not exactly a happy time in my life.
You can understand, then, why I was nervous to go home at the beginning of August. It had been eight months since the last time I was in the US, the longest amount of time I had ever been away from home. Obviously, I was excited to see my family but I was also I was terrified I was going to have another one of my reverse-culture shock moments and just be that horrible In-France-things-are-so-much-better snob that I could easily see myself becoming.
My trajectory was a bit jacked up from the get go and I knew I was in for some stress first thing in the morning. My original ticket was the second half of the Baltimore to Paris round-trip flight my mom got me for Christmas. (We all remember the difficulties I had on the outbound trip). I had already changed the return date (for $250) and purchased a flight from Bordeaux to Paris (for 50€) and from Baltimore to Rochester (for $100). Why I thought I could get off a plane at Orly at 9:00, gather my checked luggage, take a bus across town, and be on a flight at Charles de Gaulle by 11:15, I will never know. I was shitting myself with anxiety, waiting for this bus that was supposed to be an hour-long trip. I was sure I was going to miss my flight. Lucky for me, though, the bus was only 25 minutes and even after I got off at the wrong terminal, I still had plenty of time.
Like, four extra hours.
By the time I made it to the counter to check in, my service agent looked as though he had had a rough morning. Any time a major international flight is delayed like that, people are going to lose it. In my nicest French, I asked if he thought it was possible to make my connection in Philly. He gave me the classic French shrug and said they would help me figure it out once I landed in the US. I'm not going to be the millionth person to get in this man's face at 11am so I just shrugged right back and went to use my meal voucher.
Once we got to Philly, I had missed my connection by a measly 15 minutes. I fly pretty often and this was the first time I had ever had an issue this major so I figured I was due for it. I went to the counter to figure out some options and they had a lot of nothing for me. I could get on the 9:20pm flight to Baltimore but there wasn't another flight from Baltimore to Rochester until 9:00 the next morning and the difference in fare was $120. Nope. I could buy a ticket from Philly to Rochester for 9:50pm but that was going to be $430. Nope again. I was already exhausted from traveling and didn't have the energy to think. I called my mom in distress, who then got on the phone with the airline and fussed at enough people to get me on that flight to Rochester for free. My mom gets it DONE.
My initial thoughts upon arriving back in the US were, in this order:
1) Everything is HUGE. Big buildings, big roads, big cars, and sadly, big people. Seriously. Obesity is a problem in America. I know we all keep saying that but when you're used to living in a place like France where most people are pretty slim, it's really jarring. Yeah yeah yeah, every body is a beautiful body but when your body is bad for your health, on either end of the spectrum, maybe you should think about changing your habits.
2) Everything is LOUD. Why is everyone yelling? French people don't talk that loud. My ears were bleeding the second I stepped off the plane and the airport staff were shouting at each other across the hall. Walk over there and talk to her in a normal tone of voice. Goodness.
3) Everything is so FAST. You gotta get there and get it done like right now! NOW! People walk quickly, they talk quickly, they eat quickly and then turn around and wonder why they're tired all the time. We had lunch at a restaurant. We ordered, ate, they gave us our check and we were in and out in less than an hour. Any meal out is a two hour minimum ordeal in France.
4) This food is DELICIOUS but makes me SICK. I was nervous that I would become a huge food snob because we're so spoiled living in Bordeaux but I was not disappointed at all with the food I ate back home. The only problem is that after every single meal, I felt uncomfortably full and a pretty urgent desire to poop. Do all the preservatives and hormones and pesticides serve as laxatives as well? Yikes. I think the fullness factor also has to do with the ridiculously large portions (see #1) and how quickly you're expected to eat it (see #3). Your stomach doesn't have time to let your brain know that you're full so you just keep eating everything that's in front of you until they take it away and then you realize you just inhaled your body weight in breadsticks for no reason at all.
5) People are so FRIENDLY. The moment I entered Philadelphia International Airport, there were about a million chatty US citizens trying to get chummy with me in the passport control line. "Bummer about that delay, huh?" My French shrug doesn't quite carry the same weight here. "So where are you coming from?" Why is it so hard to say Bordeaux without sounding pretentious? "I hear it's really nice there but French people are so rude!"And I'm not sure how to respond to this because while I haven't experienced a ton of blatant douchebaggery from the French, they certainly are not the type to strike up a random conversation with a stranger while waiting to clear customs.
Perhaps it's the fact that they have to scrounge for tips just to make something close to minimum wage, but people in the food service industry were particularly aggressive in their friendliness. It was hard not to be cynical about it ("You don't really care how my day is going") after eight months of the if-you-need-something-you-can-come-find-me service in France, but I do appreciate the sense of camaraderie that is palpable in the US. Whether you like it or not, you're going to feel a little bit closer to the people around you when you have to actually interact with them.
6) COMFORT takes precedence of everything else. There's AC in almost every building and it's set at Arctic. You don't have to walk anywhere because you have a giant car to drive on a giant road and there will be ample parking at your destination. You would never think of buying a washing machine without an accompanying dryer because how else would your clothes get dry? Forget about the energy crisis or global climate change. Service workers break their necks to make sure you have everything you need at every moment because it would kill you to wait an extra minute for your decaf non-fat soy latte. (See also #3.) We buy instant meals made from processed "foods" because having to prepare a dish on your own takes away much needed time from watching TV or dicking around on the Internet. All of these things are signs of wealth and prosperity, which should be a good thing, but instead I feel like it has made a lot of people impatient and spoiled.
7) Everyone works so MUCH. When I explained to my family that Jason has 6 weeks mandatory paid vacation on top of the normal government holidays, they thought I was kidding. "I don't know what I would even do with all that time!"I don't know... Go on vacation and see your friends/family you have been promising to see for years. Read a book. Get in shape. Work on that project you started and never finished. Take a break from your hectic job and enjoy your life! Just because you work 50 hours a week for 50 weeks of the year doesn't mean you're more productive. In fact, it's usually the opposite. But we feel guilty for taking time off because everyone around us is working so much and if I'm not working, I must be a slacker. Am I suggesting that we take off from work for the entire month of August like France? No, but I do think we need to take more time for ourselves. You are not just your job.
