So as exciting as it is describe my daily life, I'm going to make a short deversion just for this one post in order to spread the word about the latest new fad in France. It's called Tectonique and it is seriously the craziest dancing you'll ever see in your life. The following video was filled in a French middle school...
Yeah. So apparently the cool thing to do now in French middle schools is to have dance battles in which they dance in a manner that Lauren Lynch described best when she said, "it's so bad, it's ...good". If you look on youtube you can find 10 min videos of battles. It's insane.
I first saw techtonique when I was walking past a park to find some lunch and stopped to wonder about what everyone was looking at. There were probably about 80 adolescents in the park, milling around and being angsty while in the center of the crowd there were 2 or 3 kids dancing. It was quite the sight.
My host sister says that the only kids who do such things are the ones who wear ridiculous skinny jeans and have strange designs shaved in to their heads.
I really want to learn.
Ok Juli and Jon and Tessa and Olivier are coming to get me so that we can go find some food and play some Tarot.
30 September 2007
28 September 2007
Monday's go like this...
This week was our first normal week of classes so a lot of exciting things happened and I'm having a hard time trying to descripe them all in a coherent manner. That and my procrastinitis is acting up really bad. I should probably just start at the begining...
Monday's are my busiest day. I have French Litterature from 9 to 12 and this week we started by reading some poetry. The nice part about having class in a country where everyone's addicted to cigarettes is that a 3 hour-long class has a half hour-long break for "coffee". We read some poetry this week. It was both beautiful and unintelligle at the same time.
Then in the afternoon I had Pepiniere from 13:30 to 15:00. Pepiniere is a long-term group project that all of the first students at the Ecole Superieure de Commerce have to participate in. It's basicly a year-long competition where they have to develop a buisiness plan for a start-up business. Atleast that's what I understand it to be. The Pepiniere experience is somewhat infamous among Kalamazoo students since it plunges us (many of whom don't have any business experience and aren't taking any business classes) in to a group of fast-speaking French students who generally are all that enthused to have a stupid American in their group. My group has been very nice so far though. They usually pause to make sure I know what's going on and they don't seem to expect me to do much. We have to research the market for a Insitute of Beauty and Hairdressing in Clermont-Ferrand.
Then from 17:15 to 18:45 I have my Italian class. This class is actually my favorite so far. It is a little confusing to try and learn Italian in French but it's totally worth it when the French students can't pronunce Italian words and I can. It's also amusing to see them get all flustered when the teacher give directions in Italian. Ha! I can't understand her either but atleast now there's a level playing field. Except for the Mexicans. They understand everything.
Ok. The cafe I'm in is closing soon. I'll have to describe the rest of my week later.
Monday's are my busiest day. I have French Litterature from 9 to 12 and this week we started by reading some poetry. The nice part about having class in a country where everyone's addicted to cigarettes is that a 3 hour-long class has a half hour-long break for "coffee". We read some poetry this week. It was both beautiful and unintelligle at the same time.
Then in the afternoon I had Pepiniere from 13:30 to 15:00. Pepiniere is a long-term group project that all of the first students at the Ecole Superieure de Commerce have to participate in. It's basicly a year-long competition where they have to develop a buisiness plan for a start-up business. Atleast that's what I understand it to be. The Pepiniere experience is somewhat infamous among Kalamazoo students since it plunges us (many of whom don't have any business experience and aren't taking any business classes) in to a group of fast-speaking French students who generally are all that enthused to have a stupid American in their group. My group has been very nice so far though. They usually pause to make sure I know what's going on and they don't seem to expect me to do much. We have to research the market for a Insitute of Beauty and Hairdressing in Clermont-Ferrand.
Then from 17:15 to 18:45 I have my Italian class. This class is actually my favorite so far. It is a little confusing to try and learn Italian in French but it's totally worth it when the French students can't pronunce Italian words and I can. It's also amusing to see them get all flustered when the teacher give directions in Italian. Ha! I can't understand her either but atleast now there's a level playing field. Except for the Mexicans. They understand everything.
Ok. The cafe I'm in is closing soon. I'll have to describe the rest of my week later.
27 September 2007
This is your brain. This is your brain on French.
[This is also, by the way, what pops up when you type "squshed bug" in to a Google images search. Just in case you were wondering.]Some days I get up in the morning and eat breakfast and get on the bus and look out the window and think, "Oh that's weird. I wonder why all those signs are in French."
Then I remember that I am in France and they speak French. And I don't. Not yet anyway.
