Fete de la Musique

Not your average Tuesday night, that's for sure!   Starting in a side courtyard of le vieux port, where competing sounds and overpriced beers eventually drove us away.  (Picture Norah Jonesesque cover band next to a Brazilian drum troop.)  We celebrated music by wandering around buying home-made street meat and beers while taking in all the different soundscapes along the way.  Hard to stay still really when there's still so much more to be discovered.  If you were in France last night chances are you too took part in this 30-year- old festival that brings talent of all kinds to the streets in most every city in France and now several other places around the world.  We climbed up to the area known as “la plaine”.    Every new corner was a new musical surprise.  My greatest surprise of the evening was when I thought an AC was leaking.  I looked down at my legs being splattered to discover no, not an AC, but pee, I was getting peed on!  In his defense, he might have thought he was being discrete, alleviating himself in an ally by the trash bin- we just happened to be on the other side.  A few moments later I needed to use the loo myself and was told flatly:  “NON”.  I was shocked and about to leave but then turned around and said:  “Oh, d'accord, je reviendrai, JAMAIS (oh, okay, I will be back NEVER”).  Luckily I know a restaurant owner a little ways away, but honestly, I will never understand how public establishments can refuse the use of their toilet.  It’s just bad business, if not a public health concern.  What are women supposed to do?  No wonder certain streets always smell of urine, and how street cleaners are out power washing the side-walks everyday. Well anyways, pee on leg not withstanding, it was an evening full of surprises.  Here are a few clips from the night, enjoy!

i see you in colours

this is gonna sound cheesie, and i wouldn't believe it myself, it wasn't my own experience.  i'm not exactly sure how to describe it, but when i meet someone now, whether face to face or over the phone, a perfect stranger or mom, i see this person in terms of their colours.  okay i don't actually see shades of blue, but what i mean to say is that i hear and experience this person in terms of their energy, the positive or negative, tight and agitated or clear and calm presence they present and share.  i pay attention to the cheer someone brings to a conversation just by their tones and gestures and the like.  i'm not sure if this new revelation is just part of the ageing process or in response to language barriers experienced here, or maybe and what i think is most likely, is that i've always had this ability to detect the energy of others (i think we all do) but over the years i've tried to ignore it.  this sense must have been so keen as a child and the process of growing up taught me to listen to the words people were saying rather than value their sheer presence. things have shifted back now, but when i think about it, my dear friends now and almost all along carry what i can clearly recognize now as (whether joyful or soothing or experimental) genuine positive energy.  i don't see people in colours really, but if i had to describe mine right now i'd say i feel all yellow.

happy easter!

Are you English?

I get this question a lot, and I'm never sure how to answer.  If I say yes they think I'm British, if I say no they think I'm German. I use to say: yes, I speak English, but now I just give them the answer they're looking for - Je suis Canadienne.

A funny little thing I've learned about communication in a new language: it's easier to fake it.  At first I just wanted to succeed by answering clearly to a question I think I've understood, but then I'm not always sure I've understood what they're really asking, so I respond anyhow and follow it up with a  - "Is that what you were asking?"  I've learned that it's easier to let the conversation flow rather than halt everytime I think I don't understand, and subsequently risk them translating into English.   So the trick then is to go along with conversations you're not completely following.  Undoubtedly this can put you into some uncomfortable situations.  Like the time when I learned how to fake answering the phone in Sweden and was met with a long winded cheerful response I had no idea what was being said - " (long pause) ....ahhhh ???"  I said.  

"Oh", he switched to English, " I was just saying how much your Swedish has improved."

I nod my head, and pick up on cue's to laugh, and I do my best to look amused when I'm not entirely sure why.  It's a balance between not wanting to look like a dummy and go along with everything said and not willing to play the wide-eyed (please translate every word for me) persona, and so what you're left with is a semi-interested poker face.  Not always do I have a lot to contribute and I'm careful not to be too accepting of what is being said.  I think this means I must come off a little stand-offish, or snobbish, but for now I now I think I've succeeded when the conversation carries on in French.

Kitchen chats with my roommates

17 Tips to Improve your French

I thought coming here would have done the trick, a simple hop off the plane, get immersed and by a few weeks, a month tops, all of my language would find its way back to me.  I had been in French immersion for 4 years in elementary and at one point could write, read and speak without having to think about it.  Although it's fair to say I’ve neglected my French (in the approximately 16 years between then and now), trying to get it back is very frustrating.  I have good days and bad ones.

