Blahst!

I spelled it that way because that's the only way it should be said. With upraised fist and perturbed British accent.

Let's cut to the chase, shall we? I lost and/or got my wallet stolen. I had everything in that bad boy, too. My French and American life wrapped in one was up in there. (Least I still have my passport.)

I mean, I always keep it either in my coat pocket or in my backpack. Either it fell out of my pocket or backpack or someone swiped it at one of the busy intersections I crossed on the way back home.

Surprisingly, I'm not flipping out. Granted, I'm not saying I didn't berate myself out loud while looking for it in vain (I do that whenever I lose something). But once I ran back to the cafe where I thought I left it and asked the waiters about it and turned up bupkis, I came back home and got down to business. You should've heard me trying to get my French debit card blocked over the phone, though. If someone could have recorded it and posted it on YouTube, it totally would have gone viral.

Anyway, it's fine, I did what I had to do to make sure no one could access my accounts if it were indeed stolen, and tomorrow morning my host counselor and I are going to the police station to file a report. The word for 'wallet' in French has been burned into my memory: le portefeuille.

It's annoying, it's a hassle, but as they say, c'est la vie.

Cheerleader/Translator/Mediator

So there's a new student living chez moi. She's from Taiwan and speaks Taiwanese (of course), Britishly accented English, some Japanese, but almost zero French.

So where does that leave me, especially at the dinner table? I have taken on my new role as cheerleader/translator/mediator.

It's super rude to speak English with Madame at the table, so I try to coax my new house mate into speaking French by answering her in French and speaking really slowly to encourage her (cheerleader). But if she's at a loss and insists on English, then I have to restate what she just said to Madame (translator). And if she asks questions that could be taken as rude or says something that could be taken out of context, or if there's a topic like payment that comes up that could get a little touchy, then I have to state things in a way where it could be understood and not taken the wrong way (mediator).

Who would have thought that in less than a month after being here, that I could in any way function as a go-between?

Crepes and Piano

Crepes

I had a crepe for the first time since I've been back in France. The first time I ever had one was in Paris. A man had a stand set up in the street and whipped them up as we watched. I got mine filled with chocolate and whipped cream. Yesterday after class, I had a craving for one and just happened to pass by a crepes shop where a group of friends just happened to be hanging out. I chalked it up to Providence and ordered mine with, surprise, chocolate and whipped cream. Oh, so good.

Piano

There's a piano in one of the student lounges, so I try to practice a little after class or when I have a break. It just so happens that the beautiful Colombian is not only beautiful, but also a piano prodigy. To strike up conversation, I offhandedly mentioned that I took lessons for about 3 years but have been sorrowfully out of practice so I've forgotten a lot. But ever since then, if we're in the lounge during a break, he's motioned me over to the piano to see what I've got, but it's too embarrassing, so I've always declined.

But today, after class, before walking home with a friend, I went down to the lounge. The coast was clear, so I agreed to play a little something for her. As I played, a few people passed through without staying to listen, so I wasn't really distracted. Little did I realize that two people came in and did stay to listen, but I was so focused on the song that I didn't notice. When I was done, I turned around to see not only my friend, but the beautiful Colombian AND the sexy Libyan applauding me. That was almost too much. Thank God I didn't realize it was them while I was still playing or I would have totally embarrassed myself.

A Slice of My French Life

Different things about France

1. People don't like you to wear shoes in the house. People always wear slippers inside.

2. The toilet is in a different room than the shower. I guess kind of like what we would call a "half bathroom" (except there may not be a sink, in which case you'd go into another room to wash your hands.) But then the room where you take a shower doesn't have a toilet in it. So, in France, you can't "use the bathroom" unless you are literally going to take a bath.

3. People drink water (or wine if it's fancy) with their meals. Carbonated drinks, etc. are for little kids and/or consumed apart from meals.

4. Cheese is usually eaten after the main meal and before dessert.

5. The men are much more comfortable with their feminine side. Sometimes I'm unsure whether a guy is gay or just French. That's not to say they're flamboyant in a stereotypically gay way, it's just that they are more fashion conscious, at least to American eyes. Pants and jackets are streamlined, not big and baggy, and they pay attention to accessories—scarves, shoes, hats.

There are lots more, but that's all I can think of for now.

