The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly...minus the Eastwood

Living in the south of France certainly has its incredible benefits. Yesterday, my new friend Gabrielle and I went to the beach and just sat next to the water for hours, making fun of French men wearing Speedos and watching little French children playing in the sea. I still can't get over how beautiful the weather is; even at the end of October, the sun is shining brightly, it's an easy 80 degrees outside, and there is a light wind. It definitely feels like fall, but it's warm! That is lovely.

The bad part of living in France is the inconveniences that come up unannounced. Yesterday, Gabrielle and I were waiting for a bus for an hour that never came. We had practically given up on it, thinking it was some sort of French conspiracy against us, when we learned that yesterday was the end of Daylights Savings Time in France. Guess we didn't get the memo. No one told either of us! You'd think, at least, that our teachers would tell us so that we'd come to class on time. Oh, but wait...it's vacation. Their minds are checked out, just like their students' are.

But the worst part of living in France is the lack of respect for certain groups. Don't get me wrong, I love it here, but there are ingrained cultural aspects that I cannot seem to forgive. There seems to be an overall lack of respect for people in positions of authority. France, for example, is the only place where I have seen an ambulance stuck in traffic. I mean, seriously, people...in what universe is that okay?

There is an overwhelming lack of respect for teachers. In class, students sometimes "tutoie" their teachers (using the informal "you" rather than the formal "you" -- a concept that is hard to grasp for Anglophones), which used to be seen as unacceptable. It still is, but sometimes they don't care. They don't stop talking, even after a teacher has yelled at and threatened them -- and even when they are taking a test.

But what gets me the most is how women are treated. When walking down the street, I have had the most vulgar things said to me. I have no fear about anything happening to me, but men take advantage of harassing women when they feel like it. I mentioned this to one of the English professors at my school, and he said that men (sometimes Frenchmen, but more often, men of Arab descent) won't respect women, but they'll respect the man behind a woman. So he advised me to say that I'm married and wear a ring on my left hand. Heh. I'm not quite used to that.

So, in light of all this, I want to say a big THANK YOU to all the men in my life who have ever held a door open for me, walked me home late at night, paid for a meal, driven me somewhere, given me flowers, given me a hug, laughed with me, encouraged me, or challenged me to become a better thinker, learner, scholar, or person. You did this not because you had to (I can take care of myself, thankyouverymuch), but because you have respect for me as a woman, a friend, and a human being. And I appreciate that more than you know -- especially because I don't have it here.

Seriously...where is Clint Eastwood when I need him??

Just FYI: Pictures and Videos Posted

I am busy creating a space to post my pictures and videos that I have taken. If you go to http://www.youtube.com and search for videos under my name, leenielouwho, you will find several videos that I have posted online of my travels thus far and of my dorm room.

I am also working on a space on http://www.flickr.com My name there is sarah.gallup, and as you can tell by my sideways pictures, I'm still trying to figure things out on that site. But feel free to check out what I have already posted! I hope to get more online soon!

D & G or not D & G...That is the Real Question Here

One of the questions that my students like to ask me is “what are some of the differences between American and French high schools?” An excellent question. I usually lie, though, offering an answer along the lines of, “well, in the States, we don’t have that awful BAC exam at the end of our four years of high school.” While that is true, I don’t see that as the primary difference between the two cultures. I don’t dare tell them that the main difference is openly evident: peer pressure.

In the States, we throw around the phrase “peer pressure” so often that it becomes this unbearable cliché that is inevitably linked to smoking or drugs or sex. But I don’t think our culture understands the extent to which French high school students are exposed to peer pressure. Their form reaches beyond smoking and drugs and sex, and into the realms of classroom performance, fashion sense, and even spending money. In short, the French version of “peer pressure” is expensive. Period.

Because it is the fashion capital of the world, France and its people is inextricably linked to dressing well. But more than that is the pressure to wear designer-label clothes, shoes, and glasses. I have yet to pass a spectacle-wearing French person whose frames didn’t read (in large letters, mind you), “Prada,” “Diesel,” “Armani,” or “D &G” (for Dolce and Gabbana). At school, I see teenagers wearing these same designer clothes. There is the boy who wears his black “Prada” shirt several times a week. Or the girl I saw yesterday wearing Christian Louboutin stilettos. When was the last time you saw an American teenager wearing $1,000 dollar shoes? I mean, seriously. Designer-label clothing isn’t a splurge; it’s a must. If the name isn’t clearly displayed, then obviously you don’t have the money (or the fashion sense) to afford the “cool clothes.”

