As some of you know, I did not have much luggage space coming over here, due to the fact that I decided to bring my Viola. (On a side note: I don’t actually play it that much, surprise, surprise, but I’m still glad I brought it. I know I would whish I had it with me if I didn’t.) Therefore my wardrobe choices are rather limited. There are really only two choice: expand or come up with new combinations. I am unwilling to add monumentally to my possessions in general, one because I have to take them back with me, and two because I’m not made of money. So far I’ve stuck to purchasing some scarves, a top, a shockingly short dress (to be worn with leggings :P) and a killer pair of boots. Too cool even to describe. I might buy a jacket. But most of the time I stick to what I already have, and try to find new combinations.
I would like to take this moment to destroy any illusions anyone might have about how fashionable and “European” I have become. I pretty much wear what I would wear at home, plus scarves. When I first got here I felt insecure about blending in, but then I realized that I felt far more comfortable in my normal, slightly weird clothes. Perhaps I have gone a little bit weirder. Sometimes I go to University in an outfit I liked that morning, but that I later decide not to repeat. For the most part it works out well. With slight alterations (tights instead of leggings for example), I surprisingly do blend in. What do we learn from this? Why, just be yourselves kids.
Normal garb: My boots, legwarmers, scarves, skinny jeans, leggings or tights with a skirt, other jeans, my new bracelet, I don’t know. Whatever I feel good in pretty much. I am choosing to believe that as a student I can get away with it.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Coolest Tandem Partners EVER
I’m not sure if I have tried to explain my Tandem class before, but I might as well again. Tandem is a language practice class that matches up a native English speaker learning French with a French student learning English. We are required to spend ten one-and-a-half hour sessions together, speaking both English and French. The idea is that it is less intimidating and more fun to speak a foreign language with someone your own age, you don’t have divide your time speaking with 20 other people, and you make a friend. (And making friends with French people without this is difficult, because they already have their own groups of friends. Unless you count those sleazy French guys who are always happy to talk to any girl, and I don’t.) The process of matching students up is completely random, so I am just very lucky to have been matched up with Morgane Fovelle.
Morgane’s best friend Elodie has an apartment in Vieux Lille, and on Friday Night they invited me and Rosie (one of my friends and Elodie’s Tandem Partner) over for dinner. Raclette. I actually spent a good portion of Friday whishing I brought my camera, and I am sad that I don’t have pictures. Descriptions will have to do.
Elodie lives in a one-room, cellar apartment on one of the most scenic alleyways in Vieux Lille. In fact, just that afternoon some of my friends were taking pictures of the alleyway, and I have often gone down it without knowing that they live there. The room is large and has an arched brick ceiling. The dining table is at one end; at the other is Elodie’s bed, a desk, bookshelves, and window. In between are some couches. It is pretty much the coolest apartment I have ever seen.
Raclette, for those of you that don’t know, is a meal where there is a sort of grill-oven thing in the middle of the table. You melt cheese on tiny trays and pour it over potatoes (which sit warming on top of the oven). You can also add meat, eggs, veggies, pretty much whatever. It’s a great meal, because everyone gets to eat more or less what she wants.
Over our meal and afterwards we had all sorts of interesting conversations concerning various cultural differences, as well as less serious topics. (You can’t really put four girls together and not have them talk about boys, can you now?) Among other things, we learned that there will be a Christmas Market in the Center of Lille in a few months. This is a little surprising, since France is so secular, but I’m not complaining. It also seems that Northern France is rather different from the South in many of its traditions. It’s more Flemmish than anything.
Perhaps my favorite part of the evening was when Rosie and Elodie started playing guitar, and we tried to sing together. It reminded me of hanging out with my music-nerd friends this summer. We all love the Beatles (who doesn’t), Elodie and Morgane don’t know Joni Mitchell, but seem to like the sound of her songs, and they sang us a tune in French. Then we discussed various different artists. Really, just like home.
Sorry this blog is long, rambling, and picture-less, but I hope you like it anyway. Also, if my grammar seems to be disintegrating, it’s difficult speaking well in two languages all the time. (Sometimes three.) When Elodie posts the pictures she took on facebook, I’ll be sure to put some up. As Rosie and I walked to the metro, she said, “We have the coolest Tandem Partners ever.” So true.