8) Everyone is so PROUD. American's are known for loving our country and while I was once a bit embarrassed by our over-zealous patriotism, after spending some time in France, I actually kind of appreciate it. On Bastille Day, France's national holiday, I didn't hear the Marseillaise even one time. NOT ONCE. There were a few extra flags here and there, but mostly on government buildings, and I am certain no one rocked a bleu blanc rouge tie to work. The fireworks display was decent but there wasn't even any music with it. This may have been due to technical problems, but had it been in the US, the whole crowd would have stood up and burst into an a cappella version of God Bless America, complete with three part harmony. Followed immediately, of course, by a tearful rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner and at least one accidental gunshot wound. A small price to pay for any true patriot.
So, I didn't have a mental breakdown, I don't think I offended anyone with my stories of my time in France, and best of all, I think I might even love America a little bit more. Sometimes I feel a bit like this guy, but at the end of the day, I'm still proud to be an American and I am happy to have the opportunity to represent my country abroad. You're crazy, 'Murica, but I love you anyway.
Monday, March 4, 2013
Unpacking Biases
It's about to get real up in here.
This story requires you to know some more about me. My mother is black and my father is white. I grew up in a quiet suburban/rural area and attended a mostly white school district. I had no concept of my race until about middle school when a friend brought it to my attention that my hair was really different from everyone else's. And my nose and lips and skin, for that matter. She brought up an interesting point but I didn't give it much thought.
My family was very well "blended," if you will, and I was part of a racially diverse group of friends, despite the school demographic at large. Aside from having slightly different colored skin, everyone in my life was pretty much the same: well-educated, middle-class, average in every way. No one lived in the ghetto or a trailer park. No one lived in a mansion. We didn't talk about race because it just wasn't an issue.
I went to a private college in the north-east and the majority of students there were white. To me, this was no big deal because it was just like my high school. I hardly even noticed. But there was a distinct difference between the humble, small-town folks I grew up with and the majority of the students at Ithaca: Money.
With money comes privilege and, as I was quickly learning, privilege meant not having to interact with brown people. Brown people might come to clean their houses or manicure their lawns. Brown people might repair their BMWs or bus their tables after their five-star restaurant dinner. But they were not friends with brown people. They didn't talk to brown people. They were maybe even a little afraid of brown people. So afraid they wouldn't even talk about it at full volume. Why did you just whisper black to describe the guy we were hanging out with yesterday?
This seemed odd to me because my understanding of black was almost exclusively isolated to my experience with my friends and my mom's family and this was not the same image I had of minorities. They weren't super rich but they were doing well for themselves. They were articulate and worldly. Progressive. How could it be that I had this notion of black people and theirs was so different?
And then I moved to Baltimore.
Talk about the other end of the spectrum. I went from a predominantly white college, where the average student was paying $38K/year out of pocket because it was well within mommy and daddy's budget, to a city comprised mostly of black people, the majority of which live in poverty. And these were not the black people I knew and loved. They were aggressive, they were ignorant, they were angry. They were in gangs and carried weapons. They were scary.
(The difference between the black people I knew and the black people in Baltimore? Money. But I'll save my rant on socioeconomic status for another day.)
Am I exaggerating? Perhaps a bit. Am I generalizing? Certainly. But keep in mind my frame of reference. My experience to this point had not prepared me to deal with what was happening in this city. Try as they might, the diversity seminars at the TFA institute did not really help me understand what I was getting into.
You're waiting for the happy ending. You're expecting me to say that I left that city culturally competent and realizing the stereotypes are all wrong. I wish I could say it, but it would be a lie.
Until then, I thought being black was something to be proud of. It was strength and unity. It was beautiful and unique. It was a rich though tortured history that proved the resilience of the human spirit. It was making the impossible possible by working together.
In Baltimore, I learned that being black means that you trust no one. It means that you look for someone to blame for your problems. It means violence is the solution to every conflict and if you choose to turn the other cheek, you're a "faggie." It means hopelessness: you are going to be stuck in this cycle of misery forever and it's because you're black.
Were there people that didn't fit this mold? Yes, obviously. Were there times when I saw teamwork, compassion, ingenuity? Of course. But what leaves a bad taste in my mouth and a pit in my stomach is that my time in Baltimore made me less hopeful and more disappointed. Less proud and more frustrated. Less tolerant and more biased.
Case and point: On my way to band practice today, I saw two black guys with braids à la Coolio, dressed in black hoodies, dark jeans, and Timberland boots. They looked like every corner kid that dropped out of school because trappin' was a lot easier than trigonometry. They looked just like the guys that leered at me as I walked down McCulloh Ave, telling me my ass was looking too fine in dat skirt. They were the spitting image of the inked up weed-smoking, 40-drinking thugs that have five or six baby-mommas and just caught their fifth or sixth charge. I wish I had some pepper spray. What is he holding? Is that a gun???
I put on my "Don't fuck with me" face and tried not to make eye contact. I rang the doorbell to Hunter's place, hoping that he'd buzz me in quickly and I could get away from these sketchballs. Why are they lurking around here anyway. The one with the gun turned to me and asked, "Est-ce que tu es ici pour le jam? Le groupe de musique avec Louis?"
It wasn't a gun. It was a flute.
And I was ashamed.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Steaming Piles of S#!t
Today, a lesson in the importance of vocabulary.
At lunch on Saturday, Hunter invited his neighbor over to join us. His name is Louis and if you saw him on the street, you'd probably think he was a surfer from SoCal: Tall, slim, longish curly brown hair, held out of his face with a leather headband. Louis, a biology student at Bordeaux 3, is incredibly friendly and though his English isn't great, he is very eager to speak it with Hunter and I. Practice makes perfect, right?
After getting through all the small talk, I asked Louis if he had any suggestions for gifts that I should get for my friends and family back home.
Louis: "Yes yes! A good wine and maybe some foie gras? It is very good! We go? Tomorrow, there is a market. A man, with figs and foie gras. You want we all go together?"
Me: "Oh that would be awesome! I don't know much about wine or foie gras but I'll take your word for it. And I love markets. I will bring some money and we'll all go together."
