Coming back into the United States was bitter sweet. I looked forward to coming back up until it actually happened. I felt as though the timing was right…five months of France and I was ready to be amongst English speakers again and drive a car and go to Wal-Mart (terrible, I know). I spent my last day in Montpellier packing, buying last minute things to bring back to the States, and cleaning (I coughed for two days from all the bleach I used absolutely sanitizing the entire apartment…my landlady Marie Christine should find no reason not to refund my entire deposit). My roommate Joanna had left before me and it was so sad to be in the apartment without its other occupants. France for me was actually coming to an end. All of a sudden I didn’t want to leave what had become my home and I wished that everyone I had met would come back and we would continue to travel all over Europe, be harassed by creepy French guys, and buy cheap baguettes, wine, and IKEA meatballs. It was ironic that as soon as we were to leave, Montpellier decided to bloom into a warm and sunny paradise that the Mediterranean had promised us it would be. It was as though the city didn’t want us to leave; Montpellier was enticing us not to go by tempting us with warm breezes and la belle vie.

Montpellier in the Summer

Returning to my first post:

What’s France really like? We have these outstanding stereotypes like how the women don’t shave their armpits, they’re rude, a bottle of coke is $7, the men are creeps (no eye contact, ladies! Not to mention extra skin somewhere and rampant STDs), they’re arrogant, heavy smokers, American-haters, baguettes, berets, etc.

I didn’t have it completely wrong. Some differences though: women DO shave their armpits, they’re not ALL arrogant and rude, only SOME of the men are creeps, and coke is 4 Euro, not 7. Happily, France did change me. I now enjoy a glass of wine, a pint of beer, and I did get to travel to many different cities. I’m sure I changed in other ways too, but that’s for the people I left behind to tell me about (just like things in their lives changed while I was away). Living in Europe was an invaluable experience, one I can’t imagine never having.

As soon as my plane touched down in D.C., I went into “America-Rejection Mode.” I did NOT want to be in America. The screaming voices of Americans made me cringe (we REALLY are loud). The inappropriate attitude towards individuals that couldn’t understand English on the plane (coming from France) by the United flight attendants appalled me. It could have been because I had been up for 20 some hours, or it could have been my true unhappiness at being back, but I immediately was put in a sour mood. “I don’t want to be here,” I growled on the phone to a friend.

It didn’t take long though to get back into the swing of things. The things I missed about America welcomed me back and my sour mood sweetened with sleep. Soon it seemed as though I never left, but with reinsertion into Amurikah, I began to miss things about France: how you can rip one bottle of water out of a pack of six in the grocery store and only pay for one; how tax and tip are included in every price; the proximity of everything; the price and taste of a warm baguette; traveling by train; choosing where you sit at a restaurant instead of being told; how it’s your own damn fault if you slip or trip or do something stupid to hurt yourself (no pointless lawsuits); moules frites; kebabs (maybe not so much); the people I spent my time with; speaking French!

I miss France now like I missed the United States. Either I need to go back soon, or I need to find someplace that combines all the aspects of both countries that I love. Too bad New Orleans has all but lost everything French. Montreal is too cold in the winter…perhaps the French West Indies?

Leaving Montpellier

Friday: Grèves and Milan

France’s train system, SNCF was having a national strike that was supposed to end the day before we were to leave France for Venice, Italy. Unfortunately, in wonderful French style the greve continued on the day we left, and so most trains were canceled and rerouted, which left hundreds of people crammed onto limited trains, unhappy and with travel plans interrupted. We ended up missing all of our connecting trains and ultimately had to scramble to find a place to stay in Milan for the night that we were supposed to be spending in Venice. Ultimately, we made it to Venice on Saturday and ended up staying on the actual island of Venice (which was absolutely lovely) instead of the planned hostel in Mestre, on the mainland.

Saturday—Monday: Venezia!

