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Adfrenchures: Chapitre 5

Adfrenchures: Chapitre 5

Le Moiti� // Halfway

Sorry I’ve been unable to update for so long! Unfortunately, my laptop broke since my last entry, and with class, homework, excursions, and a week of vacation, getting on the Internet for something other than homework has been nearly impossible.

Since my last entry, I’ve been to Carcassonne with the program, Prades in the Pyr�n�e mountains with my host family; I’ve celebrated Halloween and my two-month “anniversary” in France. We’re at the halfway point. I’m trying not to think about leaving (or all the stuff I’m going to have to try to fit into one suitcase).

Carcassonne is sometimes called the prettiest Southern French village and houses a medieval fortress and castle. We took a tour of the castle and learned about the different defensive strategies built into medieval towns. We were lucky that the day we had chosen to visit, there was a medieval faire going on– like the Renaissance Fair! There were people dressed up as knights, medieval peasants, ladies-in-waiting… It added a lot of character and ambiance to the city as we toured it! We also ended the tour with a brief visit to a small Museum of Torture displaying instruments from the Inquisition.

One of the stained glass mosaic windows in the chapel of Carcassonne. The rose frequently symbolizes time as a circle. Here, Time is stopped by two smaller circles, symbolizing Eternity.

Pillories were used to punish people who, for example, spoke poorly of their neighbors. Contrary to popular belief, neither tomatoes nor rotten stones where thrown. It tended to be garbage or stones. Ouch.

For the week-long Toussaint vacation, all of the American students were scattered to the four winds. I, however, didn’t go to Greece or Norway– I had the FRENCHEST vacation ever had by any American. I’m 99% sure.

I went with my host family to their vacation house in Prades near Perpignan, about a two hour drive to the oriental face of the Pyr�n�e mountains, where Anysia’s father, Jacques, has a French villa. The villa is nicknamed the “chateau” by people in the village because it is so large, on the side of the river, and was the very first building built in the small town of Prades. It is largely furnished in the style of its era– it’s over 100 years old and has been a “family house,” owned by their family, for 4 generations. It belonged first to Jacques’ grandfather.

We ate lunch every day on a huge stone terrace outside at a large table. Lunch was a huge production, bigger than dinner, and frequently the cousins who own the neighboring villa came to join us. I learned of the French tradition of “l’apero,” which is short for “l’aperitif.” L’aperitif is when you drink liquor and talk before the meal, and it can sometimes last longer than the meal itself, anywhere from half an hour to an hour and a half. Since we were in the Catalan region, there were lots of Spanish olives, Spanish whiskey, Spanish wine.

For lunch, we ate two whole roast chickens with vegetables; one day, we ate a leg of lamb that was the best thing I have ever eaten in my entire life; the third day, we had roast guinea-fowl cooked with oranges and fresh-picked figs from a nearby tree; and finally, our last day, Anysia’s mother (both of her parents come from Strasbourg, the border of France and Germany) made Alsacien food– sauerkraut, sausages, roasts, potatoes, and Alsacien white wine. On the edge of the terrace was a persimmon tree and once, for dessert, we plucked fresh persimmons from the tree and ate them. Don’t even ask me about the cheese; I tried so many different kinds, Spanish and French, that I can’t even recall them all. It was AMAZING.

Finally, at the end of the week vacation, we celebrated a cute little Halloween in our house. Mila dressed up as a little witch. Anysia made her a witch hat out of black construction paper and she made a paper magic wand with golden ribbons and a star on the end. They even carved and lit a pumpkin for me. Then, last night, with friends over for dinner, we broke out the champagne to celebrate my “halfway anniversary,” as yesterday officially marked two months in my host family.

Before dinner, I talked with Anysia in order to have a little “debriefing” on my stay so far. I confirmed that I was not an insufferable bore, unknowingly impolite (“No, you haven’t made any grand faux pas,” she told me in French), or otherwise a burden to live with. I also asked her what she thought about my language skills so far. She said I was already at such a good level when I arrived that the only things that had changed are an increased vocabulary and that now, speaking French was less tiring for me. It’s true that when I first arrived, speaking was a little bit exhausting for me. Now, I can hold extended conversation in French with ease and– this is new– a great deal of confidence. In fact, I successfully mingled at the debut of her father’s art expo in a restaurant, talking about literature and France with complete strangers. I’ve been told that my accent is distinguishable as anglo-saxon but not definitively American. And, at every turn, I meet people who express surprise at my level of French. Last night, a friend of the family’s who was over for dinner told me that it was incredibly impressive that I understand everything everyone says. So, to debrief, I am more confident, more at ease, and at an advanced level in listening. I’d say I’m still at an intermediate level in reading, and am fast approaching an advanced level in speaking. All I’m missing is vocab.

So, now you’re all debriefed, too. I’m going to come back and add pictures of the Prades house, the castles and cave I saw while I was there, the delicious food, and our Halloween hijinks. Au revoir!

Location: Montpellier, France

Adfrenchures: Chapitre 4

HoAdfrenchures: Chapitre 4
Gra(c/th)ias // Bar(c/th)elona

This past weekend, the entire program took a (partially subsidized) trip to Barcelona, Spain. I’d change the title to Adspainchures, but it doesn’t have quite the same charm. We left Friday afternoon and returned Sunday evening. All said and done, I only got 6 hours of sleep for the whole weekend. (Worth it.)

