The Substitutes :: Les Remplaçants

French high schools don't have substitutes for just one day.  It requires a pregnant teacher, or something, to even consider looking for one.

My English Literature teacher told us she'd be gone Tuesday for (insert forgettable reason).  Instead of the groans I was used to hearing, everyone was exclaiming exclamations of happiness.  (Forgive my lack of vocabulary, I don't care, I'm in France)

it's like summer vacation again

It all just reminds me so much of a university.  At least, from what I know from the movies, my high school is similar to college (that's confusing for French people college is a middle school and université is college).  

The cafeteria food is, while I wouldn't say host mother level, very good for chefs that have to cook for some thousand kids in two hours.  It's certainly better than the defrosted plastic that my American high school serves us.  

plastic, boxed, plastic, defrosted, and there is at least one nugget that is cold

My high school has dorms.  I always thought that that was just for snooty private schools or, well, colleges. Though the reason my high school has them is for students that live far away.  So, you know, the normal reason.  It might be hard to imagine for someone that lives in the city.  It's because my town is surrounded by a lot of country and farms.

Everyone looks older too.  Maybe it's just me, I've never been around so many girls that use as much make up as French girls do.  I'm not saying that French girls look like clowns, just that my friends and I hadn't really worn make-up fashionably before.

French girls are the version on the left

Maybe it's that.  The sense of fashion.  All the boys here have it too, or at least, they dress well.  I haven't seen anyone wear a simple t-shirt in ages.  They always dress it up with a scarf (boys too) and a necklace (less boys) and a jacket.  I can't really give a dissection of high school French fashion, though an incredibly vague thing that I could tell you is that there are always skinny jeans, leather bags, and scarves.  It just shows how unfashionable I am that I didn't know all that before.

There's also the structures of the classes themselves. This is where I pulled from the idea of colleges.  We go in the class, we sit down, and we copy the lecture of the teacher.  I wouldn't say that it's very interactive.  More like notes are pounded into our head, and then we leave to attempt recovery before going back for more.

we have no idea why either

France is making me grow up.  I highly recommend it for maturity purposes.  I'm learning how to cook, a vague sense of fashion (insert head pounding), how to read people.  When I can't understand what they're saying, body language does help.  

for example, here she is clearly thinking about pounding the teacher's face in

The Adjustment :: L'Ajustement

I'd say that I can adapt pretty quickly to new situations.  Except, that's different from getting used to it.  I adapted when I realized that it's way colder here than I expected (it didn't click for me that when my host mother said -10°, she meant in Celsius), and bought more clothes (expensive as they are).

Though I've noticed that now I'm used to France.  I walk down the stairs in the dark without fearing for my neck, and I can tell who's going up and down the stairs by how they walk.  I say that, but one time at school I slipped down the stairs, for like, three steps.

if they were just a LITTLE bit more slick...

I can type on the French keyboards as quickly as I can type on American keyboards.  I'm sure most of that is because of the blog, but I type faster than some of my friends here too!  Day 24: can type fluently...now if I could only speak.

I have to have a baguette with dinner.  I can't fathom not having a baguette anymore.  Going through many baguettes in a day (as many as seven!) is normal now, though remember that with me, there's six people in my host family to eat them.  You can understand why Marie Antoinette pissed everyone off.

it's not enough!

I memorized my school schedule, despite it's utter lack of normality.  I didn't explain it before, but there were so many wrinkles that I had to smooth out.  Other students take another language after English.  I was so hyped up to take Russian, but the other students have taken it for three years, and me, well-zero, so....no.  Other students get only one elective.  I managed to get two, Math and Art.  I also tag along with my friends for their Dance and Spanish classes each week.  

I can read the flowery handwriting of my friends, even the chicken scratch of my teachers.  I understand the abbreviations everyone uses.  For some certain four letter words, French people will just take out the middle two letters; sont becomes st and avec becomes ac.  Words that end in -ion, like addition or extension, are changed into addit° or extend°.  Words that end in -ment, like development become develop(tiny t like the degree sign).

MDR = mort de rire = (literally) dying of laughter = DOL?

I'm writing like French people.  In cursive.  My Ss look like teeny tiny triangles.  My Xs look like an S next to a C.  My 9s looks like Gs.  My 1s look likes 7s.  I've just stopped mixing the two up and bombing math tests as a result.

