Purple Chips and Cherry Beer

This week has been a cluster of homework and personal strife. Regardless of that mess, tout est bien et yesterday, after class, I went home and took a much needed nap. Power naps are not something that I can do easily, but I was just that tired, not to mention that my awesome new doors have shutters that roll down like a garage door and completely block out the sun. 

After the nap, some lunch and homework, we drove to Vire, because my host mom reserved tickets for us to see a theatre piece by her favorite French director.

We drove for a good hour, the whole time I was wishing that I could see the landscape. My ears were popping driving through the hills, while our philosopher friend chattered on about the author of the book from which the monologue was excerpted. When we arrived, we were a bit early, so while my host parents parked the car, the friend and I stopped in the bar for a drink. Like I know what to order in a French bar, so he ordered for me. He asked "beer?"

"Oui, ça va," and out came these large goblets with words written in German on them. The liquid was red, but I assumed it was a type of ale, so I braced myself for a strong wash of ale flavor and was happily wrong to do so. It was a cherry flavored beer! 

Very smooth and I ended up practically chugging it, because I forgot that it was alcohol. After our glasses and their cigarettes, we headed to the theatre to be the first ones in line. My host mom stood there, jumping around like a school girl, so excited to see the production. We were led into a dark room with only about 50ish chairs set up on platforms.

The piece is about a simpleton (American translation: mentally retarded, very slow, has difficulty with social norms) who lives with his sister and it is a solo that goes on for an hour and a half. The lights, sounds, movements, words, everything in the production moves glacially slow, which sounds boring, but it was intense. The actor stays in the same position speaking slowly and moving so slowly that you don't realize that he is moving at all until he is in another position. 

I wish that my vocabulary was higher so that I could have understood the elevated language, but the actor was so phenomenal that even if I hadn't known any French, I would have known what was happening. After an hour of being on the edge of our seats, situated in heavy, thick air, and being completely focused on this man, he began to tear, cry, and then he let out a blood-curdling scream that honestly, scared the shit out of everyone. 

He let out two and then began to close the performance. The character dies of course, like any great drama. My host mom and I sat in our chairs long after most of the audience had vacated. There was a lot to think about after experiencing something that simple, but at the same time, that complex. We drove back in silence and comprehension.

Today, I awoke around 11h15 and got ready to leave, as we were leaving to go to Bayeux at noon. I wasn't French today, I refused to wear a scrap of black. We were going to visit the couple who brought the amazing cakes my second or third week here.

 They're lovely, and being around them again today made me love them even more. I sucked down a cup of tea, without sugar, and off we went to see them. Outside, it was cloudy, but that is to be expected in Normandie in February, but warmer than it has been, and I was completely content in just my cardigan and scarf. Basically, I forgot my warm/rain jacket.

 We began driving and hugging all of the curves in the round-a-bouts, there are so many here, and then HA, it began raining. Oops. Buildings were beginning to pass by more frequently, and the spire of the town's cathedral was on the horizon. I began to grow excited at the thought of seeing a new place and just smiled like an idiot the whole rest of the drive. 

My host mom dropped us off in front of the cathedral and we strolled to a store front to take shelter from the rain under its awning. After letting me take what turned out to be some blurry pictures, we rounded a corner and came to some gated apartments. 

There was a parking courtyard in the middle, and the building looked like a school, go figure, it used to be one. Our friends live in a separate building that is attached by two huge wooden doors to the other buildings. Apparently, they live in what used to be the head master's/mistress's apartment. 

We were welcomed warmly inside and greeted with the standard French cheek-kisses. We stood and talked while waiting for my host mom to come meet us. I'm always shy to speak at first, I have to get my bearings and feel out the company, not to mention switch on my French-speaking brain.

Host mom came back, was greeted and then we were offered champagne and before-dinner snacks. The champagne in France is actually from Champagne and not sparkling wine, which is awesome, so I had my first glass of REAL champagne. It was delicious of course, even though it was a brut, it was still delicious, which just goes to show how wonderfully skilled the makers are. In cute, little, colorful bowls, there were various foods: wasabi chips, smoked sausage-pork-jerky things (bought from the market this morning), nuts, tiny bread sticks, and purple potato chips. Purple potato chips?

I assumed they'd been dyed or had flavoring on them, so I tasted them anyway (by the way, I am much more open to trying new foods and things here than in Texas, I think that's a practice that I'll take back with me). They were wonderful! They had a thicker, sturdier texture and the taste was much more subtle than regular chips. Apparently, explained our friend, there is a purple potato that grows in Bretagne and they make chips out of them. Interesting.

After our champagne toast, (when invited to a French person's house, I've noticed that its customary for the invitee to propose a toast to the inviter's health and happiness, how polite and awesome is that?) we sat down for the second course. In France, people eat lightly most days. Bread and tea or coffee for breakfast, salad or a bread something with a piece of fruit for lunch, a light afternoon snack of bread and cheese or more fruit with tea, and a heavier, traditional meal late in the evening. When one is invited to a meal though, there are several courses. 

