Cultural Comparisons and Contrasts

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My program here in Marseille is focused on the Middle East and North Africa – all students are required to take Arabic and our humanities classes are focused, in some way, on MENA – so included in our program of study is a weeklong on-site study in Fes, Morocco. Two weeks ago we left Marseille for the start of our adventure. Even though a lot of things were familiar given last semester, I still had an incredible trip. And this time around I had the added experience of my last three months in France. Instead of just thinking about the differences and similarities between Morocco and the U.S. (as I know realize I spent most of September through December doing whether I was aware of it or not), a new spectrum of contrasts and correlations between the U.S, Morocco, and France emerged.  Things struck me about Morocco that I hadn’t picked up on before, parallels between France and Morocco that I hadn’t imagined became evident, and, once again, my own identity as an American was re-enforced just as I was seeking to expand it.  It is a bit hard to organize these relationships in words (on the other hand, I have finally found use for a Venn diagram) but I will try.

The U.S., Morocco, and France

Technology and pop culture have truly succeeded in connecting the entire world. It was still a little shocking to be watching a Pittbull music video while sitting on a couch inside a traditional riyad located in the 9^th century medina and eating tajine with my hands from a communal plate, but that is, apparently, the modern world. Moroccans know all about American music, movies, and television shows. They watch E! News, MTV and youtube videos as much as any American. A Moroccan, an American, and A Frenchwoman could all sit down and have a perfectly delightful conversation about the acting career of Bradley Cooper.

Of course facebook is insanely popular in Morocco. The cultural rules are a bit different (Moroccans seem to think that every time you appear on facebook chat a thirty minute conversation of pleasantries must ensue) but the idea is the same. Just like in France and the U.S. facebook has become a key tool for communication and sharing photos.

And cell phones. Everyone in all three countries has one and is on it frequently. It has actually been a strange experience to be abroad with a crappy twenty-dollar Nokia phone that’s best feature is the game snake, while my French and Moroccan counterparts are whipping out Iphones and playing Angry Birds.

Of course, these similarities that connect three countries are the most modern, you might say even the most American, but their presence is strong. And the foundation they provide  - for starting a conversation or a business – is critical.

France and Morocco

            When you have a meeting at 9:00 am in the states, you get there at 8:45. When you have a meeting at 9:00 am in Morocco, you are lucky if everyone shows by 9:20. There is just no conception of time as something that can be “lost” and therefore no sense of urgency. The same holds true in France, although less so in a professional context. In general, France and Morocco move at a much slower pace than the U.S. People take their time, stop and sip a coffee (café culture is another shared element), and always find the time to exchange pleasantries. While sometimes I find this habit disconcerting, I also relish in taking a lazy afternoon, sitting out in the sun, and munching on a croissant.

Unfortunately, this leisurely mode vanishes, in both countries, the minute the French or the Moroccans enter a vehicle. On the road these civilized café-goers become Tasmanian devils ignoring all road regulations and squeezing three people onto one moped.

            This insanity could have something to do with another similarity between the two countries – a lack of emphasis on practical information. Trying to call a movie theater and find out showing times? You will probably be told that even though the film is set to open the next day the times are unknown, then you will be hung up on. Looking for a bus schedule to get yourself to school in the morning? There isn’t one! Buses don’t have schedules! When they arrive, you can leave. So maybe the information about safe driving just hasn’t been properly disseminated yet.

Morocco and the U.S.

            During my semester in Morocco I was so caught up in the differences between my current residence and my home that I never noticed any similarities. But this time, after 3 months with the French, I could finally see the connections and they were actually comforting. Moroccans – like Americans – like to talk and they like to talk LOUD. In France, everyone speaks with a low, rhythmic voice. Laughing out loud at a restaurant is considered an imposition on your fellow dinners. I have missed shouting to your friends, cracking jokes, and just generally expressing enthusiasm for things. It was also refreshing to have a break from the strict societal norms that govern France. In Morocco, like in the U.S., no one judges you for cutting cheese incorrectly. You don’t have to worry about addressing everyone with the proper form of “you.” Despite the sometimes tense male/female dynamic, there is a much more casual approach to social interactions that reminds me of the U.S.  And I was surprised how much I had missed this familiar, easygoing attitude.

