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!
May 07, 2012
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.
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