On the bus ride, we were all chipping in our meager bits of Spanish. I realized I could say “Where is…?” but couldn’t remember the word for “bathroom.” The only Spanish nouns I had in my arsenal were “queso” and “azul.” Verbs were impossible and limited to Dora the Explorer episodes: “Vamenos!” I knew please, thank you, and you’re welcome (staple vocabulary in any language). Someone taught me how to say “sorry,” since I’m not graceful and constantly bump into people, but I never wound up using it because before “lo siento” could pass my lips, I had already said “D�sol�e!”

I was a little nervous about not knowing any Spanish; as it turns out, Barcelona is so flooded with tourists that the English was plentiful. All I really needed to know was the address of our hostel for the cab driver at 4 in the morning. (Of course, I was the only one who had bothered to learn it. I am always the mom of the group. You’re welcome.) 33 Passeig del Gracia, for anyone wondering. There was a constant refrain among our group of people saying “Grathias,” mimicking the way “c”s are pronounced. It sounds very different from any of the other Spanish I’ve heard. Many of the signs were also translated into Catalan, which has enough French in it that I could understand without having to read the English signs.

In fact, being in Spain made me realize how much I have begun to think in French. It took exposure to a third, different language for me to notice that, 90% of the time, my brain is functioning in French. While realizing this made me happy at the vast improvement of my language skills, it was also incredibly frustrating because, yeah, hi, not in France anymore, Marie– no one’s going to understand you.

The hostel was large and welcoming– the second floor was a huge hangout space with TVs, computers, drinks, and foosball. There was also a terrace (and accompanying top floor bar) which had an absolutely beautiful view.

We went to Parc G�ell, the Sagrada Familia, and, on the way home, we saw the Salvador Dali museum. The weekend was packed full of beautiful sights, high views of the city, and a survey of Antoni Gaud�’s unique architecture.

Both Parc G�ell and the Sagrada Familia were designed by the Catalan architect Antoni Gaud�, who also designed many houses in the city. More than simply buildings, Gaud�’s creations are standing works of art. They are incredibly intricate, featuring hand-done stonework and mosaics, incorporating a variety of mediums. His style is incredibly distinctive– you could identify a Gaud� house from a mile away.

I think my favorite thing about Parc G�ell was the way the architecture and planning flowed with the landscape of the hill. It didn’t fight against the slop; it used it to build a terrace. At the peak, showing Gaud�’s religious side, was a worn dual spiral staircase up to a cross, where you could see almost all of Barcelona and as far as the ocean.

We all saw Gaud�’s most famous work, la Sagrada Familia. Corinne, a Frenchwoman and one of the program directors, told me it was like Barcelona’s Eiffel Tower. It has been under construction since 1882 and isn’t expected to be completed until 2026; there are cranes and scaffolding in almost every picture I’ve seen of it. Gaud� died when the project was only one quarter completed, so you can see the distinct styles of all the different architects on each facet of the building. Walking around la Sagrada Familia is like walking around at least four different cathedrals at once.

While the attention to detail was almost absurd in its intricacy and the craftsmanship of the building is impeccable, I didn’t find la Sagrada Familia particularly pretty or aesthetically pleasing in any way. Each of the pieces would be beautiful independently, but thrown all together as if by hazard makes the building look confused, overcrowded, and at points a little tacky.

However, my favorite part about the trip was Barcelona’s nightlife. We coerced Corinne, the director, into going to the clubs with us both nights. As they say in France, “on fait la f�te,” (et on l’a fait, en fait!). All of the clubs were right on the beach, so that you entered into the building, went onto the patio, and exited no more than 100 feet from the Mediterranean sea.

Spain has pretty strict dress rules for their clubs, and two of our friends got turned away the first night because of their sandals. At 4 A.M. we watched the waves and soaked our feet in the ocean and wound up tracking back an ungodly amount of sand into our hostel room.

Thanks for an amazing weekend, Barcelona! (And sorry about the sand.)

Location: Barcelona, Spain

Adfrenchures: Chapitre 3

Adfrenchures: Chapitre 3
Pas de Cheval // Horse Step

So between travelling to S�te, St. Guilhem le D�sert, horseback riding, classes, and a CRAZY head cold that leaves me sniffling/coughing/whining/crying constantly, it has been quite the time since my last blog entry.

Due to my cold, I’ve barely slept at all the past three days, because I just keep coughing and wheezing and waking myself up. No amount of soup or my host mom’s tisanes has assuaged it. I’m 99% sure “having an eternal cold” is one of Dante’s rings of hell. So this entry will be less narrative/reflective and more of a r�sum�/summary.

Here’s S�te. S�te is a town about a 15 minute train ride from Montpellier. Half of the fun of going there, for me at least, was taking the train. I love trains. They are my favorite form of transportation. There is something that is swift and yet incredibly manual about trains in a way that doesn’t exist in cars and planes– you can feel the ground pass underneath you, you can see scenery fly by. It’s like a mix of driving and flying.

The town of S�te is cut through by canals, so to get to many places, you have to locate the nearest bridge. It was quiet and sleepy on the Saturday afternoon that we visited. On our way back to the train station, Rachel and I stopped at a caf� where the owner was sitting and talking with his friends outside. He was funny as he put up with our struggling French (there was some confusion over “pressed orange juice” and the particular brand he sold, which was not fresh-pressed).

We sat down and finished our beverages and when we went to leave, he seemed disappointed that we were going so quickly. He asked us where we were from, if we enjoyed S�te, what we were studying. Just thinking about his kindness makes me want to go back to S�te and hang out in his caf� all day.

