A couple of times now, I have been invited to dine with the family of a good French friend on Sunday nights. Before the first time, I was a bit wary. Having had a few iffy experiences with French family dinners before this, along with my recent bouts of social anxiety and awkwardness, the prospect of throwing myself into the lion's den and making a fool of myself yet again hardly sounded appealing. However, seeing as this was a good friend, and that I wouldn't be the only English-speaker there, I decided to give it another shot.
A typical French family dinner is a bit different than those in the States. Generally (and I think this is all over Europe), they'll eat a couple of hours later--8pm seems to be the average time. This particular family starts eating dinner at 9 or 10, which from what I understand is a bit later than most. Notice that I said "starts eating", that's very important.
The French typically follow a specific set of courses more strictly than Americans do. First there will be something light--bread, pâté, mayonnaise, asparagus, and slices of ham are all things that I've seen so far. This may also be substituted or in addition to a soup course. Next comes the main course, usually some sort of meat (I've had chicken, beef, and veal) and potatoes, or a quiche, or whatever. I'm sure there are plenty of options here, this is just my own experience. After that's gone (be sure to wipe up any remaining sauce/gravy/crumbs with your chunk of baguette), there will often be a small cheese plate, and then a dessert. This all comes with a glass, or two, or three, of wine.
The trick, you see, is to not completely stuff yourself by the middle of the main course, which is what I always seem to do. I just cannot eat that much food in one sitting. It gets to the point where it's painful to finish what's left on my plate, which, at the beginning of the meal, looked like a reasonably small amount of food. I have not yet had a family meal here where I was able to finish my food. I would have succeeded the other night, had an older friend of this family not decided that I needed more food and plopped another hunk of meat onto my almost-clean plate, despite my jumbled protests. I do count myself lucky that this family has stopped after the main course both times I've eaten with them.
My sweet tooth laments the fact that dessert has to come so late in the meal, however.
This entire process takes around two hours, average. I like this. While my previous dining experiences here had been a bit awkward, with this particular family I feel completely at ease, even when I don't understand exactly what's going on. Because it's such a close-knit family, and because both of the kids are basically adults, it seems that no topic is off-limits. I can't say whether this is normal for the French or not. In any case, it's really quite an enjoyable way to pass an evening, listening to them tell stories and banter back and forth. Even the smoke from the constant chain of cigarettes doesn't bother me too much. (Side note: the first time that I came over, the mother was almost shocked to learn that I didn't smoke. "Really? Not at all?")
Even after the food is gone, the merriment continues. The other night, for example, a guitar was brought out and at least another hour was passed drinking wine and playing songs in French and English in the kitchen. "Hotel California" seems to be a key player.
I got home that night at around 1:30, an hour and a half later than I needed to go to sleep to wake up for my class in the morning. Usually this would bug me, but I was really just ecstatic to have had such a wonderful evening. I hope there are more to come; the mother has promised to have me over earlier next time to show me how she prepares the meal, and to write down the recipes for me (in French, of course).
I'm pretty okay with the way things are going.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
The paradox of language choice
I love Wednesdays here. My only class starts at 5pm, so I get almost a mini-weekend in the middle of my week. I wake up late and usually spend the day cooking, cleaning, running errands or just sitting around listening to French radio.
So today I was walking around the downtown taking care of some stuff (getting cash for rent, obeying the French dentist's orders that I buy new toothpaste, etc) and I passed a store with South American jewelry and boxes calling to me from behind the glass. Luckily, my mother recently sent me all of my jewelry but couldn't fit the jewelry box in the package. A perfect excuse to feed my box habit, I figure. Plus, my birthday was a week ago. So I went in.
Little did I know that there would be major language complications waiting for me on the other side of the door. I have to admit that I've been bad the last few days; I've started hanging around a group of people of mixed nationalities, the key players being American, Irish, and Scottish. The problem, you see, is that all of these people speak English. Thus when I walked into the store I was surprised to find that my capacity to speak French had significantly dwindled since last week. The store owner was trying to explain something to me about the glass on a box that I was looking at and it was just not getting through. I was forced to explain that my French is terrible and that I wasn't understanding a word he was saying. He just sort of nodded and walked away, and I thought that would be the end of it.
