working hard

lundi 7 avril 2008

Over the weekend, Didier, his friends Alim and Patrick, and I went to a restaurnt in Le Marais called Au P'tit Canaillou.  P'tit is short for petit, meaning little.  Canaillou is a word from familiar language (you probably won't find it in a French-English dictionary) referring to a mischievous boy.  The awning of the restaurant features a cartoon drawing of a little boy making peepee like you would see in a fountain.  Lots of restaurants in France utilize non-standard words that either have familiar, literary, or historical origins.  So much more character than what one would see in the U.S., n'est-ce pas?

The restaurant was full that night, meaning the waiter was busy with about 10 tables of 30 customers.  That's right, I wrote "the waiter," not "waiters."  I don't think one would ever see that in the U.S.  All the customers spent at least two or three hours dining, with very few complaints, at least not verbally that we could hear (yes, my French is that good that I can distinguish complaints from 20 feet away).  Even though one doesn't need to leave a tip (un pourboire - literally "for a drink"), the waiter still worked very hard to please every customer.  He even remembered what everyone at my table ordered.  Quite impressive.

D'ailleurs, j'avais un autre rendez-vous avec un correspondant. Il s'appelle Falilou et il vient de Guinea. Il est en France depuis 2002 et il habite dans la banlieue parisienne avec sa femme et leur fille qui a cinq mois. Il m'a dit qu'en mars et en avril, tout le monde qui travaille dans les affaires est très occupé parce qu'il est la fin de la période fiscale.

Sa femme et lui, ils tous les deux travaillent très dur. Il faut que son anglais s'améliore parce que les gens qui peuvent parler l'anglais gagnent d'habitude plus d'argent que ceux qui ne le parlent pas. Il a dit que typiquement il n'étudie pas l'anglais souvent parce qu'il regarde le foot à la télé ou il est trop fatigué de le faire après une journée trop tongue au travail, mais ma persévérance d'apprendre le français le motive à étudier l'anglais plus intensément. Par contre, je crois que c'est lui qui me motive à travailler plus. Sa dédicace à sa famille me touche beaucoup.

déjà?

samedi 5 avril 2008

Has it already been a week since my arrival in Paris?  C'est pas vrai ! Hard to believe.  The week went by quickly except for the days when I was fighting both jetlag and a cold, definitely not a good combination.

I am finally feeling better and what I looked forward most today was to see my good friend Julien again.  I first met Julien and his very elegant mother Martine two years ago, really a very nice family - as the French would say, super sympa.  Julien invited me to his home in Bry Sur Marne, about 10 minutes by the RER (a network of trains) outside of Paris proper, for lunch with his girlfriend Hermine, Martine, and his uncle Pierre-Jean.

Europeans in general truly do not enjoy the luxury of large spaces as many Americans do.  I guess I shouldn't complain about my 625 square-foot (58 m2) apartment when most of the apartments I've seen have been less than 50 m2.

Julien is a typical Frenchman, meaning he complains about everything, and I mean everything.  He knows it too.  Actually, I haven't heard him complain about Hermine yet, so perhaps not everything.  He studied architecture and spent some time working as an architect, but now he does recruitment for an architectural firm.  I think he enjoyed his current job initially, but not any more.  For him, Paris is a depressing, cold city deprived of live and energy (at the same time depriving him of both these things).  He longs to live in the mountains.  If one day he moves there, maybe I'll visit him like Heidi.  I wonder if I'll get to milk goats.

I had seen pictures of Hermine, but when I met her in person, I could see why JuJu was crazy about her.  Neither he nor I can understand why she's with him.  To each his (her) own, I suppose.

I told JuJu he should start a new career as a chef after tasting his cuisine.  Just as an example of a Saturday French lunch (I know I've talked about food already, but you know how much I like to eat) - for entrée, we had bread (yes, a baguette) with one of my favorite discoveries from last trip - les rilletes.  It's basically a mix of pork, duck, or goose, with lots of delicious animal fat; it is most often served as a pâté.  The plat was a Braizilian fish stew (amazing) not too unlike a ratatouille.  He calls it la moqueica de peixel.  To finish things off, JuJu served for dessert a type of pudding with pears called un clafoutis aux poires.  If I were a judge on Iron Chef (the original Japanese version, not the stupid American version), I would be using words like "ah, the subtle aroma of the fish blends perfectly with the delicate texture of the tomatoes, everything is just so good, I could eat this everyday."

After lunch, we all went to a nearby mall (centre commercial) to check out the French version of this American import.  Not too different, except the parking spaces are much smaller here.  We visited FNAC, the French equivalent to Borders, where I looked for "Le Petit Nicolas" by Sempé (children's literature).  With just simple pictures, words, and sentence structures (we're talking fourth grade level here), Sempé hilariously depicts the lives of young French children.

Wanting me to read something more appropriate for my age, JuJu gave me Amélie Nothomb's "Métaphysique des Tubes."  She is one of the hottest authors in France now, and apparently she too uses simple language that even I can understand.  Simple is good, always very good for me.  I guess I like books like "Le Petit Nicolas" and "Le Petit Prince" because I like the simple things that children experience, how the easiest things could seem so complicated to six-year-olds.  At least that's my excuse for avoiding more "mature" (i.e., boring) topics like politics and the economy.

