"Amen" is always the same

Peur du jour- 20 Mai 2012: German Mass

About four months ago, I went to my first mass in French. And I was terrified. On my morning walk to mass in the small Bavarian town of Lupburg, I experienced similar anxiety. Only this time, I was going to mass in a language which I don't speak at all (other than ein bier, bitte or danke or tschüss). Luckily, God blessed me with a few German friends in Montpellier who helped me prepare for this very mass.

In comparison with what I came to know in France, German mass much more closely resembles American mass.

• It has the same sense of order concerning the procession for the Eucharist, the kneeling/sitting/standing business, and the communication of hymnal pages (they had a cool light up board in the front of the church so I didn't even have to try to interpret numbers!). This organization does not surprise me at all; I've already waxed poetic about the trains. 

German Church in Lupburg

French Cathedral in Montpellier

• The architectural style is completely different from what I experienced in France. White walls instead of stone; natural light instead of colored.

• Similar demographics. There were lots of children and families (so I definitely didn't feel like an outlier skewing the average age). This is likely because Catholicism is a lot stronger in this region. In Bavaria, I see the stations of the cross along the walking trails. In Montpellier, it seemed like more people were "PACS"ed (a type of civil union) than were married.

But I also noticed some differences:

• Much less singing than in American or French masses.
• Like French mass, worship is more personal (vs. communal) in the manner that no one holds hands during the "Our Father" and the exchange of peace seemed to be confined to those sitting only to your left and to your right. I think this probably goes back to the fact that Americans tend to be much more touchy-feely.
• Mass in general seemed to be a little more formal. There's the manner of dressing which in general tends to be less casual in Europe. Also, I noticed that everyone in mass always had their hands folded in prayer which seems a little stricter than the US and far stricter than France.

So I think that in addition to having caught the travel bug this semester, I've caught the Catholic-comparison bug. It's so incredible to me how the slight variations in the rhythm and customs of a mass can be such a manifestation of regional and national culture. I can't wait to keep exploring, but in the mean time, I'd love to hear about your experiences in masses around the world in the comments!

Mais, je parle français

Peur du jour- 15 Mai 2012: More language immersion 

Today, Lindsey and I went to Regensburg, a really cool Bavarian town on the Danube river. We looked at the beautiful cathedrals, wandered around a fest and enjoyed beer, sauerkraut, and sausage at a restaurant on the river side.

A bridge over the Danube with a view of the Gothic cathedral

The restaurant was one of those places with a bunch of picnic tables where you sit down at the same table with strangers. After spending a few minutes hovering (UNC's dining hall, Lenoir, has really honed our table hunting skills), we found two spots at a nice table in the sun. After ordering our beers (the waitress started talking to us in English after we most surely butchered her native tongue), I heard that the people next to us were speaking French. Génial!

Our incredibly delicious lunch

Lindsey suggested that I ask them to take a picture of us once we got our beers. And without missing a beat, as soon as the waitress set the beers down on the table I was speaking French. We got to talking about how I had just spent the semester in Montpellier and where they were from and all of that. We let them enjoy their meal, but they said goodbye to us before they left!

The aforementioned picture taken by French hands!

Before my semester abroad, I would have been way too shy to do this. Isn't it cool how things change?

Ich spreche kein Deutsch

Peur du jour: 14 Mai 2012- Not speaking the language

So, I'm no longer in Montpellier, but I figured that you guys still might be interested in my travels! I'm currently spending a week in Bavaria with a friend from UNC and her wonderful family! Did you know that they don't, in fact, speak French here, but rather, German?

The small town of Lupburg, where my friend lives.

One of my friends who is a Deutschmeister back at UNC gave me some helpful phrases to use during my stay in the land of beer and sausage: hello, thank you, you're welcome, I'd like, etc. Unfortunately, I kind of forgot to write all of these phrases down and learn them before I went out to interact with natives. So we ended up at a bäckerei (bakery) pointing at donuts saying "ein". Oh, goodness.

Luckily, we walked out with these. Not too shabby.

Later I committed myself to learning the phrases my friend had taught me, refreshing my German numbers, and learning the days of the week (I don't know why I would need to know that, but it could come in handy). It's pretty humbling to be in a country where you don't speak the language. It's not that they don't speak English, but it's a big jump from France, where I felt like I could really grasp the culture and get around.

