adj. – early, soon
Dormir, se coucher, se reposer
v. – to sleep, rest
Se lever
v. – to get up
I have never been nor do I ever see myself being a naturally early riser. I remember when I was a teenager putting the alarm clock clear across the room forcing me to get out of bed to turn it off. Could it be this was before the snooze button was invented – I’m not sure. In any event, one of the things that’s great about Paris is the fact that the pace is a bit slower here with things beginning (and ending) later than in the US.
“Tôt” which is the word for early is also the word for soon. It is used when saying goodbye in the expression “à bientôt.” In other words, I’ll see you soon. "A toute a l’heure" is literally until the next hour which is our equivalent of saying see you later. “Au revoir” means until the next time I see you, “voir” being the verb for “to see.” This is why "déjà vu" means already seen – “déjà” meaning already and “vu” the past tense of “voir.” "Adieu" is more permanent as it translates to see you again with God. And "à jamais" which means see you never, is reserved for a passionate break-up line once used in a letter to a friend of mine.
Before we arrived here, 7:30 was a suitable dinner time. Now I look up sometimes to realize it’s almost 9:00 and we still haven’t eaten. People generally arrive at their offices sometime between 9:00 and 9:30 in the morning, but often stay past 8 at night, dining around 8:30 or 9:00. Lunches tend to be a bit protracted as well. The lunch hour begins anywhere between 12:30 and 1:00 and ends respectively between 2:00 and 2:30. Lunch is eaten out or at a canteen if your company has one, not at one’s desk. Lunch also consists of what I call real food. You see more salads in the summer, but generally people eat courses and hot dishes. Most restaurants will have a prix fixe selection of a starter plus a main course or a main course plus a dessert. Fast food and sandwiches do exist here of course, but whenever possible, people prefer to sit down and eat a meal rather than rush with their food.
The French have a reputation for being late or “en retard,” which is sometimes true in social settings, but professionally, I find them to be quite punctual. The Italians and the Spanish are much more lax as are the Indians. One of my Indian friends always asks “French time or Indian time?” because you literally have to factor in a good 45 minute wait for her. It’s always worth it I might add because she is lovely, but I did think for a moment about printing one of our wedding invitations with an earlier time just for her.
The expression “sleep tight” may come from the time when beds were made from ropes pulled across a frame in a zig zag pattern. Over time, they would slip and sag, hence the expression keeping them tight for a better night’s sleep. Here you sleep well “dormir bien” or “se reposer bien.” And you don’t have good dreams, but rather make them, “faire des beaux rèves.” Also, you make a nap vs. taking one, “faire une sieste.” “Faire la grasse matinee” is to sleep in or literally translated, make the fat morning.
“L’avenir appartient a ceux qui se levent tot” or the future comes to those who wake up early is the French equivalent of the early bird gets the worm. I’m not a bird so getting the worm never appealed to me. However, we don’t really benefit from a later start in the morning since we don’t work for a French company. So until I become a nightclub impresario, I will have to find a way to marry my now increasingly later night life with the same early morning punctuality respected by the Anglo Saxon culture. Maybe a nap or maybe re-working the expression to the early bird gets the croissant might help better revive me from my slumber.
Jul 27, 2009
Jul 22, 2009
Règles
n. – rules
One of the things that makes Paris unique, like many older cities, is its resistance to change. In the US, we seem to be constantly adapting to the latest fad or craze whether it’s low carb dieting or reality TV. Here when it comes to eating, there are traditions that are carefully respected.
For example, there is no bread basket before the food. Bread is an accompaniment, not a snack. And this is very logical. Bread is also served alone, not with olive oil, not with butter. You can ask, but be cautious where you are first. In a classic bistro, you’re likely to get a look and on top be charged extra. Yes, butter comes at a price.
Cheese is never served as an hors d’oeuvre (unless it’s the little laughing cow or “vache qui rit” cubes). These are fun because the wrappers come with little trivia questions. Of course if you eat a lot of them, you start to see the same questions come up, but it’s fun nevertheless. Traditionally the aperitif is prepared in the salon or living room. In many French people’s homes, they will bring out all the liquor bottles available and let you make your choice from there. Don’t expect a lot of ice since it is also a rare commodity sort of like the butter.
Cocktails must be finished before passing to the table. Sometimes, but not always there will be glasses for water as well as wine. If there is only one glass, it can get tricky if you’re thirsty and have to chug down the wine in order to refill with water. Many times, you are expected to keep your cutlery between courses. There are lovely little holders sort of like what you see in Japanese restaurants for your chopsticks. This way you don’t soil the table cloth. Bread can be used as a sopper for dressing or anything that’s left on your plate, but don’t expect a bread plate.
Dessert comes after cheese and before coffee. Today I decided after ordering my coffee that I wanted something sweet and the waiter offered to take my coffee back so I could have it afterward. The dessert was lovely actually – an ice cream called Taro in a delicious Thai restaurant we like. When I asked what it was, he explained that it was a “patate douce,” which I didn’t really understood, but ordered it anyway. When we asked again, we realized it was sweet potato, which I would have translated as “pomme de terre sucrée.” You say potayto, I say potahto.
