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.
Showing posts with label host family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label host family. Show all posts
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Friday, March 2, 2012
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.
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!).
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.
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| Note the moissisure (mold) |
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Tastes like chicken
Peur du jour: 15 Janvier 2012- Eating squid what I thought was squid
I don't consider myself to be a picky eater. My mom insists this is because when my sister and I were babies, she would only feed us the most unpopular flavors of the gerber babies collection: les betteraves, les epinards, etc. If we didn't like something, that's all she would give us until we finally caved and did eat it. I had an insane adoration of les choux de Bruxelles when I was little. At the dinner table, my sister and I would fight over who was served more brocoli (you don't need a link for that, do you?). The only thing I really can't eat is le cantaloup (we had a falling out...it's a long and harrowing story if you'd like to ask me about it sometime).
While I have no problem eating anything that uses photosynthesis to grow, I am a little weary of certain meats and sea foods. Ever since that one Christmas at my dad's where we cooked an extravagant seven fish Christmas dinner that was sabotaged by a family member who spread the stomach flu to most of the family (and we had a good twelve people in the house), I have just not been able to eat shell fish or other creepy-crawly sea creatures. My dad tried to trick me into eating calamari once, but I saw right through the deep fried outer shell to the suckered- tentacles and wormy arms (nice try, Dad).
So tonight at dinner when no one could figure out the English translation for what we were eating, I started to get worried. "No, it's not a fish, but it does live in the sea." "It has a beak." "It's not an octopus, but it's like an octopus." I offered the English word "squid?" and received blank stares.
Screwing up my courage, I just served myself. I don't want to be "that girl." That one American that won't eat squid. That one American that thinks she's too good to eat squid. She thinks it's beneath her and that France is beneath her and now we hate America and BAHHH.
Okay, so maybe I tend to imagine worst case scenarios... but I did not want to be in any way rude, and I know that squid isn't THAT weird of a food, it's just something I've scared myself away from. And man, was it good. Or at least the sauce that it was served in was really good. I'd still take the texture of chicken over the texture of squid... but because this plat principal had no arms waving hello to me, I didn't run away screaming.
Lesson of the day: Everything is worth trying once. If you don't like it, you don't like it. Wash it down with some maronsui's and call it a night. But if you do like it, that's one more dish you can think about adding to your recipe book.
PS) Upon searching for the French translation of squid, I'm no longer certain that squid is what I ate tonight. Maybe it's better if I don't know...
PPS) It is squid, here is a picture!
I don't consider myself to be a picky eater. My mom insists this is because when my sister and I were babies, she would only feed us the most unpopular flavors of the gerber babies collection: les betteraves, les epinards, etc. If we didn't like something, that's all she would give us until we finally caved and did eat it. I had an insane adoration of les choux de Bruxelles when I was little. At the dinner table, my sister and I would fight over who was served more brocoli (you don't need a link for that, do you?). The only thing I really can't eat is le cantaloup (we had a falling out...it's a long and harrowing story if you'd like to ask me about it sometime).
While I have no problem eating anything that uses photosynthesis to grow, I am a little weary of certain meats and sea foods. Ever since that one Christmas at my dad's where we cooked an extravagant seven fish Christmas dinner that was sabotaged by a family member who spread the stomach flu to most of the family (and we had a good twelve people in the house), I have just not been able to eat shell fish or other creepy-crawly sea creatures. My dad tried to trick me into eating calamari once, but I saw right through the deep fried outer shell to the suckered- tentacles and wormy arms (nice try, Dad).
So tonight at dinner when no one could figure out the English translation for what we were eating, I started to get worried. "No, it's not a fish, but it does live in the sea." "It has a beak." "It's not an octopus, but it's like an octopus." I offered the English word "squid?" and received blank stares.
Screwing up my courage, I just served myself. I don't want to be "that girl." That one American that won't eat squid. That one American that thinks she's too good to eat squid. She thinks it's beneath her and that France is beneath her and now we hate America and BAHHH.
Okay, so maybe I tend to imagine worst case scenarios... but I did not want to be in any way rude, and I know that squid isn't THAT weird of a food, it's just something I've scared myself away from. And man, was it good. Or at least the sauce that it was served in was really good. I'd still take the texture of chicken over the texture of squid... but because this plat principal had no arms waving hello to me, I didn't run away screaming.
Lesson of the day: Everything is worth trying once. If you don't like it, you don't like it. Wash it down with some maronsui's and call it a night. But if you do like it, that's one more dish you can think about adding to your recipe book.
PS) Upon searching for the French translation of squid, I'm no longer certain that squid is what I ate tonight. Maybe it's better if I don't know...
PPS) It is squid, here is a picture!
