The Month in Review: A Dinner Party

Sunrise: 8:15am
Vocabulary:
canapé - sofa
la classe - classy

It's Monday night and I'm sitting at my computer, when Marie tells me that we've been invited to dinner and that we're going to Ikea. Puzzled as I was, I tossed on my scarf and coat and followed her out. In the lobby, we met her niece and nephew, who had arrived by bike, and headed down to the garage to pile into the car. As we drove to Ikea, two significant and practically simultaneous revelations struck: (1) we would not be eating at Ikea and (2) I needed neither my coat nor my scarf.

It has been just over a month since my arrival in Nantes and the greatly diminished language barrier remains a barrier nevertheless -- although I might attribute the above more to syntax than to my limited knowledge of French. As I tell everyone, it seems, I have my "good French days" and my "bad French days." I've sensed a gradual increase in the number of good days, but sometimes the right words just don't come out. While I've been struggling against my meager vocabulary, though, I've found that I can fake it pretty well -- all it takes is a room full of French people. The more saturated I am in French French, the easier it is for me to speak with an authentic-sounding accent, and I've just about perfected the three words I use most often: "merci," "pardon," and "bonjour." But, I exaggerate (or underexaggerate), I've received a fair number of compliments on my accent from many of the French students I've recently encountered -- although according to Marie and her nephew Arnault, the best compliment of all would be, "You have no accent!" I'm trying.

While the language has, of course, been my main focus and obstacle over the past month, there are other, smaller things, that I'm also still trying to get a handle on. The weather, for example. I wish I could say, definitively, whether or not it is autumn here. Each day commences with decidedly autumnal temperatures, which linger well into the late morning and early afternoon, but ultimately climb to 70 or 75 (in Fahrenheit, of course). Thus, a coat is a highly practical article of clothing when I leave for class, but has become outmoded by the time I'm done with lunch. (I guess that's French fashion for you!) It's humid here, too. The air right now is a sponge and I am not looking forward to the day it gets wrung out. Every time we have a gray or rainy day, Marie jovially remarks that "c'est un vrai temps nantais!" While my body and psyche are both still adjusting to Nantes' peculiar meteorology, I must admit that a crisp, cloudy day in Nantes makes me about as happy as a brisk, sunny day in the states (that is, very happy). Perhaps there's hope for me after all.

We arrived at Ikea around 8:30pm. Everything here closes early. Most buses quit running at around 8:00pm (even on weekends). But Ikea, Ikea stays open until 9pm. We had arrived on a mission: to pick up a sofa for Marie's niece, Alice. While she went off in quest of the desired piece of furniture, Marie, Arnault, and I took a more leisurely turn around the store, pausing to pick up some lightbulbs. On the way out, Marie stopped by the small food section of the store to pick up several boxes of the cookies to which we had lately become addicted. She came back with six boxes of cookies (two of each kind) and a chocolate bar for each of the kids. If I were to come up with a term for this phenomenon it would be "little treats," and it remains unclear whether "little treats" are customary, or just a peculiarity of this French family. In any case, my life seems to be just full of little treats, just little moments of indulgence. While Americans seem to have this decadent, luxurious image of French life, I've found that the secret to the lifestyle here lies in finding the right moment for a little treat.

After a brief drive back into the city, I helped Alice carry her new sofa up three flights of stairs -- or, I should say, a box of pieces that would soon become a sofa. She's a student at the local architecture school and, as is customary here, she lives on her own in a small apartment because there is no such thing as "on-campus housing." On the way out, I helped her carry a gargantuan pile of trash and cardboard boxes out to the dumpsters. The next stop on our driving tour was Marie's house, again, to pick up the bikes and head over to Arnault's house for dinner. We brought some bread and a small dish of eggplant and ham to contribute to the rest of the meal: couscous and steamed vegetables. I was surprised Marie didn't make her usual joke about "eating like they do in Spain," since we started our meal well after 8:00pm.

