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.

After a cyclone of cataclysmic events in Barcelona, a week passed by and we found ourselves piecing together new plans to create our next memory. The agenda for that Friday: Moustiers St. Marie, which is a quaint town located on the side of a mountain, with breathtaking scenery and enough hills to give anyone the calves of a sprinter. The entire walk to the town center was uphill and I questioned the extent of my dedication to fitness at that point. After making it up the hill the town that greeted me was friendly and open, with plenty of markets and people not accustomed to seeing tourists, because the town we went to was not necessarily a popular tourist destination due to its difficult location. The humble stone bridges soared above magnificent and profound drops accented by stunning waterfalls, filled with undisturbed forestry and nature, and the bends of the roads were complimented by playful plant-life dwindling from walls and window frames. Rarely have I seen a town better compliment the nature from which it was built upon. Modest houses bordered the paths and interrupted the neutral colors of the stone and plants with occasional splashes of color in the form of shutters and decorative doors.

En plein air, the markets were exploding with life, in both the curious customers and the enthusiastic vendors, selling their families’ specialties in food or handcrafted goods. Everything was authentic and it was some of the most unique and beautiful tools I have ever seen. The artisans gave the town a completely different personality, in the form of the nougat, the tasteful and casual clothing, the handcrafted knives, the leather goods, and lavender scented soaps and souvenirs. Originality was fostered and poured out onto the streets during these market days, and it brought a community-oriented feel to the quiet town, illustrating a close-knit community in the form of people laughing, joking, learning, and proudly explaining their trades to those interested in their craft.

Walking around this unique and splendid scene, I rarely felt like an outsider, only in the form of the occasional person staring a bit too long at the one speaking a language other than French to their friends, or perhaps it was because I was wearing a shirt with a giant Penn State logo that day. I did not have enough time to eat breakfast that morning, so after the 2 hour-long bus ride I could not wait to eat upon my arrival. However; I did forget that in France, there are culturally designated times for meals and the restaurants accommodate to these times, especially in the countryside, since it is a less popular tourist location. So me being hungry at 11 AM ne marchait pas. En general, Ça ne se fait pas. So all of the kitchens of the restaurants were closed until noon. Eh c’est pas grave I thought as my stomach continued to object to these absurd “sorry you can’t buy any food between these hours” that would be absolutely unheard of in the United States. Following this I simply bought a 0,80-euro croissant that would fill the void for the time being until noon came around.

In the meantime my friends and I, Sammie, Brett, Danielle, and Nickolas, decided to climb the steep steps to the town’s renowned cathedral. It was far from grueling, but after a 15-minute climb I found myself drenched in sweat just because of the strong sun shining down on us. At this point it had not rained for four weeks, so we were quite accustomed to the abrasive sun and it rarely bothered us. Getting to the cathedral walking on the other side of the stone walls into shelter from the sun and cold stone provided us with temporary shelter in the form of this mysterious monastery. The dense silence that hung in the air of the church gave me the feeling that I needed to whisper, although I was one of the only people in the building. I quietly asked Danielle to take a picture of the scene for me since I still had a lack of phone (again, a pretty big drawback to not having a portable device), and listened to Nickolas tell me about the role Catholicism plays in his life, and the importance of going to these holy sites for him. I am also Catholic, but found myself admiring more the beauty in the sheer age and peculiarity of these structures rather than reverence for their purpose. It made me think of how different motivations can bring people to the same place, to do the same thing, and end up sharing the same moment.

From the top of the hill at the Cathedral!

