Kathleen Flaherty's Blog
Program: IES Abroad Nantes
Major: French
Class: WCAS 2010
Photo: Kathleen at the Abbey on Mont Saint-Michel
August 1, 2009
Before and during my experience in France, I hated Facebook (I know I’ve always been told to use sparingly the word ‘hate,’ but I actually think this verb justifies my feelings towards Facebook at that point). Why? I was so paranoid that I would spend more time on Facebook looking up other peoples’ lives than living out my own. I also thought this so-called ‘social networking’ website devalued my face-to-face interaction with friends. Just think about it – if I already know what’s going on in a friend’s life by perusing her profile or posting on her wall for updates, then what are we going to talk about in person? While I was abroad in France, I didn’t want to make the effort to respond to open-ended wallposts from my friends left behind in the states saying ‘How’s France?’ I mean, really! How am I supposed to even begin answering that question? Once again, I feared missing out on what could be happening to me in France if I hibernated in the IES Abroad computer lab all day answering inquiries in considerate detail. But after coming back to the good old US of A, I took a liking to Facebook. Why this quick turnaround ? Because I had made friends in France. It did take me a while to make friends that were actually French, but once I did, I adored them. But once I had finally established a Tuesday-night tradition with Maxime and Nicolas (my favorite set of French friends) at Crêperie St. Croix, and once we felt comfortable enough to make fun of each other, the semester was over. Even though I had started to mentally prepare for that departure date weeks before, May 16 was still a whack in the face.
But I don’t feel that far away from my French friends, even now. It’s been almost three months since I’ve seen any face-to-face, but Facebook allows me to keep in touch with them. My friend Talya and I sent them each a postcard during our post-semester voyage through Italy, but we communicate with them via Facebook now that we’re back in the United States and no longer nomadic. I regularly post Facebook albums to share with French friends the funny or beautiful elements of my own American life, which I know at least Maxime and Nicolas examine regularly. And I really care what they see, because they still care to know what’s going on in my life and inquire every so often, as well as giving updates on their own shenanigans. Maxime, as he is working there for the summer, even sent me a postcard from Edinburgh, Scotland. Maybe it was just a reciprocal gesture for the postcard that Talya and I had sent him from Italy, but something tells me that the fact we’ve been communicating in between each of our own adventures propelled him to think of me as a real, permanent friend and send me this greeting.
If Facebook is the only current means to share what I love in my own country and what I make fun of in my own country with my foreign friends, then so be it. Therefore, until they have the means to visit me and really taste a slice of my American life – whether it be corn-on-the-cob, gooey s’mores, highway-side diners, or a simple afternoon sailing in Long Island Sound with my Dad – photos will have to suffice. So I no longer feel like I’m wasting my time posting Facebook albums (they used to be such a low priority that a year-and-a-half went by until I added more photo albums). Rather, I feel like it’s time well spent.
In the previous paragraph I wrote my ‘American’ life. Not that I’m unpatriotic or ashamed of being American – quite the contrary – but I realized after my time abroad that I no longer have to choose one way of life or another. So by saying ‘American’ life, I meant to describe simply my life in America. Because no matter where I am, my life can be a mosaic of what I love about American life and what I love about French life (or what I love about any other culture I encountered while abroad). For example, I can spread the creamy wildflower honey I brought back from France not on a baguette (I call myself a ‘bread snob’ now because there’s only one restaurant near my home that serves bread as soft and steamy as that of street-corner pâtisseries in France) but on a soft-on-the-inside, but crispy-on-the-outside New York bagel.
Of course, that’s a very knee-deep example, but you get my drift. I hope. This concept is definitely easier to understand if you’ve walked in my footsteps, which I recommend you do ; part of what propelled me to write this last paragraph, in fact, was seeing French people live like Americans (or, what I thought was considered American form). For example, I spied many French citizens doing two things at once, like munching on a baguette sandwich while walking at a brisk pace to a business meeting. It just struck me as so un-French when I first witnessed this what-I-thought-was-strictly-American multitasking phenomenon. But then I realized that what someone does is just what he or she does – just because you’re French doesn’t mean you have to spend two hours at the dining room table savouring a three-course meal as much as the conversation surrounding it. And just because you’re an American doesn’t mean you have to stay chained to your laptop, glued to your BlueTooth, all the while gobbling down a Cliff Bar just because you didn’t have enough time to stop at the deli. Like I said, after witnessing different ways of life – even within one country – you can take bits and pieces of your observations and let them sculpt how you want to live your own life. And I’ll tell you one thing – no more nutrition bars for me ! I prefer a more complete, more ‘French’ meal.
