Language as Art

Well, the holidays are almost here and the month of December has indeed been interesting. Over my 4 months here (almost!), I have been sick a grand total of three times. Now, that may not seem like much, but this last sickness has lasted 3 weeks! You may ask, why oh why would I ever allow a sickness to linger so long? Well, I have a plenty of answers for that question. But first, let me introduce you to someone I have been spending a lot of time with recently.

Voici Kyara.

Just look at that face. Isn't she adorable? Her mother is Russian, her father is French. Her mother was my teacher for the intensive French session I took when I arrived, and she needed a baby-sitter. Having asked my best friend here, Cate, who could not do it, the job literally fell into my lap (er, email inbox). Two days a week, not a big commitment. So I said, why not? 

For anyone who has never cared for children, let me tell you, it is definitely hard work. I pick her up from school (a bilingual school for a two-year-old!), must make sure I pick up all her necessary objects (notebooks, coat/scarf, her panda or her doll Nina, whichever she has chosen that day, her backpack...), then I place her in the poussette, or stroller. It is also obligatory that every day I show up with a croissant, or else she will insist immediately with one of her favorite words, pain, pain? Now this may not sound so hard, but the hardest part is not only understanding the babblings of a limited-vocabulary two-year-old, but the babblings in another language no less. Thirdly, sometimes it is in Russian. Do I understand Russian? No! Not at all! I came to France ...to study...French? However, I may understand Russian when I have finished with this experience. For the first few weeks I was watching her, sometimes she would cry and keep repeating something that sounded like "mama-kosha." I asked both her father and her mother, to no avail (for all I know I wasn't phrasing the question in an understandable manner). Then one day, it dawned on me. Her mother's name is Katia. So all those times she has started crying, she really wanted her mother. Great! 

Things have become better since October when I first met Kyara. Luckily, she loves me now. And I have even become somewhat of friends with her mother, as I am joining them this Saturday for les réveillons, or Christmas Eve as we call it. But being with Kyara, as with all my experiences here, has just re-enforced a strong belief that has occurred to me more than ever during my time abroad: learning another language is hard. work. It's not that I didn't know it already, but coming to France has been quite the eye-opener.

Now, some people may say that it's not, some people may say "but everyone speaks English...". I assure you those people are wrong. To truly learn a language is an art, and learning French has been if not the most difficult thing I have tried to accomplish, certainly one of the most difficult. And sure, everyone speaks English, but what's the fun in that? (In fact, the French would like to think they speak English, but sometimes it is quite funny to hear :)))). Anyway, even the French admit their language is very difficult to learn, and inevitably, they all tell me I speak well after they ask me the same introductory questions I am used to receiving, to which I respond, "um...not really."

There are so many aspects one can discuss about learning another language. I have found that most of my trouble lies within the boundaries of being too much of an intellectual (I can talk about dense aspects of literature but not simple things like the weather, or even small talk. Some things don't change, especially in another language). Surprisingly, I have discovered, I'm not much of a good listener in French. I must cut myself some slack on this though, as everything surrounding the learning of a language is incredibly draining, and one does not always have the energy to formulate sentences or interrogations and express himself the best he can (you know, necessary elements to a conversation :))). However, I think for the most part my problem has been that I am such a perfectionist. I am incredibly well-spoken in English, so of course I want to be in French as well. But after just 4 months here I am learning to stop being so hard on myself. Four months and years of study in the U.S. is actually not adequate for speaking a language well, and anyway, even people who have grown up here do not speak well. Interesting concept, n'est-ce pas?

So, my new year's resolution is to stop trying to control so much. Just listen. Respond. Do the best I can. Don't worry about being judged too harshly. At least Kyara loves me and my broken French negotiations of why, no, you cannot have the second croissant in my bag because you already had yours. (in fact, no, this made her quite upset). Anyway, I am quite sure of it, I have picked up this recent bout of sickness from her or any of the snot-nosed kids at La Petite École Bilingue. 

Anyway, along with the endless battles I must face each day with the language, the moments of triumph shine ever-so-brighter, and I always try to remember these in times of frustration. One of my favorite things about baby-sitting has been taking Kyara to the playground. There are tons of little French-speakers running around everywhere, and the lovely things is, they speak so simply it is actually easy to understand them (unlike their Parisian-parent counterparts, I'm sure!). One time I was spinning Kyara in one of those spinny-chairs at the playground, and a little girl of about 7 or 8 ran up to me. She started talking to me simply, eventually asking, regarding Kyara, "Elle est pas ta fille?" Shortly after I told her, no, Kyara is not my daughter, her mother was calling for her from afar, making sure she was staying out of trouble. Boisterous and proud, she replied, pointing at me, "Non, mama, c'est ma puce!" 

Sure, I was her new girlfriend. I don't mind making friend with 8-year-olds, if they are accepting of my broken French. It is rather nice, actually. I accept. :)

Les Différences Culturelles

I have been trying my hardest to collect a fichier of notable cultural differences between France and the United States. Granted, I have not traveled outside of Paris yet, so the file is still growing as there are certainly other differences outside the bubble of Paris. In fact, I suspect that comparing Paris with other parts of France is like comparing New York City to, say, Iowa. :) Les grandes différences, indeed!

