The Road Not Taken

I had to memorize this poem during my freshman year of high school. I only remember the first and last six words.

The Road Not Taken

By Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear,

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I marked the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference. 

This poem is undoubtedly brilliant and famous, written by one of the greatest poets of all time who forever changed the world of poetry and literature. I'm not going to attempt to analyze it but only apply it to events in my own life, which is one of the great uses of poetry. Poetry unifies the human experience, reveals unseen details about it, and ultimately attempts to understand the world in a unique way by shedding new light upon seemingly everyday occurrences.

Like almost every argument, life view, or idea ever conceived in history, this poem can be viewed in two opposite ways. The road less taken that is grassy and used by very few, if any, can be viewed as a metaphor for countless things, depending on the reader. Also depending on the context, it could represent any way of life that diverges from the norm, any idea that differs from the majority's opinion, or even the smallest change in an individual's life. This is one of the reasons why this poem is so brilliant. The scope can be as large or as miniscule as the reader desires, but no matter who big or small, two choices still remain. The left or the right. The known or the unknown. The methodical or the uncertain.

In my life there are always two choices: what I want and what God wants. These two frenemies sometimes find a way to step in tandem, but they more often than not are constantly clashing, pulling, and scraping at each other like infantile siblings. I can usually keep down their unpleasant chatter by constantly reminding myself of what God has brought me through to get me to where I am today. Through a never ending routine of self-reminding, Bible reading, and sought after encouragement, I've been able to ward off that tiny voice that sits in the corner, waiting for the perfect moment to ask, "Could I do this better all by myself?" Sure, I've had little "God vacations" like we all do every now and then, but none of them have been as significant or enlightening as my latest escapade. God took me to France to teach me a few things. It was easy to forget Him there. I had no access to a church, and I was completely overwhelmed with the new culture, new people, new experiences. It took immense effort to stay in the Word and not only on the same page as God, but even in the same chapter. I did not put forth this effort. I forgot Him.

For about a month, I traveled the easy road, laden with the steps of the many, the worldly, and those that live according to the flesh. I allowed myself to be swept to a place where I blatantly denied my faith, did things that I knew were very wrong, and I did not care. I convinced myself that as long as I could see the other path through the trees as I stayed on the grassless one, everything would be fine. As long as I had an exit strategy, a way to get back on the other path when I wanted to, all would be well. I made God my backup plan, there to catch me when I knew this path would fall through. It was the very definition of taking His mercy and grace for granted. It was the first time that I actually doubted the existence of my Savior. It was the first time that I wanted to forget Him. It was one of the greatest learning experiences I've ever had.

For me, life without God consists of me trying to manage my life by my own strength. I try to deal with stress in the way I think is fit. It never works. I was eventually crushed under the weight of sin, worry, and the fact that I knew that what I wanted would just hurt me. It was quite a crushing, but as always, God was there to gently lift the weight and tuck it away where only He could find it. He was always there, protecting me, letting me get close enough to the fire to feel the entrancing heat and get burnt but not completely scorched. He guarded me against so many huge and detrimental mistakes I could have made. For this I am forever thankful. Every day He reminds me that the act of coming back is greater than the leaving. He is faithful even when we forget Him. Even when we turn our backs, He guides us. There is no human that we can depend on to do this for us.

Being on the other side of all of this, there are many things to work through. I regret the things I've done, my stupidity, and the fact that I very much knew better. But if that's what it took for me to draw closer to the Lord, then I can be okay with it. Though painful, failure is in fact the best teacher, and He took me back. He always takes us back, despite how we feel about it. This is the root of His love. This is His character.

Frost's poem cannot help but remind me of Matthew 7:13-14:

“Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it."

The path the world takes is beat to only dirt, wide, and infinitely easy to choose. The road less traveled is adversely smaller, grassier, and less certain. One leads to life, and one leads to destruction. Every day we choose.

Within full knowledge of all of this, the wide path still is attractive, and it always will be. This is what it is to be human. We can simply try to live well each day in acceptance of but never in submission to our humanity. In short, friends, we must take the road not taken.

 

Babblings

I'm not really sure if I want to keep this blog. I feel a sense of responsibility to it. I think of things I want to blog, but then I have a million other things to do and I never get to it. It might be a let down after all of my romping arounds in France. It might just be random ramblings of a sweatered girl. That is exactly what it will be.
I want to write more. So this will be it, me writing and who ever you are reading. Hey there.

