Parlatz occitan?

Cutural Lesson #3: Occitan Culture 

So (according to Wikipedia), Occitania is the region in Southern Europe (mainly France, Monoco, some parts of Italy, and some parts of Spain) where Occitan was historically the main language spoken. In fact Languedoc-Roussillon (the region of France to which Montpellier belongs) is a derivative of "langue d'oc" or language occitan.

Now, there is a man who works at Accent Français who is Occitan and who is just about the coolest person you will ever meet. He speaks a plethora of languages (Occitan, French, English, Spanish, Italian, German, bits and pieces of Japanese, etc. etc.), knows the history and culture of all of the towns worth visiting in the South of France, and plays a wooden flute everywhere he goes. He is in charge of cultural excursions at Accent Français, and today he organized a couple of hours of teaching Occitan Dancing for those who were interested.

You all know how much I love dancing, so of course I went! It was a wonderful way to spend a sunny spring afternoon in Montpellier. I wish I had pictures, but I was so busy busting a move that I wasn't able to capture any. We learned something like four to five different circle dances (I wish I'd know them before I went to Avignon!) in the Place du Peyrou where many a tourist gaped at the spectacle we were making.


And, after a quick youtube search, you are in so much luck! This is from a few years ago, but it is the same dance and the same Jean-Paul (our Occitan guide!).

Can't wait to bring it back to Chapel Hill! It'll be a thing, just you wait.

PS) Here is a picture of me and my friend practicing our moves. I think it's safe to say that we mastered the dances!

Photo by Beth Moroney

You're never fully dressed without a smile

Peur du jour- 26 Mars 2012- Flashin' the pearly whites

Today I had a bizarre encounter with an old Arab man on the bus on the way back from volunteering at the lycée. I was staring out the window, lost in my head and minding my own business when I felt three strong taps on my shoulder. As I turned around I half expected to be someone from UNC or my church group (I had already run into a friend at the TAM office earlier this morning!), but to my surprise, it was a stranger. In my head, I have named him Monsieur Ibrahim and our conversation was as follows:

Ibrahim: You look very upset.
Me: Pardon?
I: You look like someone has made you angry.
Me: No, I'm not angry at all.
I: Well you look very upset.
M: No, I'm not upset, just pensive.  
I: Well, you have an air of being very upset. Your fiancé didn't just leave you, I trust?
M: [stammering stupidly]
I: Oh, you don't have a fiancé?
M: No, I don't have a fiancé.
I: Is that why you're upset? I bet you'll have a fiancé, a pretty girl like you.
M: Thank you, but I'm not upset.
I: Well you should smile! Life is too short to be upset. And I bet you'll find your fiancé.

Bizarre.

While I definitely was not upset on the bus, I was kind of in the midst of worrying about things. Worrying about my lack of summer job/internship, worrying about my life after college, worrying about how my aversion to the pursuit of money may not be entirely practical, worrying about how much life back home has changed, worrying about how I'm going to shape French-Kathleen back with American-Kathleen. Worrying, worrying, worrying.

 And this little interaction was a bit of a splash of cold water.

Life is too short to spend time worrying. Nothing under His control is out of control. And for that, I'll smile.

PS) Talk about a cultural contradiction. This time the goofy American golden retriever was picked out for NOT smiling.

Stage fright

Peur du jour: 25 Mars 2012- Public Speaking

So today we began daylight savings time in France-land (goodbye five hour difference between me and Carolina basketball, hello one hour less of sleep!). And, like anyone who is over reliant on technology to give her the time, I missed morning mass. (I thought that turning my cell phone off and turning back on around six in the morning would change it to the right time.. it didn't). But I took it as a sign that I wasn't meant to go to morning mass at St. Denis, and instead decided that I would go to evening mass at St. Bernadette which was being organized by La Source.

