On va prendre le risque

I passed another great French milestone yesterday--I experienced my first French strike!

It's kind of funny--I don't remember EVER being affected by a strike anywhere else I lived, but France is rather notorious for workers strikes (admit it, you are), and it was pretty excepted that I should live through at least one during my time here.

Essentially, this is what happened: both the RATP and SNCF workers who run the RER A and RER B (like S-Bahn/distance trains) were on strike (from what I understand, they had to get extra training and wanted to be paid more because of it), so the RER B--what I take--was only running piecewise, with no service between Gare du Nord and Denfort Rochereau. This was not a huge problem for me, since I take the normal métro in the morning to get to the Gare du Nord and then go to the suburbs from here. However, there were also only 1 of 2 trains running on the line (or 2 of 4, according to some sources :P).

50% is not so bad, I thought, and left at 9:30 instead of the usual 10 AM to get to my 11:30 class. What I did not anticipate, however, is that they would be leaving from a different track. After running around the station, which, while quite well-marked for the actual lines, is not very well-marked for track numbers, I finally found where I was supposed to be departing from. I thought.

Everyone else seemed similarly confused. "Does this train go to Charles DeGaulle?" asked some tourists.

"Yes, we think so," responded one of our fellow passengers. Well, that's reassuring. Sort of.

Others continued to board. "Excusez-moi, mais savez-vous si ce train va à Charles de Gaulle ?" a man asked me.

"Um, je suis pas sûre," I replied. "Il y a quelqu'un qui a dit que oui, mais je n'ai rien vu personellement." (I'm not sure...someone said it did, but I didn't see anything personally.)

Another man got in. He addressed the man who had just spoken to me. "Est-ce que ce train va à Charles de Gaulle ?"

"Nous, on pense que oui, mais on ne sait pas," he replied. "On va prendre le risque." (We think so, but we don't really know. We're going to take the risk.)

This answer just tickled me. Once again, despite an utter lack of information and the potential for chaos and confusion, the French manage to keep a level head. Bravo :)

Auf Deutsch umgestellt

I know what you're thinking: for a blog about a person's time in France, there's an awful lot of German on here.

But that is what this post is about (or should I say, that is it about which it goes :P): my past weekend in Germany and the interesting and difficult language experiences I had.

First, the weekend was simply destined for success since I was visiting some of my very favorite people, who I had not seen for about 11 months. I think it is so encouraging how people who grew up on opposite sides of an ocean can still have so much in common (above all a sense of humor :)) But also our differences prove interesting; I wonder if I would have heard anyone talk seriously about a universal basic income even at liberal Brown University, or question the notion of "the customer is always right"--what now appears to me to be a distinctly American maxim. I also love filling in what seem more and more to be gaping holes in the English vocabulary (I want to petition Merriam-Webster to add "Fremdscham"--vicarious embarrassment--to the lexicon, joining the ranks of other useful German compounds such as "Zeitgeist", "Wanderlust", and "Schadenfreude".)

The weekend also made me realize--quite unfortunately--how much of my German I had forgotten. I'm afraid I'm developing a similar block in German which I developed in French after not using it for about a year. And what's worse, I'm not sure I ever got over the French block. I think the hesitation has three parts: vocabulary, structure, and grammar. The vocabulary part is easy to understand; the word just doesn't come to mind. But I think this is very closely linked to structure--I have learned to use the Latin-based words which happen to be cognates in my French conversation, while I (traditionally) avoid them when speaking in German in favor of something more standard for that language. Equally, I've been suppressing everything I consider uniquely German in order to avoid these vocabulary gaps in French (for example--taking something I just heard on TV--I'm not sure how to say something like ausgerechnet in French, let alone more creative expressions like davon krieg ich Augenkrebs [that gives me eye-cancer]). Avoiding everything uniquely German for the past couple of months has thus taken it's toll, leading to either bland constructions, or even something resembling French on occasion (such as es gibt meinen Vater, der bezahlen wird--same structure as a rather typical il y a mon père qui va payer [my dad is going to pay]).

The other great problem is grammar. As far as I can tell, I haven't forgotten the rules so much--I still know how to decline all the genders in all the cases--but I am far less certain what gender a word is. This puts strain on the already rusty mechanism which notes the preposition or other determiner, jumps ahead to the noun to check the gender, then returns back to the present in time to choose the proper article. This was obviously never perfect, and oftentimes I took an incredibly long time to learn the gender (I cannot tell you how many times I looked up "Visum" to see if it was "der" or "das"), or discovered after an embarrassingly long time that I had learned it incorrectly (for example "die" not "der" Ampel; "das" not "die" Interesse). But now it is worse, because I have now forgotten articles from words I once knew--therefore, I still expect to be able to decline the article properly, and only discover too late that I no longer know how.