I've moved to our apartment in Minneapolis and I absolutely love it. I love it more than I was ever expecting to. It's a tiny studio the size of a normal living room. Everything is strewn everywhere and I can't find one ounce of chap stick. I really need some too. Who loses every chap stick they own?

I wake up every day surprised to be where I am. It's like waking up in a cute little hotel room with all my stuff. It's homey to say the least, and I haven't thought twice about missing the dorms. The dorms were great for having friends around all the time, but sometimes we don't need that. My roommate works a lot, so I've been alone mostly all week with a huge mess and lots of instruments for company. I feel like the chess piece that just put you into check, like the tiny car so cleverly parallel parked, like the the book that fits perfectly into the last place on the shelf. Snug, happy, and right where they should be.

My favorite thing to do is to sit at my kitchen table and people-watch from my window. Though slightly creepy, it is an activity that I enjoy often because so many people walk down Chicago Avenue. Some of them are loud and some are quiet. Some walk and some ride bikes. Some are North Central students but most are strangers. All are interesting.

I love living in the city more than I can say. The noise, the ridiculous people, the fact that you can't really talk to someone on the sidewalk because it's so loud, the endless places to go and things to do.
I was always bored as a child. This place suites me.

Home At Last - The Exit Interview

I am finally back in Illinois and it feels infinitely weird. Being back here makes it feel like France never even happened. I try to fight these silly feelings of time. After a lovely week at my grandmother's summer home in Michigan with many family members that I haven't seen in years, it's time to get back to real life. I feel both excited and slightly overwhelmed. Such are the in between times.

The journey home proved quite interesting. My host mom dropped me off at the airport at 6 am where a lovely Air France employee tried to convince me that both my carry on objects were supposed to weigh only 12 kg together when my backpack alone weighed twice that. This was ridiculous considering they had let me on the Air France plane to get to Pau without weighing anything. This was only the beginning.

Let us preface this by stating that I have grown up in O'Hare. It is a normal sized, easy to navigate airport that we have always used and I have always been able to get through easily. I have no problem in one of the biggest international airports in the world, but Charles De Gaulle is a nightmare. Getting through to get to Pau required taking a train and a bus to the terminal. It's a maze of insanity.

We landed in Paris and I felt fine because I had three other girls with me and I knew we would figure it out eventually. Our flight to Chicago had be delayed 4 hours, which sucked but it gave us more time. We found our way to United's check in and collectively reached into our bags to get out our passports and info. I unzip my backpack's front pocket to find nothing. Nothing. That's where I put my passport. I didn't put it anywhere else. Telling myself not to panic, I practically dumped both my bags on the floor next to the bathroom looking for the one thing you're not supposed to lose. It wasn't there. There's a moment when you lose things that are as important as your passport where there is a twinge of denial. What functioning twenty year old loses their passport in a foreign country?

A tired one.

Somehow I instantly knew it was in the seat pocket in the plane we had just been in. I don't remember putting it in there, and I rarely ever put things in those pockets, but I knew.

Through a series of pleadings directed at many airport employees I was directed to gate 2F, which required me to take the train. I sat, clinging to my carry ons, and listened to a very attractive Australian pilot talk about the weather with one of his colleagues. I realized I wasn't panicking. I realized I trusted God. I realized He was the One that loved me the most. We always want to be in a place where we can trust God in these crazy situations. We always want to believe that we'll know Him enough to believe that He'll take care of it. If you had asked me before if I would have panicked and started crying had I lost my passport, I would say yes, but in that moment trusting was the only choice. It was the choice my heart made without question, despite everything my head knew. I knew I would get my passport back. I knew I would get home. My flight was delayed four hours so I could run around CDG for two.

After the train ride, some very nice Air France people called around and found out that they were holding my passport at the gate we landed at. The plane could have gone back to Pau, along with my passport. It didn't.

As the lady handed me my proof of citizenship, she told me I should play the lottery. These things don't just happen.

After this I was just happy. I rode the bus, train, and 9 hour flight back to Chicago, went through customs, got picked up by my mom and drove 4 hours to Michigan, and I was just happy. It was probably one of the craziest days of my life, but I can probably fly anywhere alone now.

I can't really sum up everything I "learned" in France or how exactly I've changed. I think those things will reveal themselves over time. All I know is that it was incredible, and that it's strange being back here. Reverse culture shock is a real thing, people. It's so funny to think that "normal" isn't normal everywhere. I really noticed it when I was out shopping with my mom and sisters. We were in a little boutique in Grand Haven, Michigan, when I realized I was really annoyed. It took me a second to figure out that everyone in the store was talking very, very loudly. I realized I wasn't used to hearing (or understanding for that matter) strangers' conversations. People don't talk loudly in Europe. It's considered an intrusion of others' privacy. I had to leave the store because I couldn't hear myself think. It's strange what we get used to.

