Un, deux, trois ... three steps to échange yourself

This post was originally written April 11 in France. For the reason why I'm posting it now, please see previous entry.

1. Go to France and leave the only life you've ever known behind.
2.
3.

The last two steps are blank because France has barely made an impact on me. As much as I miss home and family ... and yes even some very American things like Honda Civics and iced chai ... I have a strong feeling I am not done with this country yet. Right now I am exploring options for staying here a little longer.

I have been feeling a little ambivalent about life lately, mainly because I'm feeling conflicted about where I should be right now. I used to have one world and one goal (to be a journalist). Now I have two worlds, and a much broader range of goals, which are really just ideas right now. Over the last several weeks, I could tell I'd been losing the sense of awe at my life in France. This is somewhat understandable considering three months ago absolutely everything here was completely foreign to me. That's not so true anymore. I know my way around Lille, I have friends here and, according to my Mom, I've become a French-style pedestrian ... sprinting across cobblestone streets narrowly missing speeding Renaults. I've even gotten used to the bise (the double kiss people use to greet each other ... see the Killer Bise blog entry).

But last week a simple twist of fate landed me in Paris for the day ... by myself. I was feeling disenchanted by my surroundings, and I doubt anything could've cured that quicker than Paris. I trudged through an enormous cemetery and saw the grave sites of Oscar Wilde, Jim Morrison and Molière. I went to a Parisian history museum where I touched a model of the Bastille that was made from an actual block of stone from the notorious prison. (Actually I wasn't supposed to touch it, but how could I not? Talk about connecting with history...) I found a Starbucks completely by accident and had an iced chai. Finally, I spent the afternoon at the Jardin du Luxembourg, which ties with the Versailles gardens for the most beautiful place I've ever seen. A real-life gendarme even got mad at me for sitting on a wall that was apparently off-limits. When I left the Luxembourg, I was almost hit by a Jeep. I should've been freaked out, but it seemed more like a sign. If Jeep and Starbucks can find their place in France, so can I.

The adventure has just begun

Blogger’s note: Due to a combination of laziness and writer’s block I agonized over how to write my final “farewell to France” blog entry. In the end I said screw it and gave myself ten minutes to write whatever came to my mind. Stay tuned for retrospective blog entries, stuff I wrote there but never posted and chronicles of the becoming-an-au-pair process. Bizoux!

For the first time in a long time, the sun burned my skin today. Emilia is in Arizona. Tempe, to be precise. It was a long, arduous journey back from France. But it would’ve been a harder one if I hadn’t known I was going back.

I’m going back to France, most likely Paris, in September to be an au pair. I’m going to be a college graduate making my living babysitting in a country where I’m basically an idiot linguistically. And I’m totally cool with that.

I talked to a friend today who is considering studying abroad … I didn’t even have to think about what to say to her, other than how to best phrase the thought “You absolutely must, must, must go.” She was having the same reservations as I did, money and whether taking a semester abroad would somehow hinder my professional aspirations. What I have learned is that I gained an experience that, while it doesn’t fit on a resume, has been a greater builder of my humanity than anything else on that 8 ½ by 11. And oddly enough, being a human is far more important in searching for a job than being a robot that can show up on time and do the work.

But enough career advice. I’m back from France and now I’m not quite sure what to do with this blog. Its very name is now a lie … but I think such liberties are OK in creative non-fiction. I wanted to kick myself today (really hard) because it dawned on me I should’ve spent ten minutes of every day in France writing about it. Those ten-minute scrawls would’ve given birth to at least three times as much what I actually did write. I guess I’m learning from my mistakes. But have no fear; I’m going back to France so the title will be true once again.

But what to do with this blog, now? I won’t change it to “Emilia in Prescott” … and I don’t think I want to stop writing altogether. I guess we are going to find out how much of France is still in me. If you don’t want to read what I have to say about Europe when I’m not actually there, I’ll understand. But I’ll be writing anyway. And I’ll be glad to hear what you think. And I’ll be even happier to have you rejoin me in the fall when I take the plunge once again.

Photos!!

Well, I finally got my act together enough to put some photos up for you all to get a glimpse of where I've been living and what I've been up to. Just scroll down to the bottom of the page.

I know these are pretty limited, but I will be glad to share many more either a) when I get home or b) when I figure out a better system for posting photos ... whichever happens first!