I can comprehend dates slightly quicker than before.  It doesn't help that the numbers are all crazy.  Whenever the teacher says "in 1893", it's not eighteen ninety-three.  Oh no, it's one thousand, eight hundred (totally fine, blah blah blah) four twenty thirteen.

I'm used to the crazy number system, which is Napoleon's fault, by the way, he wanted a system that spies wouldn't have been able to understand, and the writing, and the stairs.  I've started thinking in French (ooh la la look at me, la francophone-y), but now everyone is asking me if I'm dreaming in French.

the language isn't what's concerning me at the moment

The Books :: Les Livres

Sometimes, all the electronic devices get overwhelming.  My host dad raised a very good point this morning that I did not cross the Atlantic Ocean to live in a cabinet to stare at a glowing screen.

maybe if he'd had a computer he'd have been less angsty

So, I went out of the house to the book store, since I remembered that I had to buy some books for French class.  There aren't any Barnes and Nobles here, just small boutiques.  They're all so pretty too, so much cozier than big stores. 

I'd spend way more time in them, but I "can't" get books in France, so I'd feel guilty gawking at all the pretty parts of the store and then not buy anything.  It's just that books are too heavy to bring back to the USA.

that's not me, the books would've smushed my feet already

I'll buy used kids books for around an euro each, so I can leave them in France for my host sister.  The thing is, is that whenever I read a French book, I have to write in the English translation of words I don't know.  Annotating has suddenly become a necessity.

librarians aren't nearly as happy as my English teacher was whenever I do so

I went back to my iTouch, sorry that'd I'd ever left it, and just got a bunch of Gutenberg Project books on iBooks, since they're the only free books that seem interesting.

I'll probably come back to the USA with ye olde English and old French since I'm sure that in Literature class here, we're reading books from 200 years ago, and my English is slowly rotting from speaking French all the time.

my handwriting is becoming disturbingly flowery

Apparently that's totally normal for exchange students.  Instead of speaking English like a good American, I'm translating the sentence in my head from French first.  Seeing as how my French is an awkward jumble of gibberish (though the gibberish is more comprehensible now), you can see why my English is screwed.  My spelling was already affected before, just imagine typing family with two Ls without even noticing it.

the red squiggly keeps coming back 

Baked Apples :: Les Pommes au Four

Since everyone is always asking me about French food, as I mentioned before, I decided that I will just document everything my host mother cooks, making me camera-happy every day.  It gives me a wonderful excuse to whip out my iTouch.

It wasn't today, but a while ago, my host mother made these for a dinner with her in-laws.  Even so, they're very easy to make.  I'd say they take no time at all, but I really don't know, since my host mom is just magical in the kitchen.  I just got my wand (BY THE WAY a wand in French is une baguette magique)

they're all enchantingly delicious

I should probably decrease my baguette jokes : month ratio.  Anyways, I warn you that my instructions would not help those that burn water.  Just so, I've added a bunch of pictures that I hope are self-explanatory.

pic 1: go and be a chef now

I'll do my best, though anything I write will be a pale imitation of what my host mother makes.

I suppose in the future I'll end up typing recipes like those boring pages with all the ingredients first and what not, but I can't really do that considering how my host mother just whips things up together and I'm frantically trying to understand how.

"oh that's how you - nope you just did something French"

So, more explanations from me than neat recipes.  Shame, since one of my friends said that he needed a dissection comprehensible for five-year-olds in order to even attempt cooking.  Guess he won't be able to eat French food then.

stop whining and go back to them cheeseburgers

I'm procrastinating on actually writing the article.  I apologize, since I still am.

Let's pretend that you are going to serve eight people.   Now, you are also pretending that you are a French person, which means that for dessert you eat a tiny tiny bit of food since you'd already be stuffed from the  appetizer, entrée, salad, cheese, and everything else I have to suffer through everyday.

it's horrifying how I'm treated here

Take eight apples.  Fine, 16 since you can't handle pretending to be French (fellow American, I understand).  Now, don't peel the apples, that's not good.  The skin of them will split right off and make the entire dish ugly.  Well, I suppose it's not really pretty afterwards anyways, but trust that it is supposedly butt-nasty with collapsed apple skin.  My host mother made some incisions in the apple to try to prevent that.

revolting

Hint: use apples that are good for baking.  Like Golden Delicious, or whatever you use in apple pie.  I have no idea, not being an apple expert myself, but I shall do an experiment one day with Fuji, Granny Smith, and Gala apples.  Or you can, and tell me what the results are.

