Greece, day trips, and other fun stuff

Yesterday was a delightful Sunday, spent with my host mom, and one of my last here in France.  I have reached the point where everything is a last this or a last that: my “last day trip”, my “last day at the radio station”, or even my “last baguette” (sad day that will be).  Weird how quickly that snuck up on me, although I guess I always knew it would happen.  Let me back up a little though, and tell about my “last big trip” to Greece…

Katie and I were lucky enough to be able to sneak in a weekend in Paris, before flying out of Paris Orly airport to Athens, thanks to a friend who was generous enough to let us stay with her for a few days.  Our stay was brief but fun-filled nonetheless, and was full of “firsts” for a change. I had my first picnic in front of the Eiffel Tower and walked around neighborhoods in the city I never even knew excited.  It becomes almost like a game everywhere I go—find the places the least tourist-infested, where the locals hang out and I start to get a real sense of where I am.  While I admit it doesn’t get much more touristy than la tour Eiffel, we had a blast riding our bikes from Montrouge to the 7ème arrondissement, our bike baskets filled with baguettes, pastries and champagne.  

En route to the Eiffel Tower!

 After our impromptu “weekend trip before the trip” in Paris, we boarded our 6 AM flight to Athens.  At the risk of sounding cheesy, I have to admit that Greece was everything I hoped it would be and more.  I’ve been wanting to go for quite some time now and this year I finally had my chance.  Determined to have a relaxing and stress-free vacation, I made sure we didn’t waste any time getting to one of the islands (I didn’t care which one), where we would proceed to lay out on the beach for 6 days straight.  I wanted this vacation to be less about running around like a crazy person to every monument, stopping only to pose for a picture in front of each landmark, and more about relaxing and enjoying the simple pleasure of lounging on a beach somewhere.  When I explained all of this to Michèle, she told me it was very “American” of me to go to Greece just to lay on the beach.  I didn’t care though, my mind was made up and this was what I wanted to do!  Of course I knew it would be a crime not to at least stop and see the Acropolis, no matter how quickly we were passing through Athens. So, like good tourists, we made our way up to the famous ruins, backpacks and all, only to find out it was closed.  The one day we had to spend in the capital happened to be Easter Sunday, only the most important holiday for the Greek Orthodox Church.  We were disappointed, but still made the best of the situation by just walking around, exploring the city and eating lots and lots of Greek food!

The next best thing to actually visiting the Acropolis: a picture in front of it!

 After a six-hour ferry ride, we arrived in Santorini around 1 am.  We had our doubts, but Stavros himself (owner of the hostel we had chosen to stay at) was there to pick us up, as promised in an email.  Exhausted, we somehow managed to find this large, Greek man waving his sign, “Stavros Villas”, in the midst of the chaos of the crowd coming off the boat and all the other hotel owners waving their signs.  He greeted all five of us warmly, shaking our hands and cheerfully introducing himself, before he proceeded to usher us over to the hotel mini van.  We arrived at the hostel about a half hour later, after winding our way into the darkness, up the side of the island’s cliffs. 

I will never forget waking up that first morning and stepping outside the door of our “5 person suite”, where we had all collapsed into our beds the night before.  The view was breathtaking.  The white washed buildings against the backdrop of clear blue water that I always saw in pictures were right in front of me!  Each morning we were there, I jumped right out of bed and put my swimsuit on, ready to spend the day at a different beach.  By the end of the trip I had my routine down.  Before anyone else was awake, I would head over to the common room/reception to check my email and Stavros would come over with a big smile and a steaming cup of coffee (I didn’t have the heart to tell him I don’t drink coffee).  Out of all the places I’ve been, Greece has by far the most friendly, and hospitable people I’ve ever met.  After my morning chat with Stavros and a nice cup of coffee to kick off the day, most everyone else would be up and ready to take off in our rental car (courtesy of Tony’s, where Stavros got us a “special price”).  We saw some beautiful beaches, but my favorite was the “Red Beach”, named for the reddish color of the surrounding cliffs.  

