Avoir de la chance: To be lucky

J'ai de la chance.

I am lucky.

It's true.  I consider myself incredibly lucky.  I was lucky to be given the opportunity to go on this amazing trip, to take classes halfway across the world, to see major cities like London, Paris, and Amsterdam, to see less-major but equally wonderful smaller cities like Tours, St. Malo, and Bruges, to see four castles and many other landmarks, to explore and discover.  I am lucky that I made so many friends and met so many wonderful people.  I am lucky to have (hopefully) improved my French language skills in a context where most of what you learn in the US finally makes sense, fits togther in a sort of jigsaw puzzle of a way of life.  I am lucky that I didn't get sick, that no major injuries were sustained in Europe despite several accident-prone incidents and my general maladroite-ness. I am lucky that we got to the airport on time despite missing a train stop in London.  And I am lucky to have arrived home safely, to be with my family.

Home.  It's funny, the things you miss when you're abroad.  My family, of course, made the top of my list. And my friends.  But then there's a host of other little things that you don't notice until they're gone.  Water fountains.  Spending an entire summer day in your pajamas.  Corn on the cob.  Peanut butter (though I actually didn't miss this as much since I enjoyed the wonderfulness of nutella and speculoos in its stead).  The smell of the woods behind my house.  Fireflies.  Sleeping in your own bed, in your own room, even if your bed abroad was just as comfortable.

I was lucky to go to Europe; I am just as lucky to be home.

I hope that you enjoyed this account of my journey, my adventures and experiences in studying abroad, despite the fact that it's probably peppered with misspellings and grammatical errors.  (I recently read over a few entries, and the number of typos are rather alarming.  I profusely apologize; perhaps I need to take remedial English to combat the effects of French education, haha.)  But it's been quite an adventure--I've enjoyed almost every minute of it, and even the parts that I haven't enjoyed I am grateful for.  I've certainly learned a lot. And met incredible people. I'm not sure if I've completely made the transition from novice to experienced world traveler, but at least I'm part of the way there.  And I'm inspired to make more journeys in the future.  And maybe this has inspired others to do so as well.  I've been lucky.

Bon voyage!  :)

Découvrir: To discover/explore

Pour vraiment découvrir une ville, il faut qu’on marche beaucoup.

Walking.  Walking.  More walking.  And even more walking.  But that’s what exploring a city (or any location, for that matter) entails: walking, walking, and more walking.  I’ve walked so much I’ve literally worn holes in my shoes.  But it’s fabulous nonetheless.  I have probably walked more in the past several days than I have in my entire life.  And it’s been pretty amazing.

I suppose the vocab word of this entry is a bit of a cop-out, being so similar to the last one.  (And for those of you with knowledge of French grammatical structures, I guess my sentence is a cop-out too, since the subjunctive forms looks the same as the indicative.  But every verb I wanted to use was a simple –ER verb, so there went that.  Oh well.)  But it still holds true: even since the last entry I have learned a lot, discovered a lot, explored a lot.  And it’s been both eye-opening and fun. 

I also have to apologize for the sheer length of this entry—very huge, I know.  But I wasn’t able to get a last one out before our Tours program ended and our travels across the Benelux area (sans Luxemburg) have been very busy and characterized by spotty internet access.  Hopefully it’s not too boring!  In retrospect I guess the vocab word of the entry should be “être occupé(e)”, or “to be busy”.  Because we really have been busy.  Very, very busy.  I should also apologize for the lack of pictures, since its late right now and it takes forever for the pictures to load, and I have to wake up in approximately 4 and a half hours to catch a plane. 

I feel as if I need at least one paragraph describing the sheer awesomeness of the Loire.  I’ve always liked rivers and other large bodies of water but I’ve never really lived within walking distance of one before and I’ve discovered that it’s rather phenomenal.  Just a river, maybe, but I can see why people love rivers so much.  There’s something soothing about the sound of running water, and the calm, placid blue-green of drifting currents.  One can take solace underneath a tree by its banks, in the shade, for any number of hours—attempting to do homework, talking with friends, picking flowers, throwing sticks in the river to see how fast the current is going, gushing over how cute the baby ducks are, or just watching the river.  And the clouds.  I have been by the Loire in several different weather conditions, at several different times in the day, and in various situations.  It’s beautiful regardless.  I even like the way it smells, almost like the sea.  It makes you feel less touristy (a feeling I suppose most exchange students encounter rather frequently) to have a place like a river to sit beside, and several hours in which you can do nothing.  Albeit a productive sort of nothing.

Now that I have exposed my inner hippie with a paragraph replete with “rainbow comments”, as described by my sister, I suppose I ought to get to the meat of what studying abroad really entails.  Which is a lot of walking, haha.  Though you quickly discover that walking is rather pleasant.  And necessary to work off the calories from the various delicious things you have eaten/imbibed, including but not limited to flan, crepes, viennoises, macarons, pistachio croissants, quiches, balisto bars, nutella, ice cream, and beignets. 

Wednesday brought a spectacle organized by the Institut, which essentially consisted of a talent show at La Guingette, in which various students performed various things (songs, dances, even tae kwon do).  It was enjoyable and also quite amusing to people watch, gauging the reactions of the French locals, the teachers that were there, and other whatnot.  Thursday consisted mostly of school and an amazing cheese and wine class that our program director had organized for us, in which we were introduced to the fabulous world of fancy cheese and fine wine courtesy of a former sommelier, the “wine waiter” at very fancy restaurants.  We learned all sorts of things (such as three different words to describe a state of inebriation, how to judge if a red wine is young, and the history of cheeses from different regions), and even better, we got to taste what we had learned.  C’est genial!  And so delicious.  I don’t even like wine very much but these selections were quite good.  They must have been rather expensive, haha.  I unfortunately had to leave early (though I really only missed the Roquefort and the camembert, the least tasty and apparently most smelly of the cheeses), but everything I had was delicious.

Friday marked the beginning of a very hectic (but very enjoyable) weekend.  After taking an oral comprehension exam which made us all rethink why on Earth we were studying French, a few of us packed up and began a voyage to the wonderful world of Versailles, via rental car.  It was quite an adventure, of course, considering that our method of transport was a tiny (but surprisingly comfortable) stick shift Renault model that was adorably named Twingo, none of us were well-acquainted with the French roads, and two among us are certainly not the poster children for navigational competence.  (Thank goodness for Charissa and Jennifer.)  We discovered that French roads are well-paved, well-signed (beaucoup de panneaux), and apparently quite lucrative, given the enormous fee we had to pay at a toll.  Wow.  We got to Versailles without any major incidents (although it did take us a little bit to figure out how to get out of Tours), but did have to call our hostel three times to ask for directions.  All the transactions were in French, which was scary but probably a good experience.  When we finally checked into our hostel (a very nice if very empty place), we quickly went by foot to Versailles.  Where we walked.  And walked.  And walked.

