Anybody Want Some French Music?

So, I remember how much of a pain it was to find French music before I moved here. I mean, it was ridiculous. Of course, it hasn't gotten much easier, since most of what's on the radio is still American, but at least I have a better chance of finding something over here. So I figured, I'll give you all links to the stuff I've found. Not sure if you guys are going to like my style, so I'll link a few songs I don't like as well, so everybody can find something.

There's going to be two lists: French music I've found, and songs in English that I've fallen in love with over here or are popular with French teens. That works, right?


FRENCH MUSIC:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wQFQgItsm18  Watch the music video for this one if you have the chance, it's cute. The title (Dis-Moi Encore que Tu M'aimes) means "Tell me again that you love me." I personally like this song, it's got a nice tune and it's not necessary to understand.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rdwC26FHxkA&feature=related  Not a big fan, it's a little too Pop-y for me, but the music video is certainly creative and it's easy enough to understand if you have a background in French.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U05LgrRzNt8  There are no words for how much I love this song. Go and look up the lyrics, they're so clever and cute.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R6LJjFgHCwY  Incredibly easy to understand, and if you manage to memorize it, it's a good song to sing at random times to boost your confidence in your language-learning abilities, just saying. It sounds impressive even though it's so easy. Also a really cute song. I'm a big fan of Alizée in general.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JvdZAhRzimA  Another Alizée song, and my favorite of hers.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4l-OxIqU0tY&feature=list_related&playnext=1&list=MLGxdCwVVULXclF_mgsQ0VbKsv7J92KenE  Though I really like Calogero, this song is not my style at all. It's sort of half-rap, and I'm not thrilled with it, but in my experience, any French person will be able to at least sing you the chorus, which I'll admit is super-catchy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jLg6uTT5izo&feature=related  I couldn't find my favorite Calogero song (Which is "La Bourgeoisie Des Sensations" if you want to try and find it) but I did find my second favorite. This is another "look up the lyrics" song, it's incredibly deep. If you're looking for songs that are obviously French, where the lyrics are clear and you can practice translating-on-the-go, go for Calogero. He is, by far, my favorite French singer. (The music video for this one kind of make no sense, though. Skip it.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E72zd1FQhQs  Normally, Superbus is a little too superficial and obnoxious for me, but this song, despite being kind of loud for my tastes, has a pretty good story line and is catchy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ig3g7U8wDM&feature=related  Another Superbus. I'm adding this one to the list because it was the first song I ever really listened to in French. Super easy to understand, if you cheat a little by reading the lyrics, you could probably understand the whole thing with only a year or two of french and a few word look-ups.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=satMi-rws1A  Speaking of super-easy, let's get this one out of the way. The woman who sings this isn't French, she has a bit of an accent, either American (most likely) or British. However the song is cute and catchy, and you're almost guaranteed to understand the chorus the first time through if you speak any French at all.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XvyMG0z0FZY  This one is actually sort of nice. Fast, but soft. It's about a woman who wonders if her lover is still in love with her. Side note, the woman who is singing this is actually the wife of the French president, Nicolas Sarkozy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kOru9ITtVIg  Gregoire is a pretty well-known singer in France. This is one of his more popular songs, though personally I can't listen to it for more than a few verses before it starts to grate on my ears. The tune doesn't really change enough.


Sublist: Songs That I'm Embarrassed To Like


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SoISXWbRpZA&feature=fvst  Oh, man. I really shouldn't like this song, it's soooooo bad, but there's just something about hearing it on the radio five thousand times and dancing to it with a bunch of French teenagers for lack of anything else to do that makes you sort of tolerate it until you end up thinking of it fondly. I'm so sorry to have inflicted this on you. Listen to it anyway. (The music video is incredibly obnoxious, though: Watch at your own risk.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NuDDC6i84fo  I was at a New Years party the first time I heard this. It was really quite a sight: Every SINGLE person in the room started singing along, even the kids. It's an 80s song, and it's so cheesy, but it's one of those "dancing-around-you-room-singing-into-a-hairbrush" type of songs. It stays in your head until you go crazy and start singing it under your breath just to try and get rid of it. Then it brainwashes you, and you start to like it.  (By the way, some south Korean ladies did a cover of this song, and the music video made me laugh so hard I accidentally fell out of my chair. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZOjFcqH_Jk They really are trying to sing it in French, bless them.)



SONGS IN ENGLISH:



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Na85fPGYCM&feature=related  This has been playing on the radio non-stop. It's so catchy you can't help but remember it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R-0Qx8HwlW4  I LOVE LOVE LOVE this song. I could listen to it all day. Go and listen to it NOW. Also, the music video isn't half bad, kind of elegant.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pRpeEdMmmQ0 Well, hopefully you've seen this. Just about every French teenager I've met could both sing it to you and do the dance, so there's that. Plus, it's catchy. And maybe it's just me, but I feel sort of vaguely patriotic when I sing it.

(Well, THAT was a short list.)



I hope that at least gave you one new song to listen to. French music really isn't bad, I don't know why we refuse to listen to anything international (besides Mexican) in the United States. It's such a shame.

~Jocelyn Harris

Joyeux Fêtes! (Happy Holidays!)

