Category: France

Bonjour once again!

Blogging has proved to me a larger beast than I once thought.  Although I never thought of myself as being “creative”, per se, I did think that it would be easy to talk about my time here in Tours.  Each day I am introduced to another word, another phrase, another idea, another place, and another person – each unique from the last. 

 Earlier this week at dinner I asked my host mother how to say overwhelmed but, not knowing the word, had to search to find the words to piece together a definition (the word is submerger– if you were wondering).  Through all of this sensory overload, finding the most eloquent and comprehensive way to explain things to others has been a difficult, but rewarding task.   In this post I will briefly cover the concept of work in France and some socio-political controversy that surrounds a critical aspect of French work life which are strikes.  Then, I will touch on my recent trip to Paris (note the rad picture- when in France, am I right?!)

Since last writing I have successfully started my third week in Tours.  I am astounded at how quickly time passes and how my journey here is almost half way finished.  It is only at the start of my third week that my automated responses to people are in French, not English, and hearing French at the tables next to me at cafés has become comforting, instead of unnerving.  My week days in Tours have fallen into a beautiful routine with classes in the morning and afternoons spent at Amadeus Bagel, a small coffee shop where the two women who work there greet me with a familiar smile and ask “un café au lait?”, already knowing my answer will be “bien sûr!”.  The familiarity of this coffee shop has awarded me the ability to have interesting interactions with these two women and who, due to increased engagement, have commented to me that my French has noticeably improved- something I am immensely proud of.  It feels like home to be known in a place where you spend many hours each day- an experience that is quite regular to me back in Alabama.  Further, spending my afternoons here doing homework, reading Le Monde (the French newspaper I enjoy reading), or playing cards with my friends from the Institute has allowed me to observe, in a sense, the way the French live.  It is not unlikely that I will look over to the door of the shop and find the “Nous sommes fermés” (We are closed) sign in the door only to look back to the couch and find one of the women napping and the other with a group of her friends smoking and laughing outside only to come idly walking in humming a song and changing the sign to “Nous Sommes Ouverts- Bienvenue” (We are open- Welcome).  When I approach the women to ask if I should leave they only laugh and smile and comment that they are only taking a break for an hour or so.  I have grown accustomed to this style of work and only wish this aspect of sociality in the workplace would translate back to the United States.

The concept of work (travail– like in the title!) in France has been something my class at the Institute has been studying for the past couple of days which is probably the reason for my recent interest in discussing it with my host mother at dinner.  French workers are given many benefits from their employers that I was not accustomed to, such as health care for everybody.  Further, one I found more shocking is that every French working citizen is, by law, guaranteed five weeks of paid vacation time.  In the United States, there is no law that states how much time off your employer must give you but is instead given based on criteria such as rank in the corporation, time spent working with the company,  etc.  At dinner that night I asked my host mother if what I had learned was actually true, I couldn’t believe that an employer would automatically grant their employees so much vacation.  My host mother laughed and said “but of course, and I have eight weeks off!”.  Eight weeks? Eight weeks!? That’s two full months of not working during the year- what a life!  We also started discussing other concepts of the work life in France, such as les grèves (strikes). As my host mother commented, “When the French workers are not happy with something- they strike”, then, under her breathe she mumbled “even if those workers have more benefits that most workers – such as early retirement!”. Softly, I asked her what she meant by this.  She was, of course, talking about the workers of the SNCF railway company who were striking due to French president, Emmanuel Macron, implementing new statues that were not favorable amongst the workers.  This issue, although political at its core, has a stark social impact, on people like my host mother, who feel it in their day to day lives. 

I decided I would try to discuss this issue further with Paula and Dominique, my two professors at the Institute.   As we were discussing work in class, the subject was fitting.  When I asked Paula about it, she shook her head, noticeably irritated by the subject itself.  She commented how she takes the train to work everyday, as she does not live in Tours and, having to determine when the train will be running is an annoyance in her daily life.  While these workers are fighting for more rights, Paula is trying to simply get to work everyday.  Although she recognizes that striking is a part of the French culture, she does not like the impact that she feels from it day in and day out.  Dominque, possibly two decades older than Paula, feels the same way.  This sentiment I’m sure is not an unpopular opinion amongst the French, especially those who rely on the train for daily transportation.  Thus, this issue that is purely political for the train workers, is a huge social issue for others.     

