Internal logic

One of the toughest aspects of life in a foreign country is "Internal Logic". It won't be addressed in any guide book, language, culture or history class. It's intangible but definitely present. Even after years of living in France I ask myself seemingly rhetorical questions... why? why? why?... all in vain. I am left to fret.

Last week in Paris I helped out a desperate American tourist running around the metro looking frantically for a way back to the airport. He asked one Parisian after another and got blank stares. A few shrugged their shoulders and suggested he take the subway line towards the Champs-Élysées. He sighed. Fortunately his instincts knew that was wrong. Then he met an attendant who urged him to get out of the underground and walk. Say what? That, of course, was certainly impossible! So what was wrong?... Frenchmen do not refer to the airport in Paris as Charles de Gaule. That was a former president, maybe stretching it a traffic circle around Arc de Triomphe, but definitely not Roissy airport. Yes, of course, it's named for the city it's in, just like any other airport in the world, right? Who doesn't know the name of that Parisian suburb where it is located? By the way, you take a train there. Subways are for Paris only!

Another classic example. Americans are often amazed when they get a cereal bowl full of milk with a small expresso on the side when they so innocently asked for a café au lait. It's so exasperating when everyone around them seems to have that big mug of French coffee they so desired. Why so? Because they asked for coffee with their milk and that's definitely what they got. They should have gone for café-crème (creamy coffee) or café noisette (strong coffee with a touch of milk). How to know that if you haven't lived in France?

Mores are even tougher. It takes time, energy, and interest to learn that in France salad is eaten after the main course never before. Coffee follows the desert and they are not drunk together. Forget that and eyebrows will be raised. You must kiss your friend's girlfriend 2 or 3 times cheek after cheek otherwise he will be offended. What else? You should take a present, chocolate or flowers, but definitely never wine when invited to someone's house for dinner. By the way, don't even think of helping them clear the table or do the dishes. Faux pas! More importantly it also means now they consider you a true friend so you need to reciprocate in some way in the near future. Finally, let's not forget those businessmen who suggest a business lunch to French colleagues. Working and relaxing do not go together, and you need to enjoy your food too!

Sometimes you just have to accept the logic without question. It is repeated over and over ad nauseum: No swimming for an hour after eating. No using a knife to cut salads. Parking on the sidewalk is preferable to going into a garage when you won't be staying overnight. Driving a stick shift is inherently better than driving an automatic. You can have three glasses of wine and still drive, but not four. You can mix champagne with black currant juice and it's sublime, but mix it with orange juice and it's the worst sin ever. Ketchup is supposed to be sweet. Mayonnaise should contain mustard. You take elevators up, not down.

If I have written this post with ease until now, it's largely due to my experience. I have learned it all-- sometimes the easy way, sometimes the hard way. Yet, it is only the tip of the iceberg. I still make blunders without knowing it and often have the terrible feeling of not knowing what is really happening around me. Why again? No one ever tells you any of this stuff, you have to stumble every day like that man looking for Charles de Gaule.

From the minute you are born you start picking up the invisible truths of a culture. I heard recently it begins when French moms pull their kids over to them, tell them to sit still and Americans tell them to go off and have fun in the playground. It all means something. Yes, there are faux pas! for children too. When they fall down and scrape their knee, Gallic mom says "See. I told you not to do that. You didn't obey me, did you?" and her yankee counterpart utters "Ah. That's okay, sweety. Now you know what happens when you run too fast" it moulds them. Likewise, every year spent in school adds layer upon layer to the labyrinth of French savoir-faire . There are the cultural icons, the games, the socialization, the formal and informal learning, the values, the take on life, and the morality lessons. Moving to a country as an adult puts you at a clear disadvantage. There is an ocean of invisible evidence to assimilate.

America is probably more lenient and open due to the universal immigrant experience but -- perhaps an immigrant might see things differently. I've heard Frenchmen complain about American waiters who are so bothersome and won't leave them alone to eat in peace. The French obviously have to be explained what a tip is-- not just when to leave it or how much to put down. Further, they ask -- who is your friend in America? Why doesn't friendly mean friend? Everyone's got their work cut out for them, I guess.