The second instance was when I was in an antique store buying a couple of rings. The very old, very nice saleswoman started talking about how she thinks it's interesting that people wear rings on their middle fingers when she has always been used to just wearing them on her ring fingers. My instant though was, "Why is this lady talking to me?". Small talk isn't really a thing when you shop in France. Customer relations are generally much more formal than here, and it was and is entertaining to me to see what now freaks me out about America.

I am in a time of intense transition. Last year of college, probably last summer living at home, getting my first apartment. I am beyond excited to go back to Minneapolis, but the whole looming future of actually being an adult is a bit daunting. My blog will no longer be "the adventures of an American girl in Southwest France" but "the adventures of a glasses wearing, sweater sporting, book nerd doing random things".

Thanks for reading.

The Most Beautiful Collection of Words I've Ever Experienced

Hello blog, sorry I've been away. A post about my trip to Bordeaux with my aunt and cousin is forthcoming. This is just a little nugget I wanted to share. It is an exert from Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo, which I have started reading again after my first failed attempt during winter break. I was on the train to Bordeaux while reading this, in a blissful state of being in France while reading Les Mis and also listening to the soundtrack. I finished this passage and instantly got the chills. I don't think I've ever loved something I've read this much. Enjoy, and apologies if I've infringed on some copyright laws.


Let us remark by the way, that to be blind and to be loved, is, in fact, one of the most strangely exquisite forms of happiness upon this earth, where nothing is complete. To have continually at one's side a woman, a daughter, a sister, a charming being, who is there because you need her and because she cannot do without you; to know that we are indispensable to a person who is necessary to us; to be able to incessantly measure one's affection by the amount of her presence which she bestows on us, and to say to ourselves, "Since she consecrates the whole of her time to me, it is because I possess the whole of her heart"; to behold her thought in lieu of her face; to be able to verify the fidelity of one being amid the eclipse of the world; to regard the rustle of a gown as the sound of wings; to hear her come and go, retire, speak, return, sing, and to think that one is the centre of these steps, of this speech; to manifest at each instant one's personal attraction; to feel one's self all the more powerful because of one's infirmity; to become in one's obscurity, and through one's obscurity, the star around which this angel gravitates,—few felicities equal this. The supreme happiness of life consists in the conviction that one is loved; loved for one's own sake—let us say rather, loved in spite of one's self; this conviction the blind man possesses. To be served in distress is to be caressed. Does he lack anything? No. One does not lose the sight when one has love. And what love! A love wholly constituted of virtue! There is no blindness where there is certainty. Soul seeks soul, gropingly, and finds it. And this soul, found and tested, is a woman. A hand sustains you; it is hers: a mouth lightly touches your brow; it is her mouth: you hear a breath very near you; it is hers. To have everything of her, from her worship to her pity, never to be left, to have that sweet weakness aiding you, to lean upon that immovable reed, to touch Providence with one's hands, and to be able to take it in one's arms,—God made tangible,—what bliss! The heart, that obscure, celestial flower, undergoes a mysterious blossoming. One would not exchange that shadow for all brightness! The angel soul is there, uninterruptedly there; if she departs, it is but to return again; she vanishes like a dream, and reappears like reality. One feels warmth approaching, and behold! she is there. One overflows with serenity, with gayety, with ecstasy; one is a radiance amid the night. And there are a thousand little cares. Nothings, which are enormous in that void. The most ineffable accents of the feminine voice employed to lull you, and supplying the vanished universe to you. One is caressed with the soul. One sees nothing, but one feels that one is adored. It is a paradise of shadows. 

It was from this paradise that Monseigneur Welcome had passed to the other.


I'm not quite in the mood to dissect this passage, and quite frankly I don't want to. It is one that will mean something different to everyone, but it is still completely beautiful and breathtakingly powerful. To me, it is simply a perfect image of love. It is one of my greatest hopes to provide and experience love like this in my lifetime.

It seems that I am having most of my best experiences of France towards the end of this life changing trip (5 days!), which may make it even harder to leave. Last night my friend Christopher's host family thew him a little dinner party, and the dinner was only cheese.