I’m pleased when I feel I’ve done my most convincing French accent, and other days I’m disappointed that I can't even eavesdrop proficiently.  Sometimes I put on an exaggerated Anglophone accent (usually when I’m lost and don't want to appear creepy) but also in stores when I want special treatment, or when I’m too lazy to understand the quick colloquial responses - people usually articulate and speak slower than they would normally when they hear someone struggling.  This kind of made me wonder how often foreigners had put on their accents for me back home - hoping for and hopefully receiving the same kindness.  I also wondered how much this little 'trick' enables slow progression?  Here again my friends have helped me out so much.  They aren't fooled by my laziness, and instead press right along as though I understand them perfectly, and I do my best to look as though I do- enough anyhow to, at very least, pick up on the social cues to know when to chirp in appropriately (laugh, give sympathy, this is good/bad, she's being funny/ this is serious etc..).  After faking it for a while, I felt I could understand more, but then maybe that's because they were building on stories I’d become familiar with.

Breakfast at the youth hostel was a good time to get in a few quick conversations, and fun to get to know some folks a bit better day by day.   I also met a friend who, although motivated to learn English, understood my desire to improve my French and so she reads my atrocious emails and responds to the barely coherent texts. I’m really so grateful for these exchanges.  Oh yeah and let me not forget the friends who helped me translate my CV - such a daunting task!! not only the language, but also the template was quite different.  I also needed to include things like age, nationality, marital status and a picture - there's some controversy about this last one.  Some thought it was old-fashioned to include it, others insisted it was necessary.  In the end I left mine out due to lack of space (one pager) and because I was advised that the shot I’d chosen wasn't professional (the head shot to the right - just perfect for a blog coincidently).  I absolutely could not have done this alone.  Thank you Lucie, Valerie and Florence!  I remember looking at my CV, thinking how the heck am I going to get this done, and I didn't really want to do it.  I delayed and thought shit - if this is sooo tough, how do I expect to work in French?  This might hav( been my first indication that getting my French back wouldn't be breezy

If I’ve stored my French understanding someplace, it sure is taking its time to come back to me and in the meantime my time here is quickly passing and soon I’ll be home again and wondering how to retain the French I did learn this year.  So here I’ve jotted down as many tips as I could think of, some I’ve tried, others that've come recommended.  What I’d really like to know is what has or still does work for you.  Common share your secrets!

In no particular order: 

1.     Vacation or move to France or French speaking areas 

2.     Take French classes (Alliance Francaise is supposed to be the best , but it ain't cheap!)

3.     Join a conversation group

4.     Make French friends (ones that wanna speak French)

5.     Read in French  (this was painful for me at first.  I started by circling all the words I didn't understand on a page, translating them, picking a French synonym, and then re-reading with my hints when needed)

Exibit A

6.     Journal in French (even if it doesn't make sense at first)

7.     Teach your mother tongue language (for me it was the first time I’d broken down my language in terms of its structure and grammar - all helpful to then understand how these things work in another language)

8.     Watch movies/ TV. (experimenting with subtitles)

9.     Listen to the radio (you can even stream from the net).  This one was suggested, but are there any good on-line Quebecois channels? http://www.rtl.fr/emission/les-grosses-tetes/ecouter/les-grosses-tetes-du-01-fevr-2011-bernard-giroux-7656186223

10. Listen to music and then find and make sense out of the lyrics (in gr.8 core French, we had to listen to RochVoisine's "Helen" I still love this song)  http://www.france-jeunes.net/paroles-rock.voisine-helene-32885.htm

11. Talking tapes/CD ROMs – Rosetta Stone's the way to go

12. Train your dog and only communicate in French - you risk looking like a snob, but whatev.

13. Date a francophone

14. Mimic a French person speaking English - bonus* watch yourself in the mirror.

15. Try French recipes – try Googling "recettes francais"

16. Books on tape – So you can listen to the text and follow along in a book.  This however does not exist in the Toronto public library, I tried, but they're reserved for the visually impaired.  