The second course was chilled shrimp and bread, so yummy, I shouldn't have eaten so many of those, because the main course was HUGE. Plates piled high with a Spanish meal that was cooked with saffron and other spices came rolling out of the kitchen. 

We each had a chicken leg and thigh, an enormous helping of Spanish rice, in which there was more shrimp, spicy sausage, and muscles. It was delicious, I ate SO much. My host dad laughed and said that I was probably not used to this kind of food, and I just smiled and said that actually yes, this is very familiar. 

The husband chimed in at about that same time, remarking that since Texas is close to Mexico, I probably have this kind of food all the time. I nodded and let him finish for me, and everyone laughed. I felt special, considering I could relate something to home and share it with everyone. 

After that huge helping, we skipped the cheese course, because frankly we were out of room and needed un trou Normand (a Normand hole). This is a shot of strong, old Calvados that is drunk in between two large courses to help expand your stomach and supposedly help with digestion. Calvados is a liquor that is made from fermented apples and it is a Normand specialty.

We didn't take any shots, just some wine, and then were brought an AMAZING dessert from the same patisserie as the other two amazing cakes that they brought to our house a few weeks back. Heaven in a cake for me. It had a hazelnut crunchy base with the lightest and most wonderful chocolate mousse I've ever tasted on top of it, the icing on the cake, literally, was the chocolate shavings heaped on top. So stuffed by this point. We had coffee with dessert and then sat digesting for a bit. 

The wife teaches ancient Latin and Greek at the local high school, so she showed me the titles of the Tapestry I was about to see translated from Latin to French. She taught me how to say some of the words, and my inner grammatical enthusiast sprang forth, as I noticed that the order of the verbs and nouns were completely different and that there are no determinants in Latin, as English and French are ridden with determinants, this part was fascinating.

We then all went for a walk to the museum and they left me to explore the Tapisserie de Bayeux alone. I was glad, I like doing that kind of thing alone so that I can take as much time as I want. We took some pictures outside and we parted ways. I walked inside, je suis étudiante. I love those words, it saves me so much money! Showing her my student ID card, I payed and followed a large group into the next room. 

They gave tickets to the desk man, and I suddenly realized that the lady didn't give me anything, so I just smiled and said, elle ne m'a donnée rien. This is correct, standard French, and granted I have an accent, but none of my host family's friends have had trouble understanding me saying things in broken French, let alone correctly spoken French. The guy asked you speak English? Ugh. Yes.

He went on to speak broken English, and I just laughed in my head. I guess its polite to speak the tourist's native language, and it would have been very appreciated if I hadn't known any French, but I do. I just kept speaking in French to him, and then he asked me if I wanted an English sound device (they give you this thing that looks like a phone that tells you th story of the Tapestry, so that everyone can walk at their own pace). 

Non, en français s'il vous plaît.
French for children?
Non, en français normal.
I'm trying to learn damnit! Je comprends plus que je peut parler was all I could think, but didn't say.

I entered the dark U shaped room and began listening. The tapestry is really an embroidered storyboard that depicts the events leading up to and the events of William the Conqueror's conquest of England. It was made in the late 1000s and is close to 68ish meters long (like 240ish feet). 

It was very impressive, I walked and listened twice so that I didn't miss anything. Haley's comet is sewn in it, mythological animals, like griffins, naked people, hacked body parts, great battles, falling horses, a dying and dead king, and burning buildings are all part of the story. Like I said, quite impressive.

I then strolled the gift shop and found a post card with a good picture of the room and tapestry on it and a necklace with a Viking rune meaning generosity on it.

There were many books that I began reading, as I waited for my host mom to come get me. Honestly, I almost walked back, considering I remembered the way. Left, right, Cathedral, right. Not too difficult, but anyway, host dad and the husband came to walk me back, because host mom and the wife weren't finished with voice lessons yet.

We took a walk around and inside the cathedral. It was also magnificent. Part of the style is Baroque and part is Gothic. Lots of curly-cues and gorgeousness. My host dad described it as being dentelle pierre, stone lace, on the way to Bayeux. He was right. So after taking a million pictures of obvious and not-so-obvious things, we went back to the house, as it was getting dark.

We entered and I noticed that my host brother was watching a black and white version of Macbeth. Haha. Who would have thought that I would come all the way to France and still have Shakespeare following me around! Apparently, they are big fans and just bought the BBC collection of movies. 

The wife brought a Shakespeare analysis book to me and as I opened it, I realized that it was in French. I forgot that she doesn't know English, and considering Shakespeare invented so many English words and has such complex language, I looked at my host dad asked how one could possibly translate his work correctly. He said that people try the best they can, but Shakespeare is not really studied in France for that reason, but the friends particularly like the movies.

We then watched a bit of a new project film that my host dad is working on and had tea. The husband asked me how I liked the cathedral. Oui, je l'aime bien! Très impressionnante! "Wait, is that French word?" I asked myself aloud, then I looked to my host for some sort of confirmation. Yay! It is a French word. There are so many words that are similar to English and one just has to change the ending or tweak it in some way to make it French. I have a habit of making up English words, so I am really bad about doing it in French.