Inside of the Cathedral *photocred Danielle Esplin

After this bouleversé of sentiment, history, and homage, our group made their way back to the bus to go to the part of the trip that many were looking forward to- swimming in the local lake. Every single body of water I have been to has been absolutely magnificent, and nothing in New Jersey will ever compare after this experience. But the most interesting part is that after going to all of these beaches I can pick distinctive qualities that separate them from one another. This was the first lake I visited and eagerly trying to catch the first glimpse of the lake I looked past where it seemed that the mountain ended and gazed off over the edge of the road. Aqua blue water pleasantly greeted my eyes with waterfalls breaching the calm waters. I had never truly had a breathtaking moment until then but I felt myself experience the irresistible urge to inhale as soon as my eyes met this scene. Minutes later we ran off the bus, each trying to take full advantage of the 2.5 hours we had before the bus was supposed to leave. After eating a morsel of food I ran into the water, almost unaware of the pain the small stones were causing on the soles of my feet. Danielle, Sammie, Brett and I tossed a football around until we decided to investigate the paddleboats available. Each boat was 15 euros and it was an opportunity not worth missing, being that you could go beyond what you could see from the shore. We took a paddle boat over through a gorge where a bridge ran overtop of, and after heeding the warning sign that explained that there have been two deaths this year from people who have jumped off the bridge, we went to one of the ledges of the gorge to choose a more friendly cliff-jumping option. I had never gone cliff jumping before and after much anticipation and a few less than acceptable words on my part, I leapt off into the water from a height probably the equivalent of the high dive. I could not have prepared myself for the feeling of free falling, although it was for such a short period of time. It was something that I had an incredible time doing, but for the day, that was all I had in me. As each of us jumped off the other paddleboats cheered us on in French and made us feel like heroes (although we clearly did not deserve the title). We turned down the extreme sports dial a bit on that part of the experience and continued to explore the gorge.

A little further down we encountered the waterfalls we had seen from the bridge. We swam over to the waterfalls, and I was shocked to feel the frigid water pouring on my head after I emerged from the lukewarm water of the lake. It was so cold that it was almost past the point of being refreshing. After this we casually paddled back, talking, laughing, joking and enjoying the free Redbull that was given to us during our journey. We arrived back onto shore just in time to catch the bus on its way back to Aix.

A quaint and fresh waterfall

Chilling

On the way home, we made a quick pit stop to visit the famous lavender fields of Provence. Walking out of the bus all one saw was fields and perfect rows of purple, stretching off into a great distance. We were told to watch for bees when wandering about the lavender fields, which scared some students, but bees don’t usually bother me- if you go to someone else’s territory you just need to be respectful and they will respect you. In the field across the street there was a weathered and partially broken vestige of a stone building, and I was left wondering when it was built and what purpose it served. Its eroded remains were left undisturbed and it seemed to make a statement that it was to be left undisturbed. It truly captured my attention and made an impression on me for reasons I cannot adequately define.

The most purple fields I have ever seen

The day began with a frantic exclamation that we had overslept because the alarm did not go off, and ended with the satisfied kind of tired you feel after a good workout. The “we may not catch the bus” start that was had turned into one of the most magical experiences I will ever have. It was filled with appreciation. Appreciation for life, nature, its bounty, its nuances, its workability, it’s coexistence with man-made structures, and of the people that coexisted with it. The development of this appreciation was not tout en coup, but it developed- throughout the day and throughout this journey. One can appreciate anything really anywhere, as vague as that statement sounds. Look out the window of the bus or a train or a car or stop and look for flowers or look at the graffiti on a wall or maybe even the carvings on a tree. Nature is everywhere and people are everywhere and there are so many opportunities to cherish them that often this appreciation is wasted. You can have someone tell you “appreciate this!” with little affect, but the most beautiful part about life seems to be that people have to experience things themselves to truly understand what they value. So instead of trying telling you what to look for and see and do, as if I was an authority in the matter at all, I will simply express to you my own personal excitement in what has impacted and impressed on me, and hope very much that everyone has the opportunity to experience one’s own form of awe and wonder, in whatever it may be.

Well I have some catching up to do.

I will start out with what seemed to be the beginning of a minor life crisis, the modern day time standing still moment that many of us have gone through at one time or another.