Coffee here is always in the form of an espresso. You can ask for cappuccino’s or café au laits, but best not to after a meal. In Italy, it’s actually considered offensive. Coffees with milk are reserved for breakfast only. There is one exception with the “noisette” or “macchiato” in Italian, which is an espresso with a little dollop of steamed milk. Coffees here almost always come with chocolate – mostly dark and never with a slice of lemon peel which I’ve never understood.
Back to bread, the cliché of the Frenchman with his baguette under his arm is alive and well – the beret a little less so. Baguette is also the word for chopsticks. Bread must be bought fresh every day. It is not to be kept overnight unless you have a special holder for it. My in-laws keep it in a linen sack of sorts that keeps it pretty fresh, but otherwise it will harden and dry out quickly. Sometimes I get away with freezing it, but the sooner after eating the better. When possible we try to get a demi-baquette because a whole one is a lot to go through even between two people.
There are several types of baguettes, most commonly “normal,” your basic white loaf or “tradition,” which is my favourite and a little heartier and wheatier in colour. You can get them with poppy seeds, sesame seeds, whole grain, etc. There’s nothing like timing the visit to the “boulanger” or baker, right after a fresh batch has been baked and being handed a warm baguette of your choice. My husband will start nibbling on it on the walk home. It’s a temptation hard to resist.
So it’s all of these traditions, habits, familiarities, whatever you want to call them, that make Paris unique. They are things we have accustomed to quickly and even been spoiled by. At first, you’re thrown when faced with new ways of doing things, but now it’s comforting to know what’s expected as we follow along happily with the routine and the rhythm that’s been working here since long before we arrived.
One of the things that makes Paris unique, like many older cities, is its resistance to change. In the US, we seem to be constantly adapting to the latest fad or craze whether it’s low carb dieting or reality TV. Here when it comes to eating, there are traditions that are carefully respected.
For example, there is no bread basket before the food. Bread is an accompaniment, not a snack. And this is very logical. Bread is also served alone, not with olive oil, not with butter. You can ask, but be cautious where you are first. In a classic bistro, you’re likely to get a look and on top be charged extra. Yes, butter comes at a price.
Cheese is never served as an hors d’oeuvre (unless it’s the little laughing cow or “vache qui rit” cubes). These are fun because the wrappers come with little trivia questions. Of course if you eat a lot of them, you start to see the same questions come up, but it’s fun nevertheless. Traditionally the aperitif is prepared in the salon or living room. In many French people’s homes, they will bring out all the liquor bottles available and let you make your choice from there. Don’t expect a lot of ice since it is also a rare commodity sort of like the butter.
Cocktails must be finished before passing to the table. Sometimes, but not always there will be glasses for water as well as wine. If there is only one glass, it can get tricky if you’re thirsty and have to chug down the wine in order to refill with water. Many times, you are expected to keep your cutlery between courses. There are lovely little holders sort of like what you see in Japanese restaurants for your chopsticks. This way you don’t soil the table cloth. Bread can be used as a sopper for dressing or anything that’s left on your plate, but don’t expect a bread plate.
Dessert comes after cheese and before coffee. Today I decided after ordering my coffee that I wanted something sweet and the waiter offered to take my coffee back so I could have it afterward. The dessert was lovely actually – an ice cream called Taro in a delicious Thai restaurant we like. When I asked what it was, he explained that it was a “patate douce,” which I didn’t really understood, but ordered it anyway. When we asked again, we realized it was sweet potato, which I would have translated as “pomme de terre sucrée.” You say potayto, I say potahto.
Coffee here is always in the form of an espresso. You can ask for cappuccino’s or café au laits, but best not to after a meal. In Italy, it’s actually considered offensive. Coffees with milk are reserved for breakfast only. There is one exception with the “noisette” or “macchiato” in Italian, which is an espresso with a little dollop of steamed milk. Coffees here almost always come with chocolate – mostly dark and never with a slice of lemon peel which I’ve never understood.
Back to bread, the cliché of the Frenchman with his baguette under his arm is alive and well – the beret a little less so. Baguette is also the word for chopsticks. Bread must be bought fresh every day. It is not to be kept overnight unless you have a special holder for it. My in-laws keep it in a linen sack of sorts that keeps it pretty fresh, but otherwise it will harden and dry out quickly. Sometimes I get away with freezing it, but the sooner after eating the better. When possible we try to get a demi-baquette because a whole one is a lot to go through even between two people.
There are several types of baguettes, most commonly “normal,” your basic white loaf or “tradition,” which is my favourite and a little heartier and wheatier in colour. You can get them with poppy seeds, sesame seeds, whole grain, etc. There’s nothing like timing the visit to the “boulanger” or baker, right after a fresh batch has been baked and being handed a warm baguette of your choice. My husband will start nibbling on it on the walk home. It’s a temptation hard to resist.
So it’s all of these traditions, habits, familiarities, whatever you want to call them, that make Paris unique. They are things we have accustomed to quickly and even been spoiled by. At first, you’re thrown when faced with new ways of doing things, but now it’s comforting to know what’s expected as we follow along happily with the routine and the rhythm that’s been working here since long before we arrived.
