So the grèves continue at Paris VII. Luckily, one of my professors appears to not be participating in them, but I’ve already missed two classes of my other course. Regardless, the culture experience this opportunity brings to try to understand France’s culture of social movement and suivre les actualités [follow the news] has been priceless.
You can see my fac [university] at the beginning and then again at the end of this clip:
Also, I just watched President of the French Republic Nicolas Sarkozy give a live press conference/debate in which he addressed la crise [the economic crisis], these strikes and a number of other issues facing Europe and France at the moment. His skill as a debater and orator was evident as he tightly maneuvered around tricky topics. Even among such a packed docket of current issues, Sarkozy took the time to praise Barack Obama for what he, as a man with African origins (this still BLOWS the minds of the French), has already accomplished by being elected. I can’t say that I am always one to agree with Sarko, but occasionally throughout the hour his persuasiveness did push me over. Although I’m not sure that he had much to say in the concrete…
Showing posts with label classes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label classes. Show all posts
05 February 2009
29 January 2009
Un enfant gâté?
I guess I should have knocked on wood after that last post.
Paris is in plein [full] grève aujourd’hui [today]. Taking action against the current economic climate and various Sarkozy administration movements toward privatization (particularly of the post), tens of thousands of workers in diverse sectors are taking part in a national day of grève [strike]. The RATP had warned against extensive perturbation [disruption] of a number of metro lines – in actuality, the Metro seemed to be running quite smoothly today – and Post Offices and other such establishments were closed across the country. An estimated 40,000 to 50,000 individuals were expected to participate in a demonstration from the Bastille to the Opèra.
Is it the spirit of social movement in action or the obnoxious cries of “un enfant gâté” [a spoiled child]?
The latter is how my host mom characterizes the Parisian penchant for striking – and it is particularly Parisian, she notes. France’s workers have been spoiled and they have a tendency to throw tantrums in the form of grèves [strikes] until they get their way, she argues. What’s more, she contends it’s only those who have secure enough jobs who can even strike in the first place, while empathizing with the small business owners who are equally struggling. Clearly not all Parisians share this view on the grève, but it’s an interesting perspective.
In a completely unrelated grève, the Université of Paris VII is protesting poor wages and working conditions. The movement is somewhat hit-or-miss and each U.F.R. [department] has the right to choose whether or not they will strike. At present, my department (Lettres et cinéma) is on strike through Tuesday at which point they will vote again on whether or not to prolong the movement. If this strike lasts, I will have to find replacements for my two classes at the university which would certainly be dommage [a pity] because I have thoroughly enjoyed my experience with Paris VII and have picked some intriguing courses for the semester.
Alors, on verra…
Paris is in plein [full] grève aujourd’hui [today]. Taking action against the current economic climate and various Sarkozy administration movements toward privatization (particularly of the post), tens of thousands of workers in diverse sectors are taking part in a national day of grève [strike]. The RATP had warned against extensive perturbation [disruption] of a number of metro lines – in actuality, the Metro seemed to be running quite smoothly today – and Post Offices and other such establishments were closed across the country. An estimated 40,000 to 50,000 individuals were expected to participate in a demonstration from the Bastille to the Opèra.
Is it the spirit of social movement in action or the obnoxious cries of “un enfant gâté” [a spoiled child]?
The latter is how my host mom characterizes the Parisian penchant for striking – and it is particularly Parisian, she notes. France’s workers have been spoiled and they have a tendency to throw tantrums in the form of grèves [strikes] until they get their way, she argues. What’s more, she contends it’s only those who have secure enough jobs who can even strike in the first place, while empathizing with the small business owners who are equally struggling. Clearly not all Parisians share this view on the grève, but it’s an interesting perspective.
In a completely unrelated grève, the Université of Paris VII is protesting poor wages and working conditions. The movement is somewhat hit-or-miss and each U.F.R. [department] has the right to choose whether or not they will strike. At present, my department (Lettres et cinéma) is on strike through Tuesday at which point they will vote again on whether or not to prolong the movement. If this strike lasts, I will have to find replacements for my two classes at the university which would certainly be dommage [a pity] because I have thoroughly enjoyed my experience with Paris VII and have picked some intriguing courses for the semester.
Alors, on verra…
05 January 2009
La Neige
This beautiful surprise in the jardin of Reid Hall almost made waking up for my
9-a.m. cours de traduction worth it:
9-a.m. cours de traduction worth it:
19 November 2008
3 heures, 1 examen
I am, right now, en train d’étudier [in the process of studying] for my first real French exam. The exam is tomorrow morning and I’m not too sure that I’m properly prepared, but I somehow am maintaining the nonchalance of someone who was either extremely knowledgeable about post-colonial film or actually spoke French.
The professor has kindly allowed me, the only foreign student in the third-year cinema course, to, in lieu of writing out the whole dissertation on the subject she will give us, complete a très détaillé [very detailed] outline. A reasonable suggestion, except when you consider how crazy the French are when it comes to essay organization. My English essays, although often unorganized, get by thanks to a fairly crafty manipulation of words that somehow dazzles professors and makes them believe that I’ve actually said something logical and A-worthy.
This strategy does not work in my pathetic French. What’s more, the French would never be tricked by clever turns of phrases the way my American professors are. They want structure, they want organization and they want neatness. Everything else is secondary.
So with dictionary, double-copy paper, white out and pen in hand, I will set off at the break of dawn tomorrow morning to embark on the quest of a lifetime that is my first French exam.