 But even with my discovery of the parallels between the U.S. and Morocco, visit #2 still re-affirmed what I felt four months ago – that while I love Morocco, I find it incredibly difficult to live there. Parallels do exists and there are aspects of Moroccan culture that I prefer to their American counterparts, but overall the differences are vast. There are certain elements that I consider too fundamental to my life (like the freedom to leave my house safely after nine p.m., to wear shorts, to be governed by a democratic system of government, to speak freely) to give up.

The U.S. and France

            This affirmation of the difficulties of living in Morocco, also explained why studying in France has been so easy. Yes, there are cultural differences between the U.S. and France that occasionally drive me crazy. But there are very important elements - secular, democratic governments, the importance cleanliness and hygiene, equality between men and women, liberal social relationships – which both cultures share. And there are the small things, like fashion, grocery stores, interior design and toilets, that in day-to-day life can be almost as critical. When I first arrived, France almost seemed too similar to the U.S. But with time, I realized that these similarities have made my life in France, in the words of a friend, “infinitely easier” than my life in Morocco.

            There is, of course, still a part of me that is distinctly American. That yearns for the independence and individualism that you only find in the U.S. I miss direct communication, yes or no answers were you don’t need to read between the lines.  And I miss the efficiency that comes with our obsession with the Internet – the ability find any information you need online or to receive an instant email response to any question. I want to smile in the street without it being interpreted as an invitation and I want to wave goodbye to a friend or a shop owner and receive a wave in return. But with all the history, art, panoramic views and croissants that France has to offer I think I will survive...

Kif-Kif

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I stare at her, open-mouthed. Shocked that such a word has come out of the mouth of this chic French girl with her typical red lipstick and perfect hair. “What did you just say,” I ask. “Kif-kif,” she responds with a slight accent. “It’s a very popular slang word in Marseille…” she continues, explaining the word to the other American students around us, but I have stopped listening. I already know this word. I heard it for the first time six months ago in Morocco but, while it quickly became on of my favorite Moroccan expressions, I never imagined I would be hearing or using it much outside of Morocco.  I knew Marseille was a diverse city, but before this experience, and others like it, I just didn’t understand the true character of the city.

The meaning of kif-kif is equivalent in Morocco and Marseille; it literally means “the same.” So if your friend orders a coffee at a café and you would like one as well you simply tell the waiter, “kif-kif.” Or if you show up to school wearing the same shirt as another student you laugh and tell everyone you are “kif-kif” fro the rest of the day.

In Morocco you could say kif-kif to anyone and be understood. In Marseille, it’s popular with university and high school students and, of course, in full use among the immigrant families themselves. It is thanks to them, after all, the word entered the city’s vocabulary in the first place. But it’s due to the unique character of Marseille that “kif-kif” achieved its popularity. 

The city is a blend of Mediterranean cultures and has a lexicon and dialect all its own. The rest of France tends to make fun of Marseille with its long “a” vowels and crazy foreign words but I find such integration one of the city’s best qualities. Marseillians themselves don’t consider it strange to incorporate Italian, Spanish, or Arabic words into their conversations. If you question them about their use of a non-French word they will say, “Yes, but I am Marseillais.”

It is this attitude that I couldn’t comprehend before living here. The personality of Marseille is so strong that it overtakes even nationality. And while there are some problems in such a diverse city, there is a such distinct sense of “Marseille” that joins everyone together. So it makes sense the word “kif-kif”(the same) would be in vogue in Marseille. The Marseillans wouldn't have it any other way. 

Film a la francaise

The lights dim. The music begins. John Williams’ notorious melody floods the theater. A picture of outer space appears. The title reads: STAR WARS. But the iconic first line “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…” is not there. Instead, “Il y a bien longtemps dans une glaxie lointaine, tres lointaine…” scrolls across the screen.

The movie theater in France is, in principle, the same as in the U.S. Posters of upcoming attractions cover the walls and everything is decorated in bright colors and modern shapes. But there are little differences that strike me. The popcorn sizes are notably reduced and there is not nearly as much butter soaking the container. Everyone queues up in the main lobby in orderly lines according to the time of their showing. And no one dares show up in sweat pants.