France, on the other hand, is not nearly so indulgent. Recently I've been confronted with trying to understand how the education system really works here. How do teachers give class in France? What is a good course supposed to be like? How does one write an essay? How does one make a presentation? Should students work alone, in pairs, in groups? What is the role of the teacher and the student? How do they interact? What are the expectations? Why do those so-called bad things like imagination seem inherently good to me and the good things like analyzing image after image seem like a waste of energy? How will I know what is right and what is wrong? Those questions race through my head. An expat has no Gallic instinct. When you don't know... the sanction is unexpected and harsh. You have to fit in and react according to role.

In many senses, I still feel like that teenager who was hit with a broom by a pastry chef in Tours many years ago for sitting down at the wrong table. How was I supposed to know that was soooo bad? What to do? Why...... My ruminations continue.

Copyright 2012 Merquiades

CROUS

CROUS (Centre régional des oeuvres universitaires et scolaires) is a nationwide group of cafeterias found pretty much anywhere in France at or near schools and universities. Whereas they were set up primarily for students and teachers, people from far and wide go to have lunch there because the food is cheap, copious and of excellent quality. You get four courses; salad, main course with meat and vegetables, cheese, fruit and dessert. It's well worth it even if the daily dish is not your cup of tea. Just pass on the pork cutlet or veal's head and go for the rest. Yet, normally what they prepare is delicious. This week when I went there they were serving "brandade de morue" (cod, olive oil, bread and potato casserole). Since in France lunch is from twelve to one without exception, I usually pass on going to CROUS. I'm busy, at home, still working, not willing to queue for fifteen minutes, or not hungry, or so hungry at noon. Yes, even after a decade in France I have not adapted to the culinary habits here. So, all in all, I go two or three times a year to CROUS always with the promise to return more often, yet alas, c'est la vie!

Last Friday I finished my class early, was by chance right next to a CROUS (one of the best in town actually), and was utterly famished. Perfect! Now, mind you, I usually go there accompanied. When we get to the end of the line, my lunch mates usually take out their CROUS card and pay for us both. As the price of a full meal equals that of a tall coffee elsewhere, I usually invite them to a café afterwards. On occasion I pay, it's usually around five or six euros, a bit more than what it costs with the card. This is what I intended to do this week as well. Yet, when I took out my wallet to pay for lunch, the cashier let out one of those exaggerated gallic gasps.

-- Oh là là, Monsieur. You don't have a card. My God, no! But, you've been here before, what did you do? Who were you with?

-- I was with a friend or else I paid.

--You just can't pay here, like that, monsieur. Who do you think you are? whew whew whew. Thérèse, Thérèse... monsieur doesn't have a card!!!!!

As the line started to back up and people turned their heads to see what was happening, I repeated I was sorry for the problem. I had never had one ever before. I would be willing to pay more if needed, take a card right now, whatever....

--How come you don't know where to get a card? You expect me... meeee... to tell you. How should I know? I don't have any here. That's not my job. Are you even eligible to get a card?

I let her rant on for a few minutes.... doo dooo dooo

--I don't know what to say Madame. It's never been an issue before. Sorry, you are right. I can only offer to pay or get a card.....

--Of course I am right...still. Where do you work? Jean-Loup, do you know this guy? Who did you come with before? Tell me! Oh là là. Well, sign your name here...on this sheet of paper. I just can't believe this is happening to me. You better come back a.s.a.p. with a card, or this will come out of my pay, you know.

I moved on to a table, sat down, tried to eat my brandade as the lady proceeded to repeat the story of the freeloader to everyone who followed in the line, pointing indiscreetly in my direction. Le voilà!

--And monsieur didn't have a card. Can you believe it?..... You know, I think he was a.... foreigner. Swiss, Polish, English or something... I know he won't ever come back with a card.

Strangely enough, I have looked into getting a card. When I ask people where they got theirs...most stare into space pensive. They possess one because... I guess... they have always had one, inherited it, or were given it by someone. Otherwise it's... go across town, see so-and-so between 9:30 am and 9:45, fill out a dossier, take two id's and a proof a residence, get five signatures and mail to this address in Paris by April 15th. They'll contact you if and when they decide to give you a card.

Sometimes I think my so-called-life in France is all about getting cards.

Moral: avoid CROUS (or at least some CROUS) if you don't have one.

