Fin.
There are two main things that freak me out the most about going home. First, it's the fact that I'm going to be back in the states. And not even just back in the states, but I'm going to be back there indefinitely. As of right now, I have no idea when I'll be back in France, Russia or just Europe in general. It could be next year, or it could be in 10 years. I feel like both are equally possible. In the states, we speak English. I know how everything works, and I'm used to how everything works. I look around and stuff feels normal, comfortable. In Europe, everything was a struggle. Struggle is the best word I can find to describe it, eventhough I mean a struggle minus the negative connotations. Well, sometimes minus the negative connotations. But no matter what I did, I had to figure out how to do it. Whenever I had to talk to someone, I had to know what I was going to say, or else risk tripping over my words. I was kept pretty constantly on my toes, and while this was sometimes exhausting and frustrating, it was also sometimes exciting and empowering. While I've been over here, a large part of my identity has been "American". I defined myself by that. And I grew to appreciate it as well. One of what I consider my greatest accomplishments while abroad is the fact that I have truly come to love my own culture and country. And when I go back to the states, I know I'm going to bring that love and appreciation back with me, but in a very different way. When I look around a room, the majority of people there will also identify themselves as "American", which is quite the opposite from the world I've been living in for the past 9 months. I'm going back to a world I know and love, and it's a strange feeling because for so long now I've lived only in unfamiliar worlds.
And the second weirdest thing about going home is the fact that it means my study abroad year is over. Right around sixth or seventh grade, I fell in love with the French language, and ever since then, I knew I wanted to study abroad in France. And somewhere in the middle of high school, as Russian became a bigger part of my life, I realized I'd want to spend some time in Russia as well. And ever since beginning at Middlebury, I've been planning for a year abroad in Russia and France. Now, that year is over. This is a part of my life that I have been planning out since sixth grade. This is a part of my life that I have always known would be there, and always been looking forward to. And now it's over. Study abroad has meant so much to me for so long. In a way, I've defined myself by it. I've defined myself as interested in foreign languages and foreign cultures and wanting to experience life in foreign countries. But now I find myself at the end of that experience.
I guess it all comes down to the cliché that it's the journey that matters, not the destination. This whole year has been one of the most important journeys of my life, but the years leading up to this one have been journeys as well. It's like when you have a goal, and work constantly to achieve that goal, but then once it's achieved, you stop and ask yourself, "What now?" I never thought of study abroad as a goal of mine, but in a way it always has been. It's always been there, on the horizon, and I've been constantly preparing myself for it. It was one of the main reasons I chose to go to Middlebury at all. It's one of the only reasons I went to Russian School this summer. Maybe it's because I've never really had a goal for my life after college; I've never really known exactly what I wanted to do when I grew up. In fact, whenever asked what I wanted to do, I'd always just answer "I'm not sure yet, but something with foreign languages". Maybe study abroad was just always the most concrete "something with foreign languages" I could ever see. But anyway, now it's over and I find myself suddenly staring directly into the eyes of senior year, graduation, and everything after that.
I hate to say it, but I'm not so sure this post has an actual point. It's all still being processed, and I'm not yet sure what the final conclusion, or expression is. But as my good friend Laura Budzyna told me, "You'll probably be expressing it for the rest of your life."
I don't know if this will be my final post or not. I may need to write again when I get back to the states, or when I finally get back to Midd and realize everything is different eventhough nothing has changed. But in any case, at 1:00pm tomorrow afternoon, I'll be on a plane heading for the US. And who knows when I'll return.
Pas de baguettes?
The bakery at the grocery store this evening was out of baguettes. How is that possible? I'm in FRANCE.
So instead I was forced to get something called a flute, which looks just like a baguette, but is skinnier and lighter in color.
Said flute tastes exactly like the good Proctor rolls. Oh, yes. And every Middkid out there knows exactly what I'm talking about.
I go home in exactly one week. I am very, very excited.