Being an American, it never occurred to me that the strikes from the SNCF workers could have any affect on me.  The issue would only be something I read about in the papers or heard my host mother or professors speak about.  However, I realized the inconvenience of the strikes when I wanted to book a train ticket for a weekend in Paris.   It never occurred to me that I would be unable to get from Point A to Point B.   However, the day I wanted to book my train ticket for was a day the workers were striking!  Trying to figure out the website in French and determine what trains would be running that day was a stressful component for booking a trip!  While this was only a minor inconvenience and I was able to simply take the bus (which was actually a lot cheaper), it was a reminder that current transportation in this system is not as easy as Americans are convinced it is and allowed me to think about how difficult it must be for some people, like my teachers, to plan their days around when the workers will be striking.  

 After making it to Paris I was back to observing the laid back culture of work that I was accustomed to at my little coffee shop.  On Saturday, after a long day of walking and seeing many, admittedly, “touristy” attractions like the Louvre, Musée D’Orsay, Notre Dame Cathedral, the Arc de Triomphe, and sitting on the lawn of the Eiffel Tower at sunset we went to have dinner at a small brasserie we found in the 6th arrondissement.  After enjoying  a classic French meal of steak frites (steak and fries), we sat for another hour.  While having two hour long dinners is not an uncommon experience for me, adjusting to the waiter simply not even entertaining the idea of giving you a check until a couple of hours sitting down, is.   While hoping I am not stereotyping or generalizing, I have noticed that the French live more social workplace lives, an aspect I find appealing and charming.    

Per usual, This blog has taken some turns covering topics such as my astonishment at the passage of time, to the concept of work engrained in French society and some of its benefits and downsides, and somehow making it to a quick description of my weekend trip to Paris.  Tune in next time for another scatterbrained blog from Tours!

 

Bien à vous!

While I’ve been falling in and out of sickness for the past two weeks, things continue to happen outside my petite chamber– it was more than refreshing to read about the Trump-Kim summit from a local source and in the French language. The French’s detest for the current White House is often avidly pronounced, and I appreciate their honest expression and genuine concerns for current affairs, which I think is lacking in my own country or even at Notre Dame.

I passed a young weekend in Nantes, a city of rich history and green innovations, the hometown of Jules Verne and the LU biscuits. A beautiful episode of human kindness occurred when, while trying to buy a ferry ticket from Trentemoult to downtown Nantes, I had stepped aside because I was slightly short of coins (for the machine), the family behind me simply bought an extra ticket for me. Touched by their generosity for a total stranger, my hope for humanity restored.

While France is a wonderful country, I’m also learning about many of her struggles– immigration, racism and many safety issues. At Nantes, I’ve had the fortune browsing the exhibition on slavery at the Chateau des Ducs Bretagne. What a reminder it was that the French also participated in the transatlantic slave trade– not just the United States who committed this horror. From what my host mom would say about her past students, I think there is an element of racism here that is geared towards the Arabic population. Oh, and the weather. A comfortably sunny morning of 26 degrees could easily turn into a 17 ℃ thunderstorm by lunchtime.

Apart from the the few kilos that I gained from all the saveur vanilles and biscuits, I’ve also noticed my own thickening skin when mispronouncing a word or making a grammatical error in French. People here are fierce about their language: my host mom noted that I will have flan for “dessert” ( like “de-sssss-ert”), not desert (de-s-ert); the negative affirmative question between “si” and “oui” always draws a few minutes of silence contemplation at dinner; and when I failed to utter the “s” of “Amboise,” the SNCF ticket vendor made sure to hiss like an offended python before taking my bill.

At the institute, we’re fighting on all fronts– reading, writing, speaking and listening. Repeating and self-correcting are big for improving one’s language. After the teacher returned our graded essays, it was extremely beneficial for me to cross out my mistakes and correct them even if I was just copying what the teacher had marked. In class, when the teacher corrects my pronunciation, it doesn’t hurt at all to repeat– three times louder and half the speed– that impossible syllable. Pronouns, the subjonctif, the future, the conditional, the proceedings of a French lawsuit, ecological footprints, and so forth.

