For those who are not "in the know:"
Way way back near the end of January I moved from my old apartment where I lived with Ryan and Juliette, who returned to the good ol' U S of A, to a new apartment. The apartment search was admittedly stressful. I had a ridiculous list of expectations for a new place, and I was quite sure I would never find suitable lodging at an affordable price. About a week and a half before I had to move out of my old apartment... I found it!
The scoop:
I am living with one "coloc," Hortense, a 22 year old French "pigiste" or freelance journalist. She seems to be quite successful at her work, writing or filming/interviewing for about 5 or 6 different clients at the moment. As she is working for a travel magazine, she was sent to Spain for 3 days 2 weeks ago, tomorrow she will be leaving for a 6 day excursion in China, and in late April the magazine is shipping her off to the Bahamas. Not bad. Being a journalist, she is totally insane, watching the news twice a day and reading 3 or 4 newspapers per day. Guess that's how you do it, kids. Anyhow, as anyone who has spent time here will testify, Hortense qualifies as super-cool. She is definitely a friend as well as a roommate, and I would be having a much more difficult/miserable time in France without her. As soon as I moved in we made an agreement to speak only French to each other except when I had visitors. This has improved my french immensely, and I have been lucky because Hortense is very patient, and, especially at the beginning, knew how to speak slowly and simply and to correct my mistakes. Not everyone in the world would be willing to do that. The first time we spoke English to each other was the evening when my brother arrived for a weeks visit, and it was a very strange experience for both of us.
Back to the apartment: It is just beyond the Paris "peripherique," the freeway that circles Paris and marks its outer limits. So. I am theoretically not in Paris right now. I am however right on a very useful metro line that brings me right to the heart of Paris in 10 minutes. I can also walk into Paris very easily, as I am truly just beyond the city boundaries. There are a large number of shops in walking distance, a grocery store on the corner, a bakery just across the street from it, vegetable stands, fromageries, an outdoors market 2 days a week -- all of the essentials. My apartment is on a quiet side street so I don't have to worry about the noise of traffic in the mornings. We are located on the ground floor, with windows onto the front street on one side, and windows onto a courtyard-garden on the other. The door of our apartment actually opens onto a patio in the courtyard. It is great because we get tons of light into the apartment and a precious patch of near-private green space. I suspect the patio will be wonderful on late-spring mornings. For now, it just rains, rains, rains. Or, as it did for 3 days in a row this past week, hails. I actually have my own room this time 'round -- no couch in the common area for me, thank-you. We have a tiny, but fully equipped kitchen complete with oven and microwave. There's a telephone with free calling to Canada, wireless internet, cable TV (news on every channel, morning, noon, or night! ...and I won't pretend that watching CSI, or, "Les Experts," dubbed into french isn't just a little fun.), and a washing machine. All the amenities of comfortable living.
I spent a couple of weeks at the beginning of February gainfully employed as a server in a pub/restaurant, but gave that up when I could not manage my schedule to spend time with my visitors from Canada. So I am back in a state of unemployment. In a country with a 20% youth unemployment rate and a language you only half-speak, giving up your only source of income is maybe an utterly stupid decision, but, hey, I did it. So now I am half-searching for work again. Something at least a a little close by, that works with my school schedule. Harder than it might sound.
Speaking of school, I was accepted into the city-subsidized french courses that I applied to. 4 days per week I spend my mornings in class "learning french." While the class probably is pretty useful and it often targets the very problems that I am having with my french, it is also unbearably boring. I am not sure that there is anything more tedious or frustrating and ultimately fruitless than writing in french. It is like pushing pins into my arms for hours on end. Only less useful. I know. I KNOW. I will never get any better at it, and it will never become any easier for me unless I keep practicing. But let us just say that the cost-benefit ratio is not working in my favour. I spend hours writing a 2 page hand-written "essay" in which I sound like a grade 4 student and have absolutely no voice. I have no doubts, in fact, that my grade 4 writing was more interesting than the bland crap I'm churning out now. By the way, french grammar IS much more difficult than English grammar. There are entire books -- I have seen them -- on how to accord your past participle. The french can't even figure this stuff out! By the way, they have an organization known as the Academie Française who are the great gate-keepers of the French language, and who every so often hand down ordinances concerning the language : when "thou shalt accord," when "thou shalt not accord," and the like. Apparently they recently conceded that the accent circumflex "^" is utterly useless, and that no one is obliged to use it. Just watch me go: arret, goute, foret, hopital. No one can stop me now. If the language police show up, I'll just refer them to the Academie Française. This is freedom, ladies and gentleman, in it's very definition.
