I had a revelation when I realized I would be writing this entry in hip café with free wi-fi. I’m enjoying a big chai latte looking out at the bustling street of brunch-goers and shoppers. There are some bubbles floating by the cafe entrance and, across the street, a poncho-wearing mouse who’s handing out flyers is talking to a headscarf-wearing canvasser for Oxfam. Collectively, I think they’re trying to tell me something. It’s something along the lines of, “Readers, we are not in France anymore.” I’m pleased to announce that for the HMS Vicky is now based out of Montréal, Québec, Canada.

This week I started my internship at enRoute online, the website for enRoute, Air Canada’s in-flight travel magazine. I’m mostly working on the blog right now but I’m sure the full extent of my responsibilities will reveal themselves in the next six months.

First let’s do a little recap and wrap-up. When I left you, I had just arrived in Strasbourg after escaping Barcelona via Lyon. I had two weeks left in Strasbourg to finish up work, see a little more of the Alsace and say goodbye to my friends. I flew home at the beginning of May and had one week in Toronto to eat all my favourite foods and say hello/goodbye to my friends. My parents and I took a brief trip to Ottawa to attend the tulip festival. My former roommate came along for the ride and helped me fulfill my lifelong dream of going to Zaphod Beeblebrox and having a pan-galactic gargleblaster. My parents and I continued up the 401 where they dropped me off in Montréal. And voila!

I’m still trying to unravel my overall thoughts about France and my time there. Regarding my big dilemma at the beginning about whether to live in Strasbourg or Séléstat, I’m glad that I chose the former. I’m not an expert on the countryside, but in the Alsace it’s beautiful. It consists of tiny villages of houses painted in Easter colours nestled around the Vosges mountain range. When you drive down la route du vin, the only thing separating you and the villages is a field of vineyards. I feel a tinge of sadness I didn’t spend more time in the countryside, but no regret. At heart, I know I am a city girl but I honestly can’t say what will happen if I have the option to choose the next time.

I enjoyed teaching more than I thought I would, but I still wouldn’t want to do it for a living. Would I do it again? Maybe. If it was the right place, the right students and the right time. My students, for the most part, were nice and funny people. They reminded me of myself and my friends at that age but, at the same time, still made great anthropological subjects. Being able to make them do ridiculous things was great. When I think of the time I made each student say “happy new year” in Cantonese or read tongue twisters filled with “th” sounds, I laugh. But then I remember the time a teacher asked me to teach a class on the history of Canadian immigration to her Terminal class and I’m relieved it’s over. Life in the teacher’s lounge wasn’t so different from high school. There are still cliques and there are still popular kids. I’ll miss the cafeteria and a certain class of secondes but that’s about it. I will never have such a sweet job again. It’s the kind of sweet job where you work 12 hours a week and get two weeks of holidays every month and half. Those days are over and people who have never been part of the French education system will never understand it.

I haven’t done a good job documenting my working, travel and living experience during this trip for a variety of reasons. Part of it was that I was having an awful time at the beginning. I try to stay away from blogging when I feel like this for fear that it will turn this site into LiveJournal or that it will come off like I’m whining about my life. In hindsight this betrayed the purpose of this blog. While I generally try to keep this blog light, I write to honestly share my experience in other cultures and life abroad. And as lucky as I am to be able to live around the world, there are difficulties and lonely moments that come along with it.

France was difficult because I had the option to integrate for the first time. I had a job and the chance to build relationships with real French people. This was the one country I’ve lived in where I actually spoke the language before I got there. While it was a great opportunity to improve my French (which it did), that only happened after a lot of guilt and failure.

Speaking English in my foreigner bubble and not being able to make French friends (at least not ones I spoke in French with) always left lingering feelings of guilt. I felt angry at myself for retreating into the comfort of speaking English instead of forcing myself to speak French. I didn’t want to be one of those people who hung around at Irish pubs, spoke English with my American friends and wondered after seven months why my French hadn’t improved. In the end, I made French friends who I communicated with only in French but my closest group of friends were other anglophone assistants. Meeting both groups is actually what turned my experience in France around for me.

Presently I face the challenge of improving my French but also trying to understand the Quebecois accent. I already feel more intimidated speaking French here than France since the majority of francophones seem to speak English so well. A common anglophone complaint is when locals hear your accent they will automatically switch over to English–something that never happened to me in France. I’m still undecided whether it’s a snub at your language skills or a courtesy to make you more comfortable. Or both. I’ve also realized how big language plays in your personality and identity. As much as I need to practice my French, I can’t exist without at least an equal dose of English. Living in France has shown me that I can deal with everyday things in French but socializing is another story. The task I’m charged for the next six months is trying to find myself and develop my personality in French. It’s a tall order but I’m trying to answer the question of whether it’s question of time or even possible to be yourself completely in another language. Bon courage à moi.

posted by vicky at 7:17 pm under France, Learning French, Montréal, Sélestat
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