As I begin to shop for local olive oils and supermarket chocolates while keeping a keen eye on how much Euros I have left– you know the beginning of the end has arrived.

 

 

Maintaining a blog has proven difficult, as I have come to realize that I am not as creative as I once assumed. It’s not easy identifying what it is that I should talk about, or what is even worth talking about. Yet, it’s the start of Week 3, day 2. You would assume that by now I would have established some sort of normalcy in my life–and in some ways I have, but in others I haven’t. I have yet to become fully accustomed to the vast amounts of bread eaten for every meal or the traces of dog poop that line each street in Tours, but at least three times a week, I visit Monoprix to purchase something such as cough drops or tupper ware, only to be met by the same worker who always makes it a mission to communicate with me in French and teach me new words such as “Noix Cajou”.

I have moved up in my class, which I am truly happy about. In my last class, I sat alongside my American counterparts, making it difficult to truly speak French. Although I was enthused by our daily lessons in grammar and discussions on things like the French Revolution and World War 2, perhaps I wasn’t being challenged as much as I should have been. I now find myself in a class with only 5 Americans, as opposed to the 9 in my last class. This may not seem to be a big difference, but my class now harbors a group of girls from Iran, a group of people from South Korea, and a man from the United Arab Emirates, and the first day made it clear that we would only communicate in French if I expected to learn anything at all.

This past weekend, many students from the Institute, including myself, went to Paris on Friday; however, my trip to Paris was more of a solo adventure alongside 3 others rather than a mere day trip to Notre Dame and Musee d’Orsay. Being in Paris, I appreciated my time in Tours a bit more. Although I love the feel of Paris, as it reminds me of being both at home and in New York, I finally understood the frustration of being in a city in France where everyone seemed to speak everything but French. As I meandered through people to find the metro, or our hostel, or even restaurants, I often said, “Excusez-moi” and was surprised to see that many people failed to move as they looked back at me with confusion. I was quickly identifying the Americans who had come from afar, along with the British, the Irish, the Chinese, and the Spanish. Speaking French became quite normal for me, as I had been expected to do so in Tours. Most people in Tours either speak very little English and are vocal about their insecurities when speaking it so I quickly respond with, “en Francais, s’il vous plait”. In Paris, I still resorted to French–only using English when I found it incredibly difficult to express the need for things such as shower shoes or after feeling embarrassed for asking the waiter to repeat themselves after failing to understand them the first time. My friends and I were unable to identify whether Parisian French is any different from the French spoken in Tours, and I am not sure if we were even able to confirm any of our preconceived notions, but the French spoken in Paris is definitely spoken at a quicker rate.

While in Paris, the 11th arrondissment quickly became my favorite–which would not have actually happened had I been given the correct address for a restaurant in the 5th (Clasico Argentino, if you were wondering). The 11th arrondissment was far from our hostel right within the center of the city, but I appreciated this. Although being able to see monuments such as the Eiffel Tower, serving as a reminder that we were still in Paris, the 11th felt oddly familiar. Walking through this part of town, there was a flea market displaying all the clothing and music of different cultures and countries, leaving me to marvel at how people who looked so different and harbored different histories could traverse these apparent differences by their ability to speak French. Walking through, I stopped at the spot where an African man was selling clothes with the most beautiful textured patterns, or what we would call Ankara in Nigeria, and for some reason, I found joy in his very informal greeting when I walked to meet him. “Ca va? Oui, ca va. Et toi?”. Moving forward, my friends and I even stopped at a fruit stand owned by an Arab man from Qatar, or perhaps another one of the Gulf states. He, too, did not speak English, and it became a transaction of words in both Arabic and French, asking and responding to the questions of whether or not we could sample some fruit and explaining where we were from. We spent our time in a park afterwards (parc de Belleville, if you are ever in the area), which gives off a very strong suburb vibe but was still very nice as our bench in the area by the entrance of the park offered a nice view of the children and parents leaving and entering for what appeared to be a birthday party.

