Learning French, Or , How I Get Scammed By Small Children

Okay, I know I said I wouldn't multi-post but I felt this deserved its own.

Except for a few American children who I love dearly and think are the absolute greatest, French children are some of the most adorable children I have ever seen. Sure, it can be a bit depressing when you see a 4-year-old dressed more stylishly than you, and know that you'll never have the ability to live up to her already impeccable fashion taste, but all that can be forgiven when you realize you can actually have a conversation with a 4 year old and understand at least half of what she says.

And that makes those 4-year-olds hard to pass up when, while leaving your picnic in peace, you are accosted by them. In a heard they rushed up to us asking, politely and at a low enough level of French that I could understand them, if we would like to buy some metro tickets. We already have metro tickets, we explained. But, we were told, these weren't just metro tickets. In fact, they were used and would get you nowhere on the metro. These, were creations of art. And, folded into bizarre creatures we were told were a cat and a dog, my friend and I caved and for ten cents each bought little metro ticket animals. All because I was happy I could understand them. I'm thinking about introducing these children to the idea of a lemonade stand.

In other news, I've started French class. And have found that I am placed, once again, in far too high a level. But I'm going to try to tough it out, because I hear in the lower classes people are learning to count, which I mastered while wandering the streets of Cannes.

Yet I'm struggling, big time. Yesterday we learned which countries are masculine and feminine. I understand that English has many things about it that make no sense. But honestly, can't Japan just be Japan? Must it be He Japan? And so it goes, Russia, in all it's glory, is feminine. While Brazil is masculine. The United States is plural, and therefore seems to have no gender. And Taiwan, interestingly enough, has no gender, and therefore automatically makes it masculine. So, you must be asking, isn't it just masculine? And back in the day was the USSR a genderless plural? Or has it always had feminine qualities?

My struggle has been somewhat calmed after listening excerpts from David Sedaris's "Me Talk Pretty One Day". Which you should listen to, he's much funnier than I am. http://www.npr.org/programs/specials/lists/sedaris/. He also lives in Normandy and I have every intention of stalking him when I go there in a couple weeks.

I hope this has been somewhat entertaining for you all.

A bien tot!

Oh I've Got More!!

I'll categorize. Rather than make numerous blog posts. So this is going to be long. But y'all asked for it.

1) Old People in Paris: Or, Why I'm Terribly Out of Shape.

Yesterday, my friend Amani and I were huffing and puffing our way up the stairs, carrying bottles of laundry detergent, coca light (it hurts to say that, but it's the only option I have an I've succumbed. I just hope diet coke will forgive me when I get back), and alcohol. Having a heavier load than normal, half way between the 4th and 5th floors (remember, read 5th and 6th floors), we both slowed down to take a breather. Then, much to our dismay, an elderly couple, we're talking 80s elderly, walked out of an apartment on the 5th (read 6th) floor. And the man had a cane! And they live there! They live on the 6th floor of a building I dread coming back to when I'm tired. I have a new technique I'm using now where I don't look at what floor I'm on and I don't slow down. It's a sprint, not a marathon. If they can do it, I can do it. Hopefully, this will pay off already and I'll have super toned legs. We'll see.



2) I Have No Money, Or, How The French Taught Me To Steal American Television.

The other day I looked at my bank account and thought to myself, hmm...that's odd, there used to be money in here. Perhaps, I've been robbed, I thought. Then I thought about the dress I bought, and that cocktail with the egg in it, and the cheese I keep eating (I mean, it's really terrifying, I can't stop eating cheese. Cheese is like the new swiss roll cakes, and I think we all know where those got me. Nowhere good.), and those delicious baguettes, and those sales which thankfully are over. And then I figured out where all my money went. Wasn't a robber at all. It was me. And, to some degree, I'd like to blame George Bush for ruining the economy and making the dollar worth just about nothing. If not for him, I'd still have plenty more to spend after those drinks and clothes and cheese.

But fear not. I've found ways to entertain myself without spending any money! Aside from looking at the old historic buildings of Paris, I've found an even greater treasure. That roomie, she keeps popping up with great ideas like, go to this website and watch free movies and tv! So far I've watched Juno (really good), 27 Dresses (really bad!), Charlie Wilson's War (Pretty good but maybe a bit over my head), and P.S. I Love You (Which I had to turn off because it got too sad but which I might give another go tonight).