For those of you who don’t realize, Versailles is huge.  Gargantuan huge.  Monstrous huge.  HUGE huge.  But rather amazingly huge.  I have never before seen stables that resemble parliament buildings before, haha.  But it’s absolutely gorgeous as well, although gorgeous in a very showy, ostentatious way, not the way I’d ever decorate my house.  It’s sort of like the Louvre—a place it would probably take two weeks to adequately explore, and filled with so much amazingly interesting sensory-overload-inducing stuff that it is liable to make one dizzy.  The history of the place was quite interesting as well, with all the statues and throne rooms and chandeliers and royal chambers.  It was rather odd to note that only a few rooms had huge crowds of people; hardly anyone took the time to linger in king’s chambers or Marie Antoinette’s bedroom.  And I hadn’t realized that the grounds of Versailles were quite so large as well—we walked and walked and walked through hedge pathways in off and on rain, saw several fountains, and trekked all the way to Marie Antoinette’s shepherdess cottage only to find out that it was closed, as was every food stand we came across.  We must have walked several miles, but it was certainly worth it—Versailles was absolutely amazing.  And we better earned our deliciously scrumptious dinner.

On Saturday Mark, Charissa, and Jennifer went to the gardens of Giverny to see Monet’s house and the inspiration for several of his paintings, while I went into Paris to meet with my friend Chris and his family during their family vacation.  It was quite fun, and I feel like I grew more in that one day traveling for the most part alone than I did during the three previous days I had spent in Paris.  Even before I met up with my friends for lunch I discovered several important things:

·       The advice given in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy about always bringing a towel is actually a really great idea.  Especially when the hostel you’re staying in doesn’t furnish them.  Additionally, remembering to take your umbrella out of your backpack when you decide to gallivant around Paris in questionably bipolar weather is likewise a splendid idea.  And hand sanitizer is a must as well.

·       It’s a good idea to bring a jacket.  Just in case the friend who’s borrowed your cardigan (*cough Mark cough*) forgets to bring it, haha.  I was definitely besieged with a case of “the best laid plans…” this past weekend when I decided that I would wear a rather cute sleeveless dress to go to Paris.  The goal: to look as French as possible, since the last time I went to Paris I probably looked excruciatingly touristy.  I wanted to blend in and perhaps be mistaken as a native, at least before I opened my mouth, haha.  However, the day I went to Paris also happened to be one of the coldest days of my stay thus far, and said outfit was not the brightest idea in the whole wide world.  It also made me a little more noticeable (probably not a good thing in the big city), since I’m sure people were probably thinking I was crazy for not dressing weather-appropriately.

·       The Carousel under the Louvre, a giant subterranean shopping mall, is warm and has bathrooms.  They are expensive bathrooms, but depending upon the amount of stress you are facing can be worth it.  The warmth was much appreciated as well.

·       Paris is full of creepy people.  And scammers.  And street hawkers.  I don’t know if I missed all of this the first time because we were visiting during off-day in May rather than a Saturday in summer or because I traveled in a group rather than by myself, but I don’t think I’ve been accosted more often in my entire life.  Starting from right when I got off the train at the Musée D’Orsay.

·       The Rue de Rivoli is a long, long street.  I know it because I walked up and down its length several times while trying to find my friends and became quite well acquainted the various bumps and unfortunately placed air vents along the sidewalk.

·       To call US-based cell phones, even if they’re in Europe, one adds the prefix of +1 rather than just 1.  Knowing this, along with exactly how a person can put a plus sign using a rather strangely constructed keypad, is quite useful, especially after you’ve spent a good chunk of time trying to unsuccessfully call a friend.

·       Brochures for Alsace/Strasbourg make good improvised umbrellas.

·       It is not a good idea to walk over the air vents on the Rue de Rivoli sidewalks if you are wearing a dress.

·       It is much cheaper to take the train from Versailles to Paris than from Tours to Paris.  And it’s a double-decker train!!! I didn’t even know they made those.

·       Most tourists seem to be Anglophones.  I was so proud of myself when I formulated questions in French, only to be disappointed when the American/British/Canadian tourists stared blankly back at me like I was crazy.

At any rate, after finally landing in Paris, I went to the Musee D’Orsay.  Or rather, stood outside and admired the building and the gargantuan line in front.  I was planning to use the two or so hours before I was going to meet my friends to see the impressionist paintings, but then realized that the lines looked enormous so made up my mind to go elsewhere.  I skipped on over (or rather did the cold person “I’m freezing and so will walk briskly” walk) across the river to the Louvre, hung out in the Carousel a little bit, noticed the huge lines (Tourist Tip #1: Saturdays in the summer are SUPER crowded for museum visits), and decided to take a brief adventure to the Paris Opera House, which was fun.  Upon my return I waited/walked/had a little adventure along the rue de Rivoli in off-and-on rain, and then finally managed to get in touch with Chris and his family. 

We had a lovely lunch at a café close to the Louvre, and then walked from the Louvre to the Opera House and Galeries Lafayette, enjoying delicious French pastries on the way.  I had never really walked around outside that area of Paris before (map-less Kali much preferred to use the metro, haha), so that was really neat, and we had the opportunity to talk a great deal and share our first impressions of French life and much of what it entails, including but not limited to style, food, plumbing, and the fact that you can take your dog nearly everywhere, it seems.  My friends were quite the adventures, participating on a tour that took them literally across ten countries.  It seemed quite hectic but very much enjoyable, although I would probably be frazzled all the time if I were on a trip like that.  It was a very enjoyable day, though, meeting friends in Paris.  J

After my friends departed to rejoin their tour group, I wandered through the Galeries Lafayette to evade the rain and also around Montmartre to see some of the sights I missed the first time I went to Paris, such as the Moulin Rouge.  Following the advice of someone who actually knew where to go, I got off at the Pigalle stop, one stop before the Abbesses stop for Sacre Coeur. Though these two stops on the metro are actually in close proximity of one another, their characters are entirely different.  The Abbesses stop: Sacre Coeur, artsy, artisanal, full of cafés, street vendors, and musicians.  The Pigalle stop: Sex shop, sex shop, sex museum, random Monoprix (the French equivalent of Target, pretty much), sex shop, sex shop, sex movie theatre, random pharmacy, yet another sex shop.  It was quite interesting, to say the least.  And I got to see the Moulin Rouge!  Something tells me that it is not quite the bohemian place it once was, however, if the lowest price for a show is 90 euro.  I also, after much searching and asking questions (mostly of people who looked at me like I was crazy), finally found the Lapin Agile, a landmark with some personal connection, haha.  (If it were open, I would have been very tempted to ask for an e-shaped pie…)  I met a Canadian tourist and spoke more French with him than I think I had with any actual French person that day, and walked back around Sacre Coeur, successfully evaded a scam, at a crêpe with honey, and rode on the famous (two-story!) carousel at the bottom of the hill.  A very fun day.  Apparently there were protests going on and the streets were blockaded and somehow I completely missed it, haha.