There’s a verb in French, déguster, which means ‘to savour.’ Although the verb is usually often paired with food, being in France made me realize that it can apply to any experience in life, palatal or not. There were some people I met in France (not all, of course) who really took their time to show me the wide range of contexts in which you can ‘déguster’ life – by completing each task to its fullest. Even my 23-year-old host sister, Alice, who was studying to be a doctor, savoured what she was learning from her textbooks and hospital internship experiences. I saw this aspiration take up most of her waking hours – she really didn’t do anything else but eat three meals a day and occasionally jog along the river Erdre – so, to a sometimes overcommitted Northwestern student like me, it seemed like she was doing more studying than she actually had to. But I realized later that she was simply taking her time to savour the material – not scarfing it all up at once, or trying to ingest all the essential elements in one sitting (a metaphorical Cliff Bar ;-). And I think she’ll enjoy being a doctor more because of that. Not to mention, she’ll be a better doctor. This is merely a small example that propelled me to live my life by savouring everything I do, whether or not it is food. That way, I will get a lot more out of life – hopefully more than I expect. So now when I think of France, I remind myself that things just take time. And that’s okay ! Being productive doesn’t mean getting tasks done quickly. It means extracting something out of them. Which is why I’ve spent about two hours writing this last blog entry. Because I not only want to want to encourage prospective students to go abroad, but I also want to learn something from the thoughts that my mind churns out – articulating myself is how I get to know myself. In the fall, when classes start up again, I plan to live out this same philosophy – I won’t try to whip out a French essay in twenty minutes or try to conduct research at lightning speed – I’ll try to savour what I’m learning or what I’m reading at the moment, even if I am in a lecture hall, or in the library. And that will make my academic life more enjoyable. This mentality will also sculpt me into a much more educated human being. Consequently, I’ll find out that there’s even more in this world to marvel at than I previously thought. That’s the beauty about education – the more you know, the more questions you have.
No worries, though: I’m still very aware that there’s more to life than studying. So, what am I going do after I finally finish editing this entry and send it to my study abroad advisor? I will start on making a ‘joke box’ for my good friend Talya, who studied abroad with IES Nantes as well. Essentially, what I call a ‘joke box’ is a tiny box, originally used to hold earrings, that I decorate on the outside and fill up on the inside with strips of paper containing funny memories and inside jokes from our time abroad together. As a Northwestern student, you may be thinking that making this box isn’t going to land me a post-grad job or teach me any earth-shattering lessons about the world I live in, but I’ll still take my time and enjoy the process. When all is said and done, it does serve a valuable purpose – to make someone laugh. And it won’t just be her laughing. It will be me, too!
Now, I shall leave you with this advice: There’s plenty of time in life to do what you want to do or what you need to do without rushing. Yes, a devil’s advocate might argue that you should rush life to do everything you want to do before you die. And there is some value in that argument – you never know when life can end. But if you’ve taken my thoughts into consideration, don't let your life become a grocery list. It's all about the journey, not the destination, anyway. I'm sure you've heard that a million times, right ? So even if you don't accomplish everything you want to by a certain time in life, at least you’ll know you’ve savoured a generous slice of it. And you can thank la République française for that.
Photo caption: Life can be sweet (or savory), no matter where you
are! This photo of me exhibiting the longest sweet potato fry I've ever
had was shot this past Fourth of July weekend in Arizona, where I was
visting my sister and her husband. Sweet potato fries are actually on
this list I've been compiling of elements of my life in the USA that I
would one day love to show to a visiting French friend. Now that I
think about it, the cowboy hat would probably be an unusual sight, too,
for a Nantais!
Photo caption: Finally earned this fabulous view of Florence after a sweaty hike up steep roads and endless stairways (well, ok, they seemed enless in the heat of the moment ... literally)!
April 27, 2009
So, after being asked to bring back sorely-missed American delicacies – like "real" peanut butter, pancake mix, or Vermont maple syrup – by multiple students here at IES, I returned to France with something else; something that really can't fit into a suitcase. What is it? It's the sentiment that life is life wherever you are, and that you shouldn't be too anxious to return home while studying abroad, because when you finally sit down in your own family room and decompress, it's less climactic than you would have expected. When my plane touched down at JFK Airport, I breathed a sigh of relief. More so because I knew that the absence of any possible flight delays (you never know what the weather will do in March) reassured the fact that I wouldn't miss my sister's wedding. After gathering my luggage, I took the airport tram to Howard Beach Station, where my Dad was supposed to pick me up. But right from there, a miscommunication between me and my Dad as to which side of the station we were going to meet each other made the experience less glorious. I ended up having to go back into the station, where he had been, unbeknownst to me, waiting for me on the other side of the Subway entry gates. So, instead of running over to him and giving him a big hug, I had to negotiate with him to a transportation worker in order to not have to pay for another ticket to get to the other side. (Don't doubt the complexity of this situation – for anyone familiar with New York, everything is more complicated than it should be. In fact, in order to get his car around to the other side of the train station, my Dad would have had to drive three miles out of his way.) I tended to idealize my arrival in the United States, but it was just as if I was coming home from school, like for any old Thanksgiving, holiday or spring break (yes, I usually don't do anything exotic for spring break – the past two years I've gone home to relax). Well, except for this year … the past two weeks I've been in Greece and Spain. But we'll open up that door later.
