Vicarious Paris

A simple afternoon on a rainy day in Paris.

2012-01-20T08:31:00.000-08:00

You finally convince yourself to leave the house and brave the rain in search of a fresh cup of coffee and a warm pain au chocolat. You know this is never going to happen though so you decide to settle for an itty bitty cup of espresso and whatever slightly stale pastry that has made it until 3 in the afternoon.

You wandered towards the laundry mat, vaguely aware that there is a patisserie with-in walking distance from there, that serves fresh OJ with their slightly less than burnt espresso. However you are in an "adventurous" mood, and by adventurous of course we mean lazy, so you cut through a side street knowing it should put you in the general area that you are looking for, but also knowing that you will inevitably become lost as soon as you reach the other side.

Sure enough this is what happens. Everything looks familiar but you've never seen it from this direction, and you don't remember there being this many streets so you aren't sure which one to turn down. You pop your head in to a little patisserie on the corner before you decide to stay on the road you came out on and head for the larger road you can see a few blocks away. You make it to within half a block of the big road when you realize that you are going the wrong direction, so you decide to run across the street and turn back to avoid that awkward sensation that people are aware and judgmental of the fact that you have to turn around because you went the wrong way.

As you are crossing the street though you notice a brightly colored sign, that almost seems as if it was done by a street artist. You double take a read the sign, which suggests that the building is an art gallery, you look n the front window and sure enough three painting are hanging against a white wall. A man comes out and tells you that the gallery isn't currently open, but that you are more than welcome to go look inside, or at least that is what you think, he then says "It's ok, go in and look if you wish." Apparently your face says "I don't speak French" more often than you thought. You decide to check it out, after all you are in no hurry, the art seems like it may be interesting and the man was very nice about it.

As it turns out the man who invited you in is the best friend of the artist whose work is in the window, he also serves as a front desk man for the gallery. He tells you about the works in French and English and after a few minutes call into the back room. Soon his friend, the artist, appears and the three of you begin talking about the combination of street and contemporary art, about differences between Japanese and American comics, and about artists like Norman Rockwell. Another artist comes in, he is setting up some new works on the bottom floor of the gallery and seems intimidated by the fact that you all are mostly speaking English. So he scuttles off out of sight, every now and then answering questions that your little group hollers down. You learn that the current show just opened yesterday, hence their excitement. You talk a bit longer, more interested in the people than the art by this point, and eventually you leave with an invitation to come back whenever, even if it is just to practice your French. You give up on finding caffeine and baked goods now that it is nearly five and decide to head back home for a bit before heading back out to the farewell dinner for the rest of your study abroad companions.

You stop in the store on the corner to pick up some random foodstuffs/ use a few of your meal vouchers since they expire in a week, and then find yourself eating Pim's and yogurt for breakfast at half past five in the afternoon on a simple rainy day afternoon in Paris.

New Years

2012-01-08T07:48:00.000-08:00

It's New years in Paris. You're not quiet jet lagged from your flight back this morning, but rather exhausted by the mental implications of another five months in France.

You let the others make the plans and follow along in their footsteps up to Montmartre to watch the midnight light show that will supposedly take place near the Eiffel Tower. The others drink wine straight from the bottle but not you, you watch the crowds silently; happy to have a reason to celebrate but you'd be just as happy if you were ticked up warm in bed. "No regrets" the phrase that shaped your high school years/friends flutters through your head and you smile.

You stand guard on a wall clinging to the high medal fence waiting for the show to start. The crowd counts down more than once, no ones clock seems to be correct. You group all stares anxiously at their phones waiting for the time to pass, as if in one more minute the world will be irrevocably changed. But you know something that they don't want to hear, there are four, not one, minutes left until the New Year in Paris. Their clocks change and their excitement withers as they realize you were right. You hide your phone to keep them from wasting more time staring at a measure of something that is really only relative.

Just on time the light show begins, only it wasn't what the others expected. The sparkling Eiffel Tower looks just as it does at the top of every hour, every night. Sure fireworks are being set off here and there, even a few people in the near by crowd on the stairs of Montmartre are setting off fireworks, you are afraid someone will get hurt, but no one does.