During our quick trip to Paris, my friends and I also ran into kids from the Institute while walking down the Champs Elysees, but what was actually the best part of our trip through Paris was viewing the Eiffel Tower at night. After descending the RER C line from Le Marais, we could see the Eiffel Tower, and as we moved closer, the smells in the air mimicked those of the state fair in Texas as vendors were selling crepes and other things. Next to the tower was a carousel, however, we opted for following the group of other foreigners towards the giant patch of grass where we gladly set up a small picnic, despite being harassed by those wanting to sell umbrellas, mini Eiffel Towers, and champagne.

Last but not least, my first trip to Paris would not be a trip to Paris unless I had managed to lose my way. Already unfamiliar with public transportation in all its forms, I woke up early on Sunday to ensure that I would be able to board my bus in a timely manner back to Tours. Yet, after taking one line of the metro and getting ready to transfer, I quickly realized that the line we needed was no longer running, and within the 30 minute time span I had remaining, I would quickly have to find an alternative. Although this proved successful, finding the bus station was another struggle as the address provided did not actually exist. While under stress and under the impression that I had missed my bus, I moved through groups of people asking, “Est-ce que vous pouvez m’aider” or “Excusez-moi, parlez-vous anglais?” after realizing that I did not have time to speak in broken French. After being met with men who only spoke German and women who only spoke Spanish or drivers who were unable to decipher my terribly spoken Franglish, I found the bus going back to Tours (and lucky for me, the bus had been 20 minutes late).

I am not sure if any of my future posts will be this exciting, but for now, a bientot!

After the initial trajectory of cultural shock, binge cheese-eating and my eventual adaptation of the French ways, I think today is a perfect time (not too early after four weeks) to talk about my improvements in the French language.

When I first got off the Ouibus at Tours, I called my host mom for the first time to let her know I have arrived. Ten seconds later, I was left dumbfounded with a disconnect tone. A few questions crossed my mind: Is my host mom coming to pick me up? Is she already here? Is she bailing out on me? Was that even my host mom, or did I dial the wrong number? Did the woman on the other end of the receiver speak French or Arabic?  Last Sunday, my host mom called me to see if everything was okay, since my host family was out of town, leaving me alone at home on Saturday night. It was a real dialogue. She asked me if I had already woken up, if I had enough to eat (I could eat whatever in the fridge), whether my excursion on Saturday had went well, if it rained and blablabla, then she told me how to microwave the pasta box she had prepared for me. It was only after the phone call ended that I realized how much my oral comprehension has improved. It’s at a whole new level.  

After three full weeks of French radio, Youtube, spotify and everyday life, my ears are now a lot more accustomed to the bouncing flow of this new tongue. While I could write, read and even speak at a higher level, they didn’t mean much until now when I can actually respond like a human to cashiers and waitresses, to my classmates and host parents. Another weakness I have noted is my limited vocabulary. While I seem to sail smoothly with grammar and even phonetics (which is surprisingly easier to comprehend than anticipated), I know no vocab beyond the outdated “1000 Most-Used French Words for Beginners.”  Now that my phone is set in French and I have purchased a second-hand “Père Goriot” by Balzac, I might actually learn a few useful words, just in case I need to elaborate on the value of wealth in the conditions of human existence.

I am also absorbing more of the subtle, slangy words in French:

• Instead of saying “je suis,” it’s more French to say, “chuis.”
• It’s rude to say “Bonjour” a second time as it indicates you have forgotten the person you’ve already greeted.
• The first time someone sneezes, you can respond, “A vos souhaits!” If they sneeze again, you say, “A vos amours!”
• “T’as qu’à le faire, toi!” means, “Why don’t you do it yourself!”

 

On a more personal note, I’m also feeling pretty wholesome. Morning classes are usually pretty bearable with varied exercises. After a €3.25 (Bon marche) lunch at a university dining hall, I like to wander the town with its pretty boutiques, book stores, chocolatiers, bakeries and parks. I especially like hanging out in the supermarkets and noting the different gourmets: absurd Lindt flavors, LU biscuits, cheap yogurts, and the unbelievable many varieties of French cheese. Jogging by the Loire is also extremely pleasant, especially as I pass all those panting French bulldogs. Day excursions on Wednesdays and Saturdays allow me do more touristy sightseeing: from visiting local chateaux to going all the way to Normandy. The sun sleeps late in the Loire Valley; after dinner, it’s always lovely to sit by the river with a few drinks and observe the French (who smoke a lot, dress super chic and like to sit in a circle.)