While the rest of the group hiked the giant hill behind S�te, Rachel and I decided to check out the Regional Center for Contemporary Art in the Languedoc-Roussillon region which was on the other side of a canal. (Languedoc-Rouissillon is the name of our area, which is unfortunately incredibly difficult to pronounce.) We waited 15 minutes for it to open, not knowing what to expect.

We were greeted with the most emotionally striking art exhibition I have ever seen.

Pierre Adouvin, “Helpless.”

The first half of the exhibit was a meditation on childhood, helplessness, anxiety, nostalgia, fairytales, and dreams. The second half provoked questions about entertainment, pop culture, fanfare/celebrity, and memory. Each room was its own exhibit and was deliberately created to invoke certain emotions and reactions. Surprisingly, you learned more about yourself in there than you did about art.

I think that was the point.

In the room in the photo to the right, entitled Le vide remplit mes yeux, there were feelings of claustrophobia, confusion. The room was a blank white, the ceiling lowered to just above your head, with no “escapes” except for two white holes in the ceiling. At first, the holes merely looked like lights, but when you got underneath them, you could see into a bright white room, nondescript, as if this section of the exhibit was merely under construction.

Rachel said she didn’t like this room until she found out there were exits. I was confused and thought it was just a path to the next exhibit or a place under construction. The artist anticipated both of these reactions– it was so bizarre to cross to the other side of the room and read the little plaque explaining the piece, seeing ourselves mirrored back in it.

This past Saturday, we went to St. Guilhem le D�sert, which is not a real desert, but a “spiritual desert,” as our tour guide explained. It’s a well-preserved medieval town out in the middle of the mountains. It only has one main road. There’s a gorgeous church there which used to be a monastery.

If you lived at the “top” of town, nearest the church (and thus nearer to God), you were more wealthy and had higher social status. Later on, Catholics lived “en haut” (up top) and Protestants “en bas” (down low). The tour guide told us that, even today, if you were to ask some of the elderly people who live in the upper side of the village, they would tell you that, when they were young, their parents instructed them not to play with the children who lived “en bas.”

After touring around the town, we hiked a mountain. Then, we went off the beaten path on the mountain in order to check out some unmarked castle ruins at the tippy top of the mountain. I led the way for most of the journey, picking a path out of the underbrush. It was hilarious and fun as we climbed, slid, and shouted to one another from different peaks.

Reminder: I did all of this hiking with a huge head cold. Not pictured here is the mountain of tissues I went through.

Yesterday, a small group of us went back to Grau du Roi and went on a two hour ride through the beach and wildflower fields on horseback. It was probably my favorite trip so far. We rode a kind of horse called a Camargue, which is a wild horse native to France– it’s like the French version of our mustangs. They are pure white (although some are dappled), and my horse was named Bosco.

Bosco was the boss. He did not listen to me.

Bosco, turn right, I’d say, nudging him and pulling the reins. No, Marie, Bosco would reply. You have no idea what the hell you’re doing. Bosco was technically right.

“Bosco, let’s go faster, let’s trot,” I’d say. Bosco would snort, almost as if laughing at me, and he’d be like, “I’d really rather not. How about we slow down, actually? That sounds nice.” So Bosco and I would slowly meander around with the rest of the group while I nudged him faster in vain.

“Bosco, let’s go off the path, let’s just go the ittiest bit to the right of the path,” I’d try to say with the reins. “Everyone else is doing it, it’ll be fun. Let’s go.”

I was trying to get Bosco to think out of the box. He was a very conformist horse. Bosco was having none of my shenanigans. At one point, he actually bent his head and pretended as if he was going right, while still staying on the path. I’d have been mad if it weren’t so hilariously clever.

In short: Bosco was completely, utterly perfect.

By the end of the trip, I was able to get him into a trot at will, and he wasn’t as obstinately sticking to the path (presumably because I’d finally gotten my sh*t together in terms of learning to ride a horse). While trotting is fun, it’s barely faster than walking, and twice as bouncy.

On a long straight away next to the beach, Bosco and I galloped. Galloping is the most beautiful feeling, like being on a train, a cross between pushing against the earth and flying. Instead of all four feet touching the ground, for a moment you are airborne, leaning forward in the saddle, clutching the reins, the horse’s mane brushing against your hand. You’re moments from losing control, or– in my case– falling off the saddle, because holy crap does horseback riding take some serious thigh strength.

I’d never ridden a horse before, but now I understand why Julia and Emily (who have ridden for years) needed to get their riding fix while abroad. There’s something gorgeously addictive about the whole experience.

Well, now you’re all caught up on my latest escapades, albeit not as eloquently as usual. I’m going to go take some aspirin for my fever, cough up half of my lung, take a nap, think healthy thoughts, and have enough soup and oranges to cure twenty sick people.

A tout � l’heure!

Location: Le Grau du Roi, Montpellier, France

Adfrenchures: Chapitre 2

Adfrenchures: Chapitre 2
Jeu d’enfant / Child’s Play

Tea lights flickered in their lanterns, hanging from a fig tree in the backyard. A handful of rowdy toddlers switched off playing with binoculars, a plastic truck, and three heavy p�tangue balls, quite graciously taking turns with their toys. As I stood guard between the kids and the blazing logs of the barbeque fire, Liam, 4 years old, waddled up to me and gave me a stuffed tiger. It was bigger than him, so that when he carried it, the back legs dragged through the grass.

“This is yours now,” he told me in baby French. I accepted the tiger graciously.