P.S. Photos are courtesy of Adriana and Sofia

Getting ready to say good-bye

Well, I can't exactly say France has made me a new person. But I'm doing things I never thought I'd do, and saying things I never thought I'd say. I ate a snail (but only because a cute French boy made me) and I finally admitted (as much to myself as to anyone) that I want to postpone a journalism career for more European adventures. So something has definitely changed.

I sincerely apologize to any of you who have been checking my blog for new posts. The weeks since I got back from Scotland have been tough, mostly because of exams. There have also been a lot of going-away parties. The international students in Lille are leaving in droves. Everyone I've said good-bye to has said more or less the same thing; that this is an experience they will never, ever forget. Some were thrilled to leave France, others in tears. As for me, when I look around, all I can think is my heart is going to ache when I leave this place.

But hopefully I'll be coming back! I'm applying for a variety of different jobs so I can spend more time in France. I want to keep working on my French (which has already improved a lot) and continue my European adventures. I'm not done with France yet, and honestly I don't think it's done with me, either. I thought I was pretty smart, then I realized I'm only smart in one language. I thought I knew what I wanted to do with my life, then I was given some new options.

I have finally finished all my exams and I'm expecting to be in France for another month or so. I'm hunting around for a job here either teaching English or perhaps working as an au pair. I'm planning to spend at least the summer in Arizona because a) I have to return to the States to apply for a work visa anyway and b) I can't afford to stay here much longer. Then there's the very important c) I miss my friends and family terribly.

There are other things I've stopped missing, like Starbucks and the convenience of being in an English-speaking country. I like that communicating is a challenge. I've also grown to like things I couldn't stand when I got here, like the bise (the double kiss for hellos and good-byes). Some things -- like the hierarchical, disorganized nature of my university -- still bother me. But really, it's just given me a new respect for Americans. I used to criticize ASU for being beaureaucratic and treating students like numbers. Now I appreciate how effeciently they handle 60,000 students. Above all else, I've learned a lot about what it means to be an American. But that's a whole other blog entry.

I will keep you all posted on the job search, and other adventures I'm bound to have before I leave. I want to thank all of you who have read my blog and given me feedback ... writing this has kept me connected to home and helped me to put this experience in perspective. I've realized how lucky I am to be here, and how lucky I am to have so many great people who care about me -- even when I am so far away.

Update from Edinburgh

I'm sorry it's been so long since I've written anything ... I've been largely bogged down with exams and travel planning. My mom came to Lille for a week, and now I am in the middle of a two-week Spring vacation. The first week was spent in Edinburgh, Scotland (Which is where I am now - in fact I'm at the cafe where J.K. Rowling is supposed to have written parts of Harry Potter.)

Being in Scotland has made me think I am going to fall in love with a handsome Scotsman and end up having a wedding with kilts and bagpipes. But it's not so much a fantasy as a premonition. But don't worry, no specific Scot has swept me off my feet ... yet.

The second week I'll be headed "home" to France to pause, reflect and figure out what the hell I am going to do with my immediate future. Whereas I once knew I wanted to dive into an entry-level reporting position with a daily newspaper, Europe has shaken that goal loose (without dislodging it completely). Once I had one world, now I've got two. I'll keep you all posted as things develop and decisions get made. I will tell you one thing though ... when I left for France three months ago I never imagined I'd end up here.

When life gives you sour croissants...

So far you've heard almost nothing but positive things from me about my experience here. But I'd be lying if I said I never miss home. Last night I wanted nothing more than to be able to talk to Eli, but I couldn't reach him. To build upon the frustration expressed in my last post, I got yelled at today for eating in class (and it was a croissant, no less).

In spite of my thrill at living in Europe, I miss the simplicity of being in my own culture. Then, at least, I know which end is up. I miss the people who really know me. But if I were to go home today, I think I would be in a serious state of reverse culture shock. Right now I am stuck in between two worlds, not knowing exactly where I belong. Maybe I don't really belong to either country ... I don't know. The question has grown to such a proportion that I can never get it out of my head.

I still consider myself so lucky to be here and having this experience. I am sure what I am going through now is part of the experience, but in the present it's a miserable state of being. Oddly enough there is a saying in French that always seems to help when I'm facing a daunting task ... Bon courage. It's used like "Good luck" but it means more ... like the person saying it knows you have what it takes to get the job done and is encouraging you to have faith as well.