Your group sets off through the crowds down the hill towards the Metro; the year is young and so are you, it seems fitting to make the most of it. The crowds are filled with friends you have yet to meet, Germans who share their sparklers with you just because you are nearby and smiling, in return your group searches their pockets for something to open a bottle with, eventual making use of a key. An old man holding a small but empty cups smiles at the bottle of champaign in your hand, you smile back and fill his little cup, good karma for the new year.

As you shoulder your way through the lines in the Metro you kiss all the strangers that pass, males, female old young, it doesn't matter, these people also think that some great unknowable change has just occurred, perhaps they are right. Most get kiss on both checks as is customary some on the lips some kiss hands or foreheads, wherever it is convenient for lips to meet skin as stranger-friends pass in opposite directions.

On the train someone is singing Opera, they slur their words together a bit as if intoxicated, but the notes sound right, the tempo is steady. You seek the person out, she is standing behind her tall and happy friend you steps aside when he realizes what you are looking for. The Opera singer is wearing a sequined bright red dress and a black fedora, she has every look of a young partier without a care in the world, but her voice tells you that she does care about something, she cares enough to have had herself trained.

The train cheers as she finishes and she catches you watching her and bows a bit unsure of her footing on the moving train, your group cheers louder encouraging her to take up another song but the train stops and it's time for your transfer, the singer gets off too promising to call her friend latter and finds your group in the crowed. Happy New Year! Bonn Année! and kisses on the checks are exchanged as if you've all been friends for years. She insists on speaking English and decides that she must make sure that you all get on the right train, and although you know exactly where you have to go you let her lead you through the crowds, discussing the under-appreciation of classical music as you make the walking transfer. "That is where you want to go, it's just a few more stops so don't forget to get off!" She says pointing towards line five. Once more kisses are exchanged along with have a great night! be safe! thank you so much! You all want her to feel as though she really was useful because her enthusiasm for life is contagious. You then hear your train rumbling in and hurry off down the stairs to make the platform before it does letting the night take you where it will.

Subtlety and Sarcasim

2011-12-11T06:31:00.000-08:00

The French are not a very subtle people. It is customary here to ask at the beginning of every conversation ça-va?, or one of it's more formal synonyms. To an American it is curious how they often respond. In the states, if one is asked how are you? The most depressing answer you are likely to receive is an "Oh. I'm fine." with a subtle sigh of "I'm actually miserable or horribly upset." In France the art of subtlety is as foreign to them as another language, they simply do not understand it.

This results in refreshingly, yet surprisingly honest answers. Despite the fact that ça-va? is a formality, the response always involves the truth.

Madame:"Bonjour Robyn! Ça-va?"

"Oui, ça-va bien. Et toi?"

Madame:"Non, pas ça-va."

It strikes you because your American sentiments are so used to, "it's fine, don't worry, go live your happy little life without a thought to my current state of emotion."

But not in France, in France they tell you, "No, not fine, Tiffany was supposed to leave on Monday, but she left today without telling me, and I came to check on her only to realize that she had left, but what's more, she has been smoking in her room, and all her things smell of cigarettes, now I must wash the sheets and the towels, because I don't want the house smelling like cigarettes, why couldn't she have just gone outside? It's disrespectful." And while you may not understand all of the words (they are being said in French after all) you understand the disappointment in the tone, and you understand that the honest response wasn't meant to make you feel sorry for her (although it does) but rather to simply seek some sort of relief from speaking the truth to another.

In arguments the French are also not fond of subtlety; instead they become extra polite and use heavy amounts of sarcasm, so that one feels as if they are listening to a couple of Old-English gentlemen have a row. "Now Sir, I dare say, I rather enjoy the burnt taste of my meal, well prepared, you must give your chef my greatest compliments." "Oh dear Sir, you honor me with your words, I shall be more than pleased to pass your message on, in the mean time, is there anything else you need." The winner is always the one who shows the most stoicism and attains the highest level of politeness. It is quite interesting if you think about it, and no matter how good your French is, until you understand and stick true to these two concepts, you will always be pegged as that American.

