Two Weeks Down, Sixteen to Go

I was reflecting on the past fourteen days in France, and I wanted to record what I had learned, as of right now, so that in a couple months I can look back and see how little I knew.

1. French men spend more time on their hair and their outfits than any self-respecting American man would ever dream of, and the French men always try to act like they just rolled out of bed looking that way.  Accept that they are high-maintenance.

2. Cobblestones and heels do not mix well.  I don't know what the Romans were thinking when they laid out those first uneven rocks, but I can tell you what they were not thinking of: the ankles of the future generations of stiletto-ed women.

3. It is hard to beat a sunny day and a warm baguette.

4. Enthusiasm is never a reason to raise your voice in public.  Only when they are angry will the French stoop to shouting.

5. French mothers walk their children to school everyday, which they accomplish without even a hint of a sweatshirt or ponytail.

6.  French men will stare at blondes.  It doesn't matter how pretty they are or aren't, who they are with or what they are wearing, they will always get attention.  

7. When in doubt, choose black.  It doesn't matter if it is sunny, rainy, windy, morning or evening; black is always accepted.   

8. And pertaining to the note above, if you have to wear color, make sure that the article is at least made by a moderately well-known designer.  The French will forgive you for wearing color when its Louis Vuitton. 

9. Baguettes are only good for eating on the day they are purchased.  After that they become weapons of mass destruction, specifically, to your teeth.

10.  You must grow up in France to understand the inherent reason for a bidet.

11.  Smiling is one of the first ways foreigners are pegged as foreigners.  You can have a terrible accent, an even worse sense of style, but it is the smiling that will give you away.

12.  If they find out you are American one of two things will happen: 1) if you are talking to a man, they will automatically be more friendly, and, 2) if you are talking to a woman, she will first be surprised that you are not overweight or wearing a sweatshirt, and then she will tell you that her favorite show is Sex and the City. 

13.   American culture is everywhere.  Its on the radio, on television, on advertisements, in magazines, and in newspapers.  You cannot hide from it.

14. If a French person asks your opinion about Obama as president, follow these three steps: first, always assume that they have read more about his policies than you have because 90% of the time it will be true.  Secondly, ask their own opinion on the topic.  If your opinions differ you will be caught in a deluge of French that you have never heard and barely understand.  Thirdly, (if you aren't very supportive) be very positive.  Something like, "Well its really the start of a new era for American politics, isn't it?" And, if you are supportive, be overwhelmingly excited (while keeping your voice at a calm monotone, see #4), because the person you are talking to supports Obama and will be happy that you agree.

15. French people don't hate Americans.  They only hate American politics, manners, style, language, laws, ethics, food, and the former president.

Well, I think that is close to all of my knowledge that I have so far gained from this trip, besides the inner workings of the French bureaucracy.  I will continue to keep you updated on my findings.

Elise

Just some pictures from the day.

Arles et Les Baux

Today, I was lucky enough to join in on a day trip that my university puts on for its international students.  The only thing I had to do was show up, which, at eight-thirty in the morning, is more difficult than it sounds.  I was a little afraid at first because I literally knew no one when I got to the Office de Tourisme, but right as we were filing on the bus, a lovely Danish girl invited me to sit by her.  She had somewhat selfish reasons for asking me to sit by her, the reasons being that she knew four other Danish girls on the trip and it was too easy for her to only speak in Danish the entire time, so she had invited me to sit by her so that we would only speak French.  I must confess that I was quite happy that she had selfish reasons for asking me to sit by her because I had overheard a few Americans further back in line, and it would have been too easy for me to sit by them and speak English all day long.  

So it was a lovely hour long ride (all in French, of course) to our first destination of Arles.  I've actually visited Arles and Les Baux before, but this time it was more fun to be learning everything in French.  The pictures that I posted above of the ampitheatre, the yellow house, and a few others are all of Arles.  Its a beautiful town, and the Rhone flows through it which makes it even more interesting.  It is also well-known because Vincent Van Gogh spent most of his time painting in Arles.  The yellow house is where he lived until he died.  There are posters and postcards everywhere with Starry Night and Le Cafe.

