Tag: abroad

Now to come back to our sheep (yes, that’s a phrase here)

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Now, where did we leave off with these “Rules of the Game”? Ah yes…

…#9: Always compliment a boy on his velo. If you want to make French friends, apparently this is what you’ve got to do! During an ever so unnecessary group meeting on Monday night, we were told a story of a girl who met a boy while she was buying a baguette (so French) and who walked outside, made eye contact and said “Hey, nice bike.” He, of course, reciprocated and they came to talk. She then asked him, after 30-45seconds of social graces, if he wanted to have lunch with her. He did. So he bought his baguette (he’s French) and off they went. The next time, he brought his friend Boris. It was there that Boris met Kelly, and eventually, they got married. Moral of the story: compliment someone’s bike if they’re outside your local patisserie. Authors note: I just learned that Kelly and Boris have divorced. With this new knowledge in mind, make your choice of whether or not to speak to the boy on the bike. His best friend could be a heart breaker.

Rule #10: Be an ice queen. Apparently, French guys like this. For the two boys in our program, they must also play the role of Ice Queen. The validity of this rule is still being tested…

(Are you getting the idea that our director just wants us all to find husbands here?)

Rule #11: Abroad is abroad. We’re here to explore, not study. This mentality so eloquently put by the one and only Christina Houser has dominated my actions thus far in France. But after receiving a rather abrupt letter from the Abroad Office about my grades transferring – something I choose to forget quite often – I guess I need to come back to my moutons and lance into my studies. But not before partaking in Rule 12…

Rule #12: It’s always acceptable to get drunk off champagne with your host family, even if it’s after wine class on a Wednesday, and especially if it’s your host brother’s birthday. And so was my night last night. After having been certified in the degustation of wine – certificate and all! – I came home to find apertifs and a bottle of champagne waiting for me. Merci, David!  It’s always a little awkward being drunk in the presence of a freshley 45 year old “brother” and his 60+ year old mother, but things definitely got interesting when I smiled a little too big when David, describing Amsterdam, said: “il y a des coffee shops partout.” I laughed (nervously), he laughed (knowingly) – but c’mon, everyone knows why college students go to Amsterdam. I downed the rest of my champagne and he promptly refilled me. And so it went for the rest of the bottle.

Rule #13: No feet on the seat! Another encounter with the French but this time I was lucky enough to be a bystander while my friend Jamie got verbally smacked for having her shoes on the seat on a public bus on our way back from Prague. The couple in front of her, having only just sat down, turned around and expressed their inner rage at her infuriating actions! “Do you do that at your house?” She took her feet down. I’m not even surprised anymore – or I shouldn’t be – this kind of thing seems to happen pretty souvent.

Rule #14: Balls exist. At least, this weekend they do. I’ll let you know how this goes…Marie Claire’s last student passed out in our bathroom (naked!). I hope to fare better than her. The way I see it, if I can make it through Mardi Gras clothed, I can do this. And yes, parents, I make it through Mardi Gras clothed – albeit, in neon.

“Ici, nous parlons francais.”

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For you non-French speakers: “Here, we speak French.” The “here” being in Aix-en-Provence and the “we” being a man at the bus stop who chastised my friend and I for speaking English. I was totally floored, partly because I couldn’t believe the luck I’d been having lately with old European men (see “The Oinker”) but mostly because this is exactly the kind of rude stereotype that is propagated throughout the world about my current country. This is the event which prompted the status: “The stereotypes continue to perpetuate themselves.” I’ll explain further. This man stated that if he were chez vous, that’s to say the United States, it would be disrepectful to speak anything other than English. Here, in France, it’s the same.

I’m sorry but he clearly has never left his little corner of the Rotonde. The US itself is a melange of languages, Spanish and English mostly, but in any corner of most cities you can hear some dialect, some foreign tongue and I’ve never felt the need to tell them that it’s a matter of respect to speak my language. This man probably would’ve stopped a Cajun speaking French and told him to chagne his dialect because it wasn’t true French.

He stopped talking to us after we said we were d’accord and that we understood. He started again, this time with an example of how if he went to Italy or Germany he would still speak their language, even though he doesn’t know how to. Considering that makes absolutely no sense, I’d love to see how that trip worked out. He’d either be a mute the entire trip or a babbling idiot in between the romantic sounds of French and the harsh syllables of the German language. Good luck, monsieur. He stopped again after this ridiculous example of Franglitian. We tried to return to our conversation – this time in French. He interrupted…again. “C’est pas mechant.” He said, almost trying to convince himself and the others who had started listening to our exchange. It’s not mean? Are you serious? Not only are upholding the standard of being rude, but you’re also upholding the stereotype of the crochety, mean old man.