I know what you're thinking: "Wow, hey, that one France girl finally updated her blog. How long has it been, a few years since the last post?" and I'll just come out and say it, you're perfectly justified being a little annoyed. Sorry. I did have an excuse, but even excuses have time limits...

My first excuse (just to sate your curiosity) was that, in December, I was forced by some pretty awful circumstances to change host families. I don't want to go into any details, or incriminate anybody, I just want to say that my new host family is better than amazing, and everything is fine now. I've also changed towns and schools, but that was mostly because my old coordinator really wasn't all that great, and I wasn't making too many close friends at my old high school. No harm done there, and I've already made tons of new friends at the new high school.

That's life.

But, anyway, back to the awesome super-cool blog posts you guys are always looking forward to! (Right? ...Right.)

So, I know all of you are just dying to know about Christmas, here. And so, twenty-two days late, here goes every little detail.

I had actually arrived in my new host family n the twenty-third of December, so Christmas was just a little bit awkward. I had brought a gift for them and everything, but there was still that kind of "new person" feeling lingering about. (For reference: It's about the same type of feeling as when you have a new pet, but like...times ten. New exchange student. Ooh.)

As it turns out, Christmas Eve here in France is just about as important as Christmas Day: it's when you get your presents. I gave out my little box of expensive chocolates (you gotta love those French Chocolatiers), and was surprised in turn to get some presents from my host family; namely a scarf, some awesome leg warmers, and a CD from a popular French singer. We all sat down for an hour long aperetif, a sort of snack before a meal to whet your appetite, and I was allowed a tiny glass of champagne, just enough for a taste. (It was surprisingly okay, but I don't think I'm a huge fan.)

And then came dinner.

I've come to understand that, in France, Christmas Eve dinner can be...extraordinary. Every stereotype I'd ever heard about French dining (foie gras, escargots, lots of wine, staying at the dinner table for several hours, tons of baguettes) seems to come together for that one spectacular meal. It's really quite a sight. Thankfully, my host family dialed it down a few notches. There was still the foie gras and some traditional mushroom-and-fish type of stew (I didn't like it much, to tell the truth) but there was absolutely no staying at the dinner table for hours on end, for which I was extremely grateful.

After spending an extra hour or two gushing over presents (notably my host sister's new cellphone, which didn't leave her hand for the next several weeks) we all went to bed at a reasonable hour so that we could wake up at Dark o'Clock and start driving up to visit my host mom's family for Christmas. (Don't ask me where they live, because I don't know. I completely forgot to ask. I have no idea if we went north, south, east, or west. I just know we all crawled into the car and bored ourselves silly for two hours listening to the radio and looking desperately out the window for something amusing to engage our attention.)

We finally arrived at the family's house, I had a small heart attack trying to kiss everyone hello and pretend like I remembered names and faces, and then...

The Meal began.

The Meal was unlike any meal that I, even as an American, have ever undertaken. The Meal is not to be joked around with. The Meal is a sacred and time-honored tradition.

The Meal is eight hours long.

It consists of several courses, each with about an hour in between to rest your stomach and allow you time to digest the food you've already eaten. Adults will stay at the table the whole time, talking. Children will very quietly get up out of their seats, sneak over to the door, and go wreak havoc on the rest of the house, playing board games that they've been given for Christmas. They will, however, return for every course, and will eat just about as much as the adults.

I'll just say this now: I have no idea how the people in this country stay so skinny when their stomachs can be like bottomless black holes. Seriously. I was full to bursting after the first course, and I only ate half of it!

(Did I mention that after The Meal is over, about an hour later you're supposed to eat dinner? Yeah, I don't think so. I passed.)

I don't think there's very much to say after that, though. After dinner we all crawled upstairs to try to sleep with our upset stomachs, woke up in the morning somehow hungry again, ate a small breakfast, and sat around lazily for the whole morning. I think the adults were in the dining room talking some more: I personally was tucked up in my room trying to read a little bit in English to get rid of the awful headache I'd gotten from speaking and trying to understand French for the entire day before. (You can think what you want about learning another language, but it's sure painful sometimes.) We all sauntered down into the dining room at around 12 to have a small lunch, and then packed everything in the car and went home, spending the next few days getting up at eleven in the morning and doing absolutely nothing. It was recovery time, I swear.

And that was Christmas.

There is, however, a reason the French say "Happy Holidays" more than "Merry Christmas", and it's not our sissy American reason, either: The French, from what I've seen, really couldn't care less about offending someone's religion by wishing them a Merry Christmas. It's because, in fact, they have two major holidays around this time of year, one of which I was woefully ignorant until a few days before it took place.

The French call it the "Réveillon", and it takes place on New Years Eve.

(This is, actually, the second day of the year to be called the "Réveillon": Christmas Eve is the first. The word, as far as I can tell, comes from the verb "se reveiller", which means "to wake oneself up".)

My host mom gave me the best description of the two holidays: "Christmas is high-strung, very noisy, and it takes a lot out of you. You spend it with your family. Réveillon is whatever you want it to be, because you spend it with your friends."

On the day of New Years Eve, I got all dressed up, put on more makeup than I'm strictly used to, and went to a party.

It was so. Much. Fun.