Louis: "Yes. And maybe after, there is a thing. We should go! We go and get the shit!"
Is he still talking about going shopping? Yeah, I imagine we can get all kinds of shit at the market.
Me: "Sounds good. This will be a lot of fun. What time should I meet you guys?"
L: "Yes! We meet at 9 to go to the market and then we go and get the shit. We meet French people. We go in cars and then we go to the place with the horses and we get the shit and put it all around."
Okay, now I know I'm missing something. Horses? Cars? I know where the Capucins market we don't need a car to get there. Are we riding horses? I don't get it...
Me: "Cool, yeah, we'll get the shit. But what about these horses?"
L: "No no no... We go to the... equestrian center?"
So we are doing something with horses. I'm a little afraid of horses but I'll make it work. I was afraid of the ocean when we went surfing and look at me now. Surfing is great!
Me: "Yeah, equestrian center. Like with horses?"
L: "Yes! We get the shit in the cars. It smells like the forest. It does not smell very bad. And there is a yard. And we put it all around. Le fumier. Very cool! You bring good shoes, okay?"
Me: "Okay, yes. I'm excited!"
I definitely needed more information, and fumier seemed like a really important word to know in order to understand what the plan was exactly, but I was late for my rendez-vous with Ashley and Guillaume. Pretty much all I knew was that we were going shopping and maybe riding horses. All I cared about was getting out of the house on a Sunday, a welcome change of pace.
9:00am came very early, especially after my crazy late night on Saturday, and it was deathly cold outside. Since it had been rather pleasant the night before, it was also incredibly foggy. Not surprisingly, I was running a little late, but also not surprisingly, so were Hunter and Louis. I ended up waiting for them for a good 20 minutes before we made it down to the market.
The Capucins market is really neat and kind of reminded me of what Lexington Market could be if there were fewer junkies and homeless people hanging out there. We got a few snacks for later in the day and stopped by the man with the foie gras-stuffed figs. He gave us a sample and it was seriously one of the most delicious things I have ever tasted. Even knowing how foie gras is made couldn't ruin how tasty it was. I could have spent the day there but Louis said it was time to go. So we're done shopping? I'm just getting started!
We took the tram all the way down Bordeaux 3 in Pessac, a part of town that I hadn't seen yet. Even though it was already after 10, the fog still hadn't cleared and I could barely make out he academic buildings scattered around the campus. There was an eerie feeling to the whole place and I was beginning to wonder if maybe I was about to be murdered. "Unassuming American girl found dead at Bordeaux 3. Two students, one Chinese, one French, prime suspects in murder."
We walked up a hill and Louis pointed out a garden. Oh my God, this is where they're going to bury me. No one knows I'm here but them! Just as I was about to make a run for it, we were met by several other young French people and Lucas, who seemed to be running the show, gathered us in a small shed, and began to explain the day's activities. Pitchforks, shovels, rakes, rubber boots, gloves. I really am about to be killed. I can't even tell how to get out of here with all this damn fog. I am about to die. This is it.
Wait. Is that... Is that a trailer filled with a steaming pile of manure???
And suddenly, it dawned on me that Louis's explanation was incredibly accurate. We really were going to be getting shit and putting it all around. As biology students, him and his classmates have a small organic garden on campus and they needed to get it prepped for the winter. Part of this preparation was covering the seed beds with cardboard and spreading manure over them to protect the soil in the cold months ahead. We had to get in cars to go pick up the manure from the equestrian center (tons of free shit there) and then put it in the garden. Perhaps it was because of the cold or maybe because it was cut with so much straw, but the manure really didn't smell that bad. We also did some weeding and planted some wintery crops but the majority of the day was spent exactly as Louis had said.
We laughed and sang songs while we worked. The guys fought about what kind of pizza to order for lunch. I spoke a ton of French and even though I was dead tired by the end of the day, I felt really good. There's certainly something to be said for working with your hands and coming together as a team to accomplish a task. And when I think about it, Louis is totally the kind of guy who would think that spending the day shoveling horse dung is a good time, so I shouldn't have been surprised at all by this sort of invitation. Those earthy types are always trying to get you to come hang out in their gardens.
By the way, fumier means "manure."
At lunch on Saturday, Hunter invited his neighbor over to join us. His name is Louis and if you saw him on the street, you'd probably think he was a surfer from SoCal: Tall, slim, longish curly brown hair, held out of his face with a leather headband. Louis, a biology student at Bordeaux 3, is incredibly friendly and though his English isn't great, he is very eager to speak it with Hunter and I. Practice makes perfect, right?
After getting through all the small talk, I asked Louis if he had any suggestions for gifts that I should get for my friends and family back home.
Louis: "Yes yes! A good wine and maybe some foie gras? It is very good! We go? Tomorrow, there is a market. A man, with figs and foie gras. You want we all go together?"
Me: "Oh that would be awesome! I don't know much about wine or foie gras but I'll take your word for it. And I love markets. I will bring some money and we'll all go together."
Louis: "Yes. And maybe after, there is a thing. We should go! We go and get the shit!"
Is he still talking about going shopping? Yeah, I imagine we can get all kinds of shit at the market.
Me: "Sounds good. This will be a lot of fun. What time should I meet you guys?"
L: "Yes! We meet at 9 to go to the market and then we go and get the shit. We meet French people. We go in cars and then we go to the place with the horses and we get the shit and put it all around."
Okay, now I know I'm missing something. Horses? Cars? I know where the Capucins market we don't need a car to get there. Are we riding horses? I don't get it...
Me: "Cool, yeah, we'll get the shit. But what about these horses?"
L: "No no no... We go to the... equestrian center?"
So we are doing something with horses. I'm a little afraid of horses but I'll make it work. I was afraid of the ocean when we went surfing and look at me now. Surfing is great!
Me: "Yeah, equestrian center. Like with horses?"
L: "Yes! We get the shit in the cars. It smells like the forest. It does not smell very bad. And there is a yard. And we put it all around. Le fumier. Very cool! You bring good shoes, okay?"
Me: "Okay, yes. I'm excited!"