 

 

 

 

P.S. Last week I ranted about how the SNCF strike is messing up my travel plans, especially how I am going to go to the airport in Paris on the day of my departure. I found a solution. Two nights ago, after certain skilled negotiation, on top of a few heart wrenched pleas, I finally struck a deal with a driver on BlablaCar (very popular carpooling App here in France), to take me to Charles de Gaulle with my gigantic suitcase. Voila.

I’ve completed my first week of courses here in Tours, and in many ways this week has been challenging. I arrived last Sunday in Paris, but to my surprise, it wasn’t too difficult to utilize the little French I had to purchase breakfast and lunch. Throughout the airport, I found myself surprised and startled by many things that made apparent the stratification brought about by many cultural, social, and political values. The airport was filled with various individuals of color–some arriving in Paris to stay, while for others it only served as their resting stop before reaching their final destination. Many of these individuals looked like myself, in fact–coming from various countries in Africa. I mustered the courage to say “Bonjour” or “Comment ca va? Parlez-vous anglais” before taking my seat beside them. But even then, the normalcy that I thought would be provided by sharing a common language or appearance was not present. Rather, in those moments, it seemed I was too American. Not too American in the sense of being attuned to only myself and my disposition, but I was too friendly–hoping that the accidental eye contact made would result in a friendly gesture such as subtle smile. Even the presence of the security throughout the airport proved strange as they were adorned in military-like clothing with their guns held in position as if there was something that had previously taken place, but it seemed to be normal behavior as most French individuals entered the airport without taking notice.

Regardless of these slight stressors, my initial interactions with the French were pleasant as some were more than willing to assist me when boarding the train to Tours.  The 2 hour train ride proceeded quite quickly from Paris, as I was seated next to a mother and daughter, and a girl who found humor in my inability to completely understand the messages relayed over the intercom.

Upon my arrival, I was able to meet both my host mom and dad, along with my “host-sister”, who is also American. With the drive made through the small city of Tours, I took recognition of the narrow French paths that sometimes appeared as roads, while others as just a continuation of the sidewalk.

At school, I was placed in the upper beginner level–which was to be expected, considering I had not taken a French course prior to my departure from the US. Once arriving in France, I was only confident in my ability to ask, “Where is the nearest…” and “Bonjour, est-ce que vous avez…”. Even with just a week of being in France, I have grown comfortable in reading French as I make my way through the epicerie or look at the menus provided by the many restaurants that line La Rue Nationale, and even in introducing myself and asking a few questions. My comprehension has increased and often times, to ameliorate the difficulty brought about by any language barrier between myself and others, I now ask individuals to speak French so that I may attempt to respond–despite them knowing English is my native tongue. In many ways, they show their appreciation, although I apologize for my broken French afterwards.

At the institute thus far, my classes have focused solely on grammar and tenses such as the passe compose, imparfait, and future simple. The courses have moved at a slower pace than I would like, and although this was met with initial frustration, it became apparent that I was in a class where many individuals had already cultivated varying degrees of comprehension of the French langauge. While others showed mastery of oral understanding by use of context, they struggled in understanding the nuances of the language. I found myself in the same situation alongside my counterparts, but my interaction with those living in Tours (both natives and immigrants) has bolstered my confidence in being able to speak, although their remains difficulty in maintaining some sort of progress across all areas of reading, writing, and speaking.

Hopefully with the upcoming weeks I will have seen a marked improvement in my French in the ways that I have wished for, but for now, a bientot!