The film too, while visually the same as the American version, changes slightly with French dubbing. The court, casual American phrases are transformed into lengthy formal sentences. Yoda doesn’t sound as strange in French, as the language naturally features inversion (“know you the homework for tomorrow?” is perfectly correct here). And of course the series most famous line “May the force be with you” sounds ridiculous in French “Que la force soit avec toi.”

But the entertainment value is still there. We all laugh at Jar Jar Binks and lean forward during the light saber battles. When the lights come up the boys (young and old) imitate the fights with slashing motions and personal sound effects and everyone is slightly humming along with the credits as we exit.

American culture is not, in general, admired by the French. We drink our coffee too fast. Our food is unoriginal, supersized, and unhealthy. We talk too loud and walk around wearing any old thing. But our movies, our movies are fantastic. Everyone in France knows the latest hit, the hottest actors and actresses, the next big director. They speak about ‘Arrison ‘Ord and ‘Ow I Met ‘Our Mooother” with wonderfully hilarious accents. They admire “The Artsist” even though it hasn’t been released here yet and they mourn the deaths of starts like Heath Ledger and Patrick Swayze.

Films have always been admired in France and with the increased and easy access to information the Internet provides that appreciation has only grown. When I run out of things to talk about with my language partner or my host siblings, I just bring up Hollywood. It’s interesting that this connection is such a superficial one, the movies are never anything like real life. But maybe that’s exactly the point. We all love the escape, the fantasy they provide. The chance to imagine another life, another reality. And while I might have trouble expressing that idea in French, I have no trouble asking if my French friend what she thought of the new DiCaprio movie. And our following conversation, even if it’s basic, adds another element to our relationship, another link to our cross-cultural friendship.

Food Tour

After looking at my pictures from the last week I have concluded that I am not studying abroad, but rather conducting an extensive food tour of France. My journal, which contains the following list of foods that I have tried since arriving (banh bao, rice with chopped peanuts and sugar, banh couh, carmel pork, durian, speculoos, pave du poulet, foie gras, dauphin potatoes) displays similar evidence. Last weekend I actually visited a traveling show entitled Salon du Chocolate. It was, as you are probably imaging, literally a warehouse full of chocolate vendors. The pictures below come nowhere near capturing the amazing flavors I have experience, but they are all I have. Bon appetite!

A field of chocolate flowers

Nougat

Me and my new best friend

Arles Market

Pave du Poulet and Dauphin Potatoes

Vegetables from beneath the rotisserie

Baguette, Sausage, and Comte Cheese

Raspberry, Coffee, and Vanilla Macaroons

Tiramisu Ice Cream

Macaroons and Crepes and Tartes Oh My!

Espresso and Chocolate Macaroon

Stuffed chicken thigh with date, fig, and prune sauce, curried chicken, homemade vegetable soup, meat and caramel sauce, tripe, scallion and cheese quiche, apple tart, crepes, macaroons. This is a just a sampling of the foods I have eaten over the past two weeks. My family has this horribly wonderful habit of serving five different dishes for dinner each night to satisfy everyone. From an honest desire to be polite and a selfish love of food, I have been trying everything that appears on the table. My family is very encouraging with this habit and keeps offering me more and more food. I try to keep my portions small, but they don’t really have an understanding of this and continually berate me to “Mange! Mange!” (Eat! Eat!). So, it quickly became evident that I needed to learn a polite way to express that I was stuffed! After gesturing to my stomach when night and saying, “I can’t” one evening, my host mother provided just the phrase. “Ah,” she said, “you are rassasié.” Rassasié, she explained, is a more polite and posh way of saying that you just cannot eat another bite. The traditional, “Je suis plein” which is a direct translation of “I am full,” is not as chic as rassasié. This new expression has served me well over the past weeks. Waiters at restaurants are always pleasantly surprised to hear such a Parisian phrase coming out of an American mouth and when I am invited to other French homes it usually wins me laugh. In a country where eating is truly an art form and even the fast food takes a half an hour, rassasié is one of the most useful words I have yet to encounter.

