Learning French

Learning a language is difficult.  The one-in-the-morning commercials for Rosetta Stone could tell you that.  In my twenty years of life I have tried my hand at Spanish, Latin, and, most recently, French.  Considering my memories from Spanish class are only of the songs about the colors and alphabet and considering also that Latin is a dead language which few people speak, starting French in college was my first attempt at actually learning a language.

The Chateau at Villandry in the Loire Valley

My love affair with French is a long-lasting one.  I fell in love with the language with the release of the movie, Les Choristes.  A story set in WWII France, Les Choristes follows the trials and tribulations of a choir for young boys, some of whom were orphaned in the war.  Unfortunately for my parents, who do not necessarily love French-subtitled films, my love of French cinema did not stop there.  My parents sat through countless of French films even though I was the only one who wanted to watch them.  I believe I even went through a phase where the only music to which I would listen was the soundtrack for Amélie.  Let's just say that twelve-year-old Sarah thought she was quite cultured.

I've spent the last three months in France, living at first in Paris and then with a host family, in order to learn French.  I've long wanted to immerse myself in a culture and live with a host family and, in the process, I've learned a bit about myself.

1. Language-learning inspires humility:  I spent last summer teaching English to pre-literate refugees, but I could not appreciate until now how difficult it is to learn a new language.  I have to be like a child - open and curious - while also retaining my sense of self as an "adult" (I say this in quotations because I'm in denial that I actually am one).  The process is a arduous and humbling one, but one in which I am incredibly privileged to partake.
2. Moments of facility in a new language are rare: French is a Romance language, so it draws on my previous knowledge of English, Latin, and Spanish.  On occasion I am able to say an English word with a French accent and it just so happens to be a word in French. Thank you, Norman Conquest!  (I say "on occasion" here because this rarely works.) 
3. I can accept constructive criticism without getting defensive.  A long-term problem of mine, my defensiveness rears its head whenever I am critiqued.  As the French are forthcoming with their grammatical corrections, I simply cannot afford to take offense to them because the advice given is helpful and valid.
4. I have accepted the fact that I will make (numerous) mistakes every time I open my mouth.  To date I'm (fairly) sure I have not seriously insulted anyone.  Here's too keeping up that impeccable record.

I find it incroyable that I only have one month left here in France.  The semester has flown by (insert more clichéd statements of the passage of time here _____).  I still have so much more to learn and not nearly enough time in which to learn it.  But I hope to return to France in the future, so these past three months will not have gone to waste. 

Until next time!

A stunning valley in Provence

Normandy and Syria

The cliffs of Normandy

In mid-October the Davidson program traveled to northern France to see Mont Saint Michel and the beaches of Normandy.  The region's beauty contrasted starkly with the horrific violence that took place there seventy years ago.  Bayeaux, France, a tiny town in Normandy, is home to a nearly 1,000 year old tapestry telling the story of the Norman invasion.  In it's local, centuries-old cathedral is a temporary photo exhibit of the Syrian civil war.

The Syrian Civil War in photos

France's history in Syria is a violent one (France occupied the region that is now modern-day Syria off and on up until WWII).  The quiet, peaceful interior of the cathedral was an odd location for the violent and shocking images of death and destruction.  At the same time the juxtaposition of the safety of modern France, the on-going anarchy in modern Syria, and Normandy's violent past created the perfect platform for a thought-provoking gallery.

The ceiling of the cathedral in Bayeux

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On a lighter subject... According to the ever-helpful Google I live 4,005 miles from my hometown in Ohio and 4,105 from Davidson.  The distance means that, while some aspects of my life in the U.S. and my life in France are the same, one cultural aspect stands out right now:

My all-girls education taught me that I do not need to wear make up (or just that I don't need to), but the older I get, the more I realize my opinion is in the minority.  French women share my approach to make up (also known as little-to-none)!  Unfortunately they do not share my love of yoga pants (my personal guilty pleasure) and other comfy, athletic clothes.  French children (also known as miniature adults) dress better than I do.  While some of this fashion sense must come from their parents, I find myself envying their sense of style.  But a large part of me is entirely okay with getting ten extra minutes of sleep and sacrificing my ability to compete with the fashion sense of the neighborhood's under-12 crowd.