A Musical Discovery...Of Sorts

{Actually written: Tuesday, August 26, 2008, 3:32 PM Swiss time}

The house is a bit disorderly today, as the gosses {kids} are going back to school on Thursday. “La rentrée” {the first day of school} is a huge deal here; there are signs all over the roads saying to watch out for kids crossing the street,

It literally says "Think of the children!"

and huge sales in all of the stores that sell clothes, books, bags, or any other item for which the returning schoolchildren might have the slightest need. Carole spent 350 Swiss francs {about $350} on books yesterday, and Isabella is incredibly tense today, trying to prepare everything {they actually had a fight over what Carole was making for lunch, which has never been an issue before}. To make matters worse, Albert and Alexandra have been here for two days, so Nathalie and Alex spend all of their time being 14-year-old girls, and Albert, Nicolas, and Philippe have, as Virgil says, doubled in volume despite there only being one extra child. The weather is grey, and there aren’t really any opportunities to leave because Olivier is at work and Isabella is busy. Fortunately, I can always take a walk, hang out with Carole when she gets back from the doctor’s office, or write here, as there’s much to catch up on. If I sound disdainful, I don’t mean to; it’s just been very tense all day.

Yesterday was also fairly normal, but it turned out to be fun despite the lack of grand excursions. The sun shone, and there was a bit of a breeze, which put everyone in a good mood. While hanging around the house between breakfast and lunch {around 2 PM}, we all had some fun teasing each other; when Isabella told Virgil he should shave, he said “Les femmes, elles préfèrent les vrais hommes, pas les petits gamins” {“Women prefer real men, not little boys”}. At this, I let out a sound that I’m pretty sure can qualify as a chortle {Jessica, I imagine that this pleases you}. When Marie walked in, Virgil chastised her for not speaking, at which I quipped, “Peut-être qu’elle n’a rien à dire. Nous, il ne faut pas parler en chaque moment, comme toi” {“Maybe she has nothing to say. Unlike you, we don’t have to be talking every second”}. I kind of felt awesome after that.

The females and I then left the house to get Carole’s books in Bulle, and were essentially followed home by Emmanuel, a friend of the family whom I’d met when he joined us for meringues the other day {edit: He’s actually married to Sophie, Isabella’s sister who has dropped in a few times, and they live nearby}. A professional organist, he was telling Virgil about a master class that he’d attended, taught by a famous Parisian organist; he carried on for some time and, when I finally got an opportunity to talk, I told him about my school’s reputed conservatory and all of its master classes and concerts, and how I have a friend who is an organ performance major and, in fact, a video of her playing the LU Chapel organ, on my computer. He was both surprised and delighted, and I thus stole the conversation away from Virgil with my superior knowledge of the Physics of Music {thanks, Professor Cook}, along with my recent acquisition of some minor flute-playing skills {merci, Melanie}, and my {mostly successful} attempts to translate said knowledge into French. Finally, we hit a snag: he started to talk about the “flûte à bec” {literally, “flute with a beak”}, making a motion with his hands like he was playing a clarinet. I suggested that the translation was thus, but he protested vehemently. “Non, non, c’est une flûte!” {“No, no, it’s a flute!”}, he insisted. So I thought of a recorder, which I said functions physically like a clarinet, but he rejected that as well. An oboe? Nope. Saxophone is a cognate…ah ha! Emmanuel then said he was sure that there was a flûte à bec in this very house! We must find it! I quickly followed him downstairs to the music room, anxious to discover this new, foreign instrument. Alas, we found no flûte à bec in the music room, so we ran upstairs to find Carole, who allegedly owned this bizarre contraption. “Carole!” I cried. “Où sont les flûtes à bec? Ta mère a dit qu’il y a au moins deux dans cette maison!” {“Where are the flûtes à bec? Your mother said there are at least two in this house!”} “Il faut les trouver, parce qu’elle veut connaître cette chose qui s’appelle la flûte à bec!” {“We must find them, because she wants to understand this thing called the flûte à bec!”}, added Emmanuel.

