Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Les Vacances
Vacation, vacation, vacation. Steph and I had become extremely close in the blink of an eye and I was extremely happy to have a best friend in Chateauroux with me. My host parents on the other hand were not very thrilled as they knew I would be speaking English with her instead of French, but I was so excited. I had gone through five months of school with no best, best friend and no one else to get excited over the small stuff with because it was their everyday life. Steph lived a block away from school so we ended up spending a lot of time there. Here house had a whole different atmosphere. Everyone in her host family spoke English fairly and there were excited to have someone in the house who spoke English fluently. The welcomed me just as easily in to their home and were amazed at how well I could speak French, which felt really nice.
Me being the giant francophile that I am, I was dying to show Steph just how amazing France was and so off to Paris we were. Every time I go, I fall in love all over again. I have no idea why, something in the air or maybe my parents just played Jonathan Richman too many times, either way I was beyond happy to be there. We spent the day walking around, getting lost, thanks to my lovely metro reading skills, shopping and eating yummy pastries. I was in awe even with the grey winter sky looming over. During the next week of vacation my family took me to 'center parc'. I was trying to be excited but the idea of spending an entire week in a tiny little cabin with five little girls and two moms was bringing me down. Everyone kept telling me how great it would be, but I still had my doubts.
We drove up, Pierre Yves was dropping us off since he had to be at work and explaining I was not that excited he told me to just keep an open mind. Oh right, that. So, I did and I ended up having such a fun time. The camp site was gigantic and beautiful and there was a never ending list of activities to do. Lola and I rented bikes and went exploring all over. The little ones were signed up for activities almost every morning which gave everyone a nice calm pause. In the afternoon we all went to the amazing pool. It's built to seem like a jungle so there are caves, rocks, and plants surrounding the slides, pools, and hot tubs. SO HUGE. And just for me there was a solarium where I could tuck out and go take a long nap under some florescent tanning lights.
This was about the time (seeing as I was wearing a bathing suit) that I re-realized that I had gained an enormous amount of weight which was somehow shocking and started on ongoing battle inside my head. I will save you guys from the long list of excuses I came up with to make myself feel better and just say the one that always got me to take that piece of tarte aux fraises or mousse chocolat; "I am living in France, where they have the most amazing food, for one year!" Of course, there comes a point where the clothes are just too tights, the excuses are transparent and total BS, and enough is just enough. Sadly there were still a few weeks before I actually started to do anything about hitting this rock bottom.
While at center parc, Carole, her friend and I did a challenge course where you walk on high, high ropes which are way too thin and shake with each step. There were about eight different sections we had to cross over in order to complete the circle and finally come down. I have never come so close to peeing in pants in my entire life, but afterwards I felt amazing. I want to claim that it was the adrenaline, but I know it was also just feeling so proud of myself for succeeding in doing something challenging and that scared me oh so very much. At the end of the course, in order to get down, you can either climb the billions of steps or fly on one of those swinging things and come crashing down into a pile of sand. Seeing as I do not like going down ladders, I attached myself, closed my eyes, and jumped, screaming with a smile on my face the entire way.
Me being the giant francophile that I am, I was dying to show Steph just how amazing France was and so off to Paris we were. Every time I go, I fall in love all over again. I have no idea why, something in the air or maybe my parents just played Jonathan Richman too many times, either way I was beyond happy to be there. We spent the day walking around, getting lost, thanks to my lovely metro reading skills, shopping and eating yummy pastries. I was in awe even with the grey winter sky looming over. During the next week of vacation my family took me to 'center parc'. I was trying to be excited but the idea of spending an entire week in a tiny little cabin with five little girls and two moms was bringing me down. Everyone kept telling me how great it would be, but I still had my doubts.
We drove up, Pierre Yves was dropping us off since he had to be at work and explaining I was not that excited he told me to just keep an open mind. Oh right, that. So, I did and I ended up having such a fun time. The camp site was gigantic and beautiful and there was a never ending list of activities to do. Lola and I rented bikes and went exploring all over. The little ones were signed up for activities almost every morning which gave everyone a nice calm pause. In the afternoon we all went to the amazing pool. It's built to seem like a jungle so there are caves, rocks, and plants surrounding the slides, pools, and hot tubs. SO HUGE. And just for me there was a solarium where I could tuck out and go take a long nap under some florescent tanning lights.
