Normal conversation

While still on the job hunt, I was discussing the different interviews I had been on in France with my brother. I had gone to job interviews at eight different companies at this point, and at most of these, I was offered a beverage (coffee/tea/water) at the very beginning of the interview.

At interview #8, however, no such offer was made. Eventually, after about an hour of interviewing, the interviewer asked me if I would like to go join everyone for le pause café.

Several employees were enjoying their mid-morning coffee break, and I was able to join in on everyday conversations and really get a feel for the place.

After agreeing that it is an interesting interview tactic, as it allows the employer to observe the interviewee in a social setting, and it allows the interviewee the opportunity to see if they’d be a good fit, my brother asked me, “well, what did you guys talk about?”

“Oh, you know, just normal stuff… mostly about vineyards, different wine producing regions, and champagne caves.”

“Normal? ...that is so French!”

I hadn’t even noticed.


Visiting champagne caves in Reims!

Public Displays of Affection

Compared to America, the French are very pro-PDA. Nobody thinks twice if a couple is canoodling on the metro, or exchanges a quick kiss on the lips for a greeting.

I am a supporter of PDA. I like to partake in cuddling and even small kisses in front of friends or strangers on the street.

That said, I was forced to observe a little bit too much PDA the other day on the metro. This was one of those metro rides where the car is packed and you are sort of stuck looking in a certain direction.

I had a couple right in front of me, and it started out all right. They were holding hands, putting their arms around each other, all in all pretty tame.

Until, with horror, I saw this young man lean forward towards his girlfriend’s face, mouth open, going for a kiss, tongue first.

Then both tongues were out, touching, right in front of my face.

And I thought to myself, “man, the French are a little too okay with PDA.”

PDFs and the Prefecture

The process for obtaining the APS visa begins 4 months before the expiration of one’s student visa. After compiling, printing, photocopying, and organizing the various documents required and writing a lettre de motiviation (cover letter), I made my way to the prefecture de police.

After placing the various documents on the counter and saying that I was there to drop off my application for the APS visa, the French man behind the counter said, “On ne prend plus les documents du format papier,” (We no longer accept documents in paper form).

Not being sure I understood correctly, I said, “mais votre site web dit de venir avec tous ces papiers et les déposer à votre bureau” (but your website says to come here with these papers and drop them off at your office).

“Ah oui, mais le site web n’est plus à jour,” (Ah yes, well, the website is no longer up-to-date).

Starting to feel a slight panic, I asked the man what I was supposed to do.

He handed me a printed out regular piece of paper (no fancy French flag header or anything) with instructions telling one to send all the various documents I had just spent good money printing and copying as a PDF to an email address that, I kid you not, was a gmail address. Not @gouv.fr, not @prefecturedepolice.fr, not @france.fr, but @gmail.com!

Trusting the process very little, I still did what I was told.

Fast forward 4 months to the day when my student visa expired and I had my scheduled interview with the prefecture de police to hopefully obtain the APS visa. For this particular meeting, I was supposed to have received a document in the mail from my school, but of course I hadn’t.

I called the school and they told me not to worry, that they’d simply email me a PDF copy of the document that I could then print out and take to the prefecture.

Once at the prefecture, I presented them with my documents where it was immediately remarked upon that the school document was not the “original” copy. After explaining that I hadn’t yet received the school’s document in the mail but that they sent me this PDF version by e-mail, I was told, “on n’accepte plus les formats PDFs,” (we no longer accept pdf versions).

Despite the prefecture de police's policy on PDFs doing a 180 in just four months, I was eventually able to get my APS visa.

1e dimanche du mois

Paris. Despite having spent a semester abroad here, many weeks visiting with my parents, and weekend or day trips visiting with friends, there somehow remains museums and other activities left undone.

While I have enjoyed the freedom of not being obliged to visit 4 museums in one day, or even to “see the sights,” I still want to take advantage of living in the city of light.

