This summer I had the opportunity to go to the Conférence Annuelle des Jeunes Adultes Francophones in Bordeaux. Not only was it was a wonderful experience culturally and spiritually, but I know my French improved so much over those short five days.
Culturally, it was one of the few and precious moments when I was among virtually all French speakers (There were 3 Americans there, out of around 360 JA, or Young Adults.) and didn't feel like an observor or English teacher or tourist. I was one of them, and was treated as such. I think it's hard for people to make solid friendships with someone they know is leaving soon, and I think there are a lot of Americans who pass in and out of France, spend maybe a semester and then leave, so they are never really integrated into the ward or stake like someone who would premanently live there. That's how I felt at first; I was in a lot of ways the outsider. I required a lot of patience to carry on a conversation, usually didn't understand slang or any form of humor. However it's been a year since I joined the JA in the stake of Angers, and I think the barriers are finally gone. One night, the 4 other girls in my tent sat on my bed and we stayed up until 3am, talking and joking, and I realized, even exhausted in the middle of the night, that I understood about 80% of the conversation. Occationally they would stop and explain something, a reference to a film or tv add that I wouldn't understand, but I could follow and actually contribute to the conversation like one of them. They weren't watering it down; they certainly weren't speaking slowly and articulation. It was one of those few milestones I've had where I could see how far I've come.
I feel that I have a much better understanding of the way the church functions throughout France and Europe. For the last night, the spiritual night, two of the three talks given were about marriage. I had noticed a huge emphasis on marriage throughout the whole week, which is normal for a young single adult conference. However what wasn't normal was that a very small percent of the guys had served missions. And yet there wasn't much emphasis placed on the imprtance of going on a mission, from what I could tell. I talked to a friend about this, Estelle from Lyon, and she explained to me that missions in France are much more difficult to organize than missions in the US. A student usually can't take a break in his studies for two years and then expect to get back into school and continue. So consequently, the boys finish school and serve missions at maybe 22 or 23 years old, rather than the more traditional age of 19. So if the boys aren't serving missions until they're older, and the girls want to marry a returned missionaries, then obviously the girls aren't getting married either. At least not until they are much older than the average LDS marriage in the US. Therefor, people are single much longer and are attending YSA conference many more times, and the average age is much older. At almost 22 years old, I would be considered one of the older people at a YSA conference in the states. However at this francophone conference, I had people often tell me that I am young, and I met lots of people aged 25 to 30.
I will never really know for sure why so much emphasis was placed on marriage rather that serving a full time mission. However if I had to guess, I would say the Church is choosing its battles here. Although a mission is a wonderful thing for all young men in the church, nothing is more important than a temple marriage. The church is young in France and although the members are strong, they are scattered across large distances and are relatively few in number. Those who serve missions will have added blessings and strength and knowledge that will fortify their families, but the most important thing is that the family is founded on a solid, gospel foundation of Jesus Christ.
The CAJAF was truly a once in a lifetime opportunity for me. The lessons, games, activities, sandy beach between a lake and the ocean near Bordeaux, windsurfing, tents, and the friendships I made and strengthened at CAJAF have given me memoreies that are surely among my most precious of all that I have experienced here in France.
September 12, 2012
September 11, 2012
FR 311 La pureté de la langue française
I often ask the French what they think about the Academie Française and have yet failed to get a very passionate response. After pressing my friend Adèlie about the subject, I finally got the response, in a sing song, almost joking
manner, "Grâce à l'Academie Française, nous avons une jolie langue." However when I ask more specific questions, like, "What do you think about English words that are used on a day to day basis in French, like 'parking' or 'tee-shirt' or 'email,' compared to the proper French words like 'un stationnement?" I get a more satisfying response (more than just a shrug of the shoulders and a blank stare). Of the people polled, they prefer the English words. These are English things or ideas, so it's just as well to use the English words. No one expressed any fear that the French language is being currupted by foreign infulences. Maybe they never considered it, maybe the people I asked are too young to see how much French has changed in the last fifty years. They all seemed to hint at the idea that if everyone uses the English words, it's just one less thing they have to learn how to translate, one thing that is a little bit simpler and universal. However the teachers Italked to said that they are required to know and teach the more "correct" words to their students, even if they use the English word normally.
On a different note, I was always taught that in Québec the people are quite strict about preserving the purity of their French, and insist on using the "correct" French words. This made sense to me, seeing as geographically they're not at an advantage to maintaining the language's purity, and if they don't work hard to keep it, they'll surely lose it. With liscense plates that read, "Je me souvienne," or, "I remember" (my French heritage) it seemed to me that they were a bit obsessed with maintaining this purity. However, recently I attended a Jeunes Adulte Conference for all the single people in French speaking Europe, and a Québécois had wandered his way over across the ocean to join us. I noticed him using English words in an otherwise completely French sentence, like, "Si seulement j'avais mes running shoes...." I assumed this was just for my benefit becuase he is bilingual aswell. I asked about it, however, and he said that no, that's really what they call them. Running shoes. Even in French. I was baffled, and asked about their purity of langue. He says he always prefers to speak French, and that was one of his goals in coming to this activity was to speak only French. He speaks French with his family, English at work, but it's common to walk down the streets in Montreal and hear two men talking, one in French and the other in English. And they just carry on like that as if it's perfectly normal. I guess they're losing their battle. Ils se souviennent pas. I am of course on the hunt for another Québécois to confirm that I need to reevaluate all that I learned from my textbooks about those in Québec being more strict than the French about speaking "proper, and correct" French.
On a different note, I was always taught that in Québec the people are quite strict about preserving the purity of their French, and insist on using the "correct" French words. This made sense to me, seeing as geographically they're not at an advantage to maintaining the language's purity, and if they don't work hard to keep it, they'll surely lose it. With liscense plates that read, "Je me souvienne," or, "I remember" (my French heritage) it seemed to me that they were a bit obsessed with maintaining this purity. However, recently I attended a Jeunes Adulte Conference for all the single people in French speaking Europe, and a Québécois had wandered his way over across the ocean to join us. I noticed him using English words in an otherwise completely French sentence, like, "Si seulement j'avais mes running shoes...." I assumed this was just for my benefit becuase he is bilingual aswell. I asked about it, however, and he said that no, that's really what they call them. Running shoes. Even in French. I was baffled, and asked about their purity of langue. He says he always prefers to speak French, and that was one of his goals in coming to this activity was to speak only French. He speaks French with his family, English at work, but it's common to walk down the streets in Montreal and hear two men talking, one in French and the other in English. And they just carry on like that as if it's perfectly normal. I guess they're losing their battle. Ils se souviennent pas. I am of course on the hunt for another Québécois to confirm that I need to reevaluate all that I learned from my textbooks about those in Québec being more strict than the French about speaking "proper, and correct" French.
August 24, 2012
IAS 380R Week in the Country & FHE
Cultural Proof
I spent a lot of time with a family from the branch, first at weekly family home evenings with the missionaries, then later they invited me to stay at their house in the countryside for a week. The family are native Poitevins; the children born there and the single mother, Brigitte, has lived there since she was young. There are two girls, Marion (26 years old) and Nadège (29). They also have a brother, Eddie, who lives just outside of Poitiers centre, and who visits from time to time. During the week I stayed with them, we went to a dance/ theater performance he and his club put on. It was very modern, erie at times, trying really hard to be mysterious and expressive, but instead just came across as a little odd. At least this was the general consensus among us four female spectators.
During my time there and my FHE visits with the missionaries, Brigitte and Nadège always worked hard to cook lavishly. Particularly at the beginning, the meals were very traditional and I imagine quite expensive. I ate things that I would never have eaten had the social setting not dictated that I try. Examples include a rabbit that was given as a gift from the neighbor. Also pig snout, which I didn’t ask about until after I had eaten it. One day that I wasn’t able to go out for FHE, the missionaries later informed me they’d eaten calf heart. Needless to say, I’m not so open minded about my meats as some people, and I was not disappointed to have missed that particular dinner. Even with the occasional adventurous meals, eating with this family was some of my favorite memories from Poitiers. Those women sure do know how to cook. Some of my favorite meals were eaten at their dinner table, and we (myself and the missionaries) were always so grateful at their willingness to take us in, feed us a good meal, and share a simple lesson together.
The family home evening lessons were usually a conference talk that we would pass around and take turns reading. I always enjoyed this, particularly because this was a group of people I was comfortable around, who was French, and who I knew wouldn’t make fun when I stumbled across a word. Marion is dyslexic, so she struggles reading aloud. However, she always sat next to me and helped me pronounce the words. I remember her being very patient and I liked it when she corrected me, because I knew she understood what it was like to not know how to read a word, and I think it was good for her to see that other people struggle with that too. After we read the talk, we would discuss it or share personal experiences about the subject for 15 or 20 minutes.
During the time that I stayed with them overnight, after dinner each night we would watch a movie and eat ice cream. They have lots of movies, and every night someone takes a turn choosing. We watched several classic French films as well as American ones with French subtitles.
Brigitte and I talked a lot. We talked about her conversion to the church, voyages she made when she was young, her job, before she got sick and retired, her cancer, which is in remission now, her children, etc. She even took me with them to vote, and explained the whole process to me. I appreciated how welcoming she was, especially right at the beginning when I didn’t know anyone and felt awkward in the branch. I know that if I ever go back to Poitiers, no, not ever, but when i go back to Poitiers, I’ll most certainly be stopping by their little house in the countryside to say hello.
I spent a lot of time with a family from the branch, first at weekly family home evenings with the missionaries, then later they invited me to stay at their house in the countryside for a week. The family are native Poitevins; the children born there and the single mother, Brigitte, has lived there since she was young. There are two girls, Marion (26 years old) and Nadège (29). They also have a brother, Eddie, who lives just outside of Poitiers centre, and who visits from time to time. During the week I stayed with them, we went to a dance/ theater performance he and his club put on. It was very modern, erie at times, trying really hard to be mysterious and expressive, but instead just came across as a little odd. At least this was the general consensus among us four female spectators.
During my time there and my FHE visits with the missionaries, Brigitte and Nadège always worked hard to cook lavishly. Particularly at the beginning, the meals were very traditional and I imagine quite expensive. I ate things that I would never have eaten had the social setting not dictated that I try. Examples include a rabbit that was given as a gift from the neighbor. Also pig snout, which I didn’t ask about until after I had eaten it. One day that I wasn’t able to go out for FHE, the missionaries later informed me they’d eaten calf heart. Needless to say, I’m not so open minded about my meats as some people, and I was not disappointed to have missed that particular dinner. Even with the occasional adventurous meals, eating with this family was some of my favorite memories from Poitiers. Those women sure do know how to cook. Some of my favorite meals were eaten at their dinner table, and we (myself and the missionaries) were always so grateful at their willingness to take us in, feed us a good meal, and share a simple lesson together.
The family home evening lessons were usually a conference talk that we would pass around and take turns reading. I always enjoyed this, particularly because this was a group of people I was comfortable around, who was French, and who I knew wouldn’t make fun when I stumbled across a word. Marion is dyslexic, so she struggles reading aloud. However, she always sat next to me and helped me pronounce the words. I remember her being very patient and I liked it when she corrected me, because I knew she understood what it was like to not know how to read a word, and I think it was good for her to see that other people struggle with that too. After we read the talk, we would discuss it or share personal experiences about the subject for 15 or 20 minutes.
During the time that I stayed with them overnight, after dinner each night we would watch a movie and eat ice cream. They have lots of movies, and every night someone takes a turn choosing. We watched several classic French films as well as American ones with French subtitles.
Brigitte and I talked a lot. We talked about her conversion to the church, voyages she made when she was young, her job, before she got sick and retired, her cancer, which is in remission now, her children, etc. She even took me with them to vote, and explained the whole process to me. I appreciated how welcoming she was, especially right at the beginning when I didn’t know anyone and felt awkward in the branch. I know that if I ever go back to Poitiers, no, not ever, but when i go back to Poitiers, I’ll most certainly be stopping by their little house in the countryside to say hello.
August 22, 2012
IAS 380R Teaching Teachers
Large Cultural Proof
For part of my work this year, I was given an extra assignment of team-teaching an English conversation class for primary school teachers every Tuesday evening. Every week my colleague and I would research topics or prompts to get the teachers talking in English. We had many interesting conversations, and often compared subjects such as education, politics, holidays, religion, and geography between France and America. We met usually as a fairly small group, which even then was a much more successful turnout than they've had previous years, where only one or two teachers would show up. The meetings were held in separate building of a library, and the six or sometimes seven of us would sit around a table and talk.
