(171): Orientation

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It's nice to write entries with just one number in the title. More faithful to the movie on which the premise of this blog is based, at the very least. Since this is 4 weeks in one spot, the photos will come later. I will link you to the album whenever I update it.

(171) is Saturday, 26 June 2010.

I spent today acquiring a basic familiarity with my life in Juan-les-Pins [link to map] for the next four weeks. And it really is that simple. I chose the ironic title ("Andy, you're so silly; orientation happens at the BEGINNING of going abroad!") because I'm about to tell you everything you need to know about this place and how one spends time there.

I'm staying in Juan-les-Pins, a smaller... almost neighborhood of larger town Antibes. Both are right on the Mediterranean, on the "Cote d'Azur"* or proverbial "French Riviera." Every year, it is home to an internationally renowned jazz festival called Jazz à Juan. This year is their 50th. Oh, yes.

Antibes, meanwhile, is an older, more traditional town inside fortress walls from a few centuries back. Picasso came here shortly after WWII and had a renewed optimism, evident in his work depicting smiling (you can even tell they're smiling!) mythical creatures frolicking on the beach. Much of this work is on display at the Picasso Museum for which Antibes has become famous. Antibes and Juan-les-Pins are both small (easily walkable) and adjacent, so half the time I think of them as being the same town linked by one square. And both towns are fairly well-to-do.

My classes are at a French school for teaching French as a foreign language. It is called the "Centre International d'Antibes," or CIA. This is not to be confused, however, with CEA, the American program with which I registered. CEA is roughly analogous with the Vassar/Wesleyan Paris Program in terms of function. I signed up through them by filling out forms and such and paying them. They, in turn, take care of my housing with a new host family (stay tuned), signing me up for classes at CIA, and organizing fun little excursions to nearby towns, lunch in the program office, and other cool stuff that we don't have to plan ourselves. That reminds me of the differences between old and new program, however: nowadays, that "we" is exactly 6, not the 40-some-odd on the VWPP. Also, I take no classes with CEA itself, as I did through VWPP at Reid Hall.

So, to help you understand that I'm not spending four weeks solid with five other students and Kristin, the wonderfully kind and helpful CEA on-site staff member, I need to explain the housing situation. I am staying with a new host family. They aren't like my host family in Paris (because, honestly, who could be?), but they are still vey nice and straightforward about little things (as opposed to making a passive-aggressive saga of my sojourn). This couple has a certain professionalism about it, unlike in Paris (ironic?). I think it's because, now that they've retired from owning a restaurant and their kids have moved to other parts of town and out of their multiple-bedroom house, this is their livelihood. Also, a lot of people come and go. My roommate (Tiziano, an easygoing guy from the Italian sector of Switzerland) and I are the only two people out of a maximum of six who have stayed the whole time I've been here so far. But all of the people living there take French language classes at CIA.

Everyone taking classes at CIA seems to be on that come-and-go basis. I speak also of those living at Castel Arabel, the residence hall 5 minutes from my house. It's basically a hostel run by CIA; lots of international students cooking in the kitchen, sitting by the pool, or sitting at the bar watching the World Cup. It's where everybody hangs out, so I occasionally do so as well.

Classes themselves... Every day, from 9-12:20, I have language classes. A few written, listening, and grammar exercises mixed in, but mostly discussion. We take a placement test on our first day, so we all take classes with people on roughly the same level. My level is B2, on a scale of A0, A1, A2, B1, B2, and C1 (with some other class levels mixed in at the lower levels for a more tailored fit: like A1.2). And they haven't offered C1 since I've been here. It's possible to move up or down based on your teacher's assessment during the week. People take classes for varying amounts of time (usually, though not necessarily, increments of two weeks).

It's also worth noting that CIA is not a typical university program by age; people of all demographics show up. For example, my class includes a 42-year-old Danish guy with a family and a Swedish kid who's 17.

It's also worth noting that Claudine, my teacher, is very attractive.

Since my afternoons are free, I usually just hang out in a variety of places. There's the beach, Castel, the air-conditioned local library, wandering around town, or the group activities through CEA.

And the analysis part... So far, I would say this program is better for immersion, since I've met several people who really want to speak French outside of class, but not as good socially, since I don't always see the other CEA kids and I haven't made really close friends with many other people.

I have been writing, however, and not just in this blog. I can see how Picasso found a second wind here.

And it's incredibly hot and humid here. And air conditioning is not easy to come by.

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In Europe, only the goalie can write footnotes with his hands, so these here are called "American Footnotes."