This was about the time (seeing as I was wearing a bathing suit) that I re-realized that I had gained an enormous amount of weight which was somehow shocking and started on ongoing battle inside my head. I will save you guys from the long list of excuses I came up with to make myself feel better and just say the one that always got me to take that piece of tarte aux fraises or mousse chocolat; "I am living in France, where they have the most amazing food, for one year!" Of course, there comes a point where the clothes are just too tights, the excuses are transparent and total BS, and enough is just enough. Sadly there were still a few weeks before I actually started to do anything about hitting this rock bottom.
While at center parc, Carole, her friend and I did a challenge course where you walk on high, high ropes which are way too thin and shake with each step. There were about eight different sections we had to cross over in order to complete the circle and finally come down. I have never come so close to peeing in pants in my entire life, but afterwards I felt amazing. I want to claim that it was the adrenaline, but I know it was also just feeling so proud of myself for succeeding in doing something challenging and that scared me oh so very much. At the end of the course, in order to get down, you can either climb the billions of steps or fly on one of those swinging things and come crashing down into a pile of sand. Seeing as I do not like going down ladders, I attached myself, closed my eyes, and jumped, screaming with a smile on my face the entire way.
Des Photos
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| Des Bonbons! |
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| petit voyage a tours avec des amis |
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| au centre ville de chateauroux |
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| vacances avec la famille |
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| ma peite cousine |
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| Paris encore! |
yoyo part 2
The weekend AFS continued and as tradition goes everybody brought a dish from his or her country. The last weekend I had tried to make burritos but not finding the right ingredients they were a bit disastrous. This time I looked online for some dessert recipes and found tres leches, mmmm, which looked délicieux, but seeing as my skills in the kitchen range from bagel and cream cheese to scrambled eggs I decided to go with an easier version. And after one cake in the trash, I finally had it down and the second was parfait!
Towards the end of February my French class went to a play, Les Chaises by Ionesco. This play seemed to drag on and on even though theater is one of the more easy things to understand in a different language. The cast is made up of two people, an old married couple who are having many friends over who are going to hear a man speak and give the meaning of life at the end of the evening. The play goes for two hours as the old couple continuously brings chairs onto the stage while welcoming all of their imaginary guests. At the very end of the play, the man arrives and with all eyes on him he speaks in gibberish, creating no comprehensible words or sentences and then the curtain closes. Even though this play was quite ennuyeux in the moment, it really did get me thinking.
In class we were reading a few books by Marguerite Duras and although beautifully written and very interesting, they are so extremely hard to understand and take much concentration on my part. When the school dance came around, offering a break and fun with my friends, I was thrilled. Everyone met a few blocks from school and giant group by group we got on buses and drove thirty minutes outside of Chateauroux to a nightclub, L'Amazone, in La Chatre. The club was packed with kids, loud music, crazy lights, and of course an outside square for people to smoke. Even though the atmosphere was so different from the school the dances that I have been to, there was a feeling so familiar in the air. The feeling of disappointment after building an imaginary picture of what the night should have been. I guess that can sometimes be universal. We danced and danced and I eventually gave in and kicked off my heels, what can I say. At about 3am we took the bus home, slept for a few hours and got up to go to our last day of classes before two very much needed weeks of vacation.
Towards the end of February my French class went to a play, Les Chaises by Ionesco. This play seemed to drag on and on even though theater is one of the more easy things to understand in a different language. The cast is made up of two people, an old married couple who are having many friends over who are going to hear a man speak and give the meaning of life at the end of the evening. The play goes for two hours as the old couple continuously brings chairs onto the stage while welcoming all of their imaginary guests. At the very end of the play, the man arrives and with all eyes on him he speaks in gibberish, creating no comprehensible words or sentences and then the curtain closes. Even though this play was quite ennuyeux in the moment, it really did get me thinking.