As an adult (yeah, I know I hardly behave like one), I can look at situtations that appear to be super complicated for kids and smile (actually, more like reading and laughing uncontrollably during work in between seeing patients) at the intricately constructed simplicity of their lives.  By comparison, when I become wise at the age of 70, I will probably look back at my struggles now and smile at my own naiveté and ineptitude.  And when I struggle with things at 70?  Who's going to laugh at my mistakes?

I guess I can always do that myself.

what is a tourist to do?

mercredi 2 avril 2008

I met a very interesting woman for language exchange today, Elisabeth Schubert.  She is an artist focusing mostly on sculpture.  We spent nearly three hours in a café chatting about her work and les français in general.  However, she wasn't quite confident with her English, so we conducted our conversation mostly in French.  Surprisingly, I understood most of what she said.  Even more so, she understood what I said.

One of the many topics we discussed was the French people's seeming unfriendliness, or at least that of the Parisians.  For example, when there is a tourist standing at the corner of a busy intersection on the Avenue des Champs-Elysées, he could be there for hours with an open map in his hands and a desperate look on his face, and no one would offer to help him.  The key word here is offer.  Accordingly to Elisabeth, the French do not like disturbing other people, and to offer to help would be to suggest that the tourist doesn't know what he's doing (even though it is apparent).  But if the tourist were to ask for help (even better if he were to address someone with a simple bonjour), most Parisians would be glad to assist.  However, the tourist may not understand directions in French or in English with a very heavy French accent (incomprehensible to some, but super cute to me).

Au contraire, Elisabeth tells me she was once in New York, and when she was lost, a heap of strangers immediately came up to help her.  That surprised her a bit.  Too bad she didn't understand that they said.

Regarding cafés, a very welcoming change is the disappearance of the fog, I mean smoke.  In the past, whenever I approached a café or restaurant, the first thing that struck me was not the aroma of pastries or coffee, but the odor of cigarettes and the cloud of smoke just waiting to engulf me and seep into every fiber of my body as soon as I opened the door.  Luckily, as the French would say, ça n'existe plus (it doesn't exist any more).  Since 1er janvier 2008, the smokers can only gather outside these establishments.  Therefore, the classic images of a chic Frenchwoman sitting outside a café with a cigarette in her hand and a ring of smoke in front of her can still be found.

who's a fool?

mardi 1 avril 2008

The most important thing to do today was to get a monthly coupon for my carte orange (a metro ID card with my beautiful picture on it from my trip two years ago).  For about 54 Euros, you have unlimited rides for all public transportation within Paris, not bad at all, considering Paris has arguably the best metro system in the world.  Supposedly, you can always find a metro station within 500 meters from wherever you are in the city.  I haven't tested this out myself, but I have no doubt it's true.  If you don't believe it, just bring a measuring tape on your next trip to Paris.

There are 14 lines, one of them automatically operated.  I did ride on this line during my last trip, quite impressive.  Perhaps there are more automatic lines by now, I don't know - will find out during the next two months.

Hier soir, j'ai eu mon cours du soir de 19h à 21h. Nous étions neuf étudiants avec le prof Stephanie un. Elle était Stephanie un parce qu'il y a deux prof qui s'appellent Stephanie. Je lui ai demandé pourquoi elle n'était pas Stephanie une puisqu'elle était féminin. Elle m'a dit que j'avait raison. Comme toujours.

Dans ma classe, une femme est arrivée très tard. Elle parlait le français avec un accent très fort. Quand elle est arrivée, on devinait la nationalité, la profession, et les loisirs de chaque étudiant. C'était à son tour, l'étudiante en retard. J'ai immédiatement deviné qu'elle était italienne à cause du accent qui me semblait italien et des gestes des mains quand elle parlait. Mais j'avais tort, Natalia était russe. Je me sentait mieux à la fin du cours quand un étudiant italien m'a dit que lui il a aussi pensé au début que Natalia était italienne. Les stéréotypes ont toujours jusqu'à un certain point de vérité.

oh say can you see?

lundi 31 mars 2008

First day of classes.  probably not unlike a United Nations meeting with Nicolas Sarkozy at the podium, insisting on speaking French.

About 30-40 students gathered in the morning, waiting to be split into groups according to the level of our French.  The principal instructors stood in front of the class to explain the logistics of the school.  I believe every continent had at least one representative among us, and of course the common language used when chatting among ourselves was English.  I didn't participate since I arrived late (I got lost, as usual), and also since I would rather just speak French.  Perhaps I am the Nicolas Sarkozy here.

I was placed in the group avancé, with other students from New York, California, the UK, Brazil, Germany, New Zealand, and Italy.  Our first lesson was to talk about our countries including the national anthems, symbols, and our likes and dislikes of them.  Too bad there wasn't anyone from the red states.  George Bush's name came up often, always negatively.  It would have been interesting to hear the opinion of someone who might like him or at least hate him a bit less.

