In four parts, France

I will now discuss, in four parts, France.




French Meals:



[... about to eat a delicious French meal that we helped make ourselves.]

Are delicious. When I eat them whole. Actually, even when I don’t have a complete meal, I’m happy because I’m eating forms of bread, cheese, and sugar. I think many of you can vouch for times my cravings for “hot cheese,” “bread,” and cookies. So I love it here. The French don’t have calories. They measure everything in energy. Which is the same as a calorie, but with a complete different connotation, no? Since my classes are on the 5th floor of a building and I usually take the stairs, a French diet is completely justified.

A typical day....
Petit dejeuner (breakfast) – bread with apricot jam, yogurt, a clementine, or a croissant with chocolate. While there is some milk and cereal available, I’ve decided to forgo my addiction for the more traditional French breakfast experience.

Dejeuner – Sometimes I pack myself a sandwich au jambon (ham) or head over to the university restaurant, where you can get things like couscous, steaks (aka hamburgers), some fruit, and a dessert for 2,80 euro. It’s not exactly ND, but it’s also not bad at all. Sometimes I go somewhere and buy a monstrous sandwich and finish it off for dinner.

Diner – About three times a week I eat with my family, and that’s when I get spoiled by bread, multiple courses including soups, meats, cheeses, and always desserts. The best was a meal of pasta, smoked trout, and a cheese sauce the other night... amazing. Other times I scrounge for bread, cheese, and any combination of foods I can pick up at the Petit Casino market by our school.

Sometimes, when my host family feeds me, it just never ends. Which is good. But just so overwhelming. The night before they left for vacation, we had a nice dinner of sausage, rice, and vegetable soup. There was a ton of food – and then they brought out the lasagna. I declined, politely. Then they brought out the cheese. Then they brought out yogurt. Then they brought out the mousse. Then they brought out the applesauce. Then they offered me a pastry. I was like, dear God it never ends! I eventually figured they must be trying to clean out their refrigerator before vacation. I mentioned this. They laughed at me and said that wasn’t a concern. They just... wanted to feed me.

On a related note, the other night my host mom asked me if I preferred pasta or potatoes. I told her I didn’t know... and then somehow segued into how an Irish meal is meat and potatoes. She somewhat, but completely seriously, freaked out and claimed meat and potatoes is and always will be a French meal. My host dad nodded vigorously and kept eating. So the French have claimed meat and potatoes. I didn’t try to argue.

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French music, television, and movies:


[... this is how one dances to French music at a French discothequa]


My room came equipped with a radio, which I was pretty stoked about. But unfortunately, the grand majority of French radio stations play American songs... I don’t know how many more times I can hear “Apologize,” “No One,” or that song about boots wit da fur without throwing myself out my screenless window. I mean, I was getting sick of these songs in America. My host sister seems to share my confusion about Timbaland and how he gets credit for songs when he merely grunts in the background (see JT, Nelly Furtado, One Republic, etc.). It’s good to know that he can’t dupe the French either. I occasionally figure out how to turn on the TV... which has about 20 music video channels, and much more French. Those are good times.

One guilty pleasure I’ve indulged in is Star Academy, the French love child of American Idol and Big Brother. I hate both of those shows in America, but when I watch this French show, it’s a cultural experience. The finale is on right now as I type... and I don’t know if Mathieu or Quentin is going to win!!! French TV is cool because they just put all of the commercials at the end. HOLLA.

I haven’t watched many movies here yet, though I did go to see Juno the other day, in English with French subtitles. It was really sad because the movie is distinctly American – tons of pop culture references, slang, etc. I was reading the subtitles and it just didn’t translate at all. I don’t know if the French got to truly enjoy it.

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And, of course, a little story:


[... this is me searching for a new perspective on life after conversing with the Belgian man]


Here is a conversation I had the opportunity to partake/listen in the other night at the pizzeria. A jolly Belgian man found out we were American, and since he had visited America, he wanted to share his experience with us. And of course, practice his English.