Final Exam Crisis
You know, this post was supposed to read "I'm done with finals! After a quick, fun trip to Germany, I'm going home! All is wonderful!" However, it is not going to read anywhere near that. After yesterday, it also could read as one long rant about the insane French school system. However, it's not going to read like that either. Mostly because I think if it did, it would continue for so long that every single one of you would stop reading at some point. So instead, I've decided to make it a cultural commentary. Yes, a commentary. That's a good, neutral word, right? Let me begin by setting the scene...
Yesterday morning, I woke up feeling kind of crappy. I had two tests to take that day, though, so I got dressed and walked to the bus stop anyway. After about 10 minutes on the bus, not quite halfway to school, I was feeling so nauseous that I had to get off. Luckily, I was right near Amanda's house, so I called her and stopped by. In the end, I think it was that feeling where you get so hungry that you actually feel sick (I hadn't had breakfast yet and was planning on getting it once I got to school). But so I slowly had water and bread, and after half an hour or 40 minutes was finally starting to feel better. By now, though, it was at least half an hour past the start of my exam and seeing as French teachers do not look kindly on late-comers, I sent my teacher an e-mail explaining the situation and asked her when I would be able to make it up. At this point I wasn't terribly worried - my teacher is very nice, and the Linguistics department on the whole seems pretty accommodating, mostly just because it is so small. Anyway, after having some lunch and studying for a while at Amanda's, I was feeling much better and got on the bus to go to my second final of the day. Here's where the story gets interesting. I arrived at the room only to find
another class in there taking an exam that was definitely not mine. Having no clue what to do, I ran around for about 15 minutes to various offices and rooms and bulletin boards, trying to figure out if my room had been changed or something. I finally went to the Administrative office, where they had no idea what I was talking about, but did find on the exam schedule that there were two exams, mine and a film class, assigned to the same room at the same time. Two women then decided to help me, and I followed them around for about another half an hour to various offices, and we finally determined that the room for my exam had been changed. I had not been told, however, because the French kids all had 3 exams at once, while I was only taking the second of the three. So they had all arrived hours before me, and were informed of the room change. I, on the other hand, arrived for my exam and no one was there to let me know. At this point, however, I was 45 minutes late to my hour-long exam, and the women informed me that I would just have to return Wednesday (Not tomorrow, of course, because everything's closed tomorrow. I still have yet to figure out why.) to talk to the department secretaries to reschedule my exam. What I did not tell them is that I am supposed to be leaving for London this evening, to meet up with Becca and then fly to Germany with her to see Katie. So Germany trip? Cancelled. My last week in Poitiers? A whole lot less fun than I had hoped.
So here's where this post turns into a "cultural commentary" and no, not a rant. The French like to complain. When they find something that is wrong or stupid, they jump on it and talk about it for at least 20 minutes. Not that they're going to do anything to change this stupid thing, but they'll tell you everything about it that makes no sense. So my favorite part of yesterday was how we spent 15 minutes in each office we arrived in discussing how on earth this could possibly have happened. How could two exams have been scheduled in one room? How did no one notice that? Why was I not informed? Why didn't they change it before this morning? And on and on and on, as I was standing there wishing
someone would just do
something to get me to the right classroom. But no, we had to discuss. (Well, and not to mention the fact that we'd have to go to 5 more offices because God forbid anyone communicates anything to eachother.)
I also discovered the best way to get my family to talk to me last night - give them something to complain about. Sitting down at the dinner table, they asked me how my exams went today, or if had any, and I explained that I was supposed to, but then didn't. And suddenly, they all seemed almost as frustrated as I was when the whole thing was going on. They declared it outrageous and unbelievable, and how could I have not been told? Apparently, the same thing happened to Renault, my host cousin, while he was in England. The international students just are not always told of things, and it's just ridiculous! How could that be?! My host dad even suggested that if anything else goes wrong in the least, I should write immediately to the president of the college, because it is just that unbelievable. For the first time since I got here, I felt as though they honestly cared about what was happening to me. All we needed was a mutual enemy, apparently. And not even mutual, but just one that they felt like complaining about as well.