17. Read bi-lingual books (the ones that have French on one side and English on the opposite page - discovered this here, designed mostly for French people learning English, but obviously works the other way around).

cute film about friendship

late bloomer

okay, so I’ve been out of the circuit for a bit.  Faithful readers (mama) please forgive me.  There is of course a story here but in brief, I left my job in Strasbourg, hop scotched around Sweden, and returned on the 6th of Jan. to this sunny city in southern France.  I am extremely lucky.  I know this because in my two and a half months, I'd met a friend who offered me their summer flat until I could find something.  my friends always save me.  As soon as I got in, dropped my bags, I was SOOOO thankful for the grace of good friends.  


Exhausted from the emotional tour I'd been on (in a very good way) to then come into this tranquil modern flat all to myself felt like such a treat.  After months in a youth hostel and then as the house guest, to now have my own mini kitchen, laundry, balcony with an excellent view, ahhhh I felt I had won the lotto.  The very first thing I did was buy a beautiful bouquet and some groceries.  i then spent the next few days vegging out and panicking about my lack lustre for finding employment.  The longer I hesitated, the more daunting the task.  Finally I got the idea to make business cards (for restaurants and the like that wouldn't give a rats ass about my professional experience).

So now newly equipped, dressed, make-uped, and keen I set off on my first day at noon and quit promptly at 12:30. I slumped down by a curb and wanted to cry.  All I heard, place after place, was rejection. "non, merci"",  blank expressions and then "non, merci" or my personal favourite: "ont ne recruite jamais"  which to me sounds like "we NEVER hire".  Some wanted to see my CV, even after I'd told them my serving experience wasn't listed.  then finding out my age, marital status and nationality (all required elements in a French CV)  told me " on ne cherche pas en ce moment".  


Looking for a job is a humiliating experience.  if they think you're a customer, they're all smiles, but the instant you pull out your CV the tone changes and the roles reveres.  you now need to impress them, and they are not a happy customer.  you are now a worthless beggar to them.  this experience made me realize how much self-worth is attached to your job, and no matter what you do, it's important to feel productive, or you begin to believe the rejection is true.  you really have to put yourself out there, and keep buffing yourself up again after you have people telling you that you don't speak French, they never hire, and non, non, non.  you can't go in asking for work wareing the expression of rejection from the last place.  gotta brush yourself off again and again. 


I met a really nice manager at a seaside restaurant.  he didn't care about my CV, he wanted to chat, and so we did.  I thought things were going well and then he asked me something i didn't understand.  I asked him to repeat it, and he paused and rephrased but I think it was there, where on a calm day (I could hear him thinking) I didn't understand him, when he decided not to hire me, and really I couldn't blame him.  night after night I'd slouch home, feeling ever more like a royal looser.  I returned to this perfect little apartment, in a sunny French city and thought this is exactly what I thought I wanted, but I was feeling like a failure.  constant rejection  + loneliness + in the red and getting redder will do this to a person.  I wanted to laugh with someone about my mishaps, and how each day it seemed i was reaching new lows.  one day i'm not qualified for the cheese store and the next the grocery store turns me on heel because i needed a letter of motivation (covering letter).  i could just imagine how this would go:

to whom it may concern,

it has been my life vision to stack shelves on the midnight shift.  there's nothing more glorious than unpacking a fresh skid full of consumer goods!  i would of course attend to it in the most meticulousness manner.  you see, as a child i was fascinated with the movie 'sleeping with the enemy', and since this time it has become my personal belief (or OCD-  however you prefer to look at it) that labels should all be facing forward in exactly the same way...  

well it's now 2011.  being  that I will pass a milestone birthday: 30 (on the 30th of June) I started to reflect on where I am in my life.  lets see:  no job, no friends (in Marseille), no home, no money, no children and no significant relationship and not even a hound (I’ve wanted a dog for yeeeears).  if life is a race, I’m certainly loosing.  facebook can't help but make this more apparent for me.  but then I’ve always been a late bloomer.  I see all my friends, all people in my age range doing all the wonderful things in their lives, and though i'm truly happy for them, i can't help but feel a little stuck here in my own.  I’m not even getting better at French, which is why I came here in the first place.  I wanted to quit, but here again my friends saved me - offering encouragement, telling me how brave they thought i was (although stubborn might be more accurate)  I was ready to throw in the towel, and they'd chime in that i should think of structuring my day.  indeed this suggestion helped heaps.  all things considered, my job search was still fruitless.... so as a very last resort my next move was to go back to the accursed English teaching establishment and grovel for my job back and then something wonderful happened: I got a job working in an art gallery.  

bout de monde
 which is different than fin de monde.  "bout" in this sense only
means end as in a sausage has two ends.

well now I really couldn't believe my luck. the day before I was told that I was unqualified to sell shoes and in the next moment I found out that I’d get to spend my days in a building by the sea surrounded by beautiful art.  today I heard back from an apartment sublet - I got it, hurray!  things are looking up!  