There was dancing, food, a few "name-the-song" contests that I was awful at, and even some karaoke, which was amusingly awful. I was forced to stand on my chair and wave my paper napkin around for one of the songs, an action I still don't understand, and learned the lyrics to an old 80's French song with some of the most clichéd words I've ever heard. The DJ made me come up and sing the only English song on the Karaoke CDs ("Can You Feel the Love Tonight" from The Lion King), I sucked spectacularly at it, and I danced until my back and feet were on fire. (I was, of course, the only one that knew all the lyrics to "YMCA" by the Village People, and I belted it out proudly.)

At exactly midnight, everybody started counting down, and as the clock hit midnight, a gigantic wave of sound exploded over the room as noise-makers went off and people started yelling. There was no ball dropping in New York, no Auld Lang Syne, and I have to admit, I didn't miss it. The energy going around that place was absolutely overwhelming. It was all I could do to stay awake for the next few hours, and when we left at around two in the morning or so, I was exhausted. When we got back home, I tumbled into bed almost without changing into my pajamas.

And then, of course, I woke up early in the morning to celebrate the proper New Years. (Those silly French people, nine hours ahead of the rest of us.)

~Jocelyn Harris

Kiss Kiss

So, when you think about France, a lot of things comes to mind.

 

Cheese, wine, food. Pretty nice country, very food-y. There are, of course, the stereotypes: generally unclean, the unfortunate side effects of owning pets all over the sidewalks, snobby, American-haters. (Remind me to go over stereotypes in another post.)

 

It's also pretty likely that within minutes of hearing the word "French," an image pops into your mind of a skinny twenty-something fashionista dressed mostly in black, wearing a beautiful scarf, kissing all of her friends on the cheeks. (Warning: Subject of blog post.)

 

So, living in France for two plus months, I've had to do a lot of greetings, and therefore have kissed a great many people of both sexes and varying ages.

 

At first, this seemed like the height of elegance to me. Let's face it, when an American is pressed to come up with the most chic and elegant country they know, a fair few of them will mention France at some point. The European-cheek-kissing-thing has always impressed that dark little part of our souls that tells us living in Europe automatically makes you more awesome as a person. When I was suddenly allowed--nay, expected to take part in the most elegant of elegant greetings, that same tiny part of my soul automatically readjusted my self-worth a notch or two in the good direction. (I'm a shallow, shallow person. So sue me.)

 

The only problem is, after two months of trying to deal with it, France has hands-down the most annoying greeting system in the entire world.

 

I want you all to just stop for a second and imagine yourself, as an American, with our perfectly sculpted little space bubble, trying to kiss someone else casually. Or touch their face with yours. The thought kind of made you cringe for a second, didn't it? Admit it, it did. To us, the thought of touching someone else's face with ours is very intimate, saved for interactions between family or very close friends.

 

But even that can be gotten over. I mean, the whole French space bubble (read: non-existant) thing kind of gave me the creeps for a week or two, but then I sucked it up and told myself that people bumping into me and standing a little too close on the bus was just the price I had to pay for living in France (read: coolest thing ever).

 

Then you get to the mathematical problems associated with kissing.

 

Right now, as you're reading this, you've probably read the above sentence a few times. But no: I mean mathematical.

 

In Paris, you kiss the people you meet twice; once on each cheek. In some parts of France, the number changes to four. In Provence (where I live), the number is three.

 

But even though that seems pretty easy (if you're in Paris, kiss twice, if you're in Marseille, kiss three times, right?) it turns out all those rules are really just to confuse the heck out of us poor foreigners. The thing is, that's just a guideline. As in, if you live in Provence, most people will expect the usual three-kiss deal. But then they're just not telling you about all the unspoken cultural rules that, as the French, they've been learning since birth.

 

For instance, when you're greeting a large group of friends, like your classmates at high school, you can abbreviate the greeting to just one kiss on the cheek, and others, realizing that you've just arrived into a big group of people, will expect the shortened greeting and just kiss your cheek once.

 

(Actually, you really just kiss the air while your cheek is touching theirs. It's complicated, don't expect to get it right the first few times.)

 

Of course, in every group of friends, there's always the person that wasn't paying attention, or isn't very good at seeing things from the perspective of others, and they'll go in for the two or three kiss thing. This is where things start to get awkward.

 

You've gone in for the first kiss, everything went fine. Except now you're pulling back, thinking the greeting to be finished, and your friend is leaning in again, going for the second kiss. At this point, you realize that they wanted a full greeting, and go in again (a little late) to try and salvage it, but at the same exact moment, they've realized you wanted to end the greeting there, and begin to pull back.

 

When was the last time you ran into someone in the hall going the opposite direction as you, and had an awkward little shuffling side-step war trying to get around them? It's like that, but with your face. And instead of that awkward running into each other thing that happens when the two of you in the hallway try side-stepping the same direction and confidently moving forward, the ultimate risk in this situation is accidentally kissing someone straight on the lips, which would be horrifying for all parties involved. Thankfully, I haven't yet seen this happen, but there have been more than a few close calls.

