You didn't think it was all fresh baguettes, chocolate, and strolls along the quayside over here, did you? I tend to keep the less-than-positive stuff out of my blog but I don't think there is anything wrong in letting you know that life isn't perfect. At the very least, we can all try to find some entertainment in it. Some of these things are just funny little observations. Some are genuinely frustrating. I'll let you guess which is which!
The first and most important thing to understand is food. Food is to be treasured and enjoyed. And this enjoyment is meant to happen sitting down. No, not at your desk while you continue working. Food time is food time with nothing else happening. I get dirty looks whenever I'm in a hurry and I eat my croissant as I walk to the métro. But there is one exception to this rule. Lunch and sandwiches. Only sandwiches though. Don't try to eat anything else on the go. It must be a sandwich (made with a baguette of course) and it is artfully wrapped so you may eat it without making a mess as you walk. I can't figure out where they're all going, but every day I see people wandering about the streets of Paris, sandwiches in hand.
Coffee is another thing that is to be savoured, rather than inhaled as is the practice in America. Sidenote: I wrote "America" in a paper recently and my professor wrote back, "America is not a country." Excuse me, sir? I'll get back to the academics in a moment... first, let's talk about the fact that coffee in Europe is... well, smaller.
True story. Additionally, bakeries are open earlier than coffee shops are. I can get a croissant before I can get my caffeine. I don't need to tell you how unfortunate this is.
I actually used to go to Starbucks on Capitol Hill when it opened at 5:30am to work sometimes (when I was behind on a 9:00am deadline), and I would stay there for 4+ hours. This would not fly in France 1) Because Starbucks does not open until 7:30am. SEVEN. THIRTY. Additionally, I think they would have me committed or accuse me of being sans domicile if I stayed there over a few hours. Lucky for me, I am a university student so I can just go to school to study...
Or can I? Sciences Po has a total of... one or two common areas. And our library has a total of about seven seats available. Okay, maybe a bit more but the point is you are more likely to play tag with a dolphin than you are to find a seat to study in the Sciences Po library. No really, you are.
And on to my favorite cultural difference. The classroom. I'm going to attempt to keep this short so I don't sound too cynical. Here's the thing. I am in a different country. There are going to be differences. There were academic differences when I went to India. There are academic differences here in France. At least in India they assumed that I would have no idea what was going on. Here, it is the exact opposite. I truly have no idea what is going on, and yet everyone assumes I must somehow secretly know the methodology of French universities. Additionally, my schedule changes every week, two of my courses are in French (not my first language), and one of my professors just sounds like a rambling crazy person and I've yet to understand a single word he says.
I think I missed the reprogramming of my brain at the beginning of the school year, because everyone else seems to have a telepathic connection to the professors which allows them to guess what they want from us. When you ask questions, they tell you you should already know the answer. And don't even get me started on the formal way of doing things.
And just in case you think I'm crazy, I offer an explanation directly from the mouth of one of my professors. Mind you, he was entirely serious about this and did not see the entertainment value whatsoever. In explaining how to write an essay, he told us that academics is like figure skating. Ninety percent of it is performing for Russian judges, and the other ten percent is freestyle. In other words, 90% of it is doing exactly what they want you to do and to say, and then you are allowed to have 10% of your own thoughts on the matter. Well, now it all makes sense.
And moving on to the last and most exciting part of living abroad. I am an American.
If only it were that glamorous. Some people will love me for this, others will hate me for it. And others just pre-judge the hell out of me because of it. I have heard everything from that man in the market in India who said, "Ohhh... OBAMA!" when I told him I was American to the literal upturn of the nose in response to my American-ness, Ah, vous êtes Américaine. Sigh. Words every American longs to hear.
Well, sometimes I get tired of telling people that I do not drive a truck, nor do I survive on fast food...
Naturally, I attempt to blend in as much as I can. I stick to the words I know and can pronounce properly. I smile and nod when I understand but I don't have the French vocabulary to verbally respond. People probably think I'm handicapped in some way, but at least they're still nice to me. I've even managed to sound English over American once or twice which was fun.
Honestly, I consider it a great achievement when I can have a conversation, or at least start a conversation and be greeted by someone with the assumption that I am a Parisian. How do I convince them? A mix of confidence and style. I have somehow managed to nail down the exact "look" of a Parisian. Which is pretty much just a leather jacket and a scarf. With that, they accept me. The bakers know which loaf of bread I order and the cooks at the café I go to for lunch know me by now too. I think I've been here long enough for them to accept that I am not a complete foreigner. Or at least that I'm not a tourist.