3) Excursions, Field Trips, or AIFS's way of making us feel better about giving them all our money.

We've gone on a few trips so far. The first was Chartres, a cathedral famous for its stained glass. Our British tour guide smacked his lips every five seconds and made us stand in the cold and rain and look at a statue while he mocked our president. Now, we all know one of my favorite activities is mocking our president, but I at least have the decency to do it in the warmth of my home. And to be fair, he's our bad president. Not yours. Deal with it. The stained glass was, quite a bit like the stain glass in EVERY OTHER ANCIENT CHURCH. Not all that exciting. The highlight of the trip was my first visit to a French Mcdonalds!

We also went to Versailles. Somehow, I wrote down the wrong meeting place and directed my friend to go there as well. When we showed up, no one was there, and a few phone calls told us we had missed the train. Fortunately, the train to Versailles was only 2 euro and we splurged to get the free tour. The tour, it turns out, was overrated. We saw lots of old things. That are old. And have historical significance. But when there are 50 other tours going on at the same time, it's a bit difficult to hear the history.

Artists. I like to think of myself as someone who likes art. Unfortunately, I also know that I am not someone who likes art. I like Degas' dancers because I want to be a ballerina. I like Van Gogh's sunflowers because I think sunflowers are pretty. Today I went to my first impressionism class at the Musee D'Orsay. A very famous museum in Paris. For two hours, I followed my teacher and 10 classmates from painting to painting. They commented on the light, the shadows, the brush strokes. When asked what I liked about , I stuttered for a bit and while I wanted to say "I think her boobs look funny and her legs are short, who looks like that?" but settled on saying "I think the colors are pretty?" Which, apparently, was incorrect. Which leads me to think I might be dropping impressionism and taking up architecture, where in Paris I believe the correct answer will always be "It's a phallic symbol."

The next field trip is a fondue party, and I expect it will be highly successful.

Je suis desolee

Let me start off by apologizing. Je suis desolee. I am of sorrow. I've been highly neglectful of this blog and my raging popularity has led to high demands for more. So fear not, I'm back. However, the reason I've been so neglectful is the lack of anything truly exciting happening to me. But, I'll try to make the mundane fabulous. Get ready.

Where to begin? Oh, here's a great starting place. Harry Potter. I realize I'm getting a big old for being as obsessed as I am, but c'est la vie. The other day I was walking with Little Texas down to the Marais (that's the Jew area - more on that later) to get my weekly stock of wheat bread and bagels, and what should I stumble across but a street sign which read "Rue Nicolas Flamel". Immediately, I knew this was no ordinary "Rue de Holy Saint" or "Rue de World War 2 we Hate the Germans Still Landmark". This, my friends, smack in the middle of Paris, was a reference to Nicholas Flamel, Dumbledore's co-worker of alchemy and discoverer of the Philosopher's stone. I stopped Little Texas (they looked at me oddly - who is this old lady who likes to talk about a children's book so much?), took a picture, and because we were running late went off to get my bagels.


But something was plaguing me. Yes, London can put a Platform 9 3/4 sign at their train station and not feel lame at all. They can have a cart halfway through the wall and not appear to be sell outs at all. But the French? They are far too superior to taint their city with the likes of a children's book - a children's book written by the British no less! They wouldn't dare do such a thing. So what was the deal, I wondered out loud to Little Texas as we stood in line for delicious falafel. That 1% of me that wanted to run through the wall at Kings Cross though, why, there must be a Hogwarts. This must all be real! I should head for London right now and see if I can't catch the Hogwarts Express! Then, sadly, reality set in.

Turns out Nicolas Flamel was a real person (Scoff all you want, father, the internet tells me it's true!). There was something to do with a book about Abraham the Jew (you may know him from the bible) and some think he's still alive. Frankly, I lost interest when I found out it was unrelated to HP...although I may go check out the grave of Nicolas Flamel and see if it doesn't lead to some further mystery. It will at the very least entertain me. Feel free to do your own research on old Nick by reading here: http://www.alchemylab.com/flamel.htm#The%20Death%20of%20Flamel.

Also, in the accompanying picture you'll find some graffiti reading "sarkoverdose." If nothing else, those French are witty and dissatisfied with their government.

Public Transportation, the Bane of my Existence

Special note: This blog may not be appropriate for those who worry about my late at night decision making, but don't worry, I promise I was totally responsible.

