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| Thanks Sharpie! |
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| Paté in the post. Classic! |
This one isn't up to standard. It's really quite boring. If in doubt, skip straight to the language blunder.
This blog has gained a new purpose. Aside from me being able to gloat about what a great time I'm having, it’s now my
main method of killing the copious amounts of contact hours I seemed to have
regained over the last two days due to two totally unrelated and classically
French impediments to actually gaining any sort of university education. Yesterday, I couldn’t get into my lectures
due to unruly students blockading the entrance to my faculty. Yep you guessed
it, campaigning against the government. And then today we had a no show from our
teacher, which meant that a seminar of over 70 students was left in the lurch
causing havoc in a tiny corridor for 45 minutes before we all came to our
senses and left. The only education I’ve had today is learning about
circumcision in French for almost two hours (don’t even ask) as part of a
history course, so YAY for today.
Quick word on the last trip I went on with
the Erasmus group: Ile de Frioul. A great little island just off the coast of
Marseille, which provides visitors with a distanced (and for that reason much
more pleasant) view of the city. It was great, a bit deserted but dramatic
scenery and off the beaten track. I sat under my umbrella like a good little
Grandma all day, reading Harry Potter in French with a baguette in hand. And
the best part was we had a visit from Nicole (a friend from Bath)! On Sunday I
showed her around the city and we even found a lovely local concert in the
cathedral to sit in on.
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| Chateau d'f |
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| Ile de Frîoul |
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| Sarah and Georgina |
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| Nicole visits Aix! |
Going back through Marseille to get to the
island was certainly an interesting experience. All the pickpocketing children
I mentioned in a previous entry? All stationed at exactly the same places on
the way up to the train station in the same clothes and everything. But aside
from that we actually witnessed a couple of crimes of which one was comical but
the other was just downright heartless. The first; a guy parked up on a
motorbike, locked it up and walked away. A few moments later another bloke
turns up. Not knowing how to address the situation of a lock on the motorbike,
he decided to steal both of the wheels on the vehicle. I shouldn’t have found
that funny but I did. The other thing we saw genuinely made me want to cry. I
was waiting by the tills for my friends to pay in the main Monoprix in
Marseille, when a little old lady came running up to me asking where her dog was.
I’d been there for a while and hadn’t seen a dog and explained this to her. She
burst in to tears; turns out someone had stolen her dog after she tied it up
behind the tills! She hobbled off around the shop to find her dog but it was
obvious it wasn’t around. Classic Marseille.
Touching now on a rather embarrassing
confession about the choir. After receiving a lot of stick for my elation of
being accepted into the choir against their normal membership rules, it turns
out I actually can’t join properly due to my timetable, which is unchangeable.
I was really disappointed about this, but I did think about it afterwards and I
feel like I achieved a lot just going to that first rehearsal. It’s not the
kind of thing I would usually put myself out there to do, especially in another
language! Instead I’ve decided to join the Mock European Union of
Aix-en-Provence so I can debate EU policies representing the UK. I don’t know
quite how that is going to go though. The main point is that I can argue my
socks off, which we all know I LOVE doing.
Culture Shock
In the last few weeks this has come in two
forms:
1)
Pure disdain for the French
university system (see rant below)
2)
Getting emotional at the
weirdest reminders of home. For example, I found my passport in the bottom of
my bag and started tearing up. I also watched the Last Night of the Proms on
iPlayer and was bawling the entire time. Particularly the Mary Poppins set they
did. Feed the Birds was a killer. The worst one was finding a pound in my room
and feeling upset about being in France. However I think this last one might
have made me emotional because I realise how poor I am having spent all my
money on pastries and tours of Provence.
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| Preach |
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| Maybe it's not just the professors... |
If there’s one thing I’ve learnt about
being here, it’s to just go with the flow. To put it nicely, the French way of
doing things is much more relaxed than the English way of doing things. To put
it truthfully, it’s pure, unparalleled, incomprehensible chaos. I’ve spent the
last few weeks looking more gormless than ever, which should tell you all you
need to know. I’ve finally signed up to my courses after three weeks of being
here, and after literally fighting my way into classrooms to get a place. I’m
taking French language, Italian language, Histoire de la construction européenne
and Les Juifs en France (which, unsurprisingly, was the only course I didn’t
have to fight to get into). However, I
must admit that the way that things work here was made out to be a lot worse to
me before I arrived than it appears now. Famous last words though, in the next
few weeks I’ll find out I’ve signed up to all the wrong courses and that I’m
not officially a student in Aix. But
fingers crossed all has been signed up to successfully. Aside from one unpleasant teacher, the rest
are all lovely and more than willing to help if you ask them. The only problem
I’ve really had is integration with the French students. As a friend who took
part in an Erasmus exchange two years ago has warned me, it’s almost impossible
to be treated as an equal with them. Not helped by each lecturer pointing out
all the English students individually before the first lecture of each course.
Particularly unfortunate and somewhat ironic when a European Studies teacher
informs you (in front of a full lecture theatre of French students) that French
students hate English students. Why point us out then?! It’s not like we make
it obvious for ourselves, sitting at the back of the class with teapots wearing
top hats and monocles. On the subject of tea, it is a Europe wide conviction
that the English drop everything at 4pm everyday and nothing can start again
until we’ve consumed a pot of tea and at least one wedge of cake. The amount of
times I’ve had to explain to French people this week that it isn’t the case is
dumbfounding.
Some comfort does come in the form of
seeing how hard it has been for the Taiwanese students to sign up to courses.
As is the norm, they have Chinese names and then names which are from the
English speaking world. Of course, one of our teachers has decided real first
name or no name at all. Naturally that meant 12 Chinese students having
to dictate their names to her, which took up almost the entire first lesson of our French class.
