Je suis un Réfugiée Climatique

Oui, c'est vrais. At my last dinner cooked by Catherine the Kitchen Goddess, Michel and I were discussing whether or not I would come back to Montpellier and how if I ever did I was welcome to stay with them and their family. I said that if I came back I would love to come in December/January/February, and probably March to escape the cold weather. Michel laughed, his red wine in one hand and his baguette with olives in the other (yes, really) and said "Kenna! Tu es un réfugiée climatique!" Then we got around to discussing how I would claim my refugee status at the border. We figured the border guard might look at me a little strangely until I told them how cold it got during our winters, and then let me get away with my claim. AWESOME!



So this morning I boarded a train, had my last baguette and orange juice breakfast from Catherine, and left Montpellier bound for Marseilles. I promise to write about Marseilles tomorrow, but there are a few things I want to catch the rest of the world up on, ex: further conversations in a French family.

There is: The shower conversation
Catherine and I were talking about when I was going to have my showers at the house, because apparently they set it up so that people have their showers in the afternoon, morning or evening. This made sense, we do that in Canada sometimes to make sure everyone gets hot water, maybe they do that here for a similar reason? So I'm set, I get my showers in the afternoons post-school day. A few days later Catherine and I are talking about it again, I was wondering if I could take my shower the following morning instead of that afternoon.

"Ah, but Kenna you take long showers."

No, I don't. They're like 15 min. I'm a machine at showering when I want to be. However, that's evidently not how Catherine sees it. "Yes, but they aren't hot showers."

"No no, they are long. It doesn't matter if they are hot or cold, the tank only holds so much water." Oh, I get it. Hot/cold doesn't matter but volume of water does. Their tank is... tiny.

"Ah, ok. I understand. I take long showers because I am a girl!" I laughed. We say that in Canada all the time, right?

"No," she cuts in. "It is because you are English!"

Old rivalries die hard, we laughed about that one for a good long time. There was also an epic conversation with the grand-children (9 and 11) about Celine Dion. Unfortunately, I didn't realize their little wailing sounds were supposed to be Celine Dion singing, and I was pretty sure that at the time we were talking about 'les indiens', Indians. I swear if you say 'Celine Dion' and 'les indiens' fast and slur your words a little bit like a kid, they sound the same. I told them that "that sound is not what the Indians make, they sound like this;" ... and then I made an old school Native American war whoop, at the dinner table, and no one knew what on EARTH I was doing.

That one took a while to explain.

Last but not least, the French advertisements. Oh they are amazing. The first two are a McDonalds campaign and the caption reads "Come as you are."



The cartoon on the next one is a recurring character from a comic book called "Asterix and Obelix" (hope I spelled that kinda right), the guy tied up by the tree is the stereotypical villian.



There was another good one of the drive-through with Cinderella and her carriage turning into a pumpkin, mice and all, but I couldn't find it again.



This is a bowling add. It is my favourite French add yet. Really. Bowling. Every non-European at the school knew this add, because it took all of us by surprise. Epic? Yes. French epic.