How to create "Malheur a Gare de l'Ouest"

One assignment in language school this past week was to write a paper regarding how this photo came to pass. The logic was to use the grammar we had just learned related to causes, sources and above all, le subjonctif (which I used only once, brilliant) and invent a story. Mine is about a drunk driver, other students decided to put him to sleep. My French isn't brilliant here, but I know enough to make a mess and this is a flavor of what we do in langauge school, mainly have a good bit of fun with what we know. Voila!

Malheur à Gare de l’Ouest

« Ce weekend, il y a eu un grand désastre à la Gare de l’Ouest quand un train à destination de Bruxelles a déraillé et a percuté la vitrine et est tombé sur la rue. C’était la première fois que quelque chose d’assez dangereux se passait à cette gare, même à Paris. L’origine de l’accident n’est pas connue mais le facteur principal pourrait être la grande vitesse du train. L’accident a eu lieu Samedi, à neuf heures du matin.

Etonnamment personne n’a été blessé. Le conducteur- qui pourrait répondre aux questions et aidait trouver la source de l’accident- est dans un coma dépris l’évent quand il était hospitalisé dans un état grave. Les autorités ont annoncé qu’ils commenceront une investigation pour trouver si l’accident était à cause de l’ivresse du conducteur. D’après ses amis et sa femme, Monsieur Jean Fillon, de Nice, âge de 45 ans, boit souvent, même le matin. Etant donné qu’il a ce passé, les autorités ont déjà commencé à questionner la capacité de Monsieur Fillon.

A présent, il y a un effort pour en lever le train de la rue à l’extérieur de la gare. A cause de ca, nous vous recommandons d’éviter la Gare l’Ouest et de fréquenter la Gare de Nord jusqu'à ce qu’il ya ait encore du calme. »

How Not to be a Tourist in Paris

There are certain things you don't do in Paris. Paris is a place to tour, but thou shalt not be a tourist. There is a shame to being a tourist, but not to tourism. There is something normal about visiting a place but you don't want to draw attention to yourself, less you be branded a tourist. My desire is to establish by this complicated paragraph that being a tourist is not preferable and all indications suggesting that you're participating in "tourist-ing" should therefore be avoided at all costs.

1) Thou shalt not read a map on a street corner. This makes people think you're lost. You don't want to be lost, not even give the impression that you're lost because honestly if you truly are lost you walk till you find a metro.

2) Thou shall not wear a baseball hat. This is for Americans mostly but it stands true for all, this is a sign of tourists which should be avoided, obviously. Futher, while you may need many items throughout the day, avoid the backpack if possible.

3) Thou shall not use a public toilet. Those are for tourists and further are disgusting. Use a McToilet (restroom at McDonalds) or a Starlet (Starbucks restrooms which do require you to purchase something).

4) Thou shall not use the tourist buses. Overpriced, bad views, crammed with people speaking all but French and...well...don't use them.

5) Thou shall not speak English loudly. Thou must attempt to speak softly, quietly, not loudly, kindly, sweetly, French-like. Speaking loud is considered rude based on the general belief that what you say on the phone or to your mate is your own private affair.

Thou shall blend in. I've neglected to note why one shouldn't be a tourist. It's more enjoyable to blend in, to be part of the culture, to integrate and experience a location from the view of the nationals who give that location the meaning it holds. That's why we try to fit in, and further we really enjoy it.

How I'm Finding Summer School

After my hectic life of the past year on three continents, balancing 15 credit hours per semester, and moving...err...three times, summer school in Paris is quite a change. There's truly only one thing I hate and that's my cronic inability to store data. I can remember my favorite brand of cheese, the 16 merto stops from Massy to central Paris, and side streets to Paris sites. All this is brilliant (or not) but I can't remember linguistic rules which would serve me well, if I could remember them that is. Exactly.

My summer language intensive program includes 53 students, 53 names, 53 stories from 8 countries, brilliant. I screwed up the placement test (too much Bollywood since my French days) so after a few adventures my retained French warrented a replacement the next class up. My class contains 14 students, some speaking brilliant French, and I sit between two American.

For coffee break, I drink tea. I speak French at mealtimes with students from United Kingdom (Wales, Scotland, Ireland, and England, I know there's a difference). I do homework in the evenings while other students laugh hysterically over YouTube videos and get high on French chocolate. I spend afternoons insuring my sister does her homework. I spend the hours between 1 and 6:50am trying to sleep. I sacrifice things I love for the sake fluency in French. What's more, I explain my life spanning several continent over and over again. Brilliant.

I thought coming back to Massy would be challenging as I'd confront memories of my time here in 2006-2007. It's not always easy but there's another valuable lesson about life overseas; we're not slaves to a place. It's what we make it, and by extension, it's what we decide to remake it. There's thing living overseas teaches you, and other lesson in overseas life.

Brillant. Bon, je vais partir et parler en français...a la prochaine...

How I spent Bastille Day

I wasn't at all disappointed when coming to France to discover I'd be here for Bastille Day. Bastille Day is French "independence day." All nations need a public celebration of national unity, the French one is about celebrating liberty from...hmm...