I have, however, managed to worm my way
into the French-speaking world by compromising slightly. In exchange for
teaching French students English for an hour or so, I’ve made several French friends
to sit and speak French with for 2 hours each week. That works out as quite a
lot, as it’s happening minimum 4 times a week. It’s great! And it means I can
spend most of my time in my new favourite coffee shop, Columbus Coffee Co. Concerning that I no longer have to tell them
my order when I walk in.
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| Lebanese food |
Living arrangements are only getting
better. Lilia has asked me a couple of times if I want to join her and a friend
for drinks and dinner. I don’t know whether she was just being polite or not, but
true to limpet form, I have accepted every offer. We actually found a really
great Lebanese place in the centre of Aix which I’ll definitely be going back
to. We have also now got a new housemate; Zoe the two month old kitten. Cutest
thing ever but we’ve taken to calling her “Villaine” now instead of her
original name. We were all pulled into a false sense of security with her,
cuddling her and stroking her. Of course the purring suddenly stops and you get
clawed. She has also taken to climbing up my legs and pouncing on feet. But
she’s so cute you can’t not love her!
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| Zoe |
And then this weekend I returned home for
Motty’s 18th Birthday and party. One of the most mental weekends I
have had for a while.
But I think people are potentially finding my travel stories
a bit too samey so I’m going to list things that happened in a nice and concise
way so that you can skim read it.
- Bought tickets. Yay!
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Air France strike.
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Flights cancelled.
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Rebook with BA night before departure
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Taxi didn’t arrive
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Went to a taxi rank, stood
there for an hour and a half
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Old man pushed me over and told
me to F off before I could get in the first taxi that arrived even though I was
there first
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Tried to guilt trip him by
breaking down on the pavement
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Didn’t work, making me look rather stupid
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Lilia took me to the airport
(amazing)
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All smooth until I got on the
plane apart from the discovery of a Nutella latte
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Air steward took my bag because
there was no room for it in the cabin
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Stowed it in the COCKPIT. WHAT
THE HELL.
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Told a French man I was
bilingual thinking he was English. Regretted that decision.
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Got to Heathrow Terminal 1
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Changed to Terminal 5
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Acquired another stalker
(American)
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Stalker followed me to security
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Stalker clearly visually
impaired as told me I looked nice whilst stood there in a hoodie, leggings and
with my signature Toblerone hair
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Asked me to dinner (why me?)
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Told me we should go in the
family queue for security together
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I got through security fine
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He got taken off by the police
for making a scene and having mysterious wires in his hand luggage
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Contemplated why I always
attract the crazy and whether this will ever change
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Ate sorrows in the form of
Katsu curry at Wagamamas
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Walked to gate for connecting
flight to Manchester
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Spotted mini bottle of
Jagermeister and decided to buy it for Mot for his birthday
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Guy at the till asked if I was
okay, following up by saying that if I’m a nervous flyer Jagermeister isn’t the
answer and that I would be fine.
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Bought the Jagermeister and
didn’t manage to convince him that it wasn’t for me
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When boarding plane saw pilots
taking a selfie
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Long haul passengers for
connecting flight delayed. Waited an hour and a half for them
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When they arrived, cabin crew
approaching the legal limit for working in hours in a day. Waited for new cabin
crew.
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Got to Manchester (miraculously)
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| The birthday boy |
When I eventually got home, the weekend was fabulous. I saw my lovely
friends Ellen, Ellie, Emily and Helena and there was even an appearance from Mr Wray!
Motty’s party was potentially one of the most ridiculous 18ths I’ve ever been
to. But I was in charge of music so I had a brilliant time busting my moves on the dancefloor. And seeing all my
family and friends was great even if it was brief. However such a wonderful
weekend caused me to have a minor breakdown when I left home. I must stress to
all that witnessed the episode, that I do actually really like France. It’s just always really hard to leave home, especially with such a wonderful family and friends. And
the weekend was topped off by an upgrade to club class on the way back to
Marseille. Awh yeah.
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| Winner! |
Language blunders
The section makes a comeback. I’m feeling
mixed about it. On the one hand blunders are highly embarrassing but on the
other hand they make for an astonishingly good laugh.
I went out for dinner with Thomas and when
faced with the apparently impossible task of ordering a steak, I attempted to
ask the waiter what it was served with. However, instead of saying:
“Ça vient avec quoi?”
I asked the following:
“Ça vient avec toi?”
I basically asked the waiter “And do you
come on the side?”
Turns out I’m a lot saucier than I thought.
The next day we made our way to France’s fifth largest city, Nice. With the help of a great little tourist organization called
Découverte de la Provence, we paid 25 euros each and for that we got a return
trip to Nice and Eze with a free tour of a perfumery thrown in. Not too shabby!
Nice wasn’t what I expected at all though, which I’m going to put down to the
time of year we visited. Famous for it’s flower markets and clear blue waters,
we were far away from this idyllic image. The only way I could try and explain
the weather that day is by asking you to picture a day trip at Formby Point
beach. Get the picture? I’ve never looked more windswept in my life, which I
would suggest is quite an achievement. Claire, Chloe and I decided, after
walking round the Museum of Contemporary Art and not understanding how most of
the objects in their could be considered as ‘art’, to try a nicois delicacy; socca.
To put this in perspective, for the whole two hours of the bus ride into Nice,
our tour guide was explaining to us that nothing beats the truly unique,
Italian inspired crêpe made from chickpea flour, which can only be sampled in
Nice. When we eventually sat down to eat some, I understood why it was truly
unique; clearly the rest of the continent have come to their senses and realised
that a grainy, sponge like, flavourless pancake is not something to rave about.