In class we were reading a few books by Marguerite Duras and although beautifully written and very interesting, they are so extremely hard to understand and take much concentration on my part. When the school dance came around, offering a break and fun with my friends, I was thrilled. Everyone met a few blocks from school and giant group by group we got on buses and drove thirty minutes outside of Chateauroux to a nightclub, L'Amazone, in La Chatre. The club was packed with kids, loud music, crazy lights, and of course an outside square for people to smoke. Even though the atmosphere was so different from the school the dances that I have been to, there was a feeling so familiar in the air. The feeling of disappointment after building an imaginary picture of what the night should have been. I guess that can sometimes be universal. We danced and danced and I eventually gave in and kicked off my heels, what can I say. At about 3am we took the bus home, slept for a few hours and got up to go to our last day of classes before two very much needed weeks of vacation.
Friday, May 27, 2011
The yoyo game
Well my oh my, it has been quite some time since I have written on the blog. I do sincerely apologize for not keep everyone up to date recently. And if you guys have any questions about my life here, ask away!! It will give me a big heads up to know that you guys are interested in what I am writing. It seems as though during these past four months I got kind of lost in, well, life. It's funny how sometimes I can feel so much like a stranger here and the fact that this isn't my normal life flashes brighter than a neon sign, while other times I just seem to float on as if nothing has or will ever change. Maybe that is a form of denial, but hey, no need for a self analysis at the moment. Let's talk about France! It's amazing how much easier things are to process in retrospect. I don't feel so blind and tangled up. Nice, hu? So here goes.
The end of January was mixed. I still hadn't dug completely out of my previous hole/rut, but there was a new exchange student, an Australian named Steph. Now, we are so beyond close and I consider her one of my best friends in the world, but I'll get to that later. We had been hearing about her at school for months and everyone was showing all the excitement that they hadn't shown when I first arrived and so that little pinch of jealous was starting to kick in. The minute she arrived in class I recognized that face, the one so readable to those who have felt the exact some way, scared shitless. I introduced myself after class and she sighed with so much relief when she realized the words coming from my life were English.
February showed up right around the corner and guess what? It was still as cold and gray as an icicle's bum. In other words, so very extremely uncomfortable and depressing. Even with all the sweaters, and tights under my jeans, and coats and twenty pounds of winter fat I'd accidentally put on, I was still freezing cold all the time. But what made it worse than anything was the darkness. Grey when I woke up and grey when I walked home from school at 6pm. There wasn't enough sunlight and winter needed to be over. On the other hand five months had passed and I was starting to feel pretty confident with my French, I had a close group of friends at school, and showing Steph around Chateauroux made it feel a million more times like home. Steph came along with a new attitude, more of a free willed one, let's say. And it was exactly what I needed. I had gotten my head so twisted around school and work that I wasn't even able to see all the other things surrounding me.
I had been putting up a smile and a strong face for a while, but I was wearing down and when the next AFS weekend came around I cracked. I lost it all. Things were getting hard in my family with three little sisters all in need of so much attention and parents who had no idea how to be with a teenager. I was hateful towards my body and all the weight I gained. I felt as though I was loosing all the progress I had made in French by speaking English with Steph, but I didn't want to lose a friend. School was way too hard for me, but I kept pushing and pushing myself with out communicating how difficult it had become thinking I could make it through. On top of it all, I was jealous of Steph because she had me to help her through the first months that I had fought through on my own. All this led to me sobbing on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night trying to explain where it all went wrong to my best friend, Abi, but not at all finding words in English or French.
The end of January was mixed. I still hadn't dug completely out of my previous hole/rut, but there was a new exchange student, an Australian named Steph. Now, we are so beyond close and I consider her one of my best friends in the world, but I'll get to that later. We had been hearing about her at school for months and everyone was showing all the excitement that they hadn't shown when I first arrived and so that little pinch of jealous was starting to kick in. The minute she arrived in class I recognized that face, the one so readable to those who have felt the exact some way, scared shitless. I introduced myself after class and she sighed with so much relief when she realized the words coming from my life were English.
February showed up right around the corner and guess what? It was still as cold and gray as an icicle's bum. In other words, so very extremely uncomfortable and depressing. Even with all the sweaters, and tights under my jeans, and coats and twenty pounds of winter fat I'd accidentally put on, I was still freezing cold all the time. But what made it worse than anything was the darkness. Grey when I woke up and grey when I walked home from school at 6pm. There wasn't enough sunlight and winter needed to be over. On the other hand five months had passed and I was starting to feel pretty confident with my French, I had a close group of friends at school, and showing Steph around Chateauroux made it feel a million more times like home. Steph came along with a new attitude, more of a free willed one, let's say. And it was exactly what I needed. I had gotten my head so twisted around school and work that I wasn't even able to see all the other things surrounding me.