I would venture to guess if you were here with me now, that is what you would say. I'm listening.

Relaxing ... in spite of the French

If you want to know how I am feeling right now, take a deep breath in and then breath out slowly ... ahhh. You feel a little better now, don't you?

I am starting to relax after two weeks of heavy Anglophone pressure. Oddly enough the French part of France hasn't been causing me as much stress as the courses I have in English. After the two papers due last week, I had a presentation today and an exam. I haven't gotten much sleep.

Even when the French are teaching classes in English, they have an odd approach to self-discipline when it comes to academics. It is, to me, much more like what I experienced in high school than what I am used to from ASU. You can get in trouble for not going to class, you have to ask to use the bathroom during the class and (but really you just shouldn't go at all) and you are not on equal footing with the teachers ... not at all.

Part of the reason I am breathing a huge sigh of relief is because I am not sitting through a murderously boring class right now. I should be there, but I'm not. I spent a full 15 minutes grappling with the decision of whether or not to go, because I know I "should" and the teacher will likely get mad at me if I don't. But on the other hand, I've had ten hours of sleep the last two nights and I knew I would literally be struggling to stay awake for the next two hours if I went. Ultimately, I decided that in the long run it wouldn't matter one way or the other if I went, so I may as well make myself happy in the present. The professor probably won't see it that way, though.

I've spent the last several months trying to make sense of the French perspective on these things. At ASU, I feel like the attitude is largely that if the student does not go to class, it is the student's loss. Therefore, it is ultimately the student's decision whether or not to go. That is not the case here. When students don't show up to class the professors get upset ... although I don't understand exactly why. It's also considered very bad form to get up to use the bathroom during a class, and you should ask if you want to go.

My American friend Nikki, who has been here for almost a year, says this stems from the belief that you should be adult enough to hold it through class. But my perspective, and that of many Americans I think, is, shouldn't you be adult enough to chose when and if you need to use the restroom? This is an interesting paradox because the philosophies of each culture come from an emphasis on personal maturity, but with completely different practices.

So if my professor confronts me next week about the class I missed today, which he may do, I will have to reconcile my desires to be a good foreigner and my own (firmly held) beliefs that I have the right to decide what I do with my time. Apologizing and promising not to do it again may appease him, but it would violate me. I'm beginning to see that these sorts of disagreements are the basis of all cultural tension ... because no one is really wrong; it's simply a matter of perspective.

In the trenches

It's been all quiet on the blog front lately because I have been waging a war against a whole lot of homework. Tomorrow morning I'm giving a presentation on Britain and the Middle East. Wednesday I have to turn in two 8-page papers, one on T.S. Eliot and the other on the Secret Treaty of Dover (whatever that is).

Despite the stress and worry that goes along with all this work (not to mention the near panic-attack I had when I accidentally deleted a third of my Eliot paper) I'm still happy. I'm in France. And when all this is over with, I will only enjoy it that much more.

Today it started snowing spontaneously ... the big, feathery flakes were unlike anything I'd seen before. I got a forty centime café au lait this morning and just sat and watched them fall around the spires of my castle-like university. Somehow, the sight made all my homework seem as far away as Arizona.

And now, back to work ...

Team Wiener's winter Break, Part II - I wish I were a Marseillaise

When our train crossed the border from Spain to France, I expected the change to be obvious. But then it dawned on me that the French likely wouldn't have put up a big sign that says "Bienvenue à la France" at the border. But what surprised me was that the scenery didn't change at all ... the Mediterranean was on the right and everything was green on the left. Tiny fishing villages with pastel houses clung to the coastline and vineyards dotted the landscape inland. It was unlike anything I'd seen in northern France, which reminded me that the only French cities I've really seen are Lille and Paris. Before Marseille I don't think I gave France enough credit for being fantastically varied and diverse.

We arrived at the Marseille St. Charles hilltop train station just in time to see the setting sun turn the city shades of orange and pink. The architecture, food and disposition of the people at first seemed distinctly un-French. The boxy buildings, pasta and friendly people seemed more Italian at first (Marseille, after all, was founded by the Romans). But then I remembered the French national anthem, "La Marseillaise." I didn't get a chance to discuss this with any of the locals, but knowing the French as I do I assume the people of the city for which the national anthem is named are as proudly French as any Parisian.