Now, after four days in Germany, I am once again in German mode, something I am going to try to keep up until my very important trip to Berlin in a couple of weeks. But in a way that is Schade um mein Französisch, n'est-ce pas ?

Typisch Französisch

Today, the buses between the RER métro station and the school where I teach weren't running. No warning, no notification, just an unusually large number of people milling about the stop. Thankfully there were a few other teachers who had arrived on the same train, and we set off on the 25-minute walk to the school. As it was still dark, essentially what could be considered the wee hours of the morning for a recent college grad like myself, this was not my idea of a good time. However, I did have some enjoyable, half-asleep-and-can't-believe-I-have-to-speak-in-a-foreign-language conversation with the German assistant and a history prof I work with. I think my favorite part of the morning came as we were scurrying across the street when the light was red (or rather, the German assistant and I were scurrying, while the other profs had naturally noticed the opening earlier and crossed at a more leisurely pace).

"Findest du es nicht komisch, dass man hier immer bei Rot über die Ampel geht?" (Don't you think it's weird that everyone jaywalks here?) I asked.

The German assistant smirked. "Das ist typisch französisch, halt." (That's just typically French.)

Indeed. It's certainly a sharp contrast from Tübingen, where a man once sped up in an apparent attempt to mow me down in the intersection the one time I dared cross on a red light (not achieving this, he instead shook his fist and shouted at me).

Upon reflection, I think the whole morning was very typically French. (Or even this whole week. Or whole month and a half.) The buses weren't running, but no one panicked. No one was even terribly surprised. Everyone passed smoothly to plan B. The heat hasn't been working, but everyone just dresses warm--or organizes to cancel class. It's been taking over a month to get my autorisation de cumul, but the CNRS is still willing to hire me. Delays, mishaps, and inconveniences are taken in stride. It's really quite admirable how patient and and understanding (most) people here are.

Of course I would rather live without the unexpected setbacks (which seem be unusually frequent here...)--but I think there's an important lesson in flexibility to be learned for me.

And I love living in Paris. Just. Love.

:)

Almost three weeks on...

The infrequency of my blogging makes it a bit more difficult to recap everything that has been going on. Perhaps a list this time, eh?

1. I started teaching! It's lovely so far--I really like my colleagues, who for the most part speak English so well I am ashamed to try out my French. The kids themselves are generally sweet (with a few exceptions...), if a little shy. The only drawback to this job is that I have been spending far too much time searching for things in English to work on my French (I went through the entire archives of xkcd.com today to look for interesting comics for them to describe and consider the humor of). Thankfully most of my social interactions are in French, but that means that I notice I don't know a word at the time, talk around it, then forget to look it up. Sigh.

2. I have wanted to CUT whoever is in charge of organisation in France (or at least in government/education). I have been trying to get something called an "autorisation de cumul", essentially a document which allows me to have a second job. However, when I initially asked about this, both the lycée and the rectorat pointed fingers at each other insisting that the OTHER was responsible for procuring the document. The burden finally fell to my lycée, but it turns out no one is really sure how many hours per week I would be able to work at a second job, or how much I could legally get paid. I suggested we just submit a demand with the max my lab wants to pay me, because that might actually be the easiest way to find out--if my request is denied, they should at least give a reason, right? Wrong. The secretary is pretty sure they won't bother to do that, which I think is pretty ridiculous, because it would save them time in the future because then I won't continue to submit unacceptable requests. And in general I just feel pretty bad about this, because the lab wanted to hire me for October 1, but it has just taken SO LONG. All for a stupid formality, as I will BE at the lab for however long they need me ANYWAY, I just may not be allowed to be paid as much. So in a way, the French government is getting me to work for free. Probably not something the Libertarians would like.

3. I don't have (m)any exciting social stories because the first weekend I was living in actual Paris (or "on Paris", as they say in French), I was lying in bed unable to move due to some awful cold/flu/stomach virus thingy. I did manage to go out yesterday, though, and saw what appeared to be something like a marching band playing in the middle of the street around midnight. They really had the whole works: trombone, clarinet, saxophone, two snare drums, a piccolo...it was certainly not something I had expected to see, and although my initial thought was "ca doit être chiant si on veut dormir" (that's got to be annoying if you want to sleep), I ultimately thought it was quite cool, especially since they were not bad.

Rot denken, grün wählen, schwarz arbeiten

I'd say it's about time for an update.

I did indeed make it to Paris, and the past two weeks have been amazing! I kicked it off by going to the Fête de l'Humanité (essentially a big communist festival [I am so tempted to say party!] with some great concerts, including big names like The Kooks), then went to Sicily where it downpoured before giving way to clear skies for the rest of my all-too-short visit. (But with all that fried food, perhaps it was for the best.)