19 colonial and post-colonial films, 2 wars in Indochine, 3 hours, 1 exam.
17 November 2008
Des films, des vitrines et des regrets
Les dimanches sont pleins de regrets [Sundays are full of regret].
It’s true. Whether I’ve had an amazing weekend, a boring one or slept through it all, I generally spend Sunday regretting the various things that I did not do over the weekend and wishing Monday would never arrive.
That’s pretty much how I felt yesterday. Luckily, the weekend was more toward the side of really amazing, and I was only regretting that I had not done enough homework – a meager and weightless complaint in the City of Light.
So most of the weekend was comprised of unabashed vegging out in front of a movie screen thanks to the European Film Festival at the MK2 Bibliothèque Cinéma just à côté de [next to] the Bibliothèque Nationale. The festival consisted of a bunch of low-budget/independent fictional films and documentaries from throughout Europe. The added bonus was that the whole thing was free for students! I even got a neat-o tote bag with promotional material for posterity.
Over the weekend I saw five films from France, Estonia, the United Kingdom, the Netherlands and France again. The majority were depressing including topics of: AIDS, high school violence, diminishing civil liberties and how wacked out and scary Russia is. The one mildly happy film was a documentary about a Dutch guy who explores the world of Flickr – this one reminded me of a This American Life episode set to slides of stunning photography.
They were all pretty good and for free 99, I wouldn’t complain anyway.
We also made friends with a random, artsy-looking Chinese guy at the films. When our last film of the night was cancelled on Saturday, we ended up hanging out with him on the Pont des Arts over the Seine. It was an interesting night.
Sunday I was movied out and actually tried to get some homework done. Although I didn’t really succeed, I did finish reading The Tempest which was a personal goal and will certainly help me in my exposé [presentation] on Aimé Césaire’s propre [own] adaptation of the play for my France-Afrique class (which has soudainement [suddenly] been cancelled until Thanksgiving because the professor had to head back home – to Congo? – for family reasons).
Before the sun had fully set Sunday night, I did venture outside at the encouragement of Rebecca to balader [stroll] the Boulevard Haussman where the grands magasins [big department stores] have set up beautiful and intricate displays in their vitrines [storefront windows] for Christmas. The children were numerous, but so were the lights and joyful sights. It was all very beautiful and put me perfectly in the holiday spirit…even if I was regretting my lack of studiousness as I enjoyed.
It’s true. Whether I’ve had an amazing weekend, a boring one or slept through it all, I generally spend Sunday regretting the various things that I did not do over the weekend and wishing Monday would never arrive.
That’s pretty much how I felt yesterday. Luckily, the weekend was more toward the side of really amazing, and I was only regretting that I had not done enough homework – a meager and weightless complaint in the City of Light.
So most of the weekend was comprised of unabashed vegging out in front of a movie screen thanks to the European Film Festival at the MK2 Bibliothèque Cinéma just à côté de [next to] the Bibliothèque Nationale. The festival consisted of a bunch of low-budget/independent fictional films and documentaries from throughout Europe. The added bonus was that the whole thing was free for students! I even got a neat-o tote bag with promotional material for posterity.
Over the weekend I saw five films from France, Estonia, the United Kingdom, the Netherlands and France again. The majority were depressing including topics of: AIDS, high school violence, diminishing civil liberties and how wacked out and scary Russia is. The one mildly happy film was a documentary about a Dutch guy who explores the world of Flickr – this one reminded me of a This American Life episode set to slides of stunning photography.
They were all pretty good and for free 99, I wouldn’t complain anyway.
We also made friends with a random, artsy-looking Chinese guy at the films. When our last film of the night was cancelled on Saturday, we ended up hanging out with him on the Pont des Arts over the Seine. It was an interesting night.
Sunday I was movied out and actually tried to get some homework done. Although I didn’t really succeed, I did finish reading The Tempest which was a personal goal and will certainly help me in my exposé [presentation] on Aimé Césaire’s propre [own] adaptation of the play for my France-Afrique class (which has soudainement [suddenly] been cancelled until Thanksgiving because the professor had to head back home – to Congo? – for family reasons).
Before the sun had fully set Sunday night, I did venture outside at the encouragement of Rebecca to balader [stroll] the Boulevard Haussman where the grands magasins [big department stores] have set up beautiful and intricate displays in their vitrines [storefront windows] for Christmas. The children were numerous, but so were the lights and joyful sights. It was all very beautiful and put me perfectly in the holiday spirit…even if I was regretting my lack of studiousness as I enjoyed.
24 October 2008
Un jour dans la vie
Thursdays are, at best, hectic and, at worst, hell. I have three different classes at three different locations, spread out across Paris. To make matters worse, my school day stretches from 9 a.m., when my first class begins, until 7 p.m., when my last class ends.
Today was no exception and was, in fact, busier than most.
I woke up at 7 a.m. when the first of my two alarms sounded (I’m paranoid after the debacle of two weeks ago, plus my professor now refuses to admit tardy students…which is amusing enough, as long as I’m not the tardy one). I woke up, got out of bed, dragged a comb across my head, etc., all before the sun came out. At a quarter after eight, I left the apartment to brave the cold – for the first time this season, I could see my breath – the dark and the Metro.
Perhaps because I was a few minutes later than usual or maybe because of the cold, my train was a bit crowded. It wasn’t too bad, however, and the now-routine ride from Raspail to Bercy, where I transfer lines, and Bercy to my stop went by quickly. As often is the case, the escalator was en panne [out of order] so I had to walk the 106 stairs (yes, I’ve counted) from the station to the street.
