This blog is my attempt to provide stereotypical insights about my short time living in Southern France.
Weekend in the States
By Administrator | April 28, 2008
I went to the states for a quick trip this weekend. A good buddy of mine was getting married and I made a 40-hour stopover in Houston to share the weekend with him. Yes he’s a good friend. The weekend was an overall success and lots of fun, although I have had some bouts of confusion screaming from my body along the way.
I spent the night in Paris on Thursday night and ate well, including a big plate of garlic pesto doused snails and a fat steak. I must think I am still earning cash, and am definitely in denial on the exchange rate because the bill came and for one person, I paid over US $100, which is not in my budget. I was a bit frustrated with myself for splurging before my weekend had even started.
My flights across the pond and in the states were generally un-warranting of comment except for a flakely landing in the middle of the windy city Chicago airport (which almost resembled this YouTube video).
In general, when I air travel alone I tend to remain to myself, nose stuck in a book or magazine and ears in headphones. This trip, I tried to be more outgoing and social, which is the way it should be, which resulted in me meeting some interesting people at the airports and on my flights.
Touching down in Houston, there were several points worth mentioning. One, looking out of the aircraft window at the suburbs as we neared landing made me laugh, the pattern of cookie cutter neighborhoods brought the odd mix of pleasing disgust, and I couldn’t help but be reminded of Showtimes series, The Weeds theme song, “Little boxes on the hillside, Little boxes made of ticky-tacky, Little boxes on the hillside, Little boxes, all the same”.
The other two points were the extreme air condition in the airport, which was an immediate difference from my recent immersion from anti air-conditioned Europe, and the fact that there were a bunch of bigger people, as in horizontally, than I have been around as of late.
The wedding festivities were overall great. I sported a newly purchased European dark grey pinstripe suit and pink tie, which was just a little too tight, but sharp. Anytime I go to or live in Europe, I have these grand visions that because I walk everywhere and avoid fast food, I will lose weight, therefore allowing me to purchase and fit into clothes that are generally made for tall and skinny Europeans. (I secretly like it when my friends tell me I’m dressed like euro-trash.) I had the suit tailored, but I did maintain the stubborn thought when I purchased the suit that it would fit in my ideal weight and self image as opposed to actuality (I sometimes mistakenly think that I am always as skinny as I feel when I look in the mirror in the morning, which is never the same in the evenings). The suit looked fine, but there isn’t room for flexibility in the future. I’ll just have to force the health and exercise card. Piece of cake.
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Bebop Style
By Administrator | April 22, 2008
The other night my friends and I kicked off a group bebop freestyle while we were out waiting to go into an after hours place. It was pretty hot because this was the first time in awhile that I’ve been apart of a successful impromptu bebop. The last time I remember was when I was 17 in my high school baseball class. We were in our locker room during a rain out. Someone started a simple beat with their cleat and then the next person added a hand beat and it continued with each teammate until the whole group was in a different but harmonic beat. We were serious about keeping it and resulted in a pretty awesome moment, until the basketball coach came in a yelled at us.
I first got this idea some time ago from the movie Glory, where the civil war soldiers were sitting around the campfire, telling stories, praying, and singing as a coping method while they prepared for their next battle. As song was a major uniter, each would express themselves by adding a rhythm, rhyme, or prayer to the chant. See clip.
Ours wasnt as soulful, but we did get to the point where everyone carried a beat which resulted in a pretty kick-ass bebop flow. I only wish I had it recorded. We did get a pic.
What was funny is that in this town, at that late hour, one would think we would be creating a scene. Many people walked by but never stopped to listen or gawk. Maybe we just sounded good to ourselves.
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Group Dynamics
By Administrator | April 16, 2008
Hmnn…France is coming around. I’m having some fun. I suppose it’s all in your outlook, and friend base, of course. I kind of thrive on social interaction and the group here has been fun. Plus the weather is coming around and we’re spending more time outdoors, going to the beach, afternoons at my pool, etc. I’ve been reading a lot on group dynamics and social interaction and have been testing out the methods with my friends here, which has been fun.
For instance, I remember a bachelor party that we threw for one of my friends in Texas some time ago. We dressed the bachelor up in some silly get-up which included a “wife beater” t-shirt, giant ray ban sunglasses, and other silly “items of flair” that drew as much attention to him and us as possible. When we went out on the town, we walked into the bars and owned the places. We had the energy that commanded attention and we got it. All the girls in the place wanted to hang out with us and all the guys wanted to be us (so we believed, at least).
