I Heart Franglais

English speakers in France have the enjoyable task of picking up new English-turned-French words and adding them to their vocabulary repertoire. It seems that "our" language is being mixed with "their" language at an ever-increasing speed. Not surprisingly, a lot of these words are connected to the new technologies that are created in the U.S. Internet, email, and even the verb surfer meaning to surf the web have all long since appeared in the daily lexicon. Others are more of a surprise, like rock star and best of, and they tend to pop up in the most surprising places.

I heard a good one in my early class today. It's a miracle I was even awake enough to catch it, but it was so unusual that it managed to pull me out of a serious bout of daydreaming. As the student was giving his presentation on government media outlets in Europe (you try staying awake for that at 8:00 am) he whipped out Ils se benchmarkent - pronounced eels suh benchmark - when talking about how...well I don't know what he was talking about, actually. But there it was, the verb se benchmarker. It was definitely a new one for me, and shows just how many English words are making the trip across the pond (and channel).

Now, some purists decry such an incursion. It's ruining the French language they say. But if that's true, then the French language only has itself to blame. I mean, which would you rather use, email or courrier électronique? Exactly. And besides, it's not like they're they only ones adopting foreign language elements into their own speech. English is chock-full of French words. Words like chic, à la carte, crème de la crème, and nouveau riche, just to name a few. Sharing is good, and it's only natural that as a population changes and adapts to the world around it, so too will the language. What's more, English words sound prettier when pronounced in the French style. Adding English words to the French language? C'est fun!

My Kingdom for a Coffee

I had my early class again this morning and I just can't understand what on earth made me think that 8:00 am on Friday was an acceptable time to learn. Despite getting a good night's sleep, I was feeling slightly less than bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as I headed out the door and made my way to campus. As a result, I suddenly found myself desperately craving that shining example of American ingenuity: take-out coffee.

I adore Caribou Coffee, have taken a liking to Starbucks, and when feeling desperate will settle for Dunkin Donuts. Of these three, Starbucks alone has made its entry into the Parisian landscape. While not nearly as prolific as they are in large American cities, that little green circle is no longer an unusual site here. Unfortunately for me, there are no to-go coffee houses on my route to Sciences Po. There isn't even a campus coffee shop that offers such a service. Oh how I longed for the Davenport Coffee Lounge, a great student-run shop in the School of International Service building at AU. Grabbing one of their 75 cent hot teas (yes, you read that price correctly) had become a pre-class ritual. Alas, with no Davenport in sight, I was left to endure the avoidable tragedy of un-medicated drowsiness.

I know what you're thinking: "Why would you crave take-out, suger-infused American coffee when there are so many great cafés to enjoy in Paris?" Well, you're right. There are countless great cafés in Paris and I assure you that I do enjoy them. I enjoy many of the specialties that are unique to France and have hardly craved specialties from home at all. There's not much time left for missing cheeseburgers when there are endless varieties of pastry to be had. Nevertheless, I couldn't deny that on this particular morning, I would have given anything for an American coffee shop. Culinary delights of Paris notwithstanding, sometimes a girl just needs a skinny, no-foam, double-shot, mocha latté, on the fly, and with a side of blueberry muffin.

Language Lessons

Lucky for me, but maybe not so lucky for the majority of my Thursday morning classmates, our professor has an affinity for assigning weekly readings in English. Of the five articles we've had to read so far, only two have been in French. In fact, on the first day of class he made it perfectly clear that in addition to working with English texts, we should feel free to express opinions, join in on discussions, and even conduct our required presentation in English.

I have to admit that I was more than a little surprised at this turn of events. In the 18 years of my life that have been spent in school, I have never had to do homework in a foreign language except, of course, for French class. However, these French students (and other non-native English speaking foreigners) are flat-out expected to be able to complete graduate level work in English. I can tell you right now that there is not one single foreign language that my colleagues at AU and myself would be able to all work in together. Our second languages of choice run the gamut. But, as the professor said, "English is the language of international politics."

Now, I'm not going to complain about coming all the way to France just to do homework en anglais. On the contrary, it makes my life a whole lot easier, and I still have two other classes that are all French, all the time. My intent is merely to highlight the ever-expanding reach of the English language and the surprising ways in which Americans (as well as other Anglophones) abroad discover the pervasiveness of their native tongue.

Oh, and just in case you're wondering, I'm still going to give my presentation in French. After 18 years of giving them in English, I think it might be nice to try something new.

