That would be a witch's hat that I found in my bedroom that is positioned next to Loulou. Even though we don't celebrate Halloween here, I figured I would get into the spirit a little bit.
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Toussaint Break Noun; 1. The ability to get up at 9h30, spend an hour reading "Harry Potter à l'école des sorciers" at breakfast with a cup of tea, followed by a walk to the local boulangerie to buy bread. 2. The time to enjoy the stunning weather, with sunshine, blue skies and temperatures at 20 degrees Celsius. 3. The period almost devoid of homework, to finish one quilt and start another. 4. The realization that you really need to work on your college applications. We are in the middle of our first long break and thoroughly enjoying the time off. Yesterday I went with my host mother and another American student, who I staying at our house for the break, to visit a Megalithic rock structure hidden in the French countryside. After walking in and around it, and determining that it was most likely a ancient burial chamber, I joined my host mother, who was gathering chestnuts. The trees all around the monument had created a carpet of leaves and chestnuts on the ground and we filled a whole basket, bringing them home to roast in the fireplace once the weather turns cold at the end of the week. No one here can understand how exactly the weather is so beautiful. It isn't normal for this region. I did groceries today, enjoying the fact that I didn't have to wear a rain jacket, only a sweater and light scarf. Loulou is taking advantage of the sun to lie in as many patches of light on the floor as possible, moving occasionally to either beg for food or warm his other side. After this, I am going to the Thabor gardens to read for a while and try to soak up some sunlight before the winter takes over. I hurry down the tight staircase in my French house, slippers tapping on the wooden steps and am almost halfway down when I realize I did not shut my bedroom door. Sighing, and resisting the urge to ignore it, I remount the steep spiral stairs and close it. Just like so many details in France, this is something that takes some getting used to.
I come from a house where doors are always left open, allowing free entrance and exit. But here, the boundary between private and public space is always clearly defined and the borders are strictly kept. And after six weeks of slowly being allowed into the private lives of the French, I can understand that it is not to keep each other out. It is just another symbol of how the French value their culture, their traditions, and attempt to preserve a stoic and unapproachable image to hide the most beautiful, poignant moments of their lives from prying eyes. The French stereotype is one of an arrogant, well dressed indivdual acting as though they did not understand your question about what time it is, impatient becuase they have somewhere more important to be. Tourists frequently complain about how they refuse to answer you if you try to speak French and will ignore a question in English. The French do nothing to disprove this image. They don't smile when walking down the street alone and will not make eye contact with you. You don't say hello when you pass someone, don't nod in acknowledgement. You keep yourself cut off. Many see this as rude and chaff at what they consider to be a lack of friendliness. But then, when I enter my home here, my host Mom calls hello and stops what she's doing to sit with me and drink a cup of tea, or talk about our day. Before one of us leaves, we say goodbye and the first and last thing that we do everyday is to say good morning and goodnight. The French are not rude, they do not hate communicating with other people. They save their hellos and their good mornings, not wasting them. They greet the baker, who they have bought bread from for five years. They greet a good friend, who they have allowed to step into the private area of their lives. They save their greetings for the people who matter, the individuals in the private parts of their world. The closed off attitude so commmonly mistaken for rudeness stems from a much deeper source than a superficial disliking for those who don't speak their language correctly. The French have been invaded throughout hisotry, over and over again, from the Romans, to twice by the Germans. When they act so closed off, it is to protect the thing most precious to them, their culture and their identity as a French person. Their language is world known, but threatened by that very world, by an influx of English and other foreign words and phrases. Their country has for very long been regarded as the pinnacle of culture, through which everything else was measured. But more than anything, they are fiercely proud of being French. As my host mother and I discussed at dinner one night, when someone in the United States describes their heritage, they say they're American, but their father was this or their grandmother was that. Here, a person says they're French. There is no other explanation or added nationality. Here you are French, not a mix of something or "French with a grandparent who was...". And their standoffishness results from wanting to protect that heritage, wanting to protect their fierce pride in their country. They keep their doors closed, so that the world cannot see the vulnerable French, so that only the tough, untouchable exterior is present. But when you express an interest in their culture, their language, when you make an effort to form the syllables and vowels they so effortlessly pronouce, it is like a key turning in their doors. You are welcomed, smiled at, gently corrected and assisted. You are ushered into their most private moments, when they stumble half asleep down the stairs in the morning, or when they gather around the table Sunday afternoon for a family dinner. You see them at their human moments. And you realize that the French are not untouchable. They are not cold, rude, arrogant, or impatient. They are French. Sadly, and after trying to put it off for as long as we could, we finally had to turn on the heat in the house today. The nights are getting relatively cold and in the morning I can see my breath when I walk to school. Also, it is dark here at 7:30 am, so I walk to school by the light of the street lamps and passing cars. But there are enough students going to school and people driving or biking to work that the streets are far from abandoned.
