Using the toilet

Self-cleaning automatic toilet stall in Colmar

Sometimes finding a toilet is no easy matter in Europe. And they don't say "bathroom" here, the euphemism we have adopted in North America. In France, the bathroom (salle de bain) is actually the room with the bathtub in it. If you're in a private home, the bathroom may or may not also house the toilet. In our apartment, we're lucky enough to have both a salle de bain and a salle d'eau (water room, when translated to English). I guess this is the French euphemism for "room with the toilet". In many public areas in Europe, you have to spot the sign for WC (stands for Water Closet), the almost international symbol for "toilet" that must have moved east from Great Britain.



The cost to use a public toilet varies from free, which is unusual, to the most expensive one we used at the Berlin Zoo bahnhof (train station) at 1.10 € (about $1.65). In some places men can choose to use the pissoir for a cheaper price. (I call discrimination!) We have found free public toilets at the Coliseum in Rome, in some of the parks and tourist areas in Strasbourg, and in Barr, home of the famous (to us, anyway) wine festival. In mid-range on the toilet expense scale are the "on your honour" toilets and the turnstile-type toilet areas, which generally cost between 0.50 and 0.80 € ($0.75 - $1.20). The coin-operated turnstiles don't give back change, so if you have to go badly enough and the attendant isn't there, you could lose some money. Sometimes this service is contracted out, and we have noticed a company called McClean (the expensive one in Berlin) at other places. (If you click on the link, watch the website load the first time - it's cute!)

If you want to be really rude, you can use an "on your honour" public toilet for free as well. Basically, these are public toilets that have on-site caretakers, and these toilet rooms are always sparkling clean. When you walk in, there is often an anteroom or foyer where the caretaker hangs out, and you will see a saucer with a few coins in it sitting conspicuously on a counter. The caretaker, most likely a woman, will greet you as you go in, and watch (or listen) carefully to see (or hear) that you drop a coin, usually in the range of 0.20 to 0.50 €, in the saucer on your way out. When she hears the familiar clink in the saucer, you are merrily wished on your way. Being the polite person that I am, I would never want to test the waters by leaving without paying, but I imagine that instead of a friendly good-bye, you might be treated to an evil glare.



We were treated to an example of this when we stopped at a Belgian WC in a service station on our last trip to Europe. Mark and Cameron went into the men's room together, and Mark dropped a coin into the dish on his way in, but the very unfriendly-looking woman who managed the WC didn't see him do it. On his way out, when he "forgot" to leave a coin, she followed, berating him all the way. If she had been speaking French, he might have tried to talk with her, but since she was speaking Flemish (we think), he didn't stand a chance. We just played dumb tourists and walked out, feeling badly that she thought we were trying to cheat her. We learned a lesson from this, though: always pay on your way out.

Send us an email! christinateskey @ yahoo.ca or mvieweg @ gmail.com

See the pictures: http://www.flickr.com/photos/christina-t/

Learning to speak French

I'm not a natural linguist, and because of this, learning to speak French is one of the hardest things I've ever done. Some lucky people can go out, mingle with the locals for a night or two, and pick up enough of the language to apply for a job as a waiter the following week. Then there's me, on the other end of the language learning scale: I have to see it, hear it and say it several times before I remember how to use it in conversation.

I studied French in a desultory manner for the first four months, but by Christmas time I finally settled into a structure that includes a variety of experiences.

They are: (links provided if you want to learn some French)

• Reading kids' books (short chapter books for kids about 8 - 9 years old are great)
• Listening to French language teaching podcasts (I know, the guy's Irish, but he has some great conversations with Amèlie, a native French speaker)
• Practicing French over the internet with free language teaching tools
  
Note: I see they're not free anymore -- darn!
• Listening to French TV and news podcasts on the internet
• Interacting with people "on the street"
• Going to school for two-week sessions
• Establishing a "French hour" at home each day
• Copying down important words and phrases on flash cards and reviewing them regularly
  

I have certainly confused people with my feeble attempts at French. Before I went to school the second time, I registered over the internet but hadn't heard back from them for a while. Foolishly, I decided to go in person to the school to see what was up. The only phrase I memorized for the occasion was, "I registered for the course on Monday - is it ok?" Armed with this snippet of conversation, I boldly went to the office on the first floor of the school... only to find out that the office had moved to the third floor, after I was reduced to saying, "École Français?" In the third floor office, I received a blank look from the woman at the desk after spouting my prepared statement. Finally the light dawned for her when I said, "La classe lundi?" (The class on Monday?) and gave her my name. (After I had been in class for a week I learned that I had been telling the office people that I had videotaped (enregistre), not that I had registered for the class.) The nice woman at the office flipped through a stack of registration papers the size of a small mountain before she came to mine.

She picked up the phone, and I understood that she was sending me down to "a colleague", which turned out to be an interview with the director of the school. The director asked me some questions, which I answered in very bad, halting French, asked me some other questions which I didn't understand at all, and then reverted to English (which, unlike my French, was pretty darn good.) She told me in no uncertain terms that my French was very bad. She told me that I would never learn French properly if I didn't stay at school longer, that two weeks here and there was not enough. When she was finished with me, I left wondering why she felt obligated to tell me all those things. Was this punishment for telling everyone in the building that I had videotaped? Had word traveled that fast? I left the school thinking, "This is not a good French day." Looking back, I'm still not sure why she had that little conversation with me. The class was already scheduled, I was registered, and we were good to go. Perhaps she thought to encourage me to register for more sessions -- but if that's the case, she needs a little more work on her selling pitch!

