Et Voila, C'est Tout!

(I realize looking back that this is by far my longest post ever (for-evah evah, evah evah?), but there was plenty to recap over the past three weeks, and even more to wrap up over the past four months. So please, bear with me)

It appears that my ambition to crank out many more posts some three weeks ago may have been a little bit beyond my actual ability to deliver on that promise. Apparently there was still plenty to do here in that wrap-up period some three weeks ago, from taking a couple more exams to completing some end of the year paperwork to doing much-delayed Christmas shopping. Additionally, everything was compressed into one week because I was off to Paris on that Saturday to meet up with my sister, and eventually my parents as well, for a week’s worth of traveling throughout France. Spending a week in Paris, a day in Dijon and three days in Lyon, we all thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. For the other three members of our traveling circus, the trip served as an introduction to another culture, as combined they had only spent two days in France over the past 30 some years. For me, it helped close the book on this semester abroad.

I’ll quickly summarize the actual trip. In our time in Paris, we basically covered all the tourist sites imaginable, except perhaps the largest one; the Eiffel Tower. I personally walked underneath the tower on four separate days, but due to a laundry list of reasons (huge crowds, cold temperatures, French people closing the tower too early, etc.) we never did actually make it to the top of the symbol of Paris. In reality, however, it was not a huge problem, as we truly did everything else; museums including the Louvre and Orsay, icons such as the Arc de Triomphe and Versailles, and daytrips to Normandy (back to the American WWII Cemetery) and Chartres (very famous gothic cathedral). You name it we did it. Add to that the fact that it was Christmas, when we went to Notre Dame for the first Mass I have been too that was surrounded by tourists (cannot stand those people) taking pictures of the service and of course the Neuman family special of a mother-chosen romantic comedy, and you have yourself one fantastic celebration. Christmas in Paris is apparently a popular celebration, and the city looked its finest throughout the week. But we could not stay there the whole time, and on Saturday evening we packed our bags for a less-than-daytrip to Dijon, where we definitely accomplished our only goal for those 16 hours: buy mustard. With the spreadable gold in hand, we boarded the first TGV possible and headed to, the one and only, Lyon.

By the time we got to Lyon, only my parents remained with me, my sister not being brave enough to venture anywhere outside of Paris. But I still felt a distinct sense of pressure to positively show off the city that I called home for four months and had given such high reviews. On Monday, the city obliged by showing its best side; it rained and was just a notch above freezing. Still we hit the major sites, including the Basilica, Roman theatre and Place Bellecour, and wrapped the sightseeing up on Tuesday with a trip to my now shuttered university. My visitors were staying in the Renaissance quarter of the city (Vieux Lyon), and were quickly enchanted by the winding cobblestone store-lined streets, in addition to the Lyonnais cuisine. Monday night provided some entertainment, as my host family and real family met for the first time, and despite the fact that neither side coherently spoke the other’s language, I think we all agreed on the fact that it was a fun evening. Sadly, the trip did have to come to an end, and my parents headed to Geneva on Tuesday night to catch their morning flight back to DC. I stayed in Lyon for one final night with the Rossis, continually searching for the words to fully express my gratitude for the entire semester.

The trip was simply the final chapter on this four month long experiment and, somehow, that experiment has come to an end. I looked back at the first post that I wrote on here, back when getting a Visa was still an issue, and I did not know the pronunciation difference between Lyon and a lion (its Leeeee-on vs. ly-in). That nervous excitement feels like yesterday, but today I write to you as I head back to the States (and will hopefully post this from my own house in NoVA). The time flew, but it was without doubt time well spent, and I cannot imagine having missed out on such an opportunity.

When I officially decided to pursue study abroad back in January, I remember feeling as if I was signing myself up for something that I was not at all ready for. All the info sessions and power-points seemed all fun and games, but even then I knew that I did not truly grasp the concept of studying, and living, in a completely foreign country (having left North America for a total of 8 days in my whole life). The words on the page were just that, and even as I nodded along I was far from actually absorbing what advisors were telling me. I hit that “commit” button in April to lock myself into a program I was equally scared of and excited for. Even if it was spread out over several months, I hurtled through the abroad process only to board that August flight not knowing what to expect once I stepped off.