Bavarian farm fields

But I'm quite taken with Germany, so add Deutsch to the growing list of languages I'd like to learn.

Wanna play ball?

Peur du jour- 11 Mai 2012: More interaction with strangers

So today was an absolutely gorgeous sunny day that a large group of us decided to spend à la plage (at the beach)! I packed a totally French picnic lunch (baguette, cheese, grape tomatoes, apple, and rosé) and took the tram and the bus over to Palavas-les-flots, the cute beach town to which I biked in March.

We had an excellent time picnicking in the sun, lounging in the soft sand, and going as far as we dared into the water that was full of crabs and jellyfish (another peur du jour). But we had a hankering to play some beach sports: soccer, volleyball, anything! Without the proper equipment for these sports (aka: a ball) we were left to stare longingly at the fields of sand that would be perfect for a little healthy competition. We finally spotted a group of what must have been high school boys with a volleyball, but no one was courageous enough to go over and ask if they wanted to play.

Looking back on it, I still have no idea why I get so nervous to talk to people. But I threw the fear of rejection aside and asked if they wanted to play volleyball with us. And they said yes. And we had a great match!

Kathleen, when will you learn to not be such a scaredy cat?

Service with a simper

Cultural Lesson # 9: [Lack of] Customer service

Forecast of this blog post: rant with a chance of negativity. Sorry!

We all know the mantra "the customer is always right." Or at least I thought we all did. To put it delicately, customer service has a whole different face in France. It has been one cultural difference that I haven't quite been able to embrace and I frequently find myself thinking "back home, this would never happen." Some examples (from least to greatest level of annoyance):

Exhibit A: The inconsistent peanut butter price
So, like any good study abroad student, I made myself a budget to account for travel, transport, food, and miscellaneous expenses.  For the food, in particular, I relied on prices at the grocery store to make this budget. The great thing about France (and other European countries) is that tax is included in the price of everything. So I can easily calculate exactly what I will spend and always have the right amount of cash ready. Once while going to buy a jar of peanut butter (a cost effective if not French lunch option), I noticed that the price at check out was several euros higher than the listed price. When I made a remark about it, the cashier told me it wasn't her job to check prices and that if I wanted a refund I could take it up with customer service. The desk of which I couldn't even find.

Exhibit B: The uppity banker
So in the beginning of my séjour, I completely forgot the assigned code to my French debit card. After entering my American code three times, the machine ate my card (d'oh!). So the next day I went to the bank with a piece of ID to recuperate it. After waiting in line for ten minutes, I gave the banker a friendly bonjour, explained my situation, and handed over my carte d'identité.  The lady gave me a disgusted look and told me very harshly that my drivers license wasn't a valid form of ID. I was already having a rough day (I'm pretty sure this was a Wednesday in February which means I was cold and I had just suffered through a horrible class), and I just remember being so upset that the lady didn't find it worth her energy to kindly explain to me that I needed a passport. I mean, I AM giving them my money after all.

Exhibit C: The restaurant owners who turn you away
Several times I have been turned away from a restaurant/food stand for no apparent reason. In Paris, we walked by a grillade stand (they serve grilled sausages and kebabs and whatnot) around their closing time. They were starting to pack up, but they had tons of cooked sausages still sitting on the grill. As we tried to order, the lady very rudely told us that they were closed. Also, when trying to sit down outside at a pub around noon, the store owners chased us away and said that it would be "a good fifteen minutes" until we were allowed to sit. We would have been fine with sitting and just waiting to be served, but apparently they were more interested in taking their smoke break than having customers.

Exhibit D: The key saga
This happened back in February. It is such a big story, but I didn't want to write about it until it was over, because I didn't want to jinx anything. So right after February break, I broke my key to the apartment in the lock of the door (just call me super-strength-Kathleen). Luckily, I got the whole key out, but when I showed my host mother she had a very strong reaction (the French don't really hold back with things like that). She told me to buy a new key would cost 130 euro. Holy cats. Whats more, the key had to be made at a special factory in Paris and would take as much as a week to be made (leaving me without a key during this period). So I freaked out and went to the program director because I had no idea what to do. Luckily, we figured out that the one euro insurance I bought at the beginning of the program would cover it (literally, the best one euro I ever spent). Yay!

