Waiting Out Winter

Strasbourg Cathedral

I confront a certain paradox during the first quarter of the year. Thankfully, I’m not as beset with the winter-related gloom (S.A.D) that used to hit in January. Admittedly, the change of country and scene is a great help.

Nonetheless, once the festivities are a distant memory I count down the days to March. I latch on to any sign that it’s brighter for a bit longer in the late afternoon (although I don’t mind the dark mornings for some reason). I try and give myself little incentives I can look forward to before the blossoms start to appear. Still, the Spring Equinox and its promise of warmer, longer days can’t come fast enough.

So where’s the paradox? Well, I've always had an old head on (now, not-so-young) shoulders. I have been prone to an ageing-related melancholia since I hit double-figures. Believe that I was lamenting the end of an era that turning 10 represented. The older I get, the more I try to savour the days, weeks and months which seem to speed up exponentially post-18. And yet, I’m always looking to the future. And so the curious cycle continues. Wishing the time away might be more costly in my current situation. I don’t know for sure how long I’ll be living and working in France.

Here in Strasbourg, the weather has at times been suspiciously mild in between the odd day of intense rain. Spring is not quite in the air but I’ve caught a glimpse of what it could be like.

It’s been pretty quiet since my Parisian trip. Work is ticking along. Claudia appears to be in a permanent sulk, I suspect because I will no longer indulge her murmuring. On the other hand, that could be a very unfair projection on my part and she's just being quiet. I wish I knew how to lift her mood without running the risk of gossip. In any case, I'm less inclined to ask for her assistance. Another colleague comments in passing that I've lost weight. I feel more paranoid than flattered.

I’ve been spending quality time with the lovely Jeanne; when she can make it. Since joining the staff at EPIS church she’s either very busy, exhausted or both, bless her. 

 I’ve started attending EPIS more regularly. I join the faithful for the extra-curricular prayer and fasting events, which many churches across the globe hold at the start of the year. During January’s mission Sunday, a representative from an anti-trafficking organisation gives a tearful appeal on behalf of the sexually-exploited women and children his organisation supports. It's a cause close to my heart. They have partners across the country, of which EPIS is one of them. I’m pleased to learn that there’s a group that goes on weekly outreaches amongst the street workers. I contact Jeanne to use her staff connections to put me in touch with whoever is in charge of this ministry. To be continued...

By coincidence (or Providence) on one of my Médiatheque excursions whilst staying at Javier’s, I find myself sitting next to a young Mauritian couple, Louis and Celestine, who also attend EPIS on and off. By more happenstance we end up opposite each other on the Tram one Sunday, heading to the same destination. Medical student Louis is an articulate conversationalist with an impressive level of English. He credits once being a fan of US Hip-Hop. That Sunday, we talk about any and everything; from the insular mentality of island-dwelling people to the rise of populism.

My French continues to be in stop-start mode. It's frustrating me no end. It's is, after all, the main reason I wanted to live and work in France. Occasionally, I see small signs of hope. I still feel nervous about spontaneous conversation at work.  In other contexts, when I’m relaxed (like the aforementioned discussions with Louis), I wonder why it can't always flow so freely. I still make silly mistakes for which I kick myself. Other days, it seems some of the cloud is lifting. I can follow 80% of the service at EPIS. The ministers speak a clear and refined French. 

I still can't just passively listen to a conversation and manage to get the gist. It requires all of my focus; one lapse of concentration or loss of the thread and it's gone. Then again, I don't always experience that few seconds delay in comprehension when someone tells a joke. I’m listening to more French radio and regularly read novels, articles and magazines. I am absorbing new turns of phrase. During the mostly Francophone meetings at work I am an active listener, relieved when I can steadily follow the discussion points. I have enrolled on free intermediate/advanced French classes organised by THRO. I attend an Economics conference next door to work on the impact of international trade deals on the European political landscape. The speaker also covers the rise of populism, the discontent with the neoliberal order and the failures of and disillusion with social democracy. He is an engaging speaker but even in English it would be hard to consistently concentrate on such a dense topic. I know from experience. One of the native-Francophone organisers says as much herself, to my relief. Still, I can understand enough to appreciate (and at times disagree) with what is being discussed. The following week, I discover that one of the outgoing trainees at work, ten years my junior, speaks six languages. I feel a failure in comparison. Language acquisition is equally frustrating and incredibly rewarding. I’d recommend it to monolinguals everywhere.

(courtesy of Time Out)

As my social network slowly expands, I am at least more exposed to opportunities to practise French. I am getting better connected with the Internations crew. Although a member since I lived in the UK, I have only availed myself of the service since relocating to France. One Saturday afternoon, I attend a meet-up at an appealing Bistro-cum-Patisserie around the corner from Grande Rue. I recognise Natalia whom I met at the ChristmasMarket gathering in December. Most in attendance are fluent or native French speakers except for Lisa; an honorary Brit originally from Slovenia. There’s barely a trace of her original Slavic accent. I overhear her speaking English but as usual I’m resolute about practising with the Francophones. Eventually, I relent when I hear of her struggle to acquire French, no thanks to her impatient boyfriend and work colleagues. The group flits between the two languages, wary of not isolating Lisa.

Towards the end of the meeting I spend some time conversing with ex-Navy officer, Gautier. At the cusp of middle-age, he decided to set himself the challenge of joining the armed forces. He has the well-honed physique to prove it. He’s a fellow blogger, a craft he developed he says, to stave off the loneliness, boredom and potential madness of being out at sea for long stretches of time. He’s quite the globetrotter, taking pictures in adventurous locations if his website is anything to go by. We swap business cards. The group eventually disbands cordially. Gautier and I head towards the same tram stop. Perhaps he just accompanies me out of politeness. 

 I need to make a stop off.

I’ll be back, I’m just heading to the shop.

He mutters something about an urgent email and having to leave. There’s a momentary awkwardness as we decide how to avoid making the exit more abrupt than it already is. I’m still getting accustomed to this two kisses on the cheek lark (Even at work. I can feel my male colleagues' 3-day stubble. Yuck). To avoid it, I say a cheery, matter-of-fact farewell and I’m off.

Within half an hour, by the time I reach home, I have a slew of texts and missed calls waiting for me. Apparently Gautier is inviting me round for dinner (we don’t live too far from each other), if I want ‘to continue the conversation’ he writes in English. 

Blimey. 

I’m half-way through texting a polite refusal when my English mobile goes off. It’s Gautier checking that I have received his messages. I am courteous but slightly baffled. He certainly didn’t conduct himself in a flirty fashion during our conversation. He doesn’t come across as overly-keen. Despite myself, I’m flattered but also wary of being alone in the home of someone who has been trained to kill with efficiency. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. I’m not interested in anything romantic but I’ve enjoyed his company. I’m still not so well-connected in France that I can turn down opportunities to make a new acquaintance. Enthusiastic dinner invitations aside, he seems decent. I suggest re-scheduling in a more neutral venue the following week. Not this time, says Gautier. He is off to Mali for several weeks. It’ll have to wait until his return.