A bit tired, I arrived to my cinema class with time to spare and upon noting my enormous thirst and the stifling hot temperature in the normally frigid room, I bought myself an Orangina. Class went by as normal, but by the end of the three hours, the combination of the heat in the room and the rapidity with which the professor was talking made it difficult to pay attention. Subsequently, my notes suffered and sleep sounded oh-so tempting. At the end of class, I learned the pleasant surprise that next week is apparently vacation for Paris VII so I don’t have class.
Now that I’ve finally mastered the restaurant universitaire [university restaurant], I maneuvered through the cafeteria like an expert, choosing a cheese pizza (which despite questionably including goat cheese is quite good), apple yogurt, vanilla pudding and bread – all for 2,85 euro, which I love.
Part of the *appeal* of my Thursdays is the awkward amounts of time between my classes. It’s too much time to head straight to the next class, but too little to actually buckle down to do work (or maybe that’s my lack of gumption). So I killed some time in the gigantic Paris VII library until I decided it was time to hop on the Metro to the Centre Madeleine where I have my France-Africa class.
The Madeleine Metro stop is conveniently located on the same line as the campus of Paris VII, which means no transferring necessary. De plus, the line in question is line 14. The newest line in the Metro system, it is currently celebrating its 10th anniversary. This novelty translated to more spacious trains, speedier travel and nifty, space-aged glass blockades, which make the tracks suicide-proof. It’s a short 15 minute ride. In fact, it often takes me more time to walk to the building where my class is than it takes to traverse Paris in the Metro because I must cross five different roadways with lights that are never synched for pietons [pedestrians].
France-Afrique passed as usual, with our excitably passionate professor struggling desperately to contain himself as he lectured and us, the students, struggling desperately to decipher his handwriting.
Another awkward break comes between France-Afrique and my final course for the day, Translation. Today, the gap was pleasantly filled with a Smith-style tea. An alumna from ’75, who studied on the Paris JYA program during her day and has since set up an amazing fund which reimburses us for “cultural activities” while on the program, came to chat and share tea and cookies with us. It was just what I needed on a cold and stressful day.
Finally it was time for Translation. We got our first quiz back, and I was pleasantly surprised with my grade. As usual, we went over the translations that we had prepared for class. We also attempted to have a discussion about how one translates the verb “could” into French, but the whole discussion became very muddled as we attempted to complete an exercise without context…and our English-grammar stickler-ness kicked in.
After class I rushed to the Metro to head back to the 13th where I had started my day to see a movie for my service learning course. The movie, Coluche, l’histoire d’un mec, was very interesting, although I am not quite positive that I see the link to community service. I did enjoy the great late 70s/early 80s (when the real-life events of the movie took place) music included in the film: Iggy Pop’s “Lust of Life” (screw you, Royal Caribbean for trying to kill this song) and The Sugarhill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight,” among others.
I got back to Boulevard Montparnasse around 10:30 p.m. when I stopped at a crêpe stand for my dinner: a delicious egg and cheese galette. I topped my day off by Skyping with ma mere [my mom] and now I am feeling quite ready for some sleep.
Tomorrow, I must write a paper, but I am keeping my spirits high for our excursion this weekend to Mont-Saint-Michel.
Today was no exception and was, in fact, busier than most.
I woke up at 7 a.m. when the first of my two alarms sounded (I’m paranoid after the debacle of two weeks ago, plus my professor now refuses to admit tardy students…which is amusing enough, as long as I’m not the tardy one). I woke up, got out of bed, dragged a comb across my head, etc., all before the sun came out. At a quarter after eight, I left the apartment to brave the cold – for the first time this season, I could see my breath – the dark and the Metro.
Perhaps because I was a few minutes later than usual or maybe because of the cold, my train was a bit crowded. It wasn’t too bad, however, and the now-routine ride from Raspail to Bercy, where I transfer lines, and Bercy to my stop went by quickly. As often is the case, the escalator was en panne [out of order] so I had to walk the 106 stairs (yes, I’ve counted) from the station to the street.
A bit tired, I arrived to my cinema class with time to spare and upon noting my enormous thirst and the stifling hot temperature in the normally frigid room, I bought myself an Orangina. Class went by as normal, but by the end of the three hours, the combination of the heat in the room and the rapidity with which the professor was talking made it difficult to pay attention. Subsequently, my notes suffered and sleep sounded oh-so tempting. At the end of class, I learned the pleasant surprise that next week is apparently vacation for Paris VII so I don’t have class.
Now that I’ve finally mastered the restaurant universitaire [university restaurant], I maneuvered through the cafeteria like an expert, choosing a cheese pizza (which despite questionably including goat cheese is quite good), apple yogurt, vanilla pudding and bread – all for 2,85 euro, which I love.
Part of the *appeal* of my Thursdays is the awkward amounts of time between my classes. It’s too much time to head straight to the next class, but too little to actually buckle down to do work (or maybe that’s my lack of gumption). So I killed some time in the gigantic Paris VII library until I decided it was time to hop on the Metro to the Centre Madeleine where I have my France-Africa class.
The Madeleine Metro stop is conveniently located on the same line as the campus of Paris VII, which means no transferring necessary. De plus, the line in question is line 14. The newest line in the Metro system, it is currently celebrating its 10th anniversary. This novelty translated to more spacious trains, speedier travel and nifty, space-aged glass blockades, which make the tracks suicide-proof. It’s a short 15 minute ride. In fact, it often takes me more time to walk to the building where my class is than it takes to traverse Paris in the Metro because I must cross five different roadways with lights that are never synched for pietons [pedestrians].