Boys

There are no plausible situations at all, which is fantastic for me because I am totally staying focused. The development of any opposite sex-related anything has always been dramatic for me, and I can't afford that right now. Literally. Most of the students are in their early twenties, so I'd say I'm older than most (although there are a fair share of older adults as well). All of that to say that recognizance of my age keeps me grounded. There is a beautiful Colombian in my class and though I'm somewhat of an honorary member of his hispanophone clique, he's ridiculously young. There's also a rather sexy Libyan I chat with from time to time and the reasons that would be a bad idea are hilarious, but not really. However, it seems that I have managed to acquire somewhat of an admirer, but again, he's fresh from the cradle and is a more obnoxious, Arab version of my little brother. Not the business.

Internationality

It's really cool being a part of an international program like this. When I studied abroad in Spain, the program was specifically for American college students, so I could always fall back into English with my classmates after class. But here, there are people from all over the world, so I can't always rely on English. I went ice skating with a few people Friday night and one of my friends and I were joking that we had a representative from almost every continent in our group: I was the North American rep, my friend's Norwegian, there was a guy from Ecuador with his Japanese girlfriend, and a couple of guys from Saudi Arabia. The United Nations Goes Ice Skating.

Pictures

I went to the chateaus of Cheverny and Chambord Saturday and have been meaning to put up the pics. I'm too lazy to put captions to go along with them tonight, so enjoy them in their out-of-context loveliness:

A Little French Pop Culture to Brighten Your Day

I'm kind of addicted to this song. I looked up the lyrics (reading comprehension practice) and found that dingue (what he repeats several times in the chorus) is slang for 'crazy.' The song is basically about a guy telling a girl he's crazy about her and asking for another chance. Plus I think the guy is kinda cute. Enjoy!

L'argent

My scholarship money finally transferred. Yay! I'm not exactly rolling in it, so I will be as conservative with spending as I have been, but I feel like I can finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Café de Langues was super fun last night, and I got a few snapshots. Enjoy!

Job. Church. Where my money at?

Job

So, I got a job. Yeah, baby! I'll be working with an organization that helps provide youth from difficult backgrounds with life skills. I'll be teaching English for 2 hours once a week to the young people and the volunteers who work with them as well as to the administrators in charge of running the program. I never imagined that I would have an interview in a foreign country in a foreign language within 2 weeks after my arrival.

Sometimes I get frustrated because my level of French is not where I want it to be yet. But getting the job reminds me that though my French is far from perfect, I know enough and can understand enough to conduct myself well enough in an interview to be chosen for a position.

This should be fun. I've got plenty of language learning activities and stuff that I've created during my previous years teaching Spanish, so I could just adapt them to teach English. I sign the contract this week, and I'll start the beginning of next month.

Church

So, I went to church yesterday. The missionaries in the area are incredibly nice and connected me with another young lady who lives in the same city as I do who started going to their church. We navigated the train system together. It's just . . . much more difficult and expensive getting to church than it was when I was in Spain. But I guess that's because I lived right outside Madrid and there were always plenty of trains into the city. Here it's a bit different. I live in a bigger city, but the church is in a teeny city and there aren't a whole bunch of trains that go out there, especially on a Sunday.

Nevertheless, I am super glad that I went. I learned a lot just listening to the message, and I was shocked at how much I could understand. Everything was so encouraging. What never ceases to amaze me is that there are people of many differing cultures, languages and customs who possess the same power, the same Spirit. The young lady I went with, originally from Madagascar, the French young man who picked us up from the train station and I hung out after service. Three people from wildly different backgrounds, brought together by a common faith.

Where my money at?

For real. It's goin on three weeks, yo. My bank account has since been set up, the scholarship money supposedly transferred a millenium ago, but every time I check my little French bank account online, it says that I have 0,00 Euros available. (They use commas instead of decimal points). Anyway, my host counselor got professionally crunk with the folks who were responsible for doing the transfer ("Thees eez unacksepteebul," he told me), so the money's supposed to show up this week. No later than Wednesday, I hope. In JAY-sus name.

Anyway, every Monday night they have this little meeting called Café de Langues where a bunch of students get together at a café in one of the main plazas and speak French all night. I went last week and it was great. And I need all the practice I can get, so away I go. À la prochaine fois!

Frennish

Frennish n. - Language spoken (usu. in frustration) consisting of a mixture of Spanish and French. It tends to be spoken by those who speak Spanish as a second language and are currently learning French. Frennish is created spontaneously; e.g., When one doesn't know a word in French, Spanish emerges as a hopeful substitute (usu. tweaked with an American idea of a French accent) in an attempt to communicate intelligibly.

I can finally breathe. Since my oral presentation's been gone, I can breathe for the first time. I'm so movin' on (yeah, yeah). Thanks to it, I can sit, and not hyperventilate . . . since it's been gone.