Although apprehensive, all was good again when I went to my class on the following Monday. There I was in the middle of the pack -- far better at grammar than some, but about average in terms of comprehension and speaking. We picked up where I had left off in October, and it was a very good experience. Taking a French class in France certainly forces you to listen to your classmates very carefully, as they speak French with various accents, including German, Italian, Spanish, and Brazilian Portuguese (that was just the last class!) I was very happy to find that my oral comprehension had improved immensely. Whereas the first time I understood about half of what the instructor said, this time my comprehension was almost perfect. I remember coming home one day and proudly telling Mark, "I understood everything the instructor said today except for two sentences!"

It has occurred to me several times in the past few months that people think I am either somewhat deaf or just not very smart. This actually makes me feel pretty good, because it represents a huge leap for me in my acquisition of the French language. That's because when we first came here and people spoke French to me, I would immediately break down and mumble with chagrin, "Sorry, I don't speak French." Now, however, I give it a try.

"Pardon?" I say, in an effort to buy some time to either formulate the answer in my head or get them to repeat what they said. I find it works much better than hesitating before you speak. When I went to make the appointment to get my hair done, and they asked me whether I would like the morning or the afternoon, it wasn't the French language that was the issue. I was just busy thinking what time would work best for the family. I finally decided that it didn't really matter and said, "Matin" (morning), but by that time I'd been pegged. The guy pencilled me in to the book, then turned to me (I was standing right in front of him) and yelled, "Dix heures!" (10 o'clock) while flashing his 10 fingers at me. I'm still wondering if he thinks I'm a little deaf or just not very smart. : )

Before we came to France -- back in the homeland -- when people asked me if I spoke French, I would say, "Un petit peu" (a little bit). It wasn't until we arrived in France that I realized how little that bit really was! After almost six months here, I usually have good French days; I understand most of what they tell me at the library; I can tell the courier guy that I will come downstairs and sign for a parcel; I can go grocery shopping and cash in my points; and I can go to a restaurant and order wine and green beans. Now when someone asks me if I speak French, I say with confidence, "Un peu"!

Contact us: christinateskey @ yahoo.ca or mvieweg @ gmail.com

What colour is your house?

Scaffolding went up around our building about two weeks ago, but we've only seen the workers for a few odd days. It's a bit disconcerting to live in an apartment with no curtains on the street-side windows and men repairing stucco outside on the fourth floor at 8:30 a.m. It reminds me of the time we built the addition on the house at Tchesinkut Lake. Sleeping on a mattress in the middle of the living room, we often had to scramble to get dressed at 7:00 a.m. when Fred Carpenter, the carpenter, and several of his eight sons cheerfully arrived to start their day. But I digress.... For as long as we've known it, our Strasbourg apartment has been a washed-out orange colour, but apparently it's destined to be bright yellow.

Europeans aren't as reticent as we North Americans about painting buildings with bright hues. And just like a little kid, I'm always thrilled by the jeweled colours of the houses that we have seen as we have travelled around Europe, especially France and Germany. Last week I was in building-picture-taking heaven when we visited Colmar, a small city south of Strasbourg about 30 minutes by train.

Mark had gone to the train station the day before intending to buy tickets for St. Dié, a village in the Vosges mountains. However, no one at the train station really knew St. Dié, and everyone there agreed that Colmar was a very good place to visit, so Mark caved in to his insecurities about St. Dié (does it have two train stations or one? and what if we end up getting dumped off the train in the middle of nowhere?) and came home with tickets for Colmar. (But we're still going to do St. Dié!)

Initially somewhat disappointed, we were happily surprised with Colmar and its tourist experience. The Alsatian half-timbered houses that we see in Petite France in Strasbourg are numerous in Colmar, and even more brightly coloured. Most of their important buildings are signed in French, German, and English, which always makes it more meaningful (literally!) for us. (Even though our French is getting better, it's amazing what little nuances -- and sometimes big meanings! -- you miss when you're reading something that's not in your first language). And in Colmar, unlike most of the other trilingual signage we have seen, the English and German sections were equally as long as the French, signifying that we were getting the full story and not just a brief summary.

At the beginning of our visit, Mark chuckled when he got off the train because he'd overheard a German couple talk about Colmar's wonderful water tower. At the end of the visit, and on our way back to catch the train home, we made a slight detour and found out that the water tower is indeed impressive. The Germans probably knew about it because the tower was built in 1870 during a time that Germany had annexed Alsace. Although old, it was in use as late as 1984. Now I think it just sits there and looks impressive, but not to the kids who, after three hours of wandering around, were tired and just wanted to get back home.

On the way back home we snagged our own compartment in the train, which made for a very relaxing trip back. I had to shake myself out of picture-taking mode, so I tried not to look out the window at all of the colourful houses flashing by.

Even though the trip to Colmar provided some good examples of Alsatian design, I don't think I'll stop taking pictures of the buildings here. After almost six months of living in Strasbourg, I still marvel at the architecture and decoration of the old buildings, which causes me to pause and snap pictures on almost every walk. My family gets tired of waiting for me, but they always appreciate the "slide show" when we get back home.

More pictures at Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/christina-t/

Read the kids' blog: http://www.viewegkids.blogspot.com/

Contact us: christinateskey @ yahoo.ca or mvieweg @ gmail.com