Our day of travel also happened to be Amy's birthday, but all we did all day was sit on a train and that's not a great way to celebrate, now is it? So when a guy in our hostel (a fellow American named Liam) invited us to go to the beach with him, we did. It was a five-minute walk from our hostel and mon dieu was it amazing. We could see all the stars and big, dark blue waves were crashing against the shore and an enormous jetty made of white rock.

We shouted happy birthday to Amy above the roar of the waves and shrieked as the sharp gravel on the beach invaded our flip-flops. It was a moment I'm sure I'll never forget. Since it was cold and windy, we went looking for a beach side restaurant where we could get a dessert in order to properly celebrate Amy's birthday. We found a place called l'Equinoxe with a big, glass-walled dining room overlooking the beach where we shared a giant bowl of sorbet and fruit and taught Liam some French.

The next day we set out to explore Marseille but didn't realize how far our hostel was from the main hub of the city -- the Old Port. We spent a good hour trekking along the Corniche John F. Kennedy (a promenade that stretches along the coast) in some very intense wind. We finally found a bus that took us to the Old Port, where we spent the rest of the day. We found a sunny café with cushy chairs where we had Camembert sandwiches and Orangina. We took a boat to a nearby rocky island where we ate ice cream and hiked the rocky cliffs for the view. The sea was beautiful, but it became even more beautiful when I remembered I was looking at the Mediterranean.

I only got a tiny glimpse of Marseille, and the Provence region, but I loved it there and now I want to go back. Marseille appealed to me in a very different way than Paris or London, although I love those cities too. I relate to those cities on a professional and cultural level, but my heart bonded with Marseille. It was like when you meet someone at a party and you just like them without necessarily knowing why.

I'd love to go back to Marseille and see more of Provence. I'd like to backpack around for at least a few weeks and see the fountains of Aix that are hundreds of years old and see Arles, the town that so inspired Van Gogh. Who's with me?

Killer Bise and Bon Appétit; Customs I just can't get used to

I'm still working on Part II of the winter break story, so here are some other French things to keep you occupied in the meantime.

I was eating a baguette today (all anyone eats for lunch here is sandwiches made with baguettes) and a man I don't know walked past me and said, "Bon appétit."

I replied "Merci" sweetly but as soon as he was gone I thought to myself, WTF? And no, that's not French.

In France, when people see you eating they say "Bon appétit" pretty much no matter what. Sometimes they substitute it for hello or goodbye, sometimes that's all they say. I know it's just a polite thing to do, but for me the custom doesn't translate. Can you imagine walking past someone you don't know while they are chowing down on Taco Bell and saying, "Have a nice meal"?

It's true that the French have a different attitude toward eating than Americans. There are boulangeries on every corner (à la Starbucks) and even cafeteria food is delicious. But the thing that really bothers me about bon appétit is I have a sneaking suspicion that the French are really making fun of me when they say this. I don't know why ... there is just a certain evil look in the eye. Maybe it's because of the well-documented fact that only the French can eat a baguette without getting crumbs all over themselves. Je ne sais pas.

The other custom that really gets to me is the bise, or kiss. In France it's customary to greet friends and family with two quick kisses, one on each cheek. This is common throughout Europe, but different countries often have different amounts of kisses (in Belgium, for example, it's only one). I think it's a nice idea in theory, but sometimes a person you barely know ends up giving you the bise and then that's a little awkward. My most American trait, I think, is my attitude towards violation of personal space, and the bise definitely goes there.

Then there's also the hierarchy of who gets kissed and who doesn't. I'm friendly with some French people in my residence who never kiss me, and then there are some people I barely talk to who give me the bise once a day. But come to think of it, the other international students (excluding Brits, Americans and Australians) tend to initiate the bise more frequently than the French.

And when you're not used to it, there are all kinds of ways you can screw it up. One time I went to the right first (you're supposed to go left) ... that was embarrassing. And if someone is Belgian or Mexican you never know whether they are going to give you one or two kisses. That's hard for me because I have to mentally prepare myself beforehand for the kiss to be successful.

I complain now, but just wait ... as soon as I get home I am going to be kissing all of you.

Team Wiener's winter vacation: Part I, a comedy of errors

Only one word could aptly describe my week-long winter break ... it was an adventure. And like most good adventures (I'm guessing) it started with catastrophe.

