day #130 - war is over (if you want it)

Safe to say, it's been a weird week.

I don't know if you've been watching the news lately, but a lot of really crappy things happened in Paris over the past week. I thought I might address that bit first, because it is a heck of a lot worse than anything that might have happened to me lately.

a je suis charlie sign at the bus stop

Basically, to everyone who wished me to 'stay safe' or 'look after yourself!' - your fears are unfounded; the attacks happened in Paris, which is a safe 84 miles away from where I am right now according to Google Maps (it's probably more, since the kosher supermarket which was held under siege was in the East) (feel free to correct me, any pernickety rouennais who may be reading this).
Rather than reciprocal violence, the attacks in Paris seem to have been followed by an outpouring of grief - the newspapers are calling it the French 9/11, my university announced a minute's silence throughout the campus, and every single bus stop and shop window is showing the now-famous Je suis Charlie sign. There have been a few vigils and marches to show support of Charlie Hebdo, although I haven't been able to make it thanks to a really, really inconveniently-timed bus strike.
Safe to say, rather than feeling threatened, the French have really risen up in support of the victims and their families. Whatever you think you know, whatever you have to say about the events of the past week, this country is still in shock and trying to find whatever way they can to claw back some feeling of control and normalcy - whether it's through holding a pen to the sky in solidarity, or buying the last copy of Charlie Hebdo on the shelf.
(Sidenote: I have to say that I've been incredibly irritated by a lot of the self-righteous Facebook statuses and tweets talking about the magazine being racist, bigoted and islamophobic - my thoughts on the subject are fairly neatly summed up in this Huffington Post article.)

the je suis charlie sign displayed in the corner of the tv screen

In other far, far less important news, I have just finished my exams. These were the end-of-term exams for semester one, and I had five - I took one of my exams in December. The first thing I did, naturally, was head straight to the pub to celebrate. I now get a four-day weekend before I have to start the whole rigmarole again and sign up to all my semester two classes and start learning again.
The bus strike was a real pain in the arse (when isn't it?) and was handily scheduled to be spread across 5 days of the examination period, but I made it through - after having to take a couple of disgustingly early trains to replace cancelled buses.

I'm now officially and academically halfway through my year abroad and I have to say, I'm feeling pretty comfortable and optimistic. Now that the January exams are out of the way, I have a month or so until my Next Big Thing - my 21st birthday. I don't know what will happen until then - probably the trips to the pub, teas in cafés and the parties in tiny town-centre flats that I don't bother to blog about - but I know that I am armed with my student loan and a list of places to go and people to see. May the rest of 2015 be better.

Josie
x

Day #38 - Losing my English, hypermarchés, and my first grève

First off, let me start by briefly mentioning that lots of people have told me, over the past week, that they have read this blog. My first reaction has always been, "AHAHAH WHY," but the second one is usually, "Well done you, on your excellent taste," and then we all move on. (But seriously, thanks for reading my yaer abroad blob, means a lot)

I've got a couple of things to talk about today so I've been pretentious and separated my blog into sections. Here we go.

My First Grève

Un grève is a strike. It is also, apparently, a way of life for an entire nation of people.
I live in a small town of about 5,000 inhabitants, roughly 30 minutes' bus ride from the city centre and my university campus. It sits directly on a major bus route. I have a bus pass which allows me unlimited travel. This is great. Apart from when the bus drivers decide to go on strike.
After spending half an hour in the cold October air (ha, cold, it's 15°), me and my housemates decided that it would be much more productive to just... well, just go back to bed. 
I actually just sent my tutor an email explaining why I couldn't come in, and I got to spend a day catching up on my translation homework and watching La princesse de Montpensier, but I also couldn't go out for drinks with my friends and I am sure that the novelty will wear off soon.
However, it did mean that all my housemates were trapped in the house with me. Me and Francois had a lovely afternoon arguing over translations and I had a beer at 2pm. Killer.

jeanne d'arc having a nervy b after she missed her bus

French Hypermarchés Are Just As Overwhelming As I Remember

If you are unaware of French hypermarkets (or hypermarchés), then you really need to get them in your life. Why? Imagine your nearest biggest supermarket and then multiply it by about 30. Or imagine a warehouse crammed with literally anything you could imagine, and add more wine. Or just nip to your local Carrefour (I think there's one in Calais).
Hypermarchés are usually enormous and take about a day to get around properly. They frequently have entire aisles devoted to specific types of yoghurt. After spending 2 years shopping almost exclusively in the Tesco Metro on Nicolson Street (and, failing that, the tiddly Scotmid in Marchmont), these huge French supermarkets have turned me into a giddy, screeching child. The one that I visited this weekend had a fake market in the middle of the shop, complete with a sushi stall and water features. There was even one of those tanks with the live lobsters and crabs. French people are insane (in the best possible way, lots of love, please let me continue to live in your country xoxo)

They actually pipe in the sound of birdsong in the 'market' section of the shop, so that the French consumers don't feel guilty about abandoning their traditional outdoor markets in favour of a more international-feeling food clinic. And that's OK. It just makes the whole experience feel a little more Disneyland than your average trip to Morrisons, and that is fine by me.

In case you're interested, I bought some wine glasses, some pain au chocolat, and a plant. Oh, and a candle that smells like raspberries.

making some wine at the french hypermarché

How to Deal With Losing Your English

That's right. You've been living in your new country for about five weeks, and you're having a comfortable conversation in your native language. You reckon you've just about wrapped your head around using your new language every single day for the most menial of tasks – small talk with your housemates, telling the cashier you want to pay by card, asking the girl at the till if they have it in another size – and it's going pretty well. You're gonna be bilingual, you think. It's going to be amazing.

And then it happens. You forget the English word for 'saucepan'. Or 'pumpkin'. Or 'lace' or 'drumkit' or 'necklace'.

You've started to forget your own language, you absolute idiot.

This has started happening to me. I mean, I never had the best grasp of spoken English anyway – my stint on the student radio is testament to that (“My talk has gotten not very good,” during exam season being a particular high point). But since when do you forget words?

I forgot the word 'Sweden' the other day. I called it 'Swerst'. What is Swerst? It sounds like goat's cheese. It definitely isn't the most populated country in Scandinavia.

The other day in translation class, the teacher asked me to provide a synonym for 'common', and I blanked.

“Are there any?” I asked.

She stared at me incredulously for a little while, and said, very slowly,“Ordinary.”

Outwardly, obviously, I was super calm and collected – mainly because the class was full of French kids who now probably think that the world 'ordinary' is weird and nobody uses it. However, my inner monologue was the opening to Simon & Garfunkel's 'The Sound of Silence'.

There isn't really a cure for this, as far as I can tell. The problem is, the more English I speak, the more confused I'm going to get when I speak French again, and vice versa. I suppose I will have to get used to occasionally forgetting the odd word and making a fool out of myself.

I just ask that, if you see me, please don't be surprised when I forget the word for 'hello'.

Josie

x

P.S. Mum, finally found somewhere that sells hoisin sauce. It's great.