It began with a plan. To go to Barcelona for the weekend to visit some friends with the intention of having a great time. As much as I would like to say that I went to see all of the Spanish monuments, Camp Nou, famous churches, and sites of that nature, I did not. But I don’t regret any of the time I spent during that brief period in Spain. I did not have to fall in love with the monuments, the sites, the tourist spots that (in some cases) I only feel like are a way to bring in revenue and scam people, but instead I fell in love with the architecture of the simple buildings, the people, the scenery, the graffiti, the city planning, the streets, the sounds… I could go on but I will stop myself before I get a little carried away.

I almost raise an eyebrow at this point, at the people who tell me that you didn’t truly visit a place unless you go to the big monuments. I will go there if i feel the need and have the time, but what I find to be the most precious is what is underneath the stone, not what glitters on top of it. I had an incredible experience painting a picture of Barcelona in my mind using nuances that I caught and the slightest details that I noticed. It made me wonder how much else I was missing from this travel experience entirely.

One of the greatest things about traveling is meeting people. Sometimes these will be friends that will remain in contact with for the rest of your life. Sometimes they are people with whom you share a moment and cherish it forever. But the most wonderful thing about meeting new people is that the odds made it so that two people were in the same place at the same time at that exact point in their lives. Why wouldn’t you take advantage of that opportunity? Maybe they have an interesting story or something to share? Of course sometimes, no, but in my opinion it is definitely worth the effort. For example during one of my nights in Barcelona I was on the beach sitting on the boardwalk area, when a Danish man began talking to me. I was very interested to see what he would say because I had never spoken with a Dane before. I learned that he was 19 years old and already a successful entrepreneur, who had created and marketed an invention of his (which is actually really cool- it’s a speaker that has fire and the flames pulsate with the beat of the music). I was so impressed (and somewhat envious) of his early success, and now he was traveling Europe. He was such an open minded individual, and it is very difficult to find people like that nowadays. He left a lasting impression on me, whether he knew it or not, and just taking the time to talk to me and tell me his story was all that it took.

I met many many other people along the way, but some stood out more than others. There were people from everywhere- I suppose most people were on holiday. But it was very interesting to finally get a chance to practice my Spanish, since I have some knowledge of that language, and it is actually easier for me to understand than french. I went out to the various bars of Spain with about seven others and we had an incredible time. But now I will finally get to the part that is not so incredible and is the reason i am missing (most) of my photos: my phone was stolen the Saturday I was in Barcelona- and to make it even better, it was my Birthday. Now I don’t really have any way of posting photos unless it is through scavenging through my friends photos, which I will post below. After first losing this device, which had my entire life on it, I was first casual, then panicked, then depressed, then hopeless, then optimistic that I would find it, then sad again, and finally accepting with a more cynical attitude than previously. I went through all of that in about 5 hours so by the time it was over I was pretty much over the emotional loss of my phone, it was mainly just an inconvenience to not have it at that point. I experienced phone “ghost pain” and always reached for my pocket to check the time for the first few days I was lacking it, but it went away rather quickly. After having gotten three hours of sleep, the morning after the incident I was sitting with Danielle eating a strange brunch consisting of pizza and an omelette sandwich, and suddenly I felt a sort of freedom (or maybe it was a weird breeze) and liberation- I didn’t need technology anymore! Of course this sentiment was not at all true, of course I needed to let my mother know that I was still alive every few days but in that moment everything felt so much simpler. Not having a phone made me soak in every moment because I knew I wasn’t going to have a photo to remember it by. It was a chance to take in the memory instead of saying “I’ll just take a picture of it and look at it later so I can remember it”. I had to make an effort to capture certain images in my brain, and to remember certain sounds, faces, feelings, smells… Although undoubtably it was an inconvenience, positivity can be taken from any bad situation.

