Emma’s Miscellany

I loved the style of Harry’s last post. So I’m stealing it. Enjoy these miscellaneous observations, actually more about my own experience than Paris itself.

-Paris is filthy. I had not realized this until I went to Vienna and Salzburg, which are very clean cities. The buildings are dirty, the metros are smelly, there is lots of dog poop (it’s only relatively recent that leaving your dog’s shit lying around is illegal, and many people have not fully adopted the principle). For a city full of beautiful people, buildings, and foods, the city itself is clearly highly populated. I think it contributes to the charm – Paris feels like a home that someone (many someones) has lived in and loved.

-English is a wonderful language. One of my good friends here is a linguistics major, so I now have some official terms for this realization: English is what we call  a productive language. This is most evident in swearing, something I am quite fond of. In French, you are more or less limited to two words with which to swear. In English, you can turn almost any noun into a verb, or any word into a swear, and people will understand you and even get a new complexity of meaning from your newly-created word. French is much more rigid and much more complicated – the severity of l’Académie française is famous, and although there are LOTS of words stolen from English, and a lot more casual word-creation in spoken French, in general, the language is much as it always has been.

-Learning a second language can eradicate the first. My reflexes of politeness are all in French. I am developing a bizarre Franglish when I speak English, and, as you may have noticed, I say bizarre a LOT more now – it’s more common than “étrange,” which also means “weird.” I’m becoming annoyed that there are words that do not in exist in English that simply should. I am no longer good at any language. Oops.

-If you have grown up in America, you are loud. Somehow people in France have more highly-developed eardrums than Americans, because they talk so quietly and I hear nothing. I laugh loudly, I talk loudly, I exist loudly. At least when I speak French I’m not being the worst kind of American tourist (although, alas, when I speak English I am very much upholding the stereotype).

-A Nutella crêpe should cost between 2.50 and 3.50. An espresso should not be more than 2.4 euro (and that’s pretty pricey). Do not buy anything, ever, on the Champs-Elysées.

-Mexican food is not, and never will be, the same here – just give up and wait to be back in Southern California. I’m still trying to convince myself to stop looking for Mexican food. There is one (1) Chipotle in this city, and that is far from the pinnacle of achievement in Mexican cuisine.

-A baguette is always worth it. It’s one euro. Go for it.

Better than a dorm

As you may have picked up on, I do not have 100% positive feelings about study abroad (no regrets, but still) – making friends is hard, French is hard, I’m a complainer…But my weekend trip to London (thank you, wonderful women for hosting/entertaining me) did give me a lot of perspective on my time in Paris, and the things that I like and don’t like about it.

The best thing, though, was realizing that Paris feels like home. I had a great time seeing the sights of London, and the Indian food is to die for, but Paris is where I feel more comfortable, where I have routines and a life and even people that I know.

I’ve spent the last three years of my life drifting. Dorm living is nomadic in nature, unsettled. I pack up my life every nine months and by the time my pictures are all up, it’s time to move again. But Pomona, Portland, Paris (I love Ps) all feel somewhat like home, because…some cheesy saying about home being where the heart is, I don’t know. It was nice to realize that I have a home here, even if it’s temporary.

In other news, my host mother has informed me that she might be moving in April, leaving me to move to a different family. It just fits so well with the theme of this post…

Also, I highly recommend long bus rides – I took the bus from London to Paris and while I was flagging by hour seven, the French countryside is ABSURDLY BEAUTIFUL. ++sitting on the second floor of a double decker bus is as great as I thought it would be. Have a nice day, everyone.

Des Gestes Infinis

BE PROUD OF ME THE TITLE IS A DFW PUN IN TWO LANGUAGES (geste = gesture (pronounced like jest), infini = infinite -> Infinite Jest -> novel by David Foster Wallace (former Pomona professor) -> I’M INCREDIBLE). Now for a brief rundown of my encounters with French gesturing.

In the US, when I meet someone new, I shake their hand. I consider this polite! It’s a sign of respect, that even though obviously we are the same age (if this person is another student), we are peers both in the sense of potential friends and people who are working towards a similar goal. There’s nothing strange about a handshake, even at a party. Also, I’m the kind of gal who LOVES a good hug. I hug my friends all the time, people I’ve had a fulfilling conversation with, almost anyone, as long as there is some mutual friendliness going on. Here, au contraire, no one hugs. At all. It’s the stereotypical double cheek kiss, and that’s it – whenever I hug a friend, I am marking myself publicly as an outsider, an uncomfortable sensation when the general consensus (and one that I have unfortunately not done as much as I should have to dispel) is that Americans stomp around speaking English loudly, French poorly, and don’t care about the city or the people who actually live here all the time. We don’t have to get into my language pledge woes right now though – I’ll save it for another post.

