Category Archives: Australian customs

Australian customs, Food, French customs, Lifestyle

An Aussie in France Makes History!

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I believe that I reached a turning point in my history as an Aussie in France today. The butcher gave me exactly what I wanted. An entrecôte, well hung (the best meat is always a dark red colour and not bright red which means it’s too fresh), 600 grammes. It weighed in at 595 grammes and he didn’t even ask where Relationnel was. I would have forgiven him for that, mind you, because after my first attempts to buy meat in Rue Montorgueil , I stopped going by myself and now just mostly tag along with Relationnel because he’s French and the butcher gives him what he asks for.

It’s not that I don’t speak French. But I have just enough accent for people to know I’m not a local. I didn’t have this problem when I lived in the suburbs of Paris. At the market in Nogent sur Marne, I was known as “l’Anglaise” and they liked me and treated me like a normal customer. But after I moved into the centre of Paris, I was suddenly taken for a foreigner. It was most disconcerting particularly since I even have dual citizenship now.

Sometimes people ask me what language I dream in. I’m not sure that I really dream in any language but I guess it depends on what the dream’s about.  I’m a translator by trade and when you’re working with two languages all day, you don’t necessarily know which one you’re speaking, let alone dreaming. I can remember once being asked by the French tax department to come and fix up my VAT (GST)  cheque which contained an error. I went in and looked at the cheque for a few minutes but still couldn’t see what the problem was. They pointed out that the amount was written half in English and half in French!

When I chose to leave Australia and live in France, I didn’t really know what I was going to. I only knew what I was leaving. I’ve never looked back and never been homesick. That doesn’t mean that I don’t miss my family. I do, especially now that I have four nephews in Australia. But I love living in France. One of the things I like best is that you have greater freedom to be yourself when you live in another country and speak another language. You’re not bound by the same traditions and restrictions. To start off with, you don’t necessarily know that you’re doing something different.

I don’t mean that I want to be outrageous. I just want to be able to act spontaneously without having to worry about what other people say. Once I was in Townsville in the summer and was wearing a fuschia-coloured dress that I bought in France. I was told that it was not a summer colour and that I shouldn’t wear it! I was told in France that I could only serve rice or potatoes with fish and that rice was never served with red meat, only with veal.  In a meeting or a class in France, you’re supposed to put your hand up when you want to talk. None of this spontaneous discussion that goes on in Australia. But I’ve noticed in staff meetings now that some of my French colleagues are following my example.

Another thing I like is that when there are differences, you ask yourself why. And that must surely help you gain a better understanding of people and life in general. It certainly makes you more tolerant and open-minded. Some traditions were developed for reasons that are still valid today, while others no longer make any sense. When you have the experience of two different cultures, you can choose the best of both worlds!

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Australian customs, French customs

Santa Climbing up the Wall

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I love the Christmas decorations on individual homes in the French countryside. It’s amazing how many Santa Clauses (père noël) you see climbing up the walls! I don’t know how they explain it to the kids. Apart from the Father Christmas in David Jones, I don’t remember ever seeing any others. We would dutifully leave out our milk and biscuits and I even went to sleep on the floor of my parents’ room once because I’d left something off my wish list but I didn’t get to see him after all.

My mother used to play Santa Claus for my youngest brother on Christmas Day. Dad certainly wouldn’t have done anything as undignified! She wore a pair of men’s pyjamas that she’d dyed red and ho! ho! hoed! around. She realised it was time to stop though when my brother whispered to her “Mum, your fly’s undone!”

In his sleigh this time

Leonardo came home from school when he was in first grade and said, “You know, the teacher and I are the only ones who believe in Santa Claus. Pity for the others!” He thought it was like god – there were believers and non-believers and obviously the stakes were much higher for Father Christmas.

I didn’t perpetrate the photo with Santa Claus tradition for my children though I do have one taken in Townsville one time we were in Australia for Christmas but I love getting the ones from my brother with his three little boys.