I definitely needed more information, and fumier seemed like a really important word to know in order to understand what the plan was exactly, but I was late for my rendez-vous with Ashley and Guillaume. Pretty much all I knew was that we were going shopping and maybe riding horses. All I cared about was getting out of the house on a Sunday, a welcome change of pace.
9:00am came very early, especially after my crazy late night on Saturday, and it was deathly cold outside. Since it had been rather pleasant the night before, it was also incredibly foggy. Not surprisingly, I was running a little late, but also not surprisingly, so were Hunter and Louis. I ended up waiting for them for a good 20 minutes before we made it down to the market.
The Capucins market is really neat and kind of reminded me of what Lexington Market could be if there were fewer junkies and homeless people hanging out there. We got a few snacks for later in the day and stopped by the man with the foie gras-stuffed figs. He gave us a sample and it was seriously one of the most delicious things I have ever tasted. Even knowing how foie gras is made couldn't ruin how tasty it was. I could have spent the day there but Louis said it was time to go. So we're done shopping? I'm just getting started!
We took the tram all the way down Bordeaux 3 in Pessac, a part of town that I hadn't seen yet. Even though it was already after 10, the fog still hadn't cleared and I could barely make out he academic buildings scattered around the campus. There was an eerie feeling to the whole place and I was beginning to wonder if maybe I was about to be murdered. "Unassuming American girl found dead at Bordeaux 3. Two students, one Chinese, one French, prime suspects in murder."
We walked up a hill and Louis pointed out a garden. Oh my God, this is where they're going to bury me. No one knows I'm here but them! Just as I was about to make a run for it, we were met by several other young French people and Lucas, who seemed to be running the show, gathered us in a small shed, and began to explain the day's activities. Pitchforks, shovels, rakes, rubber boots, gloves. I really am about to be killed. I can't even tell how to get out of here with all this damn fog. I am about to die. This is it.
Wait. Is that... Is that a trailer filled with a steaming pile of manure???
And suddenly, it dawned on me that Louis's explanation was incredibly accurate. We really were going to be getting shit and putting it all around. As biology students, him and his classmates have a small organic garden on campus and they needed to get it prepped for the winter. Part of this preparation was covering the seed beds with cardboard and spreading manure over them to protect the soil in the cold months ahead. We had to get in cars to go pick up the manure from the equestrian center (tons of free shit there) and then put it in the garden. Perhaps it was because of the cold or maybe because it was cut with so much straw, but the manure really didn't smell that bad. We also did some weeding and planted some wintery crops but the majority of the day was spent exactly as Louis had said.
We laughed and sang songs while we worked. The guys fought about what kind of pizza to order for lunch. I spoke a ton of French and even though I was dead tired by the end of the day, I felt really good. There's certainly something to be said for working with your hands and coming together as a team to accomplish a task. And when I think about it, Louis is totally the kind of guy who would think that spending the day shoveling horse dung is a good time, so I shouldn't have been surprised at all by this sort of invitation. Those earthy types are always trying to get you to come hang out in their gardens.
By the way, fumier means "manure."
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Sketchy Dudes Please Stay Home
Since none of us have classes on Friday, Thursday has become party night. It always starts with drinks and hanging out at Ashley's place after school. A beer at the bar will cost you at least 4€ so we stock up on cases of the cheap stuff from the grocery store. Ashley, You, (the tallest Chinese girl I have ever met) and I had a grand old time talking about stereotypes and cultural differences over a couple beers and when we started YouTube'ing different versions of the national anthem so we could sing along and get emotional about 'Merica, it was obvious that we were ready to head out.
First stop: The Cock and Bull. This place is your typical English pub, complete with an old British owner who seems so charming with that little accent but is actually just kind of creepy. Ashley won him over a while back and now he gives her doubles for the price of a regular drink. Maybe a double Long Island was a bit excessive but who am I to judge? Turns out Ashley's eyes were bigger than her liver and ended up giving most of it to me. I know there's some rhyme about liquor and beer that's supposed to help you not feel like death the next day but when you drink the cheapest beer you can find and Long Island Ice Teas, you're going to feel like death no matter what you do. Oh well.
In an effort to sober up a bit, it was off to Bodegon for dancing. I had been to this place before on my first night out with Ashley and it was a bit dicey, what with the random girls taking their shirts off and dancing on the bar while it was on fire, but I'll try anything twice. The music that night was really good (read: American) and the crowd was a bunch of friendly-looking students. Drunk Ashley is a friendly Ashley so we were very quickly integrating into other groups at the bar. Fun times had by all!
And then creepers came out and now, instead of having a nice time, I spent the rest of the evening trying to fight away the sleaziest characters in the place. I don't care if you have a nice place not far from here. I don't want to see it. I don't care that you make a lot of money. I don't need it. I don't care that you have a fancy leather jacket. It looks tacky. You smell like cigarettes and BO and I'm not interested. And P.S. I'm engaged so try your creepy tactics on some other poor girl. Gross.
After about half an hour, just as it was starting to become unbearable, I realized it was getting late anyway and we decided to leave. We went to gather our things but Ashley's phone and tram card were missing. Super not good. After 20 minutes of looking under tables and interrogating all the sketchy guys that had been lurking around us, we had to give up the search. You had already caught the last bus to her place and the trams back in our direction only run until 1:30. There's nothing like losing all your stuff to really ruin a mostly enjoyable evening and I felt bad about the whole situation. She later recovered her tram card from the Cock and Bull but the phone was still MIA after calling it all night and the next day.
I really want to believe that her phone just fell out somewhere, you know, because these things happen when you're drinking, but it is also entirely possible that one of those sketchy guys that was leaning all over her may have lifted it right out of her pocket. Everyone is quick to say, "Well, if you don't want your stuff stolen, don't go out drinking" but why aren't we saying "Don't steal people's stuff"? This victim-perpetrator-blame thing has been getting a lot of press lately and while I wouldn't consider myself a feminist, I really don't think it's too much to ask that if you're a guy and you see a girl in a bar who might be a bit intoxicated, maybe it shouldn't be a green light to go take advantage of her. No, I am not trying to let anyone off the hook here. If you're responsible enough to go out and have a couple of drinks, you should be responsible enough to keep track of your things. But I also don't think it's fair to blame the victim of a theft. They're not the ones breaking laws and violating people...
