During my days in Nantes, I lived with a French family. I
had breakfast at their house every day, and had at least two dinners a week
with them. They spoke no English.
My French mom, Marie-Claire, was an Aries woman who was one
of the most laid-back Aries women I have ever met. Many are aggressive—and not
necessarily in a bad way—but she took everything in stride. She did her best to
answer all my questions and teach me a lot without knowing she was doing so.
But Marie-Claire had a lot more to deal with than just me.
She had three grown children, one of whom was still living with her by the time
I left Nantes, but she also was a femme
de foyer, or what we would call a foster mom. She had three foster children
as well: Lény, 17, who lived away at cooking school and only came home for
school vacations; as well as Christian, who was 16, and Jessica, who was 12. Marie-Claire’s
husband, Gilbert, was a great guy, but he was studying in a German home; his
company was paying for him to learn German, so at like 50 years old he was
doing what I was doing at 20. So he wasn’t around much, but it was great when
he was.
I remember that first day in Nantes. I traveled with one
other student from the US, and as we got to the train station we picked up a
few more people. Americans in France stick out, especially when they’re
carrying luggage as big as they are. Once we got to Nantes, we went to the
Institute where our families would come to pick us up. Of course, I was the
last person picked up; Madame Rouchet, the dean of students, stayed late to
wait for Marie-Claire.
My first evening with my French family was pretty fun.
Christian thought he could give me a hard time but figured out really quick who
he was dealing with. My extensive study of French slang served me well, and
Marie-Claire was suitably impressed at how well I was able to dispatch
Christian with not too much effort. It was two books, Merde! and Merde Encore!,
that had formed a large part of my preparation. My linguistic “expertise” in
this area served me well all year.
After dinner, Jessica gave me a short lecture on how to work
my alarm clock. Luckily it wasn’t that hard; by that time I was so tired I was
almost falling asleep. I promised that I would help her with English, which she
was very happy about. After trying to watch a movie with Marck and Franck, two
of Marie-Claire’s biological children, I collapsed into bed, my head still
spinning.
The next morning, Marie-Claire drove me to the Institute,
handed me the address of the house on a slip of paper, and said, “See you
tonight. Find your way home!” I was nervous about finding my way back, but that
was the easy part; public transit has always been a hobby of mine, so I managed
it pretty easily.
Eventually, life at home settled into a routine. It took
about three days to get used to having French all around me, and for the next
four months I never left France except for four days in London in October.
English was not a distant memory totally—I spoke some with my American friends
outside the Institute—but it was most assuredly secondary. You would be amazed at how much you would
learn if you couldn’t speak English. Trust me on this one.
As I look back on it, each person in the house helped me
learn different things. I never thought, for example, that I would learn how
rugby is played, how to play or bet in roulette or poker, or how to tell someone
I’d like to kill them in another language. But I did. And I enjoyed every
minute of it.
Tune in tomorrow for more on Christian and his antics during my stay. A demain, chers lecteurs!
No comments:
Post a Comment