There's something odd about rainy whether in the city. It's always unexpected and when it hits, it hits hard and then the water is sucked right back up into the sky. I got caught in the rain the Sunday before last, while visiting the Musée d'Orsay and had to spend 12 euros on an umbrella. Of course, by the time I got the umbrella over my head , the rain had stopped.
I managed to break it out again today. The sky was overcast and the weather lends itself a little bit more towards sleep than being an active listener. We're all out of it and all the café au lait in the world couldn't snap me out of this fog I'm walking around in.
The job front is coming along. I have a few offers of interest, but when working abroad the job is the least of your problems. It becomes an issue of age (OMG EU! I am 28. that is not old) and who can and will sponsor you for a Visa I want to stay in France, but it's becoming increasingly difficult without marrying a frenchman. (No! Unless you are Jean Dujardin. Then call me)
I have an offer in London, which is leading me there this weekend. I've never been particularly amorous of anglophilia. Except for the Spice Girls. I love them. Ever since the closing ceremony of the Olympics.
But, I will go where I can get a job. I guess as a Ratliff (bastardized variant of Radcliffe, like Daniel or Governor James of Pocahontas fame) it will be like going home. I'm excited that I get to do both London AND Amsterdam.
I promise that once I find a USB cord for my camera, I will post more detailed updates of how I while away the hours here. Including an entry on how the first time I ate snails.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Monday, August 13, 2012
Intermediate For Life
Things have been going well here. I haven't done too many touristy things. I have been saving my money by alternating between jam and baguettes and ham and butter sandwiches. My students have been really wonderful and eager to learn and most of them speak English better at an intermediate level than most 40 year old southern Americans.
But many times I feel sort of like a fraud. I have good days and bad days. I have a DEGREE in this language, but given my late start and overall apathy, my speech fluctuates. Somedays native speakers praise my French. I managed to get a haircut at Jean Louis David and hold a very funny conversation during the course of the process. The stylist praised my French. This was an accomplishment. A feat of independence.
Fast forward to the girl asking me if I want sauce at the Kebab stand and I fall apart? Back to charades.
When I relax, I sound French. When I am nervous or joking around I sound like Julia Child.
Having seen and experienced first hand the difficulties of learning a foreign language at the ripe old age 28 (well, I started at 19 actually), I have a lot of compassion for my adult beginners. One in particular has just started learning English at 42. He's reinventing himself because he's a waiter and you can't be a waiter in Paris and not having working knowledge of at least one other language.
So, I guess the empathy angle is good, but I want to know when it's going to click. When is everything going to become complete and utter instinct? I have moments of it, but they become overshadowed by my doubts.
Fear is the biggest learning block in language. In life.
Going to London this weekend. I'm the complete idiot who left her camera cord in the states. Sigh. I have a great blog planned on food. I've been doing enough eating for three people...but simultaneously have lost two pants sizes. What. What.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Practice makes perfect...ish
Let me address the broken foot issue. Yes. It HURTS. But I don't want to talk about it much because it makes me sound whiny. Stress fractures suck, especially in a city where no matter if you're taking a cab or the metro...EVENTUALLY, you have to walk. But last night I soaked my foot in epsom salts and rose water, slept with the windows open and feel almost like myself again. Probably shouldn't have gone to the catacombs yesterday, but whatever. Someone suggested going to Lourdes and washing it in the holy water and getting it blessed. I looked at Train tickets to Lourdes and they were running upwards of 100 Euros. Visiting Mother Mary and Jesus is expensive.
The day started with more Metro mishaps. Every time I try to get my Passe Navigo, something happens. Either their card maker isn't working, or the metro stop isn't working, or I get stuck in a turnstile. And what's screwing my life up the most is the RER. It's the train that connects most the suburbs, aiport and Versailles to Paris. it requires other tickets that are separate from the metro train. And you have to save your ticket to get OUT of the metro, or if you scan it once, it's rejected if you need to reenter.
I asked a few of ..whatever France's equivalent of TSA/NTSB agents are called...how to get the navigo. We spoke in French and told me I need to get back where I came from to buy the Navigo. The office was out of cards, gave me another location. Then, as I tried to get BACK to the train station, my RER ticket would not work. I refused to buy another ticket, but thankfully a guy with a P.N. saw what was going on, scanned his and let me out. Unfortunately when I got back up to the station, the exit was back where I came from. My stupid American confusion had the "NTSB" agents cracking up. But they were wonderfully nice about it, and finally let me out on the street. I hate the RER.
I have had this magical bit of luck here in Paris. Eventually I always end up exactly where I'm going, even with NO sense of direction. Paris is the city where I was meant to be lost, I guess.
The catacombs are not for the faint of heart, or those with a broken foot. They are the subterranean tunnels under the Paris city...with a two hour line. So after standing and meeting a wonderful Australian family (who enticed me to make AUS my next visit on my World Tour and after he told me there was a GIANT statue of shrimp in one city, I was sold), I eventually made it to the "Empire of the Dead". Not being dramatic. That is EXACTLY what the ancient carving on the walls says. They weren't kidding. There are at least 6 million different skeletons stacked on each other like Lincoln Logs. 6 million. There are 2 million people in Paris at any given time. There are more bodies below than above.
We found a skeletal head, with it's mouth open, as though speaking. "I wonder if he's got something to tell us." I whispered
"Oh that's definitely a 'she'." Said the Australian man behind me in line.