Why the French continue to be funny:
Paris has a bit of a problem with dog droppings. As in, no one cleans up after their pooch. So the sidewalks are covered with "canine byproducts." To combat this problem the city of Paris has developed its own unique solution: they vacuum it up. Yep. Little golf-cart type vehicles navigate the Parisian sidewalks in search of dog-droppings. They aim their hoses, and shwoop! There it goes. Clean sidewalk. You thought that was funny? The name of these vehicles: "motocrotte," which might be best translated as "shitmobile."
It is important to guard the stereotypes of one's culture, and, to this end, the public transport system of Paris are doing their part. While riding the Metro I recently saw a notice informing passengers that bringing a dog on the train is strictly forbidden... unless, of course, the critter can fit into a passenger's handbag. So, while the English language and American culture continue their slow and constant attack against all that is French, we can be sure that France will see a long secure future of old women carrying yappy little beasts about in their purses. Thank goodness.
Speaking of the insidious attack of the English language contra les Français, the word "loser" (or is that "loseur"?)can regularly be heard battered about by french youth. These linguistically engaged youngsters, however, are careful to guard the gendered nature of their language, and miss not a beat in calling one of their less-highly-regarded female peers a "loseuse."
As of this past week the list of 12 candidates running for President of the French Republic was finalised. Amongst the twelve, Frédéric Nihous representing the CPNT, or Chase Pêche (accent circumflex optional) Nature et Traditions -- or -- Hunting Fishing Nature and Traditions party. Really? Really? Why didn't they add "Campfires and Pilsner" to the list? Or did they prefer to leave that to be implied?
A très bientôt (oh, I'm so un-liberated in the end -- there goes that accent circumflex, I just cling to my own subjugation)
Erin
Way way back near the end of January I moved from my old apartment where I lived with Ryan and Juliette, who returned to the good ol' U S of A, to a new apartment. The apartment search was admittedly stressful. I had a ridiculous list of expectations for a new place, and I was quite sure I would never find suitable lodging at an affordable price. About a week and a half before I had to move out of my old apartment... I found it!
The scoop:
I am living with one "coloc," Hortense, a 22 year old French "pigiste" or freelance journalist. She seems to be quite successful at her work, writing or filming/interviewing for about 5 or 6 different clients at the moment. As she is working for a travel magazine, she was sent to Spain for 3 days 2 weeks ago, tomorrow she will be leaving for a 6 day excursion in China, and in late April the magazine is shipping her off to the Bahamas. Not bad. Being a journalist, she is totally insane, watching the news twice a day and reading 3 or 4 newspapers per day. Guess that's how you do it, kids. Anyhow, as anyone who has spent time here will testify, Hortense qualifies as super-cool. She is definitely a friend as well as a roommate, and I would be having a much more difficult/miserable time in France without her. As soon as I moved in we made an agreement to speak only French to each other except when I had visitors. This has improved my french immensely, and I have been lucky because Hortense is very patient, and, especially at the beginning, knew how to speak slowly and simply and to correct my mistakes. Not everyone in the world would be willing to do that. The first time we spoke English to each other was the evening when my brother arrived for a weeks visit, and it was a very strange experience for both of us.
Back to the apartment: It is just beyond the Paris "peripherique," the freeway that circles Paris and marks its outer limits. So. I am theoretically not in Paris right now. I am however right on a very useful metro line that brings me right to the heart of Paris in 10 minutes. I can also walk into Paris very easily, as I am truly just beyond the city boundaries. There are a large number of shops in walking distance, a grocery store on the corner, a bakery just across the street from it, vegetable stands, fromageries, an outdoors market 2 days a week -- all of the essentials. My apartment is on a quiet side street so I don't have to worry about the noise of traffic in the mornings. We are located on the ground floor, with windows onto the front street on one side, and windows onto a courtyard-garden on the other. The door of our apartment actually opens onto a patio in the courtyard. It is great because we get tons of light into the apartment and a precious patch of near-private green space. I suspect the patio will be wonderful on late-spring mornings. For now, it just rains, rains, rains. Or, as it did for 3 days in a row this past week, hails. I actually have my own room this time 'round -- no couch in the common area for me, thank-you. We have a tiny, but fully equipped kitchen complete with oven and microwave. There's a telephone with free calling to Canada, wireless internet, cable TV (news on every channel, morning, noon, or night! ...and I won't pretend that watching CSI, or, "Les Experts," dubbed into french isn't just a little fun.), and a washing machine. All the amenities of comfortable living.
