Day 2-3: Nice and Monaco

The past two days I have woken up in paradise--literally because my hotel is called the Hotel Paradis--but also because my door is 100 yards form the beach.  The sun is warm, there is a slight breeze, a mountainous coastline and shops and cafes galore.


John met me as I stepped off the train and we then walked to meet the others at the hotel.  We had a celebratory glass of champagne to begin our spring break and then went in search of a deluxe Nice meal.  We settled on a beautiful seafood restaurant with an outdoor terrace (we were enticed when the hostess offered us free champagne) and  quickly ordered an array of appetizers (oysters, red peppers, and scallops) and seafood dishes (bouillabase, pasta with callimari, and grouper).  The meal was delicious and it was so nice to have a beautiful meal with laughter and great people.  We concluded with tiramisu, apple tartes, profiteroles, and of course, coffee.  We then meandered towards a local bar, Wayne's, where we had heard talk of a live band.  It was one of the most fun places we have had the pleasure of visiting.  The band played everything from Oasis to Kings of Leon to U2 to Coldplay.  Other than great music, we also met people from all over the world--from New York to Australia. 

The next morning we got up and went to search for a Palm Sunday Mass...but this is France so we didn't have to walk very far before finding a church.  As always, we were the only ones under 60 (this is not an exaggeration).  The mass was long because of the French translation of the gospel, but the homily was really well done and I really appreciated the mass.  Palm Sunday is one of my favorite liturgical celebrations so I was happy to be able to go to mass.

After a quick stop at the bakery, we headed to the beach to catch some sun.  And catch some sun we did--we are all slightly toasted now but we had a lovely day relaxing and picnicing on the beach.  Later on, we went for dinner at a small diner that served Nice specialties.  We samples socca, zucchini and eggplant beignets, pasta, mussels, pizza, and sausage.  Sadly after our meal John had to return to his home across the pond.  We, on the other hand, found an Irish pub where we could watch Spanish soccer, sing karaoke, and play games.  There, we met a group of American soldiers stationed in Milan (bummer for them....).  It was so nice to speak to people in English and it reaffirmed our belief that we can make friends anywhere.

Early this morning we awoke to discover we still didn't have hot water, but nothing could damper my mood because we were going to MONACO!!  After a quick 2euro train ride, we landed in the world of the rich and famous.  Monaco is all it is cracked up to be: Prada, Gucci, and Hermes shops line the main roads while Aston Martins, Rolls Royces, and Ferraris zoom up and down the streets (we stumbled upon a car photoshoot--look for me in your favorite luxury car magazine).  We had set goals for the day, so after 239087523587 photos in front of the Casino Montecarlo, we set off to:
Tara: try a cigar
Stephanie: get a picture of a man in a suit
Nora: win $$ at a casino
Kirsten: drink a mimosa.
Success on the first two (...okay Stephanie smoked most of my cigar).  Nora lost money, but I won some.  And Kirsten did not drink a mimosa...failure.  But we did have a great morning there and after lunch with a friendly Roman man, we headed back to Nice to catch the last rays of sun.  And here I sit, taking in the glorious sunset while inscribing blissful memories into my journal.

Tomorrow, I leave France, the country that has gradually become home, and move onto a new chapter in Italy.  Coming soon: Tara takes over Florence/gains 150 lbs from eating pasta.  Get excited everyone.  Bises.

Day 1: Train to Nice

I am beginning my spring break adventure where all adventures begin--aboard an SNCF train.  I was hoping to sleep for the first portion of my 8 hour journey, but am instead sitting here pondering "who is louder, the toddler yelling in front of me or the African (legit African--like spoke to me in some strange tongue) women chattering behind me?  Oh the difficult questions that plague my life these days!


We're speeding through the beautiful French countryside speckled with yellow fields of flowers, small farms, grassy pastures, vineyards, petit towns that seem to have been plopped down in the middle of paradise, and of course, breathtaking coastlines.  I have never seen anything as beautiful as the scenery outside my window.  France is my paradise.  I feel myself falling more and more in love with the country, culture, and language everyday.  So if anyone is looking for a roommate in France--I'm your girl.