After looking for a few more minutes I decided to buy the box with the mysteriously special glass and wordlessly indicated to the store owner that I had made my choice. As way of checkout chit-chat, he asked me if I spoke English (which, I might point out, is a ridiculous question. I can't even begin to describe to you how obviously American I am). I responded yes, and a bit of Spanish as well. This got him pretty excited, as he was from somewhere in Central or South America (the next few minutes confounded me enough that I didn't think to ask). He immediately switched gears on me and asked:
-Ud. habla espanol?
To which I replied:
-Erm, un poquito, oui.
That's about how the rest of our conversation went. It didn't help that he'd throw in a sentence or two of English every now and then. I somehow managed to stumble through about five minutes of conversation this way while he fought with the paper in the credit card machine. I'm still not sure how I accomplished this, it wasn't until this moment that I fully appreciated how disorienting it is to have someone speaking three separate languages at you simultaneously.
I walked out of the store absolutely braindead. A few hundred meters on the way back to my house I ran into a friend from class, a Taiwanese girl, and didn't have the mental capacity to understand that she was asking me where I'd been and whether I'd be in class later today. I still can't fully comprehend today's goings-on.
Lesson learned: Humans are meant to speak only one language at a time.
So today I was walking around the downtown taking care of some stuff (getting cash for rent, obeying the French dentist's orders that I buy new toothpaste, etc) and I passed a store with South American jewelry and boxes calling to me from behind the glass. Luckily, my mother recently sent me all of my jewelry but couldn't fit the jewelry box in the package. A perfect excuse to feed my box habit, I figure. Plus, my birthday was a week ago. So I went in.
Little did I know that there would be major language complications waiting for me on the other side of the door. I have to admit that I've been bad the last few days; I've started hanging around a group of people of mixed nationalities, the key players being American, Irish, and Scottish. The problem, you see, is that all of these people speak English. Thus when I walked into the store I was surprised to find that my capacity to speak French had significantly dwindled since last week. The store owner was trying to explain something to me about the glass on a box that I was looking at and it was just not getting through. I was forced to explain that my French is terrible and that I wasn't understanding a word he was saying. He just sort of nodded and walked away, and I thought that would be the end of it.
After looking for a few more minutes I decided to buy the box with the mysteriously special glass and wordlessly indicated to the store owner that I had made my choice. As way of checkout chit-chat, he asked me if I spoke English (which, I might point out, is a ridiculous question. I can't even begin to describe to you how obviously American I am). I responded yes, and a bit of Spanish as well. This got him pretty excited, as he was from somewhere in Central or South America (the next few minutes confounded me enough that I didn't think to ask). He immediately switched gears on me and asked:
-Ud. habla espanol?
To which I replied:
-Erm, un poquito, oui.
That's about how the rest of our conversation went. It didn't help that he'd throw in a sentence or two of English every now and then. I somehow managed to stumble through about five minutes of conversation this way while he fought with the paper in the credit card machine. I'm still not sure how I accomplished this, it wasn't until this moment that I fully appreciated how disorienting it is to have someone speaking three separate languages at you simultaneously.
I walked out of the store absolutely braindead. A few hundred meters on the way back to my house I ran into a friend from class, a Taiwanese girl, and didn't have the mental capacity to understand that she was asking me where I'd been and whether I'd be in class later today. I still can't fully comprehend today's goings-on.
Lesson learned: Humans are meant to speak only one language at a time.
Friday, March 6, 2009
"Oh, salut."
Here's a cultural tidbit for you: in France, nobody knocks on bathroom doors; they just try it and see what happens. Consequently, the cleaning lady got a lovely view of me in my birthday suit the other day, much to both of our surprise. I guess it's a good thing that I don't have much modesty to speak of.
Note to self: lock doors more often.
Note to self: lock doors more often.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Culture shock?
I've been feeling fairly isolated the last week or two. It took me some time to recognize that I was feeling this way, and once the word "isolation" came to me, a bell went off in my head: "DING DING! CULTURE SHOCK!"
