American vs British Accent Challenge

Fun With Strangers on a Bus

I have no idea who this man is.

Naturally, on the last half of a train trip from Paris (which, incidentally was on a bus) a stranger was sitting next to me. He was polite and funny but obviously tired. As we started driving, he started nodding off and suddenly he fell asleep on my shoulder. He woke up once and begged my pardon, but then shortly thereafter he was asleep again.


He wasn't weird or creepy so I didn't say anything about it. But when I realized that he was out cold, I came up with a wicked plan. This poor fellow had no clue who he was sitting next to...

I began posing for photos with him. Here's the story of me and my new friend and ALL the good times we had!! Seriously. ALL of them because we only met, like, 6 hours ago.


Here is my new friend and me, straight thuggin' like we do in the 502 (or in the +33)

And here is me joking around saying "Come with me if you want to live."

Oh and here's the time I got hungry and ate my friends head!

My friend and me, with my awesome new mustache and goatee. (Drawn on with an eyeliner I had in my purse. THAT'S HOW OUT COLD THIS GUY WAS. I got into my purse, drew a MUSTACHE and a GOATEE, took a photo and wiped the mustache off and he *still* didn't wake up).

And then we went our separate ways. But man, we had some good times...what's-his-face and I.

La Jeunesse

The French really need to learn to salt their sidewalks. But if they had, I wouldn't have gotten this message.


Today it snowed and in the morning and evening hours the sidewalk froze in several spots. I trudged out in the downpour in my UGGs which provided neither the warmth or traction I had anticipated. I slipped all the way to my first school, even landing once on a bed of snow, scoffing at myself for being so clumsy.


But all the way I kept thinking, it's lucky I still can pull myself up, imagine what would happen if I were older and couldn't pull myself up. The thought followed me around all day. I have always had a very active imagination and sometimes lose myself in scenarios that sometimes have nothing to do with me. I kept picturing people falling ALL day. It was quite weird.


It's a well known fact that I can't cook. I am quite good at eating, but cooking is a skill I've never HAD to acquire. I decided I wanted Indian food tonight and given that I have neither the ability NOR the coconut milk to make curry, I decided to head out. But as I walked to the restaurant, I found it was closed and had to settle for something different (and cheaper).


I slowly made the frigid walk home when I spotted a woman sitting on the ground cradling her knee, while her cane, purse and small dog lay beside her. I had seen enough from taking care of my arthritic mother to know she wasn't going to be able to get up on her own.


I walked to her and in broken french asked if she was okay. She couldn't have been much older than 65 and was about my size. I saw her face streaming with tears. I didn't know how long she had been sitting there waiting. I offered her a gloved hand, but she slid a little more on the ice. This was going to be a difficult save. I looked around and noticed a bench about 15 feet away and I grabbed her cane and asked her to "take it." She understood and I dragged her to the bench where we would have a sturdier support. I wrapped my arm around her and she pulled herself up onto the bench while I grabbed her purse and cane. The dog scooted closer to her. Luckily a policeman saw us and he turned his lights on. She was fine, but the officer offered to drive her home so she wouldn't have to risk falling on the slick roads.


I sat next to her, while she dried her eyes. And before I walked away she grabbed my arm, thanked me and said "Your youth. Have fun with it." I myself choked up and told her "You're still young." She shook her head.


Before you think, Melissa is just telling us this story because she wants a pat on the head and to be told "Good girl", that's not it. Not even a little bit. I had been so worried about other things, stupid and inconsequential, that I had been squandering a lot of opportunities to really enjoy this carefree and independent time in my life. You may say I'm silly, stupid or superstitious, but I don't believe in accidents. All day I had been imagining a similar scenario and it had happened, delivering a message I needed to hear. As I watched the woman drive away in her car, I felt all my worries melt away and took a deep breath. Everything in my life that was stressing me out was temporary. I should enjoy this moment because there may be a time when I will no longer be able to be independent and have these opportunities. I stopped sniffling and began the long trek home....slipping and sliding all the way.

The Question I Get the Most Often...

