10 signs you're heading back to America

My hometown. Franchement, I got teary eyed.

1. Everyone's speaking English. Loudly.
2. Too much ice in the water glass. 
3. Blue jeans and tennis shoes.
4. Beach boys radio station on the plane.
5. Smiling! Oh, I really missed smiling at strangers.
6. You have to take your shoes off to go through airport security (go, DHS!)
7. Nutrition facts no longer contain calories (vs. kilocalories) or irrational serving sizes. 
8. You're flight attendant's name is Cathy and she's maybe the nicest person you've ever met (hello, customer service!). 
9. You can see baseball fields from the plane window. 
10. Economic propaganda commercials by CNBC: "capitalize on it"

RDU -- 22 hours without sleep!

What I learned from my time abroad

1. Picnics are the best way to spend a Saturday afternoon.
2. Humiliation is a good teaching tool: the times that my cheeks went red are the mistakes that I won't repeat.
3. I like to run. 
4. A meal without cheese is like a pretty girl missing an eye. Un repas sans fromage est une belle à qui il manque un œil.
5.  Accents are endearing.  
6.  Always buy the one euro insurance. 
7. Every "weird" food is worth trying once. 
8. When you don't know how to say something "in so many words," you learn to just say what you mean.
9.  People are fascinating, and everyone has a story.
10. Not everything will go as planned, but everything will work itself out. Tout se rangera.
11. I've got the travel bug.
12. Life is a lot more enjoyable when you're not unnecessarily stressed. 
13. There is beauty in contrast. 
14. The French way of showering (only turning water on to rinse) saves a heck of a lot of water.
15. How to make crème brûlée. 
16. Don't let fearing get in the way of living. 
17. It is, in fact, possible for me to go without Mexican food for five months (but I'm not looking to run a second trial...).
18. I look far more German than French.
19. With but a step into a church, I can find community and family anywhere in the world.
20. I can't wait to get back to Europe.

A Country Bumpkin in Paris

Peur du jour- 21 Mai 2012: Making a fool of myself

In this episode of European Travels with Kathleen, we find our main character in the Charles de Gaulle Marriot on the eve of her homecoming.

My dad was too good to me. With a flight out of Paris at noon, I knew I was going to have to already be in Paris the night before. I was seriously considering spending the night at the airport to save some money and to avoid the hassle of dragging five months of belongings through the Paris metro system. But, Dad was generous and put me up in the Marriot where I have a real bed, wifi, and a fitness center (free weights and a balance ball for the first time in months!!!).

Home sweet home

But, it quickly became clear to me that I have no idea how hotels work. I must not stay in nice ones very often. Or maybe this hotel is just special. But you have to use your key card for everything. I completely missed the sign in the elevator saying that you have to insert your key to select your floor and was corrected by a bellboy and two American businessmen after I missed my floor. Then I couldn't figure out why none of the lights or electrical sockets in my room were working. I went down to the front desk (because even the phone was out of order) and told them (in French) that the electricity wasn't working... He chuckled at me and asked "did you use your card?" There's a card holder near the light switch that activates all of the lights and electricity.

I'm that clueless girl that gives everyone a reason to laugh. De rien.

"Amen" is always the same

Peur du jour- 20 Mai 2012: German Mass

About four months ago, I went to my first mass in French. And I was terrified. On my morning walk to mass in the small Bavarian town of Lupburg, I experienced similar anxiety. Only this time, I was going to mass in a language which I don't speak at all (other than ein bier, bitte or danke or tschüss). Luckily, God blessed me with a few German friends in Montpellier who helped me prepare for this very mass.

In comparison with what I came to know in France, German mass much more closely resembles American mass.

• It has the same sense of order concerning the procession for the Eucharist, the kneeling/sitting/standing business, and the communication of hymnal pages (they had a cool light up board in the front of the church so I didn't even have to try to interpret numbers!). This organization does not surprise me at all; I've already waxed poetic about the trains. 