I'm headed to Nice, located along the ritzy Cote d'Azur.  I've never been quite that far south and am looking forward to the rocky beaches, dazzling night life, and bourgeois attitude.

And so will begin my 15 day adventure through Europe.  Now that my backpack is packed (weighin precisely 20 lbs) and my passport is in my pocket, much of the stress has dissipated and I am ready and excited to begin this journey.

I'm so lucky to have this opportunity and being here still feels like a fairytale, even three months in.  So to everyone who helped me get here: my parents and family for their undying love, support and advice (and financially support once my debit card hits Italy--thanks in advance!), my siblings for being continuously amazed by my stories and for adding normalcy and inspiration to my life, my roommates at ND for allowing French literature to be strewn about our room and for listening to me practice French irregular verbs, my friends for your jokes (yes...I know you hate France), emails, skype sessions, gchats, and for keeping me involved in your lives even from so far away, and for everyone who has helped me learn French over the past few years--this trip may have been impossible otherwise (no Chris, you do not count...your French is rusty).  I can't thank you all enough for helping me get here and I'm so excited to share more stories/photos with you when I return.

Until next time, a bientot!!

Seeking Notre Dame: My trip to Lourdes

 B
onsoir mes chers amis.  I apologize for the delay, but it has been a crazy week trying to get everything prepared for my 16 day European adventure!  A preview for anyone who is interested: a few days on the beach in Nice, a day trip to Monaco, exploring Florence complete with a 8 hour bike trip/wine tasting/oil tasting, Easter in Rome, laying on a beach/snorkeling in Malta, and finishing off break with some wonderful ND kids in London!  I cannot describe how excited I am, but I first must pack and print 28353 boarding passes. Lovely.

But this weekend was not too shabby either as I fulfilled my ND dream of seeing the real Grotto in Lourdes.  Before I get too deep into my emotional and spiritual quest, the trip there is worth describing. [Side note: this post is going to be a doozy—really long so prepare yourself].  Kaitlin and I boarded our first train with our baguette and yogurt in hand, ready for a 6.5 hour trek to Lourdes.  Train one went splendidly and we got off in St. Pierre feeling confident about the rest of our adventure.  We noticed the second train was running five minutes late but it seemed to come quickly enough.  An hour into our trip they made an announcement that we had somehow gone from being five minutes late to 20+ minutes late, posing a huge problem since we would be cutting it very close to our connecting train to Lourdes.  As the train pulled into the next station, we sent a few prayers up to God, Mary, Bernadette, whoever would help us get to Lourdes, but to no avail.  Standing on the platform in Angouleme (..yeah I’ve never heard of it either), we didn’t really know what the best option was.  I asked a small, old conductor (because those are the least creepy) when the next train to Lourdes was, to which he yelled “GET ON THIS TRAIN NOW!” and pointed to a new train.  As I sputtered, “But I don’t have tickets! Where is this going?  This doesn’t go to Lourdes,” he pushed me onto the train and kept repeating “you need to get on this now.”  He must have seen my indecisiveness and concern, and instead interpreted it as me not understanding French well enough.  Wrong.  Anyway, we then proceeded to have a 40 second conversation in a mix of French and English about how I could take this train to Bordeaux and then possibly catch the original.  With no other real ideas and with the prospect of brooding over a good bottle of wine, Kaitlin and I sat down on a random train, in the middle of France, with no tickets. 

Once in Bordeaux, we asked yet another SNCF employee how to get to Lourdes.  We soon found out we could not, in fact, get to Lourdes from Bordeaux.  We needed to go another stop to Dax (I really wished I had taken French geography at this point).  We somehow ended up in first class and rode merrily along to Dax while the conductor made announcements to “the passengers trying to get to Lourdes” telling us our train was waiting for us—VIP treatment I know.  Alas, our prayers were answered in this little town in the Pays Basque and we boarded our original train to Lourdes!  What an adventure. 

The next morning we woke up and opened our shutters (I love shutters) to discover that our patio looked out over the Pyrennes—something we had clearly missed in our late shuffle in the night before.  We headed towards centre-ville and grabbed a cup of coffee—a FULL cup of coffee in a LARGE cup!  Imagine my joy as I sipped from this giant cup on a terrace overlooking the Pyrennes in 70 degree weather.  Utter bliss.