It was only in getting back to Tours that I learned (the hard way) an important lesson: the last TGV train from Paris leaves at 7:30.  I think I may have gotten around to Montparnasse around this time or maybe five or ten minutes later, but had absolutely no idea what to do, and so went on quite an adventure attempting to buy tickets from the machines and standing in three different lines.  I finally got in the right line and found out I had missed the last TGV by under thirty minutes, and then had to take the 10:50 train from Paris-Austerlitz to Tours, and got back at 1:00 in the morning.  So traveling tip #2: Be aware of the train schedules.  Especially given that when the sun goes down, a relatively chilly day becomes absolutely frigid.  A 20ish minute walk from the train station home a little after 1:00 in the morning (I learned that they close the train station at that time in Tours…also good to know?) is not exactly fun.  But an edifying experience, I should hope?

The rest of the week went by in a big blur…working on our final projects.  Going to the Fête de la Musique.  Going on the last excursion to Chaumont.  The final dinner/night with my host family.  Packing.  And then our crazy-but-oh-so-awesome adventures gallivanting around Europe!

Before details on the Eurotripping experiences, a few things to describe about our last week.  The Fête de la Musique is an incredibly awesome but very crowded giant festival of music (hence the name) that pretty much occurs all over France, in many towns and cities, on the same day, the day of the summer solstice.  And the day after this giant music festival, there are the soldes—pretty much the equivalent of our Black Friday, when everyone goes out and buys things.  At this time of the year new prices are set, and old merchandise is sold at 50-70% off the original price.  Tourist trip #3: If you are a shopaholic, then make sure you’re in France in time for the soldes.  But the music festival was amazing!  In the space of a few blocks walking from my host family’s house to Place Plum’ I encountered reggae, hip hop/DJ mixing, hard rock, and Celtic…later on there were a host of other genres as well, little groups on every street corner, each with a different style.  Techno, electronic, traditional, punk, gospel, swing, rock, pop, latin—you name it and it was probably there.  It was amazing!  So fantastic.

Chaumont, the last château we visited, was equally fantastic.  The castle itself was very interesting (it sort of melded the story of the original inhabitants and those that lived there in the 1920s), but what was really phenomenal was the collection of gardens—a set of 24 concept gardens that were true works of art.  Most were commentaries about the future of the environment, which was also very neat, and most were absolutely gorgeous.  I felt like I had died and gone to flower heaven, and used up the entirety of my camera’s memory card taking pictures, pretty much.  So amazing!  Lovely cottage gardens, a plant hospital, several “gardens of the future”, etc.  Very very fun.  That, and the fun times out a café with our USC group, made Wednesday quite lovely.

And then there was Thursday, the last full day in Tours.  It was sad, a little bit, all of the goodbyes—saying goodbye to my host family, to all of the interesting people we’d met in our classes and elsewhere.   So many friends made!  Thank goodness for facebook and the like, for now we’ll be able to keep in touch.  I like that my host family told me goodbye with “à bientôt” (essentially “see you soon!”), telling me to let them know whenever I’d be in France again.

Then there was Friday, spending the morning in Tours (a slightly hectic amalgam of last classes, croissants, mailing packages—and discovering that the post office does indeed open at 9:00 instead of 8:00—last minute packing, and final goodbyes) and then the start of an amazingly exhausting and exhaustingly amazing few days gallivanting across Europe.  It was only Mark and I this time; Chance was going to join us, but stayed in Tours a few extra days at the invitation of his host family to help out with an art/crafts exhibition they were putting on.  I think the two of us are now pretty much masters of train navigation, I do believe.  On Friday we went on three trains to get to Bruges (seeing the interior of many stations), and finally arrived a little after 8:00.  Belgian train stations seem to be much nicer than Parisian train stations—cleaner and with more escalators.  We actually got to our hostel without too much difficulty, thanks to the efforts of a nice and talented bus driver, who rocketed around the narrow streets as if he were driving a tiny Smartcar rather than a huge piece of public transportation.  After checking in, we explored Bruges a little bit by night, enjoyed some delicious moules frites (or mosselen friet in Flemish, I think) in white wine sauce, walked around a little more, and returned to our hostel. 

It’s hard to pick a favorite city in Europe, but Bruges comes close.  It’s so much more laid-back and calm than Paris or London, and it’s smaller, and the shops may close earlier, but there’s no lack of things to do.  It’s absolutely brimming with attractions, but without the sensory overload that accompanies other major cities.  Bruges (or Brugge in West Flemish, apparently the least understood dialect of Dutch) is an ancient port city, filled with canals and old buildings.  After some early morning exploring (discovering that there are indeed magical boulangeries in Belgium), we went on a free walking tour of the city hosted by someone from the hostel (which was fun AND educational, my favorite combination), toured the famous belfry/treasure storage, walked around, shopped a little bit, walked some more, discovered a cool music festival, and walked again.  And, of course, we indulged in some of the local cuisine: waffles and chocolate, of course.  I think we walked around almost the entirety of the city, and met some really interesting fellow Americans from our hostel.  The language situation in Bruges was a little odd—I definitely expected to speak more French, since it was in Belgium, but Bruges is in Flanders so all I heard was West Flemish, English, and the other languages of tourists (Spanish, German, etc).

Sunday morning we left Bruges for Amsterdam.  In the Bruges railroad station I soon discovered why the Londoners were so adamant about the “mind the gap between the train and the platform” announcement every time a train pulled up to a station.  I definitely became a poster child for what happens to people who a) forget this message or b) are incredibly clumsy, as was the case for me.  I was trying to put my suitcase on the train, slipped a little bit, tried to get my bearings again, and completely missed the step, somehow wedging one leg in that much-forewarned-of gap between the train and the platform.  It wasn’t fun at the time (I scraped up my knee and have a bruise that’s probably about the size of Texas) but it was probably pretty hilarious to watch and I’m grateful that there were no worse injuries.  Aside from this minor spill, the rest of the train ride was pretty uneventful, and we got to Amsterdam a little before 4:00. 

Amsterdam was much different than Bruges—it seemed, almost, like it had more tourists than Paris.  So crowded!  And very hot too, much to our surprise; we had expected it to be cooler, since Bruges itself was rather chilly, and Amsterdam was located northward of Bruges.  But it was not so!  At least our hostel was located at a fairly close distance from the train station. Some first impressions of Amsterdam:

·       Why is it so hot?!

·       So! Many! People!

