Filer à l'anglaise

When taken literally, this phrase translates as "run or make off, English style", but when employed in everyday conversation, the expression is a French way of saying "to sneak away" or "to do a runner". 

In the light of recent EU tensions, namely David Cameron's speech the day after the anniversary of the Franco-German 'Elysée Treaty', I was amused to find this expression had been chosen as a link to the top story on the French version of the Huffington Post. Already familiar with this idiom (Thanks, French Language 2 module, those vocab lists were useful after all), I was able to see the initial reaction of our Gallic neighbours.
The strong euroscepticism radiating from across the Channel has been no secret to the French, but the announcement of an "in/out referendum" should Cameron be reelected has shocked them. I, like many others, don't believe the UK is at all better off if we leave Europe, but I don't think it will come to that. It makes sense for us to be a part of the EU, and although France is no stranger to problems adjusting to the single market (in the 1960s, Charles de Gaulle was a strong critic and favoured national protection), the single currency was adopted and is now a strong influence within the union. 

I have not been here very long, but having spent a while in Spain as well, it is very interesting to learn about the EU "from the other side". I say this because, for example, when a British person, or even the British media, refers to Europe, they are talking about 'the other', it is an 'us-and-them' situation. On the contrary, when a German, Spanish or French person mentions Europe, they are also implying their own country. It may just be a slight difference in the use of language, but I believe this speaks volumes, and reveals a lot about how isolated us Brits are, not just geographically, but in our collective way of thinking.   Now that I am "in Europe", I can appreciate the frustration and confusion with which the EU speech was received. There is a strong notion of "we are all in this together", and to the other countries of the Union, leaving is simply not an option. The French Foreign Affairs minister, Laurent Fabius, put it "so the British could understand" : On ne peut pas faire l'Europe à la carte...Admettons que ce soit un club de football : on adhère à ce club, mais une fois qu'on est dedans, on ne peut pas dire : 'on joue au rugby.' (Europe isn't done 'à la carte', imagine that it's like a football club : you join the club, but once you're in, you can't say "Now let's play rugby".) I agree with the Guardian that this comment was mischievous, but it is a simple and easy way of putting it.

I am no politics student, but it seems to me that Cameron is using this promise of a referendum to appeal to UKIP voters, especially now they have become the 3rd most popular party (Over 2m views of this obviously wasn't enough then, sorry Nick.), and eurosceptics within his own party. It seems to have worked, but when/if the time comes I hope that enough information is made available to my fellow citizens so that they are able to make an informed decision. 

Britain would be much worse off out of the common market, and we can't afford to make enemies of our closest neighbours. If anything, on a selfish note; as an Erasmus student, what would happen to this program? My Year Abroad is looking to be one of the most exciting and character shaping years of my life, and even with the ease of movement between countries and my grant significantly facilitating life here, it has still been a challenge. (Have you ever tried to find and pay for accommodation in France?!) This experience is showing me the beauty of Europe; made up of different cultures, traditions and ideologies but tied together by a long history and shared goals. Britain should be proud of its involvement, and not seek a way to live up to the French expression and sneak away.

Culture shock: Carrefour

Starting all over again in a new country has been a daunting prospect for a while, but having passed my first week without any major problems, I can already feel myself settling in.  However, I have had my moments.  For example, when I discovered that my nearest supermarket is a big Carrefour, I felt some comfort on seeing its familiar colour scheme, as memories of food shopping in Salamanca came flooding back, and I let my "cultural awareness" guard down, thinking of myself as some sort of a European Carrefour expert.  How wrong I was.

The first thing that hit me as soon as I walked in to the store was the price of everything.  The cheapest apples were double the price of the ones in Salamanca!! My heart began to pound.  Maybe I'm remembering incorrectly, I told myself.  Or perhaps the French have some sort of "Apple Tax"?  I tried to stay calm.  However, as I made my way up and down the aisles, it gradually began to sink in that my renumeration won't go as far as I had previously thought, as almost every product is significantly more expensive than its identical counterpart with a Spanish post code.  I immediately wrote my 348372nd email to the Durham International Office - I'm going to need that Erasmus grant ASAP.

Having gotten over my initial shock, and comparing prices against a few other local alternatives, I decided to return the following day.  I had been so unsettled on my first visit that I didn't really buy anything useful for a meal. (Tin of olives, butter and pasta, anyone?)  I tried to be as stingey as I could, whilst trying to avoid going down the "How many types of cheese, and how much of it does one country need" aisle. (In case you were wondering, yes, some camembert may have made its way into my basket....) The store was packed, I was tired, and I couldn't really find where anything was.  By the time I came to pay, all of the queues were long, and I didn't think I'd have the energy to try and understand somebody speaking French to me, or hold back the tears as I handed over my money, so I decided to go to the self service machine, after all, it had served me so well in Spain.

