Happy New Year everyone! Or, as we would say here, سنة سعيدة (sana sayideh). I hope this year brings you all many great things before we inevitably perish on December 21. At this point during the year, I will be busy working on my master's research thesis, so I for one will be welcoming the Apocalypse with open arms.
I have been severely lagging on the posting recently, although for my defense, I have been over my head lately with final papers. Oh the joys of going back to school... The semester ends in two weeks, so hopefully by February I will be able to discuss more fun things than "I spent six hours at the library today."
Some of you might remember how I desperately tried, and failed, to make the bise happen freshman year in college. The bise undoubtedly holds a spot of honor in the Hall of Fame of French Contributions to Social Interactions, along with French kissing and complaining as a competitive sport. Less formal than a handshake, the bise is a warm way to greet people which I was glad to see was also a mainstay of Lebanese culture.
Some background information: the default bise in France is two kisses on each cheek. In Normandy, where my family is from, people greet each other with four kisses. In Lebanon, people salute each other with either one or three kisses.
Perhaps you can guess how my interactions disintegrate into embarrassment within the first 30 seconds...
Scenario: I will spot a Lebanese friend and we both move closer, right cheek forward, to proceed with the bise. After the first one, said Lebanese friend will pull back, but I, out of habit, will proffer my left cheek for a second bise. Shit, I think, first awkward moment. The Lebanese friend, being polite, thinks I am going for three bises, and just as I start retreating, aims back for the right cheek again. Dammit, second awkward moment. Get a grip girl, retreat, retreat!
But my reptilian brain cannot handle the sheer wrongness that is an odd number of bises, and I go in for a fourth one, surprising my poor acquaintance who at this point probably wants nothing more to do with me. In this seemingly simple exercise, I have managed to package not one, not two, but three awkward moments in a matter of seconds, and pull away blushing and muttering something about French habits dying hard, internally swearing that I won't forget next time.
But fifteen minutes later, another friend will walk in, and...
So yeah, perhaps people are on to something with the handshake.
In the meantime, I thought I would share with you an ongoing preoccupation, something that has plagued my social interactions in Lebanon since my arrival.
The bise.
Some of you might remember how I desperately tried, and failed, to make the bise happen freshman year in college. The bise undoubtedly holds a spot of honor in the Hall of Fame of French Contributions to Social Interactions, along with French kissing and complaining as a competitive sport. Less formal than a handshake, the bise is a warm way to greet people which I was glad to see was also a mainstay of Lebanese culture.
But as I soon found out, the bise has become the most surefire way to torpedo myself into the seventh level of social awkwardness Hell.
Some background information: the default bise in France is two kisses on each cheek. In Normandy, where my family is from, people greet each other with four kisses. In Lebanon, people salute each other with either one or three kisses.
Perhaps you can guess how my interactions disintegrate into embarrassment within the first 30 seconds...
Scenario: I will spot a Lebanese friend and we both move closer, right cheek forward, to proceed with the bise. After the first one, said Lebanese friend will pull back, but I, out of habit, will proffer my left cheek for a second bise. Shit, I think, first awkward moment. The Lebanese friend, being polite, thinks I am going for three bises, and just as I start retreating, aims back for the right cheek again. Dammit, second awkward moment. Get a grip girl, retreat, retreat!
But my reptilian brain cannot handle the sheer wrongness that is an odd number of bises, and I go in for a fourth one, surprising my poor acquaintance who at this point probably wants nothing more to do with me. In this seemingly simple exercise, I have managed to package not one, not two, but three awkward moments in a matter of seconds, and pull away blushing and muttering something about French habits dying hard, internally swearing that I won't forget next time.
But fifteen minutes later, another friend will walk in, and...
So yeah, perhaps people are on to something with the handshake.
That's why in Russia, we great our acquaintances and friends with a steely glare and a warning shot fired into the air. Just sayin'.
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