ups & downs

Somewhere among the 6 hours of French class (five days a week), evening soirees in the kitchen upstairs, a lack of constant internet connection, and being too tired at the end of each day to make the effort, I'm afraid this poor blog has suffered.

I have so much to say and I don't really know where to begin!
Because the spring term at l'Institut Catholique, or "Catho", runs from the beginning of March until the end of May, we American students have been placed into another month-long language intensive program here in Paris. This means that myself, three others from my group, and thirteen others (who range from Asian missionary priests to Swedish students taking a gap year) take French classes from 9-12 in the morning, and 2-5 in the afternoon. It's really tiring, but good I suppose.

Class is just so amusing.

There's a residential building near the Catho called MEP, which stands for Mission Etrangee de Paris, and the mission itself invites citizens of India, China, Vietnam, and other Asian countries to come to Paris, learn French, and continue their mission work, enriched with the ability to speak another language. This means that Kissinger, Joseph from Vietnam, Mien Chieng, Joseph from China, Dominic, and Stanislaus, all in the same class as me, are here in France to learn French and continue theological study.

I have never been so amused in a class before. Although the dynamic here is very different from the mostly-American-college-student classes in Tours, the differences are all positive and so interesting. For example:
I don't know if all these guys had a chance to continue their studies during their twenties. Now, these 30-40 year old men act like seventh graders during class. They really enjoy whispering the answers to each other when asked a question by the teacher, or poking fun at each other's responses and accents. Observing these guys who have come from so many different countries in one place, speaking a common language, is really something.

Speaking of which, I've recently realized an aspect of French, or foreign languages in general, that I never understood before. It may sound odd, but, in the past, in high school and even into college, learning a foreign language was something extra that happened only while in actual classes. Now, I've begun to understand that French isn't just a language I can learn for three hours a week in an American university-- here, it's an actual form of communication. In order for me to convey any sort of idea to the Indian and Vietnamese people in my class, I have to speak French, and they have to understand.

I guess I just never really perceived the language in that way before.

Here in Paris, I live in the 8th arrondissement, which places me just a fifteen minute walk north of the Champs Elysees. The building I live in, the Foyer de Naples, is close to the metro and 180 students from many different universities and nationalities are housed here during the semester. I live with an Italian girl named Anne from Milan, who studies theatre at the university in Bologna. She's here until July through Erasmus, a European student exchange program. I like her a lot; as far as roommates go, she's been really easy to live with so far and I hope we can start hanging out more when I begin my classes and electives in March.
We speak a mixture of French and English with each other, and late at night she occasionally slips into Italian, but I try to remember as much Italian as I can and we communicate just fine. I hope I can start Italian cooking lessons with her!


After a rather shady exchange last week in the St. Sulpice metro station with a stranger named Alain, I bought three tickets to the France/Ireland 6 Nations rugby match that took place today. Dad arrived this morning, much to my relief. It was really nice to see his familiar face walking into the foyer, and after quickly changing into my Ireland jersey, we walked into the city and had a coffee near the Champs Elysee before heading to L'Entrecote, a famous steak frites restaurant, for lunch. At noon exactly, a line had already formed outside the building, as they don't accept reservations there. Once dad and I had informed the waitress how we wanted our steak cooked, we settled down to enjoy a delicious meal of salad with dressing and walnuts (Mum you've done a great job of recreating it, by the way. I meant to tell you that!) We shared a small bottle of red wine, and then walked down to an Irish pub called James Joyce for a pint before meeting dad's friend Steve for the match.

The weather was absolutely beautiful today, so dad and I really enjoyed hanging around Paris for the day, and once Steve joined us, we each had a beer outside the stadium before the match began. Although Ireland lost, it ended up being a good game and it was really exciting to see it in person after so many trips to Philadelphia to watch games on TV in Fado!

I've never heard so much English spoken in Paris before. The metro was packed with Irish rugby supporters all day. Even after we lost, everyone was in a jovial mood, including the waiters at an Algerian restaurant where we had couscous and North African dishes for dinner.

It's funny how sports bring people together. Even the playful jabs that the Frenchies had been making at us all day were in good fun, and from the old man in a cafe this morning to the French family at the couscous restaurant tonight, the French were generally really receptive to the Irish presence in Paris today.

On the RER ride home from the stadium, a group of Irish people broke out into ballads, shattering the usually silent train ride. When they started "Molly Malone", I couldn't help but join in.

For the first time in a long time, I felt strangely at peace. My schedule may be demanding, the language and the people may be challenging, but today I felt comfortable as I straddled that line between Paris, and home.