I spent a couple of weeks at the beginning of February gainfully employed as a server in a pub/restaurant, but gave that up when I could not manage my schedule to spend time with my visitors from Canada. So I am back in a state of unemployment. In a country with a 20% youth unemployment rate and a language you only half-speak, giving up your only source of income is maybe an utterly stupid decision, but, hey, I did it. So now I am half-searching for work again. Something at least a a little close by, that works with my school schedule. Harder than it might sound.
Speaking of school, I was accepted into the city-subsidized french courses that I applied to. 4 days per week I spend my mornings in class "learning french." While the class probably is pretty useful and it often targets the very problems that I am having with my french, it is also unbearably boring. I am not sure that there is anything more tedious or frustrating and ultimately fruitless than writing in french. It is like pushing pins into my arms for hours on end. Only less useful. I know. I KNOW. I will never get any better at it, and it will never become any easier for me unless I keep practicing. But let us just say that the cost-benefit ratio is not working in my favour. I spend hours writing a 2 page hand-written "essay" in which I sound like a grade 4 student and have absolutely no voice. I have no doubts, in fact, that my grade 4 writing was more interesting than the bland crap I'm churning out now. By the way, french grammar IS much more difficult than English grammar. There are entire books -- I have seen them -- on how to accord your past participle. The french can't even figure this stuff out! By the way, they have an organization known as the Academie Française who are the great gate-keepers of the French language, and who every so often hand down ordinances concerning the language : when "thou shalt accord," when "thou shalt not accord," and the like. Apparently they recently conceded that the accent circumflex "^" is utterly useless, and that no one is obliged to use it. Just watch me go: arret, goute, foret, hopital. No one can stop me now. If the language police show up, I'll just refer them to the Academie Française. This is freedom, ladies and gentleman, in it's very definition.
Why the French continue to be funny:
Paris has a bit of a problem with dog droppings. As in, no one cleans up after their pooch. So the sidewalks are covered with "canine byproducts." To combat this problem the city of Paris has developed its own unique solution: they vacuum it up. Yep. Little golf-cart type vehicles navigate the Parisian sidewalks in search of dog-droppings. They aim their hoses, and shwoop! There it goes. Clean sidewalk. You thought that was funny? The name of these vehicles: "motocrotte," which might be best translated as "shitmobile."
It is important to guard the stereotypes of one's culture, and, to this end, the public transport system of Paris are doing their part. While riding the Metro I recently saw a notice informing passengers that bringing a dog on the train is strictly forbidden... unless, of course, the critter can fit into a passenger's handbag. So, while the English language and American culture continue their slow and constant attack against all that is French, we can be sure that France will see a long secure future of old women carrying yappy little beasts about in their purses. Thank goodness.
Speaking of the insidious attack of the English language contra les Français, the word "loser" (or is that "loseur"?)can regularly be heard battered about by french youth. These linguistically engaged youngsters, however, are careful to guard the gendered nature of their language, and miss not a beat in calling one of their less-highly-regarded female peers a "loseuse."
As of this past week the list of 12 candidates running for President of the French Republic was finalised. Amongst the twelve, Frédéric Nihous representing the CPNT, or Chase Pêche (accent circumflex optional) Nature et Traditions -- or -- Hunting Fishing Nature and Traditions party. Really? Really? Why didn't they add "Campfires and Pilsner" to the list? Or did they prefer to leave that to be implied?
A très bientôt (oh, I'm so un-liberated in the end -- there goes that accent circumflex, I just cling to my own subjugation)
Erin
posted by ErinCW at 10:52 AM
2 Comments:
Erin, I can't wait to visit! I'm sorry to hear you are frustrated with the French writing, but I'm quite certain you are not half as bad as you think.
My father is pretty excited about the election, because one of the front-runners is of Hungarian descent. Nicolas Sarkozy is his name.
And the shitmobiles sound great. I look forward to seeing them, but I'm a little concerned now about the future state of my precious little shoes walking down those poo-covered sidewalks...delightful.
Erin- your blog has been a comforting read while here in germany. You write well and make very amusing observations. Where are you going to law school? My circonflex is the umlauts seen here; ö ä µ and ß. wierd.
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