My Happy Place

I have found Nirvana in France. After trying (and failing) to visit the Sciences Po language department, playing email tag with various administration officials, taking a written language test, and patiently awiting the results of said test, I managed to get myself registered for a French language class, level moyen/fort. After just one two-hour session of French grammar, pronunciation, and the finer points of accent placement, I am utterly convinced that Tuesday afternoons will become one of my favorite times of the week.

The first thing you should know is that the class is incredibly diverse. We're a regular United Nations, actually: Americans, Italians, Chinese, Germans, Brazilians, Swedish, all here for the simple reason of not wanting to sound like complete idiots next to our French colleagues. In fact, the professor alluded to that desire by casually mentioning that her goal is to help us avoid the wrath of critical teachers and impatient French students. I wasn't sure if I should have been scared or relieved by this classroom objective, but I'm going to take it as a positive step in the right direction towards language fluency.

French class is quite possibly the only place in France where I don't feel like an outsider. We all have accents and willingly make fools of ourselves on a regular basis. We are all away from home and trying everyday to fit into a society that is known for its exclusiveness. We all wish we could speak better French. We all make mistakes. Knowing that no one can judge our language abilites lest theirs be judged in return makes us more eager to participiate in the discussions. Besides, it's so much easier to speak up in class when the topic is "what I did last weekend," and not "what I think about the legacy of the Maastricht Treaty."

Early Bird

I've always been a morning person. The kind that wakes up before the alarm sounds and isn't at all upset about starting the day at dawn. In fact, I prefer to get up early, get stuff done, and have the afternoon/evening to relax, go to the gym, or meet friends for happy hour. This routine worked really well in DC, which is very much an early-to-rise, early-to-bed kind of town. Except, I suppose, for the occasional behind the scenes dealings that take place at various Capitol Hill haunts, running the government isn't exactly a late-night affair.

Fast forward to Paris. For nearly three weeks I have no work, no school, and subsequently fall into a routine more befitting a Night Owl: sleeping in, running errands in the afternoon, going out for late dinners rather than early happy hours. It's a nice change of pace that caught up with me in a bad way this morning. After not going to bed until 2:30am, I had to get to class by 8:00am. When the alarm went off at 6:30, I was not a happy camper.

Paris is definitely a late-night town. For one, the city is even more beautiful and romantic by moonlight, and the old buildings look amazing when all aglow. Also, French people eat late, much later than Americans, which means that countless bars and restaurants are open until the wee hours of the morning. What's more, they go to work late (by DC standards at least) and stay late. Needless to say, as I made my way across the bridge on the way to the metro at 7:00am, the place felt deserted. Nothing but newspaper deliverers, garbage trucks, and one very sleepy student.

Despite being overly tired, I did take time to enjoy morning in Paris. Part of the reason why I love starting the day early is for the simple fact of enjoying a city before it becomes nothing but crowds, noise, and stress. In the morning, everything is quiet, you feel like you have the place to yourself, and there is a great sense of potential for the day to come. It's just easier to appreciate that potential when you've had a good night's sleep.

Back in the Saddle Again

The professors will all be mean and strict, the students unwelcoming and aloof, and the facilities less than substandard. These are just some of the preconceived notions I held, and dire warnings I was given, before my first class at Sciences Po. Needless to say, there were more than a few butterflies in my stomach as I left home this morning and made my way to campus. But much to my relief, these gloomy predictions failed to carry any weight.

From the start, I could tell that the professor would be great. He was very friendly, open to questions and suggestions, and didn't even assign the 25-page research paper I've grown accustomed to at American University, which makes him my new best friend. The only complaint I have is that he's a mumbler and a fast-talker all at the same time. A bit difficult for this foreigner to understand, but maybe it will ultimately help me improve my French. As for the students, when I asked the girl sitting next to me where I could go to print out copies of our readings, she actually walked me all the way to a computer lab and proceeded to provide invaluable advice about student life at Sciences Po. Quel service!

The facilities are less impressive, but I'll get over it. Hopefully I won't have to use the library too much, which, according to my fellow student, is miniscule and not much help. The classroom was a bit worn down, but it certainly wasn't any worse than those in the horrifically unappealing building that houses the School of International Service at American University. And while the computer lab might have been smaller than what I'm used to, because of its location at the top of seemingly endless flights of stairs, I didn't have to fight for a spot as is usually the case back home. Apparently, French students aren't interested in a side of cardio with their homework.

With my worst fears allayed, and despite the reduction of free time and the resurgence of assignments, I can honestly say that it feels good to be back in school. Now, if only I hadn't scheduled myself for an 8:00 am class on Fridays...