the umbrella.
Bordeaux.
My adventure begins with an umbrella. Or rather, with a complete lack of an umbrella. My mother and my step-mother, I’m certain, will be annoyed to know that despite both of them advising me to bring an umbrella, I forgot. It’s not such a big deal. I am living in a city, a very beautiful city, with plenty of magasins for buying such a thing as that. And though it will cost more here, as everything else does in what is known as the-other-side-of-the-Atlantic, I will purchase one tomorrow.
This morning, I walked to school. This may not seem terribly exciting for those of you who ever walked to school, but I never did. It was always Mom’s car or Dad’s car or the school bus or later the Coro, but today I realized that I was living in a true city because I walked to school. I walked to school along a route that my French family showed me yesterday during our 2.5-hour promenade throughout the city. And what a city it is. Although I cannot help myself from using the same three French words over and over again to describe the sites that I see, I can say in English that this city deserves all of those words and more. It is pretty. It is beautiful. It is magnificent. The streets are all made of stone, the faces of the buildings are the same as they were many centuries ago. The people are friendly. My family here could not be more welcoming. My French mother works for an organization which arranges language immersion programs in other countries; because of this, she knows some English and enjoys asking me the occasional grammar question. She also enjoys correcting my French, a hobby/past-time/all-the-time-habit that I actually adore about her. I need the help and she is more than happy to give it. I’m not entirely sure what my French father does, but from what my French mother described to me (and showed me the building…it’s a government building in the middle of the most beautiful park I’ve ever seen…imagine every romantic French moment in a park and, well, put it in this garden, couples everywhere kissing and holding each other, children playing, people laughing, no one apparently going to work)… he works for The Man. Dad will be sad to know that I am living with a true worker for The Man, as I’m fairly certain that he is in charge of the people who are in charge of making sure that the taxes of the city are all paid. It’s not just that he works for The Man; he works closely with The Man. However, he has very good taste in wine and cheese, thus perhaps Dad can forgive him.
The house is lovely. Just a ten-minute walk away from the school where I will be going each morning and afternoon, five days a week for two weeks. I should now apologize for two things. 1. The exposition. I don’t really want to be writing so much boring exposition about the places that I am seeing. But it’s the first entry so I need to get grounded a little. 2. My grammar. I feel like I’m typing in a foreign language. If my wording is a little funny or my typing is a little off, it’s because I am trying my hardest to truly immerse myself, even if it means watching James Bond movies in French (Permis de Tuer was on tonight…watched it a bit with Phillipe and thought of Ian). Basically, no matter what language I am using, I feel awkward and trite.
Anyways, the reason my thoughts for today began with an umbrella are this. Today, as I walked to school, in the rain, cursing in something that was neither English nor French but vraiment franglais, I thought of that damn song that was so popular this summer Aux Etats-Unis, “Umbrella.” I was thinking about this song not just because I was missing Friends Camp a little, and missing American culture a little, and missing the moments where everyone everyone everyone knows just exactly what you mean when you sing something so ridiculous, but because the song simply does not translate. Imagine the song, for those of you who know it, but instead of the familiar, “Umbrella-ella-ella-ey-ey-ey Under my umbrella” as “Sous mon parapluie-uie-uie-eeee-eeee-eee.”
As you can see, it doesn’t work.
Then again, I’m not convinced why it works so well in English. Does anyone else feel just a little ridiculous singing this? If so, you can join me sous mon parapluie. That is, if I actually buy one tomorrow.
My adventure begins with an umbrella. Or rather, with a complete lack of an umbrella. My mother and my step-mother, I’m certain, will be annoyed to know that despite both of them advising me to bring an umbrella, I forgot. It’s not such a big deal. I am living in a city, a very beautiful city, with plenty of magasins for buying such a thing as that. And though it will cost more here, as everything else does in what is known as the-other-side-of-the-Atlantic, I will purchase one tomorrow.
This morning, I walked to school. This may not seem terribly exciting for those of you who ever walked to school, but I never did. It was always Mom’s car or Dad’s car or the school bus or later the Coro, but today I realized that I was living in a true city because I walked to school. I walked to school along a route that my French family showed me yesterday during our 2.5-hour promenade throughout the city. And what a city it is. Although I cannot help myself from using the same three French words over and over again to describe the sites that I see, I can say in English that this city deserves all of those words and more. It is pretty. It is beautiful. It is magnificent. The streets are all made of stone, the faces of the buildings are the same as they were many centuries ago. The people are friendly. My family here could not be more welcoming. My French mother works for an organization which arranges language immersion programs in other countries; because of this, she knows some English and enjoys asking me the occasional grammar question. She also enjoys correcting my French, a hobby/past-time/all-the-time-habit that I actually adore about her. I need the help and she is more than happy to give it. I’m not entirely sure what my French father does, but from what my French mother described to me (and showed me the building…it’s a government building in the middle of the most beautiful park I’ve ever seen…imagine every romantic French moment in a park and, well, put it in this garden, couples everywhere kissing and holding each other, children playing, people laughing, no one apparently going to work)… he works for The Man. Dad will be sad to know that I am living with a true worker for The Man, as I’m fairly certain that he is in charge of the people who are in charge of making sure that the taxes of the city are all paid. It’s not just that he works for The Man; he works closely with The Man. However, he has very good taste in wine and cheese, thus perhaps Dad can forgive him.
The house is lovely. Just a ten-minute walk away from the school where I will be going each morning and afternoon, five days a week for two weeks. I should now apologize for two things. 1. The exposition. I don’t really want to be writing so much boring exposition about the places that I am seeing. But it’s the first entry so I need to get grounded a little. 2. My grammar. I feel like I’m typing in a foreign language. If my wording is a little funny or my typing is a little off, it’s because I am trying my hardest to truly immerse myself, even if it means watching James Bond movies in French (Permis de Tuer was on tonight…watched it a bit with Phillipe and thought of Ian). Basically, no matter what language I am using, I feel awkward and trite.
Anyways, the reason my thoughts for today began with an umbrella are this. Today, as I walked to school, in the rain, cursing in something that was neither English nor French but vraiment franglais, I thought of that damn song that was so popular this summer Aux Etats-Unis, “Umbrella.” I was thinking about this song not just because I was missing Friends Camp a little, and missing American culture a little, and missing the moments where everyone everyone everyone knows just exactly what you mean when you sing something so ridiculous, but because the song simply does not translate. Imagine the song, for those of you who know it, but instead of the familiar, “Umbrella-ella-ella-ey-ey-ey Under my umbrella” as “Sous mon parapluie-uie-uie-eeee-eeee-eee.”
As you can see, it doesn’t work.
Then again, I’m not convinced why it works so well in English. Does anyone else feel just a little ridiculous singing this? If so, you can join me sous mon parapluie. That is, if I actually buy one tomorrow.
posted by Kate at
1:13 PM
2 Comments:
So someimte I'll have to watch The Umbrellas of Cherbourg with you...It is the corniest, most ultra-romantic movie musical that was ever made - Your posting put me in mind of it...You'll love it!
i think parapluie-uie-uie-eee-eee-eee works really well. i am so glad that everything is wonderful and i'm sure you'll find many more french words for it. i have to go make pasta salad for my brother's birthday tomorrow. he is turning 25. actually 34. i bet you miss michael ian black like hell. i sure would. i am looking forward to reading more about your adventures. love love love.
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