We then had salad, cheese, bread, fruit, and another type of cake. I was still full from earlier, but it was so yummy! Decaf coffee and wine sealed the night and we had to hustle out the door, because host mom had a concert to attend. We said farewells and kissed goodbye. Incredible two days, I must say.

Also, wedding invitations arrived yesterday! Exciting, except that, when I went to view my shipment confirmation, guess what I noticed. The accent circonflexe that is supposed to be over the "i" in "plaît" is missing. Grr! I had a hullabaloo of a time trying to put those accents into the program and that 
one silly accent got changed back to the normal "i," not that anyone but maybe my great-grandfather, 
officiant, or future sister-in-law will notice, but it still irks me.

A Social Weekend

Saturday morning came and I couldn't sleep in, because the family invited me to another amazing concert directed by their friend. It was held at Notre-Dame-de-la-Gloriette encore et it was la même choir as before. The music was different, Spanish this time with the organ being the only instrument played avec les voix. Impeccable. It was slower than the Middle Age concert before. It made me imagine that I was in an abbaye full of monks.

Après ça, we talked with some friends and then began walking back to the car when, as is very common here, we ran into another friend and decided to make lunch at son appartement. This guy is a philosophy teacher at the local lycée and has the typical "young model" kind of French features. 

He has dark hair, green eyes that are rather deep set (in the words of Erika regarding my sister-"sex eyes"), square jaw, very clean cut. He's one of those people at whom you catch yourself staring; not good for me, considering he talks quickly, so I get REALLY lost when he tries to ask me questions.

We bought a few foods and rounded a corner right in the middle of downtown, to find his apartment building. We ascended the five flights (Europeans and their steep stairs, sheesh) and entered the top floor. One word: charming. The roof was inconsistently shaped throughout the appartement with exposed beams and a loft for his room. 

Typical European kitchen, which translates to: every space is filled with something useful. There were heaps of drying dishes, a number of appliances, and ripening fruits taking up the left wall of the appartement and then the wall to our right opened up into a little cove. I'm not sure what it was originally intend to be, a small dining area perhaps?

The building is very old, as in a few hundred years, if you haven't gathered that already. Proceeding into the salon, a dining room table piled with beaucoup de tas of books greeted us and the roof came slanting down with a window in the middle, letting in light much like the house on Sweeny Todd. The entire apparetment has very good light. I love old buildings! 

Crypt wall paintings under the Cathedral de Bayeux

Before electricity, people actually tried to make use of the sun's and wind's orientation. Upon entering, he made my host mom and me some tea and everyone went to work making food, while I scanned the mountains of books he had piled all over the place. 

He made the salad, my host mom and I poached eggs and cooked bacon (when I say "I," I mean that I hovered and made comments). Two fun facts: 1.) French bacon is round instead of in strips 2.) if one adds a bit of vinegar to the simmering water, the eggs stick together better and there aren't as many little floating pieces of egg white left over.

Crypt ceiling painted in the 15th century

While eating, host dad and their friend began discussing the differences between Fascism and Communism and the rise of Nazis and philosophies of all sorts concerning these subjects. I suddenly felt like a stupid American sitting there. I knew what they were saying, but reminiscing on what is "appropriate" dinner talk in the US seemed so infantile compared to this. I guess it's just from Old Southern manners that say business and politics should be left to the smoking room after dinner or something to that effect. 

After lunch, they took to smoking out the window and we drank a few cups of coffee, while my host parents bragged to their friend that I am a big game hunter. He, who is quite extroverted usually, suddenly had no words at contemplating my excursions. I blushed, remarking that it is probably strange to hear of killing one's own game here, but my host dad said that it was not strange to hunt, it's strange that a woman hunts, but impressive none the less.

 I giggled and asked why, and he remarked that women stay home to make confiture (jam or jelly that is left at room temperature). Smiling, I said that I wouldn't mind learning how to make that, but that hunting and faire la viande, (cleaning/skinning/gutting and all that that entails) is much more fun.

Again, my host friend was still quite stunned at my adventures and I asked if he would ever go with me, he remarked that, no he'd stay in the kitchen to make confiture. Hehe. After listening to some Patti Smith and talking about Guns N' Roses, we parted with our friend and visited a Turkish butcher and market on the way home. Interesting experience.

The butchery was fairly normal, they cut off hunks of meat from bigger hunks of meat and weighed and packaged it like in the US. The store though smelled like cat piss, but I think it was just the mixture of different scents. There was food imported from all over the world in this place. Pickled bamboo shoots, pickled squid legs, dried peppers, random hair extensions for weaves, and every Asian spice one can think of, we needed curry. 

Arriving back at home, my host dad made choucroute and sausage from Alsace with potatoes and, of course, baguette. Choucroute is sauerkraut that has been fermented in white wine and salted. I usually HATE sauerkraut, but the way it was made was very tasty.