I remember some conversations more specifically than others, but we always tried to come up with prompts that would be interesting for everyone involved. Because we were all working in the schools, we spent a couple of classes talking about education.
We often made charts, lists, or diagrams on a board to compare French systems with American, French grammar with English, and even spent one class playing card games.
We talked about the way elections work in France and the US, politics, energy conservation. Nathan and I were honest about the less pleasant aspects of American culture, for example the fast food epidemic and our not so eco-friendly habits. There were a few times however, when Nathan would go in my opinion a little over the top with negativity towards America, and at one point I remember pointedly telling him that was enough. I didn’t want those teachers to think that Americans have no national pride. They understood, however, that there are all different kinds of Americans, just like there are all different kinds of French. But that wasn’t an excuse to ungratefully list any negative aspects of American citizenship.
We spent on particularly interesting lesson talking about stereotypes. I of course asked what stereotypes they had about Americans. One teacher wrote down “cool” and another wrote down “religious” because whenever an American wins a medal at the Olympics or something he’ll almost always say that he’s grateful to his family, his coach, etc. and God. The teacher said that in France they would just say it was because they worked hard, but Americans say it was because of God. There were some moments when the liberality of the teachers irritated me a bit. We were always diplomatic. All of the teachers are atheist, at least from what I gathered throughout the year, except one, who I know works at a private Catholic school. She never voiced her opinions against the atheists, but I assume she must’ve been Catholic. As far as politics go, I remember a teacher saying, regarding a politician's private life, “We like to know, but enough is enough. What he does is his business.” They all thought it was quite funny the way the American’s were so up in arms over the Clinton scandal.
One lesson we had a Galette de Rois party and talked about Christmas traditions. Even though we spent a full hour talking about this tradition, I was still not at all prepared for it to last well into February. I loved those galettes as much as the next person, but after my 7th or 8th party, I thought if I saw one more galette I would puke, and I didn’t even care anymore who got to be the king! I was told crêpe month was coming up soon, but it couldn’t come fast enough.
Although teaching this class was a lot of extra work, I really used it to discuss French cultural topics that I was interested in or that confused me. Nathan and I really formed a friendship with those teachers that came regularly; one of them had hens and brought us fresh eggs every week. Another one gave me a book with animal sounds in French the week following our discussion on the topic. At our final celebration, we ate a mixed up meal of French and American foods, from brown gravy to broyés to pinwheel almond cookies. I know that they appreciated having native English speakers to practice with and answer their questions, and I appreciated all that they were willing to openly discuss and teach me about the more subtle aspects of French culture.
For part of my work this year, I was given an extra assignment of team-teaching an English conversation class for primary school teachers every Tuesday evening. Every week my colleague and I would research topics or prompts to get the teachers talking in English. We had many interesting conversations, and often compared subjects such as education, politics, holidays, religion, and geography between France and America. We met usually as a fairly small group, which even then was a much more successful turnout than they've had previous years, where only one or two teachers would show up. The meetings were held in separate building of a library, and the six or sometimes seven of us would sit around a table and talk.
I remember some conversations more specifically than others, but we always tried to come up with prompts that would be interesting for everyone involved. Because we were all working in the schools, we spent a couple of classes talking about education.
We often made charts, lists, or diagrams on a board to compare French systems with American, French grammar with English, and even spent one class playing card games.
We talked about the way elections work in France and the US, politics, energy conservation. Nathan and I were honest about the less pleasant aspects of American culture, for example the fast food epidemic and our not so eco-friendly habits. There were a few times however, when Nathan would go in my opinion a little over the top with negativity towards America, and at one point I remember pointedly telling him that was enough. I didn’t want those teachers to think that Americans have no national pride. They understood, however, that there are all different kinds of Americans, just like there are all different kinds of French. But that wasn’t an excuse to ungratefully list any negative aspects of American citizenship.
We spent on particularly interesting lesson talking about stereotypes. I of course asked what stereotypes they had about Americans. One teacher wrote down “cool” and another wrote down “religious” because whenever an American wins a medal at the Olympics or something he’ll almost always say that he’s grateful to his family, his coach, etc. and God. The teacher said that in France they would just say it was because they worked hard, but Americans say it was because of God. There were some moments when the liberality of the teachers irritated me a bit. We were always diplomatic. All of the teachers are atheist, at least from what I gathered throughout the year, except one, who I know works at a private Catholic school. She never voiced her opinions against the atheists, but I assume she must’ve been Catholic. As far as politics go, I remember a teacher saying, regarding a politician's private life, “We like to know, but enough is enough. What he does is his business.” They all thought it was quite funny the way the American’s were so up in arms over the Clinton scandal.
One lesson we had a Galette de Rois party and talked about Christmas traditions. Even though we spent a full hour talking about this tradition, I was still not at all prepared for it to last well into February. I loved those galettes as much as the next person, but after my 7th or 8th party, I thought if I saw one more galette I would puke, and I didn’t even care anymore who got to be the king! I was told crêpe month was coming up soon, but it couldn’t come fast enough.
Although teaching this class was a lot of extra work, I really used it to discuss French cultural topics that I was interested in or that confused me. Nathan and I really formed a friendship with those teachers that came regularly; one of them had hens and brought us fresh eggs every week. Another one gave me a book with animal sounds in French the week following our discussion on the topic. At our final celebration, we ate a mixed up meal of French and American foods, from brown gravy to broyés to pinwheel almond cookies. I know that they appreciated having native English speakers to practice with and answer their questions, and I appreciated all that they were willing to openly discuss and teach me about the more subtle aspects of French culture.
IAS 380R Marché à Nortre Dame
Small Cultural Proof
Every Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday we have a morning market in front of Notre Dame. I often felt like I was benefiting the most from my time here in France when I was on my way to our little market. Vendors have tables and tables set up of everything you could need for good, fresh, healthy cuisine. And the prices generally beat those at the grocery store too. The fruits and vegetables are bright, vivid colors, the produce is smooth and scathe free. There’s always a man who sells soups in jars who sometimes gives free samples. There’s always a woman with macaroons and local cakes; the shortbread-like broyé of Poitou has to be beat with one’s fist to break it up into manageable pieces. We always have two or three stands selling flowers, and when I’m feeling fancy I indulge in a bright mixed bouquet from the countryside. There are of course a few stands selling bread, but none of them beat our Délisses de Poitou baker just down the street from my apartment. We have paté, cheese (brie is our favorite, unless you count local chèvre chaud), eggs, saucisson of any kind of meat (which I have begun to take a liking to, especially considering how wary I was at the beginning of the year), more kinds of meat than I could ever care for: pork, rabbit, chicken, lamb, beef you can ask the butcher to grind for you right there. The list goes on. My brother and I usually stuck to the basics: lots of fruit and veggies, some eggs (which don’t come by the dozen), and sometimes a broyé for him or some flowers for me. When we knew we were going to go all out, I would bring my chariot like a real local so we could get it all home and up our million flights of stairs to our unairconditioned apartment. Everyone is always so friendly and helpful. You just point to or pick up what you want to buy, hand it to the person working the stand, they weigh it and print up a receit. On the other side of Notre Dame, we also had a non-produce section of our market, which included antique trinkets, books, sometimes furniture, porcelain, or musical instruments. There was never any shortage of interesting things to see at the market!
Every Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday we have a morning market in front of Notre Dame. I often felt like I was benefiting the most from my time here in France when I was on my way to our little market. Vendors have tables and tables set up of everything you could need for good, fresh, healthy cuisine. And the prices generally beat those at the grocery store too. The fruits and vegetables are bright, vivid colors, the produce is smooth and scathe free. There’s always a man who sells soups in jars who sometimes gives free samples. There’s always a woman with macaroons and local cakes; the shortbread-like broyé of Poitou has to be beat with one’s fist to break it up into manageable pieces. We always have two or three stands selling flowers, and when I’m feeling fancy I indulge in a bright mixed bouquet from the countryside. There are of course a few stands selling bread, but none of them beat our Délisses de Poitou baker just down the street from my apartment. We have paté, cheese (brie is our favorite, unless you count local chèvre chaud), eggs, saucisson of any kind of meat (which I have begun to take a liking to, especially considering how wary I was at the beginning of the year), more kinds of meat than I could ever care for: pork, rabbit, chicken, lamb, beef you can ask the butcher to grind for you right there. The list goes on. My brother and I usually stuck to the basics: lots of fruit and veggies, some eggs (which don’t come by the dozen), and sometimes a broyé for him or some flowers for me. When we knew we were going to go all out, I would bring my chariot like a real local so we could get it all home and up our million flights of stairs to our unairconditioned apartment. Everyone is always so friendly and helpful. You just point to or pick up what you want to buy, hand it to the person working the stand, they weigh it and print up a receit. On the other side of Notre Dame, we also had a non-produce section of our market, which included antique trinkets, books, sometimes furniture, porcelain, or musical instruments. There was never any shortage of interesting things to see at the market!
August 16, 2012
FR 311 Vocabulaire 12
1. joli comme un coeur cute as a button
2. kiffer to have a "crush" on someone
3. Il fait "un bazard." He makes a mess.
4. Elle fait "du bazard." She is making a crazy racket/ having a fit.
5. Il fait lourd. When the weather is hot, muggy, makes you feel lethargic.
Regional expressions (Bretagne):
6. korigan gnomish creature
7. prendre un reposer to take a nap
8. .....eh bien? (at the end of a sentence) tag on word. doesn't really have a meaning.
9. le crachin drizzle
(en Lorraine)
10. Il disent souvent "comme ça" "Like this/ that"
11. "du coup...." "In short...."
Grammar Class
12. rompre casser, quitter quelqu'un
13. une rupture une interruption
14. chuchoter to whisper
15. murmurer to murmur, to mutter
16. articuler to speak clearly, articulate
17. miauler to meow (cat)
18. aboyer to bark (dog)
19. il convient il faut, should
20. d'inculquer enseigner
21. amènent conduire
22. transmission commercial
23. régir govern
24. régissent govern
25. commande order
2. kiffer to have a "crush" on someone
3. Il fait "un bazard." He makes a mess.
4. Elle fait "du bazard." She is making a crazy racket/ having a fit.
5. Il fait lourd. When the weather is hot, muggy, makes you feel lethargic.
Regional expressions (Bretagne):
6. korigan gnomish creature
7. prendre un reposer to take a nap
8. .....eh bien? (at the end of a sentence) tag on word. doesn't really have a meaning.
9. le crachin drizzle
(en Lorraine)
10. Il disent souvent "comme ça" "Like this/ that"
11. "du coup...." "In short...."
