Camus

« Il lui sembla que le cours du monde venait alors de s’arrêter et que personne, à partir de cet instant, ne vieillirait plus ni ne mourrait. En tous lieux, désormais, la vie était suspendue, sauf dans son cœur où, au même moment, quelqu’un pleurait de peine et d’émerveillement. » 

I have to write this paper on the portrayal of being an "étrangère" in a work of our choice. I chose Camus. What I didn't realize was that the book, L'Exil et le Royaume, was a recueil, a compilation, of six short stories. Immediately, I was worried about my thesis. Smashing six completely separate concepts of a being a stranger all into one eloquently-worded sentence or two? In French?

And because all my friends are gone this weekend and I have relegated myself to my attic bedroom to get this paper done, and because the weather has been tellement moche (to the point where this morning, I actually started wondering how the sky doesn't run out of water... but that could also be my brain going crazy with French essays) I was less than excited. It's now 5:20pm, and the light is dim but not yet night. The rain has been battering my windowpane, and beyond, I can still see the top of the neighbor's pine tree waving in the wind from my spot in bed (the radiator doesn't work that well, so Camus, my laptop and I are all getting cozy with the down comforter). I've got headphones in to muffle the racket of 10 nine-year-old boys shooting each other with plastic bullets right outside my door, but I can't focus on anything, and I can't identify with any of Camus' stories of men and women in the Algerian desert. Really, I'm just searching for inspiration.

And then, what do you know, but Damien knocks and comes in with a cup of hot tea, two clementines, and two Carambars to wish me good luck and says, "J'aurais t'invité en bas, mais c'est la guerre ! Bon courage !" (I would have invited you (to eat) downstairs, but it's war down there! Good luck!) And there you go. Inspiration found. Quite honestly, I was dumbfounded. I feel like I haven't done anything for them, but here they are, taking care of me, looking after me, and making me feel like they just care. Simple as that. After that, I can't NOT work. It's impossible to procrastinate when they're making sure I'm as unbothered by a gaggle of boys as possible. So I took my book, again, and aimlessly hunted for something to type into my word document to rearrange into a thought process later.

But in re-reading the book, I found some parts I underlined for my eventual thesis, including the above. It really isn't paraphrasable, so I'm sorry for all you non-French speakers. I really can't do it justice. The point is this: 

"It seemed to her, starting this instant, that no one would neither grow older nor die. In all places, from now on, life was suspended, except in her heart where, at the same moment, someone was crying in grief and amazement."

And so, a few days late, this is ultimately what I am most thankful for: learning the fact that I will never be lonely.

The fact that IES has professors that teach classes that choose themes like the concept of being a foreigner. That I have picked up way too many books that I think are boring or uninteresting and, in being forced to search for something for a thesis, find shockingly perfect quotes that resonate with me and make me feel comforted and understood all at the same time. That whether I feel stupid or inadequate or overwhelmed by my love for a new city, I know I'm not the only one; it's common to the entire human race. Every bit of my experience, every up and down and confusion and embarrassment and thrill and joy, it's all shared. It's universal. While it differs for each person and each host family and each location and truly every single decision I've made since I arrived, it's really not that different at all. Being abroad has been the most humbling experience, because it's made me discover who I am and what I think. And that is something for which I am truly thankful.

November 18

Well, I can't think of what to say, because pretty much everything I want to say is contradictory. Life is no longer new or interesting or super exciting, full of adrenaline-pumped blog posts gushing about my new life here and how fabulous it is. I've hit pretty much all the "firsts", and now I'm in that bittersweet, confusing moment, wondering what to do before I have to start getting in all my "lasts."


The homesickness still hasn't really ever hit me, and now I'm confident that it probably won't. This is a fact for which I am eternally grateful. But, if you'll allow me to get personal and gushy for a moment, it's also frustrating. I'm not a crier. I talk a lot when I'm excited, and vent a lot or perhaps cry when I'm mad. When I say goodbye, when someone dies, when I have to let go... I don't cry. I think. I think about the person or place. I think about what I'm going to do and if I'm going to miss them soon. It was like that when I arrived here, and minus one five-minute outburst of tears within 20 minutes of arriving on the first day (triggered by a fallen bookshelf, which I'm no longer embarrassed to admit), I just haven't cried. While I'm tempted to think that this is caused by a general lack of attachment, lack of growing close to people, I don't think so.