We had the director friend over for dinner and talked about the educational systems in the US and in France. They were blown away that one can change one's major in college and that one doesn't really have to decide what degree to work toward until around their sophomore year. (In France one has to decide which workforce one wants to join at 15 or 16.)

I slept like a rock Saturday night, waking around 10h after having some disturbing cauchemars. I fell back to sleep and had another strange, extremely vivid dream. At 11h30, I rolled out of bed and spent thirty minutes typing out my two dreams, and then I heard the front door open. Shit. I forgot we were having guests over, so I quickly dressed and emerged from my cave. I was tossed into a whirlwind of languages and new people and children running underfoot. One of the families spoke English, French, Catalan, and Spanish. Honestly, the Spanish I can hear better than French, but perhaps because I hear it everywhere in Texas.

After being caught in several awkward conversations, I wanted to shrink into the wallpaper, but alas, I stuck out a bit with my blonde hair and Victoria's Secret slippers. The woman who is actually Spanish was very vibrant, gracing us with a red overcoat that complimented her dark hair and beautiful skin perfectly. She is very extroverted and asked me several questions about my plans and the US. She gave me some inside info on how to possibly be an English teacher here, which would be an absolute dream. I'm trying to work up the nerve to talk to the English department at the university to weigh my options and learn which actions I would need to take.

We had an enormous meal of curry chicken, rice, Turkish bread, salad, cheese, dessert, coffee and tea. We also were able to watch one of my host dad's new documentaries that he just finished editing, so that was special. I love living with artists! They scootched out after the film and we all collapsed into chairs to do homework and relax, except for my host dad. He is like a tall worker bee, buzzing around being the cook and the perfect host and after everything, he whisks the dishes and everything else away, before anyone can help him. Watching him, I said that he must be exhausted from the day, and he just smiled and said no, it's his pleasure, because he enjoys having company and cooking so much.

My French brother scurried upstairs to bed after we had some fruit, because quite frankly we were all still stuffed! My French mom and I then had some tea and talked about movies and schools and the normal endless chatter that we conduct. Later, we went into the salon to ask my French dad if he wanted some tea as well, and he came across Gone with the Wind in English on the TV. French mom has always wanted to see it, so she and I watched from the point that it came on until the end. Half-way through, she asked why Rhett wants to marry Scarlett so badly. I said because she is beautiful and just a pill. "Pill?" I forget that even though we both speak English, little names and colloquial understandings are different between the different English variations.

By the end, it was nearly one in the morning and I showered and hit the sack. May I say that it is inhumane to wake up so early in France, borderline sinful. After listening to some presentations about l'Académie française, the evolution of tu and vous, and the stats of the French language, we were released. (My presentation over regional languages is next week, eek.) I was planning on going home, but was invited by a new friend from Wisconsin to go get a snack in centre-ville. On our way to the tram station I saw a college guy who looked like a legit Viking. We are talking long, light-blonde hair, very tall and thin, long face, small features, and that distinct porcelain skin color found in Northern Europe. I realize that I describe people's features on here all of the time, I'm really not obsessed with looks, I'm obsessed with genetics. The distribution and emergence of different features is fascinating to me and everyone over here looks much different than the the people in the US. We headed toward Paul's, but being Monday morning, and the French having a very different outlook on money and business outside of Paris, of course it wasn't open. 

She suggested 101, which is a café that I have passed often, but had never ventured inside. It's gorgeous. Period. Modern type of gorgeous though with slick lines, black everything, large red flowers in the window and black and white leather furniture. Something else to put on my long list of French loves, when one orders tea, the waiter's question is not "sweet or unsweet." Here, they ask what kind and either provide a menu or their cache is so large, there is no need to ask for types. I ordered thé du jasmin et des ananas that were calling my name. She ordered a cappuccino and chocolate mousse. We mounted the stairs to the third story and chose a seat near the windows.

Presentation is everything here. Ordering tea, one can always expect a miniature teapot filled with near boiling water, a tea bag in or out of the pot, a small teacup, un petit quelque chose comme un biscuit, a cookie, or a chocolate, plus sugar packets, et une petite cuillère sized to fit the teacup. I'm a sucker for charming presentation, if you haven't noticed. Coffee (espresso) is served on a saucer with the same type of set up, and it's ALL cheaper than Starbucks.
  

Afterward I went home and had lunch with my French mom. We talked about politics and why she and her husband decided to live in France, because I am feeling very torn between countries and cultures right now. She said that they had planned to live in Australia, but after being there for a year, trying to find artist work for both of them was difficult (Australia is much like the US in terms of free enterprise and money's importance) as well as that she didn't feel at home there. She said the social sense of the government and people in France is something that she fell in love with, and had never felt in Australia, so they moved back and fly to see her family every so often.

We spoke a lot about the concept of hard work being the "only" thing that helps people be successful, the myth that poor people are poor because they're lazy or ignorant, and the views on money here as opposed to the views of money in the US or Australia. I've noticed that people do not often judge the homeless here or the people who ask for money on the street. 