Actually, let's open it now. Because that's the meat of this entry. So, I first went to Athens, Greece with two friends from IES. Greeks are hospitable; especially restaurant owners who want your business, but let me start with Sophie. I'll furnish you with background details: in order to save money, my friends and I decided to take an EasyJet flight to Athens that left Paris Orly at 6 am. Therefore, we took a train to Paris that Thursday night before our flight so we could just stay overnight in the airport. However, none of us anticipated that there would be no train from Montparnasse Station in the center of Paris to Paris Orly past 11 pm. Luckily, one man in a crisp dress suit was able to help us figure out a way to get closest to Paris Orly as we could. Thankfully, he found and directed us to a train that ended up in a Paris suburb called Antony. "But you don't have much time," he said, "so hurry!" Following his advice, we made a beeline down the stairs to this particular track (well, as much a beeline as possible with a cumbersome suitcase). And just to make sure, my friend Megan asked a woman standing on the platform if the train she was waiting for was the one to Antony. She said, "That's where I'm going. Just follow me," and delivered a sly smile. I didn't think our interaction with her would go anywhere, but after a moment of silence, she asked us where we were from and what we were doing in Paris. Given our level of French, she said, she was surprised that we had only been in France since January. But then we reassured her that we had taken French much longer than 4 months (in my case, since seventh grade). While we were on the topic of language, she pointed out who in our little group of three had the strongest American accent and then laughed. This woman, dressed smartly in a skirt, dark tights and killer boots – something a woman of her age normally wouldn't be able to pull off – then told us that she was a speech therapist. But she asked us more questions than we asked her. When the train arrived, my two friends and I naturally sat across from her on the train. She asked us where exactly we were going, and after hearing the answer, she seemed concerned that the airport wouldn't be open at this hour, since it's a smaller one. But she said that she would be able to ask at Antony station if the airport was open or not. She said that if it wasn't, she would call a cab for us. We then proceeded to ask her questions about the French language, and learned several expressions from her, like how to say "attached at the hip" in French. Unfortunately, my brain didn't actually prioritize the storage of these expressions, probably due to the stress of traveling and not knowing if we would be able to make it from Point A to Point B at this ungodly hour! Anyway, when we arrived at the station, there was no one working at the booth. So then we exited the station and Sophie walked across the street to ask the only cab driver around, idling in a Mercedes Benz, if the airport was open. And according to him, it was. She then asked him how much a ride to Orly would cost, and he said 50 euro. No thanks! Aware that we were students and wouldn't be willing to pay this much, she automatically offered to drive us to the airport before we even expressed our concern about the price. So we lugged (in my case, rolled) our suitcases down the street to her house so she could retrieve her car keys and went down into a cavernous parking garage underneath the street. About 20 minutes later, we arrived at Orly. But she didn't leave us there – she walked in with us, as Orly still looked like a ghost town at this point, and then verified with a security guard that the airport was open. Thankfully, it was. Knowing we were finally safe and sound, Sophie whipped out three business cards with her telephone number and address. I said to her, 'Vous avez mérité une carte postale, Sophie!' which means, you've definitely earned yourself a postcard! And in fact we did send her a postcard from Athens when we finally arrived there. We haven't contacted her since, but I hope she received the postcard. She was an angel in disguise, and taught me that you've really got to give the French a chance. I have had some positive experiences here, like when a week before vacation two librarians bent over backwards to help me find several reading materials for an art history paper on the very vague connections between Japanese stamp paintings and 19th century French art. But going back to the 'Sophie' experience: when we were with her on the train, we were ourselves. We made fun of ourselves, joked around a lot, like lots of Americans do. We didn't try to fit in. This experience just reinforced the idea that I just need to be at peace with myself before others are at peace with me in an unfamiliar country. Sometimes you don't need to fit in. And that's when you're respected the most; when you don't try to.