Madame:"Bonjour Robyn! Ça-va?" [Mah-damn: "Bon-johr Ro-bahn! Sa-vah?] Madame: Hello Robyn, how are you?

"Oui, ça-va bien. Et toi?" [Wee, sa-vah be-en. Ehh twah?]- Yes, I'm doing well, and you?

Madame:"Non, pas ça-va." [Mah-damn: Nohn, pa sa-vah]- No, I am not well.

Oh what a day?

2011-10-16T08:03:00.000-07:00

Today, is your Birthday. It is Saturday, the 1st of October 2011. You are now 21, congratulations.

You will get to sleep in a bit, then you and your roommate, J, will spend most of the day hanging out in your small room discussing how fun Paris is and resting up for what should be one of the best nights of the year... an annual Parisian event called Nuit Blanche.

According to the google translated version of the website (nuitblance.paris.fr) tonight should be an awesome combination of Art, Culture, and good times. With most of the events starting at 8pm and continuing on until 7 am it is going to be a long night, this is why you and J are enjoying a Lazy Day.

At 6 you leave for Monoprix and grab the cheese, bread and bottle of Wine (a nice 2008), that you agreed to bring to the pique-nique, you forget to buy the meat slices, which you remember as soon as you leave the store after a 15 minute wait in the check out line.

You don't have time to go back so you figure perhaps you will pass another store with shorter waits, and if not, oh well. You get to the Metro stop at 6:25, exactly five minutes early, J shows up at 6:34 (which means you may have been able to go back in get the meat and still meet up with her without being horribly late). Together you excitedly board the Metro and head on down to meet a few of the others for dinner.

You arrive at the location a bit late, and can't seem to find anyone, but after a few texts using your Orange Phone's strange keyboard you realize that you are the first to arrive. Eventually a location is chosen and everyone gathers dropping their goodies into the center of the circle you have formed on the grass. Thus the "feast" commences, at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, just after sunset.

What was supposed to take an hour takes three as you wait for on of the girls who has gotten lost navigating the Metro, but no one minds much. The food is cheap but good, and the wine from little plastic cups makes everyone feel classier than they really are, if only for a moment.

By 10:15 it's time for a quick bathroom break before you head out to the great wonders Nuit Blanche has promised you. By 11:15 you realize you must not be doing Nuit Blanche correctly. by 12:15 you have gotten lost more than once but managed to find your way to the Purple Rain exhibit, and while you aren't horribly exited about it, the rest of the group suddenly becomes enthusiastic again when they realize they've found it, and thus begins the three hour wait in line. By 1:15 certain more annoying members of your party are complaining of the wait despite the fact that you all knew how long it would take. By 2:15 some random chick a few groups ahead of you begins to throw up on the wall of the building you all are queued against, then drunkly cry about the state of her life you turn your back so you don't throw up, then strategically place yourself in J's line of view so that she doesn't through up either.

Finally around 3:15 you have made it, cold and tired, inside the courtyard where the exhibit is being held. It is much cooler than you expected, there is actual purple rain falling from the sky as you are handed a see-through umbrella with a slight purple tint of its own. The courtyard however, is crowded, the water is wet, and soon your shoes are soaked and The Complainer has begun to complain again. You take some pictures, discuss how interesting the set of is and then leave, returning your umbrellas as you do so. As you exit then regroup you notice that the wait is now only about five minutes long. It's pointed out that you could have gone to another exhibit then come back, but it's too late now. Every one decides to head home early, the line having killed their spirits and you and J head off to find one of the two Metro lines that have stayed open late for the occasion.

