On heritage and baby bottles

It seems unimportant, but the word I used for the title of this post is perfectly representative of an ongoing French debate. France has always taken pride in its Latin roots and often flaunts its lavishly elaborate language. A contested linguistic influence is that of the Anglophone world, i.e. the frequent use of English words to refer to concepts that already have their French formulation. My Literature teacher, for instance, would have insisted I use the expression garde d’enfants instead of the disgustingly American term ‘babysitting’. Yet the reality of language is that the more modern society gets, the more ‘old-wordly’ French set expressions sound. I cannot stand it when people use ‘la Toile’ for the Web, or ‘courriel’ for e-mails. Canadian French, a perfect illustration of this idea, is widely made fun of for its strange-sounding transpositions of basic English terms to French. Although most people will admit that their wacky accent has much to do with it. I just do not get why it is judged ‘fancy’ to use obsolete Latin terms, yet we are forced to banish mainstream, widely-known and understood English words. Surely the beauty of language lies in its constant evolution, and in the fact that it is constantly being enriched and enlivened by an ever-growing vocabulary?

The theme I wanted to explore, call it garde d’enfants or babysitting, now seems kind of trivial next to such a violent debate. I say ‘debate’, but in fact it is just a declaration of war against the Anglophone invader. Every French important figure seems to share the same hatred of the English language – at least the hatred of its presence in everyday French - but then I suppose anyone who supports the opposite suggestion would appear unpatriotic. I understand the French policy of seeking to reinforce French culture and language so as to “reconquer our former grandeur”, but I honestly think that the ‘enemy’ lies elsewhere.

I was meaning to celebrate the fact that babysitting, along with the easy money it brings in, offers the opportunity to cast a glimpse inside the lives of perfect Parisian families, and often is a true social experience. I remember once looking after a two-year-old living in the 10^th arrondissement, whose father belonged to an ancient aristocratic family and who had hung up his family tree above the marital bed, so that the ancestral noms à rallonge* could preside above any profane act of love-making. The daughter had a somewhat ridiculously old-fashioned name. I stopped looking after her when her mother quit working due to pregnancy, and I am curious to know what they are going to call their second child. Having closely studied the aforementioned family tree, things are not looking good for the poor kid. This traditionalist family, wanting la France de l’Ancien Régime** back yet living next to no less than three oriental restaurants (read : kebab shops) in a street full of Chinese clothes stores, is sure to support the reconquête de la langue française.*** Yet in her emails, the mother asks me: “Pourrais-tu babysitter la petite la semaine prochaine?****”, using “to babysit” as a French verb and conjugating it the French way. Blasphemy? Perhaps it is just the beginning of the modernization of French language and culture, and the promise of a mind-broadening embrace of foreign terms, for the reinforcement of a language becoming as colorful as the population that uses it. Pity she does not apply the same rule to her children’s names.

* typical aristocratic names which go on forever. Usually a list of dreadfully old-fashioned first names (at least 3) with a “de” before the last name.

** France before the Revolution, with the division of society in three different classes: the aristocrats, the clergymen and the people.

*** reconquering the French language, a phrase coined by many a politician.

**** “Could you babysit the little one next week?”

Les vitrines de Noël

It is barely December, but you can bet that each and every remotely important city of the world has already adorned its streets and avenues with Christmas lights. You there in New York, or in London, or even in Paris, are you starting to feel the long and painful countdown to winter festivities, even if mince pies and turkey are not yet on the calendar and you still have to plough through that dreary beginning of December? Looking for an immediate uplift? Gorge yourself on the displayed opulence of the Parisian ‘vitrines de Noël’, along with all the other not-impressed-by-December people – and millions of kiddies.

Don’t get me wrong – winter festivities are just that: fun. I look forward as much as anyone to the warm meals and snowy evenings, wrapped gifts and roaring fires, and so on and so forth. But I have barely got over Halloween! November is not even over yet that the Champs Elysées are being all lit up – and get this, this year they are using solar lighting. Well I can understand, as I read that the Champs Elysées Christmas lights alone use as much energy as eight Parisian flats, each occupied by four people during a year… Shocker.