My two overarching abstract goals coming into this semester were to learn about France/Europe, and to learn about my own country. Some stereotypes about les Bleus proved to be true; the whole population smokes, strikes are a common occurrence (even if I sadly did not actually get to join one), and berets are fashionable.

But not all French people are snobbish, they do occasionally get up from sipping their cafes to do actual work, and they generally like Americans (thank you Obama!). There are aspects of French culture that I will truly miss, highlighted by the fresh bread and (stinky) cheese at every meal, while there are also those that I cannot wait to get rid of, like the fact that everything in the entire town is closed by 10pm. Walking down the streets, trying to go the library, reading the newspapers, I was constantly reminded about the stark difference between the United States and France: France is a nation of workers while the US is a nation of consumers. For us, if people want it, we will provide it, no matter the hour, in order to make that money, but there the flow of demand is tempered by the willingness of people to actually provide that service. Yes it is probably better for overall wellbeing, but who is to say that we cannot work past a certain hour if people are willing to make the sacrifice in order to earn that little bit extra? The social welfare state has its benefits (universal health care), but I was constantly reminded of its shortfalls as well. On the whole, however, I fell for this second culture, even if its popular culture is completely dominated by America’s. I can only hope that my future somehow leads me back to not only Europe, but more specifically France and this city on two rivers. Lyon may not have been a tourist destination, but it sure was the best possible place to live for a semester abroad.

As much as I profess my newfound love for French culture, I realized at different points throughout the semester that it most likely will always be my second culture. As cliché/Middle America/Sarah Palin-esque as it may seem, I am an American, and I do not think I will ever change that or want to change that. Maybe the future will hold something different, and I will look back on this and laugh, but during these four months I definitely noticed that, even abroad, I am an American above all. I found myself constantly comparing everything back to familiarities in the States, following the news in the US, everything short of going to McDonalds’ in order to reconnect with my long lost homeland.

Most of the other posts I had hoped to write before being swept up in end of semester fever revolved around the complex relationship between Europe and the United States, but since I missed that opportunity, and understanding that few if any of you actually care to hear a rant on that, I’ll spare you of that here (but consider yourself warned!). I’ll try to keep my political comments to a minimum, but I cannot resist from throwing a few in here, so bear with me. Despite what some people may say, the United States is still the most important country in the world, and it is a privilege to be a citizen of our country. Sure, we are not perfect, but every Frenchie I met was genuinely interested in talking with me solely because I am American (of course in addition to my stunning good looks, those go without saying). Learning English is not just a matter of broadening their cultural horizons, but necessary to succeed on an international level in today’s globalized world thanks to the dominance of America. The French news sources follow the actions of the US government (more than just Obama) closer than they follow the French government because they recognize the relative power of each of those two decision makers. While they may not always agree with America, Europe as a grossly-generalized whole recognizes that what the US does the world will follow; one could even argue that they want to follow America, and are more than eager to join in a supporting role. It is our job to take that responsibility seriously.

But enough with the ranting, this is about me ending my semester abroad. I should probably mention the supposed point of this semester, that being actual studying and coursework. That never really did take up a whole lot of ink on this blog because, frankly, up until the last couple weeks I did not actually study. With all of my classes formatted in a straight lecture style where for two hours the professor talked and the students listened (that is assuming the professor showed up for class), and only one final exam at the end (no homework), I was not exactly on the Penn academic calendar. That is not to say that this was an easy semester; instead, study abroad is a different kind of work. There is no way that you could handle a Penn semester in a foreign culture. The majority of my “work” here was spent adjusting to this new culture, overcoming the language barrier, adjusting to life with a host family, etc. While we supplemented it with some activities, namely tutoring in a local high school, these were all relatively minor compared to what we were all accustomed to back in West Philly. We instead were thrown into this new culture, and adapting to that required plenty of effort. Of course there was downtime, and study abroad definitely requires a certain level of personal independence, but after finding the right mix between school work, host family activities and Europe’s wonders, we all were able to find our daily rhythm.

