I've started a blog post every day for the past week, but ended it feeling both bored and uninspired. In the spirit of trying to be a decent blogger, here are an assortment of randoms that hopefully capture my week (I apologize in advance for the lack of continuity of thought, just bear with me):
Nothing special happened on Monday besides turning in a 6-page French Lit paper.
Tuesday, I was brought to "Black or White", a small soul food restaurant that has a cult following within IES. It's kind of like burrito mafia. No one really knows where it is, and no one can really explain to other people. I made the 15-minute walk with a few friends who had already been (earlier that day, actually). We crossed the tram tracks to l'île feydeau, went into an alley, and walked in the door of a storefront about 12 feet wide, only to hear, "Hey ladies, what can we get for you?" and I knew we had hit something special.
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Either way, the lack of "American" food in Nantes is quite obvious. Aside from one MacDo, one Pizza Hut, one Domino's, "Burger House" (run by an ex-pat and fellow Seattleite in my quartier) and now, Black or White, there is no down home American cooking. No greasy refried beans and spanish rice or homemade lasagnas or caesar salads. To the best of my knowledge, this is it.
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So when you're in the middle of having a Franco-American identity crisis, it's weird. I don't really need to think ahead if I need to say something anymore, which is refreshing, but I'm still less inclined to speak English in some situations. It was the oddest thing, to walk into what I believe to be the only burrito-serving restaurant in Nantes and hear two black women (one American, one British) unabashedly speaking English. Maddy and I stood in the restaurant ("restaurant" being a relative term, I believe the place is a converted kebaberie), a little dumbfounded: no menu, no prices, no signage of any sort. No kitchen in the back. Looking to our veteran friend Kari for help, she said, "Just ask for a burrito", and I almost laughed. That's it?! Just "a burrito"? I felt like I was going to be laughed at; I mean, isn't that like going up to the register at Starbucks and saying, "Hi, I'd like a coffee"? What's in the burrito? What is it like? There's not even a picture? Even though the counter is right there, we can't even see them making it. Maybe there's a reason there's only one burrito place in Nantes... but despite my reservations, I ended up saying, "Umm... I'd like a burrito....?" It was so odd. This isn't America; you can't have it your way... you can't pick just beans or no tomatoes or extra cheese, because it doesn't work like that. This is France: you wait a good 5 or 10 minutes at the counter because they're chatting and you can't even watch them make it. The result, a 3, 50E burrito, was not bad at all. (But it all just gets less interesting from there. I ate it. I enjoyed it. It was my second lunch of the day. We also discovered the delicious but alcohol-less vin chaud (spiced wine) at the marchés de Noël. End of story.)
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I know I've mentioned this before, but the American influence in Nantes is something that I have struggled to comprehend since arriving. The words "yes", "stop", and "okay" are now French words fluently used in everyday life. Despite subject matter of Madame Figaro covering celebrities like Robert Pattinson and Rachel McAdams, magazines tout article titles like "les best of l'hiver" or even "Diamonds are forever" (without translation). Linguistically, it never ceases to surprise me that the French, who have an entire académie Française dedicated to the upkeep and regulation of the French language, have so openly accepted the use of English words in everyday vocabulary. Similar to the use of British voices in Mercedes commercials to connote class and style, English words or American things are sometimes used in the same way: they apportent a similar feeling of luxe. And paradoxically, the upper echelon (as I wrote that I realized that "echelon" has a French root) of French society is created by those who respect the art of the French language itself, protecting the style soutenu from wandering foreign phrases begging their way into another culture.