Morgane’s best friend Elodie has an apartment in Vieux Lille, and on Friday Night they invited me and Rosie (one of my friends and Elodie’s Tandem Partner) over for dinner. Raclette. I actually spent a good portion of Friday whishing I brought my camera, and I am sad that I don’t have pictures. Descriptions will have to do.
Elodie lives in a one-room, cellar apartment on one of the most scenic alleyways in Vieux Lille. In fact, just that afternoon some of my friends were taking pictures of the alleyway, and I have often gone down it without knowing that they live there. The room is large and has an arched brick ceiling. The dining table is at one end; at the other is Elodie’s bed, a desk, bookshelves, and window. In between are some couches. It is pretty much the coolest apartment I have ever seen.
Raclette, for those of you that don’t know, is a meal where there is a sort of grill-oven thing in the middle of the table. You melt cheese on tiny trays and pour it over potatoes (which sit warming on top of the oven). You can also add meat, eggs, veggies, pretty much whatever. It’s a great meal, because everyone gets to eat more or less what she wants.
Over our meal and afterwards we had all sorts of interesting conversations concerning various cultural differences, as well as less serious topics. (You can’t really put four girls together and not have them talk about boys, can you now?) Among other things, we learned that there will be a Christmas Market in the Center of Lille in a few months. This is a little surprising, since France is so secular, but I’m not complaining. It also seems that Northern France is rather different from the South in many of its traditions. It’s more Flemmish than anything.
Perhaps my favorite part of the evening was when Rosie and Elodie started playing guitar, and we tried to sing together. It reminded me of hanging out with my music-nerd friends this summer. We all love the Beatles (who doesn’t), Elodie and Morgane don’t know Joni Mitchell, but seem to like the sound of her songs, and they sang us a tune in French. Then we discussed various different artists. Really, just like home.
Sorry this blog is long, rambling, and picture-less, but I hope you like it anyway. Also, if my grammar seems to be disintegrating, it’s difficult speaking well in two languages all the time. (Sometimes three.) When Elodie posts the pictures she took on facebook, I’ll be sure to put some up. As Rosie and I walked to the metro, she said, “We have the coolest Tandem Partners ever.” So true.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
11/10/08 (or 10/11/08 whichever you prefer)
Today two friends and I took a daytrip to Boulogne sur Mer. It’s the first time I have left Lille since my arrival here. On the way there the train was definitely taking the scenic route, which I did not mind at all, becayse it is indeed very scenic. Driving by the beautiful little red-roofed villages and haphazard farms reminded me of the things I love about Europe. As did the man fishing on the canal and the herds of fewer than ten cows. (You don’t seem to see those much in the United States.) It was a good time to reflect.
And after we got to Boulogne it became a good time to walk barefoot in the sand and wade along the edge of the ocean.
I made a special point of getting some pictures of myself. Normally there are none.I had a good Legolas moment walking on top of sand that looked as if it should be soft and sinking. I also enjoyed the sound the sand made when I skimmed my toes over it. Following our picnic on the beach we found our way to Centre Ville. (A very small Centre Ville.)
After scoping out the cafes, we settled on one with some potentially interesting-looking music equipment set up. We sat down inside, and were shortly joined by the café’s dog, who remained with us nearly the whole time. Ivana and Cait were delighted.
I think the bartenders must be the owners as well, and it was fun watching them greeting and chatting with locals who came in, some obviously friends and regulars.
Nor were we disappointed musically. The (English speaking) musician put on a show that set the saleswoman in the shop across the way dancing.
Here is Ivana’s paparazzi shot of the musician.It was a good day.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Vieux Lille
One afternoon in my first two weeks I was in the downtown shopping district with two friends. In a music shop I asked the salesman if they sold transformers. (It seemed like a reasonable question with all the aps and cables around, and besides I was quite desperate at this point.) He said no, but his friend’s shop sold them. And then he whisked me out the door and around the corner to that friend’s electronic shop. I got my transformer, but back at the music shop my friends had left (in search of me, as it turned out).