That said, things have gotten a lot more expensive in my life recently for two main reasons. First of all, Paris is just darn expensive. Second of all, according to the European Union, I am an old fart.

Paris public museums and monuments are free to residents of the European Union younger than 26 years old, and seeing how I’m now 26, I have to pay my way. Most places don’t even have student-discounted rates. Apparently by 26 years old, you should be done with that whole higher education thing.

Luckily, the city of Paris thinks that everyone should be able to enjoy its many wonderful museums, and so they are made free to the public the first Sunday of every month.

I’ve taken this opportunity to visit some lesser-known museums, including le musée des arts et métiers.

Filled with old timey science apparatuses, cars, planes, construction materials, and communication technologies, this museum is cool.


Science.
It also reinforced the notion of how I am no longer “young,” as it had on display items that were younger than I am (like an iPod).

To top it off, I overheard a young child asking his grandpa, “qu’est-ce que c’est grand père? (what is that, grandpa?)” pointing at a certain item of older technology on display in a glass case.

“ah, ça c’est un magnétoscope pour les VHS (ah, that's a VHS player).” But just stating what it was wasn’t enough. The grandpa had to continue to explain how at one point in time, that was how people watched movies at home.

Nevertheless, it was really cool to see old cars as well as old giant computers, and seeing how much technology has changed over the years made me excited for the future, even if I am "old" now.

Déodorant

Somehow, despite having lived in France for 4 and a half years (admittedly not consecutively), I have avoided up till now purchasing and using French deodorant. And no, I wasn’t just not wearing it! Somehow the deodorants that I’ve brought with me were enough to last.

I use solid deodorant, and I really made my last stick count. I was stabbing the weird plastic-y part at the end with a q-tip to ensure I got every last bit of use out of it. But, one can only put off the inevitable for so long, and so I ventured forth on the search for French deodorant.

Why was I going to such lengths to avoid French deodorant? Well, I have never seen deodorant in a solid form over here. They tend to prefer aerosols where you spray particles under your arms, or liquids.

Granted, I haven't done an extensive search, but as part of my on going quest to integrate into French culture, I decided to branch out.

While I know some of my fellow Americans use liquid deodorant, I never have. So faced with the unknown and my limited number of options, I went for something my compatriots use: liquid deodorant.


I hate it.

It’s wet. It stays wet. It takes eons to dry. If I’m running late and don’t give myself enough time to dry off, the underarms of my clothes get wet.

It’s cold, and I’m already cold in the mornings.

It’s slimy, and after application my underarms remind me more of frog skin than human skin.


My liquid déodorant, aka early morning torture.
I’m just glad I bought a travel size bottle.

However, my travel size solid deodorant lasted me 6 months... Looks like I’ll have to deal with cold, wet, slimy underarms for a while to come yet.

Update: thanks to my awesome readers, I was able to find solid déo!

Summer Ice

I’ve always wanted to see a glacier while there still are glaciers. Luckily for me, France is known for its glaciers at Mont Blanc.

The boyfriend's parents live a measly two and half hour drive away, and so we decided to take a trip up to see one of the world’s most famous glaciers, la Mer de Glace (the name translates to: a sea of ice).

If you haven’t heard of it, don’t feel bad, as I hadn’t either. All I knew about glaciers is that they are big, made up of blue ice, and stay frozen all year round. But after I was told about its grandeur by monsieur pommettes, I couldn’t wait.

After the drive, it’s a twenty minute train ride up a very very steep mountain, with an arrival directly at a platform overlooking the glacier. But to my eyes, there were no glaciers nearby. Only dirt.


La Mer du Glace.

Still, I could see glaciers that were at the far end of the mountain, and even that was pretty cool. Disappointed that we were so far from the Mer de Glace, I started listening to the guide.

Turns out, that pile of dirt actually is a glacier! In the past, the glacier was able to remove debris that landed on it. Nowadays that doesn’t happen.