Our next stop was one of my favorite places, Les Baux.  Its a very odd town because it is, for one, tiny, and two, its built into this old fortress that sits above a valley.  Everything is built into the stone.  The fortress dates from around the 11th century.  I love this area because it represents the true Provence.  Provence is known for its lavender, soap, and olive oil, all of which you can buy in Les Baux.  Its a beautiful area that overlooks little farms tucked into the sides of the rocky slopes of the fortress.  Overall, it was one of the most satisfying days I have had so far especially since I spoke in French for the entire day.  Its amazing the difference it makes. 

Thank you for the notes and emails!  Keep them coming!

Elise

Sunsets and confusion

So this is the beautiful, sunset view from my window.  I had a very leisurely day in Aix.  We finally have beautiful, typical southern weather.  I spent most of the day figuring out where to find a small English bookshop in the downtown area of Aix.  It was a lovely store and has one of the first coffee shops I have seen in France (besides the Starbucks in Paris, but those don't really count).  I was able to sit with a cafe creme and a magazine for a few hours in one of the corners of the shop.  It could become my new favorite place because it is within walking distance (in good weather) of my dorm, and the proprietors, although English, speak in French to the patrons which means they can guess what I'm trying to say when I mess up in French, which happens all too often.

Right now I'm trying to fill my days with wandering the city before classes get going.  I have an oral exam tomorrow that will tell me my level of French from which I will be able to register for classes.  I am getting antsy to begin because it is difficult to meet people outside of class, and I'm getting to the point where entertaining myself day in and day out is losing its appeal.  

I did have quite the experience today when I received an email from Amira, the person in charge of international students here in Aix, that stated that I would be moving out of my room today.  I received it at 3:30, and not only was it the first I had heard about moving rooms, it wasn't even sent to me directly.  It was first sent to Whitworth and then to me which added to the confusion.  So right now I am trying to figure out whether or not I am moving.  This experience is furthering my belief that not only do you have to drag information out of the French, but they may be trying to purposely keep it from you.  I think its probably a game they learn in elementary school just like hop-scotch, although this is called "How to keep them guessing".

I also found out that the picture I had previously posted, the one of the street lined with trees and what looks like a giant bush, has more to it than I first realized.  The "bush" is actually a very, very old fountain that spews hot water from the warm spring that lies under the city.  It is covered in moss all year round and is always pouring out hot water.  For centuries it was the only source of naturally warm water for the city.  I had taken this picture because I love the area surrounding it, but now it has even more meaning given the history behind the bush.  Only in France can you take a random picture and then find out that its not random at all but instead has centuries of history behind it.  

Until next time and perhaps from a different room,

Elise

  

Pictures of my last days in Paris

So one of the pictures is of me standing on one of the bridges in Paris, overlooking the Seine.  We went to the Louvre that day which is across the river from where William lives.  

The second picture is of Will in Vernon.  It was this tiny town that we spent the

 morning wandering around.  I don't think you can tell from the picture but the buildings

 were all leaning on each other.  It was a

 precarious looking street, and it looked so typically French countryside that I had to take a picture. 

The third picture is of me in front of the TGV train that Will and I took from Paris to Aix.  I took this because I thought my dad would want to see the train.  It goes up to three hundred miles an hour and is arguably the best way to travel around France. 

 

Note to self: France is closed on Sundays

Well so far my stay in Aix has been somewhat uneventful besides the general annoyances with the bureaucratic regime of residence halls.  Today, I was happy to find that although the French tend to not care too much about space or the lack thereof, they do enjoy parks.  There is a lovely park right done the street from my residence hall that had benches and pathways all around it.  It was fairly large, and I am very glad it was because I found out that Sundays are the days to go to the parks.  There were people everywhere with their children on bikes or roller skates.  There were also what can only be described as French hippies with music playing and a ton of games and tricks going on that each dread-locked member seemed to be quite adept at.  So I spent my lunchtime in the sun (the first that I have seen since coming to France) and watching the general relaxation of the other park-goers.