I think the most frustrating and humbling part of ths study abroad experience is the language difference. It doesn't take long to get tired of smiling and nodding and not being able to express yourself in a manner that sounds intelligent.
24 September 2007
Food.
I feel like I should devote a post to a subject that has been a reoccurring theme during my stay here in France: food. Or as they call it here: cuisine. I’m sure that I will return to this theme in the coming weeks and months but here are my observations so far…
French food is, of course, considered to be some of the best in world. I mean, where would we be without such wonders as café au lait, crème brulee, and crepes. I have to say that for the most part all of this world-renown and credit seems to be well-deserved. I have only eaten three things in my (wow has it been) 3 and half weeks here:
1) The aforementioned cuttlefish. But that was Vietnamese and not French.
2) My host family had blood sausage this weekend for dinner. It really didn’t taste all that terrible but considering how disgusting it is to eat blood, I honestly expected it to taste a lot better to make it worth my while.
3) I am getting really tired of vegetable soup. It’s not bad but we seriously have had it at least 10 times for dinner. It’s because this is the only thing my host father can be trusted to reheat and my host mother travels for work a lot.
Aside from these three examples (two of which don’t even really count), I have eaten a lot of really fantastic meals. My host mother makes delicious ratatouille. We have bread and cheese with every meal and a local mild, soft cheese called Saint Nectaire is my new favorite. There is also a delicious supply of yummy sausage. Last weekend in Chambery we had amazing Savoyard food and at each meal our host would take two bites before jumping up and exclaiming he had the perfect wine to go with whatever dish we were having. And thanks to his amazing wine cellar (which Tessa, the aspiring wine snob, estimated to have $50,000 worth of wine in it), he always did.
That being said, there are two things I have to say.
French people literally only eat two and a half meals a day. As opposed to Americans (and especially American college students) who tend to graze like cows and eat five meals a day, French people don’t snack. They eat a small breakfast, a large meal at noon and a dinner in the evening. After not eating for seven and a half hours and spending that time trying to understand French and running to catch buses or trams, I am hungry enough so that even cuttlefish starts to look good. As good as the food is, I have no doubt that habitual hunger makes it taste even better.
Also, I do not understand how a group of people who clearly love food as much as French people do can simultaneously maim/kill/destroy all the taste buds in their mouths by smoking as much as they do. Seriously. I think everyday every French student in the Ecole Superieure de Commerce stands outside on the front steps and smokes a pack while chatting with everyone they know. Some mornings I have to shove a couple of people just to get in the building. And when I do, it still smells horrible because the crowd just brings their own cloud inside with them when the pause (translated as “smoke break”). It’s like going to school in a bowling alley.
French food is, of course, considered to be some of the best in world. I mean, where would we be without such wonders as café au lait, crème brulee, and crepes. I have to say that for the most part all of this world-renown and credit seems to be well-deserved. I have only eaten three things in my (wow has it been) 3 and half weeks here:
1) The aforementioned cuttlefish. But that was Vietnamese and not French.
2) My host family had blood sausage this weekend for dinner. It really didn’t taste all that terrible but considering how disgusting it is to eat blood, I honestly expected it to taste a lot better to make it worth my while.
3) I am getting really tired of vegetable soup. It’s not bad but we seriously have had it at least 10 times for dinner. It’s because this is the only thing my host father can be trusted to reheat and my host mother travels for work a lot.
Aside from these three examples (two of which don’t even really count), I have eaten a lot of really fantastic meals. My host mother makes delicious ratatouille. We have bread and cheese with every meal and a local mild, soft cheese called Saint Nectaire is my new favorite. There is also a delicious supply of yummy sausage. Last weekend in Chambery we had amazing Savoyard food and at each meal our host would take two bites before jumping up and exclaiming he had the perfect wine to go with whatever dish we were having. And thanks to his amazing wine cellar (which Tessa, the aspiring wine snob, estimated to have $50,000 worth of wine in it), he always did.
That being said, there are two things I have to say.
French people literally only eat two and a half meals a day. As opposed to Americans (and especially American college students) who tend to graze like cows and eat five meals a day, French people don’t snack. They eat a small breakfast, a large meal at noon and a dinner in the evening. After not eating for seven and a half hours and spending that time trying to understand French and running to catch buses or trams, I am hungry enough so that even cuttlefish starts to look good. As good as the food is, I have no doubt that habitual hunger makes it taste even better.