·       But really, there were lots of people, most of them speaking a wide variety of languages.  Perhaps the sheer number of tourists was more noticeable because Amsterdam is much smaller, area-wise, than Paris; we literally walked around half the city (according to our lovely map), which I’m pretty sure would be impossible in Paris or London.  In the latter cities, you could probably spend an hour walking around one arrondisement.

·       So. Much. Smoke.  Of various sorts.

·       It was really intriguing how random neighborhoods just seemed to blend together.  On one street, you’d be in a really classy area with lovely buildings and bicycles and canals, and in the next block you’d suddenly be in the Red Light District.

·       Amsterdam is sort of like one giant city-sized amusement park.  There was the heat, there were all sorts of attractions, you could buy frites and sugary treats at nearly every corner, we walked around all gross and sticky and sweaty half the time, and by the afternoon all of the tourists wore the same glazed-from-fatigue look that you see on the faces of people trudging around Carowinds in the early evening. 

·       Apparently pizza and waffles are very popular foods in Amsterdam.

But Amsterdam was fun!  We went on a boat tour of the canals in the evening, ate take-away dinner by the canals, and walked around; in the morning we went off in search of the Anne Frank museum (which had incredibly long lines, preventing us from going), then went off in search of the botanical gardens (which were too expensive for the short length of time that we would be able to spend there), and then spent some time in a public park (in the shade, of course) and walked around the city.  You discover so much, just by walking.  It’s really quite fantastic.  In the early afternoon we caught our train to Paris.  (A note on trains for those preparing to travel Europe and have about as much experience as I did: getting the best deal on train tickets is complicated, and it’s easy to end up spending an unfortunately large sum of money on train tickets.  Chunnel tickets and very large trains (e.g., Thalys trains) are probably best bought in advance—getting from Amsterdam to Paris cost a pretty penny—though trains from Belgium to the Netherlands actually aren’t that bad, and since you go on national rail lines, you can buy them the day of.  Though in most cases it’s probably better to be very much prepared.)

It took us forever and a day to get to where we were staying, which was a peaceful little place outside of the city center, which we rather needed, since we were fatigued tourists.  We had adventures in the Carrefour (giant French supermarket) and relaxed, and the next day (that’s today!) once more embarked on train adventures, meeting Chance at Paris-Nord and taking the Chunnel train back to England.  I have developed a very near hatred of luggage, since by the this point I have fallen off a train, a bed, and an escalator as a result of my suitcase or Mark’s and my clumsiness, and am quite tired of lugging it up stairs, down stairs, up more stairs, down more stairs, etc etc.  When we got to Greenwich (nice, peaceful Greenwich) we unloaded our bags and then went on some last-minute adventures around the city, going to the Tate Modern museum, walking around, and visiting the oh-so-touristy Platform 9 ¾ at King’s Cross Station.  And now I’m finishing up this blog entry, and then bed time, since I have to get up at the ridiculous hour of 4:30 in the morning to get to the London Gatwick airport to catch our plane. 

A few last minute things I’ve discovered during my sojourn:

I’m so, so, so glad I traveled with other people.  Going on a cross-country adventure all by yourself must be far more stressful, less fun, and nerve-wracking.  Especially when you have all the luggage of a month’s worth of studying abroad with you.  I’ve discovered that I’m too short to reach the overhead luggage bins on airplanes and trains, and it’s very nice to have a taller friend help you out with that sort of thing.  And we’ve all had moments where we’ve had reign in the others from accidentally walking in the wrong direction; it’s good to have someone to watch your back.  And to help pick you up from the gap between the train and the platform, haha.  We look out for each other.

And another thing I’ve discovered—you’ll never get to see everything.  There’s too much in the world to see.  It would take years to even become marginally acquainted with all of the amazing places I’ve visited; a few days here and there don’t nearly do the cities justice.  We didn’t get to see the windmills in either Belgium or Holland, for example, and there’s a plethora of museums that have remained unvisited.  I suppose my Amsterdam analogy is pretty correct…Life is like an amusement park.  By the end of the day there’s always something you haven’t seen, a ride you haven’t been on.  But at the same time you know you’ve had an amazing day, and wouldn’t trade it for anything, even if you are tired and exhausted and glad to go home, back to real life and your family.

It’s been quite an adventure.  And it’s almost over; the amusement park is closing.  Goodbye Europe, hello America.  It’s been a long time.

A bientôt!  J

Apprendre: To Learn

J’ai déjà appris beaucoup de choses pendant mon séjour à Tours.

I’ve only been in Tours for about two and a half weeks, and already it seems that I’ve learned so much already!  Both in class (where at times it seems like my brain is about to explode) and outside of class, where it seems that you learn so much, mostly about things you’ve never thought about before.

It’s kind of interesting to be in nothing but French (or French-themed classes) all week, and it’s also a little strange to think that I’m in the equivalent of 20ish hours of classes a week.  It doesn’t seem quite as overwhelming as one would think, though, since the work isn’t incredibly strenuous and the vast majority of our time is spent in two main classes: Reading/Writing and Oral Comprehension/Production with the lovely Stéphanie and Fabien, respectively.   Some things I have learned in these classes thus far:

·       French people on radio broadcasts speak about 10,000 times faster than Americans.  It’s a miracle I understand anything.  And it will be an even greater miracle if I’ve passed our first listening exam, which pretty much put the AP Language exam to shame.

·       The French grading scale is quite different from the American grading scale.  I remember learning this in high school but it’s still a little hard to get used to. All grades are out of 20, except that it’s rather impossible to get a 20/20, because there is the mentality amongst educators that perfection does not exist.  10/20 is considered the lowest passing grade, and 15/20 is roughly the equivalent of an A.  For someone conditioned with a system where grades are based on percentages, seeing a 16.5/20 on a test you thought you did well on is almost like having a heart attack, haha.  On the bright side, the tests are very much like Paper 1 of the IB French exam.

·       SMS (text message) writing.  Though there is much doubt as to whether I have mastered this at all, haha.

·       French grammar is complicated—there are lots and lots of nuances, and several little rules.  Granted, I think I also knew this already, but let’s just say these classes are very good reminders of this fact.

·       Vocabulary.  Beaucoup de mots.  BEAUCOUP.

·       And speaking of which, rules regarding expressions of quantity.

·       Hearing yourself trying to speak French is amusing, disheartening, embarrassing, and encouraging at the same time.  Especially when played back to you.  And especially when you try to make the nasal sounds.  Un, On, An…oh dear.

·       I have been misspelling La Guingette for several days.  And I’m pretty sure in an earlier entry I misspelled Place Plumereau as Plumerot, or something like that.

·       The European notion of time is very different from ours; in general, things seem more low-key and casual.