Be it on Oxford Street or the Boulevard Haussmann, the real festive attractions are the vitrines. A true ritual for all accomplished citizens. But whereas Selfridges, when I went to London at the end of October (yes, for Halloween, hence my décalage) was decorated in a minimalistic, arty-farty way (basically: just white. White everything. Some sort of statement?), the Grands Magasins – namely the two titans, the Printemps and the Galeries Lafayette – become full-on, heavily adorned, music-blaring gateways to festive heaven. Couture-clad puppets, winter wonderlands, animal kingdoms… None of the subtle stuff. This year, the vitrines are paying a tribute to megalomania, namely housing Karl Lagerfeld’s massive Chanel delirium, a multiplication of strictly tuxedoed mini-mes, a camellia in the buttonhole, and Vanessa Paradis at the inauguration. Yes, you read correctly, an INAUGURATION. For CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS. Nevertheless, the world and its very well-dressed friend attended it massively, and the event was a front-pager.

All this makes us think about the everlasting role of traditions. An example: I am going to see Twilight tonight, and I do not particularly care for Twilight. I am meeting a friend at Starbucks after school, and I shall inevitably order the ‘seasonal’ version of my usual skinny latte, only to throw it away after a few sips because it is too sweet. But those are just the sort of things you do come winter. They just announce the advent calendars and foie gras overdoses to come. So even if I am tired and fed up of wading through the ever-crowded boulevard Haussman every time I visit my good friend H&M (hum), even if I am never going to buy anything displayed, even if I shall have to fight against runny-nosed, heavily scarved and completely hyped up children, you’ll be sure to see me, nose pressed against the fingerprint-stained glass, counting the mini Karls. 

Le Tour du monde en 14 métros

Ah, Paris. The breathtaking monuments, the lively streets, the well-dressed women, the hell-hole that is Chatelêt-les-Halles.

Have you even taken the Parisian métro? If so, are you still alive? At my first internship this summer, I met  a guy who had moved from the Nice area to Paris a couple of years ago. He said that taking the métro was a somewhat traumatic experience. Coming from a village where there is only one train every hour, he could not understand why people would push their way through the closing, buzzing doors of a departing métro, when another one would arrive three minutes later. Or why everyone would race to the seats in order not to be standing up for a 10-minute journey. And why they would shout at him, push past him, hurl abuse at him for not getting in - and therefore, for 'blocking' the way to the closing doors. Said collegue now has a scooter.

I'll admit it is mainly a case of Parisian rudeness - the aforementioned collegue also got shouted at for 'walking too slowly'. Everyone thinks they are too important to take their time, they are always rushing to go somewhere. Me included - you just find yourself adapting to the racy pace and end up going with the flow.

When I went to Rome, I marvelled at the fact that the tube there only had two different lines. Here, there are fourteen. And most métro stations are barely 50 meters away from each other. Yes, we are lazy. I remember I used to do three changements so I could arrive bang in front of my prépa. As a result, you can get to just about anywhere in Paris by juggling with numbers : line 10 then 4 then 1 for the Marais. Line 8 for the Bastille. Line 10 then 13 for Saint-Lazare. Bingo!

In a recent survey, I read that breathing in the 'métro air' was as bad for you as smoking ten cigarettes at the same time. Another study showed that on one metro seat, many different kinds of urine and semen were found, as well as rat and human excrements, fleas and cockroaches. Gross. When you think of the London tube, which I find so clean and safe, or even the Korean tube, which my best friend says it is so clean that you could probably eat a meal off the floor, this is just shameful.

Yet take line 6 one evening, and look at the amazing view. That line is a métro aérien, meaning that the tracks run through the city above ground - and above people. That is how I really fell in love with Paris, sighing at the clichéed view of the illuminated Eiffel Tower while crossing the Seine. Admittedly, I was not using a seat. I left the others to rush for them and chuckled to myself when I thought of what they were actually sitting on. 

Here we go again

No English word is able to convey the bustling, rustling atmosphere which surrounds the rentrée des classes. This particular event has become a concept in itself, neigh, a complete way of life, requiring much planning and plotting - as well as a distinct publicity stunt. Fail to make the right impression on D-day, and resolve to hang your head in shame the whole year round. Exaggeration? I am sorry to say that it is not.

Of course, when the regular imperatives are coupled with extensive homework and holiday reads, as it is the case in prépa, be warned not to take it all too seriously. French people like to start things du bon pied, and when we know how important education is in the French system, this also applies to the school year. Resolutions, workplans, alarmingly stern first-day-of-school pep talks (in which one can often detect a slight political reference, cliché, anyone?), the works. If you are the type of student who enjoys sizing up the competition on the first day of term (in opposition to sizing up the guys, the normal thing to do - understand, what my friends and I do - when you are a 'summer is over' teenager who is already bored to death by the endless talk of 'discipline', 'punctuality' and 'efficiency'), then good for you. But you probably need a(nother) holiday.

