Disorientation

In this foreign land, the locals gape at the American as she saunters by,
Out of her element in front of the French Relay newsstand,
Her style compared to theirs--impressionist at best.

While passing the Galeries Lafayette, she stumbles,
Stunned by the sight of male mannequins with more eyeliner than she would ever dare put on.

The teller at Banque Populaire hands her pages upon pages in some hieroglyphic size 8 font French,
But all she can do is sign each page blindly, initialing her life away.

A bit more at home at Carrefour in all its Walmartish grandeur,
She takes a stairway to the heaven of all grocery stores,
Awed and confused by the aisles of eggs, the miles of cheese,
and the "American/Canadian" section with its usual fare: marshmallow fluff, Hershey's Chocolate Syrup, and Skippy Peanut Butter--5 euros per 12 oz.

And when back in her dwelling, she sits safe and sound (for a few hours, at least), condemning the French microwave to appliance purgatory,
For even its pictionaric buttons cause the misery of bewilderment.

La Surprise de Lyon

Day Three: Parc de la Tete d'Or.

This morning I rose, not with the sun, but to the pouring of Kellogg's Cornflakes from the French-graffitied cereal box.


I was tired. The night before, I didn't get much sleep due to the constant buzzing of a certain mosquito in my ear. I woke up with eleven bug bites. My weekend host, Geraldine, was "bright-eyed and bushy-tailed," as we say in American, and I was, well, grumpy.

Three hours of sulking on the computer later, Geraldine convinced me to go to the outdoor marché with her to buy some fresh local produce. Then we made lunch, if you can call it that. In France, "Sunday dinner" is really Sunday lunch, strictly at noon. We had chicken with potatoes and des haricots verts (green beans) cooked to perfection with thyme, rosemary, and various other spices. It was a meal for a queen. I had la reste (leftovers) for dinner.

After une petite sieste, in which I passed out in a heavy food coma, Geraldine invited me to the park of Lyon, La Parc de la Tete d'Or. We toured the greenhouses of tropical trees, carnivorous plants and familiar cacti. It was nice; I took a few photos of lily pads and such.


But I had no idea what was coming.



That's right. This park has elephants. And tigers, bears, crocodiles, flamigos and giraffes. Who thought, right next door to all the baguettes and cheese and everything?

In truth, though, the sight was sad. These exotic creatures had only small spaces in which to roam, and they were definitely not at home. And I don't need to rhyme to tell you that.

Then I bought us ice-cream.

Today was a good day. I carried on a 10-hour French conversation, learned how to make coconut flan, and received semi-confirmation of an apartment to rent (though it'll pretty much cost me my life savings).

And now it's time to push over my bulging suitcases, roll out my futon bed, and hope that I get a good night's sleep. Bonne nuit.

La Bienvenue à Lyon

Bonjour tout le monde!

Hi everyone! Maggie here with an update on her life in Lyon, France. I arrived two days ago in a flurry of Air Canada plane flights, a TGV train trip, and too-much-luggage to be met at the Lyon Part Dieu train station by the lovely Geraldine, the Spanish language teacher at the lycée, or high school, where I'll be teaching. For the moment, I'm staying with her in her tiny appartement close to Part Dieu.

Am I experiencing culture shock? YES. Is it better than the first time I decided to live in France? YES. If you're wondering why this blog is entitled "Franglish Deux," or "Franglish Two," you can check out the original "Franglish," about my study abroad experience in Paris in 2007, at maggieinparis.blogspot.com.

So, by day two of my 7-month adventure, I've purchased my first baguette, sampled a few cheeses, and already crossed a huge length of the city on foot. But now is not the time to enjoy the charm of Lyon, unfortunately. I'm desperately searching for a place to live (which is why I traversed the entire city today--on foot, because all the buses are on strike, of course--so French!). I found a few today, one which is charming on the inside, and the other which is charming on the outside. Go figure.

I also have to open a French bank account, get a French cell phone, and (soon) get a French health check-up (just to make sure I'm not bringing chicken pox into the country, I suppose). These times are stressful, but I'm getting used to everything being different and my French is already improving.

I visited my high schools, Louis Aragon and Pablo Picasso (which are on the same campus--one's a technical school), yesterday, where I filled out some paperwork on the o-so-French 8.5 x 12 in. paper and ate some fried fish on a heap of peas and ultra sweet grapes for lunch at the "cantine"--the first meal I could officially swallow since being here.

On my walk home today (for which I stupidly wore my un-broken-in new tennies), I encountered a merry-go-round, a French-reggae band, ridiculously talented trick-rollerbladers (jealous), and a man on a motorcycle with a baby pink Hello Kitty helmet. Despite the stress, I have to admit, it's been a good day. :)

Over and out.

(Caption: A big pile of shoes.)