France-Afrique passed as usual, with our excitably passionate professor struggling desperately to contain himself as he lectured and us, the students, struggling desperately to decipher his handwriting.
Another awkward break comes between France-Afrique and my final course for the day, Translation. Today, the gap was pleasantly filled with a Smith-style tea. An alumna from ’75, who studied on the Paris JYA program during her day and has since set up an amazing fund which reimburses us for “cultural activities” while on the program, came to chat and share tea and cookies with us. It was just what I needed on a cold and stressful day.
Finally it was time for Translation. We got our first quiz back, and I was pleasantly surprised with my grade. As usual, we went over the translations that we had prepared for class. We also attempted to have a discussion about how one translates the verb “could” into French, but the whole discussion became very muddled as we attempted to complete an exercise without context…and our English-grammar stickler-ness kicked in.
After class I rushed to the Metro to head back to the 13th where I had started my day to see a movie for my service learning course. The movie, Coluche, l’histoire d’un mec, was very interesting, although I am not quite positive that I see the link to community service. I did enjoy the great late 70s/early 80s (when the real-life events of the movie took place) music included in the film: Iggy Pop’s “Lust of Life” (screw you, Royal Caribbean for trying to kill this song) and The Sugarhill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight,” among others.
I got back to Boulevard Montparnasse around 10:30 p.m. when I stopped at a crêpe stand for my dinner: a delicious egg and cheese galette. I topped my day off by Skyping with ma mere [my mom] and now I am feeling quite ready for some sleep.
Tomorrow, I must write a paper, but I am keeping my spirits high for our excursion this weekend to Mont-Saint-Michel.
15 October 2008
Déçue
Up until this point, every entry here has been overwhelmingly positive – which is great because that’s a true reflection of how I feel. So, j’hésite [I hesitate] to add any thoughts of negativity. Not because I want to look at this experience completely through rose-colored glasses and forget the bad or stressful moments, but because I don’t want to misrepresent things. Overall, everything continues to be wonderful, but there are moments when I am down and now is one of them.
The problem? I’m discouraged. I’m disappointed. I’m déçue. All because I am beginning to realize that I cannot speak French. Yes, it appears that I can carry on conversations in the language with my American-student friends and my host mother – in fact, I am happy to report that I am beginning to feel more at ease in these exchanges – but, apparently, the rest of the world speaks a different French that I do not understand.
The minute someone other than my host mom, a friend or a professor asks me something, I freeze. It always sounds all jumbled and not-like-French to me. My immediate response of “Pardon” and the deer-in-the-headlights look on my face surely makes me seem as if I’m another stupid American who can’t speak a lick of French. But how can this be? I can grasp Proust, but I can’t understand the boulanger?
My most recent episode ended up invoking a tearful ride home on the Metro after I horribly botched a conversation with a representative of Greenpeace France at a meeting for interested volunteers.
Each time this happens I feel stupider and stupider. I’ve been here for over a month; shouldn’t I be seeing some progress? And my confidence is beginning to dwindle. Maybe I should just start speaking in English; all the French respond to me in it anyway.
Just today, I ventured to the Bibliothèque du film, where I had to subscribe to watch the films for my cinema class. After struggling through the application for the card with the surprisingly patient secretary and successfully employing the nifty coatroom lockers, I headed to the vidéothèque [the library of films]. I observed intently as the girl in front of me checked the film she wanted to watch in the catalogue and then told the librarian, who gave her the film. It looked simple enough. But as I tried to utter, “Je cherche Indochine de Régis Wargnier,” she gave me a blank stare. “You couldn’t find it in the catalogue?,” she answers back in English. We continue to play this game where I stumble along in French and she responds in perfect English as she explains where I have to click in the catalogue and the number I need to give her. This woman was actually amazingly helpful and very friendly, but it’s unfortunate that my French is so horrible to her ears that she’d prefer English.
I again embarrassed myself when I returned the DVD of the 1921 colonial film L’Atlantide – I didn’t actually get to watch Indochine yet because someone had it out – to the desk after I had finished. This time, the patient women from reception was waiting and as I walked up with a friendly “Bonjour,” she replied “Comment?” [What?] as if I was speaking gibberish. She then asked me something I didn’t understand. Finally, we worked out that I was finished with the DVD and wanted to give it back (which I thought was apparent enough), and then she asked me if I was finished for the day or if I had other things to watch.
I knew this was a trap. French people like to do this; they ask you a question as if you have the choice between two options when really you do not. There were clearly people waiting, so I had figured I would have to forfeit my place. But since she asked, I thought I might as well try so I responded that yes, in fact, I do have something else to watch. Snap! That’s me falling right into her trap. She very condescendingly informs me that there are actually people waiting so I can’t hog the terminal and I must patienter [wait].
Thanks for the life lesson, Madame. At least that whole conversation took place in French.
The problem? I’m discouraged. I’m disappointed. I’m déçue. All because I am beginning to realize that I cannot speak French. Yes, it appears that I can carry on conversations in the language with my American-student friends and my host mother – in fact, I am happy to report that I am beginning to feel more at ease in these exchanges – but, apparently, the rest of the world speaks a different French that I do not understand.
