Do as the French Do: Monkey See?

I've been back in Nantes for about a week and a half now and considering my general predisposition for getting lost, I'd say I'm doing pretty well for myself. Thus far I've figured out two bus lines, two tram lines, and generally how to get around my home quartier, IES' quartier, and the university (kind of). Having said all this, I should also note that I carry a map of the city and transport schedules in every bag I have with me here. Nevertheless, I never thought I'd be this good at reading maps! A new talent emerges.

IES classes started this week, but I haven't had much to do as of yet since I'm taking most (le plupart) of my classes at the university and they don't start until next week. Here's how the ol' course selection shook down:

At IES: Topics in Advanced French Language & Composition, French Classicism: Art & Architecture

À l'université de Nantes: (I'll translate the course names) Literary History of the 19th Cent, Literature & Philosophy: Diderot & Thérèse philosophe, and Extra-European Civ: African History.

My "adviser" (I hesitate to call him that because he was basically some random professor whom I will never see again) had originally talked me into taking a third course at IES for a total of six courses because he was nervous about les grèves, the student protests French universities are famous for. I wasn't too keen on adding an extra class especially because I was hoping to fit some French gym classes (!) into my schedule. As it turned out though, the poetry class I added (because it was the only class of interest that fit into my schedule) focuses on Baudelaire, Rimbaud, and Verlaine, all of whom I have studied relatively extensively at this point. Having discovered the perfect excuse, I dropped that class like hot potato. In spite of my cavalier tone, I have some serious reasons for this decision. I know that French universities (and European universities in general) expect that students will take greater initiative in their studies than American universities expect, which makes it easier to slack off, but also provides room for me to prove to myself that I am capable of working independently and benefiting from it. So, that is my goal for this semester. I will work hard no matter how full or empty my schedule. Plus, now I get to take Aikido and Ju-jitsu! I figured martial arts classes would be as good a way as any to come face to face (or hand to hand?) with French students.

But, enough boring stuff. It's time for some etiquette lessons! (Also some photos.) With each photo, I will attempt to illustrate some of what we learned from our French etiquette crash course with Madame Rouchet (and also tell you a bit about life in Nantes). All of these photos are from a walking tour we took around the some of the older quariers in Nantes and from a weekend of exploration avec mes amis, which included a trip to the Natural History Museum and accidentally happening upon a huge carnival by the cathedral on Saturday night! And now, we learn:

This park by IES is as good a place as any to start. Here, you might encounter someone you know on your way to IES. As you would expect, it is appropriate to utter the traditional French greeting, "bon jour!" but only if it is your first encounter of the day. If you have already greeted this person once today, say nothing. Keep in mind that "bon jour" is always an appropriate greeting, while "bon soir" is only appropriate in the evening and when you quit your family for the night. If you stop to chat for a moment, you can say "bon courage!" when you're done. Perhaps my favorite recent acquisition, "bon courage" expresses perfectly the "cultural pessimism" of this country (Madame Rouchet's words, not mine).

The above interaction with the statue by the Médiathèque (our local library) demonstrates exactly what you should NOT do when you encounter someone on the street, although keep in mind that kisses are an appropriate way to greet your friends. But beware of la grippe!! When you kiss your friends, never touch your lips to their cheeks, but rather lightly touch your cheek to theirs and make a kissing sound into the air. Also, never, under any circumstances, use the verb "baiser" (unless you're into that kind of thing), as it is an invitation for casual sex.

When you're not singing for your supper like this street musician by the château in Nantes, you will sit for supper with your family. As Madame Rouchet told us, French people eat as much for "the spectacle" as they do for the gastronomical pleasure. It is absolutely obligatory that you clean your plate. (It's almost intense as televised turduckin eating contests.) Fortunately, portions are small and the food is delicious. If you particularly enjoy your meal, you should tell the hostess, "Madame, vous êtes un vrai cordon bleu!" I'm sure you caught the drift of that. Oh, and don't forget to eat all your fruit (including apples and peaches!) with fork and knife.

If you get invited to dinner at the château, ask your host when you should arrive, and then plan on arriving half an hour after the specified time.

Never, under any circumstances, greet, talk to, or look at strange men on the street. (Sorry, Scotty.)

Even though you must cover your shoulders upon entry to this cathedral in Nantes, apparently no topic of conversation is off-limits. (Take that worthless study abroad info session!)

The Natural History Museum in Nantes can tell us a little something-something about the evolution of man, but Madame Rouchet told us all we needed to know about the evolution of relationships in France from the vous stage (verb: vouvoyer) to the tu stage (tutoyer). Once you can address someone as "tu," you know you're in.

Le Passage Pommeraye is another one of those amazing collisions of past and present in France. Here, lofty ceilings and cherubic statues set the scene for lots of little storefronts, including one of the best chocolate shops in Nantes. (It's just like, it's just like, it's just like a mini-mall.) Just as the French comfortably reconcile their modern lives with archaic architecture, so are they comfortable with human aging. None of the French women I see on the street appear afraid of growing older. They allow their hair to grey and their skin to speak its years, but they exude another more permanent beauty in their grace and physical honesty. Not to lay it on too thick, but it's something that I've been noticing a lot and something that I've really come to respect about these women. If only more women in the world knew what French women seem to know!

Okay, I give up, that's all the etiquette I know. Here are some other pretty places in Nantes:

Oh, and let's not forget the carnival. I'm not sure, but I have on pretty good authority that this is the appropriate way to react when you stumble upon a carnival with the best ride ever (a.k.a. Le Boomerang):

This entry has gotten somewhat hefty, so I think I'll leave off here for now. I've got a few photos from my Sunday on Île de Nantes with my host mom, but I can save that history lesson for a few days.

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