Sunday, January 8, 2012
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). Iexchanged 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.
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
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!
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!
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
The Road Less Travelled
Peur du jour: Janvier 4 2012- Entertaining the possibility of getting lost
So I haven't talked about my homestay home/family yet, but I am really happy with where I am! I live with a middle-aged woman in an appartment in centre-ville (basically, downtown). It's about a minute and a half walk from Accent Français, where I will be taking the bulk of my classes. I'm definitely fortunate to live in such a convenient location--many of the other students have to take longer walks, busses, and/or the tramway.
But, I feel the best way to discover a city is to walk through it. Because the two places I will be the most are so near each other, I know I will have to make more of an effort to get to know my way around Montpellier. It is for this reason that I offered to walk with a friend home! Michelle's place was difficult to use a map to find because she had to use two different sections of the map: one to navigate centre-ville and the other to navigate past centre-ville to her apartment. I've navigated Chicago, Washington, DC, and New York on my own, so I was pretty confident in my orienteering skills. But, as I had done little walking through Montpellier, I soon realized that it would not be as easy as I had imagined. We, as Americans, are used to cities (like Chicago, DC, and NYC) that are laid out on grids. Montpellier, an old Medieval town, is nothing like that. Centre-ville is a maze of winding alleys with street signs that are hard to find and sometimes nonexistent. I soon realized why so many people were talking about their difficulties getting around. As Michelle and I wandered our way through the alleys, I was thinking in the back of my head "how on Earth am I going to find my way back?"
Night had fallen by the time we reached Michelle's apartment. We stood in the alley for about five minutes trying to devise a plan for me to get back to la Place de la Comédie which is basically "the pit" of Montpellier (only it's much larger and cooler and way more French). I spent this time struggling with an old map (one of those ones that you can never refold) while Michelle tried to look up a route on Google maps. The route had so many road names that I thought it would be too difficult to memorize it. I decided to just go for it and try to remember my way back.
With pep in my step and my eyes fixed in a withering stare (I'm still a little hyper-cautious of unwanted advances), I successfully navigated my way back to the center of town. This time I got to enjoy how beautiful the marble alleys look at night. The shop lights glittered like jewels, the snippets of french conversation enriched my french vocabulary, and the sweet and savory smells wafting from the boulangeries (bakeries), crêperies, and cafés made me hungry for dinner! I can't wait to keep exploring MPL!
So I haven't talked about my homestay home/family yet, but I am really happy with where I am! I live with a middle-aged woman in an appartment in centre-ville (basically, downtown). It's about a minute and a half walk from Accent Français, where I will be taking the bulk of my classes. I'm definitely fortunate to live in such a convenient location--many of the other students have to take longer walks, busses, and/or the tramway.
But, I feel the best way to discover a city is to walk through it. Because the two places I will be the most are so near each other, I know I will have to make more of an effort to get to know my way around Montpellier. It is for this reason that I offered to walk with a friend home! Michelle's place was difficult to use a map to find because she had to use two different sections of the map: one to navigate centre-ville and the other to navigate past centre-ville to her apartment. I've navigated Chicago, Washington, DC, and New York on my own, so I was pretty confident in my orienteering skills. But, as I had done little walking through Montpellier, I soon realized that it would not be as easy as I had imagined. We, as Americans, are used to cities (like Chicago, DC, and NYC) that are laid out on grids. Montpellier, an old Medieval town, is nothing like that. Centre-ville is a maze of winding alleys with street signs that are hard to find and sometimes nonexistent. I soon realized why so many people were talking about their difficulties getting around. As Michelle and I wandered our way through the alleys, I was thinking in the back of my head "how on Earth am I going to find my way back?"
Night had fallen by the time we reached Michelle's apartment. We stood in the alley for about five minutes trying to devise a plan for me to get back to la Place de la Comédie which is basically "the pit" of Montpellier (only it's much larger and cooler and way more French). I spent this time struggling with an old map (one of those ones that you can never refold) while Michelle tried to look up a route on Google maps. The route had so many road names that I thought it would be too difficult to memorize it. I decided to just go for it and try to remember my way back.
With pep in my step and my eyes fixed in a withering stare (I'm still a little hyper-cautious of unwanted advances), I successfully navigated my way back to the center of town. This time I got to enjoy how beautiful the marble alleys look at night. The shop lights glittered like jewels, the snippets of french conversation enriched my french vocabulary, and the sweet and savory smells wafting from the boulangeries (bakeries), crêperies, and cafés made me hungry for dinner! I can't wait to keep exploring MPL!
La place de la Comédie
L'opéra comédie
La rue de la loge (the streets I was navigating through were much narrower than this)
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