I introduced myself the same way every time: "Hello. I'm Jessica. I'm 22. I'm from Los Angeles. I just finished college where I studied film, women's studies, and writing. I'm here as the language assistant."
Here is a list of questions asked:
Where did you study?
Why did you study women? (The teacher, Sabine, asked them to speculate. "Maybe because women are strange.")
Are you a capitalist?
What is it like to live in America?
Do you speak French? (This answer was tricky. In one class, Sabine emphatically shook her head no. In another, Sandra didn't do anything, so I said, "a little." In another, "Yes. But not enough to get around." So, in less than a month since my arrival, I've become a liar.)
Have you met a famous person?
Do you think French people are nice?
Are Americans nice?
Do you like the Lakers?
Do you like France?
Why are you here?
Are you married? (Some of Kirsty's classes asked if she has children!)
So that's been fun. Next week I start taking small groups for discussions and activities. My first one is with three students that Marc will send me and I'm to lead a conversation on globalization (mondialisation). That doesn't sound challenging.
Did I mention that while we were on the train a girl asked if we were going to Ambérieu for some training thing? That's right. MISTAKEN FOR A NATIVE.
Anyway, we got on our bus no problem. At the first stop, we were going to get off because it said "Edgar Quinet Sports Center" and our training was to be at the Edgar Quinet Lycée but we weren't sure if there was a lot of Edgar Quinet stuff in Bourg so we stayed on board. I realized our mistake as soon as we drove on because I swear we drove next to like 3 campuses right after. Oh well. We got off at the train station at 8:42 and boogied to get to the training on time. Unfortunately, none of those campuses we saw had signs so we were late. Also, when we DID find the right school, we tried a gate but it wasn't open. We walked down the street and found ourselves at the first place that the bus had stopped (arg!) and a woman came out and told us we were at the pool and sent us back to the first gate. We just had to push harder to open it--this had like crazy strength magnetic keeping it closed! Sigh. We got into the session and took our seats. Of course, it had already started. And of course it was a training of only 12 people (it was only for the collège/lycée assistants in the Ain region of Lyon) so we were totes noticed.
The training was, quite unexpectedly, run in French. Even though they were going through crazy important information like social security, finding a colocataire (roommate), medical coverage. Whatevs. Nothing you can't figure out on your own? Whatevs. When we had a break, the girl in front of us (Katelin) turned around and I said how we had hoped to come in late and unnoticed and she said not to worry. She told us that she had come in a bit late and the guy leading the session said, "You're late." Uh, thanks. Like I didn't already know that. At least they didn't call Kirsty and I out. Actually, it was funny because they started talking about transportation shortly after the two of us waltzed in and one of the side guys said it's not too hard to get places unless you're in Belley. And he looked at us and goes, "That's where the two of you came from, right?" I love his grasp of our plight. (Side note: Katelin just finished at USD where her freshman year roommate was Yesenia Barbarena with whom I went to high school. Why is the world getting smaller by the minute?!)
Then we went into the second part of the session where they talked about the importance of cultural immersion and everything. Joining clubs and how to work with students and balancing your relationships with the students so that they're comfortable but respectful. Pretty basic stuff. Then we broke for lunch, which was FO FREE! (Though each of us had to hop/limbo the turnstile to make it so.) We went to the lycée's cantine and one of the girls, Livia from Australia, stopped to take pictures of everything. No joke. Pictures of the signs, of the food, of the conveyor belt for the trays. Crazy! She majored in photography, which I guessed considering she had a massive camera around her neck. As usual, the food was great. (The day before, I ate at teh cantine in Belley. Cous cous. COUS COUS. At a high school cafeteria. And it was delicious. Sadly, though, I also picked up a container of what I thought was yogurt, but it was actually what tasted like softened cream cheese. Fromage blanc n'est pas délicieux.) I put together a salad of beets (for ma sœur), hearts of palm, artichoke hearts, and cous cous. They also had broccoli and chicken. I got mine sans poulet, so the chef gave me a bona fide mountain of broccoli. I also got a morceau (slice) of brie and a chocolate thing. I've learned that the French eat really large lunches and then smaller breakfasts and lunches.