It was absolutely wonderful. I was a bit nervous to spend the night with a group of people who barely spoke English, but it turned out to be one of the highlights of my time here. Christopher's family was so nice, funny, and hospitable. Another couple who host another student in our program were also there, and I really loved them. The husband was a language teacher, and eventually him, I, and my friend Liz were speaking together in French, English, and Spanish. It was so fun. The jokes that come out of so many languages being meshed together are unbelievably funny. The dinner started at 7:30 and I got home at 3 am. It was really one the best nights I've had here.

And as I was walking from the elevator in our apartment building to our door, I had a thought in French without trying. It was simple, but it was something. I actually think I could maybe be good at this language someday. 

A Week of Travel

This is a quick overview of the past two weeks!

This past week I have been in Paris, Andorra, and Barcelona, and they have all been completely amazing.

When we got to Paris it was pouring. We had to walk 20 min with our luggage in the rain to the hotel. Not the best start. We then took a rain-soaked tour of the Jardins du Luxembourg. This is where I saw my first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. I only saw it for a second through the clouds, but it was amazing and I almost peed my pants. I think I started jumping up and down. After that we were (thankfully) cut loose and two of my friends and I started the journey towards a restaurant for dinner. We crossed the bridge over the Seine looking out towards Pont Nuef and I was literally speechless and couldn't breath. I have never had this kind of reaction to anything I've ever seen. The river was amazingly beautiful with the Parisian buildings and the Eiffel Tower peeking through the clouds and I just couldn't believe I was there. I honestly was emotionally moved and it was completely wonderful. I absolutely love Paris.

Traveling with a group proved to be taxing. We wasted so much time going everywhere because there were so many people, and no one really enjoyed being on someone else's schedule. I would love to go back and do Paris again, seeing what I would like to see. It was an amazing trip, but we were almost too tired to enjoy parts of it.

Paris was also full of Americans. I was not prepared for this, and when we went to dinner the first night and I heard English all around me it was the strangest feeling. It wasn't until we got to Carcassonne that I started hearing French again, and it was somehow a relief!

When we got back from Paris, we rented a car that same day and drove to Andorra, a tiny country between France and Spain. We got our passports stamped and drove through the gorgeous mountains.

After one night in Andorra, we drove the rest of the way down to Barcelona. We rented an apartment for two days and took the metro everywhere. It was very hot with really high humidity. We ate tapas and walked around this beautiful city.

 We visited Gaudi's Basílica i Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família, and it was honestly the most beautiful building I've ever been in. 

We got to go to the top, and the view of Barcelona was awesome. 

Though we got to take an elevator to the top, we had to take the stairs down. Many flights of spiral stairs is not particularly my favorite. The Arc de Triomphe was like this also, and I am not a fan. 

I loved the architecture, atmosphere, and culture of Barcelona. I would definitely go back.

On the way back from Barcelona, we stopped for lunch in Carcassonne, which I have wanted to see forever. 

Though it was freezing, the castle was beautiful! 

After traveling through three countries in a week, coming back to Pau was strange. We started a new session of classes with new students and new teachers. I honestly just wanted to keep driving all around Europe instead of returning to the classroom. Classes this week were good, I've moved up from level 1 to level 3, and though it is way harder, I am happy that I'm making progress and being challenged. My motivation for homework and getting up early every day is slowly dwindling. With the 4th of July, and just seeing everyone's lake house pictures and stuff I sometimes miss the American summer that I'm not getting this year. I definitely think I'll have a different and better appreciation and understanding of America when I get back. The thought of asking for directions or ordering pizza without any stress seems so foreign to me now and I'm not sure how I'll feel when I can perfectly communicate with everyone again. I'm so excited about going to Michigan and starting the fall semester that it's getting a little hard to focus on school work. 

My aunt and cousin are coming to visit next weekend and I'm meeting them in Bordeaux. I am so excited to see them and to spend Bastille Day in one of the largest cities in France! 

Yesterday we had a group trip to the Basque Country of France. We stopped in the towns of Sauveterre de Béarn, St. Jean-Pied-de-Port, and Saint-Jean-de-Luz. 

All of the houses and buildings in the Basque Country generally are white with red shudders. They used to use ox blood for the shutters, but now they just use paint. 

We went to the beach in Saint-Jean-de-Luz and it was super relaxing and beautiful. I was too busy swimming and tanning to take any pictures of the beach, which I do regret. It was a nice little weekend trip. 

I Don't Know What to Call This Recipe

This is my first formal attempt at a recipe post! Here we go!

