I’d always known I’d study abroad. From a young age I thought I was England-bound for a semester where I’d hobnob with landed gentry. At about the time I decided to continue studying French – and pursue a language minor – I set my sights on Paris and extended my stay to the full school year.
The plane lands in Paris and I start to cry. I don’t know a soul on the continent. What was I thinking?
My mother helps me set up my apartment and comforts me as I sob each night at dinner. Just wait until orientation at school, she says. Perhaps things will be better when I meet the other kids?
I agree.
I’m late to the first day of orientation. As I rush in I’m given a list of all the other foreign students and their home Universities. I recognize a name – Angela from the University of Texas at Austin. There was a similarly-named Angela in my fifth grade GEM class in Midland, Texas. Could this be the same girl?
It is. I turn around and am face-to-face with a girl I haven’t seen since my 11th birthday party.
Small world, indeed. We band together and pick our classes so that we will never have to eat lunch alone.
Classes are three hours long with a smoke-break halfway through. On days when I’m feeling gutsy, I use that time to order a yogurt from the snack cart (but only if they have framboise).
I get called on once in my Marchés Internationaux de Capitaux class and keep repeating the number one (in French, bien sûr!) until the professor calls on someone else.
Angela and I head out to an immigration center to get our chests x-rayed. This is the only acceptable way to prove to the French that you aren’t bringing TB into their country. We aren’t, so we are allowed to stay for the year.
We have a week off for Toussaint (All Saints). Julie – a fellow Illini – and I go to Nice and Venice. In Nice, we eat lavender gelato. In Venice, we run into Adam, my good friend from high school, completely unexpectedly.
The four Americans in our Parisian school host Thanksgiving for our international (predominantly Austrian) friends. We manage to get a turkey and one of our guests brings a pumpkin pie he made from scratch. He’d taken a train out to a pumpkin patch that morning.
In December, our school erects a large Christmas tree in the main courtyard. I nick a blue ornament to take home as a keepsake. On my way home, my wallet is stolen. Karma.
I go home for Christmas and speak to the French classes at my old high school. I feel quite cultured and mature.
Back in Paris, one of our classmates is DJing at a club in the north of the city. Julie, Angela, and I take a wrong turn and end up in a less-than-pleasant area. Cops on patrol pick us up and take us home. I’ve never gotten to ride in a cop car before.
Angela and I go to Luxembourg and I fall in love with the city.
Angela and I go to London and I fall in love with the city.
My sister comes to visit for her Spring Break. She is a Senior in high school that year. Together, we go to Brittany. I’ve called ahead to make reservations at a small hotel in Dinan. I tell them my little sister is coming with me. They set up a crib in our room for her.
My dad comes to visit and we go to the D-Day beaches. I’m amazed. And overwhelmed. And so, so grateful.
I go to Spain to visit my friend Emily. We take an 8-hour bus ride from Madrid to the Mediterranean coast watching Men in Black II in Spanish on repeat. We stay in the nicest hostel I’ve ever seen – we have our own balcony! – and eat our weight in galletas.
On a trip with my friend Natalie, we discover Pop! – champagne in small bottles meant to be consumed with festive bendy straws. We drink them along the Seine after watching a ballet at L’Opera Garnier. We are so French.
Suddenly, the year is over.
(go here to start at the beginning)
renita says
I am not at all regretful about my semester in Manhattan, but part of me wishes I’d had a chance to study abroad, too. Ah, well, we’ll get to Europe someday.
I don’t think I’ve ever asked you — how did you find the French people, in general? Did you notice any difference between Parisians and the rest of the country? I’ve had several people with French connections tell me Parisians really are rude and/or uncaring.
Helena says
I love the French and got along swimmingly with the Parisians. I think the “Parisians are rude” thing is similar to the idea some people have here that stereotypical Manhattan-ites (you know, the ones who never leave the island) are irritating/snobbish. Paris is “the city” and tends to see the rest of France as being “the country”. France is very centralized and it’s easy for Parisians to see themselves as the center of it all (again, how we here in Chicago see NYC as thinking it is better than us). The Parisians react to tourists kind of like we do here in Chicago… as much as I love my city and want people to see it, it gets annoying to wade through crowds… and we don’t even have to deal with the irritation of people insisting on speaking a language they have no real reason to assume we speak.
There’s also the “stereotypical American” they are dealing with… loud, insistent on speaking English unapologetically, etc. While the Parisians likely see many Americans being totally normal every day, then they see one being crazy and that’s how Americans are painted. One bad apple ruins the bunch (or however that saying goes). I definitely pretended not to speak English when American tourists were being awkward and I didn’t want to be associated with them. I’m a snob, I guess.
The French, from my experiences, are very teamwork focused. I don’t know how to describe it but to say that whenever I had a problem (when my wallet was stolen, when I was about to miss a flight) people rallied like I’ve never seen anywhere else. It’s not that they lack individuality, but there’s more of a palpable sense that we are all in this together (cue cheesy Disney song).
It’s interesting for me to see how different countries perceive the different regions within their country. I feel like I’m constantly defending the South here.
OOH, so many blog posts brewing from this comment!
Hemborgwife says
I am sad these are going to be coming to a close but this has been my favorite!
Helena says
Thanks, I thought it would be!
renita says
thanks for the thoughtful reply 🙂 I always appreciate hearing the perspective of someone who’s been there.
and I can totally understand being annoyed with both tourists and stereotypical Americans. I got pretty fed up with NYC tourists in my relatively short time there.
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