Winter is coming

In the illustrious words of the Stark clan, the most hated and arguably most beautiful season is nigh upon us. Winter. Snow is has not dared fall yet upon my story book Normand town but it's coming. You can smell it. I haven't even chosen my Halloween costume (whose cleverness and social wit will be lost among most of my French compatriots because it will probably be based on American cleverness and social wit) but the air is crisp and the rain vacillates between lulling mist and harsh, spiky projectiles aiming for your head. It's not sure when will be the right time to strike, turn to slush, and commit us to cabin fever for several weeks but you can smell it calculating it's opportunities. Until then, probably 2 months from now, the weather is teasingly nice. Really nice to where you're tricked (or treated!) into wearing dresses, skirts, shorts, light jackets in the morning and then frozen solid and looking miserable by the afternoon. Until then my friends, mark the wise words of the late Sean Bean and note: Winter is coming so go to the Carrefour supermarket and grab rain boots on sail (my English is turning into Franglais - SALE) before everyone else notices!! We do not sow. (Season 3 March 2013)

Late twenties

On this day of days, September 11th 2012 I celebrate my 27th year of life and read 9/11 anniversary quotes and comments on facebook, in between liking birthday wishes on my wall. I've also noticed a disturbing pattern of friends posting birthday wishes and then immediately taking to their statuses to post photos of the twin towers with somber captions beneath. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL!!!!" "Never forget, united we stand." Both of which are independently excellent uses of social networking. Well-wishing and remembering the most recent American catastrophe to occur on the mainland. And yet another reason I'm always glad I'm living abroad in France when my birthday rolls around. Hello Normandie! Hello grey skies! Soon you'll clear up and deliver my sister and boyfriend and my boyfriend to my cozy (read: small) French apartment and all shall be well! Tomorrow I'll look up 9/11 tributes after the entirety of American media has had its chance to review events from 12 years ago while I am sleeping, but TODAY! Today, I've decided two things: 1) I'm going public with my blog. It's time. I initially started Vernon! VerYES! to contemplate and record all the exciting aspects of moving to a new country but since I stayed 2 years past my contract start date I've decided to open up to the world. Maybe the French world of blogging in Normandie is larger than it seems!! Aaaaaand most of my English speaking friends have moved home so I need more. 2)I'm officially in my late twenties. 28 year olds might tell me I have one more year to go and 24 year olds might tell me I've been a member and paying dues for 3 but I've decided for myself. It's time! If I were to die tomorrow from slipping in the ever present piles of dog poo in Rouen the newspapers would read "27 year old woman dies" and people around the world would say, "Oh she lived a good life" whereas if a 20 year old dies, people say "Life was cut short! She had yet to really live!!" It's time to grow up and really embrace life and living it. Not grow up like stop going out and being ridiculous, but really enjoying and taking advantage of everything in front of me. Finding a career I like, finding a city to live in, making some decisions that I can live with for the next 5 years at least. On that note, I WILL take advantage of the sliver of sunshine. I will get outside of my apartment and enjoy the people in my city. I will buy one of the greatest of French inventions, the macaron. And I will celebrate another year of life and all of its exciting surprises to come.

Last American Update

before heading to France! New York is dirty and teeming with life as always and Melissa and Sean are my halfway home to home. Life is good. After a particularly trying summer (in terms of family, financial resources, and distance covered) I'm ready to go back to Rouen. "Ready" here meaning I've been mentally preparing myself for the last few weeks and it's finally taken. I'm ready! (I think I can I think I can) I have protein powder! New sports bras! New shoes and inexpensive American fashion (don't wanna get confused with my students again) and reinforced friendships and relationships that will hopefully allow me to never fully feel cut off from my Home. Also there are several hopefuls interested in coming to visit this year so maybe I won't have to miss certain individuals for long. I love France and I love my life there but there's of course, so many ingrained American habits and cultural aspects I can't get enough of. Then again there's a lot of irritating parts of both countries and cultures. At the end of my 2 year contract in June 2013, I will have to make a choice. Much like the American and the French people will/have done already in their respective presidential elections this year, a choice will be made between the lesser of two evils. Sacré bleu cheese!