I’ve thought about this a lot because it’s an interesting (and fun) state of mind to be in and reaching that mindset isn’t the easiest to achieve, at least without understanding the factors for success. So I’ve tried to find out more about this concept. Essentially, it is being willing to do what the next guy wont.
Although I’m in France, I have not yet achieved a good rapport with locals. Probably b/c my language skills are still minimal and English is just not as regularly spoken as in other places I’ve been (this could be a full topic in itself). I hang out with people, mostly from other European countries, some Mediterranean countries like Spain and others like from the Scandinavian flair. Hair color (leaning blond) tends to stand out so when we go out, the group is generally noticed.
My friends and I achieved this state the other night at an after hours dance place. It was tiny and we arrived with 3 guys and 5 girls. It was crowded and we had to push our way to dance area. Once there, we formed our dance circle and took turns showing our individual moves in the center. We were all having fun and that drew attention from both sexes in the place. Small groups and singles were creeping up on our group wanting “in” and to watch our dynamic. Guys wanted to see the girls from our group and girls were curious what our guys were all about. They all wanted in on the fun.
It was a good night as the elements fell into place to achieve this state of mind. Naturally I want to achieve this more often. My extended “vacation” is a nice hiatus from reality, I suppose.
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French PDA
By Administrator | April 1, 2008
The other day I was walking down the street and passed this car parked on the side of the road. As I walked by, I looked over and saw two people crouched up against the wall behind the car, one whose back was against the wall and the other who was leaning in. Both were dressed in winter clothes and had long hair, one blond and the other donning long, dark curls. Initially I thought it was two girls crying, one who was consoling the other. As I took a closer look, I realized they were a little too close for consolation and the movement was not sobbing but make out madness.
I immediately blinked my eyes as I was witness to two girls making out in the middle of the street. As a good “rubber-necker” and people watcher, compounded with the fact that I like to observe and write, this moment was approaching bronze or silver for me. I don’t know just how long I was staring but I did get a surprise when they stopped and looked up at me being still, creepy and voyeuristic. The dark haired person was a man, I realized, and my behavior seemed to be the object in question.
I walked off and imagined him say to her (in a strong accent, and probably in French), “Stewpi’ Amehicaaah, cah we jus’ be lowver in peace.”
Anyway, public display of affection (pda) is rampant in these parts.
(Prepare for the terrible story transition…)
It is even noticed in French animals. I was at the river today with some friends after class. It was a warm day and 6 of us grabbed some lunch and beer and headed to the river in town to picnic. We were sitting on the grass near the shore, enjoying the sun, when we were interrupted by a commotion taking place in the water.
At first it looked like two or three green headed, Mallard Duck males were fighting, which was cool. Upon closer look, there was a female mixed in the middle. There was either serious competition-mating taking place or these ducks seemed to be having their way with the hen. It was a conflicting sight to see her trying to get away and see them chasing after her, fighting to take turns and grabbing on to her neck feathers with their bills to move in closer. Her struggle to come up for air under the water and free from the charged drakes got to be a little disturbing, so much so that I took pictures (again, like a good rubber-necker). (Click on the image to expand and you’ll notice the hen’s facial expression.)
The girls with us felt for the hen and started throwing things at the ducks to distract but it was to no avail. The guys tried to console the girls, saying it was just a little rough French animal foreplay, but that didn’t settle their anger at the drakes’ behavior. Finally the ducks came near shore and I swatted at the guy ducks with a stick, which freed the hen for a chance to fly off. She flew to the land on the opposite shoreline but the drakes immediately followed and continued their aggression, which caused more rubber-necking from sunbathers on that side. I suppose that PDA, regardless of mammal, its just a way of life that we must get used to seeing.
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The Caveman Solution
By Administrator | March 26, 2008
One thing you hate to see when you’re living overseas, and particularly in Europe, is the obnoxious American, virgin to international travel and the associated behavioral etiquette. I experienced one of those moments last night and was embarrassed as an American. Imagine if you will this situation.
It was our weekly trivia game at the local pub and my team had pulled together quite a group. We had about 10 players and commanded a small section in the corner of the pub. We were equal in guys and girls, had French players as well as others from around Europe, Asia and North America, so we felt we had a broad knowledge base and good momentum from last week to compete. There was a group next to us that shared a similar size, diversity, and enthusiasm.
The quiz began and the host this week was different. This bartender had a less commanding voice and had to yell louder to grab the audience’s attention and quiet the bar to begin rounds. The first sign of the ugly American came after he would yell, “Rounnnnd 2, Rounnnd 2”. This girl from our neighboring group must have felt that he wasn’t obtaining the total attention from the bar, and her yowl would be of assistance. After his call to arms, she would stand up next to him, cup her hands to her mouth, and yell, “Heeeeey. He said Roounnnnd 2”, in a manly voice that resonated down to the brain and bone. Of course it worked, both from the discordance and the nerve of her to feel obligated to be his sound patrol. This happened after all five rounds of questions and by the end, our table was shaking our head at her unnecessary absurdity.