German Church in Lupburg

French Cathedral in Montpellier

• The architectural style is completely different from what I experienced in France. White walls instead of stone; natural light instead of colored.

• Similar demographics. There were lots of children and families (so I definitely didn't feel like an outlier skewing the average age). This is likely because Catholicism is a lot stronger in this region. In Bavaria, I see the stations of the cross along the walking trails. In Montpellier, it seemed like more people were "PACS"ed (a type of civil union) than were married.

But I also noticed some differences:

• Much less singing than in American or French masses.
• Like French mass, worship is more personal (vs. communal) in the manner that no one holds hands during the "Our Father" and the exchange of peace seemed to be confined to those sitting only to your left and to your right. I think this probably goes back to the fact that Americans tend to be much more touchy-feely.
• Mass in general seemed to be a little more formal. There's the manner of dressing which in general tends to be less casual in Europe. Also, I noticed that everyone in mass always had their hands folded in prayer which seems a little stricter than the US and far stricter than France.

So I think that in addition to having caught the travel bug this semester, I've caught the Catholic-comparison bug. It's so incredible to me how the slight variations in the rhythm and customs of a mass can be such a manifestation of regional and national culture. I can't wait to keep exploring, but in the mean time, I'd love to hear about your experiences in masses around the world in the comments!

Awesome thing #342 about Germany: The trains

Day 5 in the motherland. Germany continues to impress me. Remember my big cultural lesson about how great the French train system was? I think I was coming from an uninformed perspective. Any train system looks great next to the relatively nonexistent one in the United States.

1. German trains are actually on time. Inconceivable! Lindsey and I have been taking the train daily for our day trips and never once has a train been late. It's nice to know that you can count on making a connection and that you can accurately plan your day.
2. German trains actually check your tickets. This is nice because a lot of the time on French trains I wondered why I had wasted my money on a ticket they wouldn't even check (the answer: because I am honest).
    
3. German trains give you great stories. Friday night train rides out of Munich have no shortage of activity. Lindsey and I were accused (in German) of being Chelsea fans by a dusty old German man drinking beer from his backpack. Another older German man heard us speaking English and asked if we could explain the one English word he didn't understand: stillbirth (he had seen it in a health warning on his cigars). At one point, the four German men in our car were shouting about the upcoming Champions League Final match this weekend and all Lindsey and I could understand were town names and Amerika and JA!!! Never a dull moment.

I, of course, will be cheering for FC Bayern

Guten appetit!

Peur du jour- 16 Mai 2012: Conceding

 On Wednesday mornings, the bread truck comes. Around 8:30, we heard a loud honk announcing its arrival. I watched the neighbors crowd around the back of the truck in the brisk gray morning similar to the way kids crowd around the side of an ice cream truck.

Now, I thought that I had earned the right to be a pastry snob. France does millefeuilles and réligeuses and pains au chocolat and escargots brioches and and croissants aux amandes and every other delicious thing you could imagine. What on earth could possibly come off the back of a German truck that could be tastier than what you purchase straight from the oven in France?

I stood deliriously corrected.

So delicious I didn't even want to take it out of my lap to photograph it.

The Germans understand that the chocolate is the best part of a pain au chocolat. So not only is the whole thing FILLED with Schokolade, but also the ends are dipped in it. The end result: chocolate with every bite. I feel cheated by those skimpy French pastries that contain only a single nugget of chocolate.

Deutschland ist wunderschön.

Mais, je parle français

Peur du jour- 15 Mai 2012: More language immersion 

Today, Lindsey and I went to Regensburg, a really cool Bavarian town on the Danube river. We looked at the beautiful cathedrals, wandered around a fest and enjoyed beer, sauerkraut, and sausage at a restaurant on the river side.

