Sep 2007

Friday was a calm, ping-pong filled night. Saturday, however, started decently early with me making a trip to the Laundromat. Heh. You see, the machines in our building are not working yet. No one knows why or when they will be back in service. Now, I had already done one load of laundry in the sink, but I figured that since I've been here for nearly three weeks that I was probably due a good, thorough washing instead of the gentle scrubbing I had done in the sink with dish soap, as I had forgotten to buy detergent. But I was prepared this time. I put my clothes in the laundry bag, my detergent in a rinsed out jelly jar and started walking.

Let's make sure that we all understand the scene here. Outside it is extremely grey, and looks as if it has been raining since dawn, but the kind of rain that's almost mist. It is 9:30 on a Saturday morning. The laundromat is about 10 minutes walk from the dorm. I head out wearing the cleanest clothes I have which happens to involve the camo long-sleeve shirt Dane gave me, not exactly a common item in Europe. I pass the old man that is always in his doorway, who asks me, as he always does, if I have a cigarette. I kindly reply, as I always do, that no, I in fact do not have any cigarettes. As I pass him, I hear him laughing at me and my laundry misery. But I continue onward.

Getting into the place, the prices slapped me in the face and I was about ready to turn around and run out of there. Because of the crazy expense, I grabbed a 10 kilo machine, put as much as I possibly could into the thing, leaving out some more stuff that I could wash by hand. I then went to put money into the thing…turns out this clever piece of machinery only takes 1 Euro coins and below. (See, there's this great system of Euro coins coming in denominations of 1, 2, 10, 20, and 50 cents as well as 1 and 2 Euros. From there on up it's in cash) I had a pocket full of two euros. So, lucky me, I got to go next door to the grocery store and change some money, come back, pay the machine 5.50 Euros (ouch-- take that Hendrix) to wash my clothes. 40 minutes later I went to put them all into the dryer. And placed into the dryer a one Euro coin. Which gave me all of a whopping 10 minutes of drying time. After the 10 minutes flew by, I packed up all of my clean, if damp, clothes and hiked back, having forgotten that wet clothes definitely weigh more than dry ones. After the trek up the stairs, I proceeded to rig up my clothesline to finish drying my laundry.

Remember how I said it was a rainy-ish kind of day? Yeah, well the sun never showed up to really dry my clothes. Sunday afternoon and the clothesline is still up. I think that the whole washing in the sink thing is suddenly a very, very appealing option.

After putting on a pair of semi dry pants, a few of us headed into town in order to buy some notebooks and the like. We accomplished this, ran into some celtic music and proceeded to watch them for a while, then went to the Aussie bar and watched a rugby match.

Side note: this sport is AMAZING. It's like football, only no padding and the play never stops. CRAZY.

Came home for a bit and then met up for our cheap wine soirée Our grocery store had a wine festival thing going on and we walked in on Friday and saw shelves upon shelves of wine. We decided to partake of the under 2 Euro wine and each came back with a different bottle. A few of us—Lena (Belgian), Kirsty (British), David (Irish), Ben (Hendrix!)— met up in Fabien's room, the only native Frenchman among us. We passed around bottles, recognizing the fact that cheap wine is still cheap wine even in France. It just doesn't come in a box. Lena treated us to some Belgian beer that her mother had given to the cause of the International Students. We then went on into town to go to a Latin American night. Somehow, only Fabien knew that this event was happening, and as so, he was also the only one who knew where it was. He managed to be the one who was more than a little tipsy as well. We made it to the event, after a bit of wandering, after a few awkward songs, start dancing. And dance until we're exhausted. On our way out, we pass the coordinator of the international students who recognized and smiled.

Went to a pub or two and then realized that we had missed the last metro. Ben and I are both very tired and decided to go catch a cab home while the others continued their night. A little after one, we began our walk to Gare Lille Flandres and took our place in the line at the taxi place. It took until nearly two fifteen for us to get a taxi. Ridiculous. Helped me to remember that missing the last metro is not going to be done all that often in my time here. I came home to a bed with no sheets, as they were still wet. That was fun.

