"One does not die from a trifling cold!"

This expression, a quote from Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice (one of my favourite books) ,quite sums up how the British regard falling ill. This is in stark contrast with the way the French treat being ill!

So I'm ill, I have a cold at present. Why do I have a cold? I don't know, probably because it is the season for it. My French friends' theories on why I might have a cold are because yesterday because of the strikes I walked to and from work. Going to work was not too bad because it was a lovely sunny autumn morning. Going back from work was slightly different especially as I had drinks with some friends and ended up walking home around 10pm. French conclusion as to why I am ill? Because I have "trappé froid" (caught cold).

In the UK we talk about "catching cold" too. As my grandma would say when looking at one of the skimpy outfits I used to put on when off out somewhere (note the expression "used to") "ooh you'll catch your death in that!". "Catching cold" to me always meant that there was a cold going round (in school for example) and that eventually you would catch it. I never understood it to mean "you will catch cold because it is cold" but here in France that seems to be the general interpretation. If I go out, (god forbid!) without a scarf and then later complain of a sore throat, my French friends will say "ah tu as trappé froid sur ta gorge" (you caught cold on your throat). The French seem to live in fear of "catching cold" and therefore make sure they are properly wrapped up (that's why you will see them with scarfs even in summer!). The Brits seem to accept that at some point you will fall ill with a cold and will just have to get over it, but this will in no way stop you from wearing your favourite party dress on a night out in the middle of winter!

Many companies in France offer free flu-jabs to their workers, the company where I work is no exception. When speaking to a new-ish British colleague about whether she had booked her appointment for her flu jab she said that she didn't intend to have it done. Why? "Well isn't it for old people and children?" Well generally yes but companies don't want their staff getting ill and taking time off so they would rather we get our jab. My British colleague's attitude was "if I get ill I'll deal with it!". So British but in a sense I completely understand her.

According to my mother I've become French because at the slightest sign of pain or illness I go to the pharmacy for vitamins and painkillers (she exaggerates!). That said, this is coming from the woman who, when I was a child, refused to take me to the hospital because she was fairly sure my sore foot wasn't actually broken. The next day she did take me to the hospital and was proven wrong (emotionally scarred me??!). However unlike my French friends, I generally prefer to battle out a cold with lots of honey and lemon and staying in bed where possible, preferring natural remedies rather than pumping myself full of drugs at the slightest sign of illness.

The first time I fell ill in France I went to my local pharmacy and said "I'm ill" or "je suis balade (sic)" ("malade", you know you can't get your 'm's out properly when you're ill). The kindly pharmacist asked me what my symptoms were. "well I'm bunged up" (isn't it obvious??). "Ah, vous avez le nez bouché? Mal à la tête? Le nez qui coule un peu? Mal à la gorge?"
"uh huh" (this kid was bright!)
So he comes back with about 5 boxes, I only went in for the French equivalent of Lemsip! (if only I had thought in advance and brought some from the UK). He hands me this huge bottle and explains that it is a spray to unblock my nose. Then he gives me some paracetamol with added vitamin C, another spray to unblock the nose. WHAT ON EARTH??? In the UK, I usually need a bit of eucalyptus oil, lemsip, a box of nice soft tissues and straight to bed. Now I had a bottle the size of a spray can to use once a day and a smaller spray for more frequent applications. So I took all of it, not entirely convinced it was all necessary and handed over my money. I did not quite understand why I should spray sea water up my nose just so it could come running out again but I gave it a go. It did of course work, but I obviously didn't need a whole big canister of the stuff!

I think now I'm somewhere between the French attitude and the British attitude. This cold won't kill me but I have somewhat grown out of "I'm tough and I can get over this" British-ness and when it comes to a choice between being brave or getting a proper nights sleep and not having a fuzzy head and blocked nose at work, I would rather help things along with a bit of paracetamol. Now where did I put my scarf??

I love France!

A few years ago, my mother bought me a lovely suede backed diary so that I could record my experiences in France as I had (more or less) done during my Erasmus year. On the first page I wrote "Dear Diary (I don't know why I said Dear Diary but I felt I had to address it to someone)
I plan to write about my experiences in France in my diary. I don't promise to write everyday but I hope I shall be able to write often".

When I returned to France, to begin with I had a lot of time on my hands and was able to write my daily experiences in my diary. As time went on however and I became more involved in teaching and studying for my course. When I got home in the evening I had less and less time to write anything in my diary and only really reverted to it when I was upset about something.