Feeling neither hurt nor disoriented to be left alone in a foreign city, I set out on my own explorations. The first place I stumbled upon, and which may have to be the subject of a future blog because it is presently my favorite place in Lille, was the book market inside the historic bank building.
Then, confidently “following after my nose,” I accidentally wandered into Old Lille, yet another district.
So far, my favorite. Vieux Lille has narrow, cobbled roads and delightful alleyways. As in most of Lille, the Christmas lights stay up year round, and I can imagine them lit up at Christmas, with everything decorated. It is going to be beautiful. The main “road” is lined with classy, but very expensive shops. At least they do not disfigure the old architecture. Following my new motto, “As long as I can find out where I am, I’m not actually lost,” I wandered at random, and covered quite a bit of ground. Much to my present advantage. I found that there is no metro stop (my number one plan for finding out where I was).
In the spirit of spontaneity I went down a sunny alleyway, and found the artists.
Jewelry makers have their wares spread out on tables. (How much would you pay for a bracelet made out of a fork?) American music blaring out of open windows, and you can see the artist painting right in his chaotic studio. Paintings for sale leaning right against the wall in the alleyway. And a charming looking restaurant.
If you go down a branching alleyway, you will find yourself at the Cathedral.
Most of it is old and gothic and be-gargoyled. For reasons that are unknown to me, however, it had a modern front. My timing that day was impeccable, and I stepped into the Cathedral to the sound of live organ music. It was incredible. An accurate description of the inside of the Cathedral would be both wordy and impossible, so I will skip that part.
Sunday I was in Vieux Lille again, and down a street from the Cathedral I ran into friends sitting in a cozy-looking café. I noted the address. My plan is to fill in my map with the good spots I might not find in a travel book.
That first day I headed down a street further to the left. I found the Park of the Citadel, which will also have to be the subject of a future post. Unfortunately there is a big fair taking up part of the park. Since I hate fairs, I only walked once around in the hope of finding Rosie and Dustin, and then turned around and went back the way I came.
I’m still not sure when, where or how I gained my sense of direction, but at no point would I say I was truly “lost.” I always had a general direction of the direction from which I came. And, there are always signs pointing toward the city center, and thus the main train station, the metro, and ultimately home.
Feeling neither hurt nor disoriented to be left alone in a foreign city, I set out on my own explorations. The first place I stumbled upon, and which may have to be the subject of a future blog because it is presently my favorite place in Lille, was the book market inside the historic bank building.
Then, confidently “following after my nose,” I accidentally wandered into Old Lille, yet another district.
So far, my favorite. Vieux Lille has narrow, cobbled roads and delightful alleyways. As in most of Lille, the Christmas lights stay up year round, and I can imagine them lit up at Christmas, with everything decorated. It is going to be beautiful. The main “road” is lined with classy, but very expensive shops. At least they do not disfigure the old architecture. Following my new motto, “As long as I can find out where I am, I’m not actually lost,” I wandered at random, and covered quite a bit of ground. Much to my present advantage. I found that there is no metro stop (my number one plan for finding out where I was).
In the spirit of spontaneity I went down a sunny alleyway, and found the artists.
Jewelry makers have their wares spread out on tables. (How much would you pay for a bracelet made out of a fork?) American music blaring out of open windows, and you can see the artist painting right in his chaotic studio. Paintings for sale leaning right against the wall in the alleyway. And a charming looking restaurant.
If you go down a branching alleyway, you will find yourself at the Cathedral.
Most of it is old and gothic and be-gargoyled. For reasons that are unknown to me, however, it had a modern front. My timing that day was impeccable, and I stepped into the Cathedral to the sound of live organ music. It was incredible. An accurate description of the inside of the Cathedral would be both wordy and impossible, so I will skip that part.
Sunday I was in Vieux Lille again, and down a street from the Cathedral I ran into friends sitting in a cozy-looking café. I noted the address. My plan is to fill in my map with the good spots I might not find in a travel book.
That first day I headed down a street further to the left. I found the Park of the Citadel, which will also have to be the subject of a future post. Unfortunately there is a big fair taking up part of the park. Since I hate fairs, I only walked once around in the hope of finding Rosie and Dustin, and then turned around and went back the way I came.