“Thanks, I’ll hang on to him for you,” I said, but then he motioned for me to crouch down.

“The tiger’s sick,” he informed me gravely, “His tail is hurt.”

Understandably, I went into emergency mode.

“We need a doctor! Is anyone a doctor? Doctor Mila! Calling Doctor Mila!” I shouted urgently. My host sister ran over, as this was a game we had played before with her teddy bear. (That poor teddy bear keeps getting sore throats.) She more or less tried to stick the binoculars up the stuffed tiger’s butt, and then declared him miraculously cured. She and Liam wandered off to go sit on the swings.

I’ve been spending a lot of time with my host family for this past week. With the start of class at Paul Val�ry and all the new things to do here, it’s left me barely enough energy to do my homework, let alone write this blog entry that’s been stewing in my brain for weeks.
I hope to write more consistently as I get settled in to a schedule and manage to actually attend my courses. I promise not all of my blog entries will be this long!

Last Friday, we went to a friend’s BBQ, where everyone was either under 10 or over 30. Many of the parents were like Anysia and Mathieu with children around 3 years old.

No one was able to truly relax and talk until 22h (10pm), when the kids were put to bed upstairs, the BBQ was finished, and about seven empty bottles of wine* littered the table. Liam gave me the stuffed tiger to hang onto again, so it sat underneath my chair while I ate. It was easier to talk to the kids, as when they didn’t understand me, they looked at me like I was a crazy person. Sometimes adults are too polite.

Over a huge stack of the most delicious barbeque I’ve ever eaten, I mostly listened as the adults talked about their children: the start of the new school year, Mila’s newfound fear of witches and monsters that made putting her to bed difficult, how to tackle the question when a toddler asks you “What happens after we die?” and isn’t satisfied with the response “No one really knows.” In fact, other than the French food and geographic location, this BBQ could’ve been a group of parents in any country.

Eventually, as is apt to happen, the conversation turned to differences between the United States and France. This is generally when I have to take off my listening cap and try to form coherent sentences in another language, so the pressure is on. We talked about the go-to comparison that everything in France is smaller (or, depending on your perspective, everything in the US is bigger). We talked about tipping waiters, and one dad informed me that he found the servers in the US to be one thousand times nicer than those in France.

“You walk in and they say ‘Hi, how are you? Here’s what we have on our daily menu,’ and they laugh and joke with you. Servers in America want to be your friend,” he explained, “It completely shocked us.”

“That explains why when I smile at servers here and ask for coffee, I’m so confused when they don’t talk to me,” I realized aloud. The icy cold blood of French servers was confirmed by the whole table.

But honestly, when it comes to cultural comparison, there isn’t much difference between America and France when it comes to the everyday / quotidien.

France isn’t like stepping into a different world. It’s like stepping into the same world, only you have to pull the flush button up instead of down and use bread to clear your plate instead of leaving it and say “God thanks (Dieu merci)” instead of “Thank God.”

France is like walking into your room only to find all of your things have been slightly rearranged. Your furniture isn’t in exactly the right place and some small things are missing. Maybe a window seems to have popped up on a different wall. But it’s still fairly recognizable as your room. In fact, you find many of the changes useful and don’t miss a lot of the things that aren’t there.

Ryan, who’s Geoblogging from South Korea, asked me to talk about French people’s habits and how they compare to stereotypes. This sensation of simply being in a shifted room has made it difficult for me to narrow down what’s simply human from what’s more ‘definitively French,’ whatever that means.

For instance, Mila cries every morning because she doesn’t want to go to school. We eat dinner around 6:30 or 7:00 and finish around 8:00 or 8:30 every night, which is a little later than in the US. There is no dryer in the house; they hang their laundry out to dry. On Saturday mornings, we go to the local farmer’s market under Les Arceaux and buy groceries. Then we drink “un coup” with friends at the caf� La Cigale, because the market is almost more social experience than shopping trip.

It’s been three weeks, and I can count on only one hand the number of times I’ve had a peaceful tram ride. I am constantly being hit on by French men, something that I seem to be experiencing with greater frequency and severity than others on the program. The French have different body language when out in public– they are cold, uninterested, and bustling. It’s difficult for me to reign in my eyes when I want to look at everything, so the program and I think the problem might be that I’m still adapting to French body language. Loud headphones and a book on the tram have not stopped the requests for my phone number or, that one time, from a random guy trying to romantically tuck my hair behind my ear. Uh, pardon, monsieur. I don’t know you and I just told you, “Sorry, leave me alone.”

Small cultural difference: pepper spray is ostensibly illegal in France.

One difference between the France and the US is the university system. In keeping with my room metaphor, the French university system is as if someone came into your room, exchanged your laptop with one from the early 90’s, and then proceeded to throw all your stuff around as if a tornado had passed through the house.

The course registration process is a nightmare, and that’s where the University of Minnesota study abroad team are absolute life savers. They do most of the legwork and we just leisurely select our schedule out of a compiled list of classes. Erasmus students and other programs don’t have this luxury; they need to show up, in person, at the secretary of every department they need to schedule a class in, wait in line, and physically write their name on a piece of paper. Even then, there may or may not be secondary or tertiary steps for them to confirm their inscription.

I have showed up for three classes this week where I was not able to successfully learn. For the first, the professor did not show up. For the second, the class was permanently moved to a different day and time, without informing half the class. For the third, my contemporary dance class, the professor was two hours late and showed up just in time to say, “Hello, see you next week!”