 

Granted, once you get good at knowing the cultural norms and expectations, it's relatively efficient. I'm not giving it a complete thumbs down, it still makes you look like a movie star. No matter what you're wearing or how your hair looks, when you kiss someone on the cheeks you'll look like one of those hoitey-toitey "I'm-so-fashionable-I-go-to-sleep-wearing-Prada" girls, the ones that everyone pretends are so annoying and everyone secretly wants (to have the resources) to be just like.

 

So, coming to the end of the review, I figure I should give you all the how-to. (Trust me. It looks simple, until you accidentally go for the wrong side first.)

 

First step: Get closer to the person than you would normally be comfortable with. I actually had the experience of greeting another American exchange student here very early on into our stays, and we, being both American, automatically opted to try the greeting from the usual American space bubble distance. It was a disaster. Realizing after the first very difficult kiss that it wasn't going to work from a distance, we both tried stepping closer at the same time, which led to us nearly bumping into each other. You're going to have to step out of your comfort zone (literally) and just get close to the person initially. Console yourself that after just a few kisses, it'll be over and you can step back. (Generally, if a French person sees you step back into what they feel is too large of a space bubble, an they know you're American, they'll respect it. I can't say the same thing for the lunch line or the bus, though.)

 

Second step: DON'T LET YOUR MIND WANDER. I don't care if it's your best friend, that cute guy in your class that you really like, or the President of France, concentrate more on what you're doing than who you're kissing. If you freak, you'll blush, which can either make you look cutely American or just plain stupid, depending on the situation. Remember that the French have been greeting people this way since they were toddlers. It's no big deal to them, like a handshake would be to an American. (Side note: Generally boys don't kiss other boys unless they're family. So, if you're a man, don't freak the French out by going in for the traditional French greeting with another man. A handshake will suffice. You should, however, still use the kisses with women, who won't find it creepy at all.)

 

Third step: Start from the right. YOUR right. Not much to say about this, it's just the side that some Frenchman long ago decided would be THE side to start on. Your left cheeks will be touching.

 

Fourth step: Pull back just a little and change sides. This is actually a little trickier than it looks. You have to pull back enough that no part of your face touches when you both move to change sides, but not enough that they think you only wanted one kiss, and the awkward shuffle of accommodation starts (see above). It really just takes practice.

 

Fifth step: It's basically the same as the first step, but with the other cheek. I figure now would be a good time, however, to bring up technique. First of all, don't slam. I've greeted a lot of people over here, and the people I tend to avoid greeting are the ones that slam their cheeks against mine so hard I think they're going to break my cheekbones. It actually kind of hurts, and it's usually Americans and other foreigners who do this, since the French were probably scolded out of it when they did it as children. You don't need to attempt to merge the molecules that make up your face with theirs, just lightly touch your cheek to theirs and kiss the air by their ear. Which brings me to the next rule: lightly kiss. Don't make this gigantic sucking noise that close to their ear, it's startling. No huge smacking of the lips to demonstrate your affection, or something. Just a very light kissing noise is all it takes. I've met some people who skip the kiss entirely, and just press their cheeks to yours noiselessly. Generally, everyone will have their own special technique, but try to keep yours down to a dull roar.

 

If you're in a region that requires more than two kisses (PLEASE, research this before you come), repeat steps 4 and 5 until it's done.

 

Wearing high heels, a scarf, and all black clothing is optional. (For both genders.)

 

~Jocelyn Harris

Ça Tourne!

Naturally, French school is, to me, ten different shades of awesome. This opinion was justified this last weekend, when I went on the most amazing of all field trips.

Montpellier Film Festival.

As an American, the idea of cinema as an art form is dodgy at best. Film to me, at least two months ago, meant entertainment and possibly a fun trip to the movies with my friends. There were good movies and bad movies, but their worth was mainly assigned based on their plots. If a plot was well done, it was a good movie. I understood that movies took a long time to make, and that things like camera angles existed, but they didn't mean anything to me, the viewer, watching the film. If a film was well done, I thought, I wouldn't notice the camera angles, because they would look natural to me.

The French would have been horrified.

Their idea of film is much more tasteful and artistic. A film is a work of art: no less. It shouldn't have to stoop to the low expectations of pleasing an audience, and its sole purpose is not entertainment. It's an expression of living art. Through the camera, the artist can make his work live, breathe, and flourish. The film tells a story, yes, but much in the same way that a painting does.

The only downside to this: imagine looking at a really boring classical painting. It takes a few minutes to appreciate it, and unless you're an art fanatic, you're very quickly bored. It's nice at first glance, but you don't really understand the message the artist was trying to convey, so you give up pretty quickly.

Films are two hours of art.

So, as I sat on the bus in a parking lot next to the school with about thirty other kids, all of them French, waiting for it to leave and take me to Montpellier and the Mediterranean Film Festival, I was understandably a little wary of the films I expected that I'd be forced to watch as part of the Baccalaureate curriculum. No later than five minutes into the bus ride, my fears were confirmed when one of the Cinéma class teachers grabbed the microphone from the front of the bus and handed out sheets of paper with all the films and their times and locations on it, detailing very rapidly in French what we were supposed to do.

Naturally, no matter how hard I tried to listen, none of what he was saying made any sense to me, so, trusting that my classmates had enough of a conscience not to let the poor stupid American girl get completely lost in a foreign city, I instead spent the bus trip deciphering the list.

