Continued adventures in la vie...

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Languages, new friends, and enriched perspectives…

I wanted to post this earlier, but I decided to add to it, requiring more time. This was started more than a week ago, so it is definitely a chronicle of sorts.


Regarding our assistants d’anglais orientation day back on Oct 12: it was a chance to make more friends, which I did. Don’t worry, we’re not all immediate Facebook friends just yet - those relationships take time to develop, right? Perhaps we will just “poke” for now.


In all sincerity, though, there were many interesting individuals around my age (I will be 23 in December) who shared the same passion for cultural exchanges, international relations, languages, travel, and, as of late, teaching. We know that what we are doing is inherently good, because languages facilitate cultural communications and cultural understanding.


This is why I have taken Arabic and will continue with it, as well as French. I am trying to progress in español as well, we will see. Basically, my model in this regard, and in higher ideals (except for celibacy), is the late Pope John Paul II. Also, Father Teddy Hesburgh at the University of Notre Dame. I believe JPII a dozen languages, Teddy speaks about 10.



Going back to the roots of an incredible school and growing in its ‘motherland’

OK, quick trip down memory lane… I remember during my freshman year (1st year) at Notre Dame, a group of us who were going to Angers the following year went to Teddy’s office on the 13th floor of the library. We were not sure if we would be able to meet with him, but the ever-energetic and bon vivant James Boyle insisted on trying, and we were all glad after one of the most memorable moments in our lives (at least in mine).


We talked with his secretary, who said Teddy was finishing up a meeting with foreign dignitaries and Church leaders from Latin America (the Archbishop of Honduras among them), and they were kind in meeting us as they left. Teddy showed us around his office, full of photo albums from his travels around the world…literally. He has been on every continent, even Antarctica, has 120 honorary degrees from universities all over the world, and studied abroad in Roma, Italia in 1936. During his year of study there, he remained diligent in learning languages. He used Italian everyday, took religious classes in Latin and Hebrew, and committed to learning a new word each day in 5 different languages, so by the end of the year, he had a solid vocabulary in about 8 languages. He even knows some Arabic and Swahili, in so much as he can at least hold a conversation in the language, not necessarily fluently.


He inspired in us the passion for travel and languages, and then took photos with us (of course, I was there) after leading us in a prayer in a circle, connecting the founding of Notre Dame by French priests with our upcoming journey to Angers, to the effect of “bless them as they return to the motherland of Fr. Edward Sorin and learn the language of our founding fathers…”


It was very moving, but I’m not sure so much for you; it probably is only moving to you in the sense of you wanting to “move” away from the computer…and I now will go back to where the blog posting is supposed to go...talking about ma vie in Lyon.


اللغةالعربية Arabic (“the Arabic Language”)

In terms of Arabic, I may take intermediate Arabic at a university here in Lyon that starts soon. I have also been in touch recently with a professor of Arabic at another university here, Waleed, who is originally from Iraq but moved to France a long time ago to get his PhD in French Literature. We spoke a mélange of French, Arabic and English on the phone (he is fluent in the first 2, pretty good in English), and even if I do not take a private class with him, he said he would be glad just to meet up for tea sometime. I do not know at this point if I can afford to get private lessons, much less sign up for a class, because I have to budget for sure. So we will see.


For the moment, I’m working on the languages on my own with books, articles and index cards, like the dork I am. (Andrea, think of “I saw a girl on the DC metro with Arabic flash cards, and I wanted you to know…she does exist.” Superb. Perhaps we will meet someday, insha’allah )
New friends, new appreciations…


OK, let’s get to the social life part. I have made many friends here since my arrival. The first week, I hung out a lot with several of the American assistants here, and then once school got started, we have lessened our interaction but still keep in touch. We all have different schedules at different schools in the area, but like the other assistants at the orientation, we all have similar interests that span the globe, so we get along just fine.


Meeting individuals like this, who are also willing to go out and take risks (not dangerous ones, Mom) and make sacrifices based on a sense of adventure and yearning to develop more as a citizen of the world and build cultural and intellectual bridges…this feeds my inspiration. And as much as I love to meet international friends, it is nice to have others from the US here, who may have understand more where I come from, based on the common thread of our country. It’s a comfort zone of sorts I guess.


Of course, having the same country of origin does not necessarily always entail having a shared perspective or even similar interests. The beauty of the human experience is that I could meet someone from the other side of the globe and have a fluid conversation about human rights, music, literature, religious views, hopes and dreams, etc… in essence, we may come from different countries and cultures, speak different mother tongues, but we could relate nonetheless. I have been grateful to meet people like this already, both during my year abroad 2004-2005, my work in Paris in 2006 and this time around as well.