I had been putting up a smile and a strong face for a while, but I was wearing down and when the next AFS weekend came around I cracked. I lost it all. Things were getting hard in my family with three little sisters all in need of so much attention and parents who had no idea how to be with a teenager. I was hateful towards my body and all the weight I gained. I felt as though I was loosing all the progress I had made in French by speaking English with Steph, but I didn't want to lose a friend. School was way too hard for me, but I kept pushing and pushing myself with out communicating how difficult it had become thinking I could make it through. On top of it all, I was jealous of Steph because she had me to help her through the first months that I had fought through on my own. All this led to me sobbing on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night trying to explain where it all went wrong to my best friend, Abi, but not at all finding words in English or French.
Friday, January 28, 2011
everyday clothes
I remember the first summer I went to camp. I was off to Hummingbird with my clarinet for two weeks. I was so proud to be going away for two whole weeks, not just one like most kids did. I bragged and bragged and everyone would say "wow! two weeks that's such a long time to be away from home!" And now ten months. Geez louiz. What was I thinking? Homesickness hit me pretty hard in the beginning of January and the thought of staying another whole six months before coming home seemed like such a long time. But at the same time I was afraid that there wouldn't been enough time to reach all my goals and take advantage of my opportunities here. Correction: I am afraid. But it is that fear that fights against my urge to procrastinate and pushes me to get off by butt and do something new.
The second weekend of January came around and a group of AFS friends and I planned a day trip to Tours for some major shopping (after Christmas sales!) and catching up. Everyone arrived at the train station more or less around noon and we headed toward the stores. Starving and the giant, yellow McDonald's M glaring down on us, we were tempted to duck in and pig out on America's "delicious" fast food, but instead most of us went to the nearest boulangerie and got sandwiches. We ate and walked and talked with mouths full and stories tumbling out. There are times when I feel like my mouth is going to explode. And no, not from the large amounts of pastries and pasta, but the fact that so many words and thoughts are held in. It's a feeling on my tongue that I get sometimes, like I just want to let loose, run with the wind, and not have to try so fucking hard to form sentences. So, to say the least, it was nice to be with a group of friends who fully understood and spoke the same shuffled French.
As groups of ten girls often do, we quickly split up into cliques and went on our way. After a long after noon of the impossible tasks of trying to keep everyone together and sorting apart the sale clothes from the new season, we dropped down at a cafe and ordered coffee, milkshakes, or whatever drinks were on our mind. Happy just to be sitting and talking at a cafe (with a really cute waiter) we were all smiling. The sun started to set, so we started heading back to the train station, everyone's ride home at a different time. Again we split into groups, the people with later trains home fitting in some last minute shopping and the people with early rides trying to make their way back. Before leaving, my host dad had told me to be careful and pay attention because, wait for it. . . there was a strike! I paid attention when we arrived, but after that, it just kind of left my mind. I had stayed behind shopping (shocker, I know) and when I received a phone call from my friend crying and panicking and impossible to understand, I started to freak. She handed the phone over and I learned that the strike had gotten out of hand and the police had dropped tear gas and my friends had been caught in the middle of all the chaos.
They made their train home safe and sound and when I was called again, told that everything was fine and under control, we headed towards the train station. But then more police arrived and with them more tear gas. The tourists hid their faces and ran and the French shoppers just calmly walked the other direction. The street to the train station being blocked so we went into the Gallery Lafayette and decided to wait it out. I asked what was going on and if it was possible to make it to the train station in time, and "non, non, non" was the response I got. And after waiting and waiting and waiting and wandering other streets, we were exhausted and hungry. So hungry. Despite the candy that we had bought halfway through the day to keep us going! Who says teenagers don't eat well? Pshh.
Eventually, we found our way and we found a closing boulangerie (best sandwich I have ever eaten in my entire life). The evening was on a much calmer and happier level. We spent the night with friends, having fun and well, yeah, having fun. A few hours of sleep later, we rolled out of the warm, cozy bed and jumped on the next train to go eat yet one more, Galette des Rois.