Grammar Class
12. rompre casser, quitter quelqu'un
13. une rupture une interruption
14. chuchoter to whisper
15. murmurer to murmur, to mutter
16. articuler to speak clearly, articulate
17. miauler to meow (cat)
18. aboyer to bark (dog)
19. il convient il faut, should
20. d'inculquer enseigner
21. amènent conduire
22. transmission commercial
23. régir govern
24. régissent govern
25. commande order
August 14, 2012
FR 311 Vocabulaire 11
1. une capuche hood on clothing
2. biner to hoe
3. une tache stain
4. cracher to spit
5. supporter to handle (cope with)
6. s'occuper de to handle (deal with)
7. se charger de to handle (deal with)
8. un manche a handle (tool, pot, or object)
9. une poignée a handle (door)
10. une cicatrice a scar
11. une bride a horse's bridle
12. un portemanteau coat stand
13. un porte-chapeau hat stand
14. un guéridon stand for plants or trophies
15. pupitre music stand
16. un éventaire stand for market or festival
17. casser to break
18. un bavoir a bib
19. croquer to bite (for an aminal)/ to crunch
20. à mâcher to chew
21. le poil animal fur
22. un plateau tray
23. un bâton a stick (from a tree)
24. un biberon baby's bottle
25. nourrir au biberon to bottle-feed
2. biner to hoe
3. une tache stain
4. cracher to spit
5. supporter to handle (cope with)
6. s'occuper de to handle (deal with)
7. se charger de to handle (deal with)
8. un manche a handle (tool, pot, or object)
9. une poignée a handle (door)
10. une cicatrice a scar
11. une bride a horse's bridle
12. un portemanteau coat stand
13. un porte-chapeau hat stand
14. un guéridon stand for plants or trophies
15. pupitre music stand
16. un éventaire stand for market or festival
17. casser to break
18. un bavoir a bib
19. croquer to bite (for an aminal)/ to crunch
20. à mâcher to chew
21. le poil animal fur
22. un plateau tray
23. un bâton a stick (from a tree)
24. un biberon baby's bottle
25. nourrir au biberon to bottle-feed
August 10, 2012
FR 311 Vocabulaire 10
1. le rouge-gorge robin
2. le pigeon pigeon
3. la mouette seagull
4. la chauve-souris bat
5. le hibou hawk owl
6. la chouette owl
7. le flamant rose pink flamingo
8. l'aigle eagle
9. la baleine whale
10. la pieuvre octopus
11. le phoque seal
12. le crabe crab
13. le dauphin dolphin
14. le requin shark
15. le manchot penguin
16. la chenille caterpillar
17. le ver de terre earthworm
18. la mouche fly
19. la fourmi ant
20. une tarentule tarantula
21. l'araignée spider
22. un cloporte roly-poly bug
23. un papillon de nuit moth
24. un acarien dust mite
25. un ciron cheese mite
2. le pigeon pigeon
3. la mouette seagull
4. la chauve-souris bat
5. le hibou hawk owl
6. la chouette owl
7. le flamant rose pink flamingo
8. l'aigle eagle
9. la baleine whale
10. la pieuvre octopus
11. le phoque seal
12. le crabe crab
13. le dauphin dolphin
14. le requin shark
15. le manchot penguin
16. la chenille caterpillar
17. le ver de terre earthworm
18. la mouche fly
19. la fourmi ant
20. une tarentule tarantula
21. l'araignée spider
22. un cloporte roly-poly bug
23. un papillon de nuit moth
24. un acarien dust mite
25. un ciron cheese mite
FR311 Vocabulaire 9
Reading to kids.....Le gros livre des Animaux
1. le canari canary
2. la souris mouse
3. le perroquet parakeet
4. le poisson rouge goldfish
5. l'âne donkey
6. le paon peacock
7. la poule chicken
8. le clef deer
9. l'écureuil squirrel
10. le sanglier boar
11. le hérisson hedgehog
12. le lièvre hare
13. l'ours bear
14. le chaton kitten
15. le poussin chick
16. le veau calf
17. le poulain foal
18. le chiot puppy
19. le héron heron
20. la libellule dragonfly
21. la grenouille frog
22. la salamandre salamander
23. le cygne swan
24. le porcelet piglet
25. le loup wolf
1. le canari canary
2. la souris mouse
3. le perroquet parakeet
4. le poisson rouge goldfish
5. l'âne donkey
6. le paon peacock
7. la poule chicken
8. le clef deer
9. l'écureuil squirrel
10. le sanglier boar
11. le hérisson hedgehog
12. le lièvre hare
13. l'ours bear
14. le chaton kitten
15. le poussin chick
16. le veau calf
17. le poulain foal
18. le chiot puppy
19. le héron heron
20. la libellule dragonfly
21. la grenouille frog
22. la salamandre salamander
23. le cygne swan
24. le porcelet piglet
25. le loup wolf
August 09, 2012
FR 311 Vocabulaire 8
1. décoller to take off (air plane)/ to peel off/ to remove
2. s'envoler to take off (air plane) / to blow away /to fly/ to vanish
3. encombrer to clutter/ to block
4. gêner to bother/ to disturb/ to annoy
5. tripoter to fidget with
6. débarquer to land (unload)
7. accoster to land (come ashore)
8. atterrir to land (airplane)
Learning to drive a stick shift
9. le frein the brakes
10. le frein à main hand brake
11. un volant steering wheel
12. un engin engine
13. la vitesse speed
14. indicateur de vitesse speedometer
15. l'embrayage the clutch
16. débrayer to let in the clutch
17. embrayer to let out the clutch
18. une pédale d'accélérateur gas pedal
19. le gazole diesel
20. le gaz gasoline
21. une station-service gas station
22. le sac gonflable air bag
23. le coffre trunk
24. le capot hood
25. un clignotant turn signal/ blinker
2. s'envoler to take off (air plane) / to blow away /to fly/ to vanish
3. encombrer to clutter/ to block
4. gêner to bother/ to disturb/ to annoy
5. tripoter to fidget with
6. débarquer to land (unload)
7. accoster to land (come ashore)
8. atterrir to land (airplane)
Learning to drive a stick shift
9. le frein the brakes
10. le frein à main hand brake
11. un volant steering wheel
12. un engin engine
13. la vitesse speed
14. indicateur de vitesse speedometer
15. l'embrayage the clutch
16. débrayer to let in the clutch
17. embrayer to let out the clutch
18. une pédale d'accélérateur gas pedal
19. le gazole diesel
20. le gaz gasoline
21. une station-service gas station
22. le sac gonflable air bag
23. le coffre trunk
24. le capot hood
25. un clignotant turn signal/ blinker
August 06, 2012
IAS 380R Babysitting
Large Cultural Proof
Yesterday I spent the whole day babysitting for two little French children. Célia is three and a half and Lucas is 15 months old. The day had a rigid schedule which we were able to successfully stick to, for the most part. I noticed many little differences in how they’re treated and raised compared to American children.
We started the day with a breakfast of bread, butter, jam, or honey, organic fruit juice and rice cakes. Then at 10:00 we got out the stroller and went for a long walk to the harbor. Célia often has to go the the bathroom when we’re outside, and it’s customary for her to go in a bush, even if we’re near the house and there’s a bathroom just inside. After the walk Lucas had his bottle, which is prepared with breast milk, even thought he’s almost a year and a half old, he still nurses. He wasn’t at all interested in the bottle, and no matter how hard I tried to get him to take it, he cried for mommy and still wanted to nurse. Célia also takes bottles with organic cow’s milk. In those respects I thought it was interesting how much they’re treated like small babies; American babies would usually stop nursing at a much younger age than Lucas, and certainly most American three-year-olds wouldn’t be given a bottle. However, there are other aspects in which they are treated much more maturely than American children. For example, Célia is starting school this September. To me that seems much to early to start school, and I would think that would be an incredibly long and tiring day for a little girl. Her mom says she’ll start out just going in the morning and we’ll see how she does before sending her for a full day. It actually sounds more like a preschool, except that she’ll be in the same school with children much older than her.
Lunchtime was another event in which they are expected to act more mature. They are expected to eat everything they’re given (even thought Célia rarely eats everything, and wants to be spoon fed like her baby brother) which is normal, almost adult size portions of some mild food like soup or veggies. Everything is prepared without salt and nearly everything is organic. After the battle over anything green, they are both given a piece of fruit or a yogurt for desert, something an American child would probably protest. Then at 13:00 it’s time for everyone to take a nap. Célia takes her naps and sleeps at night with a diaper instead of the panties she normally wears during the day. I found their naps to be unusually long: they were expected to stay in their rooms and sleep from 13:00 to 15:00-17:00. They’re never woken up early, like many mothers would do in the US for fear that if they nap too long they won’t be able to sleep that night. Their mom says if they’ll sleep a long time, let them. But I find that it makes going to bed at night much more of an ordeal for them. For example, Célia napped yesterday from 13:20 until 17:30. That’s over 4 hours. Come bedtime she was merciless, and cried from her room for almost an hour, which is much longer than normal. However it’s true that little kids need lots of sleep, and it’s interesting to see the different cultural methods, tactics, or beliefs behind the “best” way of doing things.
After their naps it’s time for a big bottle for them both and then c'est l'heure de “goûter.” Goûter is a sweet snack eaten between the hours of 4 and 6pm. It is always something sweet, and for the kids it usually comprised of compote (like applesauce made with various kinds of fruit) and a cookie. After goûter we play for a couple of hours (playtime doesn’t differ much from typical American playtime) and then it to the table for dinner. Again, the kids are expected to eat well because if they don’t, there won’t another chance for the rest of the day. Eating is a ritual that is done only at the table and has a definite start and a definite finish, and everything in between is done in a certain order. So when they’re told they’ll go to bed hungry if they don’t eat at the table, they know that’s true. Dinner might be soup or vegetable or a little bit of meat, like lunch, but they get a piece of cheese if they eat well and also a little desert of compote or yogurt.
Yesterday I spent the whole day babysitting for two little French children. Célia is three and a half and Lucas is 15 months old. The day had a rigid schedule which we were able to successfully stick to, for the most part. I noticed many little differences in how they’re treated and raised compared to American children.
We started the day with a breakfast of bread, butter, jam, or honey, organic fruit juice and rice cakes. Then at 10:00 we got out the stroller and went for a long walk to the harbor. Célia often has to go the the bathroom when we’re outside, and it’s customary for her to go in a bush, even if we’re near the house and there’s a bathroom just inside. After the walk Lucas had his bottle, which is prepared with breast milk, even thought he’s almost a year and a half old, he still nurses. He wasn’t at all interested in the bottle, and no matter how hard I tried to get him to take it, he cried for mommy and still wanted to nurse. Célia also takes bottles with organic cow’s milk. In those respects I thought it was interesting how much they’re treated like small babies; American babies would usually stop nursing at a much younger age than Lucas, and certainly most American three-year-olds wouldn’t be given a bottle. However, there are other aspects in which they are treated much more maturely than American children. For example, Célia is starting school this September. To me that seems much to early to start school, and I would think that would be an incredibly long and tiring day for a little girl. Her mom says she’ll start out just going in the morning and we’ll see how she does before sending her for a full day. It actually sounds more like a preschool, except that she’ll be in the same school with children much older than her.
Lunchtime was another event in which they are expected to act more mature. They are expected to eat everything they’re given (even thought Célia rarely eats everything, and wants to be spoon fed like her baby brother) which is normal, almost adult size portions of some mild food like soup or veggies. Everything is prepared without salt and nearly everything is organic. After the battle over anything green, they are both given a piece of fruit or a yogurt for desert, something an American child would probably protest. Then at 13:00 it’s time for everyone to take a nap. Célia takes her naps and sleeps at night with a diaper instead of the panties she normally wears during the day. I found their naps to be unusually long: they were expected to stay in their rooms and sleep from 13:00 to 15:00-17:00. They’re never woken up early, like many mothers would do in the US for fear that if they nap too long they won’t be able to sleep that night. Their mom says if they’ll sleep a long time, let them. But I find that it makes going to bed at night much more of an ordeal for them. For example, Célia napped yesterday from 13:20 until 17:30. That’s over 4 hours. Come bedtime she was merciless, and cried from her room for almost an hour, which is much longer than normal. However it’s true that little kids need lots of sleep, and it’s interesting to see the different cultural methods, tactics, or beliefs behind the “best” way of doing things.
After their naps it’s time for a big bottle for them both and then c'est l'heure de “goûter.” Goûter is a sweet snack eaten between the hours of 4 and 6pm. It is always something sweet, and for the kids it usually comprised of compote (like applesauce made with various kinds of fruit) and a cookie. After goûter we play for a couple of hours (playtime doesn’t differ much from typical American playtime) and then it to the table for dinner. Again, the kids are expected to eat well because if they don’t, there won’t another chance for the rest of the day. Eating is a ritual that is done only at the table and has a definite start and a definite finish, and everything in between is done in a certain order. So when they’re told they’ll go to bed hungry if they don’t eat at the table, they know that’s true. Dinner might be soup or vegetable or a little bit of meat, like lunch, but they get a piece of cheese if they eat well and also a little desert of compote or yogurt.
August 01, 2012
FR 311R Conversation
I had a long talk the other day with my host family mother about breast feeding, the cultural aspects, and the health benefits for the child and the mother. She has a 15 month old baby who she still regularly nurses. She nursed her 3 year old until the baby was 19 months old. I assumed this was typical of most French mothers, but she told me that when she was at a wedding a few weeks ago, she nursed her baby and everyone stared at her like it was inappropriate. As she was recounting the story, her rebuttal was to me was, "Well haven't they ever been to the beach? If they've ever been to the beach then they've seen breasts and if my baby wants "tétée," I'm not going to tell him no.
It surprised me that people stared. I always assumed that the French were way open about their bodies in this way, just like they are at the beach, at their medical exams, in their children's books, etc. However apparently I was mistaken. She said nursing comes in and out of fashion, and now it's becoming more "à la mode" than it was with the generation before hers. Her mother nursed her and her siblings, but that was rare for the time period; her husband's mother is disgusted by the idea. Many of her friends have "tried" nursing their babies, but gave up after a couple of weeks. She, however, continues to diligently pump milk every night and freezes it in little jars. Then when I'm babysitting and expected to give him a bottle, he couldn't be less interested.