Long story short, it took me 25 days for the key to get made because there was some problem at the key factory. So I was without a key for nearly a month. Super super super inconvenient because I am definitely the one who comes and goes the most (other than our host mother). I had to make sure someone would be around if I decided to go for a run, or wanted to come home for lunch, etc. My host mother and I literally shouted "HALLELUIAH!" when the key arrived.

Furthermore, working with the insurance company was incredibly frustrating. I filed the claim the day after I broke the key and sent in all of the necessary documentation (receipt for the new key, proof of residence, an attestation of what had happened, and my bank account information), but for one reason or another, there was always something wrong or something that I didn't do quite right (not because I neglected to read directions, but because they didn't TELL me the very particular way that they wanted things). Finally I went to my bankers who are the sweetest guys ever and they called the insurance company and basically told them to stop harassing me and to give me my money. Pascal to the rescue. I am going to miss that guy. I finally got my money just before I left for April break. Ridicule!


Silver lining: I had the best bankers ever (the "uppity banker" was at a different branch). There was a period of time when I was going to the bank at least two times a week for the stupid insurance claim. They were always super patient with me when I had no idea what they were saying (I never learned bank vocab in school... did you?). They helped me write out my letters that I had to send to the insurance company. They joked with me about the Chicago Bulls and loved to throw out the random English phrases they knew. They asked how I was adjusting to French culture and how my classes were going at le fac. And they were always super polite and never made me feel like a stupid American who doesn't know anything and should just not even be in France (which is sometimes how I feel after these customer service interactions). I just closed my account today and was actually kind of sad to say goodbye! Definitely the most pleasant experience I've had concerning service-providers.

Tongue Tied

Peur du jour- 29 Avril 2012: Accepting correction with humility

The great thing about kids is that they are straight-talkers. If they notice something that is out of accordance with what they know, they don't hesitate to remark about it.

This characteristic of children is what led me to realize a flaw in some of the things I've been saying in French. There is a vowel complexity that can be particularly tricky for Americans which shows itself in the past participial of the verb courir (to run), "couru".

I can't tell you how many times I've used this word with my host mother. I run every day, but never in my nearly four months here has she corrected me. The second I used this word with some children from my church, however, they were all over it.

"Repeat after me. Cou-ru. No. Cou-ru. No. Cou-ru. No not couru, couru!"

I attempted to repeat after them for several minutes. Incredibly frustrating. But now I whisper this word as I walk to myself in the streets (definitely keeps the crazies away). And I'm thankful that they had no shame in shaming me. Because that's how we learn.

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!

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!

Talk the talk

Peur du jour- 28 Fevrier 2012: Talking to a French classmate

So let's just pretend it didn't take me 8 weeks to rack up my courage to do this. (Yeah, that's right; I've been here for 8 weeks. I only have 12 weeks left in Europa!) I guess to be fair to myself, it's really 7 weeks because I didn't have class my first week here. And if I really want to be completely accurate, I didn't have class at le fac for the past two weeks, so I guess it's only like 5 weeks. It took me five weeks to do this (welcome to the mind of Kathleen, where everything is rationalized and over-analyzed).

So I know I've already complained about my French class which is basically a two hour dictation. The week before I left for Provence, a student I met at la Source (my worship and fellowship group) informed me that it is some sort of requirement for professors working with ERASMUS students to post their notes online. She figured that there might be something already in place to help me out.

In France when you ask the professor anything they say "well, did you ask another student about it?" before they'll even answer your question, so I knew I had to ask another student about it first. I left for class earlier than normal this morning so I could scope out my prey. I ended up just asking the first student to take a seat near me. After about thirty seconds rehearsing in my head what I was going to say (along with lots of Just do it, Kathleen. Don't be a big baby.), I broke the total silence in the room with my awkward American demeanor.

And I lived! Unfortunately, the girl I talked to said there was no online component. I also asked her what she thought of the professor of which I am so very fond (sarcasm) and she called him nul (which is what the French love to say when they think that something is garbage). She also said that she barely even attends that part of class because it's not interesting. This gives me slight hope that if I am at least there and making an effort, maybe the professor will cut me some slack.

If I can muster up enough courage, I'll probably approach the French professor again tomorrow. This is despite the fact that he already fed Jason and I the line that he uses copy-written images and therefore can't post his copiously detailed power points online for students. Only a tad frustrating, but that's life in France for you (the pastries and bread make up for it, je vous jure!)