By 4:15 you realize that you have walked half way home in the opposite direction of the Metro you were aiming for. You decide to back track to avoid walking the less activunintelligible maps that lead to wrong turns and closed Metro entrances (as well as almost causing J to have a mental break down) at 5:15 you finally arrive back home exhausted, cold, wet, and rather disappointed by the nights events. It's then as you shiver in bed that you realize that the only people who sang happy birthday to you were your parents/sister, and you didn't hear most of it because of a glitch in you sound system, this is what makes you realize that you just experienced your most anti-climactic birthday ever. Perhaps this is why some adults seem so set on "forgetting" their birthday.

A tour à l'heure,

Vicarious Paris

Nuit Blanche [New-E Blahnshh] is, as stated, and annual Arts event that takes place across Paris. Many museums are open all night (with free admission) and temporary exhibits are set up around a few key areas, there is also supposedly lots of live music and other fun activities but we didn't experience any. Literally translated it means White Night, but its actually meaning is closer to "a night without sleep".

Monoprix [Mono-Pree]- is a chain store similar to Target in that it sells everything form clothing to food, but unlike Target, Monoprix is often overpriced (but they accept our Sedexo food checks soooo. . .).

Pique-Nique- a fancy French way of saying pic-nic.

New air, new immune system.

2011-10-12T15:05:00.000-07:00

"What is that noise."

"Sorry, my throat itches."

"You better not be getting sick. I don't want to be a part of that."

"I'm not, don't worry."

The next morning you wake up, sick. Of course. You suffer through, it seems to be only a minor cold after all.

The day after waking up sick you enter full on Zombie mode. You think you may have spent several hours walking around Versailles? Possibly you went to Monet's house in Givernigig, Givniver, Givgishishmobonkin. Something like that.

Then again, it may all have been a weird dream.

As your "concerned" roommate, J insists you go to a doctor, or take some medicine.

"I want my body to build up its immune system, I'll be fine it's not that bad."

Zombie phase continues.

At some point you saw some castle thing Napoleon built? This may have been the day before Versailles, it may have been after, hell it could have been the same day. Zombie mode is not a keeper of time or places. This was a place for injured veterans and invalids? Perhaps that has something to do with the Metro stop you may or may not remember. While leaving this place Jane makes a comment in her ever so soothing British accent. "Robyn, you don't look well. Are you feeling all right?"

"Just a small cold."

"Perhaps you should go see a doctor just incase."

"I'll be fine, lots of sleep."

"Alright, if you think you can manage then great. It's better to not have to see a doctor that way your body will be prepared come winter."

"Yeah."

"But if you do decide you do need a doctor, just stop by the office and I will call and set up an appointment for you. Ok?"

You have no words left in your sick little throat. So you nod.

At some point during The Sickness you take a test. A French language placement test, or something. You had to write an essay about an invention that changed the 20th century, or was it the 21st? Either way you remember writing ordinateur and wi-fi several times, including a grammatically incorrect horribly spelled statement about how schools, governments, and businesses all benefit from the magical wi-fi/ordinateur combination. The only thing your are certain about is that you left two sections blank, and couldn't remember your French phone number/address, J helped you find the first, and then when she wasn't looking you copied the second down as well.

You then felt guilty for "cheating" on the "What is your local address?" question that was less of a question and more of a "let us own your life" opportunity.

You don't remember knowing the answer to a single one of the multiple choice questions, so you did what they specifically may have possibly told you not to do: you guessed. Then your people gently shepherded you into a line for the oral examination. You mustered every last bit of energy and brain power to explain to your confused looking professor why you seemed so odd and confused.

"Je suis malade."

"Où?"

????

"Where, where are you sick."

"Oh my uh, my, je ne sais pas le mot. . ." You gesture.

"La gorge?"

"Oui."

(Non-sick you knew that answer.)

Somehow you make it home at eventually you start to feel better. Several days after the test you discover that by some weird fluke you tested into the third level of the second level*. Elementary 13. You are happy to not be in a Beginners level, but aware that you would be better suited for Elementary 15, the lowest Elementary level. This is confirmed when classes begin, but after a discussion with Danica about grade transfers and what you hope to gain from the class you decided to stay with the slightly more difficult/out of your comprehension class in hopes that you will gain more from it. Danica thinks that if you apply yourself you will be able to test into the intermediate level next semester and will therefor be eligible for actual French lecture courses.

