First Impressions Part 3: First Week @ School

I start my first day at THRO in the middle of the week, the day after a public holiday; All Saints’ Day. It’s either the best or the worst timing depending on your perspective. A bit of both. Most of my colleagues throughout The Organisation are still on post-All Saints’ Day leave including my supervisor, Sophie. 

It’s good for easing myself into the job. Not so convenient for sorting out all the other admin tasks to complete my professional transition such as residence permits, claiming relocation expenses, confirming my part time working hours and the like.

THRO has several buildings but two main sites, Le Chateau and the Arcadia. Both are close to other international institutions. My office is in the latter. True to the French tradition, there are often noisy demonstrations taking place outside (to be fair, these are usually by non-French nationals).  There's a faithful core of demonstrators who hold daily vigils for a political prisoner. Some march towards the Arcadia on a regular basis. It's normally during the lunch hour. Protesters surround the premises, kept at bay by the long-suffering security staff. Employees are barricaded inside save for a few circuitous emergency exits. Occasionally, there are fun and frolics. One lunch time, I catch sight of five demonstrators doing a synchronised, shoulder-to-shoulder jig to traditional Near-Eastern music.

Then there's the solitary Englishman who stands outside the European Court of Human Rights chanting barely comprehensible slogans. His placard is more incoherent still. But fair dues. I have to admire their determination. 

Compared to Le Chateau, with its fusty, sombre-looking offices that need updating, the Arcadia is relatively new.  It's all shiny wooden surfaces, splashes of bright colour and plenty of natural illumination. It’s substantially composed of glass, which is wonderful when the sun is out but not ideal if you want privacy. Or heat. Like Le Chateau, it’s something of a maze despite it’s circular design. I also have to get my head around the floor numbering system. What seems to be the ground floor is actually the first-(or is that the second?). The basement is the first (I think) and the sub-basement etc etc. 

The offices’ surrounding scenery is stunning. The first few days after I arrive are mild and unseasonably sunny; all the better to enjoy the view. Strasbourg is resplendent in the Autumn. During one of my first lunch breaks I take a stroll down a nearby canal. The trees on either side are a glorious display of the season’s broad colour palette; from pale amber to copper red. The City during this season has a special place in my heart. I first visited Strasbourg in the Autumn of 2016 for my make-or-break interview. I became enamoured with it back then.

On my first day I am welcomed by Boss Man, a jovial fellow of diminutive stature. Bilingual, he gives me the option of communicating in English. Keen to practise my French, I suggest we start as I mean to go on. I will verify in English if I’m lost. Boss Man has another life as a senior local politician in a nearby Alsatian town. He gives an overview of the Central/Eastern European projects I’ll be supporting. He's pleased to have a native-level English speaker, he says, for some of the translation work. He introduces me to a myriad of personnel (those who are not on leave), neither of us really expecting me to remember them all on my first try. I note that the department is majority female. I am not one for biologically essentialist stereotypes. Not all women or men are compelled to act the same. I can't however deny that certain behavioural patterns are reinforced by socialisation. I'm wary of any circumstance in which one group is predominant-whether based on gender, ethnicity, class (...fill in the blank...).

I note sooner than I’d care to admit that I’m the Only Black in the Village. Well, nearly. On my first day I spot a young man of mixed-heritage working in one of the canteens. Over the coming week I see a cleaner of African descent and the odd brown face around the sites. I usually pride myself on not always picking up on these things unless I am made to feel especially aware of it. Perhaps it’s the novelty of being in a country with a mixed reputation for social integration that I am initially conscious of it. Anyway, that novelty soon wears off.

I don’t meet my supervisor until the following day. Sophie is much younger than I expect and surprisingly chaleureuse. Half-French (mum) and Half-English (dad), she’s perfectly bilingual with an almost undetectable Francophone lilt en parlant anglais. Sophie is quite the yummy-mummy (imagine a teal-eyed Carol Vorderman in her heyday, with the matching Yorkshire roots). She has a two year old daughter whom she clearly adores. She immediately offers to help with my accommodation search. She suggests I use her address for post in the interim. I am grateful but reluctant to take her up on it. Just when I think she’s forgotten, she grabs a post-it and slides the details in my direction.

Sophie is initially very obliging about helping me practise my French and makes encouraging noises. Before long however, she has a quiet word in my ear about doing all my official correspondence in English. It’s to avoid miscommunication, she explains apologetically. I miss the opportunity to speak French as part of my role. I thus insist on using it with as many colleagues who will humour me. This isn’t as straightforward as I would like. Speaking so much English during the day, my brain can be slow to make the switch when I need to spontaneously.

To my delight Sophie gives me some news bulletins to translate from English to French for an affiliate website. She points me in the direction of useful templates. When I make some classic second language errors-sometimes against my better judgment- she politely recommends that I use Google translate. I baulk at the idea. It feels like cheating, with an unreliable source at that.

Autumn in Strasbourg: Parc de L'Orangerie
(Trip Advisor)

I have the privilege of sharing an attractive office with just one other person. My colleague Claudia is a polyglot former academic who, on my last count, speaks upwards of five languages; a variety of Slavic, Romance and Germanic.  She's currently adding Farsi to her linguistic repertoire. Originally from Sicily, she’s an honorary Londoner whose former stomping ground was Clapham for some two and a half decades.  When exasperated, she reverts to angry mutterings in her native tongue.

There’s a lot for me to get my head around. Sophie has entrusted me into Claudia's care for the more technical admin tasks. I persevere gamely with the Francophone keyboard. It’s great having French accents at my fingertips but the completely different ordering is messing with my head and slowing down my typing speed. Claudia suggests I pop over to the Chateau for an Anglophone alternative, or QWERTY as it’s known in the business.