The second weekend of January came around and a group of AFS friends and I planned a day trip to Tours for some major shopping (after Christmas sales!) and catching up. Everyone arrived at the train station more or less around noon and we headed toward the stores. Starving and the giant, yellow McDonald's M glaring down on us, we were tempted to duck in and pig out on America's "delicious" fast food, but instead most of us went to the nearest boulangerie and got sandwiches. We ate and walked and talked with mouths full and stories tumbling out. There are times when I feel like my mouth is going to explode. And no, not from the large amounts of pastries and pasta, but the fact that so many words and thoughts are held in. It's a feeling on my tongue that I get sometimes, like I just want to let loose, run with the wind, and not have to try so fucking hard to form sentences. So, to say the least, it was nice to be with a group of friends who fully understood and spoke the same shuffled French.
As groups of ten girls often do, we quickly split up into cliques and went on our way. After a long after noon of the impossible tasks of trying to keep everyone together and sorting apart the sale clothes from the new season, we dropped down at a cafe and ordered coffee, milkshakes, or whatever drinks were on our mind. Happy just to be sitting and talking at a cafe (with a really cute waiter) we were all smiling. The sun started to set, so we started heading back to the train station, everyone's ride home at a different time. Again we split into groups, the people with later trains home fitting in some last minute shopping and the people with early rides trying to make their way back. Before leaving, my host dad had told me to be careful and pay attention because, wait for it. . . there was a strike! I paid attention when we arrived, but after that, it just kind of left my mind. I had stayed behind shopping (shocker, I know) and when I received a phone call from my friend crying and panicking and impossible to understand, I started to freak. She handed the phone over and I learned that the strike had gotten out of hand and the police had dropped tear gas and my friends had been caught in the middle of all the chaos.
They made their train home safe and sound and when I was called again, told that everything was fine and under control, we headed towards the train station. But then more police arrived and with them more tear gas. The tourists hid their faces and ran and the French shoppers just calmly walked the other direction. The street to the train station being blocked so we went into the Gallery Lafayette and decided to wait it out. I asked what was going on and if it was possible to make it to the train station in time, and "non, non, non" was the response I got. And after waiting and waiting and waiting and wandering other streets, we were exhausted and hungry. So hungry. Despite the candy that we had bought halfway through the day to keep us going! Who says teenagers don't eat well? Pshh.
Eventually, we found our way and we found a closing boulangerie (best sandwich I have ever eaten in my entire life). The evening was on a much calmer and happier level. We spent the night with friends, having fun and well, yeah, having fun. A few hours of sleep later, we rolled out of the warm, cozy bed and jumped on the next train to go eat yet one more, Galette des Rois.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Noël en France
Began with a four hour road trip to Nantes
Squished in a tiny van with five other people and over flowing amounts of luggage. Vacation started on the 17th and with me sick as a dog with an awful sinus infection. It continued to be freezing and after a few days of lying in bed not being able to move with out splitting pain, I asked to go to the doctor. My host mom called right away and the next day we were at the doctor's and I was on antibiotics. When I get sick at home I am usually one of the people who whines and whines, which usually leads to breakfast brought to me in bed with 'Friends' playing on my laptop and my dad asking 'Haven't you seen all of these episodes a million times already?' and me nodding, drowning my perfectly cooked French toast in maple syrup and whipped cream, and continuing to say all the punch lines before the actors. Here it was a bit different. I wanted to show my family how strong and independent I was, and I wanted to prove to myself that I could take care of myself on my own. I drank lots of water, took my Quercitin twice a day, and made myself put on that extra layer despite how poofy it made me look. I bared through the headaches and the sore red nose, but at some point I realized it was okay not to be strong. My host family was happily there for me, making me soup and taking care of me.
And so here we are, back in the car, a day before Christmas, on our way to visit Pierre-Yves' parents, George and Jaqueline. I used my beautifully crafted defense mechanism of sleeping. It has always been easier for me to fall asleep in car than any where else and in this way the, let's say 'loudness' of riding in a car with three little sisters was blocked out. We stayed in Christmas Eve, eating and drinking by the fire and me longing for the freezing cold, but always oh so very beautiful Feralito walk. We all put our shoes next the Christmas tree before going to bed so that the Pere Noel would know where to put everyone's gifts. The house is cute and small and with nine people sleeping in it, way overly cramped. I slept on a futon with Lola in the office and fell asleep listening to the hushed whispers of Malou and Louanne trying to sneak a peek at Santa Clause and the presents.