After the main meal, we moved on to cheese and wine. Alice rinsed out my glass for me, without a second thought, and brought in a hunk of Camembert, which we ate directly out of the wrapper. While it is most elegant to eat cheese plain, with fork and knife, we ate our Camembert on small pieces of bread while sipping a red wine from Bordeaux. Arnault keeps a wine map on a wall by the dinner table (which is in a room that triples as dining room, living room, and bedroom) and showed me the exact region of our wine. He pointed out that if I took a bite of cheese and then sipped the wine, the taste would change completely. And it did! Before my enological revelations, though, they asked me to smell the cheese. "Most French people enjoy the scent of this cheese," said Alice as she held it up to my nose, "except for me." They all seemed floored when I told them I liked the smell, and then cut off a sizable piece for my bread. "But she likes Roquefort," Marie said almost proudly. "She's not like most Americans."

I find it both comforting and off-putting (if that's possible) that the French treat family members' homes practically as their own, both in the liberties they take and the responsibilities they assume. Whenever Marie has relatives over for dinner, she makes sure I get the best place at the table, she offers me every course first, and only asks her family members for help in the kitchen. I think I'm something of a novelty, though, more than just a guest. People constantly ask me if we "have" certain things in the states. The first time we ate eggplant, Marie hadn't expected me to know what it was. Whenever I mention how much I love the bread here, people ask, "But don't you have bread in America?" People also ask me questions about the economy, politics, education, the environment. Even if I'm not an expert, a simple yes or no can often elicit at least one ooh or semi-interested ah.

We closed the evening with tiny cups of decaf coffee and spéculoos cookies (which also come in spreadable form!). After two cookies (which taste like Teddy Grahams, but look much classier), I drank the rest of my coffee black -- again, to oohs and ahs. I had never drunk black coffee before, but I think it may become a habit. As much as I continue to find myself lost in the cultural differences here, I already feel myself changing, adopting new ways of going about my life -- adapting maybe, but also changing for good.

Last Saturday, my friend Emily and I met up with my maraine Angèle and her friend Anaïs for a voyage to Trentemoult, a small island just a ten minute ferry ride from Nantes (and pulled straight from my imagination). I invite you to spend the day in our shoes this way. (For reasons that remain unclear, this album is password protected. Get in by typing: iheartchucks.)

NB: After rereading this, I have surmised that as my French improves, my grasp of English becomes increasingly tenuous. There are just so many misplaced modifiers. Please forgive me.

Vannes: there are ashtrays everywhere!

Having taken about a week to recuperate after our whirlwind off-site orientation...well, I'm still tired because we just had a week of 9-5 (or more!) days for on-site orientation. I've got to write something, though. Some of you have probably already seen the photos I took, and let's face it, they deserve some explanation. Also, I forgot my notebooks in Nantes, so the photos are the only "notes" I have; I've got to write something sooner rather than later before the memories start to fade. (Even now, I can feel the grains of sand slipping away, but let's not go down that road of mixed metaphors.)

Next to me (à côté de moi), I have a stack of paper: schedules, brochures, information. I think we'll take a brief photographic tour of our schedule with anecdotal commentary from yours truly. First and foremost, though, I'd just like to note that my fellow students have proven themselves to be quite cool. I was too enchanted with the French countryside to take very many group pictures, but I swear I've made some friends... and they're almost as enchanting as la campagne. Eh, bon. Allons-y!*

*NB: This entry is long, but mostly because the photos are so big!

Day 1: Château de Suscinio and Arrival in Vannes

I took a ton of photos here out of sheer enthusiasm for France (and my camera, bien sur), so I've done my best to whittle it down to just a few, each of which should hopefully portray a different aspect of my visit.

The following photo pretty well sums up my first impression of the château. To state the obvious: huge, old, bemoated. That's not a word, but you know what I mean. You can see the moat.