(It wasn't very complicated, in the end, although the letters VOSTF continued to confuse me until day two, when I realized they must stand for "Version Originale, Sous-titres Français"...which is pretty much just "Original Version, French Subtitles", if you were having any difficulty translating that.)

We got off the bus about an hour and a half later, walked a mile or so laden down with suitcases to get to the hotel when the teachers mistakenly had the bus driver drop us all off at the wrong one, and then spent an hour or so (I may be exaggerating.) waiting for the incredibly slow elevators to cooperate and take twenty kids and their suitcases down a couple floors, because, of course, there were no stairs.

It didn't take very long after that to get our bags deposited in our rooms, however, and then we were off to the place where they were holding the festival, and the films began!

The first film was, as I feared, a film that was on our school curriculum, and was incredibly boring, though I'm not sure if that was because it was a documentary, or because I could hardly understand a word being spoken. It was all about French-speaking Africa, and if you think French is hard when actual French people are speaking it, you've never heard it with an African accent.

Later, all of the students had been invited to the opening night movie, which was held in this gigantic hall with about a million seats. Every single one of them was full by the end of the night. As a special treat before the movie, a few of the main actors and actresses (none of whom I could identify, but then, I'm not very well-versed in French films) came out and spoke to the audience for a little while. If the reactions of my classmates were anything to go by, it was a once-in-a-lifetime thing.

 

Downside: incredibly long line to get into the opening night movie with only this to look at.

And that was the first day.

The second day went much like the first, without the long boring bus ride. There was a required film in the morning, which...okay, I sort of slept through it. My roommates kept me up until three o'clock in the morning, and it was incredibly boring. I know that's no excuse, but really. I just couldn't help it. The theater was dark, the chairs were comfy, the movie had music that was kind of soothing...it was impossible to keep your eyes open. I know I saw one or two adults sleeping too.

After the movie, we were required to attend a three-hour discussion of the movie, which, if not incredibly entertaining, was at least a little bit of listening practice for me. After that, my roommates and I went outside to hunt up some lunch, found a McDonald's, and ordered something there.

The afternoon was free choice, and we were allowed to see the films we wanted. It was nice, really, having the choice. I ended up seeing three films before I and the rest of my class ended up calling it a day and going back to the hotel. Sunday morning was also free choice, and I ended up buying a pack of chips for lunch and walking around with a few of my friends, eating in the park and making general fools of ourselves trying to climb monkey bars made for four-year-olds. (What's a few funny looks when you've got monkey bars to play with?)

All in all, I was kind of sad when we got back on the bus ( and not just because the skies had opened and unleashed a torrent of rain on us just as we stepped outside with our jackets all packed in our suitcases.)...

But now, let me tell you, I'm really glad we had a week and a half of vacation after it. I was so exhausted when I stepped off the bus it's not even funny. I spent the next few days spitting out random chunks of unconjugated verbs as attempted speech, my brain just so sick and tired of having to try so hard to understand movies all weekend. I'm almost completely sure that the night I returned home, my host parents asked me about my day, I said the French equivalent of "Liked I did the festival, I to sleep soon please?"

Yes, well, you can't have everything.

~Jocelyn Harris

What Do We Want?!

So, there was a strike yesterday.

A BIG strike.

Like, as in, I had eight hours of school. And two hours of class.

Why don't we strike like this in America?

Okay, it was something called a "blockage." Now, when I hear "blockage" and "strike" in the same sentence, I get this unpleasant image of some high-schoolers stuffing the toilets full of toilet paper in some sort of awful rebellion. When the French hear it, they think of a very special type of strike done by students.

What happens is this: students gather around every single gate into the school grounds, and they close the gates. So far, so good. Then, they take every single dumpster and trash can and road block they can find and shove it up against the gate. This, my friends, is my idea of a strike. This is the theory: you can exit, but once you've exited, you can't get back in.

And it would be great if it actually worked like that, but in reality they let you in and out. It's just that most students choose to remain out. All. Day. Long.

And of course why should the teachers miss the fun? They don't necessarily take part in the blockage, but they stay home all day and don't come in to teach their classes.

Thus: eight hours of school, two hours of class. I had to go to English and Cinema. I was heartbroken. (Best. Day. Ever.)

The only problem is that they closed the cafeteria too, but that's easily solved by going to a grocery store and buying nothing but junk for lunch.

When do we get to do it again? Keep messing up, please, French government, because it's like a holiday when you do...

~Jocelyn Harris

The Sound of One Hand Clapping

It's been a whole month since I left home.

In honor of this terrifying event, I've decided to answer a question everyone has asked me at least a few times.

"How do you feel?"

There is, of course, a reason for my requiring an entire blog post to explain the simple matter of feelings. (Other than my melodramatic side being perfected by my current location.) There's no possible word in either of the two languages I'm able to manage that describes even half of my current feelings.

I'm afraid you're just going to have to settle for a lot of little words that describe pieces of it. Sorry. ("Aw, we have to read a whole blog post from a kid in France! Gosh darn it.")

Buckle your seatbelt. Most of these emotions are not at all pleasant.