Before we left the states, all of the study abroaders were given an informational packet by the good folks of CIEA, including a Book of Rules ("Please don't make all Americans look like idiots..."), contact information should we run into a crisis we can't handle, a list of everyone who was going abroad, yadda yadda. Hidden inside of this packet was a cheery green leaflet entitled "The Intercultural Adjustment Cycle". It has listed, step by step, 8 phases that every single person who travels abroad for an extended period of time will apparently experience. Of course my initial reaction, after briefly looking it over, was to think "Oh, so glad that they've figured out in detail every emotion that I'll be going through while I'm over there," and immediately banish it to the bottom of the pile with the rest of the silly, non-important documents. However, reading over it now there are a few passages that are fitting pretty well. Look:
...the novelty of a foreign culture wears off after a few weeks and most people enter a decline known as initial culture shock. Characteristics of this period are possible changes in sleeping habits, disorientation about how to work with and relate to others, and probably language dificulties and mental fatigue from speaking and listening to a foreign language all day.
And then, later:
At some point, however, the novelty wears off completely and the difficulties remain. Frustration increases, and a new and more pervasive sense of isolation can set in. Many times this period is accompanied by boredom and lack of motivation as the individual feels little stimulus to overcome the deeper and more troublesome difficulties he may be facing...
Disorientation: check. Language difficulties: check. Frustration, isolation, lack of motivation: check, check, check.
Of course, these passages come from two separate "stages", the first from "Initial Culture Shock" and the second from "Mental Isolation", separated by a positive period entitled "Surface Adjustment" which I just can't say whether I've encountered or not. I guess it was nice of them to try.
The thing is, the words "culture shock" imply to me that I should be having a negative/frustrated reaction to the culture. This doesn't appear to be the case--other than the fact that they let their dogs shit all over the sidewalks, I'm pretty okay with the French. Nor do I feel like these negative emotions are coming from living in a completely different culture--let's be honest, French culture isn't COMPLETELY different, it's all still pretty Western. If I were in Japan, maybe I'd buy it. I just don't feel like it's France that's doing this to me.
My difficulties seem to lie more in interpersonal relations. Never in my life have I felt this awkward. Sure, we're all a little awkward sometimes, some more than others, but now I feel as if I've taken it on as a personality trait. Granted, this is the first time that I've gone anywhere for an extended period of time without knowing a single person. I feel like I wasted too much time at the beginning being shy, and now that I've had enough of being alone to where I'll actually put myself out there, everyone's already formed into their own little cliques that I'm having a hard time breaking through. And that's just with the other Americans--I would absolutely love to develop real friendships with people who don't speak English, but it is just still so hard for me to communicate with them. Which, of course, makes me more uncomfortable and our interactions more awkward. Now, if I were looking at this situation from outside, I would tell myself to go for it, to be uncomfortable because it'll probably build character. But it's just that it's like this every single day. It wears down on a girl after awhile.
I'm trying to relax and let friendships develop at their own pace, but it's going slower than I'd like it to. On one hand I feel like I'm trying too hard, but on the other hand I feel like I should be trying harder. I can't remember ever being this unsure of myself.
Some days are better than others and I'm trying not to let it get me down too much. I'm sure that someday I'll look back on this as a wonderful learning experience, right?
Before we left the states, all of the study abroaders were given an informational packet by the good folks of CIEA, including a Book of Rules ("Please don't make all Americans look like idiots..."), contact information should we run into a crisis we can't handle, a list of everyone who was going abroad, yadda yadda. Hidden inside of this packet was a cheery green leaflet entitled "The Intercultural Adjustment Cycle". It has listed, step by step, 8 phases that every single person who travels abroad for an extended period of time will apparently experience. Of course my initial reaction, after briefly looking it over, was to think "Oh, so glad that they've figured out in detail every emotion that I'll be going through while I'm over there," and immediately banish it to the bottom of the pile with the rest of the silly, non-important documents. However, reading over it now there are a few passages that are fitting pretty well. Look:
...the novelty of a foreign culture wears off after a few weeks and most people enter a decline known as initial culture shock. Characteristics of this period are possible changes in sleeping habits, disorientation about how to work with and relate to others, and probably language dificulties and mental fatigue from speaking and listening to a foreign language all day.
And then, later:
At some point, however, the novelty wears off completely and the difficulties remain. Frustration increases, and a new and more pervasive sense of isolation can set in. Many times this period is accompanied by boredom and lack of motivation as the individual feels little stimulus to overcome the deeper and more troublesome difficulties he may be facing...
Disorientation: check. Language difficulties: check. Frustration, isolation, lack of motivation: check, check, check.