Thinking he had some sort of archeological/anatomical insight that I missed he flippantly responded "Oh it's a woman all right. Her mouth is open."
Not missing my chance, I threw out a "That's what she said" joke. They didn't respond. Instead the son said "What who said?"
Oh. God. Do they not have TWSS jokes in Australia. I asked if they had not seen The Office. They discussed back and forth between themselves before concluding that they had not. I lost a little desire to go to Australia.
I didn't feel disrespectful laughing and cracking jokes, but we got a few weird looks from some others down there. I know if I was a dead roman, cholera victim, or revolutionary victim whose remains were in a stack of others, I would be dying for a joke. Oh...already dead. Rude. Sorry.
But, in serious reflection the place was peaceful and lovely, a reminder that in the end we all end up as bone and should be nice to each other and try to make each other happier. SO STOP EATING CHIK-FIL-A!!!
I came home to the roommate's boyfriend (a really cute French Film student named François) cooking. He made me put away my kebab, because Americans need MORE vegetables. And he made me green beans with garlic and poured me pomegranate juice. Amel has been very sisterly to me and she also makes me speak French, which is exactly what I need to get better-ish. It might frustrate some folks, but that stumbling through sentences, searching for words or verbs that you don't know is EXACTLY what makes you learn a language. And if you can't find a native who is patient AND can cook for you while you talk, then you can consider yourself lucky.
I certainly do.
François mentioned that he knows how to illegally break into the Catacombs so that we can tour the rest of them. Urban Exploring is tempting, but thinking of shimming down into century old quarries may not be suitable for someone with a limp and there is the little matter of it being illegal.
But then again, I've always loved that show "locked up abroad".
The day started with more Metro mishaps. Every time I try to get my Passe Navigo, something happens. Either their card maker isn't working, or the metro stop isn't working, or I get stuck in a turnstile. And what's screwing my life up the most is the RER. It's the train that connects most the suburbs, aiport and Versailles to Paris. it requires other tickets that are separate from the metro train. And you have to save your ticket to get OUT of the metro, or if you scan it once, it's rejected if you need to reenter.
I asked a few of ..whatever France's equivalent of TSA/NTSB agents are called...how to get the navigo. We spoke in French and told me I need to get back where I came from to buy the Navigo. The office was out of cards, gave me another location. Then, as I tried to get BACK to the train station, my RER ticket would not work. I refused to buy another ticket, but thankfully a guy with a P.N. saw what was going on, scanned his and let me out. Unfortunately when I got back up to the station, the exit was back where I came from. My stupid American confusion had the "NTSB" agents cracking up. But they were wonderfully nice about it, and finally let me out on the street. I hate the RER.
I have had this magical bit of luck here in Paris. Eventually I always end up exactly where I'm going, even with NO sense of direction. Paris is the city where I was meant to be lost, I guess.
The catacombs are not for the faint of heart, or those with a broken foot. They are the subterranean tunnels under the Paris city...with a two hour line. So after standing and meeting a wonderful Australian family (who enticed me to make AUS my next visit on my World Tour and after he told me there was a GIANT statue of shrimp in one city, I was sold), I eventually made it to the "Empire of the Dead". Not being dramatic. That is EXACTLY what the ancient carving on the walls says. They weren't kidding. There are at least 6 million different skeletons stacked on each other like Lincoln Logs. 6 million. There are 2 million people in Paris at any given time. There are more bodies below than above.
We found a skeletal head, with it's mouth open, as though speaking. "I wonder if he's got something to tell us." I whispered
"Oh that's definitely a 'she'." Said the Australian man behind me in line.
Thinking he had some sort of archeological/anatomical insight that I missed he flippantly responded "Oh it's a woman all right. Her mouth is open."
Not missing my chance, I threw out a "That's what she said" joke. They didn't respond. Instead the son said "What who said?"
Oh. God. Do they not have TWSS jokes in Australia. I asked if they had not seen The Office. They discussed back and forth between themselves before concluding that they had not. I lost a little desire to go to Australia.
I didn't feel disrespectful laughing and cracking jokes, but we got a few weird looks from some others down there. I know if I was a dead roman, cholera victim, or revolutionary victim whose remains were in a stack of others, I would be dying for a joke. Oh...already dead. Rude. Sorry.
But, in serious reflection the place was peaceful and lovely, a reminder that in the end we all end up as bone and should be nice to each other and try to make each other happier. SO STOP EATING CHIK-FIL-A!!!
I came home to the roommate's boyfriend (a really cute French Film student named François) cooking. He made me put away my kebab, because Americans need MORE vegetables. And he made me green beans with garlic and poured me pomegranate juice. Amel has been very sisterly to me and she also makes me speak French, which is exactly what I need to get better-ish. It might frustrate some folks, but that stumbling through sentences, searching for words or verbs that you don't know is EXACTLY what makes you learn a language. And if you can't find a native who is patient AND can cook for you while you talk, then you can consider yourself lucky.
I certainly do.
François mentioned that he knows how to illegally break into the Catacombs so that we can tour the rest of them. Urban Exploring is tempting, but thinking of shimming down into century old quarries may not be suitable for someone with a limp and there is the little matter of it being illegal.
But then again, I've always loved that show "locked up abroad".
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
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