Sometimes glaciers wear camouflage.
Despite its appearance of a dirt valley, we decided to make the climb down to see it closer up. There was supposed to be a nice view from a grotto.

Climbing down the mountainside, and then down 400 metallic steps attached to the cliff, we were there. Only, this wasn’t some rock alcove; it was a cave carved out of the glacier. We literally got to walk inside of a glacier.


Me in a glacier!
And the ice was bluer than I imagined.

C'est Trash

Most of the time, when people (myself included) talk about things they love about France they bring up baguettes, cheese, wine, the language, the architecture… stuff that is pretty classy.

But that’s not all there is to France. She's got another side, a trashier side, and, well, I love it too!

Here are four trashier aspects of French culture that I can't get enough of:

1. “Les Ch’tis à ___________”
One of my favorite French TV shows is a reality TV series that follows a group of young people from the North as they travel to new places. So far, they’ve made it to Ibiza, Mykonos, and Las Vegas to name a few. It’s basically like a French version of the Real World. There is roommate drama, hook-ups, and they are supposed to be finding jobs. It’s pretty low class TV, but I can’t wait for the next season. End of August!


Les Ch'tis à Las Vegas.
2. La Vache Qui Tache
While drinking games exist everywhere, it isn’t exactly a classy activity. In France, it gets even less classy beause they play a drinking game where you are literally marked up with soot as you loose.

La vache qui tache is a drinking game using a tongue twister, and if you mess it up, you earn a "tache” (or stain, which is also the same word for spot, as in a spotted cow, hence the fun playonwords).

Voilà the phrase:


“Je suis la vache qui tache numero ______ avec _____ tache(s), et j’appelle la vache qui tache avec ______ tache(s) numero ________.“
(I am the cow number ____ with ____ stains, and I pick the "spotted/stained" cow with ______stains number________.)
It doesn't really translate all that well.
Good luck saying that after a couple of beers (and numerous facial markings).

3. BB Brunes
People often ask me if I like French music, and in truth I feel like I can’t answer that question because French music encompasses almost all music genres. While I do enjoy listening to Edith Piaf and feeling classy, since moving here I've realized she's not all France has to offer. I have discovered some French pop bands, including my new favorite: BB Brunes. They are popular amoung 12 year olds, and are similar to those good ol’ American boy bands (except they actually do play instruments). I love the cheesy pop music and love songs.


BB Brunes. So dreamy!
My favorite song by them right now is called Afecionado, if you want to give 'em a try.
4. L’amour est dans le pré
Another reality TV show, this time showing various farmers all over France looking for true love. They do so by being interviewed, then people mail them letters, then they select from the letters people to do speed dating with, then from those people they choose two to visit them. The farmers themselves tend to be pretty interesting characters. They are from way out in the country, which leads to some impossible accents.

--------------------------------------------
France turns out to be a pretty well rounded gal. There's a lot more going for her than just being hoity-toity. While I certainly love the classier aspects of France, like drinking champagne while listening to Edith Piaf and eating macarons, I also love that I can get an order of fries and watch crappy reality TV and still be experiencing French culture.

Vive la France!

Looking Back: The First Year of My Masters

The first day of school, where we were made to act silly and then sit through orientation presentations all day long, feels like ages ago. The buildings were unfamiliar, and despite being oriented all day long I left feeling like I didn’t know how to do anything any better than I did when I woke up that morning.

A week after taking spring semester finals, I returned to campus in order to drop off my registration packet for next year. The school seemed so small. I knew all its nooks and crannies. And while I had to figure out much of it all on my own (or with help from my fellow students), I now knew how to print documents, use the wifi, and recharge my student card.


La fac (school).
Source: l'aubeserveur
School in France wasn’t exactly what I thought it would be. I was disappointed, pleasantly surprised, mega stressed, had a lot of fun with good people, and learned some stuff. Overall a good year.

I think a major factor in my disappointment stems from the differences between high context and low context cultures.