You guys are probably tired of hearing about my fears of approaching natives, but this one was a long time coming, so I figured it was legitimate. I promise that next time I'll have gone sky diving or eaten the world's hottest pepper or maybe even a more culturally relevant activity.

Les hommes français

Another day without a specific fear about which to talk. I will give you a fun list at the end, though!

This morning when I woke up, j'avais mal à la gorge. Actually, j'ai fait une nuit blanche because of it. I'm hoping that it's just because of the dry and the cold (seriously, didn't I leave the American midwest?). Fortunately, I thought ahead and packed American medication with me so I didn't have to brave la pharmacie and try to figure out the difference between cold medicine and laxatives (this is the worst case scenario I could think of) because EVERYTHING is different. I did wake up early go to to le supermarché which is only open for about three hours in the morning on Sunday (because it's France, and only the Arab épiceries and a few select cafés are open on Sundays). I got some tea, grapefruit juice, tissue packets, and ricola cough drops which were interestingly enough located in the candy aisle. Fortunately for me, cough drops aren't considered to be a type of medicinal product and therefore ARE available for purchase in the super market.

Today will be a lazy homework/packing/recuperating day before my adventures! Tomorrow I leave for Avignon, Nice, and a couple of little villages in the South of France. I'm hoping to escape le froid (it's supposed to be 50 degrees in Nice, I can't wait!), tour a vineyard (I'll take lots of notes, Uncle Tom), visit the parfumeries, socialize in what I've gathered is one of the best hostels in all of France, and celebrate French carnaval! I'm sure I'll have a lot to recount when I get back, but until then:

The Types of Men I've Encountered in France

*Just as a little explanation, I feel like women keep to themselves far more than men do, so overall I've had more encounters with men*

1. The men who yell "courage!" at me when I run: Running is far scarcer in France than in the US, and the French people seem to be a little puzzled/impressed by people who run. I'm not complaining, though, because it makes me feel like I have my own personal cheer leaders...
2. The kindly old man: Whether it was a priest helping me to get involved with the church group or a patron at the library allowing me to use his card to make a copy of a magazine article, I have been the beneficiary of random acts of kidness.
3. The drunken baffoons: I can't say that I've had a ton of encounters with this back in the US, so I can't say if it's better or worse here, but I have felt somewhat uncomfortable walking home at night (early, like between 11:30 and 12:30). It's not just cat calls, it's getting up in my personal space and forcing me to walk through/around them. I've never felt unsafe because there are always a lot of other people around, but it is a little unnerving. 
4. Les Sans Domicile Fixes: They all seem to have dogs and hang out by the tram stations and the carousel in the center square. 
5. The super nice church-goers: Other than my three male professors, these are the only ones that I've had any real contact with. Everyone, male and female, that I've met there has proved to me that we're not so different after all :) 

Bonne semaine!

You've got "une amie" in me

Alright, I've been remiss. Tuesday and Wednesday were uneventful and then Thursday was jam packed:

• 3h00: Wake up in a groggy haze, feeling like death to watch the UNC-d00k game
• 4h30: Feeling good about our performance after halftime
• 5h15: Go to back to bed mildly depressed
• 8h30: Wake up and kick box
• 10h30: Leave the house to head over to Lycée Jules Guesde (that middle s is silent... weird) to volunteer
• 15h15: Class
• 18h30: Leave the house to go to La Source (my worship group)
• 23h30: Get home, collapse in bed

 Fear has not really been an issue in my life this week, so instead I'll give you five reasons why having a French friends is awesome.

1. An opportunity to parler en français!
2. If someone uses a word I don't understand, I can ask for an explanation
3. An opportunity to practice bises (I really hope I am getting less awkward at it...) 
4. They can introduce me to more French people and French things!
5. They really  make me want to get better at French so I can talk more with them!

Also, they are not just amazing because they are French, but because they are truly some of the nicest, warmest, friendliest, most welcoming people I have ever met. I have also realized that I enjoy their company so much because I'm just me. There are no pretenses. I don't know what's "cool" so I don't have to worry about acting that way. I've accepted my goofy American-ness (which is just how I am in general), so there's no pressure to "fit in." I hope I can bring this back with me.

