Typical Weekend

This past weekend consisted of a day trip to Carcassonne and flea market shopping on Sunday with my host family.  In other words, it was just another average weekend in France, yet when I compare it to what I would be doing on any given weekend if I were back home, I am filled with a renewed sense of appreciation for my time spent here. 

Saturday, we went on our second (free) group outing, this time to the medieval walled city of Carcassonne.  Despite having to get up when it was still dark out in order to catch the bus for the nearly two hour ride there, the day trip was a Saturday well spent.  I will admit that between Aigues-Mortes (another city we visited the first weekend here) and Carcassonne, I've had my fill of medieval walled cities...for now at least.  That being said, I did enjoy touring the city and learning a little about its history in the process.

Right outside the largest entrance to the city

In taking the usual guided tour of the city, we learned that it is one of the most well-preserved walled cities from the Middle Ages.  According to our guide, the place now gets more than three MILLION visitors a year.  I wonder if the recent Harry Potter craze has any influence on this number? In describing the trip, our program director told us it was the "closest we would ever get to Hogwarts."

Exploring our Harry Potter-esque surroundings...

Although cathedrals in Europe are about as numerous as fast food joints in the U.S., visiting these churches and marveling at the unique architecture and stain glass windows that date back to the 12th century never gets old.  These pictures don't do justice to 'la basilique Saint-Nazaire' situated in the city, but here are a few I snapped:

To finish off our visit, we toured the "Museum of Torture", a museum dedicated to all the methods of torture used at the time of the Inquisition.  After we finished learning about all the rather disturbing torture practices, we had time to take one last look around before saying goodbye to Carcassonne.

Sunday, I woke up to find my host family on their way out the door.  I asked Michèle where they were going and she replied, "marché aux puces." It took a second for this to register; understanding French fully awake is already difficult, let alone trying to comprehend the language first thing in the morning.  Never one to miss a chance to shop, I sprang into action, racing back to my room to get ready as I announced that I wanted to come too.  While I didn't end up buying anything, I had the unique opportunity to tag along with a French family as they practiced the fine art of Sunday flea marketing.  The action started even before we arrived at the flea market.  Once we drove to the area where the flea market is held each Sunday (a "difficult" neighborhood in the north part of Montpellier, according to Michèle), there was the issue of finding a place to park.  The following 20 minutes consisted of three stressed out French people shouting and arguing over where we could find a place to park, while I sat in silence, not wanting to add to the drama.  Although I have heard Italians are worse, French drivers have little to no regard for traffic laws (they serve as mere 'suggestions' rather than 'rules to be obeyed'), driving wherever they please.  On the road here, much the same as with pedestrian traffic, it's every man for himself and the rules are there are no rules.  In the end, we did find a tiny spot to park our tiny car, though whether it actually was a legitimate place to park is debatable.  Once we finally made it to the market in one piece, we started out on our mission to find whatever treasures we could for the lowest price possible.  Watching the French haggle over a one or two euro difference in the price of a given item was almost as entertaining as the parking debacle.  In the end, we walked away with a bread basket, a set of dishes, a giant poster, and a set of Chinese lanterns.  I walked away empty handed, but with an experience I am sure I will never forget.  I know that it's weekends like these, as ordinary as they seem to me now, that are going to be the times I will miss once I'm back home.

Boot Fiasco

There is something about being somewhere new that makes me want to shop (even more than usual).  I'm not sure if it's the thrill of buying clothes that I know I can't get at home (same styles, different brands) or if the money that I worked so hard to earn and save up last summer is just burning a hole in my pocket.  Either way, I have done my fair share of shopping here, but not without consequences...

I recently went on a specific shopping mission to find a great pair of leather boots (a birthday gift to myself).  It seems as though EVERY woman here wears boots (heels, flats, tall boots, short boots, etc.), even when it's 75 degrees and sunny. I decided I would treat myself to a gorgeous pair of leather riding boots, so off I went on my boot hunting mission.  It didn't take me long to find a great pair of black "cavaliers," or riding boots at a shop called "Heyraud."  For those that aren't familiar with shopping in Europe, it is an entirely different experience than shopping in the States.  From what I've noticed, the sales people hover even more than even the pushiest American salesclerk, especially in shoe stores.  I am someone that takes forever to make even the smallest decisions, so when the salesperson hangs around watching me try a pair of boots on, asking me if I like them, etc., etc. it makes me feel incredibly pressured and nervous.  This is exactly what happened at Heyraud.  I tried on a black pair and the woman helping me planted herself by my side, commenting on how great the boots were, how good they looked on me, blah, blah, blah.  I tried to ignore her and focus on the fit and look of the boots by pacing around the store and scrutinizing myself from every angle in the mirror.  Then I noticed that the particular pair I was trying on also came in a brown color.  I asked the saleslady if I could try that color as well.  She of course obliged happily, as most people here wouldn't dare try on an article of clothing unless there was a good chance they intended to buy it (or at least that is the vibe I get from my personal experiences).  With one brown boot on one foot and one black on the other, I stood there for what seemed like a good 20 minutes, debating which color I should get, as the saleslady looked on, interjecting her own commentary.  I finally decided on the black (they would go with everything!) and informed the woman helping me.  It was at this point that I made a critical mistake-I didn't ask about the store's return policy.  While I have lived in and traveled rather extensively throughout Europe, where the shopping policies are much the same, I've grown so accustomed to the American way of shopping and consumerism that inquiring about the return policy at this particular store was the furthest thing from my mind as I swiped my Visa at the counter.  Besides, why would I ever want to return such a fabulous pair of boots?!