Although the photo doesn't do it justice, here's the view outside our window.  I could get used to waking up to this :)

 At night, we would either eat at one of the many small, family-run restaurants near our hostel, or make our own food with what we had bought at the grocery store in town.  There seemed to be one key ingredient in common with all the food we ate: olive oil.  Never in my life have I consumed as much olive oil as I did during that week in Santorini.  We dipped our bread in it, drizzled it on our Greek salads, poured it on just about anything and everything.  If it weren’t for the fact that my luggage consisted of a carry-on backpack, I would have brought home about 80 bottles.  Our restaurant dinners were as much about the experience as they were about the food.  The place we ate at the first night had hands-down the friendliest staff that gave us their undivided attention and free dessert (Greek yogurt and fresh fruit).  The second place was great too: the whole operation was run by a very old Greek man and his wife.  He didn’t speak a word of English, and ignored our orders for the most part.  I pointed to something on the menu and he shook his head and brought me something else; a similar exchange took place for everyone else in our dinner group.  Normally this wouldn’t be considered good service, but we all loved our dishes, even if it wasn’t what we had originally ordered. 

Katie and I at the Red Beach!

After getting back from Greece over a week ago, I’ve been spending my time in Montpellier and enjoying the gorgeous, sunny weather.  As I said before, yesterday I spent the entire day with Michèle in a small village called “L’isle sur la Sorgue.”  We drove for what turned out to be a good hour and a half from Montpellier, but the time went by fast as we chatted about our summer plans.  I often annoy her with my never-ending questions, usually about grammar or different French expressions.  This particular time, I had interrupted her mid-sentence, inquiring about the conjugation of a particular verb she had used, and she brushed off my question, exasperated.  “Je ne sais pas, Stephanie.  Je ne peux pas te l’expliquer.  C’est la grammaire naturelle chez moi.”  I usually just blurt out these questions without thinking, and every time she reminds me that it’s hard for her to explain the rules behind the grammar or the explanation of certain grammatical constructions.  Fair enough.  To be honest, I don’t think I could list the different tenses of the English language or explain why a certain verb is conjugated irregularly.  
 

Arriving at this charming little town, we soon realized finding a place to park would be no easy feat; there were people and cars EVERYWHERE.  Guess a few other people wanted to spend their Sunday strolling through the antique market in the sun too.  After driving around for a while with no luck, Michèle spies a miniscule “spot” in front of a few trash cans.  Yes, her car is small, but I don’t know if this tiny gap in between two cars, half taken up by two large trash bins, could be considered an actual place to park.  She made it happen.  She tapped the car in front of us as she was straightening out, and I had to crawl out the door on her side, but she did manage to wedge her car in the spot, European style.  We were free to go antiquing to our heart’s desire!

Antiques galore!

It was a perfect day of bonding, filled with French conversation.  We walked around together, commenting on how outrageous all the prices were and laughing as we poked fun at each other.  Away from home this year, I spent Mother’s Day with my “host mother”.  How fitting.  Smiling, I told Michèle this only to find out that “Mother’s Day” isn’t actually until the end of May here in France.  Who knew?  

L'Isle sur la Sorgue with Michèle! I look like a giant...

 So here I am with less then two weeks to go, classes to wrap up, and several more “lasts” to experience.  Well not really “last lasts” since I already know I’ll be back...

Springtime in Montpellier

“Ca va se passer vite maintenant, “ is what Michèle has been telling me since the beginning of January, referring to the time that is literally flying by.  She is absolutely right, especially now that the weather is getting warmer.  I figure by the time I have to leave, we’ll be at about mid 80’s and sunny here in Montpellier.  As much as I miss Minnesota, who would want to leave the south of France in May, just as summer is about to start?? I can’t complain too much though, as I’ve already been able to make several trips to the beach, swimsuit and all! 

I’ve started a somewhat weekly tradition of going to the beach on Sundays, buying a French pastry on the way.  Last week was a chocolate éclair (maybe my third one since I’ve been here-pathetic!), this week was a fluffy, buttery “pain au chocolat.”  Mmmm.  I need to indulge a little before I leave all these delicious French delicacies behind, right?  Well, that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.  These Sundays have become the highlight of my week, stretched out on the sand, watching boats sail by on the Mediterranean and inhaling, err I mean eating, my pastry du jour.  Does life get much better?

Un éclair chocolat+la plage=la perfection!

 The lovely spring weather means I’m back to running outside again!  What a treat to take a nice, long run along the river after a winter of running on treadmills.  That being said, I still try and make the most of my outrageously expensive gym membership.  It’ll be weird coming back to the US, walking into a yoga class, and hearing the instructor start speaking…English?  I think I’ll feel that way in a lot of different day-to-day situations and it might even take a while before I no longer feel the urge to say “merci” to the cashier at the grocery store or “pardon” to a person I bump into on the street. 

