Blending In: Lesson 1) The Euro-Mullet

Last Thursday was seemingly perfect day-sunny and warm, garden party at the Fairholme House (the house where 8 of the CEA American students live/my temp home), and not to mention my excursion to St. Tropez that I would soon embark on later that evening. I decided to skip class Thursday, because Lindsey wanted to get her hair cut and insisted that I come along with her. I went, because it was one of those things that sounded like a good idea at the time. If I could change my actions knowing that the end result would be horrendous, I would have stayed in class. We found a hair salon called Jean Louis David that appeared very chic and clean so we went there. The large photo in the window was the same hair cut that I have, so I figured this could be a good time to get my hair trimmed so that I would only have to point at a picture and it would be done. I could not have been more wrong.
It was weird from the moment we stepped in the salon as there was a young man… perhaps 18 years old sweeping up the floor who directed us upstairs when we told him we wanted a hair cut. We were then wrapped in white robes… giving the feeling of being in an upper class hair salon… hmm? Ok so the young boy washed my hair and it was the most awkward hair washing session that I have ever had- I could just tell he had no clue on how to wash my hair. So after 10 minutes of being very uncomfortable, I was sent downstairs and greeted-if I could really call it that- by a twenty something French man who wore a mullet with very short bangs (think beetlejuice). The man was very unfriendly to his assistants and he was the only stylist working at the time. Lindsey’s hair was almost finished, but I did not get to see the end product until it was too late. At this point, I had a razor that would normally be used to shave a man’s hair to shear my hair.
This was weird, but I went along with it, because I don’t know the techniques used here in France. Everything seemed like it could go ok…not great, but just ok (something I could work with in the end) until he asked me if I liked my “bit”-the piece that is my signature look, the long side piece. Of course I said yes… and then he took the razor and sheared my hair some more but now removing my “bit” leaving me with the most random hair cut in the world that can only be compared to Joe Dirt! Business in the front and party in the back! I am now adorning a mullet! Yes- I am bringing it back. The schizo hair stylist (if he is even certified to be one) gave me bangs that start from the back of my head and thin hair all around the bottom and where my “bit” was is now a chunk of bangs… so one side of my bangs are now thicker than the other side… its more a reverse of what I had.
I didn’t even know what to do, but when I exited the hair salon I just bawled uncontrollably. I cried the from the second I exited the salon until I arrived at the Fairholme House, receiving some very weird looks on the streets and making a complete scene on the tram.

Below are pictures of what my hair should have been and what it actually looks like... that is the picture that was in the window!

On being Sans Domicile Fixe

If you don’t know what “sans domicile fixe” means, it is a term used to descrive homeless. Better yet, I am homeless in France in a city where I barely speak the language and know no way around town. Actually it is not as bad as it seems, I am not living in a gutter somewhere nor am I begging for food or euros from strangers. I am residing, for the moment, at Hôtel Europe, which is located in downtown Grenoble.
It all happened when I first arrived and waited for an hour and a half at the wrong bus station in Grenoble looking for a taxi-whch there were none and the next taxi could only make it to the train station by 4:00 pm- so I was off to a stressful start. I managed to find out that there was a train going to the main train station, so I jumped on to find out my original housing plans were no longer where I would be living. Crystal, another CEA student who was living in the same residence hall as me, waited outside the train station for me with as our advisor dropped some other students off in a taxi. So we went to this other residence hall that was about 45 minutes away from our campus by using the tram (which our other residence hall was literally on campus and five minutes away). Patrick, our advisor, argued with the lady at the front desk about our mode of payment since we have already paid CEA who paid the people at the original residence hall (so he needed to get money back from them to pay the other people). This went on for about an hour and we finally checked out the rooms
They were not too bad-just remodeled! We entered and they were very very small. The first thing I noticed is that I didn’t have a bed… oh wait the bed gets pulled down from the ceiling. My best way to describe the mattress is that it reminded me of being a baby… the hard foam with the plastic that covered and protected the exterior. I sucked it up, knowing that this is what I should expect as I was living in a residence hall in France and not the Hilton. This was all a part of the cultural experience right?
Not until we found out that we shouldn’t go anywhere north of where we were past dark… since basically everything is north as we lived in a suburb of Grenoble. In order to meet with the other students in the program or do anything we had to pass this special area, which in the states it would be the government funded housing or the ghetto. We were warned to look out for guys who carried small man purses from Louis Vuitton or Prada as those were not used for money or cell phones, but for guns- especially going through that neighborhood.
Crystal and my parents freaked out because we have paid $10,000 to this program and this is what happened. Well they also didn’t understand that it had nothing to do with CEA and they were doing their best to find us new homes. So they basically demanded that we get out of that residence hall and move into a hotel until they found something.
You can bet there were a few awkward moments with our advisor after he received a phone call from the VP of CEA.
So we are staying at the hotel for the weekend and Sunday afternoon we are moving in the Fairholm House- which is a house that has 8 CEA students already in it. We will be crashing on mattresses in the huge house, sharing two bathrooms with 10 students for a week until we get to move into another residence hall (if it even has any openings). Think The Real World.