My presentation was okay, I guess. I made beaucoup d'erreurs, but it's part of learning a language. I talked about immigration, and it definitely got the class discussing. I was considering moving down a level, but I think I'm sticking with it. I'm kind of used to my class and schedule now . . . I kind of prefer to stay. Sticking with it will probably make me work harder.

What's hilarious about French is that when Americans use French in the US, they're either trying to be funny, sarcastic, or trying to put on airs. But here, it's for real. When people say that such and such is magnifique, they're being for real, not exaggerating and trying to be funny. Or if someone is unsure whether you're talking to them, and they say moi? they're being serious.

It's so cute that I ate ratatouille (like the Disney movie) and real potatoes au gratin and foie gras (enlarged liver from a force-fed duck). I don't mean to say force feeding a duck is cute, I'm just saying it's one of those French things you always hear about that I've actually had. It's cute that people really do walk around wearing berets. It's cute saying oui, oui.

The cuteness will probably wear off soon, but I'll enjoy it for now.

Wandering

Today I went to a museum and a cathedral for some moments of quiet reflection.

I saw Rodin sculptures. Rubens paintings. Max Ernst collages. Regency-period furniture. I sat in the back of a cold, magnificent cathedral and prayed.

There was a group from the Institut who were meeting up this afternoon, but I opted for a solitary day instead. I wanted to wander and ponder. I don't think I've yet grasped the temporary permanence of 6 months in another country.

Why am I doing this? It's because I didn't know what else to do. Because I wanted to get away. Because an opportunity presented itself to me and it seemed natural to take it.

There's a part of me that scoffs at the idea of waiting around for an epiphany. But there's another part of me that still hopes for one, despite it all.

Vieux Tours

This morning, I braved the cold to see the old part of Tours. There was a lot of nice architecture and a lot of information and explanation given by one of my extremely lively professors. (He's like a more vivacious Superguy without the muttering. Only one person might know what I'm talking about, but it's funny.) Anyway, I didn't put captions because . . . I dunno. But you'll see some nice architecture and then me and the hot chocolate I drank to warm me back up. It is so cold here. Oh, and the river you'll see is called the Loire. Tours is a city between two rivers. One is the Loire, the other is the Cher. The Loire is the closest to where I live. Enjoy!

Yay!

1. My missing bag arrived yesterday. Yay! My host mom said that was much faster than usual.

2. I was referred to another organization by the Institut to work as an English teacher. Yay! It really came out of nowhere. It'll only be an hour or two once a week, but I'm excited. Not only will it be a tiny bit of extra money, but I'll get to meet a lot more French people, possibly get involved with the volunteer aspects of the organization and totally get to put this on my resume.

3. I have an oral presentation due next week. I went ahead and volunteered so I could get this puppy over with. Otherwise I'd be sitting there worrying about it, freaking about my imperfect French. This way, I kind of plunge myself into it, git er dun, and go on.

4. I have beaucoup de homework. Oh, and when I checked my level yesterday, I'm apparently advanced? Oookay. Well, there are 2 levels of advanced, and I'm in level 1. I'm one of the weakest speakers in the class, but I'm going to stick with it.

5. I'm taking a leisurely walk around the city tomorrow, so maybe I'll have some more pics soon.

First Day

Today was the first day of class. Not really class, more like an orientation session. We took a short tour of the city, I took a few pictures. I met people from all over the world, and couldn't necessarily rely on English. It's amusing, though. Today I was talking to a group of girls from Australia, Belgium, Korea and Japan, and French was our lingua franca. After all, French was the original lingua franca before English rose to prominence. Lingua franca. Get it?

Anyway, I'm kind of proud of myself today. I found my way around the city to the post office to mail in my little immigration/visa thing and I asked for an envelope and a stamp. Yay! I went to the tourism office and asked for a map of the city. Yay!

We took oral tests today. I performed better than I actually speak because the questions they asked were basic ones. I can talk about basics: talk about my family, what I studied in school, a vacation I went on. But if I have a real time conversation with someone about more complicated stuff . . . (i.e. with my host mother) it's a different story. I mean, it's fine. I understand her and she understands me, but I still struggle and make lots of mistakes. I'll find out what level I've been placed in tomorrow.

Okay, jet lag is starting to catch up with me, so here a just a few pics I took today. Enjoy!

(This is the same building in the pic in my blog's header. Hotel de Ville, or City Hall of Tours)

The Fun Begins

Picture this: You're sitting in a car mentally berating yourself during a tense in-the-name-of-Jesus-please-don't-let-the-cops-stop-us ride to the airport because you thought your flight left at 3 p.m., but after you leisurely printed out your itinerary before leaving, it hit you with the worst dread imaginable that it actually left at 1 p.m. Good thing you planned to get there 3 hours early.