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In Nantes, the paradox is simply downsized: English is, more or less, considered a novelty. While they may disapprove of Americans (another stereotype I can dispel later), the language is still exotic enough to be, well, cool. So it's been weird to understand literally everything I see on signs or advertisements, and I wonder if they understand it all too. Is it popular because they don't know exactly what it means, or is it just being adopted into their culture? I need to take a psychology of marketing class or something...---
Either way, the lack of "American" food in Nantes is quite obvious. Aside from one MacDo, one Pizza Hut, one Domino's, "Burger House" (run by an ex-pat and fellow Seattleite in my quartier) and now, Black or White, there is no down home American cooking. No greasy refried beans and spanish rice or homemade lasagnas or caesar salads. To the best of my knowledge, this is it.
---
So when you're in the middle of having a Franco-American identity crisis, it's weird. I don't really need to think ahead if I need to say something anymore, which is refreshing, but I'm still less inclined to speak English in some situations. It was the oddest thing, to walk into what I believe to be the only burrito-serving restaurant in Nantes and hear two black women (one American, one British) unabashedly speaking English. Maddy and I stood in the restaurant ("restaurant" being a relative term, I believe the place is a converted kebaberie), a little dumbfounded: no menu, no prices, no signage of any sort. No kitchen in the back. Looking to our veteran friend Kari for help, she said, "Just ask for a burrito", and I almost laughed. That's it?! Just "a burrito"? I felt like I was going to be laughed at; I mean, isn't that like going up to the register at Starbucks and saying, "Hi, I'd like a coffee"? What's in the burrito? What is it like? There's not even a picture? Even though the counter is right there, we can't even see them making it. Maybe there's a reason there's only one burrito place in Nantes... but despite my reservations, I ended up saying, "Umm... I'd like a burrito....?" It was so odd. This isn't America; you can't have it your way... you can't pick just beans or no tomatoes or extra cheese, because it doesn't work like that. This is France: you wait a good 5 or 10 minutes at the counter because they're chatting and you can't even watch them make it. The result, a 3, 50E burrito, was not bad at all. (But it all just gets less interesting from there. I ate it. I enjoyed it. It was my second lunch of the day. We also discovered the delicious but alcohol-less vin chaud (spiced wine) at the marchés de Noël. End of story.)
Wednesday was a day for pumpkin soup, bread, and yogurt. Right before Ecrivains Français, we made a quick jaunt back down to the Marché de Noël for some roasted chestnuts. So worth it.
Thursday, for a goûter (snack), I bought a charlotte framboise from Debotté on Rue Crebillon, which is essentially raspberry mousse with raspberries and sponge cake with dark chocolate on top. I nearly died.
Friday I went shopping at Galéries Lafayette (the French Nordstrom), grabbed coffee at Noops, and spent the night in with the fam; we watched Le premier jour du reste de ta vie, and I definitely recommend it. Even though my host dad, monsieur movie buff, called it boring, it has that wonderful French quality of surprising you and captivating and making you scratch your head and not really understand it all at the same time. It's not pretty; it's of a family with enough difficulties to make you just want to want to turn it off because there's so many problems, but the story is beautiful. It tells the story of one family over the course of five days pinpointed over 12 years (one day for each person in the family). It just came out in the UK, so I don't know if/when it will be out in the US, but I'd say it's Netflix worthy.
Thursday, for a goûter (snack), I bought a charlotte framboise from Debotté on Rue Crebillon, which is essentially raspberry mousse with raspberries and sponge cake with dark chocolate on top. I nearly died.
Friday I went shopping at Galéries Lafayette (the French Nordstrom), grabbed coffee at Noops, and spent the night in with the fam; we watched Le premier jour du reste de ta vie, and I definitely recommend it. Even though my host dad, monsieur movie buff, called it boring, it has that wonderful French quality of surprising you and captivating and making you scratch your head and not really understand it all at the same time. It's not pretty; it's of a family with enough difficulties to make you just want to want to turn it off because there's so many problems, but the story is beautiful. It tells the story of one family over the course of five days pinpointed over 12 years (one day for each person in the family). It just came out in the UK, so I don't know if/when it will be out in the US, but I'd say it's Netflix worthy.
