L'accueil

One of those words that doesn't have a very good translation~  L'accueil is one of the more difficult French words, hard to pronounce, hard to translate.  Yet it is quickly becoming one of my favorites.  One can use it in many contexts... it describes the home page of a website, the reception desk at an office or tourist destination, and my host family, "la famille d'accueil," among other things, including "greeting."  So yes, I am in love with my "greeting family."  They have given me an excellent welcome to their beautiful house and my "studio" as they call it, an apartment attached to the house.  Besides struggling a bit with the keys (I have four keys and an electric opener for the door to the apartment complex that I go through to reach the house...), I am finding the apartment better than I ever could have imagined.  It is larger than my room at home, and I have my own shower and toilet.  I will try to use and respect this space to its fullest, but given the amount of time I expect to spend in the main house, I may use it less than one may think.  Why?  For one, my host parents are kind and interesting, if a bit distant sometimes (but I think that is just their French culture coming out).  But much more than that, they have three young daughters- Alix (10 years), Sixtine (8 years), and Brune (3 years).  It is true that a foreigner is a bit like a child-- I feel most comfortable with Brune, who I can understand almost all the time.  But tonight, Sixtine asked me to read her a story, and I ended up reading her two.  The first was a book teaching animal onomatopoeia: "mooo" in English, which is "meuhhh," in French, etc., etc.  And the second, was the story of a goat who leaves the farmer who loves her and proceeds to be eaten by a wolf.  Sixtine continuously corrected my pronunciation and honestly was more helpful than any adult has been.  I worry a bit about Brune though, because she is still in the stage where she is mimicking adults, and I don't want her to ever copy my less than perfect French language skills.  Nonetheless, my "famille d'accueil" as fantastic, and I cannot wait to stop feeling like the visitor and to begin feeling like an older sister and a daughter.
          Speaking of receptions, our welcome to France outside of Paris was the elegant Chartres cathedral, as our British guide, Malcolm Miller, said, the "Notre Dame" that was just that long before the one in Paris was built.  Monsieur Miller is an expert on the cathedral, capable of describing each window as a book and the cathedral as a library.  He had several points of note to share with us but not many as an hour is not nearly enough time to read all the books in a library.  The first was his observation on the window that juxtaposes the story of Adam and Eve with that of the good samaritan.  He states that this theological commentary tells the entire story of the cathedral, the fall from grace and Christ who came for us while we were in the ditch, took us to a safe place, and will return to settle any debts that remain.  The second was the presence of astrological symbols in a Catholic cathedral, with Jesus, the "time ruler," sitting at the top of the cyclic passage of time, outside of it and presiding over it.  I feel like I can better understand cyclic time at the moment, what with the whirlwind of time changes and travel.
          But we are finally in Rennes, feeling more like freshmen than ever before, but I love it.  The university has a library for nearly every subject, and as always, I want to explore them all.  The beautiful aspect of that desire is that it is united by the common thread of French, for to know religion or history or Breton (the "local" language) or anything else in France, one must first know the language.

the half-timbered houses of the "centre-ville" of Rennes

          Bretagne is known for the love of learning, and we will "officially" begin classes on September 13th.  Need I say more?  I am this region's "jumelle" (twin).  Now I must learn its language... Bonne nuit!

Au revoir et enchanté

Le Sacre Coeur

Goodbye and nice to meet you~ Here we are, finally able to call ourselves “we,” a relatively cohesive group, sitting in an “autocar” (a large bus for travel) together, on our way out of Paris to Chartres, and tonight, to Rennes!  We didn’t end up going to the Sacre Coeur at night, but we did go in the morning, and it was just as beautiful as I remember.  It’s so interesting watching which moments touch which people in the group.  When we entered this beautiful white church on a hill, my new Catholic friend asked me if the candles there were prayer candles for people who have died.  When I answered I was pretty certain they are prayer candles for whatever prayer one may have, she said, “oh, this is perfect…perfect.  Today is the anniversary of my grandfather’s death, and I will light a candle for him.”  Later in the day, two of my other new friends discovered the free wifi network at the hostel.  We had been paying 3 euros for 2 hours for a network that stopped working while we were still staying there.  Desperate for contact with family and friends back at home, these two had been on the verge of homesickness, and the internet brought them back.  The way that a candle and a prayer and a few minutes of contact with the rest of the world can rejuvenate us is a beautiful part of travel.  I hope to be a part of many of these moments, for others and for myself during the journey of this semester.