All in all, my experience in Barcelona was sleepless, relaxing, inspiring, filled with loss, the feeling of being lost, and meandering, crazy, exciting, frustrating, and most of all eye-opening. To say it was just “fun” would be an incredibly shallow blanket statement- a word I would probably use when saying hello to someone in passing after they ask me “oh by the way how was your trip to Barcelona?”

Unfortunately, I will not be able to post many more pictures after this post. You can thank my phone which had so much fun in Barcelona it decided to stay. You can look forward to many other posts shortly following this one…

The Cathedral of the Holy Cross and Saint Eulalia… I suppose I did SOME sight-seeing…

A statue that I liked in Barcelona… Not really sure why. It was a part of a fountain.

The past few weeks have been one of discovery, adventure, and most of all, learning.

I have been lucky enough to visit beaches every weekend, in different regions of Southern France including the beaches of Camargue, Marseille, La Ciotat, and Cap Taillait, which is not far from the wealthy city of Saint Tropez. Needless to say, these beaches were magical. Each of them had their own unique qualities. For example, Marseille is a very busy port city and tourist spot, and there are numerous boats located around a central hub of activity. It is surrounded by various cafes, street performers, and demonstrators with a busy metro stop and buses everywhere. Danielle and I found a small but nice beach to lay on and met a nice girl from the United States who had been living in Marseille for 9 months. She described Marseille as a “funny” city filled with interesting people and a ton of activity. Carrying a watermelon under the crook of one arm she casually explained to us what goes on in the city, she was one of the warm and welcoming personalities we met on our journey.

In Marseille, even the vendors are in the water!

I took a great liking to the city of Camargue. Difficult to get to, Camargue is considered to be the Texas of France. Mainly because of their famous black bulls and white horses. It is also home to pink flamingoes. I took a particular liking to Camargue because it had a very relaxed atmosphere. The cafes were not nearly as pretentious as I have seen in Paris, or even in Aix. There was louder music, more casual dress, and that laid back beach vibe that may be spread through the salty air. The vendors and shop owners were incredibly kind, and there were people  from all over who just wanted to enjoy their time at the shore. I felt very comfortable here, and really could imagine that being a place where I could live at some point.

oh so humble Camargue

La Ciotat was also very interesting: its tourist level was between that of the busy port of Marseille and the laid back atmosphere of Camargue. The city is renowned for two things: petanque, which is a game played with metal balls in which the object of the game is to get them as close to the wooden ball in the center as possible, and also film. It is in La Ciotat that the first film was ever filmed, by the Lumière brothers. The short silent film was called “l’Arrivée d’un train en gare de La Ciotat” and the city has garnered a lot of fame from that film. The first beach we arrived at was a pebble beach, with clear waters and many caves to explore. The second one was a bit more feet-friendly, with pebbles not being big enough to crush your soul with every step. Overall, the day was a great success.

La Ciotat, location of the first film ever filmed (“l’Arrivée d’un train en gare de La Ciotat” by the Lumière brothers)

That weekend we also visited the city of Saint-Tropez and a beach close by called Cap Taillat. Saint-Tropez is one of the wealthiest cities in the world, and I could immediately see why once I arrived and looked at the menu prices of the first restaurant I saw. The streets were willed with well-dressed individuals surrounded by Prada, Gucci, and Fendi outlets, and the city was bordered by a line of yachts that stretched down the length of the boulevard. It was one of those times that I felt relatively underprivileged. By the end of our time in Saint-Tropez I was ready to head out and go to the beach, where no one really boasted about one’s own wealth. The beach there was one from a fairy tale. It took a 40 minute hike to get to our destination, but the breathtaking landscape made it all worth it. I loved everything about my surroundings and did not want to leave once I arrived. Unfortunately all good things come to an end and we had to get back on the bus, but the memory of that day still leaves a pleasant aroma drifting about in my head.