Jul 18, 2009
Vacances
n. – vacation
Temps
n – time or weather
Once July rolls around in Paris, a popular topic of conversation is where one is going on vacation. Anyone from your friends to the neighborhood baker or newsstand vendor will ask. Most French people have an average of five weeks vacation not including religious and other holidays. Summer, for the obvious reasons, is a popular time to take time off. August is practically a non-month leaving the city filled with mostly tourists – the Parisians enjoying time by the sea or in the countryside.
Summer in Paris is far more bearable than that in New York. We haven’t had a “canicule” or heat wave this year so with the windows open on both sides of the apartment, the cross breeze has been enough to keep us cool. I stress that this is a good thing because air conditioners are not commonly found.
In French the word for weather is “temps” which makes sense since it’s like temperature. However, the weather ISN'T hot or cold, but rather it MAKES hot or cold, “il fait chaud” or “il fait froid.” (The weather is also masculine hence the word “il” for he). Similarly, one IS not hot or cold, but rather HAS hot or cold, “j’ai chaud” or “j’ai froid.”
Temps is also the word for time where “heure” or hour is more specifically used for telling the time. In this case, the time IS, not MAKES or HAS. So we’re looking forward to taking some time and hoping the weather still makes nice to enjoy our vacation at the end of the month.
Temps
n – time or weather
Once July rolls around in Paris, a popular topic of conversation is where one is going on vacation. Anyone from your friends to the neighborhood baker or newsstand vendor will ask. Most French people have an average of five weeks vacation not including religious and other holidays. Summer, for the obvious reasons, is a popular time to take time off. August is practically a non-month leaving the city filled with mostly tourists – the Parisians enjoying time by the sea or in the countryside.
Summer in Paris is far more bearable than that in New York. We haven’t had a “canicule” or heat wave this year so with the windows open on both sides of the apartment, the cross breeze has been enough to keep us cool. I stress that this is a good thing because air conditioners are not commonly found.
In French the word for weather is “temps” which makes sense since it’s like temperature. However, the weather ISN'T hot or cold, but rather it MAKES hot or cold, “il fait chaud” or “il fait froid.” (The weather is also masculine hence the word “il” for he). Similarly, one IS not hot or cold, but rather HAS hot or cold, “j’ai chaud” or “j’ai froid.”
Temps is also the word for time where “heure” or hour is more specifically used for telling the time. In this case, the time IS, not MAKES or HAS. So we’re looking forward to taking some time and hoping the weather still makes nice to enjoy our vacation at the end of the month.
Jul 3, 2009
Numéros
n. – numbers
I finally have my carte-sejour. It’s been seven months since I arrived in France and in only a few months I will have to begin the process of renewing it, but it was finally ready for pick up today.
Yesterday, I called to check if it was ready because that seemed like a reasonable thing to do. I was asked for my number so I gave them my cell phone number. I got chided because they wanted the case number, which I didn’t have with me so I called again this morning from the apartment.
I like to give out my cell number because I’ve memorized how to say it. The French like to divide their numbers in units of two so while we will spell out each number individually, albeit grouped into area code, first three and then last four, here it will start with 06 (for cell numbers) or 01 for landlines (in Paris). The remaining numbers are also grouped together in two's so 7 2 becomes seventy-two. I use this as an example because once you hit the 70’s, things get complicated. Instead of having a word for seventy, the word is actually “soixante-dix.” “Soixante” means 60 and “dix” means 10. So for 70, the following increments are no longer 1, 2, 3, 4, but 11,12, 13, 14 if you see what I mean. Then there’s 80 which is actually “quatre-vingt” – “quatre” meaning four and “vingt” meaning 20. 90 is “quatre-vingt-dix,” following the same pattern as 60 into 70. By the time I get to 90, I’m usually confused so it took me a moment to decide whether to call a number on my dossier (96) quatre-vingt-six, which would have been wrong since it means 86, or quatre-vingt-seize, which was correct – 96 or four times 20 plus 16.
I was chided again for not knowing the difference and finally blurted out the right number after which I could hear the woman muttering something about Americans as she put the phone down. Anyway, the card was ready so I was happy and I felt even better after calling my husband to complain about the numbering system in his language.
Another problem I have is with telling time. Well, I know how obviously, but the French often use military time. I have to agree with the logic of it because there can be no confusion between am or pm, but again the use of the words am or pm can also avoid any confusion.
Since 1 pm becomes “treize” or 13, I get stuck on the three and think that’s what time it should be. Same thing as it continues, “quatorze” or 14 feels like it should be four and so on. Increments of 15 minutes can either be added or subtracted so it can be “onze heures et quart” (11 and a quarter) or “onze heures moins quart” (11 minus a quarter) or even dix heures quarante-cinq” (10:45) – am, of course.
Well, it’s almost “vingt heures et demi” (8 and a half) pm and I must get ready for guests who are arriving. “A toute a l’heure” (see you later).
I finally have my carte-sejour. It’s been seven months since I arrived in France and in only a few months I will have to begin the process of renewing it, but it was finally ready for pick up today.
