If you want to know how I am feeling right now, take a deep breath in and then breath out slowly ... ahhh. You feel a little better now, don't you?
I am starting to relax after two weeks of heavy Anglophone pressure. Oddly enough the French part of France hasn't been causing me as much stress as the courses I have in English. After the two papers due last week, I had a presentation today and an exam. I haven't gotten much sleep.
Even when the French are teaching classes in English, they have an odd approach to self-discipline when it comes to academics. It is, to me, much more like what I experienced in high school than what I am used to from ASU. You can get in trouble for not going to class, you have to ask to use the bathroom during the class and (but really you just shouldn't go at all) and you are not on equal footing with the teachers ... not at all.
Part of the reason I am breathing a huge sigh of relief is because I am not sitting through a murderously boring class right now. I should be there, but I'm not. I spent a full 15 minutes grappling with the decision of whether or not to go, because I know I "should" and the teacher will likely get mad at me if I don't. But on the other hand, I've had ten hours of sleep the last two nights and I knew I would literally be struggling to stay awake for the next two hours if I went. Ultimately, I decided that in the long run it wouldn't matter one way or the other if I went, so I may as well make myself happy in the present. The professor probably won't see it that way, though.
I've spent the last several months trying to make sense of the French perspective on these things. At ASU, I feel like the attitude is largely that if the student does not go to class, it is the student's loss. Therefore, it is ultimately the student's decision whether or not to go. That is not the case here. When students don't show up to class the professors get upset ... although I don't understand exactly why. It's also considered very bad form to get up to use the bathroom during a class, and you should ask if you want to go.
My American friend Nikki, who has been here for almost a year, says this stems from the belief that you should be adult enough to hold it through class. But my perspective, and that of many Americans I think, is, shouldn't you be adult enough to chose when and if you need to use the restroom? This is an interesting paradox because the philosophies of each culture come from an emphasis on personal maturity, but with completely different practices.
So if my professor confronts me next week about the class I missed today, which he may do, I will have to reconcile my desires to be a good foreigner and my own (firmly held) beliefs that I have the right to decide what I do with my time. Apologizing and promising not to do it again may appease him, but it would violate me. I'm beginning to see that these sorts of disagreements are the basis of all cultural tension ... because no one is really wrong; it's simply a matter of perspective.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Monday, March 19, 2007
In the trenches
It's been all quiet on the blog front lately because I have been waging a war against a whole lot of homework. Tomorrow morning I'm giving a presentation on Britain and the Middle East. Wednesday I have to turn in two 8-page papers, one on T.S. Eliot and the other on the Secret Treaty of Dover (whatever that is).
Despite the stress and worry that goes along with all this work (not to mention the near panic-attack I had when I accidentally deleted a third of my Eliot paper) I'm still happy. I'm in France. And when all this is over with, I will only enjoy it that much more.
Today it started snowing spontaneously ... the big, feathery flakes were unlike anything I'd seen before. I got a forty centime café au lait this morning and just sat and watched them fall around the spires of my castle-like university. Somehow, the sight made all my homework seem as far away as Arizona.
And now, back to work ...
Despite the stress and worry that goes along with all this work (not to mention the near panic-attack I had when I accidentally deleted a third of my Eliot paper) I'm still happy. I'm in France. And when all this is over with, I will only enjoy it that much more.
Today it started snowing spontaneously ... the big, feathery flakes were unlike anything I'd seen before. I got a forty centime café au lait this morning and just sat and watched them fall around the spires of my castle-like university. Somehow, the sight made all my homework seem as far away as Arizona.
And now, back to work ...
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Team Wiener's winter Break, Part II - I wish I were a Marseillaise
When our train crossed the border from Spain to France, I expected the change to be obvious. But then it dawned on me that the French likely wouldn't have put up a big sign that says "Bienvenue à la France" at the border. But what surprised me was that the scenery didn't change at all ... the Mediterranean was on the right and everything was green on the left. Tiny fishing villages with pastel houses clung to the coastline and vineyards dotted the landscape inland. It was unlike anything I'd seen in northern France, which reminded me that the only French cities I've really seen are Lille and Paris. Before Marseille I don't think I gave France enough credit for being fantastically varied and diverse.