Venice Canal

Venice was perfectly beautiful. The water flowing through the canals was a mysterious chalky-green/blue but other than that I didn’t notice the “grime” that many people attribute to the city. I don’t really know what I can say to describe Venice…it was an ancient maze of canals and streets that would have been amazing to see when it was actually a functioning city. Today, unfortunately, its major trade is tourism…and tourists there were. Up until now, I’ve been surrounded by French people and little English. Whenever I hear English it pops out like a thorn in a field of cotton. In Venice I heard hard southern accents and children screaming in English. We even ran into some Penn State alumni on vacation with their family.

We had dinner at a restaurant called Marco Polo, which was excellent. A three course meal (lasagna is considered a “first course”…I don’t know how the Italians do it!) for 19 euro plus a free bottle of wine and limoncello! Our waiter Simone (Suh-mon-ay) was overly friendly and set the bar for what Italy would continue to deliver us.

One of the afternoons we took a waterbus to the islands of Murano and Burano. Murano is famous for its glass and Burano for its brightly colored houses. The sun made it a beautiful day to wander around the islands and explore another aspect of Venetian life beyond the canals and gondolas.

Chillin' in Murano

Houses in Burano

Monday—Tuesday: Verona

I think we were all surprised by Verona. We only spent one full day there and it may not have been enough (I might venture to say that I liked it more than Florence). Without any expectations, we weren’t disappointed and made it into a relaxed day. We wandered around the city, climbed some ancient ruins to get a great view, searched in circles for Juliet’s house (eventually finding it; it consisted of a courtyard with a balcony, a statue of Juliet (tradition is to take a picture while touching her breast), and the tunnel leading in covered in love notes, couples’ names, and requests for Juliet), and had an excellent, cheap and authentic dinner down a road perpendicular to the colosseum (I don’t remember the name). We stayed at “Best B&B” which was a hassle getting into (got yelled at by an Italian man for not waiting outside) but it was really cute and the breakfast the biggest we’ve had yet. I recommend it to anyone going to Verona.

Verona Skyline

Tuesday—Friday: Firenze

June 17th : Though it’s been months since my spring break vacation, I thought it would be useful to have a look back on the trip. The things that stood out the most in the places that I didn’t write about in the first place.

The Duomo

Florence was a beautiful city, and I could see why lots of people studied abroad there. It’s modern, clean,

eventful, the crowds are younger, the sights are old, and it’s a destination that many people make the trip to see. Overall though, I didn’t find Florence to be my favorite city in Italy. I think I would have much rather taken a day away from Florence and given it to another city (Verona or Palermo).

The Duomo was HUGE and we navigated our way around the city based on its location (very helpful) and the markets were fascinating to walk through. The view from the top of a mountain that we climbed was vast and orange (I recommend doing this…though at this point I don’t remember the name of it or how we got there.) And I saw my first (and only) “football” game while in Europe (Florence vs. Inter Milan. They had the opposing team’s sections walled off to prevent violence between spectators!).

View of Florence from the top of a mountain

Soccer Game

Me and some friends in San Gimignano and its view behind us

In addition to exploring the city, we also took a day trip out to a town on top of a mountain that used to have over 100 towers protecting it called San Gimigiano.It really made a difference in our trip, I believe. We took a few excursions during the trek across Italy, and I think that they added something extra to our experiences. Instead of just seeing the big cities, we got out and saw parts of the country that we may not have other wise thought to spend time in, and part of the reason we were able to do this was because we had so much time (Thanks, French school system!).

Friday—Monday: Roma

Monday—Wednesday: Napoli

Wednesday Night: Ferry

Thursday—Friday: Palermo

I ate escargot in Paris!

So. What’s happened since I went to Amsterdam? A lot. In short, I’ve stayed around Montpellier: went to a Rat Festival about recycling, took a bike ride to the mall, and successfully bowled a 30 (that would be 30 out of a perfect 300…I swear I wasn’t trying to do that poorly). I also traveled to an old village that had something to do with Charlemagne, a cave in which we watched a light show set to an opera track, spent my birthday in Paris, and gawked at cars in Monaco and the lack of sand on the beaches of Nice last weekend.

