The tram comes to an abrupt halt. It is 10h17. A tin-like female voice comes over the speaker telling us that at the next stop, St. Michel, the tram will be unable to continue forward because of a "manifestation" - in English this word means "protest," but here the word can only mean "setback". Class will begin at 11h00 and there are 3 tram stops between St. Michel and Facultés where my classroom is.
At St. Michel the tram stops and all the passengers begin pouring themselves out of the train and onto the platform. For a second I lose myself in the crowd, following along blindly as I make my way from platform to street, from street to sidewalk. Gradually I come back to myself in time to notice the scent of smoke is in the air and the people ahead are slowly being pelted by little bits of windblown ash. Here it is: the manifestation, three small pyres surrounded by people handing out papers and yelling at passing by cars, some of which stop and items to be unloaded and cast into the flames. I make my way through safely and with only a few pieces of charred paper on my coat.
As I keep walking I let my mind wander. I notice the trees that have already begun to send out their shoots and leaflets and one unruly hibiscus that has already chosen to set itself in full bloom.
It doesn't really set in until a few minutes after class begins that I understood the French announcement on the tram. Progress, slow but sure.
Now if only I could make some sense of my French culture class. Baby steps, I tell myself.
At St. Michel the tram stops and all the passengers begin pouring themselves out of the train and onto the platform. For a second I lose myself in the crowd, following along blindly as I make my way from platform to street, from street to sidewalk. Gradually I come back to myself in time to notice the scent of smoke is in the air and the people ahead are slowly being pelted by little bits of windblown ash. Here it is: the manifestation, three small pyres surrounded by people handing out papers and yelling at passing by cars, some of which stop and items to be unloaded and cast into the flames. I make my way through safely and with only a few pieces of charred paper on my coat.
As I keep walking I let my mind wander. I notice the trees that have already begun to send out their shoots and leaflets and one unruly hibiscus that has already chosen to set itself in full bloom.
It doesn't really set in until a few minutes after class begins that I understood the French announcement on the tram. Progress, slow but sure.
Now if only I could make some sense of my French culture class. Baby steps, I tell myself.
There is no sense to be made out of our french culture class...
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