I’m still not sure when, where or how I gained my sense of direction, but at no point would I say I was truly “lost.” I always had a general direction of the direction from which I came. And, there are always signs pointing toward the city center, and thus the main train station, the metro, and ultimately home.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Musings
-Does knowing you care about people enough to miss them ever actually make up for missing them?
-When you arrive in a place and it is not quite what you expected, or just feels foreign, the thing to do is to find things to love. If you can find enough of them, maybe eventually it will start to feel like home. Spokane took eight years. I guess in the end, Whitworth made it easy. I loved it there from the beginning, and running in the back forty this summer made me really appreciate the wild beauty of Spokane for the first time.
-I heard singing from the mosque across the street last night. I wonder when Ramadan starts. And if they stay all night, why not the Christians? Where are the voices of monks raised in song through the watches of the night? (I wrote this last week. Ramadan is over now.)-What is up with the United States postal system: “Neither rain, wind, sleet, snow…Except on Sundays.”
-When you arrive in a place and it is not quite what you expected, or just feels foreign, the thing to do is to find things to love. If you can find enough of them, maybe eventually it will start to feel like home. Spokane took eight years. I guess in the end, Whitworth made it easy. I loved it there from the beginning, and running in the back forty this summer made me really appreciate the wild beauty of Spokane for the first time.
-I heard singing from the mosque across the street last night. I wonder when Ramadan starts. And if they stay all night, why not the Christians? Where are the voices of monks raised in song through the watches of the night? (I wrote this last week. Ramadan is over now.)-What is up with the United States postal system: “Neither rain, wind, sleet, snow…Except on Sundays.”
Friday, September 26, 2008
A Guide Book Tour of Wazemmes
To reach the market at Wazemmes, take the metro to either Gambetta station, or even Wazemmes station. Once there, simply follow the flow of people with empty shopping trolleys, and large bags. (Not to be confused with the stream people coming the other way, from the market, carrying whole plants, veggies, pillows, whatever.)
The market at Wazemmes takes place every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, though Sunday is the biggest. I find it interesting for several reasons.
First, you can buy literally anything, from fresh produce, to beauty products, flowers, shoes, cooked chicken, baked goods, and clothes for all ages. No live animals though.
Secondly, even though the Market is right next to a Christian Church, Wazemmes has become a heavily Muslim neighborhood. Thus, the market presents an interesting mix of cultures. Many of the vendors are of Middle Eastern origin, and there are booths that sell beautiful cloth, and matching jewelry. On a hunt for “traditional regional foods,” two classmates and I instead found traditional baked goods for Ramadan. By the way, that “treasure hunt” and the subsequent class presentation is the main reason for all the pictures.
Thirdly, Wazemmes is both an authentic market, and a popular tourist destination. Local people go there regularly to get groceries. I hope to become one of them, not only because it will help me reach the very cool state of sustainability, but also because the produce is fresh and the prices fantastic. At the same time, walking around you are as likely to hear they people behind you speaking in an London accent, as in French. And there are enough cameras in sight that I don’t feel awkward taking pictures. But watch yours purse! It’s just a big crowd.
Whilst walking about, a mélange of sounds will reach your ears. The multilingual babble is supplemented by the vendors yelling over the din, “Tomates, tomates,…” “Un euro, uneuro, uneurouneurouner…” “UN EURO CINQ. UN EURO CINQ.” Different smells also issue from various directions: Roast chicken, oriental spices, pickled peppers, as well as several I do not whish to identify.
So far, I have bought:
-2 scarves, 3 euro each
-2 nail polishes, 1 euro each (green and black)
-an apple sauce filled pastry, 1 euro, delicious and probably overpriced
-a lifetime supply of green beans. I wasn’t sure what the sign said, so I just asked for 1 euro’s worth. At 80 cents I said stop, but it’s still a ridiculous amount, But they are fresh and delicious, so I don’t mind.
-1 pair of shoes, 5 euro (cute black flats)
-NO goat cheese. Even though that is apparently the regional specialty.
The market at Wazemmes takes place every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, though Sunday is the biggest. I find it interesting for several reasons.
First, you can buy literally anything, from fresh produce, to beauty products, flowers, shoes, cooked chicken, baked goods, and clothes for all ages. No live animals though.