Breathtaking scenery of Cap Taillait

more of our hike to Cap Taillait

Finally made it to the beach! and pretty excited I didn’t fall off of this rock

The weekend trips are fun, but I can’t forget the city that I am slowly becoming a native of. In between bits of class I love sitting by my favorite fountain and observing my surroundings, usually eating my newfound favorite pastry called an Opéra (highly recommended). There are usually an abundance of street performers in the area, especially as it gets closer to the weekend. One day, there was one of those standing still performers that pretended to be a statue. I watched as a little girl in a beautiful white skipped ran over to the man and stared at him for a few moments. She then proceeded to reach her hand up to offer the man some money to see if he would take it. I found myself grinning as this was going on, watching how beautiful the wonder of this child was as she ventured to see whether or not the man in the middle of the square was real. He robotically accepted the money, and with very limited motions, took the little girl’s hand to kiss it. Her mother watched anxiously but quietly, and as soon as the event was over the girl trotted back to her mother and they retreated down the street into the crowd. I was still left standing there looking at the same spot as if they were still there, pondering the curiosity of that little girl and if I would have done the same thing when I was her age.

managed to actually capture a photo of this beautiful moment

It is always noteworthy to meet new people in a foreign land, especially those who are similar to you. Not only is it easier to get along with those people, but I am left wondering how we became so similar despite the fact that we were raised about 4,000 miles away from each other. Danielle and I met two french teens who had just graduated from le lycée (high school) and were waiting for their bus home after work. They approached us by speaking loudly from a stoop on the sidewalk we were walking on by saying “hello! vous êtes americaines?” and we stopped and happily explained that we were indeed american. We then asked why they thought so, and they gave us the following reasons: 1. I was wearing a backpack with a water bottle pouch, 2. we had our phones in our front pockets, 3. we were wearing aviators, 4. we didn’t dress like french people and 5. we actually responded to them when we were addressed. The last one confused me so I asked them to elaborate. “The french are not as nice as americans. When they walk around and you talk to them they are always ‘what do you want?’ and ‘why are you talking to me?’ they are never nice…” one of them proceeded to demonstrate to me how a french citizen would react to being addressed by strangers by saying hello to some people on the street whom he did not know and having them either not acknowledge him and walk away or become angered by his advances. I thought it peculiar how a french citizen would hold these stereotypes to be true. These two were very funny and are both named Alex, and we made two good friends on the streets of Aix that day.

This world is starting to shrink for me and I am starting to appreciate it. You can make a joke to someone who doesn’t even speak your native tongue and they will still find it funny. You can look at an amazing sight with someone you can barely communicate with and both share something. While the art of conversation in french continues to be a challenge for me, I hope to meet that challenge head on and explore every possible avenue I can and keep discovering that the people I meet here are not so different, and the places I see will be taken home with me.

After having flown to Paris, and taken the TGV to Aix-en-Provence, where my studies will have officially begun, I have completed my first week in a town that will probably change me.

The reason I say probably is because there is something underneath every rock overturned in this seemingly quaint town, and I have only just begun to uncover the surface of this treasure trove of art, culture, history, and hospitality. With every person I meet I can see reflections of those I meet in my hometown. Although there are vast differences in the culture I can see the same concerns, life problems, and passions that I have come to be familiar with growing up. This may not surprise you because, hey it’s just France, it shouldn’t be very different anyway. But it would probably surprise you in how different the people here are with their various cultural nuances, that could easily be interpreted for rudeness. The following are a few adaptations I needed to make  to my preexisting behavior and cultural norms as to not offend anyone I came in contact with:

1. Only smile at a stranger if you want their attention.

This one is still hard for me to do, because smiling to me is so natural and frequently done:  whether it’s acknowledging someone on the street, substituting a hello with a smile, or simply showing that you are a kind person. Apparently Americans smile too much, and this could send the wrong message at a bar or club if you’re not careful about where and when you flash your teeth. Some of the locals have said to me that they don’t mind and actually like the extra smiling, but others think it to be unnecessary and almost creepy. During orientation, one of the professors compared the people from the United States to people from France in the following manner: “Americans are like peaches. They have a soft and friendly skin, but their inside is harder to get through; it’s harder to get to actually know them once you meet them. The french are like coconuts. It may take a long time to break through the seemingly hard shell, but once that is done there is refreshing, flowing and friendly personality. They say once you make a friend in France, they are your friend for life. In my limited personal experience I don’t know this to be fact but I truly hope this is true.