She’s helpful in a no-nonsense way. Within minutes of meeting each other, Claudia advises me on which parts of Strasbourg to avoid whilst flat-hunting. It turns out one I have recently viewed (and seriously considered) is in one of the most notorious parts of town. She and Sophie keep me in the loop about the saner-priced shopping establishments and regional attractions.

Claudia warns that living in Strasbourg is potentially as expensive as London, without the budget shopping as consolation. Still anything is better than London, surely? The low cost travel, the affordable accommodation…

Claudia concurs that commuting is a lot cheaper. But she also points out how distorted a gauge London can be. For well-remunerated THRO staff, Strasbourg living is cost effective compared to the exorbitance of major cities. Not so for the average local. Spending 500-600 Euros on rent (the lower end of the scale) is not such good value when it’s roughly half your wage.

I’m a tad ashamed of my lack of awareness. It’s strange how one can become the oblivious elite once the context has changed.

Claudia adds that certain Strasbourgeois tend to resent employees of The Organisation. They assume we live a pampered existence. This might not be totally unfounded when one compares the quality of life.

I feel uneasier still when she mentions an erstwhile British-born Gambian colleague and a Spanish ex. Both quit Strasbourg for the UK, sharpish. Claudia herself has a love/hate relationship with the City. Her experience has been coloured by what she perceives as extreme parochialism on the part of locals and a lack of integration. She has a similar ambivalence towards The Organisation, for different reasons. When a missive circulates announcing a potentially significant change for the worst in THRO’s fortunes, Claudia gives me some background. This leads to a discussion about the internal politics and inconsistencies within The Organisation. For reasons of confidentiality and self-preservation I cannot go into detail here but let’s just say, it’s less than inspiring. THRO often finds itself caught between a rock and a hard place.

Back to cheerier themes. There are so many perks that come with the job.  There's the very generous leave allowance, even on my part time hours. For someone who has spent most of her professional life so far working in the public sector and is used to the flexible hours culture, it's still impressive. 30+ days A/L standard. That's not including the many French public holidays a year and special leave allowance.

I'm still getting accustomed to the long Continental lunches. Core hours for both private and public organisations tend to be from 9-12 and 2-5 with some variation either side. You'd think it would be staggered or there would be some kind of tag team arrangement to make sure services are covered over that period. Nope. It's tools down at midday for a solid couple of hours. This isn't great if you want to do some formal errands during your lunch break; say, going to the bank. I'd be less surprised in Southern France where the climate and culture are more mediterranean. I thought the good old Saxon, 'Protestant work ethic' would engender a more regimented work day in Alsace. My own exposure to it in the UK has obviously rubbed off on me, where my previous manager would tie herself in knots if I took an extra half hour.

THRO is like a microcosmic town. There’s an in-house bank, post office and medical centre. There’s also an online social hub, Solidarité which provides information on all sorts of work-related and extra-curricular activities; from exercises classes to cultural events, library services and classified ads. 

During my first full week I attend one of the reasonably priced supplementary language classes; basic Portuguese. Well, it’s supposed to be basic. My one other classmate, a native Francophone, appears to have an intermediate level. Our tutor, Carina speaks the European variety whilst I'm more comfortable with the South American. The class is a Latinate hybrid of French and Portuguese. Despite my patchwork knowledge of the latter, getting to grips with Carina’s Lisbon inflections and having to think in three languages, I manage to follow a fair chunk of the class. It’s a baptism by fire.

My staff photocard affords me free access to some of the events on which THRO collaborates with other institutions. Each autumn there is a democracy conference. 2017’s theme is the disturbing trend of extremist elements in mainstream politics. The event attracts international luminaries including the daughter of a famous belated Jazz chanteuse. A performer herself, she provides some entertainment before one of the plenaries. Unfortunately, most of the events take place during working hours. I do manage to make a late, after work cameo to a panel discussion on political narratives. I observe the UN-like set-up; long desks arranged in a semi-circle, equipped with headsets through which one can access contemporaneous translations in several languages at the switch of a button. I feel like a true citoyenne mondiale now.

For the practice, I listen to the French translation of one speaker from a country at the edges of Europe (both geographically and politically) with an infamous reputation for lack of transparency or respect for the rule of law. For argument’s sake let’s call this state ‘Goose’. I could be wrong but the speaker seems to be painting a rose-tinted picture of her country’s current political climate. She makes reference to Marine Le Pen as if to imply such a figure could not thrive in Goose. But why worry about one party with an admittedly pernicious ideology, when you have a whole state gone rogue? I’m not the only one with strong reservations about her comments. The speaker’s Q&A is forcefully interrupted by an irate heckler. The chairwoman tries in vain to calm the situation. The protester gathers her belongings and makes a dramatic exit, all the while impugning the speaker for her apparent delusion. It’s certainly an exciting way to end the evening’s events.

The next morning I regale Claudia with the details. My colleague is used to such heated exchanges at these events. It’s nothing new she says. I express my indignation at what I believe to be the Goose speaker’s propaganda. Claudia patiently reminds me that I’m speaking from a sheltered Western perspective where one (usually) has the luxury of criticising heads of state without grave consequence. For many parts of the world there are delicate interests to balance, including one's own liberty. Claudia has witnessed it first hand in her professional experience. Perhaps the Goose speaker felt obligated to defend her country; for her own security and, as I reflect, perhaps to challenge Western double-standards.

So much for a cheerier theme.