Also, I do not understand how a group of people who clearly love food as much as French people do can simultaneously maim/kill/destroy all the taste buds in their mouths by smoking as much as they do. Seriously. I think everyday every French student in the Ecole Superieure de Commerce stands outside on the front steps and smokes a pack while chatting with everyone they know. Some mornings I have to shove a couple of people just to get in the building. And when I do, it still smells horrible because the crowd just brings their own cloud inside with them when the pause (translated as “smoke break”). It’s like going to school in a bowling alley.
Here's some photos of Juli and Jon making crepes while we watch the rugby match in order to illustrate. 
A note about bread before I end this culinary monologue. Bread is not just a food item. It is also a cleaning devise. You must ration piece of bread so that you have enough to wipe your plate clean after each course and so that you have some to go with your cheese. This best way I’ve found to do this is to closely watch all the French people at the table and see how much of their bread they’ve eaten and try to keep up the piece. It’s more difficult than you might think.
21 September 2007
Gastronomically foiled again.
I did it again! Today we went to a pizza place for lunch and I decided to get a salad (mistake numero un) and I got so excited that the salad had avocado on it that I decided to ignore the fact that I didn't know what the rest of the name of the salad meant (mistake numero deux). It arrived at our table with a couple of slices of the ever-so-desired avocado but also covered in little pinks chunkie-things that I immediately realized were tiny shrimp.
I don't like seafood. I never really have. I will eat shrimp but I hate the feeling of the little creatures popping in my mouth and taking several biology classes where I've actually learned about the anatomy of crustaceans (are shrimp crustaceans? I don't even know) hasn't helped. Morale of the story: I really need to learn to only order food that I know what it is.
I did end up eating most of the shrimp.
I make a parentheses (that's what the French say when they're about to talk about something random. They say it in French of course though.). So yesterday I had three hours between lunch and class and I was bored so I decided to do some exploring. So I hopped on the tram and rode it all the way to the end of the line. I thought it would sort of conspicious to stay on the tram while it switched tracks to go back in the other direction so I got off and walked around. I discovered something quite surprising: when you get out of the city, France looks an awful lot like America. There are grocery stores with real parking lots and sketchy appartment buildings and restaurants with names like "Buffalo Grill". There are streets that are several lanes wide and teeming with cars (which are still tiny this is still France, after all). There are middle schools full of angsty adolescents (and they sounds even angstier since they're speaking French). There is even a Harley Davidson dealership. No joke. So after walking around trying to get back to the tram stop and inadvertantly finding another tram stop I hopped back on and rode back to school and bought some postcards and found a music store and then went to class and on with my life.
Yesterday I also met the owner and the chef of the restaurant where I will be working for the next couple of months. They are very nice but the chef does not enunciate whatsoever and I am worried that I will accidentally chop up some cuttlefish when I'm supposed to be drying the dishes. Or something like that.
I don't like seafood. I never really have. I will eat shrimp but I hate the feeling of the little creatures popping in my mouth and taking several biology classes where I've actually learned about the anatomy of crustaceans (are shrimp crustaceans? I don't even know) hasn't helped. Morale of the story: I really need to learn to only order food that I know what it is.
I did end up eating most of the shrimp.
I make a parentheses (that's what the French say when they're about to talk about something random. They say it in French of course though.). So yesterday I had three hours between lunch and class and I was bored so I decided to do some exploring. So I hopped on the tram and rode it all the way to the end of the line. I thought it would sort of conspicious to stay on the tram while it switched tracks to go back in the other direction so I got off and walked around. I discovered something quite surprising: when you get out of the city, France looks an awful lot like America. There are grocery stores with real parking lots and sketchy appartment buildings and restaurants with names like "Buffalo Grill". There are streets that are several lanes wide and teeming with cars (which are still tiny this is still France, after all). There are middle schools full of angsty adolescents (and they sounds even angstier since they're speaking French). There is even a Harley Davidson dealership. No joke. So after walking around trying to get back to the tram stop and inadvertantly finding another tram stop I hopped back on and rode back to school and bought some postcards and found a music store and then went to class and on with my life.
Yesterday I also met the owner and the chef of the restaurant where I will be working for the next couple of months. They are very nice but the chef does not enunciate whatsoever and I am worried that I will accidentally chop up some cuttlefish when I'm supposed to be drying the dishes. Or something like that.