Inside, we could walk around a lot of the old rooms and spaces that were pretty well-preserved. They had roped off some sections of tiling peculiar to the château, but more notably, they had included literally every bathroom (latrine) on the self-guided tour. Needless to say, I took a lot of photos of windows (from the inside and the outside) like the following.

It's worth noting that the latter photo of the above pair is one of the only photos I took of people at Château de Suscinio since at that point I still hardly knew anyone -- plus the terrestrial pyrotechnics of French flora were totally blowing my mind. Here's the view from the battlements of the château:

We were all pretty exhausted after our jaunt around the château, but when social coordinator Nicolas proposed une ballade around Vannes after dinner at the hotel (Hotel Mercure, might I add), a number of us quickly assented. We grabbed our umbrellas and allons-y'd right out of there. It was rainy and not much was open, but we persevered nevertheless and managed to explore some new frontiers, namely, French bars, where we all ordered our first sips of beer en France. I think the bartender was a little overwhelmed by our American-ness, -- we by his French-ness! -- but it was easy enough to communicate when most of us simply said, "I'll have what he's having." Good atmosphere, good company, good beer. Here's what the Friday nightlife in Vannes looks like:

Day 2: Ile aux Moines!

Okay, so Ile aux Moines is a tiny island off the coast of Brittany shaped kind of like a lopsided x-chromosome. If that beautiful micro-biological image didn't help much: it's very narrow except at the ends where it branches off a bit. Maybe it looks more like a neuron. I'm not sure. In any case, we departed very early in the morning, but we were rewarded:

The above photo represents what I wish we had done all day; the following represents what we actually did.

If you didn't catch that: we went biking (on very narrow roads). Or, comme on dit, nous avons fait du vélo! For general reference, I learned how to ride a bike when I was 11 years old. The last bike I owned was a bright red tricycle. The summer before my sophomore year of high school (five years ago, now), I was in a pretty bad bike accident, which resulted in several stitches and a CAT scan. I hadn't ridden a bike since. Needless to say, when they lined us up for bike rentals, I felt a little bit more like I was waiting for my death sentence. When a sunny Breton lady finally proffered a pink bicycle (no helmet!), I accepted before I had time to think. Now, I actually had to ride it. At least it had a basket. I tossed in my belongings and mounted. I almost biked of the ledge. Dismounting, I resolved to wheel my bike further onto the island before my next attempt. A few steps later, I remounted and, weaving and teetering, began to bike, picking up speed and gaining balance, but as soon as I had gained adequate momentum, my whole body began to shake -- with terror, I think. Dismounting again, I could feel my face growing warm (and not just because of the weird temperature swings). I hung my head as I began to wheel my bike, following the group, but a few fellow travelers hung back and patiently traversed the island with me. Eventually, out of sympathy for my group, I remounted -- and success! That afternoon, we biked to the top of the island. Thanks, guys.

After that, they took us back to Vannes and set us loose on the ancient city. The well-preserved medieval architecture encasing the storefronts pretty much speaks for itself. This is what Vannes looks like during waking hours:

Day 3: Forteresse de Largoët, Alignements de Kermario, and Saint Goustan

Biking an entire island was quite enough for day two, but for some reason they had scheduled walk after walk for day three. We started at Forteresse de Largoët, or perhaps I should say, at the trail to the fortress. Without any forecast of such a walk in the woods, I hadn't worn my walking shoes, but I (and my shoes) made it unscathed. On the way, we read the brochure aloud (à haut voix) and learned that Forteresse de Largoët is the tallest dungeon in Europe! (What, you're not impressed?) To get to the top of this octagonal behemoth, one must scale at least 177 stairs. Needless to say, I never made it to the top. I spent a lot of time taking the air and pretending to be a princess in a courtyard. (I wish I were joking, but I'm not.) Here is some evidence of its height.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

After the fortress, my camera died for the rest of the day. Fortunately, the Alignements de Kermario weren't worth photographing. Essentially rows and rows of ancient stones, the Alignements of Kermario have been referred to as the Stonehenge of France (at least by some people on the trip). As we took a tour around this seminal monument, we had to tread lightly over rough grass and cactus-like plants. While the guided tour was a good exercise in French, it went a little something like this: here are some rocks, and here are some more rocks, and here are some rocks in a circle. Okay, it was a bit more interesting than that, but not much. (I was also pretty tired and a little grumpy from our previous walk.) What are they for, you ask? I don't know. Nobody knows.

