I made (or played) my French musical debut with l'Ensemble de Clarinettes de Toulouse on Sunday. 

Everything happened rather unexpectedly. I found the ensemble via Facebook, exchanged some emails with the director and attended my first rehearsal with the ensemble the previous Thursday. I enjoy the group immensely. The ensemble is made up of professionals, high-level amateurs and conservatory students. They welcomed me warmly, giving me compliments on my ability to speak French and sight-read music, and afterward I was invited to play for the group's last concert of the season.

As I often do, I agreed without completely knowing what I was getting myself into. All I knew was that I needed to meet the group at the metro, that we would be eating lunch and that we would be playing for two hours. 

It turns out that we were playing at an open-air festival in the countryside more or less outside of Toulouse. You could buy cheese, bread, jelly and even sheep while listening to various musical ensembles, taking a ride on a horse-drawn carriage and learning to identify tree species. Pretty spectacular! 

We ate many assorted delicious farm products (which were unidentified, but how can you go wrong?), and then we played at three sites around the festival. 

At the first station, a video camera came to tape us and some of my friends came out to watch us play. At the second station, we kept being interrupted by a lady with a very strong Southwestern accent making announcements (and I entertained my fellow clarinetists in my attempts to imitate her speech). 

The third station was on the top of a very large hill. It was probably at least a half-mile walk up and quite steep. And remember that we are carrying clarinets and stands on a very windy day. I was told after the hike that the ensemble "rarely" plays gigs like this.

At the this last station, we had a hard time keeping the music on the stand. Actually, a gust of wind took our music at the end of one of the pieces. What a finish! Thankfully the kind spectators helped us recover our music. We had torn everything down when a television station car pulled up. The camera people asked if we could play for them, and we agreed. So they rearranged the hay bales for ten minutes to set up a better camera angle, and we then we performed a 30-second clip. 

All in all, I wouldn't have imagined a debut like this, but it was fabulous. It is summer vacation now in France, and I am sad to have a couple of months without this musical camaraderie. However, on the trek back down the hill, the director offered me a first clarinet position in September for the new season. I am looking forward to continuing with this welcoming and musically skilled ensemble in the fall. 

I experienced regional music for the first time last weekend. Every year there is la Fête de la Musique (music party/festival) in France and in many other countries as well. Musicians and musical groups play concerts all across town starting in the evening and continuing well into the night.

A couple friends and I went to hear music in Occitan. Occitan is a regional language from the southwest of France (each region has its own dialect). The only other time I hear the language spoken is during the metro stop announcements in the subway. It sounds like a strange mixture of Spanish and Italian. 

With music comes dancing, and my German teammate Binia and I joined in the traditional dances for the first time. We tried to follow along, and hopefully nobody noticed that we had no idea what we were doing. I was fascinated by the instrumentation and instruments, so I took a couple short videos on my phone. Hopefully this will give you a bit of an aural picture of Occitan. 

"Arrogant and rude." These adjectives have commonly been attributed to the French (notably by Americans). If you don't believe me (or just want to be amused), check out this article about Americans' stereotypes of the French. 

With this in mind, I didn't have high expectations of the French when I arrived in Toulouse. I expected not to receive any customer service, to be scolded when made a cultural faux pas, to be glared at when it was clear that I wasn't French.

Yes, I did have to get a new bag of onions myself when mine didn't have a barcode, and I have been chided once for joining the wrong line. And I always have to ask for the bill at a restaurant. But more often than not, the French have made my day.

Here are a few of my stories:

I was in a hurry and was full-out power-walking to the grocery store. On my way, two guys started huffing and puffing, serious looks on their faces, arms swinging frantically. Pretty quickly, I realized they were imitating me. I smiled, and one of them remarked, "That's better." 

My French debit card stopped being readable, and I needed to order a new one. I also had money that I couldn't deposit as a result. I arrived slightly frazzled at the bank and wasn't processing everything being spoken to me. When I apologized for not understanding a question, the teller kindly remarked that it was ok and that she didn't speak English well. Then she wrote the information I needed to know on a sticky note, ordered me a new card, found the checks that I had ordered a while back and filled out my deposit slip for me, even filling in the account number that I had forgotten to bring with me. 

Then there was the time I was at the French equivalent of Wal-Mart and accidentally pressed the "pay in dollars" button (which you should never do, unless you want to give a few extra dollars to Reuters Interback for unnecessarily converting your euros to dollars and then charging you an additional 2.5 percent). As a result, my receipt printed in English, and the cashier didn't know English. She didn't scold me or get irritated. She asked her colleague for help, and when that didn't work, I was able to help her figure out what copy I needed to sign. After I signed, there were no sarcastic remarks, just the customary merci, au revoir. 

I often use the city bikes to get around. It is really nifty because you can check out a bike at one station and return it at another station located strategically throughout the city. However, I have, on more than one occasion, checked out the bike with the seat that won't adjust or continually falls down. I was at a station adjusting a bike seat, when a nice (and not creepy) gentleman came over and offered to help me with the seat. He adjusted everything and made sure that I was good to go. I thanked him, and then he told me to have a good evening. What a wonderful random act of kindness!

Yes, French culture doesn't always make sense. Occasionally, it can be a bit complicated. But don't write off the French. They are not solely the producers of fois gras and more than 400 types of cheese, who lay claim to famous sites like the Eiffel Tower. They are also pretty marvelous human beings of whom I am quite fond.