Eating the skin is not necessary, it's just there to keep the apple from completely rupturing and become applesauce.  We want to keep the skin, but not the middle with all the seeds.  I hate eating seeds, especially in grapes.  Somehow France has no appreciation for seedless grapes.  It's the worse thing in the world when you're trying to enjoy a grape at the cafeteria and CRUNCH you got bitter between your teeth.  

not seen: the hell contained inside 

So core the apples (=remove the middle).  I'm not going to explain it all, so here's a link : http://www.ehow.com/how_5016725_core-apple-apple-corer.html I guess you could half the apple, it'd be so much easier, but my host mother didn't, so like I said, pale imitation.  Especially since you need that tunnel in the apple to put jam and butter.

Before you go nuts and try to stuff a cup of butter in the apple, and I should've said this earlier, you need to prepare the baking casserole thing first.  You've seen the picture above, it's like a cookie sheet with sides.  So like a brownie pan.  I'll learn the vocabulary when I get back to the USA, no time for that now.

Don't butter it, not necessary.  Remember how you took 16 apples?  Well, I hope you can put 16 apples in your casserole like in pic 1 above.  Yeah, how's being American doing for you?  Well, considering the size of our brownie pans, you'll be fine.

it's our breakfasts that are too small

Anyways, the golden ratio is one slice of bread (a pancake might be good too, actually) for each apple, so line the brownie pan with one layer of bread.  Now remember the tunnel in the middle of the apple as a result of coring it?  Well make it so that it's perpendicular to the bread (that means vertical), and fill it halfway with unmelted butter (don't stuff it though, just put like half a table spoon of butter in) and then fill the rest of the tunnel with jam.  Reference pic 1 with the eight apples above.

My host mother uses jam made with red fruit, like strawberries, cherries, raspberries, or gooseberries (currant jam) since they're nicely acidic in comparison to the apples, but I'm not going to stop you from using grape jelly.  I wouldn't think that that'd taste good though.

remember what I said about grape medicine?

Make sure that the half of the apple with the butter is on the bottom.  It'll melt and give the bread purpose, which I think is not exactly crucial for this dish.

I should've probably told you this before too, but seeing as how my host mother just put the dish in the oven at the same time as the chicken, I don't think there's an optimal temperature that the apples need to bake at.  They're apples, there's not really a need to kill germs or anything.

I could be wrong

She put it in the oven at 205°C for 30 minutes, about.  The time isn't really exact either, since I wasn't timing it, and she didn't remember care how long the apples were in the oven. 

pic 2: just leave them in there until they look like this

To recap (you poor fellow, after having read all of that above):

8 (or 16) apples
8 (or 16) slices of bread, or just until the casserole is lined with ONE layer
jam of a red fruit
some butter (really, it's however much you'd like, but note that it is necessary)

1. line casserole with one layer of bread (I'm emphasizing that a bit much
2. wash and core the apples, then dry them
3. score the apples a bit, to prevent butt-nasty skin explosion
4. put one apple on each thing of bread
5. put butter in the middle of the apple
6. then put jam
7. put the casserole with everything in it in the oven, at 205°C for 30 minutes, or until everything looks like pic2
8. then take the casserole out

I'm counting on your common sense to make up for my bad instructions

Oh, and the apple on the bottom half of pic 2, second from the left?  That's the apple that wasn't scored properly, and had it's skin slide right off.  Disgusting  

My First Week in Japan

Alright, even though my first week here was a few months ago, I remember it quite vividly.  It was definitely not a time that I would easily forget.

My welcome cake from my host family! I probably should've thought to take the picture before I started eating it, though...

I arrived in Japan at the Narita airport, and after meeting up with the only other semester student from America, we made our way through customs with no problem and were met by YFU staff at the entrance. From there, it was a two hour bus ride and then a ten minute taxi ride to the Olympic Youth Center in Tokyo.  After that little ordeal, I understood (perhaps a little too late) the concept of packing light and why it is important.  I had packed according the airline's limits of luggage per passenger, but trying to carry all of that by myself was almost impossible and several times I had to receive help from the YFU staff, which was embarrassing if anything else.  

