Americanization

Just wanted to share an anecdote. As I've mentioned, I've been teaching eating vocabulary to the kids, so I made a worksheet with a bunch of different foods and dishes. First of all, most of them don't know what a burrito is. But the real story is that for the box of fries, about half of them draw a yellow "M" and color the box red if I tell them they can color the sheet.

In other news, I am packing for going home!!!!!!!!!

Conversation in the doctor's office

I went to the doctor’s office yesterday, because, yes I am sick again. But I went more because I needed a slip to stay home from work, and also to get my medical certificate to say I can run a half-marathon. Not because I'm really that sick, so no worries mom.

The old lady in the waiting room was very nice, but my conversation with her was certainly stereotypically maladroit.

“Hello young lady. Do you live around here?”
Yes, madam. I introduced myself as an English teacher, and she got my phone number so her grandkids could get private lessons, which would be a definite plus if that actually worked out.
“Did you know that along the port there are Vietnamese and Cambodian missionaries who pass the time? You might enjoy that.”
Ah. Yes quite.
“Where are your origins?”
Like always, when people ask this question (Vous êtes de quelles origines?) I know that the answer they are looking for is "Chinese", as in, "What kind of Asian are you?" But I stubbornly always answer, “I’m American actually. I come from California. I was born there." And only if they keep pressing do I admit, “My parents were from China.”
“And do you have religion dear?”
Um, no.
“Buddhist? Or not at all.”
Not at all.
“Too bad. But it’s good that you’re traveling, because it opens your eyes to different cultures.”
Yes! Totally.
But before I could enthusiastically share about my cultural experiences since moving to France she continued, “You know, people’s cultures are very important. It’s their roots. You can’t go in and cut their roots because then the tree will die.”
Well, certainly I agree, yes it’s very ethnocentric to--
“Like what you’re doing in Afghanistan. Bringing them beauty products and teaching them how to live. But they have their own culture that should be appreciated. What’s going on now is no better than what happened in Africa.”
I managed to get out that I completely agreed, before the doctor called her into the office.

So here is where I got to feel the responsibility of being American!

Ode to my hat

My hat was probably sitting at that booth at Tollwood, Munich's "alternative" (read: hippie) Christmas market, all December. Probably overlooked for the admittedly quite cute two-person mittens (for holding hands). Then I came along, and knew we were meant for each other. I put it on, and hey! suddenly my head was warm. And it has ear flaps, so my ears snuggled in its fleece-y wool goodness as well. C picked up its twin. All throughout Germany and Prague, we wore our matching hats together, and I don't doubt they saved our lives plenty of times. After all 90% of your body heat escapes through your head (I mean that might not be true but it's one of those good principles to live by). It served as an eye mask too; when I wanted to go to sleep early at the hostel, I would pull it all the way down to my nose.

In Toulon it's not freezing cold anymore, but I still wear it to wait for the bus, since it gets very chilly when you're not moving around. Plus it doubles as a non-religious hijab--I look unquestionably unattractive enough in my hat such that I can walk around without fear of attention from drageurs (except when they decide they want to make fun of me, or maybe I am still getting looks for being Asian).

Now I am using it to teach prepositions to my kids! The hat is over the water bottle. The water bottle is in the hat.

Yay hat!

Birthday party

Today I went to one of my roommate Y's 29th birthday party. This is the less weird roommate, because there's another one that's actually insane (we're not counting my friend C or the third guy who I never see).

Last week Y let us know he was having a party with his friends at the local university, and invited us, which I thought was nice because it would be cool to meet other young people here. He seemed really concerned that we would be able to make it, making sure to schedule it when we didn't have work.

Y: "And maybe I should get your phone numbers."
Me: "Yeah okay, makes sense."
Then he disappeared, presumably to get his phone, but never came back to the kitchen.

He sent us an email though, re-stating that he would have a birthday party the next week, asking us when would be best. Finally the day was decided, January 19th, and it would be at 3:30pm at the University at La Garde. But we're not students at the university, so yesterday I had to email him to ask for directions, or his number to call once we got to La Garde.