But alas, we had things to do!  We stopped at a small religious shop for empty bottles to collect holy water and a long lecture on Catholicism and psychology from a small, crazy French woman, and then headed towards the grounds of the Grotto.

This is where I need to interject and tell you the story of Lourdes.  In 1858, 14 year old Bernadette Soubirous was collecting firewood in the forest when a beautiful woman dressed in white robes with a blue rope appeared to her.  This woman later revealed herself as the “Immaculate Conception.”  Though authorities prohibited Bernadette from returning to the scene, she did, and was told by the apparition to dig a hole in the ground, in which she found a spring.  This spring is now known for its healing powers and is said to create miraculous cures (our director in Angers insists that he was cured from brain cancer only after bathing in the holy water at Lourdes).  Today, thousands of people traverse the world in search of this water and the holy powers of this spiritual place.  And thus, I arrived, plastic bottles in hand, not searching for a miracle per se, but hoping to find a community and faith at work.  Ask and you shall receive, I suppose.

When you enter the grounds of the Grotto, you come upon a giant building slightly resembling the Disney World castle, only to discover it is in fact three churches stacked upon each other.  The bottom is a beautiful and cheerful church decorated with massive, shimmering mosaics depicting the mysteries of the rosary.  The second floor is a completely different atmosphere.  You enter through a small, dark passage, and stumble upon a small shrine for St. Bernadette, complete with relics from her body.  There, I discovered a beautiful prayer to Bernadette, asking for the generosity, confidence, and patience she possessed to surrender herself to God.  The quest for complete surrender and God’s call became the main things I meditated upon for the rest of the day along with the question, how do we quiet our hearts and prepare them for God’s mission in our everyday chaos?  I can’t say I have an answer, but it is certainly something I am searching for and something that I believe some spirit tried to guide me towards that day.  As I sat in the dark chapel, goosebumps covered my arms and my heart was beating as fast as if I had just run several miles.  I believe some spirit was running through my body, trying to push me in the right direct.  Why these precious moments occurred in the most modest location in this town, I do not know.  Drying our eyes, Kaitlin and I stumbled back into daylight and then quickly ascended to the third cathedral.  After a few minutes, we left and found a café with a terrace where we could eat lunch.  We then wandered through the town with ice cream cones in hand, and eventually ended up back at the grounds where we filled our water bottles (you never know when you will need a miracle) and then visited the actual Grotto. 

Like I said, I was not looking for a miracle that day—I have so many blessings and cannot, in good conscience, ask God for more than what he has already generously given me.  So I kissed the rocks and prayed and had a moment there, but what was most beautiful to me was seeing the people who really did need a miracle, and they were the ones I prayed for.  People came in wheel chairs and walkers and stumbling through the line, grasping the rocks with all the strength and faith left in their bodies.  It was heart wrenchingly beautiful to see that much faith.

There was one middle aged man who clearly had both a mental and muscular shortcoming, and who was accompanied by his middle aged mother.  As he staggered through the lines, his petite mother held him up with unbelievable strength.  As they neared the end of the rock formation, drops of water trickled down the rocks.  She caught them in her hands and started rubbing his face and arms, praying for a miraculous end to his suffering.  And so went person after person, praying for something different, but praying nonetheless.  If you ever need to see a community of believers, Lourdes is the place to go.

We finally left and went to find the Stations of the Cross.  We found them on a large hill, and you ascended as you did each station.  The view of the town and mountains and the natural beauty of this area of the world made the experience that much more special—definitely worth doing, though I would recommend not wearing flats to do it. 

Later that evening we returned to the grounds for a candlelit rosary procession which was given in five alternating languages.  I understood 2/5, meaning a large portion of the evening was kind of a blur to me, but it was nice to share that experience with people of all different nationalities and walks of life.  It was really windy, so sadly our candles did not stay lit for very long, but it was a really nice metaphorical action to share our light with one another by lighting each other’s candles over and over again.