Truth be told, I’m more nervous about the re-adjustment or “reverse culture shock” than I was about the initial adjustment or culture shock in coming here.  I think the toughest part will be finding that nothing has changed in my absence, while I, myself, have changed.  I’m scared to find that relationships I had before I left will be different or that I’ll miss my life here too much.  It’s weird how once the time you have left in a place becomes apparent, your entire outlook changes.  I’ve always known I would leave toward the end of May, but it was always some distant future date.  Now that “distant, future date” is about a month away.

As my actual departure draws near, I feel like I’m more aware then ever of my surroundings—I notice stuff that I never noticed before.  With new eyes, and an acute awareness of my numbered days, I see a cute little café tucked away on a side street, or a row of gorgeous houses in an upscale neighborhood.  I think to myself, “I have to go there” or “I have to see that” before I leave.  As silly as it sounds, I find myself tempted to start carrying my camera around with me everywhere, snapping pictures of the tram I take to school or Michèle cooking dinner, in attempt to capture everyday life in the same way that scheduled vacations are always meticulously documented.  I’m afraid that if I don’t take more pictures, my memories of everyday life here will fade.  So I don’t care if I get weird looks when I’m out in public taking pictures of the post office or the corner “tabac”; at least I know I’ll be able to see Montpellier as I saw it this past year, always. 

Am I Fluent Yet?

I find myself reflecting on this very question more and more as my time here in France comes to a close.  Now that I have LESS than TWO MONTHS left, I am reminded by others and myself of my main goal in coming here.  I guess I was never sure exactly where my level of French would be by the end of May, after nine months of total immersion or a "year" abroad, but I figured I would definitely be able to achieve some level of fluency.  There are plenty of signs that make me stop and realize just how much progress I've made since the beginning of September, but still I hesitate, when people ask me, to declare myself "fluent" in French.  What does that really even mean? Does it mean I have a basic level of understanding and can get by in everyday situations? Or does it refer to a higher level of achievement, a label reserved for those who speak the language almost as fluently as if it were their own? The more vocabulary I acquire, and the more expressions I learn, the more I seem to stumble across aspects of the language that are out of my reach, like knowing the gender of every single noun.  This particular area of the language never ceases to frustrate me.  No matter how well I master the language, there will always be new words that will give me away as a non-native speaker because I didn't grow up learning what is "masculine" and what is "feminine."  There is absolutely no rhyme or reason to this concept that is nonexistent in English.  Anglophones avoid the whole hassle of worrying about whether "train" is masculine or if "toilet" is only referred to in a plural sense, and just refer to everything as "it"!  Alain told me about his English friend who has lived in France for 20 years--20 years!--and still incorrectly conjugates a verb or assigns the wrong article to an object.  This knowledge is a little disheartening, but at the same time I realize that it would be unrealistic to expect to master the language just as well as I speak my native English--I can get close, but there will always be an obscure word or phrase that I just don't know.

On a more positive note, what exactly are these "signs" that tell me I'm getting closer and closer to being bilingual?  For one thing, I notice more and more that I'm thinking in French.  There will be entire days that go by where I don't speak English at all, and I get into this "French mode."  I'll just be going about my day, and in those moments I have to myself, between classes, or taking the tram somewhere, where I will be thinking about something I have to do or what happened yesterday, and these thoughts will be in FRENCH.  While this makes perfect sense, given that my day-to-day life is about 99% in French (except when I watch American TV shows online and talk to people at home), it's still startling to realize that I'm not longer thinking (or dreaming) in English!


Another weird but interesting observation I've had is that, in learning a second language, I'm starting to lose my first one!  More and more, I find myself struggling to come up with a word in English to properly express what I want to convey.  I will be able to think of the exact word to express something in French, but suddenly won't have the slightest recollection of its equivalent in English.  It's embarrassing.  Instead of knowing two languages, I feel like I don't fully know either one anymore!  Words I'm almost positive I used to know how to spell are starting to stump me and I find myself writing the French spelling without even realizing it.  I'm sure mixing up the two languages is perfectly normal, but the other day I referred to "France" as "the France"!  Mon dieu...

Seeing these changes, and even mixing up English and French, is definitely both exciting and encouraging because it means I'm getting there, but I still don't know if I would consider myself "fluent," whatever that might mean.  Time isn't up yet though!

