One Year On

The autumn season has a particular significance since beginning of my relationship with Strasbourg. It was in the autumn of 2016 that I first visited the City for my make-or-break interview with The Human Rights Organisation (THRO).  I fell in love with Strasbourg in all its red and amber glory. Alsace is very becoming during autumn. The beauty of the season is especially vibrant here.

The last Monday of October marks my first year anniversary in Strasbourg. It seems to have arrived quickly and yet there are moments that are already like a distant memory. I approach the date with some dread. There’s the usual anxiety about getting older; how time seems to speed up with age. There’s also the on-going neurosis about my linguistic progress. My main motivation for moving to France was to master the language. Anything less defeats the purpose.

Years ago, former Francophone acquaintances reassured me that all I needed was a few months in France.

You’ll be fluent in no time! 

Although at that period in life I was more confident, my language level was inferior to what it was on moving to Strasbourg.

A year on and this optimistic forecast is far from my reality. I blame my stubborn mediocrity and self-flagellate accordingly.

To mark my one-year milestone-which happens to fall on my day off- I intend to indulge a little. On the way out, I spot a photocopy of the building rules in my post box.  The section about noise has passive-aggressively been highlighted in orange.  As far as I can tell, my other neighbours have not received such a missive. The rules are harsher than I anticipated. We’re banned from using vacuum cleaners during the lunch hour for instance, and on public holidays (of which there are many). The sound insulation in the building is top notch. Apart from a couple of times when I’ve had my radio on a bit loud after 10pm, I try to be a model neighbour. I wonder about the identity of this resident who has neither the courage nor the courtesy to address me directly. 

I press on with my day. After catching a matinee of Le Procès Contre Nelson Mandela et Les Autres, I head to the salon for my monthly ritual of skin treatment and a massage. This time, I have decided to throw in the longer, anti-stress rub down. It’s on sale for those with a monthly subscription, as is the skin treatment. I am looking forward to my afternoon of bargain pampering. I’m assigned a therapist I’ve not met before.

Imagine thus my horror when settling the bill, to find that it’s substantially more than what I’d expected.

You changed treatment, remember?, my crafty therapist posits.

Did I?

I recall our conversation. She offered an alternative treatment. I didn’t quite get what she meant and didn’t want to keep asking her to repeat herself. I assumed it was the same treatment, adapted to my skin time. I left the decision to her. I trusted her expertise. I didn’t expect her to sneakily throw in extras without pointing out the price difference.

But, but…it’s not my first language. I completely misunderstood!

I’m chagrined. Where there have been previous miscommunications, I’ve been offered some compensation. Not this time. She just gives me a falsely apologetic smile. I don’t have the presence of mind to call her out on her own culpability. I’m in such a state I couldn’t form the words properly in any case. I don’t know what upsets me more; the added expense or the linguistic blunder. It isn’t even worth it in the end. The full-body massage is too intimate for my tastes, having had to strip down to my underwear. What’s more, the therapist half-arses it.

My day of celebration and pampering has taken a turn for the worse. I attempt unsuccessfully to keep F.Scott Fitzgerald’s level-headed advice in mind.

“…You mustn’t confuse a single failure with a final defeat…”

Nonetheless, I reflect, the snide note and the misunderstanding at the salon pretty much sums up my experience so far in Strasbourg.  Cold people and linguistic frustration. To feel this disappointed, I must have had more of the naïve optimism needed to make a major life change than I realised when I arrived. Whilst I’m in pity-party mode, I recall how so few of my UK acquaintances have paid me a visit; considering I’m just across the Channel and accommodation is free. I pass the evening in a weepy state. A lengthy catch-up with mum helps. She believes I’m being too hard on myself. I’m not so sure. I know too many talented multi-linguists. The bar is set very high.

Well maybe French is harder to master than English, Mum counters. 

I have heard that theory a number of times. It might carry some weight from what I’ve observed. Then again, never having had to learn English as a second language, I can’t really gauge. 

Mum is convinced I’m not in the position to measure my own progress. It echoes something one of my fellow sopranos mentions at our last choir rehearsal. She describes her experience studying English.

You’re not always the best judge of how far you’ve come. It’s others who will notice over time.

Hmm. Maybe. It’s the curse of the idealist/perfectionist. Doomed to dissatisfaction.  My polyglot acquaintances might be gifted but they aren’t superhuman. It’s not out of the realms of possibility. If I can’t meet my own standards, it’s not very encouraging. 

All that remains is to do as always. Persevere.

Contrary to what the above might suggest, I don’t regret relocating. And as must be obvious by now, I am prone to regrets.

If I had turned down the opportunity to work for THRO out of apprehension, I would have added a huge one to my already long list. 

Certainly, I didn’t factor in how difficult it would be to find accommodation. I didn’t expect an international city like Strasbourg to be as socially closed-off. There are times when the isolation has been like a stalking presence, particularly during the summer. I’ve experienced unfamiliar emotional lows out here. 

Still. No regrets.

I enjoy a standard of living that wouldn't be feasible in the current British economic climate. I have opportunities and the freedom to explore them that should not be taken for granted. 

Living in Strasbourg is teaching me how to be present, something I’ve often grappled with.

More recently, fleeting interactions have helped me see things from a different angle.

Left to my instincts, I seek to hold onto potentially good relationships. Everything in life needs to serve a purpose. If it doesn’t blossom into a fully-fledged friendship or comes to what I believe is a premature end, it has all been for nought. 

I’m learning to hold that interpretation a lot more loosely. Sometimes the ephemeral interaction is the point. It’s served a purpose, in that moment. If a potential acquaintance turns out to be a flake, it’s a shame but not the end of the world. They were there for me at a specific point in time when I needed it.

Adjusting my expectations accordingly takes a lot of the pressure off. I don’t feel as resentful about lost contacts (Javier, Serafine etc). I am not as aggravated as I have been about the insularity of the City. I am free to enjoy the experience for what it is. Anything more is a bonus.  

I hope to remain this philosophical. My initial one year contract has been extended to late spring 2019. The current financial climate at The Organisation means anybody bar permanent staff is potentially dispensable. All the more reason to take one step at a time. A chaque jour suffit sa peine.