First off, I will say this: I have coffee every morning. Sometimes one cup, if I'm lucky, two. After a few years of working an office job, and many more years working directly inside the coffee industry in Chicago, it is not only a morning ritual but imperative for my sanity when waking up at 7a.m. to go to class. That being said, I do not appreciate the countless stares I receive during my nearly 1-hour transit to school, being the sole person on the train with a to-go cup in hand. Anyway, it's Bodum, okay?! They're a Swiss company...doesn't that count for something?!

All jokes aside, it does feel rather strange to know there are just certain things I do, from the way I dress down to the most minute mannerism, that are, dare I admit, downright American. When I first arrived in Paris, this bothered me so much that I tried desperately to blend in, even if it meant giving up a little personal integrity. (I said a little, not a lot ;) ) The good news is, I succeeded when I really wanted to, though I am finding more and more that there are some things about me that can never be French, such as my rounded facial structure or even my blonde hair. And you know what? That is perfectly fine. I went from shooting back glares at French women turning up their noses at my coffee cup to just allowing them to stare. It's not hurting me, and in fact, if they have a problem with my insistence to bring a coffee with me in the morning, the problem is, in actuality, theirs! In fact, anyone that passes judgement on the Paris Metro of another human being over something as trivial as this has surely not traveled far outside the bubble of Paris.

Aside from the lack of beverages on the train (not including liquor hiding ever-so-discretely in coke bottles of French teenagers on the weekend), the differences are enormous. All you have to do is be open to them and observant, and you will notice a plethora of other distinctions between France and the U.S. Voila my running file..

• Cashiers are allowed to sit down while they work in supermarkets. Now I know this may seem like an odd thing for me to notice, but after years of working in the service industry, on my feet all day long, day-in, day-out, this seems revolutionary - one point for France for this one! Who would've thought that a corporation such as a supermarket would actually care enough about their workers to allow them to sit down in the same place they would just be standing all day? Then again, with France's notoriety for being a socialist-leaning country, it seems only natural.
• Often, their are shared toilets. Not exactly a canny observation, but noteworthy, nonetheless. At my university, this is just the way it is. You go into the stall as a girl to do your business, and realize their is a guy doing his business just outside. Eek! This is not exactly something that really bothers me, but if you are a person who prefers privacy to do your business, beware! Need I even mention what happens if you don't just need to pee? (Also, often their are no toilet seats. Zut.)
• There really is a sense of propriety and old-fashioned-ness everywhere you go. If you have never visited France, it is important to note that every time you enter a shop/patisserie/boulangerie, it is custom to say, "Bon jour" or "Bon Soir," and it is considered rude not to say these things. Once again, this is something I prefer, being in France and not the United States. In the U.S., sometimes this happens, but usually if it does, the person is trying to sell you something. Here, it is just simple acknowledgement of your presence, not forced, with no expectations. Likewise, upon exiting, you say, "Merci, au revoir!," even if you have purchased nothing.
• Many stores and supermarkets are closed on Sundays. Once again, this may not seem like something worth noting, but in our fast-paced America, I imagine some people would be outraged to realize they can't buy their 10 packs of Doritos and 12 pack of Mountain Dew for the week. I will admit, it definitely took awhile to adjust to this aspect, but you get used to it. Naturally, Sunday seems a good day to go grocery shopping, but too bad! You will just have to run your errands on Saturday instead. 
• Speaking of places being closed, don't expect to get anything done here, errands-wise. Ever. It has been 3 months, and I just received my bank card. This is partly my fault for failing to go the right branch in the first place, but I cannot describe all of the horror stories my friends and I have heard/personally encountered with trying to get ourselves established à Paris. As if finding housing wasn't hard enough, you want to pick up your bank card? You have to wait until you have provided the proper documentation, and no, they cannot mail it to you. And believe me, the day you finally have time to go, they will be closed for their 2-hour lunch. Or the cash machine will be broken. Or you will have forgotten your passport. Ok, I am venturing into bitter territory, but it's the same with the office of my exchange program and also with many restaurants. If you're hungry at 3 p.m. and want a legitimate meal, pardon my English, but you're just merde out of luck. Reluctantly, I grant one point to America for efficiency in this arena.
• Kisses, bisous, double, always! It is likely that most people know this about the French, or at least most Americans, but when you are meeting someone on a friendly basis, either a friend-of-a-friend, or a new friend (after you have established that you are friends, never before!), you kiss each other twice, one kiss for each cheek. I remember the first time I encountered this behaviour, it seemed so oddly terrifying, but I must say now, it is quite nice. :) In fact, I prefer it tremendously over a stale handshake. It is much more affectionate, and believe it or not, it can even make you suddenly care for and treasure a person more. Now, there's an interesting sociological study! As if you can't already tell, there is not a lot of space in Europe, and if we have to be so close anyway, why not just embrace it? 

............

I'm sure there are more differences that I am simply not remembering or haven't yet noticed, but I am sure they will be discovered along this road that is all at once an overwhelming, fulfilling, and curious existence in Paris.

A bientôt, e r i n