Copyright 2012 Merquiades

Verbal Rape of Expats

There is an event that occurs once in a while in one's expat life in France, with more or less regularity, that no one is ever sufficiently prepared for and almost never expecting. Nevertheless, it has happened before and will assuredly happen again and again as long as I remain in France. I'm no longer a "virgin" to it obviously, the first time does feel a bit like verbal rape, now I'm so familiar with it I know everything that will be said and how the scene will be played out.

Idiot dixit:

Wow, you are so lucky to be in France. I don't blame you for being here. Congratulations! This is a far greater country than yours. God, like where do you come from Ohio or something? Ups, that's where? hi hi hi. Well... I was in upstate New York for two weeks when I was 16. The family didn't even have a dining room. We ate that orange cheesy sauce thing with our fingers in front of the tv whenever we got hungry. No one had even heard of "salad". Salad? What is that? Really! In school they didn't learn anything at all except to say how much they loooove America and that guns and death penalty were so good. How can a people be so stupid, so impolite, so dirty, so.... Everybody there I met was extremely jealous of us French, cause, you know, we did invent civilization, good food and have been defending culture ever since the beginning of time. Can you believe no one knows the capital of France is Paris? They don't even know how great we are!!!! Or are appreciative!!!! At least, you know that don't you? don't you? That's why you're here! Oh my God! In America life revolves around the McDonald's in every town. That's why everyone is so overweight...... like you. Ha ha ha. Was it that orange cheese of yours? Too many beers? Is it true in your state your dad can marry your sister, and that most people are related in several ways and belong to religious cults......................... and this and that..........

However, the worst I ever heard was a few years ago when GWB was president and v.r. was rather more common. I'll certainly always remember it. A young lady, a talented artist, told me at an exhibition that the people of Louisiana deserved Hurricane Katrina, but she would have preferred it be even more destructive and be called "Hurricane Karima". Few things shock me, but that vr did.

My last verbal rape occurred on Tuesday night at a gathering of people at an event known as " The International Café of Friends", such a charming name of course. I must say it had been a long time. So here's some practical advice.... what does one do during a v.r.? My first reaction is to say,"yeah, actually we ARE a violent tribe of barbarians-", and then proceed to break every bone in his wretched body. "What did you expect....?" I never have given into this impulse because I'm sure the verbal rapist realizes I am far too much of a gentleman to do that. Another possibility is to retaliate by slamming France. Not a good idea as everyone else is implicitly on his side anyway or at the very least are not taking your side. In the past I tried correcting the perpetrator by promptly supplying names, places, statistics, sources to prove him wrong. I even studied up for it. Unfortunately, I always lost because obnoxious Frenchmen do not wish to broaden their minds nor change their opinions. Au contraire! Besides, in my experience, bystanders will never come to your rescue in any case scenario. The other choice is to grin and bear it, give slight resistence whenever possible and hope the attack will soon come to an end. Add no fuel and it will burn out quick. This is the easiest option available, of course; the one everyone is expecting of you but it's quite hard to swallow. On this occasion, however, I took the righteous indignation approach: "No. No. I will not discuss this with you not now, not ever. Next subject." Afterwards, I made a strong complaint to the club's organizer, called it "discrimination"- what it really is-- and said I would boycott the Tuesday event.

Needless to say, I do not object to objective criticism about the United States. Being myself one of the greatest critics of America, I welcome interesting discussion about the different social, cultural, economic or political aspects of American life. No American would mistake me for a patriot. However, I simply cannot tolerate blind hatred against an entire nation by impolite individuals claiming superiorty and yet demonstating they have little or no knowledge of what they are talking about.

What is the best reation to such a moron? Perhaps I haven't found it yet. Be warned, Americans moving to Europe! A verbal rape is as frequent as an earthquake in California. It is imminent. There will be one some day, but thankfully not every day or even every month. Hopefully it will be a light one.

RT

Addendum: My rant is over. Writing blogs has proven to be a way of releasing hard feelings. For the Americans who may read this, come to France. There are far more reasons to join us over here. Most French people are open and welcoming. You may love it so much you'll end up staying for years like me.