As for smoking, the critically-thinking PLA member in me just can’t figure it out. The stereotype is that everyone smokes in France. A great number do. If you go out on the streets, you will see many more smokers than in the US (probably, I am literally eyeballing this number).

A ton of people here handroll their own cigarettes with papers, filters, and loose tobacco. My artist host dad handrolls his blond tobacco cigarettes after breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and while he’s working in his studio; however, I have seen high school students outside of the Lyc�e Joffre rolling themselves a Marlboro. So the frequency of handrolled cigarettes is another one of those “slightly adjusted furniture” moments.

But is it really that there are more smokers? Or is it that smoking is more socially acceptable in France, so they feel more comfortable smoking out in public, and thus we see them more, providing the illusion of more smokers?

I also can’t figure out if smoking is a class marker in France or not. Generally, in the United States, smoking cigarettes tends to mark someone as of a middle or lower class. (By contrast, smoking cigars is seen as a luxurious, manly interest.) Sometimes, cigarettes serve an aesthetic purpose, going with someone’s “style.”

When it comes to France? Who the hell knows. Definitely not me.

It’s nearly 7pm here and time for dinner. My host sister is sitting next to me, looking at the pictures of a comic book and pretending to read the speech bubbles. Earlier, she put on a “cirque” for me, which consisted of her shouting music-ish-sounding noises and waving around a scarf while occasionally falling onto the ground. She just told me that after dinner, I am reading her a story, so surprise, I have plans! [Later, after dinner (I get to have duck pat� with bread tonight!), I’m meeting some friends to check out Montpellier’s night life.]

Until then, I’ll be diligently saving the lives of stuffed tigers, researching invisibility potions for the tram, and chronicalling my mundane, Western-industrialized everyday adventures. Oh, and probably some pictures from S�te next time– we’re going on an excursion this weekend!

Au revoir!

—

*Split between 11 people.

Location: Les Arceaux, Montpellier, France

Adfrenchures: Chapitre 1

Chapitre 1:
Bienvenue

“sonder: (n.) the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own […]” — The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

“Je vais m’asseoir sur ton lit et je vais te lire une histoire¹,” Mila declared, struggling to get on top of the bed with her tiny legs. I lifted her up and handed her the book: Derri�re le Tracteur, with little cartoon birds following a tractor as it turns up fresh earth, full of grubs. She can’t read yet, but she made up stories anyway as she turned the pages, and I returned to unpacking my massive suitcase.

Here, I have a linguistic cycle– struggling against the language, loving it. Suffering under French, then liberated by it. It is in turns facile and difficult. In a way, I had packed my French away during the summer, like a winter jacket, and now it’s the correct season for me to bring it out and dust it off. (It is incredibly dusty.)

The first week was half-orientation, half-vacation. If I had a cobblestone for every step I’ve taken during our three different Montpellier tours, I could probably reconstruct half the streets of the city. The Meditteranean Sea lacked the murkiness of the Atlantic and was five times as salty. I have met people at the fountain called Les Trois Graces in the Place de la Comedie more times than I count– it’s the most important part of the city, a wide open space that somehow also seems to carry an incredible amount of weight and density.

It was our first full day in France, walking through the Place de la Comedie as a huge group of jetlagged Americans, when someone said something that struck me: These people spoke French before we showed up and will continue doing so after we leave. While blatantly obvious, I think the very physical and complete comprehension of this sentiment is the beginning of “global citizenship.” Of course, I believe that these people exist when I’m not around (I’m no solipsist), but there is a certain je ne sais quoi to the final, genuine comprehension of what that means and all of its implications.

In a way, this recognition is described by the imaginary word “sonder,” made up by The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. In France, I am a foreigner who briefly and poorly asked for coffee; that girl who totally tripped getting on to the tram; the back of a head that exited a classroom; or, to Milla, for instance, I will simply be an idea: “notre invit�e who stayed in our apartment when you were 3 years old,” and 13 year old Milla will put on her sunglasses and say, “Oh, I don’t really remember. I was so little then.”

In terms of intercultural understanding, thinking of oneself as a background character is actually quite liberating. I am unafraid to stop and ask for directions, speak halting French with the Monoprix cashier even though the line extends out the door, and tell the homeless man who tried to touch my face that he was crossing some serious boundaries and, very sternly, Bonne journ�e, Monsieur. In France, I am a footnote in the lives of others– as the defintion says, “a lit window at dusk.” And others are my lit windows, a kind smile and a finger pointing on my tram map, someone bumping elbows during classtime, my near-death experiences when trying to cross a road. (Seriously, driving in France is borderline suicidal.)

Being a background American also means I get to try every kind of cheese and not be embarrassed about not having had it before. It means I get to ask really, really stupid questions, like “This is embarrassing, but how does the toilet work?” (You have to pull the button upward instead of pressing it.) According to my two new friends Irina and Deborah (Lithuanian and non-descriptly francophone, respecively), being American is also somehow glamorous or cool. It also apparently means that I am constantly honked at, catcalled, hit on, and aggressively stared at by French men. It also means I get to do a few touristy things like go to the final “L’�stivale du Montpellier” wine tasting festival of the season, then dance as if no one’s watching.

Now, our orientation-vacation has ended, and it’s time to get down to business with courses. Even after a week, I can tell how much my French has improved. My goal for next week is to make at least one French friend, since now I have new American, British, Lithuanian, and Francophone pals.

A bient�t!

— Marie

Location: Montpellier, France

Back in Happy Valley but Homesick for Europe

It’s been a while since my last geoblog, and while a lot has happened (namely returning to America), I wanted to wait and process my experiences a little bit before coming here to blog.