Of course, these passages come from two separate "stages", the first from "Initial Culture Shock" and the second from "Mental Isolation", separated by a positive period entitled "Surface Adjustment" which I just can't say whether I've encountered or not. I guess it was nice of them to try.
The thing is, the words "culture shock" imply to me that I should be having a negative/frustrated reaction to the culture. This doesn't appear to be the case--other than the fact that they let their dogs shit all over the sidewalks, I'm pretty okay with the French. Nor do I feel like these negative emotions are coming from living in a completely different culture--let's be honest, French culture isn't COMPLETELY different, it's all still pretty Western. If I were in Japan, maybe I'd buy it. I just don't feel like it's France that's doing this to me.
My difficulties seem to lie more in interpersonal relations. Never in my life have I felt this awkward. Sure, we're all a little awkward sometimes, some more than others, but now I feel as if I've taken it on as a personality trait. Granted, this is the first time that I've gone anywhere for an extended period of time without knowing a single person. I feel like I wasted too much time at the beginning being shy, and now that I've had enough of being alone to where I'll actually put myself out there, everyone's already formed into their own little cliques that I'm having a hard time breaking through. And that's just with the other Americans--I would absolutely love to develop real friendships with people who don't speak English, but it is just still so hard for me to communicate with them. Which, of course, makes me more uncomfortable and our interactions more awkward. Now, if I were looking at this situation from outside, I would tell myself to go for it, to be uncomfortable because it'll probably build character. But it's just that it's like this every single day. It wears down on a girl after awhile.
I'm trying to relax and let friendships develop at their own pace, but it's going slower than I'd like it to. On one hand I feel like I'm trying too hard, but on the other hand I feel like I should be trying harder. I can't remember ever being this unsure of myself.
Some days are better than others and I'm trying not to let it get me down too much. I'm sure that someday I'll look back on this as a wonderful learning experience, right?
Monday, March 2, 2009
Language?!
Language, as we all know, fascinates me. That a child's developing brain can automatically pick up, sort out, and reduplicate any language completely blows my mind. You don't even think about it, it just comes out naturally. And that linguists can map out the progress of language back over thousands and thousands of years is ridiculous--they've figured out the basic features of a language they call Proto IndoEuropean, which birthed a crapton of languages (in India and Europe, imagine that) that are spoken today. They're working towards a Proto-World. Maybe I'm just a nerd, but that completely blows me away.
You don't really realize what an essential tool language is until you're somewhere where you can't use it very well. After puberty, a person loses that magical ability that they once had to pick up and sort out languages. That's why someone can fail a foreign language class as easily as they can a math or science class, the information just doesn't stick as well. This little biological tidbit has caused me endless amounts of frustration; four-year-olds can speak French better than I can. Maybe it's just the American in me, but I feel like a person who can't use a language very well oftentimes comes across as less intelligent. Think about it: if you don't have language, how else do you convince someone that you're perfectly capable of higher thought? I say this not because I often think this of people who can't speak English well (I've tried to modify my perceptions of these people since starting to learn foreign languages), but because I feel dumb when I can't get basic points across in another language.
Interestingly enough, I haven't found the same attitudes towards foreign speakers here. Yes, the French make fun of me daily, but I feel like it's all in good spirit--instead of feeling belittled, I'm more inclined to laugh along with them. Maybe they're just more understanding of how difficult it is to learn a foreign language, since it's more common over here. It has to be--Europe is so compact and diverse; you have to learn at least a little of one or two extra languages unless you want to be stuck inside your tiny country for forever. Imagine if the East Coast, West Coast, Midwest, and Southern United States all had different languages--you'd be more inclined to learn them, because really, who wants to stay in the Midwest all their lives? (Well, lots of people actually, but that's besides the point.)
Maybe America's disinclination to study foreign languages and cultures is geographically-based. It's a fairly sizeable country with only two bordering neighbors, and other than that we're pretty isolated from everyone else. If there's so many distinct regions and cultures inside of our own country, why put up with the hassle to go somewhere else?
I still can't fully understand it, personally. In my book, Americans are still lazy and need to get off their asses and go experience the rest of the world.
Big tangents aside, I'm feeling more and more comfortable here with my terrible French as I get used to the fact that this culture doesn't think I'm (very) dumb for not being able to speak their language. I'm trying, right?
