Tag: france

Et les regles continuent…

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#15. Here, Facebook vousvoyer’s you. I’ve never felt so respected by a piece of technology! For those of you who don’t know the in’s and out’s of the innate hierachal system of the French languge, there are two different ways of addressing someone in the “you” form – “tu” and “vous.” Tu is used for your friends, people you know well. Vous is for people who you need to show respect to – professors, parents, etc. Make this distinction and learn it well, it could have some prettttty big potential for a malentendu if you accidentally “tu” when you should’ve “vous”ed. So, faites attention!

#16. Balls are the closest thing you’ll get to a sorority/fraternity formal here in France, but there’s really something to be said for a nice Greek sponsored tab at a local trashy bar while you’re wearing a cocktail dress. While Saturday was fun, I’ve never appreciated being a PiPhi as much as I do now.

#16.5. I should add something here: men in uniforms are a plus. This is something we should really consider instituting back in the US for formal events – ahhem fratstars – beacuse honestly, everyone looks better in a military-esque uniform. Marines with French accents? D’accccccord.

#17. The French are, in general, “be-ers” while Americans are “do-ers.” Let me clarify (as per usual): in our class discussion today, which was the most sophisticated use of FranGlais that I’ve ever heard (and I’m fluent in this mixture, so that’s saying something) that the French can just be. And for any of you who have seen me on a stressful day, all I really want to do “is JUST BE.” Let me drink my coffee, read my book, stare into space IN PEACE! Here, that happens. Sure, you may end up 30 minutes late to an appointment but you could, if you wanted to, eat each individual flake of your perfectly buttered and baked croissant without once glancing at your watch to check the time. Unimaginable, right? And while there’s a fine line between peace and just being plain slow (something else I can’t stand), it’s kind of nice that that’s an option here. Par contre I am a New Yorker and if being here has taught me anything it’s that I cannot tolerate things done slowly when they can be done in 15 minutes or less. Guess being in France has taught me more than just language: I am aware, now, that I would be hard pressed to find somewhere other than NY to spend the rest of my life. To be honest, I’d probably stroke out before the time I hit 40 if I had to pretend that I could mosey through the streets at a glacial pace. (Really people, just a littttttttle faster!)

#18. This place has the potential to make even the Grinch like Christmas. I am that person that is insanely annoyed when radio stations play Christmas music before Thanksgiving is even over, but with my lack of connection to the outside world – this has happened far less frequently than at home. (Damn you 106.7 and your incessant need to spread cheer and good will to man!) Also normally around this time of year, I would be cursing the forced Hallmark happiness that surrounds me as I state to any and all people with ears that I hate Christmas.And it’s true – I do. But with all of these lights and little chalets lining the Cours Mirabeau, it’s hard not to feel my heart growing a few sizes. So while I still remain your lovably green and fuzzy idol of all that is anti-Christmas cheer (sorry, Jesus), it’s getting harder by the day. Someone even called me out and said that I do like Christmas and am lying to myself. I’m currently planning my revenge by taking all of her Christmas presents on the night of the 24th. Watch out, Sage!

#19. AUDREY AUDREY AUDREY AUDREY AUDREY and something else about AUDREY. Now when she reads my blog, she’s mentioned and involved 🙂 But really, she is. I just haven’t had the opportunities to really write about it. Yet.

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.

Halloweekend in Roma

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Well pink bob wigs translate the same in any language: you’ll always catch some looks in them. And that we did – especially walking into Tony’s Ristorante (recommended by none other than Steven) which makes me realize that most any food I’d eaten to this point in my life was nothing in comparison. This realization will probably aid me on my diet because all food really does pale in comparison after last night’s fried calamari and pollo parmeggiano.

Anyway, tonight’s our last night in Rome before heading back to France (sad) so we’re going to spend it eating some pasta, gelato, cannoli and singing kareokee – because why wouldn’t i know where to find some good old fashioned Monday night open mike nights? photos to follow – keep an eye out on Facebook!

Rules of the Game, Part II

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Rule #4:The Carpenters were so right, Rainy days and Mondays always get me down. Especially when they team up and happen on the same day. And especially when your bus comes 20 minutes late and your standing in the rain waiting.

Rule #4.5: The bus is always freakin’ late. jwgjwekgjakgkwjgw;gae!

Rule #5: All hands on deck at the table. When the time comes for lunch, dinner or even the midday snack, it’s considered a bit strange here to keep your hands in your lap while you eat. This is contrary to every rule my wonderful Grandma ever taught me and, in fact, I’m pretty sure she’d be mortified to see everyone at the table (myself included!) eating their meals with their elbows à coté de their plates.

Rule #6: There’s no need to apologize for calling someone and interrupting their dinner. Again, something contrary to a Vitali family rule and something that, I’m pretty sure, goes hand in hand with the mentality that whoever is receiving your phone call is lucky you’re taking the time to call them at all thus, you’re having that conversation regardless. In my experience there are certain times you know just not to call someone at home – in my opinion it’s not before 10am and not during the hours of potential dinner, I’d say 6-9pm. Here, no one cares. My host mom (who is the sweetest woman and is doing this not because it’s rude but just simply acceptable) took at least 3 phone calls from her multiple family members during our Sunday night dinner. I could hear the loud and irritated “SIGH” of Sweet Lou in my head from the days (not long ago) when I used to field any type of phone call at the table. I knew it was just a normal thing to talk to the phone when I ended up having to put my fork in Marie Claire’s rabbit so she could use her free hand to cut a piece of meat and chew mid-conversation. She found this useful and we continued as such for the rest of her phone calls.

