Why is everything in this country so stinkin' small?

I am running out of the toiletries I bought before I left for France, and I’m now replacing them with their European equivalents. This really isn’t a big deal because most of the same brands are found here as in the States, but with one “big” difference. Everyone knows things cost more in Europe, but why on earth is everything sold in miniature?

Whisky and Nylons

The mother of my host dad (which I guess makes her my host grandmère) came to Toulouse last Saturday to participate in Pope related festivities. Because she lives fairly far from Toulouse, she stayed with my host family until this afternoon. Her extended visit was fine by me because I like her a lot. She calls all the girls ma fille, including myself, and all her grandsons mon fils. She also makes a particular point to speak with me, which I appreciate. Our conversations have covered a variety of topics, but my favorites have been the stories she tells about herself when she was young. She told me about the man who bought her her first pair of nylons, her American friend who only spoke old French and the trouble that got him into, and all of her children and grandchildren. We also had an in-depth discussion of all the plot lines to her favorite books and movies last night. For the most part, I’m able to follow the our conversations, but to understand her I have to be a very attentive, active listener: I lean forward, ask questions, and nod when I understand. I think she likes the undivided attention I give her, and for all intents and purposes, I really do hang on her every word, even if it is mostly to follow the conversation. But don’t get me wrong, I really do enjoy the stories. It’s in a history major’s nature.

In addition to these conversations, Grandmère has secured a place in my heart by taking it upon herself to ensure my wellbeing. It’s as if after only four days she developed an acute sense of my needs, needs that even I was unaware of. This gift first manifested itself Tuesday night. While sitting at the dinner table, one of my host sisters asked me if I wanted some more rosé. I hesitated for a second but grandmère knew better. She didn’t skip a beat and responded immediately with “Yes, of course she does!”

Yesterday afternoon she displayed her gifts again. She decided she wanted some tea and that it was clear I was in need of some as well. While I thought I had no desire for tea (I had just come from having tea with some friends), I couldn’t pass up the offer… in part because she was rather insistent. The scenario went something like this (just pretend it’s written in French):

Grandmère: “Ahh, Carrie, ma fille, would you like some tea?”

Me: “Oh, no, I’m fine.”

Grandmère: “Come, I believe the tea is right here. Now where is the water boiler? Do you know where the water boiler is?”

Me: “Euh…no, I’m not sure where it’s kept.”

Grandmère: “Maud!* Where is the water boiler? Carrie needs to learn how to use it!”

Maud: “Here it is, and here is the cord. Plug it in, flip the switch on, and wait for it to automatically shut off. When it shuts itself off, it’s done. But be careful, it’s very hot.”

Grandmère: “Oh good, Carrie needed to know that. Carrie, now you can have tea when you come home each day…if you’d like, of course.”

Me: “Thanks.”

*Maud is one of my host sisters.

To be fair, I enjoyed my cup of tea, it is good information to know, and I really didn’t know where they kept the water boiler. In fact, when I look back, it is as if she sensed I was an afternoon tea drinker and knew I would begin to miss it in a few weeks.

Another thing that’s great about grandmère is that she is a strong woman, which is made clear by her aperitif of choice. Before dinner she takes whisky straight up, one cube of ice. The woman does not mess around, she knows what she likes and she doesn’t bother with frills. Yet despite the fact she pulls no punches, she is also very caring and loving. When I came home from class yesterday, there were three large tins filled with different types of cakes she had made, all regional specialties of course. The first was shortbread cookies, and then followed almond biscotti, and to end with there were dense, orange cakes. My host mom explained that when grandmère’s three oldest sons went to college, they would stay for weeks without coming home (rarer in France than in the US). Each time her sons left for school, she would make for them their favorite cakes: the almond biscotti for one, the orange cakes for another, and the shortbread for my host dad.

So in summary, I think grandmère is pretty great and I’m sorry she left so soon. She invited me to visit her in the small town where she lives with her oldest granddaughter, so hopefully I will see her again. Until then, it looks like I’m fending for myself and looking after my own needs, but at least I know how to use the water boiler.

Have you ever seen a nun run?

The Pope really is a celebrity in his own right. Sure he doesn’t star in movies or slam guitars at concerts, but he draws quite a large crowd and all his fans are diehard. But before I go any farther, let’s start from the beginning.

My morning began very early on Sunday…3:30 am early. The Pope, who had been in France for the past week, was presiding over mass at Lourdes, a small town near the Spanish boarder. Lourdes has been an important pilgrimage site ever since the Virgin Mary appeared to a young girl named Bernadette 150 years ago. From what I understand, the girl converted on the spot and began telling people about her vision (who can blame her?); the shrine and cathedral soon followed. This year marks the 150 year anniversary of the miracle and the Pope made a special trip to this holy site to celebrate the occasion, as did every practicing Catholic in a 200 mile radius. As practicing Catholics, my host family was among the pilgrims and I, being their guest, had an invitation to join them. How could I resist?