This fuels the most recent worry that I am just downright boring. It's a silly thought, I realize, but it's an important one. My family at home, my friends at home, they know me. My family here, they don't. And they don't have forever to get to know me. Now, it's no longer a language thing, but a general "me" thing. Have I told them I love to do certain things? They know I like food... but I haven't cooked with them. They know I like sushi. They know I like kids. They don't know that a ten-year-old Russian boy at Children's Hospital is who inspired me to pursue a foreign language. They don't know that I get so excited about food. They don't know that I drove to hot yoga almost every day this summer (I don't exercise in France). That I'm not nearly as cultured as I might seem... and yes, that I like music "qui n'est que la bruit" (that is nothing but noise.) They know me as a polite, semi-quiet student who laughs and jokes and plays with kids and listens and understands conversations and goes out on the weekends with her friends. While that is great, I sometimes feel like I'd so much rather not be worried about my appearance and manners and actually say what I think, even if it is something that is likely exaggerated to show how much I love something and also probably using a an idiomatic phrase that is lost in translation.



I read somewhere that after two months, you are fully "habituée" and can go along with your life in a new country. I have two things to say about this: 1. I agree completely and 2. IT IS NOT FAIR. How can I not stay in a country I am beginning to fall in love with?


The first two months, that was lust, for sure. Every boulangerie smell, every pain au choc and 75-degree day and old Frenchman and adorable French toddler and perfect French food... it just all seemed too picturesque. I couldn't believe that it was me! Here! I felt proud that I had it and nervous that I would ruin it. Worried that I couldn't get the most out of it. But mainly, I spent my days soaking up a ton, learning a lot about my new life, reveling in my happiness of just being here.


Now, it's a little more stagnant. Things are rolling along. I am settled in totally and completely. I still get nervous about some little things, but I'm no longer nervous with my level of French. I am happy with my life here. 


So two months ago, I went to Monoprix, scared out of my mind that I was in the "bring your own bag" line when I didn't have any, or that the cashier would bully me into giving her exact change (again) or just overall not understanding what she said while she was checking me out. 


One month ago, I went to Monoprix, bought 3 items, and stood in line for a solid 20 minutes. The woman in front of me spent 250E on a month's worth of food, and apologetically said something to me that I didn't understand, but used the foolproof smile/laugh/hand-wave with "Oh, ça va!" and I chalked up the whole experience of almost being late to class and therefore sitting through two classes with Orange Juice and couscous in my bag as just part of the culture. While I wanted to be annoyed, I immediately counterbalanced the thought with "Nope! It doesn't bother the French, so it won't bother you!" which has surprisingly seemed to work really well so far. 


Today, I went to Monoprix, stood in line for five minutes because the woman in front of me was chatting with the cashier, and I didn't even have to rationalize myself out of being annoyed... because I wasn't. I understood that the cashier (all of whom are nicely dressed 40-something women) loves Tuesdays because her young daughter goes to school a little later so they get to have lazy mornings and then she gets all of her house tasks done before she comes to work. The woman in line said something else, I forget, and the two kept on chatting until the cashier, glancing at me, said to her, "Ben alors, va-t-en!  Va-t-en!" ("Okay, well, go away! Go away!" jokingly) and wished her friend a bonne fin de la semaine and scanned my groceries. Today, I gave her exact change. I bought a reusable bag. I understood that she was asking me if I had a Monoprix card and told her no thank you. She gave me my receipt and a makeup coupon in my hand, and she looked at me and said, "Here you go." (As opposed to the eye contact-less interaction in which the cashier, with a sweep of her hand, deposits your receipt and coins in a plastic indentation in the counter.) And, most of all, she placed my groceries to the side while I bagged them instead of leaving them in the space she needed, sitting and waiting impatiently for me to clear off the counter because I can't bag my groceries into the magically unopening plastic grocery bags quickly enough. And when I left, she actually wished me a good day. And you know what? She SMILED.