I spend my last two weeks having the time of my life in Amsterdam and London. Amsterdam is now tied with Berlin for my favorite city in the world. I went with a couple friends from Maastricht, and we went to a Electronic Music Festival called Dance Valley, which was fantastic. I had never been to a music festival before, so going to a huge one in The Middle Of Nowhere, The Netherlands was pretty incredible. Also that weekend, my friends and I met local university students from Amsterdam. They hung out with us all night and showed us the best things to do in Amsterdam. I’ve heard it said that the Dutch are the nicest people in the world, and the people I met definitely back that statement up.

After a last week of classes (and a final exam), I packed my room up, returned my bike to the rental place, and lugged my twenty thousand pound luggage down to the train station. It was very sad for me, but also strange because I was the only person in my program not looking forward to coming home. No offence Mom and Dad if you’re reading this. I loved the weeks I spent studying in Maastricht, and I regretted leaving, just as I was starting to be comfortable navigating the city.

So, I took the train under the English Channel and arrived in London. I write for an entertainment news site in my spare time, and they were putting on an annual convention in London that weekend. The timing worked out incredibly, and so I spent my weekend frantically running around the convention hotel trying to cover different events and panels. I got to see friends who I hadn’t seen in years, and though exhausting it was easily one of the highlights of the entire trip.

And now I’m home. I cried the whole time I was in the airport, not wanting to have my summer adventure be over. But now that I’m getting back into the swing of things I’ve adapted back into college-mode. Interestingly, I find myself homesick for Maastricht, or even Europe in general. I’m taking three different European studies classes this semester, and I teared up the other day just looking at a map of the continent and realizing how much of it I was able to explore. When I was abroad, I was fortunate enough to not experience homesickness. I might have just not been there long enough, but I did find a life-style that I loved and more people with similar values than I’d ever met anywhere else. I think that means that I’m in the right field of study (International Politics/International Agriculture), and I’m already looking for the next opportunity to travel abroad.

So that sums up my adventures in Europe. Thanks to modern technology, I was able to take pictures and share them with friends and family at home. I was able to keep a blog as a record of my time spent, and I have social media to allow me to stay in contact with all the friends I made from Australia to Sweden to Brazil. But before I end my time as a geoblogger, I wanted to give some advice to anyone studying abroad in the future (Shout-out to my friend Marie who will be blogging from France this Fall!)

#1. Say yes to everything.

Barring illegal or dangerous activity, really try to break out your comfort zone. There were many times when I ended up having the time of my life after talking myself out of initial hesitation. In Berlin I didn’t want to go on the bike tour, but I ended up enjoying it so much that I rented a bike for the entire trip. In Amsterdam I was weary of going to a music festival in a different country, but it was unforgettably fun. Find ways to challenge your status-quo and really make the trip an adventure.

#2. Add everyone you meet on social media.

Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, whatever your preference is for social media platforms, add everyone. The person you met waiting in line for lunch, the student sitting next to you in class, even the person who you talked to at a dance club that one time. It’s actually surprising how much seeing updates from these people keeps my memories of the experience alive, and even simply “liking” a status or a photo is an easy way to stay in touch with people. And on the plus side, when you’re on your next trip and you realize you’re in the same city as someone you know, you can easily find them to go have lunch with them.

#3. Take too many pictures.

In the age of camera-phones, this may seem obvious, but I regret not taking more pictures than I did (and I took over 700 pictures). Everywhere you go, snap a picture. If you meet a group of people, take a selfie. That building looks cool? It should be on your phone/camera. Posting pictures online is an easy way to stay in touch with folks back home, and I promise there will be nights when looking through your thousands of images sounds like the most fun ever. You’ll never regret taking a picture, but you’ll definitely regret the ones you didn’t take.

#4. Use all your time.

This may be different for semester study abroads, but during my trip I traveled in every spare hour I could. Find something to do in the time after your classes and put a limit on facebook-checking time. I promised myself that I wouldn’t spend my time in Europe sitting in a dorm room, and I’m very glad that I actually got out to explore the area I was in. Plan trips well in advance for the best prices, and look up things to do in the area before you go. I highly recommend “Let’s Go: Europe,” which is a travel guide written by Harvard students specifically for study abroad travelers. Basically use your time so that you’ll have the most stories to tell when you come home.

#5. Stay in fun hostels.

I already wrote an entire blog post on this, but staying in hostels is an incredible experience that no study abroad is complete without. Go make friends from Australia and explore the city with new friends.

I’m sure once I publish this I’ll think of twenty more things to say. Now that I have access to a real computer instead of the iPad I’d been traveling with, I’ll be going back through the blogs and inserting photos to them. Even though I’m a bit sad to say that my trip has ended, I am so grateful to have been given the opportunity to have what is so far the best summer of my life. Thanks for reading about my adventures, and good luck to all the students who are heading out on their own. I’m incredibly jealous, and you’re about to have the best semester ever.

Location: State College, Pennsylvania

On y va: An Adfrenchures Prologue

Bonjour! My name is Marie Heller, a junior who will be studying abroad in Montpellier, France for the Fall 2013 semester. I’ll be blogging here about my French adventures– or, if you will indulge me: “Adfrenchures.” I am an English and French double major, with a minor in Teaching English as a Second Language.

This is my face.