19 September 2007
Adventures in Chambery and Lyon
This past weekend, Juli and Tessa and I did some traveling around France. We spent two wonderful and relaxing days with Juli’s old host family in the city of Chambery. Chambery is a beautiful city that is nestled in the foothills of the Alps and it is the capital of the Savoie region of France. We got off the train and wandered around town for a little while before meeting Vincent and Patricia at Juli’s old high school. They drove us to their house which is actually on the side of a mountain overlooking Chambery. There we met Vincent’s two sons Nils, 20, Swann, 18, and Patricia’s son Loïc, 16. They were all extremely friendly and welcoming and within two hours we had taught them how to play euchre and they had taught us how to play tarot. So we did that for a couple of hours before eating a fantastically delicious and filling meal. Juli and Tessa and I got to sleep in the loft over their living room and we had to climb a ladder up to our beds. That was moderately exciting, but I guess you had to be there.
The next day we got up and made a “traditional” American lunch for everyone. We made coleslaw, pasta salad, fruit salad, and Juli even managed to bake some brownies without any baking powder. It was all pretty good and the French people seemed to like it. That afternoon we visited the castle of the Dukes of Savoir and wandered around Chambery some more. The castle was majestic and beautiful but I think my favorite moment was when we stumbled upon the house where Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s lover used to live. Then we went back to the house and played some more cards before eating another wonderful meal and going to bed.
Monday morning we got up and lounged around, watching the parapanteurs (parasailing without a boat) jumb off the mountain 
above us, until lunch (more amazing food) and then caught our train to Lyon. After some inadvertent exploring on our way to the cheap and slightly sketchy-looking hotel and some much-needed showers we had dinner at an overpriced but delicious restaurant in Lyon’s tourist district. I had the best pasta with pesto I think I’ve ever eaten but was disappointed to find out that “Carpaggio d’ananas” actually means “a plate with thinly sliced pine apple and a little cinnamon that will cost 5 euros”.
above us, until lunch (more amazing food) and then caught our train to Lyon. After some inadvertent exploring on our way to the cheap and slightly sketchy-looking hotel and some much-needed showers we had dinner at an overpriced but delicious restaurant in Lyon’s tourist district. I had the best pasta with pesto I think I’ve ever eaten but was disappointed to find out that “Carpaggio d’ananas” actually means “a plate with thinly sliced pine apple and a little cinnamon that will cost 5 euros”. [Side note: This was not, however, as bad as the time last week at the Vietnamese restaurant when I discovered that “seiche” means “cuttlefish”. Have you ever eaten cuttlefish? I have. It is not very good. Even when covered in curry sauce. What the hell is a cuttlefish exactly anyway?]
Other than the desert disaster our dinner was lovely and our table at the restaurant gave us excellent views of both all of the people walking past and the ensuing thunderstorm. We had lots of fun playing “Guess the Nationality of the Other Tourists”. The next day we left our sketchy-looking but ultimately comfortable hotel and rode the funicular (translation: strange railroad contraption) up the hill to the Cathedral which was beautiful and had gorgeous views of Old Lyon. Then we went back down the funicular and wandered around Old Lyon before heading back to the train station and back to Clermont.
Check out Shutterfly for photos.
18 September 2007
Back to normal
We just got back from our first weekend or travelling (long weekend that is) and it was fantastic. I'll have to write something longer about it all when I'm not usuing a French keyboard. This week is the begining of our first real week of classes which will be a relief since we only have 1 or 2 classes a day (as opposed to the 6-7 hours of French class we've had for the last two weeks). Tomorrow I will hopefully be starting my ICRP (research/internship paper/project-thing) and I'm hoping to do it at a restaurant.
Yes, I am completely becoming like Remy the rat.
Did I mention that my host mother, Marie-Therese, made ratatouille for my first real dinner (after the McDo fiasco)? It was delicious and she promised to give me the recipe.
Yes, I am completely becoming like Remy the rat.
Did I mention that my host mother, Marie-Therese, made ratatouille for my first real dinner (after the McDo fiasco)? It was delicious and she promised to give me the recipe.
14 September 2007
PSA: Photos!
Since I can only host a certain number of photos on this blog I have added another collection to my Shutterfly account so that I can post all of the lovely photos that I will be taking during my travels. If interested, you can check out these pictures at http://www.theyearispentinfrance.shutterfly.com/.