After a final prayer and leaving lit candles at the Grotto for our loved ones, we scurried home and got in bed with a glass of wine and a good movie.  The weekend in Lourdes was definitely one of my favorites thus far.  It was one of the most beautiful places I have ever been and you can’t help but feel God and the Virgin Mother in everything around you.  After a weekend there, my life is in perspective and my blessings are so obvious.  I am so lucky and so grateful for my friends, family, and all the opportunities I am given.  So to all of you: Je vous aime. Vous me manquez. Et je prie pour vous tous les jours. (I love you. I miss you.  And I am praying for you every day.)  xoxo

[Someone remind me to put up photos when I return from break!]

La Famille Numero 3

Marilyn has bothered me to write another post, even though I was very content tanning in my backyard in the 70 degree weather.  It is SO BEAUTIFUL here this week.   It is sunny and warm and flowers are blooming and it was just a perfect day in Angers.  We were so French and picnicked next to the river for lunch.  Then I went running in a beautiful garden which is as close to Eden as I am ever going to get.  Then I tanned in our backyard (okay now I’m just taunting you).

The weather this weekend was also incredibly nice which was fabulous because I spent it on the west coast of France in Saint-Gilles-Croix-de-Vie.  Our ND group was invited there because our director is friends with the English teacher at the private middle school in France.  To educate his French students about America, he put one of us in each of their houses for a weekend.  But first, he had to show the students where we were from, so we watched part of Rudy.  Needless to say, with a group of 16 domesick girls (+Jeff, Jason and Mike), the tears almost started flowing.   We pulled it together and educated students as best as we could by reassuring them that Americans do not eat hamburgers everyday, New York City is not the only city in the U.S., and that Americans are not, in fact, all obese.  Then the kids brought us into the courtyard where we treated as a small zoo.  Kids crept up and examined us and whispered about us and it was a truly awkward experience.  After shooing off a group of fourteen year old Justin Bieber wanna-bes, I left to meet my new host family.

It was love.  The family had four kids who ranged in ages four to fourteen.  The house was loud and hectic and there were tons of children running around—it immediately felt like home.  I quickly became bffs with the four year old and we played with legos for awhile.  Then I played “Pet Shop” monopoly with the eight year old.  Then we ate grilled cheese and pudding while watching Survivor-French edition.  After the rest of the family went to bed, I watched crappy reality TV with the older children, played Scrabble in English, and helped them with their English homework.  It sounds like such a lame night, but I was so so thankful to be somewhere that felt like home. 

The next morning, they gave me a bike and had the fourteen year old show me around the town.  We went to the beach, and the port, and then shopped on the boardwalk and had cappuccinos. 

We returned home to play wii and then went to mass.

Side story: I asked the Laureen, the fourteen year old, if her family was Catholic to which she adamently responded “yes!”  Then I asked what seemed like a normal follow-up question, “when and where do you go to mass?” To which I received a very confused, “No, we don’t do that.”  And that, my friends, is how Catholicism is done in France.  This was not an unusual occurrence, because even though the French do consider themselves a very Catholic culture they do not really practice.  A few weeks ago, I was discussing Catholicism with a French man (…maybe this is why I don’t have French friends), and he told me American girls are like Puritans.  Unfortunately, I did not know how to express “what the hell are you talking about?” so I just stared at him until he followed up.  He explained to me that almost no French teenagers and young adults attend mass regularly so they see some of our habits as rather outdated and super religious.

Anyway, the host mother thought it would be grand if I brought two of the children to mass, so I did.  I’m pretty sure they’ve never been to mass because they kept asking me what was going on…which was pretty unfortunate because I kind of wanted to know the same thing because the mass was a little strange.  But I was happy to have some time to think and pray and thank God for bringing me to such a wonderful family for the weekend.  After a beautiful French meal with some family friends (which lasted over two hours), I went to bed nestled in between the two eldest daughters.