Another thing that's ridiculously interesting to me is speaking French with non-native, non-English speakers. First of all, it's interesting in its own right to talk to someone from the other side of the world; they tend to see things radically different from the way you do. But there's something else: just listening to the way they try to construct and pronounce the language gives you insight into how their native language is structured. For instance, when I speak French many times I'm translating in my head directly from English. If I'm speaking with my American friend, she'll understand me even if I'm making horrendous grammatical errors and my pronunciation is anything but French, because she's inclined or once was inclined to make the same mistakes that I do. However, if I'm talking to the Japanese girl that sits next to me in class, and neither of us have mastered French very well yet, there are big gaping holes in the conversation where I can't understand at all what she's saying, and vice-versa. I'm starting to figure it out--Japanese French, Chinese French, Arabic French--what grammatical errors they make, wrong sounds that they substitute for the right ones, etc. The first couple of weeks were pretty intense; I couldn't understand what half the people were saying in class. Now that I've started to figure it out, the linguistics nerd in me has started to piece together what might be some features of Japanese, or Chinese, or Arabic. Whereas up to now I've only been interested in Romance languages, I have a feeling that might change by the end of this trip.
I think that's enough of pouring my brain onto the internet for one day.
You don't really realize what an essential tool language is until you're somewhere where you can't use it very well. After puberty, a person loses that magical ability that they once had to pick up and sort out languages. That's why someone can fail a foreign language class as easily as they can a math or science class, the information just doesn't stick as well. This little biological tidbit has caused me endless amounts of frustration; four-year-olds can speak French better than I can. Maybe it's just the American in me, but I feel like a person who can't use a language very well oftentimes comes across as less intelligent. Think about it: if you don't have language, how else do you convince someone that you're perfectly capable of higher thought? I say this not because I often think this of people who can't speak English well (I've tried to modify my perceptions of these people since starting to learn foreign languages), but because I feel dumb when I can't get basic points across in another language.
Interestingly enough, I haven't found the same attitudes towards foreign speakers here. Yes, the French make fun of me daily, but I feel like it's all in good spirit--instead of feeling belittled, I'm more inclined to laugh along with them. Maybe they're just more understanding of how difficult it is to learn a foreign language, since it's more common over here. It has to be--Europe is so compact and diverse; you have to learn at least a little of one or two extra languages unless you want to be stuck inside your tiny country for forever. Imagine if the East Coast, West Coast, Midwest, and Southern United States all had different languages--you'd be more inclined to learn them, because really, who wants to stay in the Midwest all their lives? (Well, lots of people actually, but that's besides the point.)
Maybe America's disinclination to study foreign languages and cultures is geographically-based. It's a fairly sizeable country with only two bordering neighbors, and other than that we're pretty isolated from everyone else. If there's so many distinct regions and cultures inside of our own country, why put up with the hassle to go somewhere else?
I still can't fully understand it, personally. In my book, Americans are still lazy and need to get off their asses and go experience the rest of the world.
Big tangents aside, I'm feeling more and more comfortable here with my terrible French as I get used to the fact that this culture doesn't think I'm (very) dumb for not being able to speak their language. I'm trying, right?
Another thing that's ridiculously interesting to me is speaking French with non-native, non-English speakers. First of all, it's interesting in its own right to talk to someone from the other side of the world; they tend to see things radically different from the way you do. But there's something else: just listening to the way they try to construct and pronounce the language gives you insight into how their native language is structured. For instance, when I speak French many times I'm translating in my head directly from English. If I'm speaking with my American friend, she'll understand me even if I'm making horrendous grammatical errors and my pronunciation is anything but French, because she's inclined or once was inclined to make the same mistakes that I do. However, if I'm talking to the Japanese girl that sits next to me in class, and neither of us have mastered French very well yet, there are big gaping holes in the conversation where I can't understand at all what she's saying, and vice-versa. I'm starting to figure it out--Japanese French, Chinese French, Arabic French--what grammatical errors they make, wrong sounds that they substitute for the right ones, etc. The first couple of weeks were pretty intense; I couldn't understand what half the people were saying in class. Now that I've started to figure it out, the linguistics nerd in me has started to piece together what might be some features of Japanese, or Chinese, or Arabic. Whereas up to now I've only been interested in Romance languages, I have a feeling that might change by the end of this trip.
I think that's enough of pouring my brain onto the internet for one day.
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