After the anticlimactic tour, we shoved off for Saint Goustan, a small port town know for hosting Benjamin Franklin and for its oysters. In fact, on the day of our visit they were having their annual oyster festival. While I was not brave enough to sample an oyster, I did sample muscadet! The traditional Breton wine I mentioned just a few entries ago. What a delicious discovery. It's hard to explain, but as I was drinking it by the sea, I understood why it is the perfect companion for fish. How did I discern this, you ask? Well friends, I ate fish! I ate fish at dinner at the hotel one night, and I've eaten it several times since returning to Nantes. Somehow, I've acquired something of a taste for it (although I still wouldn't order it at a restaurant).

Day 4: Last day!

Well, all good things must come to an end, but not all things go out in a blaze of glory with a placement exam. That's right friends, we spent our last few moments in our beloved Hotel Mercure taking the placement test for our intensive French classes. On the way back to Nantes, though, we stopped over in Rochefort en Terre, another small town bursting with medieval architecture, but particularly known for its gardens. My camera revived for a few photos, and here is some of what we found:

Yes, that's a band jammin' at the Mairie (you know, the Mayor's house).

Well, friends, I suppose that's all for now (as well it should be!). Believe it or not, these photos don't even begin to sum up everything I saw. If you're interested in seeing more...call this toll-free number? Since my return to Nantes (another city steeped in history and chock full o' historical architecture) I have taken oodles (!) more photos of beautiful places and beautiful people.

Cliffhanger!

Devotedly,

Thea

Je suis en France (mais pas en français), or Planes, Trains, and Voitures

Bonjour tout le monde!

Don't worry, I won't be writing posts in French (at least not yet). Here is a brief account of my journey to Nantes. We're heading off to Vannes this afternoon and I didn't want to overwhelm you all (read: me) with too much information. Indeed, it's been a pretty overwhelming first day (or so...?). I hope you will appreciate the fluid quality of the passage of time in this brief narrative (I think I was awake for approximately 24 hours).

It all started at about 2pm on Tuesday the 1st of September. At around this time, my family left the house for the airport at my nervous behest. We arrived quite early, but better safe than sorry, right? Once I found my gate, I quickly linked up with the three other IES girls on my flight. I suppose the flight was relatively uneventful. I'm a pretty nervous traveler, but only to the extent that I don't trust my sense of direction (or lack thereof) to navigate me through unfamiliar airports and train stations, so the flight itself was fine. Honestly, it never even occurred to me that we were flying over an ocean until after we landed.

The powerful (and mysterious!) force known as the jet-stream was on our side and we touched down in Charles de Gaulle a full hour earlier than expected. It was around 6:00 am French time and midnight my time. Either way, I was in no state to speak French, so when the Customs officer took my passport and asked if I was planning to study in France, I could only stare blankly. What? Actually, I think I said, "wha?" (They speak French so fast here!) He held up my passport and pointed to my visa, raising his eyebrows and rolling his eyes. "Oh, oui," I breathed as he stamped my visa and I barely had time to say, "merci" before he handed it back to me and hurried me along. After that, though, the French came a bit easier. We had a bit of trouble finding the train, so I think each of us had asked someone for directions before we finally found la gare.