Athens was more beautiful than I had expected, to be honest. While finding shortcuts between here and there in the city, we saw some shady parts, including a meat market which almost made me convert to vegetarianism, but the quarter in which we were staying was quite charming and practically built around the Acropolis. In fact, we could see the Acropolis from the roof of our hostel, Athens Backpackers. The first day we wandered around the old quarter, where we were accosted by several restaurant owners trying to promote their "very nice" menus. But one owner caught our attention by doing more than just pointing out "very nice" menu items like moussaka or pasticcio. He looked at my friend Kimille, who probably looked the most American out of us three, wearing her 'Brebeuf Jesuit Swim and Dive Team' sweatshirt, and promptly shouted out with enthusiasm "Obama! He's my cousin! Come in, I give you free drink." OK, so we weren't exactly sold on the fact that he was Obama's cousin, but we agreed to go in for some refreshing afternoon snack because it had a rooftop dining area with a view of the Acropolis. And we actually never got a free drink, but I think we might have argued our point if we had actually wanted one (we were so tired from having spent the night at the airport, so if we had ordered any drink it would have been coffee.) The next day, we actually saw the Acropolis. The view from above Athens was spectacular – I'll remember that splash of colour for a while.
After a short time in Santorini, I left my friends Kimille and Megan to meet my friend Talya in Madrid. But she wasn't coming in until Monday, as she had been in Israel visiting family for Easter, so I had two days alone in Madrid. I was scared for these two days alone, especially since I was staying in a hotel room all by myself. But these two days were invigorating because I walked around the city without a map and made discoveries without expecting them. Of course, I stayed within a certain radius of my hotel in order to avoid straying too far and ending up in unknowingly dangerous areas. My inspiration to walk around without a map actually came from my dad: when I called my family the night before Easter, he recommended that I go find a mass to attend at some Madrid cathedral to see how the Spanish do Easter. So the next morning, I ate breakfast and made a left. I didn't know where I would end up – I just knew that I needed to find a church, and luckily, the church I found was right across from the world-renowned Museo del Prado. And you know how I was so lucky to end up there? I had looked for and followed people holding maps or wearing fanny packs (ok, I'm exaggerating with the fanny packs), or just anyone who looked touristy in order to end up in the right place. I think that's the only time I liked other tourists! When my friend Talya finally arrived on Monday, we had a fabulous time navigating the city (this time, with a map). But I have to say, being alone and not knowing where I would end up was the most rewarding tourist experience I've ever had. I cite an example: when I turned what seemed an unassuming corner a few blocks away from my hotel, what stood in front of my eyes? Palacio Real. It's a huge, ornately decorated building with a large fountain and surrounding garden out front, and I had no idea it was coming down the pike. Things are always much better when they're not expected, right? Then after a few days, we were off to Barcelona. Unfortunately, my friend suffered from food poisoning, so there wasn't much she could do. But I managed to walk around for a couple hours each day and make discoveries (close to where we were staying, though, so I could periodically check in!) including a feast for both the eyes and the palate, Boqueria. It's a food market right off of the main, and one of the oldest streets in Barcelona, La Rambla, and it was there that I drank my first fresh-squeezed kiwi juice and bought fibrous fig bread. I also discovered dragon fruit, which is fuchsia-colored on the outside with alien-like protrusions. When opened up, there's a white core sprinkled with black seeds. It was so beautiful to look at that I didn't want to eat it!
So, what can I say upon arrival back to Nantes? Traveling abroad elsewhere in Europe, especially Spain (where a surprising amount of people didn't speak English, as I had expected) made me appreciate France, where I can actually communicate my needs! In fact, every time I had to produce a sentence in Spanish, only French came out. Those moments where I was put on the spot made me realize that I really am more comfortable in France than I thought. It's an interesting phenomenon that occurs over a semester – France makes me appreciate home, and traveling outside of France makes me appreciate France. So maybe this country has finally become a home-away-from-home.