I also found out today that everything, everything in France shuts down on Sundays.  I have no idea why given the country is self-declared a-religious.  But it seems that the French do love their weekends so I guess this is just a good way of making the most of it.  The Australian girl that lives next to me invited me to go find a cafe with her for dinner, but after standing at the bus stop for about a half hour we realized it wasn't coming.  After asking a passer-by, we found out that nothing runs on Sundays.  Good to know for the future.  Get everything you need on Saturday so you can hunker down and do nothing on Sunday with the rest of the country.

I do admire them though.  Americans never stop.  Everything is open, every day of the week, and we get annoyed if they aren't open.  I wonder if we wouldn't pay less for our anti-anxiety medicine if we were absolutely forced to sit down in a park on Sundays.  It would be an interesting experiment to try.  

Well, it seems that the French have decided it does work so I need to remember to grab an extra baguette on Saturday.

Elise

Pictures of Aix

 This is the view from the window of my dorm.  The second picture is a photo of a street in downtown Aix.  The last picture is of one of the building fronts in the older part of the city.  You can click on any of the pictures to enlarge them.

This is a picture of one of the fountains in the center of town.  Aix is known as the city of fountains and I believe it as there is one on every corner.  I wonder if Seattle shouldn't be named the city of Starbucks.  The town is very beautiful, and it is built somewhat in the same style of Paris. There are large etoiles (literally stars, but in this sense they are points in the city from which six or seven streets start from and so if seen from above they look like stars) so you cannot follow certain streets to get to different areas because they will most likely dead end and you'll have to start all over again.  Most of the etoiles begin around large fountains like this one.  This is the Rotonde Mirabeau which is a short bus ride from the university.

If they can get it done in one phone call, why not try three?

I finally made it into Aix-en-Provence, my final destination.  Will and I took the TGV from Paris to Aix which was a very fun experience.  The trains are well kept and never cross any roads, anywhere so there have never been any accidental deaths due to the trains.  I thought this was especially smart of the French.

My admiration was quickly forgotten once I had made it to campus and discovered that the French tend not to be concerned about efficiency.  We got to my grouping of dorms where the information office gave us a piece of paper and then told us we have to walk across campus to pay for the rent.  Why couldn't they take payments there?  I'm still not sure.  There was a slight miscommunication about my rent which translated into countless phone calls, information that I was never given or told about, and quite a lot of time walking back and forth from the dorm office to the payment center.  To top it all off, it was raining, hard, all day long which I was told rarely happens in Aix, but I guess we just got lucky.

And so, wet, tired, and beginning to understand the inner workings of French bureaucracies, Will and I finally made it to my dorm room.  Which was another learning experience altogether.  There is a sink in my room with two faucets, one hot, one cold.  This did not seem so odd until I turned it on and realized that I will never have lukewarm water, it will always be ice cold or dangerously hot.  So I'm going to have to figure out how to juggle between the two so as not to get seriously scalded.  

Also strange, the French have an apparent fear of drawers.  There are no drawers, just open shelves, everywhere.

Another interesting factoid.  The bathrooms are down the hall.  The toilet paper, you have to buy on your own, and the sinks are in your room.  So using the bathroom is quite the journey: grab the toilet paper, in preferably a less obvious way than just the roll, go to the bathroom, go back to your room to wash your hands.  Its exhausting!

There are a couple redeeming factors of my room: I have a perfect view of downtown Aix from my window, for a single, the room is somewhat spacious, and it has a mirror and and fridge, both of which I was not expecting.

Will and I then wandered down to the newer part of town which has a Monoprix, kind of like a Target but with better grocery options, an H&M, and a very lovely fountain which made me very happy.

