Frustration

The Saturday after a magical Friday was seemingly well planned out.

Danielle and I were to visit some of our friends in Avignon who lived there, and the city was only about a 30-minute train ride away. It seemed perfect, the tickets were bought and we left ten minutes early to make sure we did everything right, given my mefiance (French for distrust) in public transportation. We left to take our connecting train at the local train station that was to arrive at the local TGV station and inquired as to where our train was. The woman behind the window briefly and lazily looked at Danielle’s screen of her phone as we showed her our train number and she told us that that was a bus, not a train. We panicked. The bus station was a 5-minute walk away and we had 10 minutes. But this was doable. We quickly gathered our few belongings that we were traveling with and ran to the bus station. We showed up at our bus, assuming the electronic ticket that we had would work, when the bus driver told us we would need it in paper. We panicked again because we were indeed running out of time and we ran to the information desk. Then that woman told us that this was a train, not a bus, and it departed from the same place we had just left. On a raté. At this point it was obvious we missed the first train because we were not going to walk back to the train station. And then we missed the next bus to the TGV station as well and the next bus would arrive 10 minutes after our train from the TGV station will have left. And thus we encountered our first situation of the weekend.

At this point I felt a certain heaviness that comes with the feeling that someone’s simple lack of attention that cost them absolutely nothing probably cost you your entire day. I truly loathed the woman that told us that we needed a bus because she lied right to our faces. There was no gain for her from doing this other than the pleasure she received from inconveniencing us, which I doubt was even a reward at that point. After this ordeal we were forced to get tickets for a later train ride, which was 17 euro apiece, and were 2 hours late. Our friend Thomas was waiting to pick us up from the TGV station in Avignon. When he picked us up some of the bitterness concerning the situation that had just transpired had evaporated and it was replaced with relief at seeing a familiar face and a good friend. He drove us into town and we parked right outside the city walls right next to a massive Ferris wheel, or as Thomas called it la grande roue. We walked through the town which had more of a city feel, found in the predominantly stone based structures and high walls. We saw le pont and various statues dedicated to World War I and II soldiers. The immense river that initially established the town of Avignon ran beside it and seemed to be a great source for the city. It was filled with history, and stories, but I was too distracted by the traveling theatre companies that traveled the streets, with a live promotional performance every 10 minutes you walked down the road, to really pay much heed. Comedians (which the French call one man shows) were being promoted and different dramatic acts were also quite heavily advertised. There was a flavor for everyone offered here in Avignon. Unfortunately we did not stay in town for very long, and we left after our lunch to go to Thomas’ friend’s house.

We had been speaking French for essentially the entire day at that point, and it was one of the first times either Danielle or I had tried to manage to entirely change languages for an entire day. I vastly underestimated how tiresome it would be. I felt mental fatigue that was unknown to me before this trip. When night came around they had other friends over who spoke absolutely no English. Zero. Thomas was very good and we could usually substitute English words for the words we did not know, but with the others it was difficult. It was also one of the first times someone told me I had an accent. It was relatively fun, but the exhaustion was killing me. Danielle and I taught them drinking games from the United States that would be fun to play, and that part was actually incredibly amusing, but it was short lived just because of the great amount of fatigue I felt from practicing another language so continuously. By the end of the night I was left barely able to keep my eyes open and I was left in a stupor. I looked at Danielle and saw the same drained look in her eyes that was probably in mine. Thomas looked at both of us and said; “you know, you can go to sleep if you are tired.” I could not remember if he said this in English or in French. I just felt my body stand up and carry itself to the room we were to stay in that night.

The next morning came and we were exhausted. I couldn’t even imagine having to go through another day with that much French, but I knew I had to face it. I got up and got ready for the hike in les Gorges du Touleranc we were to go on that hot day.

We met about 10 of Thomas’ other friends to carpool to the gorge after we met at the bakery to pick up some baguette to make our sandwiches for our picnic after the hike (I know, so French). And from there we departed, with Camembert, saucisson, and fresh bread in our backpacks. The gorge was definitely not what I expected. I expected to be hiking maybe through a gorge for a little while, with our trajectory being predominantly uphill, like a typical hike. I was so wrong. We spent the entire time in a river, and it may have been the coolest and most treacherous hike I’ve ever been on. The rocks were slippery and we found ourselves up to our chins in water during some parts of the hike. We were forced to climb up rocks surrounding waterfalls and I almost lost my footing quite a few times. A testament to the danger surrounding us was a man who lied in agonizing pain on one of the rocks surrounded by members of his group after he broke his leg slipping on a rock. We did our best to help him out, but the gorge was in a rather inconvenient location with no cell reception, making it difficult for emergency medical staff to do anything about the situation. After some time we parted ways with the worried group. After 3 hours of hiking through this terrain in one direction, we decided to make camp on a nice patch of rocks and feast on our bread, cheese, and sausage. It was delicious, but to be honest, I was still completely exhausted from the night before so I was not making much conversation. I just listened to their quick slang-ridden French and was trying to get used to the speed and roughness of vernacular talk. It was exceedingly difficult to follow but Danielle and I did understand much of it. Just looking at their body language, I could tell that they interacted similarly to the group of my friends I have at home, and I very much wanted to be a part of the conversation. But I quite honestly could not keep up, and that frustrated me to an incredibly high degree. I just wanted to talk to someone, without having a communication barrier in the way of the fluidity. I felt handicapped by the fact that I could not adequately express myself in this language, and even more frustrated that no one would slow down for me to accommodate this handicap.

There was one girl who did take the time to understand us and talk to us, although she did not speak English. Her name is Amandine. And I very much appreciated her company throughout the day. She would ask me what I wanted to do, what I went to school for, simple questions. I appreciated it so much, and I extended an invitation to her to stay with me if she ever finds herself on the east coast of the United States.

Overall, the trip may have been one of the most enriching learning experiences I had in France. The practice was overwhelming and I became horribly fatigued, and infuriated at my lack of skills. In some way, this trip inspired me to learn even more, and gave me one more reason to learn this language. I feel as if every person I meet, every book I attempt to read, every restaurant I go to gives me more and more of a reason to speak French fluently. I came to this country wanting to learn a language because I thought it was beautiful and I wanted to challenge myself. I now find myself realizing that I want to learn because I want to keep those friends that I have made, and that I want to be able to connect with the millions of people that speak the French language. What was seen as more of an art that I practiced for art’s sake at Penn State and throughout high school is now a practical tool that I have to facilitate communication and build friendships. Languages truly open doors, and I am excited to be a part of the experience and the journey that will one day help me to achieve fluency.

One thought on “Frustration

  1. Scott Runner

    I can definitely relate to this post. Struggling to speak in a foreign language you only are beginning to get a grasp of is quite a rewarding… and often entertaining … challenge!

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