So what, you're thinking, same thing whatever the country. Not exactly. I just think that we have come to an age where we are perfectly capable of pressuring ourselves, thank you very much, and do not need teachers to drill their doctrines into our already half-full skulls. I'll admit it is nice of them to care, really, and some give rather pertinent advice. But no one should leave the classroom trembling after the teacher has boomed, 'If you feel out of place, then you are not meant to be here. Go home.' Admittedly, no one did. But should personal determination be acquired through intimidation? This sort of treatment creates competitive, I-am-going-to-crush-them-all student-types. Very healthy. 

Yes, the French school system is efficient. The country produces well-read, cultured and media-savvy beings. Some of my closest friends belong to that group. But believe me, it ain't easy in day-to-day life. 'You haven't read Dante?' What, are you going to tell me to go home too?!

Ascension et Pentecôte

Here in France they are a religion. A perfect excuse to do sweet f-a for a whole day. Obviously the best day for a bank holiday is a Monday, and - strangely - it's often the case. But the French are clever, especially when it has to do with missing work : the second best-day is Thursday. Why Thursday? A random, generally boring day that's not quite in the middle of the week? Because then you can apply the golden rule in French holidays : le pont. 

Basically, it means that if there is only one day between a bank holiday and the weekend... Well yes, you got it, you just don't show up. And don't get me wrong, it is very nearly institutionnalized, most of the time the boss decides to do it and then of course the employees feel that they should follow the lead. Pont meaning 'bridge', it is a sort of pathway from one work-free day to another, resulting in a nice 4-day-long 'weekend'. Of course, absolutely everything is closed so you just have to lounge about at home and chill, although generally it is an excuse to have 'lovely' family time (and family lunches that last nearly as long as the whole weekend, joy). 

I, for one, enjoy being off school/work as much as anyone, especially during college when we had sports on Mondays, but I cannot stand the idea of not being able to go out or do anything. Oh and the roads are completely unpracticable, expect ginormous traffics jams on the morning of the first day and the evening of the last. And people generally need another weekend to recover. Cue Edith Piaf's singing the country's true motto, 'Je ne veux pas travailler'.

Education and studies

I'll admit my posts here won't be as regular as planned, but I have a very good reason. My schedule is always very busy, as I am lucky enough to be following one of the most prestigious - but also the most demanding - literature courses in France, I give you : the prépa littéraire.


The classe préparatoire is a two-year course taken after students have passed their baccalauréat, the French equivalent for British A-levels. You have different types of prépa : it can be centred around Maths, Economics, Physics or lLterature. As I took a bac littéraire (you have three different bacs, not counting the professional field : L [literature], S [maths, science, physics] and ES [economics]), I mainly studied French literature, languages and Philosophy, so I was better prepared for a prépa littéraire.


Most of you will deduce that this classe préparatoire 'prepares' students for something. Indeed, students who follow this course will take the Ecole Normale Supérieure examination, one of the best french schools. I'll admit its popularity is mainly due to the fact that once you get in, you are payed to study there... but it is also renowned for the quality of the teaching, and if you survive the prépa and the exams, you are sure to have a successful career.


The reason why this course is so prestigious is that it is extremely hard to get a place. You have to be a top student all through your last year of secondary school (accurately named terminale) and have an 'interesting' profile. For example, I know for a fact that I got in because I am bilingual and that I studied German and Latin for 8 years. But then you have different levels of classe prépa, depending on the school. Most of the Parisian ones only accept you if you get straight-As in every subjects, and others are more laid-back. The most well-known prépas - and the first to be established - are the ones at the lycées Louis-le-Grand and Henri IV, in the center of Paris, near the Sorbonne.


Prépas are extremely demanding : even though it is littéraire, we study History and Geography as well as French, Philosophy and two languages. The 30-hour-a-week schedule is rendered even more difficult by the amount of work that is assigned. I am lucky to be in a good prépa, but not one of the top ones, so the pressure is not as important as the one that 'the nation's elite' suffers from.


The French education system is complex and differs a great deal from the English and American one. I tried to be as clear and succinct as possible, but I have a great deal to say on the subject, so expect a few more school-related posts to come!


Bonne soirée !