I stay, despite the stagnancy or difficulty, to earn smiles like that, things that I can proudly tout as small victories in assimilating myself into la vie française. Because that lady, she has no idea who I am. She doesn't care. But when I've succeeded in breaking that stoic barrier of the French by the own things I've noticed and not by virtue of my always-welcoming host family, that's when it's rewarding. That is why I stay.


Tonight, I went to conversation club. My family was planning on leaving dinner out for me, as I don't get home until 8:30 (and they eat at 7:45) and were planning on having a réunion at the house at 8:30 as well. However, towards the end conversation club, a guy across from me pulled out and was playing with a small flyer for a concert at the university later that night. A flyer that, ironically, my host family had given to me the night before and told me to go to because it was supposed to be great (but as it started at 8:30pm, I mentally declined, knowing I would have to choose dinner and a less-awkward entrance home over going to a concert that no one else I knew was going to and therefore barging into my house later at night while my host parents had guests, not having eaten). This was my chance. So after a problem-free phone call home, Maddy, Clare, our new friend Simon and I walked down to the tram and headed to the fac to hear the Orchestre du Pays de la Loire play Verdi, Paganini, and Rachmaninov-- all composers I studied Spring Quarter in Honors 13. And so while we were sitting there, on folding chairs in the back row in a gym, listening to the William Tell Overture and other famous works, it was another reason as to why I came. It's the kind of moment I hope I can look back on... the odd sort of memory that doesn't seem like it will stick with you, but then all of a sudden you realize that you don't have to get dressed up and pay a lot of money and go to a concert hall; paying 2 Euro, showing up in your normal clothes to a gym concert right after class is just as amazing. It's the kind of thing that I now associate with the French: a casual appreciation for culture, not because it makes you somehow above everyone else, or because you can afford it, or because it is what should be done, but because it surrounds you. And it really is worth appreciating. 
----------------------------------------------
 Fast forward to today: November 26, Thanksgiving. 

I'm going to admit it: I'm a little homesick. Things are not perfect, especially because I've been very frustrated with myself the past few days. But no matter what country I'm in, despite the fact I have class for 6 hours today instead of a week off to spend with my family, it IS still Thanksgiving, so I'm going to be very 5th-grade and write a list of things I'm thankful for (and, in true pessimist Sarah manner, a few things I'm not):

NOT thankful for:
- persistent headaches
- the odd French education system that I will never comprehend that means that I have now had 5 different professors in 2 classes
- the lack of turkey, cranberry sauce, and stuffing in France
- SCU housing ridiculousness



Thankful for:
- being healthy and having no problems thus far (maladies of all sorts are running rampant through IES)
- no psychologie class at the fac today or for the rest of the term. It's kind of like Thanksgiving Break...

- feeling like I have made progress
- having downtime this weekend
- amazing friends 
- my family, because I realize more and more how my "culture shock" was way less than a lot of other students' due in large part to how I was raised
- proximity to family (not that I have it here, but it's a retrospect thankfulness for what I've always had until now)
- IES having a Thanksgiving dinner tonight (I am praying for pumpkin pie)
(Update)
- the fact that pumpkin pie does indeed exist in France. It really was nothing special, but it's the one thing that just says "Thanksgiving" to me, so it must be present at everything Thanksgiving dinner in some shape or form.
- the fact that things always turn around if you suck it up and battle your way through (believe me, after having a headache followed by my bus home getting stuck and running into a delivery truck trying to get through traffic, I was not exactly a ball of happiness... but the excitement of still having something to look forward to, some semblance of Thanksgiving that my host family cares enough about to pay to go to with me, that's really all I need. It was a great day.)



That's it for my long update. Hope everyone is having a wonderful Thanksgiving!

Lausanne, Switzerland

New confession: I love Switzerland. A LOT. I spent this past weekend there with Whitney, a close friend and part of my Tanti French family (as we shared the same professor and same French classes with five other people for a whole year) and Scott, another fellow Bronco.