The challenge is accepted, but you still question how Zombie you managed to test into a higher level when Post Zombie you doesn't even remember what the majority of the test was about.

A tout à l'heure,

Vicarious Paris

Ordinateur [Or-din-AH-ter]- that magical device known in English as a computer.

Wi-Fi (often but not always pronounced [Wee-Fee]- Wi-Fi

Je suis malade [jze swee ma-lahd]- I am sick.

Où? [Ooo (as in Ooo-Ahhhhhh!)]- Where?

"Oh my uh, my, je ne sais pas le mot. . ." [oh my uh, my, jze nuh say pa le moe]- "Oh my uh, my, I don't know the word. . ."

"La gorge?" [La gor-g (like gorgeous without the us)]- "The throat?"

Oui [we]- Yes.

*There are five main levels. In ascending order they are Beginner, Elementary, Intermediate, Advanced, and Superior (for those fluent enough to sound like a native speaker.) Each of these levels has five interior or sub levels and I THINK (mais je ne sais pas) that they are (in ascending order) 15, 14, 13, 12, and 11. Yes, i said ascending order, in this case 11 is the highest sub level, 15 the lowest.

From the beach to the city. . .

2011-09-30T13:34:00.000-07:00

Wake up.

No.

Yes, wake your ass up, you need to pack the rest of your things into your "day bag" as Jane calls it then go turn in your key and head down to breakfast.

No.

It's the last morning in Cannes, now it's off to Paris.

Paris?

Yes, the reason you came to France in the first place. You know that city up north you've been waiting all summer for....

Yes. Paris. Today?!

Now you're awake. You stand up a bit dizzy. Too fast. Feel around for your phone under your pillow, check the time 7:55. The others will be knocking on your door to walk down to breakfast in five minutes. They are always on time. Stumble on over to the sink fill up your water bottle and wash your face, shoot you packed your towel in your suitcase which was sent up to Paris last night. Oh well. You take off your t-shirt and use it to dry your face instead, then set about shoving the rest of your goods into your beach bag, even though you're sure there is still a bit of room in your back pack.

Now you think you can hear them grumbling down the hallway to you. 8:30 is a horrible time to have a group of young people meet. Change your clothes really quick then stuff the last things into your bag. Shit. L is still asleep, you should have woken her when you woke up. You call over the desk to wake your temporary roommate, only to remember that she is an own travel student, she left last night. There's a knock on the door just as your pj pants find their way into your bag. "It's open!" That was loud. In they come ready for the day, but just as unhappy as you feel.

You double check the room, force your last few Euro coins into your pocket along with your new French phone, and your ATM card, just in case then head downstairs. The others have already checked in their keys, so you split here as they head into the cafe. There's a crowd around the door, but luckily you spot Jane in the middle, you make eye contact and then she makes her way over to you, "Do you want to just give me your key and I'll check it in for you while you eat." she asks in her wonderful British accent. "Yes." You are still half asleep so it takes until you give her the key for you to remember to say please, then you throw in a thank you. "You can leave your bags down here if you'd like, some of the others have done so as well I'm watching them." When Jane talks you can sense that she has been to many places and lived a fulfilling life, which make you wonder why she is currently playing shepherd to a group of American students, although she does seem to enjoy it.

Her offer sounds enticing but it's too much effort to remove your backpack and computer case, plus your beach bag doesn't really close, so you mutter "No, merci." and head run up the stairs as fast as your tired body can, it's easier this way, with the momentum. You gulp down a cup of coffee, that doesn't taste like coffee, followed by the French equivalent of sliced white bread (looks the same, tastes/feels different) covered in laughing cow cheese, you'd think the land of fancy cheese could do better. Oh well.

Next thing you know you are at the train station in Cannes standing with your group, waiting for the train and trying not to pee your pants. The entire water bottle you drank, along with the coffee, were not good ideas, especially since the Cannes train station is so small that it doesn't have "les toilettes." You think Jane is both judging your bladder and laughing at your potty dance so you crack some jokes that are only funny because everyone is tired.