Tomorrow I will buy the coveted monthly pass for the metro and will begin my cultural pursuits of the city in earnest. The cool thing about your classes only being once a week? I have finished my homework for this coming week. Therefore I have nothing due until next Monday. Not a bad deal, eh? So, say tomorrow, I plan on going see a French poetry slam. Ben is probably going to come along, the slammer that he is, and it should be a fun outing. Tuesday night, Youngblood Brass Band is playing downtown. !!! I have been trying for a good two years to see these guys and they end up playing a little club on a Tuesday night a bit away from me. AWESOME.

Other than that, things are going well. I successfully cooked rice without a ricepot for the first time in my entire life on Friday. And soon to come are the sweet potatoes. Anyway, off to supper and a bit more homework.

After a full day of getting things done— a little homework, a little cleaning, a little shopping—we all gathered together downstairs. (We have a tendency to do that, us foreign students. I always wondered why they clumped together at Hendrix, but now I understand completely.) Anyway, in this giant clump, we made our way to the university around 7 for the animated film night at the university's cinema, Kino. It was a double feature for 6 Euros. I was slightly apprehensive about this film, after all, the last attempt at enjoying a movie in French remained just that: an attempt. But the featured movies were Ratatouille and The Simpsons. Both American films which means, at the very least, American humour. As the French are very proud and therefore protective of their language (did you know that they have only had 9 editions of the official dictionary since 1836?) both films were dubbed. Ratatouille went by just fine. I had seen the film once before and it isn't a difficult plot to follow. I got a good number of the jokes (I might even venture to say most) in The Simpsons. That is, once I got over the hilarious voices used for dubbing. And somehow, I don't think that Spider Cochon has the same ring too it as Spider Pig. Although the German version is Spider Schwein and I think that one rolls off the tongue wonderfully.

As we were walking back from the Metro station in the ridiculously chilly weather (low 50s with a definite wind), I started to really think about what we had just seen.

The film: Ratatouille.
The scene: Paris, France.
The stereotype: All French are beret wearing, wine drinking, passionate lovers who have a strange affinity for the striped shirt.

The film: The Simpsons.
The scene: One of the many Springfields.
The stereotype: All Americans are rather stupid, rather fat, and rather ignorant to the problem of pollution.

Yes, stereotypes are based in truth. And it is true that we can laugh about it. I sat next to Fabien, a français, and we continually exchanged nudges and snide remarks. "I didn't realize that all the French wore berets… did you forget yours at home?" "What, didn't you know that all of us are incredible lovers?" "Do you own a trashcan or do you just use the river?" It was funny. But every now and then the majority of the theatre would laugh at the typical American thing that just happened, just as we would laugh at the typical French person on the screen.

I have yet to encounter someone who is really against America. Hard feelings have managed to stay away for now. But tonight, after the sighs that accompanied the scenes of oil drilling in Alaska where we might have inserted a laugh track, I wonder when I will have to defend my country as a decent one. And I wonder how I will do it.

Sometimes, I find myself jealous of the people who are studying in an Anglophone country. Or at least people whose programs are conducted in English. Don't get me wrong, I am loving my time here in France; however, everything is a battle. Trying to get Dell to ship me a new computer battery in a foreign country? School yard bully. Attempting to explain what you need to cook a decent meal when your kitchen vocabulary consists of utensils and fruits? Forcing your way through a crowd. Fixing the window to where it closes again? Hand-to-hand combat. Talking to the people at wifiland to make sure your internet actually works once you've paid for it? American Revolution. Doing everything you can to explain to the person in charge of at least one hundred foreign exchange students that you have no idea what is going on and how are you supposed to register for courses and what's this European credit system all about and you need how many copies of your passport (also known as navigating through the French Bureaucracy)? The nuclear war that hopefully will never happen.

Honestly, sometimes I really miss the simplicity of Hendrix. Internet? Check. You want classes? Here's a book where they are all listed, as well as the time and the room. Here, if I want classes, I have to go to each department, look at the bulletin boards where they are hopefully posted, decide which classes will transfer back, figure out if the times conflict, check with the professor to make sure that there will be an exam in the class so I can receive a grade and then, well, actually attend the class. I miss the cafeteria ladies, the joy of having food prepared for me instead of by me. I can't eat in the cafeteria here until I put money on my student ID card. I can't get the ID until I am officially enrolled in the University. In order to do this I must pay for France's social security and get a carte de séjour. The whole process takes 2 copies of your passport, 1 copy of your visa, 2 copies of a proof of residence, 1 copy of the receipt that says you paid your housing deposit, and 6 ID photos. The paperwork is crazy! There are ID photobooths everywhere. The French sell document holders so that way when you have to do anything, you've already got all the papers you need. I cannot for the life of me understand how they function like this.