Almost every time I go out with my French dad, someone walks up to him asking for money and he always gives them at least something sans judgement, sans une nique, no condescension, often with a smile, and on we march. It really struck me the first time I saw him do this, and I commented about it to my French mom, she said that the mentality about people who are down on their luck is obviously different here.

Maybe it has to do with the system in which we live. The US is rather dog-eat-dog in the work force, one can be hired and fired in the same day at the boss's discretion and life events are not taken into consideration. We have a very laissez-faire system, which ironically is a French term. Their government, socialist it may be, taxes big corporation in order to fund things like daycare and health care. Granted it's on a small scale, France is roughly the geographical size of Texas, but as a student here, I don't pay near the tuition that I pay in the US, I can go to many museums, art shows, and concerts for free, get reduced train fare and transportation fare. 

The public transportation is phenomenally convenient. It's a lot easier to be poor here is all. Taxes are based on how much one earns per year, with a service and goods tax of 19% which seems high, but it's already included. No getting to the counter and hoping that you have enough money to cover sales tax and avoid the humiliation of not having enough, therefore being obligated to put something back on the shelf.

I was also warned by several people that the French don't like Americans. I had a rather deep conversation about that with my French mom and with other friends of the family's. They love American music and films, they find our loud and expressive ways endearing, and our sense of pop culture is very appealing to them. Of course I don't speak for everyone, this is just my experience thus far, as are the observations on differing governmental and social styles. Like I said, torn. I love Texas and the US, don't get me wrong, but living in this culture is incredibly enlightening.

Anyway, I went to my medical visit, which went well. She asked questions about family history, took weight, height, etc. It was a physical pretty much. She listened to my heart and pushed on all of my lymph nodes, which tickled terribly and I burst into laughter, which was apparently contagious :)

I went to the last few minutes of class and got on the train. It was packed. I had to take the second train that came along, because they were all like that. I pushed my way on and my boobs were practically cupping the back of some woman's head, the person behind me was flat against my back and when the train swayed and braked, no one really moved from their place.

I began laughing so hard at the sight and the discomfort of popped bubbles. A few other people laughed too, which is something that I did not expect. People can be rather cold and closed off on the street or tram here. They often don't smile or wave and idle chatter to break an awkward silence usually doesn't happen either.

I finally arrived back at the house and have just found out that my doors in my room are being replaced tomorrow morning! YAY!

Franglish

Seriously, I'm having a hard time differentiating entre les deux langues, as a result, I will be documenting henceforth without translating. My brain can only take so much translation at this point.

Well, it has been cold, cloudy, and rainy most of the week and coffee has kept me awake during classes. Seriously, I have so many classes which drag on for hours on end. They feel as though they are never-ending! My consolation though, bien sur, is that I am in France. I'm accomplishing a dream and am enjoying every minute, regardless of my grumbling tendencies on here. There has been some wedding drama this week. I emailed our venue owner (who is also our caterer) about decorations and flowers, and our entire menu ended up being changed!

It worked out to our advantage none the less, yay for us, because that means more delicious grub. I'm still working out the program and guest favor details, BUT the invitations have been ordered and my almost-husband found us a DJ! Two enormous checks off of our to-do list, with quite a few left to go. I found a flower place, but can't email, so momma will have to help avec ça. Basically, all of the fairy, glittery details are what we have left to handle. Sprinkles!

Class. Oh class. Still feel like an idiot, but less and less of an idiot everyday, so that's promising. I have my medical exam for my French visa on Monday, apparently we don't have to get naked unwarned this time, awesome. After receiving our final stamp from the docs, we are allowed to leave the country and regain access. Really the only place that I want to visit outside of France during this trip is London. I'd DIE to go to Ireland and Scotland, but I want to go hiking and do outdoorsy activities there. Translation? I want to go with my man. 


Speaking of London, my return flight leaves from Heathrow, right? Well, I haven't thought too much about the logistics, because I have time to figure it out. I do not do well when I put stressful things on the back burner, because I tend to forget about them and they boil over. This subject boiled over a few nights ago and I about had a meltdown. Dilemma? Flight leaves at 12:30 PM. How do I get to the airport in time? 

After running through the possibilities of taking a train to Paris and traversing the RER again with cinder-blocks-worth of luggage, taking a flight to Heathrow, getting my checked bag in time, and getting onto my appropriate flight, my face was drained of color and my stomach was half-way up my esophagus, not to mention that would mean probably having to stay the night in Paris or just having an incredibly stressful day, comme my arrival. Another possibility is taking the train to Paris, hopping only once onto the RER, taking a train to London, staying the night in London, and making it to Heathrow on time. This option sounded much more appealing, but still stressful. Research, research. It saved me.