My friends Shannon, Amy and I meticulously planned out a relaxing week in the south of France, with plans to go to Marseille, Aix-en-Provence, Arles and Nice. Everything went according to plan with the exception of one small but important detail. There are two airports in Brussels, one was 10 minutes from the train station and the other was 50 minutes. We didn't know this and had only budgeted enough time to get to the 10-minute airport. We missed our flight and there wouldn't be another one to Marseille for three days. So we went home and re-worked our plans so we could still catch our return flight at the end of the week. This time we decided to be a bit more daring and booked a flight to Barcelona. It shortened our vacation a little bit, but we didn't mind so much because then we would be saving money on hostels and food.

So we left Lille for Brussels on Monday evening so we could spend the night there and make it to our 10:30 a.m. flight on time. Instead, we ended up on the wrong train and missed our flight a second time. We were all furious and depressed at first, but then we found out there was another flight to Barcelona that same day so we coughed up the extra €75 to transfer our tickets. It was probably the best €75 I'll ever spend. I knew that if I gave up and went back to Lille I would have spent the rest of the week depressed as hell that I'd had a shot at a real adventure and messed it up. We didn't miss any more flights, trains or buses for the rest of the trip.

Team Wiener was born the first night of our trip when Shannon's habit of saying "Go Team!" whenever we did something dumb led me to suggest we have a team name. We picked it randomly from a Tram map in Belgium along with our individual code names: Verboekhoven (Me - Verb for short), Houba de Strooper (Amy) and Groene Jager (Shannon). You gotta love Dutch. Team Wiener's existence became permanent when we missed our second flight ... it seemed like the perfect title for a group of people with a habit of making really dumb mistakes.

Team pride resurfaced in Barcelona when we ordered paella without knowing exactly what was in it. Although it was listed on the vegetarian section of the menu, the Spanish specialty arrived with whole shrimp (eyes included), muscles, chicken and pork. Except for the eyes, chicken and pork it was really good, but my team mates refused to eat any of it. In honour of my bravery, I was temporarily dubbed Houba de Strooper (which is clearly the best name).

PP (post-paella) we ended up drinking sangria in an Irish pub with two Brits we met at the hostel. An odd mix of cultures, I know but the sangria was good. So good, in fact, I think from now on my life will be incomplete without it.

The next day we explored Barcelona which, by the way, is absolutely amazing. The weather was a huge relief after Lille ... 20° Celsius and sunny. The city is full of big parks and amazing buildings. Even the street lamps in some areas were works of art. The people were nice, even the ones who didn't speak English. Amy knows a little bit of Spanish and we were able to get around pretty easily. We took a cable car over the city with amazing views, and hiked to the top of a green hill where we saw the site of the 1992 Olympics. On our way back down we stopped at an out door café to sip limonada and sit in the sun. We finished off the day at the Picasso museum, which is in the artist's old house. I could go on forever about this experience alone, so if you are interested in Picasso let me know.

Leaving Barcelona was sad, but since we were taking a train to Marseille we got to see some of the most beautiful Spanish coastline on our way out of the country. I flipped through the copy of Vogue España I'd bought and decided not only was I going back to Barcelona someday, but I'd like to learn to speak Spanish, too.

Putting €65 in perspective

I went to Paris for the weekend.

It's taken me some time to get over how casually I can say that ... but it's really not such a big deal given I'm only an hour's train ride away.

At first I was upset because I ended up spending €65 in train tickets ... a slightly painful fact when it is possible to get one-way tickets as low as €18.50 each. When I asked the woman at the train station why my ticket was so much more than that I couldn't understand what she said. So I vowed to find a French person who could explain it to me for future reference. In the meantime I am reminding myself that the fact that I can go to Paris for a weekend with little or no planning is one of the true wonders of living here. Besides, a plane ticket from Phoenix to Paris would cost hundreds of dollars.

So I went to Paris and had a great time. On Saturday morning a Frenchman named Jean Michel told me it would be the best day of my life because it was a beautiful day in Paris. He wasn't far off.

le iPod, and other musings from a quiet Sunday in France

Most of you would probably rather know more about what life is like in France than what I miss about the U.S., so immediately below you will find a post titled "Life in France" that will hopefully appease you.

But for those of you who aren't so picky, here is a story that is a little bit about music being a universal language, and a lot about how much I miss my iPod.

"I Pod before I go to work, Pod as soon as I get home. I have yet to get up in the middle of the night to Pod, but in principle I have nothing against the idea."

