Last week in Nantes

"Joyeux sont ceux qui ouvrent ces yeux."

The above quote is actually a graffitied quote on an apartment building I passed on the tram yesterday. Cutting those rebellious French adolescents some slack and ignoring their misuse of the possessive pronoun, the translation is quite beautiful: "Happy are those who open their eyes." This quote is not only an example of the surprisingly poetic graffiti all over Europe, but probably the best reminder I could have for my last week in Nantes. I've worked for the past three months to keep my eyes open to absolutely anything and everything about this mindboggling, busy, happy, welcoming city. But if I can borrow a thought or two from my Ecrivains Français thesis, it's when one settles in to their surroundings and slowly breaks down the barrier of being a foreigner that they start to forget the wonder and amazement of the discovery of a new place.

I have a good five-page update that I already wrote, and I'll post it below, but quite honestly, it is just as exciting to read as it was to write, which is to say, not very. I prefer actually sharing how I feel about this city, and it helps me, too-- because I'm having a hard time leaving it. I'm leaving it in the same way I've left various people throughout life-- people I've run into, with whom I've shared amazing memories and from whom I've learned invaluable lessons-- but I leave them with more of a "see you later" than a teary goodbye. I don't know why I do this, and it doesn't mean that I value my experience or that person/place/thing any less. I guess I just have to trust that I made the most of my time... every sunset, every pâtissérie, every café, every adorable French child and family activity I got to be a part of. I enjoyed it all.

It still hasn't hit me I'm leaving this place. I am worried about studying for my last final (International Trade and Globalization) and at the same time, squeezing in the last time I'll be able to have with my amazing friends, finding a gift for and writing a letter to my host family, and seeing if I can actually find time to take some photos of my Nantes for everyone else (which I've been rather bad at lately, I apologize). In a few weeks, I'll be back to watery coffee and eating on the run and have a much less pâtissérie-filled existence, but I guess that will be okay too. It won't be easy for the first few weeks, but it will be okay.

I'm at a loss for what to say, because I don't really know how I feel. It's been freezing cold. I've been walking a lot and eating a lot and just trying to live up my last few days, which means wandering around the city and trying to mentally capture every moment. Even this morning, as I sat and had my customary thé vert and tartines for breakfast, I was watching the steam from the laundry room billow out over the backyard (a floor below us). The trampoline, before black and blue, was a muted grey covered with a thick layer of frost, and all the grass was frozen and crunchy, yet there were a few birds chirping away. It seems like just yesterday (and, en même temps, so long ago) that I was out in the backyard, holding both of my then-four-and-a-half-year-old host sister's hands because she couldn't jump by herself, and giving piggyback rides to the kids between le trampo and the seuil (I love that word; it means "threshold"), exhausting ourselves for the hour before dinner. Back when it was warm out, back before I had homework, back when barefooted-feet were not lacking their chaussons. And now, upstairs in our cozy, warm house, I heard my host mom rushing two kids out the door ("Les bonnets! Les gants! Les manteaux! Depêchez-vous! On file!") and my almost-five-year-old sister a floor above, pretending her dolls were getting married and singing away as she was changing for ballet class. That is what I'll miss. The food, the people, the culture... they're all part of it. They're a huge part of it. But the actual home that I got to be a part of, everything I got to experience... that is beyond compare.

So for now, I'm back to the books and to living my life with my host family for the last few days I have. And even though I have a million things to do (like teach 30 eight-year-olds at my host siblings' elementary school all about American Christmas customs, for example, because I am basically up for show-and-tell tomorrow, followed several hours later by my final), I keep telling myself, "Après l'effort, le réconfort." (After the effort, relaxation.) After tomorrow, I have three full days with my host family, followed by two wonderful weeks with my mom and Kelly. I have a lot to look forward to, and a lot still left to do... so for these last four days, I'm continuing to keep my eyes open to absorb every masked emotion (these are the French, after all), every encounter, every gorgeous scene that has been part of my daily routine. Ohh la vie française, tu me manqueras...


A plus!
Sarah