March 10, 2009
I can tell you now that I have really "lived" by just going with the flow. Last Saturday night, my friend Talya invited me to hang out at Hangar à Bananes (a series of bars and restaurants on a pier) with Laura, a French student she had befriended in her psychology class at "the fac," or the local university, and three of Laura's friends. Before leaving to meet them, I had just enjoyed a galette with my host brother and sister, and was feeling comfy and cozy chez nous, and didn't truly feel like going out and trying to find my way around Nantes at 9:30 pm, as this was my first time going to the venue. But I went anyway because I said I would, and I ended up having a night full of laughter. Although the conversation between me, Talya and the four French students was at times awkward, the language barrier did allow for some comic relief. After making a few grammatical mistakes that made them crack up, I officially granted them permission to laugh at me whenever they wanted to. I laugh at myself, and humor helps break the ice anyway, so why not give them the go-ahead? Anyway, one subject that was easy to connect with was the HBO series True Blood, which I became hooked on this past Thanksgiving Break. Apparently all four of these French students are fans of the show, which they have access to online. So it was only natural that when we sat down at a swanky bar at Hangar à Bananes, I joked around and said my drink of choice for the night would be a bottle of "O-negative." (For those of you unfamiliar with the premise of the show, which is overall an allegory for racism in the US, here's an explanation: Bill, the vampire that waitress Sookie Stakehouse falls for in the series, orders a bottle of synthetic blood whenever he goes to Merlotte's, the bar she works at. This fictional Japanese invention allows him to avoid harming humans to keep himself, well, let's say, "well-nourished.") Fortunately, our French friends laughed at my joke, and I was simply happy that we had some interests in common. And this past Saturday night, Talya and I went out with the same group of French students to a crêperie and then saw Gran Torino in its original version (with subtitles, so it was refreshing to hear some English for once!) After our rendez-vous that night, I felt glad that I made the effort to spend more time with that group of friends again. I've learned that while I know I will not be making too many French friends, especially since university courses are still suspended due to the strike, I have learned now to just relax and try to make the most out of the French students that have shown interest in getting to know me; and who knows, maybe they're not really interested in getting to know me. Perhaps they're just itching to interact with somebody new, somebody to make their night or day a little bit different than it would have been had they just spent time amongst themselves. Honestly, I know I can say the same thing; in the course of the next two months, between end-of-semester research assignments for my six classes, a two-week spring break, and just still getting to know my host family, I won't have too much time to get to know my French friends intimately. Likewise, they probably figure that they'll never see me face-to-face again when the semester's comes to a close (but who knows?). Nevertheless, it's just refreshing to add a tad of topography to my day. Every new person I meet, every new dish or delicacy I try, cuisine, every new joke I hear, adds a bit of topography to the valley of my life. I hate to compare relationships to food, but I realized that I might not develop longtime relationships with the French youth I meet here. I think that's too lofty of a goal for a single semester in France. But what I've realized instead is that I just need to have fun – in other words, to forget the pressure of trying to forge lifelong relationships. So this is what I say to myself now: "have fun first, Kathleen, and then see where your interactions lead."Believe it or not, while I write this entry I'm sitting at an espresso bar at Charles de Gaulle Airport, gazing out at the tarmac where airplanes are gliding along slyly like hungry sharks in the sea. I'm actually on my way back home for six days to be the Maid of Honor at my sister's wedding in New York City. I felt like sitting in front of a window looking out on the tarmac would help me reflect on other experiences I've had in the past two weeks. So here's another topic that has struck me:
It's amazing what I find myself telling my host family – for example, the first night I ate with my new host family, I ended up telling them that bowling is illegal in Evanston, and I didn't really have a good grasp on why that is so. I think they thought I was crazy. (I still have yet to look that up so I can redeem myself. Anyone know?) The following night, I told them that every Halloween night, mischievous teenagers in my town go around and smash pumpkins, throw eggs at houses, and hang toilet paper from trees. Oh, yes, and then I told them that in Ridgefield, Connecticut, it's also quite à la mode for bored teenagers to go around and smash mailboxes. Jeez, where do they think I'm from? I can't believe, out of all my experiences in the United States, that these experiences end up meriting a mention in our cross-cultural conversations. I can cite another night when I was eating raclettes at Talya's house – her host sister had invited close friends from high school and had invited Talya to bring a friend, a.k.a, me – so we had to churn up conversation with this circle of friends that had known each other since elementary school (some of them even before!). I ended up telling one of her friends seated next to me that I ate kiwi skin. Yes, that was actually one of our conversation topics. It's amazing what curves conversations with complete strangers in a completely different language can take. You never know what will come out of your mouth in order to avoid awkward silence. Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut sometimes and let the other person struggle to bring up a topic instead.
On the other hand, I have had more normal conversations. My affinity for food makes it easier to connect with certain French people. For example, an engineering student named Christophe, who didn't think I was crazy for bringing up food all the time in conversation. I was seated next to him at an African-themed dinner at the "fac," and we inevitably landed on the subject of cheese. I thought this a perfect opportunity to ask him where I could find a cheese map, something I've seen in the kitchen at the IES Abroad Center. For those not "au courant" in the cheese world, what I call a "cheese map" is a map of France, and each region on the map is marked with its specialty cheese/s. Although Christophe is probably not as obsessed with cheese as I am, he actually took time to reflect on the answer to my question. I mean, it took him a couple of minutes to seriously consider where one could be found! And even a half-hour later on in the meal, we were still talking about food. I actually had a good laugh when he told me that the word for avocado in French is the same word for lawyer, "avocat." Which brings me to my last point: I've just been trying to extract humor out of my experience. Humor. Yes, I believe that's the theme of this entry because I've realized I just can't take my experience in France too seriously. I can't seek out certain experiences, like meeting a best French friend that I'll stay in touch with for the rest of my life; I just have to see what experiences come to me without feeling the pressure and therefore trying too hard to make them come to me all the time. I have to remember there's always an opportunity to seek out humor. It doesn't take much effort! And it always sprinkles every experience with a bit more pleasure.