But I digress--back to Japan:  After our arrival, we had dinner and were left alone for the remainder of the evening to settle in.  Now, after all of that travelling, nothing is more appealing than a hot shower or bath. However, since we were staying in a public place, it's obvious to assume that we had to use a public bathing facility.  But this is Japan we're talking about: the place famed for its onsen (hot springs) and also the style in which the people bathe (publicly nude!).

Something like this, only sometimes a bit more crowded. And for a couple of Gaijin (foreigners) who were completely new to this concept, well, it was certainly a bit of shock.

So, after this utterly new experience, I can't say I exactly spent a relaxing evening thanks to the wonders of motion sickness, but I'll spare you the gory details and just say that thanks to a very very kind YFU staff member, I made it through the night and was much better off the next morning.

The orientation lasted for five days, and while most of those days were spent at the Youth Center taking a crash course in Japanese, we did get to go site seeing a bit around Harajuku, aka the fashion center of Japan.

This photo was taken during Halloween, but when I went in August (when it's around 100 Degrees Fahrenheit and incredibly humid) I still saw a few people dressed up like this in the Lolita style.  I was as surprised by their resilience as much as by their fashion!

Once my orientation was over, unlike the two other semester students who had to take the Shinkansen down to Kyoto, I was picked up my host mom and my host sister, and took my first Japanese train to Sagamihara City.  

The next day, which was also the last day of my first week in Japan, my host mom and host sister took me out for dinner and a fireworks show at the station, which was absolutely beautiful! 

My host sister and I at a gyoza restaurant in Sagami-Ono station after the fireworks show.  That was a really fun night!

So thus concludes the main events of my first week in Japan.  I can still hardly believe that it's been over three months since then, but time really flies!  I've done a lot since then, like going to school, and trying new cultural things, but those'll have to wait for their own blog posts.

The Social Network :: Le Réseau Social

My motivation might've been slowly diminishing since the start of the school year.  I've begun to understand all my classes, but it's still tiring.  I'm pretty sure it's just like being a regular student again, since it's not the language that's making me yawn all the time.

trilinguals are constantly tired

I understand all my classes now, which might be a good reference for future students abroad.  I'm not saying that I get good grades in all of them, but I understood when my history teacher said that "dictators don't like social networks."  A very obvious statement.

Funnily enough, neither does my organization.  Apparently, using Facebook makes exchange students homesick.  I suppose that's another very obvious statement.

side effects : known for making you sentimental 

Therefore, I feel guilty whenever I use Facebook.  Or, at least I did.  Certainly way more at the beginning of the year, when I was trying to be the ideal exchange student.  Now, three months in, it's a bit like my guilt has been transformed into apathy.

the shadow couldn't bore me less

My dad said it's because the novelty wore off (that's another thing I shouldn't be doing, e-mailing my parents), and maybe.  The solution for that, would be to start new things, to use my time for better purposes.

typed she as she stared blankly at the computer screen

I'm sure my host family can tell that I'm becoming less motivated.  My host mother insists that I open my window curtains (not that I was shut up in darkness before) to let the sunshine in.

Considering how I'm at school for the duration of sunshine, I'm not sure how much that helps.  Though it is nice on the weekends.  Sunshine is something I need to appreciate more here, since it's night time at five o' clock.  God, I can feel myself becoming more and more moody.

at least I can always see white circles with spikes on the internet

Doing schoolwork is probably a better way to keep myself motivated too.  I'm glad that I decided not to do a credit transfer of my grades in France, since it'd be so much more stressful if I was worrying about homework and tests all the time, but I'm sure I'm more sluggish because of it.

slugs were never very motivated creatures

Sneezing :: Eternuements

don't worry, I'm not about to say French people sneeze out of their eyes

In the USA, we have a bunch of things to say when someone sneezes.  People usually choose between God bless you, bless you, and gesundheit (for some reason we use a German word too).

how Americans secretly act inside the house

I suppose it's a bit...traditional, but my host family told what the French say after someone sneezes.  After the first sneeze, you'd say à tes/vos souhaits, depending on how formal you want to be.  After the second, you'd say à tes/vos amours, and the after the third, et qu'ils durent toujours.