Carole regarded us as if we were two nut jobs…which we were, but we were two nut jobs on a mission. “Mais moi, j’en sais rien!” {“But I don’t know anything about it!”} she responded. “Vous savez, il y a aussi quelque chose qui s’appelle le dictionnaire.” {“You know, there is also something called the dictionary”}. We paused to reflect. She was right. Emmanuel began to protest, but I told him that in fact, I did have a dictionary, in the very next room! Our quest thus continued, and I flipped the pages with fervor as we both stared at the mangled Larousse in anticipation.

flûte [flyt] ◊ nf -1. mus flute; ~ à bec recorder

All drama and mystery fled the room like fro m a piece of literature with a bad ending. The recorder, yes. I told him how it functioned more like a clarinet than a flute, and that “flute with beak” was therefore a bad name for it, but no worse than “recorder”, as it does not actually record anything. And he said that it’s not a very important instrument; kids just play it in school when they are young {badly, I added, and the same songs over and over, but I don’t know the translation of “Hot Cross Buns”}. At any rate, we had a good laugh, and it added an element of adventure to an otherwise adventure-less day. As it turned out, we also watched “Taxi 4” {an action comedy that’s part of a four-film series} and “Mr. and Mrs. Smith” {on TV and dubbed}, both without subtitles, so I felt pretty good, understanding what was going on, and most of the humor {though understanding the plot of an action movie, no great feat, I know}. So, all in all, the day was not without merit. Next Monday is Carole’s first day of school, so we’ll have to see how I manage to entertain myself without les petits and visitors running all over the house.

Cake, Lake, and Lots of Driving

I realize that I'm way behind here, but I haven't had much internet time lately, and I don't want to barrage you with information and long, drawn-out stories...not all at the same time, at least ;)

{Actually written: Monday, August 25, 2008}

The only full Sunday I experienced while in France was fairly uneventful because everything closes, so I wasn’t expecting much for yesterday. I woke up around 11, hoping to at least be rid of my cold – no such luck. But the weather was gorgeous, and the family members who were already awake soon returned from church, suggesting that we take the younger kids to the lake. First, however, it was time to eat. Isabella made some delicious roast chicken, salad, and rice, and we had a meal with the entire family, which is rare because it’s usually much easier to feed the petits {Philippe, Marie, and Nicolas} and then the grands {Nathalie, Carole, the two boys, and I}.

Besides being the third or so meal with everyone present since I’ve arrived, this one was also special because we were celebrating Olivier and Isabella’s 24^th anniversary, and Gabriel’s 20^th birthday {which was on Tuesday – the same as yours, my darling Kaela}. As such, we had a delicious cake, which was rather unique, and rather Swiss; the outer layer looks like frosting, but is actually meringue, and all of the decorations {like the roses} are made of marzipan, I think {the literal translation for what they called it is “paw of almond”, so I really have no idea}. The filling itself was not cake at all, but raspberry {on top} and cantaloupe {on the bottom} sorbet. Delicious – and incredibly filling.

We left for Montreux – of the January jazz festival fame – shortly thereafter, with Carole and the three youngest children. Isabella, as always, functioned as a sort of tour guide, because she gets really excited about everything I get to see in Switzerland, and my personal well-being, so I generally get a lot of attention. It’s nice in some capacity, but I wish she wouldn’t worry so much about it. I suppose the two of us are just accommodating people; put us together, and we have to find some sort of equilibrium of keeping each other happy.

At any rate, she had very little to worry about, because the weather was calm, if a bit hot, at the lake {which is called Lake Geneva and rests among the mountains between Switzerland and France} was beautiful, with lots to see around it.

Montreux itself, along with the infrastructure, is right on the water,

and the mountains are big, green, majestic, and absolutely everywhere.







Further down the promenade next to the lake is another small castle, the Château de Chillon {"shee-on"}.