Sunday we woke up and went to the market.  I love European markets.  The people are all running around from stall to stall, stopping along the way to chat with their friends and acquaintances.  And the flow of traffic is so ingrained in their French DNA that it is just amazing to me as an outsider (I’ve decided this is how visitors feel at SDH on football weekends).  At the market, my host family made two purchases: a watch for me (how sweet are they??) and a bag of oysters for me to try (…this I was less excited for).  We toddled home and cracked open the oysters for lunch.  Needless to say, I was terrified that I was going to vomit on their kitchen table and ruin my fragile relationship with this beautiful family.  But I was successful.  We ate them plain with bread and butter which was interesting, but fine.  I can’t say I enjoyed the oysters (they remind me far too much of the smell of the Shedd Aquarium), but I managed to get a few down and that’s all I was really hoping to do.

 

After dominating my new host siblings in the Michael Jackson Wii game it was time to leave.  I was actually really sad to leave because I felt so comfortable with this family after just a few days and it felt so homey.  They invited me to come back if I so desire this semester, and I have promised to remain in touch, but I am so thankful that I got this wonderful opportunity to experience a new side of French culture, speak purely French for a few days, and to have a few days to cure my homesickness with a family that wasn’t too different from my own.

For my tardiness, look for another post later this week. J  All my love to everyone at home xoxo.

Back on American soil: exploring Normandy.

Another week, another post. 

We were fortunate again this week to take part in an excursion offered by our program to Normandie (the French spelling).  After our 6:30 departure, we arrived at the museum at 9:30 ready to begin our day.  The museum started with an explanation of the end of the first World War to adequately explain how Hitler and Mussolini came to power.  And as you wandered through, it gradually told the chronological tale of how the war came to be.  Personally, I am already a WWII fanatic, but there was still SO MUCH information I had never seen.  It was also really interesting because, in general, the French are a very proud culture, and they are very wary of admitting mistakes (read: Algeria), but the museum was one of the first times I have seen the French profess failure.  They acknowledged how half of their government gave over the Jewish population and the nation to the Nazis when threatened, and how it was by the help of the United States and Britain that they were able to regain their country.  In general, I think it is so interesting to see how what we’re taught as American students is different than what French or Asian students are taught. 

We thought two hours would be plenty for the museum, but it truly was not and we ended up not making it to the section on the invasion of Normandy before our required video.  So for future reference: you need three hours in the museum.  The video was good, but what I took away from it, and what I reflected on for the remainder of the day as we visited other sites, was how these soldiers knew they were running into almost certain death, but did it without hesitating.  No one held back as the others stormed the beach.  No one refused to be the first to climb the rope ladder as Nazis machine gunned them from the top.  No one sacrificed their comrade for their own good.  It was a day where thousands of men completely gave of themselves to save the world as we know it.  That absolute giving-of-self was so moving, and was only made more moving by the American cemetery.

This part of the trip was initially exciting because we were back on American soil—something we were all very excited for.  But we entered the cemetery and saw 9387 white crosses lined up over several acres, all shallow notions of America were replaced by the extreme pride and thanks we felt for our soldiers who came to save this country.  It was a bittersweet mixture of sadness and pride, but an absolutely beautiful site to experience.

We then reloaded the buses to get down to Omaha beach.  There, we had exactly 15 minutes to play in the sand where thousands of soldiers charged in the name of freedom up the cliffs towards enemy fire.  Again, I just cannot imagine being there that day and seeing the cliffs full of Nazis and charging on selflessly. 

It is really eerie though, that these beaches are absolutely stunning today.  If it wasn’t for the historical value, I’m sure they would be vacation hot-spots, but alas, who wants to build a giant sandcastle where a 17 year old soldier died?  We did take a few happy pictures though, because the beaches are, I suppose a sign of victory and the turning point of the war, so some happiness should come from those beaches!

 

Next we went to Pointe du Hoc, which is a really interesting story.  During the morning of June 6, a group of American soldiers called the Rangers were sent to Point du Hoc, one of the most well-fortified points on the Atlantic coast.  The Nazis were allegedly storing French guns that had long enough range to hit both Omaha and Utah beaches.  The Allies needed to take these guns out or risk them being used on the soldiers on D-Day.  So the Rangers get dropped off (mind you, three miles from their intended target because of the current that day), and then look up at the cliffs where they now must climb up on rope ladders while being gunned down by Nazis.  As if the task isn't heroic enough, once they get up there, their reinforcements don't arrive and they have to fight hand-to-hand combat for three days while they search for the guns, which had been moved to a mile away (and which they did eventually find).  Sadly, only around 90 survived, but their tale is truly heroic.  The area is pretty damaged from the bombs that the Allies dropped, but many of the bunkers and pill boxes are still in tact and we were able to wander through them while Kaitlin, our resident ROTC student, educated us on everything military. 

