So I've decided to hop on the band wagon. A blog, it seems, is a 'must have' part of an ERASMUS year, or so my American friends tell me. I don't know whether to write a blog seems entirely self involved, but as I can claim to be one of the MySpace/Facebook age, perhaps it is just a way of life.
Now, I realise that having been here in Lille for nearly 4 weeks, I have pretty much missed out on writing about those initial feelings towards my time here. But I'm sure that hindsight can only be a good thing for the reader in this case, as it may lessen the foreboding that naturally comes with pre departure nerves.
And I was TERRIFIED. At many points the only thing stopping me from deciding not to go was that I would look like an absolute coward to the rest of the world, particularly as 'the rest of the world' seemed to regard the whole thing as "wonderfully exciting...such an opportunity"! However in my mind it was finally dawning upon me that, actually, yes, I was going to be living in a foreign country. Where I don't speak the language. For a year. And actually France doesn't have the friendliest history with the Brits. So all those feelings from when I signed up: of excitement for a new country, new people, a second language, great food, wine... well they all sort of evaporated. They were still there somewhere, and I kept reminding myself of them, but the nerves had a tendency to take over in my mind. Particularly in the face of attempting to organise somewhere to live, in another language, without a French bank account.
On that note, let me tell you a little bit about French administration. This is something I have come to terms with over the last 4 weeks of being here. In England, we have utilised something that we like to call THE WORLD WIDE WEB. Supposedly, this invention allows people all over the world to be connected instantaneously, and to share lots and lots of information at the click of a button. In France, not so much. Now they may refer you to certain websites to aid you in your attempts to do things like look at your course description, email a professor, but often when you reach these pages they say something like “Cette page n'a pas encore été écrite”. Very useful, I’m sure. Instead, the French love official bits of paper. You have to have copious amounts of official bits of paper to get anything done here. And, actually, even when you have managed to find someone who can tell you what you need to get what you require, and you have taken those required goods to an official sounding person, it is not as though anything will happen. Take, for example, my student card. Which I still don’t have, despite having been a student at Lille 3 for 3 weeks: I registered, I gave in lots of forms and filled out another couple, I have waited 2 weeks... nada. Zip. I will inform you when things start to look up.
But, actually, despite all this, I have managed to find a rather lovely house in Fives with Georgie and Katie, two other English degree girls from Leeds. None of us really knew each other before (although we knew people who knew people who knew each other, as is always the way in a university), and I have to say I can’t have found two better people to be living in a foreign country with. We are all totally different, but I think that’s a great thing. It provides for excellent conversation anyhow. We are also living with a French girl called Laila, who works in centre ville, and she speaks absolutely no English but is fantastic, and puts up very well with us Anglophones. I arrived with Georgie to move into the house, and I was terrified that our landlady wouldn’t turn up, but she did, and gave us keys, and it was such a relief to be in a house. Having somewhere to go back to, that isn’t a hotel room, was fantastic, and meant we could start to explore properly. Katie and I did nearly lock ourselves out on Katie’s first night in France, but it was OK, we got back in without having to climb through a window so with hindsight I can laugh at it. Wasn’t so funny at the time, I thought I was going to have to call the French police to explain that I had locked myself out of my new house, then explain to my landlady that I had smashed a window on my first night. Not that I knew the French police number, or had even taken a mobile phone with me for that matter. Note to self: MOBILE phone.
We have all even managed, somehow, to get ourselves French bank accounts. Now I’ll just remind you that my knowledge of the French language consists of “merci”, “bonjour”, “au revoir”, the back of wine labels and an AS Level presentation on immigration in France. None of the above, not even a French AS Level, can help you in getting a bank account. Except maybe “merci”, always helps to be polite. Wonder of wonders, however, we did it. A very helpful (and slow speaking) bank manager at Société Générale helped us through it all, and she even went into her lunch.
