It feels like half an eon has passed since I last posted. I guess that’s what changing time zones, an unexpected daylight savings time, and having to use the 24 hour clock will do to someone. That, and this week I met my host family and started classes.
When it came time for us to go home with our host families, I realized how much I would miss having Christophe and Katie (the program directors) as a crutch to translate my scraped together attempts at French. But Joelle (my host mom) came and picked up Kim and I and, much to my dismay, I could understand maybe…17% of what she was saying. After a while of deciding to take the safe option and sit in silence, I noticed that I finally understood what she was saying! I was elated! Until I realized that she was speaking in English.
At long last, we arrived at our host family’s apartment. As much as I enjoyed hauling 3 months worth of things around packed subways and tiny ancient streets, it was kind of nice to have full use of my arms again. The apartment is eclectic and gorgeous. It is bursting with art. Maroon Tapestries. Theater puppets, African masks, Egyptian figurines. My room is on the top floor and I have an incredible view of the terra cotta roofs and terraces at the heart of Avignon. And I noticed that my bed has a Harry Potter bed spread so really there’s nothing more that I could as for!
I have to confess that my first dinner with my host family was rough. The food was great, a vegetable tarte with salted salad. But I really couldn’t understand what was going on. Joelle had been mercifully speaking slowly and peppering in English, But her husband, Guy, joined us for dinner and he talked to us at something closer to an adult pace. On top of this, he’s a professional comedian and humor doesn’t translate all that easily. After that dinner, I bet they thought that my neck was somehow unhinged, making my head constantly nod, and that I only knew one word in French, “Oui.”
Needless to say, I spent the night wallowing in self-pity. But, luckily, the next day went better. Kim and I saw a final dress rehearsal for Blanche Neige, ( Snow White) a play that Guy was directing and I understood almost the whole thing, I mean, it was a play for children, but come on. A victory is a victory right? I think it was just the confidence booster I needed. And, I would like to add that my host family has been nothing but patient with my occasionally slightly frantic attempts at French and they try their best to help me understand them, even if it takes acting something out to get it through my thick skull.
After making an effort to only speak French for 4 or 5 days now, my English sentence structure is getting more and more bizaire, kind of like my spelling of bizaire. For example, instead of just saying, I need... now I want to say, I have need of... It's almost like now, I speak both languages like they're my second language.
I’ll write about L’Universite d’Avignon later (Yes, unlike my sister thought, I actually have to do work here). Having to constantly tear through one’s brain for vocabulary and grammar is exhausting. Coming up: Liz’s cultural faux pas! Tally of times I’ve tripped since arriving in France: 4.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Finalement, France.
After two haphazard plane rides and arduous treks through the Parisian Metro, I made it to my hotel. I think that it is totally impossible to not get hopelessly lost in any subway-like system when you first use it, or for me, many times after first using it. We were able to check in with the friendly hotel proprietor in French and were taken to our rooms. They were beautiful as far as city hotel rooms go, although there were a couple of mysterious burn marks on the walls. We bravely decided to get up at 8 am in order to see the Paris essentials, the tour d’efille and the like, confident of our abilities to navigate the immense foreign city. Little did we know, we would be foiled before even getting out of bed. None of us took the European 24 hour clock into account when setting our alarms on our 90’s-esque phones. Un faux pas.
But we woke up in time to check out, brave the metro maze again with enough luggage to count as 3 extra people strapped to our backs, and wander around la gare looking for our train. I have to admit that I couldn’t help but think of Harry Potter as a first year, wandering around Kings Cross Station, bewildered and trying to follow other people in order to make some sense of his ticket. I loved the TGV, mostly because it was a chance to actually sit down and partly because I was amused by the people with dogs that I saw walking down the aisles. When it came time to get off the train, we had to stand by the door and wait because the French think that 30 seconds is ample time for numerous people to hull 80 pounds of luggage out of the two-foot wide door. I felt like a racehorse, my leg muscles tensed and my eyes fixed on the unopened door. But, after a lot of clumsy rushing, we all managed to make it off the train before we were lost to the French countryside forever and we were finally in Avignon.
I have to admit, at first, I couldn’t have cared less what the city looked like unless it was constructed entirely of bottles of water and immense beds. But, grudgingly, I forced myself to observe my surroundings like an adult. I was glad I made the effort. Avignon is beautiful. Everything seems to be stone and terra cotta tile.
After collapsing in my hotel bed for an hour, I went to the only thing that could lure me from sleep. Dinner.
