Lists are fun, so I'ma make one.
1. Language learning is an exercise in creativity. How do you say "to sweat"? I have no idea. So how did I phrase it? "When someone makes water with their body that isn't yellow." Well, that works too. I guess.
2. Cultural Spotlight: Speedos. Two Saturdays ago, Liz and I discovered Clermont's allegedly olympic pool. We spent the majority of our time there breaking the rules by sliding down le toboggan head first, bellies on bottom. While in line, I told Liz that there was no such thing as a graceful recovery. As if to prove my point (however unintentionally), I flopped onto the slide - limbs everywhere - screamed the entire way down, and flooded my nostrils with chlorine upon my oh-so-splashtastic exit. I may or may not have been laughed at by a hoard of attractive men as I tried to locate one of my contacts after all was said and kind of done. Anyway. Liz and I were later joined by five German students that we met through the ESC exchange program. Our German lady-friends arrived first, leaving their male counterparts behind. An hour later, we found out why. Apparently, it's not just a cultural norm to wear speedos, it's a rule. Wearing swim trunks is strictly prohibited in some pools. As a result, our guy friends were actually turned away for sporting their all-too modest swim trunks and were forced to buy some slightly more scandalous speedos from a nearby store. All of a sudden that super sexy 2.6 euro student admission fee turned into a 27.6 euro mini-fortune for our German arm-candy. And all of a sudden, Elizabeth and I were a lot better acquainted with our new friends and the effects of spandex on the male form.
3. Making mistakes in French is like shooting yourself in the foot with a rocket launcher. Last weekend, I went shopping for shoes with my two host sisters and Elizabeth. In between visiting forty or fifty shoe stores, we popped into Sephora to buy some nail polish. While browsing, I managed to pick the only tester bottle that wasn't tightly twisted shut. So when I picked up the top, the bottom didn't come with it. Instead, the bottle flew off and out of the nail polish tower (looks like a rainbow-colored Mordor in my memory), the hot pink contents of which exploded EVERYWHERE, including all over the woman standing next to me. How do you apologize for something like that? Shrug your shoulders and say, "You look good in pink?" Nope. "I am absolutely sorry." Not I am so sorry or even I am extremely sorry, but I am "absolutely" sorry. Who says that? Someone who clearly doesn't speak French or belong in France. On top of that, I am not sure if I told my host sisters whether I was embarrassed or pregnant. If I happened to say pregnant, then I later asked, "Are you pregnant of me?" Quelle horreur!
4. Good thing I can't speak English either. Yesterday, a French student had to remind me of the word for countryside IN ENGLISH. I guess I got too greedy. Linguistically, that is. I came here to speak two languages, and now I speak none. Serves me right for going against the American way.
5. I am perpetually lost in translation. This week, I finally started taking classes with French students. While studying at ESC, I will be participating in the Pepiniere. Also known as the worst idea ever, the Pepiniere is a competitive project where one Kalamazoo College student is grouped with six French students in order to come up with a marketing model for a local business. Here's why it sucks: I understand maybe 1/10th of everything that my group says. My group mates speak so quickly that they often have to take deep breaths after finishing their sentences. As a result, when we were asked to list our "tension zones" in working together, the French students put my name as the last but not least response. Right after that, Alexandre, one of my group mates, looked up at me, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "Sorry." In English - just to add insult to injury. Warms my heart, really.
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