Having created this blog during the boring months of summer I have found that like my diary I have had less time to write. Also, having examined other blogs, I think I had a "bloggers crisis". Why exactly was I writing this? Who for? What for? Yes I live in Paris and yes Paris is amazing but there are so many blogs which write about living in France. If you want to find out about how workers in Paris trot down to the metro in the morning, picking up a warm croissant or pain au chocolat on the way and then arrive at work to air kiss gorgeous looking French colleagues then you only have to google Paris blogs (I exaggerate only a little) and I'm sure you'll find loads. Just to clear things up, in the same way as the French think we English have bacon, sausages and eggs in the morning, anyone who makes you think that the French pick up hot croissants and pain au chocolats every morning, drink espressos, smoke gaulloises AND remain wonderfully thin, is having you on!

Also many blogs are written by expats who are outside observers of French culture. Whilst I am undoubtedly outside, in the sense that I am not French, I feel that I have integrated the French society and have many lovely and faithful French friends. I loved the line in the recent film I went to see "Two days in Paris" where Julie Delpy says "ça fait deux ans qu'on est ensemble, donc on est un couple qui dure" (we have been together for two years so we are a couple which lasts). I have been living in France for 5 years and France was my new love. Like any great love at the beginning you think that everything is fantastic, soon enough you begin to see the faults and failings in your lover and if you can get past that and learn to accept the faults of the other, your love has a chance of lasting. Sure, France is not always fabulous and god knows the system is a nightmare sometimes, but which system isn’t? Like every expat I think I can say that sometimes I love this country and sometimes I feel isolated and a real stranger but generally after all these years I do still love it and do still want to live here. It is of course difficult for any person anywhere who leaves their home country (even if it is by choice) and goes to another country and tries to integrate into a new society. From the outside the French can seem cold and unwelcoming and the French system frustrating and bureaucratic but once you break the system and get to know the people you find that France is like any other country and the French are just as warm, friendly and fun as any people you could wish to meet. So whilst I can empathize with every expat who is trying to understand this country and its people, I say be patient and you will find exactly how great this country can be. I conclude with "Vive La France!" (of course don't be expecting me to be shouting that too loudly come Saturday! ;-) )

The Good Samaritan

I'm not much of a church go-er. I was baptized a catholic and for most of my life have followed that faith but for right or for wrong I haven't always seen the need to go to church, especially not any old church just for the sake of it. This changed when I moved to France for the first time. I felt lonely being away from my family and going into the church to pray or listen to the service was a comfort to me. I never understood the words of the service, I could recognize more or less the order of service but I couldn't really follow the words and there were no mass books available. During my first year in France, going to church became part of my Sunday ritual, especially as there was little else to do on a Sunday but more particularly because I found a really nice church near where I used to live. It was quite a modern building but the congregation was quite mature. However, the service was vamped up a bit, for example one day, after the gospel reading and a very short homily, the congregation was told to get into little groups and to discuss what the gospel had meant to them. I was invited into a little group of ladies who started talking enthusiastically about what their interpretation of the gospel was. My French was not very good so the best I could do was nod and smile and say "je suis d'accord". I agree. Despite the fact that I couldn't contribute much to the conversation the ladies were very nice and welcoming. I liked the service in this church even though I didn't understand much of it but I still enjoyed being part of it. My Sunday ritual was therefore: go to church, pick up hot croissant and pain au chocolat, as well as a baguette (which I learnt to pronounce as 'peng' it being the south of France and all); go home eat breakfast, go to launderette to do the week's laundry, make weekly telephone call to parents, then maybe once all that was done go for a wander around town. This helped to make Sunday's pass quickly and ease the solitude somewhat.