The pebble beaches of Nice

What’s most striking is how quickly this whole experience is slipping through my fingers. With only a month left in Europe, grabbing onto the seams seems impossible. There is still so much I want to do and so much being left undone!

Tomorrow I leave for a two week vacation in Italy (love how the French like their leisure time…that’s three weeks of vacation this semester). We’re going to 6 different cities and I know not a word of Italian. That’s amore! Mamma Mia! I’ma Mario! <– the extent of my attempts at the language. Looking forward to good food, gelato, and hopefully some WARM weather!

A Canal in Amsterdam

Looking past all the pretty architecture and winding canals, Amsterdam struck me as a city that is free. By this I don’t mean that naked girls walk the streets and high tourists stumble out of coffeeshops with bloodshot eyes (though to some degree it happens) in a city where anything goes. On the contrary. The people are just

Seeds for Sale

more free to make decisions about what they want to do with their lives and to their bodies. The police aren’t going to bust through the doors of a house because they suspect someone may be in possession of pot or because a lady wants to make a little money to support herself.

Likewise, it seems to be the same way in Montpellier (can’t speak for all of France), albeit be for the legal drugs and sex trade. The cops and the government don’t stick their noses in everybody’s business. For example, for Mardi Gras the young people of Montpellier (even some parents with their kids) decided that they wanted to have a huge parade walk though the streets of Montpellier and end up in the main squre, la Place de la Comedie. There were drums with the bass vibrating in the chests of the drunk people walking alongside and in the processional, and everyone was wearing the most ridiculous clothes they could find in their closets. When the parade of hundreds finally reached la Place, two fires were started as a fire truck and cops stood nearby. Surprisingly, the pompiers (firemen) didn’t step in and try to extinguish the fires, and the cops didn’t step in to stop the large group of dancing people or the small number of them who were spray painting the sides of McDonald’s (either they didn’t see the graffitiers or they just don’t care for McDonald’s either).

Mardi Gras Fire with Passive Pompiers

It was kind of shocking that the authorities didn’t try to stop any of it, yet at the same time refreshing. If it had been in the United States, the cops would have stopped the parade before it got even half way to la Place and had a fire been started, there is no doubt in my mind that the riot cops with their pepper spray handy would have started to exercise their power. The French seemed to believe that as long as no one got hurt, there was no reason to stop the festivities. It wasn’t a violent mob by any means, and they seemed to recognize it. I only wish that the police and government in the US (ahem State College) would reevaluate how much it is necessary to step in.

So the same thing went for Amsterdam. One of my friends who went to a coffeshop said how strange it was to get a menu with all the different kinds of pot they could legally purchase and smoke. Now I am not personally an advocate for the legalization of marijuana in the United States but it does make me wonder…is our government enjoying the power over their people too much? How much control of our daily lives is really necessary for our safety? If someone wants to smoke pot or sell their body for money, isn’t that their decision? There are laws covering everything and everyone these days and after spending over a month in Europe, I’m starting to wonder who has the better idea: The Land of the Free or the Land of the Free People?

My friend and I left at 7h30 for what was supposed to be a four hour train ride. It turned into ten hours. Long story short, there were some “technical” problems, then we all had to get off the train at some French train station before they told us 3 minutes later “never mind! Get back on the train!” and then we stopped four 3 hours for an unknown reason just before the Spanish border, and then just after we crossed the border too! Multiple times French and Spanish national police came on and asked to see everyone’s passports. At one point the train had to stop again to kick a guy off who didn’t have a ticket. We finally got to Barthelona (said in a Spanish accent of course!) around 16h30. We checked into our [very nice] hostel and headed out to get our first taste of Spanish food.

Of course, the weekend was so much fun. I got to see a lot of the city (which is HUGE!) including a Gaudi apartment complex, the Barcelona museum of Contemporary Art (where we may or may have been brain washed) and lots of people in extravagant and crazy costumes for Carnivale.

