Au Revoir

I wasn’t going to do this. I was going to leave this blog a bit how I feel I left my year – unfinished. No closure. It’s better that way, right? Because closure means ending, and I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for my time in France to have an ending.

There are so many things I want to say right now. So many people I want to thank, places I want to reminisce about, stories I want to tell you over a bowl of thé and a baguette with Breton butter. Even if I had the time, though, I wouldn’t know where to start. That’s the problem, really; I’m used to stories with a set beginning and a set end, where I can open up to page one and know exactly where I am, where there is a last chapter and once it’s over the story can be put to rest. Apparently, that’s not how life works.

Everyone always tries to compare life to books, but it isn’t possible. Life can’t be divided into chapters. Life is messy and tangled and has no real sections with starts or finishes. All it has is the potential to be categorized in hindsight, when years have eroded the deep etchings that love left on the heart and soul, and there is finally enough space to realize what lessons were learned and taught when at the time all it felt like was happiness and desolation.

Here is my advice to you, dear reader: whatever it is that you are considering right now, do it. Tell the boy you like that you think he’s cute. Wear the dress that you love and your mother doesn’t. Stand up to those kids in your class who try to make you feel like less than you are, because in the long run all that really matters is that you’ll be doing what you love some day and they’ll still be putting others down to feel better about themselves. Write a letter to your favorite author or singer or actor (or blogger!) letting them know that you appreciate what they do. Dye your hair a color that you like and don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t look fabulous. Take risks, take chances, take opportunities. Some day, they won’t be there.

And if what you’re considering is whether or not to do something ridiculous like spend nine months of your life in a different country, all I can tell you is that the only thing you’ll regret is not even trying. So do it. Jump with both feet and a blindfold on, doing Olympic-gymnast flips on your way down. If I’ve learned anything over the course of the past year and this blog, it’s that someone – whether it’s the girl you meet on your very first day who won’t stop crying on your very last, the boy you never thought you would befriend who teaches you the true meaning of “adventurous,” the girl with different-colored eyes who cheers you up even on your darkest days, the girl you don’t meet until it’s almost too late who seems to understand you in a way nobody else does, the woman who welcomes you home each day with a smile and a genuine concern for your well-being, or the web spun of all the people around you, from the girl who sits next to you in Art History to the guy in Calc that talks too much – will always be there to make sure you land on your feet.

To you, the reader, thank you for sticking with me through the midnight meltdowns and random Supernatural tangents. SYA 2012-2013, thank you for the most beautiful, sparkling time I could possibly have imagined. I know that we’ll all cross paths again someday, and until then I will do my best to honor my memories by fitting the most adventure possible into each day I live. And I urge you, dear readers, to do the same. Find wonder in every single thing you experience, and you will live more in a day than most people live in a lifetime. Merci, mes amis. Je vous aime.

~M~

P.S. Pour les élèves de SYA à l’avenir, je suis toujours là pour vous. Écrivez-moi si vous avez besoin, n’importe quand. Bonne chance avec tout ce que vous essayez – je sais que vous allez réussir. N’hésitez pas à demander d’aide. À bientôt, j’espère.

France, Families, and a Gaping Hole In My Heart

Home is a place where you know you are loved. It’s where you remember without even thinking about it that you have to lift that one door up a little bit when you open it or it will get caught on the carpet. It’s where a smile or well-timed joke can turn your day around completely, where you have a place at the table and a napkin ring in the drawer, where you are surrounded by sisters and brothers who know your favorite kind of dessert and that you always procrastinate on everything. Home is a huge old house across the street from an abandoned hospital, where a quiet white room welcomed a lost and lonely girl and gave her purpose and reason and happiness again. Home is Rennes. I miss home.

It Ends Tomorrow

I can’t believe it. No, but really. I feel like everybody is playing this big colossal joke on me, like, “Ha ha! You’re going home in less than a day! LOLOLOL SO FUNNY!” but as if in reality, Wednesday will come and go like any other Wednesday and I’ll still be at my 8 h 10 Langue class on Thursday morning, leaning against the wall of Salle 6 in my chair even though we aren’t supposed to and scribbling notes to Jasmine or Danielle between interrogations.

Last week, I said my first real goodbye. Rachel, who has made regular appearances in this blog since I met her on my first real day in France, left early to graduate (which she did successfully on Saturday! MY BABY IS ALL GROWN UP) and I don’t think I’ve cried so hard in years. We went to a special lunch together and then said goodbye on the same corner where we first said hello, and then I sobbed the entire way back to school. As I entered the common room with tearstained cheeks, my friend Hannah swooped me up in a hug and voiced my exact thought – “It’s different when it’s real.”

Right now I’m looking at a half-packed suitcase. My things are strewn haphazardly about my room, with coats on top of chairs and random decorations on all the walls. Two trash bags sit against the wall, filled with the pages upon pages of notes that I’ve taken this year, and next to them there is a pile of postcards that I never wrote and pictures I kept because there was no other choice. This is home. Not America. This room, in this house, with these people. And I will never be ready to leave it.

