I have now spent over half of my allocated time abroad. Three and a half months of pain au chocolat for breakfast, of bodged conversations in shops, of attempting to instil the basics of English into rebellious students. Three and a half wonderful months of cultural, linguistical and physical adventure (of the sporting variety, you filthy-minded bunch!). At this point, it's probably appropriate to see how I'm doing with my aims for my year abroad:
Improve my French
Ben...oui quoi...Fin, je kwah que c un 'tit peu mieux. Qui sait.
Eat lots
Well, this is one area in which I've been spectacularly consistent and, if I may say so, a bit of an overachiever. My greatest discoveries so far have been 'merveilleux chocolats' - an enormous ball of meringue covered in chocolate creme and lavishly garnished with sprinkles.
- I've just counted and there are 7 sorts of cheese on my shelf in the fridge.
- I've tried raclette, tartiflette, croziflette, 3 types of fondue, (meat, cheese and chocolate), diots, polenta and many other local specialities.
It doesn't end with French food, though. We had a house meal the other week to celebrate the international nature of our floor. One dish from each person representing their country.
Starter: frogs legs (France) and haggis (of sorts) in stuffed peppers (well, would you want to stuff a sheep's stomach?)
Main: salmon and boiled potatoes (Norway)
Pudding: flapjack and Brazilian bombons (giant strawberries coated in caramel and chocolate).
Of course, some silly person had to go and spoil it all by eating too much, then spending the rest of the evening sat on her balcony in the freezing cold trying not to be sick....ahem....
Climb lots
This started off really well with a frantic mission to cram in as much climbing as possible before the dawning of The Cold and the fleeing of The Motivation. Fear of Fred and meatballs aside, I've had a great time exploring Orpierre, les Dentelles de Montmirail, les Calanques, the Vercors (albeit in the dark and fog), the cliffs above Lac d'Annecy and a variety of local crags, none of which were as esoteric as feared. I've introduced friends to via ferrata, bumbled up (or nearly up) some local mountains and have befriended/bribed/fooled sufficient numbers of people to make good use of the free climbing walls in town and the excellent centres in Grenoble. It's been brilliant conditions for ice climbing this season and I've been playing around with different axes and doing my usual job of cursing ice screws as they attempt to anchor into my leg.
Ski lots
I think this deserves its own post, but needless to say I am slowly getting better at downhill skiing, having gone at least once every week since Christmas.
Cross-country skiing is coming along very nicely. I wonder why I have this obsession with going up things the hard way, rather than just enjoying the ride down.
Saturday, 7 February 2009
Petites Choses Pour Faire Rire
It's been busy, busy, busy here, but here are some highlights of the past couple of weeks:
- Introducing the kids I tutor privately to Marmite. Oh, the looks on their faces when they discovered it didn't taste like caramel!
- Another tutoring incident: in the middle of talking to the kids' businessman father, I suddenly realised the laundrette was about to shut, trapping all my undies overnight and requiring a really early start the following morning, and most likely having to carry a rucksack full of wet laundry round school. In the midst of this most extreme of crises, the father paid me, handing over a note.
'Maintenant!' ('Now!') I declared.
There was no getting out of it...there's no way that could pass for 'merci' with an English accent.
Fortunately, he seemed similarly distracted and it was just the children who collapsed into giggles.
- I spent a day ice-climbing with Baptiste. In the preparation email, we tried to sort out gear.
"Ne t’inquiète pas: je prendrai mes sangliers" (Don't worry, I'll bring my slings) I reassured him. (NB: For all you non-climbers, a sling is like a thin loop of rope that we tie around things for abseiling or to attach ourselves to rock/ice.)
The next day, these slings came in handy. After a couple of pitches of climbing, I asked Baptiste if he wanted to take my slings. "I've got a big sling and a little sling", I offered, "we could wrap one round a tree up there".
At this point, Baptiste burst out laughing. Slightly affronted, I asked him what was so funny, wondering if this was yet another France Vs. England climbing clash, where the other country's habits are mercilessly mocked.
