La courbe de cloche (The Bell Curve)

A number of you have asked for my mailing address, so here it is: Chambre 2228, Pavillion 2, Cité Universitaire de Cuques, Rue de Cuques, Aix-en-Provence, France, Postcode 13621. I don't have a telephone number as yet, but will post it when I do.

1. The Laundry (more interesting than it sounds!)

The laundry bag seemed to be filling up, possibly because I am a little paranoid about cleanliness (this is a sudden thing; as I said I never cared too much about being a neat-freak in Sydney). It was a bit of a trek with a big laundry bag, and using the machines was a bit confusing. Luckily I ran into a German girl called Melissa who spoke fluent English and had been here for 4 months; she told me how to buy the washing powder, use the washing machine and use the drier. While I sat there waiting I spoke to her for a while, and she told me how her French was still quite bad after 4 months. She had pretty much spoken English non-stop while here, because enough of her fellow students living near her spoke it as well. This rang warning bells for me, because I had assumed that a sojourn in another country for just a couple of months is sufficient to come out speaking fluently in that country's language. It's possible these days to surround yourself by English speakers in nearly any country, and get by speaking minimally in the local language. This is particularly true if surrounded by students. I knew from speaking to her that I had to make a stronger effort to surround myself by French speakers, but I was not sure how much of an effort was needed at that point.

2. The First Class, or, The steep decent phase of the bell curve

Whenever people educate on culture shock, the first thing they whip out is the bell curve diagram. This diagram charts the expected emotional peaks and (mostly) troughs that one endures when living in another country. It starts off with a slight peak, as you are excited and busy with the settling in. However quite rapidly you start to go into decline, with feelings of resentment and homesickness swamping you.

My first class at IEP led to a very sharp emotional decline. It seemed like an easy enough class - it was for second year students, and it was called 'The History of Political Ideas'. Didn't seem too bad. Then I entered the room where the lecture took place. Despite being in the IEP itself and not in the cathedral across the road, it is DEFINITELY a former church. It was a huge amphitheatre type room, but unlike normal amphitheatres where the lecturers are below the audience, the lecturer here was raised up by an enormous pew at the end of the room, and the area where the students' tables are is completely flat. Essentially, all the students needed to look up and at some distance to see the lecturer. If we were in any doubt about the religious origins of this room, it was dispelled by the presence of 2 large crosses, one on either side of where the lecturer sits. It was as if God himself was speaking down to us, and from what I had heard about the French education system, I wasn't too far off.

The lesson itself was devestating to morale. In 2 and a half hours of the lecturer talking at us, I perhaps understood 15 words. Ok maybe a bit more, but not much. He seemed to be talking about Rousseau and the social contract, but I only worked that out because the person sitting next to me saw how lost I was and showed me the syllabus they had received last semester. The lecturer, a professor Ricci, looked like a cross between Richard Nixon and Tintin's Thomson and Thompson. Like Richard Nixon, about 60% of the words were swallowed within his flabby cheeks, and to make things his worse, he seemed to have some sort of lisp. Oh, and of course he spoke in very fast French using political terminology, and I had only been in France for a couple of days. If I had a gun, I think I definitely would have shot him, out of frustration. I began to panic, and say to myself what a mistake it had been for me to come to France, and how I just wanted to go back to Sydney where all things familiar and in English were. With the panic came pain, and my brain responded to the pain by trying to shut itself down. Darkness and tiredness came, and somewhere on the border between sleep and the real world I began to hallucinate, and like the famous surrealist clock, I imagined his flabby cheeks beginning to droop and melt and mix with typed words, spilling out all over the pew.

At some point I woke up, and Ricci Nixon was still talking, and the French students were still scribbling away at their notes as if they were receiving the 10,000 commandments. At some point a giant black dog had entered the room, and was sleeping on the floor - not sure what the deal with that was. Some of the Scandinavian exchange students who I had befriended the previous day had taken the same class; their seats were empty. I followed their cue and left.

3. French class

I had some relief when I went outside; the Scandinavian students were outside complaining that this man was impossible to understand. As terrible as it sounds, it was good to hear the others were having as many problems as me (perhaps not AS many, but they weren't understanding at any rate). I was not alone.

We all headed off to the class in 'French as a foreign language' (hereafter simply 'French Class'), and the difference was incredible. I could understand the teacher's French almost completely! It took about 20 minutes to get to this stage of course, as I had to recover from the extreme shock of the previous class. After some point I was able to relax slightly, but there was still a heavy weight on my mind. It helped that the teacher spoke very clearly and slowly, and ran a very interactive class. We covered some basic grammar, and I think I was able to learn something.

After the class, we went out to a fairly trendy bar called Bar Sextius; Sextius seems to be quite a common name for streets and clubs and bars in Aix - I think it was the name of the Roman General who founded the city in something or other BC. There were lots of other international students from IEP there that night, but I remember having problems being able to think clearly and engage in small talk. I began to feel quite insecure even in this social situation, and confided this insecurity in Nicole. She too seemed to be undergoing some sort of emotional decline, and telling each other of this fact only made us feel worse. It was a long, cold walk back to the accommodation.