After dipping our toes in the nice, cool water at the small public beach, we looked at the castle briefly, but Philippe and the young’uns were very tired and wet, so we strolled back to the car, stopping for ice cream at a small snack shack. Carole and I got Cornettos, which I’ve only ever seen in “Shaun of the Dead” and “Hot Fuzz”…and now I see why Simon Pegg adores them so. If only we had them in the U.S…

Before heading home, Olivier decided that we should drive up to Caux {pronounced “co”}, “up” being the operative word. We scaled the mountain in the big blue van, which I was convinced would fall of the precariously perched road at any minute. I tried to take a picture of the edge, but we were going too quickly. Basically, there were occasional guardrails, a few forests, and a long way to fall. Caux itself consisted of a hotel management school,

a restaurant, and a gift shop, which was closed. The trek upward was worth it, though, just to see the view {sorry about the powerlines}.

High above Montreux…

At this point, we were all tired, so we zigzagged back down {the road literally goes straight across the mountain face for a couple of kilometers, then curves downward for a few feet and turns to take you in the opposite direction – much like a Chutes & Ladders board game, only 3-D}, then picked up Nicolas’ friend Albert and his sister Alexandra, who is friends with Nathalie. The radio was playing “Take a Load Off, Fanny” in Italian, which was both intriguing and irritating, mostly because I was really ready for a nap. Back at the chalet, we feasted on waffles and pizza. I’ve pinned down mealtimes here to…anytime at all. Since it’s hard to gather people, and everyone wakes up and goes to bed at different hours, breakfast {a.k.a. “find something and eat it”} takes places whenever you drag yourself out of bed and to the kitchen, lunch is between 12 and 4 PM, and dinner can be as early as 7 or as late as 9:45. Then there is, of course, the in-between meal, which occurs between 3 and 8 PM, but can really take place at any time – a more apt name for it would be “When Isabella asks ‘Tu as faim?’ {‘Are you hungry?’} and you actually say yes…meal”. It’s actually better, in a way, than having scheduled meals because you can eat whenever you’re hungry, and you don’t have to if you aren’t. I’m not sure if this is a "Robinson" thing or a Swiss thing {more likely the former}, but I’ve finally adapted to it, and I like it.

Cheese and Bars...Wait, Am I Back in Wisconsin??

{Actually written Sunday, August 24, 2008, 2:30 PM Swiss time}
Yesterday was absolutely incredible. It started off slowly - I got up late, yet again {not much seems to happen here in the morning, and I'm trying to get rid of this cold as quickly as possible}, but once we'd all eaten some lunch {around 3 PM} and the weather improved, and after playing The Sims in French {which is wicked funny, but not as much fun as the Sims mischief Caitlin and I perpetrated in sixth grade}, we decided to head to Gruyères. That's right, folks; the village where they make the cheese - the real Gruyères, anyway. It's an ancient walled town from the medieval era, with a château, an old church and, of course, lots of shops and restaurants for all of the tourists to visit. And they do. Gruyères is, in fact, the most visited place in all of Switzerland. To be fair, the country is no bigger than the state of Indiana, but as a tourist, I'd say that there's still a fair amount to see and do, depending on the time of year - historical villages and landmarks, parasailing, lots of lakes {and therefore, beaches}, festivals {most notably the jazz festival at Montreux}, and more mountains than you can shake a baton at. But I digress.
After a winding car trip through the mountains {actually, that's the only kind of car trip you can take here; fortunately for my stomach, this was a short one}, we arrived in Gruyères.

I don't know why there's a random person next to us, but I thought it would give this photo more character. No pun intended.


It's very tiny and obviously quite old; one of the newer buildings is dated 1655. It reminded me a bit of Concarneau and Locronan in Bretagne, but the really cool part about it is that it's nestled in the green hills of Switzerland, so the background of each building is breathtaking, be it tacky tourist shop,


Cow bells - the one on the right is the size of my head. There are apparently very large cows somewhere in Switzerland. I haven't seen them yet.

castle stronghold,


...or the Museum Giger. Imagine all of the works of the morbid mind behind the "Alien" movies, and a creepy café where you can sip your latte in the company of faux skeletons. Now imagine it inside a medieval walled city in Switzerland. None of the others was too keen to go in, and we wanted to explore the rest of the village before dark, so unfortunately, I have only two photos. But someday, I will enter that museum with one of the many folks I have roped into watching scary movies with me. It could be you.