Thursday was a crazy one. I woke up at 6:30am like usual, scribbled a note to my host family because I realized I don't see them on Thursdays anyway and I didn't think they knew I was leaving that day; I told them I'd be back right after class at 11 to pick up my luggage to take to IES. Three hours of Pharmacologie surprisingly flew by (which may or may not have been aided by another pain au chocolat) and ran back to the house (via tram). My host mom had stayed home to make sure any and all laundry of mine was folded and ironed in case I needed it before I left... so sweet. So in addition to my school bag with notebooks and a laptop in it, I lugged my way-too-heavy baggage across town via public transportation. I then ran back to the tram to catch it to the opposite side of town for lunch with Lauren, had my two-hour Psych class, then grabbed the tram again to get to IES for my Econ class. Immediately after class, I once again caught the tram to the gare, treated myself to my first Diet Coke ("Coca Light") here, and was finally on my way to Paris!

I arrived to Whitney's homestay around 9pm, and it was great. We just ate some bread and cheese and caught up until we fell asleep. Friday morning, we were up at the crack of dawn and, after a 30-minute metro ride, we arrived at the Gare de Lyon. My seats were separate from Whitney and Scott because I booked them separately, so I just did some reading and relaxed until my iPod died. No complaints! The TGV was great: in the time it takes to drive from Bellevue to Portland, you are in a completely different country-- a fact I still can't get over. We changed trains in Geneva for a quick city-hopper to Lausanne, and at last, we had made it.

We found our hostel, dropped our bags, and then headed out for a pasta lunch, where I learned the great paradox of the economy: even when currency sites say the dollar and Swiss Franc are one-to-one, that means absolutely nothing, because everything is twice as expensive (think dollar menu MacDo burgers for 2.95 Fr) but that wasn't too much of a problem... I've just submitted to the fact that everything here will cost a lot.

Upon arriving back at the hostel (Lausanne GuestHouse, highly recommended), we were checked in by the nicest woman who was thrilled we spoke French fairly well. Whitney and I headed up to our four-bed chambre and started to make our beds when we met our new roommate for the night. What started as a simple comment telling us that we weren't making our beds the right way (sleep sack, duvet cover... it's open to interpretation, I think) turned into an almost three-hour conversation with our roommate named Léticia, who is from near Montpellier in the south of France. It was so great. In a city like Lausanne that is more Americanized than Nantes (which, I'm beginning to realize, isn't hard to do-- we have only one Pizza Hut, one MacDo, and zero Starbucks. While I've had a slight craving for Chipotle, refried beans and spanish rice, and a burger, I know I'll be back in that wayyyy too soon for my own liking and have not given in thus far.) it was nice to really be able to float between English and French; I no longer bemoan my American heritage or feel embarassed by it, and if necessary (if; for example, my train ticket doesn't work or I need to ask a specific question beyond my vocabulary) I can transition to English.

Now, on the train or in public (even in France), I will think people are speaking English when they are speaking French. I hear things and understand them, but I don't know what language I'm listening to-- it's a very confusing position to be in. Of course, this only happens when listening to train announcements or overhearing conversations around me, because everyone I have direct contact with identifies with a certain language (host family and businesses = French; friends and written stuff=English) so I know what to expect.

So when we were talking with Léticia in French, it was wonderful. She didn't expect our French to be great (it is a hostel, after all) so it really took any and all pressure off to get a point across. As such, I learned everything from "des toastinettes" (Kraft singles cheese) to "une sage-femme" (a midwife... a vocab word that was actually useful at the dinner table last night) and all the "benn... euhhh... finnn..." filler words (equivalent of "umm" and "like") in between. It turns out that Léticia had a horrible hostel experience the night before (she came home to find some guy sleeping in her bed and the front desk was not open) so the nice check-in lady placed her with us because we spoke French. Our other roommate was a girl from Greece who was visiting to speak at l'école polytechnique de Lausanne, as she's currently doing her post-doc in Physics in Paris; with her we spoke both French and English. I honestly don't know how Whitney and I got so lucky, because the location of being in a multilingual hostel room in a multilingual country made it easy to speak whatever jumble of bilingual thoughts were currently in my head without having to stop and reorganize before I say something.