It will be an adjustment, one which I'm sure will take some time, and like the French, quite a few phone calls.

Elise

Here is another lovely one in the Champ de Mars, the park in front of the Eiffel Tower.  That's me on the right in the saucy fedora and Will on the left.

Sorry about having so few pictures on my blog.  I didn't take my camera with me to very many places because my batteries were dying quickly and I had more somewhere in the mess of my baggage.  Luckily, Will was smart enough to grab his and we got some good shots.  This is us on a freezing cold night at Montmartre in front of Sacre-Coeur which is a beautiful white marble cathedral that sits on top of a hill in Paris that overlooks the city.  After this chilly site-seeing, we found a lovely cafe which had a jazz duo playing music for the patrons.  Will and I sat down for a while to defrost, listen to some wonderful jazz, and sip on an irish coffee.  That was one of the moments that I really wished my family could have experienced with me.  It was everything we could enjoy together.

Below is my personal version of my favorite statue, Winged Victory, in the Louvre.

She asked, "Can I help you?"; I answered, "Bonjour."

Will and I spent my last day in Paris doing what we tend to do best, shop.  We spent most of the day trying to wake up and grabbing a crepe at what is supposedly Paris' best creperie.  We then headed to the Opera district which is a very touristy but very, very beautiful area of Paris.  It decided to rain on us for the majority of the day, but we braved the weather to wander throughout the Tuileries one last time before heading to the shopping district.  

Les Galeries Lafayette is one of the most beautiful malls in the world.  The ceiling is made up entirely of stained glass and metal work so as you wander through Prada, D&G, Gucci, and Dior, there is a soft light engulfing you and the other shoppers.  It has such a calming effect that it wouldn't be surprising if someone one day found that women tended to buy more in that mall than anywhere else on earth.  I myself had to use all my self-control to stop from grabbing something, especially since it is the season of sales in Paris.

The season of sales happens twice a year: once in January and once in July.  It is the time when all of the merchandise in every store is drastically marked down so that they can make room for the new season of clothing.  It is an amazing thing to think about really given in America we have sales just because its Boxing Day, Saint Patricks Day, or some dead guys birthday.  

Needless to say, it was a beautiful atmosphere for browsing the sales.  However, while I was caught up looking at a particularly beautiful scarf, one of the shop women came up to Will and I and asked me, in French, if she could help us.  I, for some unknown reason, answered, "Bonjour," and then turned and kept playing with the scarf.  Will then had to step in and explain that I didn't understand what was going on as the lady gave him an all to understanding look and walked away.  

It was a horrifying moment, but one of what I believe will be hundreds of stupid episodes just as, if not more, embarrassing than that.

Afterwards, we met up with a couple of Will's American friends in the Le Marais, which is one of the oldest and most quaint areas of Paris, for dinner.  We had a savory dinner that was tainted only by the fact that the waiter was absolutely terrible, one of the many reasons why you do not have to tip in France.

We then wandered over to the Ile-Saint-Louis which is the smaller of the two islands in the Seine, for what Will's friend explained to be the best gelato in France.  It turned out that it was the best gelato I have ever eaten.  I am constantly amazed because it often happens that the most famous crepes, gelato, and coffee are to be found not at overpriced restaurants in the most auspicious quarters, but at tiny stands in little corners of the Latin quarter.  Its one of the many lovely differences that France boasts.

Well, my time in Paris is over, and my adventure in Aix is about to begin!  Wish me luck, because I fear I will be answering quite a few more questions with "Bonjour".

Elise

Patriotism or some form of It

Well, to say my last days in Paris were surreal is nearly correct.  Will and I tried to be patriotic by going to a theatre in the sixteenth arrondisement that was projecting the inaugural speech on a large canvas.  We made it to the place but not only was Obama's voice dubbed in French, there must have been at least five hundred people crammed into the space, all pushing and prodding each other to get nearer to the screen.