We woke up the next morning, ate the usual Nutella covered baguette dipped in hot chocolate and impatiently waited the cousins' arrival so that we could all open our presents together. After ten minutes filled with giggling, screaming and laughing there was torn wrapping paper covering the living room floor. We then proceeded to eat a sea food feast. I was adventurous in trying everything (even the food that was still moving on my plate) and went for seconds knowing this was not something that I would be eating again soon. And boy was I wrong. You will never believe what we had for lunch the following days as well. After over dosing on Christmas day I politely declined and instead ate the bread with the delicious home made foie gras.
We found time to go into the center of Nantes before leaving to go shopping and to look at Leonardo de Vinci's machines. It was freezing cold and for one of the first times I found myself wanting to complain and have a hissy fit, but not being able to and having to just suck it up. I couldn't feel my feet because of the cold and we were waiting in a long line to climb the giant fake elephant, which I wasn't too enthusiastic about to say the least, but my sisters had been looking forward to it for years. We finally came home and I ran upstairs, quickly put my feet into the tub and filled it with hot water. I panicked, tears running down my face as I watched my toes turn a dark gray. I screamed Carol's name and she came running and sat with me, rubbing my back until they were nice and pink again. I didn't stop crying, so many blocked emotions pouring out. I was missing my home and my family and wanting to go back for a few days, but at the same time hating myself for not being happier in the moment. All of my feelings came rushing back at once. The stress, the fear, and the loneliness that often falls.
Feeling better, my cheeks and eyes permanently red and puffy, I went downstairs. And for dinner we were making crepes. I don't think it's possible to understand the full extent of which this filled me with happiness. Crepes are what made me fall in love with France. Crepes are what put me in the kitchen so many mornings and afternoons, trying to figure out how to make them perfectly and then testing them out on my friends and parents. And there I was, cramped in a tiny, tiny kitchen with nine people, never ending crepe batter, and an atmosphere filled so thick with happiness, or maybe that was the smell of crepes. Either way, it put the warmest feeling in my stomach and I jumped right in, showing off my skills and not mentioning just exactly how much time I had spent practicing making the perfect crepe.
Squished in a tiny van with five other people and over flowing amounts of luggage. Vacation started on the 17th and with me sick as a dog with an awful sinus infection. It continued to be freezing and after a few days of lying in bed not being able to move with out splitting pain, I asked to go to the doctor. My host mom called right away and the next day we were at the doctor's and I was on antibiotics. When I get sick at home I am usually one of the people who whines and whines, which usually leads to breakfast brought to me in bed with 'Friends' playing on my laptop and my dad asking 'Haven't you seen all of these episodes a million times already?' and me nodding, drowning my perfectly cooked French toast in maple syrup and whipped cream, and continuing to say all the punch lines before the actors. Here it was a bit different. I wanted to show my family how strong and independent I was, and I wanted to prove to myself that I could take care of myself on my own. I drank lots of water, took my Quercitin twice a day, and made myself put on that extra layer despite how poofy it made me look. I bared through the headaches and the sore red nose, but at some point I realized it was okay not to be strong. My host family was happily there for me, making me soup and taking care of me.
And so here we are, back in the car, a day before Christmas, on our way to visit Pierre-Yves' parents, George and Jaqueline. I used my beautifully crafted defense mechanism of sleeping. It has always been easier for me to fall asleep in car than any where else and in this way the, let's say 'loudness' of riding in a car with three little sisters was blocked out. We stayed in Christmas Eve, eating and drinking by the fire and me longing for the freezing cold, but always oh so very beautiful Feralito walk. We all put our shoes next the Christmas tree before going to bed so that the Pere Noel would know where to put everyone's gifts. The house is cute and small and with nine people sleeping in it, way overly cramped. I slept on a futon with Lola in the office and fell asleep listening to the hushed whispers of Malou and Louanne trying to sneak a peek at Santa Clause and the presents.