So I got to the church early to help prepare for the mass however I could. Part of this was organizing la quête (the collection) and the other part of this was doing a reading for mass. I had been asked in a different church to do the reading back in my first few weeks of being in Montpellier, but I was too much of a scaredy-cat to do it. This time was different. Sort of.

I've never really been one to get stage fright. In fact, I love to perform. I love giving speeches in class, performing in plays, and singing and playing my saxophone for an audience. But for whatever reason, I was really nervous to do this. I felt a little better after reading through the passage and seeing that there were no funky words (even in English, there are words and lots of names that I stumble over), but my heart was still hammering as I approached the alter.

And then I realized that I was just going to do my best and that my best would have to be enough. So what if I'm not a native French speaker? So what if my accent isn't perfectly perfect all the time? I'm not willing to let my fears/apprehensions hold me back from contributing.

And I actually think it went pretty well!

Le jazz

Cultural Lesson # 2: Le jazz français


If anyone is looking for some good French music recommendations, I have some! I haven't been able to stop listening to a few artists recently, and they're so good that I have been trying to find excuses to share them with people. 


The first artist is ZAZ who is described as a pop singer with gypsy jazz influences. Le jazz manouche (or gypsy jazz) was born in the 1930s with group of gypsy musicians called Djanjo. Originally, this music was sans percussion and relied heavily on acoustic guitar and also the violin, clarinet, and accordion. A rhythmic guitar replaced the traditional percussion set-up. Most of her music makes use of traditional percussion, but you can still just feel the influence of the jazz manouche.


ZAZ- Ni oui ni non(2010)

The second artist is Le Comptoir des Fous. This group, self described as swing'n'roll is actually from Montpellier! They remind me a lot of the zydeco music to which I've listened, and I just feel like eating a big bowl of gumbo and dancing on Bourbon Street when I'm listening to them. They should blast this in the Tar Heel locker room to get our boys motivated (Go Heels!).

Le comptoir des fous- Pourquoi s'emmerder



Happy swinging!

Le marchée

I've decided that in addition to my "peur du jour"s I'm going to mix in some cultural lessons for everyone!

 Cultural Lesson #1: French Markets

Today's lesson is (as the title indicates) about French markets (pronounced mar-SHAY). Since I don't drink coffee and try not to blow my budget on French pastries and wine, going to the market is the thing I do that makes me feel the most French. Every Saturday morning I get up early (for a Saturday in France) to go to le marchée des arceux (the market that is under the arches of the aqueduct). Because I live in centre-ville and the market is just outside of the main part of town, I get to observe the activity in Montpellier during my 15 minute walk.

La place de la comédie

I always see something noteworthy while walking through the place de la comédie (the heart of town). This morning I heard a fanfare (I'll probably do a cultural lesson about this later) playing. Other times there will be protests, street performers, and other colorful manifestations of human activity (like the gypsy petting zoo). While walking through le jardin de Peyrou, I'm usually always harangued by someone trying to get me to sign something or give them money. You'd think that, as a university student, I would be used to this and would be skilled at avoiding interaction with these people. However, I've found that people who want something from you are a lot more aggressive in France. One time a gypsie girl saw me from across the park and made a beeline for me. She was only about 10 or 11, so I wasn't too concerned. But as I said "merci" and stuck my hand out like a stop sign (I learned from my Northern friends that this is a very French thing to do), she latched on to my elbow and would not let go. I literally had to shake her off. I felt bad because she was so young, but at the same time, it's definitely NOT okay to physically interact with someone like that...

Jardin de Peyrou (beware of gypsie girls!)

Now to the fun part! The market! I've already talked about the market in Arles (which is the biggest of it's kind in France, or at least in the South of France). Montpellier's Saturday market may be smaller, but it's of no lesser quality! Every time, I wander to the same stand at the opposite end of the market to buy apples and carrots for the week.

Under these arches, the vendors set up their stands!

