POACHING FOR EUROS: Part 1

First, I would like to emphasize that this Post is targeted specifically to American women in France, and those looking to live in France…actually to American woman everywhere.

Not long ago, I was having lunch with some American women who happened to be married to or living with French men. They were exploring the reasons for the difficulties in developing friendships with French women.

Reasons explored ranged from “they tend to make their friends in elementary school» or “they are so busy with their raising their families and cooking gourmet meals for their men, or “they are not as liberated as American women…they close their eyes to their men’s affairs” to “I am so intimidated by those stylish French women and their chic, black ensembles.”

It made me reflect on the numerous books on the allure of French women published by Anglophones.

After indulging in a conversation and theories that went nowhere, we changed the subject, finished lunch after which I returned home to the comfy familiarity of my American husband.

Later that day, I looked up books on Amazon.fr to see whether French women extolled the feistiness, progressive and liberated openness… or anything else positive at all…about the American woman.

I found nothing!

Nothing titled, “Unlock Your Inner American Woman”, “Those Lucky American Chicks Who Mostly Sleep Alone,” or even “The American Amazons of the Women’s Liberation Movement: What On Earth Is Their Secret?”.

Again...absolutely nothing.

(Perhaps some of you out there might be able to name a few for me). It simply appeared to me that here was no reciprocal interest between French and American women, regarding anything! Not even PMS.

Over the years I’ve met French women who expressed in subtle and diplomatic ways a curiosity of what the attraction American women had for their lifestyles…French cuisine and politesse, notwithstanding… and their men, in particular. It seemed to them that we, American women, had access to more wealth, comforts and gorgeous men of such diversity that it was globally enviable. Or so they said.

I kid you not!

It’s no wonder that thousands upon thousands of French women every year clandestinely flock to Greenwich (Village), San Francisco and Disney World in search of the American Woman’s secret allure and wonderful quality of life!

But then…I digress…

Although, I can personally understand the unpredictable power of love and the unpredictability of where one might unearth a lover or mate in this big wide world, I can also understand the ominous consequences of choosing a life partner from a tribe whose women are an unknown entity to a newcomer.

When a woman enters a foreign culture she instantly acquires the status of the women of that culture. Remember that.

On impact, I might look like a poacher, myself. However, my girly- girl posse, prior to marriage and for most of my life, actually, consisted of primarily members of the tribe among whom I eventually found my mate. It was inevitable that I would end up marrying one of the members of their family. I had been acculturated by the population of that particular tribe already and was quite familiar with the nuances of the male-female relationships within that tribe.

My advice to my American sisters: Do some serious research. Put romantic notions on the back burner...especially after your sweet sixteenth birthday. Read up on American foreign relations… think twice before poaching. It could prove hazardous to one's emotional, financial, social and spiritual well being.

Of course, that is unless one is a War or Mail Order Bride. Then that’s a whole ‘nother story…n’est-ce-pas?

Running Late!

Google Images



View from Windows on the World Restaurant

  I realize that this is October 11th…an entire month after most expats have posted their remembrance of 9/11. Finally here is mine.

So sorry about running late!

We had already been living in France, in Villefranche Sur Mer, for over two years on that fateful day when we were running late for an appointment in Nice.

My husband called me into our Den, pointed to the TV screen and said, “Look at this! What do you think of this?”

We both stared… horrified… at the image of a blazing tower of the World Trade Center. The news announcer had said that a plane had flown into the building.

Realizing that, as native New Yorkers, many of our friends and relatives were still living in the New York City Metropolitan area and that it appeared that they were now under attack, we looked at one another…speechless…and frightened in a manner we had never experienced in our entire adult life.

"Perhaps those N.Y.U. film students are up to their old shenanigans again…seizing the TV stations...or something...,” I quipped, in a misguided attempt at adding levity to our state of confusion..

What one earth was going on?



Should we call home?



We did. All the lines were busy.



We were running late for our appointment in Nice.