Things I have learned to live without since I have been abroad:
-a hair dryer (with the exception of three blissful days)
-elevators (with the exception of twice at Whitney's in Paris)
-personal transportation (minus maybe 5 trips with my family)
-using my cell phone about a tenth of the amount I used to
-the concept of time (aside from my 8am class at the fac on Thursdays, I normally shoot to be out of the house an hour before class starts. If I miss the bus (or if the bus misses me) then I walk. The idea of being pressed for time has pretty much dwindled to nothing, and I couldn't be happier. I don't miss being stressed out about time. I've finally realized it gets you nowhere.)
-TV (I watched the news one time my second week here. That's it.)
-everything that has gone on in the United States since September 1st (with the exception of one VMA performance on youtube and one article on Obama/Afghanistan in the DirectNantes newspaper on Thursday.) My only sources of what is happening on in the US government/society are through Facebook and what my host dad tells me.
Things that I have in France/things I have learned to live with/grown to love:
-taking public transportation
-walking four times more than normal
-eating more bread and dairy products than ever before
-eating more than ever before, period.
-being able to go out to a bar and order a kir like it's no big deal... because it's not
-being able to go out to a bar and order a kir like it's no big deal... because it's not
-walking on cobblestones in heels (learned to live with... not necessarily grown to love)
-accepting Franglais as a state of mind
-watching about 2 or 3 movies a week in my movie-loving host family
-graduating to subtitle-less French movies
-daily pâtisseries that turn into things like my "motivational flan" or "mood-boosting charlotte framboise." There's always a reason for a trip to the pâtissérie!
-daily pâtisseries that turn into things like my "motivational flan" or "mood-boosting charlotte framboise." There's always a reason for a trip to the pâtissérie!
-learning my place in an 8-person family (which is somewhere between foreigner, guest, adult, big sister, and nanny... just how I like it)
Funny French stories (that I don't have time to elaborate on):
- The bus literally blew past TEN of us standing at the bus stop on Tuesday. Good thing I don't have class on Tuesdays. "I missed the bus" story #234534.
- I decided to be a true French person and ignore the "road closed" signs and caution tape strung the entire width of the road and follow the old lady in front of me down the street I normally walk on. We get past all the signs (to where this huge crane thing is stationed in the middle of the road with its huge metal feet extending to both sidewalks for stability) and the road is just as busy with pedestrians as if it were open to cars. In sum, I (carrying my huge book bag full of groceries) along with several 80 year old French women all had to literally SQUAT under a steel beam to get through. Yet everyone just crouched, scampered/did that awkward squatting walk with your neck bent so you don't whack your head on a steel beam, got up, brushed themselves off, and continued with their day. It was one of those things where I did it, then laughed to myself the entire way back to IES. Oh, France...
And today, I have to say, my host sister is literally the luckiest 17-year-old I have ever met. For her birthday, we had homemade sushi (maki and nigiri) with something that looked like caviar (how many other types of black fish eggs are there?) and salmon spread and to déguste, just a little something by the name of Veuve Clicquot. Umm... please tell me I am dreaming! Can you believe it?! We had mangoes, pineapple, coconut cakes (to finish the thème Japonais) and for the real dessert... chocolate mousse. WITH SPARKLERS IN THEM. No candles for this family... actual firecracker sparklers in chocolate mousse in martini glasses. I am still dumbfounded by this.
As for finals, here's my wonderful schedule:
Psychologie oral exam, this Thursday 2pm
Pharmacologie oral exam, this Friday 10:30am (that I did not find out about until TODAY because the other professor promised me it would be next week when I asked her to specify)
Ecrivains Français exam, next Monday
Art History exam, next Wednesday
International Commerce exam, next Thursday
Have I mentioned I hate finals?