The museum *shudder*


The café ceiling

The village was otherwise very normal for what it is; we ran into an old friend of Olivier, whose wife congratulated me for speaking French without an American accent. Woo hoo! On that subject, I've been faring quite well, with the exception of the times when I'm pretty tired. But yes, we passed the horrifying museum and continued on to more gorgeous views,



and the castle.



Earlier, Virgil had lamented the bad weather, but the clouds actually made everything cooler to look at. The castle itself isn't too ornate, but Carole told me a great story about its inhabitants. There was a count who lived there once upon a time, who fell in love with a peasant girl {actually, she was just really pretty, but you get the picture}. He kidnapped her and made her his wife, but what he didn't know was that she was in love with another peasant. The man she loved came to the castle in disguise, and the countess, recognizing him, convinced her husband to hire him as a music teacher. As soon as it was dark, they stole away and commenced their very own happily ever after.
We returned to the maison "Robinson", where Isabella informed me that Virgil and his friends would be going out to Lausanne, and I could join them if I wished. Needless to say, I was wicked excited - European nightlife! People my age! What to wear? Virgil said I didn't need to change, so I tiptoed around my room pretending to be busy while he showered and otherwise made himself beautiful {a long-running joke in the family Rozumek is Virgil's vanity and, in fact, he checks himself out in every reflective surface that we pass}. Finally, around 8:30, we left with Gabriel, who is the only other sibling allowed to go to bars and clubs, as he is also over 18. We took the backroads instead of going through town, racing at 90 kph up and down the green hills on one-lane farm roads with an up-tempo version of "Caravan" and a mountain sunset in the background. At 9, we arrived at Yannick's house, where I met Yannick, "Bryce" {real name: Benoît}, Valentin and his twin brother {real name: unknown}, Susana, and Lucas. Doing les bises {the European cheek-kissing hello} has led me to conclude that European girls' cheeks are very soft, and guys' are not - I practically got beard burn just from greeting everyone. We then took two cars to Lausanne, and I had the, er, fortune of being in the car that was playing a CD of Québécois death metal {including a song about potatoes being delicious}.
At "Taco's Bar", we all chatted and had a generally good time. Everyone was very receptive toward me, despite what we all hear about the French being rude and hating Americans {although you should never confuse the Swiss with the French; trust me, neither group likes it}. I spent most of the time there talking to Lucas and Yannick about my French, the Olympics, politics, and various differences among France, Switzerland, and the U.S. Lucas likes to speak English with a British accent; he's very outgoing and funny and reminds me of Ugo from Brest. Yannick is tall and looks remarkably like Colin Farrell - only of Peruvian ancestry and, well, speaking French. Susana is his cousin who's visiting from Peru; she studies modern languages, so we had a good chat on that subject. Valérie, another of his cousins, arrived later; she's the model of the chic European woman, but very sweet and easy to relate to. The other three guys I didn't interact with as much, but they all enjoyed butchering the French language {and occasionally attempting to speak English} with me.
We all had a vague plan of going to a discothèque {dance club}, but the lines were apparently too long, so we actually just ended up wandering around downtown Lausanne for a few hours, then sitting by the lake before deciding that it was definitely time to sleep. However, with the 20-minute trek back to the vehicles, 30-minute drive back to Yannick's, 10-minute detour to drop Yannick off at his girlfriend's house in Bulle, and 30-minute overall drive to chez Rozumek, our 3 AM bedtime became a 4:30 AM bedtime by default. I collapsed in Carole's bed and slept very well for the next few hours, minus occasional sniffling. On that note, a warning to those who visit Switzerland: there is no such thing as a tissue here. Either that, or they are all freaks of nature who never get head colds; I haven't decided which.

Commencement of a Very Rigorous Journey

I apologize for the suddenly large volume of posts, but I've got lots to catch up on, evidently. Also, if you ever want more details or pictures, feel free to send me an e-mail, Facebook message, etc. with your inquiry :)

{Actually written: Wednesday, August 20, 2008 around 8ish PM EDT}

Waiting in the airport is both a tedious and fascinating experience. I usually drift in and out of consciousness, due to varying levels of sleep deprivation, but today I'm also wrestling with a head cold - lucky me. But watching people, observing accents, identifying native languages, wondering where they came from and where they're going - these things are what being a traveling linguistics major {and generally interested in people} are all about.