More importantly, I am a first-generation, low-income college student. I’d like to thank Penn State’s fantastic Schreyer Honors College, the Presidential Leadership Academy of which I am a member, and the College of the Liberal Arts. Without these organization, France could never be a reality for me. My gratitude is immeasurable.

My foremost goal while studying abroad is fluency in the language. I collect French slang the way some people collect quarters or stamps, so I’m very excited to get to live immersed in everyday French language. I’m on the intermediate level when it comes to speaking, but my listening and reading comprehension are quite advanced. I hope to be able to better express myself in French (and, ultimately, be fluent) before I come back to American soil.

My second goal is to become engaged as a global citizen. Due to my family’s financial situation, my experience with international travel is basically nonexistent. I stay updated on international news through the Presidential Leadership Academy’s (PLA) subscription to The New York Times and my own monitoring of BBC and France24. However, contact with foreign news sources does not a worldly traveler make. It is the mistakes, faux pas, triumphs, and journeys of actually living abroad that make an individual into an engaged, mature global citizen.

My third goal is to examine my own leadership in relation to a global context and a foreign cultural context, while also learning about what it means to be “a leader” in France. As of right now, this is my most murky goal. Though sustained reflection, I hope to make clearer my ideas of what it means to be “a leader” as they are transformed throughout my study abroad experience.

I leave for France in 3 days. This has still not entirely sunk in, despite the luggage littering my bedroom floor. The next time you hear from me, I’ll be across the Atlantic!

A bient�t, mes amis!

Location: On a bus through the Central Pennsylvanian countryside

Student Life in Maastricht

I have a midterm tomorrow; so, naturally I decided this was the oportune moment to write a blog! I am about to wrap up my second and penultimate week of classes at Maastricht University. I’m just taking one class: “The Politics of European Integration,” and I’m also participating in a “Social Program” hosted by the university. Even though its summer and the University isn’t as busy as it would be durring a semester, I’m definitely getting to experience what studying is like for students here.

Maastricht is actually one of the newer universities in the Netherlands, having been founded in the 70’s. Part of their mission is to be an “international” university, and they do boast impressive numbers in terms of non-dutch students. They also host a “summer school” that allows students to come take short courses throughout the summer break. That summer school actually overlaps with the program I’m in, so I’ve been able to study with students from Brazil, Italy, Russia, and Macedonia, to name a few.

The diversity of the students in the class has lead to a fantastic learning environment. Though our class focuses on the institutions and functionings of the European Union, we use the systems we’re familiar with to help us compare and understand them. So I’ve really gotten to hear a global perspective on issues around integration and globalization. My life’s goal is to work within the international political realm, so this experience is preparing me more than any class could.

Speaking of the class, I had been curious to see how thorough of an education I could get from a class that only lasts for three weeks. It turns out that it’s easy to pack a lot of information into a short time. Our professor specializes in law, so we’re focusing on European Law and looking directly at the treaties that form the basis of the European Union. If anything, this class has let me know that law school is probably in my future. I enjoy flipping through pages of documents to find the small clause that will inevitably decide the nature of a law. It may seem like tedious work to some, but I find these legal douments to be like treasure hunts and logic puzzles! It’s actually my idea of fun.

It may be hard to believe, but we are also spending time not studying while we’re in Europe! With the other international students, I’ve attended vinyard tours, lazer tag in caves, and soon we’re going to tour a castle! Maastricht offers a wealth of options for a fun day, and I’ve made fast friends with everyone in the program. I’m lucky that about thirty of us are all from Penn State, and therefore I can see them in my normal life as well. But I don’t even want to think about saying goodbye to the friends I’ve made from other universities.

I also wanted to mention how well I’ve adjusted to Dutch life. A common phrase around here is that “the dutch are born with a bike between their legs.” And since the university is about a thirty minute walk from our dormitory, I decided to rent a bike and really get the Dutch experience! I love being able to just jump on my bike and go anywhere (no really, it’s only a ten minute ride to Belgium!). I can take it and leave it at the train station, and grab it again after a weekend trip. Even though almost every street has its own bike lane, traffic laws favor bicyclists so heavily that I feel safe biking even in heavy traffic. I’ve enjoyed owning a bike here so much that I plan on getting one to take with me back to Penn State!

A group of friends and I are going to Amsterdam for the weekend, and then I have my final week of classes! Time is flying, so I really have to enjoy every moment of the next two weeks.

Location: Maastricht, The Netherlands

Weekend Travels: Copenhagen and Vienna

The best part of Europe to an American is that it’s so small! Compared to my home state of Pennsylvania, the distance between one city to another is nothing. My central location in Maastricht is convenient for weekend trips, and I’m definitely taking advantage of our university’s scheduled three day weekend!

Last weekend I went to Copenhagen. I had never been to Denmark or any Scandinavian country, but I found a train that let me fall asleep in Cologne and wake up in Copenhagen, so I said “why not?” It was such a fun city — museums displaying full sized Viking boats, an amusement park in the middle of town, an autonomous hippy state, and the best bread I’ve ever tasted in my life. Seriously, they don’t process their wheat before they made bread, so it’s chewy and filling and full of fiber.

I took a bike tour to see as much of the city as possible, and I ended up really enjoying the hippy paradise of Christiana. In the 70’s, a group of squatters took over an abandoned military baraks. The police decided to look the other way, and soon the tiny area had turned into a full fledged autonomous state. They’ve built their own houses and buildings in addition to the ones they took over, and it has a booming economy independent of Danish rule. They have hair salons, restaurants, doctors offices, basically every need is met. The town is ruled by direct democracy and all decisions are made by consensus. The coolest part to me is that they have strict policy on development, and are therefore the most biodiverse area of Copenhagen.