Friday night, we walked down (FAR down a steep hill) to Lake Geneva (called Lac Léman or Lac d'Ouchy in French) because we thought there would be a lot going on by the waterfront, but no luck. We found some sleepy little crêperies, a few hotels, and not much else, so we headed back up along another road. To catch our breath, we stopped at the window of a chocolatier... one window was the kitchen, with crescent-shaped cookies laying out haphazardly on a drying rack, surrounded by various shipping boxes of chocolate, brandishing the names of all the equatorial countries from which the chocolate came. It wasn't pretentious, it wasn't prepared; it was just a small kitchen that looked like the owner shut off the lights mid-baking session to go cook some dinner. The other half of the store was the shop, and upon seeing chocolate truffles and syrups and tablets, we resolved to come back the next day. So we capped off our night with gigantic pizzas back by the gare and headed home.

Saturday morning: we grabbed more pain au chocolats and headed back down to the lake in "daytime", though it was so incredibly foggy (it was way foggier the night before, if you can imagine) that we couldn't see much.

Lake Geneva

Whitney and me on the lac!

The back of a beautiful hotel on the lac

The front of the hotel Château d'Ouchy, which has a really old tour (tower). I'm thinking 12th century, but I don't know.

The whole town was absolutely dead, so we headed to the Musée Olympique because Lausanne is the capital of the Olympic Games (who knew?) but instead of that, we headed to a photography, graphic design, and publishing exhibit at the art museum next door (pictured).

While I didn't pay 4 Fr. to go into a small building and see paper sample booklets and smell inks and papers just like in mom's office at home, it was amazing to see the designs of people who have designed for Karl Lagerfeld and see displays of all of the Chanel print work for the past ten years (!!).

I also think this is why I'm not homesick: I went to Bordeaux, and in search of the museum of contemporary art, we found some other museum (we still don't know what) and came across an urban planning exhibit, which described the exact job of my dad-- right down to his favorite architects. And now, I go to Switzerland and by sheer chance, by quite literally walking up to a building and going, "What's this? Let's go in!" I found a graphic design exhibit portraying the exact career of my mom. It's still incredibly comforting to be across the world and go to a different country and be able to run into and recognize the passions of those I'm closest to. While I'm adventuring all over Europe, trying to figure out who I am and what I like, I am reminded of where I come from and how both my parents have found and followed their passions. In a strange way, it's me being told that I will find my own passions, whether by happenstance coincidences or a final decision to follow something I've been mulling over for a while. It's something that my parents can't tell me, but that same idea that I can recognize in my own experiences. It's really feeling like I'm turning into the person I want to be, a person who is starting to recognize my own function in a gigantic world, and continuing with an unabashed and determined curiosity to explore until I'm (unwillingly) forced onto that plane on January 2nd.

Statue at the Musée Olympique

After the Musée Olympique visit (meaning we walked around the garden and saw the statues, because we all felt pretty "take it or leave it" about spending 8 Fr. to go into a sports museum) we headed back up the grand hill to probably my favorite place the entire trip: the chocolate shop! (Come on, is that even a surprise at this point? I also have to admit to being on a chocolate and candy kick since I left Anna at Oxford on Halloween: Haribo, Monoprix brand "Dino'zors" crappy but delicious gummy candy, hard caramels, chocolate-covered caramels... at 1 Euro per bag, I treat myself to a bag a week)

We arrived to the chocolatier, and from the moment we stepped in the door, we were wrapped in that Christmas-y Swiss chocolate aroma that is absolutely unparalleled (think pure cocoa with cardamom, cinnamon, and anise in a 70-degree store when it is 40 degrees out). The chocolatière behind the caisse gave us truffles with ganache to goût (taste) and right off the bat, I knew we found heaven. I bought two bars of milk and dark "Christmas chocolate" with a parfum of orange zest and "les épices de Noël" as well as a gigantic bag of meringues de Noël-- four different shaped and flavored meringues: chocolate, fennel, cardamom, and anise in christmas trees, stars, crescents, and small rings-- which, the nice lady told us, were not only made on the premises yesterday, but were bagged this morning. Meaning that the "cookies" we had seen on the drying rack when we passed by the night before were actually the EXACT meringues we gorged ourselves on enjoyed the next day. I'm sorry, WHY do I live in the United States again???