Today at school, we had our last school-wide assembly. Towards the end, some of us shared things we had created over the course of the year. I read a short essay that I wrote, entitled “And That Was How We Said I Love You.” I hope you don’t mind if I share it with you now. (Suffice to say that my voice cracked at the beginning of the last paragraph and I was flat-out sobbing by the last sentence. SYA France 2012-2013, I love you so much.)

And That Was How We Said I Love You

And this was how we said hello: With our shy eyes not wanting to land in one tree for too long, our hair freshly cut and our clothes freshly bought, lugging bags behind us and dreams in front of us, not sure of what was to come. We said hello with a bowl of macaroni and cheese that tasted just a little too much of tomato, and an airport sandwich that was just a little bit too dry. Parents said their goodbyes, with tearful hugs and cries of “I’ll miss you!” and “Call me when you get there,” but all we said was hello. Those first few hours we spent hopping from terminal to terminal like the homeless birds we already were, all we did was say hello, each in his or her own way – a loud introduction, a photo surreptitiously snapped, a name and state, a stand and wait.

Hours turned to days, and days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and months to seasons, all of them running together in a swirl of memories like stars splashed across the sky, coming together in constellations yet standing apart in their own fascinating glory. We stood together, united as one, and traversed the bay that looked impenetrable. Holding each other up across the muddy depths, leaning into the warm and welcoming yet still unknown embraces around us, we did more than say hello. We asked, “Who are you?” And, more importantly, we answered. We showed who we were in the way we acted, the way we all dressed up for one day of being American, the way we reveled in the laughter and love we found around us and did not falter at the difficulties we encountered. Our personalities revealed themselves bit by bit in preparation for the most spectacular of spectacles, in a game organized late one night that in name suggested the exact opposite of the love it bred, and in the gifts left by secret givers during stolen moments of stolen days.

And this was how we found ourselves: With new trinkets in our pockets and newly soldered families waiting for us on two continents, we managed to break away from the familiar for a second time and immerse ourselves in what we knew to be home, for now, for a moment, for as long as life would let us have it. Somehow we made it through a week of putting all that we had learned to the test, anticipating whatever might be thrown at us, and were rewarded with a day when even the sky celebrated how much had changed. Then the days grew darker and our memories grew shorter and we struggled to remember why we had come, why we had left everything that was so familiar and bright, why anyone would want to uproot everything they knew for something so unsure. And that was when we revealed ourselves; through the misery we felt and the support we gave each other, we found that nothing is too difficult to be survived with the aid of a friend, and no hardship can outlast the love of someone who wants to see us through it.

Then came the bus ride to the place we already knew, the place where it all began, the place we took our first steps on the ground of our new home and thought, “There’s no turning back now.” But instead of nine unknown months ahead, we had just five unknown days; days we filled with adventure and abandon, museums and mystery, late-night hotel room chats and early-morning bleary-eyed breakfasts. At the end we parted even better friends than before, with shared secrets tightening the threads between us just a little bit more. And when we returned, it was a new month, and a new time to discover and forget and remember to learn and love and live more than ever before. We rose to the occasion, peppering our days with impromptu dance parties and lost walks down little streets, not realizing how quickly our time together was swirling down the drain until suddenly it was time for a trip to the sunshine.

And that was how we said, “I love you.” We said it in the way we sat together, singing and dancing and laughing, in the back of a bus that became yet another home. We said it in the way we frolicked around towns for the rich at heart, acting as loud and American and together as we knew how and taking pictures with our minds and memories. As we sat together at the end of a long day, sunburned and bug bitten and so happy we could not contain it, we said it in our concern for our friends and our concern for those we did not know, our want to fix things even if we did not know how. We said it in the way we gathered to support each other, drawn only by the need to comfort and heal, and in the way we turned every moment into an opportunity to laugh.

And on our last night, we said, “I love you” in more than words. We said it with our pretty speeches, we said it with our hugs and tears, but most of all we said it in the way we sat, haphazardly arranged in the undeniable unification of a circle, friendships crossing paths where once there had only been the unknown, looking at the faces around us and seeing the familiarity of home, asking each other the deepest questions we could muster because we trusted enough to be answered truthfully. We said “I love you” with the hands we held and the stars we sat under, with the jokes we cracked and the tears we wiped away. And at the end of that sparkling night, we gripped each other tight and said “I love you” in the brisk urgency of our embraces, the knowledge that we had so little time left with the strangers we knew as family.

And this is how we will say goodbye: With tearstained faces and memory-stained hearts, we will hold each other close until time rips us apart. We will go as one from the place we called home to the place that may never be home again, united in our differences and together in our identity. We will say goodbye forever changed, knowing that those who once said hello in an airport far away will never again exist, lost in translation somewhere in a gloomy city where friendships shaped the malleable metal of personality with all the ease of sculpting clay.  Above all, we will say goodbye with the knowledge that it is not truly a goodbye, not really, but instead an indication of “Until next time,” an acknowledgement that someday our paths will cross again but right now they can no longer run parallel. And when that moment comes, we will say goodbye with tears pouring down our faces and frantic hugs to forever friends so valuable and special that their worth will never be able to be expressed, and then we will take a deep breath and walk out into the world and when we see someone new, we will say hello.