Roof of La Pedrera, designed by Gaudi

Out of all the things I did and saw though, I think there are two things that have stuck with me most: the validity of a language barrier/how much French I actually know and my appreciation for Montpellier.

I haven’t really been in a place before where I didn’t speak the language (Cancun, Mexico does not count). Going to Barcelona made me realize even more than France what it feels like to be paralyzed by language…or lack thereof. When in a restaurant I had to hope that the waiter could speak or understand at least a little bit of English, or I had to try and feign what I believed to be a “Spanish” accent while ordering. Most times I was in a group that had a fluent Spanish speaker present and so she would handle the speaking but when we weren’t with her I really realized how much French I really do know. When getting onto the metro, I didn’t know how to say “pardon” or “excuse me” as I wanted to move past someone. I didn’t know how I would yell, “STOP!” or “HELP!” if something were to happen to me. My very limited knowledge of how to say “hello, good bye, thank you, I’m sorry, I don’t speak Spanish but I’m from Puerto Rico, I want to finish my homework, and where are my pants?” of course came in handy, but truly my experience in Barcelona made me realize how much French I know.

Some Spanish at a crosswalk

I was surprised to find myself mechanically translating what I wanted to say into French in my head before realizing that whomever I wanted to talk to—the person at the front desk, the random people we met in the street—either wouldn’t understand what I was saying or could probably speak some amount of English. It also just seemed easier in Spain to speak French: one night we cajoled down the streets speaking francais…it just flowing out of our mouths like we were French natives on vacation. Perhaps it was the wine from dinner or the fact that there weren’t real French people around to hear our terrible accents and grammatical errors, whatever it was I had fun speaking the language I’m in Europe to learn. Even more so, I was happy to know that when I returned to Montpellier, I wouldn’t have to worry about pointing at what I wanted on the menu, grunting, and hoping the waiter could read my mind. I would be able to ask for directions, buy stamps at the tabac, and know how much I was expected to pay at a cash register without looking at the numbers on a screen.

Oh how I love French.

Being put in the situation of not knowing Spanish made French feel comfortable and similarly, Montpellier more comfortable. Barcelona is a wonderful city, and I would love to go back and see and do all the things we didn’t have time to, but it is just so BIG! All the walking, not knowing where I was and the faster speed at which everyone seemed to be moving was overwhelming. In Montpellier, I know where I can get really cheap and delicious food, and I would never be confused by the massive system of public transportation and jump on the bus and go the wrong way for and hour and half. It is a small city by all means, but I think it is the perfect size. It’s not exploding with tourists and cars and buildings that tower imposingly over streets. Most of all though, after a busy weekend with little sleep, I was excited to get back to the familiar and have some alone time…away from the high stress of a flash vacation.

All in all, it was so good to get away from Montpellier for the weekend. A little change, some excitement, different scenery…Barcelona left a good impression. I wouldn’t want to live there, but rest assured, I’ll be back, Barca.

It’s already been over a week here in France and I can’t believe how quickly time has passed. It feels both like I have not been here that long, and also as though I have been living here for months. I’m starting to explore all the little side streets around my own and discover new ways to get where I want to go.

A Street in Montpellier

The days go quickly here. I’m always doing something, or getting ready to do something. Last week it was all orientation stuff and getting to know Montpellier as new comers (feeling like freshman all over again!) and this week we are all bonafide French students at Paul Valery University. I am taking five classes, with both Tuesdays and Fridays off.

My Classes

E23LTM1 is a lecture for a lit course that I’m taking at the University with real French students. I’m still not really sure what the class is about because the professor talked so softly and quickly that I had a really hard time understanding him. The TD (which would can be most closely described as a recitation) is about mental illness and literature. It seems like it is going to be a great class…and I understood the professor surprisingly well. The subject matter is interesting and Madame Nocak-leChevalier seems to be welcoming to foreign students.