Secondly, even though the Market is right next to a Christian Church, Wazemmes has become a heavily Muslim neighborhood. Thus, the market presents an interesting mix of cultures. Many of the vendors are of Middle Eastern origin, and there are booths that sell beautiful cloth, and matching jewelry. On a hunt for “traditional regional foods,” two classmates and I instead found traditional baked goods for Ramadan. By the way, that “treasure hunt” and the subsequent class presentation is the main reason for all the pictures.
Thirdly, Wazemmes is both an authentic market, and a popular tourist destination. Local people go there regularly to get groceries. I hope to become one of them, not only because it will help me reach the very cool state of sustainability, but also because the produce is fresh and the prices fantastic. At the same time, walking around you are as likely to hear they people behind you speaking in an London accent, as in French. And there are enough cameras in sight that I don’t feel awkward taking pictures. But watch yours purse! It’s just a big crowd.
Whilst walking about, a mélange of sounds will reach your ears. The multilingual babble is supplemented by the vendors yelling over the din, “Tomates, tomates,…” “Un euro, uneuro, uneurouneurouner…” “UN EURO CINQ. UN EURO CINQ.” Different smells also issue from various directions: Roast chicken, oriental spices, pickled peppers, as well as several I do not whish to identify.
So far, I have bought:
-2 scarves, 3 euro each
-2 nail polishes, 1 euro each (green and black)
-an apple sauce filled pastry, 1 euro, delicious and probably overpriced
-a lifetime supply of green beans. I wasn’t sure what the sign said, so I just asked for 1 euro’s worth. At 80 cents I said stop, but it’s still a ridiculous amount, But they are fresh and delicious, so I don’t mind.
-1 pair of shoes, 5 euro (cute black flats)
-NO goat cheese. Even though that is apparently the regional specialty.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Really just a lot of complaining. You would be better off skipping it and waiting until the next blog is posted.
Dear Katie (and please keep reading even if that is not your name),
I decided to respond to your comment about frustration with cultural differences by posting the following, most of which I wrote two or three days after arriving here. Clearly I am already way into that stage of culture shock. Also, responding via blog just makes this whole thing so much more fun and interactive.
When I register for classes at my home university, it can be a little stressful. The past two weeks puts all that into perspective. Here, registering is not done by the click of a button. In fact most of the registry process is done on paper. (So much paper.) Each department prints its own course guide, which is the size of a small book. Each year. The earth is weeping.
To the credit of the University, they do their best to help out foreign, and especially American students, as much as possible. The ISEP coordinator arranged a special breakfast with the eight Americain students, so she could talk us through some of the academic process.
Basically, there is very little coordination between departments, and there is no University-wide online registration process. This is not a problem for French students. They go into a specialization from the beginning and are obligated to take specific blocks of classes each semester. As an exchange student I can pick and choose and take just a few classes out of a block. Which is both nice, and exceedingly complicated. Here is what I have to do to register:
- First I had an appointment with Isabelle, the ISEP coordinator. Some classes (like translation) I know I want, so she wrote them down on a semi-official looking piece of paper. For other classes we searched though the course catalogues. I’m still not sure how you find specific information in them, but it may involve the Lille3 website in some way. Which has also proven quite difficult to navigate. Isabelle was able to find them, and I ended up with a most of my courses written down by hand. Sound complicated enough yet? Not nearly. Much as the faculty did not vote on the dates for this school year until June, the times and locations of different lectures are not posted until a few days before classes start. Posted, I might add, on lists that are not at all in obvious locations around campus. I would never have found them without a guide. So there is still a chance my classes could overlap, and I would have to make substitutions on my own. In fact, I spent quite a bit of time looking between course guides and lists to fill up my schedule. Also, the first few weeks are basically survey for me. If I don’t like a class, I can choose another. When I finally decide what I actually want to take, I go to the exchange students coordinator, and she will register me. Oh, and the classrooms are completely impossible to find.