This pressure often transfers into other aspects of my students’ lives. They are encouraged by their classmates to act out in class, each one of them trying to outdo themselves by being annoying. This, as I’m sure you can imagine, turns out to be great fun for teachers (ahem, me). Never in my life have I seen such unruly kids in a classroom. They are genuinely good kids, and I love talking to them after class, but class time is usually terrible. Augh. I leave class, wondering if they got anything at all from the lesson, and then a girl will come up to me and say, “thank you, Sarah. Can I ask you some questions about x or y that you said in class?” So at least I know they are paying attention. And I love talking to them.

As long as they are wearing Dolce and Gabbana.

And the Award for the Most Exotic Teacher goes to....Me?

I've never thought of myself as "exotic." Far from, in fact. I'm more likely to compare myself to "Sarah, Plain and Tall" than Sarah Palin. Growing up in Dallas, Oregon, doesn't exactly rate high on the list of "Cool Places to Say You've Lived." And yet, somehow, I've suddenly found myself as the "cool" one -- the person who has not only been to the United States, but who has actually lived there. On top of that, I speak English, meaning that I can understand the obnoxious music being played in every French store and watch American films in their original language. AND, to top it all off, I have actually been to Hollywood and seen Grauman's Chinese Theatre. That right there makes me the coolest person on the planet in the eyes of my French students.

From the "oohs" and "aaahs" they elicit when they hear me easily speak my native language, one might think that I am one of the celebrities they claim I know so well. "You are from the United States," they say. "Don't you know Fifty Cent? Don't you love his music?" (*insert gagging noise here*)

I was beginning to think that I was completely and totally alone here at my school -- that only the English professors knew my name, and I was doomed to walk around the campus as "that weird girl wearing flip-flops outside." After teaching a half a dozen classes already, I am starting to recognize faces, and I wave to students I know. Still, nothing prepared me for the initiation of the post-lunch Sarah Gallup Fan Club.

It started with the 10th grade boy from one of my classes the day before. Yesterday, he asked me how old I was ("'ow ould aaah yoo?"), and then quickly added, "Yoo aaah veddy bee-oo-tiful!" (*insert uncontrollable blushing here*). When I saw him in the hall today, I heard him say, "It's Sarah, the American!" Then he gave me a little shy smile and a wave, so I waved back and winked at him. Hee hee.

I walked past the boy, and into the next hallway, where a girl I recognized said, "Hello, Madame." I waved hi, and walked past her, where another girl said, "Hi, Sarah!" That was followed by, "It's Sarah!!" That remark made the rest of the hall turn their heads and look at me as I walked by. Lined on both sides of the hallway, the students broke out in cries of, "Helloooo, Sarah Gallup!!" "It's Sarah Gallup!!!" "Helloooooo!" "Sarah, hi! Hi, Sarah, hello!!" I felt not unlike a movie star basking in the glow of her fans.

It's funny, too, because it's my students that I see as exotic. I mean, seriously, to an American growing up in the boondocks of Oregon, anyone who speaks French, lives along the Mediterranean, and has fashion and style embedded into their genes is the one who is exotic -- not me! But here it is the contrary. I tell my stories about men in cowboy hats in Central Oregon, who talk on their cell phones as they ride a horse into town, and I watch as their eyes widen in disbelief. I tell them that I have been to Beverly Hills and, although I cannot recall seeing any movie stars, that's where many of them live.

They seem confused by the fact that I don't listen to rap or eat at McDonald's. They don't understand why I don't own a gun (because apparently, all Americans are supposed to own one) or why I don't hang out in East Harlem. They are surprised that I have never been to New York, but most of them have never even been to Paris!! I consider that a weekend trip (and am doing so this weekend, in fact).

I didn't expect to be this "famous" in Perpignan, as the token American in their school. But I'll certainly take advantage of it, and bask in its glory...as long as no paparazzi show up.