And even if these guys didn't take her phone, they were still hella sketchy and I just don't understand how they could possibly believe that they're smooth. If I told you I wasn't interested, walked away and told you to leave me alone, why are you still trying to talk to me? I know my French isn't perfect, but typically when someone pushes your face away from theirs, it's a sign that they don't want you to try to kiss them. Just saying! If you are a creeper, please stay home and leave me alone. Thanks!
On a lighter note but definitely in the same vein of this story, this video made me laugh pretty hard.
First stop: The Cock and Bull. This place is your typical English pub, complete with an old British owner who seems so charming with that little accent but is actually just kind of creepy. Ashley won him over a while back and now he gives her doubles for the price of a regular drink. Maybe a double Long Island was a bit excessive but who am I to judge? Turns out Ashley's eyes were bigger than her liver and ended up giving most of it to me. I know there's some rhyme about liquor and beer that's supposed to help you not feel like death the next day but when you drink the cheapest beer you can find and Long Island Ice Teas, you're going to feel like death no matter what you do. Oh well.
In an effort to sober up a bit, it was off to Bodegon for dancing. I had been to this place before on my first night out with Ashley and it was a bit dicey, what with the random girls taking their shirts off and dancing on the bar while it was on fire, but I'll try anything twice. The music that night was really good (read: American) and the crowd was a bunch of friendly-looking students. Drunk Ashley is a friendly Ashley so we were very quickly integrating into other groups at the bar. Fun times had by all!
And then creepers came out and now, instead of having a nice time, I spent the rest of the evening trying to fight away the sleaziest characters in the place. I don't care if you have a nice place not far from here. I don't want to see it. I don't care that you make a lot of money. I don't need it. I don't care that you have a fancy leather jacket. It looks tacky. You smell like cigarettes and BO and I'm not interested. And P.S. I'm engaged so try your creepy tactics on some other poor girl. Gross.
After about half an hour, just as it was starting to become unbearable, I realized it was getting late anyway and we decided to leave. We went to gather our things but Ashley's phone and tram card were missing. Super not good. After 20 minutes of looking under tables and interrogating all the sketchy guys that had been lurking around us, we had to give up the search. You had already caught the last bus to her place and the trams back in our direction only run until 1:30. There's nothing like losing all your stuff to really ruin a mostly enjoyable evening and I felt bad about the whole situation. She later recovered her tram card from the Cock and Bull but the phone was still MIA after calling it all night and the next day.
I really want to believe that her phone just fell out somewhere, you know, because these things happen when you're drinking, but it is also entirely possible that one of those sketchy guys that was leaning all over her may have lifted it right out of her pocket. Everyone is quick to say, "Well, if you don't want your stuff stolen, don't go out drinking" but why aren't we saying "Don't steal people's stuff"? This victim-perpetrator-blame thing has been getting a lot of press lately and while I wouldn't consider myself a feminist, I really don't think it's too much to ask that if you're a guy and you see a girl in a bar who might be a bit intoxicated, maybe it shouldn't be a green light to go take advantage of her. No, I am not trying to let anyone off the hook here. If you're responsible enough to go out and have a couple of drinks, you should be responsible enough to keep track of your things. But I also don't think it's fair to blame the victim of a theft. They're not the ones breaking laws and violating people...
And even if these guys didn't take her phone, they were still hella sketchy and I just don't understand how they could possibly believe that they're smooth. If I told you I wasn't interested, walked away and told you to leave me alone, why are you still trying to talk to me? I know my French isn't perfect, but typically when someone pushes your face away from theirs, it's a sign that they don't want you to try to kiss them. Just saying! If you are a creeper, please stay home and leave me alone. Thanks!
On a lighter note but definitely in the same vein of this story, this video made me laugh pretty hard.
Friday, December 7, 2012
Only Rainbows After Rain
Having spent the first 22 years of my life in Upstate/Western New York, I am no stranger to cold weather. It was not uncommon for it to snow on Halloween and/or Easter and school wasn't cancelled for anything less than a record-setting blizzard. I suppose I have been a bit spoiled in comparably balmy Baltimore the past five years but I still like to think that I can hang when the temperatures start dropping. The thing I can't stand, though, is cold rain, and wouldn't you know winter is the rainy season is Bordeaux.
It's tragically gray most mornings now and as we approach the shortest day of the year, it's not only gray from the cloud cover but also because the sun is not all the way up yet. It makes it really tough to get out of bed when you know that you're going to spend the day being cold and damp. Even more maddening is the unpredictability of the rain. It can start off as a beautiful day, without a cloud in the sky and then BAM. It's pouring and you didn't even consider bringing an umbrella. Sometimes it's the opposite: I put on my rubber-bottom boots and my rugby rain jacket only to discover that it has decided to be done raining for the day. Mother Nature taunts me, "Ohhh did you leave your sunglasses in the house? That's too bad because it's gonna be extra bright with all the sunshine reflecting off this wet pavement. And tomorrow, when you think it's going to be nice out, it's gonna pour, but only for the five minutes it takes you to walk from the tram to your apartment. Suck on that!" Not cool, Mother Nature. So not cool.
Just like in Baltimore, the rain makes people forget how to drive and it took me a long time to get to my family meetings on Tuesday. I know I am genetically predisposed to be late (my internal clock is set on CPT) but I really hate it. France is a little less hung up on strict timelines than the US but it still makes you look bad when you roll up to meet someone for the first time and you're fifteen minutes later than you said you'd be.
Even though both meetings went well, the stress of running around in the rain and being late really drained me, and by the end of the day, I was absolutely exhausted. Jason had sent me something for Christmas/my birthday but I didn't have the chance to go by the post office to pick it up because the terrible weather had set me back so much. On top of all this, we found out that our normal teacher, Mylène, has thrown out her back and will be out for the next two weeks. In the meantime, we're going to have other teachers cover her classes and combine with other levels so we don't have to make up any sessions later. It's a pain for everyone involved. Just as I was about to log this day under the "Not So Great" column, I remembered how the whole day had started: a perfect rainbow, arching across the whole sky, visible for my entire commute to school.