A little more conversation

Peur du jour- 6 Fevrier 2012: Discussion group at a café

 Okay, so lately I've been feeling dishonest about my "peurs" because they haven't really been things that scare me like I was scared in the beginning. I'm realizing that this is probably because I am settling into my comfort zone (and it's not that I'm not putting myself out there, it just doesn't terrify me to speak to people in French anymore). I think this is good on all fronts.

But today I went to a conversation hour at a bookshop/café here to speak French! It was a great way to practice and meet some new people. In fact, I actually met someone from Morocco who made me feel like I should really seize the opportunity to travel there this semester. I now have confirmation that I can get around speaking French in Morocco (because, honestly, I wasn't sure if it was a "second language" that was really just the language of the government) because it's the language everyone speaks in school. He also confirmed that the political climate there is much calmer than that of the rest of the "Arab Spring" nations. It's always good to know that your life dreams are accessible.

It was also a great lesson in cultural diversity/similarity. It was interesting to talk with a native Frenchman about politics in France and politics in America. It was interesting to hear the Moroccan say that he also thought French people were more reserved and private than Moroccans and Americans(he's actually been to the US- Marshalltown, Iowa of all places, Katie!). It was interesting to try to explain the Greek system and my shallow involvement in it, the different levels of college sports, and just how much more expensive American colleges are than most other colleges in the world.

But we also noted how similar we all actually are. We think it's dommage that the media and society in general do a pretty good job of convincing us that we're all so different from each other. Surely, there are differences, but when it comes down to it, we can all find enough similarities among strangers to talk nonstop for two hours.

Chandaleur

Peur du jour- 2 fevrier 2012- Speaking up

So yesterday was a low point. And today was a high point!

Beth and I went to the student mass at the Catholic church near UPV. It was wonderful! Today is the Presentation of Jesus at the Temple and is a holiday known as Chandaleur in France. Most of the secular French celebrate la fête des crêpes by eating lots and lots of crêpes. At the Catholic mass, we did it a little bit differently (but don't worry, I still ate three crêpes for dinner).

The evening started with a wonderful candle light procession outside. It was pretty cold (side note: it snowed again today :), but very moving and meaningful. Then we had mass and a period of meditation before heading to a rec-room in a different building to have discussion in small groups. During the small groups was where I had my peur du jour moment. We were talking about some pretty intimate faith life things and I wanted to say something but my language-apprehension was holding me back. And then I just blurted it out and gave away our American-ness (which was a GOOD thing because after small group several people asked us where we were from).

Dinner was my favorite part because it's where we met so many wonderful people of all ages. Beth and I sat down next to some people that we thought looked friendly and, not that I'm counting my chickens, but I think we made some pretty awesome friends tonight (two of whom are English majors and speak English SO very well). We laughed at jokes in both languages and ate soup and loaded crepes with nutella and drank cider and had a jolly good time. I can't wait to go back.

Bottom line: Good things are worth speaking up for. Good things are worth waiting for. Good things are truly a gift from God.

Just keep swimming

Peur du jour- 27 Janvier 2012- Being Persistent

I was too excited to not share this information right away!

Today after my art history class at la fac (short for la faculté des lettres or another way to say UPV) I decided to just poke around the church until I found someone to love me. My emails were going unanswered and I just wanted an answer: can I find a home here?

The answer: Yes!

I knocked on the office door of a very kindly old priest and I explained who I was and what I was looking for (a group of Catholics to know in Montpellier, because I am an American far from home). He walked me over to a building behind the church where I met two older women to whom I then again explained my story. And huzzah! I found it. Where all of the catholic students have been hiding (not really, I'm just feeling a little silly right now).

This group does at least one event a week including student masses, dinners, and it even looks like I might be able to worm my way into a retreat in March! I was invited to go skiing in February (but it's the weekend I will be celebrating carnaval in Nice, so I had to politely decline).

I'm really hoping this works out. It would be so nice to feel like I am a part of this town and not just living here for four months. I will definitely keep you updated and I have high hopes that God is nudging me in the right direction!


The bottom line: Don't give up!

Missing Fall Fest

Peur du jour- 25 janvier 2012: Getting involved

This isn't as much of a peur du jour as it is a défi du jour (challenge of the day). American universities are a breeding ground for clubs, activities, and ways to meet other students. French universities... not so much. Because French students don't live on campus (remember those ugly pictures from awhile back?), there is a much more low key student life.