A bridge over the Danube with a view of the Gothic cathedral

The restaurant was one of those places with a bunch of picnic tables where you sit down at the same table with strangers. After spending a few minutes hovering (UNC's dining hall, Lenoir, has really honed our table hunting skills), we found two spots at a nice table in the sun. After ordering our beers (the waitress started talking to us in English after we most surely butchered her native tongue), I heard that the people next to us were speaking French. Génial!

Our incredibly delicious lunch

Lindsey suggested that I ask them to take a picture of us once we got our beers. And without missing a beat, as soon as the waitress set the beers down on the table I was speaking French. We got to talking about how I had just spent the semester in Montpellier and where they were from and all of that. We let them enjoy their meal, but they said goodbye to us before they left!

The aforementioned picture taken by French hands!

Before my semester abroad, I would have been way too shy to do this. Isn't it cool how things change?

Ich spreche kein Deutsch

Peur du jour: 14 Mai 2012- Not speaking the language

So, I'm no longer in Montpellier, but I figured that you guys still might be interested in my travels! I'm currently spending a week in Bavaria with a friend from UNC and her wonderful family! Did you know that they don't, in fact, speak French here, but rather, German?

The small town of Lupburg, where my friend lives.

One of my friends who is a Deutschmeister back at UNC gave me some helpful phrases to use during my stay in the land of beer and sausage: hello, thank you, you're welcome, I'd like, etc. Unfortunately, I kind of forgot to write all of these phrases down and learn them before I went out to interact with natives. So we ended up at a bäckerei (bakery) pointing at donuts saying "ein". Oh, goodness.

Luckily, we walked out with these. Not too shabby.

Later I committed myself to learning the phrases my friend had taught me, refreshing my German numbers, and learning the days of the week (I don't know why I would need to know that, but it could come in handy). It's pretty humbling to be in a country where you don't speak the language. It's not that they don't speak English, but it's a big jump from France, where I felt like I could really grasp the culture and get around.

Bavarian farm fields

But I'm quite taken with Germany, so add Deutsch to the growing list of languages I'd like to learn.

The good in goodbye

Peur du jour- 13 Mai 2012: Leaving Montpellier

 This was a hard and long goodbye. It felt worse than leaving Grayslake on a hot and humid August morning in 2010 to start my Freshman year of college. I remember weeping over the distance between me and my friends, my family, my boyfriend, my pets, everything that was comfortable, and everything that I had mastered.

It felt worse than driving away from Chapel Hill on that rainy night in December 2011 when I got sentimental about leaving my dorm, my friends, my classes, that beautiful campus, and the home I had managed to build. I was scared about how everything would change without me, about being left behind, about losing my place in everyone's lives after being absent for so long.

It even felt worse than hugging my mom goodbye at O'Hare on a snowy evening this past January. I was heart-broken, scared, and completely clueless of what lie ahead of me.

But in all of these instances, I was leaving something old for something new. I knew when I would return to my loved ones, to my homes. But this goodbye is different. I'm not going anywhere new; I'm going home. I get to see my parents, my siblings, my best friends, my cat, my house, my stomping grounds. I'm going back to where they speak English and where ice cream is cheap and abundant and where smiling like a goon in public is no weirder than hugging your friend hello or excessively saying "sorry" for everything.

But I'm scared that after the hugs and the ice cream, all I'll be able to think about is Montpellier. The town where I realized how God has graced me with family all over the world. The town where I realized that my level of French is strong enough for me to make friends who have never heard me speak English, participate in religious discussions, stand up to rude bouncers, and write ten page research papers. The town where I learned to appreciate moving slower, drinking in everything around me, and enjoying good company, good food, and good wine. The town where I really experienced true joy.

I am leaving this town at the height of my passion for it. It's only now starting to come alive, to become warm and green, to become Montpellier at its best. I feel like I'm cutting off something too soon, like I will never really know how great things could have been because my stay was only four and a half months.