All twenty of us ate in a cozy restaurant and we had a traditional French dinner, complete with an apparatif. For dessert, of course I had a crème brulee. But I was surprised to realize that I preferred the raspberry crème brulee that I ordered at Zoe in Athens, Ohio. I sat by Christophe and Katie, the directors of the program, which meant I couldn’t get away with whispering English. But they were patient and humored my eclectic combination of English and French.
Sometimes I feel completely lost and can’t even seem to remember English words and other times I feel like I know exactly what I’m doing, which I know is not at all true. All I know is, my French better improve miraculously overnight so that I can actually communicate with my host family. And a disclaimer: I cannot spell. I try, but to no avail. If you find any spelling errors, just think of them as my…creative expression. Merci.
But we woke up in time to check out, brave the metro maze again with enough luggage to count as 3 extra people strapped to our backs, and wander around la gare looking for our train. I have to admit that I couldn’t help but think of Harry Potter as a first year, wandering around Kings Cross Station, bewildered and trying to follow other people in order to make some sense of his ticket. I loved the TGV, mostly because it was a chance to actually sit down and partly because I was amused by the people with dogs that I saw walking down the aisles. When it came time to get off the train, we had to stand by the door and wait because the French think that 30 seconds is ample time for numerous people to hull 80 pounds of luggage out of the two-foot wide door. I felt like a racehorse, my leg muscles tensed and my eyes fixed on the unopened door. But, after a lot of clumsy rushing, we all managed to make it off the train before we were lost to the French countryside forever and we were finally in Avignon.
I have to admit, at first, I couldn’t have cared less what the city looked like unless it was constructed entirely of bottles of water and immense beds. But, grudgingly, I forced myself to observe my surroundings like an adult. I was glad I made the effort. Avignon is beautiful. Everything seems to be stone and terra cotta tile.
After collapsing in my hotel bed for an hour, I went to the only thing that could lure me from sleep. Dinner.
All twenty of us ate in a cozy restaurant and we had a traditional French dinner, complete with an apparatif. For dessert, of course I had a crème brulee. But I was surprised to realize that I preferred the raspberry crème brulee that I ordered at Zoe in Athens, Ohio. I sat by Christophe and Katie, the directors of the program, which meant I couldn’t get away with whispering English. But they were patient and humored my eclectic combination of English and French.
Sometimes I feel completely lost and can’t even seem to remember English words and other times I feel like I know exactly what I’m doing, which I know is not at all true. All I know is, my French better improve miraculously overnight so that I can actually communicate with my host family. And a disclaimer: I cannot spell. I try, but to no avail. If you find any spelling errors, just think of them as my…creative expression. Merci.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
The Result of Many Minor Airport Delays
Today is my last day in the United States for almost three months. I can’t believe it. Honestly, I didn’t think I would ever actually be going to France. Up until now, France seemed like an indistinct, distant place, one of those destinations you talk about when there’s a lull in conversation. But here I am in the Cleveland airport, waiting to board a flight that will take me to Newark Airport and, eventually, France. Going through security was shockingly painless, contributing to my sense of suspended reality.
Part of me wants to believe that France will be all bottles of wine, sunny cafés, and deliciously fattening meals. However, the pessimistic, and slightly more realistic, side of me expects to meet a cold, unsympathetic France where my feeble attempts at the language are scorned.
In reality, I’ll probably encounter something in the middle. During the three months I spend in Avignon, I hope to become a regular at a café. But to accomplish this, I’ll need to actually speak French with the owner. Unlike the easy romance or the pure hostility that I half expect to encounter, this is real. I will have some beautiful experiences in France, but I also know that there will be times when I’ll just want to hide in English speaking England until it’s time to come home.
I think that the trick will be living in reality. Not expecting France to be all accordion music and lavender but also not completely shutting down after failed attempts at French. My French is abysmal, but that’s why I’m here, to improve.
Despite my sense of disbelief, I am going to be in Paris in less than 24 hours, and France will be real.
Later on the flight to Newark…
While I’m on the flight to Newark, in order to distract myself from all the inconvenient songs involving falling down that I have stuck in my head, I suppose I could describe what I’m actually going to France for. Technically, I will be in France to improve my language skills. While this is very true and they need much improvement, I’m actually more interested in learning about the French culture, or French “patterns” if you are an Anthropology professor. How the people act, their history, how they’re different from Americans.
To help me actually learn while I’m in France, I’ll be taking 18 credits at the Universitie d’Avignon. I hope to make French friends and learn about France itself. Language will be a vital tool in accomplishing this, Therefore, I have to at least make an effort and collect many interesting mishaps and victories along the way and I will try to share as many as my dignity can handle. Until France, mes amis.
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