Un Goût Complètement Différent

After waking up to the stunning, yet personally exciting, news that President Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize, I set off on Friday for yet another weekend adventure. The latest installment in my travels around Europe took me to the Champagne region of Northeast France, notably the city of Reims. Recognizing that study abroad is above all a cultural experience (who ever said anything about academics?), Penn funded (through our tuition dollars, yes, but it still felt free) this trip for the 23 of us and our program director, the first of two such excursions this semester. So, on a gray afternoon in Lyon, we all piled onto the bus for the long ride up to Reims. The six hour journey was briefly interrupted for a stop for a buffet dinner at a French highway rest stop that put its American counterparts to shame. Once in Reims, it was confirmed that we actually were staying in a hostel (I guess Penn could not spring for that hotel), a first for me which actually turned out to be survivable. Despite the fact that the bathroom was basically one large shower, in the sense that the door was replaced by a curtain and the sink and toilet were in said shower, the five of us in our room found it to be perfectly fine for a weekend.

Saturday morning brought a too early wakeup call for our voyage out to the wineries of the Reims countryside. While winding through narrow roads, we looked out over the perfectly ordered rows of grapes that stretched nearly as far as the eye could see. There were a few little towns that our tour guide walked us through, always marked by a historic cathedral at the center holding the body of some famous Frenchman, but each time we would come out on the otherside of a town, there would be more vast landscapes of grapes. Our first stop on the wine tour was a smallish champagne brand, with a simple looking factory standing out among the scenery. We were promised a tasting at the end, and thus were a bit distracted throughout his whole history of the winery and process, as each room was filled with more bottles (or vats) of champagne that only made us want it more. One tidbit I did pick up was with regards to the regulation of the process, as I naturally focused once the owner mentioned politics. Apparently the French government has strict regulations as to how you must produce the champagne (ie the grapes cannot travel more than 25 kilometers from field to factory), as well as how much is produced this year, in order to guarantee the price stability no matter the economic climate. But, what I had never realized before the owner casually mentioned it, was that all the champagne in the world is created in this small region of France. An international symbol of celebration, from New Year’s Eve to weddings to World Series celebrations, all of it is produced in small villages in this region of France. Despite globalization and all of its effects, champagne is one product that truly has not strayed from its down-home country roots, a fact that this economics major found striking.

Round two of our “degustation” tour took us to a much more corporate champagne headquarters of the Veuve Cliquot brand of champagne. This was actually located inside the city limits of Reims, and was highlighted by a seemingly endless cavern of, to date, unmarked bottles of champagne waiting (and aging) until the perfect year for consumption. Similar to the first tour, we did get some tasting in at the end, and despite the huge price tag on these bottle compared to the first winery, it tasted pretty similar. Clearly, we do not have refined taste buds, but still a success all the way.

We were able to explore downtown Reims (pronounced like “rinse” with a heavy French accent) on Saturday night and Sunday, further confirming our collective desire to at the very least frequently vacation in Europe after this semester is over. Definitely not a tourist town, there were a few spots not to be missed in the city, notably the Reims Cathedral, which was for centuries the home of the coronation of the French King. An enormous structure dating from the 12^th Century (I think), it, like many others, made me wonder how on earth in the middle ages anyone was able to construct a building that large yet adorn it with so many rich, intricate details and sculptures. Yet, in my mind this was completely overshadowed by the goings on in the center square of Reims: a Canadian fair! Someone thought it was a good idea to invite the Canadians to Reims for the week, and set up all along the walk were small tents of Canadian merchants selling everything from maple syrup to Caribou beef to lumberjack flannel shirts. No hint of an explanation as to why this was going on or why Reims was the chosen city for this spectacle, but with teepees at each end filled with stuffed bears and raccoons, I liked it.

So, another weekend, another journey, although this one a distinctly classier affair than the previous weekend in Munich. The ride back was once again six hours, which we undertook in the afternoon and thus thought we would head straight back sans interruption. But, of course, we had to visit another rest stop because of a French law requiring bus drivers to take a 45 minute break every so many hours behind the wheel (have I mentioned I love the French?). However, after walking inside and finding not only a food section of the convenience store, but also a legitimate fashion clothing section in the rest stop, I was content. The French never cease to impress.