MISTAKE.

Fighting my way through the crowds, I began scanning my shopping. About halfway through, I realised I would need more than one bag - I would have to go back and get another one.  I turned my head to try to work out how I could discreetly make my way back through the queue. It was at this exact moment I saw the "Maximum 10 items" sign dangling above my head.  There was no going back now.  My face got suddenly very hot as I could sense the many gazes of judgement increasing.  I turned back round and scanned as fast as I could, stuffing my well over ten items into my one bag, trying to conceal my shame.  My shopping came to more than I was expecting, and the machine refused to accept my 50€ note.  I tried to sound as nonchalant as I could when I ended up having to a) speak French to the very unimpressed employee and b) still handing over my money to a person rather than a machine which is unable to read emotions. Notes exchanged, I scooped my bulging shopper bag into my arms (the last thing I needed was it bursting everywhere) and struggled home, shaking with fear and confusion at the person I have become.

A few days passed and I was forced to make the trip again.  More confident with my language skills, as well as knowledge of the store, I was able to whip round quickly.  The shorter queue of the self service section was tempting, but I had learned my lesson - I did actually have fewer than ten items, but I wasn't going to risk anymore traumatic experiences.  Choosing a nearby queue, I had loaded my items onto the conveyer belt and all was going smoothly until the man in front of me was not permitted to pay in cash.  Confused, I listened to the cashier's explanations and followed her indication to a sign next to her till.  Life seemed to go in slow motion as I turned to look at the horrifying words "Payment with Card only, no cash." As I am yet to receive my carte bleue to signify my successfully opened bank account, I was in yet another awkward situation.  Wishing for the ground to swallow me up, I quickly dived backwards, grabbed a basket and proceeded to remove my items from the conveyor belt, mumbling to Unimpressed Employee #2 that I only have cash, very sorry, didn't realise, very sorry, I am English, very sorry. Pushing my way back through the queue, avoiding more stares, I was forced to do a quick recount (seven items) and return to the self service machines with my tail between my legs...

I have now developed a strange fear of the place, and although I have since been back without any problems, I have definitely learned that I must not become too complacent.  France is not Spain, and it's going to be a while before I become knowledgeable on all things French.
On the other hand, I am very pleased to have escaped the world of tomate frito to return to the joy of pasta sauces...

Starting again

I know it's been a while, but here I am again, writing from my new location of Amiens, France.  More specifically, a rather quiet hall of residence with the dulcet tones of a male neighbour singing in the shower floating down the corridor. I am currently attempting to meet people by leaving my door open, but term hasn't started yet so there's hardly anyone here.  At least le chanteur isn't too bad.

I've only been here a few days, but I am already looking back fondly on my time in Salamanca.  When I first arrived there back in July, I remember worrying about not making friends, or having anybody to go for coffee or celebrate my birthday with.  Six very short months flew by, and by December I found myself making teary farewells, exchanging contact information and making promises to visit various parts of Europe.  Although definitely not fully fluent in Spanish (whatever that means) I knew enough to say what I wanted to say, when I wanted to say it, and by the end I could understand the majority of what my colleagues were talking about over lunch. Mission accomplished.

Fast forward two wonderful (yet very short) weeks at home and I have become a nervous wreck whilst trying to explain to the Carrefour lady that the self service machine won't accept my money.  I don't think I have ever been this bad at French. There, I said it.  This time last year I was happily chatting away in an oral class about Facebook privacy settings or something equally as pointless, and now I can barely understand the over-friendly porter asking me how my time in Spain was.  My current level is equivalent to "je voudrais une baguette s'il vous plait" during a Year 8 French lesson.  Whilst I am horrified by this, I have told myself not to panic just yet, I've still got time, and I have been working out how to access French TV via the internet. Apparently they are still annoyed about Depardieu. All is not lost.

Amiens is not as pretty as Salamanca, and so far can only be described as grey, but looking on the bright side, I am a lot closer to home, and only an hour or so away from Paris, a journey which I am most definitely going to be taking advantage of.  Moving home from Spain and then away again almost straight away has been tiring - emotionally and physically - but I am positive it will be worth it, and before I know it I will become just another "Being in France was SO amazing" post-Year Abroad student. Watch this space.