I don’t know how they explain this one – if you look closely, you’ll see two Santa Clauses! Maybe it’s a race.

And I think the next photo is the best of them all. This time, Père Noël is climbing up the town hall in Port Mort (Dead Port!). I’ve been trying to imagine what sort of presents the town councillors are expecting! May a new name for the town.

Australian customs, Food

My Christmas Cake

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Yesterday, I was just cutting up the dried fruit for my Christmas cake, which always takes me back home to Townsville of course. I’m using my mother’s recipe, that she got from her mother, written in Mum’s lovely copperplate writing (she used to handwrite wills in a solicitor’s office when she was young) and still on the onion paper she used to send me airmail letters when I first came to France, so I’m feeling very traditional.

Our Christmas cake was a whole ritual. Mum very rarely made cakes so it always seemed very special. First, she would get out the big scales with their special weights to make sure all the ingredients were the exact weight. Then we’d cut up everything up into small pieces; the rum was added and it was left overnight. Next day, we would get to sift the flour and mixed spice together with the special sifter, and get it all over everything. For years after I began making the cake in France, I used to mix the spices myself, guessing what proportions I should use, but when Black Cat came home from UQ, she brought me two boxes. Mum would do the creaming of the butter and sugar. After that, I’d vie with my sister to see who would crack the eggs. Since there were five eggs and she was the oldest, I’d only get to break two. I usually got to put the dollop of marmelade in though. Then the flour was added alternately with the mixed fruit until it got harder and harder to stir.

Then would come the big moment when everyone had to come and stir the cake and have a wish. We did that today. We’re two children short this year – Leonardo’s in Australia and Forge Ahead’s in Madagascar – but we have Brainy Pianist to give us a helping hand. I don’t know if this is a custom in other Australian families, but I suspect it was really devised by some clever ancestor to give the poor cook some relief from stirring the thick mixture by herself!

After that, you have to cut the paper for the cake tin: two layers of brown paper and one layer of butcher’s paper. Since I don’t have either, I just use extra large sheets of thick white paper. You have to cut circles for the bottom and top and long strips for the sides. You butter the sides of the tin then line them with the paper. After you’ve spooned the mixture in, you add a decoration of blanched almonds and candied cherries. Then it’s time to lick the bowl! Do I dare admit that I still like doing that today?

You then cook it for 3 hours and try not to go to bed and forget the cake’s still in the oven. When it’s ready, you wrap the cake and the tin in a thick tea towel and leave it until Christmas. It will then keep for several months if it doesn’t get finished off immediately.

 

 

 

250 g of butter                                              250 g of raisins
125 g brown sugar                                      250 g of currants
5 eggs                                                             250 g of sultanas
1 tablespoon of marmelade jam              125 g of mixed peel
250 g of plain flour                                       60 g of dried figs
60 g of rice flour (or arrowroot)                 60 g of dried apricots
2 teaspoons of mixed spice                        60 g of dates
1 teaspoon of cinnamon                             60 g of chopped almonds
½ teaspoon of nutmeg                               3 tablespoons of rum or brandy
enough blanched almonds and candied cherries to decorate
 
  1. Chop fruit. Place in basin. Add spirits and stand at least overnight.
  2. Line cake tin (8 inch diameter) with 2 layers of brown paper and one of white. Also sides of tin (have paper come up to 3 inches (7 cm) above tin). Also 2 brown and one white paper circles for top of cake.
  3.  Cream shortening & sugar. Add whole eggs one at a time, beating well. Add marmelade, then siften dry ingredients alternately with prepared fruit. Stir evenly.
  4. Bake in an electric oven at 900°F (150°C) for about 3 hours. Bake slowly. Remove.
  5. Wrap tin (with cake in it) in old cloth. Let cool in tin.
Australian customs, French customs

Universities in France and Australia

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When I enrolled at Dauphine University in Paris to do my post-graduate translation diploma at ESIT many long years ago, I was rather shocked at the environment. It was located in a  high-rise building (and the toilets were disgusting). When I started teaching there 15 years ago, it was no better. Only the toilets were slightly cleaner.They finally spruced up the outside and did up the wing I work in and are now renovating the entrance hall. They also refurbished the canteen area a couple of years ago.