And I don't know when I'm coming back. But there's joy in the unknown. I don't know when I'm coming back. It could be in ten years (I really hope not), it could be after I graduate, or it could be next summer. Who knows? My life is wide open. Opportunities are ripe for the picking. I know that my desire to keep the friends and family I've found in France is strong enough to bring me back to them. I'll leave the when and the how to figure out another day. Until then, I'll hold the feeling of the Montpellier sunshine close to my heart.

Tout est bien qui finit bien

What I love about Montpellier 

1. The rocky mediterranean soil, the twisting branches of olive trees and grape vines, the clusters of poppies and rununculus and edelweiss and wild thyme.
2. The way the marble streets shimmer as they reflect the street lights.
3. The dinging of the tram, the melodic tune of SNCF announcements at the train station, and the clanging of church bells.
4. The feeling of the sun on my back during picnics at Peyrou, promenades through the esplanade, and bike rides to the beach.
5. That anything worth celebrating is accompanied by wine and a good meal.
6. Houses clothed in stucco and topped with red tiles.
7. The bewildered look I receive when I say my name for the first time. 
8. And the way French people just can't quite say my name correctly.
9. The wind rivaling that of my home, the windy city. 
10. The way speaking French makes you pucker your mouth like you're blowing a kiss with every word you say. 
11. The blue lights that illuminate the chateau d'eau and the aqueduct at night and heighten its sense of magic and history.
12. When people ask me for directions and I can actually direct them. In French. 
13.  Walking through la place de la comédie and down la rue de la loge and hearing every sort of jazz band and string quartet and acoustic guitarist. 
14. Standing at the chateau d'eau and looking at pic saint-loup and  la mer mediterranée
15. Kissing someone's cheeks (three times!) every time you say hello and goodbye. 
16. How no meal is complete without a big hunk of crusty bread.
17. Trying something new at the market every Saturday. 
18. The way people yell "courage" at you as you go for a run as if you're heading off to war. 
19. The obsession with MacDo (McDonalds) and sandwhiches américaines and kebabs
20. My God-given family in Montpellier. How I've loved them without hesitation and without abandon and how they've loved me. How they have lifted my spirits and warmed my heart. It's for them that I know I'll be coming back here.

 A très bientôt, Montpellier. Gros bisous.

Another 10 weird things I've seen in Montpellier

1. A man playing the didgeridoo in Place du Peyrou by the Chateau D'eau past midnight (the park was closed, and we saw him hop the fence...).
2. The gypsies who pretend to be deaf and not understand when you say "non" yet they immediately respond to you when you say "attend" ("wait") because they think you are going to give them money.
3. Occupy Montpellier. Fo real.
4. An older guy on a bike trying to have an extended conversation with me and hit on me while I was running. With head phones in. N'importe quoi...
5. A grumpy drunk American girl in the comédie SHOUTING franglais "I need to partir like right now." Classy.
6. Homeless men making GIGANTOR bubbles in the comédie.
7. Late night tram sighting: drunken teens belting la marseille (the national anthem of France) on the tram around midnight. In four part harmony.
8. The petit train (that gives guided tours around the city for tourists) squeezing down roads for which it is much too large.
9. French people saying "no merci" to the man handing out free Ben & Jerry's. You don't say no to free Ben & Jerry's. Ever.
10. A dog in Temple Bar. Seriously like the cutest little dog ever, but jazz night is no place for a little terrier.

Wanna play ball?

Peur du jour- 11 Mai 2012: More interaction with strangers

So today was an absolutely gorgeous sunny day that a large group of us decided to spend à la plage (at the beach)! I packed a totally French picnic lunch (baguette, cheese, grape tomatoes, apple, and rosé) and took the tram and the bus over to Palavas-les-flots, the cute beach town to which I biked in March.