Yotel. I hadn't heard of it, and apparently it is only in a few airports in the world. In the international terminal, there is a hotel with rooms that are a few metres by a few metres with an en suite bathroom. It is rent-able by the hour after 4 hours and specifically designed for people with my dilemma. Like I said SAVED. After my arrival day, if I can help it, I never want to go through that kind of traveling again, if that means more money for a hotel or more time for less hurry, I welcome the solutions. 


One day for train and metro travel+ a full night's rest+ one day of long flight=a bride who will still have hair on her wedding day.


With that solved, I began realizing that I am in France. Traveling and seeing other things and places are high on my to-do list. I've been so taken by culture shock, difficult classes, a new language, and above all fear, I had almost forgotten that I am here for more than just grades. If you know me, you know that schoolwork is top priority, no slacking, nothing comes above hard work. This is turning out to be difficult to release here, but then again, our grades are based solely on final exams and oral expositions. All of these classes will directly effect my GPA, so of course I can't blow off the classes, but I want to explore damnit! 


Honestly, I think that I have been expecting someone to invite me to tag along with them to other cities and sights, but in actuality, this has never been my style. Fear of new places and people have really effected my trip and now that I am conscious of this fact, I frankly need to get over myself. With this energized thought in mind, I began researching cities that aren't too far from Caen (after a certain distance, train ticket prices sky-rocket). Paris and London are high on my tourist list, like everyone else's in the Western hemisphere, but I want to see those over my spring break, because there is just too much to do over a weekend.


Pondering my choices, I've decided that Rouen is a priority. I am a history nerd and I love museums and art, bit of a cliché, I know, but Joan of Arc was burned at the stake in Rouen, she was also held prisoner in the castle's dungeon. Fun fact about moi, Jeanne d'Arc is one of my favorite historical characters, along with Cleopatra, Lizzie the First, Monet, le Marquis de Sade, Le Roi Soleil, and Marie Antoinette. Not to mention that my great-grandfather has traced my Cajun roots to Rouen, so that will be special also. 

The other city which I must see before I leave is Nantes. I love the history of Bretagne and Nantes was THE port around the time before and during the French Revolution. There are some amazing sites there and I need to get a feel for the city. I confess that I write for fun, as in stories, poetry, blah, blah, desperate starving artist garb, and Nantes is the setting for a current piece. 

Not that I will ever be finished with it :) Plus there's a giant, mechanical elephant on an island, in the middle of the river, in the middle of downtown that one can ride and enjoy a drink in its stomach-bar. Pretty sweet. 


My confidence in finding my way around, learning and using the language, and recognizing foreign mannerisms are increasing, I think. When I write that, the memory of my Global Simulation class leaps to mind, in which our professor tries to instill a broader use of vocabulary in our speech by creating and describing a character. 

I explained this assignment in my last blog, je crois. One such istance happened this week, when she asked how our personnage carries herself/himself. Awkward silence. Avec confiance? I felt myself say, without thinking of the consequences. Oui! Bien sur! Avec confiance, viens! Marches avec confiance! (I have a very animated teacher in this class.) Vraiment? Really? Oh dear, thank God I wore make-up that day, so I was forced to get up and walk with an air of confidence, like my personnage. Sticking my nose in the air and comically trying to act like an arrogant prick, I sauntered in front of the class, giggling under my breath.


I sat down and my friend whispers, it's not fair, you used to model. I laughed and just shook my head, again, not good with compliments. After that embarrassment, I needed more coffee. (Seriously, caffeine addict.) 


Today, after a torturous grammar class, in which I cursed aloud from confusion-it just happened (only a few people know American curses anyway, and they were all thinking the same thing), a friend and I tried to take some tea at Memoranda, but there was a luncheon or something, so we just went to Paul's. I'll never be able to eat quiche Lorraine in the States again, just saying. We then walked back through the castle to campus and the tram stop. 

I hopped on to go home, but with the sunny day, I relaxed a bit and felt as though I was wasting the precious gift that is Normand sunlight, so I shed my heavy coat and dressed in all black plus jeans to go to the museum of Normandie by the castle. I'm so sick of wearing black! Yes, I blend in with the locals and it makes everyone look thin so I welcome it, but after almost a month, can you say snoozified? I'm going to a concert with my host family tomorrow, and guess what, I'll look like an American, BECAUSE I MISS COLOR. Hopefully, with rising temperatures comes rising color ratio in wardrobe palettes, but I'm probably investing in false hope. 


I walked to the castle and followed the signs to the museum entrance. Bonjour, je suis étudiante. I LOVE that being a student makes so many things free or conveniently cheap in France, all over Europe really. They understand that we are poor and need to learn from the museums and art galleries just as much as everyone else :)


He entered my information and aside from a single man and a pair of women, I was the only other tourist in the place. The museum is laid out by era, beginning with early man and stone tools found in the region, followed by Gaul, Bronze Age, Romans, Vikings, and so on. I really enjoyed it.


I always find things like jewelry, decorated pottery and glass, and weapons to be more interesting than tools and necessities, because they aren't necessary, weren't necessary, and yet the distinctions between class and the ornamentation of one's self was as real a part of life then, as it is now. 