2. Always say “Bonjour”.

The typical “French waiters are rude” stereotype may or may not be true, but half of the time they are only rude because a customer walks in without greeting and begins giving orders. “Bonjour” could be the difference between the friendliest store clerk or employee you have ever had the pleasure of dealing with and one who barely acknowledges your existence and shoots you dirty looks from the other side of the store. This will probably help me in peeling that coconut shell back one layer at a time.

3. Dress nicely (this definition will change from your expectation at home).

As a college student, I dress during the day like a rolled out of bed, or am going to the gym, and when I go out I dress to the nines. There is a stark difference in my dress between AM and PM, and I didn’t think I would have to adapt that much to my new residence in France. I was incredibly wrong. During the day, people dress nicely but also casually (French chic if you will) and at night… the same way. No flashy dresses, high heels, short skirts, crop tops… just dressing conservatively, simply, and nicely. So girls, please leave all of those clothes that expose more skin than they cover at home, because you may get a lot of unwanted attention from the wrong people.

4. People will not be offended if you ask if they speak English, or try to explain something in English

Sure, I am here to speak French, but sometimes when you are trying to explain a difficult concept that may be unique to your culture. For example the other day I was trying to explain to a frenchman what the term “doing something for shits and giggles” meant, and I definitely needed to use my best franglais (french + english). Most people here speak at least some english and some are incredibly proficient. But please, don’t be the obnoxious person speaking more loudly as if that will help them understand what you are trying to say. If there is one thing I’ve learned is that there are always ways around a language barrier. I watched in horror the other day when my classmate was trying to ask for more ketchup and began to wave the ketchup packets in the face of the waiter, who was one of the nicest french waiters I had met on my journey. Even if you don’t speak a lick of French, just apologize and please at least memorize “I don’t speak french, do you speak english?” (je ne parle pas francais, parles-tu l’anglais?). It will really go a long way and will maybe help you in making a friend for the moment.

5. Don’t change any item on the menu.

Waiters will hate you if you take an item on the menu and customize it: “Can I have this sandwich? But can you take off the tomato and put on mayonnaise instead of ketchup and then chicken instead of beef? You will be the most hated customer, because the menus are fixed, and they may not even accommodate your request. The day that my classmate waved the ketchup in the face of the waiter she also asked for a million and one changes onto an order that I thought even an American waiter would be a but upset with. But luckily since he was so nice it made little difference in our dining experience. The tips of the waiters are included in the bill, so one does not need to worry about tipping them, meaning that they get a fixed salary. Having a fixed salary means that they do not need to schmooze like american waiters and waitresses. They will do their jobs, and only that. If you are just clear in what you want and don’t waste their time, you will usually be fine. My friend Danielle still hasn’t understood the fact that swiftness is usually the answer and spends 30 seconds saying in french “please, sorry, if you could… please, if it’s possible I would like to maybe have… a hamburger?”. It’s not like I am much more experienced in french culture, but a swift “un hamburger, s’il vous plait” would have easily sufficed.

I find more interest noticing the cultural differences than being the stereotypical blogger that posts about the exotic places they visited, the cool pictures they took of monuments that have been photographed a million times over, and the delicious meals they consumed (granted, I will include these details in some posts since they may be essential to the story). I want to be able to ask different questions and I want to stray away from what, where and who… but instead how and why. What, where and who are only the tip of the iceberg. I hope to find the extraordinary in the seemingly ordinary and paint a landscape using strokes of colorful nuances instead of the inflexible stamps of overrated monuments and predictable cuisine. I hope to achieve this goal in subsequent posts, and also hope that this experience will not only change my life, but also the way I think. An observation or experience does not have depth unless it can be translated, relatable, understood, and illustrated. Stray away from categorizing people and things and liberate your mind from judgement. Give the benefit of the doubt and expect to be given the benefit of the doubt. Because any journey should be started with a blank canvas.