We had an excellent time picnicking in the sun, lounging in the soft sand, and going as far as we dared into the water that was full of crabs and jellyfish (another peur du jour). But we had a hankering to play some beach sports: soccer, volleyball, anything! Without the proper equipment for these sports (aka: a ball) we were left to stare longingly at the fields of sand that would be perfect for a little healthy competition. We finally spotted a group of what must have been high school boys with a volleyball, but no one was courageous enough to go over and ask if they wanted to play.

Looking back on it, I still have no idea why I get so nervous to talk to people. But I threw the fear of rejection aside and asked if they wanted to play volleyball with us. And they said yes. And we had a great match!

Kathleen, when will you learn to not be such a scaredy cat?

The gypsy question

Cultural Lesson #12: Gitans (Gypsies)

Anyone who's seen Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame knows that there are Romani people in France. We recount stories of how they barrage us at tourist monuments in Paris, play the accordion in public squares, and dragoon us in the streets asking for "une petite pièce" (just a coin). I have very mixed feelings about les gitans.

First of all, they are completely aggressive. They bombard you, they don't take no for an answer, they are professional beggars.

But, they are people, too. It breaks my heart to see the whole family on the tram in the morning heading out for a day's work. The boys that are my age get off at one stop with their clipboards, ready to bamboozle and swindle. The children that are in their early teens get off at the next stop with their scrub brushes and soap to try to wash car windows. The men get off at the next stop with their cups to beg for coins. The women get off at the next stop with their young children to beg for money at the tram stop.

And what I find the most disturbing is their exploitation of their children. Why are these children dancing in the streets and playing the accordion and washing car windows instead of going in school, running around outside, learning how to read, and playing? They don't even get to be kids.

So my experience with les gitans has been very distressing. It's almost worse than grappling with the question of how to help SDFs (the homeless) because their way of life is so cyclic and enduring. The kids are "working" as gypsies from day one and I can't imagine that they will ever stop.

So I guess my real question: is it even something I should worry myself with? Is it completely arrogant of me to assume that because these people don't live the way I do, that they need my help?

I'd like your thoughts in the comments.

The reason perfume is so popular in France

Cultural Lesson 11: French Hygiene 

So I'd say that a pretty big American perception of French people is a general lack of hygiene. Jokes about hairy armpits and infrequent bathing abound. While this cultural difference is exaggerated, I'd say there is  the teensiest bit of truth behind it.

1. Foul odors are a lot more acceptable in France. You rarely hear anyone complaining about bad smells.
2. There seems to be a gap in between generations. When I encounter body odor, it's usually older people. This may be the remnants of a culture of hygiene that is dying out with younger generations. My host mother washes her hair once a week on Thursdays (but she does not smell in any way), where as most of my friends from university are anal about taking daily showers. 
3. There is an undeniable abundance of smells. I have to be honest and say that my nose has definitely been subjected to some new foul odors in France. And it's mostly body odor. But, cities are always smellier than the 'burbs, so I'm not sure if this is due to the fact that I'm in France or that I'm living in a big city (other than DC) for the first time in my life. 

A fun anecdote!

I generally have my encounters with foul odors in enclosed spaces where it's hard to escape (the tram, the bus, church, etc.) The worst encounter I've ever had with body odor was on the tram during rush hour (of course). I noticed the smell just as I had gotten on the tram for my 10 minute tram ride over to Sainte Bernadette, my church. It quickly became overpowering; we're talking watering-eyes and gag reflexes. What was even worse was that no one else was reacting (see #1). Stoic and stone-faced, the French people around me in the tram carried on with their quotidian tram business. I felt like this stench was my personal purgatory.

So I fled to the next tram car. But, in heading away from the person I believed to be the culprit, I ended up even closer to the source of the odor. Pinned into a corner of the tram, I became feverish.  Attempting to use my coat as a filter, I was breathing through my mouth into my elbow. My head was swimming and I was contemplating barreling through a horde of people to get off at the next stop in order to wait for a new tram despite the fact that I was running late. I managed to make it to my stop and literally breathed a sigh of relief.