At this point, I knew she had an American accent, but didn’t care to talk to her to find out where she was from, or if she simply knew English well. (Plus, there is always a feeling when you live overseas that you are the sole representative of America in that city and you resent the fact another American is “on your turf”. So I didn’t feel like talking to her, all things considered.)
At the end of the quiz, the results were displayed and my team didn’t win. I think we placed 4th, which was frustrating because I realized several of the answers right after we turned in our score sheets. How could I not put two and two together with the question – In “Animal Farm, What is the name of the leader pig?”, asked at a French quiz night. Literally, as soon as our card was handed in, the light bulb came on and I retardedly blurted out “Napoleon, it’s Napoleon!”
I also felt like a doof because one of the questions asked how many stars are on the American flag, of which all eyes turned to me, and I did a 9,8,9,8,9,8 count and got 51, thinking maybe there are 6 rows, and with DC…which was a total embarrassment when the answer was 50, one for each state, and don’t count Puerto rico, damnit.
Anyway, I was frustrated because we were close, but lost. Coincidentally enough, this obnoxious girl was apart of the winning group. Our second contact with her came during the brainstorming portion of a round, when she stood up, tip-toed over, and leaned into our conversation. We ‘shoed’ her away and she said, “I’m just a neutral spy, don’t worry”, and giggled.
The third contact, and the one that broke the camels back for me, came after their victory. The winning team gets a bottle of whiskey to share. They had divvied up their spoils and she meandered over to our group, glass in hand. This girl is young, fresh out of college, of average height, weight, and attraction. There is nothing that would normally draw your attention her way which is why, I suppose, she carries a loud voice.
I was talking with someone else and didn’t notice her approach. She began talking in French with one of our teammates. They tapped me on the shoulder, and said “Hey Matt, this girl is from the States.” I looked over and made contact with her glassy eyes and started a conversation with her and the group. We teased her about using spies and I-phones to generate a win and she retorted, “no we didn’t; don’t be sore losers”.
She asked me why I wasn’t speaking French and I said because I was a beginner, I’m out with my friends at a pub, and I cant generate French conversation at the level I want to right now. She discarded what I said and responded , fairly aggressively, that I was being disrespectful to the country and that I should be speaking French while living over here. She switched languages and started talking “at” me in French, some of which I understood. I started to get mad as she personalized her attack.
Then she asked in French where I was from and I said, Texas, responding in English. Her voice was picking up in tone throughout this conversation and drawing the attention of my entire group. She squawked in a terrible Cliché, “Texas? Only steers and queers come from Texas and you sure don’t look like a steer. And you don’t even speak French in the country.” I didn’t respond and looked away. My friends were quiet. She repeated herself, “Did you hear me? Only steers and queers are from Texas, and you don’t look like a steer, you queer.”
During this attack, I felt like she was talking to me in slow motion. Her lips were moving slowly as the sound coming from her mouth got slow and deep. I saw some spit fly out of her mouth, slowly trajecting across the table and landing near me. She had animated hands and while one wavered with her drink, the other had a finger pointed up and she was waving it in slow motion across her body to add emphasis to her insult. I couldn’t take it anymore. She had crossed the line and embarrassed myself and my country in front of my friends.
I stood up, walked over to her, grabbed her by the hair and headed strait for the front door, dragging her waist high, caveman style through the pub crowd, out the entrance and into the street. She clawed and screamed the whole way. The bar silenced and jaws dropped.
I was furious. I yelled at her, “How does it feel to be humiliated by a random act of aggression?”…..
Flash.
Here is what really happened.
I stood up, walked over to her and said, “ I want to talk to you in the corner”. We walked over and I expressed my thoughts to her about what she was doing, which turned into a very long winded and circular conversation. I got an apology and she agreed to leave. Sometimes I hate being the diplomat and I hate seeing the omnipotent and obnoxious American living overseas. The Caveman Solution would have been the better choice…
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Comprehension, quickly!
By Administrator | March 24, 2008
I’ve been in country almost 30 days and this last week I’ve begun to hit that first low, the lonely and un-motivating feeling that drives the question – why am I here?