Then, we waited. For about three and a half hours, we waited. Our group snowballed, though, while we were waiting. The larger our group became, the easier other IES students could spot us. (Is that grammatical, who knows? I only speak French now.) I wish I could regale you with beautiful descriptions of the pastoral French campagne, but I'm afraid I dozed off a bit on the train. I didn't sleep, mind you, but I struggled to keep my eyes open. I wanted to look out the window and take photos, but to no avail. Let it be known, though, riding first class -- where the seats and windows are larger -- on the TGV is nice! I think the sheer comfort of my car induced a certain amount of drowsiness. I can report some, though: for a while, it didn't look much different from anything I'd seen in the states, and perhaps that's why I started to get tired. The next time I opened my eyes though, we were driving past farmland and maybe vineyards, too (I'm not exactly sure). The farms themselves did not surprise me, I suppose (although I haven't seen too many farms in my life), but the woods around the farms were...organized. Orderly and nothing like the American wild. The homes were smaller and seemed fashioned in the tradition of the gingerbread house. I'm not kidding.

Once we arrived in Nantes, it was cake. A few representatives from IES met us at the train station and helped all of us find cabs. Back at the center, we waited. We checked our email, we ate some of the cookies they had set out for us, and we awkwardly chatted with each other, reveling in our last few hours of English-speaking. Well, maybe I was the awkward one. I wanted to get to know as many people as possible, so I kept bouncing between conversations and I think it confused some people. It probably didn't help that I was feeling kind of cracked out (if you will), incoherent, tired, and (not going to lie) a little bit homesick.

Finally, though, my host mom showed up. She is this adorable grandmotherly little woman who wears plaid pants and a pink sweater over her shoulders. She picked up me and another girl whose host mom couldn't make it all the way to the center that day. We chatted a bit in the car and at first the French came haltingly, but eventually it became easier. She's been very encouraging about my language ability and helps me out when I'm having trouble finding a word or forming a sentence. I think it helps that she used to be a teacher (she's retired now), but her patience with me has encouraged me to speak more and I think soon I will be very comfortable speaking French.

In a few hours, I'm headed off to Vannes with the rest of the my program for a three-day off-site orientation. (There are almost 90 of us! Apparently it was totally unprecedented.) I'm a little nervous because I don't think we'll be allowed to speak to each other in English at all. I can't tell whether that will make it harder for us to get to know each other or easier for us to bond, but I guess we'll see. More in a few days!

The Loire River

It's time for another visual update since I don't have much to update on. (Although, incidentally, I forgot to mention that I got my international student ID card a few weeks ago. Very painless process and now I get discounts errywhere!)

In my reading/research I have ascertained that Nantes is technically in Brittany, although it sits on the "border" of Brittany and the Loire Valley and is right on the Loire river. Please enjoy the following map and aesthetically pleasing photos of the Loire. Google Image Search: it's what I do.





Lots of chateaux on the Loire, yo.


Also, giant inflatable ducks.

Info Sesh-a-go-go

What: A pre-departure info session
When: Yesterday
Why: To educate us about the dangers of going abroad and particularly how to act appropriately in other countries

What I Learned About France (from a handout...and some light commentary)

GENERAL PROTOCOL: Natives are appalled by the way anyone else speaks French - including some other Frenchmen.

NAMES/GREETINGS: A light handshake is the usual form of greeting, but a visitor should not offer his hand to a person of superior authority. (And here I was teaching myself how to do three kisses on the cheek as opposed to two...dag.)

APPOINTMENTS/PUNCTUALITY: Prior appointments are the rule. Punctuality is a sign of courtesy. (But my French French Prof. said time is fluid in France...so much for that, I guess.)

HOSPITALITY/GIFT GIVING: An invitation to visit someone's home, even after long acquaintance, is rare. But for that occasion, a small gift of flowers (not roses or chrysanthemums) or chocolates for the hostess will be appreciated.
Cuisine, and therefore noon and evening meals, are an important and respected part of daily life.
Gifts that appeal to intellect or esthetics are especially appreciated.
(...but what if I want to bring roses?)

CONVERSATION: Avoid personal questions, politics, and money as topics of conversation.

Also, something I deduced on my own: they eat a lot of fish in Nantes. I'd better start practicing with some tuna sandwiches...