Belgian Man: You know the state... the state of the potatoes?
Everyone: Idaho?
Belgian: Yes! Idaho! You know Idaho? I go to Idaho all the time!
(blank stares... sad shaking of heads because no one knows anything about Idaho)
B: Well it’s o-kay! I love your country very much. I love America. My wife and I, we experience true America! We took... uh, that large, American... the bus, the dog, the bus?
Someone: The Greyhound?
B: Yes! The greyhound! We take it from Los Angeles all the way to New York!
(everyone murmurs their amazement)
B: Wonderful. It was wonderful. Long trip. But real American people. We went to Jackson Mississippi! And let me tell you, the closer we come to Washington D.C. from Jackson Mississippi, the more of the black people get on the bus!
(we shift a little uncomfortably)
B: No, it’s true! By the end, my wife and I were the only whites on the bus! So many black people. (he stops and addresses Gloria) And I know you are one of them. One of the black people. And I – I do not care! That is fine, that is o-kay! I just tell my story with the facts like it happened to me!
Gloria: Hmm. Yes.
B: Anyway! There were many babies on the bus. Many – how do you say? Priestes? Preachers! And they point at all the babies and say, “This baby it comes from God!” And I just think to myself, “Oh, boff, oh...” (he rolls his eyes). One preacher, he sits by me, and I’m drinking my bottle of water, and he points at it and he says, “That water! That water is the water of God!” And I just say to him, “Oh shit” (he rolls his eyes again and starts laughing hysterically). You know?!?
(we nod or something)
B: But let me tell you. Washington D.C. We get off the bus. And there are all the black people, with their radios on their arms, and they’re dancing....

*At this point, I went to the bathroom. When I came back, he was handing Gloria his business card and saying we could stay with him whenever we’re in Belgium. Which we fully intend to do. Kidding, Mom. Ahh. I love a good race relations debate with a Belgian.

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List of French things I’ve done so far:


[... this is Mont St. Michel... a gorgeous fortress/Church built on a mountain island... some may call it Catholic Disneyland]

1. Joined my family on a picnic in the countryside... which turned out to also include a 12km hike. I don’t know if hike is a cultural connotation of picnic, but... it definitely happened. Mad props to my host family though. They have a grand kid. And they went on this hike. If this is what French people do on the weekends, no wonder they can live on bread and cheese.
2. Shopped at the outdoor Saturday morning market... I got a deliciousss crepe, some pears, and bread. And one guy gave me a free fig! Probably because he could tell French is not my native language and he felt sorry for me. But I’ll take it!
3. Made a French dinner. I actually only cut some pork and apples... but the end product was delicious. I felt French doing it at least.
4. Gone to a French basketball game... this was cool, because basketball isn’t as big here. But we didn’t let that lessen our enthusiasm for the game. We started a whole bunch of cheers, and the TV guy loved us. We still lost. Eh.
5. Danced until 4am at the discothequa. It’s a very European thing to do. I had just perfected the soulja boy dance before we left, so we all got to show that off at the club. Which was SWEET! I also did a freestyle dance to Apologize on the stage. That may be deja vu for some of you. Or a lot of you.
6. Really embarassing: I went into the phone store to argue that paying 25 euro had only given me 16 minutes of calls (which was the number I saw logged on my phone). After I went in and tried to communicate my point for like 20 minutes, I realized the 16 I saw was actually 16 hours, aka the phone I’m using has made 16 hours of calls during its lifetime (I’m renting it). Also, when they searched my records they found a 40 minute call to Grenoble on February 13. Erica. Oops.
7. I started French drama club the other day. Improv is a lot harder when you don’t speak the language. I find myself resorting to physical humor. A lot.
8. And this weekend, I’m going to Mont St. Michel and the tryoglycides (?)... which has a whole bunch of houses built in caves. It’s a lot for one weekend, but I really wanted to see both. So I’m excited to see a little more of France!

I hope this can suffice for a little while.

Love you all but hate the computer,
Lisa

fotografias

This is the castle in my town!



This is the view from the entry way in my house!



This is me with my family... the girl with us isn't my host sister, but another exchange student from Germany. We look tired because we had just walked 12 km... for a picnic.




This is my school!