Aside from the typical grammar lessons, we’ve had several fun activities—the writing assignment topics are usually interesting (e.g., the “bookcrossing” phenomenon), and as fun activities we’ve listened to French songs, (and tried to write some ourselves), had debates on text messaging, had lessons on “faux amis” (false cognates), learned various slang words, and done similar things.

The atelier classes are very interesting as well.  I’m continually amazed at the fact that I’ve sat in a literature or art history class taught entirely in French and actually understood most of it.  And I’ve learned such interesting things—the divisions and political leanings of various social classes throughout history, for example, or the differences between the earlier and later impressionistic painters.  Before Friday, I knew next to nothing about the realism movement in painting, or why it was considered scandalous, or about any impressionistic painters besides Monet and Manet, or about how thematic evolution can accompany technical evolution.  And I’d never really analysed, at an in-depth level, the stylistic nuances in French fictional writing.  How one creates a sense of distance by using certain pronouns.  It brought back the good old days of English essays and poetry analysis.  Also, having world issues such as the development of dominant languages, the work of NGOs, and other things like that presented to you in French is quite interesting.

And we’ve learned so much outside of class, just by living here in Tours.  Despite my general timidity, I have had some really interesting conversations with my host family, mostly about music and the cinema.  And Harry Potter.  And painting.  And, of course, birds.  When we talk, the members of my host family never hesitate to correct my grammar or my speaking, which I greatly appreciate—without that sort of thing, I’m sure I would continually make the same mistakes over and over and over again.

I think that one learns better by living than by dryly memorizing, at least where language is concerned.  Those psychological phenomena concerning autobiographical episodic memories being easier to recall certainly hold true, at least in my case.  I’ve learned so many new words through experiences, and I’ll probably retain them longer than some I’ve learned on vocabulary lists because there are memories attached to them.  For example, I highly doubt that I will ever forget that a “cornichon” is a pickle after I accidentally ordered a sandwich with several of them on it.  And I’ve learned the names of several flowers simply by walking through the flower markets all the time.

And oh, the lessons we have learned when we have gone out.  After a lovely dinner at a Moroccan restaurant courtesy of our program director on Thursday, we went to La Guingette, and discovered that on Thursdays (or at least this past Thursday) they played old-time swing music…and that apparently everyone who goes to La Guingette on Thursdays has had dance lessons since they were children.  Amazing talent!  No matter, though, for us USC students, who quickly brought the shag to the dance floor.  We were quite classy with our shag dancing and our wine.  We also felt like deities at one point, when a group of rowdy French youth wanted to go to a discotheque with us.  (Note: The term “rowdy”, when used here, is all a matter of perception—in America, they probably would have just crossed the “excited” threshold.  In fact, they seemed very much like USC students excited about a football game, even chanting the theme from “Seven Nation Army”; I still wonder where they got that from.  But compared to the rest of the French people in attendance, they were quite loud.  That’s another thing we’ve learned when going out: that Americans as a whole tend to be loud.  And that it’s very easy to pick out groups of Americans walking down the street, even a few blocks away.)  At any rate, these youth were going to a discotheque as well, and since we were planning to go to one the next night, we decided to accompany them to see where it was.  As we were walking down a street that quickly became less populated, they started talking to us about their grades in English class, and we realized they were high school students.  We had two primary fears:

1.     The small children would lead us to a dark alley and rob us.  Ridiculous, but you never know.

2.     We would be arrested for accompanying minors—lycéens who had probably just been allowed outside of the house at night—to a discotheque, or being otherwise sketchy/predatory.

Let’s just say we jumped that ship pretty quickly.  And that was Thursday night.  We learned how to evade ecstatic French teenagers.

On Friday we went out again, to more thoroughly explore the night life of Tours.  It was very interesting to see the variety of different establishments offered by our host city.  Starting out at La Guingette as usual, we then spent a good few hours wandering around Tours trying to find the discotheques—I definitely worked off my dinner.  With all of this walking, I felt as if the Nutella Panini (one of the many delicious French creations) I purchased later was well-deserved.  We were apparently quite novices at the French experience of nightlife, and went to some discotheques too early (and were slightly perturbed by the fact that only a handful of people were there) and the bars too late (everything closes fairly early in France, which was unexpected).  And when we finally went to a discotheque that wasn’t empty, we discovered that it really wasn’t that fun—crowded and with expensive drinks and a very sticky floor.  And that was Friday.  We learned all about what the French mean when they say “Je sortirai ce soir”. 

Artsy shot of my first-ever purchased bottle of wine.  Is it sad that I purchased it partly because it looked pretty?

Shakhlan and I at La Guingette.

Saturday was a relaxing day, albeit one marked with getting lost and miscommunication, which rendered it incredibly amusing as well.  While waiting at the basilica for mes autres amis and writing postcards, I had a very interesting conversation with an old, slightly intoxicated French man, and was rather impressed with myself that I understood most of what he was saying, despite the slurs.  One linguistic benchmark met?  I do believe so.  Mark and I then spent an inordinate amount of time trying to find Shakhlan and our other friends for a picnic in a nearby park—almost getting lost then again—and feasted on wok à emporter (when in France, eat Asian food…) along with pain chocolat and flan.  The lunch of champions, bien sûr.  We spent several hours by the river and by chance met up with our long-lost picnic friends on a quest for ice cream (it’s a small world after all…or at least when all of us are equally food-obsessed) and then went our respective ways.  We went on a quest for karaoke that night, but apparently it is not very popular in Tours.  Despite a few later attempts, karaoke was still not found.  Another thing we have learned: sometimes Europeans have different tastes in entertainment.

Sunday was interesting in that it brought much more exposure to actual real-life French people, not just the students at the Institut.  For my project I went to La Guingette in the early afternoon, and after brainstorming on a bench next to the river for an inordinate amount of time (and being mistaken as a poet several times—it was rather flattering) I finally worked up the nerve to ask small groups of people whether they thought there were many differences in habits and such between different generations in Tours.  I quickly discovered that this was a very complicated question, as each group I asked gave me a different answer.  Most were rather neutral in their responses, but a group of hardened Parisians I encountered were true râleurs, and spent a good forty or so minutes explaining to me everything that was wrong with French society, especially with the youth.  Their discourse was so lengthy and informational I managed to take a few pages of notes.  Sunday also brought a large group dinner with friends of my host family, where I likewise learned several things: 1) I do not like pastis…and if you don’t like licorice, you probably won’t either; 2) Mediterranean food = delicious (I already knew this, but it deserves repeating); 3) French children can be just as obsessed with video games as Americans; 4) Casual French dinner parties are pretty awesome.

La Guingette on a Sunday in the early afternoon.  Not exactly the most hopping place, but still pretty neat.