50th Post: History in the Making

I’ve put a lot of thought into what I should write in this post. After all, it is a pretty big deal. It’s my fiftieth post! After days upon days of thought, reflection, zoning out in various classes due to lack of sleep and introspection, I have decided that with this post I shall create that which the masses have requested: words of advice for incoming SYA students. Below, you will find all – from serious to silly, pre-departure to last few days, all of it mixed in a glorious haphazard melting pot of wisdom and fondue. Good luck.

Fifty Free Pieces of Advice

1. If you have a choice, go on JP’s bus. His commentary is always the best, plus his son is a crack-up.
2. Don’t waste suitcase space on sweaters and spring clothes unless they have particular sentimental value for you. Sweaters are easily found here, and spring clothes are really only going to be used for one to two weeks of the entire year, so you might as well either shop in France or bring the bare minimum.
3. Have some sort of backup American phone plan if it is financially feasible. I don’t know how many times it’s saved my life to be able to call my dad at weird hours of the day and night, not having to rely on the when-will-he-see-it e-mail system.
4. Related to number 3: You are never too old to call home and ask for help. Whether that’s asking your host mom how to get to the mall or asking your American dad for life advice, parents are there for a reason. And let me tell you, you don’t know how much you rely on them them until they’re nine hours behind and not constantly quoting Schmidt from New Girl at you/singing Jonas Brothers songs in the kitchen/sitting through an hour-long explanation of the theology of Supernatural.
5. Try every food that is put in front of you at least once. I’m serious. No exceptions. Even that weird-looking sausage that feels like mud in your mouth and turns out to be made of pig blood will turn into a good story some day.
6. Appreciate every single victory you have. Believe me, they feel few and far between at first, but you need to look for the parts that are going well when everything else starts getting hard. You may feel lost in language, but you got to school by yourself today! You may not have gotten an awesome grade on that CESF test, but today your host mom asked you to bake with her! Seriously. If you don’t count the victories, you’ll go insane.
7. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Don’t expect yourself to stay the same. Who you are, what you value, and your perspective on everything is about to undergo MAJOR renovation, and it’s up to you to embrace it.
8. It’s okay to friend your classmates on Facebook the week that the class roster comes out. Seriously. And if you happen to have conversations with them, don’t over think the impression you’re making. You’re going to meet them soon enough, and by the end of the year you’ll all know each other well anyways.
9. Bring a present for your host family (again, if financially feasible). Even if it’s something that doesn’t seem that impressive – I got my family a coffee table book on California – it will make a good first impression. The first thing Humbeline did when I gave them the present was tell me that she could tell it was going to be a good year.
10. To quote the great advice of a certain Disney Princess-like friend of mine, “Sisters are like cats. Leave them alone and they’ll come to you.” But seriously.
11. In addition to the monster suitcase you’re inevitably going to have, bring either a smaller suitcase or a duffel bag (I have a duffel and portability = PRIME) for school trips and independent travel. Also, learn to pack like a Français. One more tip on packing advice – bring a French/English dictionary in paper and if possible get a French/English dictionary app.
12. Never think you’re too good to cry. For the first semester of the year, I wore the fact that I hadn’t cried in missing home as a badge of pride. What have I learned? Crying is not weakness. Crying is not defeat. Crying is not devaluing the home you currently have. Crying is admitting that you’re human and have human emotions, and that you miss the home you haven’t seen in months, no matter how great the new one is. (Pro Tip: In terms of instant relief, the Grey’s Anatomy episode with the two brain cancer patients who are in love is perfect. So is reading The Fault In Our Stars. Sob fest in seconds.)
13. Challenge yourself a little bit. Read a book in French that isn’t for school. Go a week without English. If you don’t push your brain, you’ll never get to the level of French that you actually want.
14. Sometimes, it’s necessary to go to Super U with your best friend and buy crazy amounts of junk food and then eat all of it in the Parc du Thabor while complaining about the stupidest little things. It’s for your sanity. Accept it.
15. The best boulangerie is the one past the post office, not the close one that everybody goes to. Get raspberry macarons. You won’t regret it.
16. Get ready to readjust your idea of temperature. Also your stance on rain. Take all of that “I LOVE the rain!! It’s my favorite!!” and just forget about it. Rain is not beautiful when it is a 24/7 occurrence for seven months. It doesn’t often rain hard, but it does rain CONSTANTLY. Be properly prepared. (Rainboots – not necessary, but if you want them they’re helpful for multiple trips. Umbrella/raincoat – both necessary.)
17. Wear red lipstick no matter what Pascal says. Rock it, gurl.
18. What has worked for me all year in terms of money is using the debit card that my parents arranged with a weekly/monthly allowance. I don’t shop that much, so it has worked out, but I caution all of you shop-a-holics out there to think your purchases through before making them, because that scarf/those boots/that pair of sunglasses might not seem as worth it when you’re unable to go out for the rest of the month.
19. Talk about both budget and independent travel with your parents before leaving. Both are things that need to be discussed, and it’s better to do it in person than through a glitchy Skype connection. (“WHERE do you think you’re going? OVER MY DEAD BODY, YOUNG LADY.” “Mom, I already bought the tickets…”)
20. Introduce yourself to your friends’ parents when they come to visit. Come on. You should know this one.
21. Figure out who the best bus buddies are early in the year and stick with them. If you’re a bus sleeper, find a fellow bus sleeper. If you can’t sleep on buses (like me) choose someone who is going to stay up with you, and preferably someone who has the same musical preferences as you so that you can have wild dance parties the entire way.
22. Go to bed before midnight the night before a trip. (Pro Tip: I am not following this advice right now. I have to wake up in five hours. YEEEEE)
23. SV en haut has the most options, SV en bas is unreliably the quickest choice, and JM has undeniably the most reliably good food. Make your lunch decisions accordingly.
24. Limit how much you Skype everyone back home. I know you want to know who’s dating who and what your best friend’s crush was wearing today, but all of that will still be there when you get home. Your SYA friends and host family might not be.
25. Don’t feel guilty if you don’t do an activity. Your time is to do with it what you wish, and if you don’t want to spend it on an organized activity, that’s your choice.