Loulou is sleeping on my bed right now as I finish a science essay, in French, for tomorrow. He has been giving me the death stare for a good part of the afternoon because I refused to give him dinner because it was too early. But now he has settled for curling into a small ball in hopes that I won't see him and he will get to stay here the whole night. He won't. He snores too loudly. Two more days of school and then a two week vacation for Toussaint. For some reason, when a vacation is coming, time slows down until you are sure that it is not possible that it is only Wednesday. Amazing how that happens. I am going to try and catch up on posts during the vacation, (cough 3rd Bretagne trip cough), but will also have new stuff to talk about as we are taking a three day voyage around the Loire valley to see many of the old castles there. After the comments I got demanding to see a picture of my haircut, I finally asked E.C. to take one of me on the front steps of school Friday, as I am opposed to the selfie. So you can all calm down and yes, here is proof that I really got my hair cut. Also, I used an ATM the other day, so that's two accomplishments now that I can cross off my list.
This past Thursday was SYA's first immersion day of the year. Those who participated swore not to speak English from the moment they got up to the moment they went to bed, including communications with friends and family back home. This rule however, did not apply to our two classes taught in English; Math and English itself. SYA knows it is dealing with teenagers- "Je ne comprend pas. Qu'est-ce 'homework'?"
The vast majority of the school participated, if not everyone, and it was a lot of fun, but exhausting. You have to rewire your brain to stop automatically responding in English and by the end of the day, it was going pretty well. We were all stumbling over simple phrases, and it was so cool to hear the whole common room be filled with French. I think the teachers were pretty happy too, to have to tell us to stop talking, but have it be because we were talking about weekend plans in French. By the time I went home, I was so mentally exhausted from having to think in French all day that I fell asleep on my Literature homework while doing it before ice skating. However, that night the instructed commented on the fact that she thought I spoke French very well, so that was a big moral boost. Although most of us spoke English again at lunch today, I heard a lot of students making an effort to at least speak some French with their friends, which was really good to hear. Slowly we are transitioning. Figuring I might as well work on my French tonight as well, I read a little bit of Harry Potter in French and then watched the French version of Dancing with the Stars. Hilarious. It helps my vocabulary because they use a lot of adjectives to describe the dancing. To see what they thought was "American country" dancing made me laugh. They even wore glittery cowboy boots. Our trip to Mont Saint Michel will definitely be one that SYA remembers for quite some time. That, is in all certainty, an understatement. The trip is an annual tradition and following a route that was taken by pilgrims centuries ago, we cross the bay of Mt. St. Michel. It is known for having drastic tide changes and at low tide, you can walk the 8km, barefoot, to reach the island, which has a monastery and a small castle, along with a few small shops and other buildings. The walk is dangerous and can only be done with a guide, as there is quick sand and an ever changing landscape, along with tides that come in fast and can sweep you away. For the first two kilometers, it was beautiful. We set off, first through a grass field and then into the mud and sand. A few drops of rain, and the usual wind that blows across the exposed bay, but nothing drastic. In the picture, almost in the center, you can see Mt. St. Michel looming in the distance, our goal. Notice how gray the clouds look... Everyone is in shorts because you are wading through mud and water. We stopped every so often and the guide would make sure everyone was there. At our last stop before we crossed a section of water, the guide made a joke that the sky looked to be "fifty shades of gray". Hilarious. We all waded through, see picture on the left below, and were trying very hard not to get our clothing wet, which would soon become irrelevant. At that point in the walk, we could no longer see Mt. St. Michel. It had been swallowed by a gray cloud. On the right is one of the last pictures I took. See how the clouds get really dark towards the horizon line? That's where Mt. St. Michel is. About five minutes after I took the last photo, the storm hit us full force. The wind hit around 50 miles per hour we think, as there were moments when it was hard to walk and the rain was so hard it felt like hail against your bare legs. Within a minute my shorts, or skort, was soaked and after another twenty even my raincoat was starting to wonder what was going on. It is impossible to describe what it is like, to be there out on that open plain, to feel the wind almost lifting you up and to have it block out all other sounds, to feel the rain soaking you through and to be blinded and what feels like cut off from the world, alone with the people around you. Definitely a bonding experience. And it really brought out the best in everyone. We were all checking to make sure everyone else was okay, especially when we started to get very cold towards the end and people were lending each other warm clothing once we were back on the bus. We all huddled together to try and block the wind and tried to be supportive. Or in my case, annoyingly cheerful. And so, to give the best description of what it was like, I have complied a list of very clear sensations and images that I can so clearly remember from the trip, as the wind kind of blew everything else away. Or maybe that was the hypothermia.... (Just kidding, I'm fine Mom.) The yellow of my raincoat against the gray sky The girls who started singing Hedwig's theme as they walked, because Mt. St. Michel looked like Hogwarts The wind drowning out everything; voices, calls to each other, even your own thoughts Having to yell to hear each other and even then only barely The packet of applesauce E.C. and I shared when we were so cold we could barely open it The wind and rain stinging your legs The way the water we crossed felt warm because we were so cold The first bit of mud that squished up between your toes Huddling together to keep warm on the open plain Seeing Mt. St. Michel vanish into that gray cloud and how we didn't see that as a warning The rain pouring down my glasses, blinding me The icy water that ran down my arm every time I went to adjust my hood or fix my glasses The awesome ham sandwich I had for lunch Holding on to each other as we walked across a really slippery section, clasping each other's arms for balance Asking Mr. Brochu for the Monday after off, being denied Seeing one of the students carry his little host brother through the water Feeling like you were going to be blown away The warm socks I put on in the bus afterwards Laughing in the middle of the storm because Madame had said it wasn't going to rain Coming home and seeing Madame had made a fire in the fireplace. The fifty shade of gray joke the guide made right before the storm hit The damp sand being picked up by the wind and tossed around like a mini tornado Feeling as though the wind was going to lift you up and carry you away Your fingers being so cold and stiff you couldn't really bend them The damp chill that began to penetrate your clothing and how your lips became too numb to talk All the jokes we made about how it was supposed to be beautiful weather that day The quick sand swallowing your feet and how it felt so nice and warm The best hot shower I ever took when I got home Finally seeing Mt. St. Michel reappear after an hour of it being invisible How muddy our feet were Joking with E.C. that she now knew what it was like to be in a hurricane The wind and rain plastering your hood to your head This is also an English journal post, hence the length and amount of details.