 Since Monday was yet another holiday, after a relaxing and lengthy breakfast I went with the majority of other USC people in Tours on an excursion to Langeais, where we got to see another medieval castle (du Moyen Age) and walk around the city a little bit.  The castle was really interesting, especially as it was the site of a secret, politically-motivated marriage between one of the many Charles’s and Anne of Brittany to unite France.  Several of us (Jennifer, Emily, Chance, and myself) spent a long time trying to find an elusive waterfall, and learned that the French conception of a waterfall (at least in Langeais) is quite different from that of Americans.  The town itself was very lovely though, albeit much quieter than that of Amboise.  The only unfortunate thing about this excursion was that I learned that my head is apparently too big for hair accessories--I lost one of my favorite headbands.  So if anyone ever ends up going to the sleepy little town of Langeais and gets bored, you now have a new scavenger hunt item, haha.

Our group, in front of the castle in Langeais!

Langeais!

Tuesday was again a regular school day, though in the evening I went to the movies with my host family.  Yay experiences in French cinema!  Le Studio, the local movie theater, is supported mostly by a group of volunteers (it’s one of the largest organizations in Tours—who knew?) and has the most comfortable seats of any movie theater I’ve ever been in.  We saw “Une Séparation”, an Iranian film with French subtitles, which was a deep, fantastic movie but not one you would want to see if you needed a cheerful pick-me-up.  Another thing I’ve learned: French people have a greater access to foreign movies than Americans typically do, which is quite splendid.

I’ve also learned that there are additional things I’ve had to get used to in Tours:

·       No sales tax on items.  Yes!

·       Alleys.  In the US, alleys seem very sketchy.  But it seems that old European cities are composed almost entirely of alleys, so they really aren’t.

·       Other things that appear to be sketchy but really aren’t.  Like people lounging around in doorways. 

·       The amount of food I am capable of eating.  It continually amazes me.

·       Trying to explain where I live.  When I tell people I’m from the United States they almost always respond with “Oh! Je connais New York!” or “Comme Chicago?” or “Californie?” and I have to explain that no, South Carolina is not anything like New York or Chicago or California, and that my home of North Carolina, despite the misleading adjective in the name, is not near Canada. 

·       People wearing cowboy hats.  And leis.  And other very anachronistic and non-geographically-accurate items.  People are strange when you’re a stranger, I guess.

·       People saying “chouette”.  I had always been taught that “chouette” was a very out-of-style word, and that most people say “genial!” instead, but apparently in Tours this is not the case.

·       Strikes.  And how no one bats an eye when they happen.

·       The gravel.  It’s strange that something so mundane can be so different, but even the gravel is different.  Here the little rock chips and pebbles look like marble, or jasper, or some other type of metamorphic rock.  (Geology majors, please don’t hate me if I’m wrong here…I know next to nothing about rocks.)

·       Well-dressed beggars.

·       Expensive shoes.  I walked past a store that had my exact $18 pair of Converses on sale for 54 euro.  Ridiculous.

·       Things that are dirt cheap in America but are incredibly expensive in France.  Likewise, French things that are ridiculously expensive in the US are dirt cheap here.

·       Early store/restaurant closings and long lunch breaks.

·       Shopping.  So much shopping. Mostly window shopping.  I don’t even like shopping that much but here it’s pretty cool.

·       The strange mélange of really good smells (from bakeries, cafés, restaurants, flowers, woodsmoke) with really bad smells (alleyways, sidewalks, storm drains…I don’t really want to know what goes down there…it’s probably not stormwater).

And that’s about it…so far, nothing as humorous as being trapped in a bathroom again.  But maybe another ridiculous adventure will come soon?

Bisous!  J

S’amuser: to have fun/to enjoy

Nous nous sommes amusés beaucoup quand nous sommes allés au Mont-Saint-Michel, Saint-Malo, et Chenonceaux.

And it’s true—we had an incredible amount of fun when we went on an excursion planned by the Institut to Mont-St-Michel, St. Malo, and Chenonceaux.  Each locations was incredible to visit, and at all we had some fun (and very amusing) adventures.  I was tempted to put the French vocab word of the day as “drôle” or “amusant(e)” to convey how funny the weekend was, as it certainly was entertaining.

Waking up very early to get ready to go on this excursion was not exactly fun, although it did give me the chance to marvel (again) at how early the sun rises in Tours as well as the fact that apparently some people party strong at 6:40 in the morning, judging by music and singing that emanated from an open window on my walk over to our meeting place.  The 3-hour bus ride to Mont-St.-Michel was actually pretty entertaining, thanks to traveling buddies Lauren and Mark, and we also got a chance to experience the French equivalent of a rest/truck stop, which was actually very nice.  I also became introduced/enamored with pre-packaged gaufres, or small chocolate dipped waffles.  Even the junk food in France is delicious.  Driving through Bretagne was quite lovely—there were so many fields and pastures and meadows with Queen Anne’s lace and goldenrod and splashes of bright red that were the poppies characteristic of the region.  (New item added to the “Things to Do in France” checklist: frolic in a field of poppies.)  And approaching Mont-St.-Michel was also amazing; all of a sudden the giant, craggy edifice of the abbey springs up out of nowhere from the rolling countryside, slowly becoming visible through the fog.  The sandy beaches and marshland and oceans also seem to appear out of nowhere.

Mont-St-Michel, seen rising out of the mist from the bus.

Before this little trip I had always just assumed that Mont-St-Michel was simply a fantastic castle of some sorts, situated by itself on an island in the middle of nowhere.  In reality it’s not quite so lonely as that.  I didn’t realize it before, but Mont-St-Michel is actually a pretty touristy place, composed of not only the abbey but also a vast assortment of restaurants, museums, and the typical tourist shops (filled with t-shirts, postcards, jewelry, knickknacks, and various assorted objects) that lined the winding walk up to the entrance to the abbey, which was at the top of the mount.  It was very crowded, which I also didn’t expect—throngs of people with their dogs and small children coursed up and down the far-too-narrow path—and it reminded me of being back in Paris.  A group of us had lunch at a nice, not-too-expensive restaurant that served moules frites (mussels with French fries), and were there for over an hour, and ended up being late to the actual abbey.  Travel tip: If you’re ever on a tight schedule in France, never go to a sit-down restaurant.  It will take forever.  Ordinarily this is a very nice thing, not feeling rushed at a restaurant, but if you have places to be, c’est pas très bien.  It’s better off to get food à emporter (to go) from a boulangerie or similar establishment.  Luckily, though, even though we missed our group by a good twenty or so minutes, the people working at Mont-St-Michel were very nice and understanding, and once we explained that we were part of a group of students that had already entered, they let us in.

Some of the USC Tours Group-Tyler, Alysia, Mark, Lauren, Molly, Me

Hurray for awesome suits of armor!

An interesting find at a boulangerie in the touristy part of Mont-St-Michel...Do Europeans really think we're that unhealthy?  And that typical Americans eat sandwiches filled with French fries and ketchup?