Although sometimes I overdo the confidence piece because I often have people asking me for help or directions. When I can actually help these people rather than mumbling something in franglais and using wild hand gestures, it is a good day.
And here's a baby polar bear so we can end this on a good note.
xx A
The first and most important thing to understand is food. Food is to be treasured and enjoyed. And this enjoyment is meant to happen sitting down. No, not at your desk while you continue working. Food time is food time with nothing else happening. I get dirty looks whenever I'm in a hurry and I eat my croissant as I walk to the métro. But there is one exception to this rule. Lunch and sandwiches. Only sandwiches though. Don't try to eat anything else on the go. It must be a sandwich (made with a baguette of course) and it is artfully wrapped so you may eat it without making a mess as you walk. I can't figure out where they're all going, but every day I see people wandering about the streets of Paris, sandwiches in hand.
Coffee is another thing that is to be savoured, rather than inhaled as is the practice in America. Sidenote: I wrote "America" in a paper recently and my professor wrote back, "America is not a country." Excuse me, sir? I'll get back to the academics in a moment... first, let's talk about the fact that coffee in Europe is... well, smaller.
True story. Additionally, bakeries are open earlier than coffee shops are. I can get a croissant before I can get my caffeine. I don't need to tell you how unfortunate this is.
I actually used to go to Starbucks on Capitol Hill when it opened at 5:30am to work sometimes (when I was behind on a 9:00am deadline), and I would stay there for 4+ hours. This would not fly in France 1) Because Starbucks does not open until 7:30am. SEVEN. THIRTY. Additionally, I think they would have me committed or accuse me of being sans domicile if I stayed there over a few hours. Lucky for me, I am a university student so I can just go to school to study...
Or can I? Sciences Po has a total of... one or two common areas. And our library has a total of about seven seats available. Okay, maybe a bit more but the point is you are more likely to play tag with a dolphin than you are to find a seat to study in the Sciences Po library. No really, you are.
And on to my favorite cultural difference. The classroom. I'm going to attempt to keep this short so I don't sound too cynical. Here's the thing. I am in a different country. There are going to be differences. There were academic differences when I went to India. There are academic differences here in France. At least in India they assumed that I would have no idea what was going on. Here, it is the exact opposite. I truly have no idea what is going on, and yet everyone assumes I must somehow secretly know the methodology of French universities. Additionally, my schedule changes every week, two of my courses are in French (not my first language), and one of my professors just sounds like a rambling crazy person and I've yet to understand a single word he says.
 |
| This is my life. Every day. |
I think I missed the reprogramming of my brain at the beginning of the school year, because everyone else seems to have a telepathic connection to the professors which allows them to guess what they want from us. When you ask questions, they tell you you should already know the answer. And don't even get me started on the formal way of doing things.
And just in case you think I'm crazy, I offer an explanation directly from the mouth of one of my professors. Mind you, he was entirely serious about this and did not see the entertainment value whatsoever. In explaining how to write an essay, he told us that academics is like figure skating. Ninety percent of it is performing for Russian judges, and the other ten percent is freestyle. In other words, 90% of it is doing exactly what they want you to do and to say, and then you are allowed to have 10% of your own thoughts on the matter. Well, now it all makes sense.
 |
| The judges |
 |
| Me |
If only it were that glamorous. Some people will love me for this, others will hate me for it. And others just pre-judge the hell out of me because of it. I have heard everything from that man in the market in India who said, "Ohhh... OBAMA!" when I told him I was American to the literal upturn of the nose in response to my American-ness, Ah, vous êtes Américaine. Sigh. Words every American longs to hear.
Well, sometimes I get tired of telling people that I do not drive a truck, nor do I survive on fast food...
 |
| The stereotype. No really, people think is the reality of the majority of our country. |
Honestly, I consider it a great achievement when I can have a conversation, or at least start a conversation and be greeted by someone with the assumption that I am a Parisian. How do I convince them? A mix of confidence and style. I have somehow managed to nail down the exact "look" of a Parisian. Which is pretty much just a leather jacket and a scarf. With that, they accept me. The bakers know which loaf of bread I order and the cooks at the café I go to for lunch know me by now too. I think I've been here long enough for them to accept that I am not a complete foreigner. Or at least that I'm not a tourist.
Although sometimes I overdo the confidence piece because I often have people asking me for help or directions. When I can actually help these people rather than mumbling something in franglais and using wild hand gestures, it is a good day.
And here's a baby polar bear so we can end this on a good note.
xx A