I haven’t been able to write a blog entry until today since the Wifi in my hostel had been incredibly unreliable, so here is another post. I arrived in Paris on Wednesday June 3 at approximately 12:45 PM at the CDG Airport. My head was a sealed container with the highest pressures of excitement, apprehension, and exhaustion. Upon out arrival, my friend and I were quickly reminded of how much travel experience we lacked and immediately of how little french we actually knew. The taxi drivers at the airport kept asking us if we needed transportation and we simply refused because we wanted to take the train and try our luck with the metro. To put it frankly we were carrying 30+ kg of luggage and we traveled through the airport, train station at CDG, and about 4 metro stops. The only thing I seemed to notice during this travel to our hostel, l’Hôtel Bastille, was the massive number of STAIRS. We had to carry our luggage through the thin metro gates, up countless flights of stairs, all the while watching out for pickpockets exploring this unknown world. Finally, one flight, a train ride, 4 metro rides and countless blocks of walking later, we stumbled into our hostel, heavily breathing, covered in sweat on the hot Parisian day, and with sore feet. Despite what everyone back home said about our lack of directional competence, we had finally made it to our hostel.

Despite being thoroughly exhausted, we decided to walk about and visit a cafe, and meet up with my friend, Danielle’s, acquaintance from France (Avignon specifically) who was also visiting Paris. His name was Thomas, and we was the first french citizen I had interacted with during that journey (besides the countless people to whom I had simply said “Bonjour” or “merci” or “où sont les toilettes?”). He was an incredibly nice person who spoke English very well, so we could easily fill in the words we did not know with English words and ask him what they meant in French. Thinking back on the experience now only 4 days later, we were a bit foolishly apprehensive about offending the Parisian citizens. How do we eat this? How do we hold our forks and knives? How do we address the waiter? What do we do with our hands?! Thomas seemed to be mildly entertained by our questions and our mannerisms, and at one point he said we may have eaten the decoration on one of the meals we ate (whoops) then he realized that you actually could eat it so he apologized for making us panic (sweet relief). After the meal, we went to the canal to casually drink wine with hundreds of other Parisians who appeared to be simply hanging out or relaxing after a day of work. There we met a man from Morocco who noticed that we spoke english and wanted to speak with us, and his two friends. We were very pleased to find that they were so friendly, and Danielle and I noticed that many Parisians were like this, and not as unfriendly as many stereotypes suggested. We stayed near the canal for a few hours with our newfound friends, and then left at about 23h to go to the Eiffel Tower to see it at night. As Danielle and I were running through the metro with Thomas, trying to catch la ligne 8 back to our hostel, I thought to myself that this was the start to a very beautiful and unique adventure.

Wine with friends by a canal in Paris

Last minute Eiffel Tower trip

And indeed, the next three days were quite magical. We visited the Eiffel tower two more times, and also got to watch the Djokovic v. Murray match of the Roland Garros in a square in front of the Eiffel tower. We went to the catacombs of Paris, which was the resting place for about a million french citizens who passed prior to the 1800’s. That was an interesting and eye-opening experience for the vast history of the city of Paris. The catacombs were created because of the unsanitary conditions of various cemeteries as a result of their overcrowding. The caves of the catacombs were lined with skulls and bones of the long-deceased in a decorative manner enhancing the eerie feel of the already dank caverns. Along many of the walls in front of the dead there were famous quotes of authors, who had also been long-deceased about death, life and sin. We payed a visit to the Louvre and les Tuileries, which is a garden near the Louvre as well as Notre Dame and Musee d’Orsay with Thomas and his friend Andrea. The cool thing about the museums was that all French students between the ages of 18-25 got into the museums for free, so Andrea told us to pretend to be french and try to get in. Unfortunately that did not work so well and they made us turn around and buy tickets for the museum. Then we walked along Les Champs-Élysées and saw the grandeur of the lavish lifestyles experienced by the upper class. The small markets on the Champs-Élysée were also quite interesting, being that we saw the biggest loaves of bread and wheels of cheese both Danielle and I have ever laid our eyes on. At the end of Les Champs-Élysées we stopped by l’Arc de Triomphe, which was worlds larger than I had first anticipated.