Back to http://frenchiflyable.blogspot.com/

If you were able to make your way to this page here, you will have realized on your own that www.frenchiflyable.com has moved back to where it started years ago: http://frenchiflyable.blogspot.com/

I'm angry about this but I have given up. I can't spend my life fighting virtual windmills. I have spent literally hours and hours if not days trying to get my website back. At first I couldn't even access the fifty odd posts and articles I have written. I thought I would end up losing everything.

I consider what happened to be treacherous, unfair, and devious!

One day in January I logged on to write a new blog and couldn't get in to my account. Every time I went on my dashboard or tried to type my address on google search I was forwarded automatically to a server called godaddy.com which informed me my blog was no longer mine but I could purchase it for the right price. Much to my chagrin, I paid godaddy.com $50 to get my domain back, but to no avail. They wanted more and guaranteed nothing in exchange. They spewed a bunch of technical gobbly gook which I had to devote much of my precious time to decipher. In the end it meant nothing. Really, this unfortunate experience could easily have become a money trap, me paying to get back what is already mine! NOT! I sollicited help from experts, technicians at goggle, chatted with godaddy, visited helplines. In the end I could do nothing about it. It was beyond me. It was driving me insane.

Now I've let go. I really need some zen Buddha. Hooommm. I have accepted that my domain has been lost forever.

I am especially fuming about the way it happened. Apparently in December the subscription I bought from google expired. No one informed me of this, told me I had to renew it, let alone give me advice on where or how to do so. No, not everyone on the net is a systems analyst nor computer programer not even a geek. I bet this is the case for most blogs. This enabled godaddy to seize my domain, yes, legally seize it, sever the connection with my blogger dashboard, and take it away. The gall! I eventually found out my posts still existed on blogger, they just were not linked with any site. Thus, my decision to go back to blogspot. It's a longer address to find, but I think I'm safe here. If I ever get frenchiflyable.com back I might change again, if not, I am here to stay. Godaddy.com can go _____ themselves. Internet thugs!

Honestly what hurts the most is losing contact with the friends around the world that have supported me and with whom I have been in contact through my blog. We developed a genuine rapport and I learnt quite a bit from them all. When they access my site from now on they will only see a blank page with a link to godaddy saying the site does not exist! There are also numerous connections all around the net with links to my old site. It's hard to update them.

All of this has left a sour taste in my mouth, towards the web community, google for letting it happen, and especially godaddy. I know now there is no protection at all on the net and no courtesy can be expected. Unfortunately, it'll take me a while before I build confidence again. My advice to you is beware, keep copies of what you post online, backup and backup again, and especially get an e-mail address from your virtual friends so you can have another way to reach them when godaddy.com or the likes attack again.

The moral: Once bitten twice shy!

Resolutions for 2012 and adieu to wordreferencing

Hey cyber people. I appreciate the emails from people asking me where I have been and why I stopped writing. I'm so sorry but I do have an excuse. I became addicted to something worse than cocaine and heroine combined. It's also embarassing since I've been one of the harshest critics of all those guys who get hooked on some kind internet-wide science fiction game where 50,000 people combat forces of evil (literally each other) senselessly day and night for 7 months.

Anyway the doldrums of our 8 month winter in northern France led me to discover the wordreference forums, the greatest thing for language buffs since the invention of the bilingual dictionary. There are thousands of people from all over the word creating threads on vocabulary, idioms, translations, linguistics, grammar in any language in the world. Got a doubt, it will be resolved. Literally, wordreferece offered to me on a silver platter everything I ever wanted to know about language but never knew I did. The site is amazing. I guess it's like putting a little boy in an endless warehouse full of toys when previously the poor thing only got one little tiny gift each year for Christmas. Moreover he gets instant playmates who strangely enough do not find his interests so weird at all! Who knew he was not alone in the world? He thought he was odd for being excited about the imperfect subjunctive!

Unfortunately, sooner or later Wordreferencing becomes hell. 24 hours a day is not enough time to spend on this site. There are ten subject discussions being created about every minute, many of which you know something about, others maybe not, but all are interesting enough to read and comment on. Members are actually encouraged to give answers on everything too. As they say, we are all participating in the creation of the biggest language encyclopedia in history. It must be perfectly complete for posterity. As such, in the celebration section, members are constantly being given awards. Mr. Salamander wrote his 10,000th post today! Hurray! Tomorrow, is Miss Crumpets birthday so we've made this new thread just for her! She wanted to know the names of all Russian cakes, so here we go! Yay!