So I was hungry and messing around in my host family's kitchen, and I ended up making a combo of Eggs in a Basket (aka Egg in the Hole, Toad in the Hole, etc.) and grilled cheese with tomatoes. This is not a recipe for that. It was delicious, but not very pretty. If I've learned anything from France and its food, it is that presentation is half the fun.

So I got this idea of making a French Toastish thing combined with an open faced grilled cheese with tomatoes. I absolutely love cooking, and this was really fun and really easy.

Ingredients:
Two pieces of sliced bread
One egg
A dash of milk
Two little tomatoes
Sprinkle cheese
Herbs de Provence

I started out with beating the egg in the bowl with milk. I wanted to add egg to this instead of just grilling with butter in attempt to be a little more healthy and to add some protein.

These tomatoes are delicious and strangely shaped.

After beating the egg and milk, I soaked the bread in the egg just like one would do for French toast.

I then continued to fry it in the pan until it was golden brown.

With the bread still in the pan, I added cheese, the tomatoes, and more cheese on top.

I wanted to just melt the cheese, but since it wasn't melting very quickly, I ended up flipping the whole piece over so the tomatoes and cheese were face down in the pan. I used a small pan, so this was really easy to do. It melted the cheese and fried the tomatoes a bit.

 I then added the Herbs de Provence, and viola! Easy and delicious.

This week has been a whirlwind of ending our first session of classes, trying to get over the cold of death that has fully circulated through our whole group, and France's national Fete de Musique. It was a wonderful night of over 20 stages all around Pau and thousands of people. There were marching bands, polka bands, drum circles, and more people than we've ever seen in Pau.

Today I have been cleaning and packing for our trip to Paris. We're leaving tomorrow and will be in Paris for three full days, and then a few friends and I have plans to leave for Barcelona for the weekend. I am very, very excited to see Paris, and to just travel without having to do homework or go to class. I'm not really sure how I am going to manage to blog about this week because we will be doing so much. We'll see!

In the Mountains

I am currently avoiding studying for our last test of this session by writing this post. I am also drinking thé fruits rouges while eating biscottes with assorted cheeses. This is serving as a little snack before I undertake a made up recipe for tonight's dinner, and you best be sure I'll blog about it.

I've had a cold since Friday, and all I've been doing is going to class in the morning and coming home to sleep the rest of the day. I have to kick this thing before we leave for Paris next week, because the trip is going to be almost inhumanly busy and there's no way I could do it while infirm. Tomorrow I'll be going to the pharmacie to purchase some cold medicine called Humex, I haven't had time to go during open hours. Mostly everything here is closed from 12:30-2:30 for lunch. 

This weekend, despite being slightly sick, I refused to sit home. Our school had organized a group trip to the mountains, but three hours of hiking in 80 degree weather did not appeal to my friends and I. Renting a car is more our style, and by doing this we see more that is off the beaten path. Saturday we went to a little town called Lacommande for a wine festival they were having at the Masion de Jurançon. Jurançon wine is a very popular white wine made in Jurançon, which is just south of Pau. 

We had lots of fun driving through the tiny French towns along the way, and the countryside was absolutely beautiful. 

This church was really, really beautiful. 

It was truly a relaxing day of people watching, poetry, music, and enjoying the little town. 

Sunday we went straight into the heart of the Pyrénées Mountains to a beautiful town called Laruns. I am always so fascinated by how huge and beautiful mountains are, and I'm not used to them, not having ever lived near them. My face was basically plastered to the window the whole time we were driving. 

The overhanging clouds were so beautiful, and it was great because they cleared up later, so we could see everything. 

We found these cute horses with their baby, but we felt really bad because they were basically covered in flies. The flies there were insane, and we had a hard time enjoying our meal when we had to constantly keep them off our food. The worst part about have a cold is France is that the taste buds are not fully working. 

I have been experiencing my first tiny bout of homesickness, and not for Chicago, but for Minneapolis! I miss everyone and speaking English with everyone. Putting constant effort into language is tiring, but worth it. I can't help getting so excited for this fall, and I feel a bit guilty for looking so far ahead, considering where I am, but that's how I've always been. I struggle with enjoying the present because my attention likes to dwell on the past or on things to come. I am excited to have an apartment with my amazing friend Deanna. I'm excited for my last semester of classes, even though it's going to nearly kill me. I'm taking 19 credits, being a TA for one of my fabulous professors, and I want to audit Theatre literature, which is a weekend class. I do admit that I am cramming in everything that I want to do before it's too late, but I think it'll be worth it.  Then spring semester is student teaching! The location is still TBA, but some international locations are possible, which means more travels to blog about! 