Rule #7: Boys will be boys. On Saturday night I spent some time with my American girlfriends and some French boys who we met thanks to the AUCP Language Partner program which, the more I’m seeing, is just potentially a glorified Match.com for people who want to be bilingual and get a real head start on French Kissing 101. Anyway, after getting on the ever-so-intellectual subject of how to translate “Aw skeet, skeet mother fucker” into French (this explanation was one for the books, really) the boys confided in us that when they started learning English they took it upon themselves to look up “only the dirty words.” Oh the motivation! So while they don’t know how to ask where the bathroom is, their sexual vocabulary is truly impressive and they were more than ecstatic to learn a new phrase. Part of me wants to be there when they unleash it on some unexpecting American. The other part of me wants to be far away so I don’t accidentally get killed when the said-unsuspecting American reacts to being told to “bend over to the front and touch your toes.”

Rule #8: This weekend when I take on Paris, “we’re from Holland!” Just for precautions. I have my “Cultural Manifesto” that essentially solves all problems of worldly intolerance, famine and drought but I’m thinking of reserving it’s posting for sometime later this week. I don’t wanna go all Ghandi on you so early in the week. It is, afterall, only Monday. And raining.

A page from ‘Marius’

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“Silence! (Il prend un ton solennel.) Donc, nous allons boire le coup du depart. C’est emouvant le coup de depart. On quitte sa famille, ses amis, ses clients. On part pour les mers inconnues d’ou l’on est presque sur de ne pas revenir. Alors on prend son verre d’une main qui ne tremble pas. On boit le dernier coup sur la terre ferme…le coup du depart…c’est emotionnant…A votre sante.”

-Cesar, “Marius” par Marcel Pagnol

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!

Insert witty title here.

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I’m far too tired to think of something cute for this most recent post, so I’ll allow you readers to get creative with it and make up your own, on your own. Sorry! This week/end was very packed with excursions, outings and travellings all over the South of France – sounds tough, right? We arose at a whopping 9am to take a We-Are-American-Tourists-Bus to a couple of stops including, le Louberon et la Rouge Terre. In the Luberon, I found my perfect chateau (castle) if I decide to have a destination wedding – future husband, start paying attention now.

The gorgeous castle was closed to us on Saturday because of a police gathering, but that didn’t stop us from exploring the rest of the town. We tried wonderful pastries tht are specialties of the region – we’re very avid market researchers and thus made sure to try, not just the specialty cookie, but a chocolate croissant, too. We take this seriously.

AUCP Marseilles & Provence in la Luberon (and in front of my future place of marriage, bien sur).

After the Luberon, we made our way to a couple of other stops, including an adorably old town (not too hard to find) in the moutains where we had a great picnic and then continued on our sortie (outing) to a town where the ground is made of red clay! It was really like an Arizona meets South of France experience and tres cool.

On Sunday, a few of us made our way to the beach. Long story short, we missed our intended bus and ended up deciding spur of the moment to head to Marseilles even though, according to our host families, the beach “n’est pas jolie.” Not too sure what kind of beaches our host families are used to, but I travel for a longer time to hit up Jones or Rye for the day.

For 30 minutes and under 12Euros of travel cash, this seems pretty perfect et jolie to me! We even managed (quelle surprise) to make a few new friends (that we’ll obviously never see again). Needless to say, returning back to school on Monday was a bit difficult. But, I did come away from the weekend with, not only a greater appreciation for the region of Provence, but also a list of dates and places for where I want to travel for the rest of the semester. SO for any and all of you who are abroad, or who have the extra cash laying around to escape for any amount of time, check out this list and then contact me (Facebook, Skype, AIM, etc) and we can rendez-vous!

Sept 24-27 (this weekend): OKTOBERFEST.

Oct 1-3: Barcelona

Oct 8-10: Local touring – maybe Toulouse/Avignon on Sunday?

Oct 15-17: PARIS!

Oct 22-Nov: Vacances de Toussaint. In other words: time for visit the homeland. As of now the plan is to start in Milan and then go to Florence and end up in Rome (where the lovely Christina Houser will be awaiting me!)

Nov 5-7: Bordeaux

Nov 11/12-14: Amsterdam/Prague

Nov 19-21: Arles for Saturday with my art class

Nov 26-28: Dublin

Dec 3-5: Switzerland

Dec 10-12: ?????

Dec 18—-> My program ends here but I’ll be around for about a week. Anyone who wants to stay in Europe and travel around, let me know! I’m open for most anywhere.

Happy days to all. It’s just around lunch time for me right now so I’m going to go do something very French and grab some sushi with another fellow American. *Sigh* You can take the girl out of the states but she’s still gonna crave sushi. Isn’t that how the saying goes?

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!