"Tu as refait une bronchite"

Spring is officially in the air here in Montpellier!  However, despite the mild temps, I somehow managed to get sick AGAIN for the second time in about a month.  I guess between sleeping in hostels and just not sleeping at all in Italy, I was exposed to one too many germs?  In any case, less than a week after my return to France, I found myself with a fever of 102°F (39°C for the curious) and a cough so severe, it brought tears to my eyes.  Minus the fever, I recognized the symptoms from about a month earlier, when I finally gave into Michèle’s constant insistence that I go see the doctor…  Reluctantly, I had dialed the first number listed in my little program handbook under “Generalistes.”  To my surprise, the doctor himself answered, because apparently the number is his actual cellphone.  I made an appointment for that same day, and later went to his “office”, which seemed to be in an ordinary apartment building in a residential area.  There was nothing to indicate that this was a doctor’s office, and not just some random, nondescript door in the back of a building somewhere.  My experience the second time around was much the same as the first, and as it turns out, the diagnosis was the same too.  I couldn’t help but smile when the doctor announced I had bronchitis for the second time around, not because I was happy about having bronchitis, but because of the way he said it.  His announcement, “Tu as refait une bronchite”, is funny because it doesn’t really make sense directly translated into English—“You remade a bronchitis.”  What he meant of course was that I had somehow managed to develop another case of bronchitis in the span of about a month—now that takes talent!  So he rewrote me a prescription for some cough syrup that would help me to actually sleep through the night, and I was on my way. 

What I found interesting about this whole experience, aside from the doctor’s visit itself, is how easily people go to the doctor in France.  I was raised with the understanding that you only go to the doctor if you’re practically on your death bed, but here the exact opposite is true…The way the French health system works is obviously completely different than in the U.S., and because of that so is the attitude people have toward their health.  Without getting into the minute details of each country’s heathcare systems, it suffices to say that the average French person is somewhat of a hypochondriac, running off to the doctor at least once a week for a new prescription for this or that.  Medical expenses are essentially reimbursed by the government, and the French definitely don’t hesitate to take advantage of this fact of life here. 

Health issues aside, I am enjoying a little downtime in Montpellier between spring breaks (yes, I have two).  While I realize plenty of people would be happy traveling every spare second abroad, I am content to just be here, at home in my French host family, going to school, living every day life.  My host mom actually puts me to shame with how many activities she stays busy with! In addition to her day job, she also does tai-chi, goes swimming at the local pool, and most recently has taken up beekeeping!!!

Just another night at the Combes residence...Michèle showing
off her new bee-keeping suit (child-sized, I might add)!

 

Bella Italia, or 10 days of eating nothing but pizza and gelato

Where do I even begin?? This last vacation to Italy was certainly a memorable one, as Katie and I found ourselves in some of the strangest situations, met some of the most interesting people, and ate some of the best food I've ever tasted.  

We arrived in Rome as planned on that first Thursday.  What we didn’t plan so well was how exactly to get from the airport we flew into, located quite far outside of Rome, to our hostel.  We knew the approximate location of the hostel, so we figured we’d be fine.  After all, what more could you need besides the name of the general area and the street name?? We quickly realized a little map questing beforehand would have saved us the trouble of getting lost on the metro and having to ask at least 10 different people for help.  When we eventually made it there around 8 pm, we were exhausted and starving.  We dropped off our bags and headed straight to dinner.  I couldn’t resist ordering a pizza for my first meal in Italy, and Katie got gnocchi.  While it might seem like a lame way to spend our first night in Rome, we headed straight to bed after dinner—we even skipped gelato because it was so cold! Not to worry though, we got our gelato (and pizza) fill over the course of the trip.  In fact, I think those two foods alone comprised the bulk of my diet for those 10 days, with the occasional piece of fruit or pasta dish thrown in to the mix. 

The following three days spent in Rome are a blur of running around from one monument/museum/fountain to the next, snapping as many photos as we possibly could along the way.  If I were to do the trip over again, I definitely would have spent more time in this city.  Everyone kept telling me how amazing it is—among the most impressive capitals in Europe, if not the most impressive.  I’ll always have a soft spot for Paris, of course, but Rome was really something else, with its overwhelming sense of history.  Like my host mom said before I left, when you walk around Rome, it’s as if you are walking through a gigantic museum.  I’m a big fan of Italian architecture in general, with all the warm colors and attention to detail.  

Katie and I, overlooking the Spanish Steps and the city!