IEP, my university here, has a requirement that every student spends a full year abroad; at Penn, only about 25% of all students take advantage of some kind of abroad opportunity. I tend to side with the French on this one. By stepping out from the Penn bubble for a semester (or two), everyone benefits from a broadening of their horizons that in the very least will help them appreciate their “normal” life back in the States. For Europeans it is relatively easy to discover a different culture; they just walk across a nearby border (no more than a 3 or 4 hour drive away from any town on the continent). It is a bit trickier for Americans, as we have that large ocean in between, but it is a bit embarrassing how little of an effort we make to understand other cultures. With the assumption that the rest of the world will speak English to us, thus nixing any need to actually learn another language, we turn our attention inward, and lose sight of the rest of the world. Study abroad makes you see that need for change, as well as allowing you to benefit from a personal cultural exchange. More people need to take advantage of this opportunity.

I guess it is only fair that I wrap up this post, and this blog, by talking about myself. This whole concept boiled down to the fact that I thought that some people would actually want to read what I had to say, and the jury is still out on whether or not I was right in that belief. But if you for some reason have stuck with me this long, you probably are used to this egotistic side of me anyway, and thus will grudgingly read on.

The fear of eggs hung over me before I left for France, and after having been to the doctor numerous times in the weeks leading up to my trip, I was pretty sure that I was going to run into an egg laced munchies on about day 2. Because of that fear, I really had not thought what the semester would bring on a more global scale. I was going to a city that I had knew practically nothing about, in a program with people that I had either only vaguely met, if ever, or had lost touch with over the course of two years, and in a language in which, in hindsight, I was pretty much lost. But somehow it worked, and I think there are very few of the 23 of us that came out of this semester feeling disappointed. I would be quite surprised if the majority of us do not stay close as we return back to Penn.

But the semester was about more than just the cliché valuable friends; instead, it was about the cliché culture and city that was undoubtedly hard to leave today. After four months of getting to know each other, my sense of sadness in leaving was tempered by the fact that I now know, in some way or another, that I will be back for all the wine, bread, and cheese that France has to offer. And even if my level of French has probably reached its lifetime peak, and if it is all downhill from here in terms of communication, I still have a sense of validation that I made it through four months in this foreign language. I did not try a Croque Monsieur, did not make it to famed Southwest France, did not even learn how to ride a bike in a city built around them, but I literally survived. Talk about accomplishments.

And somehow you are still reading. For those of you anonymous readers (or followers, which I never did quite determine the point of) that did put up with these unorganized musings, thank you for sticking around this semester. I am sure that if you are still here, then the point of this blog will be easily accomplished, that of reconnecting once we cross paths again soon. Instead of having to answer everyone’s least favorite question, “How was abroad?”, which is perhaps the most common yet the most general/vague question you could dream up, we will just be on a whole different level. Not missing a beat coming back to the States, or at least minimizing the gap, is all I can really ask for.

So the ambassador is coming home, sad to leave behind what he gained, but excited for all that he is returning home to rediscover. I hope you all have an awesome New Year’s, and will hopefully talk to all of you in the coming days.

Le Thanksgiving, pas un Jour Férie

I hope you all enjoyed a relaxing Thanksgiving yesterday, and made the most of America’s holiday dedicated specifically to eating and watching TV. In France, it was just another Thursday; no turkeys, pilgrims, or “harvest” celebrations were to be found anywhere in Lyon. In fact, I even had classes yesterday, and both of my professors actually showed up, a true rarity. But while everyone is getting ready for Christmas here in Lyon (a little early if you ask me), Thanksgiving passed by the French without so much as a friendly gobble.