I came to Montpellier hellbent on joining the ultimate frisbee team. Then within the first few days I found out that it conflicted with my class schedule (major sadness). So I figured, "hey, why not basketball?" That also didn't work. "Soccer?" Yeah, still conflicts. I quickly ran out of sports that I felt confident enough to play in a foreign country and had to give up my dreams of becoming a superstar athlete at UPV-III.

All of the dances clubs that could have been fun are during dinner time. I've been sending emails to churches to see if they have youth groups and haven't had any response yet (most of my emails have actually gotten sent back because the email addresses were invalid..). Today I tried to go to the cinema club at Accent Francais, but it was really just me, my friend that I had invited to come with me, and a British guy. Not really much of a club, but we had fun watching Petit Nicolas (I had flashbacks to high school French). It seems like my only option would be to join one of the three student unions on campus (for real, these students are organized and they go on strike). Interestingly enough, the unions are the thing about which the French étudiants get the most jazzed. That said, I'm still not interested..

Something I am very excited to start soon is my volunteer work. I will be volunteering at a lycée professional for 3-4 hours a week (potentially 6-8 if I decide to commit to going in an extra day). In France there are two different types of high schools: lycée classique and lycée professional. The former is the traditional high school that prepares you for université while the latter is more of a vocational school. I've heard from former volunteers that the lycéens (high schoolers) are very excited when American volunteers are there because they don't understand why we would want to take the time to serve them. I'm expecting that I will learn a lot about France through it's school system and I'm hoping to really give as much to these kids as I can.

Right now I'm trying not to get discouraged. I'll keep trying to get involved and hopefully will eventually have something more exciting to recount than my failed attempts to get to know French people.

Your kiss, your kiss is on my list

Peur du jour: 7 January 2012- Coming out of my hidy-hole

I'm pretty sure that all of you can imagine what it's like to live with a family who doesn't speak English. If you've never thought about it, just pause a few seconds and imagine how different "home" feels when you don't have anyone with whom to speak in your mother tongue. It is not a bad experience at all, but it is tiring and it makes it harder to reach out to those you live with. Not only do you have to deal with the normal apprehension you would have when forging a new relationship but now there are language and cultural barriers. You feel like maybe you can't express what you are meaning to say. You are unsure if things that are normal and polite in your country are interpreted the same way in the new country. On top of this, the other student with whom you are living with and from whom you are taking social cues is pretty solitary and only ventures out during dinner time.

For these reasons, it has not been incredibly easy to reach out to my family. My host mother is very nice and accepting. I think she is used to having students, so she's not as strict or as traditional as many other host families here seem to be. All the same, I don't feel that I have the same relationship with her that I would have if I were getting to know an American for the first time. But that day we had a big talk in our orientation program about how important it is to really make an effort to get to know our families.

That day when I got home from our scheduled activities, I spent a few minutes talking to my host mother before going to my room to relax for a little. I wasn't in my room for long when I heard the buzzer to the apartment ring. Within seconds the sounds of children laughing and french greetings were erupting in the hallway. I mustered my courage to venture out and begin the awkward introductions.

My reward: My first bises! In Montpellier, it's three (contrary to the two in Paris). I exchanged had shared... J'ai fait les bises with the daughter of my host mother. She gave me the traditional three kisses. Then her adorable 4 year old son came up to me and I kind of stood there like an idiot and smiled at him until he said "les bises?" and I instantly understood and bent down to his level. He only gave me one (maybe it's a child thing?) and I kept going for a second. Yeah, it's a little awkward, but I think it gets better. It was, however, a French experience I had not yet had but knew that other students had because I had listened enviously to their stories of their "first bises".

Moral of the story: leave you room. Good cultural things will happen.

PS) Is this stuck in your head? Because it's stuck in mine.

N'ayez pas peur

Peur du jour: 6 Janvier 2012- Reaching out to my housemate

That night I had decided to paint the town red, white, and blue with my fellow American students. This in itself is pretty new to me. Before last Friday, I'd never been to a bar or a club or anything like that with the express purpose of "going out." I'm pretty square, I know. For the record: we went to a bar called Australie (Austrailia); they played a Grease medley which we Americans totally kicked butt at singing (so much for keeping a low profile).