Other than that, I have mostly been calling landlords nonstop. The Paris housing market is a bitch--there's no other way to put it--and after going to a few visits with unreasonably large amounts of people and being flat-out rejected for either not making enough money or not staying for a long enough time, I decided to go to an agency. And now I have an apartment! It's a studio in the 11ème, pretty snazzy and otherwise decked out, with a nice view and a bed which pulls out from a platform. I find that beyond cool.

But of course, as with everything in France, there is a ton of paperwork. Thankfully, I had most of it already from my scramble to throw together a dossier, but I still had to call the rectorat to get a specially issued document which shows how much money I'll be making.

Which is, thankfully, slightly more than anticipated due to my new job at the Vision Lab at Réné Descartes. I'm looking forward to working in this lab; I've now visited twice and I get a really positive vibe. I'm also in an excellent position where I am in contact with many people who are temporarily in Paris and wish they were making more money (other assistants, Erasmus students [thanks again, StudiVZ!]).

All in all, it's shaping up to be a great year--I just hope I don't get too lonely in my studio. I've never lived this alone before. And oh, how I will miss the delicious French dishes my friend's parents have been making for me...:)

A bientôt !

This jeu de mots doesn't translate

My plane will take off from Paris in about 15 hours, and while I am--amazingly--nearly completely packed, save the necessary toiletries for my morning routine, I still find myself scanning every inch of my room, opening drawers and inspecting neglected nooks and crannies for anything I may have forgotten.

One thing I noticed on my dresser was my old egg-timer, almost exactly like the one in the image to the left. You know, one of the ones my 16-year-old self would think was so clever because it was an EGG-timer and it was shaped like an EGG. I haven't touched it since my debate years, but I think I'm going to throw it in the suitcase. One thing I mentioned to my contact person at the school I will be working at while discussing how I could be more involved with the students is that I could lead a debate team. It has taken awhile for me to truly appreciate how important debate (and forensics in general) was to my intellectual and academic growth, but now I am strongly convinced (resolved?) that there is little better one could do in their "free time" to this end.

It's still undecided whether these debates would be conducted en français or in English, but I'm open to both. I think having the debates in French might prove more valuable--God knows just thinking about debating in a non-native language still makes me squirm. But then again, talking and thinking about such complex topics could also do wonders for their English.

Thoughts?

T minus 4.5 days

...and I am slightly panicked. I was just informed by a (very kind!) German ex-Erasmus student what exactly it means to have a "dossier" when looking for housing in Paris. CV, copy of ID card, copy of Uni acceptance letter (in my case, probably the arrêté de nomination), parental guarantee, copy of parents' tax return as well as their last paystubs. Oy. And that's just to be taken under consideration!

I'm also trying to come to terms with the fact that I will need to pay a good 600 Euro/month to live anywhere halfway decent (in other words, not a closet), plus agency fees.

Thankfully I have a good number of kind people helping me with my move; otherwise this would be truly overwhelming. Nevertheless, it has added tension to my final days, which I had hoped would be filled simply with relaxing, homey things, such as floating down the Mississippi in a canoe and watching American football with my extended family. (Both of which I admittedly did, but with the horrible dread of my upcoming apartment search hanging over me).

Be glad there aren't pictures

It seems unfair of me not to update after mentioning I was getting a gum graft (ah, sorry, subepithelial connective tissue graft), but as it turns out, my AC adapter for my laptop broke the day of my surgery. So I wasn't even left with the internet to help me through my pain.

And pain there was, along with much disgust. The procedure involved scraping down my gums into a huge flap, which I could feel against the side of my mouth. As it was hanging down. Yeah. Revolting.

The surgery went well, though, I guess; I had a little flower of brilliant purple on the inside of my lip, and even the outside of my chin turned a little grey, but I wasn't too concerned. My periodontist had warned me this often happens, especially in small women.

When I went to my check-up today, however, I was told that I had to come back to get my gums trimmed.

Oh.

Gross.

These are not fingernails, people. Nor hedges.

Not only that, but since it hurt so long for me, especially in the mornings, my periodontist thinks I must clench my teeth in my sleep.

Goodie.

In which I ask silly questions and get my mouth cut open

At around 8:45 this morning, I got a pleasant surprise: the periodontist, who just two days earlier had no openings before September, could see me this afternoon at 3pm for a consultation. Yes!

I was thrilled, since my dentist's previously vague mentions of "you might consider a gum graft in the future" had recently turned into more sinister warnings such as "you should definitely get this done before you leave for France, as you only have 1mm left of gum tissue on this tooth."

I scrambled to get my insurance information in order before leaving for work, and left with plenty of time to fill out the requisite paperwork. I arrived, handed over my X-rays and exchanged them for a standard (if dental-oriented) questionnaire.

