Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Hell Is A Salsa Class Where You Don't Speak The Language

It's true. Hell is a pretty sweaty, scary place with people yelling at you (what do you mean, there are three types of salsa??) and instructions you don't understand. APPARENTLY the type of salsa I know is club salsa, or puerto rican salsa. This here was cuban salsa. I made it (trembling) through the whole 1.5 hours class. The instructor was impressed that I had no frickin clue what I was doing (maybe one or two clues, but it was brutal). He said I should go to basic beginners to learn the names and if I'm good enough I can move up.

Youtube, here I come.

I don't know if I mentioned it, but here at the Université we do a lot of swearing in class. Condoned swearing. We learn lots of "phrases familiars" because honestly, nobody here speaks "proper french." Not even French people.

Two quick stories for your enjoyment.

1) Gave myself a haircut yesterday. It looks fine (seriously). However, when I told my host family they were shocked. "WHAT? You did that all by yourself?"

Psssh, give anyone a pair of scissors. I only did my fringe though (bangs, as we Americans like to say). Found a (reliable) place where you can get a trim for a paltry 11 euros. Doin' it.

2) Lady on my bus started shouted "Jesus! Jesus is alive! Jesus christ is in my life!" She then induced complete silence in the tram (a feat, may I say) by shouting whether anyone else had found the risen lord. There were some takers and a "tu as raison madame" ("you're correct, lady). Exited the tram with her and she then preceded to regale the viking dude with tales of her religious experiences.

I love Nantes. So many weird happenings. And everything is funnier in another language.

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