Kirsty and I were at the end of the line so there wasn't space for us and another girl, Heather, at the large table, so the three of us sat separately. Heather's from Manchester but goes to uni in Newcastle. Pretty sure we saw one of the lycée profs drinking wine at lunch. Actually, am positive. Love it. I downed a cup of coffee with Daddy sugar cube in it. (Get it? Sugar Daddy. So darling. With really the hippest packaging. I tried to find a picture and typed in "daddy sugar" for the Google search. MISTAKE.) It's all colorful. Bright colors! Not enough of those here. Did I already say how everyone in France wears black?
Anyway, after lunch we went back to the room. They asked if we had any questions, and when we said no they released us! It was an unexpected treat considering that we had all expected to be in that room until 5 pm! So we all went to an outdoor café (we've been very lucky with weather) and had some wine or café au laits. (Except Livia who had to leave with her ride--the dude who knew about the transportation woes of Belley.) Bourg is really lovely. Such a shame that the people who are teaching there complain about it being so small and everything. They've never been to Belley.
I honestly just love the architecture in France. Everything is just so beautiful all the time. It's either incredibly quaint and endearing or utterly majestic. I can understand why so many defect. (But you needn't worry about me....yet.)
Anyway, we all chatted for about 3 hours. There's Mohsin from Manchester, who's studying at Oxford. Katelin from above. Moira from Halifax, Canada who's teaching in kind of a medieval town with, surprise surprise, beautiful architecture. She studied philosophy at uni and is kind of a hipster/hippie. Katie from Canada who still has one semester left but this is a year off for her. She says she never wants to finish college. Helen from Britain. Becky (who I mentioned in my last post as the girl whose mum gave her directions that led her to the motorway) from Britain. Trudi from Jamaica who's kind of crazy and has only had one semester of French. She memorized responses to expected questions and is just here, it seems, to fall in love. She also taught us to say raas (I don't know if this is how it's spelled, but it's pronounced just like the Indian dance. What up Diwali?), which means merde. She says her mom will let her say "shit" around her. But not raas. She also said, "You should meet my cousins. They're rastas. And their dreads. You know how they say 'Be fruitful?' They got six kids." There were a few others, too. But these were the ones with whom I spoke.
Then we walked back to the train station and managed to get on a bus 2 minutes before it was leaving for Ambérieu. Really just lucky timing since we were meant to be on a much later bus. We got back to Ambérieu to switch to the train and the same girl who mistook me for a native was there and we smiled the smile of natives to one another. And it felt AWESOME.
The next day I went in for classes again and in this one, it was a bit different. Since Sabine's class had been discussing stereotypes, she asked me what are some stereotypes of French people. I told her people (aka only Jimmy) has asked me if I've stopped shaving and bathing. So here's the list:
No shaving
No bathing
Smelly
Always on strike
Don't like Americans (One student said immediately, "Oui. C'est vrai!" And he said something abotu politics and everyone groaned. When Sabine asked who would like to go to the US, only three people raised their hands. She assumed that they hadn't understood the question, and so she asked again. This time everyone understood and everyone except the voice of discord raised his/her hand.)
They all smoke
More vacation
Good food ["Ouais, bien sur." (Yeah. Of course.) from one student.]
All are attractive (Surprisingly, no response to this one.)
Then they told me their stereotypes of Americans: We're fat and eat Macdo all the time. I told them I couldn't remember the last time that I ate at McDonalds (Macdo here) because I wasn't including my cappuccino. Funnily, the girl who said we eat there all the time eats at Macdo 3 times/month, which is way more than nearly everyone I know. When I brought it up with Kirsty, she certainly didn't deny that this is a stereotype that everyone has of Americans. Triste.
Kirsty and I went for lunch at the newly opened crêperie because I realized I had been in France for too long without having a crêpe prepared just for me. I got one with jambon (ham), fromage rapé (grated cheese), and pommes (apples--there was something special about their preparation, but I can't recall it just now). It was really good. The salad that it came with, though. The dressing tasted like mayo and mustard mixed together. Kirsty called this salad cream? Not sure. Dislike, though. I wished I had gotten a sweet one, though. I saw someone do it after I had placed my order. I had thought that I would be looked down upon for getting a dessert crêpe in the middle of the day, though. Never again will I let that mess keep me from an afternoon of caramel and chocolate in a thin pancake.