Those three days in Paris seemed to pass faster than any other days I have ever experienced. Our final night in Paris we spent time with Thomas once again and also met four other Parisians who showed us around Paris nightlife whose names were Thomas, Raphael, Antonie, and Valerie. We listened to popular french music and danced with the locals, and it was one of the best times I have ever had. To my surprise, the club we went to played Aerosmith and older American songs from the 2000’s, and everyone seemed to know the words. Our last night in Paris was definitely one to remember and before we knew it, we were waking up to catch our TGV train to Aix-en-Provence, where our actual study abroad program was going to commence the following Monday.

A short clip of Le Roland Garros by the Eiffel Tower

“Think that every day is your last” -a morbid yet inspiring quote in the catacombs of Paris.

A bridge across the Seine, which contained various “love locks”, which are locks that couples place on the bridge as a symbol of their eternal love

Our last visit to the Eiffel Tower… We Are!

le musée d’Orsay. Once a train station for the wealthy, now converted into a museum open to the public.

We had a pretty hard time with the maps since we couldn’t use our phones without wifi

An example of the lavish lifestyle of those that choose to visit les Champs-Élysées

cheesin in front of l’Arc de Triomphe

Danielle in front of the Louvre… and we also just noticed the signs saying not to walk along the fountains upon looking at this picture…

We arrived in Aix at 15h45 and was greeted by our host mother, Patricia Delocque. Her English is good, but she does not want to speak to us in English so we can practice (which I am actually pretty grateful for). It was at the house that I noticed that I was missing my wallet. I suppose I was one of the many to have been pick-pocketed that day at La Gare de Lyon (I assumed it was while I was at the train station), but nonetheless I was very disappointed. However, I needed a new wallet, I only had 10 euros in my wallet, and I had my passport and train ticket on me (thank god). So it was not that much of a loss. The only inconvenience is that I will need to wait for a card to be shipped to me from the United States, so I will not have one for 2 weeks. I can fix everything else once I get home. After a relaxing day napping in the middle of a park in Aix and having a late meal (but not so late for the french) at around 21h, I arrived home to pass out on my bed from exhaustion and that brings us to this exact moment having woken up and felt like blogging, currently laying in bed and conveying to you some of the most magical days of my life. Hopefully the next 6 weeks will have as many plentiful stories as these past 4 days.

Location: Paris

Well I suppose you can say that I saved this post until the last minute, being that I am currently waiting to board my flight into Charles-de-Gaulle International Airport, sitting in a less than average airport seat surrounded by strangers from different lands. I am currently about to board my flight, set to depart at midnight, with my best friend and roommate who is also participating in the same study abroad program as me. Overall, I am a generally nervous person when it comes to doing new things, but I find that generally when I encounter and follow through with a new experience I experience an unparalleled amount of growth.

I wanted to do one thing before graduating: study abroad. And now, finally after a year of planning I am finally fulfilling my goal. I can’t tell if the churning in my stomach is nervousness, excitement, or the last meal of real New York style pizza I had before I left my home and family in central Jersey. All I can really say now is that the next few weeks that lie ahead of me will probably be the best weeks of my life. And I really hope I don’t let myself down. I apologize for the short blog, my flight is now boarding. The next time I post I will be in Paris, France. A bientot!