I did French honours at James Cook University in North Queensland. It has a magnificent campus practically out in the bush. The wallabies used to come in from the surrounding hills in the evening. The library takes up a whole building. The library at Dauphine takes up one floor and there are certainly no individual desks for the students to work at. During exam periods, you see them all sitting on the floor in the corridors. Our wing is a bit better because we are actually a school within a school and have fewer students. Compared with the Dauphine students, we have luxury surroundings.  At least they don’t have to sit on the floor.

When Black Cat did her first year of post-grad at the University of Queensland a few years ago, she used to skype me from one of the cafés on campus. I couldn’t believe it. At the time, we didn’t even have wifi inside our building. So I campaigned until we got it. A couple of years back, I lectured in terminology and needed an internet connection for the course. I was assigned a lecture theatre in a new area downstairs where the walls were too thick for a wireless connection. I asked for a cable connection and it took THREE MONTHS to get them to connect it during my 1 ½ hour weekly class. They were afraid of the students using it. I couldn’t believe it. OK, ESIT is not part of Dauphine (for historical reasons, we are part of Paris Nouvelle Sorbonne University which is over the other side of Paris) but even so, I thought that was pretty inefficient.

I then pushed to have a room equipped with computers to hold our translation classes. I even got the quotes (we’re multi-task here). A computer is a compulsory tool for a translator today, as you may well imagine. It finally happened and I immediately claimed the room before anyone else did. All last year, I was allowed to use it as a special favour because the student security system wasn’t functioning. This year, that problem has been solved but they still haven’t connected up the permanent video projector so I have to count on our somewhat moody technician to set up the laptop and portable projector for me. This involves getting there early and checking that he hasn’t forgotten me. And when he’s not there for some reason, I have to do it myself.

The e-learning platform we’re supposed to use has been down since classes went back in September. Fortunately I have a cluey student who suggested zoho docs so I’m using that. At least I’m sure it’ll work. Whenever I complain and point out that the facilities in Australia are much better, I get the answer that the students are not paying the same fees. They did in my day, but that’s changed now of course. In France, the yearly fees range from 174 to 564 euros (230 to 750 Australian dollars) a year plus compulsory social security which is about 150 euros (200 dollars). I gather the fees are a little higher than that in Australia … President Sarkozy has a big plan to develop university campuses, make each university autonomous and charge much higher fees. This has understandably met with a lot of opposition and the latest news is that two of the universities have gone broke. Haven’t noticed any campuses yet.

Ah well, only another semester to go because I’ve decided this will be my last year of teaching.

Australian customs, French customs

Australia: A Culture Shock

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Leonardo’s now been in Sydney for a month and has started a new job. He’s finding the situation in the workplace very different from France. The thing that bothers him most is that people don’t take time to socialise. He says he doesn’t understand it because if people don’t know each other, he doesn’t see how they can work together efficiently.

The first thing is saying “hello” in the morning. If you’re ever been in France, I’m sure you’ve seen people arrive in a bar and give everyone they know a kiss on both cheeks (even twice in some cases). When kids get to school in the morning, they do the same. At work, you always do the rounds of colleagues when you arrive, saying “bonjour” and shaking hands or kissing them (depending on which sex you are, how well you know the people and how casual the atmosphere is). And if you run into someone a second time during the same day, you say “re” meaning “rebonjour”» to show you’ve already seen them and said the first “bonjour”.

It took me a while to learn this when I started teaching at uni. I thought I was being perfectly polite when I said, “Excuse me, do you think I could have the key to the class room?” But no. I hadn’t greeted the person. One woman in particular would always reply “Bonjour” in an insistent sort of way. Then I’d say “bonjour” back. After that, I could ask for the key. I felt foolish, I must confess, but she was no doubt doing me a favour. Everyone probably thought I was rude! Now I go and say « bonjour » to everyone when I arrive.