(disregard my lack of proper accent marks)

 

My first week in Tours, France has been as hectic as can be. From being lost in the city more times than I would choose to admit, to moving from one welcoming host family to another, and trying to take in every possible word of French, I can honestly say that my mind and my body have never been this tired. In France, there have been numerous things that have been different for me- such as having to sit down in the shower holding the head above me, eating dinner at 8:30pm (opposed to my strict 5pm eating time at school), saying désolé (sorry) so many times when I can’t understand that I have come to be known as la désolée fille (the sorry girl) in my class, and having to constantly focus on each phrase being spoken to me and each phrase I speak back.   However, there are many things that have felt very natural to me since I have been here. I have realized that a smile, a bonjour, and an invitation to have coffee to people at the Instiut de Touraine (the school I am studying at) is a sure way to make friends; sitting at a boulangerie or a patesserie for countless hours just talking is seen as a normal leisure activity, and reading a physical newspaper in the middle of the day (instead of reading an article on a phone app while hurrying to class) is seen as not being an ancient past-time but a normality.

My first interaction with Tours was being swarmed into a car by my french host mother, a woman who, after twelve hours of traveling, I could barely understand as she spoke quickly and relentlessly in French. After being completely unsure of what was happening, I soon realized that she was telling me we were going to their country home near Chinon for the remainder of the weekend. For La Fête des Mères (Mother’s Day) we ate a hearty meal in their garden that consisted of chièvre de frommage (a goat cheese that is a speciality in the region and has been served at every meal thus far), foie gras (a French speciality served on special occasions), and a gâteaux de macaron avec la crème frais (macaroon cake with fresh cream).  After this meal, my host mother and I went and picked cherries from their cherry trees so we could also prepare un gâteaux de cerises (cherry cake).   My meals since this first evening have not been a disappointment and I quickly have realized how important meals are for understanding the family I am with. We discuss everything over meals – the parties my host mother is throwing that weekend, excursions I should take whilst here, American politics and their perceptions in France, French grievances over things such as les grèves (strikes) from the SNCF workers, and gaining a better understanding of the way French is actually spoken amongst friends- just to name a few.  Since the weekend at the country house, I been introduced to another speciality of the Touraine region called Nougat de Tours. This is a cake that looks like a small pie and, when cut into, has a layer of different fruits such as prunes and apricots. Getting to know the local foods has been particularly interesting, especially getting to talk with my host mother about how other regions as well have the particular food items that they are known for. This idea of communities being recognized by their food is a French ideal that is comforting to me and reminds me just one more way people seek to find their identity in the foods that they eat.

When I am not eating, enjoying an espresso at a local café, reading a book at La Guingette (a local bar on the river that everyone goes to) or attending class (of course!), I have enjoyed exploring the numerous things to do in the city and its beautiful surrounding area. During the short time I have been here, I have visited La Musée des Beaux Arts, the Église (church) de St. Martin, and have taken a 20km bike ride to the Chatêaux de Villandry with my Swiss friend, Lara. There, we spent the afternoon exploring the surrounding French country side, strolling through the marvelously landscaped castle grounds, and enjoying a typical French lunch of a baguette, meats, and various cheeses.

The city of Tours is beautiful, charming, and has seemed to make a personal connection with me where each morning I walk along the sun soaked, tree lined, Grand Boulevard that makes me seem moreso like I am at home than just visiting. Further, I have begun to adapt to the little English that I hear whilst strolling through the city and am starting to be able to pick up French conversations when I am walking. It is crazy how much easier it is to understand and speak a language when everyone around you speaks it.  My teachers at the Institut are some of the most exciting people I have ever met, especially my teacher Paula.  Paula encourages mistakes and allows her students to form a personal connection with her and the other kids in the class. It is because of her that I have met people from all over the world, united by a common interest in learning French.

While writing this, I am sitting at a local café on the river taking a break from reading a book that is way above my level and I am realizing that things are not as clearly or eloquently put as I wish I could describe them.  Yet, in a way, that has been the way I have spent my first week here. It has not been without error or like a scene out of a movie. In fact, there have been struggles with having to explain myself in a language that is not my native tongue and moments of frustration when I feel that I am not being understood correctly. But, to me, that is what I have found is the beauty of this experience – being okay with being uncomfortable. Instead of going to a café and asking if they speak english, I try to place all of my orders in French and, when out with my friends, we attempt to speak French with each other, even when all of us understand English. This experience has been about placing myself in a culture that is unlike my own and learning to embrace all of the hours I have spent lost in the city, the conversations I wish had gone differently, and adapting to doing things that are different than have always been done.