The minute someone other than my host mom, a friend or a professor asks me something, I freeze. It always sounds all jumbled and not-like-French to me. My immediate response of “Pardon” and the deer-in-the-headlights look on my face surely makes me seem as if I’m another stupid American who can’t speak a lick of French. But how can this be? I can grasp Proust, but I can’t understand the boulanger?
My most recent episode ended up invoking a tearful ride home on the Metro after I horribly botched a conversation with a representative of Greenpeace France at a meeting for interested volunteers.
Each time this happens I feel stupider and stupider. I’ve been here for over a month; shouldn’t I be seeing some progress? And my confidence is beginning to dwindle. Maybe I should just start speaking in English; all the French respond to me in it anyway.
Just today, I ventured to the Bibliothèque du film, where I had to subscribe to watch the films for my cinema class. After struggling through the application for the card with the surprisingly patient secretary and successfully employing the nifty coatroom lockers, I headed to the vidéothèque [the library of films]. I observed intently as the girl in front of me checked the film she wanted to watch in the catalogue and then told the librarian, who gave her the film. It looked simple enough. But as I tried to utter, “Je cherche Indochine de Régis Wargnier,” she gave me a blank stare. “You couldn’t find it in the catalogue?,” she answers back in English. We continue to play this game where I stumble along in French and she responds in perfect English as she explains where I have to click in the catalogue and the number I need to give her. This woman was actually amazingly helpful and very friendly, but it’s unfortunate that my French is so horrible to her ears that she’d prefer English.
I again embarrassed myself when I returned the DVD of the 1921 colonial film L’Atlantide – I didn’t actually get to watch Indochine yet because someone had it out – to the desk after I had finished. This time, the patient women from reception was waiting and as I walked up with a friendly “Bonjour,” she replied “Comment?” [What?] as if I was speaking gibberish. She then asked me something I didn’t understand. Finally, we worked out that I was finished with the DVD and wanted to give it back (which I thought was apparent enough), and then she asked me if I was finished for the day or if I had other things to watch.
I knew this was a trap. French people like to do this; they ask you a question as if you have the choice between two options when really you do not. There were clearly people waiting, so I had figured I would have to forfeit my place. But since she asked, I thought I might as well try so I responded that yes, in fact, I do have something else to watch. Snap! That’s me falling right into her trap. She very condescendingly informs me that there are actually people waiting so I can’t hog the terminal and I must patienter [wait].
Thanks for the life lesson, Madame. At least that whole conversation took place in French.
13 October 2008
Le temps file
Another week of schoolwork and classes quickly passes by and with it another weekend to enjoy. After ending my week on a sour note of a stressful Thursday on which I incorrectly set my alarm and nearly missed my 9 a.m. class at Paris VII – my host mom woke me at 8:30, wondering if I had class, at which point I rushed out the door to catch the metro and ended up only 15 minutes late – and became discouraged by my translation course, the weekend was a welcome escape.
And escape I did, mostly from the French language. I hardly spoke it this weekend, and barely even heard it around me, which would seem difficult considering I am living in the preeminent French-speaking country in the world.
I spent Saturday strolling the designer-store-lined streets around the Champs-Elysées and near the U.S. embassy, where tourists abound, especially on a Saturday. Later, I braved the crowded Champs-Elysées shops with friends. There, we encountered all nationalities, including an adorable German child who applauded Alix’s lip-synched rendition of the Chris Brown song blaring over the United Colors of Beneton sound system and an American tourist, who happened to be a professor at Grand Valley State (small world), with his family. Very minimal amounts of French were spoken and even less was heard.
Sunday was no different as Rachel, Rebecca and I visited Montmartre for a street festival. All nationalities were again represented, including the older British man, who during a particularly log-jammed moment in the crowd remarked rather loudly, “The bloke behind me has a large belly!” The knowing look of the man behind him, who clearly also spoke English, was priceless.
My host mom was even in la campagne for the weekend so I lacked Francophone interactions with her. When you add on my time Skyping to those back home (brother, boyfriend, mom, dad) and my guilty-pleasure screenings of Project Runway and Freaks and Greeks, my “plus-français-que-les-Français [more-French-than-the-French]” program director would be appalled.
Not to say that my weekend was a bust. I had a fabulous time swimming amongst the crowds, profiting from the fantastic and unseasonably warm weather and catching up on American pop culture.
Plus, I tried a new pastry. What could be more French than that?
And escape I did, mostly from the French language. I hardly spoke it this weekend, and barely even heard it around me, which would seem difficult considering I am living in the preeminent French-speaking country in the world.
I spent Saturday strolling the designer-store-lined streets around the Champs-Elysées and near the U.S. embassy, where tourists abound, especially on a Saturday. Later, I braved the crowded Champs-Elysées shops with friends. There, we encountered all nationalities, including an adorable German child who applauded Alix’s lip-synched rendition of the Chris Brown song blaring over the United Colors of Beneton sound system and an American tourist, who happened to be a professor at Grand Valley State (small world), with his family. Very minimal amounts of French were spoken and even less was heard.
Sunday was no different as Rachel, Rebecca and I visited Montmartre for a street festival. All nationalities were again represented, including the older British man, who during a particularly log-jammed moment in the crowd remarked rather loudly, “The bloke behind me has a large belly!” The knowing look of the man behind him, who clearly also spoke English, was priceless.
My host mom was even in la campagne for the weekend so I lacked Francophone interactions with her. When you add on my time Skyping to those back home (brother, boyfriend, mom, dad) and my guilty-pleasure screenings of Project Runway and Freaks and Greeks, my “plus-français-que-les-Français [more-French-than-the-French]” program director would be appalled.