The question posed to me most often by friends and family members back home is "But don't the French hate Americans?" This is of course usually followed by some of anecdote of how they went to Paris one time and xyz happened and no one would help them/no one spoke English/they were so rude. I would immediately like to point out that Paris is not France. Paris is to France what New York is to the US. It's a LARGE city, with a faster pace. And I guarantee that if you stopped someone in NYC to ask for directions during rush hour or while they are trying to get to work, they're going to tell you to "PISS OFF!" If you can't move with the flow of a large city, you better get out of the way. Oh, there is no doubt New Yorkers, Parisians, Berliners, Milanese want you to fall in love with their cities, they just want you to quickly acclimate to their culture. That's normal. And four or five times out of ten, the people who ask me this question are the same people who get infuriated if someone speaks Spanish in the US.

The first thing you have to accept about another culture is that it's not going to be like America, nor should it be because that's what makes it so special. If you can't handle this, or you have a persecution complex that thinks the rest of the world is out to get America...you better stay IN America. But if you are curious about the world and have an open mind to understand people better, then I would recommend taking the following steps.


Learn the language. Or at least to very politely say, "I'm sorry I don't speak the language. Can you speak English?" I don't recommend learning phrases asking for directions or for certain types of help, because what good is it if you can ask the question but not understand the answers. Do as MUCH research as you can prior to going.


Don't be defensive about being American. Don't advertise it or flaunt it, but it is a small minority who are ready to kill you for it. Just don't be defensive. I assure you, most people don't give two hoots where you are from. American culture is EVERYWHERE. There are plenty of McDonalds and Starbucks in France. You can't turn on a radio station without hearing Blurred Lines or the new Miley Cyrus song. Even an overwhelming majority of French artists sing in English (Pheonix, anyone?) It's okay to be American. Just be cool, gang. It's okay to use that to poke fun at yourself. Just don't use it as an excuse to try to bend the culture to your way of thinking. That's not why you are here.


I have such a great affection for the French. I have had an occasional run in with a rude person, but I have dealt with rude people in Kentucky. There are rude people everywhere you go. That's life. But what you must realize is a person's rudeness has absolutely NOTHING to do with you. I learned that very quickly working retail and the best way to deal with that in any language is smile and to brush it off and tell them to have a blessed day. But never have I ever been so welcomed. When I struggle with saying something they help me find the words. The teachers at my school have taken me to dinner and offered to help me with complex things such as setting up a bank account. My land lady went out of her way to help me with a red tape problem at immigration. Even today, at a small family run restaurant in Gap, I conversed with a family who was curious about my life in the states. We talked for a while, but just getting over a cold, I had to excuse myself to go blow my nose several times. The mother asked if I had been sick and I responded that I had. Before I knew it, she came out of the kitchen with hot water and a peppermint liquor to help ease the symptoms. I sat and chatted with them for an hour over the economy, politics, sports in the area, and about food. When I received my bill, not only had they given me a discount on the food, they had not charged me for the coffee or the aperetif I had. This couldn't have been easy for them, seeing as times are hard and I was the only customer in the store, but it had been a way to say "Thank you for the camaraderie." When I have been lost or had trouble, people have always rushed to help me. There are good people here. I hope you can find that out for yourself someday.

Food Porn

As I ordered a second coffee and croissant before work the other day, the man behind the bar chuckled and said "You are a gourmand." I nodded and then added. "Yes. I'm an American."

Gluttony is still a sin in France, which still has enough traces of its Catholic background to feel SLIGHTLY bad for excess. But while excess is sinful, pleasure is not. The idea of food as pleasurable is the predominant façon de penser even today. Back home, I've discovered that we have a love/hate relationship with food. As Americans, we don't take time to eat one good meal, but frequently gorge and snack all day. The quality of food is questionable and it's just easier to stop at McDonald's (Don't get me wrong, they have "McDo" in France, but it's a rare treat.) We think we need to eat less (which we do) but at the same time we don't always change the things we eat. We're just eating less of the same bad stuff. This is not me being preachy. Trust me. I stopped for French Fries yesterday and am currently drinking a regular coke with a lemon wedge. I will probably eat more bread, veggies and cheese than any normal person should. But if it's one thing I appreciate, it's GOOD food and the French seem to say "That's perfectly fine. Just do it within certain parameters."