So today we finished our two weeks of "orientation" and next week we start taking real classes. All of the Kalamazoo students opted out of going on the "week-end of integration" which from what I can tell is like a weekend long frat party in a trailer with a bunch of French business students who will probably pretend to not recognize you afterwards anyway. We have to pay for it and 140 euros is a lot of money to spend on a weekend with annoying drunks harrassing you in a foreign language. Juli, Tessa, and I are heading to mountains instead and we are going to visit the family that Juli stayed with a couple of years ago. Should be relaxing and fun.
Gotta go catch the bus... as usual...
13 September 2007
Did you know?
French people actually walk around carrying baguettes. Not in bags or anything- just a baguette with maybe a napkin. I thought that was one of those overly romantic myths about France. Also, the French word for magic wand is "baquette magique". Go figure.
11 September 2007
Here's the second weekend in pictures...
Here’s a brief, but illustrated, summery of what I did this past weekend…
Friday night we went to a bar and watch the French rugby team lose to the Argentinean rugby team. Rugby is a big sport in Clermont-Ferrand because they have a city team who is apparently quite good but looses to Paris in the national championship each year. There are some players from Clermont on the national team. One of them looks like Jesus on steroids. No joke. We named him “The Beast” and cheered every time he stepped on the field. Here’s what Juli looked like when she saw him:
Despite the fact that France lost, it was still a lot of fun to yell “Allez!” at the television and pretend that it was the Red Wings.
Saturday we did some exploring. I took the tram for the first time with my shiny new bus pass which allows me to go wherever I want in the city while Kalamazoo College foots the bill (yay living far from school!) Tessa, Aidis, Emily, Dia, Carmen, and I visited the cathedral and climbed to the top of the tower. There were
some pretty views…
So that’s what I did this weekend.
Friday night we went to a bar and watch the French rugby team lose to the Argentinean rugby team. Rugby is a big sport in Clermont-Ferrand because they have a city team who is apparently quite good but looses to Paris in the national championship each year. There are some players from Clermont on the national team. One of them looks like Jesus on steroids. No joke. We named him “The Beast” and cheered every time he stepped on the field. Here’s what Juli looked like when she saw him:
Despite the fact that France lost, it was still a lot of fun to yell “Allez!” at the television and pretend that it was the Red Wings.
Saturday we did some exploring. I took the tram for the first time with my shiny new bus pass which allows me to go wherever I want in the city while Kalamazoo College foots the bill (yay living far from school!) Tessa, Aidis, Emily, Dia, Carmen, and I visited the cathedral and climbed to the top of the tower. There were
some pretty views…On Sunday we climbed a volcano. Yep. A volcano. It was a five mile hike to the top. And a five mile hike to the bottom again. It was long but fun. I was a little disappointed when the volcano didn’t erupt, but I suppose it’s for the best. Our group consisted of me, my host parents and sister, Amel, her host mom, Jon, his host dad, Carmen, Dia, and Dia’s host dad.
Here’s the volcano. It’s called the Puy de Dome. I don’t know what that means.
Here’s us going up.
Here’s the volcano. It’s called the Puy de Dome. I don’t know what that means.
Here’s us going up.
That little white line in the distance? That’s the path we were walking on in the previous picture. All those big bumps in the background? Those are volcanoes too.
Here’s Amel enjoying the view at the top. Once we finally got there.
So that’s what I did this weekend.
10 September 2007
My first week here in France has gone pretty well. ‘Pretty well’ is actually a lame way of describing my first week living in a foreign country, but I don’t know of any words in English (which I seem to already be forgetting) or French that can properly sum up the process of cultural immersion.
My home situation is great. My host dad is a teacher of geography at a local high school. The subject of geography is very different here- they actually teach it. Geography goes beyond the topographic features of a country and includes the government and politics. As a result, my host dad is somewhat of a political genius. He seems to know at least some thing about everything: every statue we go past, every historical topic from the Crusades to the present. I’m learning a lot about the area and we have a political discussion almost every day which is fun although I suspect that it will become more fun when I can actually express complex ideas. My host mom works for the Catholic Church and she is currently helping to organize a conference where they will reexamine the Catechism. Therefore she is also very interesting to talk to about the differences between American Catholicism and European Catholicism. Both my host parents, and my host sister, are very friendly and welcoming and they tolerate my terrible French (which makes them saints).
Here's some photos of my home...
My bed. Very comfortable.