The root of the problem is that the French do not understand the holiday, plain and simple. They do not bother with translating its title into French, and simply say “Happy Thanksgiving” (featuring that distinct French challenge of pronouncing an “H” at the beginning of a word) with a smirk whenever it is brought up. In a variety of forums, from my high school students I tutor to my host family to dinner guests, I tried to explain the reasoning behind it, and all I received in return were blank stares. There is no point of reference for them, this day when Americans simply celebrate what is around them. To the French, they are pretty sure we all silently eat TV dinners every night by ourselves, and they believe that their concept of a family dinner fully makes up for one random day. Thus, at the heart of it they find it simply pointless.

History lessons about the origins of Thanksgiving are another topic of conversation that quickly digresses into confusion and cultural misunderstandings. “Native Americans” is a tough one, considering that the French are very proud of the fact that they are the real French who have been in France for thousands of years, and never had to boot anyone from the land in order to make room. Also, apparently Squanto is not as much of a celebrity here, as his name continually falls on deaf ears whenever I drop it as part of the history. But again, turkeys, pilgrims, harvest, all are either new concepts or new vocab for the conversation, and usually I get bogged down in the Mayflower part of the story, and have to quickly summarize the rest (“point is they had a big meal, that’s basically it”). My 17th century American history lessons are not quite up to par with my 21st century rants, but we’re getting there.

But the main problem is the French think they understand the holiday, and this only leads to further mockery of the United States. To be fair, my description of a typical Thanksgiving with my family involves sleeping in late, watching football (or the Dog Show, if my sister has the remote), and then eating my biggest meal of the entire year. Clearly, the Frenchies all hear that and kind of smile and say “well, it is America after all.” If there is two things that the French love to bash on about America, it is that we are fat and love American football, a sport they will never begin to attempt to understand (they already have the “real” football, what else could they possibly need?). At that point of the conversation, each of my audiences gets that look on their face that just screams, “ah, we are so above that.” Language, still a struggle, but I can read facial expressions thank you very much.

Despite the overwhelming obstacles facing us, the Americans in the group did manage to make the most of the holiday. An apparent Penn-in-Lyon tradition, all the students and the host families (plus a couple real families here for the holiday) went to a fancy Lyonnais restaurant, all dressed up of course, for a highly-anticipated dinner. They tried to make the food as American as possible, and after the ratatouille appetizer we did receive some turkey, potatoes and cranberry sauce (my number one Thanksgiving dish) for our main course, with pumpkin pie arriving for the egg-ivores at the end. Not quite the same stuffed turkey, biscuits, and canned cranberry sauce that I have come to love and miss, but for the French, not bad.

In terms of atmosphere, we took it to a new level, even if it had nothing to do with Thanksgiving. The dilemma facing our program director was that there really is no traditional celebration to go along with all the eating. So, we started with the next best thing: Christmas songs. Featuring hits such as the 12 days of Christmas (in the round, of course), Jingle Bells, and even a couple random (apparently “classic”) French ones, some of us were bold/dumb enough to attempt to lead everyone in rousing song. Lyrics were provided for all, but seemed to help no one. Not sure if the host families were more intimidated by our gumption or embarrassed for our clear lack of talent, but at least we had a good time making fools of ourselves.

So there you have it, my first holiday abroad, one of the harder parts about being out of the States. There’s obviously no replacement for that family meal, with the stories that invariably come out every year and the family members that you can never seem to spend enough time with. But there are only a few weeks until this abroad experience is over, and the focus now is on making the most of our short time left. Even if that means forgetting about the things back home that you miss the most, now is the time to realize what you have here.

In a sense, it’s all about giving thanks.

Londrès, où les Cultures du Monde Convergent

The first stop on this magical mystery tour of vacation brought me back to the English speaking world for the weekend, namely the city of London, England. Distinctly separate from Europe (with tricky immigration services and the English pound sterling to prove it), I headed to London to both visit a friend/fellow FIJI (Vaughn Stewart) and visit a city by which I expected to be wowed. From its extensive historical significance, renowned multiculturalism, and unofficial status of America’s little brother, London had plenty to offer, or at least that is what I had been told. Fortunately, I was far from disappointed.