We arrived at the Marseille St. Charles hilltop train station just in time to see the setting sun turn the city shades of orange and pink. The architecture, food and disposition of the people at first seemed distinctly un-French. The boxy buildings, pasta and friendly people seemed more Italian at first (Marseille, after all, was founded by the Romans). But then I remembered the French national anthem, "La Marseillaise." I didn't get a chance to discuss this with any of the locals, but knowing the French as I do I assume the people of the city for which the national anthem is named are as proudly French as any Parisian.
Our day of travel also happened to be Amy's birthday, but all we did all day was sit on a train and that's not a great way to celebrate, now is it? So when a guy in our hostel (a fellow American named Liam) invited us to go to the beach with him, we did. It was a five-minute walk from our hostel and mon dieu was it amazing. We could see all the stars and big, dark blue waves were crashing against the shore and an enormous jetty made of white rock.
We shouted happy birthday to Amy above the roar of the waves and shrieked as the sharp gravel on the beach invaded our flip-flops. It was a moment I'm sure I'll never forget. Since it was cold and windy, we went looking for a beach side restaurant where we could get a dessert in order to properly celebrate Amy's birthday. We found a place called l'Equinoxe with a big, glass-walled dining room overlooking the beach where we shared a giant bowl of sorbet and fruit and taught Liam some French.
The next day we set out to explore Marseille but didn't realize how far our hostel was from the main hub of the city -- the Old Port. We spent a good hour trekking along the Corniche John F. Kennedy (a promenade that stretches along the coast) in some very intense wind. We finally found a bus that took us to the Old Port, where we spent the rest of the day. We found a sunny café with cushy chairs where we had Camembert sandwiches and Orangina. We took a boat to a nearby rocky island where we ate ice cream and hiked the rocky cliffs for the view. The sea was beautiful, but it became even more beautiful when I remembered I was looking at the Mediterranean.
I only got a tiny glimpse of Marseille, and the Provence region, but I loved it there and now I want to go back. Marseille appealed to me in a very different way than Paris or London, although I love those cities too. I relate to those cities on a professional and cultural level, but my heart bonded with Marseille. It was like when you meet someone at a party and you just like them without necessarily knowing why.
I'd love to go back to Marseille and see more of Provence. I'd like to backpack around for at least a few weeks and see the fountains of Aix that are hundreds of years old and see Arles, the town that so inspired Van Gogh. Who's with me?
We arrived at the Marseille St. Charles hilltop train station just in time to see the setting sun turn the city shades of orange and pink. The architecture, food and disposition of the people at first seemed distinctly un-French. The boxy buildings, pasta and friendly people seemed more Italian at first (Marseille, after all, was founded by the Romans). But then I remembered the French national anthem, "La Marseillaise." I didn't get a chance to discuss this with any of the locals, but knowing the French as I do I assume the people of the city for which the national anthem is named are as proudly French as any Parisian.
Our day of travel also happened to be Amy's birthday, but all we did all day was sit on a train and that's not a great way to celebrate, now is it? So when a guy in our hostel (a fellow American named Liam) invited us to go to the beach with him, we did. It was a five-minute walk from our hostel and mon dieu was it amazing. We could see all the stars and big, dark blue waves were crashing against the shore and an enormous jetty made of white rock.
We shouted happy birthday to Amy above the roar of the waves and shrieked as the sharp gravel on the beach invaded our flip-flops. It was a moment I'm sure I'll never forget. Since it was cold and windy, we went looking for a beach side restaurant where we could get a dessert in order to properly celebrate Amy's birthday. We found a place called l'Equinoxe with a big, glass-walled dining room overlooking the beach where we shared a giant bowl of sorbet and fruit and taught Liam some French.