The first update, posted 5 days after it was written

Bonjour tout le monde! I’ve only been in France for about three days at this point, but both me and my group have managed to have some crazy encounters. To begin with, our plane was delayed for an hour. My friend Scott and I heard the flight attendants talking in nervous voices about some sort of scary vibrating sound coming from the lavatory (which was, mind you, directly behind me). When one of them said, “I don’t feel comfortable taking off right now,” we got a little worried... after all, as Scott said, “If the flight attendant is scared, I’M SCARED.” After the problem was supposedly fixed, we took off, but then we had the worst turbulence of my life. Everyone else seemed terrified too – the plane was completely silent, each person obviously thinking that the scary vibrating lavatory had doomed us. But it passed, as those evil lavatories are apt to do. And then we came to France!

Not much was different from America in the French aeroport. Except that pop was cheaper than water, coffee cheaper than pop, and wine the cheapest of all. Also, there were security officers roaming around wearing “POLICE” camo and sporting hardcore machine guns. Yes. Large, machine gun-type things strapped to their bodies. Super-cool (say it with a french accent)! Anyway, while we were waiting on this terrace thing in the airport, one of my friends started smoking. All of a sudden, three of the gun-wielding officer guys came up behind her, saying, “Blahblah unintelligible french blah CIGARETTE?” So she turns around and says, “Pardonne?” Then the guy says, in French, smiling, “You like your cigarette?” So Kelly, oblivious to the no-smoking signs surrounding her, replies with, “Oui, c’est bien. Tu le veut?” This basically translates to “Yeah, it’s great... want one?” He didn’t. He made her put it out, while he watched her. But the kicker is that she addressed the policeman with the informal version of you... a casual form used between friends, people of the same age, not police officers. It denotes... a lack of respect. She didn’t realize what she did. We also think she was racially profiled as an American, since about 15 other people were smoking around her, but she was the only one with blonde hair, a lot of luggage, and near a big group of scared kids speaking English – and consequently the only one who had to stop smoking.

So we took a train from Paris to Angers, and when I stepped off, I was immediately attacked by a woman yelling, “Marissa! Marissa!” I laughed and tried to explain that no, my name was Lisa. Not Marissa. She just nodded her head and kept saying “Marissa!” and hugging me. I eventually figured out that her name must be Marissa – I had found my host mother! I was so happy! So she and her husband whisked me away. They were so excited. A few minutes later, Madame Meynard, the director of my program here, called my name, with another woman about the same age in tow. It was... (cue dramatic pause).....my real host mom, Madame Thenie!! And then Madame Thenie attacked the Marissa mom, each claiming that she had a right to the beautiful, amazing yours truly! No, not really. The Marissa people just got really confused, and then so sad. I felt bad. I just kept saying, “I’m sorry, I’m Lisa! I’m so sorry!” They had thought I was Marissa based on this picture they had... I looked at it, and I have to give them credit, because it did look like me. Later I saw them leave with some chick probably named Marissa who didn’t look like me at all, but is apparently as photogenic as me.

So my family is lovely, my real family (in France... I still love my biological family). I live with Madame and Monsieur Thenie and their daughter, Lucie. Lucie’s 18, and I really like her... she’s very animated when she talks, and she’s always singing. Actually, the whole family sings all the time. Maybe it’s a French thing, maybe it’s a Thenie thing, I don’t know. Lucie and I watched Degrassi today. In the house, I have my own room and bathroom. The house is small only by American standards – I’d say it’s perfectly economical and perfectly French. I live in a very nice neighborhood, though it’s pretty far from my school and where most of the other kids live, but I have a bus pass. The family has done such a good job of adjusting their French for me – slowing down and somehow understanding me – that I think it’s given me a false sense of confidence. They seem to understand me much more than everyone else! But that’s good. I talk to them pretty easily.