So what if it was gross outside and you were a little late to your meetings? It was no big deal and they were super understanding. So what if you didn't get to the post office today? The package will still be there tomorrow. So what if you're a little more tired than usual? You worked hard today. You should be tired. You are taking French lessons at a private institute with teachers who push you to be better every single day and are willing to make sacrifices of their own to make sure you're getting your money's worth. You just met two amazing families that are going to pay you to hang out with their kids and do what you do best. You have an incredibly thoughtful fiancé who scoured the internet for the perfect birthday/Christmas gift to be delivered to you right here in Bordeaux. When you have all that going for you, a little bad weather seems pretty insignificant.
So let it rain. After all, you need a little rain if you want to see a rainbow.
It's tragically gray most mornings now and as we approach the shortest day of the year, it's not only gray from the cloud cover but also because the sun is not all the way up yet. It makes it really tough to get out of bed when you know that you're going to spend the day being cold and damp. Even more maddening is the unpredictability of the rain. It can start off as a beautiful day, without a cloud in the sky and then BAM. It's pouring and you didn't even consider bringing an umbrella. Sometimes it's the opposite: I put on my rubber-bottom boots and my rugby rain jacket only to discover that it has decided to be done raining for the day. Mother Nature taunts me, "Ohhh did you leave your sunglasses in the house? That's too bad because it's gonna be extra bright with all the sunshine reflecting off this wet pavement. And tomorrow, when you think it's going to be nice out, it's gonna pour, but only for the five minutes it takes you to walk from the tram to your apartment. Suck on that!" Not cool, Mother Nature. So not cool.
Just like in Baltimore, the rain makes people forget how to drive and it took me a long time to get to my family meetings on Tuesday. I know I am genetically predisposed to be late (my internal clock is set on CPT) but I really hate it. France is a little less hung up on strict timelines than the US but it still makes you look bad when you roll up to meet someone for the first time and you're fifteen minutes later than you said you'd be.
Even though both meetings went well, the stress of running around in the rain and being late really drained me, and by the end of the day, I was absolutely exhausted. Jason had sent me something for Christmas/my birthday but I didn't have the chance to go by the post office to pick it up because the terrible weather had set me back so much. On top of all this, we found out that our normal teacher, Mylène, has thrown out her back and will be out for the next two weeks. In the meantime, we're going to have other teachers cover her classes and combine with other levels so we don't have to make up any sessions later. It's a pain for everyone involved. Just as I was about to log this day under the "Not So Great" column, I remembered how the whole day had started: a perfect rainbow, arching across the whole sky, visible for my entire commute to school.
So what if it was gross outside and you were a little late to your meetings? It was no big deal and they were super understanding. So what if you didn't get to the post office today? The package will still be there tomorrow. So what if you're a little more tired than usual? You worked hard today. You should be tired. You are taking French lessons at a private institute with teachers who push you to be better every single day and are willing to make sacrifices of their own to make sure you're getting your money's worth. You just met two amazing families that are going to pay you to hang out with their kids and do what you do best. You have an incredibly thoughtful fiancé who scoured the internet for the perfect birthday/Christmas gift to be delivered to you right here in Bordeaux. When you have all that going for you, a little bad weather seems pretty insignificant.
So let it rain. After all, you need a little rain if you want to see a rainbow.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
FAQs (About France, Not Me) Part 1
Whenever I talk to someone back home, they always have a million questions about what life in France is really like. This is my first attempt at answering those questions. I think it will be very interesting to see how my responses might change when I've been here a bit longer...
"How's the weather?"
Since Bordeaux is pretty close to the Atlantic coast, the weather is quite mild. In fact, it's not really that different from the weather in Baltimore right now: Cold and rainy. It seems to rain in short bursts here and then it will be sunny for a moment, tricking you into believing you can leave the umbrella at the house. Don't be fooled. It will rain some more later. I am told it doesn't usually get cold enough for snow, and if it does, the snow doesn't stick around for very long. This is a shame in my opinion, but I guess I can just hop over to the Pyrenees or the Alps if I need a fix.
"How's the food?"
I'll tell you when I actually eat some! It's hard being a single girl in France with broke friends because you never have the chance to go out and get real authentic French cuisine. Some people like going to restaurants alone but I'm not a fan of it myself. What I do know is that many restaurants here do prix fixe menus, both for lunch and dinner. I have peeked at a couple places and it seems pretty pricey to go out for a nice meal (15€ for lunch, 35€ for dinner) but from what I've heard, it's worth it.
I am obviously not starving to death, though: I have become a regular at the local supermarket. Jason and I got in the habit or "shopping the perimeter" at the grocery store (all the perishable items are on the outside since there is such a high turnover of products) and I do the same here. The produce is very fresh and most of it is local, which keeps costs way down. 5kg bag of potatoes for 99¢? Yes I will! Four big tomatoes for 64¢? Of course! 43¢ for a loaf of French bread? Don't mind if I do! Pretty sure that potato leek soup I made cost like than 25¢ per serving. What?!?!??
And the dairy products... First of all, milk comes in opaque plastic bottles and you don't have to refrigerate it until after opening. They have all types of puddings and yogurts, including a whole section just for different varieties of plain yogurt. I have already described the endless amounts of cheese that you can purchase and there are more types of butter than I even knew existed: partial salt, full salt, sweet, semi-sweet, high fat, low fat, medium fat... The list goes on. I usually get overwhelmed and just pick the store brand, conveniently labeled "le moins chére" (the least expensive).
Pastries! There are so many pastries! All sorts of sweet, buttery breads, stuffed or sprinkled or glazed with the most delicious things you can imagine. I'm a sucker for the standard "pain au chocolat": Basically a rectangular chocolate filled croissant. If you get the fancy kind, they have a light glaze on top that makes me cry tears of joy.