The next day we set out to explore Marseille but didn't realize how far our hostel was from the main hub of the city -- the Old Port. We spent a good hour trekking along the Corniche John F. Kennedy (a promenade that stretches along the coast) in some very intense wind. We finally found a bus that took us to the Old Port, where we spent the rest of the day. We found a sunny café with cushy chairs where we had Camembert sandwiches and Orangina. We took a boat to a nearby rocky island where we ate ice cream and hiked the rocky cliffs for the view. The sea was beautiful, but it became even more beautiful when I remembered I was looking at the Mediterranean.
I only got a tiny glimpse of Marseille, and the Provence region, but I loved it there and now I want to go back. Marseille appealed to me in a very different way than Paris or London, although I love those cities too. I relate to those cities on a professional and cultural level, but my heart bonded with Marseille. It was like when you meet someone at a party and you just like them without necessarily knowing why.
I'd love to go back to Marseille and see more of Provence. I'd like to backpack around for at least a few weeks and see the fountains of Aix that are hundreds of years old and see Arles, the town that so inspired Van Gogh. Who's with me?
Killer Bise and Bon Appétit; Customs I just can't get used to
I'm still working on Part II of the winter break story, so here are some other French things to keep you occupied in the meantime.
I was eating a baguette today (all anyone eats for lunch here is sandwiches made with baguettes) and a man I don't know walked past me and said, "Bon appétit."
I replied "Merci" sweetly but as soon as he was gone I thought to myself, WTF? And no, that's not French.
In France, when people see you eating they say "Bon appétit" pretty much no matter what. Sometimes they substitute it for hello or goodbye, sometimes that's all they say. I know it's just a polite thing to do, but for me the custom doesn't translate. Can you imagine walking past someone you don't know while they are chowing down on Taco Bell and saying, "Have a nice meal"?
It's true that the French have a different attitude toward eating than Americans. There are boulangeries on every corner (à la Starbucks) and even cafeteria food is delicious. But the thing that really bothers me about bon appétit is I have a sneaking suspicion that the French are really making fun of me when they say this. I don't know why ... there is just a certain evil look in the eye. Maybe it's because of the well-documented fact that only the French can eat a baguette without getting crumbs all over themselves. Je ne sais pas.
The other custom that really gets to me is the bise, or kiss. In France it's customary to greet friends and family with two quick kisses, one on each cheek. This is common throughout Europe, but different countries often have different amounts of kisses (in Belgium, for example, it's only one). I think it's a nice idea in theory, but sometimes a person you barely know ends up giving you the bise and then that's a little awkward. My most American trait, I think, is my attitude towards violation of personal space, and the bise definitely goes there.
Then there's also the hierarchy of who gets kissed and who doesn't. I'm friendly with some French people in my residence who never kiss me, and then there are some people I barely talk to who give me the bise once a day. But come to think of it, the other international students (excluding Brits, Americans and Australians) tend to initiate the bise more frequently than the French.
And when you're not used to it, there are all kinds of ways you can screw it up. One time I went to the right first (you're supposed to go left) ... that was embarrassing. And if someone is Belgian or Mexican you never know whether they are going to give you one or two kisses. That's hard for me because I have to mentally prepare myself beforehand for the kiss to be successful.
I complain now, but just wait ... as soon as I get home I am going to be kissing all of you.
I was eating a baguette today (all anyone eats for lunch here is sandwiches made with baguettes) and a man I don't know walked past me and said, "Bon appétit."
I replied "Merci" sweetly but as soon as he was gone I thought to myself, WTF? And no, that's not French.
In France, when people see you eating they say "Bon appétit" pretty much no matter what. Sometimes they substitute it for hello or goodbye, sometimes that's all they say. I know it's just a polite thing to do, but for me the custom doesn't translate. Can you imagine walking past someone you don't know while they are chowing down on Taco Bell and saying, "Have a nice meal"?