Google tells me that all that means, "to your wishes, to your loves, and that they'll last forever", but in France it essentially means "bless you" - in the sense that they say it after people sneeze.

What I dislike, and I think that this is the first time I've disliked something here, is that they don't have boxes of tissues here.  I miss my French class in the United States, where everyone brought kleenex boxes for participation points.

not "bribing", per se...

No participation points for me here (evidentially, French people have more integrity than that).  I haven't seen any of those boxes in any of my classrooms here at all.  No, no, everyone has those little folded up tissues in the little packets instead.

That's not the problem.  My host family gave me a little packet after I started sneezing like mad because of my allergies.  Yay, I can now fit in with all the other French girls!!!

OMG, that kleenex totally came out of like, a box - that weirdo

I suppose any gaffe I make here is excused generally because I'm "American," and people are less likely to call me out on it, but I can't even tell when I'm doing something wrong.

It's always awkward to get up and go to the front of the class to go to the trash can, but I didn't think it'd actually be a problem to do so.  I guess that in France, where everyone is glued to their seats, trying to make an exact copy of the teacher's notes, getting up is inconceivable.  Maybe it was because I'd absentmindedly tuned the teacher out (French turns into a beautiful, flowing babble if I don't pay attention) and I stood up right when she was saying something important.

American light doesn't know when to turn off

The Wine :: Le Vin

I feel like YFU told me in a piece of paper that students in France were allowed to try wine for the "culture."  If not, I hope they never read this because I don't want to be shipped back to America yet.

At any rate, I wasn't binge drinking, and it was one time (my justifications).  One night, my host family had a bunch of dinner guests over and they offered to let me taste a bit of red wine.

Cost of French year = justified

I'd say they poured like 50 mL (look at me, using metric measurements), into a wine class.  Now, I tried to be all fancy and sipped it, like a lady.  

class

Do you remember that awful grape medicine that we had to take when we were sick with the cold or the flu or some other trivial disease that didn't require assaulting our taste buds?  I feel like now I know the cause of that terrible flavor.  Cold syrup companies are deliberately trying to get kids drunk so that we stop whining about having a fever, and - hey mommy, I can fly!

I tried to make the tiny bit of red wine last as long as I could, savoring enduring every drop, since I knew that I wasn't going to waste it by tossing it down in the drain just because I hated the taste.  I was still trying to find the reason why people can get jobs tasting wine.  


Eventually though, I just gulped it down like a shot since I got sick of it.  It burned as it went down my throat.  

them wine cows be fiery

Then my host parents just refilled my glass.  Olé! 

So You've Been Made a Co-Author?

"The Art of Co-Authoring For Labbits"

So, thanks to the wonders of the internet, even though I'm currently a few thousand miles away from the original starter of this blog (Aimee), I am now a co-author.  What co-authors do, I have no idea, but I assume I can just piddle away on here to my heart's content instead of leaving flimsy little comments. 

So, let the piddling begin!

Well, like Aimee, I am currently living abroad as an exchange student, except instead of living in France for a year, I am living in Japan for one semester.

What does one do as an exchange student in Japan, you ask?  Well, one does lots of things, like seeing temples, eating ramen, letting your host mom make all of your meals, 

One of these every morning, neatly packed and ready. Bento anyone?

wearing stereotypical school uniforms, riding trains, chasing down sweet potato trucks (but that's its own story)...that kind of stuff.

Of course, I had lots of expectations that matched these, but some of my other expectations have become quite unreachable, it seems.  

For example: learning Japanese.  I had this great wish to be nearly fluent by the time I went back to America, but I'm already in the third month of my exchange with only about 6 weeks left, and after studying Japanese for over a year before coming here, I can barely manage a few simple sentences.  Am I disappointed?  You bet, but sometimes, the situation just isn't ideal (My host family speaks quite a bit of English, my class has several returnees who have lived in America for several years and are practically fluent, and I have been placed in two advanced English classes for returnee students with American teachers--this means I speak English. A lot.)  But while I probably could've worked harder at learning it, I didn't, so there's much else I can do....at least my listening has improved quite a bit...