The quote is from a book I've been reading called "iPod, Therefore I Am" by British journalist Dylan Jones. He's made me laugh out loud repeatedly and, more importantly, made me miss my iPod as much as I miss my family. I am iPodsick.

I bought the little contraption about a year ago, just in time for a week-long trip to Europe. So why I ever thought I could last four months over here without it I have no idea. Luckily my wonderful older brother has agreed to get it fixed as a birthday present and send it to me and is going to great lengths to do so.

It quit working a few months ago, so it had to be sent away for healing. Once it comes back (hopefully in proper working order), Eli will likely have to refill my little black iPod with all my music ... which means a two-hour drive to get my computer from our mother's house. And since I have three to four times as many audio files (music + Margaret Cho) as will fit on the Nano, he will have to have instructions as to what to put on it. Then, he will have to pay to have it shipped to me here in France.

This really is quite a task, especially considering the poor guy has a full-time job and a full-time girlfriend. But once we (me and my iPod) are reunited, it will be the best birthday present ever.

Of course I miss my extensive Bad Religion collection, the play lists I made for each semester of college and the whimsical bunch of songs I've purchased off iTunes (mainly guilty pleasures like "New Age Girl" by Dead Eye Dick and "I Believe in a Thing Called Love" by The Darkness). But most of all I miss the instant gratification and rapid discovery that goes hand-in-hand with the iPod. iTunes makes it easy to look up any piece of music, listen to it and (if you like it) buy it in a snap.

The whole process appeals to my love of the eclectic. It's easy and cheap to get the one Britney Spears song I like (Toxic) without any of her other crap. I love that I can express exactly how I feel at any given moment by throwing together a playlist with any songs I want, be they "I Will Survive," "The Idiots are Taking Over" or "Eleanor Rigby."

But right now the thing that saddens me most is that without iTunes or my iPod I have no way of making a new soundtrack for my life in France.

The 10 Songs I'd be Listening to Right Now if I Could:
Immigrant Song, Led Zeppelin
Cease, Bad Religion
Satan, Lend Me a Dollar, Hill of Beans
Sleeping In, The Postal Service
That French song from the iPod Shuffle commercial
Snakes on a Plane, Cobra Starship (Don't judge, it makes me laugh)
Mine for Life, The Sounds
Accordion music (I hear it here and I feel like I am in a movie set in France)
Tiny Dancer, Elton John
Eleanor Rigby, The Beatles

Life in France

I've become so accustomed to life here that I often have to stop and remind myself that I am in France. Sometimes I literally stop in my tracks and look around for something very French (a row of 18th Century Houses, funny little cars) just to be sure.

The reality of life here is -- in some ways -- not all that different than it is at home. I go about my daily routine, eating, sleeping, studying and hanging out with friends. But there are two major differences that remind me I'm not in Kansas anymore. First of all, everything I do (except sleep) is split between two languages. I think in both English and French and sometimes the wrong language comes out at the wrong time (such as saying "sorry" to a stranger or "et you?" instead of "et toi?" when a friend has asked me how I am doing). It's hard for me to switch back and forth -- once I am in French mode I like to stay there, but obviously my limited vocabulary can't handle that for long.

Another thing I've noticed when speaking to the French students in my residence is that, in French, I sound like a really boring person. It took me years to become a decent conversationalist in English, but now I am back at square one with French -- again, largely a vocabulary problem.

The other thing about living here that keeps me out of my comfort zone is the mélange of cultures represented among all the international students. This is probably my favorite thing about being here so far. On Friday night I went out with two Canadians, an Australian, a Polish guy, a French girl, two Romanians and another guy who is French and German ... and me, the lone American. Four different languages were flying around and the Eastern Europeans yelled at me when I didn't look them in the eye during a toast (Santé!). But for the most part, when we are all going out for a beer and a good time, we seem the same.

Il neige!

Well, that should be in past tense. It snowed last night, which meant a long, slushy walk to la Catho this morning. I didn't mind except for the cold water that filled my shoes... My first class of the day is geography with a man named Arnaud ... he asked the class "Qui vient de Tempe, Arizona?" When I replied, "Moi," he asked whether it snows in Arizona... "Non," I replied. I know it does snow in Arizona (and did recently, right?) but it's been ages since I've seen it. I haven't learned degrees centigrade yet, but all the French just say "Il fait très, très froid." -- It's very, very cold. Je suis d'accord.