But before he read the email, he knocked on my door, saying, "You're coming tomorrow right? You and C? You didn't give me your phone number yet."

Right. So here you go, my number. Me: "But can you send me the directions? Because I don't know the campus at all."

"Ah just take 191 to the end of the line, and the University is right there. It's best if you come together."

Umm I've been to the bus stop before. There is a shopping complex there, and a parking lot. Never noticed any school campus. "Uhh okay so we'll just call you then when we get to the stop? Because I won't know what building it's in, or what room." And I assumed he wanted us to come together so he wouldn't have to come out and get us more than once.

Y: "Sure. And C's number?"
Me: "Uh yeah she's coming with me."
"But can you give me her number?"
"Oh I don't know it by heart."
"You can look it up though right?"
"Mmm yes you're right so I'll just send it to you?"
"Why can't you look it up right now?"
"That's true. Maybe it would be better if...um yeah okay here."

C mentioned to me earlier that he had asked for her number but never got it, so I assumed it would be okay to pass it on. I think I came across as not understanding the French though, because at one point he tried to switch to English (which was incomprehensible).

Today I got another email with the same bus directions, and "it's in the study room of the residence." And a text: "Hello this afternoon at 3pm study room of the university residence take the bus 191A to the end of the line." So the time of the party had been moved half an hour earlier.

At 3:11pm, while we were on the bus I got a call: "Hello it's me Y. So are you coming or not?"
I had to explain we were running late, but would call him once we arrived at the bus stop.

At the bus stop:
"Hello we're here."
"At the terminus? Of 191a?"
"Yeah."
"Okay walk to the residence of the university."
WHAT UNIVERSITY WHERE? "We are not students here. We don't know where the campus is, or where the building is."
"The school is right there, right next to you. Just ask anyone where the residence is."
...

I mean I do speak a little French, so eventually we asked around and found the building with windows on a hill (that was the description we got). And we went to the party.

The party was awkward whatever. But then Y kept asking, "So what is the American dance?"
"Umm there is no one dance that is American. We have a lot of cultures, there are a lot of different dances."
"Can you do a dance for us, an American dance?"

There was a lot of haggling, trying to explain there is no American national dance, and trying to figure out why he wanted us to perform, but it boiled down to:
"Can we decline?"
"No. I want the Americans to do a dance for us. Talk amongst yourselves and figure out what you'll do."

Dance, monkey.

So we taught them the Chicken Dance. At least we made them do it with us. We were going to try to break dance, but we don't actually know how so I think this was a better plan.

Then we left. "Uh I still have to go grocery shopping and we need to catch the bus because we don't have a car okay bye happy birthday!"

The Ordinary

I've gotten a request to write more about day-to-day stuff, so here I'll try to give the "ordinary" the attention it deserves.

I think most of what goes on in my life are things that can happen anywhere: I unsuccessfully tried to back up all my emails, I'm hungry but too lazy to cook, I spend a lot of time in my head thinking and indulging in my weakness for nostalgia. But then again there are plenty of Only In France moments, except they happen every day and I've forgotten to notice them. I'll have to start bringing my camera with me so I can take pictures of bus stops and cross-walks, maybe even my classrooms, because they're different enough from at home that it might be worth sharing.

Today, I decided to go for a walk. The weather has turned beautiful but I've been stuck inside for the past three days with something like the flu, and I've been going a little stir-crazy. During my confinement I watched the 1985 Anne of Green Gables, which re-awoke the 11-year-old Alice, with all of her propensity to imagine herself in elaborate romantic adventures, just like Anne. I braided my hair and told myself I was going to take a walk along the seaside and daydream.

It was a good way to face the difference between twenty-two and eleven. There are more profound differences, of course, but the 11-year-old Alice could have spent a lot of time imagining vine-covered pink plaster alleyways, ceramic tile gazeboes sitting atop cliffs, overlooking Mediterranean waves crashing onto jutting rocks and smooth pebbles. The 22-year-old didn't have to imagine it, because it was all there. I just sat for an hour, listening to the waves, sort of thinking about plans but also thinking about nothing.