It's all beginning to feel like it's ending
Steph left this morning. She was the first of the Poitiers crew to leave. And it just means I'm next, and that's so weird.
But in the meantime, enjoy a new album that I added to Shutterfly. The first half is pictures I should have put up a long time ago, and just never got to it for some reason, and the second half is recent pictures, including birthday pics! :)
2 Continents, 3 Countries, 15 Days
WARNING: This post promises to be quite long. I apologize in advance. But I have just had quite possibly the best vacation of my life, so it most definitely deserves one gigantic post.
On Thursday afternoon, April 12th, I finished classes for the semester. Yes, that's right. I am officially done with classes for my junior year of college. I still have finals to take, but please, unimportant (oh, how i wish). So the very next day, Friday the 13th, I left for Marrakech, Morocco. I was meeting up with Kyle, who is studying in Fes (in Morocco) for the semester, Kristen and Dan LoPotro, who are studying in Paris, and Kristen's high school friend Liza, who is studying in Salamanca. I got there pretty late on Friday - everyone else had already arrived - but we spent that evening and the next day just wandering around the main square of Marrakech, called Jemaa al Fna. The best way to describe Jemaa al Fna is just colorful. There are orange juice vendors and carts full of bright spices and men charming snakes and women asking everyone they see if they want a henna design on their hand. But the best part is walking back behind the square to all the souks, where they make and sell shoes, pots, jewelery, scarves, rugs and many other things. I felt like we could wander back in these little alleyways for hours, just looking at everything. And for a day or two, that's exactly what we did. We had fun as well bargaining with the shopkeepers as they tried to rip us off basically just because we were white. Our French very much came in handy here, though, as we were able to communicate with them perfectly, and Dan even convinced a number of people he was Belgian (or they just said ok and couldn't have cared less...we weren't sure). But we bought many a souvenir back in the souks, which is going to be quite fun back in the states.
One day we decided we wanted to go to Essaouira, a small coastal town about 2 hours from Marrakech. With Kyle guiding us, we were able to rent out a Grand Taxi. The Grand Taxis, as opposed to the Petit Taxis, usually go far distances and can hold 6 people - 4 in the back, and 2 in the front seat. We just payed for 6 seats, and at least Dan got to be somewhat comfortable alone in the front seat. But as we started driving, our driver suggested that we go to the mountains today and Essaouira tomorrow, as the king was supposedly driving through and we could get stopped on the road for around 2 hours. We thought he just wanted our money for two days, and besides, we wanted to see the beach, so we told him we wanted to go anyway. But sure enough, in this tiny Moroccan town, just over an hour from Marrakech, we were stopped and told we couldn't drive further until the king came through. It seemed that everyone in the town had turned out to see the king. They were all lining the street, and Moroccan flags were hung everywhere, along with other decorations. We waited for around two hours, when finally everyone started cheering and clapping, and we suddenly see this big black car, with the one and only KING OF MOROCCO standing up through the sun roof, waving both his hands. See my pictures if you don't believe me. Anyway, after that, we got back in the taxi and drove to Essaouira, where we only had a few hours at this point, but we pretty much decided it was worth it because we did, after all, see the king.