Train bathrooms are small, and less fun than airplane bathrooms because there isn't just a little bit of turbulence here and there, the whole effing thing is turbulence. But still so worth it.

The train ride itself is rather miserable. You are not one prone to motion sickness but today it's all you can do not to hurl your small breakfast onto J.

Perhaps you shouldn't have had so much wine last night.

It was only like three glasses spread out over the course of the night. I feel sick because trains suck, and I stupidly stayed out late.

It's probably the wine.

It's not the wine, it's the tired and the crap coffee and the cheese bread. Plus I am legal to drink here, and almost legal to drink back home, and it wasn't actually that much, AND it was the final beach party.

I'm not sure "beach party" and not drunk are compatible.

Yes, they are. I spent most of the night shepherding drunk companions back to school, or chatting with F and the others anyways. If I wasn't on a train/functioning on like four hours of sleep I'd be fine.

Touché.

You sleep through as much of the train ride as you can. You write a bit, add a couple of pages to the novel that will never be published, then pass out again. You find out that Jane has two extra "pic-nique" sacks and she heard you talking about your love for the little applesauce space pack things, so she saved you one. It's nice to know your almost peeing your pants a few hours ago didn't totally ruin her opinion of you. You slurp the applesauce down then back to sleep, computer open and headphones in, like a giant iPod. Sleeping around your computer on the small table is difficult but soon J is shaking you awake to show you the picturesque little towns with graffiti covered train stations. They do look lovely and you're a lot less motion sick now that you've slept a bit.

Eventually the loudspeaker turns on and a man jumbles through something in French, then in English he translates, apparently it's the conductors last ever day at work for the TGV, he will be retiring after today's trip, so don't feel alarmed if you hear fireworks of pops going off as we arrive. Good to know; don't freak if it seems like your train is being blown up. As the train starts to slow Jane comes by to give instructions for what to do once we de-board: follow her to the truck that drove all of our luggage up, here we will meet with Claire who will give us our housing assignments on a slip of paper, then with our roommates we will load in to taxis and embark on an adventure into the unknown.

As soon as you and A get off the train you realize that you both have to pee, but you stall too long deciding whether or not to just re-board real quick and go, so instead you hold it as The Group slowly navigates through the conductors celebration on the platform. You make it to the truck and ask Jane if this station has a bathroom, she almost smiles as she informs you that it does, but it's on the opposite side of the building and probably costs money.

M agrees to watch the potty groups bags while you, A, and two others all retrace your steps back inside behind Jane. You have almost lucked out, a temp bathroom has been set up close to the station entrance, but it costs 50 Euro Cents and there is a line that is not moving very quickly.

The first thing you buy in Paris is the privilege to pee.

Now you are in a taxi with J, heading off to your new home, trying to guess which street will be yours and navigating the route on the new little tourist map Claire gave you.

There's the Notre Dame, I think that one's The National Assembly? according to the map we are pulling up towards The Louvre. THERE'S THE OBELISK! You explain to J why it has been controversial lately, it bores her but she listens, you're both to dumbfounded by your surroundings to actually be aware of your surroundings. That road's the Champs Eyséese! This is cool.

Now you two are lost in a courtyard, there are two open doors leading to two staircases and the first doesn't go all the way up to your floor, while the second looks as if it is inside the house, you call Claire, AIFS calls your host mum, and in what seems like no time since you left this morning you are unpacked and lying on your new bed. You turn to J "Hey remember that time we were in Paris, and got lost in a courtyard?" "Yeah, good times."

A tout à l'heure,

Vicarious Paris

(No translations today, too tired, and most everything can be easily looked up if you don't already know them (which you should)).

Tu comprends?