Photo caption:
I asked a random woman at Charles de Gaulle Airport to take this photo of me in the Air France Terminal before boarding my flight to JFK. I was about to find out what it feels like coming back to America while living in another country. A report on my sentiments in my next entry!
February 25, 2009
I have reentered the "real world" back in Nantes after a week's worth of vacation split between London and Paris. It's funny how what seemed like a vacation before – just spending time in Nantes for the whole semester – now has hit me with the reality bug. It just shows that life always has to restart somewhere after a trip that has taken you out of your element, that has exposed you to a new kind of atmosphere. What amazes me most is how quickly my environment can change: just yesterday morning I was in Paris' Jewish quarter eating a succulent poppy seed cake with two friends, one of which is studying abroad for a year in Paris with Sweet Briar (by the way, the clouds were moving in a manner that unveiled the sun from time to time, and it reminded me that spring is coming!) Now I'm back in the rather dark IES Nantes computer lab whipping up a whirlwind tale of my whirlwind tour of Paris and London. After this, I'll have to squeeze in a couple of scenes from Marivaux's "La Fausse Suivante" before my French theatre class at 12h30. I guess work has to be done somewhere, eh?
Like I said before, I tended to romanticize Nantes before I got here, but now that I'm established and have responsibilities here, it seems a little less dreamy. Paris is now the place I romanticize, after seeing the Eiffel Tower sparkle at the beginning of every hour at night. I was lucky enough to see it from the tenth floor of my friend Talya's host sister's apartment. While looking out the window, I felt like I was staring at a field of fireflies, or a succession of camera flashes in a huge stadium that just happened to form the shape of an A-shaped tower. I was happy to draw this parallel because it showed me that you can find beauty no matter where you are; you don't have to wait until night falls on Paris to see something sparkle in that haphazard manner. But let me say that now that I'm sitting down in a chair, my experience seems a tad more glamorous; we did a lot of walking in both cities, which was exhausting. But if you have limited time and want to see the most you can without reaching the point where you don't remember anything at all, it's necessary to walk. And if you really want to experience a city, instead of just see it, you need to try the underground transportation systems. But when caught in the crowd full of frazzled commuters who are already ten minutes late to work, it's easy to trick yourself into thinking that you're a commuter, too, instead of a tourist. That's what my friend Talya and I felt in Paris, especially. Needless to say, it was not a relaxing trip … that is, excluding the time we were sipping chocolate-flavored espressos at Galeries Lafayette (Paris' rendition of Harrod's) or awaiting the first entrée (in this case, gratinéed onion soup) of a fixed price three-course meal in the Latin Quarter near Notre Dame Cathedral.I have to admit that I've started a new paragraph not because I'm bringing up an entirely new subject, but because I didn't finish this blog before theatre class. I actually moved into a new host family that same afternoon after theatre class and have been spending time smoothing out that transition and getting to know my new family members – including a twenty-two year old sister and twelve-year-old host brother! – just until now. But back to my observation that beauty can manifest itself in different ways: just today I ate lunch (I need to start using up my meal tickets – before I know it, the semester will be over!) at one of the student "restaurants" at University of Nantes. On my way there, sitting on the tram, I glanced out the window onto the small river that runs parallel to the tramway. The way the water glinted in the sunlight not only gave me hope that one of these days I'll be able to shed my winter jacket, but it also, like a field of fireflies or a series of camera flashes, reminded me of the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the Paris skyline. So, even when I'm sucked back into a routine, there's still time to notice the small pleasures that beauty can bring.