Consistent.

I just checked my blog dates and found that I did the exact same thing last year, where I posted in April and then was so busy the next post I eaked out was in August. Just like 2012. Consistent.

Lazy

August 2012. August??! Where has the time gone! I've been pretty busy since April 1st, my last post, finishing my first school year as an English professor (lectrice) and then preparing and departing for the United States. I spent a few days in New York with my bff Melissa and then returned to home home, the great golden state of California. It's been about 6 weeks since I got back and I have about 2 weeks to go until the end of my American summer vacation. I returned home to experience for the first time ever, Reverse Culture Shock. Reverse Culture Shock is characterized by 'fish out of water' feelings that you normally experience when you go to a country with different habits than your own, but in your own country. After spending a 2nd year abroad in France, I returned to the United State totally BLOWN AWAY by the size of things. Trucks, 4 x 4s, washing machines, refrigerators, drinking glasses, burgers, houses, beds. I also apparently lost my personal bubble while abroad (although I am painfully aware of how nonexistent personal space is in France, in the supermarket in particular) as I had to remind myself to remain more than 6 inches behind the person in front of me in whatever line, instead of my habituated instinct of 2 inches. What, you need ID?? Why did not everyone acknowledge my presence at the bbq with a kiss hello?? Am I being shunned? Why are there so many tvs in one bar?? What is the Grimm series and why is cheese so expensive??? HOLY CRAP I CAN DO TWO NORMAL LOADS IN THIS THING! I love it and even while I was completely bewildered at times I was conscious of much I missed everything about my country and my home. P-baby is also with me for the summer, having bought a ticket under the lure of probable job prospects. This turned out to be true but only for one day, the imminent day before his departure from LAX. Timing. It's everything. It's been wonderful together and allowed us to experience more of my world together, which has included some stressful family moments. So it's been good but somewhat difficult, more so due to the language barrier for him and some of my family members, but as well comforting for me to have him around during tense moments. Update.

Salon du Livre, Vernon

I would have entitled this "Actually Lost in Translation" but I'm not certain I haven't already used this phrasing for another blog post.

March 29-April 1 in Vernon, Haute Normandie there was a Salon du Livre - a fancy book fair, with authors from this year's chosen theme of Nordic countries: Finland, Sweden, Norway, (and my book) Denmark. P-baby's mom, who is involved in the organization of Vernon's salon du livre every year, asked Emily and I to participate as interpreters back in January and we graciously agreed to the task, knowing it was a kind of honor to be considered up to the job, and also believing 4 months would be plenty of time to prepare. Were we wrong? No. Were we right? ...Iiiiiiiiii'm not so sure.

The author I was assigned to was Erling Jepsen, whose first book The Art of Crying (L'art de pleurer en choeur) is an autobiographical story about his family. In the late 60's while Mr. Jepsen was a young boy of 11 years old, his family experienced a series of tumultuous events. First accepting and battling the knowledge of his father's incestuous (the father would describe it as deeply romantic) relationship with his daughter Sanne, her subsequent mental fragmentation, the death of various townfolk (including their grandmother), Sanne's institutionalization in a mental hospital, and Allan's (Erling's) coping activity of raising rabbits in the mean time. It's an incredibly well written book from the 11 year old's perspective, especially considering all the abhorrent topics discussed in its pages. An account written from an adult perspective would be so disgusting, difficult, and depressing but from a child's point of view it leaves the reader room to question, analyze, and accept these events, as he had to do. A child doesn't judge as an adult judges. So we're able to follow the storyline simultaneously through the child's eyes as well as our adult interpretation. It's a good read which has won several prizes and been made into a Danish film.

It was my job to interpret the Danish author's responses from English (at one point he forgot himself and answered in Danish!) to French for a question and answer period of about an hour. There were 3 other authors there as well, two of whom spoke French and answered for themselves, and another Finnish author for whom Emily translated.