To put it simply, things are different here. I’ve been in a few social situations with French people or people from other countries where the social codes are different, and each time I stick my hand out for a handshake #reflexes, I see something go on in their heads. In France, a hand shake creates distance, implies that we are colleagues. It says: we are Not Friends. So go me – in trying to be nice, something that I like to think I’m pretty damn good at, I’ve alienated like half the French people I’ve tried to draw in.

Also complicated but a little different is the fact that unlike English, French uses a formal and an informal you. Although I understand that “vous” is a form of politeness, is the handshake thing indicative of a larger attitude about formality? Is slight formality with someone my age seen as politeness just like shaking someone’s hand as a greeting, or is it a distancer? It’s almost impossible for me to tell, at this point. I want to replicate cultural norms and practices, but I’ve been having a harder time than expected getting over things that seem so obvious, so natural to me. The struggles (not really) of a visitor.

Something that remains bizarre for me is the double cheek kiss. I think I’m getting better at responding to a cheek kiss, but honestly, as much as I love hugs, I don’t know when I’ll be ready to kiss people I have never met before. THAT seems invasive to me. But, you know, do as the Parisians do, or whatever the damn saying is. As with most things, the more wine I’ve had, the easier it is to switch from American to French mindset (if I can even claim to have a French mindset to switch into).

More soon(ish),

Emma

Pas Encore Bilingue (Not Yet Bilingual)

Alright. It’s been just over a week since I arrived, and things are still nice. Classes start next Monday, so I still have a bit of time to not worry about homework and commuting and how am I going to cook for myself when I have homework to do (okay I’m worrying a little bit but not, like, TOO much).

I’m still enjoying meeting people, but I’m realizing how much I HATE small talk. It’s always the same uninspiring conversations, and there’s something really disappointing about not being to count on people to want to be with you (or at least the perception that others don’t care about your presence).  So today I went it alone and I actually had a great time! Today I wandered around Montmartre – for those of you who have seen Amélie, that’s where she lived. There’s also a beautiful cathedral and cute lil cobblestone streets. Wandering around Paris has been incredible, and although I am loving touristy outings (had a great one to see Notre Dame and Saint Chapelle on Saturday), it’s also nice to just see what each street has to offer.

So far, Paris has been an experiment in ego checks, which is one of my least favorite activities. I have (technically) been taking French for seven years, although I have to condense my high school experience into a year, maybe a year and a half. But here, I open my mouth amongst natives and what I say is 1) incomprehensible, 2) takes way too long to say and 3) uninteresting. In French, I am not particularly funny, nor intelligent, nor witty – all pursuits that are more or less central to my personality. I look Parisian (WOOHOO), as a friend of mine’s Tinder date and a random street salesman outside Sacré-Cœur told me, but once I open my mouth, I’m all hopeless American. I want to be good at French, but doing the work is exhausting. Listening to French day in and day out, speaking French all day long – I come home tired in my brain.

The Middlebury program mandates that you speak French all the time, with the exception of things like this blog, because of course they want us to share our experiences with others. So I’ve been trying to uphold that as much as possible. But goodness ME am I excited for the month mark, when listening to/speaking French all the time feels more natural.

I reached a fairly amateur level of American Sign Language knowledge when I was in high school, taking a couple classes with my good friend Liam, although I’ve lost a lot of it since then. When I can’t think of a word in French, and I’m too stubborn to try English, I keep feeling myself doing it in sign language, as if ANYONE here would know rudimentary American Sign Language and help me out. Alas.

❤ Emma

J’arrive

I got into Paris on Monday morning, around 10. I slept 12.5 hours the first night, starting at 8 (the time difference is nine hours from Portland to here).

Some things that have happened so far:

My host mom is really nice! Right after I arrived, she gave me a tour, then let me have a bunch of time to myself, which after 15 hours of travel, was sorely needed. I then went to pick up her 3yo grandson from preschool, and got to watch 50-60 French toddlers toddling, which was SO CUTE (and incomprehensible, unfortunately). Also, she made an incredible quiche lorraine in one evening – I hope she can teach me a little something about cooking, something I am not particularly good at.

I had my first glass of wine last night after my first day at the Middlebury Center, with Grace (from Pomona) and two girls I didn’t know but so far am very much enjoying. I haven’t done sightseeing yet. I’m the type of person to need a routine before I go breaking it, which hopefully won’t keep me from enjoying this incredible city.

This leads us to A Confession of Fear: I don’t want to make the mistake of hanging out with Americans mostly, or getting stuck in my routine, whatever that may be. In Claremont, I tend to stick to routines, getting things done and not caring once they’re done. I hope, with this experience, I can move beyond that totally task-oriented mindset and enjoy myself in different ways, getting the most out of the experience.

Well, I’m only two days in to my French experience, and I already feel pretty comfortable on the metro, and I’ve made a couple friends (even if it’s not anything real quite yet). I drank some wine and embarrassed myself by trying to speak French to Parisians. Luckily, almost everyone I’ve met on the street has been super nice and willing to help. I’m so excited (a word that unfortunately does not exist in French) to explore this city!

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