The first feeling that I have here in France is (obviously) curiosity. Believe it or not, I didn't come here for nothing, or to get away from Washington for a year. I came here because I was curious about the language, the people, and the culture. I came here because I wanted to learn things, I wanted to learn the language. There's a reason I'm here.

The second feeling directly contradicts the first (of course, because what's life without a little conflict?): homesickness. I want to go home more than I can possibly say. I want to go back to where people speak my language and understand me when I speak. I want to go back to the place my friends and family are. I want my mom and dad worse than a fourth grader faced with summer camp. Every single thing here reminds me of home, because it's not home.

The third feeling ties in: guilt. I am here for a reason. I'm wasting my time whining when I could be spending it having an excellent time. This is a new country, a new experience. Hundreds of kids would die to be able to be in my place. What am I doing being such a baby when I'm so lucky?

The fourth feeling is uncertainty. I'm not sure of myself here. Every basic assumption I've ever had needs to be rethought and redefined. Am I a part of the family, or am I a guest? Am I reacting well in a situation, or am I showing my ignorance? Did the teacher just ask me a question? What did that girl just say to me? What is the teacher talking about? I don't know how to move or act in any given situation.

Next. Exhaustion. Speaking a different language for a good portion of your day is tiring. Having to rethink everything is tiring. Having to act like someone you're not for a whole day is tiring. Having to be around dozens of people at school and then six other people at home when you're an introvert is tiring. Doing all those things at once while battling chronic homesickness and culture shock is absolutely exhausting, and it's really no surprise that I fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow nowadays.

After that comes denial. The catch-all, denial is, and it's hard to squash. You never know what you're going to not believe next. Nothing has really sunk in yet. In Europe? Nah. Not going to see my parents or friends for a year? Yeah right. Nine months to go? Pull the other one. There's absolutely no limits to what your brain with block from your consciousness.

There are probably more I'm not thinking of. There probably always will be. It's very hard to put this feeling into words. But I suppose you can fit it into at least two:

"Exchange Student"

~Jocelyn Harris

The Art of Eating

I'm updating this way too often, but something tells me that none of you really care. So, my bad habit will continue. Onward.

This won't be a very long post, but I have to tell about one of the most essential parts of French culture before it becomes habit and I forget how strange it all is:

Food.

Now, the American definition of food is radically complicated. You can be a vegan, a vegetarian, allergic to milk or peanuts, a meat-lover, someone who doesn't eat sugar, someone who doesn't eat fat, someone who doesn't eat any number of things. First real difference in French culture: if they have cooked it, you will eat it. 

 

This isn't to say that the French aren't sensitive to other peoples' diets; they are, incredibly so. When I got here, my host parents both bugged me endlessly for a list of things I liked and didn't like food-wise. When no list was forthcoming, my host mother began making French Fries four times a week, reverting back to her (slightly stereotypical) assumed knowledge of American cuisine. They do, however, bring an image to mind (with startling clarity) of some black and white television program from when my parents were children, the father vehemently stating that little Johnny was going to eat at least a little bit of everything and "you're going to like it." If your mother has been so incredibly kind as to cook something for the family, you will at least try a bit of everything on the table, even if you don't like it.

The second culture divide concerning food came about when my host mother expressed some concern over the quantity of food I was eating (or not eating) at meals. (It's a travel thing, and also a bit of a culture shock thing that I'm still trying to get over: my appetite is about half of what it was in the United States, and that's better than last week.) Worriedly heaping what I considered to be way too much food onto my plate, insisting she was giving me a "smaller serving", she then proceeded to serve my host sister, by piling enough pasta on her plate that it looked like the serving dish for the whole dinner. Keep in mind, this was just the first course. My host sister is twelve. She ate it all, and went on to have two steaks. Suddenly my "smaller portion" was a godsend.

Since then, I have managed to convince my host mother that even if my appetite were back to normal, I would never be able to eat the monstrous amounts they consider normal here, and that I would like an even smaller portion that what she was giving me. She's now reverted to giving me portions so "small" she's worrying that she's starving me, and I still leave the table feeling uncomfortably full.

The third cultural difference is both wonderful and annoying. Lunch and Dinner are always eaten with the family, with the exception of school lunches on any day but Wednesday, when you get out at noon anyway and should promptly make your way home for lunch. Last Saturday, I was feeling exhausted from having such a busy week, and made the mistake of asking my host mother if I could stay at home and sleep instead of going to a late-night fair with the family. She blinked, confused, and told me that the family was going to have dinner at the fair. For her, this settled the matter. Being tired and unable to think clearly, I asked her why I couldn't just stay at home and eat a bowl of cereal, something that would definitely have been an option in America. She looked scandalized. (I went to the fair.)

However, having lunch and dinner with the family is a definite way to improve my language skills. It's also helping me feel more like part of the family, even more so now that I can understand more of their jokes and I'm not feeling quite so incredibly stressed out from all the traveling I did to get here. Also, French food is usually something you don't want to miss. Which brings me to my next cultural difference...

The food here is like nothing you've ever seen before. When I got here, I don't know what I was expecting. Gourmet something, maybe, small portions, twelve courses, and some sort of unidentifiable fancy sauce in little zigzag patterns all over square plates. (Like I said to my parents in San Francisco: "You just have to admit that square plates make everything look ten times fancier.")

