Letter from France 8

 

Wednesday, 7/12/89

 

Folks,

 

Well, have been here five months and am finally starting to realize how strange this place is. A few weeks ago some of the second-year students went out to “the farm” to perform some work-in-progress clown routines. The farm is an extension of the circus school where they stable horses and have more space to practice. Recently a high-wire rig has been installed.

 

Since some of the clowns are also jugglers, I went out to see their work. Not bad for unfinished pieces. The significant portion of the evening hit me after the show. It hasn't been getting dark until about 10 pm, so we were all standing around, hanging out. Pretty soon, some of the students decided to go up the high wire and show off a bit. With safety lines and a net there is no danger. Friends were watching, so they started trying some risky stuff. An appreciative crowd gathered, more people went up the wire.

 

And then it hit me: I live in a circus. I mean, for four months I've been trying to think of myself as teaching at a junior college, but I really can't deny it anymore. I live in a circus. People wander around with red noses on and for entertainment on a Friday night jump up and down on a high wire. The lunchroom view consists of jugglers a nd people standing either upside-down or balanced on one anthers' heads. Just going to my office, I pass by people literally flying through the air on a trapeze.

 

What is a person to do? My way of coping is to take it all in stride. When passing the trapeze artists or high-wire people I yell out, "Get down from there! That's dangerous." No one pays any attention, however. Fortunately, we don't have to pound any stakes into the ground or watch where we step. (The horses are out at the farm. No elephants to speak of, at least, I haven’t noticed any.)

 

Another realization is that no matter how patient I am, people are not going to begin speaking English. I used to think this was all some sort of giant fraternity prank or hazing ritual, where everyone in France would pretend to speak only French for the first month or so, and then we could all just talk regular, old English afterwards. I’m beginning to suspect that this is not the case. No matter what hour or day of the week, people insist on speaking French around me and even directly to me. As a test, I tried waking up at 4 am just to make sure the television stations weren't surreptitiously broadcasting in English at that hour. I figured they thought I wouldn't be watching, so it would be safe to revert. Nope, round the clock French; on television, radio, and real life.

 

I try to have fun with it, though. When the mood strikes, I teach people either English, American English, or Californese. Roselyn is pretty quick at the latter, and when successful with a difficult ball-bouncing trick one can hear a distinct surfer-inspired, "Wow, dude, far out!" coming from her. With the others, who are not as advanced, I am content to have them refer to Châlons as a “righteous party town, fershure.”

 

The contract is soon ending, and I am getting short. Will leave our quaint village on Friday and fly out of Paris on Saturday. The administration has asked me to come back for another year, but as with many things in France, we have not yet reached final agreement and signed a contract. The travel agency says I have a reservation, but no ticket has arrived. People assure me this is the French way of doing things. I am taking it all calmly and bemusedly. At this point, I don't really know if the school and I will come to an agreement. They want to hire me, I want to come back, and there are a couple of stupid, little points that have to be taken care of. Of course, my position on all of these points is the right one.

 

Thanks for the vitamins and soap. Vive Dr. Bronner's! For the musical keyboard I would suggest looking in toy stores rather than movie theaters. but, not to worry. I'll be back soon and will see what I can find. Do you carry PRO - VISTRON hair products? I lost my #1110 comb and will need to replace it. For some reason I have a remarkable brand loyalty to this comb. (Wow, hard to imagine I used to need a comb.)

 

take care, Tôdd

 

copyright 1989 by Todd Strong

 

 

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