It surprised me that people stared. I always assumed that the French were way open about their bodies in this way, just like they are at the beach, at their medical exams, in their children's books, etc. However apparently I was mistaken. She said nursing comes in and out of fashion, and now it's becoming more "à la mode" than it was with the generation before hers. Her mother nursed her and her siblings, but that was rare for the time period; her husband's mother is disgusted by the idea. Many of her friends have "tried" nursing their babies, but gave up after a couple of weeks. She, however, continues to diligently pump milk every night and freezes it in little jars. Then when I'm babysitting and expected to give him a bottle, he couldn't be less interested.
July 30, 2012
IAS 380R Une Grande Specatcle: Cendrillon à Valençay
I went on a little trip to Valençay to visit the château, and stumbled upon a grand local performance of Cinderella! As my mom and I were leaving the chateau, I noticed a poster advertising a dinner/ show even and was informed that it was going to be an incredible performance around the chateau grounds and tickets were on sale just around the corner. Dinner started at 8, complete with an “animation,” and the show would commence at 10 until the final strike at midnight! My mom and I had no idea what we were getting into, but I was absolutely certain we would be the only non-locals there and it seemed a shame to miss the all the hand-made costumes and little local children parading around as fairies after we had already made a two hour drive to the chateau. We were given a ticket for our dinner and another ticket for entry to the spectacle.
Dinner was set up cafeteria style in an outdoor area that was probably once the barn for the chateau. There were two lines and you gave your meal ticket to the woman at the first line who then gave you a tray with carrots or lentils, a bit of cheese and bread, and a berry crumble cake. You then took your tray to the second line and waited for a man with a giant pot of pork and mushrooms to dish up a few slices. Finally we looked around for a place at the picnic tables under a huge tent where we ate, squished together with French families with their million children and a group of a few dozen people from the old folks’ home. Although everyone was polite, we noticed that people only seemed to mingle within their own various groups. Two men in costumes walked among the tables with medieval instruments, singing love songs to young girls to make them blush and keep everyone else roaring with laughter.
After the meal, which was of course very good, we filed into rows of chairs in the same barn area and were entertained some more by the same two silly singing men. About 30 minutes later, after the crew had had time to change from their serving food clothes to their performing clothes, the show began. Honestly I wasn’t expecting it to be anything impressive, but when the music started and the actors came out with cheese trays and chickens and brightly colored costumes, I was pleasantly surprised. The costumes and set were mostly medieval, but included a few modern elements that made it a bit quirky and cute. For example, the evil step sisters wore bright pink and neon green, and the step mother wore an illustrious fur coat with ridiculous shoes. After the scene where they all get invited to the ball, the crowd was invited to follow Cinderella and her sisters/mother to another part of the chateau grounds where a little stadium and set were waiting. This was supposed to be the castle. A grand meeting was held here, as well as the ball. Then, after Cinderella and the Prince danced and proclaimed their undying love for each other, the crowd was again invited to move to the lawn in front of the chateau for the wedding and an impressive grand finale.
Analysis:
Besides the fact that this was an extremely local production, not at all intended for tourists, this turned out to be a very interesting cultural experience. There were two main changes to the plot that I’ve never seen in any other production of Cinderella: 1) her father is still living, and 2) there was an extra scene where all of the ambassadors met with the King and Prince to discuss the plans for the throne and the ball.
In all the versions of Cinderella I’ve ever known, Cinderella’s father marries the wicked step-mother and soon after dies, leaving Cinderella orphaned and the step-mother free to terrorize Cinderella as she will. In this version, however, Cinderella’s dad doesn’t die. He’s still there, living in the same house with Cinderella, the step-sisters and step-mother, and is very well aware of all the wicked things the step-mother does to Cinderella. However he does absolutely nothing to try and stop her. Cinderella and her father appear to have a close relationship, as in several scenes they share heartfelt conversations. But the mourning Cinderella feels is not for the loss of her father, as in other renditions, but for her mother. She imagines what her life would’ve been like had her mother not passed away when she was young. It was her mother who would’ve kept terrible things from happening to her, not her father.
I spent the first 30 minutes or so of the story trying to figure out when the father was going to die. But he never did! He simply allowed the step mother to make Cinderella a servant and let himself be bossed around by her plenty as well! I wondered how any father would allow that, and why the people who put on this play and those watching it apparently had no problems with a father letting his daughter be turned into a servant by his new wife. Is there no respect for fathers among this crowd? Are fathers not expected to protect and defend their children? As my mother and I sat throughout the evening, we noticed in at least four instances, a young woman, alone with a child and a cell phone which she would constantly pull out of her purse to look at. None of them wore wedding rings. Were they checking their phones to see why the father hadn’t shown up? Or had he been gone so long that they were anxious to know what was going on with their friends that night, what they were missing because they had taken their child to see a show? No matter what the story was, it’s clear an epidemic is going on; children born to unwed parents, and a few years later, the father is nowhere to be found. Maybe this is why no one batted an eye at the father who let his step-wife make his daughter sleep in the fireplace; nothing more is expected of him.
The second interesting change in the story was the meeting with the ambassadors. Everyone was there; the ambassador of patisseries, the ambassador of snails, the ambassador of cycling, etc. Every group was represented, and everyone had their say! It was all about the people. At first they discussed very animatedly what would happen to the thrown, since the prince was unmarried. Then they decided they would wait until the ball to make a decision, to give him a chance to find a bride. With a ball to plan, they all gave their two cents as a reporter went around and asked them what contribution they were going to make to the ball!
What a wonderfully enlightening, spur of the moment night it turned out to be. A château, delicious food, beautiful costumes, and fireworks to top it off!
Dinner was set up cafeteria style in an outdoor area that was probably once the barn for the chateau. There were two lines and you gave your meal ticket to the woman at the first line who then gave you a tray with carrots or lentils, a bit of cheese and bread, and a berry crumble cake. You then took your tray to the second line and waited for a man with a giant pot of pork and mushrooms to dish up a few slices. Finally we looked around for a place at the picnic tables under a huge tent where we ate, squished together with French families with their million children and a group of a few dozen people from the old folks’ home. Although everyone was polite, we noticed that people only seemed to mingle within their own various groups. Two men in costumes walked among the tables with medieval instruments, singing love songs to young girls to make them blush and keep everyone else roaring with laughter.
After the meal, which was of course very good, we filed into rows of chairs in the same barn area and were entertained some more by the same two silly singing men. About 30 minutes later, after the crew had had time to change from their serving food clothes to their performing clothes, the show began. Honestly I wasn’t expecting it to be anything impressive, but when the music started and the actors came out with cheese trays and chickens and brightly colored costumes, I was pleasantly surprised. The costumes and set were mostly medieval, but included a few modern elements that made it a bit quirky and cute. For example, the evil step sisters wore bright pink and neon green, and the step mother wore an illustrious fur coat with ridiculous shoes. After the scene where they all get invited to the ball, the crowd was invited to follow Cinderella and her sisters/mother to another part of the chateau grounds where a little stadium and set were waiting. This was supposed to be the castle. A grand meeting was held here, as well as the ball. Then, after Cinderella and the Prince danced and proclaimed their undying love for each other, the crowd was again invited to move to the lawn in front of the chateau for the wedding and an impressive grand finale.
Analysis:
Besides the fact that this was an extremely local production, not at all intended for tourists, this turned out to be a very interesting cultural experience. There were two main changes to the plot that I’ve never seen in any other production of Cinderella: 1) her father is still living, and 2) there was an extra scene where all of the ambassadors met with the King and Prince to discuss the plans for the throne and the ball.
In all the versions of Cinderella I’ve ever known, Cinderella’s father marries the wicked step-mother and soon after dies, leaving Cinderella orphaned and the step-mother free to terrorize Cinderella as she will. In this version, however, Cinderella’s dad doesn’t die. He’s still there, living in the same house with Cinderella, the step-sisters and step-mother, and is very well aware of all the wicked things the step-mother does to Cinderella. However he does absolutely nothing to try and stop her. Cinderella and her father appear to have a close relationship, as in several scenes they share heartfelt conversations. But the mourning Cinderella feels is not for the loss of her father, as in other renditions, but for her mother. She imagines what her life would’ve been like had her mother not passed away when she was young. It was her mother who would’ve kept terrible things from happening to her, not her father.
I spent the first 30 minutes or so of the story trying to figure out when the father was going to die. But he never did! He simply allowed the step mother to make Cinderella a servant and let himself be bossed around by her plenty as well! I wondered how any father would allow that, and why the people who put on this play and those watching it apparently had no problems with a father letting his daughter be turned into a servant by his new wife. Is there no respect for fathers among this crowd? Are fathers not expected to protect and defend their children? As my mother and I sat throughout the evening, we noticed in at least four instances, a young woman, alone with a child and a cell phone which she would constantly pull out of her purse to look at. None of them wore wedding rings. Were they checking their phones to see why the father hadn’t shown up? Or had he been gone so long that they were anxious to know what was going on with their friends that night, what they were missing because they had taken their child to see a show? No matter what the story was, it’s clear an epidemic is going on; children born to unwed parents, and a few years later, the father is nowhere to be found. Maybe this is why no one batted an eye at the father who let his step-wife make his daughter sleep in the fireplace; nothing more is expected of him.
The second interesting change in the story was the meeting with the ambassadors. Everyone was there; the ambassador of patisseries, the ambassador of snails, the ambassador of cycling, etc. Every group was represented, and everyone had their say! It was all about the people. At first they discussed very animatedly what would happen to the thrown, since the prince was unmarried. Then they decided they would wait until the ball to make a decision, to give him a chance to find a bride. With a ball to plan, they all gave their two cents as a reporter went around and asked them what contribution they were going to make to the ball!
What a wonderfully enlightening, spur of the moment night it turned out to be. A château, delicious food, beautiful costumes, and fireworks to top it off!
July 19, 2012
IAS 380R Orchestra
Large Cultural Proof
Orchestre de l'Université de Poitiers
The day that I rented my apartment there was a huge event going on at the quare in front of Hôtel de Ville. Several events, actually, one of which involved the big white doors of Hôtel de Ville being wide open. I wandered in to see what was going on, and to my utter delight, I found a small orchestra playing at the base of a huge staircase, the staircase filled from top to bottom with a choir. The performance was mediocre, which also made me happy, because I knew the chances of me being able to join were slimmer if it was really a prestigious group. At the end of the performance, I asked around and was led to a man who enthusiastically told me they were they Orchestre de l’Université de Poitiers and they would love another violinist! I told him I hadn’t brought my violin with me because I didn’t think it would get much use, but I could have my parents bring it when they came for Christmas. He said they had one on hand I could borrow until I had my own. I filled out some papers and anxiously anticipated our rehearsals every Tuesday night from 20:30 to 22:00.
Orchestra turned out to be one of the most fulfilling adventures during my time here in Poitiers. I was instantly impressed by how warm and friendly everyone was. My brother, Kyle, ended up joining too, which was I think even better for him than it was for me, as he wasn’t working like I was and didn’t have many structured social activities. Of course it was a challenge for him to be social without speaking French, but everyone was so nice and there was usually someone in the cello section who spoke English.
The director, Augustin, was an older, jolly man with sheet white hair and a large belly. He was always smiling and when he asked someone to play a specific section of music, he always told them it was great, before making suggestions. Definitely a very different atmosphere from the ultra competitive orchestras I’ve always been a part of. Of course the result of this laid back feeling was that people didn’t practice, including myself, and thus we never sounded very wonderful. I did miss that about my old orchestras; that chill that runs up and down your spine when you can feel the vibrations among all the string sections and you suddenly realize, “Dang. We sound good.” But I was there more for the cultural aspect.
My stand partner, Dominique, was an older woman, maybe in her mid sixties. She was very very sweet, and also a little bossy at times, which I found a bit endearing. She would often tap our German concertmaster, Philip, on the shoulder and ask him about changing the bowings because she’d found a better way to do it. Philip was our concertmaster, and he was studying premed at the university and working on improving his French. His English turned out to be even better than his French. Cédric was assigned to drive my brother and I home to centre ville after rehearsals because the buses stopped running that late. Cédric immediately took the task to heart and offered to pick us up and take us to orchestra as well. He turned out to be one of our best friends in Poitiers, and I always looked forward to our talks with him to and from rehearsal. Cédric is 30 years old, born and raised in Poitiers. So were his parents. And their parents. And their parents..... He knows everything about Poitiers, and in the car he would often point out, “That tower there on the round about is Roman,” or this wall here was built by the Gauls.” He was always a wealth of knowledge, and I often asked him questions about grammar or conversation.