{Thursday, August 21, 2008 around 11:30 AM, on a plane in Frankfurt, Germany}

The plane ride was an unpleasant blur of illness, but the flight crew was friendly and the passenger next to me actually spoke French - if only we'd been conscious enough, or even at the same time, to enjoy each other's company. As nervous as I was about making it to my next gate in the Frankfurt airport {or 'Fraport', as I've seen it written - I'm not kidding you}, this has been the easiest part of the epic journey so far, paling in comparison to the stress of packing, obtaining a visa, sitting at Logan for 3 hours trying to stay awake, and sitting on a plane for 6 1/2 hours trying not to.
Going from gate B41 to B61 was a matter of walking a couple hundred feet to a small security checkpoint, finishing my water bottle as per the request of the guard there {"Take your time," he said with a smile}, and finding a seat at the gate. A kindly old man sat next to me on the bus to the plane itself, cracking a joke about the size of the seats, first in German then, at my babbled "English - sorry", in adorably accented but flawless English. So far, just sitting on this plane, I've heard German, English, Spanish, French, and Portuguese - welcome to the EU.
Although I can certainly get by with my two, all of this only increases my appetite for languages. The man next to me is reading a newspaper in Arabic. I'm in linguistic heaven.

{Friday, August 22, 2008, around 3 PM and later in Le Pâquier, Switzerland}

I am actually listening to Mariah Carey while watching Nathalie play Super Mario 64 in French...and it's just as bizarre as it sounds. The juxtaposition of lovelorn laments and overenthusiastic melisma with the "Forteresse de Whomp" {that one's for you, Fae} and "Tu as huitante étoiles" is, in a way, characteristic of my time overseas so far. It hasn't been a culture shock so much as a culture clash.
I arrived at the Geneva airport around 1 o'clock PM Swiss time {7 AM for me} to numerous advertisements for Swiss watches - but in English, and spend the next half hour in line for Passport Control, chatting with a mild-mannered American girl around my age. Grabbed my luggage, then wandered around, wishing I'd had a better plan than giving Virgil my flight information and hoping for the best. Finally, I spotted Olivier, the patriarch of the Swiss family "Robinson", and we tentatively approached each other, commenting on how much we'd both changed over the past three years.
After a few minutes, he switched to English, for which my jetlagged and virus-addled brain was grateful {my pride was too tired to protest at this point}. We drove to Lausanne, where Olivier returned to work and Virgil took over as chauffeur.
Being in the car with Virgil was a bit easier, as we've been messaging on Facebook for several months, despite not having seen each other for three years. He's also, therefore, used to conversing in French with me, so he didn't send a word of English my way, which boosted my confidence significantly.
Around 2:30, we arrived at their gorgeous chalet...




The front door






The View...{not the TV show}


And another picture of the view, just to make you extra jealous

...where I was reunited with Nathalie and Gabriel and introduced to Philippe, Nicolas and Marie...and my bedroom.



Six hours of feverish sleep later, I awoke to find that Isabella and Carole had long since returned from shopping, and attempted to be social, presenting my all-American gifts of chocolate chip cookies and blueberry jam, which we ate after a dinner of turkey, rice, and salad. There were also three cakes and rapid-fire conversation - having seven children makes for a full and noisy dining room.


The very, very long dining room table, at a more tranquil moment

The six that I already knew well stayed with me at the table to chat and drink tea for an hour or so, then the girls and I watched "Ne le dis à personne" {"Tell No One" - Melanie, I was totally right. You should watch it}, a Guillaume Canet film that included Jeff Buckley's version of "Lilac Wine", and several other American selections in its soundtrack. A good film overall, especially if you're into suspense and mystery flicks.
After that, it was time to sleep - for 12 hours. Oops. Tonight, I'll definitely set my alarm clock. The rest of today included the aforementioned Mario episode, eating the traditional dessert of meringues with double cream {so heavy, you can't eat more than one, and if you do, you're asking for trouble}, and an excursion to a shoe store in Bulle where they were playing The Cure and "Hey there, Delilah". I also found this...



