Duality

Last week, while speaking English, I asked someone if they wanted to go take a coffee with me. “You mean have a coffee?” she replied, looking at me blankly. “Go have a coffee?” Yes – that. Have a coffee, that’s what I meant. In French, one says prendre un café (literally take a coffee.)

This is such a perfect illustration of the duality I’ve been developing this semester. I am living in two worlds now, or rather – I am living in one world and soon will return to the other, and just the fact that I know I’m going to return soon can be difficult to process sometimes. I’m here in France, but I also feel like I need to keep one foot in the door at all times to keep it open – don’t want it to shut and not be able to get back in again when I need to return to the States! There is a kind of desperation when studying abroad – to make the most of your time and become immersed in the culture, and also to cling tightly to back home so that you won’t be forgotten.

My mom came to visit last week, and it was the strangest feeling, watching my two very separate worlds merge in a surprisingly natural way. Also, I spoke a tiny bit of English for the first time ever with my host family, and this seriously weirded me out. I realized how much language has a hand in the ideas we form about people, the images we have of them in our heads. I felt like I could be completely myself, for once at total ease! Oh, the things I learned while speaking English with them! For instance: I finally learned what my host dad does for a living. I’ve asked him at least two or three times this semester and never quite understood, though I knew it was big and important. I thought he worked with boats. Eric does not work with boats though; he sells robotics to international companies to dissemble nuclear power plants.

On Tuesday, Armistice Day here in France, I didn’t have school and so we woke up early to my host dad running off to search for croissants and pain-au-chocolat and brioche for breakfast. We feasted on them over coffee, and then my host mom took my real mom and me with her to the market in town to buy food for our picnic. We all drove to a little village on the Mediterranean called Saint-Mairie-de-la-Mer, which happens to be my favorite town here in Provence. I think I’ve already mentioned this in another entry, but it’s worth mentioning again. This town has it all – gypsies, pirates, a church, literary folklore, the sea, flamingoes, good coffee. We all huddled in a little café to take some coffee, because it was drizzling outside, and when my mom got up to go to the bathroom, my host parents leaned in and told me how happy they were to meet her. “Now we can send you back home,” they said, “because we know that you will be ok there.” That one little comment meant so much to me. Even though there is such a delicate balance to strike with one’s host family here, between getting to know them – trying to be more than just a boarder – and also not interfering in or interrupting their usual lives, I adore my host family. My experience here without them would have been so much emptier. I definitely feel my foreignness, some days more than others, but despite the delicacy of the balance, and despite my American solitude, I’m slowly finding ways to form a home. This is where the duality gets hard. My home is here, and it is also not.

Yesterday was Saturday and magnificent, because our architecture professor didn’t show up to meet us at the cathedral for our excursion around Aix. Instead we wandered around the market, took a leisurely lunch, and then discovered the most amazing thing ever. Really. When I walked inside, I almost cried because I was so sorry I hadn’t found it sooner in the semester. It is a little book shop/café, frequented by a lot of international students, where one can just sit for hours and read or drink coffee. They had a bulletin board with ways to meet people. They have poetry readings! And other kinds of readings! I am so excited. This is exactly what I had been missing so much from my beloved Seattle and Portland – a place to just sit and write and write and read and drink coffee. I feel like Aix is complete now. I sat there for five hours, all Saturday afternoon, until they closed.

Another example of duality: last week I told Anne-Camille yet again that she needed to come visit me in Seattle, and my host dad said that when I got married, they would all come out for the wedding. “No, no,” said Anne-Camille. “Ansley’s going to get married in Aix!” Yes, to Paul to crepe-man. I could get married in Aix, I thought. Not because I particularly have always wanted to get married in France, but because that way I could come back here.

I feel like I’m trying to hold on even more tightly to the slippery days falling through my fingers, because I have just barely over a month left here. I feel like this semester is ending just as quickly as it started.

(On a side note, I had a charming little adventure in Avignon Friday morning when it was time to see Mom off at the train station, where she was going to take a train to Paris to catch her plane. I got on the train with her briefly, stupidly, to help her find her seat and get settled. When I hurried back to get off, the doors were shut and would not open. Then, the train started moving! Everything seemed to be in slow motion, or not really – because to my horror, the train was beginning to move very quickly. I turned around, panicked, trying to figure out what to do. A guy standing by the doors in between the compartments, seeing me look at him with a wild and desperate expression, looked at me with a mixture of amusement and pity. I rushed back to my mom. “Coucou, maman,” I said. “I’m still here!” Frightened of the ticket inspectors because I obviously did not have a ticket, I hid in the bathroom until the train stopped at Avignon about twenty minutes later. I dashed off. I obtained another ticket for a train back to Aix an hour later, just in time to make my morning class.
“I’ve just been to Avignon this morning!” I declared cheerily, as I stumbled into the American Center looking frazzled and somewhat deranged.
“How was it?” the others asked.
“The train station was very beautiful,” I replied.
I had sat huddled there for over an hour waiting for the next train, my hoodie pulled up to keep my head warm in the frigidly clear morning, feeling very much like the worst kind of train bum.
“How did that happen?” my French Woman Writers professor asked me. “Did you get on the train with your mom? Oh, you must never do that! The train stops way for much too short of a time.”
Yes, yes, thank you. I now am aware of that.
What an adventure. A twenty euro adventure, but an adventure nonetheless.)