Yesterday, I called to check if it was ready because that seemed like a reasonable thing to do. I was asked for my number so I gave them my cell phone number. I got chided because they wanted the case number, which I didn’t have with me so I called again this morning from the apartment.
I like to give out my cell number because I’ve memorized how to say it. The French like to divide their numbers in units of two so while we will spell out each number individually, albeit grouped into area code, first three and then last four, here it will start with 06 (for cell numbers) or 01 for landlines (in Paris). The remaining numbers are also grouped together in two's so 7 2 becomes seventy-two. I use this as an example because once you hit the 70’s, things get complicated. Instead of having a word for seventy, the word is actually “soixante-dix.” “Soixante” means 60 and “dix” means 10. So for 70, the following increments are no longer 1, 2, 3, 4, but 11,12, 13, 14 if you see what I mean. Then there’s 80 which is actually “quatre-vingt” – “quatre” meaning four and “vingt” meaning 20. 90 is “quatre-vingt-dix,” following the same pattern as 60 into 70. By the time I get to 90, I’m usually confused so it took me a moment to decide whether to call a number on my dossier (96) quatre-vingt-six, which would have been wrong since it means 86, or quatre-vingt-seize, which was correct – 96 or four times 20 plus 16.
I was chided again for not knowing the difference and finally blurted out the right number after which I could hear the woman muttering something about Americans as she put the phone down. Anyway, the card was ready so I was happy and I felt even better after calling my husband to complain about the numbering system in his language.
Another problem I have is with telling time. Well, I know how obviously, but the French often use military time. I have to agree with the logic of it because there can be no confusion between am or pm, but again the use of the words am or pm can also avoid any confusion.
Since 1 pm becomes “treize” or 13, I get stuck on the three and think that’s what time it should be. Same thing as it continues, “quatorze” or 14 feels like it should be four and so on. Increments of 15 minutes can either be added or subtracted so it can be “onze heures et quart” (11 and a quarter) or “onze heures moins quart” (11 minus a quarter) or even dix heures quarante-cinq” (10:45) – am, of course.
Well, it’s almost “vingt heures et demi” (8 and a half) pm and I must get ready for guests who are arriving. “A toute a l’heure” (see you later).
Bus vs. metro
argument – same meaning as in English
Yesterday evening I made a mental note not to take the bus home at rush hour again, at least not in summer. First of all the wait can take forever. There’s a little digital timer at the bus stop like you find on the subway tracks indicating how far away the bus is in minutes. The ones in the subway are far more accurate. There’s a number on top and a number on the bottom. The top number varied between one minute, then up to two minutes and even three minutes before going back to one minute. Aren’t the minutes supposed to get smaller not bigger? The bus finally arrived at the time indicated by the bottom timer that slowly counted down from 21 to one.
By then of course a line had formed, but because the French are incapable of properly forming a line the two of us who were there at the beginning now risked getting on last because of the way people placed themselves in front of us. This happens to be a personal pet peeve of mine. Back in New York, I would have a fit if someone cut in line, but it happened more rarely. I remember someone once saying to me, “You won’t get there any faster,” which clearly I’m aware of which is why I don’t feel the need to rush in front of people boarding a plane (well unless I’m terrified of having no overhead room left). But the point is on a plane, you have an assigned seat (well unless you’re flying a low cost airline). On a bus there are limited seats and especially on French buses so if you want to sit down, it helps to get on first.
I wasn’t able to get on the bus first, but I did manage to get in the bus first because while the person who cut in front of me was paying with his navigo card, I paid with a ticket therefore blocking his way. I found a nice seat at the front of the bus and despite the fact that they’re supposed to be reserved for people who really need them I sat down without guilt since the bus wasn’t that full.
The ride started well. There was no “circulation” or traffic and the bus was surprisingly cool despite the 90-degree weather. We picked up more passengers and then the young woman got on the bus. She just came right up to me and asked for my seat. “Je suis enceinte,” she said (I’m pregnant). She looked as pregnant as I do – I’m not. But of course, I got up and now that the bus had more people, I had nowhere else to sit. As I stood there glaring at her – yes, I glared at a pregnant woman – I thought of my response the next time someone says that to me and I came up with two. “Moi aussi.” (I am, too) and if I’m feeling particularly cheeky “Ca n’est pas ma faute.“ (It’s not my fault).
More people crowded on and the bus got hotter and hotter. I was able to secure another seat, but it was facing the opposite direction, something I don’t like since I have a tendency to get carsick. So I was relieved when it finally deposited my now sweaty, cranky self at home. It took twice as long as the subway would have and clearly only made me irritable so the next time I’m on the metro, I will try to channel that moment and appreciate it a bit more.
Yesterday evening I made a mental note not to take the bus home at rush hour again, at least not in summer. First of all the wait can take forever. There’s a little digital timer at the bus stop like you find on the subway tracks indicating how far away the bus is in minutes. The ones in the subway are far more accurate. There’s a number on top and a number on the bottom. The top number varied between one minute, then up to two minutes and even three minutes before going back to one minute. Aren’t the minutes supposed to get smaller not bigger? The bus finally arrived at the time indicated by the bottom timer that slowly counted down from 21 to one.