One cold Sunday in October I realized that I had no clean socks to go to church in. Also although I'd packed a few winter items, I had arrived in France at the end of August and until then had been able to wear light summery clothes. I didn't think anyone would notice and anyway I was going to do my laundry a bit later so I got dressed, put on a warm winter coat and went off to church wearing no socks. At church I sat down next to a little old lady. During the service the basket for the offerings came round. I put in a couple of francs (it was in 2001, France changed to the euro a few months afterwards) and passed the basket down the pew. The little old lady who had been sat near me threw a few francs and I took the basket back to hand over to the eucharistic minister. Once the basket had been taken off me the old lady grabbed my hand, instinctively I held her hand back because I thought she was looking for support, but instead she pressed a 50 franc note into my hand (the equivalent of 5 pounds sterling at the time). I looked at her in astonishment "C'est pour que vous puissiez vous acheter les chausettes Mademoiselle" she said pointing at my bare feet which were showing above my shoes and below my trousers. I tried to protest and explain to her that I was in no need of money to buy socks and that I would be doing my laundry later that day but despite my protests she refused to take the money back. I felt so touched but didn't quite know what to do with the money. I just smiled at the lady and thanked her for her generosity. I had two choices, either to pass the charitable act along and give the money to charity, or accept the gift as she intended it and go and buy myself some socks. And that was what I did later that week. I bought socks!

Being an English Rose

Being an English rose, and by that I make no allusion to my beauty (or lack thereof) but simply to the fact that I am pale skinned and have a typical English rose complexion, is not easy regardless of which country you live in. In England we are ashamed of our pale complexions, "pale is interesting" is not something that has ever taken off no matter how much we would like to believe it! When I go back to the UK all I see is tanned beauties, albeit the tan has come from the local highstreet tanning centre or a bottle of St Tropez, but nonetheless the typical pale English skin has been duly covered up. In France, being blond haired and blue eyed is interesting and attractive. Another thing is that most women I see wear very little face makeup and, as they tan naturally, fake tan can be seen a mile off (or a kilometre away if we're going metric!) so I wouldn't dare to try and use fake tan for fear of being ridiculed. Therefore I see no point in hiding the fact that I'm pale, even on the beach. Yes I hear things like "Ah c'est les anglais" when I dare to get into a bikini and show myself on a beach. They seem to think I have just jumped off the ferry whereas I have been living here for near on 5 years and over several summers I have tried desperately to make my skin change colour, alas to no avail (it will go pink or red but never a hint of tan!). In fact, I'm rather impressed at the way French women live with their skin. Whatever their skin problem they do not try to cover it up. Having suffered acne during my teenage years and early twenties, I've always been used to troweling on the make-up, but in France I noticed that people are often very discreetly made up. If there is something you do notice on French women, it is a tendency to emphasise their eyes and their lips with eyeliner and lip-gloss or lipstick respectively. I find myself studying French women on the metro (discreetly of course because my Mother taught me it is rude to stare!) but I fail to see any evidence of foundation and in fact many of them are infuriatingly naturally beautiful. This is probably due to the vast range of skincare they have available to them as well as the fact that one can oh-so-easily go and see a dermatologist simply by calling and making an appointment and not have to be referred by your normal doctor. I went through the NHS system and did see a dermatologist for a while (I was on the god awful Roacutane!) but could only ever get an appointment every six months. During my teenage years I had always believed that I had greasy skin and therefore used every industrially strong anti-bacterial product I could find to disinfect my skin. The result of this was that after the Roaccutane and the acne, my nose and cheeks were still rather red. I usually put this down to sunburn, cold weather, warm weather, a cold, heyfever or any other excuse I could find. This was especially amusing when I taught because children have a charming fashion of lacking totally in tact.

One day when I had just finished class and was waiting until after playtime to take the other class I decided to sit down in the playground and enjoy the warm weather. I was very soon surrounded by some of the girls from my class who came to chat to me and show me how well they could skip. One of the girls sat up on window ledge behind where I was sitting and began playing with my hair. 'Vous êtes belle et vous avez les cheveux doux Miss Rose' (pronounced Miss Roz),
'Why thank you Claudia'
'Pourquoi votre nez est rouge par contre?'
There it was. Straight to the point.
'Well' I began 'probably because it is quite warm today' I said, reaching for the famous excuse.
'Moi mon nez n'est pas rouge' she said matter-of-factly
'Yes, you are lucky. But also we have different coloured skin' I said, rolling up a sleeve to show my pale bare arm.
'You have lovely brown skin because you are French, I have white, pinky skin because I am English'
'Donc votre nez est rouge parce que vous êtes anglaise' said Claudia, pleased with her conclusion.
I decided not to continue the discussion.

This blunt and direct way of talking does not restrict itself to the children. Whenever I decided to venture into places like Galerie Lafayette to check out the skin care range I usually got pounced on by one of the shop assistants. When I tried to explain to them in French what I was after they immediately start contradicting me and headed over to the green cream section saying that I have to put on a green base to counter the redness. The result of this is two things, one I would look like Shrek and two I would have to trowel on even more foundation to cover the green stuff! No thank you!