Not to say that my weekend was a bust. I had a fabulous time swimming amongst the crowds, profiting from the fantastic and unseasonably warm weather and catching up on American pop culture.
Plus, I tried a new pastry. What could be more French than that?
07 October 2008
La Rentrée à Paris
Back in Paris, tout va bien [all is well].
I’ve started all of my classes and I’m being to remember that I’m in college and not on an elaborate field trip. I love all my classes and I don’t yet have that much work to do so it’s not too bad. The only problem is, it’s impossible to concentrate on homework when one’s in Paris. And the Parisian bibliothèques [libraries] don’t make it any easier. Like a foolish American, I decided that after my traduction [translation] class Monday morning I would head over to Paris VII to get some reading done in the library. Silly me: the university library doesn’t open until noon on Mondays. Luckily, the Bibliothèque Nationale is right next door; so I trekked on over, only to find out that the salles de lecture [reading rooms] are closed Monday. Apparently Parisians don’t study on Mondays.
Regardless of this minor inconvenience, I love my classes overall. Last week, I started my Smith course in which we will be translating texts from English to French in order to refine our French writing and work through some of the more tricky and idiomatic points of French grammar and vocabulary. The task is much harder than it initially seemed, but translation m’intéresse beaucoup [interests me a great deal] so I think I will enjoy the class de toute façon [anyway].
I also began my consortium class (the consortium consists of Middlebury, Hamilton and Smith Colleges which all have study-abroad programs in Paris) last week. The course concerns the politics and history of France-African relations since colonization. The professor – Boniface Mongo-Mboussa, what a name! – is incredibly dynamic and passionate; I know I will love this course.
But of course, the life outside of classes is the most exciting part of la vie parisienne. Saturday night was no exception. From 7 p.m. Saturday to 7 a.m. Sunday, Paris celebrated la Nuit Blanche [white night] with expositions, instillations, performances and more taking place throughout the city from dusk until dawn. 
For my part, I met up with some friends in the 4th at l’Hôtel de Ville, and we strolled about the Marais taking in the excitement and animation on the streets. Searching an inexpensive and warm – although the night was very pleasant, it was a bit chilly – place to eat, we discovered an adorable resto [restaurant] where we will soon be regulars. The space is tiny, but the atmosphere was lively and the menu is diverse and affordable. My friends Rachel and Rebecca ordered mussels and fries and mussels and salad, respectively, for just 7,50 euro. I settled for a galette [wheat crêpe] and fries, seeing as they were out of croques.
After browsing the brochure of events for the night, we decided the majority of the installations were a bit too out-there for us. We opted to visit the Centre Pompidou which was free and open until 1 a.m. for the night. We briefly browsed some of the modern art, but preferred to linger on the sixth floor which grants an astounding view of Paris through its tubular glass walls. 
It was incredibly pleasing to view the nightlife of the city on this bustling evening, and as always, the monuments at night were beautiful. We sat around the Centre Pompidou chatting for the rest of the evening and decided to call it a night a little after 1 a.m., but a successful and exciting night it had been.
25 September 2008
Les vrais cours
I’ve successfully completed my first week of classes at a French university. Félicitations à moi! Félicitations might be a bit overkill considering I actually only have two courses this semester at Université Paris VII, and those were the only courses of my four total that started this week, but it seems like a milestone nonetheless.
Monday afternoon, I had my first class. The class is titled “Littérature and Histoire” [Literature and History] and concerns the literature of the Algerian war. I was super-psyched about this course because I’ve already done some coursework in this area and found it to be a troubling but interesting moment in French history. Additionally, I’d already read a couple of the authors on the class’s bibliography and I loved their work. With my expectations high, I entered the classroom, and, somehow, I was not disappointed. The class was not the giant lecture hall that I had been warned against, but an average-sized classroom with rows of tables. And the professor was not the strict, by-the-books menace for which I was prepared. She seems very friendly and open, yet extremely knowledgeable in her field. Although she is presumably not Iranian, she mildly reminds me of actress Shohreh Aghdashloo.
The first class was mostly composed of background and historical foundation for our study of literature in the context of the Algerian war. She also laid out what we would be reading over the semester. Also unlike I’d been told, she plainly stated the three books we will be working on together and even gave us the assignment of reading the first three or four chapters of one of an Assia Djebar novel by next week’s class (a surprisingly easy assignment, which suits my slowness when reading French). She also mentioned a fourth book which we should read because, wait for it, the author, Leïla Sebbar, will be coming to our class! I’ve already read a handful of works by Sebbar and even chose to translate one of her texts for a class last semester. I am so excited – I think I will be star-struck.
At the end of class, after our coffee break (the class is a three hour lecture – upside, it meets only once a week; downside, three hours in one room) and lecturing, she went through all the names of the people in the class to try to begin to get to know us. This is when she realized that nearly half of the class was Anglophone (mostly Americans, but a few Britons). She joked that she might as well be conducting the course in English! It’s somewhat unfortunate that there will be that many Americans in the class – I didn’t come all the way to France to take classes with other Americans – but on the plus side, she will be cognizant of us.
My second class, a course about post-colonial French cinema, was this morning. Starting at 9 a.m., it required me to awake much earlier than the time at which I had been habituating myself to get up. It was worth it though. Again, the subject matter of the course is right up my alley so my hopes for the course were high and were met. This classroom was, as promised, a large amphitheatre, but it was not nearly full. In fact, there were probably around 25 students in the class – the majority, this time, seemed to be French.