What I got was something unbelievably better. At least in the south of France (I'm not even going to try and speak for the other parts, you might as well apply this disclaimer to everything I say on this blog), home cooking is one part amazing cooking, one part fancy, and three parts comfort food. Everything you eat here would be typical comfort food, I imagine, for a French person. It's what we Americans like to classify as "Good 'Ol Southern Home Cookin'", only less absolutely disgusting looking to the average non-southern person. Chicken, fish, pork, any kind of meat at all, but always made into the most delicious recipe possible. The only thing that breaks this rule is the pasta, which is absolutely tasteless because they never make any sort of sauce to go with it. You just sprinkle cheese over it. (I really should have expected this, but in reality nobody in my family eats all that much cheese.)

I also have found the most delicious non-dessert food item in the universe: baguette sandwiches. It doesn't matter what kind of meat it is, it can be anything you like, but it will ALWAYS be delicious. This bread is going to be hard to live without when I go back to America. (Fun Fact: It's completely normal to see a little old lady walk down the street with at least seven baguettes in her basket. It's also acceptable for my family of seven to go through nine baguettes in one day.)

The best dessert-item, though, also hails from France: it's called a pain au chocolat. Pahn oh shakolah. It's essentially a croissant, which are already delicious here in France, and it's also filled with chocolate. I have to get the recipe for these things. It's one of those foods where, once you've had it, you will never be able to go without it for the rest of your life. On extremely lucky days, there's a big bowl on the table at breakfast, covered with a paper towel, and when you lift up the towel, there are nine or ten pain au chocolat waiting for you. It's delicious.

So I'm kind of finding myself wondering why I'm missing the food at home so much. 

~Jocelyn Harris

So.

So, I'm actually starting to think at some point in this year, I might understand a full sentence. That would be an amazing change.

My French is getting better everyday, but that isn't really saying much, since it started out at "incredibly useless" and has since worked itself up to "speak slowly, and you have a 10% chance of being understood"...not to say that my French classes at school were in any way useless to me, because they weren't: they were great, in fact. However, the fact remains that you can take as many classes as you want, and you'll never be able to understand a language the way it's supposed to be understood. Big shock to my system, when I got here? You bet.

I've spent a lot of my time here adjusting to my host family. Coming from a family of three to a family of seven is understandably tough. So is having a little brother. (He can be adorable when he wants to be, which I think is the only thing keeping me from throttling him most of the time.) I like all of my sisters, though, which is great. I would hate to have disputes with them so early on, especially since we see so much of each other from day to day.

But enough with the boring stuff. Nobody cares about my relationships with people or my language skills, on to the fun facts!

Fun Fact 1: The keyboards here are ridiculous. (Every book about culture shock ever written is now screaming at me to rephrase that sentence positively.) Instead of the wonderful QWERTY system, they have an AZERTY system, which means that the W, the A, the Z, the M, and every punctuation mark ever are in the wrong place. Its amazing trying to type. Every time you want to use an A, a Q comes out instead.

Fun Fact 2: The Simpsons is translated into French and is officially the most popular television program among my family. It's actually easier to understand in French because I don't have to follow all the ridiculous political jokes. Also translated: Bones, House M.D., a few game shows...

Fun Fact 3: Weather doesn't always behave. I'm nearly sure I've mentioned this before, but the weather here can go from sweltering-hot-I'm-gonna-die to hurricane weather in an instant. It's crazy and great, since nobody here has air conditioning. Trust me, the wind blasting through your window is the only thing that keeps you sane some days. I am happy to admit, however, that it has officially gotten too cold in the nights to leave your window open. This is great, because it means that if you leave your window open in the evenings, you can close it at night, and not get too hot. I was getting so sick of waking up with millions of mosquito bites all over me.

Fun Fact 4: Today is September 11th. I wore an American Flag bandanna around my wrist the whole day. This prompted several question from my host family.....awkward questions from them. Yeah.

About time to go, now. I seriously need to make this headache go away...

~Jocelyn Harris

Where Are We Going?

I just had my first day of school today.

Sorry for the post so soon after the last one, but I think the first day of school is something that needs to be written down.

So. School.

It's incredibly different. Now, I want you to go to your dictionary and look up the word "incredibly", and then look up the word "italics", because there's no way you're going to understand what I mean without me there to add the appropriate tone of voice. I was so lost the whole day.

In the useless hope of saving this train-wreck of a blog post, I'm going to go in linear order. Please keep arms and legs inside the train of imagination at all times and refrain from pointing out grammatical mistakes. Thank you.

The day started out with me nearly falling out of bed, having been woken up by my host sister's old alarm clock, which makes a noise I've never heard on this earth. A quick shower (to rid my hair of the last of the sea salt) and a tiny breakfast, and my host mom and I were off along the streets of Orange to get to the bus station and try to figure out how to be at the right stop at the right time. (Eventually we just went in the same direction every other teenager there was going. It worked.)

It took me all of five minutes by bus to get to the right stop. Another five minutes, and I was at the school. Five minutes after that, I was at the right room number. Ten minutes more, and the door finally opened and we were allowed out of the sweltering hallway. (Seriously. No air conditioning, tiny hallway, a million teenagers crammed in. It was boiling.)