The real point of this post is that I invited my 18-year-old Colombian house-brother/fellow-student (I have no idea what to call him. Basically, he is another student who lives here in the house) out with us. He's pretty shy and mostly stays in his room, but I know that all of his friends left at the end of last semester and figured he might like to meet some of the Hispanic students we have on our program (there is even another girl from Colombia!). He decided to come (which I think our host mother was happy to see) and it was a rewarding experience.

The biggest advantage was that I had someone to walk home with (breath that sigh of relief, mom and dad). Earlier that day we had a very long, "scary" discussion on what we as Americans need to do to keep ourselves safe. Basically it was a great conversation to have on a Friday afternoon only several hours before most of us were planning to go out. The biggest thing Mme Huber told us was to never walk alone (which I did not have to do!).

But the other advantage was that I actually got to talk to him. I didn't know he had been here since August and that all of his friends from Colombia had left France for the rest of the year or very much about him at all. Life in the apartment has been a lot more enjoyable now that I feel I know him better and now that he's not just the mysterious boy in the other room who I only see at dinner.

Lesson learned: it's totally worth the potential awkwardness of reaching out to someone. The worst that can happen is that the status quo will be maintained and the best thing that can happen is that you can move closer to having a friend!

Lingua Franca

Peur du jour: 3 Janvier 2012- Asking a question to a stranger IN FRENCH

Baby steps, right?


This happened several times on the TGV  ("Train of Great Velocity") from Paris to Montpellier. I needed to ask the mec (guy) next to whom I was sitting if he was getting off at the next stop and needed me to move. I asked the woman who sat next to me if she knew if the next stop was Montpellier. I asked the ticket officer if the train was running behind.

These all seem like very insignificant things, but they were scary to me. In France for the first time, using my language with natives for the first time, in a foreign country alone for the first time. Jet-lagged, nervous, on edge. But with every word I spoke in French I realized that I was doing it. I was speaking in natives in french and they understood me. This is the beginning of a great adventure, I can feel it.

 

The view from the window of the train. This was the only time I was able to sit next to the window because this was the stop where the window-seat passenger switched (seats on the TGV are assigned-thanks for the heads up, Siebert Family!)

I'm in France!

Don't Talk to Strangers?

Bonjour, toutlemonde!

Greetings from the beautiful and sunny (although, not anymore, because it's dark out...) Montpellier! I think that I am acclimating faster than I thought (we'll see about how I feel when classes start..). True to my word, I have been trying to act outside of myself and do things that scare me a little and force me to take chances. They've all been worth it thus far!

Peur du jour: 2 Janvier 2012-Asking a question to a stranger 


Okay, so I was still in Chicago when I did this. I like to think of myself as pretty outgoing but I think I actually have this innate fear of bothering and annoying other people, so I usually keep to myself with strangers and people I've just met. But just before my 5:00 pm departure from Chicago to Paris, I decided to take one last trip to the bathroom before I attempted to sleep for the 7 hour flight. When I got out they had already started boarding and I hesitated about whether it was necessary to ask a person near me who they had already called. I decided to approach a friendly looking stranger in a red jacket and he said (in a French accent) that he wasn't sure. We exchanged a few comments and that was the end of it.

So when I figured out the boarding situation and got on the plane (in my business class, emergency exit row with lots of leg room-- Thanks again, Dad!) the Frenchman in the red jacket says "you've got to be kidding! I have the seat right next to you!" We then had one of those conversations that you can only have on an airplane where you basically share the nutshell of your life story. It turns out that he is from Dijon and was visiting his fiancé from Kentucky who he met while she studied abroad there.  We talked about France and marriage visas (she is moving to France because they wanted to avoid the red tape that is the American visa process--Shout out to Lauren and Dawid!) and what I was studying and what he had studied and transportation in France. When I said the thing I was most worried about was getting from the airport to the train station, he-- who must have been mon ange gaurdien-- offered to take me there. Just like that, the most stressful part of my journey was eliminated. We went to the baggage claim, through customs, and to the Gare Charles de Gaulle where he showed me how to stamp my ticket before I got on the train.

I never actually asked his name and I don't feel like I properly thanked him, but he was a huge help in my journey. God works in mysterious and wonderful ways.