We stopped by the grocery store for some provisions, then ate lunch/leftover pizza back at the hostel (they have a full commercial-size kitchen for everyone to use) before heading back out.

This is what I would take home as a gift if I had the room in my luggage/ if they stayed fresh/ if I didn't eat them all...

With nothing else to do, and because we had assumed Lausanne was a slow town and already exhausted the other direction (found the lake, two museums, and lots of summer-specific shops that were closed), we headed up this hill that we had started up but surrendered to the night before...

... and we found a whole city!!! Honestly, I had no idea this was here (because it was above us and we couldn't see it, and because I didn't really know what Lausanne was like before I came). The fog had quite literally lifted (or actually, we were above it now), there was blue sky, and we had a whole new city to explore and conquer.

I wish this portrayed the city accurately. Right past those buildings is not really a cliff, but just a hill so steep that you had to work to walk up it. From our view, everything past those old buildings just sort of swirled together into a sunlit, unending abyss of lake, fog, and sky...

Then we looked harder and guess what? WE FOUND THE ALPS!

The doors from a church built in 1276 (that opened automatically with motion detectors, which kind of ruined the 13th-century mood)

The orchestra was practicing, so we had to be discrète

This is, I believe, the town hall... also where Mozart played some of his first concerts at the age of 10!

Behind the statue is a cuckoo clock where, every hour on the hour, the little people come out and dance around, which we stumbled across later that night.

The ascent to the other cathédrale (see that 2nd building from the right, with the white band?)

Here it is... wait for part three...
(it is a gun shop, but I just really thought it was pretty)

The cathédrale (don't know anything about it though)

It had beautiful stained-glass windows, but my camera started to freak out after this

Above Lausanne (with fog again)

... and part three! (semi-zoomed-in... but this is how on-top-of-each-other everything is, which I LOVED)

Every street had a different sort of arching Christmas decoration; each one was beautiful. (Nantes also has this too, but we don't have pedestrian-only streets, so the feel is a little different.)

Lausanne and the cathédrale where we were (from a bridge over more of the city)

The "Lausanne Palace", a completely beautiful, decked-out hotel

After our little tour through the city, we spent some downtime at the hostel, then headed back out for some dinner. Whitney and Scott kindly indulged my desire for Swiss food (because I'm sorry, but when the most popular type of restaurant is Italian, you start to wonder where the culture is) so I had a saucisse, pommes de terre, and some choucroute (sausage, boiled potatoes, and sauerkraut) followed by fondue. It was completely justified by so much hill climbing-- and high altitude climbing at that!

Sunday:

Stormy day (the view from our hostel room. Not bad!)

We kind of forgot that NOTHING is open on Sundays in Europe, so after walking around a little more and searching for Swiss Army knives to buy for Whitney and me (to no avail), we ended up in the one foolproof open-on-Sundays spot: good old Starbucks. I finally gave in to my curiosity and spent an ungodly 7 Fr. on coffee (my first Starbucks in Europe.) To make it worth it, I ordered something only available here: a dark chocolate cherry mocha. (For the record, the Peppermint mocha was not listed anywhere, and this was its replacement on the holiday menu.) I couldn't taste the cherry flavoring, and they used the fattiest whole cream known to man, which would have been just fine had I not eaten a paillôchoc for breakfast (aka mini baguette with nutella inside). I was in a chocolate and sugar coma for the next 6 hours!

The beautiful gare de Lausanne.

It was really hard to sit on the train and see so much beautiful paysage go flying past me, as I was headed away from Switzerland and away from the Alps, but it is also why I absolutely love trains. The countryside is just so gorgeous and different no matter where you go, so I am never bored. I spent all 4 hours still full and happy from my mocha, content from the most perfect weekend in Switzerland, and just happy to be where I am, enamored by life abroad.