I also took a day trip to Sweden, but on my way I visited the castle of a town called Helsingoer. In English, that would be pronounced “Elsinore.” Any literary nerds understand why the castle was so exciting yet? It’s the castle that Shakespeare set “Hamlet” in! I’m a huge fan of Shakespeare and I was an assistant director for that play a couple summers ago, so I geeked out trying to figure out which rooms each scene might have taken place in. I was disappointed to find out that Hamlet was not a real person; rather, he was based on Danish legend. Therefore no Hamlet, Polonius, or Gertrude ever actually occupied the castle. It was still the highlight of my trip though!

This weekend I’m staying in Vienna! I have a good friend from the city and so I’ve heard stories about how beautiful it is. I can now confirm the truth of that statement, and also add that Vienna is one of the best cities to visit in terms of food, art, and culture. I’ve eaten the famous “Sacher torte” which is chocolate cake with apricot jam topped with chocolate ganache, and drunk their cappuccino-esque “melange” at one of the famous Viennese cafes. The town is easy to walk through and the architectural opulence of the Habsburg empire dominates the city. Every building is grand and ornate, even outside of the tourist areas.

I realize I’ve been blogging mostly about my trips rather than the classes I’ve been taking, so my next update will talk more about Maastricht itself and my “Politics of the European Integration” course. I’m going to go continue to enjoy Vienna for now though!

Location: Copenhagen, Denmark

Learning About the European Union

The European Union is a tricky web of institutions and consulting bodies that would be difficult for the unfamiliar student to navigate. Therefore, before we begin our formal class on “The Politics of the European Integration,” Maastricht University took us on a ten day study tour around Western Europe to see the European government first hand.

And it’s complicated. For someone who has been diligently paying attention to governmental structure from an American point of view, our first few discussions of the European Union were disorienting. But, I can honestly say that if I needed to write a ten page paper on supernational political governance structure and functioning representation, I would be able to use the European Union as an example.

The EU is different from most international political organizations in that it effectively regulates and enforces its treaties. The United Nations, for example, lacks any power other than political pressure through sanctions to enforce the rules its member states sign on to. For example, the UN considers access to education to be a fundamental human right, but I have several friends who did not attend college because it was too expensive. Clearly turning education into a privilege goes against the United Nations’ declaration of education as a right, but America still sits on the security council. That would not happen in the European Union.

There are seven main institutions that make up the EU, but our class visited organizations that didn’t belong to the EU as well. We started in Luxembourg, made our way to Strasbourg, Paris, Bruges, and finally to Brussels. Our trip made geographic sense, but the schedule of visits was not the most conducive to understanding the EU, so I will describe our visits out of order to make some sense of the organization.

The EU has what is known as a cooperative process of passing legislation. Much like our bicameral legislative branch, this means that it takes more than one body to agree to pass legislation. In fact, the EU uses three institutions officially to make a new law.

Lets look at it schoolhouse rock style: how a bill becomes a law. Only one institution has the right of initiation, meaning that they can draft a new bill. Though the European Commission is mainly the executive branch in terms of enforcing and implementing legislation, they are the only institution allowed to present a new piece of legislation.

After careful consideration and consultation (we’ll talk more about that later), the Commission sends the new bill to the European Parliament. The Parliament is the only institution whose members are directly elected rather than appointed by member states. They amend the bill and send it over to the European Council, which is made of ministers from the member states.

They have to come to agreement down to the exact wording of the contents of the bill. Their differing membership creates a check and balance between national interests of member states and overall European interests. If they both agree, the bill is passed into European law.

They are mandated to consult two committees, the European Economic and Social committee, made of employers, employees, and experts, as well as the Committee of Regions. The Committee of Regions represents what we would understand as State and Local governments in the member states. These differing points of view ensure that the passed legislation is informed by a diverse representation of the whole European citizenry.

Whew. And that was only five of our eleven visits! We visited the European Court of Justice, who fines countries for breaking European law as well. My personal favorite visit was the Court of Auditors, who triple check all expenditures and actions to inform the EU how to adapt its practices. We also visited the European Ombudsman who fields complaints about maladministration.

Outside of the European Union, we saw the Council of Europe and its main institution, the European Court of Human Rights. We actually got to see a trial between five governments and a Bosnian citizen who claimed that the state run banks refused to return a deposit he’d made right before Yugoslavia fell. We didn’t get to see a decision happen yet though; it was said that a ruling could take up to three months!

The most unusual visit was to the Organization on Economic Cooperation and Development in Paris. The organization is a politically neutral economic powerhouse who has statistics and models for just about any potential policy to ever be created. Their opinion is highly valued by most international organizations.

Outside of the “study” part of the study tour, our group had a great time traveling around. It was fascinating to attempt a European lifestyle from an American point of view. For example, an average sit down dinner rarely took fewer than two hours. Our first experience with this was stressful, because we are used to quick service and little down time. However, by the end of the trip we learned how to relax, sip our wine, and really enjoy each others’ company long after we’d finished eating.

I really enjoyed my experience because I’d only been to Paris out of all the visits. Traveling to new places is always top on my list of favorite places, and Western Europe did not disappoint. Speaking of new places, I’m currently on a train by myself to Copenhagen! I’m hoping to explore the city and meet new people for the weekend, and maybe I’ll even take a day trip to Southern Sweden. I’m already excited for the next big adventure.

Location: Brussels, Belgium

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