My home situation is great. My host dad is a teacher of geography at a local high school. The subject of geography is very different here- they actually teach it. Geography goes beyond the topographic features of a country and includes the government and politics. As a result, my host dad is somewhat of a political genius. He seems to know at least some thing about everything: every statue we go past, every historical topic from the Crusades to the present. I’m learning a lot about the area and we have a political discussion almost every day which is fun although I suspect that it will become more fun when I can actually express complex ideas. My host mom works for the Catholic Church and she is currently helping to organize a conference where they will reexamine the Catechism. Therefore she is also very interesting to talk to about the differences between American Catholicism and European Catholicism. Both my host parents, and my host sister, are very friendly and welcoming and they tolerate my terrible French (which makes them saints).
Here's some photos of my home...
This is the view out my window. It includeds the garden where I think 60% of the food I have eatten so far has been grown.
They apparently have garden gnomes in France. Who knew?
My bed. Very comfortable.
My cute, tiny, French bathroom.
Slowly but surely my French has been getting better. My comprehension has exploded in the last week and I can now understand almost anyone provided they don’t have a bizarre accent and they enunciate (French people enunciating…ha.ha.). My ability to express myself hasn’t changed much though, if anything it’s gotten worse because I am now speaking with people who notice my mistakes. I can usually get an idea across but I know that I sound like an infant. This week and next week we are taking French classes for 7 hours a day which is exhausting. You don’t really think about how much physical (or chemical, I guess) energy it takes to understand a foreign language all day every day until you do it. I sleep more than I ever did at home and I still wake up tired. I also seem to have good French days and bad French days. I can usually tell if it’s going to be a bad French day because I’ll open my mouth at the breakfast table and nothing will come out.
We start our classes with the real French students this week. We’re supposed to do some “Icebreakers” of “Brise Glaces” with them. This should prove to be interesting since I hate icebreakers even when they are conducted in English. I am luck though; I think that thanks to CASS I have done every Icebreaker ever invented at least twice. So I will at least be able to delay looking like an idiot until I have to say something…
We start our classes with the real French students this week. We’re supposed to do some “Icebreakers” of “Brise Glaces” with them. This should prove to be interesting since I hate icebreakers even when they are conducted in English. I am luck though; I think that thanks to CASS I have done every Icebreaker ever invented at least twice. So I will at least be able to delay looking like an idiot until I have to say something…
07 September 2007
The Story of The First Weekend
When we last left our heroine she was sitting at the kitchen table of her new home attempting to converse with her new family…
Approximately 20 minutes after we got to the house my host parents informed me that they were going to a wedding the next day and I could either go and spend the day with Amel’s host family or I could “faire du camping” with my host sister and her friends. At this point I was so excited that I could understand the sounds coming out of their mouths I decided to take a chance and go camping. I figured it would be a good way to meet some people my own age and they assured me that there would be plenty of time to sleep. Foolishly, I assumed that camping meant pitching a tent somewhere, cooking over an open fire, singing dopey songs, and in general communing with nature.
It wasn’t until I was sitting in a “mini-bus” with eight other young people leaving the city that I had just entered that I realized just how slowly my host parents had been speaking. I could not understand a word these kids were saying. They all spoke at the same time and referred to people and places that I didn’t know. Occasionally my host sister, Anne, would turn to me and translate the conversation into understandable French. I quickly started to fall asleep.
Two hours later I woke up just in time to watch our mini-bus turn in to the parking lot of a McDonalds. Or as they call it here “Mack-Doe”. At this point it’s about 9:30 at night and I had been traveling for more than 24 hours and gotten maybe 2 hours of sleep. I was so confused: French people going to McDonalds? But I looked around and saw that the Mack-Doe was packed full of French people eating Royal Cheese’s. The kids were really confused when I politely refused to eat anything. I probably should have eaten just to make them happy but the truth is that I was stubbornly refusing to let my first dinner in France to be at McDonalds.
I did, however, observe two differences between French people at McDo and Americans at McDonalds: 1) French people eat a lot of food. Each of these kids ate two burgers and a large fry. I don’t know any seventeen year-old American girl who will eat two Big Macs. 2) McDo is expensive in France. A normal meal that costs maybe $4 in America costs 6 euros or about $8.
We then got back in the mini-bus and drove for two more hours until we reached the tiny town of St. Antonin de Nobel Val. It turns out that “fair du camping” actually meaning spending the weekend at someone vacation home. This was fine with me though since I simply fell in to a bed and passed out.