 As predicted, not every aspect of our trip went according to plan.  We figured there wouldn’t be too many language barriers; we were bond to get along just fine with English AND French, right?? WRONG.  What we discovered was that after Italian, the next best language to know in Italy is Spanish, given the similarities between the two languages and the fact that many more Italians can speak or understand Spanish before English or French.  In any case, every time we found ourselves asking some Italian for directions or some other question, which was often by the way, we couldn’t seem to get the point across that we don’t speak Italian.  Even after apologizing and making it clear that we only spoke English (French wasn’t even in the running), the Italian in question would continue to try and MAKE us understand by either talking louder and more animatedly in addition to even more emphatic hand gestures.  Sometimes we understood, but most of the time we just had to smile and nod, after which we would admit to each other that we had no idea what was just said to us.  Luckily, most Italians are extremely friendly and helpful people, so we were able to get by for the most part, with a few minor “road bumps” (most of which were related, ironically, to transportation issues).  

 Amazing ancient ruins in Rome aside, the food we ate there was nothing compared to the DELICIOUS pizza and gelato we found on our next stop—Naples!  Based on what we had heard before hand, we prepared ourselves for the worst.  We were pleasantly surprised when we arrived at our hostel, which turned out to be the personal home of a small, balding Italian man named Giovanni.  We arrived, breathless after lugging our suitcases up several flights of stairs and also a little on edge from our walk through the town from the train station.  Our host proceeded to sit us down and tell us what we should do/see/eat in Naples, complete with a hand drawn map and a fiercely proud description of the “capital of Italy before Rome.”  He said he knew most people just pass through Naples, seeing it as simply a place to stay in order to see the city of Pompeii (Katie and I exchanged guilty glances, as this was exactly our plan).  As we sat their hearing this proud, old Italian sing the praises of “Napoli”, we couldn’t help but question his claims that Naples really wasn’t as unsafe as its bad rep would lead one to believe.  “Before Naples, you have Barcelona, Rome and even Paris with the pickpocketing!” After finding out that some kids in our hostel had been mugged the night before our arrival, we weren’t quite convinced.  However, we survived Naples with all of our belongings intact and enjoyed the best pizza and gelato either of us has ever tasted in that town.  Giovanni cooked us pasta two different nights—a penne with red sauce and a spaghetti carbonara (with no cream!!).  Another aspect of Naples that was both frustrating and delightful was the fact that literally nobody spoke a word of English.  This town was the most authentic, with almost no tourists in site (exact opposite of Rome and Florence).  We didn’t do much communicating with the locals, aside from ordering food (we knew how to say cannoli, gelato, and pizza).  Pompeii was incredible to see, but the people (okay, and food) in Naples were my favorite part.  From now on when I think of Naples, I just laugh, thinking of Giovanni yelling at me, “Stefania! What are you doing?!” 

Me, Giovanni, and Katie

I don’t have much to say about Florence, since it was my least favorite part of the trip.  For being a fairly small city in Tuscany, there were an INSANE number of tourists, at least while we were there.  I can’t deny how beautiful the city itself is, but my impression coming away from somewhere has more to do with the people, food, and general atmosphere of a place.  I hate to say it, but even the weather plays a fairly big role in how I feel about a place, too.  I was absolutely freezing the entire time in Florence, so that definitely didn’t help how I felt about our time there.  No matter how cool a city is, if it’s rainy and cold, it just isn’t going to be my favorite. 

By the time we got to Venice at, ahem, 5:30 on a Sunday morning, I might add, we were absolutely exhausted and a little slap happy from lack of sleep (we had shared a twin bed on that Friday night due to an overbooking at our hostel, and literally didn’t sleep anywhere that Saturday night before we caught our train out of Florence at 1:30 am).  Despite the circumstances, I still couldn’t believe my eyes or my luck, at being able to see the sun rise over the Grand Canal in Venice.  We explored all of the little winding streets, with the city practically to ourselves, due to the ridiculously early hour that it was.  The few hours we spent there was all I needed to know that I want to go back someday, when I have more money and can afford to actually stay a night! 

Magical Venice

Countdown to Italy!

It feels as if classes have just started up again and, already, our first break is days away! When it comes to their vacation time, the French don't mess around.  Now that one of my best friends is also studying abroad in nearby Aix-en-Provence, I finally have a travel companion to take some trips with that have been a long time coming.  For this break, we decided to go to Italy and what a trip it will be...

