c'est difficile de devenir parisienne
Today, I woke up in plenty of time to eat breakfast, take the metro to the 5th (the neighborhood where most of my classes are), walk around, find a stationer's and buy a notebook, get some lunch, and make my way to rue de l'Estrapade in time for class. I pulled all this off while walking around with a cute top and skirt and espradilles on, generally feeling accomplished and even a bit Parisian.
Then, two things happened within 15 minutes of each other: My water bottle leaked, and class started.
Thankfully, I caught the leak early enough that the only real damage was to two documents: my Paris map and my photocopy of my passport, both of which are replaceable. On the other hand, frantically digging everything out, then trying to find the bathroom in a new building, right before not only a new class but one in a new culture where they are rather strict about attendance, was not what I would call fun. (Note: finding the bathroom was rather useless anyway, as the French prefer roller towels to paper towels or hand dryers, and it is a little difficult to clean out a bag with a roller towel.)
As to class: I somehow managed to impress them with my command of the subjunctive, or something, and placed into Advanced, which is level 3 out of 4. This is a bit of a coup. But it also means I'm among the least fluent in my class. I shall survive, though. With improved French. Which is kind of the whole point.
This brings up something else: I've realized that while my French is sufficient to buy groceries, and even have a bit of a conversation, the language still only comes so naturally for me. Anything complex I want to say, I tend to plan out in advance. I have little sense of how to bend and modulate the language as I do English, to make it say not just the nouns and verbs I mean, but the real sense of a thought. I don't have much feel for what the language can do when I know it well - I'm still trying to get the vocabulary down.
In short: My French is not good enough to make a joke in. (Though it may be bad enough to make a joke of.)
So, that's goal one for this trip: be able to make a joke in French.
Back to classes: I've got class from 12:30 to 2:30 every day. For the first three weeks, I also have a language lab from 11 to 12 (note that as I have a metro ride between classes, this does not leave enough time for lunch.) And for the first four, I'm taking a seminar on the architecture and history of Paris, which meets for two and a half hours twice a week. The first two are obligatory; the last is not. And since I can't even get credit for the seminar, today it felt a little ridiculous to be sitting in a classroom listening to a lecture in French for 150 minutes. (I never have lectures that long in my native language, let alone French.) But I have forced myself to quiet all doubts, since after the first two lectures, the rest of the class consists in field trips to cool places and learning about, not surprisingly, their architecture and history. I'll deal with a few overlong lectures for that.
My second class didn't get out until 6 pm. After wandering around by the rue Mouffetard for a little while, I took the metro home.
And then I spent half an hour trying to find a baguette to have with dinner.
"Oh, Sarah," you say. "You're in Paris. Are you really so incompetent as to not be able to find a baguette there? Don't people practically wave them at you from the corners?"
Admittedly, in most parts of Paris, this would be true, except the waving-from-the-corners bit. (They tuck them at the back of the boulangeries.) But I live in what's more or less the Parisian equivalent of midtown Manhattan. For blocks around, there are shops and cafés and brasseries, but simple bakeries are not to be found within a five-block radius. I ended up buying one from a market that was taking place several blocks away.
So, goal two for my stay in Paris: find a reliable nearby bakery.
Then, two things happened within 15 minutes of each other: My water bottle leaked, and class started.
Thankfully, I caught the leak early enough that the only real damage was to two documents: my Paris map and my photocopy of my passport, both of which are replaceable. On the other hand, frantically digging everything out, then trying to find the bathroom in a new building, right before not only a new class but one in a new culture where they are rather strict about attendance, was not what I would call fun. (Note: finding the bathroom was rather useless anyway, as the French prefer roller towels to paper towels or hand dryers, and it is a little difficult to clean out a bag with a roller towel.)
As to class: I somehow managed to impress them with my command of the subjunctive, or something, and placed into Advanced, which is level 3 out of 4. This is a bit of a coup. But it also means I'm among the least fluent in my class. I shall survive, though. With improved French. Which is kind of the whole point.
This brings up something else: I've realized that while my French is sufficient to buy groceries, and even have a bit of a conversation, the language still only comes so naturally for me. Anything complex I want to say, I tend to plan out in advance. I have little sense of how to bend and modulate the language as I do English, to make it say not just the nouns and verbs I mean, but the real sense of a thought. I don't have much feel for what the language can do when I know it well - I'm still trying to get the vocabulary down.
In short: My French is not good enough to make a joke in. (Though it may be bad enough to make a joke of.)
So, that's goal one for this trip: be able to make a joke in French.
Back to classes: I've got class from 12:30 to 2:30 every day. For the first three weeks, I also have a language lab from 11 to 12 (note that as I have a metro ride between classes, this does not leave enough time for lunch.) And for the first four, I'm taking a seminar on the architecture and history of Paris, which meets for two and a half hours twice a week. The first two are obligatory; the last is not. And since I can't even get credit for the seminar, today it felt a little ridiculous to be sitting in a classroom listening to a lecture in French for 150 minutes. (I never have lectures that long in my native language, let alone French.) But I have forced myself to quiet all doubts, since after the first two lectures, the rest of the class consists in field trips to cool places and learning about, not surprisingly, their architecture and history. I'll deal with a few overlong lectures for that.
My second class didn't get out until 6 pm. After wandering around by the rue Mouffetard for a little while, I took the metro home.
And then I spent half an hour trying to find a baguette to have with dinner.
"Oh, Sarah," you say. "You're in Paris. Are you really so incompetent as to not be able to find a baguette there? Don't people practically wave them at you from the corners?"
Admittedly, in most parts of Paris, this would be true, except the waving-from-the-corners bit. (They tuck them at the back of the boulangeries.) But I live in what's more or less the Parisian equivalent of midtown Manhattan. For blocks around, there are shops and cafés and brasseries, but simple bakeries are not to be found within a five-block radius. I ended up buying one from a market that was taking place several blocks away.
So, goal two for my stay in Paris: find a reliable nearby bakery.