As Will and I were nearly crammed into the bathroom, and because I was beginning to sense that the room was quickly becoming a fire hazard, a few of his friends and I found a small pub and had a drink in the name of freedom.  I suppose it could have been considered an expats duty to think of their country on such a renown day, but it seemed that the French had more interest anyway, so we left them to their "Obama in French" and had a magarita instead.

It is interesting because while I was in the Louvre, I met a lovely frenchman who quickly explained to me that Obama is stepping into quite the mess in the States, what with the unemployment rising, the imminent death of our car companies, and the regular upheaval following a turn in the economy.  Had I known the words in French, I would have asked him which of those issues France hadn't been juggling for the past twenty years.  Its a good thing for him that my vocabulary is grossly limited when it comes to... well everything.

Another interesting thing I discovered while wandering the streets of Paris is that French police are in a word all bark and no bite.  They wander around in threes and fours, armed with scowls and disdainful looks, and yet have been given barely enough power to give someone a ticket.  

Will is lucky enough to live right down the street from a police station in which there are always five or six officers standing in the entrance either smoking, drinking coffee, or chattering about some fascinating subject.  They seem to have quite a bit of time on their hands.  I guess that Will's apartment used to be inhabited by a lovely blond who had come to Paris to model.  One day she had locked herself out of the building and so walked to the corner police station to wait for the concierge to return.  The officers were so willing to help that they spent the afternoon scaling the wall of the building to the sixth story window where the model lived to unlock the door so she wouldn't have to wait in the cold any longer.  I have a sneaking feeling that the response would not be the same were Will to misplace his keys.

Now for a stronger form of patriotism; one thing I have discovered America does well: maintaining an influential, if not perfect, police force.

One thing France does well: maintaining a police force which is ever willing to help get a struggling model out of the rain.

Until we meet again,

Elise

Its all Latin to me

Yesterday, I learned about maps, the Latin Quarter, and my own sense of direction.  I learned to trust the first, get to know the second, and disregard the third altogether. 

I had a chance to strike out on my own, without my trusty tour guide, while Will was getting poked and prodded by men who were trying to make sure that he wasn't bringing any diseases into their country.  He got a lovely x-ray of his chest which is now hanging on one of the walls of his apartment.  I am only a guest here and as such cannot force him to take it down while trying to explain that a chest cavity does not count as art.

Anyway, on my adventure I decided that I was not daring enough to take the metro all by myself so I instead decided to wander around the Latin quarter (where Will lives).  I took a book, bought myself an escargot chocolat (chocolate croissant), and found a lovely park to read in.  It was when it started raining that I decided to head back to the apartment to defrost.  I learned very quickly that the way I thought I was going was definitely not the direction I had come from.  

I wandered for an hour, finding a hospital, an institute dedicated to Marie Curie, the metro station that Will and I use, from which I still could not find the street I needed, and finally, a map, which I read wrong the first time and had to go back to reread again.

I was walking large squares for an hour, and was tired by the end, but I got to know the Latin quarter much better than I had planned on.  I learned that you cannot follow a street in the direction you think you should be going because it will eventually dead end and send you in a different direction altogether.  I learned that the charm of Will's building is not unique and that there are countless of the same whitewashed walls that can trick you into thinking that you are in the right place.

Overall, it was a lovely day of lost.

Elise

"Sometimes, I kind of wish I was Beyonce."

That quote is from my lovely tour guide, Will.  He mentioned this specific dream of his while we were wandering around Vernon today.  We both got up extra early to catch the RER (train) from Paris to Vernon, from there we were going to bike to Giverny, the hometown of Claude Monet.  Unfortunately, the weather was pretty much the worst we had had in Paris so far so we had bundled up and were prepared for a long walk when a nice taxi driver explained to us that everything we were going to see was closed. Everything.  The museum, the house, the exposition.  Everything.  It was quite unfortunate.