We usually get an hour and a half for lunch here. Time enough to enjoy your meal and to let it settle. There are various coffee breaks through the day. And dinners can go for hours. You eat, you rest, you get up and walk back to your apartment. It's all very ritualistic. Enjoy your three meals. But enjoy them at a certain time and a certain pace. It does seem to curb hunger and combined with all the walking and hiking I have lost about 9 pounds since I got here.

Food is one of the few pleasures you can partake of as a mere mortal. I wake in the morning and usually my first excited thought is "What am I going to eat today?" Genetically, I have been fortunate that I have remained under 120 pounds most of my life, so food, to me, wasn't a cause for concern or worry. Before I got to college, I remained very bland in my food choices and while some people experiment sexually or with illegal psychotropic substances, I started dabbling in food. Food from different ethnicities, food with different ingredients, foods I have never thought about trying. Coming to France was the culmination of years of dabbling with gastronomy. And oh God, am I addicted..


What I love most about dinner time in France is that eating alone is NOT the societal taboo it is in the US. I suppose that is because in France eating is like having an orgasm, equally pleasurable in a group, in a pair, or by yourself. Everyone has to eat and just because you aren't with someone doesn't mean you should be deprived of the pleasure. I frequently find that most restaurants here are affordable and accommodating. Dinner is late, usually most restaurants don't open until at least 7 and that's because they are preparing the dishes for the evening. Everything is fresh and cooked that day. Creams and merangues are whipped, usually in the morning. Meat is marinated on site.

If you aren't feeling the resident snails and beef dishes (But you should try them, at LEAST once), you can rest assured that France is close enough to other countries to have a RICH immigrant resource. You can get Korean, Asian, Spanish, Indian, German, North African, Greek, Italian, and other types of food at reasonable prices. I'm a big fan of traiteus Asiatiques, little restaurants run by Asian families that sort of serve as a carry out. You can get small dishes of the Chinese/Japanese/Korean variety for take-out OR for dine in. It's perfect if you want to take your chinese home for leftovers, as most are served cold and then are either reheated at home or on site. And if you can't afford the train fare to Spain for Paella, nine times out of ten you can find FRESHLY made Paella at a small specialty store that will scratch the itch.

So if you find yourself wondering aimlessly around France, try your best to avoid McDonalds. I know. I know. It's familiar. And YES. I am very guilty about this. (Especially in Marseille, because I was SO broke). But Enjoy your one (or three) glasses of wine and savor every sweet bite, because, let's face it...you're not going to be eating like this at home.

Santé!

Explaining Kentucky to the French.

I heard the absolute worst/best song last night. It was more appropriate thematically than it was appropriate musically. The song was called The Fox (What Does The Fox Say?) by a group called Ylvis. The song is the basic onomatopoeic sounds that we associate with animals, and given the fox's naturally secret nature, there is some room for interpretation as to what the fox says. (Although, Ylvis, I don't think *Ring-a-ding-ding-a-ding* has ever been uttered by a fox in the history of fox linguistics)


Here. Watch it for yourself.


As Ylvis sang about speaking to horses in morse code, I sat thinking of how to explain my beautiful home state of Kentucky to a group of children, most of whom have probably never ventured out of Europe. I knew that given my age range of 6-10, my topic of conversation would be extremely limited. I could probably use the following lesson plan:


Good Morning Children. I am from Kentucky! Kentucky is a state.



George Clooney is from Kentucky. (Yeah! You're welcome world!)

So is Jennifer Lawrence!

We make DISCO BALLS! (Hell YES!)

You like horses, kids! We have horses!!!

Oh, and you like Cheeseburgers? Well, you better say "Thank you, Kentucky." Because even though somewhere in the world someone more than likely had already put cheese on a hamburger, we decided to lay claim to it. And that children, is all about American ingenuity. Take credit for someone else's idea and pass it off as your own. Edison did it. So did Bell. And they got buildings and corporations named after them!!!