We are planning on flying out of Marseille (where there are lots of lowcost airlines) into Rome.  After trying to cram in all that ancient history and art into three days, we are (hopefully) going to take the train to Naples.  I say hopefully because neither of us speak a word of Italian, and the trains are apparently less reliable than in other parts of Europe...fingers crossed.  Anyway, we'll be staying three nights in Naples so that we can fit in a day trip to Pompeii.  The more people I tell this to, the more I am starting to worry, because apparently there are some safety concerns in that particular area of Italy??  Hopefully we won't have too many run-ins with the Italian mafia, but you never know I guess.  From Naples, we are going to head all the way up to Florence for a couple days before finishing our whirlwind tour in Venice.  We originally wanted to spend two nights in Venice, but once we realized just how expensive even the most modest hostels are there, we changed our plan to just one night.  We then found out that due to the Venice Carnival, prices to stay even just one night in the city were out of our budget.  Our tentative plan is currently to take an overnight(ish) train from Florence that would arrive in Venice at around 5:30 am on the day we will be flying out of Italy...at least there won't be many people walking around?? Scratch that, there will probably be a significant number of people on their way home from the previous night.  So that is the plan, but it is by no means set in stone, so it will be interesting to see what happens...

Preparing for this trip has been exciting, frustrating, and amusing.  Exciting, because it will be my first time seeing some historic cities in Italy that I didn't have the chance to see the last time I was there with my family in Florence (6 years ago, I might add).  Frustrating, because, well, planning trips always is, when you factor in all the little problems you come across (finding a reasonably priced place to stay in Venice during the Carnival, for example).  Most of all though, I had so much fun just talking to different people here, hearing their opinions on what to do, where to go, etc.  I had mentioned my vacation plans in passing to some people I work with at the radio station, and this morning was presented with a handful of maps and guidebooks as well as an in-depth, two hour explanation by an Italian native of what I should be sure to see in Rome alone.  Later today at home, Michèle shared her advice with me over her lunch break.  In giving her opinion on something, which I can be sure she will do, she does not hesitate to tell me how she really feels, good or bad.  I've grown accustomed to it now, but this blunt, straightforward approach really did catch me and my Midwestern upbringing off guard at first! So I sat there nodding as Michèle proceeded to tell me what I should absolutely see and what I could skip, based on a pretty thorough, 15 day trip she took to Rome last year.  As is the case with almost anything I need, she generously offered to lend me her guidebook of the city.  I told her I picked up a few from the program office but when I showed him to her, she dismissed them with a wave of her hand.  There are times when I miss a little "Minnesota nice," but for the most part I appreciate the honesty, because it's helpful. 

This trip to Italy will be the first one out of the country (besides my trip to Barcelona where I stayed with friends of the family) with absolutely zero knowledge of the language.  There are times, even here, where figuring out stuff can be next to impossible...should be interesting in Italian! 

I better run but I promise to post more after the trip! Ciao!

New Year, New Experiences

Two weeks into the semester and I already notice a huge difference compared to the last time around.  Whereas last September, I stumbled around blindly, barely able to find my classes, let alone what the professor in my lit class was saying half the time, this time I found my classes with ease and was pleasantly surprised to realize I was able to follow most of the lectures I sat in on.  Last semester, I felt like a freshman or a transfer student who had yet to learn the ropes.  What a difference a few months can make!  While I don’t know if it is ever possible to truly master all of the ins and outs of the French educational system, I have definitely made some strides.  I look forward to the challenges my new class schedule will surely bring, as I went from one to three integrated classes.  For those of you that don’t know, “integrated classes” are ones that are not organized especially for Americans or foreign students studying French.  Signing up for an “integrated class” is basically agreeing to be thrown in with the natives, in courses like 16^th century French literature or even an intro level sociology class, and held to the exact same academic standards.  Intimidating, to say the least.  We’ll see how this goes…

As I was planning out the trips I will be taking this semester, it suddenly hit me that I have less than four months left here in France.  Talk about time flying.  Less than four months to see everything I have yet to see, to check everything off my list??  Already this year I have…skied in the southern alps with a great group of new French friends, started teaching English lessons in an effort to earn a little extra cash, learned all about wine in Bordeaux with my best friend, hiked with my host family in the mountains, and planned trips to Italy and Greece.  Whew! Wonder what I’ll be able to add to that list by the end of May?! 

Christine and Alain exploring...

Michèle and I halfway through our "easy" hike :)

Alain demonstrates hiking à la française...when we stopped for lunch, he proceeded to pull out a bottle of red wine, two glasses, and a loaf of bread from his tiny backpack.  And a little table cloth.  I almost died laughing--the French need their wine and bread, even while hiking apparently!

 Between my homestay, my classes, my internship at a local radio station, and hanging out with friends, I think it’s safe to say I’ve achieved my goal of becoming totally immersed in the language and culture.  I just hope it pays off and I am able to reach a certain level of fluency by the end of my stay.  Recently, I’ve noticed I’m starting to think and dream in French, so I’m hoping that’s a good sign…