Low context cultures are cultures where communication is in explicit codes like words, and rules and expectations are explicitly explained such as in America and New Zealand.

High context cultures are when communication is in physical gestures instead of words, and relies heavily on context such as in Japan and Saudi Arabia (thanks intercultural communication class!).

France is somewhat in between high and low. While they do use words, they leave enough unsaid to where I felt under-communicated with by my professors. My first shock came when nobody handed out a syllabus, and that sort of indirect communication continued on all year.

I had a really hard time being graded and judged negatively on things the professors never told us about. For example, not telling us it’s required to have page numbers on our presentation, or that we’re not allowed to use animations, and then marking us down for it.

This wouldn’t be so bad if there were some underlying rules for all of the school, but a lot of it came down to the personal preferences of the professors, and it was difficult for me to accept losing points for something nobody told me about in the first place.

But even with this cultural difference, I was able to learn new things, meet new people, improve my French, and pass all my classes with flying colors.

I’m really proud of what I’ve accomplished so far, and despite it being a challenge, super stressful, and at times exceedingly frustrating, I’m really glad I decided to go back to school and go back to France.

I'd like to say that next semester I'll be better prepared for the lack of direct communication coming my way, but I'm not sure I was more accepting of it Spring semester as opposed to Fall.

Sometimes a girl just needs page margins and font size defined before writing a paper.

How to Find an Apartment in France (Or At least How I Did)

I have now successfully found housing all on my own three times in France, and am currently working on getting apartment number 4!

I completely understand that this is an area of stress for many people moving abroad, whether as an assistant, on study abroad, or just because. While I am far from an expert, here’s what I’ve learned:

Finding roommates is really difficult in France.
Both years I spent as an assistant in Lille I tried to find roommates, and was unsuccessful. I originally wanted roommates because the thought of living by myself for the first time ever in a country where I barely spoke the language and knew nobody wasn’t very appealing.

However, some other assistants that I know were able to find roommates. They used the website appartager.fr, which is like a roommate searching site. It's not the best because you have to pay to be able to access a lot of the contact info.

I gave up trying to find roommates after about a month and a half of searching. I got myself a nice little studio, and I loved it!

Leboncoin.fr
The website that I’ve used the most often and had success with is leboncoin.fr. It is similar to craigslist back home. Every single apartment I have rented in France has been from this website.

In order to use the website, click the area of the map that corresponds with where you are in France. Then in the first drop down menu, select “location” for apartments, or “collocation” for roommates. Then it’s possible to make the search more precise, with options like highest rent/lowest rent, number of rooms, furnished, etc.

Rental Agencies
There are numerous rental agencies all over France. Some even place ads on the leboncoin (it says professionel). With them, just be prepared to pay them the equivalent of the 1st month's rent (if not more) after they find an apartment you like.

CROUS and Foyers
Another possibility would be to live in a dorm like situation. CROUS is France's version of student housing. I tried to get housing with them when I came over here to do my masters, but the registration for student housing is in April, and I didn’t even know I was accepted until June. I was unable to get student housing, but am quite glad actually! I love living in the city center and having my own apartment.

There are also foyers, which are like really tiny studios, but usually come with a shower, toilet, and kitchenette - meaning stove tops and a mini fridge. Some foyers have rules (one assistant wasn't allowed to have over night visitors, or boys in the foyer after 10 - it was an all girl foyer), but some are chill.

Play It Safe
On a quick safety note, I wouldn't accept living somewhere until you actually see it. I've seen some pretty scary apartments that seemed good on leboncoin. Also be aware of fake ads trying to take your money, etc.

If I Can Do It, You Can Too!
I've lived in France for three and a half years in three different apartments in two cities, and it's all been an adventure. Good luck on finding housing in France!

Les Couverts

Meeting the parents of a significant other is always stressful, but I was adding in cultural differences, language barriers, a weeklong stay, and being a vegetarian in a very meat-based culture.

Trying to make a good impression during one of the first dinners with the parents, monsieur pommettes brought up a culture factoid I had previously shared with him.