Most memorable moments from the first month I've been here (not necessarily in order):
Making the bed with E.C. on our Bretagne trip when it was nearly midnight and laughing ourselves silly because we couldn't figure it out. Tasting a fresh baked croissant with homemade plum jam for the first time on a Saturday morning with a steaming cup of hot chocolate. Walking along the deserted misty beach in the morning. Going to meet L. a French girl who lives across the street from me, and her friend, for the first time and walking out of her house realizing I only spoke French for two and a half hours. Rewriting my literature essay for an hour and a half, correcting 51 grammar faults, and having my host mother pronounce it to be a lot better. Walking to school with N.C. and only speaking French, even thought it was early in the morning. Having to pull Loulou out of the kitchen sink three times one afternoon when he kept trying to drink out of a pot filled with water when he thought I wasn't looking. Trying to say something very simple in English and just giving up and switching to French because it was easier to explain that way. Having our art history teacher J.P. imitate an angel flying, with sound effects, while studying paintings of the Annunciation. Sitting for an extra half hour in a café with E.C. because we forgot the word for check and couldn't ask the waitress for the bill. The Mont Saint Michel trip, especially that part where we got caught in a storm in the middle of the walk. So, after a rollercoaster of a first two weeks and a wonderful second two, I have offically been in France for a month as of today. It is so hard to believe and yes, I am going to keep saying that the whole year.
However, now that I have hit the month mark, I would like to send out a huge thank you to everyone who had been reading this blog and commenting on my posts. I read every single one and would respond to each one, but time just doesn't allow that. I love reading them, hearing your comments and knowing that I have a whole group of people behind me as I undertake this whole journey. You have no idea how much it means that so many people care about what and how I'm doing. Merci Beaucoup! I wish I could send you all a package of fresh croissants as a thank you, as i have determined that they are the closest thing to heaven I have eaten here so far, (with the homemade jam that Madame makes) but I don't think they would survive transport with all their flavor intact :) I'm going to start slowly adding in some of my English reflection journals that we do, as they correspond to our time here and what we're going through. Very deep and thoughtful; don't feel obligated to read them. Tomorrow is our crossing of the bay at Mont St. Michel. It is supposed to be 60 degrees and raining the whole day. Bretagne weather is finally hitting, but it will be a good bonding experience and an adventure. (That's what you call it when you spend three hours hiking through muck and sea water in the rain and cannot think of a better word to describe it.) As E.C. put it, one friend (her) will be complaining that it is raining and the other friend (S.D.) will be complaining that it's not raining enough. I'm looking forward to it and will post pictures when I get back and dried off. Toute à l'heure! Because many of the students who attend SYA have physical education requirements for their home schools, and we don't have gym class here, it's mandatory that all students enroll in an after school activity that fulfills a health and wellness credit. So, after some searching, I chose figure skating. And today was the first lesson.
Those of you who have an image of me gliding along gracefully on the ice can erase that from your minds. I managed to do a spectacular turn and hop combination, not when I was trying, but when I was attempting to stop and nearly collided with my instructor. Want to know how to embarrass yourself inter-culturally? Put on a pair of skates. However, it was so much fun and the hour flew by. It's good because I spend one hour forgetting about my difficulties learning the French language and how on earth I'm going to write a three page paper in French because I have to concentrate very hard on not falling down. It goes against the logical part of your mind, to jump on a very slippery surface when the only things supporting you are two narrow metal blades. But, it's kind of like what we did coming to France. We jumped. And now, we hope that when we land, it will be solidly on the ground again, on our feet, even if it does involve some spectacular flailing and turning and stumbling. |