The next morning the sun rose and I was able to see that St. Antonin de Noble Val is actually a really small but really cute medieval town and we were staying in a very nice and very old house. After sitting at the breakfast table and watching them talk to each other we went grocery shopping. Then we came back to the house and had a fabulous lunch. I almost understand the conversation at this point. Occasionally they would ask me questions about America or translate something more clearly. Mostly I sat there and tried to laugh at the right places. Then we watched some TV. Apparently One Tree Hill is quite popular. They wanted to know how many people there are in America named Peyton (which is, of course, pronounced “Pay-ee-tun”). Then we went for a short hike and some of them went swimming in the river. That night they decided to “faire un barbeque”. The consisted of a lot of unintelligible conversation and watching the only boy of the group fan the coals so that the food would actually cook. We talked about the differences between the Lion King in French and the Lion King in English (“the circle of life” becomes “the history of life”). They also requested that I translate some James Blunt songs. This became a problem when they asked what “hollow” meant and I couldn’t remember the French world for “inside”. I did win some chouette points by showing them how to make a snail, escargot, shadow puppet. They started the shadow puppets. I swear. I also learned that they do roast marshmallows in France but I completely failed when I tried to explain the significance of the word “s’more”.
The next day we walked around the farmers’ market with was really interesting because it was in the historic part of town. There were lots of British tourists, oddly enough. Then some of them decided to go rock climbing and I decided to go with them. I quickly changed my mind, however, when I met our guide and realized that I couldn’t understand a word he said no matter how slowly he said it. Upon realizing that I was backing out, both the guide and the kids tried harder to convince me to go. I was forced to tell them that I had promised my mother that I would not come back from France dead. I didn’t know how to say in French that my father is too cheap to pay for the insurance to send my corpse back to the States. So instead some of us (some of the kids chickened out as well) went swimming again. (I’m pretty sure that Rule #18 of the CIP’s Study Abroad Handbook is: “Don’t swim in any foreign bodies of water. You will get Japanese Encephalitis.” Oops.)
After another fantastic meal and some quick cleaning we left to go back to Clermont-Ferrand. We stopped at the same McDo on the way home and I did have a Royal Cheese which I assume tasted just like a normal cheeseburger but truthfully I’ve never eaten a McDonalds cheeseburger so I wouldn’t know.
We got back to the house at midnight where I then got to unpack my suitcase and go to bed.
In some future episode I will attempt to explain the events of this week and the extraordinary woman who is Madame Melissa Fox-Muratant.
Approximately 20 minutes after we got to the house my host parents informed me that they were going to a wedding the next day and I could either go and spend the day with Amel’s host family or I could “faire du camping” with my host sister and her friends. At this point I was so excited that I could understand the sounds coming out of their mouths I decided to take a chance and go camping. I figured it would be a good way to meet some people my own age and they assured me that there would be plenty of time to sleep. Foolishly, I assumed that camping meant pitching a tent somewhere, cooking over an open fire, singing dopey songs, and in general communing with nature.
It wasn’t until I was sitting in a “mini-bus” with eight other young people leaving the city that I had just entered that I realized just how slowly my host parents had been speaking. I could not understand a word these kids were saying. They all spoke at the same time and referred to people and places that I didn’t know. Occasionally my host sister, Anne, would turn to me and translate the conversation into understandable French. I quickly started to fall asleep.
Two hours later I woke up just in time to watch our mini-bus turn in to the parking lot of a McDonalds. Or as they call it here “Mack-Doe”. At this point it’s about 9:30 at night and I had been traveling for more than 24 hours and gotten maybe 2 hours of sleep. I was so confused: French people going to McDonalds? But I looked around and saw that the Mack-Doe was packed full of French people eating Royal Cheese’s. The kids were really confused when I politely refused to eat anything. I probably should have eaten just to make them happy but the truth is that I was stubbornly refusing to let my first dinner in France to be at McDonalds.
I did, however, observe two differences between French people at McDo and Americans at McDonalds: 1) French people eat a lot of food. Each of these kids ate two burgers and a large fry. I don’t know any seventeen year-old American girl who will eat two Big Macs. 2) McDo is expensive in France. A normal meal that costs maybe $4 in America costs 6 euros or about $8.
We then got back in the mini-bus and drove for two more hours until we reached the tiny town of St. Antonin de Nobel Val. It turns out that “fair du camping” actually meaning spending the weekend at someone vacation home. This was fine with me though since I simply fell in to a bed and passed out.