A difference that exists with the French classroom that there is a lot loss interation between students and the professor. The students are there to learn from the professor…not to engage in discussion about what they think about the subject matter. The classes that I have with other American students—phoentics and grammar—are of course more interactive because they are designed specifically to help us with our french language skills.

Some other cultural differences that have really stood out between French and American cultures is something as simple as smiling. The French just don’t seem to do it! When walking down the street, no one smiles at each other; when you accidently bump into someone you don’t smile and say sorry; when you recognize someone you know you don’t smile! And one thing the French certainly never do is look one another in the eye (strangers at least). So what’s an American to do when he’s walking down the street smiling away and making eye contact with everyone he crosses paths with? The French have perfected a tight-lipped almost sulky facial expression to match all of their black clothing (because Europeans are very chique and wear all dark clothing). So scowl a little, light a cigarette, look at the ground when you walk and voila! Instant Frenchification.

Of course I want to pick up and learn from the European culture that I am going to be living amongst for the next five months (although the whole not smiling thing has been very difficult to do). I even live in an authentic French apartment complete with a separate room for the toilet and French appliances.

The Kitchen

The Bathroom with a hand-held faucet for showering

My Beds

My Desk Area

Being on the ground floor, we even have a little courtyard!

Our Courtyard

View from the courtyard

So so far things are going well in Montpellier (with the exception of not having internet and no cell phone reception in my apartment…oh yeah and the whole problem of not being able to access cash) and I really like it here, but that’s not to say I’m not thinking of everyone at home!

Until next time! A bientot!

It took some effort and stress to finally get to the hotel, but we did it. Janelle and I encountered a few bumps on the way (or really, quite a few bumps) but happily we are all here, safe, and with our luggage.

My journey began on my flight from Dayton to Washington-Dulles. This was uneventful except for a very enthusiastic flight attendant who literally did everything with a smile (who wanted everyone else to too) and counted down from five for when he was going to turn out the cabin lights. He tucked an airsickness bag into his sock before we took off.

I met up with Janelle in DC (who had been sitting at the gate for like 5 hours before I got there!) and we proceeded to not sleep the entire seven-hour flight to Paris. Instead we talked, ate so slow we were the last ones done with dinner, scarfed down Danishes in order to throw out our trash when everyone else did during breakfast, and laughed when a flight attendant said about Janelle, “Yogurt tickles her! Don’t give her yogurt or she’ll start laughing!” which only made us laugh more.

At eight p.m. (or was it 4 a.m.?) All of a sudden we weren’t under Canada anymore and were instead flying over France! We were disappointed not to be able to see out the window and down at our new home country due to beaucoup beaucoup bruillage (fog) and that the sun had yet to greet the city, but did enjoy the green lights on the runway once we landed.

Thank goodness we landed and had 4 hours before our next flight.

Unfortunately because we arrived so early, our departure for Montpellier wasn’t on any monitors yet. We were confused as to where to go so we wandered around a weird part of CDG until we went back to near where we got off the plane and went through immigration which consisted with a man saying, “bonjour,” opening my passport, and stamping it. Going to the US and Canada is so much more of a hassle. They ask you questions, you have to fill out a form, all the information goes into a computer, drug dogs stand guard, the national guard suspiciously eyes anyone and everyone, Uncle Sam shakes your hand as you are accepted into the country, etc.

Then we still didn’t know what we had to do (labeling in CDG is terrible!) so we guessed that we should go get our bags. We went up some outdoor escalator without steps and got to the carousel. Janelle got her bags, but they were only set to be routed to Paris and not continue down to Montpellier. Concerned because my bags didn’t show up (we thought we had to take them through customs and then recheck them or something) I went to the United desk and was promptly told that I was NOT supposed to get my bags in Paris, duh you stupid American girl. Still lost and confused, Janelle and I knew that we had to recheck in with Air France because neither of us had boarding passes and she had to sort out getting her two suitcases to Montpellier.