The metro. I'm not a huge fan of New York's dirty subway. I don't particularly love the grumpy faces and the "Excuse me, is that your bag" announcements on the DC metro. I found London's tube hugely expensive and the bombing of it the day after I arrived three years ago to be a bit of a repellent. So I didn't expect to love Paris's metro system. I was right.

I understand that there are rats in cities, especially in underground railroad systems. I have only seen a rat twice in DC and never in New York, but never in the metro, ten feet away from me.

There I was, innocently sitting on a bench, waiting for the metro to arrive after leaving a very cool jazz bar. All of a sudden the woman next to gasped and said something that sounded alarmingly close to rat. I turned to where her outstretched arm was pointing, and lo and behold, there was a rat, scurrying it's little way across the floor. I leapt up, screamed bloody murder, and the rat went right back into his little wall hole. I then realized the entire metro station had gone quiet and was staring at me. Rule One of being in Paris according to my AIFS program: Don't make a scene and exaggerate the already obvious fact that you are an American. Oops.

Anyway, that was metro scenario number one. Here is metro scenario number two.

Saturday night I went out with Little Texas. Around 2 the bar we were at was closing and my friend and I decided to go home rather than wander the streets trying to find another bar. On Friday and Saturday nights, the metro closes between 1:45 and 2:30. In my desire not to take a cab, I convinced my friend to risk taking the metro with me. We made it onto the first train and felt victorious. However, when we got off at another stop to change trains, the sad truth settled in. We had missed the last train to my metro stop. I overheard some people speaking English and asked them if they knew where to get a cab. They (an Indian guy, and Australian guy, and a French girl) said they were going to the same metro stop as we were and we agreed to all walk together.

So we began our journey out of the metro station. We went through the turnstiles to find the stairs gated off. I jumped back over the turnstile but my poor short little friend just couldn't make it over. So the large Australian man had to lift her up over the turnstile. We finally found an exit that was still open and made it out of the metro. A twenty minute walk later we left the Indian, Australian, and Frenchy behind and made it up to my apartment, all in tact.

In summary: I will be avoiding the metro as much as possible.

Apartment and Roomie

Last week I moved into my apartment which is amazingly fabulous. It is on the sixth floor of a walk up which is (surprise!) actually the seventh floor because the French consider the 1st floor to be the 0 floor. So, three bags later and with a moment on the 4th (read 5th) floor where I thought I might just tumble back down the stairs with the hikers backpack on, I made it to the top. And, let me tell you, it's worth the hike. This is the absolute best apartment I have ever lived in. Everything about it is old and precious, except for the Ikea furniture which it is decked out in. Really though, it's super amazing and I'm hoping the stairs will give me fabulously toned legs.

The apartment has some definite quirks. Including the heating system which is gas and which every 15 minutes makes a sound like lighting a gas stove, which panicked me for awhile until roomie explained to me what was happening.

Roomie, whose real name is Celine but who I like calling Roomie, is hysterical and fabulous. Everything about her is classy and beyond French. She weighs approximately 7 lbs, has fabulous style, and sniffs wine before she drinks it and actually turns bottles away based on the smell. Her one American flaw is the fact that all I have seen her eat is Mcdonald's quarter pounders and cookies and alcohol, yet she remains tiny. Je ne comprend pas.

Roomie speaks pretty good English, but we still have breakdowns in communication. There is something in our kitchen that I believe is a microwave and which she explained as something that makes your food go from cold to warm, but does not cook it. I asked if you could make popcorn in it, to which she wrinkled her nose and said, "We do not eat popcorn in France". I have yet to use this mysterious microwave-like appliance.

I think Roomie also finds me pretty entertaining. From my severely broken French - I told her we were going to Chartres, and due to my inability to make the correct R sound, it took me explaining that it was a big church with stained glass windows and was very famous before she said "Ah! Chartres" - to the fact that the other night Little Texas and I made drinks before we went out and decided to mix champagne with fruity vodka. She tasted it and I believe it took all her will power not to vomit.

Roomie's boyfriend, who is actually named Pierre-Charles, as if he weren't French enough, owns a bar in the 2nd arrondissement which is called "Experimental Cocktail Club". Experimental being key. We went there the other night and they convinced me to order a drink which had raw egg white in it. Under the motto of "when in Rome", I caved and ordered it. It turned out to be beyond fabulously delicious.