Here, you say “bonjour” or “messieurs dames” to the people waiting in the doctor’s surgery for instance (only using “messieurs dames” if the company’s mixed obviously). You throw out a general “bonjour” when you walk into a bakery or a butcher’s or anywhere else where you intend to buy something. Clothes shops are not the same because you might just be browsing although saying “bonjour” will always be appreciated.

And with all this “bonjouring” you obviously have to say “au revoir” when you leave. Dashing off at the end of the day without saying goodbye to all your colleagues is definitely frowned upon.

Practices seems to be very different in Australia, though, according to Leonardo. Yesterday, one of his co-workers suggested he and another co-worker go grab a coffee. They all walked down to the coffee machine. Leonardo then expected them to take five or ten minutes for a chat around the coffee machine the way they do in France. No such luck. To his amazement, they all went back up and drank their coffee in front of their computers!

Another problem he’s come up against is that all the shops close at 6 pm so he doesn’t know when he can do his shopping.  He said there’s late closing on Thursdays but that’s all. They close even earlier on Saturdays. In Paris, shops tend to open later and close later, often staying open until 7.30 or 8 pm and even later if they sell food. Saturday is a full day and they’re often closed on Monday because the law regulations say all employees must have two days off in a row each week. It’s a bit different outside Paris where opening times tend to be stricter, 9 am to 12.30 and 2 pm to 7 pm.

Anyone got any suggestions to help Leonardo adjust?

Australian customs, French customs

Things that Disappear and Reappear

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Are you one of those people (like me) who has a problem with things that mysteriously “disappear”? I wouldn’t say I actually lose them. They just don’t seem to be where they should. The gold bracelet Relationnel gave me when we got married fell off a while ago. Fortunately, I felt it happening and saved it. I then carried it around in a zippered pouch in my bag for ages with the intention of getting it fixed. When I finally managed to get to the jeweller’s, it had disappeared. I was most upset of course and didn’t want to tell Relationnel about it but finally admitted it. Then recently, we were in Dieppe around my birthday and he bought me another one which is really lovely.

Today, I was looking for something else that had diappeared – my mp3 player – and, lo and behold, what should I find in the bottom of a bag I sometimes take away with me: a little jewellery box with my broken bracelet in it! I looked at my wrist and to my horror, the other bracelet was gone. However, it didn’t take long to retrieve it. I try to remember to take off my jewellery at home before I go to the swimming pool and sometimes I forget so put it in a zippered pouch in my swimming bag. Thank god it was still there.

And then the strangest thing. I looked in the drawer next to my desk where I usually keep the mp3 and it had turned up again. Now how do you explain that? It wasn’t there last time I looked I’m sure …

Recently, I did actually lose something. I had put two cheques in an envelope with a deposit slip – they’re pre-filled in here so your name and address is on the slip. When I got to the bank, the cheques had disappeared. I didn’t really pay much attention because I had actually taken them out of one envelope and put them in another before I left home so I just assumed I’d picked up the wrong envelope.  We hadn’t been home long when my work phone rang. Strange on a Sunday. A man introduced himself and said he’d found my cheques with the deposit slip on the pavement.  He said he’d send them to me by post. He’d tracked me down in the Yellow Pages.

I hesitated to tell Relationnel. He’s one of those people who always puts things immediately back in their place after he’s used them for instance. No way would he be walking around with an unsealed envelope containing two cheques.  He’s always annoyingly checking up on me about that sort of thing. I eventually told him though and he was surprisingly supportive saying I must be over-tired! Anyway, I followed the Australian tradition and bought a “lotto” ticket and sent it off, explaining what it was all about. In France, they don’t have any equivalent way of thanking someone for doing you a favour.

What’s the tradition in your country?

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