In other news, I don't want to leave. At all. At all at all at all. This hasn't changed. I'm trying not to think about it. I'm pretending like finals aren't the last exam of the semester. I haven't tried to pack yet. Instead, I found a cheap flight for Spring Break. It's not a silly "oh I like it here" kind of feeling, but an honest belief that I have been happier here than I have for the longest time. Even when I feel self-conscious or disappointed or any other given emotion, it really just doesn't bother me as much. Not here. Nantes doesn't need me, and I know it. I will leave, and new IES students will come in, and the city won't skip a beat. There will be new orientations, new excited Francophile Americans, new things to settle into. My absence won't make a difference. But for the moment at least, I feel like I still need France. I didn't do everything. I still want to speak more with my family. I finally feel comfortable. My skin has finally adjusted to French food and water and face wash. My host siblings have adopted me enough to blame things on me (if that isn't a testament to no longer being a guest, I don't know what is). I sit by the fire here and listen to my 10-year-old host brother play "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" on his violin. I get to brush my 4-year-old host sister's teeth because she wants me to be the one to do it. So it's going to be hard to leave.
Funny French stories (that I don't have time to elaborate on):
- The bus literally blew past TEN of us standing at the bus stop on Tuesday. Good thing I don't have class on Tuesdays. "I missed the bus" story #234534.
- I decided to be a true French person and ignore the "road closed" signs and caution tape strung the entire width of the road and follow the old lady in front of me down the street I normally walk on. We get past all the signs (to where this huge crane thing is stationed in the middle of the road with its huge metal feet extending to both sidewalks for stability) and the road is just as busy with pedestrians as if it were open to cars. In sum, I (carrying my huge book bag full of groceries) along with several 80 year old French women all had to literally SQUAT under a steel beam to get through. Yet everyone just crouched, scampered/did that awkward squatting walk with your neck bent so you don't whack your head on a steel beam, got up, brushed themselves off, and continued with their day. It was one of those things where I did it, then laughed to myself the entire way back to IES. Oh, France...
And today, I have to say, my host sister is literally the luckiest 17-year-old I have ever met. For her birthday, we had homemade sushi (maki and nigiri) with something that looked like caviar (how many other types of black fish eggs are there?) and salmon spread and to déguste, just a little something by the name of Veuve Clicquot. Umm... please tell me I am dreaming! Can you believe it?! We had mangoes, pineapple, coconut cakes (to finish the thème Japonais) and for the real dessert... chocolate mousse. WITH SPARKLERS IN THEM. No candles for this family... actual firecracker sparklers in chocolate mousse in martini glasses. I am still dumbfounded by this.
As for finals, here's my wonderful schedule:
Psychologie oral exam, this Thursday 2pm
Pharmacologie oral exam, this Friday 10:30am (that I did not find out about until TODAY because the other professor promised me it would be next week when I asked her to specify)
Ecrivains Français exam, next Monday
Art History exam, next Wednesday
International Commerce exam, next Thursday
Have I mentioned I hate finals?
In other news, I don't want to leave. At all. At all at all at all. This hasn't changed. I'm trying not to think about it. I'm pretending like finals aren't the last exam of the semester. I haven't tried to pack yet. Instead, I found a cheap flight for Spring Break. It's not a silly "oh I like it here" kind of feeling, but an honest belief that I have been happier here than I have for the longest time. Even when I feel self-conscious or disappointed or any other given emotion, it really just doesn't bother me as much. Not here. Nantes doesn't need me, and I know it. I will leave, and new IES students will come in, and the city won't skip a beat. There will be new orientations, new excited Francophile Americans, new things to settle into. My absence won't make a difference. But for the moment at least, I feel like I still need France. I didn't do everything. I still want to speak more with my family. I finally feel comfortable. My skin has finally adjusted to French food and water and face wash. My host siblings have adopted me enough to blame things on me (if that isn't a testament to no longer being a guest, I don't know what is). I sit by the fire here and listen to my 10-year-old host brother play "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" on his violin. I get to brush my 4-year-old host sister's teeth because she wants me to be the one to do it. So it's going to be hard to leave.
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