Translation is not easy. It is even harder when it involves specialized language. 

For one of my last language school projects, I presented a poem I had written as a critique of adolescent use of internet dating and short-hand chatroom vocabulary. 

The only issue was that I needed to translate into French. So after hours researching French texting lingo. Here's the original and the French "translation" side by side:

For those of you who know French, here is the key for understanding the texting language:

French is to bread as American is to _____ ? 

Hot dog!

My focus for much of my first five months here has been language learning. During the poetry unit, I wrote my first poem in French!

Our class was asked to imitate the style of French poet, Francis Ponge in his prose poem "Le Pain" (the bread). Here is his poem with an English translation.

We were asked to chose a food that represents our culture, and the hot dog hit the mark for me. Here's my prose poem in French (followed by a rough English translation). Note: some of the plays-on-words don't translate well :(.

Le Hot-dog

La surface du hot-dog est incroyablement limoneuse à cause de certains agents de conservation et de couleur qui donnent l'impression qu'il est mangeable. La forme ressemble plus à un chihuahua que à un type de viande. La longue masse spongieuse de couleur rose, brune ou plutôt rouge cache dans son corps les vies sacrifiées de cochons, de vaches ou de quelque espèce que ce soit. Comme la devise des États-Unis, il est un vrai creuset – la fusion de cœurs, de sabots et de l'occasionnel rein. Son règne n'est pas menacé. Il règne sur les barbecues des Américains à jamais. 

The Hot Dog

The surface of the hot dog is incredibly slimy because of certain preservatives and colors that give it the impression that it is edible. His shape looks more like a chihuahua than a type of meat. The long spongy mass of pink, brown or sometimes red hides in his body the sacrificial lives of pigs, cows or whatever other species. Just like the motto of the United States, he is a real melting pot - the fusion of hearts, hooves and the occasional kidney. His reign is not threatened. He will reign over the barbecues of Americans forever.

"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. 

Sometimes as a driven, perfectionistic overachiever, I want to be able to do everything. And not only that, but I want to do it faster, better and beyond anyone's expectations of me. 

As you might imagine, this often becomes a stumbling block of sorts. And when you run full speed into a stumbling block...well, let's just say that it isn't a pretty sight.

You might say it is kind of like lasagna after being locked (literally) in an oven for 24 hours and then going through the cleaning cycle (in order to disengage the lock) – still in one piece, more or less recognizable, but not really beneficial for much of anything. 

One thing I have learned to do during my first months here is to celebrate small victories. It is in reflecting on these little improvements, that I see progress and the grace of God in my life. Here are some of the victories I have celebrated since I arrived in late February:

• understanding everything spoken to me in the check-out line
• taking a nap three days in a row
• praying in French
• successfully conversing with a native speaker
• learning how to pronounce my name (it is so hard from me to distinguish my name from "Daniel" and to mute the "h" in "Hance")
• roasting peanuts and making my own peanut butter (a lot cheaper than buying it here and tastier)
• being invited into a French friend's home
• sharing the story of my call
• successfully navigating myself to a new place in the city
• being able to feign accents while speaking French
• greeting and having small talk with my neighbors
• building our French association's website
  
• having friends accept my invitations to come to events
  
• being asked if I was French
• hanging out with a group of friends
• successfully giving directions
• hosting a game night
• making an appointment with the chiropractor

When I look at this list, I realize that, as cliché as it sounds, there are a multitude of abilities that I have taken from granted. And one of the beautiful results of living in another culture is a newfound appreciation for what I can do. It is also a greater realization of my dependence and necessity of God's power and strength. I can't do everything, and I don't have to. But I will do what God calls me to do, knowing that He is able to do immeasurably more than I can ask or imagine by His power at work inside of me (Ephesians 3:20). 

When you think of France, what image pops into your mind? Maybe a Caucasian man with black hair and a moustache. He is dressed rather formally and sporting a beret. And is that a baguette and a bottle of wine in his hands?

While there is some truth in these French stereotypes, France is much more diverse than you might think. The phrase tout le monde means "everyone" or literally "all the world." 

In the short time that I have lived here in Toulouse, I have met people from the following countries:

• Syria
• Egypt
• Spain
• Mexico
• Honduras
• Greece
• England
• The Netherlands
• China
• Hong Kong
• Germany
• Japan
• Poland
• Mongolia

Over the course of my two weeks of language school, I have only encountered one other native English speaker in my class. The class is taught all in French, but during the breaks, we tend to speak English and Spanish among ourselves. My current classmates come from Chile, Egypt, Greece, Mexico, Spain and Syria. I'm loving the chance to learn more about my fellow students and their cultures. What a beautiful and multicultural city I live in!