Our last stop was the German cemetery.  I thought it was really interesting that France has a cemetery for all the German soldiers who died.  Even though it was small and very modest, there are twice as many German soldiers buried here as there were American soldiers at the American cemetery.  And, there is more than one body in each plot.  Very interesting.

So that was our day in Normandie.  I really do think that it was a perfect place to visit while in France because it so well ties together my studies here and the culture I’m living in to my home.  It felt really good to be American for a day and to be proud of where I’m from, rather than ashamed of my “obnoxious American-ness.”  So with a full heart, I can honestly say that after this weekend, I am so proud to be an American.

Lyon and Tigres (french for tiger) and Bears..Oh My

Slainte!  The fighting Irish brought St. Patty’s to France despite the glares from…well everyone else.  Actually, France was relatively supportive of the Irish shenanigans and we found an Irish pub who had a band playing U2 covers for the entire night (imagine Bono with a French accent).  It was a wonderfully strange experience.

The next morning I wrapped up midterms week with a sociology test.  Midterms were not fun—not as bad as ND, but still.  That evening, a few of us went to a soufflerie (where they make soufflés) and it was AMAZING.--so amazing that I asked Chantal to teach me to make one tonight!  So cooking lesson number two commences in t-minus 17 minutes.

I went to bed early so I could be up in time for my 7a.m. train to Lyon and could start my weekend of French exploration.  We checked into our little hotel which was likely filled with members of the French mafia who were sipping espresso, but they were all very friendly so thumbs up to them.  Then we began wandering Lyon, which is the third largest metropolitan area in France. 

Lyon is really interesting because it is divided into several different sections, mostly because the city is naturally divided into three by the two rivers that run directly through it.  To the west, you have old town.  There, after climbing a giant hill, we found some Roman ruins.  Apparently, Lyon used to be a Roman town.

 

Then we went to Notre Dame de Fourvière, a large cathedral that puts the Basilica to shame. 

 

We also found Mary, who was spending spring break in France.

 

Then we wandered through the small, winding, cobblestone streets.  This is also where guignols were made.  Creepy right?

 

There are also underground tunnels here because Lyon was also an important area in weaving and producing silk and they were used to transport silk.  They were also used in the second world war to avoid Gestapo invasions.  Unfortunately, we didn’t really find them.

 

After our brief history stint, we hit the shopping/a la mode district in the center.  There we did some shopping and then decided to see an opera!  For 5 euros, we could stand in the back and see “Le noce de Figaro” which was AMAZING!! It was in Italian, but there were French subtitles being projected on a screen (you have no idea how good your French is until Italian is the only other option).  We only stayed for half because we hadn’t eaten but I would love to return to see the entire opera.

To soothe our aching stomachs, and to fully experience Lyon’s cuisine (it is the capital of gastronomy in France!) we went on a hunt for a bouchon.  In old-time Lyon, chefs would come to these bouchons (inns) to practice their culinary skills.  Then Lyon realized the inns were worthless and people just wanted to eat, so now they are just incredibly good restaurants.  Now the thing with French menus is, you don’t usually know what you’re ordering.  We usually guess and almost always we end up with decent results.  We decided to fully experience the cuisine, we should get three courses—because that’s how Lyon does it.  I got the best salad France has ever seen..mostly because it had what tasted like American bacon on it.  Then I had ordered an andouilette because it was the only thing I was sure was not fish.  Quelle surprise:

 

Looks interesting, but it was actually very good.  Then we followed that up with our third course, dessert:

 

After we waddled home, we fell into a deep coma.  The next morning, we asked for directions to the closest Catholic mass, which our concierge insisted started at 10.  At 9:58 we walked in as the priest was finishing up his homily…awkward.  After mass we found the closest boulangerie and got a loaf of bread and coffee…I have no idea how we were hungry again but we were.  After wandering back to the old village, we made the 40 minute trek to Parc de la Tete d’Or (Park of the Golden Head…yeah..idk). 