26. Branch out. Even if you make really good friends within the first month, continue to explore and spend time with other people. The roster of People Melanie Hangs Out With Regularly has changed drastically since the beginning of the year.
27. Over the summer, make a bucket list. This can include things as varied as “Ride a merry-go-round” and “Try three kinds of French cheese before leaving” and should definitely have an item or two that really challenges you. Jas and I made May Bucket Lists, but I wish I had started earlier in the year because I know that realistically, I am not going to complete everything on my list.
28. If you have a chance to talk to an SYA alumnus, do it. Whether that’s the student that stayed with your host family three years ago who still comes to visit every summer or it’s sending an e-mail to your favorite blogger (not dropping any hints or anything what), I’ve found that talking to those who had already gone through the year was hugely helpful in deciding what to do, when to do it, how to act, and how best to take advantage of the opportunities in front of me. There are thousands upon thousands of lessons I have learned over the course of this year that will not make it onto this list, and some of them would have been very helpful to have known from the beginning.
29. Maintain a relationship with at least one SYA staff member. Whether that’s a French teacher, English teacher, math teacher, your advisor, the Resident Director, or the college counselor, it does not matter – just make sure that you have an adult in your life at school that you can go to.
30. People do stupid things. Try to forgive them even if you feel like you shouldn’t. Take responsibility for your actions, but don’t be surprised if they don’t take responsibility for theirs. Everyone’s figuring life out at a different rate.
31. Find some way to keep your memories organized. Journal or scrapbook or make video montages or blog and just commit your memories to a concrete medium. After a school trip, take a minute to write down all of the places you visited and what the weather was like at each one. Write letters and postcards. I didn’t, and I regret it.
32. Make it your goal to talk to every single person in your class (I’m talking substantive discussion, not just a “Hey, what’s up?” at the bus stop)  by the end of the year. These kids are your family now. They’re the only ones who are going to understand every emotion you experience, the difficulties of your relationship with your host family, and that weird craving you have for cold mushroom pizza.
33. Don’t be afraid to do things alone. Explore, run, jump, and wander around by yourself with only your thoughts (and maybe music) for company.
34. Do one thing for yourself every week. For me, that’s coming home on a Friday afternoon and drinking tea in bed for two hours while catching up on American television. For some of my friends, it’s going running every morning or to a special café every week. For others, it’s a special activity with their host siblings. Whatever it is, find your thing and do it.
35. Do nice things for your host family without being asked. I like to bake, so I’ve made my family cookies multiple times. I also sometimes buy flowers for them from the store across the street. They do so much for you, and it’s nice to show them that you appreciate it. (Pro Tip from Willa: Make American food for them!) On a related note, be a polite guest in their home. Keep your room relatively clean. Make Mom proud.
36. Bring as many #2 pencils and black pens as you can manage, but don’t waste suitcase space on any other type of office supply – you can buy everything here. Get ready for French lined paper. Go to Super U first; the office supplies are cheap and bountiful.
37. Go in with no expectations and come out with no regrets. I have that written in the beginning of my journal, and it was really helpful in the beginning of the year to have put no pressure on what I wanted from my relationship with my host family and to not expect anything specific from those around me. Looking back, I would say I do have minor regrets, but I did all of the major things that I wanted to do. No expectations, no regrets.
38. Bring at least one or two American movies to watch on those days when you’re feeling low and you just want something familiar. Specifically, you will find this piece of advice helpful on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and your birthday.
39. Find the good seats in each classroom and guard them with your life. I recommend corners with direct door access.
40. Don’t be afraid to say “I love you.” Say it to your friends. Say it to your family. Say it with first-thing-in-the-morning hugs and flowers left on the kitchen table. A little more love in the world never hurt anybody.
41. Make (and complete) a list of things to do before arriving. This could include things like checking up on what will be required of you in terms of keeping in touch with your home school, spending some time clearing the shelves at CVS, and securing the e-mail addresses of every necessary contact.
42. BRING SLIPPERS. Your host family may not require them in the house, but if they do it will be in your best interest to have your own slippers rather than those left behind by a previous student or quickly bought without much forethought.
43. Effective deodorant, tampons, and conditioner are not widely or cheaply available in France. Plan accordingly.
44. Don’t be afraid of public transportation. The Rennes bus and metro systems are amazing. Embrace them.
45. Never be intimidated to practice your French. Use it whenever and wherever possible, even if (especially if) everyone there is French. You came to this program for a reason; if you waste every opportunity to practice, you’ll only end up hating yourself.
46. Sit in a public place and watch people go by. Some of the best moments I’ve had this year were spent sitting in Place Sainte Anne journaling about all of the people going by. Observing yields a fruitful harvest.
47. It’s okay to make decisions you regret. It’s okay to say things you wish you could take back and do things you wish you could erase. It’s even okay to turn into somebody you kind of might hate a little bit. The only thing that’s not okay is not learning from any of it. If you see yourself heading down a path that you don’t like, turn back. Run away as fast as you can, and don’t let that path try to seduce you again. Learn from the mistakes that you make and the mistakes that your friends make, but understand that those mistakes will happen. Be as good of a friend as you can be, but don’t stress out too much if you mess up. Move on and make it better next time.
48. Keep mints/mouthwash/toothpaste in your cubby. You never know when you’ll oversleep by forty minutes and arrive at school panting with your mouth tasting like fur and old pennies.
49. Most host families have Internet available, so don’t stress about it. Even if yours doesn’t, it’s available at school and at numerous cafes around Rennes. Skyping with your parents is a good thing to do; I’d do it once a week at least. Rather, I did it once a week. Though for me, that was at most. (Also, don’t forget to bring multiple energy converters! They are not really available here.)
50. Even if you don’t follow a single piece of advice on this list, you’ll still have a rockin’ year. Don’t stress too much; have as much fun as you can. You’ll be fine. I promise. The door of opportunity is wide open. I’ll see you on the other side.