As an aside, I have been really tearing it up in the kitchen lately. That's usually Jason's territory but I guess we have been making meals together long enough that I actually know some stuff about cooking now. Some recent culinary feats include: honey balsamic glazed salmon with broccoli and rice, steamed vegetables and chicken with homemade beurre blanc sauce, mushroom/spinach/goat's cheese omelette with home fries and, my favorite so far, accidental jambalaya. I made Mexican last night and had tons of leftover rice and beans. (Cooking for one is nearly impossible!) I don't have a microwave so I have to reheat everything on the stovetop, which is kind of annoying when you hate washing dishes. I had already planned on making something with this sausage I had purchased when I suddenly realized I was splash of chicken broth away from making a tasty bayou-inspired lunch. Epic.
"How are the French people?"
Maybe people were just trying to prepare me for the worst with horror stories about how rude the French are, but I have had extremely positive experiences with them so far. If I'm running to catch the tram, someone always holds the door for me. If I catch someone's eye while walking down the street, 8 times out of 10 the person will actually speak to me instead of being suddenly fascinated with the color of their own shoelaces. Dudes let Ashely bum (multiple!) cigarettes off them, even after she tells them about her boyfriend. I feel like everyone I have encountered has been genuinely interested in helping me or at least getting me to someone who could. When I tell people I'm from the United States, they don't automatically turn their noses up and walk away from me. In fact, most people think it's pretty neat that I chose to come to France and they think it's fun to try out the corny phrases they learned in high school English class. Is this true of everyone in the country? Certainly not. I'm sure there are some people that downright hate Americans. Luckily, I haven't met them yet. I think the French think about us about as much as we think about them, which isn't really that often, and we both have positive and negative things to say about each other. Thus is the way of the world.
"What's the biggest difference between the Baltimore and Bordeaux?"
Umm... that they speak French here and not English? I think a lot of the reason I am assimilating so quickly is because living here is not really that much different from living in Baltimore. It's definitely cleaner here. I remember that being hard to get used to when I lived in Baltimore, especially coming from the eco-friendly capital of the universe that is Ithaca, NY. And the public transportation is actually something that people choose to use, rather than are forced to use so it's less filled with people who hate their lives. Bordeaux is more diverse than I thought it would be. Certainly not to the degree of Baltimore, but there are lots of different shades of brown people here. I guess it's kinda weird that you can drink anywhere. When it's party time, people are drinking on the train, in the street, on the way to bar... The rest of time, you might see it, too, but people aren't getting shitfaced on the tram in the middle of the day JUST BECAUSE THEY CAN. You could, certainly, but why would you want to? And it's mostly young people, since this is pretty much a college town. You don't see old dudes knocking back 40s in the park at 2pm.
I know it was sometimes inconvenient to find a liquor store that was open on Sunday, but here, it's hard to find anything that's open on Sunday. As the rugby song says, Sunday is the Lord's day, so I suppose everyone is busy doing holy things, but it's weird that even the mall is closed on Sunday.
"What's the biggest difference between the US and France?"
People are less apologetic here. I feel like Americans are so quick to say "Sorry!!!" for everything: I'm sorry my coat brushed you knee. I'm sorry I dropped my bookmark in front of you. I'm sorry for making contact with you on the crowded bus. Unless you really slam into somebody, don't expect so much as a pardon. You live in a place where lots of other people live. It is expected that you will make physical contact with someone else. This is not worthy of regret. Save your sorries for when you're actually sorry. I think this corroborates the "French People are Rude" stereotype but I don't mind it. It makes me think of the opening monologue from the movie Crash...
I also find the French to be very straightforward. Again, this may come off as abrasive, pushy, or mean, but I find it rather refreshing. I appreciate that people aren't going to dance around, trying to be perfectly PC all the time, and instead say what they really think. Is it always going to be something I want to hear? Probably not, but I'd rather you say whatever you have to say so that we know where we both stand. And if I really don't like what you have to say, then I don't have to pretend to like you. We're not going to agree and that's okay!
French bureaucracy is every bit as obnoxious as they say it is. Just to rent an apartment, you have to have a French "guarantor" to basically co-sign on your lease in case you default on your payments. This might not be so hard for a citizen who knows plenty of French people, but it makes it extremely difficult for a foreigner trying to find independent housing for a year or two. Every transaction requires three receipts and a million signatures and all kinds of proof that you're sure you know what you're doing. Just to get in the country, Jason has to get his birth certificate translated by a member of the American Translator's Association, at a hefty price, of course. And there are so many different offices that deal with so many different things and none of them can contact any of the other offices so if you're in the wrong place, too bad, try again in three weeks. Thankfully, I haven't had too much experience with it yet but I have applied for government housing aid and a residence permit so I am sure I'm about to get wrapped in paperwork with a nice red tape ribbon on my head.
Overall, this place has been pretty good to me so far. Maybe my mind will change in a few months when all I want is a DAMN BAGUETTE I THOUGHT THIS WAS FRANCE some Sunday down the road but I'll keep you posted.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
It's Okay. It's Not a Racial Slur in Chinese.
Coming to France, I expected to feel a bit out of place. My friends who had spent some time in France warned me that I may experience rudeness, racism, and/or general distaste for Americans. I was prepared to deal with this. I am usually pretty good at blending in because I try to dress like the locals and my skin color doesn't automatically give away my race. (I mean, I think it does, but it fools a lot of people. "Oh... I thought you were Dominican or Puerto Rican or something.") On three separate occasion this past week, I had French people approach me and ask if I knew where something was around town. I am a cultural chameleon!
I was not prepared to be in the only non-Chinese person in my class. And of all the levels of French classes, there are only three people total who are not Chinese. Yeah, I was surprised by this, too.
In my previous experiences as a foreigner learning the local language, I was always in classes with people from all around the world. We were forced to speak in the local language because that was the only one we all had in common. This is not so in my class where I am the only one who does not speak Mandarin. Even Hunter, the other semi-American, was born in China and grew up speaking Chinese in his home in Boston.
I have class with three other girls and three guys. For someone who is good at names, I only know three of the six because I am having a hard time visualizing how to spell them. That's my trick. When you tell me your name for the first time, I imagine it spelled out above your head like a sign and it sticks with me. This is not working for me. I am also having a hard time making friends with the Chinese people because they do not speak any English and none of us are that great in French. We make conversation about the limited number of things we know how to say and then we have exhausted our list of topics of discussion. And then, because it's easier for them, they go back to talking with all of their Chinese friends in Chinese.