Whitney and I arrived home to her homestay and caught up on the most recent episode of Grey's before settling down to our respective papers which we worked on for the rest of the night. (Not too exciting, but now I have 6 pages' worth of knowledge on the portrayal of mortality in Christianity in 17th century art.)

My trip home to Nantes, a two-hour TGV ride, was nothing special. I finished homework and reading for later that day. I was looking forward to being home, taking a real shower (my forgetful but resourceful traveler self managed to use hand soap as face wash and shampoo in a sink for three days, and it actually worked well) and turning in my paper after I had no internet, no phone minutes, and a dead cell phone and laptop. It still hasn't hit me that I'm leaving France so soon, and I know it's going to be really hard on me. Now, Nantes IS home. I've stopped being so head-over-heels in love with Nantes simply because it has grown to be a part of my life.

As for this week, I have a Commerce devoirs à table demain (Econ midterm tomorrow), a 6-page composition à rendre Mercredi prochain pour Ecrivains Français (6 page paper to turn in next Wednesday for my French Writers class) and two eventual oral exams in Cognitive Neuropsychology and Pharmacology/Toxicology at the University of Nantes coming up in the next couple weeks (for which I need to study, let alone rehearse). No Thanksgiving break for me! Luckily, this week holds a catered Thanksgiving dinner courtesy of IES, my host brother's 9th birthday party, and hopefully, a little pumpkin pie baking session with my host mom... so there is plenty to look forward to, and plenty to be thankful for.

Joyeux Thanksgiving!

Some tidbits and photos from awhile back

Today started badly. I went to bed at 1am after not being able to sleep, stubbornly dragged myself out of bed at 6:40am after waking up about five times in between, showered, ate a waffle, and at 7:30, I was out in the 9 degree (C) morning before the sun. Fortunately, France has helped to create a strong bond between me and my iPod, and fortunately (a fact that never fails to surprise and reassure me)... other people are actually awake at this hour too. High school and college students, we all make the trudge down to the Erdre River together, in (what I'd like to believe is) a silent camaraderie of disliking mornings, not talking, only smoking or listening to music (or both), quietly contemplating and anticipating the coming day. I did the usual tram cram, which I suppose is convenient-- you are so tightly squeezed into the tram (we're talking full body contact on all four sides) that you don't even have to hold a handrail; you just have to hope that the person behind you doesn't lose their balance. 


My three-hour Pharmacologie class was a little more dur (harder) today than usual, but I don't know if that's because my brain refuses to do a three-hour dictée on such little sleep without caffeine so early in the morning or what. Luckily, the information overload and French speedwriting contest doesn't leave any room for falling asleep in class, so that was avoided. I did a little reading before lunch, then had to preface Lauren with a warning about my mauvaise humeur; I was just frustrated with being bored. Bored of everything being the same and always having the same goals and the same things to do and bored of feeling like I'm not getting anywhere. I didn't have enough change to get an 80-cent café, so I stuck out the food coma for my two-hour Psychologie class... while I didn't nod off, I do admit to breaking out a pencil to draw in the margins to keep myself alert. It's so much easier because he projects, word-for-word, everything we need to copy into our notebooks. I did the usual dash back to IES for Commerce, which makes me realize how backwards my schedule is. I'm not a morning person, and yet I start with the longest and hardest class and, by hour 5 of class, all semblance of the French système d'education is basically gone. It's frustrating, to say the least.