“In America, they hold their forks and knives differently, and use their knives a lot less!” my French boyfriend told his parents.

I immediately panicked.

While true that in America we switch the fork holding hand before eating and in France they tend not to, and the French certainly use their knives much more like a tool than in the good ol’ States, I was fearful of what sort of image that statement would evoke.

Would they think all Americans are knife-less barbarians that only eat with their hands?

His mother’s instant reply was, “Well, she certainly uses her knife better than you do.”

I secretly preened. Having spent 3 years observing and mimicking French table manors in a never-ending effort to be more French, I couldn’t be happier my efforts were paying off. Nevertheless, M.P. did have it right – table manors are not the same on our two continents.

“Merci, but I learned how to do this while living in France,” I explained. I then told them about the differences between American and Continental dining etiquette I’ve observed over the years, all the way down to using bread to soak up sauces, or using a spoon to eat cake.


An illustration of American vs. Continental fork use.
Source: Châine des Rotisseurs
While for the most part I now use continental style (i.e. I don’t switch my fork hand after cutting), every now and then I notice that I’ve made the switch without meaning to. My American dining etiquette remains a part of me, especially since I still prefer to eat my dessert with a fork.

La Bise à la Fac

In my old French life, I had the ever so mysterious bise (the traditional French greeting, a.k.a. cheek kissing) down pat.

With my boyfriends family? Yes! When meeting up with friends? Yes! When leaving friends? Yes!


Source: this great video about how to faire la bise, which I already translated.
I have discovered that school is a whole other ball game.

There are 7 of us in my masters program, and we see each other pretty much everyday. Even among our small, close-knit group, things can get a bit complicated.

Do we faire la bise every morning upon first seeing one another? No. But enough of the time to make it complicated? Yes.

For example, if we get to class early enough, we usually faire la bise, but if someone comes into class ten minutes late and is addressed after the class, a bise suddenly becomes optional. Sometimes for no apparent reason that I can tell the bise becomes optional.

Some of my classmates seem to be more pro-bise than others. While this doesn’t cause a problem per se as I now know who will and who wont demand a bise, I find it interesting that some of them are more adamant about it than others.


Source: the video.
Where it starts to get really complicated, however, is the casual crossing of paths. Sometimes, it is acceptable to simply wave. Other times, one is expected to stop and make time for a quick bise and a "ça va?”(how's it going?) before continuing on to one's destination.

To make matters worse, in my experience before la fac (university), a bise was always done upon first interaction, and never again afterwards. Here, even if I've already seen someone and said a casual "salut" (hello), a bise is still on the table for future greetings.

But again, the bise may or may not happen. It depends. On what? I couldn't tell you.

I'm winging it pretty much all the time.

A Hidden Statue

Back in November, my darling little brother came to visit me. We meet up in Paris and spent the weekend.

While cutting through the jardin de Luxembourg, I suddenly remembered that the statue of liberty has a second residence there. Or at least, I thought I remembered there being a copy of her statue, and was pretty sure it was in the Luxembourg gardens.

So we checked out the directory. There was no mention of it. But I wasn’t going to let some silly, not very precise map be the end-all-be-all of statue of liberty locations.

Luckily just then, a rather cute twenty something Parisian gentlemen happened upon our path. I asked him about the statue.

He was in agreement with the directory.

I was in disagreement with both of them.

My brother was growing impatient, and seemed ready to give up on our quest, when I saw them; an elderly couple going for a leisurely stroll through the park. And I knew that they knew because, as I said to my brother, “old people know things.”

“Excusez-moi? Bonjour” (Excuse me? Hello)

“Bonjour…” (Hello…)

“Desolée de vous derangez, mais je voulais savoir si vous savez pour la statue-“ (Sorry to bother you, but would you happen to know where the statue-)

She didn’t even let me finish my question.