Allez les Bleues!..the wonderful world of Rugby and Chabal…


Just a couple weeks ago, France beat New Zealand in an upset of great proportions in the Rugby World Cup. I watched it unfold on a huge screen in Place des Terreaux in front of the Hôtel de Ville in center of Lyon, with thousands of others, as well as new friends from France, Spain, Italy, Germany and Venezuela. Common language: French….OK sometimes English. But I sincerely wish I spoke their languages fluently, and I’m going to work on that.


It was quite the exciting night, and I learned the basic rules of the game as it went on. Although rugby exists in the US, and I’ve had many friends play it on school teams (my high school in DC, Gonzaga, is a perennial national power in rugby, not to mention my cousins who played at Brother Rice in Chicago), I did not know all the rules. To an outsider, it looks like chaos, with huge men running around in no particular pattern, tossing the ball often.


It is very violent and indeed chaotic, but just like the chaos of the universe, they are in fact rules that govern it, such as a “try” (basically a touchdown, only worth 5 points) scored must be on a pass that comes from the person in front of you…in other words, forward passing is illegal…and France scored a try on a forward pass, but this was not ruled illegal. So many people celebrated, in the spirit of “hey, we’ll take what we can get”, though New Zealand fans and France bashers will always blame the loss on this bad call. Regardless, it was an exciting match, with France coming from behind to win 20-18 (I think that was the score).


Also, the icon for French soccer was Zidane “Zizou” for a long time. For French Rugby, it is a character who looks like a cross between the caveman from those Geico commercials and the Beast from Beauty and the Beast (yes, I have seen this superb film), or as I like to say, Jesus on steroids…I’m talking about CHABAL, the legend…from my observation of the French perspective, he is the personification of French gloire on the world stage and the resurgence of French influence in world politics…but maybe I’m reading too much into it. However, many hardcore fans treat rugby like the measuring rod (or thermometer, for the hot-headed) of French pride, with a direct relationship…it is more than a game. When France wins, pride skyrockets…and the inverse when France loses…


American? Fine by you?

The next week’s game, France v. England, made up the semi-final of the World Cup, with both teams defying pre-tournament predictions and making it further than anyone expected. Both teams were slow to start in this game, with injured players on both sides still putting in a strong effort. We watched this game with even more people, in an even bigger square, Place Bellecour, which is the uninterrupted square in Europe (no structures, buildings, etc…in the middle…basically biggest open space). It was quite exciting, and everyone was revved up for this even more than New Zealand.


Needless to say, there was animosity towards England among the crowd. When I went to get something to eat at a nearby concession stand (menu: un “hotdog”, or “sandwich américain” which is basically burger with fries-ish…very French), I met a Brit and an American. Actually the American was from Virginia like me, and was studying abroad with a UVA program. The Brit said that for that night, he was American (for safety’s sake).


I didn’t realize the full meaning of this until during the game, when a French guy asked me where I got my beer (the stand sold beer too, of course), and I told him…he sensed an English accent, and said T’es anglais?!...Salaud! (Are you English? You MOFO). I said, “relax, I’m American, and I’m cheering for France.” That cooled him down. I then said a bit comically and ironically, that it was the first time in a long time that being an American in France was a good thing. The French people around me laughed in acknowledgement of the sad truth. For the sake of brevity and clear writing, I will have a separate posting on my reflections about America and France, and the current political environment in France under Sarko.


For now, let’s get back to the events of my life in Lyon.


A very feliz cumpleaños and other adventures…

Needless to say, England beat France in the semis, and people were crushed, but life continues. That night, we went out to celebrate Kristel’s 22nd birthday (she is the Spanish assistant at my school from Venezuela), with a bunch of Spanish language assistants from Lyon that she had met at her day of orientation. They were all very nice, some from Spain, Guatemala, Mexico, Costa Rica, Honduras, Argentina…quite a diverse group. The two girls from Costa Rica had a train back to Saint-Etienne in the morning, so we decided to stay out all night.


What resulted was a fun time, though I don’t speak Spanish, so at times I felt a bit out of place. Of course we spoke French too, and English, but when you are out with friends who speak the same language, you want to speak in your mother tongue…natural tendency. It’s like when I speak English with my American friends. We explored a cool pub near Hôtel de Ville and then went to a smoky bar in Vieux Lyon, the Melting Pot, that is open till the sun rises. Yikes. Kristel and I got back to our residence at 6:30am. Quite a long night, but fun. Sleeping on Sundays is a favorite sport of mine.


More stories to tell soon…peace for now, friends and family.

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Photos

Chabal
Chabal, the legend of French Rugby

Lyon at night
the Rhone river at night with the Hotel Dieu, beautiful

Comments

[Tim]

Spanish lesson
If you ever here someone say, in Spanish, "ojala que," it means "God grant that..." or, more casually, "let's hope that..." The Spaniards of olde, while under the influence of the Muslim Moors when they were still in Spain, borrowed from the Arabic "inshallah" (note the similarity of pronunciation).