Friday, February 22, 2013

To All Our Irish Readers...

Attention, Irish readers: if you somehow next week happen to bump into a 5'4" slightly-pudgy American gal who bears an uncanny resemblance to Yours Truly, especially around the Dublin, Kilkenny and Belfast areas, chances are that you *may* have indeed encountered the real deal Barb the French Bean.

Yes, do not hesitate to come up and say "Hello!" in case you see yet another American tourist busily snapping away pictures of your Emerald Isle for her blog.

 And in case you forgot what I look like, here ya go:

Yeah, just kidding. I only wish I looked half as good as this penguin.

You know that you are in Paris when the window display penguins are dressed more fabulously than you can ever hope to be. 
These were taken in Galeries Lafayette last December, when Mom came to visit me in France for ten days. So were these:

Last year's Christmas display featured Disney. The park in Paris is celebrating its 20th anniversary.

This is what I actually look like. I have a lot to go before I reach penguin fabulousness

This was the Galeries Lafayette Christmas poster. Looks like Santa was put on his own naughty list..

The last time I was in Paris for December, I regretted not having gone to see the Champs-Élysées at night. I FINALLY DID IT.

Gare de Lyon.
Christmas Eve. Mom and I had lunch at the Train Bleu restaurant in Gare de Lyon. 

The Sacré Coeur basilica in Montmartre is probably my favorite spot in Paris. The gourmet department store in Galeries Lafayette is a very close second.

Let's see. First, Santa cheated on Mrs. Claus and now he's drinking booze. Yep. He's on the naughty list. 

A vendor in the Montmartre Christmas village.

The Montmartre Christmas village


And, of course, what would a trip to Paris be like...

...Without a pit stop at the Eiffel Tower? 

Hope you enjoyed the Parisian eye candy. Keep a lookout for the Dublin post!

Barb the French Bean

Before any of you ask: yes, I will drink some Guinness in Ireland. Even though I am not much of a beer fan, it  would seem like a crime to go all the way to Ireland and not have at least one pint. However, I have heard that I should be careful with the so-called "wee pints" that aren't so wee after all.

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Hard Knock Lessons: Be Careful To Whom You Wish "Happy Valentine's Day"

Let this post serve as a personal note about how you learn something new everyday.

This week has been a cultural mélange of Mardi Gras and La Saint Valentin for me, and considering that I am well into my sixth month of teaching English and Spanish in France, I simply could not pass up the opportunity to share with my students some cultural points about each holiday and how they are celebrated back home.

While researching the information for Fat Tuesday, I came upon the happy surprise that, in New Orleans, there exists a special traditional dessert called the King Cake. Now, this cake is eaten from the 6th of January up until "Carnaval," or Mardi Gras, and as an added bonus, each cake contains a tiny plastic baby. The tradition follows that the person who receives the plastic baby in his slice will have the responsibility of hosting the next King Cake party.

Now, when I discovered this new information, my Francophile synapses went into a full-blown "EUREKA!" mode. In France, there is a very similar tradition of the Galette des Rois, which is essentially a pastry filled with almond custard (la frangipane). However, unlike the King Cake that is decorated in purple, green and gold, the Galette des Rois features a small porcelain figurine called "la fève" instead of a plastic baby.

When I told my students about the plastic baby, their eyes bulged out of their heads. "Quoi?! Il y a un bébé?!"

"Yes. And unlike the Galette des Rois, the person who gets the baby doesn't get a crown."


"Nobody gets crowned as the King or Queen."

"Oh, c'est nul, ça." (Oh, that's lame.)

The kids also got a kick out of seeing me dressed up for Mardi Gras.

Yes, here are a couple of photos for your amusement:

I decided to paint the area behind the eye slots in black. It makes the eyes pop out more.

As you can see, it honestly doesn't take much for your make-up to go from looking like Batman...

...To the Joker. ("The plan is simple: I'll grade my students' tests.")

Things got interesting with the Valentine's Day lessons.

In France, Valentine's Day is strictly associated with couples who are in love. And I do mean strictly couples. Couples only. No singletons or friends allowed.

This, of course, is a complete 180 from all that I know about the traditions that I acquired growing up in the American educational system and having my mind pounded year after year of commercials hocking expensive jewelry. I had to explain to the kids the revolutionary idea that no, Valentine's Day isn't just a highly commercialized holiday for couples; it's also a chance to show off your friendship with other people. (Nevertheless, we 'Muricans can easily spend over $17,000,000,000 on flowers, jewelry and Bedazzled Darth Vaders from Target.)

I showed them pictures of Hello Kitty, Angry Birds, Batman and Spiderman Valentines. The students replied stating that they, as French, would rather save their money than give every kid in the class a card and a small candy.

I further went into detail that in case you have a crush on someone, you can use the day as an excuse to send that special someone an anonymous card or gift. They retorted saying that they would never do that because it's very embarrassing to give a present to someone you secretly like.

Things got even more eye-bulging when I started to discuss pet names with them.

"WHAT?! You call each other 'Honey,' 'Sugar' and 'Sweetie?' That's so weird!"

Well, in my defense, they like to refer their Sweethearts, Sweetiepies, Puddin'-Pops, and Honey-Bunnies as "mon petit lapin," "my little rabbit," "mon coeur," "my heart," "mon trésor," "my treasure" and "mon chou," "my cabbage."

Yes, cabbage. Now, that is weird.

For the record, I've never had a thing for vegetables. Or fruits, for that matter. I'll make half-human, half-chocolate babies any day, though.

Of course, following through with the American friendliness, I had absolutely no qualms wishing everyone I passed a Happy Valentine's Day. I said it to my students, my work colleagues, even the cashier at the LeClerc supermarket.

What I couldn't understand was why everyone gave me odd looks whenever I greeted them and bade them a Joyeux Saint Valentin. They reacted as if I had just uttered creepily that I knew what they like to do when no one is watching them. There was a missing puzzle piece.

 Fortunately, I found that piece in the midst of a special luncheon. My dear English-speaking colleague, the one who advised me adamantly to see a doctor when I became ill last year, became the link to further comprehending the minor differences that trip up a foreigner like me.

"In France," she explained, "you wish someone a 'Happy Valentine's Day' only when they are your partner or when you are interested in them romantically."


Well, I've probably wished a Happy Valentine's Day to over a hundred people today, so--

*brain finally takes in the weight of the situation*



I...suddenly feel quite dirty. And cheap.

At least that explains why my colleague, who laughed nervously, my students, who chortled uncomfortably, and the supermarket cashier, who did a double-take, thought that I was crazy.

Lesson Learned: When in France, be careful to whom you wish "Happy Valentine's Day." Unless you want to come off as mentally unstable.

Joyeux Saint Valentin from Barb the French Bean