Monster Post: Part 2 (AKA That Time We Went to All the Rich People Places)

Day 1 of the actual trip: Jasmine and I woke up to light streaming in through our window and tossed on some clothes to join our classmates for a quick breakfast, after which we decided it would be a good idea to do some yoga on our little porch/patio/whatever that square outside our door was. And it was a good idea, right up until the moment when the cleaning lady came in to see us contorted on the ground, which was difficult to explain away. Afterwards, I accompanied Jas to the pool, where she was brave enough to jump in and I elected to spend some time with the book we’re reading in English right now. Lunch was a buffet affair, like all of our meals at the hotel, and afterwards we took a few minutes to run back to the room and gather up our things before meeting at the bus for the twisty, turny, topsy-turvy coastal drive to Saint Tropez.

If you have never been to Saint Tropez, you should try to make that a thing that happens in your life. First of all, the views of the water were absolutely gorgeous. Second of all, the streets were tiny and French and fun to get lost in. Thirdly, while in Saint Tropez I had some of the best ice cream (or maybe it was gelato?) that I have ever experienced in life. Not that I have experienced all that much, but suffice to say that it was delicious.

Jasmine and I occupied ourselves with getting lost (as mentioned above), exploring stores, wading in the water, singing and laughing and talking about all those things that best friends talk about, and stealing little bits of beauty from backyard gardens. When we rejoined with our classmates at the pier where the buses had been parked, there was an impromptu twirly photo shoot with the entire French coastal region in the background before we loaded up for the looong (think long-enough-to-walk-to-Saturn-and-back) drive home.

This post is taking me a really long time to write because there is an absolutely enormous fly buzzing around my room and every time he starts moving again I get distracted and try to track his motion. Which I cannot do. Because he is too fast. I have named him Gerald and eagerly await the day he finds his way back into the wilderness of downtown Rennes.

Gerald aside, the next day was taken up with a morning trip to the Villa Ephrussi de Rothschild, an absolutely gorgeous house in the hills with a fabulously extensive garden and all sorts of water features. We frolicked, we tanned, we lounged on lawns, we took pictures like it was a Parisian photo shoot (look here, and while you’re there check out Willa’s blog – more on her and what a superstar she is later), and I made it my mission to have a conversation with every member of the class by the end of the trip. (In case you’re wondering, I succeeded. Jasmine… did not.) Soon enough, it was time to get back on the bus (by now, we were pros) and drive to the little tourist town of Eze for lunch. We were dropped off in a parking lot and told that the town had very few places to sit, so most of us climbed part of the way up the mountain-y thing (at the top of which was the actual town) and sat among the rocks, trees, and weirdly large ants to devour the picnic lunches that had been provided. Afterwards, two of my friends and I uncovered a series of little shops and spent some time looking at everything inside. I never quite made it all the way to the top, but I had enough time to stretch my legs and look around before it was time for Bus Ride Part Quadrillion: The Sequel.