2011-09-20T12:56:00.000-07:00

Walk in, careful not to trip on the single step by the door. Smile, these are your new friends after all. That little nod they gave in return proves that you are not the only one who's tired. Take your usual seat in the small rectangular class, the first one, there on the left, between the corner and the heater, next to the broken one with the broken desk. Maybe you should exchange your seat for the broken one, so that your neighbor will be pleasantly surprised when all of her notebooks don't slide off. Too bad she's right behind you, you've been with her since you rushed in late to breakfast.

Coffee is not a meal.

Despite the fact that the two of you are on completely different French levels, you're secretly glad she's in your class. It's nice to have a friend near by, even one so new.

Together you greet the teacher. "Bonjour!" The teacher is filled with so much energy that you sit up a bit straighter. You want to impress her, because you want her to realize that you appreciate all that she is teaching you. You remember the warnings that the AIFS advisors gave you, "Your teachers will not be like you had back home, they will be blunt, they will correct you, and you may find them mean or rude. That is just the way, don't fret." She is not like this at all. She smiles, and laughs, she makes jokes, and yet can correct your pronunciation without making you feel stupid, yeah you definitely are going to regret not having her as a teacher in Paris.

The lesson has begun while you were thinking, you look over at J's desk to see what page you should be on... cent seize. You flip through trying to find it, the whole class may not make sense if you miss this first part. You find it, but you're tired, you don't understand what she's saying, it's all in French. You try hard to focus. You think that was "le verbe," perhaps you hear "le pronom," wait what about the Passé Compossé? Is that done now?

The class continues the page is turned, you missed the directions to do so, once again J's book provides you with the right number. Now you hear and vaguely understand the directions you have come to recognize as the signal for the class to complete an exercise out loud. Each student answering a question in turn. You stare at your page trying to decipher the French directions for the French grammar lesson you didn't understand. "Tu comprends Robyn?" No, you don't but there are 11 others in your class, you can tell they are looking at you so you keep your head down and lift your left hand, palm towards the ground and twist it slightly from left to right signaling "comme ce comme ca," an on the fence gesture that says "I know it, but I'm not confident I know it." She understands that it really means "I have no clue what's going on, but I don't want my peers to laugh at me."

She explains the main points again, but slower, you start to get the basic concepts, J watches your face as well to translate under her breath when you really get confused. You think you understand enough to participate in the exercise. "Ahhh, oui, oui je comprends."

The exercise starts and you quickly count out the people who will go in front of you to find which question will be yours. Shit. You will be the first person to answer a question in whatever exercise she choses next. You scan the page trying to answer the first question of each exercise before they get to you, but you don't understand the concepts enough to answer them in time. One ear is listening to the answers that the others give, trying to find some sort of life raft that will save you once your turn arrives, but you get distracted, and now all eyes turn to you as you are assigned exercise 4. You read off the directions out loud, but you have no clue what the words you say mean, you could be condemning an innocent man to death and still you would blindly proceed, fingers crossed in hopes that your accent is not too thick. You slowly read the example, hoping to soak up its secret. Now you read the question, you recognize some of the words as you say them, it's asking if your husband got you flowers, but you don't know how to phrase the answer so you stall, "comment ce dit cet "mari" en anglais" you don't even think that you phrased the question properly, the teacher translates the entire sentence into english, you can tell she is frustrated you start slowly, she asks questions, each answer providing the next word in the sentence, eventually the answer appears and you sigh. Done. J'ai fini. J easily answers the next one and the class continues, but you look at the clock and know that there are still 2 and a half hours of class left today. . . (to be continued.)

A tout à l'heure,

Vicarious Paris

Bonjour [bon-jor] - hello/good day

cent seize [sont says] - 116

le verbe [le verb]- the verb

le pronom [le pro-nohm]- the pronoun

passé composé [pass-a compose-a]- the past tense

Tu comprends? [too com-prond] - Do you understand?

comme ce comme ca [comb-see comb-saw] - an answer used to determine how a person is doing, often in response to the customary greeting "Comment ça va?" which asks "How are you?" It is the indifferent response, both it and the accompanying hand gesture essentially mean "neither bad nor good," aka, in the middle.