It's true that the French have a different attitude toward eating than Americans. There are boulangeries on every corner (à la Starbucks) and even cafeteria food is delicious. But the thing that really bothers me about bon appétit is I have a sneaking suspicion that the French are really making fun of me when they say this. I don't know why ... there is just a certain evil look in the eye. Maybe it's because of the well-documented fact that only the French can eat a baguette without getting crumbs all over themselves. Je ne sais pas.
The other custom that really gets to me is the bise, or kiss. In France it's customary to greet friends and family with two quick kisses, one on each cheek. This is common throughout Europe, but different countries often have different amounts of kisses (in Belgium, for example, it's only one). I think it's a nice idea in theory, but sometimes a person you barely know ends up giving you the bise and then that's a little awkward. My most American trait, I think, is my attitude towards violation of personal space, and the bise definitely goes there.
Then there's also the hierarchy of who gets kissed and who doesn't. I'm friendly with some French people in my residence who never kiss me, and then there are some people I barely talk to who give me the bise once a day. But come to think of it, the other international students (excluding Brits, Americans and Australians) tend to initiate the bise more frequently than the French.
And when you're not used to it, there are all kinds of ways you can screw it up. One time I went to the right first (you're supposed to go left) ... that was embarrassing. And if someone is Belgian or Mexican you never know whether they are going to give you one or two kisses. That's hard for me because I have to mentally prepare myself beforehand for the kiss to be successful.
I complain now, but just wait ... as soon as I get home I am going to be kissing all of you.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Team Wiener's winter vacation: Part I, a comedy of errors
Only one word could aptly describe my week-long winter break ... it was an adventure. And like most good adventures (I'm guessing) it started with catastrophe.
My friends Shannon, Amy and I meticulously planned out a relaxing week in the south of France, with plans to go to Marseille, Aix-en-Provence, Arles and Nice. Everything went according to plan with the exception of one small but important detail. There are two airports in Brussels, one was 10 minutes from the train station and the other was 50 minutes. We didn't know this and had only budgeted enough time to get to the 10-minute airport. We missed our flight and there wouldn't be another one to Marseille for three days. So we went home and re-worked our plans so we could still catch our return flight at the end of the week. This time we decided to be a bit more daring and booked a flight to Barcelona. It shortened our vacation a little bit, but we didn't mind so much because then we would be saving money on hostels and food.
So we left Lille for Brussels on Monday evening so we could spend the night there and make it to our 10:30 a.m. flight on time. Instead, we ended up on the wrong train and missed our flight a second time. We were all furious and depressed at first, but then we found out there was another flight to Barcelona that same day so we coughed up the extra €75 to transfer our tickets. It was probably the best €75 I'll ever spend. I knew that if I gave up and went back to Lille I would have spent the rest of the week depressed as hell that I'd had a shot at a real adventure and messed it up. We didn't miss any more flights, trains or buses for the rest of the trip.
Team Wiener was born the first night of our trip when Shannon's habit of saying "Go Team!" whenever we did something dumb led me to suggest we have a team name. We picked it randomly from a Tram map in Belgium along with our individual code names: Verboekhoven (Me - Verb for short), Houba de Strooper (Amy) and Groene Jager (Shannon). You gotta love Dutch. Team Wiener's existence became permanent when we missed our second flight ... it seemed like the perfect title for a group of people with a habit of making really dumb mistakes.
Team pride resurfaced in Barcelona when we ordered paella without knowing exactly what was in it. Although it was listed on the vegetarian section of the menu, the Spanish specialty arrived with whole shrimp (eyes included), muscles, chicken and pork. Except for the eyes, chicken and pork it was really good, but my team mates refused to eat any of it. In honour of my bravery, I was temporarily dubbed Houba de Strooper (which is clearly the best name).
PP (post-paella) we ended up drinking sangria in an Irish pub with two Brits we met at the hostel. An odd mix of cultures, I know but the sangria was good. So good, in fact, I think from now on my life will be incomplete without it.