Clearly, I'm alive. But what I like to call "the funk" is one thing I will not miss about France.

Les elections françaises

Cultural Lesson #10: French Elections

As a Political Science major and news junkie, I am really quite lucky to be in France to witness the presidential elections which occur once every five years. I have learned a lot about the political atmosphere and the voting process through conversations with my host family and French friends, information from news sources, and lessons from one of my French courses at Accent Français.

The system of voting seems a little archaic in comparison to the American system. The Sunday of the premier tour, the French go to le bureau de vote where they are assigned to vote. They show their identity card and they go into l'isoloir (the voting booth) with many slips of paper with the candidates names written on them. Each voter gets an envelope in which they place their choice of candidate, leaving them to dispose of the other slips in the manner they choose (they throw them away, stuff them in their pockets, etc.). The envelope gets placed in l'urne (a box which holds the votes), the voter signs an electoral list, and that's it! When the voting process is over, the votes are hand-counted. In the case that none of the candidates gets a majority (over 50%) of the votes, there is a deuxième tour two weeks later (today!). The candidates for today are Sarkozy (the incumbent) and Hollande.

The actual voting process is definitely different, but I think there's something to be said about simplicity. At least you don't end up with dead pets voting (shout out to my home state of Illinois) or technical errors in the vote count. Another difference is a type of absentee voting, voter par correspondance, which allows an absentee voter to have someone else physically vote for them. Voter par procuration is what we would consider to be normal absentee voting.

The elections today will very well shape the economic and international role of France. The fate of the economy is definitely the biggest issue here. Supporters of Hollande look at the economic failure of the United States as reasoning to back their candidate, and supporters of Sarkozy look at the economic failure of Greece and Spain as reasoning to back theirs. Another big issue which is tied to this is immigration. Sarkozy maintains that stemming immigration into France would safeguard jobs for French people in a country where the unemployment level is nearly 10% and reduce strain on the welfare programs which are so numerous (well, in comparison to the US) in France. Hollande believes that immigration when it is legal is not a damper to the prosperity of France.

The election results are tallied quite quickly and there is no lame-duck period as we have in the United States. Keep your eyes on the news as France prepares to welcome back Sarkozy or welcome anew Hollande.

Service with a simper

Cultural Lesson # 9: [Lack of] Customer service

Forecast of this blog post: rant with a chance of negativity. Sorry!

We all know the mantra "the customer is always right." Or at least I thought we all did. To put it delicately, customer service has a whole different face in France. It has been one cultural difference that I haven't quite been able to embrace and I frequently find myself thinking "back home, this would never happen." Some examples (from least to greatest level of annoyance):

Exhibit A: The inconsistent peanut butter price
So, like any good study abroad student, I made myself a budget to account for travel, transport, food, and miscellaneous expenses.  For the food, in particular, I relied on prices at the grocery store to make this budget. The great thing about France (and other European countries) is that tax is included in the price of everything. So I can easily calculate exactly what I will spend and always have the right amount of cash ready. Once while going to buy a jar of peanut butter (a cost effective if not French lunch option), I noticed that the price at check out was several euros higher than the listed price. When I made a remark about it, the cashier told me it wasn't her job to check prices and that if I wanted a refund I could take it up with customer service. The desk of which I couldn't even find.

Exhibit B: The uppity banker
So in the beginning of my séjour, I completely forgot the assigned code to my French debit card. After entering my American code three times, the machine ate my card (d'oh!). So the next day I went to the bank with a piece of ID to recuperate it. After waiting in line for ten minutes, I gave the banker a friendly bonjour, explained my situation, and handed over my carte d'identité.  The lady gave me a disgusted look and told me very harshly that my drivers license wasn't a valid form of ID. I was already having a rough day (I'm pretty sure this was a Wednesday in February which means I was cold and I had just suffered through a horrible class), and I just remember being so upset that the lady didn't find it worth her energy to kindly explain to me that I needed a passport. I mean, I AM giving them my money after all.