Next up on the list: MONACO! We began with a lovely exploration of the Monaco aquarium, where we discovered the species of fish that is going to end the world and Will tried to show us some special adaptation of Google Earth that they were featuring but instead spent fifteen minutes frustrated by the small children hogging the machine who had no idea what they were doing. Afterwards, Danielle and I walked up the street a little bit to see a really pretty church and then down to the nearby park, where we found a gorgeous outlook point to sit and soak up the sunshine. Soon enough, we were joined by all sorts of friends, one of whom commented as a bird flew by, “Even the pigeons in Monaco are classier!” (Indeed, they were.)

Thus concluded our adventures in the land of classy pigeons and Brangelina vacation homes. Tune in the next time I motivate myself to write something for a summary of Nice Part 1, Weird Art and Mean Waiters, and Pretending To Be Jean-Baptiste Grenouille.

SYA-ERS CIRCA 2013-2014 PLEASE SEND ME MORE MESSAGES I LOVE IT SO MUCH IT MAKES ME FEEL IMPORTANT KAY COOL THANKS LOTS OF LOVE AND CHOCOLATE AND CAMEMBERT TO EVERYONE. (Fun fact: You know how we Americans use “pie charts?” French people use “Camemberts.”) (Second fun fact: Camembert is the best and if you disagree you’re wrong.)

~M~

The Monster Post: Part 1 (AKA That Time We Spent Two Days Straight On a Bus and Got Lost in Saint Tropez)

WOW. It feels like it’s been years since I last posted, and I deeply apologize for that. Unfortunately, I have not had access to dependable Internet for two weeks, since I embarked on our last major school trip (which was followed by some independent travel). Shall I recount what is worth recounting? Sounds good.

Friday, April 19. It is 23 h 45, and Melanie has not yet started packing. Why? Who knows.

After a couple of wild freak-out e-mails to my dad and more than a couple moments of thinking, “Maybe I just won’t pack. It’s no big deal. They can’t make me,” I finally got it together enough to make a list and toss everything I owned into my duffel. Setting an alarm bright and early for 6 h 30, I crawled into bed and barely closed my eyes before being betrayed by the incessant quacking of my iPod. Somehow managing to get everything together and on my body before I left the house, I bid au revoir to my home and family and shuffled slowly to the bus stop, meeting Rachel along the way. (You may not care about this, but I was excited: When Rachel and I met at the corner, it was one of the rare occurrences of us both arriving at the exact same time. Magic.)

Once the buses arrived, there was some drama around figuring out where everyone was going to be seated – there were far more people on one bus than the other – but I ultimately ended up sitting next to Jasmine, in front of Wes and Will, and across from Elizabeth and Laura. This first day of driving was spent mostly in conversation; Wes had just finished reading my FAVORITE BOOK OF ALL TIME EVER (When God Was a Rabbit by Sarah Winman – if you have not yet read it, drop everything you’re doing and read it NOW. Seriously. If I’ve ever made any request and meant it, this is the one) and so we spent lots of time discussing how perfect it is. Every two hours, there was a break from driving of about thirty minutes. Most of them occurred at rest stops, but towards the end of the day we stopped at a priory as well. Our conversation during the last leg of the voyage centered mostly around books of our childhood, and when Will brought up the Warriors series I recounted the numerous neighborhood gang fights we had over those books. He was entertained.

We got to our first hotel and were eating dinner within the hour. I roomed with Jasmine, and after dinner we pretty much just fell into bed, exhausted from lack of sleep the night before and being in bus seats all day. It was difficult to wrap our minds around the fact that we still had another full day of driving ahead of us.

Day 2. After losing my earring backing in the hotel parking lot and replacing it with an eraser on the advice of my English teacher, I was pleased to find out that we were making a stop before even beginning the drive. For about an hour, we toured the Hôtel Dieu des Invalides, which was fascinating due to its preservation. We saw hospital beds from hundreds of years ago, a well, and a lot of cool tapestries/artsy things. We got on the road again pretty quickly after that, at which point Teresa, Willa, and I watched High School Musical and sang along loudly to the chagrin of our friends. The highlight rest stop of the day was this adorably sunny and bright area with a playground and area to play soccer and four square. I flitted around taking pictures and videos, cheering on this classmate at that activity and that classmate at the other.

We finally arrived at our destination, Roquebrune-sur-Argens, in the early evening. It was still light out, and more importantly it was warm enough to leave the bus with no jacket and not be freezing. After the hustle and bustle of room assignments (I was with Jas in a lovely room that had back door access to a huge empty area that turned out to be perfect for looking at stars) and a short meeting with the hotel manager, we all joined up for dinner together. At the time, I didn’t know it, but class dinners were about to become my favorite part of the day.