And then, as everything is a battle, there are the little, but important, sucesses. A conversation with a Française that ended with her playing some Janis Joplin on her harmonica for me. Finding the right bank to cash traveller's checks after navigating the metro and the city (and remembering to bring the certainly necessary copy of my passport). Ordering a meal at a café and being understood. Doing my laundry in the sink because the laundry facilities are not yet open. Getting 20% off of my metro tickets because I bought the correct card. Borrowing dishes from the residence, such as a strainer, that help this cooking process. Going to a French Film and understanding at least one joke. Having someone respond with "oh really? I didn't realize that." when I said that I was an exchange student. This conversation was in French, mind you. Like I said, lots of little successes.

I have completed my first week of classes. And, yes, it is only Wednesday. This does in fact mean that I have a four day weekend in Europe. I foresee some travelling. Classes went really well. Mondays are a blast, which is something you don't often hear. I start out with my intensive French class with the other international students and then make my way on over to fencing. There are only 6 of us in the class and within an hour we were all suited up and wielding our foils like we knew what we were doing. Sort of. Then comes Arabic. The professor is extremely engaging, and yet incredibly demanding and critical. We worked on learning half of the alphabet. I wonder how far one can get in a language that only meets 2 hours a week.

Tuesday is pretty full. I originally was going to 5 classes that day, but I think that I am going to drop two of them. My two translation classes (French to English: no problem; English to French: impossible. nearly) are that afternoon with the same group of kids, which is nice. I sit next to a very sweet girl who lets me look at her notes since I help her with her English spelling. From there I go on to Characters and Literature of the Picarde Region. In other words, learning the dialect of the area. This is by far the toughest and yet most interesting class that I have. It deals a lot with the same issues that are being faced by Cajun today. Many utterly fascinating linguistic wonders that I will save for another post. I talked to the prof afterward and explained that I was having some trouble understanding him (accent-wise) and that while I loved the material of the course, I wasn't sure if I would be able to follow. I mean, translating patois French into standard French might be a little out of my league. But he seemed really willing to work with me, so we'll see how that goes. Random tidbit: he's actually been to Lafayette before. Nifty, no?

Today was a pretty easy day. I have a Lit. class that centers around one novel. I have to give an oral presentation (gulp) and a written critique on one part of this novel. Daunting, but I should be able to do it. Phonetics is entertaining if only because the professor is one of those who starts telling stories and tends to get lost in them and forget that he's teaching.

All of my classes are in French (except for the French to English translation one) and it's tough sometimes. I have to really concentrate on paying attention because if I let my mind wander, I can't follow subconsciously like I can in English. Note-taking is rather difficult as well. I understand most of what is being said, but during the transfer of information to my hands I have a tendency to get lost in the lecture and, well, miss stuff. Like I said, careful attention is going to be necessary. As well as note borrowing, I believe.

As my week has finished its scholarly pursuits, the next few days are reserved to really getting my stuff together. Actual laundry at a laundry mat is pretty high on my list. Right next to buying sugar so I can cook my sweet potatoes. As well as compiling a playlist of good folk music to share with my friend David. Besides that, the nights are filled with ping-pong and Uno. And random trips to 3 story bars in the city. Wonderful time. A slightly cold and damp wonderful time.

I am sitting in my room, listening to the French radio (which plays a surprising amount of English music—and not exactly our best music, I might add) and attempting to make supper. Today is mashed potatoes and meat. I'm guessing that you boil potatoes in order to make mashed potatoes. I've never done it before, but there are certain questions that you just feel stupid asking. One of these would be "How do you make mashed potatoes?"

My fridge is full and happy: a half-kilo of green beans, a kilo of apples, half kilo of potatoes, eggs, a bell pepper, an onion, garlic, apple juice, and some jellies. I'm buying my bread from a bakery that is on my way to class. Anyway, my meals have progressed from noodles and eggs to now include a wide variety of veggies and some meat as well. And then I go ahead and put Tony's, my beloved Cajun seasoning, on top of it all.