We arrived in Lourdes around 6:00 in the morning and began our trek to the field where mass was to be held. As we began our pilgrimage from the train station, I couldn’t help but think it was best for everyone I never memorized the opening lines of Chaucer’s Prologue to the Canterbury Tales. If it had been readily accessible in my mind, I would have had no choice but to greet the dawn with a little Middle English mood poetry.

Once we reached our designated fenced in area, we settled in for a breakfast of croissants and coffee – a Sunday must in my host family. Soon after we had finished, the crowd’s anticipation began to mount and finally burst into elation with the arrival of the Pope in his pope-mobile (it’s honestly a pretty sweet ride). After circling the crowd, he made his way to the front where he led mass. Several hours later the service ended and we were left to our own devices. Everyone’s primary objective at this point was lunch. Growing up in the Bible Belt, I wasn’t expecting everyone to pull out their bottles of liquor and wine...but this is France. Our group served an aperitif – a sweet liquor of some sort (or really, it can be anything as long as it has alcohol in it) served before a meal to get your appetite up and running – while the group next to us pulled out the bottles of wine they had brought. Our lunch consisted of ham, cheese, and butter on a baguette sandwiches (classic French), carrots, chips, and apples, which when combined with the aperitif made me feel very French.

The rest of the afternoon was spent visiting the shrine where Bernadette saw the Virgin Mary, visiting the cathedral build to commemorate the vision, and just walking around Lourdes. Around 6:00 we went back to the site where mass was held to watch a procession of some sort. Most people had left by this point, so it was a lot less strict and we had our choice of where to stand. It was at this point when I witnessed a spider crawl down the pants of the woman in front of me. What could I do? How do you even go about saying in French, “Excuse me ma’am, but I believe a spider just crawled down your pants”? I felt obligated to inform her of the unfortunate incident, but had neither the words nor the desire to act it out. Charades were never my thing anyway.

While I was turning my moral dilemma over in my mind, an unexpected thing occurred. We had stationed ourselves toward the very back of the area near the road, and while most in our group moved about the area freely, I leaned against the back fence, keeping an eye on our bags. Suddenly I heard the crowd scream, and when I turned around, who do you think was there but the Pope?! Yes, the Pope decided to make a surprise visit and my positioning put me no more than 5 feet away from his pope-mobile. When I turned back around, I saw a crowd of people rushing the fence, right where I happened to be standing. Suddenly all those horror stories I’ve heard about people being trampled at concerts, parades, riots, etc. flashed in my mind and I began to fear for my life. I turned back to face the Pope hoping that if things got ugly, he would intervene, and braced myself for impact. Two or three zealous Spanish girls slammed into me first. They began shouting “Esta-est! Viva la Papa!” and with each word they screamed, they pushed a bit closer toward the road. The problem was, I was between them and the fence, and the fence was between me and the Pope. A word of advice: never, ever get between fanatical Spanish girls and the pope. Nothing short of divine intervention saved me from certain death Sunday afternoon at the hands of Pope fans.

Once the pope had passed, the crowd dissipated – some to chase after the pope-mobile, others to watch from a safe distance. As the pope made his way to the front, I could still hear the same girls screaming “Esta-est! Viva la Papa!” as they chased him around the circumference of the field.

Sometimes late at night, I can still hear their chilling cries…

For more pictures from Lourdes, click here.

My apologies

I realize it has been unusually long since my last posts, but I have good reason: the wifi in my host family’s home seems to be on vacation. Many apologies for delays – especially email delays. But just because the internet hasn’t been working, does not mean I haven’t been writing. Here are a few updates from the week. Let’s hope this wifi situation will resolve itself soon, it is very inconvenient to feel so isolated from the rest of the world (but I guess that’s what language submersion is all about).

PS Anticipate my next post, I’m pretty sure it’s going to be an exciting one…big plans for Sunday.

Monday’s update: Lesson Learned

The rumors turned out to be true: the buses were on strike today. This obliged me to walk a half hour to school and back today. Fortunately, this wasn’t a problem because the weather has been wonderful lately and I get to pass through a large city park to and from school. The park is very nice, with peacocks and airplane statues throughout. I know, it’s a strange combination, and while I’m not sure what the peacocks are doing there, the planes can be justified. According to my host sister, Toulouse is not only home to Airbus, but was also the home of Antoine St Exupery. For my Francophile friends, this needs no explaining, but for the French haters/apathetics, St. Exupery is most known for his book Le Petit Prince, written as a children’s story but containing some pretty heavy philosophy. He also happened to be France’s first pilot, I think, whose plane went down in WWI and whose body was never recovered. The park as well as the neighborhood where my host family lives is filled with airplane and St Exupery references, it’s really pretty neat.