We turned off the TV got in our car and immediately turned on the news on Riviera Radio, just in time too hear the announcer state quite flatly that ‘the Twin Towers were no more!”

Impossible!



That massive structure… the Titanic of Manhattan (I had prophetically called it for years), could not possibly be gone! Transforming from a flaming inferno of death and destruction... to now toxic rubble. After all, we had just had dinner with friends at its restaurant, Windows on the World, a couple of years earlier for my birthday!

Impossible! Ridiculous!

Those film school students should be flogged, I thought again, just not wanting to believe.

We went though the rest of the day, after our appointment, running errands and buying newspapers. Not a single person we encountered in our local French Riviera towns seemed to us to have heard or read anything, despite the screaming headlines. Not one person broached the subject. Not a twit or tweet…so to speak.

Anyway when we finally got through to various friends and relatives in New York City, over the next few days, this is what we heard:

“I was running late…looked out my window and saw a plane flying into one of the towers…”

Another:

“I was running late, I turned on the TV to see that a second plane had already flown into the World Trade Center building. I realized I would not be going to work!”

Another:

“I was running late. My view from Jersey faces lower Manhattan. When I looked out my window, I saw smoke. I put on my binoculars to see what was happening. There was no way I was going to work that day!”

Another:

“My husband and I were running late on the Long Island Railroad. When we arrived at Grand Central there was pandemonium. Everyone screaming about a terrorist attack in lower Manhattan. I realized, then that I had no physical courage.”

And another:

“I was running late. When I arrived at the lobby of my apartment building, my Doorman said that there had been an attack on the World Trade building. Obviously I wasn’t exacting going to go to work. All I know is that I better get paid this month!”

And finally…

"I was running late to my job at the World Trade Center.. If I had arrived minutes earlier, I would not be here talking to you at this very moment because I would have been in the building's elevator when the first plane hit the building!”

My conclusion is that, as my Mom would say, I am "truly blessed” to have had tardy friends and relatives!

For the record though, despite surviving the worst catastrophe in North American history committed on North American soil, the general fall- out resulted in a certain amount of alienation from friends Stateside.. An alienation which generally grows between those who have physically survived a holocaust and those who only experienced one in theory or by distance.


Those survivors in New York had to continue to work and breath in contaminated air. All had to work, in various ways, through posttraumatic stress disorders and a lingering and haunting fear that there had not yet been closure in the assault.

Nevertheless we all still live…except one friend who I lost three years ago to the long-term effects of having to continue to work at her office near Ground Zero.


She had been running late that day as well.

Wall Street English: Does The Sun Still Not Set On The British Empire?

(photos from google images )


Taiwan

For years I noticed…all over Nice… on bill boards, buses and bus stop shelters, humungous ads for The Wall Street English Institutes.

Having no need to study something like this nor the desire to teach English, I continued to remain mildly curious without checking out what it was all about. Besides, here in Nice, the School was originally located at the Nice Etoile. The Etoile is not someplace I frequent often since I had already "o.d."-ed on Malls in the States and had no intention of taking up the habit here in France with all the fabulous specialty shops and boutiques in town that fullfil every need of a Francophile with international predilections like myself.



old location at Nice Etoile

But…I digress…


Well yesterday, I discovered that The Wall Street English School had relocated to a building on the rue de France. It also has a residence in what I call the English Countryside on avenue Guynemer, in Saint Laurent du Var. Since we were in the neighbourhood, I decided to stop in on the one in downtown Nice.

When I walked in, the exotic-looking young lady at the desk looked as if her Mom had entered ready to reprimand her for some disreputable act.

I introduced myself and then asked her to define "Wall Street English." Did it mean that they taught American English instead of British English?  After all, last I remember Wall Street was located in lower Manhattan. In New York City. In the United States.

The young lady responded by saying, “Both, Madame”. And then she handed me this brochure:

Question: As an American, should I be insulted by this?

In addition, it is stated in the brochure that The Wall Street English Institute is recognized and approved by THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE!!! 

Oh golly...gee wiz...imagine that!

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