The orchestra was comprised of about half student aged people, the other half older people from the community. It was a nice mix and everyone brought a little something extra to the group. No other activity besides church had I felt so included and welcome so quickly. Maybe that’s because those are the only two places where I’ve noticed people “tutoyer” everyone else right away. I think it promotes a sort of unity and fellowship that can’t exist as quickly while “vousvoyer”-ing.
Orchestre de l'Université de Poitiers
The day that I rented my apartment there was a huge event going on at the quare in front of Hôtel de Ville. Several events, actually, one of which involved the big white doors of Hôtel de Ville being wide open. I wandered in to see what was going on, and to my utter delight, I found a small orchestra playing at the base of a huge staircase, the staircase filled from top to bottom with a choir. The performance was mediocre, which also made me happy, because I knew the chances of me being able to join were slimmer if it was really a prestigious group. At the end of the performance, I asked around and was led to a man who enthusiastically told me they were they Orchestre de l’Université de Poitiers and they would love another violinist! I told him I hadn’t brought my violin with me because I didn’t think it would get much use, but I could have my parents bring it when they came for Christmas. He said they had one on hand I could borrow until I had my own. I filled out some papers and anxiously anticipated our rehearsals every Tuesday night from 20:30 to 22:00.
Orchestra turned out to be one of the most fulfilling adventures during my time here in Poitiers. I was instantly impressed by how warm and friendly everyone was. My brother, Kyle, ended up joining too, which was I think even better for him than it was for me, as he wasn’t working like I was and didn’t have many structured social activities. Of course it was a challenge for him to be social without speaking French, but everyone was so nice and there was usually someone in the cello section who spoke English.
The director, Augustin, was an older, jolly man with sheet white hair and a large belly. He was always smiling and when he asked someone to play a specific section of music, he always told them it was great, before making suggestions. Definitely a very different atmosphere from the ultra competitive orchestras I’ve always been a part of. Of course the result of this laid back feeling was that people didn’t practice, including myself, and thus we never sounded very wonderful. I did miss that about my old orchestras; that chill that runs up and down your spine when you can feel the vibrations among all the string sections and you suddenly realize, “Dang. We sound good.” But I was there more for the cultural aspect.
My stand partner, Dominique, was an older woman, maybe in her mid sixties. She was very very sweet, and also a little bossy at times, which I found a bit endearing. She would often tap our German concertmaster, Philip, on the shoulder and ask him about changing the bowings because she’d found a better way to do it. Philip was our concertmaster, and he was studying premed at the university and working on improving his French. His English turned out to be even better than his French. Cédric was assigned to drive my brother and I home to centre ville after rehearsals because the buses stopped running that late. Cédric immediately took the task to heart and offered to pick us up and take us to orchestra as well. He turned out to be one of our best friends in Poitiers, and I always looked forward to our talks with him to and from rehearsal. Cédric is 30 years old, born and raised in Poitiers. So were his parents. And their parents. And their parents..... He knows everything about Poitiers, and in the car he would often point out, “That tower there on the round about is Roman,” or this wall here was built by the Gauls.” He was always a wealth of knowledge, and I often asked him questions about grammar or conversation.
The orchestra was comprised of about half student aged people, the other half older people from the community. It was a nice mix and everyone brought a little something extra to the group. No other activity besides church had I felt so included and welcome so quickly. Maybe that’s because those are the only two places where I’ve noticed people “tutoyer” everyone else right away. I think it promotes a sort of unity and fellowship that can’t exist as quickly while “vousvoyer”-ing.
June 20, 2012
FR 311 Vocabulaire 7
1. un radiateur soufflant fan heater
2. une boite à fusibles fuse box
3. d'eau douce fresh water
4. d'eau salée salt water
5. dissoudre to dissolve
6. une joue cheek
7. un dock dock
8. une jument mare
9. une galipette summersault
10 un moustique gnat OR mostquito
11. qui fait grossir fattening
12. à la tienne! cheers!
13. un coquelicot poppy
14. la galette vomit (l'argo)
Bless you, when someone sneezes:
15. A tes souhaits 1st time: to your wishes
16. A tes enfants 2nd time: to your children
17. A tes espoirs 3rd time: to your hopes
18. ne guère hardly
19. ne point not at all
20. militer to campaign
21. dou dou child's favorite stuffed animal/ soft toy
22. les décombres rubble
23. les gravats rubble (non countable)
24. les déblais rubble (usually earth)
25. l'éboulis rubble
2. une boite à fusibles fuse box
3. d'eau douce fresh water
4. d'eau salée salt water
5. dissoudre to dissolve
6. une joue cheek
7. un dock dock
8. une jument mare
9. une galipette summersault
10 un moustique gnat OR mostquito
11. qui fait grossir fattening
12. à la tienne! cheers!
13. un coquelicot poppy
14. la galette vomit (l'argo)
Bless you, when someone sneezes:
15. A tes souhaits 1st time: to your wishes
16. A tes enfants 2nd time: to your children
17. A tes espoirs 3rd time: to your hopes
18. ne guère hardly
19. ne point not at all
20. militer to campaign
21. dou dou child's favorite stuffed animal/ soft toy
22. les décombres rubble
23. les gravats rubble (non countable)
24. les déblais rubble (usually earth)
25. l'éboulis rubble
June 06, 2012
FR 311 Vocabulaire 6
1. des baguettes - chopsticks
2. une limite de vente - sell by date3. une natte - pigtail
4. une queue-de-cheval - ponytail
5. la cuche - ponytail en bretagne
6. la couette - parisienne ponytail
7. un oreiller - pillow
8. les drapes - sheets
9. taie d'oreiller - pillowcase
10. le matelas- mattress
11. la table basse - coffee table
12. un tapis - rug
13. table de nuit avec ses tiroirs - night table with drawers
14. les appareils ménagers - home appliances
15. le four à micro-ondes - microwave oven
16. le réfrigérateur - refrigerator
17. congélateur - freezer
18. l’aspirateur - vacuum cleaner
19 un plafond- ceiling
20. le sol - floor
21. le plancher - (wood) floor
22. le carrelage - (tile) floor
23. saisir - to grab (a person)
24. la semoule - semolina
25. le pois chiche - chick peas
2. une limite de vente - sell by date3. une natte - pigtail
4. une queue-de-cheval - ponytail
5. la cuche - ponytail en bretagne
6. la couette - parisienne ponytail
7. un oreiller - pillow
8. les drapes - sheets
9. taie d'oreiller - pillowcase
10. le matelas- mattress
11. la table basse - coffee table
12. un tapis - rug
13. table de nuit avec ses tiroirs - night table with drawers
14. les appareils ménagers - home appliances
15. le four à micro-ondes - microwave oven
16. le réfrigérateur - refrigerator
17. congélateur - freezer
18. l’aspirateur - vacuum cleaner
19 un plafond- ceiling
20. le sol - floor
21. le plancher - (wood) floor
22. le carrelage - (tile) floor
23. saisir - to grab (a person)
24. la semoule - semolina
25. le pois chiche - chick peas
May 07, 2012
IAS 380R School Lunchtime Culture
For the duration of my work contract here in France, twice a month I went out to the countryside and taught for a full day in two of the primary schools. I spent the morning at one school and in the afternoon was bussed off by one of the teachers to the other school. In between the morning and afternoon is one of the most important rituals in French culture: lunch.
The opportunity to eat a full start to finish meal with a group of overly dramatic and extremely liberal young teachers twice a month never ceased to fascinate me. There was always something to complain about, someone to gossip about, or someplace they would rather be during the sophisticated series of 6 courses.
We started with the entée, which was usually some kind of salad of couscous, potatoes, rice, sometimes beets, shredded carrots, or lentils. And always the bread. The bread doesn’t leave the table. Every single one of those teachers would finish her entrée and then take a piece of baguette and wipe that plate sparkling clean. When everyone, or nearly everyone has finished the entrée, it’s on to the main course, or the plat.
The plat was normally a piece of meat, plain, individually packaged, and then in another package was something with some sauce. For example we might have a chicken breast, and then on the side ratatouille or pasta. Then there was the cheese. Always some cheese, presented as a single slice in a plastic sealed container like all the other courses. It was often a more mild cheese, as these are the same meals the kids are fed. Emmental, brie, or compté. It always seemed like a lot of food to me, and by dessert (a banana, fromage blanc, yogurt, pudding cup, etc.) I was feeling really stuffed and wondering how these women are so thin if they eat like this every day and don’t bat an eye. I eventually concluded that this meal must be at least 70 percent of their daily calories, and breakfast and dinner are almost nonexistent. After dessert they got out the mugs, tea, hot water, and chocolate, cookies, or candy and munched on that, all the while gossiping about students or parents or administrators or their English assistant. (Just kidding about that last bit. At least not that I ever caught on to....)
I don’t know why I ever doubted that lunch in the schools would be from 12:00 to 2:00, when the whole country (Paris not included) shuts down promptly at noon for lunch. The eating habits of the French are so engrained in them that of course they learn the habits as soon as they are old enough to eat solid food. Most of the kids eat at school in a small room where they are given glass dishes and little packaged meals that are prepared down the street a little ways. A handful of them got picked up by their parents. A two hour lunch for a bunch of little kids seems like a lot to me, and since the teachers are on break too, it’s the lunch lady who takes care of them during this time. In the states, the lunch lady doesn’t have a whole lot of interaction with the kids; she just organized the food and sets it out while teachers usually take turns on lunch duty. But at these two schools, the lunch lady does all of that and then watches the kids during their recess time until 2. Because their lunch break is so long, consequently the day goes until nearly 5pm, which seems like a very long day for some of these kids, the youngest being 3 years old. But the most important meal of the day can’t be cut short, so those little ones will just have to learn to make it through!
The opportunity to eat a full start to finish meal with a group of overly dramatic and extremely liberal young teachers twice a month never ceased to fascinate me. There was always something to complain about, someone to gossip about, or someplace they would rather be during the sophisticated series of 6 courses.
We started with the entée, which was usually some kind of salad of couscous, potatoes, rice, sometimes beets, shredded carrots, or lentils. And always the bread. The bread doesn’t leave the table. Every single one of those teachers would finish her entrée and then take a piece of baguette and wipe that plate sparkling clean. When everyone, or nearly everyone has finished the entrée, it’s on to the main course, or the plat.
The plat was normally a piece of meat, plain, individually packaged, and then in another package was something with some sauce. For example we might have a chicken breast, and then on the side ratatouille or pasta. Then there was the cheese. Always some cheese, presented as a single slice in a plastic sealed container like all the other courses. It was often a more mild cheese, as these are the same meals the kids are fed. Emmental, brie, or compté. It always seemed like a lot of food to me, and by dessert (a banana, fromage blanc, yogurt, pudding cup, etc.) I was feeling really stuffed and wondering how these women are so thin if they eat like this every day and don’t bat an eye. I eventually concluded that this meal must be at least 70 percent of their daily calories, and breakfast and dinner are almost nonexistent. After dessert they got out the mugs, tea, hot water, and chocolate, cookies, or candy and munched on that, all the while gossiping about students or parents or administrators or their English assistant. (Just kidding about that last bit. At least not that I ever caught on to....)
I don’t know why I ever doubted that lunch in the schools would be from 12:00 to 2:00, when the whole country (Paris not included) shuts down promptly at noon for lunch. The eating habits of the French are so engrained in them that of course they learn the habits as soon as they are old enough to eat solid food. Most of the kids eat at school in a small room where they are given glass dishes and little packaged meals that are prepared down the street a little ways. A handful of them got picked up by their parents. A two hour lunch for a bunch of little kids seems like a lot to me, and since the teachers are on break too, it’s the lunch lady who takes care of them during this time. In the states, the lunch lady doesn’t have a whole lot of interaction with the kids; she just organized the food and sets it out while teachers usually take turns on lunch duty. But at these two schools, the lunch lady does all of that and then watches the kids during their recess time until 2. Because their lunch break is so long, consequently the day goes until nearly 5pm, which seems like a very long day for some of these kids, the youngest being 3 years old. But the most important meal of the day can’t be cut short, so those little ones will just have to learn to make it through!