Also, my soundtrack of this trip has been Birdy's new self-titled album. I love every song on this thing, so check it out! 

Fashion in Pau

I am a firm believer that most things are, in fact, relative. This includes fashion.
I packed most of my nice clothes, scared to be under dressed among the French. I don't really wear sweats in public and I always like to look somewhat nice, so I wasn't very worried. I have thus discovered that there are frumpy, tacky, and ghetto people almost everywhere.

On a normal day here in Pau, one would notice the scarves. Men, women, and little children all sport these convenient neck warmers with almost every kind of outfit. They are shorter and tied a bit differently here, like so:

I was thinking about it today, I don't think I would have ever tied this scarf like this in the States. 

You see women who look blatantly French, dark colors, skinny jeans, heels, a blazer. The definition of chic. But then right behind them will be an overweight person in nasty sweat pants. I think we get the idea that everyone in a certain place all do the same thing. This couldn't be less true, and there are always going to be a mix of fashionistas and tacky schmucks. My friend Christopher commented that one of his bus rides was strangely reminiscent of the People of Walmart. 

Another strange realization: places in France are comparable to regions in the USA. For example, a student worker we know from Pau is going to study abroad in Ohio or Iowa, I don't remember, but when telling people this, she always get's a surprised "WHY?" No one can image actually wanting to go to these places when you have New York, the west and east coast, and many other more exciting places. My friends and I have come to the conclusion that Pau might just be France's Iowa. Of course to us, any place in France is amazing, but it's funny how these ideas transcend cultures. There are many, many high end shops here in Pau, and we always wonder who shops there. People here don't have a ton of money and no one really dresses like a fashion model, and this is reflected in H&M being notably busier than Hugo Boss. 

Despite the fashion standards, I am truly having a good time here. I probably would prefer a larger city if I was ever to live here, but it's France all the same. 

Also, I have noticed that I am getting less nervous when I am forced to talk to French people. Today at the bus stop, a man asked me if the bus went to a certain stop and if it had already left. I completely understood him, and I found myself answering without thinking about it. I also had my first dream in French. It was really strange. Hilary Clinton was my aunt and we were in a huge store frantically looking for Bose headphones. She started speaking French, and I don't remember what she said, but I recognized what language it was. I then asked her, "Tu parles Francais?" (You speak French?), and then said "Bien sûr tu parles Francais." (Of course you speak French). It was very short and simple, but it was in my subconscious! 

Rain, Education Rants, and the Spa

I love rain. I always have. I love the way it sounds, smells, looks, and makes everything new afterwards. I constantly miss the rain during the year in Minneapolis, and it rains collectively for maybe an hour from August to May. It's all SNOW. Anyways, it has rained heavily here since the end of last week. In this region, you always need to have your umbrella on you because you can leave the house with blue skies and by the time you get to the bus stop it can be pouring. As I write this it is coming down really hard, and I can see perfectly blue sky in the distance. The individual clouds really dictate the weather more.

This intense rain hasn't been too bad of a problem accept the fact that I have no idea what kind of shoes to wear in this mess. I feel like this is something you learn very early on in life, but somehow I must have missed something. Option 1: sandals. They suck because they get wet and then really hard to walk in because they slip everywhere. Option 2: Clothey shoeish things. They get soaking wet and dirty and DO NOT DRY. Option 3: rainboots. Ugly and you look like an idiot and I'm not sitting through three hours of class in those. Alas, I am left with flip flops, which don't match anything. It's a desperate situation. Methinks sandals are the lesser of the many evils.

Rain also means staying in more. Sunday I barely moved from my bed. This was actually enjoyable because by the end of the week I really am ready to drop dead. I've gotten into a good book, which makes life instantly better, and I am back to my The Office addiction, which I cannot help but love to revel in. Rain also means friends are reluctant to venture downtown, which is closer to me, and rightfully so. Transportation in this town is decent but very often annoying. Many of the bus lines stop after 8:30 pm and don't even run on Sundays. This leaves biking (impossible in the rain) and taxis (expensive).