Bien à tous!

Caroline

I have come back safely (& sober) from Bordeaux! Although I was somewhat hesitant to travel so soon after arriving in France, I am very pleased now that I have braced my only long (3 day) weekend the right way: four museums, wine tasting, and a World Heritage town listed by UNESCO.

 

Bordeaux, hub of the wine-growing region Aquitaine, is the first major French city I set my foot on. When we arrived Saturday afternoon, we were beyond thrilled to find out it was Nuit européenne des musées. With more than nine free destinations at our disposal, we passed a rich night between Cité du Vin, Musée du Vin et du Négoce and Musée de l’Histoire Maritime. Along the Garonne on Sunday, couples sipped beer, families biked and whooshed past strolling tourists, teens skateboarded, my Swiss friend and I breathed the air of the red wine capital. Besides the famed attractions, from Grand Théâtre to the Place de la Bourse, this spontaneous trip has endorsed me to speak French– in all sorts of contexts. At the Marché des Capucins, a French couple had chatted us up about our travel and studies after the husband, who is originally from Vietnam, turned to me and asked me where I came from. After a few seconds of confusion and internal panic, I resorted to the ultimate response, “Oui.” Just as Germany restored to its present glory after WWII, we too managed to force a coherent dialogue. It was a real conversation: the old couple told us where they lived in the city, where the locals go for food (and the market was the rightplace) and where they recommended we go for the remainder of our stay. Life tip: If you want to impress someone, let them have lows expectations of you. Hence, seeming to have forgotten my initial pathetic lingual failure, the wife had, before getting up to leave, said, “You actually speak very good French.”

 

On Monday, which was also La fête de la Pentecôte, we visited Saint-Emilion. For a renowned wine town and a UNESCO World Heritage site, there was surprisingly little to do. Anyway, my brain was able to absorb more French through osmosis during an one hour guided tour Eglise Monolithe de Saint-Emilion, the largest underground church in Europe and the highlight of my voyage. I might have missed 53% of the material, but hey, no pain no gain. I definitely learned a few words here and there about the “moine” and the “ermitage.”

 

After that, we had pasta and risotto at a local Italian restaurant: my first time eating out at a real diner in France. The waiter, after years of experience serving in a tourist-crawling town, had tried to guide us to a table and to take our orders in English. I was feeling slightly defeated that he wouldn’t speak French to us; not only is one of my SLA goals to be treated like a local, I was also wondering: do I really look that foreign?  My brief moment of inner chaos was interrupted by my Swiss friend, who, in being such a fighter she is, insists on responding in French at all odds. “How many?” “On est deux.” “Water?” “Oui, l’eau si vous plait.” “Tap water?” “Oui.”

 

Back at l’institut, learning continues. Varied exercises, from film discussion to charades, have been helpful in boosting my listening abilities. I have also reached a new low in my academic career after my first oral comprehension quiz. Not only is my class ethnically diverse, each student’s exposure to the language also spans across a wide spectrum. There is a mature lady who has learned French for five years, a post-graduate who has lived in France for three months and also other university students like myself. Between atrocious quiz results and constant corrections at my grammar and pronunciation, I’ve learned that each one of us acquires language at a difference pace, even in a different way. Some are naturally better at speaking but might lack vocabulary for writing, while others struggle at pronunciation but are able to read at a higher level. My personal priorities remain the same: to improve oral comprehension and production.

 

As my second week is nearing the end, I’m also realizing how short six weeks will pass. Hence, I’m trying to make the most out of my stay and the resources readily available. After devouring the most liégeois vanille I can for lunch, I sometimes spend my afternoons in the library, reading different French dailies, magazines, and novels. My two go-to newspapers are Le Monde and La Croix. Listening to the French video, FranceInfo, also helps a lot with my listening as well as being informed of what’s going on.