Getting to the Air France ticket desk should be easy, right? Not in CDG it isn’t. We left the secure area of that terminal (were we supposed to go this way?) and went to the information desk. It was still so early in the morning that the only way we knew that our outgoing flight to Montpellier was in F2 was because the ladies told us. They also kindly explained how to get to terminal 2. “Just go right down here (motions around her shoulder and behind the desk) and take the shuttle to the last stop, Terminal 2.” Finally! Some easy, handholding directions! Somehow Janelle and I still managed to screw up. Surprised?

Instead of going right behind the desk and into a little hallway with elevators, we go outside through the giant door that is still behind the desk. So now we’re standing outside on some kind of platform for busses. It doesn’t seem right and all the signs were for downtown Paris. Janelle and I are chatting away (in English, mind you) about how this can’t be right and how we’re so confused while silent French people stand around us holding cigarettes.

Finally I realize that we need to be INSIDE and somewhere completely different! So we run back inside take a “lift” down to the real shuttle and ride to where we’re supposed to go. Then there was a whole fiasco with trying to get Janelle’s bags to Montpellier that ended up costing money (5 Euros for every kilo over!). After much stress and fighting with the ticketing man we finally got through to go to our gate and had to pass through security which was being guarded by an Asian tsa man talking to us so quickly and with a weird accent that we couldn’t understand him. Turns out he wanted to know if we had liquids. I said I didn’t but then remembered that I did and we became more confused when he got confused. After that we just went in line and stayed there.

As I walk through the metal detector, my belt set off the alarm and instead of just letting me take it off and walk through again, I got frisked. And when I say frisked, I mean thoroughly molested (sorry Dan :/). Never before have I had a woman (or a man!) feel between my breasts for a foreign object. An hour after we’re supposed to take off (Aubrey was mysteriously whisked away by a gate lady) we hit the air and not soon after we landed in Montpellier.

~~

Tonight everyone is staying in a hotel. We were supposed to be put in rooms with our roommates, but I am with two girls who are not they. The hotel is nice…one very hard bed and a pull out couch, no clock, no free wifi, but I cannot complain. I am in France, after all!

Tomorrow we have orientation that starts at 9AM! Ah! Then we do some stuff and eventually end up at our houses. This still doesn’t feel real.

But am I ready to go spend 5 months in a foreign country where the primary language is not English–where I will have to cook for myself,  take classes in French, and manage my way around a city that is older than the United States? Truthfully, I’m hoping the language will magically come to me one day and I will be fluent. Realistic? I’d like to think so. As far as navigating the city, I’m not too concerned about it. I’m a fairly independent person and it is nice to know that I already know some people going  in the same program.

I’m going to be living in a three bedroom apartment with two other girls (one from PSU and one from Minnesota). It’s located fairly close to the Place de la Comedie (city center) and apparently we have a back yard. Cooking for myself shouldn’t be too hard, right? I’m thinking I should buy a french cookbook so I don’t stick to boring old American food (or maybe Dan can invite us over for dinner at his homestay? ).

Speaking of moving away from American culture, what’s France really like? We have these outstanding stereotypes like how the women don’t shave their armpits, they’re rude, a bottle of coke is $7, the men are creeps (no eye contact, ladies! Not to mention extra skin somewhere and rampant STDs), they’re arrogant, heavy smokers, American-haters, baguettes, berets, etc.  I wonder how mistaken we really are about the French and I wonder how much the French culture is going to rub off on me! (I’m hoping to transform into an oenophile–that’s a wine lover/connoisseur!) Pique-niques, weekends in Paris, traveling all over Europe, I can’t wait!

As excited as I am to go over to France, that’s not to say I’m not going to be thinking about everything I am leaving behind in the States! Everyone not coming along on the montagne rousse that this semester is going to be, don’t have too much fun without me and don’t forget about me!  You know who you are and I already miss you!

A bientot!