When I was younger, I was taught that I should shake hands with people upon meeting someone for the first time or simply seeing a friend. As I entered my high school years, it became commonplace to hug a girl upon seeing her, but to still shake hands or give high-fives to guys upon seeing them. I think this is pretty standard for the majority of America, especially for those of us who were raised in the suburbs.
Then, when I arrived in Miami, I started seeing this new phenomenon that absolutely blew my mind and made me a little uncomfortable at first: people were exchanging kisses on the cheek as a friendly greeting method. At first, I was pretty hesitant and slow to acclimate. I remember vividly the first time that a girl went in for the kiss-on-the-cheek-hello, I was at a loss and really had no idea how to react. I just kind of stood there, half hugged her, and let her kiss me on the cheek. I think a lot of this influence comes from the Latin vibe down in Miami; it is the cultural norm for many Hispanics.
Then came my study abroad experience in Spain. I still had not completely warmed to the idea of one kiss on the cheek when to my dismay, I saw people everywhere doing two kisses: kiss on one cheek, quickly pull the head back, rotate the neck, kiss on the other cheek. However, I got the double kiss down pretty smoothly. Maybe it was a direct effect of the frequency of drinking alcohol in Spain that made me more comfortable kissing people hello, or maybe it was my willingness to open up to other cultures as someone studying in another country. Regardless, when I got back to Miami, the single kiss was a breeze.
Two kisses is the maximum, right? Nobody in their right mind would do more than two, right? Wrong. Now that I am living in Geneva, the customary greeting is three kisses. It is a little bit time consuming to be honest. This is because the kisses come at the greeting, and then they come again when someone departs. So there are a lot of cheeks being kissed. Nevertheless, the kissing has really grown on me. I find that it is a warmer way to greet friends, family, or friends of friends. Sure, three might be a little over the top, but I am going with the flow.
I am just waiting to find the country where four kisses will be the social norm.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
The Stereotypical Frenchman
Last night I went out to have a couple of beers with a few guys I know from class. It was me, another American, a French guy, and two Swiss-German guys. We got into a discussion about stereotypes and what our respective countries think of the others. So the French guy went first, saying that French people think Americans are loud, easily excitable and overly demonstrative. For example, he says he met an American in New York, and upon learning he was French, the American yelled, "Oh my GOD, you are FRENCH? Wowwww, like from PARIS OR WHAT? Say something in French!"
Then it was our turn to say what the stereotype in our countries was of the French. We all agreed that the stereotype is a cold, unwelcoming people who are more than a little rude to outsiders. Then, we started talking about how a typical French person looks. We started off with the pointy, overly formal shoes that are worn even on the most informal of occasions. Then the tight, dark blue jeans, a long-sleeve collared shirt covered with a sweater, and then a trendy blazer usually over that. Definitely wearing a scarf; probably carrying a baguette; possibly wearing a beret; prone to carrying a fashionable handbag.
On this last point, the French guy started saying how he needs a new Longchamp hand bag for class. I said, "Oh yeah, my girlfriend was saying she needs one too." He insisted that men and women's Longchamp bags were different, and he even went so far as to sketch the difference out on a napkin. When he drew the "man's" Longchamp bag, I again said,"That is exactly the one my girlfriend wants." It reminded me a lot of the Seinfeld episode where Jerry buys a European carry-all, and when robbed on the street, he yells, "Officer, that guy just stole my European carry-all!" The officer says, "Your what? Oh, you mean your purse?"
We also joked that French people like to ask rhetorical questions in conversation, and then shrug one shoulder and stick their chin out in front of their face and higher than normal. Also, when they do not know the answer to something, they make a peculiar little noise. To replicate this noise, purse your lips and blow air out from between your pursed lips. It sounds like a little fart.
There is a joke that goes like this: There are two French butts sitting on the beach talking to each other. One butt asks the other butt, "What time is it?" The other butt responds with the little fart noise.
The conversation got a little more serious when we started talking about Nicolas Sarkozy and the recently enacted law that the retirement age in France will change from 60 to 62. The French guy got really worked up about it, telling stories about how rude and power hungry Sarkozy acts. Next week there are going to be daily protests against this new law. I am in three-person group for one of my classes, and when we were trying to arrange a time to meet to discuss a research paper, the French guy (a new one, not the same one) said he could not come next Thursday. I asked why not, and he said he is taking part in a protest in France Thursday against the new law. That was honestly the first time someone has told me they could not do something due to a social protest.
Then it was our turn to say what the stereotype in our countries was of the French. We all agreed that the stereotype is a cold, unwelcoming people who are more than a little rude to outsiders. Then, we started talking about how a typical French person looks. We started off with the pointy, overly formal shoes that are worn even on the most informal of occasions. Then the tight, dark blue jeans, a long-sleeve collared shirt covered with a sweater, and then a trendy blazer usually over that. Definitely wearing a scarf; probably carrying a baguette; possibly wearing a beret; prone to carrying a fashionable handbag.