Not only does that last one have meat, but it is steaming!

So far I haven't been too disappointed. However, I have a feeling that it's like when you go camping all of your food tastes good because it's what you have and you made it. Once my stipend kicks in things should get better.

Et alors, my first weekend in France? This weekend happened to coincide perfectly with les jours de Patrimoine, a pretty nifty holiday. No one could ever give me a straight answer as to what it celebrated, but we went ahead and celebrated anyway. Lena and I woke up early on Saturday to purchase our Cartes Viva. These cards will get us a lovely discount when it comes to buying a pass for the bus/metro. This will be necessary, as I noticed just how nice it will be to be able to go into Lille at any old point in time. We walked around the city for a bit, looking at wonderfully impressive buildings and then being told that for most of them it was necessary to have an appointment to go on a tour. Ah, well. The outsides were pretty anyway.

this one is the opera house--

The old stock exhcange building. Part of it anyway, it wouldn't all fit in one picture.

The Citadelle

In this same square surrounding the fountain, one can find one of the largest bookstores in Europe. I don't much care about the truth of this statement because after going there I am more than ready to spend an entire Sunday hanging out inside. This store has nine stories! (I passed up so many opportunities for a bad pun there. Vous avez de la chance) We really only looked at the 2nd story because we were in search of planners in an attempt to keep all of the dates straight.

There was also an open air bookstore. I like to call this heaven:

After this accomplishment, we made our way to the zoo, which in France happens to be free. There was this ridiculous sculpture just outside the park.

We ate some good food which we did NOT cook for ourselves and then, utterly exhausted, we headed back to the residence for a bit. I took a nap just until we decided to go out to the fair that had installed itself in one of the parks of Lille. English was everywhere—but it was entertaining.

My favorite sign of the night:

Ben had his hand at the shooting game, as he is American and therefore obviously good at this kind of stuff.

I went up in the immense ferris wheel, as much as I hate them.

I wanted a view of the city that translates to this at night:

Fireworks followed the fair. We ended up incredibly close to where they were being shot off and had a wonderful show.

Once the fireworks had brightened our night, we headed out in search of a pub of some sort. The door guy at one of the places told us that there was only enough room for 6 of us to sit and the other two would have to stand up. He was met with several blank looks from our group of foreign students to which he responded with miming and a grammar lesson. All from a door guy. How awesome is that?

The next morning was market morning. Wazemmes market is huge and I am almost certain that they have everything anyone could ever want. Almost. Further exploration is necessary to confirm this suspicion.

My spoils from said market:

We decided to turn in early on Sunday as our intensive French class started this Monday. my name was accompanied by Tony's on the same list, which was a good surprise. My nationality was listed as Espangole, which was also a surprise. It turns out that I am the only American in my class. We've been doing a lot of oral practice, note-taking, paper-writing, and presentation-giving. Today, I discussed the affects of creating separate schools for the separate sexes, as well as schools such as this with an Italian, Romanian, German, and Czech. We then delved into a debate about women's rights in relation to a version of affirmative action. This sort of debate can get complicated when in a class made up of a handful of Germans, quite a few Romanians and Italians, a couple of Czechs, a Spaniard, an Australian, a Brit, and a Swede. Complicated, but intriguing as all get out.

Plus, we write on ridiculous paper that definitely has an excessive amount of lines. For a person who likes to write with [/i]no[i] lines, this is taking some getting used to.

I'm working on registering for classes at the moment, which is a tad bit more complex than in the states. It looks like I'm going to be taking somewhere near 10 courses if all goes well. At the moment, I have to remind myself to calm down about everything. I went into the office of one of the coordinators with nine kinds of questions about courses and what I needed to be doing. She took one look at me, grabbed a cigarette, and said, "Come outside and sit with me while I smoke and calm down; we'll talk about this in a bit." The pacing of things is so different from what I am used to. I have about three weeks to figure out what classes I am taking and inform the University. These three weeks start when classes start. I just show up and decide if I like the course or not. Weird, huh?

I guess that's about it for now. My next project--besides not stressing over courses and finding something to do this weekend-- is to meet my neighbor. He plays the electric guitar and sometimes decides to share his musical talent with me through the wall. I think that it is only proper that we should meet face to face.