Ahhh, oui, oui je comprends [Ah, we, we jzu com-prond] - Ahh yes, yes, I understand.

comment ce dit cet "mari" en anglais? [comm-o say dee say ma-ri on ohng-lay]- a rather American way of asking how to say a word or phrase in English, often used among students to discern the meaning of a new term, or to help find a word they do not know if "anglais" is replaced with "français." Roughly translates to "how is "insert word or phrase" said in English/French?" In our case it is most likely spelt wrong and or being used improperly.

J'ai fini [Jzay fin-ee]- I have/am finished.

Welcome.

2011-09-18T11:23:00.000-07:00

You and I are now one in the same.

Welcome to the world you innocent little thing, now we can share adventures together.

When I say "you" myself is included, and when you see me write "I" know that you are included. Now that we are the same all things I do, you do, so pay attention, perhaps there is a lesson to learn. From this point forward you are invited to share in my triumphs and defeats, in the sights I see and the words I learn. . . but only if you choose to take such a risk.

A tout à l'heure,

Vicarious Paris

Cannes you handle it?

2011-09-16T13:01:00.001-07:00

Life here in Cannes* [kahn] runs at an other worldly pace. On the surface it's slow and lazy, each day seeming to fill the place of five so that the last week feels more like a month.

In "reality" it has only been a week, and it's been anything but slow. Since our group of students began arriving in London last Friday morning a great deal has happened. Tests have been taken, half a semester of French classes have been crammed into one week, sun burns and bug bites have plagued numerous students, and a few days on the beach have earned even the palest, discernible tan lines. Parties have occurred in the sand, where it's easier to communicate with dance than with language. Stories have been told and secrets have been shared. Buses routes have been mapped, and money exchanged and spent. Conversations about food allergies and intolerances have been mangled but pieced together through "franglais*"[fran-glay] and gesticulation. Toothpaste has exploded on planes, notebooks have been bought and the macaroons at "Jean-Luc's . . ." have been consumed.

And most interestingly, friendships have been made and cliques seem to have been formed before anyone even arrived in Europe. At least that's what it seems. The term "Fast Friends" is an under-statement here. From looking at the group you'd think that we have all been at the same school since we were five, and that despite the cliques, we recognize our status as a single large unit. Watching the interactions and over hearing the gossip, it's difficult to comprehend that despite not knowing everyones name, everyone seems to have been part of "The Group" for their whole life.

Here things are often compared to the feelings, emotions, events and connections of Freshman year in college. To a certain extent it is the same, but there is still the under lying feeling that we have become too comfortable with each other too quickly for things to have an overly happy ending, even more so than in Freshman year.

In college the first friends you make are a form of temporary survival, it's ok if they don't last because you will make new ones in class or through clubs. Here, "The Group" is the unspoken key to survival, especially for those who don't speak French. "The Group" are your roommates, your classmates, your dinner buddies, your tutors, your translators, your stress releasers, your empathizers, your "safety in numbers." So while in a normal college residence hall many would probably not acknowledge the others, here it could prove dangerous to stick with your clique. Many may disagree with this, but here we are in a world apart from the rest of our peers, we came as a group, we live as a group, we leave as a group. The dynamics are fascinating, and begs the question. . . what will happen when the first set of students finish their sojourn abroad and leave the rest of us here. .. how will "The Group" be affected when suddenly all but three are back in their respective states?

Perhaps time will tell, but who knows.

A tout à l'heur,

Vicarious Paris

Cannes- a town in southern France known for its amazing beaches and international festivals.
Franglais- an unofficial language that combines various amounts of both French and English terms often used by those learning, but not fluent in one of the languages.

Here is a video that keeps "The Group" going.

It's always interesting when you start off. . .

2011-09-15T11:54:00.000-07:00

The last few days have served to remind me that sometimes you just have to jump in. Or as the French would put it...

<<Prends ton courage à deux mains et jettes toi à l'eau>>

It pretty much means what it looks like it means, but it just doesn't have the same "taste" in English. Sort of like poetry that's been translated.