My first class of the day was French. I spent most of the two hours I was in that room trying to pick up a couple words here and there. My dictionary was glued to my hand, I must have looked so studious, but in reality I was just trying not to get trampled in a stampede of French. At the end, we had a ten minute break, and I stood around looking like an idiot.

After that, I had History/Geography. It was mostly Geography. The teacher is absolutely terrifying, the kind that will take absolutely no fuss and expects you to live up to your "potential", whatever that is. We spent an hour talking about Europe and why it's the most awesome of all the six continents. (No, it's not a mistake, I mean six. Apparently North America isn't cool enough to be its own continent: it has to share a room with South America. Tough luck.)

Then. Okay. This is the best part. Then....I had lunch. Now, think about your own school lunches. Or think back to them. They were probably the same level of nastiness we have now. Maybe a salad, some sort of unidentifiable meat, a dinner roll that's either rock hard or tasteless, and all of it is absolutely disgusting.

French school lunches aren't like that. At all.

French school lunches are three-course meals.

I wasn't prepared for this at all. You get a tray, reach into a little bucket for as much bread as you want, and go down the lunch line until your tray heaps with restaurant quality food. We're talking some sort of fancy-looking appetizer, a main dish, and a dessert. And when I say that, I'm not kidding. The main course today was grilled chicken with a side of pasta with some sort of really delicious sauce. For dessert, there was a dark chocolate cheesecake with raspberry jam. I felt like a princess. (The rest of the kids were complaining about how much they hate the lunchroom, I told them about American lunches and they shut up pretty quick. I think they were horrified.)

So, that was lunch.

After that, I had cinéma. Or, at least, I was supposed to. Instead, I had a free period, because my teacher was on strike. Then I had another free period, because he was still on strike. Then I had another free period. I had three hours of cinéma today, and I attended none of them. Tomorrow, my French teacher is on strike. I spent those three hours reading Harry Potter in French, and I'm incredibly proud to say that I've now made it to Chapter 3. I this is the way French school goes, I'm really going to like it here.

Of course, not to leave anything out, the second I got home I had a mental breakdown. I'm afraid it was too much French at once for my brain to handle, and it shut down and started only responding to English. My host mother asked me if I was tired when I got home and I couldn't understand her. (This is something both she and everyone else have asked me a million times.) But there's something incredibly calming about reading A Study in Scarlet in English for a couple hours, and I'm over it now.

Fun fact: I understood every single thing at dinner tonight.

~Jocelyn Harris

Turn Left at the Castle

I love how in this part of the country, you can go down to spend the day at a beach on the Mediterranean Sea, and on the way back home you can get out of the car and stretch your legs walking on the Pont Du Gard.

(Guess what I did today.)

Every movie you've ever seen with a beach in it was probably modeled after the one we went to today.  Sandy yellow-white beach, beautiful crisp blue water, gentle waves, seashells everywhere you looked. I must have collected about a million of them. It was so wonderful. The only thing I didn't like about that whole place was that every time you moved, you got sand in a new place on your body, and that stuff stuck to human skin like glue.

Anyway.

It was two hours down to the beach by car, and in my utter boredom, I think I've discovered the single most irritating thing about France. (I'm such a pessimist, I swear I like it here.) As you're going down the road, signs jump out at you from every (Every. Not kidding.) angle possible. Most of them make no sense to me, being an American. Every so often, a sign with come up with a town's name slashed out. This means that you've just left town "so-and-so". But here's the thing: after that sign, there's absolutely nothing telling you what town you're in now. The only time there's any indication of your location is three seconds after it becomes completely irrelevant. I thought I was going to go crazy.

But, um, on to other topics.

I'd just like to make it clear that my host family is incredible. I don't think I could have gotten a better deal if I had searched myself. They're incredibly kind and wonderful, and for the sake of their privacy I won't talk much about them except when it's relevant, but I'm going to put it out here that I absolutely adore them. Just so you know. Even when I whine, I still love them.

So.

I went to my school orientation on Friday. You can see a picture of it in the dictionary, right under the word "intimidating". It was bad. I understood almost nothing, and not a complete sentence to boot. All I can say is that I'm so grateful that my host mom and sister were there taking notes and trying to help me, or I wouldn't have gotten anything done. On the other hand, I do have my schedule now. Which I'll write down.

Monday:
8-10 French
10-12 History
12-1 LUNCH
1-4 Cinema (I have no idea.)

Tuesday:
8-10 Gym (yuck.)
10-11 Free Period
11-12:30 History
12:30-1 LUNCH
1-2 Free Period
2-3 English
3-4 French
4-5 Italian

Wednesday:
9-11 French
11-12 English
12-1 LUNCH

Thursday:
8-10 Cinema
10-12 English
12-1 LUNCH
1-2 Free Period
2-3 Math
3-4 Free Period
4-6 TPE (I don't know. Social Studies?)

Friday:
8:30-10 Science
10-11 Italian
11-12:30 Math
12:30-1 LUNCH
1-2 English/ECJS (?)

That's it.

I have to go now, wish I could talk more, but seriously, this salt is not good for my hair.

~Jocelyn Harris