My classmates have taken up the cause of teaching me a few phrases in Chinese, which is fun for us all. They giggle at the American trying to speak their language but they also admit that I have a pretty good ear for the different tones and my pronunciation isn't that bad.
Who ever heard of someone traveling to France to learn Chinese???
The cultural differences are interesting, as well. I was riding the bus the other day when I saw one of my classmates and a group of her friends. I assume she was telling them that I was in her class with all the other Chinese people and one guy pipes up, in broken English, "You not Chinese. You black!" Yes, thank you. You've figured out my secret! I have also learned that the Chinese word for "well" or "um" sounds like "nigga." Just imagine how many times in every conversation you say "well" or "um" and you can imagine how many times I almost get offended until I remember they're not being racist. If they were, I wouldn't even know it because I don't speak Chinese!
Despite the non-French language barrier, classes are pretty fun. We talk a lot about current events and it reminds me a lot of some of the classes I took in Salamanca and Sevilla. There is tons of vocabulary and I think having to use circumlocution to explain the meaning of a new words is the most fun word game ever. It's like playing Taboo every day! I like that part of things. I also like the part where my Spanish/understanding of languages in general is really helping me catch on to new concepts quickly. Latin roots are totally my friends and those letter cluster rules Tomas taught me back in the day are really coming in handy. Mylène, our teacher, is quite good, and very patient with me. I think she knows that I'll get it together eventually and I just need a little time to get back into the swing of things.
On the other hand, I am shocked by how much grammar I have forgotten and I have a lot of holes in my vocabulary as well. I will be completely following a conversation and then BOOM. There's a key word I don't know and I have lost the whole thread. This will get better very quickly but for right now, it's frustrating.
Also frustrating is the gap between my comprehension and my productive language skills. I understand what you're saying and I can read what is written on a page but then when it's time for me to talk about it, I have a hard time expressing what I really feel. I am used to having insightful and interesting things to say about everything and now all I'm managing is "In the US, people work a lot" and "I prefer rugby and not soccer. Rugby players are strong and they do not cry." These are important phrases, certainly, but not quite the profound, thoughtful statements I would like to make.
I have classes Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday from 10-1 and then Thursdays 10-1 and 2-5. Thursday is a long day but I don't have classes on Fridays so it all works out. What I need to do is get a grammar book and a dictionary so I can spend Fridays brushing up on all the stuff I have forgotten. Next week's mission: Find these items. And maybe a folder since carrying around my notes inside of the handouts is a little bootleg.
Next time: Exploring the heart of Bordeaux
I was not prepared to be in the only non-Chinese person in my class. And of all the levels of French classes, there are only three people total who are not Chinese. Yeah, I was surprised by this, too.
In my previous experiences as a foreigner learning the local language, I was always in classes with people from all around the world. We were forced to speak in the local language because that was the only one we all had in common. This is not so in my class where I am the only one who does not speak Mandarin. Even Hunter, the other semi-American, was born in China and grew up speaking Chinese in his home in Boston.
I have class with three other girls and three guys. For someone who is good at names, I only know three of the six because I am having a hard time visualizing how to spell them. That's my trick. When you tell me your name for the first time, I imagine it spelled out above your head like a sign and it sticks with me. This is not working for me. I am also having a hard time making friends with the Chinese people because they do not speak any English and none of us are that great in French. We make conversation about the limited number of things we know how to say and then we have exhausted our list of topics of discussion. And then, because it's easier for them, they go back to talking with all of their Chinese friends in Chinese.
My classmates have taken up the cause of teaching me a few phrases in Chinese, which is fun for us all. They giggle at the American trying to speak their language but they also admit that I have a pretty good ear for the different tones and my pronunciation isn't that bad.
Who ever heard of someone traveling to France to learn Chinese???
The cultural differences are interesting, as well. I was riding the bus the other day when I saw one of my classmates and a group of her friends. I assume she was telling them that I was in her class with all the other Chinese people and one guy pipes up, in broken English, "You not Chinese. You black!" Yes, thank you. You've figured out my secret! I have also learned that the Chinese word for "well" or "um" sounds like "nigga." Just imagine how many times in every conversation you say "well" or "um" and you can imagine how many times I almost get offended until I remember they're not being racist. If they were, I wouldn't even know it because I don't speak Chinese!
Despite the non-French language barrier, classes are pretty fun. We talk a lot about current events and it reminds me a lot of some of the classes I took in Salamanca and Sevilla. There is tons of vocabulary and I think having to use circumlocution to explain the meaning of a new words is the most fun word game ever. It's like playing Taboo every day! I like that part of things. I also like the part where my Spanish/understanding of languages in general is really helping me catch on to new concepts quickly. Latin roots are totally my friends and those letter cluster rules Tomas taught me back in the day are really coming in handy. Mylène, our teacher, is quite good, and very patient with me. I think she knows that I'll get it together eventually and I just need a little time to get back into the swing of things.
On the other hand, I am shocked by how much grammar I have forgotten and I have a lot of holes in my vocabulary as well. I will be completely following a conversation and then BOOM. There's a key word I don't know and I have lost the whole thread. This will get better very quickly but for right now, it's frustrating.
Also frustrating is the gap between my comprehension and my productive language skills. I understand what you're saying and I can read what is written on a page but then when it's time for me to talk about it, I have a hard time expressing what I really feel. I am used to having insightful and interesting things to say about everything and now all I'm managing is "In the US, people work a lot" and "I prefer rugby and not soccer. Rugby players are strong and they do not cry." These are important phrases, certainly, but not quite the profound, thoughtful statements I would like to make.
I have classes Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday from 10-1 and then Thursdays 10-1 and 2-5. Thursday is a long day but I don't have classes on Fridays so it all works out. What I need to do is get a grammar book and a dictionary so I can spend Fridays brushing up on all the stuff I have forgotten. Next week's mission: Find these items. And maybe a folder since carrying around my notes inside of the handouts is a little bootleg.
Next time: Exploring the heart of Bordeaux
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