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.
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