And you should wash that down with some delicious Kentucky Bourbon. Oh wait, you guys are in elementary school. May I humbly suggest an Ale-8 (Kentucky's other delicious beverage)

Children. Besides being known for booze, horses and handsome actors that are old enough to be your grandfather...we also have a sport called "Basketball." There are two certain teams in Kentucky and they like to pretend that the other one doesn't exist. That is....until they play each other. And then everyone hates each other and the team that loses pouts about waiting until "next season" and the team that wins get license to be a douchecock about the game for a whole year.

We also are home to a certain fast food chain, whose creator is the only other man besides Mark Twain to rock a white suit after Labor Day. If Kentuckians controlled the vatican, a good majority would probably vote this guy into Sainthood. You think I'm joking....

But most importantly, Kentucky is home to people that I love and care about and people with whom I wish I could share my adventures. But sometimes to appreciate home, you have to leave for a little while.


Miss and love you, Kentucky. See you in May (I hope).

Today's lesson: Je vais au supermarché

In French 101, or any introductory second language course, one of the first few lessons you learn is food vocabulary. This usually goes in with the verb "to like" or "to dislike/hate", I assume this is because Americans, like the French, are passionate about their food. It just makes sense to be able to express this in foreign language because eating is a requirement and it suits one well to know EXACTLY what to say when ordering food. Food happens to be a PASSION of mine, as you can see in the photo below, so I will walk you through how you shop in France and also give myself a grade for my shopping trip today.

Throughout France, you can find open-air markets (the equivalent of sea-food or farmers' markets across the US). You can also find small groceries that are independently owned, along with butchers, bakers and candle stick makers. But you can still find the often detested supermarché. It's really a love hate/relationship. If you're a food purist, you would want to get your meats and breads from their respective creators: the boulangerie and the boucherie. Cheesemakers, also, are called les crèmeries. It's sort of that same idea of supporting local business. And if you are an enthusiast of gastronomy, like Anthony Bourdain, you're going to shop there for your better ingredients.


The rest of us mere mortals will shop at the supermarket. But there are VAST differences between US Supermarkets and French Supermarkets. Namely the food suppliers are held to higher standards and the ARRAY of cheeses and breads available is ridiculous. Much like the US market you can get your meats from either the deli or the refrigerator section, but the meats available pre-packaged are quite good.


The first few times I was over here, back in 2006, I experienced severe culture shock at the grocery. Everything looked familiar but nothing FELT right. I wasn't aware, for example, that when you purchase produce you must weigh the items on a small scale and print and affix the barcode yourself. That was a shock when the grocery lady yelled at me for ten minutes, and I, fresh of the boat, had no clue what the problem was. Lesson learned: go with a native the first time you go shopping. Cost: 12 Euros Grade A+


It's ALSO very important to purchase a recyclable bag. And I don't mean like you do in America. In the US...you buy them and forget them at your house or in your trunk. Here, if you forget your sack, you're screwed. Some grocery stores charge for plastic bags. I actually don't think this is a bad thing. It's a way of cutting down on environmental waste. You can often, however, buy those recyclable bags at the store. But you will be out a few euros. Lesson learned: Unless you enjoy precariously balancing multiple items as you WALK back to your apartment (Oh yeah. No cars here) buy the stinking bag. Cost 1 euro. Grade: A+


You will see things that are familiar variations of things you've known back home: sandwich breads, canned pasta, microwave rice, even SLICED AMERICAN CHEESE (although I think they refer to it as hamburger or croque cheese). Although it may be tempting to buy those, try to get out of your comfort zone a bit. I know. I failed today because I definitely got some hamburger cheese and sandwich bread with the INTENT of making grilled cheese. But the Camebert, Roquefort, and Chevre makes up for that a little. Lesson Learned: Think outside the cheese box. Cost: 15-20 Euros. Grade: C.
Today I give myself a solid A minus. I'm sorry, I'm not TOO sorry about the grilled cheese I'm making. So excited.