4. Plateau

Despite having set my phone alarm, I didn't get up on time. Either I slept through it, or it didn't go off. I had an 8am class called 'Geopolitics of the Major Religions'. It took me forever to get ready; I think subconsciously I didn't want to go to uni again. I trudged along, buying a crèpe along the way for breakfast, and walked into the class 30 minutes late. The professor seemed annoyed at my lateness, asking me where I was. I resisted the temptation to say 'none of your business' (possibly aided by the fact that I didn't know how to say that in French), and said my alarm didn't work. He said, in a most sarcastic tone, that it was a good argument, then said something else for a bit which I didn't understand. I just nodded and smiled. He started talking and didn't stop for an hour. Never once talking about the structure of the course or anything like that, he launched into a speech about the effect of religion on mid-east politics, sporadically mentioning India-Pakistan and Jihad vs Mcworld type things. It seemed interesting, and thankfully we had a break. After the break he kept going for a further 1.5 hours and my attention failed me. He was simply too random, and without knowing even what I was supposed to be understanding, my brain simply gave up. I was still plagued by a strong sense of insecurity, so it was difficult for me to want to concentrate also.

The Scandinavians were also in that class; they were meant to join me for my next class too, one called 'Globalisation and Regionalisation'. However they went and had something to eat instead, given they were braindead after the morning class. It was probably a good in retrospect; I went and sat in that class tired and completely unable to concentrate. However the professor seemed to be kindly with a good sense of humour; he spoke quite slowly and on occassion lapsed into English phrases. Unfortunately I picked up little of what he said due to my own state of mind.

After the class I went and sat outside the room for next class, even though it was an hour and a half away. Excuses for going back to Sydney seemed to be flooding through my head; perhaps I could 'have' a nervous breakdown and get my insurance to cover my return flight. I remembered how a news item about a Chinese student at Monash University who lost his mind from frustration with the language barrier, and ended up shooting a couple of people. I wondered if I would ever go that crazy, and if that would also be covered by my insurance. At any rate, I was definitely ready to go home.

5. The King of the Cake

As I sat there feeling terrible, one of the American exchange students I had befriended two days ago, a guy called Lynn, saw me and came over. He reminded me that a function specifically for international students, Les Galettes du Roi (the cakes of the king), was about to start. Was certainly good timing.

Eglantine had organised the affair; apparently it was a Catholic tradition very common in France. The cake was essentially just pastry with a sweet centre, and with one figurine included in each cake. The idea is that whoever gets the piece with the figurine in it, having presumably not choked on it, wears a crown and pays for the champagne. There was no champagne there, so nobody needed to pay for that, but they were lucky enough to be able keep the figurines and wear the paper crowns provided. With several cakes but many students we only had a slight chance of becoming the king of the cake; I was lucky enough to be one of those kings.

My luck continued to improve, as I felt a tap on the shoulder and a distinctly Australian (but polished) accent say "hello stranger!" It was Tom Bowes, a fellow New Southerner! He was with two other New Southerners, both of whom I knew quite well from UNSW: Stefanie Andrews and Sophie Klineberg. All three seemed very relaxed, and they were quite surprised by my stressed-out state. I actually found it hard to speak in English too, for a few minutes! It was definitely good to see them again, and my mood lifted. They are all based in the other university accommodation, and having taken down their details I promised them I would visit when I could.

6. Ascent

Although somewhat late, I headed for a class entitled 'Environment and Society'. It turned out it was in the same room as the 'Globalisation and Regionalisation' class, and with the same professor. When I walked into the room everyone looked at me and started laughing, and the professor addressed me as your majesty; I realised I was still wearing the crown...

A few minutes in this class made me realise that I had made an excellent choice. The professor, a Mr Michel Duquette, had a good sense of humour and spoke an easily comprehensible French. The topic, concerned with questions of sustainable development, was really interesting too. I was able to understand some 70% of what he said, which was very encouraging. For the first time in what felt like forever, I found something engaging my interest and was able to focus on it. After the class, I found myself able to speak better French! Was definitely a happy moment for me. I now had 2 classes secured with this professor. Unfortunately he did not teach anymore, but I am sure there would be others just as good.

7. Madman van Sloun and a long social occassion

I had my first French class with the teacher who will be taking me for the rest of the semester, a Monsieur van Sloun. I think he is German. I know he is slightly insane, but in a good way, to be sure. A really nice guy, with a bizarre and utterly random sense of humour, he seems to have mastered the art of interactive teaching. To help people remember names, everyone had to come up with a word to go with their name, the only condition being that the word had to start with the same letter as your name. I didn't have to think twice to come up with 'Vinay le vegeterien' - in fact I didn't have to think at all, because Christian suggested it to the class, and it seems to have stuck.

A large bunch of us headed out for dinner afterwards at a Thai restaraunt. Was a slightly weird experience ordering food in French at a Thai restaraunt. Food was good, and as seems to becoming increasingly the norm amongst we international students, we spoke about languages and the joys of being multilingual. Ironically, the whole conversation took place in English, even though out of the whole group of about 10 people only 2 of us were from countries whose official language actually was English (Australia and US respectively). At about 9pm we finished up and headed out to an Irish Pub (O'Malleys) and stayed there until about 1am. Although I was the only teetotaller in the group, I am happy to report that everyone there drinks responsibly.

The conversation at the pub was very interesting. I found out a lot more about Leah - a patriotic American, yet simultaneously a staunch Democrat and a dedicated enemy of George W Bush, she seemed to be feeling the heat of being an American in France. After telling people she is from the US, she has felt snubbed...this is unfortunate, because there are a good number of liberal Americans like her who are just as open-minded and intelligent as their friends over the border, the Canadians. The trouble is, I think they still are in the minority. It's tough for those who study and work overseas, because they are the ones who probably have the most open mind yet cop most of the heat of being American. I myself realised I had my own stereotypes of the country and its people, which is unfortunate, especially because I remember having much more favourable views of the country before George W was 'elected'. It just goes to show the effect that the leadership can have on people's perceptions. I myself am glad to have had the opportunity to change my opinion about the US - in part, anyway.

We stayed in the pub until 1am, and when we left it was COLD. Definitely below zero, because the puddles were frozen over!!!