May 02, 2012
FR 311 American Influence in France
I have asked many people over the duration of my stay in France what they think of American influence in French culture. I thought I would find some people who are very opposed, who think that American culture is taking over and is sure to eventually swallow up their beloved French traditions. However I haven't yet found such an opinion. My samples probably aren't a good representation of the entire population in France (I haven't asked anyone over the age of 50) but everyone I've asked actually likes it. First I asked some university students, who, as predicted, say that French music stinks, American or British media is much more riveting. Although they take great pride in classic French cinema from time to time, they prefer American films. I once had a woman tell me that in American films there is a guaranteed "happy ending." Not so with French films.
I also asked a group of five elementary school teachers aged from late twenties to their fifties. I was more surprised by their response: if it's better than what France has to offer, it's okay. They were fine with American influence, welcomed it even, if it brought faster and better or more convenient ways of doing things. Chineese influence, however, they were not so okay with. They expressed concern that France is producing fewer and fewer products, importing more and more things from China. The products from China are never the same quality as those made in France. It's cheaper, but it's not better, and so they do not welcome that change. At least not openly, even if they support the industry by buying a cheaper set of dishes that was made in China rather than a more expensive set that was manufactured in France.
I also asked a group of five elementary school teachers aged from late twenties to their fifties. I was more surprised by their response: if it's better than what France has to offer, it's okay. They were fine with American influence, welcomed it even, if it brought faster and better or more convenient ways of doing things. Chineese influence, however, they were not so okay with. They expressed concern that France is producing fewer and fewer products, importing more and more things from China. The products from China are never the same quality as those made in France. It's cheaper, but it's not better, and so they do not welcome that change. At least not openly, even if they support the industry by buying a cheaper set of dishes that was made in China rather than a more expensive set that was manufactured in France.
April 23, 2012
FR 311 Vocabulaire 5
1. en haut up high
2. en bas down low
3. un ruisseau stream
4. tisser to weave
5. la tôle sheet metal
6. à chuchoter to whisper
7. à tousser to cough
8. à éternuer to sneeze
9. l'herbe grass
10. un oeuf dur hard boiled egg
11. un oeuf poché poached egg
12. un oeuf sur le plat fried egg
13. une posologie dosage
14. pompe de vélo bike pump
15. pondre to lay
16. poney pony
17. presque jamais hardly
18. galoper to gallop
19. une passerelle gangway (ship)
20. un couloir gangway (bus/ aeroplane)
21. une allée gangway (in theater)
22. l'ail garlic
23. Fahrenheit Fahrenheit
24. Celsius Celsius
25. un riz cantonais fried rice
2. en bas down low
3. un ruisseau stream
4. tisser to weave
5. la tôle sheet metal
6. à chuchoter to whisper
7. à tousser to cough
8. à éternuer to sneeze
9. l'herbe grass
10. un oeuf dur hard boiled egg
11. un oeuf poché poached egg
12. un oeuf sur le plat fried egg
13. une posologie dosage
14. pompe de vélo bike pump
15. pondre to lay
16. poney pony
17. presque jamais hardly
18. galoper to gallop
19. une passerelle gangway (ship)
20. un couloir gangway (bus/ aeroplane)
21. une allée gangway (in theater)
22. l'ail garlic
23. Fahrenheit Fahrenheit
24. Celsius Celsius
25. un riz cantonais fried rice
FR 311 Vocabulaire 4
1. cepter to absorb/ soak up/ collect/ pick up
2. rabrouer to snub
3. cribler to riddle with
4. allégerer to lighten
5. un paon a peacock
6. siffler to whistle to oneself
7. rouillé rusty/ out of practice
8. amaible detachable
9. une alliance engagement ring
10. parvenir to reach maturity
11. une citrouille pumpkin12. le gingembre ginger
13. les clous de girofle cloves
14. un pèlerin a pioneer
15. l'amertume bitterness
16. biscornu quirky
17. un pionnier a pioneer
18. les Indiens Indians
19. un coude an elbow
20. voler to fly
21. une niche hive
22. un rein kidney (body)
23. un rognon kidney (food)
24. à l'extérieur inside
25. à l'intérieur outside
2. rabrouer to snub
3. cribler to riddle with
4. allégerer to lighten
5. un paon a peacock
6. siffler to whistle to oneself
7. rouillé rusty/ out of practice
8. amaible detachable
9. une alliance engagement ring
10. parvenir to reach maturity
11. une citrouille pumpkin12. le gingembre ginger
13. les clous de girofle cloves
14. un pèlerin a pioneer
15. l'amertume bitterness
16. biscornu quirky
17. un pionnier a pioneer
18. les Indiens Indians
19. un coude an elbow
20. voler to fly
21. une niche hive
22. un rein kidney (body)
23. un rognon kidney (food)
24. à l'extérieur inside
25. à l'intérieur outside
April 17, 2012
IAS 380R University Grammar Course
Cultural Proof
In January, I took a placement exam and started a French grammar class at the university especially for foreign students. Not anyone can take the class, but as teaching assistants, we were allowed, so several of us took the test. We were all placed in different classes, which was good because it forced us to meet other people. My class met every week for 2.5 hours in a classroom on campus. There were about 8 to 10 students, depending on who showed up, nationalities ranging from Dutch, Chinese, Russian, Spanish, and German. The professor, of course, was French. After a few weeks a middle aged man from Oregon joined, but before then, I was the only anglophone, which was a new experience for me in a classroom setting. I didn’t realize how much having a common native language influences a class. For example, often times the Chinese or Russian girls would ask a question about a word that to me was so obvious, because it was similar to the English word. When every student speaks English, there are plenty of grammar topics or vocabulary words that are easy for everyone, but in this class, everyone’s needs were more diverse, as we were more diverse. The teacher always spoke in French, obviously, and sometimes at the beginning I would ask questions about cultural things that were going on. We talked about galette de rois, other “foods of the month” (ex. crêpes in March). We read and discussed newspaper clips or excerpts from classic or modern works on subjects such as education, immigration, what it’s like to be a foreigner, idioms, and of course lots of grammar.
We wrote a short composition each week, which I was surprised at the laxness of the students. The second week of the class, half of the students came in late or didn’t have their composition written. I thought, “This is a university class, is it not? Is it allowed to not do your homework?” However the professor, who I liked very much, just told everyone to email or give her the compositions before the end of the course. Obviously it didn’t take long for me to figure out that the University of Poitiers isn’t quite the same caliber as BYU. However I’d already heard that before; that anyone who decides they want to go to college can get in without too much effort. Equal opportunity, eh? That’s great and all, in theory, but then when you have a class who rarely shows up and doesn’t do their work, what happens then? Anyway, I thought it was all very interesting. I didn’t finish the course, as I knew I wouldn’t, because the class went until summertime and my contract ended in the spring. But the times that I did go the experience was well worth the effort.
In January, I took a placement exam and started a French grammar class at the university especially for foreign students. Not anyone can take the class, but as teaching assistants, we were allowed, so several of us took the test. We were all placed in different classes, which was good because it forced us to meet other people. My class met every week for 2.5 hours in a classroom on campus. There were about 8 to 10 students, depending on who showed up, nationalities ranging from Dutch, Chinese, Russian, Spanish, and German. The professor, of course, was French. After a few weeks a middle aged man from Oregon joined, but before then, I was the only anglophone, which was a new experience for me in a classroom setting. I didn’t realize how much having a common native language influences a class. For example, often times the Chinese or Russian girls would ask a question about a word that to me was so obvious, because it was similar to the English word. When every student speaks English, there are plenty of grammar topics or vocabulary words that are easy for everyone, but in this class, everyone’s needs were more diverse, as we were more diverse. The teacher always spoke in French, obviously, and sometimes at the beginning I would ask questions about cultural things that were going on. We talked about galette de rois, other “foods of the month” (ex. crêpes in March). We read and discussed newspaper clips or excerpts from classic or modern works on subjects such as education, immigration, what it’s like to be a foreigner, idioms, and of course lots of grammar.
We wrote a short composition each week, which I was surprised at the laxness of the students. The second week of the class, half of the students came in late or didn’t have their composition written. I thought, “This is a university class, is it not? Is it allowed to not do your homework?” However the professor, who I liked very much, just told everyone to email or give her the compositions before the end of the course. Obviously it didn’t take long for me to figure out that the University of Poitiers isn’t quite the same caliber as BYU. However I’d already heard that before; that anyone who decides they want to go to college can get in without too much effort. Equal opportunity, eh? That’s great and all, in theory, but then when you have a class who rarely shows up and doesn’t do their work, what happens then? Anyway, I thought it was all very interesting. I didn’t finish the course, as I knew I wouldn’t, because the class went until summertime and my contract ended in the spring. But the times that I did go the experience was well worth the effort.
March 30, 2012
IAS 380R Baby Goats in Bretagne
Small Cultural Proof
After a Young Single Adult activity in Rennes, I had several hours before my train would leave. I was with some members from Rennes and another girl from Poitiers, who would be taking my same train. One of the boys invited us to his house until it was time for Sarah and me to catch our train. He lived on a farm. We walked in the door to the house and my heart melted when I saw his dad sitting on an old rocking chair with a baby goat in his arms and a bottle, and two more goats in a box at his feet. They were 6 days old, and the mom had died a just few days after they were born. I actually thought they were lambs for a while, until I caught on. I wanted so bad to take a picture, but as we talked they joked about an American family who came to visit them for Thanksgiving and how they documented with a camera every step of the turkey choosing, killing, cooking, eating process. I was too shy to set it up for them to later joke about the American girl who got a kick out of the “lambs” in the bucket. The dad was gentle with them, but at the same time he didn’t handle them like one would handle a pet. He handled them, of course, like a farmer would handle his stock. I wasn’t sure what the outcome of these little helpless animals would be, and I didn’t want to know. My French isn’t good enough to pick up on things I’m not trying to pick up on. However, unavoidably, I eventually heard him say, “Yeah, they’ll sure be good on a plate!” and I knew he wasn’t joking.
My friends went outside to have a “lovers’ quarrel” leaving me awkwardly with the entire family. The goats finished their meal and went back outside to the barn. I started talking to the mom about cooking; she had made a far breton with prunes, and being less familiar with cuisine bretonne, I had never seen one before. She printed up the recipe for me, and also gave me a thorough and insightful discourse about which spices are hard on your stomach and what she uses with what. She said she never cooks with pepper, as it’s actually terrible for you (something I find somewhat amusing, because I’ve met another woman from Brittany who never ever cooks with salt, and of course has quite strong opinions on it, but uses pepper frequently). We all shared the far breton, which I quite enjoyed, since I’ve always been a lover of flans and custards, and this resembles the two.
When it was time to leave, I took my recipe to make my own far breton and my new knowledge about the turmoils of pepper, and was glad to never have to see those baby goats on my plate.
March 07, 2012
IAS 380R Méli-Mélo
Large Cultural Proof
Some of the other teaching assistants and I joined an international student club called Méli-Mélo. There was a membership fee of six euros to join, and after that most of the activities are free, or at reduced price. The club held weekly, if not biweekly, activities with French and foreign students in Poitiers and in the surrounding areas. Some of the activities included Polyglot nights, flying over Poitiers, museum tours, ice skating, a big Christmas dinner with festivities, a weekend sportif, and a tasting tour including wine, chocolate, and macaroons from the region.