During this journey, one thing I love to do is close my eyes and guess which stands I'm passing (I can ALWAYS guess the olives). In my head I'm always drafting detailed descriptions (and sometimes even poetry) of what I'm experiencing, so today I decided to stop to note some of the things that I find the most striking. I always marvel at the seas of olives whose scent I drown in, the chickens whose necks and clawed feet still dangle from their bodies and the rabbits whose eyes watch over the passersby, the piles of fresh, crusty bread, miles of fresh cheese pressed with rosemary and thyme, a rainbow of homemade jams, yards of sausage in curled heaps, burlap sacks brimming with dried herbs and spices, hills of lettuce and radishes, apples in every color, crates upon crates of pears and oranges, row after row of strawberry cartons, pyramids of fresh farm eggs, succulent pastries and cakes heaped with chocolate and fruit, a jungle of fresh-cut and potted flowers, canopies of scarves and cloth, and beaches of jewelry that glitter in the sunlight.

And the people are usually just as interesting. There is always the Arab man with his cart selling mint tea, a man playing the ukulele, puppeteers with marionettes, and a number of people soliciting religious and political causes.

Now, markets are a huge cultural thing for a lot of reasons. The first reason being that food is life in France. Meals are less about "nourishing" as we tend to think of them in America and more about "sharing" and "enjoying." I tend a be a I-eat-what-is-put-in-front-of-me type of person. But my host mother always talks about how you shouldn't eat something unless it really brings you pleasure to eat it (I agree to a certain extent, but I don't think she's ever had to eat dining hall food). But in seeing food differently, I think the French take a lot more pride in buying the best ingredients (which of course come from the markets and not the SUPERmarkets). Of course, I know this exists in the US as well (the best corn in the world is sold at the Grayslake farmer's market... yum!), but it's just such a part of mainstream culture here.

Another reason that markets are culturally significant is that they are such a smorgasbord (had to use spell check for that word) of regionally distinct products. I've tried to buy only local products while in France (I figure that I can eat Brazilian bananas in the United States) which is easy to do at the markets. There are all sorts of French,  Mediterranean, and middle eastern (which really is a part of the culture here) specialties. I like to taste the different olives and cookies and breads; I'll even occasionally buy something for lunch from the market (my eye is on the paella for next time!). Not only is each stand brimming with edible cultural manifestations, but also each vendor is brimming with knowledge. When the market's not very busy (which is not often now that le grand froid is over), I love to talk to the vendors about their food! They're so proud of what they do and are always happy to share knowledge with a bright-eyed bushy-tailed American student.

Markets are one thing I'm really going to miss about France!

As Usher would say: these are my confessions

Peur du jour- 22 Mars 2012: Confession

So, I'll just be honest. Confession is something that still kind of causes me to get stressed out. I didn't grow up doing it, which means the first time that I went I was a wreck. I probably gave myself a week of reconnaissance work:
1) I scoped out the church ahead of time to make sure I knew where the confessional was
2) Then I did research online about the dialogue to say.
3) Then I went to a week day mass to observe what others did before and after they went to confession.

I was like Nancy Drew, man.

So since confession is something that I had not decided to do regularly until this past year, I still am a little apprehensive when I go. And never in a million years did I ever think that I'd be confessing in French. From not knowing the script to not ever thinking about that kind of vocabulary to imagining how hard it would be to have a conversation in French in a muffled and dark compartment (having French phone conversations is still a somewhat painful experience), the excuses that I could come up with were as abundant as Abraham's descendents.

But last night at La Source, that's what the theme was-- confession. So I swallowed my uncertainties and went for it. Confession in this context was way more casual than anything I'd ever experienced in the US. First of all, there was no confessional. It was just me sitting with the priest (this may have been because it was a special mass and a special group... but I'm not sure). Also, there was no script. No "forgive me father for I have sinned", no statement of how long it had been since my last time. I asked the Priest how I should start, having explained that I was American and had never confessed in French before, and he told me to be honest and sincere and jump right in.

