Recently in Paris Category

Ever since our first trip to Paris when Geoff ordered some shoes with mustard (chaussures avec moutard instead of saucisson avec moutard) from a street vendor, I knew that learning French was more than just being armed with the words. Unfortunately, you also need to pronounce them correctly.One might think that a year of grammar school French, four years of high school French, three adult education classes in the U.S. and four months of classes in Paris would render me fluent in French. If my admission of all this education for dubious results is met with astonishment, then I quickly blame the American school system which teaches children languages much too late. This usually gets me points by not only being self-deprecating, but also by criticizing social structure which is one of the French's favorite pastimes.One thing I have learned in all my classes is that proper pronunciation in French depends largely on the vowel sounds. For example, it's been a long-running joke in almost every French class I've taken that when students mean to be saying something about someone's beautiful long hair cheveux they actually wind up talking about her beautiful long horse chevaux.Just recently, I had one of...

In French, the word "bureaucratie" means both "bureaucracy" and "red tape" - the different meaning comes through by the length of your sigh after the word. Anyone deciding to come to France for any length of time will soon learn that like all stereotypes about any country's government procedures and employees, this one would also prove true.In August, Geoff and I had made our decision to come to France the following month. Of course, when we looked into it, we learned that if you wanted to stay in France for longer than three months, you need a visa. Sounded quick and easy enough really, but four trips to the French Consulate later, we had our doubts on both points.On our first visit to the French Consulate in Boston we picked up a sheet of paper that listed all the requirements for getting a visa, including four copies of an official statement of good conduct from our local police department, a letter of intent on why we wanted to go to France, our travel itineraries, multiple photos, and bank statements to prove we would not turn out to be a drain on the already strained French social system. And it all...

When I first arrived in Paris, I decided I wanted to get a job. Although I have my internet work, it's nice to have some actual human contact. Since I had read that English teachers were in high demand, and since I not only speak English, but also studied it, I figured that was perfect.I asked around about how to find these types of positions, and a few people mentioned FUSAC, a classifieds advertising magazine for English speakers. Lo and behold, there were tons of positions for native English speakers to teach at professional, business and conversation language schools. I applied to most of them. Being the naïve American, I decided to ignore the fact that the majority of them required 'working papers'. I mean, how hard can those be to get?Sure enough, I wound up with plenty of responses to my queries, but all ended the same way -- nothing happens without working papers. So I looked into getting this French requirement - la carte de séjour. But once I discovered that it can often take over a year for an individual to get one, it didn't seem worth the effort since we might not stay in Paris that...

Christmas in Paris is not what I had imagined. I had dreamt of a New York Christmas, only more charming and romantic. In reality, Christmas in Paris means a few random lights scattered on trees which seem to have been dropped from passing air traffic. Here and there, I did spot a mangy Christmas tree, but in New York, we call those branches. The lack of the Christmas spirit I knew and loved left me even hungrier for some New York style, and I was thrilled that we had planned our trip back on December 18. A New York Christmas doesn't disappoint. In fact, the holidays began on our plane ride back with a A Christmas Story marathon and some classic Christmas songs.Meanwhile, everyone knows that the French are notorious for their strikes. I had learned quickly that Parisians have a love-hate relationship with strikes. It's considered a basic human right. And yet every time there is a strike, everyone complains about it - another basic human right. As a monthly occurrence, it often prompted much French discussion in our classes. I always voiced that we Americans had strikes too, but not the kind that make it impossible for people...

When the fires started burning in Paris, Geoff and I were in Tunisia. I had caught bits and decided to put on the news. BBC World News rewarded me with a brief headline story which showed burning cars, riots and mentioned Paris. It was over so quickly that I had no idea what exactly had happened or why but I got the idea - Paris on fire. I'm not sure if the media is just stupid or evil. Unfortunately for us all, I think a bit of both. It has become increasingly obvious to me that 99% of the media is interested in one thing - sensationalism.Personally, I am starting to believe that there are two components necessary to understand a situation adequately - communication and analysis. Without communication, one could never feel the agony of an Iraqi family whose loved ones are killed by a U.S. bomb attack. Without communication, we could never hope to unravel the stereotypes that Muslims and Americans have about each other, or even that many Americans have about the French.When I talk to people, I am often surprised at what I learn. I was stunned by the reaction of Muslims in Tunisia when I...