Photos!

Marseille!

Old Port and view of the Notre Dame de la Garde

My new dream neighborhood......

Starting the week of with a bang, well, more like a siren

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So despite my family hosting students for the past ten years, I managed to surprise them (only me!).

Monday, when I got back from school no one was home yet. I couldn't exactly remember the security code so I waited, and waited, and waited hoping someone would come back from work. Finally, I decided I remembered the code and opened the door. I couldn't find a light switch so I hit what I thought were the correct numbers and waited. For about twenty seconds I thought I was fine. Then this awful blaring noise rose up all around me. Halogen lights started flashing. NO! NO! NO! I run to the kitchen and find Cathy's number and then run back into the hall to get the phone. The alarm stops, perfect I think, I will have time to call Cathy before it starts again. But the stupid phone doesn't work! Some perfectly poised French lady is telling me I need a card. I don't have a card! So I run to get the OTHER phone. And as I'm running the alarm starts up again, louder even more high pitched. I have visions of mean French police bursting in like a SWAT team and demanding what I am doing in this house and me struggling to explain myself through tears and poor French. I dial Cathy's number on the second phone and wait. She picks up, I frantically explain, as best I can, what I have done. She tells me the code but, of course, I can't here her until I stow away in the pantry. Then I run back out to the hall to stop the alarm (which I still can't see because I still can't find the light) and everything stops. Just like that it's over.

I am still a little shocked this happened to me, but I'm already laughing about it. After everything I have been through this is "c'est normal", as the French say, for me and for study abroad.

Is this for real?

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Basically, Marseille is a dream. A really good one. The city is beautiful with its charming old red roof houses and classic French apartment buildings. The corniche languidly runs all along the coast offering spectacular views of the ocean and the isle d’If. The calanques, as they are called here, circle the city and plunge in to sea. My house is incredible with an open concept design that offers the best view of the city. The Notre Dame de la Garde basilica with it’s golden Bonne Mere watching over the all the city’s inhabitants is level with my living room. And in my room I have my own closet and shower!

My family is so nice and understanding. They have hosted many students before me so there is little I can do that surprises them (of course I did find one way…more later). They actually EXPLAINED things to me. As we drove through the city on Sunday they pointed out the big sites and important neighborhoods and commented on everything. My host dad is part Vietnamese and this weekend was a holiday celebrating the Vietnamese New Year so we have been eating the most amazing Vietnamese food. I have never eaten anything like this before but I love it!

The only problem is that, like all dreamers dreaming good dreams, I keep waiting to wake up. It can’t be this good…....right?

Entr’acte

One week and it starts all over again. The redeye flight. The overstuffed suitcases. The confusion. The excitement. Of course it won’t all be the same. I will be in new city, with a new family, at a new school. But the preparations – physical and emotional – are similar. I am once again off to Target with a shopping list in hand (this time modified to include travel tissues and cliffbars after various Moroccan experiences). And my anticipation of both the delightful and the dreadful is abounding. Marseille is inherently less intimidating than Rabat, but knowing exactly what can go wrong spawns a different kind of anxiety.

Luckily, I have had plenty of time to prepare. My one-month break between semesters has been ideal. It has lasted just long enough for me to recuperate, relax, and re-invigorate. By now, I am itching to be off exploring again. My “intermission” has been strange of course. After four months in Morocco things seem a little off, even though I am back in the “familiar.” Coins seem much too small – dirhams are just slightly larger. Toilets flush with handles on the side, not with buttons on top. And clementines don’t taste nearly as good. But ohh the showers. The showers are heavenly.

The croissants, however, are calling.  I can’t wait to explore Marseille and the Provence region – to eat fresh goat cheese and bouillabaisse, to see the countryside by train, to make new French friends. And I’m eager to continue with my French and Arabic (I already feel sadly out of practice). I hope my already signed and submitted language contract declaring that I will only speak French for the entirety of my program will ensure an improvement in my language skills.  Finally, I am already looking forward to my one-week program visit to Fes – yes, that’s right I’m going back to Morocco! I’m so glad my French program incorporates a little of le Maghreb.

So until my next post, a bientot!