Turns out I would, in fact, want to.  Staying true to my American shopping habits, I still hadn't worn the boots a week later.  Why? At home, I had grown so accustomed to buying all kinds of stuff, with the comforting knowledge that I could always take it back at a later time if I changed my mind.  Because I know I might want to return something after I buy it, I typically wait a few days before wearing said article, unless I am absolutely positive I love it.  While it would probably make more sense to make sure I like something BEFORE buying it, I continue to take full advantage of the generous return policies so many American stores offer their customers.  So getting back to my story... I decided that I wanted to try and find a different pair of boots.  I was having second thoughts about the ones I bought, and I had seen something on my receipt about returning an item within 30 days.  Thinking I was in the clear, I happily set off in search of a different pair of boots, with the intention of returning the original pair later on.  It wasn't long before I stumbled across a gorgeous pair of tall, brown leather riding boots at a different store called "Andre."  In spite of a similar, pressure-filled experience with the saleslady there, I decided to buy them.   I strolled out into the sunshine, shopping bag in hand, feeling great! All I had to do now was go back to Heyraud and do a quick return! Or not.

After carefully placing my unworn Heyraud boots back in their box and making sure I had my receipt ready, I was on my way, blissfully unaware of the horrible experience that awaited me.  When I got to the store, I quickly found a salesgirl that had been there the day I bought my boots.  Although she wasn't the one who had helped me, I was sure she recognized me, and figured this would help.  Smiling, I proceeded to explain my predicament as best I could with my limited vocabulary.  I made sure to show her my receipt and stress that I hadn't worn the boots.  At first she asked me if I wanted to do an exchange.  I politely declined and specified: "je voudrais être remboursé," which directly translated means "I would like to be reimbursed/refunded."  At the utterance of these words, her expression instantly darkened and she became very short with me.  Her response was something along the lines of "absolutely not" and "that is never done here."  To say she was unpleasant would be putting it very lightly.  After she finished yelling "jamais!" (never) repeatedly to me, I nodded and stumbled out of the store.  I barely made it back to my apartment before bursting into tears.  Maybe I was overreacting, but think the woman at the store could have kindly explained the store policy without being so nasty to someone who is clearly a foreigner with no idea how the system works here.  To be fair, I should have read my receipt more carefully before trying to return the boots.  The "30 days" I had seen on the bottom of the receipt was in reference to the time limit allowed to exchange NOT return an unused item.

After recovering from the initial shock of having spent a small fortune on two pairs of leather boots (both of which I had to keep), I started to calm down and see the beauty of the situation...I now have two pairs of leather boots!  Since the incident with the shop lady, I have retold the story several times, to each person in my extended host family.  Each time I tell the story, or try to tell it with the limited French that I have, they chuckle and shake their heads.  What a silly American, thinking she can return a pair of boots and get her money back!  The concept is absolutely unheard of here, and after learning my lesson the hard (and expensive) way, I now know that I better be 110% sure about buying something...or at least read the fine print. 

Black "Heyraud" boot

Brown "Andre" boot

Turning the Big 2-1 in France

Telling people you are about to turn 21 here definitely doesn't carry the same weight as it does in the US.  For people here, 18 is the big birthday and 21 is just another year older.  I was determined to not let this fact get in the way of celebrating my big day.  I ended up having one of the most memorable birthdays ever, even if it was a far cry from the way most 21st birthdays are celebrated back at home.

Blowing out the candles!

I was so excited and impatient for Wednesday to come, mostly because Michèle had promised she would bake a big chocolate cake for me!  Although I was ecstatic to have a "dessert" that wasn't fruit or cheese, I remained slightly skeptical because there is rarely a speck of chocolate to be found in the house.  Very few processed foods make their way into the kitchen, which is good and bad at the same time.  Good because it forces me to eat healthy, and bad because it's kind of like quitting cold turkey, for someone who is used to eating ice cream or chocolate at least once a day.  Anyway, I was promised a chocolate cake AND steak for dinner!  Red meat is another rare occurrence here, but Alain's son, who is a butcher, and his girlfriend were coming to join us, bringing steak and chicken for Michèle.  After a great day at the radio station (with a little birthday shout out that was aired on the French radio I might add) and my phonetics class in the afternoon with a professor I absolutely adore, it was finally time for my big birthday dinner with my host family and company!  True to her word, Michèle had baked a beautiful chocolate cake, complete with 21 birthday candles.  Awww.  In addition to the cake, Alain's girlfriend Christine, baker extraordinaire, had made a crumble.  I wouldn't have minded skipping the meal, and just eating dessert!  Eat the meal we did, though, and what a meal it was!  We started eating around 8:30 pm and didn't finish until about 10:30...I've never been so full in my life.  Pacing yourself is important for any French dinner, and especially special events like birthdays, as the courses seem to just keep coming.  In honor of my 21st, we had red and rosé wine that we sipped along with the meal.  The day couldn't have been more perfect, celebrated in true French fashion.

Later in the week, on Friday, I went out to an Italian restaurant with some friends.  The food was AMAZING and definitely took care of my recent craving for some pizza.  After dinner we danced the night away!  I will never forget my 21st birthday that I spent in Montpellier, France with my amazing host family and friends.

Maria and Justine at our restaurant!

Girls Night Out :)

YUMM