On my second day in France, I managed to get lost in Angers twice... for a total of about 4 hours. And this can definitely happen when you don’t have a cell phone yet and all of the phone booths only take calling cards. First, my friend Gloria and I had a mix-up with the buses, and ended up sitting in the rain for about an hour. Then when we finally figured it out, we walked in every wrong direction possible until finally finding our destination, completely drenched (we were two and a half hours late... oops). Later that night, we went to a bar (my first bar! my first bar!) where we sang karaoke to “Barbie Girl” by Aqua. That part was fun, but irrelevant to the getting lost part. Afterwards, Laura (my neighbor) and I discovered we’d missed the “late” bus (as a college student, I do not think a bus that leaves at 11:30pm is “late”... that’s when party starts, non?). Luckily, one of the boys volunteered to walk us back, along with some others on the way. After dropping off the first people, we continued on toward our neighborhood. And continued. And continued. And it was a hell of a long way. And then we got lost, and it was after 1am, so no one was even out to ask for directions. I eventually made it home, but man... my hands were so cold that I could barely unlock the door. Then I tried to leave a note for my family, but my hands were so cold that my handwriting was whack. I thought for sure they’d just think I had been drunk and trying to write a note, so I used really good grammar to prove it was cold hands. I’d like to say I learned my way around the city yesterday... but ehhh, I don’t know.

Which brings me to today. Apparently, Tuesday must have wiped me out more than I realized, because I about passed out straight to the floor during one of our meetings today. Now I find it embarassing, but at the time, I thought I was dying. I’ve just never blacked out before – I got all woozy, and then I couldn’t hear anything, and I got all hot, and then I kind of slumped over. My diagnosis? I don’t like thinking about negative health effects on the body. That’s the damn truth. The only time this was ever close to happening before was during a discussion of stress in my freshman health class. Today we were talking about blood alcohol content – and I don’t know. BOOM. Lisa’s down.
They took me into the hall, and all of the school’s French students were staring at me. I had to strip down to my little tank top because I felt really hot, and apparently, I also went completely white, my hair was everywhere. Yeah that’s right. Sexy American, dying in the hallway. My group was really nice about it though. They held me up and stuff.

So this was long, and I’ll bet they’ll always be like this. And to be sure, this is hardly all – I’ve tried to pick some stories you might find entertaining. In between all of this, there has been delicious food, fashion crises, my first Euros, and many, many new experiences. No smoking dogs. YET. Maintenant, I must rest and recover from my fainting spell. My classes start Monday, so hopefully tomorrow I can explore the town a little more! Annoying as it is to not have a computer at my beck and call, I’m kind of enjoying it. Life is very laid-back here. Bises et au revoir (ou au re-ecrire)!

P.S. I read all of the emails you guys sent... it was good to hear from all you, especially on my first day here! I didn’t respond because I usually only have a French keyboard... and the typing is slow, sporadic, and often spontaneously insane.

Le premier

So I'm going to France. I leave in about 10 hours. A lot of people told me I shouldn't go to bed tonight so that I can sleep on the plane tomorrow. HENCE, I decided to reinterpret this picture of an American boy scout. Why? Because it represents why I'm going abroad. We clearly know the boy on the left is American. Because he has an American flag patch on his tricep. What you may not notice is that the man on the right is FRENCH. And they are shaking hands in comraderie, peace, love, and joy. I will be that handshake when I go to France. I aspire to be that handshake. I will come from les Etats-Unis, bringing the enthusiasm and friendliness of a boy scout. I hope the French are warm enough to offer their hand just like this man.

I have no idea what to expect. I don't know if I'll even keep using this blog thing. I mean, if life gets in the way of me updating my blog... I apologize. But I'm not going to let technology overtake my life. I'm not a robot. Anymore.

I am very worried about pronouncing the french "r." It's tricky. I'm excited about the food. Although I know my French skills are far from par, I haven't been too nervous about communicating. I feel like I'll be able to make do with my limited vocabulary plus hand motions plus dramatic acting sequences. Then again, I might be underestimating my own comfort with making a French ass of myself. We shall see. I'm basically just really excited about what I'm sure will eventually become the little things I'll love -- walking around Angers, maybe riding a bike, just being in a completely different culture. I've been waiting 6 weeks. I am ready.

I don't know how I feel about blogging.

However, I would like to thank everyone who helped give me an absolutely fabulous going away present! I don't really know who many of you are, but God does... and he loves you. Almost as much as me. No but seriously... you guys are awesome. And the love will be returned seven-fold.