By then of course a line had formed, but because the French are incapable of properly forming a line the two of us who were there at the beginning now risked getting on last because of the way people placed themselves in front of us. This happens to be a personal pet peeve of mine. Back in New York, I would have a fit if someone cut in line, but it happened more rarely. I remember someone once saying to me, “You won’t get there any faster,” which clearly I’m aware of which is why I don’t feel the need to rush in front of people boarding a plane (well unless I’m terrified of having no overhead room left). But the point is on a plane, you have an assigned seat (well unless you’re flying a low cost airline). On a bus there are limited seats and especially on French buses so if you want to sit down, it helps to get on first.
I wasn’t able to get on the bus first, but I did manage to get in the bus first because while the person who cut in front of me was paying with his navigo card, I paid with a ticket therefore blocking his way. I found a nice seat at the front of the bus and despite the fact that they’re supposed to be reserved for people who really need them I sat down without guilt since the bus wasn’t that full.
The ride started well. There was no “circulation” or traffic and the bus was surprisingly cool despite the 90-degree weather. We picked up more passengers and then the young woman got on the bus. She just came right up to me and asked for my seat. “Je suis enceinte,” she said (I’m pregnant). She looked as pregnant as I do – I’m not. But of course, I got up and now that the bus had more people, I had nowhere else to sit. As I stood there glaring at her – yes, I glared at a pregnant woman – I thought of my response the next time someone says that to me and I came up with two. “Moi aussi.” (I am, too) and if I’m feeling particularly cheeky “Ca n’est pas ma faute.“ (It’s not my fault).
More people crowded on and the bus got hotter and hotter. I was able to secure another seat, but it was facing the opposite direction, something I don’t like since I have a tendency to get carsick. So I was relieved when it finally deposited my now sweaty, cranky self at home. It took twice as long as the subway would have and clearly only made me irritable so the next time I’m on the metro, I will try to channel that moment and appreciate it a bit more.
Jul 2, 2009
Verlan
n. – a type of slang
Verlan is somewhat the equivalent of Pig Latin in French. Basically you take the first syllable of a word and add it to the end spelling it phonetically. So “fête” or party becomes “teuf.” “Femme” or woman becomes “meuf.” It’s fairly basic, but if used aggressively, can be difficult for a non-native speaker to follow. The word verlan itself is the inverse if you will of the word “l’envers,” which means upside down. It’s ironic actually because verlan is really more like the inverse, which is “l’inverse.” My husband was trying to explain the difference to me – well I know the difference between upside down and inverse, but he used the example of putting my shirt on upside down. I said I would be more likely to put it on inside out than upside down which also appears to be described by the same word.
The other day I saw a poster for “Pesctacles” and of course the obvious English word came to mind. What I found odd about it was that it looked like something geared for children. My husband explained that children often confuse the word for show which is “spectacle” with “pestacle” – almost a form of juvenile verlan. It reminded me of a friend’s three year old niece who can’t yet differentiate the soft “s” from the hard “ck” in socks so it becomes cocks. She says it’s pretty hilarious when she’s running around the house looking for her cocks!
Socks in French are “chaussettes,” shoes “chaussures” and slippers “chaussons” so that makes it pretty easy to remember. “Talons” is the word for heels where “griffe” is the word for talons. Perhaps that’s where the word griffin comes from. “Bottes” is the word for boots, also fairly easy, “baskets,” the word for sports shoes and can be applied to any kind of sport. “Collants” is the word for stockings, tights or panty-hose. “Slip” is actually the word for men’s underwear or “calçons” if they’re boxers. Women’s underwear are called “strings” (if they are) or “culottes” (if they’re not). And my favorite is “soutien-gorge” for bra. “Gorge” is the word for throat, “soutien” from the verb “soutenir” to support so it’s as if you’re supporting the throat all the way down from the breasts!
“Costume” is not the word for something you would wear at Halloween, but rather the word for suit. “Déguisement” (coming from the word disguise) is the word for costume. “Vest” is actually the word for jacket and if you say “être de la jaquette” it’s the same thing as saying he’s a friend of Dorothy’s. A vest is called a “gilet” and it gets easier again from there. A cardigan is “un cardigan,” a pullover, “un pullover” and a t-shirt, “un t-shirt.”
“Pantalon” is also fairly obvious for pants although here it's singular so really a pant like “un jean” for a jean or jeans. “Jupe” means skirt. “Chemise” means shirt, “manteau” means coat and “écharpe” is scarf. “Chapeau” is hat and “gants” are gloves. All of these things you would store in your “armoire,” closet, in your “tiroirs,” drawers and you would take a look at yourself in your “miroir,” mirror when you’re dressed. And then off you go to your teuf or your pestacle dressed to the nines or “sur ton trente-et-un (as if dressed for the 31st or New Year’s Eve). Have fun!
Verlan is somewhat the equivalent of Pig Latin in French. Basically you take the first syllable of a word and add it to the end spelling it phonetically. So “fête” or party becomes “teuf.” “Femme” or woman becomes “meuf.” It’s fairly basic, but if used aggressively, can be difficult for a non-native speaker to follow. The word verlan itself is the inverse if you will of the word “l’envers,” which means upside down. It’s ironic actually because verlan is really more like the inverse, which is “l’inverse.” My husband was trying to explain the difference to me – well I know the difference between upside down and inverse, but he used the example of putting my shirt on upside down. I said I would be more likely to put it on inside out than upside down which also appears to be described by the same word.