This was the most miraculous thing to me. As anyone who has ever been to the country will know, France closes at lunchtime. Without fail, for at least two hours, you will be able to find nothing to do in France except eat and drink. Personally, I am a big fan of this. I think it is the most civilised thing in the world. When you try to explain to a Frenchman that in England, we work from 9 to 5, normally with one 30-45 minute break, in shifts so we eat on our own (often at our desk), he will look either perplexed or highly offended by the idea. Granted, this is in my terrible Franglais, so he could just have misunderstood. But on this one, I think we Brits have it wrong. OK, so a longer lunch break means they have longer days. But a long lunch means there is a 2 hour pause in every day to socialise, relax, enjoy food. It must mean a happier working environment. Work is not life: work fits around life, and I think that is a fantastic thing.
I have to say, though, that the food is worth stopping for. Not only the food itself, but it is great to sit down to a meal in any restaurant, cafe, bistro, and to see the French attitude towards their food. They LOVE it. Katie, Georgie and I went for lunch in a little restaurant by the central metro station, and we happened to be sat at a table next to a mother and her two very young daughters. Mum was sat there with a glass of red wine, and the two girls on their own seats. When their food arrived, the two girls were sharing a huge, adult sized plate of sausage and chips. And they polished it off, this whole plate between them! At other times we have seen big groups of work colleagues sat at long tables outside, all having a beer or glass of wine. I went to a creperie with my parents when they visited in my first week, and we sat next to a table of 4 elderly ladies, who managed to have 2 big bottles of cider between them and 3 courses each. They were there when we arrived and left well after us, I’m sure. Food is a love affair, a hugely social event, and everything is good quality. Even the 2€ baguettes (which are HUGE by the way) that we get from the cafes by the university are delicious. There are no classes between 12.30pm and 2.30pm, so all the staff and students are around eating together. I love my food too, and so I feel like France and I have something in common.
On the food front, I am doing well. We are leading a very social life and lots of it seems to revolve around food and drink. Katie, Georgie and I sit down together every dinner time and most lunches, and have had some excellent meals. Chicken curry, creamy courgette lasagne, filo pastry tarts... The Americans, who are all brilliant and from the most random places, came round to our house and cooked us tacos, and that was really fun. Sarah, Christine, Colleen, Brian, Jeremiah, Lauren (a Canadian). Jeremiah made his “wondrous” cakes that he has been bigging up for weeks – they were very delicious chocolate fondants, but he must have spent an absolute fortune on them! We also had dinner with the Italians, Virginia, Matthieu and Maurizio, and they made us spaghetti carbonara. Laila also made us an amazing salmon tagine. Every meal comes with fresh bread from the boulangerie and a big green salad and a cheese plate. Oh, and a good bottle of red. Today was Rosalind’s birthday, so some of us went for a French breakfast at 9.30am, despite the pouring rain and it being a Sunday, and then they came to ours for an English roast dinner! I have even made a Victoria sponge (a little bit of England), peshwari naans (from scratch) and today made a tarte au chocolat, pastry and all. My mother would be proud. The three of us in our house have started a tradition of walking to the patisserie every morning to get a selection of pastries. Katie puts on the coffee, we put out the orange juice and jam and yoghurts, and I have to say it’s all very civilised and a fantastic start to the mornings! We also have a tradition of going once a week to the most wonderful patisserie/boulangerie, Paul. I am addicted to the éclair au chocolat. I hope the French would be proud. I personally think I should get extra credits for really immersing myself in the French culture. Honestly, it’s better than a language course.
So there is a little (!) idea of my French lifestyle. All those nerves have disappeared now that I’m here and I’m having an amazing time, and it is such a great experience to be immersing yourself totally into a new culture. I realise it sounds like a lot of eating and drinking. But next instalment, I will update you on university life, the Braderie, the weekend patrimoine and attempting to buy things at the Wazemmes market every Sunday... Very cultured and educational, I promise. And shorter.
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