If somebody asked me what I will remember most from my "petit séjour," I would cite the experience I had on the big red bus in London (need I say more?). My third time boarding the bus, I was stuck behind an elderly French couple that was looking for a bus stop in Trafalgar Square, which was only a few blocks away. Well, I understood what they were asking, but not the bus driver: when they tried to ask him where they needed to go in French, the driver said, "Look, I don't speak French. I can't help you." I thought that was the perfect time to intervene and use what I'm in France for a semester to improve! But who knew I would be using my French in London? Long story short, I was able to direct them to the red bus stop they had been asking about, and they thanked me, asÂ
well as the bus driver, for my help. As intimidated as I've felt trying to obtain information from native French speakers in France, this experience just showed me that everyone has their time of uncertainty, their disappointment that emerges from realizing that sometimes the world just doesn't wait for anyone who doesn't speak the language. I think if we each have a moment like that of the old French couple, or like my assortment of moments trying to ask directions at the Paris metro station or trying to buy more minutes for my French mobile phone (I often let those I need to help me out know that French is not my native language, but they still seem to answer me in short but densely-packed responses, as if I'm bothering them even though they're at work), we can all carry around a bit more humility that will help us be more sensitive towards those in unfamiliar territory, whether it be a new city or a new language, or both. Just like beauty can take on different forms, so can the realization that neither you, nor your language, are the center of the universe. As disheartening as that can be, that realization within itself is beautiful, because it propels you to keep living, to keep learning about people and places you might not interact with on a daily basis, but that you might interact with someday. Who knows? The more information and experiences you expose yourself to, the more questions you'll have. There's never a reason to lose interest in the world. On that note, I'm going to try, within the next two weeks, to live out my motto, which is, well, "live." I'll tell you in my next entry how exactly I did that.February 2, 2009
While finding a place to eat on a Saturday night is a difficult decision to make (considering all the equally mouth-watering choices), finding new friends in a foreign country and initiating relationships is a lot more challenging. I've been told by IES administrators that French families don't move as often as American families, so a circle of French friends is hard to break into. Nevertheless, the 'Club de Conversation' here at IES has yielded remote success so far. Every Tuesday night, a group of French students, representing a variety schools all around the city of Nantes, come to IES to be split up into smaller groups among us eager IES students. The first week we participated in a classroom-wide discussion prompted by the question, "What would you do if you were the president?" inspired of course by the broadcast of Barack Obama's inauguration that same night. But the following week, we had free reign to talk about whatever we wanted in smaller groups. That's when I met a student at University of Nantes who had taken the same African dance class I had the week before at the university physical health center. Of course, neither of us realized it at the time since we hadn't yet met each other. But that just goes to show how small Nantes really is.
After the club, it's a tradition to go out and enjoy a meal out with the French students you've met. Naturally, I went out with a couple of French students me and my IES counterparts were lucky enough to talk to at the Club. When deciding where to eat (as I said, a tough decision in Nantes), the French students asked if we would like to taste 'exotic' crêpes, or those with a mixture of sweet and savory flavors. Adhering to an attitude that's open to anything (if I've learned anything so far, you just kind of have to go with the flow when you're in a completely foreign place) we said 'sure' and ended up at a pirate-themed crêperie with a menu cover boasting its ability to 'take your taste buds on a trip.' Trying to take advantage of the rather unusual setting, I opted not to order a typical buttered or sugared crêpe. Instead, I took a chance and ordered the 'Fidgi,' which is a union of tiny pieces of shrimp, mangoes, squash and roquefort cheese. Needless to say, I was satisfied. The best combination in France, but hard to achieve at the same time as a foreign student, is new food and new friends.Not to say that it's not exciting; it's still vulnerable to another thing the French pride themselves on – une grève, or a strike. From what I gathered, strikes can debilitate France for a day, or however long they last. Fortunately, last Thursday's grève was short-lived, when a range of French citizens from different dimensions of society – university students to transportation system workers – protested the economic crisis. The emphasis the French put on social justice is a trademark of the country, but my host mother offered a different perspective: she said that it's completely idiotic to stop working to demand more money, because France loses millions each day it cannot serve the general public due to worker strikes. So not all French citizens are enthusiastic about protesting, especially IES students. My adviser here actually told me to take a majority of classes at IES instead of at University of Nantes, because one never knows how long a strike can last, and long strikes that have the potential to put a hold on class sessions for weeks can put a wrench in credit transfers. There have been a few close calls in the past, but so far, no IES student has lost credit from falling victim to a strike they didn't want in the first place. Anyway, enough about credits. Let me talk about what I'm getting out of my classes other than credits: In my Panorama of French Theatre class at IES, I made a connection between food and the French language: There's an expression my theatre professor used to describe a character named Bélise in Molière's comedy "Les femmes savantes." In reality, Bélise is an old maid, but claims that her niece's suitor, among many other men, is in love with her. When asked for proof of this claim, of course, Bélise says that none of the men she professes to be in love with her have had enough courage to actually tell her. So, let me move on to the expression my professor used to describe Bélise, who needs to talk about what she has because she can't show what she has (or doesn't, I suppose!): 'moins on en a, plus on l'étale,' which refers to la confiture, or jam, a staple of the typical French diet. Essentially, the expression says that the less jam you have, the more you have to spread it around on your piece of bread. What's my point? It's interesting to see how closely linked the French language culture really are – that because bread and jam was once across the board an integral part of le petit déjeuner (of course, that's before cereal or microwaveable pancakes started sneaking into grocery stores ;-) it meandered its way into the French language.