London’s history is impressive and, unlike certain French cities, is truly uninterrupted for the past 1000 years (minus a few fires here and there). As such, the city walls from William the Conqueror are still visible, statues on churches have not been mutilated, and buildings from the Middle Ages remain standing and, in some cases, in use. With fellow Quakers providing the complimentary tour, I was able to see everything from Buckingham Palace to Big Ben, Tower of London to Tower Bridge, Parliament to the Prime Meridian, an exhausting yet rewarding list of sights which are truly the hallmarks of Anglophone civilization. The most unique aspect of the touristy journey was Hyde Park, which was similar to New York’s Central Park in the sense that it was a massive green space in the heart of a bustling city. What made this different was a spot within the park called Speaker’s Corner, where every Sunday various people, with no qualification or moderation whatsoever, come to speak their mind. Obviously, visitors do not simply come to sit back and watch, so the corner of the park is filled with contentious arguments, yelling, and the occasional thrown punch. As far as I know, there is really no parallel to this spectacle; open, angry intellectual debate, all confined to one park corner each Sunday. While we may have had some disagreements on the topic of America (one squealer claimed that Americans are only good at running away as that is what our country was founded on, to which our little American cohort responded by reminding her about the two small world wars we helped them out in, and she quickly packed up and left), this was an experience well worth repeating.

British history also provides the context for London’s overwhelming cultural presence, something that surpassed my already high expectations. It seemed that each of the colonies of the British Empire had their own section of town, from China to Arabia to India. I was fortunate enough to have multiple samples of England’s national dish, that of course being Chicken Tikka Masala, and I can confirm that the best Indian food is found in London. But this multiculturalism overshadows a more subtle truth; the British have readily accepted the influence of other cultures because their own culture is so lacking in quality. The cuisine is marked by fried fish and French fries, beer is sold by the pint starting around noon, and high class is defined as pub-life. Coming from France, this was quite a shock, but not necessarily unpleasant. While France (and especially Lyon) is marked by a generally monochromatic population peering over their afternoon coffee from a sidewalk café, London seemed to generate serious energy off of the random mix of cultures present on every street corner.

Of course, the culture I was most on the lookout for was American culture, and it was certainly not hard to find. Clearly the British founded America and all that colonization business which the English are still quite proud of, but today the relationship is completely turned on its head. While I was initially surprised by the amount of American influence in France, by removing the language barrier, the domination of America in Britain is almost overwhelming. Music, theater (we saw Inherit the Wind, the play about the Scopes Monkey Trial in 1920s Tennessee, starring Kevin Spacey), and of course television are just a few of the many areas where you could be forgiven for believing you were back in the States. Now, to be fair, this perception is perhaps a bit jaded by the fact that this Sunday featured an NFL game in London, and in celebration I believe that yesterday was unofficially declared show your NFL pride day, and we were stunned to see American football jerseys from San Diego, Oakland, Green Bay, Philly, Washington, Dallas, New York, New England, Tampa Bay, Miami, New Orleans and Pittsburgh (initially we thought these were just Americans, but after a couple of them opened their mouth, we discovered they were distinctly British; regardless of nationality, they were Fans, and wanted everyone to know it). But despite the selection bias in terms of days, the idea was clear, namely that England is the next closest thing to America, and they cannot help but want to be even closer to their former Commonwealth pals.

Alas, there are more places to go and more sights to see, so this morning I bid goodbye to London for the next stop on this vacation. I will definitely miss being in an English speaking country, as I had forgotten how valuable the presence of signage and helpful people in my host language really is. With that being said, the British definitely do speak a different dialect of English, if you will, and at times I was straining to understand people that I was under the impression were speaking my language. The accents, word choice, misplaced u’s, it all threw me off; in the end, I simply said, “cheers”, “fair dues”, or “splendid”, and moved on.

One city down, and we're just getting started here. Stay tuned.

Le Socialisme, C’est Chouette!