Picture this: You, flustered and warding off muscle spasms in your thighs, arrive 45 minutes before the flight leaves. International flights require you to arrive at least 2 hours early. You're dragging an insane amount of luggage because you didn't know how to pack for 6 months and you're already dreading overage fees. You waste 15 of those minutes frustratingly trying to print off a boarding pass at a US Airways kiosk, but can't find your reservation! Then it hits you that it's because you have a United Airlines flight. You race off to the United Airlines desk as fast as one can race with 2 tons of luggage.

Picture this: You get a break from a merciful customer service rep despite your grossly late arrival, but not without paying a small fortune for checked bags and extra weight. You miraculously glide through security and luckily have a gate that's a hop, skip and a jump from security. You arrive at the gate just as passengers are beginning to board. But right before you step onto the plane, it's announced that the flight has been delayed due to weather. Everybody off. Though it's bad news to most, it makes you feel like Providence was making sure you'd still have a little extra time just in case.

Picture this: After a relatively tranquil transatlantic flight (and rather thankful that your seat neighbor was neither dangerously attractive nor excessively talkative) you arrive in France with the sinking realization that you're going to have to drag your outstandingly heavy bags around an intergalactically massive foreign airport to get to the train station. But surprise! You don't have to drag around as much weight as you'd anticipated, because one of your bags didn't make it to baggage claim.

Picture this: You're standing in line to report your missing luggage (as are many others) and have a train departure bearing down on you. You're having a serious case of deja vu. You try to find out some things about the procedure from people around you in your fledgling French. After filling out a form, you woman up and kindly ask the gentleman at the front of the line if he would be willing to let you cut because by that time, you have a train to catch in 30 minutes. Then you sheepishly say in broken French to those behind him that you have a train to catch. No one seems to mind.

Picture this: Once you hurriedly get to the train station, you literally make a run for it, only to arrive at the platform just as the doors close and the train speeds away. "C'est mon train!" you frustratedly proclaim to those in earshot. At least you're speaking French, you resolve.

Picture this: You're trying to figure out how to use the phones to tell your host counselor your situation. You don't want him to be at the train station waiting for you since you're not arriving at the time you both supposed. After a lot of fumbling around and eventually buying a phone card, you finally get through the ticket line to get a later departure, and you're told, very kindly, in accented English, that you have to buy a new ticket. Why? Because it's been too long since your train departed for it to be exchanged.

Picture this: You're surprisingly calm, despite everything. Once you re-buy your train ticket, you get a minuscule cup of coffee to try to warm up and end up having your first non-frustrated French conversation in France with a couple sitting near you.

Picture this: You're in a nice room with a nice host mother (who speaks zero English, which forces you to use French) with a full day ahead of you. You realize that you've gotten where you needed to go and you've taken care of things that are in your power to take care of. You realize how important it is not to sweat the small stuff. And you've realized you've eaten more cheese in two days than you normally do in the span of at least 3 months, and that people in France drink tea and coffee out of bowls in the morning.

Here lies . . .

my last post on this side of the Atlantic for 6 months.

I'm all packed up, ready to go, bracing myself for the fees for checked bags and weight overages sure to greet me at the United Airlines check-in.

All I know is they better not confiscate anything from my carry-on. When I went to NY, homeboy confiscated my hair grease! Yeah, a plastic jar of TCB Hair and Scalp Conditioner would've done some serious damage. Ol' boy made me go sightseeing with a dry scalp. (sigh.) This time I put all emollients in the checked bags. I learned my lesson.

See you on the other side!

The Procrastinator Lives!

You don't even want to know the state of my room right now, so I won't give you a mental picture. It's so mind numbingly light years away from the state of space that a person who should be packing for 6 months should have . . . it's too horrible. Too hideous.

I finally decided on some articles of local culture to share with the French natives: A commemorative Alabama plate depicting the state flag, state bird, state flower and state seal. A couple of magnets depicting the Capitol building in Montgomery. A ceramic figure in the shape of the state of Alabama partly formed with red Alabama clay. A reproduction of MLK's "I Have a Dream" speech on antiqued parchment. A coffee table book depicting the art of Montgomery folk artist Mose T. Tomorrow I'm going to pick up a few packages of peanut brittle. There aren't too many things more Southern than peanut brittle. Sweet tea, maybe. But I don't want to get to France with splashes of sticky brown stuff all over my clothes.

I experienced a bit of freakingoutness today, but hopefully tomorrow I'll wake up full of verve and hopefulness. I'll need the energy to start packing.