With the start of a new week at school, we got our tests back from last week. I did well, but my main downfall is making stupid mistakes. This never fails to make me angry, and I would much rather make huge detrimental mistakes about something I don't know that little stupid ones about things I do know. I always have and probably always will be too hard on myself when it comes to academics, and when a rare something actually happens to be challenging, it tends to illicit anger. I want to be better at French. I want to understand people better and actually be able to communicate. Accepting my inferiority in this certain category is difficult. Language is something I never remember struggling with. I don't actually remember learning to read or write, it kind of just came out of me. Language is me. It's everything I love and am passionate about and try to pursue. Sitting silent at the dinner table because I'm trying desperately to pick words that I can recognize out of the spew of French coming at me is not my ideal pastime. I love to argue, discuss, and (of course) add my opinion to what is happening. I can't do this when I have no idea what to say. This, however, is good. I am usually quick to speak and slow to listen, and it has been something that I want to work on. I always remember something my best friend told me once: a real conversation consists of two people who, while listening to each other, are not thinking about what they will say next or a point that they have. They are only listening.

So far I do believe that my listening comprehension has improved the most, but that's the easy part. The hard part is taking what you hear, synthesizing, and evaluating. Oooo, fancy teacher terms! Thus begins my daily rant about the education I am experiencing. Let's hope this is somewhat short.

College in France, or least all that I have experienced, is strange. We are following a textbook (thank God), but the day usually consists of many random mini lessons that have little to no connection. We are just beginning, and there is so very much for us to learn, but I find it extremely challenging to just go over things when they come up instead of doing a legit lesson with practice and homework to enforce it. I really didn't expect to have this kind of reaction, and though it partly means I have been learning in the past three years, it is not doing me any good now. We jump from adjectives to articles, to talking about imperfect tense for two seconds without her even having taught it. There are vague units with different sets of vocabulary and verbs (which are utterly my downfall), but I am in desperate need of a lesson that lasts at least 20 minutes with some direct instruction, modeling, and both guided and independent practice. There's some more teacher terms for you. It's a new system and a lesson in flexibility, and in all honesty I'm sure it's eons better than the language learning system in the States. It's just that the raving English teacher inside me twitches with every abrupt transition and lack of anticipatory sets. She scares me sometimes. She has been somewhat silenced by the fact that I bought Harry Potter in French. Nearly impossible to read, but I do understand some things, and I am super interested that there apparently is a verb tense that is only used in literature. The sooner I get aquatinted with this, the better.

Today we went to the Spa, which was technically a huge pool. French people don't really go to water parks, so this was kind of like a big water park for old boring people. It was super relaxing though. Here are some images from their site.

It was actually raining while we were in the pool, which was pretty nice because we had just gotten out of the sauna. It was fun to swim. 

My shoes were soaking wet since before I got on the bus this morning, and they are still very, very cold. This shoe situation was almost resolved at the grocery store today, where I found a pair of converse-ish rainboots. They didn't fit. Prayers against trench-foot would be greatly appreciated.  

Lazy Saturday

I thoroughly enjoyed sleeping in today, even though I woke up to much noise from my host family and constantly fighting neighbors. My host mom had told me that they would be gone all day, so when I woke up I migrated to the kitchen and settled at the table with a bowl of cereal and my journal in my not so decent pajamas. Low and behold, I hear the key in the door and they come expectedly waltzing back in to find me in the kitchen, frantically wrapping my sweater around myself and cleaning up the cereal mess I'd made. It was awkward.

After retreating to my chambers, I worked on my blog (which looks lovely as I'm sure you've noticed) and read. It was nice to relax, but then I got bored, so I ventured out to take a walk in the rain.

An ideal exploring outfit and facial expression.

Basically every random street here is adorable. 

Pride and Post Offices

I'm just going to say it: I'm scared poopless to speak French to the French. I'm usually so scared that I end up messing up and sounding even more stupid than I actually am. I wasn't really able to get over this for awhile, and it was really frustrating. I didn't want to drag my friends who spoke French better than I do to every errand that I needed to do. I detest being heavily dependent on others, and a huge fist of dependence, helplessness, frustration, and humiliation repeatedly kept punching me in the face. It was only until I cared more about what I was doing than how I appeared to a French person that I was able to conquer this weird position I had put myself in.

I still really haven't wrapped my mind around the fact that I am the foreigner here. People don't speak French to be cool or seem a certain way, it's their version of normal. Being picked up and plopped into someone else's normal is always strange. I feel almost apologetic for being an American and botching the heck out of their beautiful language, but at the same time I don't want them to think I am completely stupid. I always want to know what I'm doing, seem like I have it together, and not be out of the loop in any way. This is literally impossible here. I never know what I'm doing, I never have it together, and I am almost always out of the loop. Things have definitely gotten better. I can ride the bus, order from a menu (kind of), and shop, but there's always the possibility of something happening or someone saying something and me not knowing how to react. Being this vulnerable is the complete opposite of clinging to my warped sense of pride in knowing how to function well in America. We can't hold onto pride and learn. We cling to it, but it only holds us back.