The other day I saw a poster for “Pesctacles” and of course the obvious English word came to mind. What I found odd about it was that it looked like something geared for children. My husband explained that children often confuse the word for show which is “spectacle” with “pestacle” – almost a form of juvenile verlan. It reminded me of a friend’s three year old niece who can’t yet differentiate the soft “s” from the hard “ck” in socks so it becomes cocks. She says it’s pretty hilarious when she’s running around the house looking for her cocks!
Socks in French are “chaussettes,” shoes “chaussures” and slippers “chaussons” so that makes it pretty easy to remember. “Talons” is the word for heels where “griffe” is the word for talons. Perhaps that’s where the word griffin comes from. “Bottes” is the word for boots, also fairly easy, “baskets,” the word for sports shoes and can be applied to any kind of sport. “Collants” is the word for stockings, tights or panty-hose. “Slip” is actually the word for men’s underwear or “calçons” if they’re boxers. Women’s underwear are called “strings” (if they are) or “culottes” (if they’re not). And my favorite is “soutien-gorge” for bra. “Gorge” is the word for throat, “soutien” from the verb “soutenir” to support so it’s as if you’re supporting the throat all the way down from the breasts!
“Costume” is not the word for something you would wear at Halloween, but rather the word for suit. “Déguisement” (coming from the word disguise) is the word for costume. “Vest” is actually the word for jacket and if you say “être de la jaquette” it’s the same thing as saying he’s a friend of Dorothy’s. A vest is called a “gilet” and it gets easier again from there. A cardigan is “un cardigan,” a pullover, “un pullover” and a t-shirt, “un t-shirt.”
“Pantalon” is also fairly obvious for pants although here it's singular so really a pant like “un jean” for a jean or jeans. “Jupe” means skirt. “Chemise” means shirt, “manteau” means coat and “écharpe” is scarf. “Chapeau” is hat and “gants” are gloves. All of these things you would store in your “armoire,” closet, in your “tiroirs,” drawers and you would take a look at yourself in your “miroir,” mirror when you’re dressed. And then off you go to your teuf or your pestacle dressed to the nines or “sur ton trente-et-un (as if dressed for the 31st or New Year’s Eve). Have fun!
Jun 25, 2009
Patience
n. – patience
Patience is not only a virtue, but a necessity when living in Paris. Take my carte sejour, for example. I finally had my medical exam on Monday, which was supposed to be the final element among the requirements. It took half the day, which I had been prepared for, but when it was over I still didn’t get the card. “C’est prêt mais pas encore envoyé,” it’s ready, but hasn’t been sent yet, was the explanation I received. I’ve already been here for seven months. The card is good for one year. At this rate, it will expire before I even have it.
On the way home, I stopped at the pharmacy. There is always a line at the pharmacy, any pharmacy, any time of day or night. I love French pharmacies though. They’re smaller than the giant drugstores we’re used to in the US and filled with lovely things. Even the packaging for things like aspirin or vitamins seems nicer here. It’s difficult to browse in a pharmacy though because of its small size. It’s assumed you know exactly what you want when you enter, so if you’re not standing in the line, people will come over to you and ask if you need help. It seems silly to say no, I’m just looking – at toothpaste.
In almost any store except the supermarket perhaps, it’s helpful to know what you want and if you have questions you must be prepared for detailed explanations. Not long ago, my husband was looking innocently for mache, a lovely lettuce alternative here that looks like giant watercress. He received an education on the seasonality of mache – early spring being the expiration date so an alternative was suggested. I recently learned that geraniums seem to be on the seasonal brink of extinction as well. This is unfortunate because I was told that they are good at warding off mosquitoes, which have been plaguing us for the last few months.
I did find something at the pharmacy that’s supposed to help, a mini oil lamp of sorts. It’s actually a small diffuser you plug into the wall at night. So far I don’t think it’s done any good just like the citronella candles. And now that I’ve discovered the geranium solution, there aren’t any to be found. Of course screens on the window would be out of the question. Even I would hate to put anything between me and my beautiful view of the Paris rooftops. If I can’t get rid of the bugs, maybe I can find something at the pharmacy that will heal the itch. In any event, it’s a good excuse to go back in and take a look around.
Patience is not only a virtue, but a necessity when living in Paris. Take my carte sejour, for example. I finally had my medical exam on Monday, which was supposed to be the final element among the requirements. It took half the day, which I had been prepared for, but when it was over I still didn’t get the card. “C’est prêt mais pas encore envoyé,” it’s ready, but hasn’t been sent yet, was the explanation I received. I’ve already been here for seven months. The card is good for one year. At this rate, it will expire before I even have it.