This course is a third-year (the final year in France’s three-year university program) course while the other course was a second-year class so I was bit worried about the level. But I feel like my combination of film knowledge, familiarity with French colonial history and experience with post-colonial literature make me an ideal candidate for the course. The professor is very young, and she is prone to speaking much faster than the other. It was a struggle to keep up and take notes, but I enjoyed the challenge as well as her lecture style. For this course, the “assignments” are a little more ambiguous, but I plan to feel things out as I go.
Attending two class sessions over the course of a week didn’t really feel like a true start-of-school experience, but I guess I am in the thick of things now, and glad to be thanks to two amazing classes. The rest of my courses start on Monday, but first, a group trip to the chateaus of the Loire Valley…
Monday afternoon, I had my first class. The class is titled “Littérature and Histoire” [Literature and History] and concerns the literature of the Algerian war. I was super-psyched about this course because I’ve already done some coursework in this area and found it to be a troubling but interesting moment in French history. Additionally, I’d already read a couple of the authors on the class’s bibliography and I loved their work. With my expectations high, I entered the classroom, and, somehow, I was not disappointed. The class was not the giant lecture hall that I had been warned against, but an average-sized classroom with rows of tables. And the professor was not the strict, by-the-books menace for which I was prepared. She seems very friendly and open, yet extremely knowledgeable in her field. Although she is presumably not Iranian, she mildly reminds me of actress Shohreh Aghdashloo.
The first class was mostly composed of background and historical foundation for our study of literature in the context of the Algerian war. She also laid out what we would be reading over the semester. Also unlike I’d been told, she plainly stated the three books we will be working on together and even gave us the assignment of reading the first three or four chapters of one of an Assia Djebar novel by next week’s class (a surprisingly easy assignment, which suits my slowness when reading French). She also mentioned a fourth book which we should read because, wait for it, the author, Leïla Sebbar, will be coming to our class! I’ve already read a handful of works by Sebbar and even chose to translate one of her texts for a class last semester. I am so excited – I think I will be star-struck.
At the end of class, after our coffee break (the class is a three hour lecture – upside, it meets only once a week; downside, three hours in one room) and lecturing, she went through all the names of the people in the class to try to begin to get to know us. This is when she realized that nearly half of the class was Anglophone (mostly Americans, but a few Britons). She joked that she might as well be conducting the course in English! It’s somewhat unfortunate that there will be that many Americans in the class – I didn’t come all the way to France to take classes with other Americans – but on the plus side, she will be cognizant of us.
My second class, a course about post-colonial French cinema, was this morning. Starting at 9 a.m., it required me to awake much earlier than the time at which I had been habituating myself to get up. It was worth it though. Again, the subject matter of the course is right up my alley so my hopes for the course were high and were met. This classroom was, as promised, a large amphitheatre, but it was not nearly full. In fact, there were probably around 25 students in the class – the majority, this time, seemed to be French.
This course is a third-year (the final year in France’s three-year university program) course while the other course was a second-year class so I was bit worried about the level. But I feel like my combination of film knowledge, familiarity with French colonial history and experience with post-colonial literature make me an ideal candidate for the course. The professor is very young, and she is prone to speaking much faster than the other. It was a struggle to keep up and take notes, but I enjoyed the challenge as well as her lecture style. For this course, the “assignments” are a little more ambiguous, but I plan to feel things out as I go.
Attending two class sessions over the course of a week didn’t really feel like a true start-of-school experience, but I guess I am in the thick of things now, and glad to be thanks to two amazing classes. The rest of my courses start on Monday, but first, a group trip to the chateaus of the Loire Valley…
19 September 2008
La bureaucratie, c’est la vie.
This week, I had my first real run-in with the hassle that is French bureaucracy and the university system (this is excepting my visa application which, despite multiple tiers, piles of paperwork and a required daytrip to Chicago, wasn’t actually too bad).
The majority of the 23 Smith students on the program are going to be taking classes with the University of Paris IV – Sorbonne, but there are six of us who have been assigned to Paris VII. Although I was initially disappointed that I wouldn’t be going to the historic “Sorbonne,” I’m looking forward to courses at Paris VII. The campus is brand new in a very modern and up-and-coming sector of Paris, and the course offerings are diverse and intriguing. So I have since become content to be taking classes there.
I was not so content, however, regarding the registration process. Originally, our program director had told me I could simple go to the office for the department in which I wanted to take classes and tell them I wanted to register. Done deal. But it was not to be that simple. When I went to register, I was told by the woman at the welcome desk that since I had no paperwork and no carte d’étudiant [student ID card], I would have to go talk to the man in charge of entering international students in the International Studies office. Unfortunately, he wasn’t accepting students at that time. On a different day, a few of my camarades [classmates] tried the same thing and were told they must come back the next day between 9:00 a.m. and noon to talk to the mec [guy].
We were excused from our orientation courses by M. Bloom, our program director. I stayed back, not wanting to miss notes from one class, but some others went ahead early in the morning. They waited for over an hour to talk to the mec, and when they finally got to talk to him, he told them that he couldn’t help them; he was too busy dealing with the 500+ international students at the university. So, we had missed class and traveled 30 minutes on the metro to the university all for naught. And we still had no idea how we would register for classes.
Somehow, however, M. Bloom worked some magic/pushed things along and was able to give us our student numbers the next day. Thursday, after a bit of guilt-filled shopping at “Hache et Em” [H&M], my friend Rachel and I decided to head back to the dreaded Paris VII to see if we could accomplish anything…and, amazingly enough, we just had to go to a couple offices, tell them for which classes we wished to register and registered we were. Facile-y fromage-y [Easy Cheesy].