“Ah oui, tout le monde veux la voir. Elle est juste là, à gauche, derière les joeurs de pétanque.” (Oh yes, everybody wants to see her. She’s just over there, on the left, behind the bocce ball players).


Little brother and I with Lady Liberty herself!
Following her flawless directions, my brother and I saw the tiny version of the Statue of Liberty. Not a common tourist destination to be sure, but the important thing to remember is that I was right!

Normalement

Despite being certifiably fluent in French (as was the requirement for my masters program), the first days of school seemed such a language blur. My every day familiar language wasn’t enough.

Technical vocabulary aside, I could tell I’d lost some of my ability over the 8 months spent at home. It has come back to me over time, with hard work and lots of intense listening, leading me to the last week of lectures where I understood everything the teachers said. Well, almost everything.

When giving us details about one of our final exams, the head teacher explained that normalement (normally) we are allowed the use of documents for certain questions posed by different guest lecturers. To me, that left a certain amount of doubt about whether or not things would be the same this year.

After that we didn’t hear whether the test was open book or not, and so I studied everything.

Come test day, it was written on the exam which parts had authorized documents, and which hadn’t. A sense of relief poured over me. This test was going to go better than I had thought.

After the exam, I expressed my sense of joy at being able to use the materials from lecture to my fellow students.

I was the only one relieved, however.

To my French counterparts, the normalement wasn’t so ambiguous.

They expected to be able to use their documents.

Université

I don’t know why I thought French universities would be similar to my university experience in California, but I unknowingly did.

I sort of felt that having already lived in France for 2.5 years straight and being part of the educational world (as my days as an English language assistant) combined with all the stories that exFBF told me about getting his masters and what school was like, that I was already pretty prepared for going to college in France.

This, however, was not the case.

The first surprise came on the very first day when not a single teacher passed out a syllabus, and instead dictated the important facts, deadlines, and grading policies. This was not a pleasant experience for my rusty French and me.

I had already heard exFBF complain about classes that lasted four hours, but I thought long classes were a rare exception, not the rule. Most of my classes are at least three hours long (with one class lasting four), and even though some of my teachers give us a ten-minute break in the middle, I have been poorly trained to pay attention to the same subject matter for such a long time. My brain starts to check out after two.

I know that some of the changes have to do with school size. My university back home had 20,000 students and an eight-story library with a room open 24/7. My new university has 2,500 students and a two-story library, which closes at 22h.


Top: UTT (my French school) Bottom: UCSB (my American school)
But even taking into account the difference in size of the student body, my new school seems under developed to provide for the student’s needs. There is never enough space in the library, and nowhere else on campus is open for students to work on group projects (which I seem to have at least one of in every class).

So far I’m feeling pretty overwhelmed with my coarse load and constantly being in a French language environment. One might say I'm experiencing pedagogical culture shock, if such a thing exists.

Choc Culturel Inverser

My first moment of reverse culture shock came rather quickly. It happened the same day I arrived in California. After the hour and a half long drive home from LAX, I really had to pee. I groggily went to my bathroom, and took care of business. It was after that the culture shock occurred.

I went to flush the toilet, and something was wrong. There was nothing on the top for me to pull or push. “How do I….” I began to think, when I almost immediately remembered that in America, the flush is on the side of the toilet.

Most of the big differences I was mentally prepared for. I knew I would be carded again and that the cars are bigger here. It was the smaller stuff that crept up on me unexpectedly; the weight of a coke can; how awkward it felt ending a text conversation without “bisous.”

I think what made it so weird is that most things were still the same at home. I would often quickly remember, “oh right, that’s how we do things here.” It wasn’t my home that had changed. I had changed.

Despite feeling ever so American the entire time I was living in Lille, I now felt entirely too French. It would seem I am no longer 100% either way.

La Déesse

In the beginning of the First French Republic, many countries challenged the authenticity of this new government and saw it as an opportunity to take over parts of France. Lille was subjected to attack from Austria in 1792. After several days of cannon fire, Lille won the battle.