A few things that I am learning not to question about France:

1. How much time it takes to eat a restaurant ( about 49 minutes for the waiter to notice that you need the bill)
2. Milk here does not need to be refrigerated (due to a different method of Pasteurization)
3. Actually how little vegetables they eat (but still so slender)
4. How small their cup of coffee (espresso) is

 

Ps. My stomach is also adjusting to the French meal timetable. I am now a lot more accustomed to a small breakfast, which is actually easy on my stomach, and a late, but worth-the-wait dinner. To counter the constant state of hunger, I take coffee and a small snack in the afternoon.

After 9 hours on the airplane and 8 hours of bus ride (in total), I finally arrived in Tours with two plastic adaptors, some fresh Euros, and a +33 number. My host mom picked me up from Gare de Tours and, while driving through the petit downtown, started speaking a language that seemed to loosely resemble ROFR 20200.

We arrived in the appartement before I could finish my third sentence, at 21h00 (that’s how they say 9pm here). Within five minutes of arrival, I was having my first French meal: le pain avec le rillet de canard (bread with a meat spread), la galette (a savory crêpe), la salade, le coulommiers 

(a type of cheese– so good!) and crème à la vanille (for dessert!) I should’ve also taken le cafe with my dessert, but, being the little kid I am, I refused in the fear that the caffeine will kill my sleep. (only to learn later that the French drink decaf coffee at night) This is the four course dîner that I fell in love with immediately and continue to look forward to every night : l’entrée, le plat principal, la salade et le formage et le dessert.

After dinner, I finally showered since leaving my dorm at Notre Dame. All relief washed over me as I looked back to the 50 things that could’ve prevented me from making it to my host family in this small town in Val de Loire, from my 20-minute connection in PHL to all the SNCF strikes in Paris. But I didn’t have time to get too sentimental– I was to show up at 8am the next morning at my language school, L’institut de Touraine.

The apartment is four minutes away from l’institut by foot, which is even shorter than walking from my P-dub (my dorm) to O’shag. I’m truly blessed. On my first day, I took a very brief placement test and immediately went to class. With around 10 other students from all over the world, we would go over different grammatical points, discuss French legislations and culture and engage in all sorts of activities to enhance our oral comprehension. Each morning for three hours, we sit in an antique, high-ceilinged classroom. It only seems right. The institute is diverse: with many students from Korea, Taiwan, Japan, Canada, the US, Europe, the Middle East as well as the rest of the world. Even though a lot of us speak other common languages, we still prefer to communicate in our broken, robotic French. How neat is that.

On Tuesday, I made a Swiss friend. Twenty words and three awkward smiles into our conversation, we’ve already decided to travel to Bordeaux together this Saturday, the only long weekend I will have during my six-week stay in France. What’s funny is that it’s not even weird; everyone here is so friendly and approachable. All you need are a Bonjour and whatsApp (sub for other chat apps).

After l’ecole each morning, I would go to the nearby Carrefour or the cafeteria for a local university to have lunch. The French cuisine is life. In fact, I’m living my best life right now. I’ve adjusted so well that I’ve started to wonder if I was born into the wrong country. I’m not even jet-lagged. The only thing that slightly troubles me is that I occasionally starve. The French eat a very small breakfast, with only baguettes with jam/butter and a cup of coffee. Lunch, often only a cold sandwich or a rice platter, rarely lasts me until the 20h00 dinner. At around 5pm, about the time I eat at Notre Dame, I start having flashbacks grilled chicken breasts and taco meat at NDH. Other than that, I have nothing but the highest respect for all the French cheese, chocolate, flan, yoghurt, bread and wine. The list goes on.

My host family truly feels like home away from home. It consists of an amiable couple in their 60s and two other students like me: a graduating senior from Toronto and a 17-year-old girl from Bangkok, Thailand. Dinner is my favorite part of the day, both for my growling stomach and for the conversation we have at the table– from the little things we have done that day to fashion in Thailand and military service in Taiwan, all in French. Over the past four days, I’ve spoken more français than I’ve in the past two years at Notre Dame. Besides feeling at times defeated by my poor French (especially after my quiz yesterday), my life in Tours is all elegant streets and savory food.If my stay in Tours is a traditional French meal, this is only L’Apéritif! A bit of French never killed nobody.  À bientôt!