Please refer to my friend Elsa's blog on our yoga experience for more of a perspective on this. She is a hilarious writer totally worth reading.
But for my loyal readers, voici my rendition of yoga:
A dimly lit room full of women aged 40+ with makeshift mats consisting of towels, foam pads, and pillows. A teacher who is strict and unwelcoming. Getting scolded when the movements aren't done “correctly”, getting scolded for looking around the room to find out how to do the movements “correctly”. I understand yoga is supposed to be about placing focus on your own body, your own breath, and how that feels. As long as you are doing those things, I don't see how it can really be incorrect, you make it what be you need it to be, for you. However, when the vocabulary about moving the body is quite specific, and in a foreign language, this can be a little difficult without glancing around the room to get a slight idea of what to do. Elsa and I were both a little thrown off when everyone started singing the “om” for about 5 minutes, followed by a series of arm flaps where everyone started to hit their own bodies with a significant amount of vigor. I struggled not to burst out in laughter with the absurdity of all of this, feeling like a squirmy elementary school student snickering in church.
After the class, I approached the teacher with Elsa, attempting to apologize for our minor difficulties with the specific language and movements. We said we were excited to learn more and we would try our best to follow along, but hoped that she would excuse us if we didn't get it all right away. She proceeded to tell us that it would be better for us to be in a different class because we don't understand anything. She suggested something called “soft gym”, apparently designed for the non-physically active, foreign, and elderly. Wow. Can we talk about unacceptable behavior?
After that, we went straight to the main office, to see if we could get a refund for our money. We explained the situation to the somewhat cold and indifferent head secretary, (Patricia from now on), and she said it was impossible. Impossible in France doesn't truly exist. However it is the easy, quick answer to any question that requires a little bit of work on the part of an office worker. Anyway, Patricia agreed that how the teacher treated us was completely out of line and wasn't surprised that this woman was getting what seemed to be numerous complaints. She said we could transfer into another extra curricular class at the university to make up for the loss, but we weren't too crazy about that idea. And of course there were no other yoga teachers available. As we waited for a solution, Patricia eventually said we could submit a handwritten letter of complaint, which would be sent to the city office and reviewed, and then deemed to be worthy of a reimbursement or not. Thanks bureaucracy. Since the programs at Centre Camille Claudel are run by the goverment, the money goes away as soon as its paid (we paid in cash mind you), and reimbursements are nearly impossible for this reason. (or rather, they are too much work to carry out).
The next week I confidently walked into the office with a great angry letter (written in great angry French) in hand, ready to combat the system. I gave said letter to Patricia, and politely asked when I could come back for my refund (not when I would expect a decision or response). She responded, “Quatre mois, si tout va bien”. FOUR MONTHS IF EVERYTHING GOES WELL! At this point, I was shocked and got a little frustrated to say the least, starting to call her out the best I could with the limits of my angry French vocabulary, explaining that in 4 months I would be gone from Clermont-Ferrand and that this situation is completely ridiculous. And then the tears came. And then I was scolded for showing emotion. And then I left, with her starting to feel bad I think because she said as I walked out the door, “On va trouver une solution!” (We will find a solution.)
After having a minor meltdown to one of my favorite profs/ people in general from K, I was left with the great advice to pursue this situation as if it was a game, and continue making a stink about it until it had cost "the bureaucracy" more dealing with me than it would have been to simply reimburse me, or until I had lost interest.
A few weeks went by, I popped my head in to ask if there was any news on my situation. Patricia said there was nothing to say as of yet, but she would be calling at the end of the month to find out. I While I was in my couture class down the hall, she stopped in to tell me about a student card I should sign up for after class, that would get me discounts on movies, museums, and shopping. As I sat at her desk filling out the paperwork, she said, “Vous écrivez bien” (You write well). I looked at her confusedly, thinking she was talking about my handwriting on the forms, and said “merci...”. She followed it up by telling me I had a “poetry about me”. At this point I was completely dumbfounded. Why is this woman getting all hippy flower-girl on me? Is she flirting? Cultural confusion!
She was referring to my angry French reimbursement letter. Score one for the American.
No comments:
Post a Comment