Mont-St-Michel is quite an interesting place.  The views from the top are magnificent (you can see the water!), and it possesses a very intriguing history.  First an abbey, then a prison, then a UNESCO world heritage site (I think) and a pilgrimage spot for tourists.  Like many of the older religious buildings in France, you can tell by the architecture that it was designed for inspiring lofty thoughts—all of the columns, arches, stained glass, and soaring ceilings impart an airy, heavenly quality to everything.  It was fun trying to imagine what it must have been like hundreds of years ago when it was inhabited pretty much only by monks and nuns, though this was a little hard because time (and a lack of distinguishing  furniture) has made most of the rooms look the same.  At one point we caught up with our group, being led by perhaps the most animated teacher at the Institut, and for the most part followed him.  The tour was very interesting, although it was a little difficult to hear what our guide was saying, since he spoke entirely in French and it was very crowded.  It was a shame, since he was a very good speaker who obviously knew a lot about the building.

A bad picture...but inspiring lofty thoughts?

One of the back walls of the abbey.

After Mont-St-Michel, we drove another hour or so to St. Malo, a place I hadn’t really heard of before and didn’t even know we were going to until an embarrassingly late time.  St. Malo is probably one of the most interesting places I have ever been to: an old walled city in Brittany, on the northern coast.  It was absolutely gorgeous, especially since the weather was fabulous.  People always talk about the south of France and laud its beauty and various other attributes, but after this weekend I’m convinced that the north is just as beautiful, if not more; it certainly has a bit of a rugged charm to it.  The town itself is really neat, with a wall that you can walk around (although we didn’t get a chance to do it), a small cathedral (which we did visit), and more than a healthy number of cafés, pâtisseries, and boulangeries.  We became acquainted with the wonderful creation of beignets (they almost give the ones in New Orleans a run for their money, albeit they’re so different it’s a little difficult to judge) and the various ways their awesomeness can be augmented, e.g. by the addition of nutella, jam, or ice cream.  Whoever invented ice cream-filled beignets needs to be either canonized or sent to prison, I can’t decide; punished for creating something so bad for you but so incredibly delicious, or praised for the same reason.  They’re quite possibly some of the most delicious things I have ever tasted, ever.  After walking around the city for a little while and enduring various trials and tribulations (see the following paragraph concerning our adventures with street performers and public bathrooms), we went to the beach, pretty much walking up and down the length of it, collecting seashells, exploring tidal pools, marveling at the strange sand piles left by unknown ocean critters.  It was so lovely!  And the sea was incredibly blue.  So gorgeous.  And all too soon we had to leave for another incredibly long (but likewise super entertaining) bus ride back.  Oh the games you can play on long car trips…

Cathedral at St. Malo

Walking along the beach...Maggie and Millie and Molly and May?  Well, we have a Molly at least.

Rocks!  With little tidal pools and seaweed and tons of mussles.  Us biology majors definitely had a moment where we explored the tidal pools for critters.

One of our escapades in St. Malo, which I shall refer to as the Adventure of the Torture Tub and the Great Bathroom Debacle, deserves its own paragraph, it was so amusing.  After indulging in the sweets that have probably trimmed a good year or so off of our lives, they were so deliciously unhealthy, we wandered around for a little while and then decided to seek a bathroom, since they appeared to be plentiful in St. Malo.  We had the very good fortune to pick a public toilet right next to what was probably the creepiest street performer in France, and who was probably the creepiest street performer I will ever see in my life.  He was most likely a very nice gentleman deep down on the inside but definitely looked like a serial killer, with his strange mask, odd clothes, and purposefully bandaged hands.  That and his wooden cart full of strange things, which was soon nicknamed “the torture tub”.  His cart/torture tub contained (among other things) a mini mummified thing, a knife which he had much fun brandishing about, and a slate, on which he wrote things that were apparently funny but that none of us really understood.  Some of his acts consisted of sending children around the crowd to wipe the faces of other people with a handkerchief, which was apparently very entertaining for the massive crowd gathered around him, who smiled and laughed almost continuously at his antics.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen people more entranced by a performer in my life.  It was an almost hypnotic show, and difficult to look away from, as we waited in line for the bathroom.

So creepy he gives clowns a run for their money.  And probably only surpassed in scary-ness by the child-eating pale man from Pan's Labyrinth.  That or actual real-life serial killers.

One thing you should know about public bathrooms in St. Malo: they are self-cleaning.  When one person leaves and shuts the door, it locks momentarily while the cleaning happens, then becomes available for the next person to put in their toll of 30 centimes and enter.  This would ordinarily sound like a very good thing—who wouldn’t want to visit a self-cleaning bathroom?  However, the self-cleaning, contrary to its name, doesn’t exactly effectively clean the bathroom (or replace certain necessary items like soap and toilet paper), and it’s pretty terrifying if you actually get stuck whilst the bathroom in the process of cleaning itself.  After two of our group, Chloe and Molly, left the bathroom, they held the door open for us to enter so we wouldn’t have to pay the obligatory 0,30 euro.  Jennifer and I went in together, and when the door shut, the self-cleaning process began.  First the toilet flushed by itself, which was pretty nifty.  Then little spigots suddenly came out of the floor and started spraying water in all directions, which was not so nifty.  Jennifer and I tried to seek shelter from the water—shelter was nonexistent—and as embarrassing at it is to admit, we started screaming as well.  (What else is one to do when you're trapped in a bathroom and suddenly water starts spraying everywhere?)  And then the lights went out, which prompted more screaming.  The doors were also locked (we found out later that there was a red button that you could push from the inside to unlock the door, but alas, it is rather difficult to identify red buttons or read signs in pitch blackness) and wouldn’t open despite the effort we put in.  We had to beg our fellow classmates from the outside, who found the entire situation incredibly hilarious, to put in money so the doors would open again and we could escape.  Apparently we were making so much noise with the screaming and the laughing that the incredibly creepy street performer stopped his show, sat on his cart, and watched our group for a little while with the rest of the mesmerized crowd.  Some of the audience members were apparently angry at this interruption, while others realized what had happened to the poor silly American tourists and were similarly laughing their heads off.  Ah, there’s nothing like the stare of a street performer and wet shoes to accompany a hasty retreat/walk of shame out of a public bathroom.  I think it must have taken my shoes at least an hour to fully dry after that.

So that was our encounter with the French Public Bathroom.  We learned several valuable lessons from this experience:

1. Don’t be cheap when it comes to public bathrooms…pay your 30 centimes.  Unless, of course, you want to get trapped in a bathroom—after all, it makes for a very good story.

2. There actually are a few occasions when it’s better to use a bus bathroom than one on land.

3. Always look for signs, and read them immediately—you never know when the lights are going to randomly go out on you.

4. Sometimes Europeans can have very strange senses of humor…and it is relatively easy to attract the wrath of creepy street performers.