After having been in France for a while and having finally sorted out my medical insurance, I decided to go and see a Dermatologist to see if she could sort out my skin. She took one look at me and declared that I had sensitive skin, that I should be using only the gentlest of products and that the fact that my nose and cheeks were red was not because I was English but because I had rosacea. She sent me off to the nearest pharmacist with a list of skin friendly lotions that I ought to buy as well as a prescription. From that day on, my skin and I have been friends, and I threw away all the industrial strength anti-bacterial face wash and replaced it with soft cotton and cleansing lotion. My skin routine drastically changed. Thanks to the same dermatologist, I was also able to have access to laser treatment at a fairly reasonable price. Three sessions later and my skin was transformed. My foundation was subsequently thrown out. I could show my real skin in public once again. Yes, I would always be an English rose, yes my face flushes when I'm happy, when I'm angry, when I'm tipsy, when I'm embarrassed, in fact my face is still a barometer for my emotions, but I now take a leaf out of French womens' books and I let my real skin show. Pale and interesting? Pale and proud!

Le Trench

Sat at the table, eating breakfast this morning, listening to the weather report on the radio. The weather report announced a chance of rain, ah I thought, time to put on my trench-coat. The trench-coat, or le trench as the French call it, is a Parisian must! As soon as there is a slightest hint of rain everyone will be out in their trench-coats. Traditionally trench-coats are supposed to be waterproof but most of the ones I have seen recently are anything but waterproof, yet for some reason when it rains, waterproof or not, a trench-coat must be worn. The trench-coat is a timeless classic, it has been a fashion item for years, which explains why it is so popular with French women. French women like classic clothes and the average French woman tends not to want to stick out from the crowds. More importantly they like to be chic and a trench-coat is chic! Most of the people I see on the metro wear black or beige trench-coats, which also explains its popularity with French women, le beige, a favourite, inconspicuous colour. However, this morning whilst observing my fellow trench-coat wearers, among the beiges and the blacks, I observed a chocolate brown trench-coat and even a red trench-coat, very daring! I have a beige trench-coat. For years I have fought the beige in France, as it washes me out somewhat, although I buckled and severely succumbed to black! But I had to have a beige trench-coat as I have several kinds of black coats and jackets. Whenever I hear that it will rain I'm almost excited to be able to wear my trench-coat and know that I'll be sophisticated and fashionable. So on a rainy morning, before leaving the house, I put on my trench-coat, place my Longchamps bag in the crux of my slightly bent arm, slick a bit of lip-gloss on to emphasise the pout, grab my umbrella and trot off to the metro, VOILA!!

Tu le kiffe ou quoi?*

When faced with the choice of watching a French film or a British/American film (ie English spoken) I will opt for the second eight times out of ten. When a British or American film is showing on the cinema I obviously refuse to watch it dubbed over in French and will only watch it in VO (Version originale – original version). The reason for my aversion to French films is that generally they are boring, I don't get the plot line, or more precisely I don't see the point in the plotline even if I DO understand it. When it comes to French comedies, the difficulty is that most of the comedy value will be in the use of words or the play on words, which even after all these years learning French, I have problems understanding. There have been a couple of French comedies which I have enjoyed but nonetheless I would still much rather see a British or American comedy. In spite of all this, from time to time I have fallen upon a French film, either by flicking through on television or when a French friend recommends a particular film when we go to the cinema, and I have to say I have been surprised and have found the film to be really enjoyable. The storylines were good, (I like happy films so when I say they were good, I mean they were heartwarming "feel-good" films), the acting was good, music, even a touch of comedy, everything!! Here are a few of my favourites:

1) Monsieur Batignole – a film by Gérard Jugot, he also stars in the film,
2) Comme une image – by Agnès Jaoui, she also stars in the film, along with Marilou Barry who I also like as she starred in another of my favourite French films…
3) La première fois que j'ai eu 20 ans
4) Jeux d'enfants – with Marion Cotillard who has recently starred in "La Vie en Rose" and I think is set to become Hollywood's next French star,
5) Je vais bien, ne t'en fais pas – by Philippe Lioret, starring Mélanie Laurent, - LOVED THIS FILM!! Has a twist at the end à la The Sixth Sense, although it is not at all a scary film!