the unique garden at the museum

            Yesterday was not all light and ladybugs though (but ladybugs played a surprisingly large role; I had been attempting to cement the word for ladybug—coccinelle—since the day before, but I needed some kind of practical application.  So we were way too enthusiastic about the truck, labeled “coccinelle,”  that drove by us, and I then found a children’s bookstore, called “le géant et la coccinelle.”  But I digress).  We also discovered the Moulin Rouge and the surrounding area, full of English words (“sex shop…”sexophone,” “video shop”) and suggestive pictures (especially on the façade of the “musée érotique…I’m not going to translate that one).  It was quite the interesting experience, but I certainly do not want to end up there at night.  Close to this museum is another, less risqué one called the “musée de la vie romantique,” the museum of the romantic life.  The former house of George Sand (a female author from the romantic era), it was a pleasant stop, although I think the group as a whole would have enjoyed it more if we were not so mal aux pieds (if our feet didn’t hurt).  I was quite intrigued, not only by the unique flower garden but also by the museum’s contents, the life and works of George Sand, her love affairs, her time period, her aristocratic upbringing and her free thinking tendencies.  

La Seine...a boat tour through Paris during sunset!

Crèpes with friends!

          I finished off the day with a couple of crèpes (nutella/banana and ham/cheese) and a boat tour on the Seine (from which one can see most of the important sites of Paris).  Now, in our “autocar,” many people are asleep, but I am awake, overflowing with excitement for the unknown and for being known, watching the French landscape pass us by, and letting the music of a friend’s ukulele flow through and around me.  Bonne journée!

Les nouveaux amis

part of the group (on the right, 2 of our mentors, fellow students from Rennes)

New friends~ Strength in numbers has never been more applicable to my life than at present.  My "maternal tendencies" have a way of bringing out the best in me, whether that means forgetting my own discomfort or speaking a language better than when I am alone.  Yes, the group of American students soon to live in Rennes has arrived!!!  We are from everywhere in the U.S., and we are incredibly different, but we share the love of French that brought us here.  Signing the language contract (promising to speak only French with each other and our host families, at the hostel in Paris, and in the classroom area of the university) was one of my first and favorite activities with the group.  With that signature came the genesis of a safe environment, where we can and do try to speak French no matter the time, place, or situation.  I was afraid that we would speak too much English, but for these two days, even the least confident of the group have begun to communicate almost solely en français.

"le calzone"

            We also share the desire to go to Rennes and meet to people who will be our families for the next few months.  But that has not made us enjoy our time in Paris any less!  We went to Notre Dame yesterday, a Moroccan “Salon de Thé” (tea shop), the Université de Paris, and the Latin Quarter, where some of us finished the day at an Italian Pizzeria.  I of course had to order the most intriguing menu item, the calzone, described as a “soufflé,” with ham, mozzarella, and egg.  It was a bit like mixing a large American breakfast with excellent Italian pizza crust—quite enjoyable if one is VERY hungry from walking all over Paris for two days.  The rest of the group, almost in its entirety, ordered the pizza margarita, and although it would have disappointed my dad (because of the presence of sauce and lack of sliced tomatoes and whole basil leaves), they seemed to enjoy it… Today we had a tour of the “Hotel de Ville,” an official government building where all of the “important” visitors are received in Paris.  We, of course, were not important visitors but merely a group of tourists.  Nonetheless, the welcome was gracious, and we learned a bit of history to boot.  This building embodies the spirit of the Republic.  It is the people’s through and through, with paintings of countryside farmers in the sale à manger (dining room), a room that couples authors with tradesemen, artists with scientists, and a reception room that resembles Versailles’s Hall of Mirrors.  We finished the tour with a countryside scene, illuminated by electric lighting, the first in a government building in France!  

painting of the people at the hôtel de ville

        As much as I am ready to discover my French family, this time is a beautiful grace period.  We are finding our feet again after long travels and a few initial experiences of discomfort.  We are, as a group, growing into the experience.  From successfully asking for directions to ordering drinks in a French bar, we are becoming more fully ourselves, fostering the love that drives us all, love of a place and some beautiful words.  And tonight…Montmartre and the Sacre Coeur!  What better way to find our hearts than to find the “sacred heart” of Paris and to look out at the city of love and light in all of her splendor?