I am now officially registered for a course concerning literature of the Algerian war and a post-colonial-cinema class. Now the challenge is surviving French university courses.
Today: Amazing walking through Parc de Bercy, which is a real, let-the-trees-actually-grow-wild park near Paris VII and the Bibliotheque Nationale.
Tonight: Indian cuisine in the 10th (Paris is divided into 20 arrondissements [districts] and it’s common to refer to locations by their arrondissement – I live in the 6th).
The majority of the 23 Smith students on the program are going to be taking classes with the University of Paris IV – Sorbonne, but there are six of us who have been assigned to Paris VII. Although I was initially disappointed that I wouldn’t be going to the historic “Sorbonne,” I’m looking forward to courses at Paris VII. The campus is brand new in a very modern and up-and-coming sector of Paris, and the course offerings are diverse and intriguing. So I have since become content to be taking classes there.
I was not so content, however, regarding the registration process. Originally, our program director had told me I could simple go to the office for the department in which I wanted to take classes and tell them I wanted to register. Done deal. But it was not to be that simple. When I went to register, I was told by the woman at the welcome desk that since I had no paperwork and no carte d’étudiant [student ID card], I would have to go talk to the man in charge of entering international students in the International Studies office. Unfortunately, he wasn’t accepting students at that time. On a different day, a few of my camarades [classmates] tried the same thing and were told they must come back the next day between 9:00 a.m. and noon to talk to the mec [guy].
We were excused from our orientation courses by M. Bloom, our program director. I stayed back, not wanting to miss notes from one class, but some others went ahead early in the morning. They waited for over an hour to talk to the mec, and when they finally got to talk to him, he told them that he couldn’t help them; he was too busy dealing with the 500+ international students at the university. So, we had missed class and traveled 30 minutes on the metro to the university all for naught. And we still had no idea how we would register for classes.
Somehow, however, M. Bloom worked some magic/pushed things along and was able to give us our student numbers the next day. Thursday, after a bit of guilt-filled shopping at “Hache et Em” [H&M], my friend Rachel and I decided to head back to the dreaded Paris VII to see if we could accomplish anything…and, amazingly enough, we just had to go to a couple offices, tell them for which classes we wished to register and registered we were. Facile-y fromage-y [Easy Cheesy].
I am now officially registered for a course concerning literature of the Algerian war and a post-colonial-cinema class. Now the challenge is surviving French university courses.
Today: Amazing walking through Parc de Bercy, which is a real, let-the-trees-actually-grow-wild park near Paris VII and the Bibliotheque Nationale.
Tonight: Indian cuisine in the 10th (Paris is divided into 20 arrondissements [districts] and it’s common to refer to locations by their arrondissement – I live in the 6th).
15 September 2008
3 semaines comme des milles jours
So I’ve been in Paris for less than three weeks, but it already feels like I’ve been here for months, not because my orientation classes are that boring (although I am beginning to tire of them) but because I’ve been able to experience so much so soon. But the thing that I love about this city is that there is still so much more that I want to do. The list of possibilities continues to grow even as I mentally check off the stops completed.
I’ve wandered in many quartiers [neighborhoods], but nowhere near them all. I have yet to return to my beloved Montmartre, and I can’t wait to explore new districts.
I’ve seen the monuments (Arc de Triomphe, La tour Eiffel in day and night, Notre-Dame, Centre Pompidou, L’Opèra, etc.), but there is still a nearly endless list of others that I’ve yet to see. I haven’t even seen the Louvre since I’ve been here, and I certainly haven’t had the chance to visit it or any other museum, for that matter, yet.
We traveled out to Versailles just this weekend, and despite having an amazing time relaxing in the sun, I left another item on my mental to-do list unchecked since the palace itself was too crowded to enter.
At every turn, every moment, I’m experiencing something new and exciting, but meanwhile, I’m beginning to feel like the things left to do are overwhelming…and next week, I start my classes at Paris VII. But all the while, I have time – 9 months (!). I guess I just have to let myself experience Paris a bit by osmosis and trust that eventually I will experience it all.
First French film in France: Jean-Luc Goddard’s A bout de souffle (1960), a classic of nouvelle-vague cinema. I found it fitting.
I’ve wandered in many quartiers [neighborhoods], but nowhere near them all. I have yet to return to my beloved Montmartre, and I can’t wait to explore new districts.
I’ve seen the monuments (Arc de Triomphe, La tour Eiffel in day and night, Notre-Dame, Centre Pompidou, L’Opèra, etc.), but there is still a nearly endless list of others that I’ve yet to see. I haven’t even seen the Louvre since I’ve been here, and I certainly haven’t had the chance to visit it or any other museum, for that matter, yet.
We traveled out to Versailles just this weekend, and despite having an amazing time relaxing in the sun, I left another item on my mental to-do list unchecked since the palace itself was too crowded to enter.
At every turn, every moment, I’m experiencing something new and exciting, but meanwhile, I’m beginning to feel like the things left to do are overwhelming…and next week, I start my classes at Paris VII. But all the while, I have time – 9 months (!). I guess I just have to let myself experience Paris a bit by osmosis and trust that eventually I will experience it all.
First French film in France: Jean-Luc Goddard’s A bout de souffle (1960), a classic of nouvelle-vague cinema. I found it fitting.
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