All being said, that was definitely one of the most hilarious things that has happened in France thus far.  I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in a very hard time.  In retrospect, of course.

Sunday wasn’t quite as an adventurous of a day, and although it was devoid of such bathroom disasters, it was really very much enjoyable.  Since my famille d’acceuil had gone on vacation and said that I could have friends over, and since Mark’s family had nicely asked him to spend the night somewhere else for a day because they had their extended family over, and since it’s a little disquieting to stay by yourself for multiple days in another person’s apartment, we had a slumber party.  Yay!  Said slumber party consisted mostly of making a spaghetti dish with ham and onions at midnight and attempting to watch a movie but falling asleep.  In other words, it was awesome.  The next morning we succeeded in making breakfast (another surprising culinary feat) and went to mass at St. Martin’s basilica, which was pretty fabulous.  I actually enjoyed it more than mass at Notre Dame—though that service was certainly beautiful, the throngs of tourists sort of diminished the meaning of it.  Here it seemed much more sincere, and filled with an understated beauty.  It was very interesting to try to translate the service in my head, and we were both surprised by what all we knew.  I was even more surprised that I didn’t look like a complete fool during the service, hahaha—I have been to a grand total of three Catholic masses in my life, all of them in French, so I’m not exactly sure what goes on, or when you stand, or when you sit, or when you cross yourself.  The rest of the day consisted mostly of lunch (Libyan food), a trip to the best boulangerie in the world, and watching movies.  We watched “La Vie est Belle” (Life is Beautiful) in the original Italian with French subtitles and actually understood what was going on.  However, since we understood what was going on, there were some resultant tears, and we had to remedy it with about 3 hours of Sense and Sensibility.  It may sound a little lame, in retrospect, but it was definitely an awesome day.  Even if we got next to nothing accomplished.

And these past three days school has resumed, with phonetics labs, writing, and oral communication skills.  The oral comprehension is perhaps the most difficult so far, as we’ve listened to tracks where people speak incredibly fast.  But hopefully we will improve soon enough!  We’ve also started on individual projects in our class, which actually seem quite fun—I’m going to do a comparison between different generations and ages of the inhabitants of Tours, and the interviews that this will require will hopefully improve my speaking skills and reduce my timidity.  Other students are writing travel journals, making mini newspapers, exploring the lives of political activists in France, discovering what it means to be “from Tours”, comparing the religious establishments in France, and doing a host of other things, so it will be awesome to see all the final products. 

Today we also got to go on another excursion after classes to the Caves of St. Roch and the castle of Chenonceaux, both of which were super interesting.  The caves around the Loire Valley are mostly manmade (resulting from all the mining of the stone to build the various chateaux along the river), and after the time of kings and queens were used for a great variety of purposes, including raising silkworms, growing mushrooms, and, of course, storing/making wine.  We had a pretty interesting tour guide who explained the wine-making process (as well as several odds and ends about how the stone was removed, the history of St. Roch, etc) as she led us through the caves, and we got to have a free wine tasting after our visit.  I don't even like wine that much but it was actually a fairly enjoyable experience.  Local wine=better than lots of stuff I've tasted.  (Now, if only the rubbing alcohol/hand sanitizer taste would go away...)  After this little trip, we boarded the bus again and went to Chenonceaux, a very lovely castle on the Loire River.  We definitely could have spent more than the two hours we were allotted to visit there, it was so interesting and pretty.  The grounds of Chenonceaux not only contained the beautiful castle (with an intriguing history--I think it was built for a mistriss of the king?), but also various gardens, a labryinth, a playground (in which we had much fun), a replica of a 16th century farm, and tons and tons of trees.  Definitely fantastic.  I wonder if the groups of school children we saw on field trips there realize how luck they are to live within driving distance of actual castles?  And of course, the bus ride back to the Institut was certainly amusing in itself.  Back row bus riders unite!  Hahaha.

Strange machines to turn the wine bottles during their second fermentation (I think).

Preparing for the wine tasting at the caves.

Some of our group members at the entrance to Chenonceaux.

Fairy tale castle!

Beautiful River! 

(Or, in the words of Tyler: "It looks just like it's out of The Lord of the Rings...except for the truck")

Life in Europe, much like life in America, is filled with little daily adventures and misadventures.  On Monday I must have talked about birds with the father of my host family for a good half hour, which may sound boring to some but for a biology major such as myself it was quite fascinating, and I learned a lot of vocabulary.  Les hirondelles.  Les merles.  Les pies.  It was also a good lesson in circumlocution, since trying to explain what a robin or hummingbird is when you don’t know the words in French can be rather challenging.  Yesterday Shakhlan, Mark, and I had a mini interview with a nun from the Basilica (Sister Marie Aimee, I think…perhaps one of the most awesome people ever), which was likewise interesting.  We also learned that the postal services workers are going on strike from today until Friday, but we're not exactly sure why; hopefully it won't last for too long.  Today I also went to a choral concert that was actually an exam for conservatory students in the directing class, which was quite fascinating--the teenage boy in my host family conducted a few pieces, which was pretty neat.  It both reminded me of church choir back home and made me want to look up Scandinavian music.  It's always nice to see the "real life" side of France, and not just the touristy stuff.  Like SMS language, which we did in one of our classes today--we can now write text messages using abbreviations like 2puis and tt and lgtps and kon and g and 2m1 and koi.  Very beastly, haha.

And oh, the misadventures!  Forgetting to check the weather before getting dressed.  Getting lost.  General acts of clumsiness.  My host family probably thinks I’m perpetually tipsy, based on the number of times I’ve run into doors and dropped things, coupled with the fact that the vast majority of French grammar and vocabulary leaves my head whenever I talk with them.  And yesterday the bathroom door handle came off in my hand.  Zut alors!  Oh well.  Life is a series of adventures, hahaha.

Several of us have made two major resolutions for our remaining time in France: to eat less horribly and to speak more French.  We are not proceeding very well with the first aim, as you can imagine, especially since yesterday we discovered that there was such a thing as chocolate flan.  The fact that I’ve been avoiding cucumbers, tomatoes, lettuce, and raw vegetables in general like the plague because of the E. Coli scare does not help matters at all either.  But hopefully we won’t return to the US as giants, hahaha.  We also noticed that whenever groups of USC people gathered together, it seemed as if we always defaulted to English for communicating—choosing the path of least resistance, in effect.  But this won’t help us learn the language nearly as much, and il faut que nous changions nos habitudes.  So we will try.  And hopefully be successful.

The rest of the week will likewise be filled with some pretty interesting adventures, including dinner at a Moroccan restaurant with the USC Tours group, a karaoke night, and a long weekend in which to come up with other things to do.  I’m excited.  Les aventures commencent!

Ciao!  J