Language is my new favorite game

Well, here I am... exactly one week before school begins and one day before I leave for my new home! I am excited and I cannot wait to meet new people.
At the moment I have been struggling to communicate...yes, I have a problem with this! It is so much harder to communicate when one's vocabulary is soo limited. At dinner with Adrien's family and family friends I sit in the corner with a blank face and eat or drink as much as possible avoiding any direct conversation or eye contact. I only speak when I am spoken to.
I have tried to be active in the conversations, but my participation has only given the table a good laugh.
I hear a few words and try to put them together the best that I can and voila! blurt out the first thought. It is sort of like the Rorschach inkblot tests and at those random times where I took the initiative to join the world in conversation, I made it a game to see how close I could actually get.
The most vivid example of this is when we (Adrien, Adrien's father, his friend Nicole, and myself) were gathered around the table for dinner. The previous topic was religion, so when I heard the words "Bible Belt" come from Adrien's father and then "protestant, catholic" exit out of Nicole's mouth- my first reaction was to say "Ah oui... les baptists" haha having no idea what was going on in the conversation... Adrien's father handled this well and tried to make me feel...well normal as he repeated baptist as if that word belonged with the others, but Nicole and Adrien looked soo puzzled and began to laugh.
The actual topic was about French engagements vs. American engagements (for marriage) and how the US is more traditional when it comes to this especially in the bible belt. haha wow can you imagine how awkward this was.
With this vow of silence that I have involuntarily taken, I have had a lot of time to myself. It gives me time to think about things I want to do, things I need to do, and about life.
Another side to this is how I try to blend in... I don't like to speak English that much in public, because it becomes so obvious that I am in fact American. My favorite is when we were in Paris and we would be in public with Adrien and Nicole or Adrien, Nicole, and his father and everyone would be speaking in French. I felt as though I blended into society-even though I understood maybe a few of the words out of the conversation.
Another thought- It is extremely hard to switch back and forth from English to French. By the end of the day I am completely exhausted!!! There are moments where the conversation between me and Nicole or Adrien's father would be in English...then either one of the two would start a conversation between eachother or with Adrien in French only to surprise me with a question in French... If I am not paying attention- I miss the question and appear rude having to ask for a repeat.
Even ordering food has become stressfull... but it is the only thing I really know how to do! Either I will return to the states fluffier or emaciated. I hope it is the second one, especially with my anxiety of ordering haha. I know I should be excited to put the last 2 years of what I have learned in college to practice, but to be honest, I didn't learn that much. What I did learn, I lost over the second year due to a great teacher last fall who thought he could teach us French speaking only in English and not encouraging participation.
There still is hope and I am not completely mute- there are just some moments where I find it more practical to keep my mouth shut. My French is improving and once my classes begin, I will become better.