Cafe Cannibal with Canucks

You know you live in the modern world when you get a call from back home asking:  “So what are you up to next weekend?”  and then before you can say “lickidy-splits” she’s booked her flight.  That’s how Nicole, a best friend since high school, and a women who has almost always gone out of her way to visit me on my little adventures, came to join me first here and then for a ro-tic (that’s romantic sans le “man” as her older sister famously quipped years ago) weekend in Paris.

"Can I get a coffee with milk... okay cafe latte, but it's really not the same thing"

We of course did the touristic things, that touristy people do, and by night we met up with Toronto friends and part-time Parisians in an urban suburb.  I felt extremely lucky to have my favourite people together.  We climbed up and around the park that although closed at this time, has the most magnificent city view of Paris I’d ever seen.  Stopped in for a glass of red and then descended for dinner at an elegant/edgy /cafe/ resto corner pub, with a live band on one side and long tables on the other.  The place was decorated with eerie chandeliers with warm dim lighting, scratched glass hangings and chipped paint.  The server pulled the table segment out to allow two of us to shimmy in behind along the wall bench and then she pushed the table back in again like an amusement park ride locking them in for the meal.  Our table now connected us back within the row of familiar strangers.    

I don’t mind telling you the food was French-tastic, the service was attentive and the atmosphere (I’ve already sort of mentioned) was warm and fun, and the company was superb!  It was a really good night!  The next morning came too quickly and poor Nicole, who had contact lens problems the day before and had been fighting a cold the entire time finally succumbed on her last day.  We were told that the pharmacies post names and location for on-call Sunday doctors, but when we arrived  the posted times were for Saturday, so we walked down the street to the next two pharmacies over, but to no avail.  We asked inside a hotel, where the women wanted to know first if we were guests before she offered a hospital location.  We lied.  To confirm the information we’d received at the hotel, we asked again at the subway info booth.  He told us that we were headed to a private hospital and offered another hospital instead.  We made our way over, found that there were several hospitals in this area, and picked one, which unsurprisingly was closed on a Sunday.  Fortunately, a friendly security guard directed us to another one across the way.  He detailed instructions then told us the short-cut version by passing through the bus terminal, and around the taxi stand etc.  After waiting in line there, we were told to get back on the subway line to another hospital to see a specialist.  We were a little annoyed.  Couldn’t she just see a GP, get some drugs and off we go,?? Nope.  


The third hospital was really beautiful in an old nunnery kind of way, long corridors, huge windows looking into the perfectly manicured courtyard, old pictures on the wall of past presidents, maps and portraits of presumably important people.  It also happened to be beside the famous Nortre Dame, bonus!  We navigated our way to the proper department and waited again in line before we were told to take a seat among the 50 odd people also waiting to see the one doctor on duty.  It took ages.  Nicole and I passed the time by playing elaborate games of MASH.  

Little Trooper

Finally Nicole went up to ask for an ETA, and the nurse told us we could step out for lunch.  We came back an hour later to find the women doctor had been replaced by a dreamy young man.  Nicole and I joked with glee at our luck.  Now Nicole’d have this hottie looking deeply into her eyes, and that all this waiting would be worth it!  Mid school-girl giggles of us dreaming up probable outcomes, Nicole’s name was called and what seemed like an hour passed before she returned.  It turns out dreamy doctor is an interning med student, and so the check up went like this:  He conducts a full eyes/ears/throat exam (inclusive of iodine drops),  comes up with a diagnosis and then the real doctor quickly examines.  She agreed with his diagnosis,  and then they talk about how they’d reached this conclusion, the treatment etc.  

Nicole is such a trooper!  Being sick in not fun, but in  a foreign country and being passed along several times over before finally arriving at the right place and waiting patiently (okay we’re Canadians, we’re familiar with the waiting game for medical service) but all in all she was good humoured and fun to hang with.  I really miss her now and her florescent kleenexes.  The best part of Paris was spending time with my friends.  Maybe this true no matter where in the world you are.