Take a good look at the writing on both parts of the bag. I feel as though something got lost in translation there. On the way back, we saw the train,



the local McDonalds, and some slow-moving pedestrians crossing the street. And by pedestrians, I mean cows. Culture clash, indeed.

Meet the "Robinsons" {I have a big head, and little arms...}

Finally, a real post! I'm taking this opportunity to introduce you to the people with whom I'm currently living {and to prove that I haven't completely lost touch with the English language}.
The summer after my junior year of high school, I was introduced to Mary Ann Allen, who needed a French-English translator for her boss Olivier R, his wife, and four of their children when they came to visit Rhode Island for a long weekend. Both thrilled and frightened by the prospect, I agreed to do it. It is thus that I met the six eldest members of the Swiss family "Robinson".



Olivier and Isabella are the parents. Although the family lives in Switzerland, both Olivier and Isabella are French. It's an interesting culture and accent clash, hanging out with the whole family, because all of the younger kids were born here. Olivier, fortunately for me, speaks English fluently. This was, of course, enormously helpful when I "translated" for them, because there was much to fill in. Isabella, by contrast, spoke and speaks almost no English. It was pretty adorable hearing her try to say "Portsmouth" {read: "Pooort-smoot?"} The two eldest boys make fun of her nonstop, but you have to have a sense of humor to have seven kids, so both parents are incredibly laid-back. Being in the house is sort of like a circus...not in the gross, elephant poop sort of way, but in the way that there's always something going on. It never fails to entertain; the house is so big and there are so many people that they actually use intercoms on the house phones to find each other.




Virgil is the oldest - 22, to be exact. He speaks English, but mostly uses it to joke around, which he does often. He's very funny, very French, and very concerned with his appearance. He specifically asked me not to post this picture on Facebook. Technically, I kept my promise.




Gabriel is my age. He's pretty shy, especially compared to Virgil. We like to say that he "only talks to his computer". He's currently trying to start his own business, where he sells Swiss and French clothing to large companies. Kinda cool.



Here are the three girls. Carole, the oldest, is to the left. She's only sixteen, but she's absolutely brilliant. When they were in the U.S., she and I actually had fantastic conversations, and we still do, despite her being four years younger than I am. We like a lot of the same films {those that we've both seen, anyway}, and she speaks rather quickly, which is a great challenge because I always want to hear what she has to say. Nathalie is next; she's fourteen, and very different from the shy little girl I met three years ago. She's still incredibly sweet, but now she's grown up and is much more talkative; I spend most of my time around the house with her and Carole. Marie, the youngest girl, is eight years old; she doesn't talk much, but she's very polite and actually responds when I talk to her.




Finally, the two younger boys are Nicolas and Philippe. Nicolas is ten; he's actually quite talented at sketching, and he seems nice, but the age difference makes it difficult for us to relate. Philippe is, as you can see, the cutest little French boy you've ever seen. He's six, so he's got a tiny voice and he often carries his blankie {"dou dou"} around. Unfortunately, he doesn't respond when I talk to him, didn't like the chocolate chip cookies I baked for everyone, and hesitated for a long time before saying "I don't know" when his mother asked if he liked me. Ah, well.

So there you have it, folks, my first substantial post from a foreign land. I hope that you enjoyed it, and I promise that more is soon to come!

Testing, 1, 2, 3...

This is an attempt to post a photo. Here I go!


This is me, tired and sick and disgusting, but happy to be in Switzerland.

Salut, tout le monde!

Hello, and welcome to my adventure in Frenchland! I promise to get a real post up soon, but for the moment, at least you can all know that I still exist.
For future reference {i.e., when I have an actual post up}, I'm handwriting my entries, then posting them here, so don't get confused by the additional dates that I'll most likely be adding at the top righthand corner.
So sit tight, relax, and imagine all of the amazing things I'm doing in lieu of posting on this blog. And soon, you'll actually hear about them.