This experience was totally nothing like I was expecting it to be. I'm also so glad I had the courage to just go for it. And if ever you're a little apprehensive about going to confession, take heart; if I can do it in French, you can do it in English!

Being a teacher is hard

Peur du jour- 19 Mars 2012: Pulling teeth (in the figurative sense)

So sometimes volunteering at lycée Jules Guesde is like pulling teeth. I get the feeling that most of the students are either not terribly confident with their English or they don't really care about the subject. This can sometimes be a little frustrating when what the teacher wants me to do is talk with the students one-on-one about a random topic (There's really only so much you can say about malbouffe and the documentary Super Size Me).

So this Monday, I decided to just talk to the kids about themselves. The whole point is to get them talking with a native speaker, and half of them didn't even pay attention to the documentary anyways (not to mention that I watched it over four years ago, so my recollection is pretty foggy). In this effort, I found out some pretty cool things!

One kid I was talking to kept saying "j'suis nul en anglais" ("I'm no good in English") to which I had to keep saying "That's okay, just give it your best shot. I'm here to help you." I eventually asked him if he had any desire to learn English or if he was just trying to get through the class because it was required. He then told me (en français, malheureusement) about how when he was little, he spoke German, English, and French, but then had some sort of mental block/language overload and couldn't speak at all. His doctor told him (or, rather, his parents, because he was only five) that he had to pick one language, because three was too much for him.

Another kid I met was wearing a bulls hat! I got so excited as I explained that I was from Chicago and that I was a student from the university where Jordan played college ball! He didn't seem to be super jazzed about basketball, but did say that he loves Air Jordans. I also found out that he is from Senegal and plays for the football (read: soccer) team in Sète. We talked about how he balances school with being on the football team and the differences he has noticed between Senegal and France. As a side note, he was wearing Beats, which made me miss the athletes back in Tar-Heel-Land

The world is just full of interesting people, and clearly, the only way you're gonna find out more about them is by asking!

Communion wine is better in France

Peur du jour- 18 Mars 2012: Branching out

It's so easy to get into a routine (well, for me). For me it's so easy to find little excuses to just stick to what I know. But tonight I decided to try a new church (gutsy, I know). A friend that I made last weekend on the retreat lives with the Dominican monks in Montpellier and he said that the mass there is really fantastic. Luckily, it's not too far from where I live and the time more or less worked with my schedule (we eat dinner at 20h00 every night).

So Beth and I ventured to this church to try something new. And it was maybe the best church I've been to in Montpellier. There was an interesting juxtaposition of medieval architecture and contemporary art. The choir was FANTASTIC and the way that the voices just filled the barrel vaulting of the church was truly incredible. Also the wine at communion was out of this world (it is the blood of Christ, after all). I actually have not seen wine at communion since I've been to France and I usually don't even take the wine because I'm such a germaphobe (but my friend jokingly said that the Dominicans have the best communion wine around, so I figured I had to partake).

Also, it the bulletin there were plenty of concerts and lectures advertised which would be really fun to see! This week there is a contemporary organ and saxophone concert with a saxophonist who is apparently renowned in Montpellier. There's also a big choral concert next Sunday.

All in all, it was a very good choice to branch out. Lesson learned.

Flamingos and horses and beaches, oh my!

Peur du jour- 17 Mars 2012: Solo Adventure

Happy Saint Patrick's Day! I'm positive this day means absolutely nothing in France (except for people who just want an excuse to do something festive at an Irish Pub). The past few years I've spent Saint Patrick's day in Chicago, so it's kind of a big change for me to not be walking next to a green river and weaving through the green waves of people who have been drinking since 8 AM.