Another bit of an adventure occurred on our very last day in Morocco. We decided to go up to the mountains to do a bit of hiking. Dan decided he wanted a quiet day by himself, and Liza had already left to return to Salamanca, so it was just Kristen, Kyle and me. We took a Grand Taxi again to a town in the mountains called Setti Fatma. It turned out that this day, of course, was the only cloudy and not very warm day we had the entire time we were in Morocco. It even started raining as we drove up the mountains, but had stopped by the time we arrived, and we could only hope it'd stay that way. We decided to get a guide to lead us up the mountain, which it turned out was a very good idea because there were no trail markings, or really no trail at all. In fact, the whole thing turned out to be much more than the fun little hike we were expecting. We realized this after passing by the first waterfall (there were 7 overall) and being forced to literally scale about 10 feet of very, very steep rock. From there to the sixth waterfall wasn't too bad, although definitely more rigorous than we had been expecting. It was the trek from the sixth to the seventh waterfall, however, that really got us. Suddenly we were climbing over rocks, jumping across streams and rivers, and wading through marshy grass. It had begun to rain again at this point as well, which just made it that much more exciting. At the seventh waterfall, we again had to scale about 8 feet of rock, however, this rock was quite wet and slippery and had very little hand or feet holds. After falling up to my knees in the river below, and basically being pulled up by our guide (who was, we later found out, only 16), we made it to the top of the waterfall. Getting back down, however, was just as fun, as Kristen literally slid on her butt down the rock, falling onto her hands and knees in the river below. By this point, we were literally soaking wet and freezing cold, and just as the hail/slush began to fall, we slowly made our way back down the mountain. In the end, it was one of the most insane experiences of my life, but it was totally worth it and, looking back, a lot of fun. Even if that's not quite what I was thinking as it was happening...
From there, Dan went back to Paris, Kyle to Fes, and Kristen and I continued on to Venice. Now, seeing as I have been wanting to go to Italy pretty much since I was 4 years old and dubbed the pasta queen, it had quite the expectations to live up to. And I must say, it didn't do too bad a job. Venice was beautiful. We were only there for one night and not even two days, but we spent most of our time just wandering and getting lost in all the little streets and around the canals. I definitely recommend going up the bell tower in St. Mark's Plaza, as the view was absolutely gorgeous. Venice is an island, in case you weren't aware, because we certainly weren't until we looked at the map that first day. But I really enjoyed having only two choices of transportation - by foot or by boat - and overall was really impressed with the city.
Kristen and I then took a train to Ferrara, where we met up with Adam and Kevin, who are studying there. Ferrara was a very cute little town, and reminded me a bit of Poitiers, although mainly just in size. We did a lot of just hanging out with the boys, and a lot of pizza, pasta and gelato eating of course. From Ferrara, we took a day trip to Florence one day and to Bologna another. Florence was beautiful, but as we were there for really only an afternoon, I'd really like to go back someday. Look at my pictures, though, because we went to this old fort on the edge of the city with the most beautiful view I've maybe ever seen ever. The hills of Tuscany are absolutely worth all the fuss they get. It was gorgeous. Bologna was a nice town, although not too exciting, but definitely home to some of the best gelato ever. We actually spent most of our time there searching for a physics museum that we then found out had been closed for years (yes, I was quite disappointed). I'd have to say, though, that other than the pasta of course, the best part of Italy was just hanging out with Kevin and Adam because it was so good to see them.
I flew back through Marseille, and stopped over in Nice, where the Mediterranean was blue and clear and unbelieveable. The rock beaches, however, were not quite as impressive, and I'm pretty sure I prefer sand. But now I'm back in Poitiers, supposedly studying for exams, and getting ready to go in *gasp* TWO WEEKS! It's kind of hard to believe that it's all almost over already. And not to mention that I'll soon be going back to the states, and staying there for an indefinite amount of time. But that's for another post... this one has gone on long enough. So, in conclusion, Morocco = quite cool, Italy = fabulous pasta, as expected, and Nice = perfectly gorgeous. I'd say it was a successful two weeks.
Family in Paris!
This weekend my family came over and we spent the weekend in Paris. They actually came to Poitiers first, for a night, and I got to show it off in the gorgeous sunshine, and then we all went up to Paris together and spent about four days there. They'd all been there before, but Abbey didn't remember much because she had been so little, so we did a lot of the basic touristy stuff. It was really fun, though, and of course really good to see them. And as I was saying good-bye, it made me realize that I really only have a month left here, and will be seeing them again so very soon!
