Every little child here of toddling age has a tricyle or a baby-sized scooter. If a kid can walk on their own accord for more than ten paces, they are given their own mode of transportation. They scoot themselves along next to the parents, receiving no aid but some encouragement. I theorize that because all adults walk so quickly, the children must be able to keep up on their own. A toddler can move very fast on a tricycle. It gives the kids a lot of autonomy, and they are allowed to pedal great distances away from their parents, sometimes completely out of their line of sight.
Their music taste is alarming. So far, I have heard Toto, Shakira, Pitbull, and 4 Non Blondes (that song that goes heyeyeyey ye ye). The only “French” music I have heard is French singers covering old American music on the radio. They don’t listen to recent music, or even music that was ever particularly popular in the States, but they can’t get enough of it. I’m surprised I haven’t heard Kate Bush yet. The quantity of songs and the huge differences between the subjects of the songs leads me to believe that the French have little to no idea what they are hearing.
Teachers just take stuff. Before class yesterday, the Indian lady was reading a book of ads and the prof just took it out of her hands and showed it to the class, saying that you can’t always trust those things, then gave it back. She saw that I had a couple extra highlighters, so she took them and gave them to some other students who didn’t (I got them back). My French teachers at UT did that, so I think it’s a cultural thing. The French are very upfront and honest about their wants and needs.
I went to a yoga class today. The yogi was perhaps the smallest man on earth, standing a full two heads shorter than me. He spoke brilliant French but very crude English, and by crude I mean that he told me to stretch out the part that makes pee and s*** and babies. His words. In French, he said to relinquish the stress in your lowest chakra — for the same action. If I continue going to this class, I am going to request he only speak French. And besides the language thing, this was the weirdest yoga session I have ever experienced. None of the poses were familiar to me. We did a painful rapid-breathing technique and every pose was held for nearly a minute. When I asked him after class if he knew about a difference between French yoga and American yoga, he told me to be careful to not miss the forest for the trees. I think he believes that that was an answer to the question I asked.
Classes are good. I am learning a lot every day. Sometimes I can convince myself that I don’t know a single word of French and sometimes I believe that I have lost English entirely. I’m sure this is healthy and normal.
Cordialement,
Allison
P.S.: My roommate said that she ate a lot of bread today, but she is not going to tell me how much because she knows it was too much bread.
Flan in France 