The next morning the sun rose and I was able to see that St. Antonin de Noble Val is actually a really small but really cute medieval town and we were staying in a very nice and very old house. After sitting at the breakfast table and watching them talk to each other we went grocery shopping. Then we came back to the house and had a fabulous lunch. I almost understand the conversation at this point. Occasionally they would ask me questions about America or translate something more clearly. Mostly I sat there and tried to laugh at the right places. Then we watched some TV. Apparently One Tree Hill is quite popular. They wanted to know how many people there are in America named Peyton (which is, of course, pronounced “Pay-ee-tun”). Then we went for a short hike and some of them went swimming in the river. That night they decided to “faire un barbeque”. The consisted of a lot of unintelligible conversation and watching the only boy of the group fan the coals so that the food would actually cook. We talked about the differences between the Lion King in French and the Lion King in English (“the circle of life” becomes “the history of life”). They also requested that I translate some James Blunt songs. This became a problem when they asked what “hollow” meant and I couldn’t remember the French world for “inside”. I did win some chouette points by showing them how to make a snail, escargot, shadow puppet. They started the shadow puppets. I swear. I also learned that they do roast marshmallows in France but I completely failed when I tried to explain the significance of the word “s’more”.
The next day we walked around the farmers’ market with was really interesting because it was in the historic part of town. There were lots of British tourists, oddly enough. Then some of them decided to go rock climbing and I decided to go with them. I quickly changed my mind, however, when I met our guide and realized that I couldn’t understand a word he said no matter how slowly he said it. Upon realizing that I was backing out, both the guide and the kids tried harder to convince me to go. I was forced to tell them that I had promised my mother that I would not come back from France dead. I didn’t know how to say in French that my father is too cheap to pay for the insurance to send my corpse back to the States. So instead some of us (some of the kids chickened out as well) went swimming again. (I’m pretty sure that Rule #18 of the CIP’s Study Abroad Handbook is: “Don’t swim in any foreign bodies of water. You will get Japanese Encephalitis.” Oops.)
After another fantastic meal and some quick cleaning we left to go back to Clermont-Ferrand. We stopped at the same McDo on the way home and I did have a Royal Cheese which I assume tasted just like a normal cheeseburger but truthfully I’ve never eaten a McDonalds cheeseburger so I wouldn’t know.
We got back to the house at midnight where I then got to unpack my suitcase and go to bed.
In some future episode I will attempt to explain the events of this week and the extraordinary woman who is Madame Melissa Fox-Muratant.
05 September 2007
Ah ha! A wireless signal!
I better start at the begining...
We arrived in Clermont-Ferrand after 20 some hours of traveling (a 1 hour of "sleep") and an interesting encounter with the Fench army at the baggage claim of Charles DeGaule Airport. We were then immediately introduced to our host families and whisked away to our respective homes in cute, tiny, European cars.
My host family consists of my pere, Bernard, my mere, Marie-Therese, and four host siblings only the youngest of which I have met and who is Anne, 17. As we drove to the house I was relieved to discover that I could in fact understand them if they spoke slowly enough. I also discovered that 17 year-old drivers in France are just as scary as 17 year-old drivers in the US (no offense to any 17 year-old drivers who aren't Charlie). We got to the house and proceded to have a rudimentary conversation. I foret what it was about. Probably the weather.
Merde! I have to go catch a bus so that I can be home in time for dinner. I will have to tell the rest of the story another time when I can find availabe internet.
I'll give a short teaser so that people will keep reading...
host sister. camping. 'arrypotttterrrr. six hours of french class a day with an american vampire who pretends to be french.
We arrived in Clermont-Ferrand after 20 some hours of traveling (a 1 hour of "sleep") and an interesting encounter with the Fench army at the baggage claim of Charles DeGaule Airport. We were then immediately introduced to our host families and whisked away to our respective homes in cute, tiny, European cars.
My host family consists of my pere, Bernard, my mere, Marie-Therese, and four host siblings only the youngest of which I have met and who is Anne, 17. As we drove to the house I was relieved to discover that I could in fact understand them if they spoke slowly enough. I also discovered that 17 year-old drivers in France are just as scary as 17 year-old drivers in the US (no offense to any 17 year-old drivers who aren't Charlie). We got to the house and proceded to have a rudimentary conversation. I foret what it was about. Probably the weather.
Merde! I have to go catch a bus so that I can be home in time for dinner. I will have to tell the rest of the story another time when I can find availabe internet.
I'll give a short teaser so that people will keep reading...
host sister. camping. 'arrypotttterrrr. six hours of french class a day with an american vampire who pretends to be french.
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