To commemorate Lille's victory, a statue was erected in the Grand'Place (or la place du Général-de-Gaulle) in 1845. The statue is known as La Déesse (the goddess) because of her mural crown. Her left hand points to an inscription of the Mayor at the time's refusal to surrender the city.


Lillois enjoying the sun while sitting around La Déesse.

She is meant to watch over and protect Lille. She holds in her right hand a boutefeu, a stick with which one ignites a cannon.


A close up on La Déesse and her boutefeu, as well as the top of the tower of the Chambre de Commerce.

Although originally just a column in the middle of the square, La Déesse is now surrounded by a beautiful fountain. She is a meeting place for many a rendez-vous in the city center, as well as big cultural events (like when Lille won La Coupe de France). If you stop by during la rentrée (the return to school) in September, you will often find college freshmen plunging themselves in the fountain.


La Déesse and her fountain in the center of la Grand'Place.

It's a great place to stop, sit, and enjoy the beautiful Flandres architecture that surrounds la Grand'Place. Especially when the weather is nice.

Check it out:
Place du Général-de-Gaulle, otherwise known as la Grand'Place

Wine More Time

While in Bordeaux, I wanted to drink lots of Bordeaux wine. So while at the office du tourisme, I asked for a list of wine bars. FBF and I decided to try one called Wine More Time because it had an awesome name and a view of the grosse cloche (fat clock).


The bar au vin (wine bar).


The view.

We sat down, selected a wine from the list of vin au verre (wines by the glass) and also got the cheese plate.


The menu.

When the man came back with our wine and cheese, he asked us where we were from (no doubt hearing my accent).

When we told him where we were from, it was surprisingly not the girl from California but the boy from le Nord who was the topic of conversation.

“Moi, je suis de Toulouse, qui est aussi plus nord d’ici, mais pas assez au nord que vous!” (I’m from Toulouse, which is north of here, but nowhere near as far north as you!) he told FBF.

“Vous ne buvez pas du vin là bas, non?” (You don’t drink wine up there, do you?) he continued.

FBF confirmed that in le Nord people are more partial to beer than wine.

I then learned a little bit about the opinion the rest of France has towards Lillois.

“Ça c’est parce que vous n’êtes pas les vrais français!” (That’s because you aren’t actually French!) he exclaimed, brimming with pride to be from le Sud (the South).

FBF had the good nature to laugh, but I was taken aback. It's one thing for Americans and other foreigners to view the French as nothing but red wine drinking baguette lovers, but actual French people thinking the same thing? I was astounded.

Then I realized that half the time I tell people about Lille, I talk about how we're more Belgian than French anyway. Maybe all of France knows this, too.

And really, what's so wrong with a having a preference for beer?

Après

In school we’re taught that après means after. After as in subsequent to, for example “after we eat diner, we do the dishes,” and not as in to resemble, for example “he takes after his father.” While that second one is a phrasal verb, when I thesaurus-ed “after” it came up with both.

The French don’t seem to have such a rigid view of the word après, and it took me quite a while to get used to it.

When we first started dating, FBF would often ask me if I wanted to do something après.

To which I would reply, “after… What?”

He would reply with things like, “oh, after we finish eating” or “after the game is over” and would put it into a more concrete context.

But once we were finished with the designated activity, we wouldn’t always do what was supposed to happen après immediately after.

After much frustration and confusion, one day it dawned on me. I had to stop thinking about after quite so literally.

Après when used like this is actually similar to the dreaded American usage of “later.” Later as in some unidentified time in the future, for example "I'll call you later."

Later holds all the annoying flexibility that the French put into the word après.

I wonder if the use of après when said by one's crush in relation to an activity the two of you are going to do together sends French girls into a fit of over-analysis just as "later" did to 14 year old me.

Versatile and Missing France

Sara Louise at Sara in Le Petit Village has bestowed upon me the Versatile Blogger Award, and for that I am extremely grateful. I love her blog, and if you’re not already reading it you definitely should be. Thanks Sara Louise!




