French Lessons and the Striking French!

I have been a little behind in updating this but it’s been quite a big week with alot of new changes.

On Sunday, we won the second of our warm-up matches. After an odd pre-match meal of Brioche and chocolate, very French, we beat a local team called Massy-Palaiseau whose team included a couple of France under 18s. The heat was almost unbearable and when I looked in a mirror after the game I was a little pink. This has obviously since turned a golden brown...

Monday morning brought my first French class at the Alliance Francaise. With it being in the 6^th Arrondisement, I needed to take the RER train from my ‘hood into the centre of Paris. The morning walk across the Luxemburg Gardens is something I could easily get used to.

I really don’t think I could ask for a more appropriate person to teach French. Marie-Jo is almost the caricature of a Parisian woman – I know nothing about female fashion but ‘chic’ is probably the word. With little circular red-rimmed glasses that sit on the tip of her nose, she talks of her detestation of tourists, Versailles and constantly is writing down the names of restaurants, maccaron shops and the best little bakeries. The atmosphere in the class is very informal and participation is the main idea. Though while I get the gist of most of what le prof is saying, I often have no idea what my Korean chum Sung-Hyi is saying, or Cecilia the Puruvian or Harry the ever-so-slightly sleazy Columbian is getting at. One time all the Spanish speakers burst out in uncontrollable laughter at something Marie-Jo said – Me, Roberrr the Texan and Anne from Perth (Aus...obviously) just sat there not having a clue what had been said. Unsurprisingly, some French word resembles a rude Spanish word. Oh the laughs. I also have homework each night, the cheek! We’ve also been studying a poem by Arthur Rimbaud which we’re supposed to learn ‘par coeur’. I haven’t, yet.

Tuesday was my incredibly frustrating introduction to the real France, it was strike day. ‘La greve’ caused me to be an hour late for my class in the morning. After my class, I then walked 2 metro stops, found the station I wanted was closed, got on the 68 bus like the rotund woman said I should with the idea of then taking another bus. It was only 15 minutes into this bus journey, as I crossed the Seine and headed into the Louvre that I realised this bus was going the wrong way. Urghhh. So I got off, crossed the road, changed buses eventually and arrived at the training ground a full 2 and a half hours late for training, which had just finished. As I overheard a good English voice saying in Paris, “These French need a good dose of Thatcher, that’s what they need!”