One of the coolest parts of this weekend, though, was how confident I felt with my French. I'm sure it helped that they didn't speak French at all (well, except Abbey's occasional, and I might add
awesome, elementary French phrase) and I played translator the whole weekend. But it was the first time that I really felt like I had a complete hold on the language. Most of my French interactions here are with my host family or classmates, when they're speaking a million miles a minute and I'm struggling just to keep up. But this weekend, I didn't have to say anything much more complicated than "How do you get to the hotel?" and "She would like a plain plate of pasta" and had no need to keep up with three or more French people talking about God-knows-what. I was completely within my comfort zone when it came to the language, and it really felt wonderful. It made me think that maybe I have actually improved this semester, and maybe my language skills aren't as horrible as I was starting to worry they might be.
Catching up
Ok, I admit, it's been a while. I apologize. I think I'd consider it a good thing, though, because it means I've developed a routine and gotten used to living here, and therefore no longer find daily life exciting enough to describe it on here. But since it's been a while, I think I'm just going to go into list format and talk about everything that has happened since I last posted. Oh, and just because she complained, this post is officially dedicated to the oh-so-lovely Jess Cox. ;)
- Dan Kelley came to visit! We took a tour of the Loire valley and saw lots of pretty castles, including Chenonceau! Now, if you haven't been keeping up with my pictures, go there NOW and look at Chenonceau. Because, basically, it's amazing. I've wanted to go there since about 7th or 8th grade, and it was totally worth the wait. Gah, gorgeous! Anyway, other than that, I just kind of got to show off Poitiers, which was exciting, eventhough there's not a ton to do here. All in all, it was definitely a good visit. :)
- I discovered that the big park in Poitiers is absolutely beautiful. I've tried to go at least four times now, but every time it started to rain right as I stepped out the door. But I finally got there, and it was lovely! There are goats and birds and apparently other animals, which makes it exciting. Half of it is "French" style and half is "English" style. The French part is all really straight paths with trees lined up perfectly along the edges. The English style, however, has more curvy paths with lots of pretty flowers and statues. I'm waiting to go again in the next few weeks, when the trees and flowers should all be blossoming and it should be beautiful!
- Speaking of which, spring has officially arrived! The weather gods decided to scare us at one point and turn it cold again, but not for long. The future looks sunny and warm and lovely.
- Last week the guy working at the take-away pasta place may or may not have rememered my order... Um, so I know I go there a lot, but please, not
that much...
- Sadly, my French friend situation is at a bit of a standstill, and probably won't change much before I leave. Although, "sadly" may be the wrong word, cause I'm not really that bummed about it. I mean, it would have been neat to make some close French friends, but I'm pretty content with the way it all played out. I say hi to people in the hallways; I actually feel like a part of the class and on an equal level with my classmates, and that alone makes it so much better than Russia, that I'm really okay with it. And besides, I've gotten a lot closer to all the American kids, and I like them a whole lot, so I've really got nothing to complain about. ;)
- This past weekend was the Midd invasion of Madrid! Sam, Michael and Michael's friend Melissa all met Dan in Madrid for Midd's spring break, and Amanda, Kevin and I all hopped over for the weekend. Madrid was really pretty, and the weather certainly behaved for us too. And there's nothing like walking up and down the streets of Madrid singing "When I am King" at the top of your lungs. Yes, it was a truly fabulous weekend.
- And now it's the second to last week of classes!! After these two weeks, I have two weeks of break, then finals, and then I'm done! It's kind of hard to believe, and has definitely gone by really quickly. But at the same time, I'm very ready to come home. It's funny - I think that for my whole life, I've expected to come to France, fall in love with it, and decide to move here for the rest of my life. And well, that didn't quite happen. I'm having a really good time, and truly enjoy France, but I'm not in love with it. America is just comfortable. It's home. It's a comfort that comes from growing up in a place, and that place holding your whole life up until this point. It's been quite the year, but knowing that in about a month I get to go home (and in about four months after that, I get to return to Midd and
really go home) is a truly wonderful feeling.