On this last point, the French guy started saying how he needs a new Longchamp hand bag for class. I said, "Oh yeah, my girlfriend was saying she needs one too." He insisted that men and women's Longchamp bags were different, and he even went so far as to sketch the difference out on a napkin. When he drew the "man's" Longchamp bag, I again said,"That is exactly the one my girlfriend wants." It reminded me a lot of the Seinfeld episode where Jerry buys a European carry-all, and when robbed on the street, he yells, "Officer, that guy just stole my European carry-all!" The officer says, "Your what? Oh, you mean your purse?"
We also joked that French people like to ask rhetorical questions in conversation, and then shrug one shoulder and stick their chin out in front of their face and higher than normal. Also, when they do not know the answer to something, they make a peculiar little noise. To replicate this noise, purse your lips and blow air out from between your pursed lips. It sounds like a little fart.
There is a joke that goes like this: There are two French butts sitting on the beach talking to each other. One butt asks the other butt, "What time is it?" The other butt responds with the little fart noise.
The conversation got a little more serious when we started talking about Nicolas Sarkozy and the recently enacted law that the retirement age in France will change from 60 to 62. The French guy got really worked up about it, telling stories about how rude and power hungry Sarkozy acts. Next week there are going to be daily protests against this new law. I am in three-person group for one of my classes, and when we were trying to arrange a time to meet to discuss a research paper, the French guy (a new one, not the same one) said he could not come next Thursday. I asked why not, and he said he is taking part in a protest in France Thursday against the new law. That was honestly the first time someone has told me they could not do something due to a social protest.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Bikes, Bars and Hookers
Classes are in full gear at the start of the fourth week. We only have 14 weeks of class, but we go all the way through Christmas Eve, which is an absolute travesty in my opinion. Who ever heard of going to school on Christmas Eve? Not me.
I had my first ever presentation in French in front of my International Relations seminar last week. I hate reading presentations, so I tried to just talk to people and make eye contact with the class like I would do in an English presentation. It did not go quite as smoothly as it would have in English. My mouth got really dry, my armpits starting sweating, and I stumbled my way through the presentation. I got my point across, but I was certainly anything but the smooth talking presenter that I normally am. I will have to work on it, because I still have two more presentations this semester in my other two seminar courses.
Last weekend I went out to a bar with some friends I met this summer. My roommate offered to let me take his bike, so I took him up on the offer because the buses and trams take quite a while to arrive to where I wanted to go. I must have biked about 9 or 10 miles in total that night, but I cannot remember the last time I had so much fun on a bike. I am not really sure if I followed the proper biking rules of Geneva, but I tried to stay in the bike lane as much as possible. Then when the bike lane would disappear, I just kind of cruised in the middle of the road. That may have been the wrong decision, but the streets were relatively empty at 3 a.m.
We went out in a pretty dodgy part of town. Geneva has a rule that prostitution is legal as long as there is no third party involved (a.k.a. a pimp), and the area we were out in was more or less Geneva's red light district. The bar was pretty interesting too. There were a lot of girls who looked pretty manly, and after seeing the sizes of their calves, it becomes pretty apparent that they were not actually girls. But that is the life in free-thinking Geneva I suppose. If you do not want to see that, then go out in a different part of town.
This is my first Fall since 2005. As unmanly as this is going to sound, I really enjoy seeing all the leaves changing colors and falling off the trees. In Miami that does not happen. With the cold weather, out come the scarves. People here absolutely love scarves. I go to class, and everybody around me is sporting a scarf; even in class they do not remove the scarves. I have three scarves in my wardrobe. I think I need to up that number to at least nine to fit in around here.
I had my first ever presentation in French in front of my International Relations seminar last week. I hate reading presentations, so I tried to just talk to people and make eye contact with the class like I would do in an English presentation. It did not go quite as smoothly as it would have in English. My mouth got really dry, my armpits starting sweating, and I stumbled my way through the presentation. I got my point across, but I was certainly anything but the smooth talking presenter that I normally am. I will have to work on it, because I still have two more presentations this semester in my other two seminar courses.
Last weekend I went out to a bar with some friends I met this summer. My roommate offered to let me take his bike, so I took him up on the offer because the buses and trams take quite a while to arrive to where I wanted to go. I must have biked about 9 or 10 miles in total that night, but I cannot remember the last time I had so much fun on a bike. I am not really sure if I followed the proper biking rules of Geneva, but I tried to stay in the bike lane as much as possible. Then when the bike lane would disappear, I just kind of cruised in the middle of the road. That may have been the wrong decision, but the streets were relatively empty at 3 a.m.
We went out in a pretty dodgy part of town. Geneva has a rule that prostitution is legal as long as there is no third party involved (a.k.a. a pimp), and the area we were out in was more or less Geneva's red light district. The bar was pretty interesting too. There were a lot of girls who looked pretty manly, and after seeing the sizes of their calves, it becomes pretty apparent that they were not actually girls. But that is the life in free-thinking Geneva I suppose. If you do not want to see that, then go out in a different part of town.
This is my first Fall since 2005. As unmanly as this is going to sound, I really enjoy seeing all the leaves changing colors and falling off the trees. In Miami that does not happen. With the cold weather, out come the scarves. People here absolutely love scarves. I go to class, and everybody around me is sporting a scarf; even in class they do not remove the scarves. I have three scarves in my wardrobe. I think I need to up that number to at least nine to fit in around here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)