 

This park was one of the most beautiful places I have ever been.  It had a rose garden and a zoo and a lake where you could canoe or paddle boat and it was simply the best place to spend the first day of spring.  We spent two hours roaming around the gardens and then finally headed back to Angers.

 

On tap we have a light week for studies, then Normandy next weekend.  Hope all is well at home…miss you all!! xoxo

Midterms week...it exists here too.

I have 15 minutes before I need to go read to the ladies at the retirement home.  Let’s get a blog post out by then so I am not bombarded by insults and requests any longer.

In light of the exam I just took, I am going to postpone stories of wandering the gardens of Clos Lucé and staring down gargoyles in Blois for another day.  Instead, I am going to answer my readers’ most pressing question: do I actually go to class here?

Indeed I do.  I am currently taking 18 credit hours but Notre Dame likes to pretend that three of those don’t exist so I am only getting credit for 15.  Thanks again ND.  To give you a run down:

-Langue (language and grammar)-so long, so many days.

-Socio Étude Culturelle (French culture studies)-Want to know all the presidents of the fifth republic?  I don’t know if I can even name the last five presidents in American (jokes..I think.)

-Histoire de France (French history)-for some reason I am loving history.  I’m pretty sure I’ve told every person I talk to this random fact but: once you’re guillotined you retain consciousness for 10 seconds. Weird stuff. 

-Molière-Molière was a French playwright and I am binging on his plays for a semester.  He is a rather funny fellow but this class is only once a week for three hours so it can be a little brutal for those of us who don’t have an attention span that long.

-Traduction (translation)-holy moly there goes my GPA.  This class is practical and I really like it but SO CHALLENGING.  To illustrate how challenging it is let me provide the grading scale for this class (out of 20 points)

20-reserved for God

19-reserved for Jesus Christ

18-reserved for the Virgin Mary

17-reserved for my professor

16-this is what you can get if you turn in an absolutely perfect paper (good thing I have no idea what that looks like).  For us mere mortals, we’re in the 8-13 zone.  Not good my friends.

You all probably think I am being sassy right now, but no.  This exact chart is in my notes which I copied verbatim from the lips of my professor.  So why isn’t the scale just out of 16 points?  I don’t know.  Why is my professor only one less point from the Virgin Mary?  I don’t know that either.  But welcome to France my dear readers!

The other thing that is much different than my quaint home under the Dome is the scheduling of classes.  For example, if you are registering for classes (DARTing if you will), classes tend to be MWF (psh who takes Friday classes??—So MW for Arts and Letters) or Tues/Thurs.  This makes life simple and you can get into a routine fairly easily.  Then you come to France, and there is no rhyme or reason for when any of your classes are scheduled.  Case and point:

Langue: Mon/Tues 9:00-11:00am, Thurs 10:00am-12:00pm

Socio-Etude: Mon 1:30-3:30pm, Fri 1:30-2:30

History : Thurs 1 :30-3 :30pm, Fri 2 :30-3 :30pm

Moliere : Thurs 3:45pm-7:45pm

Translation: Mon 6:00-7:00pm, Wed 8:00-9:00am

So things are a little haphazard here.  In addition, we don’t know when/where our finals are until the week of finals.  Our professors just decide…eventually.

Final notes on my education here:  in general, my classes aren’t that challenging, mostly because the professors are teaching to students who speak approximately 12 different languages.  I think we have it quite a bit easier because English words often resemble French ones, but the Asian students (who compose a large majority of our program) have very little to work with.  [Side note: please pray for all the Japanese students here who cannot get in contact with their families or who have received terrible news.]  However, I am learning a lot about different cultures which is a really great experience.  I also am adjusting to having class on Fridays AND before 10:00a.m….it’s like I’m no longer an Arts and Letters major.

I am also forced to use the language everyday in all my classes, with my host family, in shops and restaurants, etc. so I am improving greatly which is what I truly came here to do.  And if all else fails, I am learning a lot about French food through my own studies so all is not lost.  Bon appetite mes amis!