I’m going to leave off here and write another post soon about the actual meat of the trip… but for now, I really just need to post SOMETHING.

Three weeks until I leave this beautiful life.

~M~

 

Update: There ARE Ants In France

Until about December, I had the distinct feeling that something was missing from my life. I saw food left on the counter overnight and completely unaffected in the morning, and I never had the phantom feeling of a tiny weight dragging itself across my skin. That was when it hit me; there were no ants in France. Not once since my arrival had I seen that distinct trail of insects, nor had anyone at school or at home put out the traps that are so common in every corner of my California household.

Then, a few days ago, a discovery: an ant trail had formulated in the math room! And so, dear friends and followers, it is with great pleasure that I inform you that there are indeed ants in France.

Yesterday was the first nice-with-a-capital-N day that we’ve had since… ever? It was around seventy degrees Fahrenheit, and I was able to leave the house in shorts and a tanktop and not be cold. It was possibly the best thing that has happened to me all year. Right now I’m sitting with my window open, looking out at the blue sky every once in a while just to verify that it is indeed still there and not just some French governmental hoax to lure me into accidentally falling in love with this country. Joke’s on you, Ayrault and Hollande! I already did!

My second oldest host sister, Claire, will arrive tonight with two of her friends to take their “concours,” which is basically just this hugely ridiculous test that takes a month and upon which the rest of their future rides. So no stress or anything. In preparation, Caroline has been madly cleaning and cooking and organizing and somehow figuring out how to fit the six of us into five bedrooms while not making anyone have to share a room. We’re also heating up the Jacuzzis (because apparently that’s what those things downstairs are) and we moved the dining room table into Agnès’s room so that the girls can use it to study. We are now eating off of what was once the foyer table, which makes for a cozy dining experience.

The yearbook deadline is quickly approaching, and with it my stress is skyrocketing. (Did I ever put that on here? I’m one of the yearbook editors! Yay for yerds.) On Friday, I stocked my backpack with snacks, locked myself in my room, and did not stop working from 17 h until 3 h 30 in the AM. The next day, I was a mess… BUT I FINISHED THE PAGES.

I suppose I never wrote about this, so I’ll tell you now – a few weeks ago, Danielle and I went on independent travel to Paris to see some of my classmates who had come to France for an art history trip. After having quite the adventure with the crazy lady working at the hotel (WORST HOTEL EXPERIENCE EVER 0/10 WOULD NOT RECOMMEND), we somehow made it to the Musée d’Orsay, where I was to see my best friend Laura for the first time in six months. The night before I left California, I was at Laura’s house baking and hanging out. When it came time for me to leave, Laura and I had the longest, most epic hug in the history of hugging. The one thing I remember her saying – and, quite honestly, the thing that made me fall apart – was, “Well, I’ll see you in March and we’ll do that again.” At the time, it seemed SO far away – six months until I got to hug my best friend? Ridiculous. What seems more ridiculous to me now is how the time FLEW by. It’s April already. How did that happen?

We kidnapped Laura after some slightly awkward interactions and surprise encounters with various other members of my class, and then we headed for Pont Neuf. If you don’t know what that is, Google it. Basically, a tradition was started some time ago of hooking locks on the bridge with messages/initials/whatever on it. We were going to do that, but then forgot about the part where you have to actually buy a lock first, so instead we just found one on which someone had written “M & L” and we had Danielle take a picture. Next, we walked down by Notre Dame and popped into a couple of tourist shops so that Laura could buy postcards, and then we stopped for dinner. We were supposed to meet up at the Eiffel Tower at eight, so we left about twenty minutes before then. I got a call from one of my classmates – “The Eiffel Tower is closed, so we’re moving up our boat tour and it’s going to be five minutes earlier than the Eiffel Tower was.” This began our Metro Adventures. We hopped on the first one, knowing we were going in the right direction and that we might just make it, when it STOPPED. Turns out, there had been a bomb threat on the Eiffel Tower (which was why it was closed), so we ended up on a completely still metro for about ten minutes. In addition, some unidentifiable liquid had spilled all across the floor of our train, so we spent this time occupied with avoiding it.

By the time the metro started moving again, we knew there was no way we would get there on time. I sent off a quick text explaining the situation, and Danielle led me and Laura to Monoprix (the French version of Target) to stock up on necessary sleepover items. We came out with Diet Coke, ice cream, crackers, and chocolate, and headed back to the hotel, where we had some adventures with the sitting shower and Skyped Wes, who was also on independent travel.

In the morning, Laura left at some ridiculous hour to go to Versailles and Danielle and I slept in and tried to pretend as if we never had to wake up. Afterwards, we went to go meet everyone at the Louvre, where we ended up picking up Laura and my other friend Cullen. We bought lunch at a boulangerie at the Bastille metro stop, and then ate it while sitting on the bank of the Seine. It was all quite French.

Not two hours later, it was time to say goodbye. My steely shell against feeling all emotion was in full force and I managed to start crying before anybody even mentioned the word “goodbye.” There were hugs and tears and promises of Skyping soon, and then Danielle and I were watching the bus drive away and I was feeling as if I was in a romantic comedy.