The classes I went to were fine. One of them is studying Jack the Ripper. And I'm pretty sure that they have an American exchange student, but I will report back with details as they become apparent. Marc invited me to go to the food festival, which is the biggest event of Belley, with him and his friends, so I was super happy! Even if he only invited me out of pity, which surely he didn't because I'm so lovable?
 |
| Market during the day. Aka empty/vide. |
 |
| Um... Freshest honey ever? Yes. |
Afterwards, Kirsty told me that she was in town and there was a market, so I decided to go. I was hoping for Borough Market's Belleyanne cousin. In vain. I ended up with some olive tapenade made with chataignes (chestnuts). So delicious.
When we came back, I had some actual lunch and then went for a run because I knew I was going to live obesely (as is the supposed American way) in the evening.
Kirsty hadn't gotten tickets for the event because we both thought that it was on Saturday and her mum was coming into town. So when Marc asked if I was going and informed me that it was later on Friday, I was eternally grateful. Unfortunately, there weren't any tickets left when Kirsty went to the Tourist Office, but she came along anyway to mooch. We went into city centre about 8:00 to meet Marc. As soon as I walked up he said, "Ca va? Tu as commencé de boire?" which means "How are you? Have you started drinking?" Fool of fools. I hadn't. Because the meal ticket had 4 glasses of wine included. Oh well. Although, it would have been better because studies show having some drinks in you makes you more comfortable speaking an acquired language. Maybe I should do shots before Monday?
Anyway, we went to meet up with some of Marc and his girlfriend's, Isabelle, friends: Sandrine, Nadia, Sébastian, Michael (Séb's brother), Jean Claude (who invited himself to visit my parents' house in Los Angeles), Ton Ton (Séb's uncle), and Booch (TonTon's wife). SO many two cheek bisous.
Sébastian is a mess. Just in general. He speaks crazy quickly (Marc says Sébastian even speaks too quickly for him to understand sometimes. And when he's drunk, he's totally fou/crazy.) and found it impossible to say Kirsty's name. All night he would say, "Jessica! And Rolalala" or something like that to refer to me and Kirsty.
[Related story. There's this other Marc who lives at the school and when I first met him he asked for my name.
Me: Jessica.
Me: Jessica.
Him: Pardon?
Me: Djesseeka.
Him: Ah. Bon.
The pronunciation of my name in French apparently changes ability to understand it. Anyway, Sébastian obviously says my name Djesseeka.]
Sébastian is also learning Spanish and would often start speaking it (see what I said about being more comfortable?). He asked for besos, and since I spent my summer at The 2-9, I knew exactly how to respond appropriately and en espagnol.
Well, needless to say there was a lot of drinking involved. Almost immediately after meeting Marc's friends, Kirsty and I went to get some wine--the sparkling kind that's Belley's specialty. I asked if Kirsty could pay for a glass with money and the dude said no but when he asked if we only had one ticket, I said yes. (I'm no fool.) So he gave us the two glasses for frizzle. Kirsty promptly spilled her entire glass on the counter between us and the server. He kind of laughed and then re-poured it. That's right, suckas. Three glasses of wine for the price of one. Gettin' slizzered. Anyway, we went over to talk to Marc et al and he explained that in Belley everyone drinks a lot and then eats. In Lyon, they eat and drink at the same time. So when I went back for a second glass of wine (this time red), Marc said I was like a native of Belley. (Count it. TWO native compliments in one week.) Then some of us put together our tickets to get a bottle of wine.
We managed to find a table, even though it was SUPREMELY crowded--literally crawling with people, which was quite different from every other time I've been about town. So, this meant it was time to get to grubbin. Before I forget, this dégustation (tasting) was being held because Belley is the birthplace of Brillat-Savarin so these people take their food very seriously. The first course was quite good. Unfortunately, I can't recall the names of anything. Anyway, I took a bite and insisted Kirsty try it. She didn't like it at all since it was covered in egg. I didn't know that Kirsty doesn't like egg. Oops. Anyway, Marc asked if I knew what it was, and I didn't. He said he wouldn't tell me until he had finished. He said, "Like if I were in Scotland, I'd try haggis (which Kirsty's never tried), it's important for you to have this here." Once I had finished it, he asked if I liked it. I did. He said it's made out of sang bouillé. Boiled blood. Of a pig. Regardless, it was delicious. Too bad pork is bad for my blood type (and actually all blood types). Surely, though, the blood is an exception? (Sorry no photo!)