On the way home, I stopped at the pharmacy. There is always a line at the pharmacy, any pharmacy, any time of day or night. I love French pharmacies though. They’re smaller than the giant drugstores we’re used to in the US and filled with lovely things. Even the packaging for things like aspirin or vitamins seems nicer here. It’s difficult to browse in a pharmacy though because of its small size. It’s assumed you know exactly what you want when you enter, so if you’re not standing in the line, people will come over to you and ask if you need help. It seems silly to say no, I’m just looking – at toothpaste.
In almost any store except the supermarket perhaps, it’s helpful to know what you want and if you have questions you must be prepared for detailed explanations. Not long ago, my husband was looking innocently for mache, a lovely lettuce alternative here that looks like giant watercress. He received an education on the seasonality of mache – early spring being the expiration date so an alternative was suggested. I recently learned that geraniums seem to be on the seasonal brink of extinction as well. This is unfortunate because I was told that they are good at warding off mosquitoes, which have been plaguing us for the last few months.
I did find something at the pharmacy that’s supposed to help, a mini oil lamp of sorts. It’s actually a small diffuser you plug into the wall at night. So far I don’t think it’s done any good just like the citronella candles. And now that I’ve discovered the geranium solution, there aren’t any to be found. Of course screens on the window would be out of the question. Even I would hate to put anything between me and my beautiful view of the Paris rooftops. If I can’t get rid of the bugs, maybe I can find something at the pharmacy that will heal the itch. In any event, it’s a good excuse to go back in and take a look around.
Jun 24, 2009
Aurore, l’aube
n. dawn
The French have trouble with my name (Dawn) since it’s not common here. Aurore is the word for dawn and l’aube or “à l’aube de” more specifically means just before, so in this case, just before the day. My name is usually pronounced as Down, but the other day someone actually pronounced it more appropriately, which in French makes it sound like “donne” from the verb “donner,” which means to give.
Most of the time people just assume I’m a man if they haven’t met me or they’ll use my last name (Erickson) as my first name since I guess it looks more familiar to them with the word Eric in it. My husband used to have trouble with his first name (Olivier) in the States. I never understood why and would always explain that it’s like Oliver, but with an “i.” Then someone once spelled it Oliveri so I realized that wasn’t helping.
Rather than saying my name is, here you actually say “je m’appelle” which translates to I call myself. This is a similar with bathing, sitting and remembering as in “je me lave,” I bathe myself, “je m’assoir,” I seat myelf and “je me souviens,” I remember myself.
On another level, to be, “être” and to have, “avoir” here are often interchanged. For example, you aren’t cold or hot, but rather you have cold or hot, “j’ai froid” or “j’ai chaud.” You also have your age rather than are your age, “j’ai 25 ans” or I have 25 years (well a few more in my case, but who’s counting). When you are finished, you say I have finished or “j’ai fini” vs. I am finished. And so I have with this little lecture of the day. Aurore or dawn will bring a new day tomorrow and with it continued observations on life and language in France.
The French have trouble with my name (Dawn) since it’s not common here. Aurore is the word for dawn and l’aube or “à l’aube de” more specifically means just before, so in this case, just before the day. My name is usually pronounced as Down, but the other day someone actually pronounced it more appropriately, which in French makes it sound like “donne” from the verb “donner,” which means to give.
Most of the time people just assume I’m a man if they haven’t met me or they’ll use my last name (Erickson) as my first name since I guess it looks more familiar to them with the word Eric in it. My husband used to have trouble with his first name (Olivier) in the States. I never understood why and would always explain that it’s like Oliver, but with an “i.” Then someone once spelled it Oliveri so I realized that wasn’t helping.
Rather than saying my name is, here you actually say “je m’appelle” which translates to I call myself. This is a similar with bathing, sitting and remembering as in “je me lave,” I bathe myself, “je m’assoir,” I seat myelf and “je me souviens,” I remember myself.
On another level, to be, “être” and to have, “avoir” here are often interchanged. For example, you aren’t cold or hot, but rather you have cold or hot, “j’ai froid” or “j’ai chaud.” You also have your age rather than are your age, “j’ai 25 ans” or I have 25 years (well a few more in my case, but who’s counting). When you are finished, you say I have finished or “j’ai fini” vs. I am finished. And so I have with this little lecture of the day. Aurore or dawn will bring a new day tomorrow and with it continued observations on life and language in France.
Jun 12, 2009
Manifestation
n. – protest
Protests are very popular in Paris. While not quite as disruptive as full blown strikes, they still manage to serve their purpose in disrupting the every day rhythm. This is why one always needs to allow enough time to get around.
At the same time, they don’t really seem to faze people very much. I suppose this is because they’re so used to them. The other day, the bus I was on came to a complete standstill in the midst of gridlock traffic surrounded by sirens. When I finally escaped, I saw police standing on the corners in full riot gear. I couldn’t see any sign of the disruption and they seemed approachable to I asked what was happening. Ever so politely they explained that there was a “manifestation,” but it was over now. “A Paris, il y a toujours quelque chose.” There’s always something in Paris, said the young gendarme with a smile.