For some unknown reason, members get promoted to the status of Moderator. This gives them endless power to wield over other members. Mods get to enforce the WR rules and can comment on all posts or eliminate them at will! And beware! They can also choose to ban you forever from the form too. Soon you will get those private messages from mods asking you to prove this and that detail about yourself, or to admonish you for breaking continually rule number 16, one you never knew existed, and quite honestly it is of so little relevance to anything in daily life, it's absolutely pathetic.
Members also flock together in small little cliques called tagger groups. You see them waiting to pounce on anyone who enters into their circle. Worse yet, they often have blind conviction in their philosophy and will shun posters who dare to disagree. For example, a shocker and breaker for members of XX group are the circumstances in which interrogative words such as "dónde" "cómo" "cuándo" should or should not bear an accent mark!? Say what? Some gangs will kill for principles won't they? Other times groups just take offence to your mere presence in a forum you haven't been invited to. That's not a rule, by the way. Just imagine for a moment that a native French speaker goes into the German-Spanish forum and dares to comment on the best translation of a proverb from one language into another. Be you right or wrong, excuse me, but who invited you to our German-Spanish party? You'll find these mods particular harsh as they try any way possible to get rid of you. Ha ha ha!

In a nutshell, wordreferece can be great... but it has all the inconveniences of an addiction to a recreational drug, plus the hurt of a high school dance where you can't sit at a certain table or run for homecoming king... just because... that's the way it is, mate. Finally it turns into senseless clicking on a machine far worse than a game boy because... face it... you are just mechanically refreshing the same site over and over again... hoping for who knows what... a new translation? Winning some stupid dispute about grammar? Getting an honor? But guess what? Guess what? You'll be answered when and if the someone decides to carry on, and only if a mod or a clique or someone else don't zap you out. Certainly, it's just another clear example of a terrible second reality addiction just waiting to prey on someone living in a dark northern rainy and sad climate where Persephone has been damned to Hades until April at least. I admit I succombed...

Yet, now I'm free. I sent wordreferencing to hell and deleted their cookies from my hard drive. Yes!! I've got an extra two hours per day. So, now I can get back on track and start writing again. It's going to be more free-style impromptu writing this time. I've seen writing too much as a task to refine and polish, which is a major deterent. It must be fun! Anyway, these are my two of my resolutions for 2012.

Happy holidays people, I'm back! Enjoy yourselves! I wish you all the best for the new year. Then get on your resolutions too!

At the mercy of snow

In the USA, or in Ohio, when it snows a small army of people are sent out to plow, shovel, salt, spray, remove snow in any and every way possible. Besides that, the layman too has obligations like getting rid of the snow on the sidewalk or street in front of his/her building, also the stairs, driveways, and whatever else is there and could be dangerous. I recently watched in amazement as secondary roads were completely snow free by rush hour.

In contrast, in France when there is sleet, freezing rain, or snow (be it half an inch or ten feet), the government's solution is to cancel everything. Décision de préfecture. No one leave home! Bus service cancelled, train service cancelled, streets cordoned off! No school! No this! and no that! No, no salting, absolutely no chemical products onto our roads, thoroughfares or sidewalks, that's way too bad for the environment, you know! and by the way, le déneigement also requires a lot physical labour! So why not just sit back and wait for nature to thaw itself out! It will eventually happen! And once in a while they do indeed plow certain streets at irregular intervals, just in case there's some emergency, but that's about it! Snow brings on paralysis. Now, before you think that I protesteth too much, I do readily admit that sometimes this is advantageous to me. Once in a while I do even find myself praying for snow. Twice this year already, I've got to lie in on official snow days and even be paid for it. Yippy! However, the inverse could happen too, being stuck at work, on a highway, at a train station, on a train, anywhere else waiting, begging, pleading for nature to help out and spare me.