The next course was ginger rice with pintade (guinea fowl) in a soy sauce. It was good, but the rice looked like mashed potatoes--probs because we didn't start eating until like 9:30.
Then, of course, as it's France, we had a fromage course. The cheese was Brillat-Savarin. Dude was so epic that they named a cheese after him. It's quite creamy and had like a citrus bit in the middle. Kirsty doesn't like citrus. But she liked the rest of the cheese.
The second to last course was dessert. (Last was coffee, which I didn't take.) There were two choices: chocolat noir or chocolat blanc. Because I'm not generally a fan of white chocolate, I went for the dark (on the left). Mistake as it was clearly inferior to the other one. Luckily, Marc let us try his, though. At least I know what the possibilities are. Both kinds of chocolate were combined with raspberry: the dark with a rasperry sauce on the side, and the white with kind of a fluffy raspberry concoction. As you can see in the above left photo, some people couldn't get enough cheese. Sébastian and his friends kept on going back for more and loaded our table with it.
(I hope that you've read the above menu and realized just why I am a flexitarian and not a strict vegetarian.)
Then they started to clean up the spread. Sébastian is in fine form now and starts walking around and joking with everyone. At one point, he picks up a bullhorn and starts singing/taunting all of the bargoers. Everyone is actually really enjoyable. It's all quite funny because Sébastian's pop is a policeman, so there's this public drunkenness that is totally acceptable even though you'd think he'd have to keep his stuff together. He says to me, "Je vais t'épouser." I tell him okay, but not now. Later. So, guys if I don't come home in May, it's because I'm époused.
After Marc and Isabelle go to the hospital where Isa works to get a cup of coffee while Nadia, Booch, Kirsty and I have some drinks at Le Télégraphe (the first bar Kirsty and I went to last Friday). I had a demi-pêche, which is beer mixed with peach syrup. It was top drawer, really! All these European countries (aka England and France) have mixed their beers with something actually good tasting, and always come out with a winner. I loves it. When that bar closes, we continue onto the next bar down the street and Nadia tries to get something to drink, but it's already closed even though there's a bunch of people hanging out inside. This is apparently the wino bar where weirdos go. I'm glad to know it. Marc and Isa return and we make our way down the street to Marc and Isa's apartment. We all sit down. Nadia and TonTon have beers. Booch has a tea. Marc and Isa have Chartreuse. Nadia later had some and offered me a sip. As I don't generally enjoy drinking straight booze, I wanted to decline. But, for you, dear readers, I said yes. It was...let's just say "not good." It tasted like nature with mint. Or like a pine tree. But it's made by monks, so there's that.
Isa asks Marc to put on some music but they ask if anyone can play the piano. Actually, they specifically ask Kirsty and me if either of us can play. I say I can play like 2 songs (gross exaggeration) and they insist that I do. Well, too bad that for some reason, the keys don't sound quite right so I flail around on the ebony and ivory in less than perfect harmony for five minutes before saying "Desolée" and going to my seat. Then Marc goes to sit down and just whips out "Comptine d'un autre été" like it ain't no thang but a chicken wang. I'm embarrassed.
We all sit around chewing the fat for a bit and the Séb arrives and sits on a chair before passing out. Snoring. Shortly after, his aunt and uncle leave. It's nearly 2:00 now, so I'm super impressed with their stamina. I know my parents peace out pretty early. So Nadia starts looking for the camera and laughing about Séb when I say that in the US if someone falls asleep before everyone else, they get written on, which is actually something that I've never personally done, but I know its possibilities. So Nadia thinks it's just the best idea ever and they go to town on Séb. They start slowly with an earring, a belly button ring, and a wedding ring. But as it continues, Isa and Marc get in on the action. They write fake phone numbers all over: his arm, his leg, his back. I dare to participate, writing "con besitos" on his back.
 |
| It says, "Chartreuse?" |
 |
| That's Isa with the glasses and Nadia looking on. |
Jess
Pork is good for many blood types. I won't wage an assault on your blog by going into detail as to why this is the case, but it is the case.
ReplyDelete