The “Polyglot” activities were held at least once a month at a pub on the grand place by Hôtel de Ville. Each table had a sign which told what language was allowed to be spoken at that table. There were always several French tables, a couple of English tables, a Spanish, a Portuguese, an Italian, and a Chinese table. People sat at one table until they tired of the conversation or the language, and then got up and moved on to try a different table. They tried to have at least one native speaker of the language at each table. One thing I noticed right away is that foreigners, particularly anglophones or Asians, have an extremely difficult time with the “tu” and “vous.” In a social setting like that, of all student aged people in the same club, I see no reason for anyone to use the “vous.” We were all taught in school, “Use ‘tu’ with friends or people the same age as you. Use ‘vous’ to show respect to someone older than you or someone you work under.” However we all still struggle with it, myself very much included. But at the Mèli-Melo activities I felt very confidently that “tu” was the appropriate form of “tu,” and one night decided to try a little experiment. I insisted on using “tu” with everyone at our table (We were lacking a native French speaker at that point.) and waited to see if it would catch on. Up to that point, some Asian girls were very cautiously “vouvoyer” everyone and I felt it was a bit much. I had not long before that been corrected by a French girl, when I used the “vous” with them, she told me it was “too heavy. Too much, and it was weird to use that with other young people.” So I took it upon myself to set the example for these newly-arrived-in-France Asians. It didn’t take long for them to switch to “tu” with everyone else. I’ve noticed that, over time, when speaking to other non-native French speakers they are often very timid about using the “tu,” but if I use it confidently one or two times, they’ll follow my lead and use it too. But maybe that’s how it is with native French speakers too. Someone just starts using it, and the other person follows. Just the other day, I was struggling with using “tu” or “vous” with the father of someone I work very closely with. The daughter and I always used “tu” and it would seem absurd if we didn’t. With her father, however, I didn’t know if since we were in her home and she was using “tu” with him, and she and I were using “tu” with each other, if that meant that by the transitive property I was to use “tu” with him as well? I thought it was better to be safe than sorry, and used “vous” to show respect. After a while, it seemed to annoy him and he said abruptly, “We use ‘tu’ or we use ‘vous?” I shrugged. That’s always been such a difficult, touchy subject for us universal “you”-ers. He said, “We use ‘tu’ then.” I think I’ve finally decided that if someone uses “tu” with you, you use it back. If they’re elderly and want you to “vous” them to show respect, I think they’ll “vous” you also. Oooh the weeks I’ve suffered through trying to communicate with someone without using the word “you” at all, because I didn’t know which form to use! It seems a bit ridiculous now, that I’ve spent so many hours stressing about it, but it’s coming. However, like the “bises,” I may never get it down to a flawless, socially normal science. Guess that’s just the cross I have to bear for not being born French.
I was always a little surprised at how many French people were part of the Méli-Mélo club. In my own country, I don’t think I would be terribly interested in joining an international student club. However as Americans, we do tend to be a little more egocentric than the rest of the world. The activities always had a good split of about 50/50 French to foreign. Not everyone was a student; there were other teaching assistants like myself, people just working or living at home. There was lots of variety, and I think these activities got me speaking French a lot more than some of the other extra-curricular groups I participated in. At the end of one activity, the airplane ride over Poitiers, my brother and our friends and I invited some of the French people over for raclette at our apartment. What a disaster that was. We don’t have an oven or enough plates for as many people as we ended up having, but being American, we didn’t think it was that big of a deal. We got some paper plates and plastic ware. That’s what it’s made for, right? Well maybe one offense isn’t such a big deal, but we also went wrong with a) our choice of meal, b) how we prepared our meal, and c) how we cleaned up after the meal. Raclette is a French meal. It seemed like a good idea to us to make a French meal for our French guests. They will be delighted and flattered. This couldn’t have been farther from the truth. One of our guests in particular, Adrian, had taken it upon himself to let us know every step of the way everything that we were doing incorrectly. We didn’t have the proper raclette oven, and instead melted the cheese on the stove. We didn’t have an oven for the baked potatoes so we put them in the microwave. At the end of the meal, I wiped off the counter with a cleaning wipe. All of these acts were inexcusable to Adrian, and I swore I would never cook for a French person ever again. It would’ve all been very offensive, if it wasn’t for the fact that it got very amusing how we couldn’t even wash the dishes without him telling us we were doing it wrong, and then showing us the proper way. He came, without bringing anything, criticized, ate our food, criticized, and left, and we all took an oath that he would never step foot in any of our apartments ever again.
Méli-Mélo turned out to be well worth the 6 euro membership fee. I met lots of people, it got our little group of teaching assistants out, mingling with the French, and it was at a Polyglot night that I first realized that I might finally be getting this French thing down.
Some of the other teaching assistants and I joined an international student club called Méli-Mélo. There was a membership fee of six euros to join, and after that most of the activities are free, or at reduced price. The club held weekly, if not biweekly, activities with French and foreign students in Poitiers and in the surrounding areas. Some of the activities included Polyglot nights, flying over Poitiers, museum tours, ice skating, a big Christmas dinner with festivities, a weekend sportif, and a tasting tour including wine, chocolate, and macaroons from the region.
The “Polyglot” activities were held at least once a month at a pub on the grand place by Hôtel de Ville. Each table had a sign which told what language was allowed to be spoken at that table. There were always several French tables, a couple of English tables, a Spanish, a Portuguese, an Italian, and a Chinese table. People sat at one table until they tired of the conversation or the language, and then got up and moved on to try a different table. They tried to have at least one native speaker of the language at each table. One thing I noticed right away is that foreigners, particularly anglophones or Asians, have an extremely difficult time with the “tu” and “vous.” In a social setting like that, of all student aged people in the same club, I see no reason for anyone to use the “vous.” We were all taught in school, “Use ‘tu’ with friends or people the same age as you. Use ‘vous’ to show respect to someone older than you or someone you work under.” However we all still struggle with it, myself very much included. But at the Mèli-Melo activities I felt very confidently that “tu” was the appropriate form of “tu,” and one night decided to try a little experiment. I insisted on using “tu” with everyone at our table (We were lacking a native French speaker at that point.) and waited to see if it would catch on. Up to that point, some Asian girls were very cautiously “vouvoyer” everyone and I felt it was a bit much. I had not long before that been corrected by a French girl, when I used the “vous” with them, she told me it was “too heavy. Too much, and it was weird to use that with other young people.” So I took it upon myself to set the example for these newly-arrived-in-France Asians. It didn’t take long for them to switch to “tu” with everyone else. I’ve noticed that, over time, when speaking to other non-native French speakers they are often very timid about using the “tu,” but if I use it confidently one or two times, they’ll follow my lead and use it too. But maybe that’s how it is with native French speakers too. Someone just starts using it, and the other person follows. Just the other day, I was struggling with using “tu” or “vous” with the father of someone I work very closely with. The daughter and I always used “tu” and it would seem absurd if we didn’t. With her father, however, I didn’t know if since we were in her home and she was using “tu” with him, and she and I were using “tu” with each other, if that meant that by the transitive property I was to use “tu” with him as well? I thought it was better to be safe than sorry, and used “vous” to show respect. After a while, it seemed to annoy him and he said abruptly, “We use ‘tu’ or we use ‘vous?” I shrugged. That’s always been such a difficult, touchy subject for us universal “you”-ers. He said, “We use ‘tu’ then.” I think I’ve finally decided that if someone uses “tu” with you, you use it back. If they’re elderly and want you to “vous” them to show respect, I think they’ll “vous” you also. Oooh the weeks I’ve suffered through trying to communicate with someone without using the word “you” at all, because I didn’t know which form to use! It seems a bit ridiculous now, that I’ve spent so many hours stressing about it, but it’s coming. However, like the “bises,” I may never get it down to a flawless, socially normal science. Guess that’s just the cross I have to bear for not being born French.
I was always a little surprised at how many French people were part of the Méli-Mélo club. In my own country, I don’t think I would be terribly interested in joining an international student club. However as Americans, we do tend to be a little more egocentric than the rest of the world. The activities always had a good split of about 50/50 French to foreign. Not everyone was a student; there were other teaching assistants like myself, people just working or living at home. There was lots of variety, and I think these activities got me speaking French a lot more than some of the other extra-curricular groups I participated in. At the end of one activity, the airplane ride over Poitiers, my brother and our friends and I invited some of the French people over for raclette at our apartment. What a disaster that was. We don’t have an oven or enough plates for as many people as we ended up having, but being American, we didn’t think it was that big of a deal. We got some paper plates and plastic ware. That’s what it’s made for, right? Well maybe one offense isn’t such a big deal, but we also went wrong with a) our choice of meal, b) how we prepared our meal, and c) how we cleaned up after the meal. Raclette is a French meal. It seemed like a good idea to us to make a French meal for our French guests. They will be delighted and flattered. This couldn’t have been farther from the truth. One of our guests in particular, Adrian, had taken it upon himself to let us know every step of the way everything that we were doing incorrectly. We didn’t have the proper raclette oven, and instead melted the cheese on the stove. We didn’t have an oven for the baked potatoes so we put them in the microwave. At the end of the meal, I wiped off the counter with a cleaning wipe. All of these acts were inexcusable to Adrian, and I swore I would never cook for a French person ever again. It would’ve all been very offensive, if it wasn’t for the fact that it got very amusing how we couldn’t even wash the dishes without him telling us we were doing it wrong, and then showing us the proper way. He came, without bringing anything, criticized, ate our food, criticized, and left, and we all took an oath that he would never step foot in any of our apartments ever again.
Méli-Mélo turned out to be well worth the 6 euro membership fee. I met lots of people, it got our little group of teaching assistants out, mingling with the French, and it was at a Polyglot night that I first realized that I might finally be getting this French thing down.
February 07, 2012
IAS 380R La Rochelle
Large Cultural Proof
I was starting to regret lugging a giant pair of purple rain boots to
this country, however this week they've been thoroughly put to use.
Sylvie, my coordinator/ boss here in France sent out an email last week
saying she was in desperate need of people to accompany a group of kids
on a week long field trip to La Rochelle. We (Krissy and me) were told
we were going along because both of the teachers taking the 24 kids are
men, and the mothers felt much more comfortable with female chaperones
as well. For matters of propriety, we would be needed if a girl slipped
in the shower and we needed to fish out her unconscious body. Otherwise,
we would have free time during the day while the children attend their
music workshops. "You will be able to explore La Rochelle and shop!" we
were told.
The reality of the situation doesn't quite line up with the sales pitch.
So far I've made a million beds and added a million extra blankets to keep children losing extremities due to lack of heat, changed sheets on a bed where an "accident" most certainly took place, trying to be discreet so as not to further embarrass an 10 year old boy. But to my dismay all the kids caught me at the scene of the crime holding the evidence, and giggled hysterically. I've revived my early morning seminary trradition of waving a hair dryer around a room and in my bed to keep from getting hypothermia, and earned myself the nickname "Miss Marmot" for curling up under my blankets in any spare moment we have. I got stuck in the mud on the beach, guiltily trying to hide my boots from the kids who would less than 24 hours later get hard core yelled at for committing the very same felony. We also played in the snow, read a book in our jammies, and sang a song about lion soup. Have you ever had lion soup? Or tiger pie? Well, neither have I. We played some games, learned some words, ate some cake and hot chocolate. An uber cool Parisian group taught us how to make music using a computer program and how to make rhymes and write lyrics about the cold and the ocean. We collected sea shells, watched the sea gulls and sun set on the water. And it's only day two.
.....Later....
This week has been exhausting. And cold. The heaters never got fixed the whole time we were there. Between the changing sheets, various musical activities for the camp, and walking on the beach, there was mealtime. This was a ritual I most thoroughly enjoyed. We ate in a cafeteria-like add on to one of the older buildings and food was prepared by 2 or 3 women who worked there most of the year for school groups like us. The food was always exceptional. The children, aged CM2, 9, 10, and 11 year olds, sat at round tables and took turns getting bread or water and we (the two male teachers, Krissy, and I) dished up the salad, soup, shepherds' pie, lasagne, etc. Then the children were supposed to wipe off the tables and help clean everything, but that often didn't happen and they often got yelled at for it.
There are three schools I normally work at, all of which are in nice neighborhoods and the kids come from families who are fairly well off. For most of these children, that's not the case. Their school is situated in one of the few more dangerous parts of Poitiers, and according to the Headmaster, who was one of the two teachers we accompanied on the trip, most of the children have at least one family member in prison. He often talked to us about how "they just don't get it," meaning that they have to really work and try to be good to break the cycle; otherwise they will end up pregnant or in prison like their older siblings and parents. He frequently yelled at them, which I have decided is just a typical French method for handling misbehavior, but we could also see that he cared greatly for the children. It was actually a few days into the trip that he told us about their families and such. And before that, seemed to me to be perfectly normal children. I didn't always think they merited being yelled at; often it was for some small offense that I think any excited child on a school trip could've done. However there were other times where I could see that most of them hadn't been brought up in a terribly refined culture.
