LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
Student CAMP: Notes from Elsewhere |
by Kristen Minor |
At some point last wintermost likely when slogging through several feet of snow and losing feeling in my appendagesI decided that it would be brilliant of me to take advantage of one of my college's study abroad programs. Much to my own amazement, I now find myself in France. The idea of studying abroad was entirely abstract until I actually got off the plane, whereupon I realized, "I am in France. People speak French here. Dear God." Even now I occasionally find myself wondering if I am in New York City and took a wrong turn in Chinatown. I am studying in Lyon, one of France's larger cities. If it is the second largest or not is a source of debateone of my professors, a Lyonnaise through and through, gave my bewildered class a fifteen minute justification as to why Lyon was in fact number two on our first day of classes. The argument is over size versus population. Paris is a city of over seven million. All of the other cities have around one million and seem to suffer from perpetual Napoleonic complexes over which among them is the largest. The ultimate goal of my program is to attain fluency in the language. (To be honest, I suspect that it is in fact to make us French. If citizenship is offered after the final exam I wouldn't be surprised.) I am, after two weeks (combined with four years of high school and one semester of college French, which served to make me speak at the level of a very small child) at the able to get by pretty well level. I understand far more than I can speak, and my American accent is fading. I'm now often mistaken for British. The method here is learning because you have no choice. It's very effective. My family does not speak English, and among ourselves we students speak a bizarre Franglish, switching between the two languages depending on what we speak about. Home is usually in English. I find myself occasionally homesick. I'm forever writing letters and pining over my Jennifer. I also am discovering small differences between the countries. The soda cans are heavier; yogurt is richer and eats like ice cream. The public transit is the most interesting. Every day I ride a bus from the suburbs over the Saone river and then walk over the Rhone river to the university; the first day the radio was playing "Born in the USA." Transit is bizarrely compulsory. You do not have to buy a ticket to ride and can attempt to play the odds, said odds being that the transit police do not randomly stop you and ask to see your ticket. It happens rarely, but the fine is enormous. This effectively makes most everyone buy tickets. There was an entire episode of Star Trek based on this idea. Europe is in fact under a great period of adjustment at the moment, as everyone is switching to the Euro. I enjoy the Euro because it is so close to the American dollar that making a distinction in everyday life is quite pointless. The French, however, are not enjoying the transition. I have discovered the gay people. If Paris is gay, Lyon is atbest bi-curious. The community here is somewhat small and insular. There is a gay bookstoreone of just three in the entire country. I went there and asked if they had any books in English (they don't, although the vast majority of the stock is books translated from English. There just aren't so many queer French writers.) and the clerk immediately launched into a joyous, "Oh, are you American? I love America! What state?" followed by "And what on Earth are you doing here?" I understand completelyin the summertime I am perpetually amazed by who decides that Delaware is a desirable vacation spot. The most immediate things that I have learned are lessons in the mundane. How the postal system works, the best way to change money, how to change computer configurations. How French people really speak was a shockthey don't speak French any better than most Americans speak English. I thought living in France would be exotic, and it turns out that scores of French people do it every day. In the end, my life here is different. Not better or worse, just different, and the variables lie more within the transition from small town to big city life than from switching countries. I realize now that no city is without insane drivers, pollution, and prostitutes. And I'm speaking Frenchnot just speaking, but learning how to live within the language. It is worth the sense of dislocation. Kristen Minor is a member of the class of 2004 at Dartmouth College, where there is currently a foot of snow while weather in Lyon remains relatively nice. Ha. If you email her at kristen@youth-guard.org she will get back to you sometime after Saint Patrick's Day. Seriously. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 12, No. 01, February 1, 2002. |