* That's French for the "Azure Coast," named straightforwardly enough for the water's pastel shade of blue.

(3-4): The Family

January 9, 2010 (Saturday) and January 10, 2010 (Sunday)

Previously on '(215) Days of Europe'...

...Andy went to France!

...He met cool Vassar-Wesleyan Paris Program kids!

...He stayed at a hostel for two days!

...Foreman got the cop's illness, and then the cop died! (Wait... sorry, wrong series)

...Andy got in a taxi leaving the hostel...

...

It is at this point in our story we take a break from the Vassar-Wesleyan scene to find Andy in a small, but still bustling, town just to the southwest of Paris called Boulogne-Billancourt. It's time to meet the family.

My host family is, in a word, wonderful. Mother, father, two boys, and a cat named Boo.

The boys are both adorable. They were a little under the weather on Saturday, but have been doing better since. The younger is 9 and plays piano* and rugby (playing for a team at probably the most esteemed rugby school in France). The older is 11, already in love with Marilyn Monroe, and plays golf. Both of them are learning English in school, and while I'm getting a better ear for it, they still speak French just a little too fast and not quite clearly enough for me to understand them all the time.

The father is a swim coach in Paris and knows a good deal about film; we've already had a good number of warm conversations about our favorites. Very personable, always smiles, and dresses very French. The mother has a good amount of English (which is quite useful at night, when my daily rations for speaking French correctly have been exhausted). She's an interior designer and always wants me to speak up if I need something, if I haven't eaten enough, etc.**

And Boo is an all-star. His meows always have great comic timing.

My room is also pretty great... I have a good-sized bed, a solid (as opposed to liquid or gaseous?) radiator that keeps the room pretty warm, a kitchenette where I hope to apply cooking lessons that I plan on taking later in the semester, and my own bathroom and (small) shower. There's also reliable wifi (remember, that's "wee-fee") here, and I have my own exit outside. I'm also about two blocks away from the metro. It's great: immeasurably better than what I had been expecting.

So, I spent Saturday getting settled and taking a walk around the town briefly with my host father and the older brother. There's a decent-sized mall with some pretty nice stores, a movie theatre, and more. There's a decent amount of money here, and the town is, like I said, just on the edge of the nation's capital.

I've moved from Bethesda, MD to Bethesda, France.

Anyway, that was Saturday. On Sunday, I slept in, put away my clothes, and my host mother, the younger brother, and I went to an exhibit*** about Brigitte Bardot, France's answer to Marilyn Monroe. She was a (very attractive) movie star who got her start in the French New Wave film Et Dieu... crea la femme (And God... Created Woman). We also went to a party for the younger brother's rugby team. It was a Gallette du Roi, a French new years' tradition where a special kind of cake (buttery, with a twist of lemon flavor, I want to say...?) is made and there's a little plastic toy baked into the cake somewhere. If your slice has it, you get to be king ("roi" in French, which rhymes with "moi") and wear a crown. I had heard about something similar in the U.S. as a Mardi Gras tradition, but maybe I'm wrong. Somebody can earn bonus points by researching and getting back to me.

After these events, the older brother, host mother, and I went for a drive around Paris to see all of the Christmas lights on many of the grand Avenues in Paris... Champs-Elysees, Opera, and more. There were some very neat lighting schemes, and it was fun to see the city by night. Also, these displays would be taken down the next day, so it was a unique opportunity.

There's also this thing going on in the first week I've been here-- makes for an interesting cultural note-- and those are sales ("soldes") in stores. Seems pretty mundane for the U.S., but then I take a closer look at the title of this blog and I remember that that is not, alas, where I am. In France, there are two week-long periods each year specified by the government when stores can have sales, which they can't do any other time. It's a trick to jump-start/regulate the economy, and as a loophole, there are "promotions" right afterward if the "soldes" don't quite achieve the expected results.

The family is also really good at helping me learn French (I heard that has something to do with why I'm here)... they often stop and ask if I know what a particular term means (I rarely do), they speak clearly, and they think that I "express myself perfectly" in French. We're off to a very good start.

So: two days with VWPP, two days with the family. Next time, a case of 'both sides now.'

-Andy

* I'll occasionally hear Scott Joplin's "The Entertainer" followed by "La Marseillaise," the French national anthem.

**And she's Jewish.

***Here's a fun translation pitfall. A museum exhibition, in French, is an "exposition," not an "exhibition." The difference is whether you're showing off art to the public, or something else that the police will arrest you for not keeping to yourself.