Hello chaps,
The English are renowned for having a complex love/hate relationship with France. As a nation we complain of their 'rudeness', tendency to go on strike, snobbery and 'lazy' work ethic (they have a legal working week of 35 hours - less than in the UK which is 39 hours).
Yet we admire their food, architecture and, ironically, their relaxed 'mode de vie' - I suspect this comes down to jealousy. Watch any French film and you will see what I am referring to when I say 'mode de vie' - my favourites are Amelie, Conversations with My Gardener and The Grocer's Son. The Grocer's Son is a particular favourite of mine.
One of my favourite books that I have ever stolen off my mother is The Bloody English Women of The Maison Puce, by Jill Laurimore, because it sums up everything that English people love about France. I think it is a common aspiration to one day move to the French countryside and escape all that England threatens us with - and escape from other English people. Alas, the latter is rarely possible - as the book satirises. I have felt this myself, as I was hugely disgruntled in the summer, whilst on holiday in Paris, to discover that no one was French (they were all German or English tourists - I suspect the Parisians had all rather prudently upped and left to escape the mass of holidaymakers descending on their doorsteps) and that no one would speak to me in French - despite the fact I speak it well, albeit with an English accent that I try hard to control. I fully understand the hypocrisy in this - being yet another 'bloody English woman', but nevertheless, I echo the sentiments of Jill Laurimore's main protagonist.
Tours is a wonderful sanctuary away from English. I absolutely am wallowing in the bliss of this. There is comparatively little for tourists around here, despite there being a massive tourist information bureau, which is rather nice - it means I can speak the French I was hoping to, plus more besides. There is a profound novelty in pretending to be French - having a coffee in a cafe and the abundance of boulangeries is making my francophile side jump up and down with glee. I'm sorry, Russia, but shokoladnitsa aint got nothin' on this. I am hugely enjoying the fact I have to cross the Loire to do anything - though I suspect this novelty will wear off as I make my way into 8am lectures. Anyone who knows me will know I am not a morning person, so this will be an interesting part of my year abroad.
I am hugely glad I went to Russia though, as it is making this second half seem so much easier. I am very happy in my own company, which was not the case out there. This city is so warm and inviting, it appears to have a strong community feel to it - very French, very civilised and very nice. I am hugely privileged to be here, frankly, and I can't wait to get stuck in.
I survived sleeping under my coat last night, which wasn't as bad as you might think, but you may take comfort in the fact that I have now bought a blanket and crockery, so I am less of a tramp now!
Also, I have succeeded in making tea without a kettle! There is hope for me yet! (The answer to this one being a microwave. I am a GENIUS)
Oh and while talking to the receptionist today, he at one point said "Are you originally from Russia?" because I could not stop saying "da" instead of "oui". This must be worked on.
The English are renowned for having a complex love/hate relationship with France. As a nation we complain of their 'rudeness', tendency to go on strike, snobbery and 'lazy' work ethic (they have a legal working week of 35 hours - less than in the UK which is 39 hours).
Yet we admire their food, architecture and, ironically, their relaxed 'mode de vie' - I suspect this comes down to jealousy. Watch any French film and you will see what I am referring to when I say 'mode de vie' - my favourites are Amelie, Conversations with My Gardener and The Grocer's Son. The Grocer's Son is a particular favourite of mine.
One of my favourite books that I have ever stolen off my mother is The Bloody English Women of The Maison Puce, by Jill Laurimore, because it sums up everything that English people love about France. I think it is a common aspiration to one day move to the French countryside and escape all that England threatens us with - and escape from other English people. Alas, the latter is rarely possible - as the book satirises. I have felt this myself, as I was hugely disgruntled in the summer, whilst on holiday in Paris, to discover that no one was French (they were all German or English tourists - I suspect the Parisians had all rather prudently upped and left to escape the mass of holidaymakers descending on their doorsteps) and that no one would speak to me in French - despite the fact I speak it well, albeit with an English accent that I try hard to control. I fully understand the hypocrisy in this - being yet another 'bloody English woman', but nevertheless, I echo the sentiments of Jill Laurimore's main protagonist.
Tours is a wonderful sanctuary away from English. I absolutely am wallowing in the bliss of this. There is comparatively little for tourists around here, despite there being a massive tourist information bureau, which is rather nice - it means I can speak the French I was hoping to, plus more besides. There is a profound novelty in pretending to be French - having a coffee in a cafe and the abundance of boulangeries is making my francophile side jump up and down with glee. I'm sorry, Russia, but shokoladnitsa aint got nothin' on this. I am hugely enjoying the fact I have to cross the Loire to do anything - though I suspect this novelty will wear off as I make my way into 8am lectures. Anyone who knows me will know I am not a morning person, so this will be an interesting part of my year abroad.
I am hugely glad I went to Russia though, as it is making this second half seem so much easier. I am very happy in my own company, which was not the case out there. This city is so warm and inviting, it appears to have a strong community feel to it - very French, very civilised and very nice. I am hugely privileged to be here, frankly, and I can't wait to get stuck in.
I survived sleeping under my coat last night, which wasn't as bad as you might think, but you may take comfort in the fact that I have now bought a blanket and crockery, so I am less of a tramp now!
Also, I have succeeded in making tea without a kettle! There is hope for me yet! (The answer to this one being a microwave. I am a GENIUS)
Oh and while talking to the receptionist today, he at one point said "Are you originally from Russia?" because I could not stop saying "da" instead of "oui". This must be worked on.
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