But let’s get back to this park because, as I learned today, when one walks through it, one opens the door for all kinds of odd interactions – in particular, interactions (if you happen to be female) with a variety of odd and somewhat charming men. Let’s begin with the actor. As I was walking through the park, I decided to sit down on a bench and read a bit. As I was reading, a man with a little boy came by. The two were “debating” something, and sought my advice. As he passed, the man looked at me and asked “Vous pensez quoi? Dix fois dix?” (“What do you think? Ten times ten?”). An odd debate, but then again, the boy was seven. I responded “cent?” again not exactly sure what was being asked of me, which opened the door for an uncomfortable and rather long conversation. The man, whose name I never got, was originally from Haiti but living in Paris and staying the week in Toulouse to help his sister out with her son who was “malade.” As his nephew played in the dirt (probably the reason for his illness), the man struck up a conversation with me with included subjects like studying French, dirty puns, subtle sexual questions involving the Virgin Mary, how shocking the French are, prudish Texans, and ended with an invitation to have a drink with him this evening. I respectfully declined, although he seems to think we have a rendez-vous at 9:30 tonight…”completely innocent,” though.

Once my conversation with my Parisian friend ended, I waited until he and his nephew were out of sight before high-tailing it in the opposite direction, which fortunately happened to be in the direction of home. Within sight of the park’s exit, the park’s guard spotted me and flagged me down. He soon discovered English, not French, is my first language, which he found very exciting. He took the opportunity to practice his English while I continued in French. He then proceeded to tell me several mildly humorous jokes, to impersonate several celebrities, and to call Steven Spielberg on my behalf, all while standing uncomfortably close to me. After several minutes, he felt comfortable enough to confide in me his dream of one day appearing on Miami Vice. He really liked Miami, and our conversation of Miami soon transitioned into a comparison of all great American cities: Miami, Atlanta, San Francisco, San Diego, Los Angeles, and Houston (which he graciously threw into the mix). My second conversation was definitely more animated and much less awkward than the first, and it left me looking forward to seeing Dave de Toulouse again.

Written Sunday the 7

By my calculations, it has been about a week since my last update. A lot can change during a week, but then again, a lot stays the same. So for this post, I’m writing what comes to mind and I’m throwing structure and style to the wind (which doesn’t always come naturally to the English majors).


First, some exciting news: I found out what the boys were building in the back yard. Some of the wood on the outside table had rotted and they replaced it. It looks pretty good to me. I asked my host sister about it and she said her dad and her brothers liked repairing things. In fact, they often buy things broken so that they can repair them. Case in point: take another look at the pictures I posted last week. Notice that white car in the backyard? That’s an old Renault they bought. It doesn’t work now, but it will before too long. Another example. Right now the youngest brother is riding around the back yard on a motorized bicycle…you guessed it, they added the motor (or repaired it, or something along those lines). And so as of now the mystery of the sawing noises is solved. The rest of the mysteries remain mysterious.
Another change this week was that I began my classes. As far as I can tell, there seems to be very little rhyme or reason to the scheduling, but at least I’m doing something - an improvement to sitting around my host family’s house like a mute. I’m in the advanced French class, a scary thought, but I’m enjoying it a lot. My class is made up of all foreigners learning the language, which means the only other Americans are three girls from my program. The rest are made up of a girl from Poland, a man from Lebanon, another man from China, and two girls from Mexico. It’s neat to speak French with others learning the language knowing that you can’t fall back on your English when the other person doesn’t understand you.


For my last change of the week, I went to church today. I met some Americans living in Toulouse and met up with them to go to church. It’s a Protestant church and very different from normal French fare – it’s simply decorated, rather small, and…well, Protestant. It was really great seeing the body of Christ worshiping God in another culture. So much of our preferences in worship and service style is cultural and change from region to region, but there are also things that transcend cultural differences. In today’s service, the songs and the sermon style was different from what I am used to, but there were two baptisms and communion today and that was very much the same. All in all, I had a great time and I cannot wait until next Sunday.


After church, the Americans I went to church with and I were invited to a French student’s house for lunch and she prepared a feast for us! She began the meal with veggies, pigs in a blanket, and toast with goat cheese melted on top. She then followed with this great bread/cheese/tomato/zucchini soufflé thing and a salad. After the salad she made a pear crisp with ice cream, and we ended with un café. Needless to say, I was impressed.


Those were the changes of the week, now for things that stay the same. Really, one in particular…the language barrier. I realized today I have two kinds of not understanding. In the first, I understand the sense of what was said but not the details. In the second, I understand the words but not the sense. I find the later particularly frustrating. Yet another example for you: there is one question people ask me all the time and I rarely understand what they want from me. It’s “Tu a fait quoi?” Which translates to “You did what?” Sometimes it’s varied to “Tu fais quoi?” which means “You do what?” Simple questions, right? Not in the context I’m getting them in, nor in the sentence structure for that matter (it’s definitely not what the books teach for proper question structure). When people ask me the first, I think “When? Today? Yesterday? In the US? When?” I really don’t know what to say in response so I stumble and look like an idiot (pretty common these days). The second is usually asked when I’m meeting someone for the first time. The people asking generally already know I’m an American student studying in France, so I’m not sure exactly what that question means. Sometimes it seems to refer to what I’m studying (but again, in France or in America?), other times it seems to mean “where are you studying?” I may never fully learn how to respond correctly to that question, and that’s something I’m resigned to. C’est la vive…en France.

PS. I found out yesterday that the bus drivers were striking on Monday. Fantastic.