"Do you know what a 'sanglier' is?" he asked. Of course I bloody knew - I'd just been talking to him about sangliers (slings). Why would I have suggested putting one round a tree, let alone own several, if I didn't know what it was?!
Then it dawned on me.
That awful, blushworthy, creeping realisation that the wrong word might just have crept into my vocabulary.
All at once I remembered where I'd last heard the word. It had been ice-climbing, but not during the climbing itself; rather, en route, when we had spotted a wild boar running through the snow.
Yep, that's right. I had merrily and inadvertently been saying "wild boar" (sanglier) instead of "sling" (sangle) every single time. A quick replacement exercise of the above sentences will give some indication as to why Baptiste was now wetting himself with laughter.
Oh, bollocks.
- It's not just me who makes entertaining language cock-ups. At dinner with a teacher and her husband last week, my friends and I were delighted to hear her say: "You're such a bad boy" in a completely innocent sense, followed by his unintentionally hilarious response: "Yes, but you know you like it". Much trouble was had keeping straight faces.
Similar efforts had to be made at the apres-diner magic show, when said husband produced some red, plastic balls (which were soon to multiply and vanish into thin air), took Kat's hand and told her, in all earnestness: "Take my balls in your hand and squeeze them hard".
- Introducing the kids I tutor privately to Marmite. Oh, the looks on their faces when they discovered it didn't taste like caramel!
- Another tutoring incident: in the middle of talking to the kids' businessman father, I suddenly realised the laundrette was about to shut, trapping all my undies overnight and requiring a really early start the following morning, and most likely having to carry a rucksack full of wet laundry round school. In the midst of this most extreme of crises, the father paid me, handing over a note.
'Maintenant!' ('Now!') I declared.
There was no getting out of it...there's no way that could pass for 'merci' with an English accent.
Fortunately, he seemed similarly distracted and it was just the children who collapsed into giggles.
- I spent a day ice-climbing with Baptiste. In the preparation email, we tried to sort out gear.
"Ne t’inquiète pas: je prendrai mes sangliers" (Don't worry, I'll bring my slings) I reassured him. (NB: For all you non-climbers, a sling is like a thin loop of rope that we tie around things for abseiling or to attach ourselves to rock/ice.)
The next day, these slings came in handy. After a couple of pitches of climbing, I asked Baptiste if he wanted to take my slings. "I've got a big sling and a little sling", I offered, "we could wrap one round a tree up there".
At this point, Baptiste burst out laughing. Slightly affronted, I asked him what was so funny, wondering if this was yet another France Vs. England climbing clash, where the other country's habits are mercilessly mocked.
"Do you know what a 'sanglier' is?" he asked. Of course I bloody knew - I'd just been talking to him about sangliers (slings). Why would I have suggested putting one round a tree, let alone own several, if I didn't know what it was?!
Then it dawned on me.
That awful, blushworthy, creeping realisation that the wrong word might just have crept into my vocabulary.
All at once I remembered where I'd last heard the word. It had been ice-climbing, but not during the climbing itself; rather, en route, when we had spotted a wild boar running through the snow.
Yep, that's right. I had merrily and inadvertently been saying "wild boar" (sanglier) instead of "sling" (sangle) every single time. A quick replacement exercise of the above sentences will give some indication as to why Baptiste was now wetting himself with laughter.
Oh, bollocks.
- It's not just me who makes entertaining language cock-ups. At dinner with a teacher and her husband last week, my friends and I were delighted to hear her say: "You're such a bad boy" in a completely innocent sense, followed by his unintentionally hilarious response: "Yes, but you know you like it". Much trouble was had keeping straight faces.
Similar efforts had to be made at the apres-diner magic show, when said husband produced some red, plastic balls (which were soon to multiply and vanish into thin air), took Kat's hand and told her, in all earnestness: "Take my balls in your hand and squeeze them hard".
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