I decided to celebrate Saint Patrick's day by biking to Palavas-Les-Flots, a little beach town just south of Montpellier. I sprained my foot last week and have had to take a forced hiatus from running, so a nice long bike ride was just what my body had been craving. After packing my lunch and a few calls to some of the girls in my group who were familiar with the Velomagg system, I was ready to go! Vélomagg (vélo = bike, magasin = store) is like Bikeshare in the US. I got the bike for four hours for 1€, which is not bad at all! The bike itself was not very fancy, but it served its purpose. It only had three gears, but it did have a bell (which I could never convince my mom to let me have on my bike)!

My trusty steed

The ride there was really nice. The trail, which follows the river, is in great condition in most sections. I did get a little confused when I had to take a detour which was not super obvious. I was riding along and then came around a blind turn and nearly ran into a barrier announcing construction. Luckily I found the yellow arrows pointing me to Palavas. The detour lead through an area with a bunch of condos, and not a lot of sidewalk space. I was trying to keep my promise to my dad that I would stay off the roads (and away from the crazy Medi drivers), but the narrow sidewalks were not kind to me. At one point I had to choose between a thorn bush and a street sign and in my inability to make a decision, I ran into both. Graceful. But I kept my promise, dad! Suffice it to say, I was happy to find the bike trail again. Throughout the rest of the ride, I saw a lot of horses (and even made friends with a few of them!). 

This guy walked right up to me when I made my horse-clicking noises, but wanted nothing to do with the carrots I brought especially for him!

Where the Lez River meets the Mediterranean Sea, it feeds into many marshes and bogs. It was very similar to the Camargue region that I saw when I visisted Arles and Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer. This type of terrain is, of course, abundant with wildlife. In addition to seeing a lot of herons and cranes, I even saw some wild flamingos!

Not something that I see everyday!

Flamingos in flight!

I finally made it to the beach and basically had it to myself. My host mother told me that she loves to go to the beach in May and June, but avoids it at all costs in July and August because that's when the "Northerners" come. She complains about how the Parisians fill the beach just like they fill the metro and leave no personal space for anyone. I can't wait to come back to the beach when it gets a little warmer to lay out in the sun and treat myself to some ice cream from one of the dozens of glaceries I saw!

Just me, my vélomagg, and la mer méditerrané

Pas de souci (No Worries!)

Peur du jour: 14 Mars 2012: Inquiry

So for my class at UPV that nearly always flabbergasts me, we found out that we have our final paper due very shortly. Like in two weeks (the professor may move it back because the French students were NOT happy).

Luckily it is a partner project, so Jason and I will work on it together. All the same, we have been kind of agitated with the situation because the professor never seems to be very helpful when we ask him about what the requirements are. We had kind of settled on a topic and were going to start brainstorming about what the paper would be investigating when Jason just decided to go ask the professor (again) what the deal was exactly.

So glad he did that. I guess the billionth time is a charm and this time the professor finally understood that we were American students in a final-semester French class. This means that we aren't being pushed out into the real world like the other French students (either for more schooling or for a job which relates to this subject matter). This also means that French is not our first language, and maybe it would be a little unrealistic to expect us to craft something on the same level as the other students who have been doing it for years.

So he told us how to do the assignment in a way that works better for our strengths. Essentially we will be creating a dossier that does explore a topic, but also that is a portfolio of our research (which means we can have lots of graphs and primary-source documents.) He also said that he would be evaluating us while keeping in mind our status as American study-abroad students.

Relief.

Happy 10-week-versary!

Today marks the precise halfway point of my time in Europe! It's kind of crazy to think of all that has happened in the first half of my trip. I've definitely grown a lot and learned a lot and experienced new things and met interesting people and seen beyond-incredible sights.

When I first got here, I wasn't 100% comfortable. The beginning of anything is always somewhat strange... It's uncomfortable to feel displaced (I definitely had my fair share of culture shock moments). It was also way too cold (I WOULD pick the year that Europe sets record lows). And of course, there was that language thing. It's not that I didn't want to be here or that I was necessarily unhappy, but I am just someone who is so used to habit and routine. It has taken time for me to feel like I am living here and not just someone who is passing through (though, in essence, that is what I'm doing). But I have taken the effort to connect with Montpellier and with French people which has made a world of difference. If  you ever think about studying abroad, MAKE NATIVE FRIENDS. It takes effort, but it has definitely been worth it. I came here to live France, not visit it.