The next day was spent working on my Langue presentation, which was worth about half of my grade and which I had only started four days earlier. I might upload it; I’m rather proud of how it turned out.

Well, I should probably go back to yearbooking and studying for AP’s. By the way, for all of you coming to SYA next year – I’m planning on doing an “Advice” post in the near future. Keep an eye out.

Appreciate the sunshine in your life.

~M~

A Day In The Life

I know I owe you a really long blog post, one that probably details my trip over the weekend and what I’ve been doing for the past three weeks and basically everything to have ever happened to me ever, but because I’m a horrible blogger who really just wants to get back to her Easter chocolate and sunshine, I’m leaving you with this sketch of what a day in my life looks like. Hour by hour. Detail by detail. Be so excited.

6h40: Roll out of bed as reluctantly and possible, making sure to let my slippers know that I am angry with them for my having to be awake at this hour. Shuffle to the shower and sing at least one full Taylor Swift album. Dress up and do my makeup (wow, effort!) because I have a Langue presentation today and was taught to always look nice for such things. Shovel down some dried fruit Muesli and hit the road.

7h40: During the walk to school with Rachel, run through the highlights and lowlights of the weekend as well as every adventure I had on my trip to Paris. Speak only in French. Discuss the concerns I have about my Langue presentation. Flip out at the fact that it is not only light outside, but sunny.

8h10: Present that Langue project, which is supposed to be an advertisement of Rennes and SYA. Watch in surprise as the accompanying video goes over much better than hoped. Bask in the glory of accomplishing things last-minute.

9h: Listen to an Art History presentation. Learn that it’s much more difficult to paint perfect rectangles than one would think. Write silly little stories and reflections in the margins of my notes and cross my fingers that nobody ever borrows them.

9h50: Get lost in the world of surrealism and discuss what exactly reality is. Scare myself with the idea that nothing is actually real and the entire world around me is a construction of my mind. Realize that it doesn’t matter, because whatever is real to me right now is the only thing that should affect how I act. Come to the conclusion that France feels like a dream and that’s why this is happening.

11h25: Run out into the sunshine and soak up the glory of April’s welcoming arms while hastening away the last clinging tendrils of March’s gloom. Waste thirty minutes with a dance party in the piscine and harassing random Yearbook members about their lack of progress on their pages.

12h: Walk over to the cafeteria that I usually don’t go to. Revel in the lack of need for a jacket. Become caught up in a lovefest of serenading one another with High School Musical songs and accept the weird looks from French teenagers who would never do such a thing. Consume a delicious lunch of chicken, rice, bread, and an experimental something.

1h: After a short class meeting, head to CESF. Receive the test we took about the role of women in French society and begin a new discussion about one of the most controversial topics in modern France – the same-sex marriage debate. Find oddly funny the fact that everyone refers to their host brothers/sisters simply as siblings, with no host attached. 

1h45: Rejoice in the freedom of the next three periods. Attempt some math homework outside on the front steps, really just enjoying the company of Will and Elizabeth and Teresa and Laura B and whoever else happens to stop by. Go to Carrefour. Tan.

4h20: Math class review for the test tomorrow. Struggle to follow the weird path of logic that certain students construct. Realize that I’m in for a long night of studying.

5h05: In-class essay! Explore the themes of racism and independence in Faulkner’s Absalom, Absalom.

6h: Walk home with Rachel. Analyze every aspect of Supernatural’s current season and how it compares with previous seasons. Judge the odds of Gabriel coming back. (I know you’re still alive, buddy. Out there. Somewhere.)

7h: Waste some time on the Internet.

8h: Start writing this blog post. Be interrupted by the discovery of a Luna bar from my trip.

8h30: Dinner! Try some weird salmon thing, talk with the fambam, and indulge in some lovely Easter chocolates.

9h30: Start homework.

10h30: Sleep.

Agnès Appreciation Post

I should really be going to sleep, but I thought I would just share a quick story with all of you here.

Tonight at dinner, we were talking about geographical differences between America and France (like how long it takes to fly across America in comparison to flying across France). This led to a conversation about where I live in comparison to my SYA friends. Agnès turned to me and said, “Do you think you’re going to see your friends from SYA when you get back?” I explained that that depends, because some live far away and others live closer. She responded with “And Elizabeth and Rachel? Where do they live?”

Let’s just take a minute and appreciate this. This girl is not technically part of my host family. She stays with us during the week; our only link is that we both live in the same house sometimes. I don’t even know her last name, nor she mine, and yet she knows the names of two of my good friends, enough to reference them in the context of my American life. I don’t think I realized tonight until how close we have really become, even with the differences between us. 

In old news, France continues to amaze me.

“Shh” is the same in every language

Like think about that for a second, though. If I look at a small French child, put my finger to my lips, and say “shhhhhh,” she will get the message as well as a small American child or a small Japanese child or a small Russian child or a small Swedish child. Humans are crazy.