The next day we explored Barcelona which, by the way, is absolutely amazing. The weather was a huge relief after Lille ... 20° Celsius and sunny. The city is full of big parks and amazing buildings. Even the street lamps in some areas were works of art. The people were nice, even the ones who didn't speak English. Amy knows a little bit of Spanish and we were able to get around pretty easily. We took a cable car over the city with amazing views, and hiked to the top of a green hill where we saw the site of the 1992 Olympics. On our way back down we stopped at an out door café to sip limonada and sit in the sun. We finished off the day at the Picasso museum, which is in the artist's old house. I could go on forever about this experience alone, so if you are interested in Picasso let me know.
Leaving Barcelona was sad, but since we were taking a train to Marseille we got to see some of the most beautiful Spanish coastline on our way out of the country. I flipped through the copy of Vogue España I'd bought and decided not only was I going back to Barcelona someday, but I'd like to learn to speak Spanish, too.
My friends Shannon, Amy and I meticulously planned out a relaxing week in the south of France, with plans to go to Marseille, Aix-en-Provence, Arles and Nice. Everything went according to plan with the exception of one small but important detail. There are two airports in Brussels, one was 10 minutes from the train station and the other was 50 minutes. We didn't know this and had only budgeted enough time to get to the 10-minute airport. We missed our flight and there wouldn't be another one to Marseille for three days. So we went home and re-worked our plans so we could still catch our return flight at the end of the week. This time we decided to be a bit more daring and booked a flight to Barcelona. It shortened our vacation a little bit, but we didn't mind so much because then we would be saving money on hostels and food.
So we left Lille for Brussels on Monday evening so we could spend the night there and make it to our 10:30 a.m. flight on time. Instead, we ended up on the wrong train and missed our flight a second time. We were all furious and depressed at first, but then we found out there was another flight to Barcelona that same day so we coughed up the extra €75 to transfer our tickets. It was probably the best €75 I'll ever spend. I knew that if I gave up and went back to Lille I would have spent the rest of the week depressed as hell that I'd had a shot at a real adventure and messed it up. We didn't miss any more flights, trains or buses for the rest of the trip.
Team Wiener was born the first night of our trip when Shannon's habit of saying "Go Team!" whenever we did something dumb led me to suggest we have a team name. We picked it randomly from a Tram map in Belgium along with our individual code names: Verboekhoven (Me - Verb for short), Houba de Strooper (Amy) and Groene Jager (Shannon). You gotta love Dutch. Team Wiener's existence became permanent when we missed our second flight ... it seemed like the perfect title for a group of people with a habit of making really dumb mistakes.
Team pride resurfaced in Barcelona when we ordered paella without knowing exactly what was in it. Although it was listed on the vegetarian section of the menu, the Spanish specialty arrived with whole shrimp (eyes included), muscles, chicken and pork. Except for the eyes, chicken and pork it was really good, but my team mates refused to eat any of it. In honour of my bravery, I was temporarily dubbed Houba de Strooper (which is clearly the best name).
PP (post-paella) we ended up drinking sangria in an Irish pub with two Brits we met at the hostel. An odd mix of cultures, I know but the sangria was good. So good, in fact, I think from now on my life will be incomplete without it.
The next day we explored Barcelona which, by the way, is absolutely amazing. The weather was a huge relief after Lille ... 20° Celsius and sunny. The city is full of big parks and amazing buildings. Even the street lamps in some areas were works of art. The people were nice, even the ones who didn't speak English. Amy knows a little bit of Spanish and we were able to get around pretty easily. We took a cable car over the city with amazing views, and hiked to the top of a green hill where we saw the site of the 1992 Olympics. On our way back down we stopped at an out door café to sip limonada and sit in the sun. We finished off the day at the Picasso museum, which is in the artist's old house. I could go on forever about this experience alone, so if you are interested in Picasso let me know.
Leaving Barcelona was sad, but since we were taking a train to Marseille we got to see some of the most beautiful Spanish coastline on our way out of the country. I flipped through the copy of Vogue España I'd bought and decided not only was I going back to Barcelona someday, but I'd like to learn to speak Spanish, too.
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