Franglais

Two weeks ago, I headed out to the tram stop close to where the interview for the Geneva Environment Network was going to take place.  Central Geneva is very intuitive, with street signs everywhere, but, all of a sudden, I was in the suburbs with very poor directions.  Great.

"The Smurfs" Apartment Complex

I started asking people at the stop if they knew where the street, building, anything was.  A few had no idea.  Several others, "parlez-vous anglais?".  Still others, after trying both French and English, would shake their heads - "espagnol?" or not even offering another language, knowing I wouldn't know it.

This seems to be pretty normal.  Geneva is a bit like New York City, surrounded by a completely different state / country and a bay / lake - in the same way, the culture and the people are different from anywhere else in Switzerland.  This being the European UN headquarters, most people are from somewhere else, and, most people speak English, French, and usually at least one other language well (intimidating).

On Thursday, my group went out for a farewell lunch for a fellow intern.  My boss, Diana, who always mulls over her words before offering what's on her mind, turned to me as I was looking over the menu.

Diana: I invite you.
Me: To what?
Diana: I invite you.
Me: Thank you, but to what?
Gianfranco (co-worker): She's inviting you.
Me: Oh, ok...

Me to Gianfranco, when Diana wasn't paying attention: Does that mean she's paying?

Most people I've met at work have already labeled me as "English-speaking" and have stopped talking to me in French entirely, forgetting I can.  Often, they'll have an entire conversation in French and afterward synthesize it for me, leaving me wondering, was I not supposed to hear the whole story?

The person who most consistently talks to me in French is my office-mate, Dimitry, a Russian who grew up in Utah, of all places. (But after he defended the Mormon faith by telling me that Glenn Beck practices it, well... best avoided)

I finally got around to taking some dance classes here.  On Thursday, I arrived early for the modern-jazz class, got ready, and sat down in the lobby.  From one of the studios, I could hear a class in session, apparently dancing to the Pussycat Doll's "When I Grow Up".  Exactly on the hour, the door opened... and 6-year-olds came out... in leotards and ballet shoes.  I mean, I guess the song has a decent message for kids, but.. it's the Pussycat Dolls.

Dance classes in French scare me.  I'm always afraid I'm not going to understand the directions and end up doing something stupid.  But the class ended up being a carbon copy of the typical jazz class in the States, and all her qualifying statements were exactly the same.  I guess all dance classes really are created equal.  And, of course, we ended up learning a small routine to Michael Buble's "Georgia on my Mind".

So far, this has been a great place to practice French.  When I was in Paris, I got to a point where every new French word replaced an English word.  Here, switching back and forth prevents that from happening again (yay for remembering my own language!).  And never knowing what's coming up next is pretty fun.

Out for a Sunday stroll

Stretch!

Geneva, Take Two

I added a page count at the bottom of this page a few weeks ago and it makes me wonder who all is reading my blog!  I guess I'll find out once I get home.  And according to the little graph next to it, people enjoy it most when there's lots of drama going on.

View of Geneva from Mont Saleve (UN building in upper right)

I was sitting in my room on Sunday morning, prepared to get through a long list of things I've been meaning to do once more settled, and I randomly remembered someone mentioning an aerial tramway that gives an amazing view of Geneva and the Alps.  I looked it up online and, sure enough, November 14 was the last day it would run until January.

Two hours later, I was at the top of Mont Salève, getting a picturesque view of a city that's really been growing on me and the mountain ranges I can't get enough of.

I don't know why I place so much significance on things that happen out of chance.  I've already been disappointed by the things that haven't worked out in my favor - the macaron course being closed before I could register, the au pair job.

I <3 organs

But when I met Nemecia, the landlady who showed me a room in her apartment, I knew I had to take her up on her offer.  One of the first things she said when we met up was "is it fine if we address each other as tu?"

Back when I was still an au pair, after having yelled at Andrea, I was downstairs trying to collect myself.  The concierge, seeing me crying, asked what was wrong.  After listening to my story, she told me that I shouldn't let the kids treat me like that and that, when it came down to it, I could always leave.  Later, after thanking her for her kindness, she mentioned that I should post ads in grocery stores.

Right.  Grocery store ads.  Right before leaving for the Alps with the Ho family for the weekend, I put up ads close to where I'm now volunteering, hoping to catch people on their weekend grocery run.  Sure enough, by Sunday I was getting phone calls.  Nemecia's 23-year-old daughter, who also lives here, saw the ad and told her mom to call right away.  What sheer luck.

In a much larger sense, all of this has happened through chance.  Choosing to go to Cornell was a bit misguided as far as the program and timing went, but that's how I met the amazing friends I'm going to be visiting later in the trip and where I heard of this gap year idea in the first place.  It was at Cornell, too, that I finally took a course in sustainability, on a whim, a subject that I'm planning to explore more through my volunteering and hopefully apply in my work when I get back.

It's weird how topsy-turvy life can be, but somehow some things just fall into place.

Still alive and well

And that's not to mention the fact that, on this photographic journey around the world, I managed to pick such a photogenic city.  I originally chose Geneva because it's French-speaking, has a lot of great environmental organizations, and seemed very culturally appealing.

But, coincidentally:

1. 1. I'm spanning Fall and Winter, two gorgeous seasons over here.
2. 2. The sun never seems to be directly overhead.  I still don't understand this phenomenon - it certainly doesn't do wonders for this pale glow I've been working at - but it means that it's almost always great lighting.
3. 3. The city is nestled between the Alps, Mont Blanc, and several other mountain ranges.
4. 4. The clouds here are amazing.

And now here I am, living in Geneva, volunteering at a really cool organization, the Geneva Environment Network, and enjoying going to work everyday, even if it's unpaid.  My co-workers are great, I can pick what I want to work on (like taking pictures for events), and I can take time off as I please.