Originally, Geoff and I had arranged for both our classes to be at 4 pm so that we could come and go together, even if we weren't actually in the same class. At L'Alliance Française, a new session began every month. So even though you might continue at the same time with the same teacher, technically it was a new class. Unfortunately this became clearer to me on the first day of my October class, when I learned that mine had been cancelled. Not enough of the students had renewed for that time slot. So the three of us who had registered were led down to the office to come up with a solution. After going through the options and deliberating, we all unfortunately ended up in different classes. The Japanese student Kiyoko took the 10:45 class, the girl from Mexico took the last slot at 1 pm, and I registered for the 6 pm. After entertaining myself with French audio in the media library, I met Geoff outside after his class. Talking it over with him, I realized the 6 pm class was a poor choice since we often wanted to have dinner or spend time together after work...

There are many stereotypes of the French, one of which is that they are constantly going on strike. For this reason, I was quite excited to witness the national strike day scheduled for October 4. I had expected traffic, transportation and services of all kinds to come to a screeching halt. It wasn't just because of France's infamy that I thought this, it was also because of the local anticipation and preparation for this upcoming strike. Sylvia had warned us about it weeks earlier and advised us to wear sneakers that day instead of relying on public transportation. Our housekeeper Andrea had switched her cleaning day from Tuesday to Monday so she would avoid travelling during the strike. And L'Alliance Francaise had signs posted that classes may or may not occur that day, presumably depending equally on transportation issues and the political persuasation of the teacher.Geoff and I had taken to watching the news at 8 pm each night to practice hearing French. Our comprehension wasn't too good; it was lucky they had pictures. The night before, I watched in anticipation of the strike to see what would be said (or shown). They posted some statistics of the RER and...

I had decided to cook dinner, so I picked up a few things at the supermarket - turkey breasts (intentionally this time), brussel sprouts (Geoff's favorite), some bread, and other necessities. Geoff had cooked every meal at the apartment since we had arrived, so I thought after his hellish weekend with BuyIndies, it would be nice if I cooked. Some people had become intimidated to cook for Geoff since he went to cooking school, but not me. This was because I knew he loved almost anything homemade that he didn't have to make. At a restaurant, he's discriminating. At someone's home, he's the favorite guest.Of course, I did have to call Geoff and ask for his advice on what to do with the brussel sprouts. I just wasn't sure if I had to boil them before baking or if I could just bake. But he said boil first. So I filled up a pot of water and turned one of the knobs on the stove. It clicked a few times but didn't light. So I tried another, but the same thing. All three gas burners did the same thing. I had seen Geoff handle this before by turning it on...

I had a pounding headache; my brain felt like it might explode from trying to learn French. Usually after three weeks of being in another country, Geoff and I would head home where we could order coffee in English, understand cashiers at convenience stores and successfully listen in on other people's conversations. Of course, the fact that we still had nearly three months left in Paris thrilled us. Unfortunately, my aching head didn't agree. It was fatigued from constantly thinking through every sentence.Then again, my headache could have been related to the fact that BuyIndies.com had ceased to take orders. For months our credit card processor software company had threatened to change servers but they never gave us an exact date. I had asked them to give me two weeks notice. Instead they gave us less than 24 hours. So Geoff had worked furiously all night, in an effort to get it working again. And it was awful to be in Paris and stuck on the computer.The next morning, we decided to take a break for something to eat. I picked a place outside our immediate neighborhood for a change of scenery. It was a gorgeous, clear and crisp day...

The day before, someone had buzzed our apartment from downstairs. Since this didn't happen often (or ever actually), it caught me off guard. Geoff was at work, so I tentatively picked up the intercom phone and mumbled a cross between "allo" and "hello." At that point, the woman on the other end began babbling in French and all I caught was something about a kitchen and bathroom. So I said, "je ne comprends pas." She asked if I spoke English and I said yes. Then she babbled in English and was equally incomprehensible. She kept saying "it's very important," but that was all I got. Figuring she must be trying to sell something, I simply hung up the phone and went back to my computer. At this point, she somehow had managed to get buzzed into the building and rang my doorbell which I ignored for several minutes. I figured that eventually she'd give up and go away. Considering I couldn't understand her at all, that really seemed for the best. Several minutes of ringing was followed by a brief silence. But within seconds, she returned to buzzing the downstairs intercom. So instead of my polite Franglish 'hallo' I now...