One of the last days we were at a museum of natural history, and the kids were running about and acting more wild than anyone ought to in a museum. A man who worked there approached me and told me that if they continued to run, they could easily knock over one of the pieces on the floor below because they were causing the ground to shake. He said they'd had a school group earlier that month that had done just that, and they had been extremely fortunate not to have broken it. I told the Headmaster, who immediately rounded up the children and gave them one of the most firm, stern lectures I'd ever heard him give. He told them about a girl who was at the primary school, L'école Andersen. She later went on to collège (middle school), and got pregnant in her first year of collège. Then the daughter got older, went to the same primary school, and also got pregnant in her first year of collège. Then, the granddaughter, she followed the same pattern. It seemed to me to be not quite the appropriate lecture to give when their crime was running through a museum. He probably tied it together somehow, and I just didn't catch that bit. However I am a firm believer that if you are always telling somebody they are one thing, they are much more likely to become that thing. If parents have a child and tell him he's dumb and can't be a doctor, then he is likely to eventually start believing them. So when you remind a group of children twice a day that they are underprivileged and from low income families that have lots of problems, and they need to work super hard not to have problems too, it's almost like telling them they're bound to have the same future. Unless they want to work super hard, which it's likely that these children aren't the type that excitedly anticipate the concept of work. Even if it's true that their futures are bleak, I think that constantly pointing out the bleakness is not going to help or motivate them to want better for themselves. It would be better to help them learn, little by little, the value of knowledge and teach them what their futures could be like, if they succeed. Anyway, I know Krissy and I were often frustrated by that. By how often they were yelled at. But of course the system is different here than in the US or Canada (Krissy is Canadian). Educators "educate" differently. I'll never know what happens to those kids. I'll never know if the great-granddaughter attending Ecole Andersen manages to escape the pattern set by her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. But I sure hope she does. And I sure hope some of the rest of those kids can learn to hope as well.
The reality of the situation doesn't quite line up with the sales pitch.
So far I've made a million beds and added a million extra blankets to keep children losing extremities due to lack of heat, changed sheets on a bed where an "accident" most certainly took place, trying to be discreet so as not to further embarrass an 10 year old boy. But to my dismay all the kids caught me at the scene of the crime holding the evidence, and giggled hysterically. I've revived my early morning seminary trradition of waving a hair dryer around a room and in my bed to keep from getting hypothermia, and earned myself the nickname "Miss Marmot" for curling up under my blankets in any spare moment we have. I got stuck in the mud on the beach, guiltily trying to hide my boots from the kids who would less than 24 hours later get hard core yelled at for committing the very same felony. We also played in the snow, read a book in our jammies, and sang a song about lion soup. Have you ever had lion soup? Or tiger pie? Well, neither have I. We played some games, learned some words, ate some cake and hot chocolate. An uber cool Parisian group taught us how to make music using a computer program and how to make rhymes and write lyrics about the cold and the ocean. We collected sea shells, watched the sea gulls and sun set on the water. And it's only day two.
.....Later....
This week has been exhausting. And cold. The heaters never got fixed the whole time we were there. Between the changing sheets, various musical activities for the camp, and walking on the beach, there was mealtime. This was a ritual I most thoroughly enjoyed. We ate in a cafeteria-like add on to one of the older buildings and food was prepared by 2 or 3 women who worked there most of the year for school groups like us. The food was always exceptional. The children, aged CM2, 9, 10, and 11 year olds, sat at round tables and took turns getting bread or water and we (the two male teachers, Krissy, and I) dished up the salad, soup, shepherds' pie, lasagne, etc. Then the children were supposed to wipe off the tables and help clean everything, but that often didn't happen and they often got yelled at for it.
There are three schools I normally work at, all of which are in nice neighborhoods and the kids come from families who are fairly well off. For most of these children, that's not the case. Their school is situated in one of the few more dangerous parts of Poitiers, and according to the Headmaster, who was one of the two teachers we accompanied on the trip, most of the children have at least one family member in prison. He often talked to us about how "they just don't get it," meaning that they have to really work and try to be good to break the cycle; otherwise they will end up pregnant or in prison like their older siblings and parents. He frequently yelled at them, which I have decided is just a typical French method for handling misbehavior, but we could also see that he cared greatly for the children. It was actually a few days into the trip that he told us about their families and such. And before that, seemed to me to be perfectly normal children. I didn't always think they merited being yelled at; often it was for some small offense that I think any excited child on a school trip could've done. However there were other times where I could see that most of them hadn't been brought up in a terribly refined culture.
One of the last days we were at a museum of natural history, and the kids were running about and acting more wild than anyone ought to in a museum. A man who worked there approached me and told me that if they continued to run, they could easily knock over one of the pieces on the floor below because they were causing the ground to shake. He said they'd had a school group earlier that month that had done just that, and they had been extremely fortunate not to have broken it. I told the Headmaster, who immediately rounded up the children and gave them one of the most firm, stern lectures I'd ever heard him give. He told them about a girl who was at the primary school, L'école Andersen. She later went on to collège (middle school), and got pregnant in her first year of collège. Then the daughter got older, went to the same primary school, and also got pregnant in her first year of collège. Then, the granddaughter, she followed the same pattern. It seemed to me to be not quite the appropriate lecture to give when their crime was running through a museum. He probably tied it together somehow, and I just didn't catch that bit. However I am a firm believer that if you are always telling somebody they are one thing, they are much more likely to become that thing. If parents have a child and tell him he's dumb and can't be a doctor, then he is likely to eventually start believing them. So when you remind a group of children twice a day that they are underprivileged and from low income families that have lots of problems, and they need to work super hard not to have problems too, it's almost like telling them they're bound to have the same future. Unless they want to work super hard, which it's likely that these children aren't the type that excitedly anticipate the concept of work. Even if it's true that their futures are bleak, I think that constantly pointing out the bleakness is not going to help or motivate them to want better for themselves. It would be better to help them learn, little by little, the value of knowledge and teach them what their futures could be like, if they succeed. Anyway, I know Krissy and I were often frustrated by that. By how often they were yelled at. But of course the system is different here than in the US or Canada (Krissy is Canadian). Educators "educate" differently. I'll never know what happens to those kids. I'll never know if the great-granddaughter attending Ecole Andersen manages to escape the pattern set by her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. But I sure hope she does. And I sure hope some of the rest of those kids can learn to hope as well.
 |
| Learning to write song lyrics. Subject: food and the ocean! |
 |
| on their way to the beach |
 |
| office building. cafeteria on the left. |
 |
| cafeteria |
 |
| Krissy in our lovely room |
 |
| everyone at the museum |
 |
| With a shrunken head! She wants to be a fashion designer when she grows up <3 |
February 01, 2012
IAS 380R SFR: Une Vrai Expérience Culturelle
Small Cultural Proof
Notre histoire commence avec SFR. Quand mon frère et moi sommes arrivés en France, nous avons eu les problèmes vraiment terribles avec le procès pour obtenir l'internet. Je suis allée à la boutique de SFR et j'ai signé le contrat. Le représentant des ventes a dit que dans trois ou quatre jours, il serait obligatoire d'aller au petit magasin pour obtenir notre Neufbox. Il y avait quelqu'un qui nous appellerait à dire que notre Neufbox est prêt et nous irions y aller de l'obtenir.
Alors, nous avons attendu. Et attendu. Nous avons fait beaucoup de visites à la boutique de SFR pour demander à l’emplacement du Neufbox. Après deux semaines, mon frère est allé à la boutique et ils ont dit que le Neufbox était prêt. Il a obtenu notre Neufbox et nous étions trop contents. Cependant, quand nous avons essayé d'installer le Neufbox, il n'a marché pas. Quand nous avons demandé au sujet du problème ils ont dit que nous avons devons appeler quelqu'un qui peut installer le Neufbox parce que nous étions les premières gens qui avaient un Neufbox dans cet appartement. Donc, nous avons appelé encore et prévu un rendez-vous. Cependant, il n'y avait personne qui est venue pour le premier rendez-vous. Pour le deuxième, l'homme a dit qu'il ne peut rien faire et c'était en fait obligatoire d'avoir un autre homme qui peut nous aider. Finalement, après deux mois sans internet dont SFR m'a chargé, j'ai fixé un rendez-vous avec l'homme correct qui a travaillé pendant cinq minutes d'installer notre Neufbox. C'était un miracle !
Je vois qu'il y a une mentalité commune en France que si un système ne marche pas, ce n'est pas grave parce qu'on ne peut rien faire de corriger les problèmes. C'était toujours comme ça, donc, c'est bien sûr le moyen le plus pratique.
Je n'ai pas trouvé une solution à ce problème. J'ai l'internet, mais chaque mois, je vais à la boutique de SFR d'obtenir un reimbursement pour les deux mois où ils m'ont chargé avant que j'aie reçu l'internet. Ils ont dit que je peux avoir un mois, mais je dois écrire une lettre à SFR pour demander l'argent pour le deuxième mois. Je trouve que c'est absolument ridicule. Ils sont une grande société et le seul moyen qu'ils peuvent fonctionner est de retirer mon argent. La bataille continue !
Notre histoire commence avec SFR. Quand mon frère et moi sommes arrivés en France, nous avons eu les problèmes vraiment terribles avec le procès pour obtenir l'internet. Je suis allée à la boutique de SFR et j'ai signé le contrat. Le représentant des ventes a dit que dans trois ou quatre jours, il serait obligatoire d'aller au petit magasin pour obtenir notre Neufbox. Il y avait quelqu'un qui nous appellerait à dire que notre Neufbox est prêt et nous irions y aller de l'obtenir.
Alors, nous avons attendu. Et attendu. Nous avons fait beaucoup de visites à la boutique de SFR pour demander à l’emplacement du Neufbox. Après deux semaines, mon frère est allé à la boutique et ils ont dit que le Neufbox était prêt. Il a obtenu notre Neufbox et nous étions trop contents. Cependant, quand nous avons essayé d'installer le Neufbox, il n'a marché pas. Quand nous avons demandé au sujet du problème ils ont dit que nous avons devons appeler quelqu'un qui peut installer le Neufbox parce que nous étions les premières gens qui avaient un Neufbox dans cet appartement. Donc, nous avons appelé encore et prévu un rendez-vous. Cependant, il n'y avait personne qui est venue pour le premier rendez-vous. Pour le deuxième, l'homme a dit qu'il ne peut rien faire et c'était en fait obligatoire d'avoir un autre homme qui peut nous aider. Finalement, après deux mois sans internet dont SFR m'a chargé, j'ai fixé un rendez-vous avec l'homme correct qui a travaillé pendant cinq minutes d'installer notre Neufbox. C'était un miracle !
Je vois qu'il y a une mentalité commune en France que si un système ne marche pas, ce n'est pas grave parce qu'on ne peut rien faire de corriger les problèmes. C'était toujours comme ça, donc, c'est bien sûr le moyen le plus pratique.
Je n'ai pas trouvé une solution à ce problème. J'ai l'internet, mais chaque mois, je vais à la boutique de SFR d'obtenir un reimbursement pour les deux mois où ils m'ont chargé avant que j'aie reçu l'internet. Ils ont dit que je peux avoir un mois, mais je dois écrire une lettre à SFR pour demander l'argent pour le deuxième mois. Je trouve que c'est absolument ridicule. Ils sont une grande société et le seul moyen qu'ils peuvent fonctionner est de retirer mon argent. La bataille continue !
January 19, 2012
FR 311 Vocabulaire 3
1. to care for se soucier de
2. to draw attention attirer l'attention
3. to fulfill respecter
4. to guide guider
5. to limit limiter
6. to obey obéir
7. to promise promettre
8. to retain conserver
9. to set aside réserver
10. to donate faire don de
11. to fast jeûner
12. to give, to provide donner
13. to include comprendre
14. to meet needs répondre aux besoins
15. to pray prier
16. to receive recevoir
17. to save sauver
18. bone un os
19. flesh la chair
20. sin le péché
21. succeeded réussi
22. to face faire face á
23. to suffer souffrir
24. trial une épreuve
25. burden un fardeau
2. to draw attention attirer l'attention
3. to fulfill respecter
4. to guide guider
5. to limit limiter
6. to obey obéir
7. to promise promettre
8. to retain conserver
9. to set aside réserver
10. to donate faire don de
11. to fast jeûner
12. to give, to provide donner
13. to include comprendre
14. to meet needs répondre aux besoins
15. to pray prier
16. to receive recevoir
17. to save sauver
18. bone un os
19. flesh la chair
20. sin le péché
21. succeeded réussi
22. to face faire face á
23. to suffer souffrir
24. trial une épreuve
25. burden un fardeau
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