Exhibit C: The restaurant owners who turn you away
Several times I have been turned away from a restaurant/food stand for no apparent reason. In Paris, we walked by a grillade stand (they serve grilled sausages and kebabs and whatnot) around their closing time. They were starting to pack up, but they had tons of cooked sausages still sitting on the grill. As we tried to order, the lady very rudely told us that they were closed. Also, when trying to sit down outside at a pub around noon, the store owners chased us away and said that it would be "a good fifteen minutes" until we were allowed to sit. We would have been fine with sitting and just waiting to be served, but apparently they were more interested in taking their smoke break than having customers.

Exhibit D: The key saga
This happened back in February. It is such a big story, but I didn't want to write about it until it was over, because I didn't want to jinx anything. So right after February break, I broke my key to the apartment in the lock of the door (just call me super-strength-Kathleen). Luckily, I got the whole key out, but when I showed my host mother she had a very strong reaction (the French don't really hold back with things like that). She told me to buy a new key would cost 130 euro. Holy cats. Whats more, the key had to be made at a special factory in Paris and would take as much as a week to be made (leaving me without a key during this period). So I freaked out and went to the program director because I had no idea what to do. Luckily, we figured out that the one euro insurance I bought at the beginning of the program would cover it (literally, the best one euro I ever spent). Yay!

Long story short, it took me 25 days for the key to get made because there was some problem at the key factory. So I was without a key for nearly a month. Super super super inconvenient because I am definitely the one who comes and goes the most (other than our host mother). I had to make sure someone would be around if I decided to go for a run, or wanted to come home for lunch, etc. My host mother and I literally shouted "HALLELUIAH!" when the key arrived.

Furthermore, working with the insurance company was incredibly frustrating. I filed the claim the day after I broke the key and sent in all of the necessary documentation (receipt for the new key, proof of residence, an attestation of what had happened, and my bank account information), but for one reason or another, there was always something wrong or something that I didn't do quite right (not because I neglected to read directions, but because they didn't TELL me the very particular way that they wanted things). Finally I went to my bankers who are the sweetest guys ever and they called the insurance company and basically told them to stop harassing me and to give me my money. Pascal to the rescue. I am going to miss that guy. I finally got my money just before I left for April break. Ridicule!


Silver lining: I had the best bankers ever (the "uppity banker" was at a different branch). There was a period of time when I was going to the bank at least two times a week for the stupid insurance claim. They were always super patient with me when I had no idea what they were saying (I never learned bank vocab in school... did you?). They helped me write out my letters that I had to send to the insurance company. They joked with me about the Chicago Bulls and loved to throw out the random English phrases they knew. They asked how I was adjusting to French culture and how my classes were going at le fac. And they were always super polite and never made me feel like a stupid American who doesn't know anything and should just not even be in France (which is sometimes how I feel after these customer service interactions). I just closed my account today and was actually kind of sad to say goodbye! Definitely the most pleasant experience I've had concerning service-providers.

Mon mot préféré

My love of words is such that I have a list of my favorites in both languages.

• In English: erroneous, obfuscate, particularly, obliterate, etc. 
• In French: se débrouiller, oreiller, laïcité, etc. 

I like these words not because of their denotations, but because of how they sound and how they feel in my mouth when I say them. There is one French word, however, that I am in love with. More than feeling nice to say, it's the word I would like to choose to describe my life if I could only choose one:

Epanouissement nm. 1. [of a flower] blooming, opening. - 2. [of an expression] brightening. - 3. [of the body] filling out - 4. [of a personality] flowering.

I am flourishing in France with no shortage of epanouissement.