But we salvaged the day by wandering around the rest of Vernon.  It was the first small town outside of Paris that I have been able to explore.  You find out quite a lot by walking the streets.  I found out that there are almost as many hairdressers as there are grocery stores, that most french homes have lovely lace curtains, that they are very private and do not love passersby trying to look into their yard especially when the fence is six feet tall and I'm jumping to see over it, and that cobblestone is not a friend to heels, ever.  Overall it was quite a good day.

Salut tout le monde!  After much preparation, packing, and procrastinating, I am finally in Paris.  Will, my best friend that I am staying with, has a lovely apartment in the 5th arrondisement de Paris.  For any of you who do not know where or what that means, Paris is broken into twenty arrondisements (or districts) that circle out from the center like an escargot.  So the smaller the number, the closer to the center of Paris.  The fifth arrondisement is called the Latin Quarter and is known for the students, the artists, and the writers.  

"It was originally called the Latin Quarter because all the universities in the quarter taught in Latin, therefore requiring each student to be fully fluent in the language." William of Sawyer

Will's flat is quite the study in space utility.  It is on the sixth floor of his building which, because of the charm of Parisian living comes without an elevator.  There are women around the city which are a part of what William fondly refers to as the army of bent-over beggars.  They are bent at the hips, face towards the ground, furiously jangling their can of coins.  If you find yourself with a few extra hours you should sit and watch these talented women for the end of the day, when they straighten up and walk away.  Needless to say, the stairs in Will's apartment have forced me into the ranks of a bent-over, breathless girl, trying to crawl up one hundred stairs.  It will be awhile before I am sprightly enough to run up them as Will can.

We have spent most days wandering around the city, without a plan or a place in mind. We only decide on something if it comes to mind, the weather is good enough for it, and we are near it. Luckily, Will is a master of the metro, which means that we can be within ten minutes of anything that we may fancy.

 My feet have gotten a lesson in walking and my ears have gotten a lesson in listening. I am finding that my professors were quite kind to me when they taught me French.  Each had clear, elegant pronunciation and used a modest vocabulary.  I have quickly discovered that real French, the French outside of the classroom is never clear and is only elegant when I have stopped sweating from the fear of conversing.  I am afraid that there have been countless times when I just stare at the shopkeeper, racking my brain to decipher what he is asking.  I am the queen of the blank stares.  I have found that I worked so hard on my accent for so long that I fool people into thinking that I actually know what I am talking about.  Everyone I have encountered walks away thinking, "Well she didn't know what she was saying, but she didn't sound so bad."

All these experiences have taught me that I love Paris and I love French, it will just take a while for me to understand either.  

Until next time dear friends and family.

Sincerely,

the mute american in Paris

One Week Out

I am one week away from leaving the country for four months and the blind terror has now set in.  It seems to be that the closer I get to leaving, the more French I seem to have forgotten in the lull between the end of the semester and going to France.  Its not a happy thing to realize.  I am stemming the fear by conjugating etre (to be) in my head over and over again to fool myself into thinking that I actually can speak French.  Je suis, tu es, il est... My professors would be so proud.

I will be spending the first week of my stay in Paris with my best bud Will who has a lovely flat in the Latin Quarter of Paris.  That is where I will write to all of you about my experiences trying to order food, get on the metro, and generally survive while only being able to conjugate etre in the present tense.  I am an americain student.  Je suis une etudiante americaine.  At least I will be able to tell them why I am staring at them with a wide-eyed, lost look in my eyes.  Its because, Je suis une etudiante americaine.  Je ne parle pas francais.  I've always laughed at the sentence je ne parle pas francais (I do not speak French)  You are saying that you do not speak French, in French.  Ah, irony.  

I would appreciate your prayers, your thoughts, your emails, and your money (but I'm only really expecting the first three).

God bless and the next time I write, I promise I will have something more to talk about besides the fact that I am not yet in France, and still cannot speak French.

Elise