We woke up the next morning, ate the usual Nutella covered baguette dipped in hot chocolate and impatiently waited the cousins' arrival so that we could all open our presents together. After ten minutes filled with giggling, screaming and laughing there was torn wrapping paper covering the living room floor. We then proceeded to eat a sea food feast. I was adventurous in trying everything (even the food that was still moving on my plate) and went for seconds knowing this was not something that I would be eating again soon. And boy was I wrong. You will never believe what we had for lunch the following days as well. After over dosing on Christmas day I politely declined and instead ate the bread with the delicious home made foie gras.
We found time to go into the center of Nantes before leaving to go shopping and to look at Leonardo de Vinci's machines. It was freezing cold and for one of the first times I found myself wanting to complain and have a hissy fit, but not being able to and having to just suck it up. I couldn't feel my feet because of the cold and we were waiting in a long line to climb the giant fake elephant, which I wasn't too enthusiastic about to say the least, but my sisters had been looking forward to it for years. We finally came home and I ran upstairs, quickly put my feet into the tub and filled it with hot water. I panicked, tears running down my face as I watched my toes turn a dark gray. I screamed Carol's name and she came running and sat with me, rubbing my back until they were nice and pink again. I didn't stop crying, so many blocked emotions pouring out. I was missing my home and my family and wanting to go back for a few days, but at the same time hating myself for not being happier in the moment. All of my feelings came rushing back at once. The stress, the fear, and the loneliness that often falls.
Feeling better, my cheeks and eyes permanently red and puffy, I went downstairs. And for dinner we were making crepes. I don't think it's possible to understand the full extent of which this filled me with happiness. Crepes are what made me fall in love with France. Crepes are what put me in the kitchen so many mornings and afternoons, trying to figure out how to make them perfectly and then testing them out on my friends and parents. And there I was, cramped in a tiny, tiny kitchen with nine people, never ending crepe batter, and an atmosphere filled so thick with happiness, or maybe that was the smell of crepes. Either way, it put the warmest feeling in my stomach and I jumped right in, showing off my skills and not mentioning just exactly how much time I had spent practicing making the perfect crepe.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
time flies!
December. Month #3. Whoa. During the first week of December I went to a play with my theater class called “Le Foret”. I had no idea what to expect and had honestly not even understood that we were going to a play in the first place. I walked in to the theater and was surprisingly handed 3D glasses. The play was beautiful. The entire script was narrated by four voices intertwining and with one man acting out the motions on stage. The stage itself was a few inches of water and with the lighting it reflected beautifully images and moved beautifully. It was very wonderfully. The voices narrated the beginning of earth and life itself and then explained its destruction and the corruption that had taken over. I watched the play intensely looking for any detail that would help me understand the words. The actor himself ended up completely naked on stage and thinking this was just, well, a very French thing, I looked around to see other people’s faces. Totally shocked as well. Glad to know I wasn’t the only one.
A few days later I took the ‘BAC BLANC’. The BAC in France is probably the most important test. It is many, many hours long and with out a good grade one does not pass the year. The practice was four hours long and well, a bit painful. I was given a test on the theater. Which means I analyzed 3 exerts from different plays and wrote a very long dissertation and answered questions. Such a lovely way to start the day. Luckily it was a Friday and after school I was taking to the bus to Tours to visit my bestest AFS friend, Abigale.
Two hours later, stressed that I had missed the stop, I arrived safe and sound. And in total awe. There were lights everywhere and stores, oh so very many stores. The buildings looked beautiful lit up and surrounded by buzzing people. Abby met me in the center, right next to the Hotel de Ville and the giant, giant Christmas tree. Soon we jumped on a bus and rode forty five minutes excitedly blabbering off in our very own language of oh so very elegantly mixed French and English. Her family greeted me with warmth and was very patient, accustomed to having someone that didn’t speak fluent French in the house. The next morning Abby went to school, while I slept in late and ‘did homework’. I jumped back on the bus around 11 to meet her when she got off school. After 45 minutes of utter confusion and adventure I met Abby and another friend and we ate a late breakfast. That afternoon we saw so much. Abby showed me beautiful churches and streets, secret corners and gardens, and little stores. We walked the marché de noel in search of Christmas gifts, tasted vin chaud, and ate way too many chichi and crepes (comme d’habitude).
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