Unfortunately for me the third snowstorm occurred on December 16-17, the exact moment when I was to leave for the states. Even worse it snowed in northeastern France (where I live) but not in Paris (where my plane was set to take off at 10:30 AM). So I fretted all day the 16th as I watched the snow fall and heard slowly but surely the decrees of the local government to shut down local buses, trains and shuttles. So how the hell was I to get to the TGV train station 40 minutes away to get my ride to Paris. Every option I thought about, no can do! I couldn't miss my flight because I just could not afford buying another ticket, and yes, finding my way to Paris was my responsibility, not theirs. Paris weather was clear and sunny. I panicked so much I didn't know what to do? Why didn't I get my French driver's license? Why didn't I have a car? a truck? Or a snowmobile?

So I decided the only way was to walk to the busiest area in Metz, by the station and try anyway possible to flag down a cab. Oh Gosh! The only place I could wald was go right down the middle of the street where cars or maybe ploughs had taken away just a wee bit of those 20 centimeters, and no, suitcase wheels do not work in the snow. Walking through the streets of Metz at 4AM with two suitcases and trying to hail cabs that didn't want to be hailed was an adventure I don't want to relive. Fortunately, I found a daring guy, Antoine, who told me he'd take me to the TGV Gare Lorraine (most cab drivers obeyed the order to stay in) on the condition that we not stop and fly straight down the highway as fast as possible. So there we went running red lights and swerving on to all lanes. His noble theory: you don't stop in snow or you'll never start again, and the faster you go the more control you have. I was scared and relieved at the same time to have Antoine behind the wheel. I did the right thing by thinking of going so early. My driver's theory, if right, could not have panned out, with all those slow drivers coming and going, and those accidents that were sure to occur in an hour or two. I would never have made it. Boy, did I have to pay for Antoine though. All in all, it was worth every penny though, even though I am still cursing the government for shutting down the world.

The TGV was on time, but it ran on slow (government decree) until it approached the Paris metropolitain area, where there was no snow. So my flight was definitely on time but I was still arriving late.

Next story, I had registered on line and printed my boarding pass beforehand, good reflex in the event of being late when they tell you to check in 3 hours in advance. So luckily, they were waiting for me! When I got to the airport at 10 (plane left at 10:30), the first guy everyone meets, out of about 10 all together, got on his walkie-talkie and said, "oui, il est là, le Cincinnati", so believe it or not, I got to cut in front of everybody else to check my bag. Next, at the security area where they were making people take everything off, open up all their bags, plus asking them tons of questions, the same thing happened. "Oh, le Cincinnati, pas le temps de faire tout ça, quoi!", passport control was the same story. I went through and walked straight to the plane, got on and then they closed the gate. Scary looking back on it all, but kind of cool too. In the end, my friend, Madame K, is right, they won't leave you behind. Feels nice to know that. I really thought they'd be off in a heartbeat. And the trip to Cincinnati was completely normal, now here I am with 6 inches of snow and bare roads.

Vive la belle France! Every day is an adventure. R.T.

Can work be fun?

Find a job you love and you are good at and you'll never work one day in your life.
If it is true that work can be fun, it certainly is not my case. In October I will teach over 80 hours in one establishment or another. Yes, I need to work to make ends meet and I need those hours. The fact is there is no or little work to be done between June and October teaching English in France. Plus, I did so much traveling during that time period too. The result is I am in debt. October and November will be hellish months for me, and I add that fortunately work is abundant in the Fall. People call me everyday pleading for me to take on another class, another pupil, another preparation. Yes, teaching in France (if you aren't a fonctionnaire) is a helluva rollercoaster. You either have way too much or nothing at all. Go figure!
So I'll bite the bullet. Until Christmas there will not be much blogging, little reading, little amusement, no socializing, no philosophizing, and not much deep thinking will be going on. No movies, no parties either. My life will go on hold for a while. I'll wake up, eat breakfast, teach 3 hours, have lunch, teach 3 hours, take a snack, teach a few more hours, dine, some days teach even more, and drink thousands of cups of coffee. I'll prepare classes on Sunday, and start all over again the following week. Wish me luck!
I hate this time period. Fall is the time I descend into hell for living it up in the Summer. Yes, I know I'm ranting and raving. Maybe it'd be better if the classes were actually enjoyable. Unfortunately, the work is piled on everyone, so no one wants to be there or participate.
By the way. Happy Columbus day! C.C. didn't discover America by aimless ritual. In the end, though I do like the long Summers this rollercoaster is not healthy. There will be slight plunge in the winter again and it will rev up once more in March and April just to start dwindling off towards Summer.