As I get more and more comfortable and make more and more connections, I can tell that it's going to be hard to leave. I know I'm still going to be excited to go home (I can't stop dreaming about Mexican food), and I'd be lying if I said I didn't have Carolina In My Mind, but with every passing day I see a little more of how these twenty weeks are going to shape me for the rest of my life.


Phew. Deep.

Here's another kitty I saw in Saint-Guilhem to lighten the mood!

Also: Proof that I'm always proud to be a Tar Heel! (It spells CAROLINA :)

PS) I've put the links for my bucket list and the French foods that I've eaten in an easy-to-locate place at the bottom of the right-hand side bar. Feel free to check them out on a regular basis (especially the food one which I update nearly every day)!

Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert

Peur du weekend- 9 Mars - 11 Mars: Weekend retreat

I just had one of my favorite experiences in France thus far!

This weekend, I went on a weekend retreat through the Eglise Saint Bernadette where I participate in the youth group that I go to each Thursday night. We went to Saint-Guilhem-le-desert which is an INCREDIBLE town perched in the "high valley" of the Herault region. Our group of 10 (of whom I knew only the priest) stayed in a Carmelite Monastery in this small pilgrimage town. It was the first time in my life I'd ever been on an overnight retreat and I'm so glad I made the decision to go. I was nervous because I wasn't really sure what I was getting myself into on a lot of fronts, but, as is often the case, everything turned out even better than I expected.

Here are some highlights:

1) Spending a whole weekend (except for a period of maybe half an hour) speaking in French! Nothing beats being surrounded with native speakers and not even having the option of speaking in English (though it seemed like some of my new friends liked to throw out the English words they knew every once in awhile). It's also really encouraging that I had three different people on three different occasions tell me how impressed they were with my French. I even made witty in-the-moment jokes (hey, it's hard when you do a grammar check on everything you say before you say it). And everyone laughed!

2)  My first car ride in France. Maybe this isn't that exciting... but it was pretty cool to watch the French countryside rolling by with my hand out the window (in the wind)!

3) My first traditional French meal experience. So a lot of the other American students here live with families that like to feed them a lot EVERY night. You've got the entrée and then the salad and then the plat and then the fromage and then the dessert. I've heard stories about where some of my friends have just had to go lay motionless on their bed after dinner because they were served so much food and their host families encouraged them to eat all of it. Luckily I was not rendered immobile by any of my meals, but I did have an oh-my-gosh-when-is-this-meal-going-to-end-?!?! moment (and laughed silently to myself when it happened). It was a good cultural experience eat the French way, even if it was just for a weekend. Here's a rough outline of how nearly every French person eats:

• Breakfast: tartine (bread with butter and confiture), coffee or tea or juice, fruit
• Lunch: Appetizer, main course, cheese course, dessert
• 4pm snack: fruit, yogurt, etc.
• Dinner: ...this one I'm a little confused about because I had always thought French people ate lighter for dinner, but our dinner on Saturday night was just as large as the lunch.

4) My first French "jeu de société" (board game). I am such a board game-a-holic. So when the first night I realized that playing a French board game would be our getting to know you activity I was INSTANTLY hooked. I tried to politely veto anything that was American ( they love Monopoly and Scrabble and all the stuff that we play) and we finally landed on something called Le Village. The premise is that a small village is infested with les loup-garous (werewolves) and you are trying to figure out who is who. It was really super fun (especially because we were playing in the dark with only the light of a crackling, cozy fire). I was even elected mayor one round and successfully found out the werewolves in two swift turns (because my powers of deduction and perception are excellent) with no accidental villager casualties. Bravo is what they said to me.