Bastille Day commemorates the beginning of the downfall of the Capetian dynasty and the end of an era. France's almost thousand year rule by elite aristocracy last chaired by Louis XVI and his glamorous Austrian born wife Marie Antoinette. The pent up rage of oppression hit the French population with the tipping point being the morning of July 14 1789. A mob of over 1000 people stormed the prison Bastille tearing it to the ground declaring they wanted a voice in government. Ironically Bastille was a prison for petty criminals, and the mob liberated the entire prison numbering 7 petty crime prisoners. After the storming of the Bastille, France was plunged into chaos not fully resolved until Napoleon set up a new chair in 1804. The bloody deluge did little to boost French PR abroad and it was years before they rejoined the playing field.

The site of the former Bastille is now a large roundabout in Paris; no prison, obviously. Today over 200 years later, the French democracy is fully secure and currently chaired by Nicolas Sarkozy.

Bastille Day contains certain traditions. The most well known is a military parade down the Champs Elysees, France's 5th Avenue ending at the Arc de Triomphe. The Army, Navy, Marines, Cavalry, National Guard, tanks and other military connected toys all march down shinny and decorated. The parade is led by Nicolas Sarkozy this time apparently with his visiting Syrian friend. At the end, there's a flashy flyover spraying clouds of red, white and blue in addition to showing off numerous fighter jets in formation. After the parade, you're allowed to climb over the tanks and equipment and take pictures at Napoleon’s tomb.

Bastille Day felt different from the 4th of July in the United States. It's not a "family holiday," picnics, cookouts, flags, family. There are few flags. No one dresses up in red, white and blue. In the words of a fellow student, "their flag don't mean so much to 'em like us Americans." In general, it felt like a Labor Day; a nice extra day off, nothing more. Many stores were still open and it felt like any other busy day in Paris.

Holidays are different everywhere you go. For me, it was worth it because now I can say I saw Nicolas Sarkozy. Carla Bruni Sarkozy wasn't there (promoting her new CD no doubt) so I must obviously return again one day.

How I got Back to Paris

When I flew out of Paris last August after a 5 day holiday, I was certain Paris for me had come to an end. I was sad but ready to turn my face towards new horizons. However, after a year in Zimbabwe, Pakistan and several weeks in both the USA and Zambia, I realized exactly how much Paris meant to me. I did love it there. Additionally, out of the 6 or 7 places I've lived, it was the only place I blended in, as a white girl I mean (Africa and Asia don't really work when you have blue eyes). France is a taste of beautifully preserved culture and art from another part of the world. I loved the order, the structure, and the beauty the greeted my eyes everyday in a million different forms. I loved seasons, trains, metros, recycling, funky graph paper, lilting whispers in langauges I'll never understand. I loved the people I met, friendships I still cherish.

This summer my sister and I are spending just under a month back in Paris at the same language school we attended over the academic year of 2006/2007. It's a refresher three week course my dad thought we would enjoy it after the extremely difficult challenges life in Zimbabwe presented (mainly no food, showers, water, Internet, oh don't get me going).

I recalling once being asked if I fell in love in Paris. According to popular folklore, there's something about Paris that inspires love and romance and so it's idealized as such. I did fall hopelessly in love in Paris...with an entire language. I no longer dream in French but I dream about speaking it well, fluently and using it to edify others. It's nice to be back for a bit to speak French again, improve my vocab and see just how well I'm remembering the subjunctive and conditional. Not romantic according to some, it sounds like just plan ol' work by gosh who wants to do that!! What can I say? It's is a strange city.

Bonne Journee à vous! Vive la France!

How Reentery Happened- 2008 Version

When returning from far away lands to the United States, there are always things that jump out. Going from the developing to the developed world has it's little delights and advantages you forget how much you can miss. This year, reentry has been (as always)full of little pleasures. After living in two difficult places (and scheduled to return) life on the other side of the fence is a bright shade of green (even greener since we're apparently "going green" now too).

1) I love seeing lawns. In Asia and Africa, houses are behind gates and walls and protected by guards. Here, I enjoy seeing the pretty little houses decorated and with perfectly cut grass and more often then not a crisp flag hanging to remind us what nation we're in. In my little town there's almost a competition who has their house decorated best and with the most attractive gardening. Our house is often the reported winner, as my grandparents have done a magnificent job keeping it quite adorable. Look for the cutest house in town, that's mine, thanks to them!

2) I love how people say hi when I take a walk. In Pakistan, I keep my eyes down when I pass people and generally ignore the world. You don't interact with strangers, most of all men. Yet when I take a walk around the block in my town, people say hi! People gardening, loyal walkers and joggers, kids on bikes and roller blades, we greet each other, like we're humans, like we're neighbors, like we're anglophones! Cool!

3) I love how (some) guys open the door for me. This I hope isn't simply because I'm 19, female and have mastered the magic of eyeliner, if you catch my drift. I like how we hold the door open for people, pick up keys or toys for people when they drop them, or run after someone who's dropped their hat. It has a sense of neighborly community.

4) I love how women in the dressing room give me fashion advice. It's hilarious how so many people will offer their advice when they see you obviously deliberating your choices. "Honey, it looks real nice on you."

5) I love English radio. It's almost annoying coming back and hearing such loud American accents. It hurts your ears when you're out of practice. But then you get used to it, and it's homy feeling. For my parents, it reminds them that some things never change when 60s, 70s, and 80s stuff is still playing and makes Taylor Swift and Justin Timberlake seem like preschoolers in the life of recorded music.