The lack of deep concern or even real fear of authority can be seen daily. Paris drivers make up their own set of road rules and it’s almost as if the mutual chaos is what keeps them safe from each other. Gridlock is an art form and a broken stop light is simply a challenge to see how many cars can get through without stopping. The Arc de Triomphe is a perfect example of the controlled chaos. Through this giant roundabout, cars come streaming through from all directions and there are no stop signs for anyone. While technically the right of way is given to the people on the right (a good way to remember that), it’s a bit of “n’importe quoi” which in this case means anything goes. The liability, however, if there is an accident is shared 50/50. So I think this has a lot to do with the fact that people don’t push beyond the limits although there are times when I feel like luck is the only thing that get us through the roundabout safely.
I think the French have a tendency to question things more. They love a good argument and respect a decent rationale. So it’s important that one is provided before enforcing anything. There is a small street that’s almost like an alley next to our apartment. The other day it was blocked by two orange cones. A driver, wanting to go through, got out of his car, looked down the street and when he could see no reason why the cones were there, he simply moved them out of the way. I loved that. This is one of the reasons the subway gates are so complicated to go through in Paris. If they were as easy to jump over as the ones in New York for example, hardly anyone would pay!
This morning there was a bomb scare in our neighborhood so access in or out was blocked. Of course, it turned out to be nothing at all, but instead of panic and fear, the people who were temporarily trapped simply sat down at the nearest café, ordered a coffee and lit up their cigarettes. Pas de probleme, a Paris il y a toujours quelque chose.
Jun 3, 2009
Comment ca va?
exp. – how do you feel?
To follow up on my last entry, I took the metro again this week when there wasn’t a strike and found it just as unpleasant during the rush hour commute. So I guess the strike wasn’t as much to blame after all, but regardless I still appreciate our car even more. We took the bus over the weekend with my father who is visiting and he pointed out that there’s an awful lot of wasted space where there could be more seats. We realized after talking it over that in fact the empty space is well utilized when the bus is crowded as more people can stand, but luckily that’s been something I haven’t experienced yet.
Being squeezed into a crowded space makes me cranky or as the French say, “etre de mauvais poil.” Literally translated this means to be of bad hair. “A poil” or at hair actually means to be naked. While “cheveux” refers to the hair(s) on your head, “poil” refers to the hair that covers the rest of your body. So you can just be at hair when you’re undressed, be of bad hair when you’re in a bad mood, or be of good hair, “etre de bon poil,” when you’re in a good mood.
To be in a good mood can also be described as “avoir la peche” or “avoir la patate,” having the peach or having the potato. I’m not sure what the connection is with the two other than the fact that they both begin with the letter “p” and both can be eaten. Of course Americans do use the expression peachy or peachy keen which is really cheesy if you’ll forgive another food reference. Food references also come into play with another way to say you’re not feeling your best, “je ne suis pas dans mon assiette” or I'm not in my plate. “Gronion” is a word for grumpy, usually used for children and not to be confused with “ronion,” which are veal kidneys and “onion,” which means the same thing in French as in English…once more, back to food.
“Heureux,” “content,” “ravi” mean happy, content, thrilled in that order. “J’ai hate de…” actually doesn’t mean you hate something, but rather you’re looking forward to something. “Detester” is the verb for hate or detest. Of course my mother always told me that you shouldn’t hate anyone or anything, but rather you should use the word dislike. So to reiterate I dislike being in a crowded space as it makes me be of bad hair when I would rather have the peach and be in my plate.
To follow up on my last entry, I took the metro again this week when there wasn’t a strike and found it just as unpleasant during the rush hour commute. So I guess the strike wasn’t as much to blame after all, but regardless I still appreciate our car even more. We took the bus over the weekend with my father who is visiting and he pointed out that there’s an awful lot of wasted space where there could be more seats. We realized after talking it over that in fact the empty space is well utilized when the bus is crowded as more people can stand, but luckily that’s been something I haven’t experienced yet.
Being squeezed into a crowded space makes me cranky or as the French say, “etre de mauvais poil.” Literally translated this means to be of bad hair. “A poil” or at hair actually means to be naked. While “cheveux” refers to the hair(s) on your head, “poil” refers to the hair that covers the rest of your body. So you can just be at hair when you’re undressed, be of bad hair when you’re in a bad mood, or be of good hair, “etre de bon poil,” when you’re in a good mood.
To be in a good mood can also be described as “avoir la peche” or “avoir la patate,” having the peach or having the potato. I’m not sure what the connection is with the two other than the fact that they both begin with the letter “p” and both can be eaten. Of course Americans do use the expression peachy or peachy keen which is really cheesy if you’ll forgive another food reference. Food references also come into play with another way to say you’re not feeling your best, “je ne suis pas dans mon assiette” or I'm not in my plate. “Gronion” is a word for grumpy, usually used for children and not to be confused with “ronion,” which are veal kidneys and “onion,” which means the same thing in French as in English…once more, back to food.
“Heureux,” “content,” “ravi” mean happy, content, thrilled in that order. “J’ai hate de…” actually doesn’t mean you hate something, but rather you’re looking forward to something. “Detester” is the verb for hate or detest. Of course my mother always told me that you shouldn’t hate anyone or anything, but rather you should use the word dislike. So to reiterate I dislike being in a crowded space as it makes me be of bad hair when I would rather have the peach and be in my plate.
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