5) Making animal friends. I don't think I've ever seen so many friendly animals in a town ever.

Exhibit A (this looks like my kitty!):

 Exhibit B (this little guy followed me around for awhile and is perched on my leg in this picture):

 Exhibit C:
Saturday night we went to evening prayer with the Carmelite nuns in the main Church in Saint Guilhem. In the middle of the whole thing I hear this pitiful yowling coming from behind me where the main entrance is. Sure enough, a little orange striped cat wanders over to me. I can't help but pet it which I guess was an instant invitation to jump in my lap. I've never had a cat purring in my lap during church before. It was kind of awesome.

6) Hiking to somewhere that seems inconceivably high.

This is my view from above: (you can see part of the foot trail winding down into the village which is on the left)

This is me, perched in the ruins of an old castle:

 I saved this for last... do you see that tiny castle-looking thing on the very last cliff (roughly the center of the picture)?

Yeah. I climbed there. And there wasn't really a path. And I did it in oxford flats (which was stupid, but I got locked out of the monastery because I was REALLY late coming back from personal prayer time, so I couldn't change my shoes).



I have so many more stories to tell, but I feel that this has reached a sufficient length. The last thing I'll say is that this weekend was so much more than just a weekend of cultural and language growth and getting to see a cool little French village. I grew so much spiritually and was really happy to devote an entire weekend doing nothing but praying and reflecting and reading the Bible and devoting my time to God. I'm so delighted to haven partaken in this and can't wait to put into action everything I have learned!

"Bien"

Okay so remember that pop midterm I thought I was taking last week? Today we got the papers back and all mine said was "Bien."

My face

Overnight adventures

Peur du jour- 6 Mars 2012: Finding a sleeping bag

There are a lot of things that I didn't foresee needing in France:

• Winter jacket (I promise this isn't another post about being cold)
•  My academic worksheet (#facepalm)
• Tissues (because, like toilet seats, this is considered unnecessary in public bathrooms)
• A bigger memory card
• My wonderful snuggie!
• Envelopes (for sending letters and insurance claims-more about this after it is completely resolved)
• Sleeping bag

Some of these things I've gone without. Some of these things have been purchased or sent to me. But for the sleeping bag, I had to do a little digging. After a slew of emails and Facebook messages with my French friends, I finally found one to borrow!

And why, you may ask, might I need un sac de couchage? Well, my friends, I am going on a retreat this weekend to Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert. I'm so excited for a weekend of nothing but French and prayer (and maybe even prayer in French? I've gotten to that level of competency yet) in this beautiful medieval village which used to be a stop on the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostella.

 Lots of stories to follow!


PS) I've started keeping track of my French Taste-bud Adventures for those who are interested!

Playing the cool foreigner

Peur du jour - 5 Mars 2012: Giving my time

So yesterday I started volunteering on Monday mornings in addition to Thursday mornings at lycée Jules Guesde. I was a little unsure about it because I had formerly spent my Monday mornings exercising and doing work for class. I also have three hours of class in the afternoon, so my Mondays will feel pretty packed now. I also would be working in three different classrooms with three different teachers which means three potentially different experiences from what I've been having. Basically I was letting a lot of little things cloud my mind about wanting to get more involved.

But in my twenty and half years of living, I've learned the most cherished thing that you can give to any person is your time, so I decided to make the commitment and plunge into an extra three hours on Monday mornings. I'm so glad that I did! I worked with two classes that are very similar to the classes I have been helping on Thursday mornings, but I also got the opportunity to work with the "international" class. These are French students whose course work has an international focus (particularly on anglophone studies).

These students are highly motivated (ie. a breath of fresh air) and are speaking at an elevated level of English. I came in on the day that they were starting to discuss The Crucible (they just finished reading and performing Romeo and Juliet). For the first half of the class they had a mini history lesson about America's Puritan founding. I was definitely having flashbacks to my Junior year English class where we read Jonathan Edwards and William Bradford and Anne Bradstreet and, of course, Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter.