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But before I 'meander' farther away from the subject, I'd like to conclude my experience here in Nantes so far: I now know what it's like to be an international student at Northwestern – struggling to grasp what exactly a professor is saying, having to strain my eyes and ears – not to mention neurons, too – to understand a conversation over several others at a clattery restaurant before chiming in myself, and wondering how often I should ask someone to explain themselves or repeat themselves without exhausting him or her. I've definitely been swept over by humility and can truly identify with those going through the rather draining process of trying to assimilate into any unfamiliar culture. That being said, I've got to wrap up this entry so I can conserve some energy for tonight's Club de Conversation!Photo: Kathleen and the Duchesse Anne de Bretagne at the Chateau de Nantes
January 18, 2009
With the exception of seeing multiple people cradling loaves of fresh bread on the street and a surprising absence of "grab-and-go" coffee joints, I've realized that when it comes to describing any culture, no one can come to hasty conclusions or make generalizations. Why? Because that would be underestimating the mosaic of all different traditions that can coexist in one place. After some general discussions facilitated by IES instructors, I've found out that my peers so far have had different experiences in their respective host families. For example, my host mother has displayed her own eating schedule – what my host father claims is the secret to French weight maintenance, namely, one doesn't eat unless it's a meal time – but another host family I was lucky enough to visit one night snacked on sugar-sprinkled and Nutella-ized crêpes when their children returned home from school, then ate a three course dinner [consisting of a very light tomato soup, quiche, and then king cake for dessert].
Generally speaking, the French I've observed here usually don't eat until they're hungry [but again this is based on my own observations]. But at each meal time I share with my host family, usually dinner, I've been inundated with three different dishes, plus a slice of French bread, and usually a delectable but creamy dessert. Quite overwhelming! I suppose I'm used to spreading out my consumption back home in the U.S.
I can say that for the most part, most French citizens do not work on Sunday, due to the law that forbids businesses to open on Sundays without special permission from the government. That being said, I do feel the French compartmentalize better than Americans. What I mean by that is that they rarely multitask. Rather, they tend to invest their whole being into the activity they have chosen to engage in at that moment. My friend here, also a Northwestern junior, put it very simply: they only do "one thing at a time." I have to add that my friend expressed this while she and I were sitting outside on a cobblestone street. At that moment, I was sipping an espresso made from Ethiopian coffee, enjoying the rather chilly, but misty sea-kissed air. We had nowhere to be anytime soon, and no important decisions to make, except for where we planned to go to dinner – not a concern, since there is an infinite amount of eateries in Nantes – and what to do after dinner when we would meet up with our new friends from IES. To put it more simply, weekends in Nantes are actually weekends … well, unless you work at restaurant or museum.
According to an administrator here at IES, "le déjeuner," or lunch, used to be the most important meal of the day, namely because it's a time when all family members will converge for the day and digest not only their food, but what has happened to them so far. However, since people tend to put more on their plates [in the figurative sense], today's most important meal is dinner. Once again, though, every French family is different. I say this because the host mother that allows her five kids to snack on crêpes in the late afternoon told me that smaller cities like Nantes don't fit the more modern, globalized mold – some families are still able to reconvene in the household for lunch and dinner. Why? Since the city is relatively small, workplaces and schools are more likely to be close to the home.
Since this past week we just reviewed French grammar and got back into the groove of the French language, there hasn't been that much interaction with young French people. But this Tuesday, I will exchange words, along with all the other IES students, with real French students, at the Club de Conversation. And when university classes start, I will hopefully have the opportunity to meet more.
Oh, but don't get me wrong about the French lifestyle – globalization has hit France. What inspired me to say this? Well, I have strolled past people eating quiches on the go, talking on their cell phones to take care of business on their way from Point A to Point B, and I've seen a wide variety of microwave dinners for sale at Marché Plus, a one-stop-shop grocery store just around the corner from the house I'll be calling home for the next four months. So no, I'm not basking in complete cultural euphoria – there are some phenomena I've witnessed that have shattered my hopes of having to immerse myself in a culture of pure bliss and pleasure. In fact, I was secretly hoping that globalization hadn't quite hit the French lifestyle yet, or if it did, the French had resisted. But the way someone chooses to lead their life is based on the individual and what they want out of their life – not based on the culture that individual happened to be born into. I feel like this is a parallel to the fact that you cannot judge a person based on the culture they come from. An example: today I planned to meet two friends at 1 p.m. to go le Musée des Beaux-Arts. On my way, I was hard pressed to find a store where I could buy something to quench my thirst, since most businesses are barred up on Sundays. Thankfully after about twenty minutes, I found a small store to buy a bottle of water in! While paying at the cash register, I couldn't understand a sentence the owner had uttered, so I explained to him that I wasn't French [in French, of course] and asked him to repeat himself. After the clarification, he asked me where I was from. When I said I was from the U.S., he smiled, and promptly told me he was from Iraq. We got to talking and he took time to show me all of the sweet and savoury delicacies that he sells, freshly imported from his country. Needless to say, I was expecting a completely different reaction to the fact that I was American. But this experience just confirmed that you should not base your judgments on not the culture or the nation the person comes from, but your personal interactions with the person himself/herself. Hopefully I was a good representative of my own country!
Photo: Kathleen in Saint Malo