Paris Toute Seule!

            Paris all alone!~  Traveling alone in a country where one is not fluent in the language, etc. is terrifyingly exhilarating.  For example, the taxi driver may not “understand” you even when you hand him a written copy of the address where you need to go, and yet he will drive directly there.  You may stumble out the words, “parlez-vous anglais?” to the attendant at your hostel even though you promised yourself you would not let on in any way except by example that your French was not perfect.  This was the beginning of my day, but even as I spoke terrible French through a sleep-deprived daze, I finally understand that I am HERE, in Paris, France, and my program orientation begins tomorrow!!!  A day alone in a country where one is not fluent in the language is also extremely freeing.  

La Seine

I wandered along the Seine, ate a sandwich and drank an Orangina, passed the peace with people from all over the world at the international mass at Notre Dame, had a gaufre with nutella (similar to a waffle but better), and of course, took “Guillaume’s” advice by wandering the Latin Quarter until I found exactly what he said would be there…a poster advertising a concert at La Sainte Chapelle for tonight.  This cathedral, tucked into the Palais de Justice, is practically built of Stain Glass windows.  Honestly, I didn’t really care what type of music I was going to hear.  I wanted to experience the beauty of the place…and its lovely acoustics.  But I was in for a treat.  “Vivaldi: Les Quatre Saisons, “ (the four seasons) read the sign, performed by “Classik Ensemble” with a violin solo by David Braccini.  The music was of course beautiful in itself, but in my much less than expert opinion, it was performed sublimely as well.  Some pieces were joyful jaunts and some were pining soliloquies, and some were combinations of the two as well as quietly joyful melodies—illustrations of love and/or life, as much excellent music is.

David Braccini and Company

            And it was all the better not only because of the fantastic student discount but also because I enjoyed it with new friends—a couple from Australia and their cousin, who is French!  The two Australians have been to Mali, and as I am going to study the healthcare system there (among other things) next semester, I was extremely intrigued when they began an in-depth discussion of just that.  Apparently Mr. Awesome Australian man came down with a mild autoimmune (but easily treatable) disease that develops from the flu while he was there, and the doctors were entirely clueless.  When he went to London, the first doctor he saw, along with a colleague, made the correct diagnosis on the first try.  However, Mali apparently offers some of the best treatments for Malaria.  Their French cousin proceeded to give me her e-mail address and told me that if there is ANYTHING I need, to please let her know.  She was worried that I was so young and so American, wandering around Paris by myself.  There is of course an element of truth to that.  I am working on being extremely alert to any and all risks, but things will always happen will traveling.  On my way back to the hostel, a young man asked if I would like to have a “balade” with him, implying, I am certain, more than a “stroll.”  He was entirely too polite, but I matched him with the polite excuse that I have a boyfriend already (but I do not).  Oh the joys of being unknown in a new place.  Bon nuit.

L'aeroport

The airport~ In my attempt to be anything but the stereotypical travel blogger, I was determined to avoid writing about anything as cliché as my time in the airport.  Does the world really need another account of this crossroads of humanity, people experiencing their lowest lows and highest highs, people of all shapes, colors, opinions, and personalities thrown together for the sole reason of going somewhere?  Yes, an airport can inspire poetry or can be the track for a 500 meter dash that one never expected to run, but when I stepped off the plane in Miami International Airport, I suspected that my time there would perhaps be mildly pleasant but nothing more.  It began as such: a stroll that I spent perusing the eating options, followed by a quiet lunch at a Mexican restaurant (where I ate a dish rather spicier than I would usually, given the lack thereof at my destination), some visits to the typical bookstores and convenience stores, and a long walk to my gate, which, interestingly enough, was no longer my gate upon my arrival.