Then, the second half of class, I introduced myself and answered any questions they might have about me/my experiences. It was so so SO weird to be on this side of the equation. I remember the few times that French students came to my high school: our classes would always be so excited to speak to them in French and ask them about French school and culture and life and food and EVERYTHING. The French students mostly asked me about my experience as an American college student. I talked about marching band, greek life, SATs/ACTs, my internship in Washington D.C., living in the dorms, majors/minors... It's always so funny when I run into French people who are enthralled with American culture or the English language. One man's home is another person's exotic fantasy.

Also, everyone could understand my accent. A nice change of pace..

Stinky cheese

Peur du jour- 2 Mars 2012: Roquefort

I'd kind of been sad that I hadn't been having the same cheese adventures as a lot of the other students here seem to be having.  One of my close friends is very into trying new cheeses and has a cheese course at dinner every night, but my family is much more casual than that. However, a couple of nights ago it came up in conversation during dinner that I had never tried Roquefort cheese, so my host mother took it upon herself to get some for me to try.

Note the moissisure (mold)

So I'm not sure if a French person would laugh at me for calling Roquefort a strong cheese. It's a type of blue cheese which is made in Roquefort (about an hour and a half away from Montpellier). Because it's made so close to Montpellier, it seems to be pretty popular. I've even heard talk of visiting the Roquefort caves where you can buy the stinky cheese straight from its stinky den! I was the only one brave enough to try it (Jessie doesn't really like strong cheeses and Daniel said he was going to wait to see my reaction first), but I'm willing to try everything at least once. I'm not sure if I will ever find myself craving this, but it was alright the way my host mother told me to eat it (on bread with lots and lots of butter!).

Mother tongue

Peur du jour- 1 Mars 2012: Teaching Frenchies the Chicago "A"ccent 

I'm assuming you guys can all hear in your mind the way that last word is supposed to sound.

So I have not yet talked about my experience volunteering at lycée Jules Guesde (the s is silent... weird, I know). Every Thursday morning (and soon to be Monday and Thursday mornings), I take the bus over to this lycée professional to help out in the English classes. The teacher I work with is really great and tends to like to give me a lot of responsibility.

Some of the funniest things that have happened are trying to get them to understand my "heavy accent." In France, they learn British English (because England is a lot closer than America), but I've never really thought that the way I spoke was difficult to understand. Of course I have an American accent (and even a little bit of a Chicago accent...), but I always assumed that if I at least spoke slowly and clearly, they would understand.

The first time I introduced myself and talked about where I was from and why I was in France and what I was studying, I had a room full of blank stares. And one girl stood up and said (in English) (very loudly) "I DON'T UNDERSTAND." I was reduced to drawing a crude map of the united states on the board and saying "home" while pointing at Chicago and "school" while pointing in the general direction of UNC. And then all the "oooh"s and "ahhh"s and "that's so far!"s started. Also, I mentioned that UNC has a great basketball team, but I'm pretty sure that some of them misunderstood and think that I play basketball for UNC.

Suffice it to say that I end up speaking a lot of French to them (which is fine by me!). I do help them with the tricky pronunciations, though. One of the business classes I was working with was doing a dialogue where one person worked in a clothing store and the other person was a client. The two boys I was helping were writing a dialogue about a "shirt," and they had to be hastily corrected (please, just think for a minute about what inappropriate word "shirt" can sound like). I'm starting to notice which sounds the French have trouble making, which is very interesting (and helps me understand why my name is so butchered. They call me Karlein. Not my name, but it's okay). I think to them, English must feel like spastic stuttering. I was correcting someone on how to pronounce the word "asked" and realized how many percussive sounds our language has!

My work with the lycéens has been rewarding thus far, but every now and again I realize that I may be influencing the way they pronounce English words for the rest of their lives! And then I get really self conscious about my Midwestern accent...