Another example of failed expectations: I wanted to lose some weight while I was here.  I was so looking forward to the famed healthy Japanese diet, and also shedding a few pounds.  But unless I actually make myself diet (which I have had to do) I stay about the same, or even gain a bit of weight.  Of course, I wasn't too happy about this, but what can I say?  They eat a lot of carbs here, and everything else is just sooo good!

Ramen museum ramen...what will I do when I go back to America??

At least that expectation didn't die.  The food here really is infinitely better than most American fare.  I've had ramen, udon, and soba that would make anyone never want to eat instant ramen again.  Not to mention all of the little cake and tart shops that are EVERYWHERE.  

this is just one of many...

There's probably at least 10 specialized sweet shops in every main train station, not to mention the ones that are just sprinkled about along the streets.  I think I am now made out of gyoza because I eat it so much, and as for sushi, well, when they serve it from a conveyor belt that pumps out endless sushi, there's only so much self-control I can maintain...

Well, I think I've piddled enough.  Maybe next time, I'll write about my host sister's and my adventure with the sweet potato truck.

Until next time!

Passion Fruit :: Fruit de la Passion

People are always asking me what French food is like, how is French food, are you eating gourmet food everyday?  It's such a small question, but the answer would take forever to type.  There are already books and cooking shows that take hours and days to get through, I don't think that my sentence-long answer suffices.

can't have physicists explain quantum mechanics in one sentence

Of course, I'm eating differently here.  I'm not going to eat the same, boring meals I had in the USA when in the country of haute cuisine.  I feel like my meals in the USA can be summarized by several things: white rice, fruit snacks, 2% milk, ham sandwiches, and microwaved eggs.

the only thing that changed for my dinners was the time

Not that my dad and I didn't try to cook, and I'm not saying that that was all that we ate (except I totally am).  Neither of us though, are as dedicated as my host family is to cooking.  Maybe my mom is, but she cooks Chinese food, and that's like comparing apples to oranges.

I can't generalize my meals here.  I eat something new every week, if not day, if not hour.  Yesterday, I tried the comb on the head of a rooster, and maybe that's something you'd expect more in Asian cuisine than European, but in any case of your presumptions, it was good.  Tasted like bacon.

wrong animal, cat

I hadn't known how I would commence (I couldn't remember if that's a word in English until I googled it, and apparently it's pompous) describing my meals in France, for I feel like each one has a story.

I suppose now I can start with my host family's fruit basket.  It actually changes with the seasons, since my host mother detests the fruit of the supermarket with a passion.  There's no problem buying bananas from another country if they're in season all year long in Costa Rica anyways, but buying peaches from France in winter is a big no-no since they "taste like pesticides and water."

She only buys fruit from one lady, who has this grand greenhouse and has been a friend of the family for ages.  In France, they're friends with store owners, and in turn, the store owners give them their best products, and deals.  

Simple fruit is going to be something I'm going to miss a lot, actually.  I didn't appreciate fruit before, when my mom hacked up apples and pears for me "because they're healthy," but in France, where I eat an apple or a clementine for dessert, fruit are so much less forced.

NO.SHUT.UP

Being new to the whole idea of eating fruit just because they can taste good, I have no idea when they're ripe or not.  Yeah, there's the whole "duh, fruit are ripe when they're done being green, and -" WRONG.  Everyone is familiar, I hope with green apples and green grapes, but there're green grapefruits, peppers, and figs that sufficiently prove my point that I understand nothing about fruit, other than the time I had to learn in Biology that they're plant ovaries.

I've been eating plant baby-makers???

My host sister is more of a pro than I am.  She'll just squeeze a fruit and be like, "ope, not ripe," and I'm just staring at her like "HOW DO YOU KNOW THIS?"  So far I've just taken it to be that fruit are ripe when they're wrinkly.

I've learned how to eat fruit properly here.  I wasn't a savage before, but apparently there's a posh way to eat an apple with a knife and a fork.  It's good to know for the future, if I ever have a dinner with my boss or something, but I think that if that were ever to pass, I'd just decline eating a fruit at all.

wait...that's not right

Anyways, I now know how to eat grapefruits with spoons.  I don't, since using a knife is easier, but at least I know.  I learned what a passion fruit was, before it was just the weird perfume of my mom's shampoo, and the weird flavor of yogurt.  Pineapples are tolerable in other situations than as a pizza topping.  Bananas that are overly ripe can be set on fire with rum and coated with sugar.

perfect