Socialism. It’s a buzzword in the United States, and during my 3 months this summer working in the office of a Democratic congressman, I was accused of adhering to this particular style of atheist government many times. On everything from cap and trade to hate crimes to health care, the residents of Pennsylvania’s fightin’ 1^st District loved to toss that term around in reference to our office, and more pointedly to the intern who had the misfortune of answering the phone. But, it was not until coming to France that I truly appreciated just how far off those claims actually were. Now I understand why Penn will almost not take any economics credit from a French university, and why the French completely blame America for the current recession. Allow me to explain.

Before I get too far into this long-built-up rant, I suppose I should define what I mean by socialism which, for the purpose of this argument, is the presence of the government in nearly all aspects of daily life. Completely the opposite of the United States, the standard protocol here is that the government is generally a positive entity, and thus can be trusted with a variety of aspects of life. Health care is the obvious starter, as France operates under a complete government run single-payer system, and has one of the best systems in the world. But the relationship continues much further than that, and I continually discover new aspects of this dominance. For example, when watching TV the other day (Extreme Home Makeover, again the French are confused), an advertisement came on for some chocolate snacks. At the bottom of the screen throughout the whole ad was a sentence that read “Do not snack excessively between meals, and be sure to exercise regularly.” Now that I am on the lookout for this, I noticed that even on the print billboards of McDonald’s ads, there will be a bottom disclaimer saying “Eat at least 5 fruits and vegetables a day.” There’s a website set up for the sole purpose of showing people how to live and eat healthily, whose address (www.mangerbouger.fr) is conspicuously placed at the bottom of every food related commercial. Such a downer.

The list goes on. The average tax rate here is right around 50%, way higher than any bracket in the States, although to be fair they get what they pay for, as the sidewalks are clean (minus the occasional dog poop which I have had mixed success avoiding), streets are well maintained, and free public toilets are abound. State owned businesses dominate the scene, from the TV stations to the main telecom company (which also has an alarming suicide rate at the moment). The socialist party here is not even considered very far left on the political spectrum, but instead is referred to as simply “moderate.” Of course, when you have parties such as the Anti-Capitalist Party to compete with, I guess there is only so far left you can go. In light of this socialism, Penn’s econ department makes it particularly difficult to obtain credit in France, as technically Penn’s department teaches American Capitalism, and the Frenchies are not down with that. In fact, I found out the other day teaching English to the high school kids that I could not avoid the current recession question, and all but one of them enthusiastically agreed that the United States’ greed was at fault for the current turmoil. Apparently capitalism is at the root of most, if not all, evils.

What’s missing in France is that sense of individualism that drives much of the everyday decisions in America (something that I am only starting to pick up now that I am nearly 4000 miles away). La rêve américaine (the American Dream) is an incredibly alien concept, and it is replaced by a complacency to fit into the system here, with a guarantee to be taken care of by the State. The social welfare state is written into the constitution (and professors are proud of it, numerous having shown that fact off in class), and everyone expects to be supported by the state in any time of need.

This government presence extends to the working sector as well, probably the most striking difference between here and the States. The 35 hour work week is a mandate here, and anyone crossing that threshold is handsomely rewarded with overtime. As a result, the hours on stores are generally very frustrating for a (usually hungry) college kid. The majority of workers go home for lunch every day (usually picking up a baguette on the way), so if a non-restaurant/bakery (like a grocery) stays open during the two hour lunch break, it is a huge deal, and you can expect said business to prominently advertise this. Further, even despite the fact that the French dinner generally does not begin until later (average time is around 8:30), non-restaurants are closed almost across the board by 7pm. 24 hour businesses of any kind do not exist, period. You may not think this to be a problem, but when you are walking back home with a group of friends in the wee hours of the morning and cannot get the dream of a WaWa out of your collective head, only then can you understand this frustration.

While the United States is a nation of consumers, France is a nation of workers, and even though that may be great for a nuclear family, it is not meshing with the college lifestyle. Sure it may not be healthy, and I’m sure the government would have no problem telling me that, but there are just some times you need the flexibility of 24-hour Fresh Grocer for some impulse purchases.

Thus, for supporting unhealthy yet highly desirable lifestyles, the point goes to West Philadelphia.

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.