Any interesting question was how we could recognize our compatriots in a foreign country.  It appears that if you're loud and wear shorts, then you're American.  If you're very loud and allow your children to run around, or if you wear certain shoes that are easily recognizable, then you are Italian.  I have no idea what these shoes might look like since I am not Italian.  The Germans have a certain way of dress, and the British like to wear sunglasses and hats.  Apparently, no one likes tourists from their own countries.  Maybe it's just tourists in general.  They/we go to a foreign land, act our usual ways, not paying respect to local customs, thus easily stand out in every way possible without the least concern.

Another issue was how we are proud or shameful of our countries.  As expected, the two Germans discussed the Holocaust, but they had slightly different points of view.  One guy felt that the actions of Hitler and his people decades ago do not reflect who he is but that one needs to remember these events so that they are not repeated.  The other guy stated very strongly that even though he wasn't alive decades ago, all Germans are still responsible for what did happen and need to live with the burden of past sins and somehow improve the world in any way possible.  Two guys in their twentis, obviously different views.

to rain or not to rain

dimanche 30 mars 2008

My first full day in Paris was greeted with a whole day of rain - cold, frigid rain.  The entire Europe also changed from the winter hour to the spring hour, but that didn't bother me a bit since I was already jet-lagged.

In the afternoon, I met my first language exchange partner.  We had café in a café right next to the Seine.  After complaining about the rain and the nearly freezing temperature (first time I ever complained about anything), I remembered that I was sitting in a café, in Paris, with a view of the Tour Eiffel, on the Right Bank of the Seine.  Suddenly I realized there was nothing to complain about.  I am the luckiest person in the world to be here, enjoying this beautiful rain in Paris.

Everything around me turned beautiful and interesting - from the smartly dressed (with the ever present scarf) chic young French woman clinging tightly to her umbrella and even more so to her cell phone, to the grumpy-looking older Frenchman dodging the bullets of the rain to cross the street.  While it rained heavily in our area, I noticed a strand of brightness in light blue peaking through the clouds behind the Tour Eiffel.  At that exact moment, it was 20:00, and the blinking lights on the tower began their hourly show.  The sunset soon transformed the blue into an intense orange, all seemingly just to remind me of where I was.  My new friend is an avid photographer and snapped this candid when I wasn't paying attention, so here is the first picture of my blog.

Et alors, j'ai vraiment de la chance d'être à Paris. Mon cours commence demain. Je sais que j'apprendrai plein de français dans mon cours et que j'apprendrai plein de vie à Paris. Pendant les premiers jours quand j'étais ici en 2006, tout ce que les gens disait a semblé mélangé. Mais cette fois, je peux entendre des mots distincts dans chaque phrase à la télé. C'est un bon début.

D'ailleurs, quand je me baladais dans la Rue de Beaubourg cet après-midi, je me suis senti comme si je ne partais jamais de Paris et si j'étais toujours ici depuis deux années.

hello again, Paris

samedi 29 mars 2008

Here I am again, in Paris.

Paris is pretty much as I remembered it.  Cool, maybe downright chilly today, but majestic, somewhat standoffish on first glance.  I arrived at chez mon ami Didier who so generously offered to host me in his apartment for my entire trip.  He must be crazy or not know me very well.  In any case, he lives in Le Marais, which is in the third district of Paris (le 3e arrondissement).

It seems like only last month that I was here.  For lunch we went across the street to a wonderful Italian restaurant called Little Italy.  And for dinner we enjoyed traditional French cuisine in Le Quartier Latin (le 6e arrondissement) called Café de la Tourelle.

Didier and I went out to dinner with his friends Alim, Lionel, and Christophe.  Did you think that a typical French dinner in Paris would consist of heavy sauces and escargot?  Well, there was escargot, but heavy sauces were nowhere to be seen on any table.  It was simple food with great flavors.  In France, the menu is called "la carte."  A pre-set menu, typically consisting of three items, is called "le menu."  The three items are l'entrée (appetizer), le plat (main course), and le dessert.  For l'entrée, I had a delicious terrine de poisson (pâté of fish).  For le plat, un confit de canard, and for le dessert, sublime chocolat.  Didier and I agreed that it wasn't quite sublime, but it was fairly good.  You might be wondering how much all this costs - 25 euros.  It's only expensive if you consider the exchange rate.

So there I was, sitting with four Parisians, discussing politics (even Obama versus Hillary), movies, cultures, and sex.  Almost the entire conversation was conducted in French.  If I concentrated, I understood about 10% of everything, but when they spoke directly to me (simpler and slower), I understood about 75%.  Not too shabby for now, but must raise those numbers by the end of two months.

Interestingly, next to our table were four Taiwanese students and a Frenchman.  In contrast to us, nearly all their conversation was done in Chinese.  Every once in a while, one of the Taiwanese people would translate for the Frenchman.  I know exactly how he felt.

Watch out, fais attention

a lesson on "les faux amis" (literally translated as false friends)

une personne = a person

un personnage = a character (in a movie, book)

un caractère = a person's character