"Do you know Brad Pitt?" "Do you have a boyfriend?" and other questions I will be asked daily from here on out

Today was my first day of teaching, and I worked with two English classes. The students spent a few minutes writing down questions they had about me, and the rest of the class time was spent with them asking me those questions. Funny thing was, many of the questions I had already anticipated. They have odd misconceptions about the States -- heightened, of course, by Hollywood and the media in general. Rather than ask about my family (or even the upcoming elections!!), they asked questions like these:

- Do you know Brad Pitt?
- Do you now Chris Brown or Rihanna?
- Do you know Maroon 5?
- Have you ever been to a famous concert? (still not sure what that means -- does the Point of Grace concert I went to count??)
- Do you loooooove Los Angeles? (Answer: NO)
- Do you watch One Tree Hill? (That one made me giggle)
- Do you watch Grey's Anatomy?
- Do you have a boyfriend? (No, then) What's your phone number?

Sigh. It will be an interesting year. I hope that we will all benefit from it.

Fire in the Hole!...I mean, in the 15th century home

Today has given me something to talk about for weeks to come, at least. I was on my way into town to go to the Préfécture (can't think of an English equivalent), where I would get my card to stay in France. While on the bus, I noticed dark smoke in the distance. When we turned the corner, I saw a LOT of smoke coming out from behind the Castillet, one of the historic landmarks in Perpignan. There were firetrucks everywhere, and police officers and fire fighters blocking off streets. I'll admit that I feared it was the Castillet burning down, but silently hoped (as horrible as it sounds) that it was the Préfécture, so I could delay getting my carte de séjour for a while longer.

According to Le Figaro online, the fire started early this morning, around 5 am, in the perfum shop on the first floor of an apartment complex. The buildings in this part of town date back to the Middle Ages (I'd like Natasha to note that I didn't say "the Dark Ages") and are located in the oldest part of the town. Thus, any type of fire in them (and in a perfum shop, nonetheless!) is disastrous. The people living above the perfume shop were evacuated, but the fire was really, really bad. According to the report, one firefighter is in critical condition in the local hospital and another has been treated for smoke intoxication.

When I arrived at the fire, I noticed that it was next door to the Préfécture. Two police officers were blocking off the road where I needed to be. When I told them where I was going, I was surprised that they let me pass. There were already about 30+ people in line for the Préfécture that morning, and we were all standing next to the burning building. I couldn't believe it! The smoke was right over all of us, shielded only by the side of the old building. There was ash falling around us, and our shoes were getting soaked by the water coming from the firefighters' hoses. Frankly, I still can't believe they let us get that close! Later, there were journalists who showed up, asking questions and taking pictures.

The Préfécture opened late today because of the fire, and by the time we got in, I felt like I was in a refugee camp. A line of about 60 at least had formed (all different nationalities, of course), and we were all a little wet, grouchy, and tired. Babies were crying, old women were coughing, and young men were demanding to get in to the Préfécture. When I got up to the gate, a policeman blocked my entry and said, "pas d'étrangers!" (No foreigners) He let a few French people in to get their drivers' licenses renewed, but I stood outside, still getting a little wet from the hoses. That was, perhaps, the first time I felt discriminated against.

Don't worry, though; I finally got let in, dried off, and waited...for four more hours. But I left with the documents I had come for. And a good story of the Fire of the Year.

I'd like to thank the Academy, and, surprisingly, McDonald's

It's true that McDonald's is the true American Embassy. With familiar food, free bathrooms, and free internet, it is a little piece of home. Still, even though there is one right across from the high school where I am teaching, I only come here for the internet (I don't have WiFi yet installed in my room). It's funny, though, to see rail-thin women both working at and buying food from McDonald's (called Macdo here). For all the hoopla that France has made about McDonald's taking over their country, I must admit that it is much more healthy than our American version. They have smaller portions, much more fruit to choose from, strawberry milkshakes that actually taste like strawberries, unsalted fries, and fresh salads. Amazing. Still, I am only here for the internet.

Thanks to Macdo, I was able to reconnect myself with civilization. I now have Skype, for those of you who also have it. My Skype name is sarah.e.gallup, so please feel free to give me a "call"!!

If you would like my address or phone number here in France, please send me an email at sgallup@pacificu.edu, and I will happily give it to you! Hope to hear from you soon!