Life Sketching

One of my favourite things to do whenever I go somewhere new is to spend some time people-watching during the day. On holiday this is easily done- it’s a welcome break from intense tourism and allows you to absorb life going on while relaxing. When “normal” life returns again, it’s hard to put aside time to relax, let alone for public relaxing which requires making the effort to go into town. Nonetheless, I have seen and heard a few things which capture the essence of life in Aix here. Cue a series of short sketches.

I am your father

One of the most endearing scenes I’ve ever been involved in. When I first walked into the AUC dance class, I introduced myself to the teacher there called Eric. A lady who’d been dancing with her partner came up a short while later and asked who I was. “C’est ma fille,” jumped in Eric with a twinkle in his eye. (“She’s my daughter.”) Much to my embarrassment and in spite of my protestations, the lady got on her knees and began to kiss my hand. “Pardon que je ne t’avais pas reconnu ! Ça fait une décennie depuis que je t’avais vu !” (“I’m sorry for having not recognised you! It’s been a decade since I last saw you!”) All while I was telling her I was English and an Erasmus student here. Eventually Eric broke it to her that he was not my father, and that she had just embraced and kissed the hand of a complete stranger.

Identity crisis

The year abroad is the more justified equivalent of a ‘gap yah’ which people go on and talk about how they found themselves while travelling for the rest of their pretentious twenties. But I’ve gone abroad and lost myself. Why?

Every French person seems to think I’m German.

Apparently I speak French with a German accent, despite the fact I haven’t studied it in five years, and that French was the language I learned first and am more comfortable in.

In my Genre seminar our teacher asked if there were any students studying German present. When the overwhelming response was silence, he suddenly pointed to me and went, “no, wait! We have a German student here!” I drily reminded him of my English status and what that could mean about Brexit by the end of this month.

However, this does spell good news for my German class (even if it’s only worth 3 credits).

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

Although thankfully I have one in my own bathroom, the French public toilet is characterised by the absence of a seat. An absence of toilet roll is not uncommon, even in England: it is inevitable that a roll will run out at some point, and one should always be prepared enough with tissues in bag.

Perching on a toilet, however, where the porcelain edges dig into one’s derriere, is not a comfortable experience. This absence of seat is presumably calculated to put people off using the toilets at university, pushing them instead towards the comfort and privacy of their own personal bathrooms.

Fast food

France is renowned worldwide for its famous gastronomy and passion for food. Given this, it has made me incredibly confused (not to mention delighted) that I have only twice had to wait for a hob to be free in the kitchen – and this was because I was waiting for Erasmus students to finish, not French. French students just don’t seem to cook, and if they do on a rare occasion, it will be pasta (although this is perhaps a more student phenomenon than a French one).

They do completely take advantage of the cheap canteen food around them, though. CROUS restaurants serve incredibly cheap food both at the Cite Universitaire de Gazelles and at the university itself. The paninis are always all gone by 12:30pm. This relationship with fast(ish) food very much surprised me, but it means I can reap the benefits of spending hours in the kitchen without interruption or pressure to hurry up and create dishes like a laksa.

Vive l’anglais!

Unlike in Calais, being English or speaking it is incredibly cool here. So much so that the street art, of which we witnessed the slow progression over one week on the way to uni, tried to incorporate a profound quote in English into part of the mural. Unfortunately, it was a linguistic failure, as it was translated literally from French.

They must have realised their gaffe and covered it up because three days later there was no sign of it remaining whatsoever.

These are just a few amusing anecdotes from living in France!

A plus,

Zoe x