My experience in Montpellier has been good, but not great. I don’t think I’ve clung onto this city because there is nowhere I can go and feel comfortable. I run down to the river and around that, but it’s too cold to sit outside on its shoreline. I’ve gone to the library to study but that is far away and not always open. The bars and cafes are nice, but they are expensive and I don’t always have people to go with, or when I go, the scene just seems routine. The friend’s places I’ve gone to are small, and I haven’t become comfortable with them enough to stop by or hang out randomly, so I resort to mostly hanging out at my place.
I didn’t travel this weekend (a three day weekend) because I thought it smart to save some money and study, the latter of which I didn’t do. That wasn’t smart because I’ve gone cave-crazy in my room.
Of course, it’s difficult to travel by yourself. The meals seem to be the most lonely times. I ate dinner the other night at a quaint café. I ordered the cheap menu of the day, and tried to pick out what was familiar to me, and received the exact opposite of what I expected, which is typical. I sat at the dinner table reading a book, taking in my surroundings and drinking local red wine which was nice.
Afterwards, I stopped by a blues and jazz bar on the way home to listen to some live music and this old drunk French patron crept me out by (almost forcefully) trying to get me to buy him a drink, which drove me to leave prematurely.
As I struggle with learning French, struggle with relating to the city, making and relating to new friends (I am generally older than most of the other students here), and thinking about my upcoming graduate school finances and the crappy exchange rate I’m currently suffering (1Dollar = 0.60 Euros), I cant help but think why am I here. I could be working to save money or down in a cheaper country in S. America. Persistence Matt – just get over the hump… Living a life of international adventure and intrigue can be pretty hard at times.
Just kidding.
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Corporatizing Europe
By Administrator | March 21, 2008
I promise not to turn into a raging socialist while living in France, but I would like to take a moment to highlight a benefit from its spoils, which I feel is one advantage against aggressive capitalism – at least in this yuppy’s mind.
One of the more compelling traits of Europe is its commitment to the boutique, mom and pop, shop owners who sell specialty items.
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A major saving grace is the lack of central space available for many of the larger companies to set up shop. The tight quarters and smaller commercial spaces available in many of the town centers allow The Cheese Guy, The Bread Guy, The Butcher, etc, to do his thing in his tiny store in the middle of town without fierce low-cost competition from big brother. (This is one reason I like NYC. Of course it has every corporation known to man, but much of Manhattan is home to unique specialty restaurant and retail stores.)
In Montpellier, the big businesses are also here, H&M, Zara, Ikea, and Champion (the giant supermarket)… but they are mostly outside of town, where space is available for the cookie-cutter, warehouse-style, low-cost, shopping centers that Americans know so well.
In my opinion, keeping the specialty shop in the neighborhood is worth every extra cent. One, the personal touch is appreciated. Two, it also helps maintain a stronger middle class, which seems to be disappearing in societies where corporations are dominating.
The irony in Europe is that these low cost stores require a vehicle or some sort of public transport to get to. For the people it would most benefit, they don’t have cars. So companies (like in America) have lobbied and made contributions to expand the public transportation system to reach these stores, benefiting all but the specialty shop owner and middle class.
I don’t know how long the current state will be able to support this system. Space is a big deterrent, but somehow I think corporate capitalism is too big of a beast and it will one day prevail. In the meantime, I will continue to root for the little guy with my business.
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Dog Gone Curbing.
By Administrator | March 18, 2008
One component of the place I am royally not pleased with is the lack of respect toward “curbing your dog”. This town, aside from a river running just off the center, and two very small parks, is not animal-friendly. This doesn’t stop folks from owning dogs of all sizes.
I never really appreciated the laws of some American cities (NYC for sure) requiring one to pick up after the animal ‘goes’, until now. Part of me detests the idea of carrying a poop sac as you walk your dog, turning it inside out, reaching down, and collecting the warm, breathing mass, après business done by said animal. When I saw this occurring in NYC by owner alike, I was pretty certain that could never be me.
Montpellier’s rules are a little different. It’s not required. The result, with so many apartments, people and dogs, and so little poop space is that our pavement is their canvass, and by canvass I mean, minefield.
It disgusts me down to the core, to have to watch the ground as I walk, weaving all the way the work, seeing new, aged, and petrified poo-doo almost every third step. This, compounded with the smell, is really concerning to me. By concerning, I mean f-in wrong for a city to allow this type of thing. All cities have an underbelly, but this one scratches a little too much of the surface for me, my shoes, and occasionally the bottom of my pants, to accept.
As soon as I can, I will write a few letters.
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What to Do
By Administrator | March 17, 2008
On Tuesday nights, we, and by that I mean the language students and I, goto this British/French pub where you (try to) order in French, and they only answer in English. They have quiz night this night, usually followed by a good (this is relative to the reader) Champions League soccer match. Last week my team, named Team Team, finished 4th of 13 teams, which I was pleased with b/c we were 12 of 13 or something horrendous the week before, which wasn’t kosher b/c we brought the most people of any team that night to participate.