I came home by 6:45pm to have a short conversation with my host mom; I waited awkwardly in the foyer while trying to piece my words together and come up with conversation when she was standing right there, but it was so worth it. Of course, it was interrupted by my two little sisters (who are CRAZY). One was strangling a stuffed animal, and the other was in a silk flowergirl dress and pretending to be a dog. I went up to my room to put down my stuff, and within five minutes, they were playing "défilé de mode" (runway show) in my high heels, competing to see who could be uglier wearing my shoes. While I adore them, the last thing I was in the mood for was two little kids yelling and stomping around in my shoes, no matter how many times I say, "Chute! Doucement!" ("Shhh! Quietly!") But five minutes later, one was in my lap sucking her thumb and twirling her hair, and the other was telling me that she would make me a book full of recipes because I love the food here, while my ten-year-old host brother who had just come in was conjugating the verb "to be" for me (in heavily French-accented English), and all was blissfully peaceful. I spoke with my host parents a little more, which I simultaneously hate doing because I feel stupid but love doing because I feel like I am actually doing SOMETHING. I got my point across. I got to see my host dad's face light up when I told him I had to write a paper on Baroque Art for next week. I curled up with some Camus and my tisane (spicy tea you drink at night) next to the fireplace, with some crazy music playing in the background and all was wonderful. Nights like these, I always need them, and they always come at the right time. Every so often, every two weeks or so, I get annoyed with myself and my lack of progress, so I blunder my way through everything, then it turns out okay. It's funny how that works.


Here are a few gorgeous photos from a few weeks ago: 

Ok well this one is actually from September, but it's the sunrise view from my room.

The sunset light completely illuminated ONLY the spire in Place Royale (that is St. Nicolas, btw, where my family usually goes to church)

The house next to my siblings' school (which I pass on my way to the musée every other Wednesday and the gare whenever I leave)

The apartment building I pass every day

Leaves from one of the châteaux we saw this weekend

These are all pictures from Oct. 29: I didn't have my afternoon Psych class, so I walked from the university to IES all along the Erdre River. It happened to reach 70 degrees and was sunny all day, though ironically it was the day that the Christmas decorations started going up all around town...

I kind of live behind that building, but for simplicity's sake, I live on the left and downtown is on the right.

On the downtown side of the Erdre. I love this picture because it is the combination of old Nantes with the only bit of "new Nantes", the Tour Bretagne (which is in my header picture at the top too)

That's Saint Pierre and Saint Paul cathédrale from the base of the Tour Bretagne

Les Châteaux de la Loire

Here's a random mix of pictures from the Châteaux of the Loire Valley. It's becoming somewhat of a trend, but I no longer have time for lengthy updates or ramblings, unfortunately. I'd love to fill you in on absolutely everything, but I have too much to do. I will try to write something soon!

Château #1: Serrant

(Not considered a "real château", it was the smallest of the bunch. No photos were allowed inside, so you're stuck with the outside photos. Fun fact: the Queen of England stayed here for 3 days in the 80s)

Château #2: Azay-le-Rideau

(We didn't have a guided tour of this one; instead, it was a "visite libre", which meant that I really didn't learn anything about this château or why it was here. It was pretty, though, and the kitchen was HUGE and beautiful.)

I missed the "button up your coat and wear boots" memo, obviously

Château #3: Villandry

(Known for its gardens more than the inside of the château itself, we came here to watch the sunset on Saturday. It was absolutely freezing and the sunset was a little cloudy, but the gardens were beautiful.)

Château #4: Amboise

(Probably my favorite because it was a guided tour, and the tour was really interesting. Of course,  I forget everything I learned, but Leonardo da Vinci was buried here, which is reason enough.)

The chapel with Leonardo da Vinci's tomb inside

The man himself (aka this is actually his tomb, not a tombeau)

Everything in black is currently standing; everything in red is the preexisting château grounds. This means that Amboise used to be five times larger before the French Revolution when it got destroyed.

A gorgeous hall with a fire burning in the fireplace at the far end. This hall is still used for parties and functions that the general public can attend... I would love to go here...

I actually love this room.

Yeah, I mean, I SUPPOSE I could live here...

Château #5: Chenonceau

That is not a see-through screen, but a picture of the château hung in front of the château itself due to construction... slightly disappointing

The intricacy of this was unbelievable

Each of those arches had an alcove window that looked over the river (because this hall spans the entire width of the river)

The river passing underneath Chenonceau (viewed from the kitchen/basement window)

In the kitchen, which occupied the entire basement of the house

Diane de Poitiers' room

same room

View towards the gardens (Chenonceau is behind me to my right)

The left part of Chenonceau is the part spanning the river, if that makes sense