After that educating experience, I went for a walk around the castle and took some pictures with the sun. It is quite depressing when it is grey here, but when the sun comes out, it truly is magical. I am always reminded as to why impressionism was born here.

Catalan and Latin

In Caen on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday mornings there are always open markets somewhere in the city, and one happens to be very close to my host house. My host dad and brother and I all walked down to the market (after a much needed well night's rest) and bought cheese. Lots of cheese. We had two guests last night who are teachers in a preparatory high school in Bayeux. One teaches French literature, among other things, and one teaches ancient Greek and Latin. That wasn't intimidating, considering I want to be a French teacher.

Despite my fears, they arrived and were too sweet. The wife is very soft-spoken and constantly smiles, which to someone who possesses these characteristics too, that was a relieving sign. She asked about where I was from, what I wanted to study, why I was in France, the normal questions most people ask me here. I began tripping over my words and tried not to get flustered. She just smiled and patiently waited for me to spit out my words. After a while, and a glass or two of wine, I was able to find my words much easier, or I just didn't care enough if I got something wrong, not sure which was more accurate.

 After my host mom got home, the men went into the kitchen to make the fondue, and we women sat in the salon gabbing and giggling. A noxious aroma suddenly filled the air, which gave way to a delicious, more subtle smell that suddenly made me feel famished. We sat at the table and began digging into the fondue pot. Fondue here is not like in the US, like most of the food. It is two parts French cheese and one part swiss cheese with a white wine base and some spices. It was ridiculously delicious. After that heavy portion, we had a salad with homemade vinaigrette.

We sat and chatted a bit more, talking about etymology of languages and accents. The husband's first language is Catalan, which I've read about, but have never heard, so after some begging, he acquiesced and recited a few proverbs. It's beautiful; it sounds like music. It's like two parts French and one part Spanish, with the tongue rolling "R" instead of the throaty French "R." I don't know how many languages this man speaks, but the few English words I heard him say were very clear.

During desert, which was an amazing display of a pistachio, mousse type cake and a coffee and chocolate flavored mousse type cake, with a desert wine from the Loire Valley, we began discussing language acquisition and they both complemented my French accent, which made me blush of course. Compliments are appreciated, but they tend to make me uncomfortable. I'm weird.

We had tea after that, and the couple left. Soirée durations are much longer here, because of all of the courses and visiting, it's nice. 


Today, we got up and went to the open market to buy fruits and vegetables. This market is the biggest one of the weekend, and causes the downtown streets to be shut down for all of the people and carts. We ran into a family friend and then my host mom ran up to us after parking the car. She had bought some fried egg roll things that had chicken, shrimp, or veggies in them. They were actually really good! She handed them out laughing, saying that she usually hates things that are so fried, but smelled them and was drawn like a moth.

We then congregated at a café and had thé à la menthe with fresh mint leaves. MMM. We then drove for a good 30 minutes through the country and arrived at Saint-Aubin-Sur-Mer. The drive was typically Normand and beautiful, minus the rain. 


I must say, writing in English is growing to be incredibly difficult. My entries will probably grow shorter, with less flowery language. I may end up just writing in French. I'm in a weird language limbo à ce moment là. 

Treading

Bonjour à tous!


I've been occupied by the feeling of drowning this week, hence my lack of posts. This week has been a stressful, overwhelming blur that I did not expect. 19 hours. I haven't taken 19 hours at an American university, let alone thought about taking that many hours in French. These classes are like any other classes one would take in the US, but in a foreign language. Needless to say, I was battling homesickness pretty badly all week.


It has also been incessantly cloudy. I am from Texas, the sun is a staple for my sanity and not having it for a week has been absolutely miserable. A few other women in my group have had much worse homesickness than me, considering neither of them are French majors and came here for a normal study abroad, lightly paced program where they'd have the chance to travel and socialize more often. We found out this week that this program is NOT the case. Granted, I'm content with it, the first week is over and I know that I'll adjust, especially with the encouraging words from my honey and family. 


Sociology and media of language, etymology of French, grammar and structure, global simulation, and written and oral expression are a few of my classes. All of them are at different times and all of the rooms and times were changed at some point this week. Ugh. Yesterday though, the global simulation class was pretty awesome. The teacher is one of those crazies who is really expressive and funny, so she made class bearable. 

We also spent the class period creating a character. Exciting, considering I love to write and all that that entails. She wrote a grid on the board with two columns labeled les hommes et les femmes (men and women). The rows then, corresponded by age groups beginning with 20-25 and going up to +65. She explained that there is only one name per box and practically threw markers at us and ran. Thank God I came in late and was sitting on the end, because guess who got the 20-25 year old woman? Hehe.

From this, she had us create a name, birthday, birth city, mannerisms, ticks, family situations, and other personality traits for our French character. Then she explained that we will be writing from this person's point of view all semester. That class is three hours straight, so I ran down the hallway during our break to get some coffee. (I love France, there are more coffee vending machines than bottle or can vending machines.) At that point, I would have injected the caffeine, just to keep up with our professor, she talks so quickly. 