I had run into some money issues leaving me without cash and only a credit card. Bad plan. If you're going to Europe, always have cash. After lots of running around and talking to many rude and not helpful French people, I didn't care what they thought as long as I got my dang money. I went to the post office by myself and was shaking as I filled out my Western Union form, but I did it. The people there were really nice and started speaking English when they heard my accent, but not everyone will even do that. All I can think is that I'm not going to be afraid to do anything in America now, where I can actually speak the language. My confidence has definitely been boosted, even though I know that I completely suck at French.

Another random observation: the literal translation doesn't matter, the message does. You try to translate literally and you're going to get yourself into a mess because that's just not how it works. There are so many things that I'm learning that can technically be dissected into parts that can be literally translated, but meanings are changed and messed up when one tries to do that.

Un Bon Week-End

My first actual weekend in France was great but completely exhausting. 

Friday night my host mom took me to a musical festival that was going on right by our apartment called Hestival. They had a band that was very popular in the 80s in France and they were dressed up like Elvis. They played French, Spanish, and American songs, and it was really fun to people watch. I've noticed that if the French like something, they are very, very passionate about it. I even saw this at the orchestra. It's a cool concept and I really enjoy observing it. People were dancing and there were some drunk hippie hobos reeking havoc on the crowd. Très amusant. One guy was like 40, had dreads down to his butt, and got scolded by a lady when he tried to pick up her dog. The second band was a country band from here. It was really strange to here a dude sing English country music with a French accent and it was probably the weirdest musical experience I've ever had. 

Saturday we left early on the bus for the Basque country. We first stopped at Bayonne where we got a short tour of their beautiful cathedral.

I loved these huge paintings.

We were then turned loose to explore and shop. Their main shopping street had like five different chocolate shops in a row. We had lunch at Le Victor Hugo restaurant, which was completely delicious. 

Chicken with rice and tomato and pepper sauce, traditional Basque cake with almond filling (amazing!), and a pistachio chocolate from one of the shops. After lunch we got on the bus and headed to Barritz. We visited the beach, which was absolutely beautiful. The water wasn't even that cold, and I would have swam if I had brought my suite. The waves were really big though. We walked around, went to a few cafes and took pictures. 

We were sitting at one of the cafes and this adorable baby girl kept waddling over to use and smiling. We also saw some really cute dogs, as usual. For anyone who doesn't know, almost everyone has a dog here. They're allowed in some stores, cafes, and restaurants because they are so well trained. Owners walk them without leashes more than with them, and the dogs simply follow. It's crazy how well behaved they are! 

Sunday was La fête des Mères (Mother's Day), and we went to Le Sud, a restaurant in Pau with my host mom, brother, and grandfather. My host mom asked me how to use Instagram and has started taking pictures of her food too. Here are some of her shots:

This was her starter (I didn't have the same) of some kind of asparagus dish with mushroom sauce. The entree I had was a kind of red fish on toasted bread with a crushed olive paste. It was one of the best things I've ever tasted. 

Our entree of stuffed guinea fowl. It had tomatoes and other vegetables inside. The brownish thing at the top left was a kind of potato patty with a cherry tomato on top stuffed with the same olive paste. The yellow decorative piece was some kind of fried cheese. 

This beautiful dessert is lime and basil sorbet with strawberries. I had a different dish of chocolate mouse with orange. Also delightful. 

I ate extremely well on Sunday because after this lunch, we went to Au Fruit Défondu in Pau for my wonderful friend Liz's birthday. My only previous experiences of fondu had been cheese and chocolate, and not cooking meat in oil, which was so, so good. I had beef and duck, which I must say I absolutely love. 

The hot oil was a little scary to use, but it was worth it. The owner was extremely nice and outgoing, and we had a lot of fun with her. I am always jealous of my friends' ability to speak such wonderful French when we go out to eat. It was a very fun and memorable night. I woke up this morning still full from such a big day of food. I have found that I really, really love French food. It is so creative and has many mixtures of flavors, which I really like. It takes into account the physical look as well as how the food will mix with drinks and other courses. It really is an art form, and I'm enjoying learning about it. My friend Christopher was very excited last night to be able to name exactly what flavor was used in the Creme Catalan (similar to Creme Brule), and it was Bergamot, which is apparently also used to flavor Earl Grey tea. I think it's very cool that such things can be used in so many ways.