Les Français se Moquent des Américains !

Apparently in Lyon, when it rains, it pours. Sure I had seen that it was raining outside my window when I woke up this morning, but I just assumed it was a light morning shower, and threw on a hoodie as I walked out the door. I quickly realized why a 40 minute walk to campus is not ideal; by the time I arrived at IEP I was actively dripping water, and even my backpack was soaked all the way through. Best part is that after a 2 hour class (second class was canceled today! Love the French), I got to do the whole walk over again, this time in reverse. Even my host mother laughed at me when I walked in the door, I was such a mess. Thankfully it’s the weekend.

Knowing how much of a cold wet mess I was today brings me to the subject of this post, namely that French people love making fun of Americans. This has become increasingly obvious to me over the past month, but it all culminated this week, as I began teaching some French students English. As part of the Penn program here, we are offered the opportunity to either work with high school or elementary school English classes and, not wanting to be constantly embarrassed by 5 year olds speaking better French than me, I chose the high school option, more specifically the French equivalent of seniors. So, Monday afternoon I boldly headed there with a friend, yet knew very little as to what to expect (we had a brief orientation, but other than working out what time we were meeting, we had been given very little guidance). Eventually we met the resident English teacher, who whisked us both into a room full of about 20 French kids, and promptly divides the room into two groups. While I was still confused as to what exactly was going on, he hastily grabbed the newly-formed half of the class, and my friend, and ushered them out the door. Turning to leave, he simply told me “just teach them about America.” Great. Just so we’re clear, the situation was me (friendless), 10 or so French kids, and a chalkboard, and somehow I was supposed to teach them about America. We dove right in.

I asked, what is one word that comes to your mind when you think about America? To be fair, they did not intend for me to hear this, but no murmurs were getting past my big ears and the first three words I wrote down on the board were “fat”, “hamburgers”, and “McDonald’s”. So far so good. While I eventually did get some productive responses out of them (one girl even said that Americans are welcoming, quite a stunner), the rest of that particular exercise was marked by the inclusions of cowboys and Al Capone. We moved on: what questions do you have about America? A hand shot up in the back: “How do you make hamburgers?” Hilarious. After the questions eventually turned to “do you feel guilty about the economic crisis?,” I tilted the discussion towards President Obama, and we merrily finished the class on a high note.

But, this awkward thrusting into a teaching role was actually pretty indicative of how the French view Americans. As you undoubtedly read in my post last week, in terms of pop culture the United States is overwhelmingly dominant, further proven by the number one French rap video (notice the Pittsburgh Pirates hat). In addition, the French, like most Europeans and yours truly, are huge fans of Obama, way more so than their own President Sarkozy (who by the way stands 5-5 and has a major problem with it). But when it comes to American people themselves, the French hold a distinct sense of disdain for us. Frequently when I am in conversation with a Frenchie and they discover that I in fact am not French (pretty quickly after I open my mouth) and instead am American, immediately their respect for me drops. On many occasion I have received confused looks from people that later confess that they are stunned that I’m “not fat.” I have heard horror stories from other Americans abroad (both in Paris actually) from host families that have asked whether the cowboys and Indians are still fighting it out (albeit it was a host daughter who posed that gem), and another was quizzed as to whether or not he owned a gun. And do not even think about mentioning the four letter word of “Bush.” To most, that was an 8 year sin that America may never recover from. I won’t touch that one here.

But what I will say is that it is striking to me how so many people here can love our President and our cultural symbols (not to mention that somebody must be going to the three or four McDonald’s in Lyon to keep them in business), yet make so much fun of our people. In the minds of many, America is a very narrow country from Texas up through Kansas comprised solely of right-wing radicals blocking healthcare reform, led of course by Sarah Palin. The fact that some American could come to Lyon, make a valiant effort to speak their language, and actually attempt to understand their culture absolutely floors some people here. And he’s for the public option? Amazing.

So although I had very little knowledge of wine before this trip, would have struggled if pressed to name a cheese more refined than cheddar, and did not know the proper etiquette of mopping up left over sauce with a slice of bread, I like to think I’m at least making an effort. The fact that countless people in a city that likes to think of itself as “cosmopolitan” and “cultured” cannot say the same about my country is at times troubling. But, I guess that’s what ambassadors are for.