I took up for the upteenth time that pastime to which none of us would admit yet of which all are guilty: people watching. This month is dedicated to consumers who ironically purchase gifts which celebrate the birth of him that had no where to lay his head. But for once, I won’t preach on the meaning of Christmas, I’ll merely let my observations speak for the French traditions discovered by firsthand creeping and/or experience. In the spirit of the advent calendar (sans bonbons which, forcement, cannot be transmitted through cyberspace), the cutenesses witnessed this winter season: Continue reading
I have not been to bed before midnight in a good couple weeks. Scout’s honor. Ask anyone that knows me and they won’t have words for the abandonment of my militant sleep/running/class schedules. Though homework and repeat 200’s are still getting done, the French verb sortir has appeared more frequently in my dinner conversations. And, because “cultural immersion” is this semester’s tagline, I wondered exactly how does one go out in Tours, France?
Is that even possible? is the question I posed on the eve of a day slotted for merriment and gluttony. The morning of, 0715 brought me to wake then open my shutters like a good French girl. Traces of the words “H.TG.” were forbidden from my mouth lest all the associated memories spill over and wash what little sanity I had. Under the rare and sunny sky, this day would be and had to be fantastic, an answer to mine and mom’s and everyone else’s prayers for joy that overflowith like gravy over turkey. Continue reading
Today I attended Eurogusto, an exposition of responsible Slow Food International. Probably half of Europe’s eco-friendly producers and a few of their free trade counterparts from operations in Africa and South America showed up. Within an enormous hall, rows upon rows of vendors skirted around various stages for teaching French cooking techniques or debates etc. Continue reading
Homesick. OK. I give up trying to pretend like I can learn in 3 months what a French woman knows after 20 years. The idea struck me on the heels of an incapaciting stomach bug, exasperated by my endless to-do list. I had taken on so much that by the end of October, the time of our trip to Normandy, my body decided to shut down. I don’t blame it. If anyone, I point my finger at my parents and anyone else who encouraged my insanity to forsake family, familiarity, and the following:
1) Mon Kitchenaid me manque. Continue reading
Every day of class is kindergarten déjà vu. The same fifteen faces and desks arc about a teacher who gladly receives our regurgitated phrases. Apparently this past week, she had had enough of our parroting and therefore requested we choose new careers. Girl-who-leads-people-through-forests has a convenient French counterpart: un guide dans la nature. Continue reading
Il y a une certaine way of living in France. You keep your hands on the table during meals (no monkey business under the table, pour des petits et des grands)! You keep your showers short, your lights off just until it is so dark that your eyes hurt from squinting beside the window, and your conversations forever long. Waste not, want not.
Because, while my family didn’t calculate water and electricity costs, it turns out that gas costs a small fortune here. Continue reading
I didn’t go. I could have gone with Bowling Green or even the Institute. But these long-lost French siblings of mine appeared this Saturday to whom there was no saying no. Having survived the hop across the pond and up to Paris, my suitcase survived to see Tours. We went up 7 flights of stairs, 5 escalators, and 1 moving sidewalk. I counted. Whilst others sweated and fidgeted with their hair and clothing, my train ride passed in calm excitement and mild relief–sedation from the serious bruises delivered by my French reports of Paris.
There they were. Continue reading