Filling it out went smoothly, but one question made me pause: Have you ever had periodontal treatment?

What all is encompassed in periodontics, anyway? I had had my wisdom teeth removed, and wasn't sure if I ought to mention that. I decided to ask at the counter.

"Does getting your wisdom teeth out count as periodontal treatment?" I asked.

"Oh, no," replied the receptionist, "that's oral surgery."

The two were apparently entirely separate fields, and here I had conflated them the entire time! I guess anyone who cuts open my mouth falls into the same category for me.

"So....what's someone called who preforms oral surgery?"

The receptionist stared at me like I was from another planet.

"Excuse me?"

"You know...instead of periodontist."

"Oh," she said, still looking a little put off. "Nothing, just an oral surgeon."

This exchange made me wonder--have a reached an age where it's unacceptable for me to ask questions? Children's curiosity is indulged, and asking questions is even encouraged, but when an adult shows a desire to learn more about a situation or process, it is frowned upon. Why is that? Perhaps it is seen as showing weakness, but it is foolish to think that we've learned everything there is to know about life, even everyday life, by the time we're in our 20's. It's certainly a shame. I am going to make a concerted effort not to disparage others' questions in the future.

Comment dit-on << sigh of relief >> ?

Great news: my Visa came today, after only a one-week wait as opposed to the predicted two! At this rate, the French are shaping up to be as efficient as the Germans!

Today is also, incidentally, the one-year anniversary of my departure from Germany and arrival in Italy. It doesn't feel like that long ago that I was riding through the Swiss Alps, alternately guilting my fellow passengers into helping me with my bags and haphazardly tossing them down the train steps at every transfer. Not to mention accidentally packing my room key in Tübingen, which caused quite a furor as I was attempting to check out; I then had my first experience with the Poste Italiane when I mailed it back to the Hausmeister. Then when I arrived in Parma, I feared myself to be utterly incapable of leaving (or at least locking) my apartment, as I was apparently lacking the magic Italian touch to manipulate the old-school, pronged key...I could struggle with it until my hand hurt without effect, while my advisor could make it pop open with a simple turn of his wrist.

Yes, July 31, 2008, was surely an eventful day. I look forward to more of them!

"Language gauze" just doesn't have the same ring to it

I had my first embarrassing misunderstanding before even leaving the country.

I went to Boston on Friday to try to get my Visa for France. I brought everything possible, from a form not even listed on the consulate website (which I needed), to an express mail envelope (which I did not need) and my latest pay stubs (ditto). I had had to go to the Italian consulate in Frankfurt twice to get my Italian Visa, and was not interested in scheduling a later appointment, or God forbid being told I had to go to Chicago.

To my surprise, things seemed to go rather smoothly. The girl manning the window was so seamlessly bilingual, I couldn't tell if she was American or French. She asked for a few of my documents in English, then, still looking down, continued in French.

"Pourquoi tu as besoin d'un visa ? Tu vas étudier en France ?" (Why do you need a visa? Are you going to study in France?)

Or so I thought I heard through the thick pane of glass.

"Ah...n-non," I stammered, "....je...je s-serai assist--"

"Oh no, I'm sorry, I was talking to someone back here," she said.

I blushed. Of course. I should have known she would never tutoyer with me, even if she was young.

Even after profuse apologies on both sides, I still felt slightly embarrassed; I had forgotten the deer-in-headlights look and feel questions in a foreign language can cause me, and was dismayed at my inability to get out such a simple sentence.

English, French, and German all have very similar variants of the term "language barrier" (Sprachbarriere and barrière de la langue). This is unsurprising, as it can indeed feel as if a wall is erected between two people when neither speaks the other's language. However, even with foreign languages I know, I still feel as if there is some sort of screen or veil between me and my interlocutor: a filter which partially blocks both incoming and outgoing communication. Or sometimes just gauze over my ears, muffling everything around me.

Forcing words through the screen and intently listening through the gauze are far from without their rewards--what better way to experience others at their most genuine?--but there is no denying that it is exhausting. I really hope I am prepared for Round 3.

A title 18 months in the making

The title of this blog would have been far more apt around February of last year, as it refers to a few of my favorite German words: Naktschnecken, Schildkröten, and Regenbogenhäute. Slugs, turtles, and irises to those of us whose mother tongue affords us less literal terminology. I named it thus, however, in anticipation for my move to Paris in September, which I hope to document in this blog. Discovering lingusitic and cultural differences is the most stimulating part of living abroad for me, and these words represent just how eye-opening the learning of a simple word or turn of phrase can be.

Ergo: Naked Snails, Shield-toads, and Rainbow Skins. Viel Spaß damit :)