Few things render me speechless – in fact, for those of you who know me, you probably wish it happened more frequently – but this event caught me so offguard that I’m pretty sure a part of my jaw is still laying on the ground near my bus stop. It’s because of this initial shock factor that all I could say was “d’accord” and “OK.” I even agreed that he wasn’t being mean and I’m pretty sure I said I understood his reasoning. I sat on the bus feeling, not only embarassed having been chastised like a 4 year old by this man in front of a crowd of bus-awaiting francais but also like a complete idiot who couldn’t uphold her sense of self. Could I go back and find that little old man with his brown/orange sweater vest and tufts of gray hair sprouting from his head and ears, it would be a very different conversation. One that probably would’ve upheld the stereotype of a loud ignorant American fighting for her right to speak her language where ever she wants. And maybe he was right – I’m in a french immersion program and should probably be speaking French. But to say it the way he did, maybe doesn’t come across in this article, but was absolutely, well, rude. And to talk about a matter of respect and then talk to us like that? Well that’s just absolutely hypocritcal.

Rules of The Game, Part I

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I figured I’d codify (wow, Student Conduct Board Member much?) the “rules” that I’ve learned since in France. I’m sure that this segment of the Semester Ablog Blog will be repeated a few more times this semester as I’m finding there are quite a lot of new social rules here in France.

Rule #1: Do not feed the animals. This requires some clarification: by “animals” I mean specifically French females. This has to be a rule because walk down any street in France and you’ll feel the urge to buy every female age 15-35 either a huge cone of ice cream, a pie of (Boot) pizza or a very large sandwich. Look into any cafe at any time of day and you’ll see crowds of females but no plates in front of them – maybe a cafe or a drink of some sort, definitely cigarette in hand but where is your food, women of France?!

Rule #2: French music doesn’t really exist. Again, clarification: everywhere I go, I hear American music. In fact, the first song I heard when I arrived into Paris was “Come Together” by the Beatles followed by something by Katy Perry. I wondered, for a moment, if I had landed in France or in Heaven. (Turned out to be France.) Even my host mother’s ring tone is a Beatles’ song! My sole source of musical immersion is with the show N’Oubliez Pas Les Paroles. Otherwise, it’s pretty hard to find French beatz. Even the night clubs and bars play everything from John Mellencamp to Akon – I think I even heard some Weezy the other night…

Rule #2.5: My personal rule for Pop Music, if I haven’t heard it out of an F&M’s/Boot speaker – it doesn’t exist. Thus for those of you still in the states, educate me musically.

Rule #3: There’s no such thing as too many bisous. This rule applies mainly to French men. In my texting experience – albeit limited, thus far – every single text ends in “kisses” or “big kisses.” Really, men of France? I have never felt more College Frat Boy in my life than when I first reacted to this French habit of texting affection. All I wanted to do was put down the phone and run for les collines. Too many virtu-kisses!!

I’m sure I’ll learn more rules (after breaking them, I’m sure) when I’m in Munich this weekend. For the French this little 3 week period of partying is called La Fete de la Biere. For us, more commonly known as OKTOBERFEST!!!!! I’m planning on surviving. If you don’t hear from me by Tuesday, start checking the beer gardens. Now, in typical French-fashion: Gros-bisous tout le monde!

Pain, Fromage, Vin.

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Bread, Cheese, Wine. The new, French equivalent of GTL. I don’t hate it…But when I’m not PFV-ing, I’m usually here:

That’s my room – Anna and Beary front and center on the bed.

Every night I close my shutters and leave my windows open to the sounds of les motos and the breeze through the trees. Upon waking, the shutters are opened and in rush the rays. It’s definitely a great way to wake up in the morning, albeit it’s getting colder by the day!

My typical day continues here:

Le Centre Americain – home of American University Center Provence. This gorgeous house is my new campus. That is, if you consider a garden, 5 classroom house and a pond-complete with fish-a campus.

After classes – which don’t exist for me on Tuesdays as I am continuing my unofficial, but very well-liked, Tulane tradition of easy Tuesday/Thursdays – it’s probable that I’m on the Cours Mirabeau. This gorgeous stretch of cafes and shops is the center area of Aix. “All roads descend to the Cours Mirabeau,” was one of the first directional tips that my host-mother, Marie-Claire, gave to me and it’s rang true ever since. Longchamps, Les Deux Garcons (a favorite hangout for the famed painter Paul Cezanne) and my new second home, Monoprix, are just some of the things that can be found on the stretch!

Maybe not the best shot, but the street culminates in a huge fountain (typical Europe) and roundabout with lots of crazy French drivers and lots of scurrying pedestrians. The mossy mass in the middle is, yet again, a fountain. Quelle surprise!

And after that, I take a bus home and usually settle down for some homework and, more typically, my favorite French show: N’Oubliez Pas Les Paroles – the French edition of “Don’t Forget the Words.” It’s been a great way to learn some French songs – Michel Delpeche, anyone? – and I love when Marie-Claire sings along, which is 9/10 times. Needless to say, I’m loving my time here. Even the most average of days brings a new adventure and a new experience. I think that’s it on playing catch-up. Perfect timing too because I can hear that I’m missing some embarassed contestants who forgot the words. Yup – now Marie-Claire’s singing. A bientot!


Of course, can’t forget les bon-bons! My friend Christy and I made sure to make a pit stop in this heavenly place for a free taste of a strawberry cookie and a purchase of des calissones – a type of cookie that, as far as I know, is famous in Aix. Bon appetit? Don’t mind if I do!