15 Weird things I've seen in Montpellier

1. The Gipsy petting zoo (I'm sure this is some sort of scam...)
2. A woman on the bus mashing a stick around in her mouth (was later informed that this woman was probably from Uganda where they chew on a certain type of stick rather than brushing their teeth. Interesting!)
3. A mean speaking in tongues on the bus. Like, he was literally conversing with someone by making slurping noises. For half an hour.
4. Cat man. 
5. A group of French teenagers drunkenly singing I will always love you in Place du Peyrou. At 8 AM on a Saturday morning.
6. Someone walking a ferret. (And all the dogs going CRAZY)
7. A man drinking Heineken on the tram at 7:30 AM on a Tuesday. Get on his level.
8. My bus driver jump off the bus to grab a coffee and a croissant from a café when we were stuck in gridlock traffic.
9. Snow (which is just weird to see in Montpellier).
10. The international section of the grocery store filled with salsa and peanut butter.
11. Two people giving bisous with cigarettes in their mouth. C'est la classe.
12. A skate-boarding dog.
13. A guy on the tram who stood in front of me with his arms spread out like wings, made seagull noises for two minutes, and then thrust his hand at me expecting a coin.
14. A man smoking and jogging at the same time. Counterproductive.
15. Cat rock! My little name for the rocky area down by the river where I've made friends with lots of strays. Seriously, I've named them and everything.

Trains, planes, and automobiles. But especially trains.

French Cultural Lesson # 8: Le Train

The very first thing I did when I got to France was take a train to Montpellier. I remember feeling so French as I took the TGV for the first time and watched the French countryside whiz by. Throughout my stay here, I've really gotten to know the train system.

The Good: 
Unlike chez moi (back in the States), the train is really the mode of travel here. While there tends to be a Paris-centroism to the system, the network of rail is fairly extensive. In fact, I have done a majority of my traveling by train:

• Montpellier
• Avignon
• Nice
• Grasse
• Beaulieu-sur-mer
• Nimes
• Sète
• Cannes
• Antibes
• Monaco
• Menton
• Ventimille, Italy
• Paris
• Versailles

Also, in the French style of offering great discounts to people under 25 (something I'm going to miss a lot when I go back home), there is a discount card you can buy called the douze-vignt-cinq (the 12-25) which is for travelers between those ages. I've used the train so much that the card paid for itself in the first month, and I'd really recommend it to anyone with an extended stay in France who is planning to travel by train!

The bad:

The SNCF (the organization that runs the trains) has a reputation of being a little disorganized. Trains are often behind schedule, sometimes two trains leave from the same platforms at essentially the same time, etc. Suffice it to say, we have had our fair share of train fiascoes. The tardiness of trains is somewhat of a joke among French people. Back in March, a law was passed that requires the SNCF to refund your ticket if you miss a connecting train due to a delay (which seems like an obvious responsibility in my American eyes..).



The ugly:

They don't all look like this, I swear.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Peur du jour - 1 Mai 2012: Ignoring the temporal nature of my stay...

Okay. I'm just going to be completely honest. I've experienced a complete drop in work ethic this past week. It probably has to do with the realization that my time in Montpellier is ticking down (it's definitely not May, by the way. Not possible.). Ne vous inquiétez pas, I'm going to study for my exams and get all of my work done and it will all be fine and dandy.

The product of flower-gathering with Colette

I'm just taking a few pit stops along the way.

These are a few of my favorite things.

And I'm pretty sure that's what I wanted to learn how to do this semester, anyways... Life is about smelling the roses, eating good cheese, basking in the sun, laughing with your friends, and appreciating the God-given blessings around you.

This is what picnic-ing with friends should look like.

So, each of the past five days has been jam-packed with life: spending the entire afternoon with friends at a café, re-exploring the streets of Montpellier in good company, picking flowers and learning their names in French, giving piggy-back rides, playing baseball and volleyball and soccer, dancing without inhibition, picnicking in Peyrou.

Love these girls. Especially in the MPL soleil.

I knew I'd be saying this, but I don't want to ever leave France.