It goes on. Normally classes are entirely lecture based, and then at the end there is a big, scary test that determines your grade. However, since we are not evaluated in this fashion at home, ISEP students are encouraged to ask their professors for an essay topic, and then hand in a final paper instead of taking the exam. Then we have to badger the prof to grade the paper and give us a final grade (physically hand us a hard copy) before we leave the country. Otherwise there is a high likelihood it will never happen
The French student who likes to tell me how horrible the American government is and has all sorts of conspiracy theories involving George Bush and 9/11, always manages to drag the fact that France is a welfare state and takes care of its people into any conversation. I respect that he supports his government, and it makes sense that he likes it because he personally really benefits from it. He is from a low-income family and thus receives a “burse” from the state so he can go to University for free, as well as receive other benefits. I would even go as far as to whish that people in the United State were better taken care of for Health Insurance and education.
But in my present annoyance, what I see is that this is a country where you have to stand in line to get the things you want. Where you have to do a load of paperwork for seemingly simple things. Where nothing is as effectively organized as it could be. In a word: Bureaucracy. My confusion is great, and my patience is running low. My goal was to figure out what is going on by today. I’m getting there.
I would also like to add that I am aware off some benefits to this very different system. But this blog entry is unfortunately too long already.
I decided to respond to your comment about frustration with cultural differences by posting the following, most of which I wrote two or three days after arriving here. Clearly I am already way into that stage of culture shock. Also, responding via blog just makes this whole thing so much more fun and interactive.
When I register for classes at my home university, it can be a little stressful. The past two weeks puts all that into perspective. Here, registering is not done by the click of a button. In fact most of the registry process is done on paper. (So much paper.) Each department prints its own course guide, which is the size of a small book. Each year. The earth is weeping.
To the credit of the University, they do their best to help out foreign, and especially American students, as much as possible. The ISEP coordinator arranged a special breakfast with the eight Americain students, so she could talk us through some of the academic process.
Basically, there is very little coordination between departments, and there is no University-wide online registration process. This is not a problem for French students. They go into a specialization from the beginning and are obligated to take specific blocks of classes each semester. As an exchange student I can pick and choose and take just a few classes out of a block. Which is both nice, and exceedingly complicated. Here is what I have to do to register:
- First I had an appointment with Isabelle, the ISEP coordinator. Some classes (like translation) I know I want, so she wrote them down on a semi-official looking piece of paper. For other classes we searched though the course catalogues. I’m still not sure how you find specific information in them, but it may involve the Lille3 website in some way. Which has also proven quite difficult to navigate. Isabelle was able to find them, and I ended up with a most of my courses written down by hand. Sound complicated enough yet? Not nearly. Much as the faculty did not vote on the dates for this school year until June, the times and locations of different lectures are not posted until a few days before classes start. Posted, I might add, on lists that are not at all in obvious locations around campus. I would never have found them without a guide. So there is still a chance my classes could overlap, and I would have to make substitutions on my own. In fact, I spent quite a bit of time looking between course guides and lists to fill up my schedule. Also, the first few weeks are basically survey for me. If I don’t like a class, I can choose another. When I finally decide what I actually want to take, I go to the exchange students coordinator, and she will register me. Oh, and the classrooms are completely impossible to find.
It goes on. Normally classes are entirely lecture based, and then at the end there is a big, scary test that determines your grade. However, since we are not evaluated in this fashion at home, ISEP students are encouraged to ask their professors for an essay topic, and then hand in a final paper instead of taking the exam. Then we have to badger the prof to grade the paper and give us a final grade (physically hand us a hard copy) before we leave the country. Otherwise there is a high likelihood it will never happen
The French student who likes to tell me how horrible the American government is and has all sorts of conspiracy theories involving George Bush and 9/11, always manages to drag the fact that France is a welfare state and takes care of its people into any conversation. I respect that he supports his government, and it makes sense that he likes it because he personally really benefits from it. He is from a low-income family and thus receives a “burse” from the state so he can go to University for free, as well as receive other benefits. I would even go as far as to whish that people in the United State were better taken care of for Health Insurance and education.
But in my present annoyance, what I see is that this is a country where you have to stand in line to get the things you want. Where you have to do a load of paperwork for seemingly simple things. Where nothing is as effectively organized as it could be. In a word: Bureaucracy. My confusion is great, and my patience is running low. My goal was to figure out what is going on by today. I’m getting there.
I would also like to add that I am aware off some benefits to this very different system. But this blog entry is unfortunately too long already.
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