Our excuse was that we are not locals, and some of the questions might be considered unfavorable to the international, non-european mind, but we get by. The host is a British goof, and he calls out the questions and answers in both English and French. This week was environmental night, and I scored points with my team by knowing Mt Kilimanjaro, Chernobyl, Exxon Valdez, and “It’s the End of the World as We Know it”, by REM to the various questions. I call them ‘aging exercises’ to some of the younger crew.
The soccer match that night was memorable to me, only because I said the ignorant line of the night to the entire European group, blurting out during the build up to a free kick late in the second half, “ok, so Liverpool is the blue team, right?”, which drew horrendous laughter. This comment is equivalent to someone saying in America, “Dallas is the maroon team, right?”, when the Cowboys play the Redskins.
Liverpool is apparently known as “The Red”. I’ve got more to learn in that regard. I did have a decent conversation afterwards with a Frenchmen, in French, about Tony Parker so that reconciled my mess in mind.
I also watched a funny movie recently. Actually I was told it was funny. Its vocals were a mix between French, Spanish, Catalan, and a little English, and the subtitles were in French, which royally F-ed with my mind throughout the entire sitting. It was called L’auberge Espagnole, which is about a French student who takes an Erasmus in Barcelona. An Erasmus is a year spent studying at another university in another country. You might call the movie a tamed down version of any American college flick. Actually, it wasn’t that tame. I mostly just understood the visuals.
This last weekend, I went to Avignone with a planned trip from the language school, which was pretty fun, but not great. It was an hour bus ride hosted by a 20-something, overzealous guy who played old French songs on his guitar standing at the front while one or two riders meekly sang along. Upon arrival, we went on a local wine tasting (the Languedoc region), which was cool, and toured the Pope’s castle (apparently sometime during the medieval years, the catholic church broke in two with one epicenter in Avignone in Southern France, and the other at the Vatican). I was tempted to ask in choppy American French, “So is this the Vatican?” to see the crowd’s reaction, primarily because the tour was in French and I didn’t understand a thing; instead, I just interpreted the day to myself as if everyone were Simpson’s characters.
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French BAM
By Administrator | March 15, 2008
I could probably write several posts at length about the fashion of Europe. For now I will simply say it is a lot to handle. For one, they love dressing up, and by that (other than nicely and layered), I mean coving their body, which is fine when it’s cold but it was 70 degrees and people were in long sleeves and jackets. Granted it was March, so people’s minds and bodies are still ingrained in winter power, but as a Texan, it will always be a stretch for me to waste such good sun.
One of the little known facts that I did not realize in my (un)thorough research in choosing a place to live is that Montpellier is, like, the gay capital of France, or Europe, or somewhere. I wouldn’t have really thought twice about this except it brings out some astounding fashion, like lots of tight, bright, white pants and matching form-fitting, military-cut, white-jacket ensembles (that’s a French word I promise to never use when I return to the states). Large sunglasses, spiked hair, puckered lips, and rosy cheeks make me double and sometimes triple-take, which bothers me because it’s a man I have to remind myself that I’m staring at.
The fashion continues in many forms, some interesting, some horrendous (in my southern-conscious mentality), and some of both that will eventually trickle over to the states if it hasn’t already hit. For instance, I can’t understand why the 80’s thing is coming back. Take the ankle hugging, form-fitting jeans. These have a tendency of wrongly inflating features of girls’ bodies.
The pants play visual tricks on my mind, creating an unflattering, thickening effect as you move up the leg. Once you pinnacle at the caboose, BAM. The pants make many girls look out of proportion. I suppose to each his own (many like the BAM) and some women here can pull it off. Or maybe I’m seeing it wrong and that which leads to the BAM is the whole point of the look, but in my opinion, it’s just a faux pas.
All of this has helped me generate the term, ‘Europed’ (the self-believed sophisticated term for Euro-trash that some American’s belovingly substitute), which refers to a “fashioned-out” belle/beau and pertains to the clothing characteristics I have described. Another example.
One recent day I was walking to class and noticed this guy, wearing a leather jacket, fully europed, weaving the crowd while riding his BMW motorcycle, and out of place in the pedestrian heavy, narrow cobblestone streets of the busy shopping morning. The thing that brought him into my reality, causing a mental note, other than the fact he was coming right at me, was the unfazed look of coolness he wore weaving the crowd on his motorbike, and with a lit cigarette draping his lips, his casual, French, aloof, arrogance made me laugh.
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