We left that class in good spirits, but then arrived at our literature class. Granted, I love literature, but when your teacher is deathly ill, as in her eyes are watering from her sinuses and she barely has a voice and there are too many of us in a little, stuffy room, no one likes literature. After suffering 2 hours there, we went to written expression and left completely deflated from that class too. 


A mountain of things I miss and the frustrations of having such a trying and arduous day came crashing down on top of me. I came through the door to my new home and just wanted to crash. I didn't though. My host mom came back on Wednesday night from her theater tour and brought back delicious 73% cacao chocolate for me and for the family. 

Mine is infused with Earl Grey flowers and the family's is infused with orange and clove. MMM. We had lentils with sausages from Alsace, which made me feel tremendously better. It tasted like a normal meal I would have at one of my parents' houses, so it was incredibly comforting. 


Today, I had to wake up before the birds and leave while the rest of the family was having breakfast, and I was still late. Still. It was at 8 AM. A few entries ago I explained that if you're late in American time, your perfectly safe in French time. Ha. The one punctual professor I have this semester, and she teaches a class at 8 in the morning. Joy. 

One consultation though, is that it's two straight hours of grammar, which sounds tortuous, as in cruel and unusual punishment, but I actually enjoyed it. Perhaps it is because grammar is the one class in which I do not feel like a completely moronic imbecile. 


To "make-up" for coming into class late, I began answering questions about word natures and functions, why the same pronoun word is used for different functions, explaining the difference between direct and indirect objects, and then I realized that I was the only one answering. I couldn't help it, the professor is an adorable elderly woman who kept looking to me for the answers. Everyone else looked at me like I was from another planet or like I was Hermione from Harry Potter. 

I kind of just slunk into my chair a bit and tried to let other people answer, but no one else had any idea what she was talking about and she kept LOOKING at me, damnit. So I just kept answering, because I am rather tired of awkward silences in my classes. At this point, I will answer when I know that I am wrong, just to make the teacher move on to the next subject. 

Leaving class, feeling as though I might actually be able to catch my breath and keep my head above water this semester, I walked into the sunlight smiling. Oh the sun. I missed him dearly. While waiting at the tram station around 10:30, I realized that I really wanted some coffee and bread from Paul's, so I ignored the incoming tram and crossed the street to the castle. 

Walking the pedestrian path through a castle is not something people get to do everyday anyway, so I took that way to centre-ville. Wandering down the streets, I actually remembered where Rue Froide begins, and went to the recycled book store that I mention a few entries ago. 

La Memoranda Librarie Caen, France

No tea, I just browsed the books and came across a special edition historical magazine that covers Marie Antoinette (my favorite historical character) and a relatively short novel about the natural world. After leaving that store, I was overcome by intense hunger, so headed back from my detour and arrived at Paul's. He gave me a double espresso which REALLY helped my happiness at that point, and I decided that shopping would be fun, considering all of the shopping I've done has been rushed or not very fruitful. I actually knew where I was going today!


I've gotten the feel for the city and the orientation. Not to mention, I've made several ventures alone, just to explore and force myself to figure out where I am located, and may I say that being lost is a good way to find oneself, in more than one sense. Being lost on foot in a foreign country is exhilarating, in that once you figure out where you are and are able to find your way back to something familiar, the sense of accomplishment is worth the scariness of being lost. 

Two other women came with me on Tuesday, because I told them that I was going to Paul's and they hadn't been yet. We began walking and they asked where we were. When I said, "Oh, I don't know. I'm just walking until I find it." Their eyes grew to the size of saucers. 

"You don't know where we are? I thought you knew where Paul's was!"
"Yea, but I found it by getting lost the last time I went, don't worry, we don't have to be in class for like 2 hours." 
It was funny, a few years ago I would have been the mousy, fearful one. 


Today I found some boots that were on sale, a scarf, a shirt, and wedding stuff. Speaking of wedding stuff, wedding thoughts kept me from sleeping last night. I probably fell asleep two hours before my alarm clock sounded, but I'm beginning to get excited. Day dreams of the reception area, and getting ready with my ladies, and of course seeing my man at the end of the aisle have been sappily washing around my mind's eye for the last two days. 

Before I left, it seemed like it was so far away, but now, thinking about getting home, it'll be two weeks after I step off the plane. Ugh, I'm starting to get squishy and bubbly about wedding nonsense. Even though I wanted to elope, our day is going to be a blast and a wonderful memory. I can't wait!


Well, my host family should be home soon and I have some homework. Big surprise there. Oh! Before I sign off, another interesting observation that I've made while in France is that there are no toilet seats. Anywhere. There's one in my host house, but otherwise, zilch. French women must have strong legs. Also, the toilet paper is pink. Except at the amazingly decorated house of the child psychiatrist (her's had little blue designs on it), all of the toilet paper is pink! It makes me giggle a little every time I go into a W.C.


On that lovely note, au revoir.