I like speaking in front of crowds. I find I do it well, even if I do get nervous. IN ENGLISH. The idea of speaking in French, ridiculous errors and misinterpretations of questions and all, is absolutely terrifying!! And also incredibly exciting. To sum up the event, it went well. Aside from my author speaking for literally minutes on end, and then expecting me to meticulously interpret all of that into French (without a note pad, mind you) I would say I correctly interpreted about 80% of what he said. And P-baby generously estimates the audience understand about 90% of what I said. So that's good! Really, I was never aiming for 100% comprehension for the audience members because I'm a realist. 90% is A-Okay! The fact that I'm not remotely certified to act as translator for anyone but was still given this great opportunity to stretch and expand my experience is wonderful and I'm thankful I was thought of, and also that I didn't completely fuck it up. Woohoo!

Afterward I bought his book and got his signature, along with another signed book by a different author. The whole experience got me thinking. Would I want to be an interpreter? A translator? Does Hollywood need more French language interpreters for red-carpet events, à la the Oscars 2012? Not so sure. But I'm getting closer to knowing what it is that I want to do after June 2013 when I will find myself once again at a crossroads.

Meantime, I'm totally adding this to my resume.

Salaam Alikoum!

Peace be with you! I've returned safe and sound from Marrakesh and am OHSOHAPPY to be back in France. I seem to complain a lot about French machismo and daily levels of equality, because compared to California, it can be a little frustrating from time to time. And yet Marrakesh is no France. Not even close. France is the Liberté Fraternité Egalité to the T compared to Marrakesh for women. France is the hippie woman burning her bra on her college campus compared to Marrakesh. France is Hilary Clinton compared to Marrakesh! (That would make the United States RuPaul if you were keeping track)

The city itself is beautiful in a desert nomad kind of way. It's a strange combination of centuries of north African culture and (American) globalization. Long walked passageways of clay and wooden walls painted in the Moroccan colors of Islam, red and white, shadowed over by large cafe umbrellas bearing the Coca Cola brand in English and in Arabic. Paved roads that seem to be rejected by the earth itself, as if dirt and sand were always better alternatives, broken and cracked in the sun. I'm sure the camels still prefer the dirt and sand but the abundant numbers of mopeds, scooters, and motorcycles prefer the former. Like seriously, I have never felt so vulnerable to motorcyclists and scooters, not even in Rome. You get the feeling from the crisscrossing of pedestrian and motor traffic that literally anything goes. Watch out for the calèche, the horse drawn carriage because it might run you over when you're dodging bikes!! Sheer CHAOS in terms of traffic but there was also a kind of beauty, a harmony in watching all the locals just navigate through in the nanoseconds of breaks in the stream of vehicles.

ACTUAL culture shock: I thought I had a wee bit of culture shock here in France - I was wrong. If you can be utterly terrified and fascinated by something at the same time, that was me getting lost in the souks - aka the centuries old network of passageways, merchant shops, and homes aka The Labyrinthe from Hell. By the end of our 4 day, 3 night trip we almost got the hang of it... if you stayed within sight of the main square. If you delved in any deeper without a guide, you were absolutely lost for hours. Okay WE were absolutely lost for hours. The first day P-baby and I tried to master it on our own, escaping with our sanity and wallets intact, and then arrogantly reentering to take the shorter route back to the square. FOOLISH TOURISTS! We ended up latching onto some Italians who led us out. (English the universal language of out-of-towners! It tickles me to hear a Frenchman and an Italian attempting to communicate) The next day we went in with a guide and it was MUCH more enjoyable. We tipped him 10 euros (about 100 dirhams - to scale it a mint tea cost about 10 dirhams, an average dinner cost about 30-50 dirhams) and he repeated "merci, merci, merci" for about 2 minutes straight. (French is the 2nd unofficial language of Morocco) So you can live like a wealthy tourist for a few days without much trouble, which was also enjoyable.

Overall I'm very happy I went with P-baby but would also have enjoyed going with a group. I'm very pleased as well that I did not go with my sister last year, as the two of us would have been scared bunny pelts being sold in the souks.