So last night, when deciding what to watch (note that television in France is decidedly crap! If there is something decent to watch like a film or a television series it will of course be dubbed) I had the choice of Men in Black I (dubbed of course – Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones just don't translate as well!), an American police series, a French film for television, or a documentary on Grace Kelly. I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that Men in Black was the best option and was just flicking through the channels during the adverts before the film started when I fell upon the channel Arte. Arte is part German part French and is generally watched by those with a slightly more artistic taste, it is considered to be for the intellectuals. The film last night was called 'L'esquive" by Abdellatif Kechiche starring young actors Osman Elkharraz, Sabrina Ouazani and Sara Forestier. Firstly when I happened upon it I almost couldn't understand the French at all. The film is set in "les banlieues" ie the suburbs of Paris which are in fact more like a ghetto. It was in les banlieues where the riots began in 2005 making the rest of the world think that France was burning whereas in fact there were just a few riots. These are the areas which are very deprived and where most of France's second generation immigrant families live. Think Toxeth or Brixton in the 1980s and you get the picture! Anyway, this film is about a group of teenagers who decide to act out a play which they are learning in their French class. The play is by an old French playwright (Marivaux) and written in old French. The students' language when they are rehearsing the play contrasts with the way they speak in real life. Generally it is a film about a young boy who falls in love with a girl at school and becomes interested in the play in order to impress her. The story is interesting, touching and well interpreted by the actors. The film is filmed simply, almost like a documentary, as if the cameraman was simply watching these teenagers talking to each other, there is no back ground music, no special effects. At first I decided to watch the film to try and see exactly how much of the street-French I actually understood. Imagine if you will a foreign person trying to understand a think Glaswegian, Scouse, Mancunien or Brummy accent and you'll understand why it is not easy to understand banlieusian French. I was actually quite impressed by exactly how much I did understand which is either proof of how well I'm integrated or simply proof that I've been hanging out with people who speak a lot of slang! I intended to change channels but found myself drawn in by the story and fascinated by this view into life in les banlieues. In the film, the teenagers from the banlieues acted all tough when in the streets but really enjoyed rehearsing for the play and taking on the roles of lords and ladies. It reminded me of the children I used to teach who were from deprived areas of Bordeaux and similarly acted tough when in the playground or in the street but when in the classroom it was clear how much they enjoyed the activities and were really happy when they accomplished something or received a good mark. The story in the film focuses on the preparation of the play but also illustrates themes like love, friendship, poverty, police brutality, hardship. I'm no film critic but personally I rather liked "l'esquive" and would recommend it to others or in the words of one of the actors "Ouais, je le kiffe quoi!"

(kiffe= to like, *"Do you like it?)

La Rentrée

Children get so excited about "Going back to school". As the end of the summer holidays approaches they are already talking about which year they are moving up to and who their teacher is likely to be. When I was a teacher, this time of year was filled with excitement and expectation. Whether it was in the schools or at university, there was a buzz in the air and you couldn't help but get wrapped up in it. Everyone was excited to be back, to be with their friends, refreshed after the holidays. Whereas twenty years ago I would have been admiring my shiny new patent shoes, my nice new school uniform and my new school pens and pencils, this year, despite being much more "grown up", I find that I still enjoy this time of year even though I now work in an office. France literally shuts down over the month of August. Even in Paris, either people go away for around 3 weeks or, those who do not take their holidays at this time cannot do very much as most people are away over August. This may seem ridiculous to the rest of the world, indeed I confess I found it a bit strange myself, but it is one of the things one must accept when one lives in France and there is no point getting annoyed about it you may as well enjoy it. On the one hand, you can wonder about the missed business opportunities, being able to cash-in during the holidays, especially when you see that businesses, shops and restaurants are real sticklers for having their "congès annuelles" but on the other hand, the French may not necessarily be wrong about taking a proper break over summer, thus preparing them for the workload over winter. There is a nice atmosphere when people come back from holidays, they tour the offices and say hi to people and relate how their holidays went. Everyone looks happier. Everyone, (except me as I have very English un-tanable skin!) has a nice tan and it is clear that the weeks spent in the south of France doing very little has done them the world of good. Yes, not a lot of work will get done whilst people get used to being back, yes the happy holiday atmosphere will fade after around a week and yes in the public sector the days when they will be striking are already being planned, but for the time being I say, VIVE LA RENTREE!!