Enchiladas Verdes at the Miami <<Aeroport>>

After backtracking to D24, I found what I expected to be a group of passengers destined for the flight before mine, but as I pulled out my France guidebook and began anew the ever rich experience of mixing the recipe of a relaxing and full first day in Paris, the man across from me asked if I was going to France.  Of course I am, and given this answer, he said, “I live in Paris.  I am on the same flight, 6:10…right?” I never learned his name, but if I could give him one, it would be Bill…or Guillaume, I suppose, en Français.  Bill was originally from Oregon, but he has lived most of his life anywhere but there.  It all began with his adventure studying abroad in Italy just about when people started studying abroad.  There, he learned French from a group of “Pieds Noirs” (“Black Feet…” exiles from Algeria), and from “Madame la Contesse,” a lovely elderly woman whose château was destroyed in World War I but who would invite Bill to her new penthouse apartment in Rome for tea and lessons.  After working for a year in Paris, he ( as he flippantly stated) had another semester left of undergrad in the U.S. and then went to law school in…Paris!  And he proceeded to live an extremely international life.  Later, he moved to China for six years, where he met his wife, and he now has a teenage daughter, born and raised in China and now going into lycée (high school) in France, where the family has lived for six years.  That was Bill.  Then there was the couple from Guatemala sitting next to him, traveling to France for the first time, marveling at the opportunities available to people, with a daughter whose dream is to study fashion in Paris.  As our conversation ebbed and flowed, these three fellow francophiles reminded me yet again to understand the potential for fullness in every moment of travel…even somewhere as "potentially" mundane as the airport.

Pour Commencer

To Begin~  Summer of 2008, I lived a dream.  Inspired by an excellent kindergarten teacher to learn French and travel, I began my preparations for a journey to the francophone world in 8th grade, when I enrolled in French I.  Each French teacher I had shared tidbits of the language and how to learn and live it, and then I graduated high school and traveled from Paris to the Loire River Valley to Nice and Monaco with a small group of students my age and younger.  
     Reveling in the place and language, I lived the words of Elizabeth Gilbert in her book, Eat Pray Love (p. 38- altered slightly to French and France rather than Italian and Rome):
"It's kind of a fairyland of language for me here... It's like somebody invented a [country] just to suit my specifications, where everyone... speaks this magical language.  It's like the whole society is conspiring to teach me [French].  They'll even print their newspapers in [French] while I'm here; they don't mind!  They have bookstores here that only sell books written in [French]!"
    Indeed, those nine days seemed to be the best days of my life.  But like most such dreams, living one inspires another.  Then I discovered the wonders of university life.  Freshman year, I took a class that offered correspondence with university students in Troyes, France and a French exchange during second semester.  We emailed, video chatted, and instant messaged, and then we had the exchange, where we crossed oceans of water and understanding.

      But less than two weeks is not enough time.  I am ready for more, and this year, I will challenge myself beyond any short tour or exchange.  I will write English for this blog, which will be my principal communication with those of you who I will leave behind, but I will throw myself into a world where I do not fully understand the language (or anything else for that matter).  In the fall semester, I will stay with a family in Rennes, France, and study language, literature, and culture, and in the spring, coupling my (hopefully) much improved grasp of French with my interest in medicine and the developing world, I will participate in a program themed "global health and gender studies" in Bamako, Mali.
     A conversation with an old friend recently re-emphasized that I am anything but alone in looking forward more than I ever have before.  We, now upperclassmen in college, are seriously pondering the rest of our lives.  We want more continuity and consistency than we ever have before.  Even more than seeking these qualities in our environment, it is imperative that we find them in ourselves.  This year will foster my flexibility and adaptability, but I will be constantly seeking.  I am the girl who always wanted to be a doctor and is now considering what else I will add, if anything...seminary?  public health?  teaching?  What better way to discover one's vocation in full than to throw oneself into a world where all of the variables change and to find what is constant within that self?  Travel with me.