I am so happy for how things have turned out.  Being at the Ho's house has made everything since so much more enjoyable and the fall just that much more beautiful.  It's a relief to know, if nothing else, that I have learned what I'm willing to put up with and that I can get out of such a bad situation with such ease.

I could stare at the Alps for hours....

An interesting start to Geneva

I've done two very uncharacteristic things since I arrived in Geneva (to the tune of Geneva leaves and Alpine snow, since that's primarily what I've taken pictures of so far).

1. I blew a fuse.

I arrived in Geneva on Sunday afternoon and met the two kids.  By all appearances, they were sweet and well-behaved, always on top of the time (a Swiss thing, apparently).  They did their homework when they were supposed to, ate everything, and went to bed on time without being asked.

My original intent with being an au pair was to save money.  The mom said I'd get my own studio downstairs from their apartment, I'd get a good amount of money for 3 months' work, and my tasks would only involve speaking in English, light housework, and helping with homework.

But things changed when I got there.  As she originally expected me longer, the studio "wasn't available", so I had to set up my room in the office, which the mom still used for work and the kids used for playing video games.  The money?  Oh, I'd get that at the end (conveniently in Swiss francs, of course).  The light housework?  Making their beds, setting out their clothes for the next day, setting up their meals just so, cooking, etc.

And the kids... that's another story.  I should've known better, showing up in an apartment clad in Prada and Gucci, that I'd be dealing with the nouveau riche.  Apparently, Dior makes teddy bears and kids' jackets, Hotel de Vendôme makes ashtrays, and  Roberto Cavalli makes kids' jeans.  And, honestly, what 10- or 11-year-old boy wears cologne?  And Guerlain, Hermès, and Chanel, for that matter?

As the days went by, the kids let their wonderful personalities shine through.  While setting up breakfast: "You put too much milk in my glass, it could spill."  While helping the older one with his English homework: "We need to work faster, I have to go to bed soon."  While speaking to him in English: "We don't have the time for that."  And they used to their advantage, time and again, the fact that, if they mumbled and talked quickly enough in French, I wouldn't understand.

It doesn't help when the mother, aptly named Madame Ho (or the mère d'enfer, I coined her), refused to address me as the informal French "tu" (you), but the more professional, removed "vous".  Most au pair ads advertize being a "sister" for the kids, but calling me "vous" places me among the cleaning staff, i.e. someone paid for a service and told what to do, as it seems to be here.  And when she tells everyone I meet that I speak English and "un peu de francais", I know where things stand.

But it got to a point I couldn't handle anymore.  Last Wednesday, the mom suggested I go to the park with the boys.  After stripping them away from their video games and letting them get away with not bringing the dogs, I headed out the door with Jeremy; Andrea didn't follow.  "Where's your brother?"  "Oh, he didn't want to come."

I was livid.  I went back into the apartment and found him, unphased.

"Why aren't you coming?"

"I don't want to."

"But your mom said that you need to get outside for a bit - you need to listen to her."

"Fine, if you want to go outside, go."

"Andrea, you are being juvenile."

"No, you are."

Needless to say, my French has improved because of the kids.  I slammed the door, rushed out of the apartment, and went downstairs with Jeremy.  We passed by the mom, who asked what was going on.  I muttered, "He won't come", which is all I could get out because I was shaking and crying so hard.

In my experience, if a kid is disrespectful, the parent usually comes back with the kid and has him/her to apologize.  Not so.  After a 20-minute walk, she eventually called me and I joined her and the kids for the walk we were supposed to have.  In her usual long-winded way, she said, essentially, that she can't excuse what he's done, but I need to be able to keep my cool and I shouldn't leave them alone.  She told Andrea that he needs to listen to me, but she never got the point across, since he kept fighting back.  No apology.

Point taken.  These kids will always have the upper hand if the mom continues to defend them, if I can't scold them, and if everyone in their life concedes to their every whim.

2. I quit something.

I always follow through with things.  I learned from an early age that if you agree to something - babysitting, parties, dance, soccer - you do it, even if something better comes up or you lose interest.  I remember my last year of soccer (which I was terrible at), driving to the coach's house with the registration forms in hand.  My mom asked, "Are you sure you want to do another year?"  I said yes, thinking of the trophy I'd get at the end, despite not liking the sport.



This morning, I packed my bags and left.

Of course, it didn't go quite as planned.  I got up at 5 am so I could leave long before everyone got up and Maria (the cleaning lady) came.  I got ready, packed my bags, got my backpack on, and was good to go.  Except the door was locked...  I was locked in.


Maria had the spare keys because we had headed out for the weekend and I had no way out.  Great.  But, randomly, she came in and must have gone to the bathroom or something, because I never saw her.  I grabbed my stuff and ran.



I get that this isn't mature or rational - an eye for an eye leaves the world blind; Madame Ho had even sent me a text message saying that this was scandalous and dishonest.  I can't imagine what it would be like to wake up and not have the au pair you once had.  But I had tried time and again to talk to her about the expectations of my staying there - the studio, money, etc. - and she would always pass it off, saying "don't worry about it".

I decided that this is my year, not the kids'.  I have enough to sort through myself without making their manners my personal project.  And, in the end, this was a good experience, making me realize that sometimes you just have to leave a bad situation.

For now, I'm staying at a hostel, where I'll be until Thursday.  I'm checking out a room in an apartment close to where I'll be volunteering and I have several other offers to crash at peoples' places.  And now I'm heading to the Geneva Environment Network, an organization within the UN Environment Program, where I'll help out with projects and events.  I'm super excited to get started!

This next week (and the next blog entry) will be much better, I just know it.  I have lots of great pictures I need to get up (including from my trip to the Alps with the family this last weekend).  I miss you all!