Belgium - Land of waffles, chocolate and Colin Farrell

That's right, I said Colin Farrell. Our first day in Belgium we visited a pretty little city called Brugges (which means witch in Flemish) where Colin Farrell is apparently filming a movie for the next 40 days. (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0780536/) The rest of the country was lovely ... full of gauffres (Belgian waffles), nice people and pretty buildings, but Farrell was really the highlight.

We were sitting on a bridge where they were going to film and a nice Belgian guy named Deter who was working as Farrell's stand-in told us what was going on. Five minutes later Colin Farrell walked by, said hello to us and said to my friend Kathy, "Ah, you've got a lovely smile," complete with Irish accent.

We spent half the day hanging around with the production crew, talking to Deter, Farrell's assistant and another (smaller) actor in the movie. It was a lot of fun, but finally we moved on to more typical tourist activities like climbing the 366 steps to the top of a belfry for a great view of the city and having cappucinos and a delicious gauffre in a café on the square.

The rest of the trip couldn't really compete with seeing Colin Farrell, but we had a good time and saw some really old buildings. We also had a grouchy old man yell at us in a frite shop in Gent, someone's wallet was stolen (not mine), and I found the metro in Brussels to be very dirty - sometimes smelling stongly of urine.

But it is only a 30 minute train ride from Brussels to Lille and I was surprised to find myself happy to be back in France. I never thought it would be possible, but this place is starting to feel like home.

P. S.
I have pictures of Belgium (including Colin Farrell) that I hope to post soon.

A few of my favorite things

Everyone is always asking me how I like France. That's a tough question to answer in a few sentences, so I've made a few lists to help you get the picture of what life here is really like:

Things I Miss:
Coffee
All of you
Starbucks
Grey's Anatomy
My car
Newspapers I can actually understand

Things that makes me say "Vive la France"
Good, cheap wine
Being able to walk everywhere
The Nutella effect (anything chocolate-hazelnut flavored)
Despite the fact that the French are extremey fashion-conscious, there isn't the same overt obsession with looks that you find at ASU
Coffee drink vending machines
Meeting people from different cultures

Things that make me say "I hate France"
Getting lost on a daily basis because the classrooms are always changing (Didn't Harry Potter have that problem?)
Carrefour on a Saturday afternoon (think Wal-Mart the day after Christmas, but everything is in French)
The bathrooms
French people who don't like foreigners

l'education

After my first week in France, the harsh reality set in that my true purpose for being here is, in fact, to study. But now that I've gotten through the first week I feel ready to learn me some French.

I am taking six classes in French - Advanced French for Foreign Students, English to French Translation, French Geography, French History, Introduction to Mythology and Study of Modern Art. They are not easy.

As for classes in English, I've got five of those; Britain in the World, American Civilization (the classes I'm taking cover specifically America in the Fifties, our judicial system and our higher education system), British History, English Literature and Religious Drama.

The French system for registering and scheduling classes is, by American standards, utterly insane. Classrooms can change at any time so you have to check the location every day. To sign up for classes, we all piled into a big room with the schedules posted on the walls and you just have to shove your way around to see them. It didn't help that the names of the courses didn't always match those in the course catalogs we were given.

Oddly, their way of teaching is much more efficient than what I'm used to. There generally are no required textbooks, and the "recommended" books are in the library. The teachers lecture on everything you need to know, but that means you have to go to class and take good notes every day (I usually leave an hour and a half class with four pages of notes).

But professors don't have office hours and they don't give you any contact information, nor their first names. Classes seldom start on time. People can usually tell just by looking at you that you're not French.

Emilia in France - an Introduction

I have been in France for almost three weeks now. Time is beginning to pass more quickly now and I am afraid I will be back in the U.S. before I have a chance to truly understand what it means to live abroad. So, hoping to live these next few months to the fullest, I have begun a sort-of public diary in hope that I will, in fact, have many wonderful experiences that other people will actually want to read about.

I was initially afraid to start a blog because, well it is a four-letter word and the musings of bloggers is often just "incessant barking" (http://cartoonbank.com/assets/1/121304_m.gif).

For those of you who care to know, this is also an interesting writing exercise for me as I am used to writing about much more boring things.

That being said, I am officially joining the rest of dogs with keyboards in starting my own blog, "Emilia in France."

Leaving on a Jet Plane

I am leaving for Lille, France on January 10!