All in all, Roomie and the apartment are great. Hopefully at the end of this journey my French will be better, her English will be better, I will be a little classier, and she will be a little less classy.

Shoes, shoes, shoes and Diet Coke

Here's the news you've all been waiting for. In Paris, "where zey are bigger zan zey are in Cannes", have I managed to find size 42 shoes? That's a negative. A no go. Non.

My roommate's sister works in a shoe store and, when I told her of my abnormally sized feet, she got a sad little look on her face and said "I think that in Paris it will be very difficult for you. Maybe you should visit Germany." To which Roomie followed with: "My friend flies to the United States to buy shoes."

Given my love of walking in cities and my aversion to public transportation (more on that later), my current black boots are quickly wearing out and I fear for their ability to make it to March, let alone May.

In another sad, fruitless hunt, I believe I may be giving up on my quest for Diet Coke. I have visited two "American" grocery stores with hopes of finding Diet Coke instead of the dreadful Coca Cola Light which they sell here. Roomie has been calling places for me asking if they have Diet Coke, to which these places say yes, only for me to show up and find Coca Light. Yesterday I tried as nicely as possible to explain that there was in fact a difference between Diet Coke and Coca Light to which the man at the grocery store said "Sorry we are not America." To which I bit my tongue not to yell "Then don't advertise yourself as America and only sell oreos!" Roomie has one more store she thinks might sell it and we are going on a mission on Saturday, but my hopes are low.

Cannes, Part Deux

Bonjour!

Translation of that subject, you ask? I don't speak French. In the slightest. At all. Hardly a word. My approach of speaking in Spanish with a French accent has failed miserably. However, I have been named most willing to make a total ass out of herself in order to try to speak French by the bulk of the people on my program. Which I have chosen to take as a compliment.

Cannes has been fairly entertaining, but I am tres excited to get to Paris. We are living in dorms here and I think we may all recall my slight distaste for the dorm life in beautiful Ann Arbor. It's not much better in a foreign country. Cliques have formed rapidly, alcohol is hidden in all the rooms, and gossip is the way to bond during breakfast. I seem to have a habit of becoming the one who hangs out with all the different cliques and the one in whom people confide, so I often shrug my shoulders knowingly during the gossip talks as people surmise about who is hooking up with who and pretend to be older and wiser. There is one girl on my program who is 26 and we like to sit and talk about how old we are, and how we never thought we would live in dorms again, and is it possible that 19 is so drastically different from 23 or are do we just think it is? Deep thoughts, I know. We have a cafeteria which yesterday served, I kid you not, a slice of turkey lunchmeat for dinner. With fried balls of mashed potatoes. I mean, we are in France, at the very least give us a baguette with that turkey, ya know? The ladies in the cafeteria yell at you if you sit at the wrong table or use a glass instead of a bowl (that's right, a bowl) to drink your coffee in the morning. In short, I feel great about no longer living in a French version of Markley Hall.

France is in the midst of the biannual sales which I have really been enjoying because apparently, people here are tall and believe in rational prices for jeans. It's been thrilling. I bought, and I believe the Ogle side of the fam will be proud at the size of this bargain, two pairs of really nice pants that are really long for the low cost of 10 euro. That is two pairs of pants, for 10 euro. Let's take a moment to breathe in the glory of it all. Here in the land of the tall however, they have small feet. I have learned one other phrase in French which is "Do you have women's shoes in size 42". I also have learned to understand the answer, which is "Non" barely able to be spoken as the sales person laughs at the thought of someone wearing a size 42 shoe, which is an 11 in the glorious United States. You may recall that I had similar problems in Italy, so I was emotionally prepared when one sales person told me (via my friend who speaks French) that I had no chance of finding size 42 shoes in Cannes, but I might in Paris where they have abnormally large feet. So there's hope for me yet.

Anyway, I believe that is the highlight of my little life in France thus far. I just made a blog http://jaimlefromage.blogspot.com/ so that if you felt really passionate about the goings on of my life, you could keep really up to date (although I haven't actually written anything on it). I'm also trying to upload photos to it but I seem to be completely technologically inept so it may be awhile.

I miss you all and would love to hear how life in the States (or Korea, or Japan, or Chile) is going.

Love,
Alice