I’ve been home for a month, and instead of 7 things about me I thought I'd do 7 things I already miss about France:

1. Cheap delicious cheese.
My first week back here I decided to make French onion soup for my family. I went to the grocery store with my dad because he wanted help finding the ingredients as he wasn’t sure what a bouillon cube was or where to find the weird sounding cheese I wanted him to buy. We found some gruyere in the fancy cheese section, and I was beyond shocked to discover it cost 11 dollars.

2. Cheap delicious wine.
On the same grocery store trip we stopped by the wines section and once again I was astounded by how expensive the wine is. Even the cheap wine was expensive compared to French prices. Of course you can buy very expensive wine in France as well, but why bother when you’re poor and a 3euro bottle is more than sufficiently delicious?

3. Baguettes.
I knew I’d miss French bread, but what I wasn’t expecting was to no longer like sourdough bread. The whole time I’ve been in France I’ve been claiming I missed it, but I’ve tried to eat sourdough bread toast three times since I’ve been out here, and I can’t handle the bitterness in my mouth.

4. Real Belgian Beer Christmas Brews.
I have seen two giant billboards advertising Stella Artois as a “Christmas beer.” I also had it proposed to me by a bar tender calling it the Christmas beer. In Lille and Belgium, the breweries make special limited addition Christmas brews and sell it only during the holiday season. These bières de noël (Christmas beers) are delicious and I can’t get enough of them during the holidays. Stella is just Stella. Nothing Christmas-y about it. I also miss all the delicious beer in general.

5. Cobblestone and buildings being older than 60 by a long shot.

Place Louise de Bettignies in Lille.

6. Good Public Transit.
I was car-less in France for most of my time there and it never mattered because I could easily walk, metro, or bus to anywhere I wanted to go. That is not the case over here and I have to rely on the generosity of my friends or parents in order to get around.

7. French Télé (TV).
I really did not think I’d miss French TV as there are so many less channels and even fewer programs worth watching, but I miss how their TV is presented. I tried to watch a rerun of How I Met Your Mother over here and I couldn’t handle all the commercials. In France there is usually just one long block of commercials every half hour, instead of having a small amount of commercials every two minutes.
I also miss feeling like I’m accomplishing something while being lazy and watching TV. In France I could always claim I was “practicing my French.” Here I have no excuse.

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And I hereby pass on the Versatile Blogger Award to:
Bread is Pain,
My Peruvian Life is Not a Musical,
Tales from the Chambre de Bonne, and
The Perpetual Passenger.

Statue: Lille A Ses Fusilles

During La Grande Guerre (the “Great” War, aka the WWI), Lille was under German occupation. Some Lillois stayed loyal to the French Republic and started a resistance movement.

Unfortunately for the individuals who made up the resistance group called comité Jacquet, the German soldiers discovered them and had them executed. The same was true for Léon Trulin, an 18-year-old student, who was caught while attempting to pass on intelligence to England.

In order to honor these brave men who died for their country, France dedicated the monument entitled Lille À Ses Fusilles to them in 1929.


Lille à ses Fusilles. The five men represented are (from right to left): George Maertens, Eugène Deconynck, Sylvère Verhulst, Eugène Jacquet, and Léon Trulin.

The four men who are awaiting execution are the members of comité Jacquet. None of them are looking at the executioner, denying the German authority until the very end.

The man who is already shot and lying on the floor is Léon Trulin. All five were sculpted after numerous discussions with their friends and family in order to get their faces right.

But the story of this statue does not end there.

During La Seconde Guerre Mondiale (WWII), the Germans once again occupied Lille. Upon seeing the monument to those who defied them the first time around, they took at it with pickaxes until it was destroyed.

France didn’t let the statue die with the German occupation, however, and set about rebuilding it. In 1960, the new, identical monument was reinstalled and is still around today.

Check it out:
Square Daubenton
Lille 59800