Paris

Beau Smoking Man.
Beau Chocolat.Beau Eiffel Tower.

Belle Femme.


Beau Oscar Wilde's grave, which kissing supposedly gives artists good inspiration. I would kiss it all day long if it meant I could become an artist.

Obama

Allez Obama!!!!!!!!!!!

Rain and Selfishness

One more blog before I settle into a LONG night of studying for my midterms. I have millions of them, and I am only halfway through. I am just now realizing how spoiled I am as an English major at Linfield: Midterms? What midterms? You want to write a paper or two for your midterms? Sure, go ahead! Write about anything you want, and everything will be right. Turn in the papers whenever - never, if you want!

I have so much studying to do this week, I've forgotten to be excited for the vacation coming up in just a couple days. I am a little bit stressed, but...c'est la vie. I'm going to Paris Friday, which still sounds so ridiculous to me, because Paris seems more like a fairytale than a reality. Also, I'm going to England afterwards to see Beth, and hopefully go to the Scottish highlands together to search for Nessie, just in time for Halloween! SO fizzily excited all over about this.

This trip feels like a very selfish trip to me. I am studying in France,a very spoiled white girl thing to do, rather than studying in Ecuador or Mexico like some others. I am studying literature and architecture and art - taking a painting class - and writing in cafes and travelling and spending a lot of time thinking. This is why I was really excited to finally do my travail benevole this past week, our weekly community service that is required by the AUCP. I'm working with students at a community center, helping them with their English homework. I love it. I worked with two little boys, ten and thirteen, and we did their homework and went over English lessons and talked in French about American football. The ten year old, as I was leaving, looked at me with sweet eyes and asked if I would be there the next night. I am SO content to be able to work with the students there. It is energizing to me, in a way that Starbucks never will be. I would really like more of it. THIS is how I want to use French. I want to be really really good at it, so I can teach and help and understand my little students when they talk to me about American football.

Anyways, it's raining and storming here now, just as it has been all day, and so I am plopped in front of the fire with my French-dictionary-bible and a riproaringly fascinating study of French cultural patterns to read. There are a couple leaks in the house somewhere that I can hear. The house is all shut up for the night, but I might leave my inner doors open in my room so I can hear the rain.

Bonne nuit. :)

Sister

My relationship with my host sister has been interesting so far - that is, it has been lovely and baffling at the same time. I think a lot of this has to do with the fact that I've never had a sister before, am used to dealing with boys, and also the language problems. Always the language. I could apply this statement to anything. For example:

The other day I had an incident on the bus. I think this occurred because I was spacing out and when I looked out the window again, I didn't have any idea where I was. Also, I didn't understand what the driver was saying to me.

I'm not saying that this actually happened to me - just that it's another example of how the excuse of language difficulties can be applied to an everyday situation. Oh - here's another good one:

Today I ordered a delicious-sounding coffee drink at a new cafe. I was given a "tasse" of coffee, along with a huge, sugary almond croissant that I hadn't asked for. Alright, I'll take the huge sugary pastry surprise. I have no choice - I have to eat it now. I didn't understand what I was ordering. Darn.

Anyways. Back to sisters. Anne-Camille my host sister is fifteen and quite wonderful, but there have definitely been times when I have asked myself, "Ok, is this annoying me because of a language/cultural issue, or because of a sister issue?" For instance, this morning my host parents left the house early and Anne-Camille had to ride the bus with me into the city for school instead of getting a ride from her parents. The bus leaves around 8:40, I told her. So, that means we should probably starting walking over there around 8:30. Ok, she said.

At 8:30, I can hear her in the bathroom doing something with her hair. Anne-Camille, I ask. Are you ready? Almost, she replies.

Five minutes later. Anne-Camille, ready? On y va? Ok, I'm coming! she replies.

A minute before the bus is supposed to arrive, we head out the door. We missed the bus, of course, and had to take the next one, which wasn't until an hour later. I didn't have any classes this morning and had been just planning to study in a cafe for my eight billion mid terms this week, but Anne-Camille was late to her first class. I offered to come in with her and explain the situation to her teacher, using my habitual "I'm so sorry. I'm an American. I had some language difficulties, and that's why my hsot sister missed the bus" excuse but she said it would be fine.

Still, missing the bus this morning together was kind of fun, in a weird sort of way. I feel like Anne-Camille and I are progressing into a relationship that is more like a sister thing than just an American student boarding with another teenage girl thing. While I was mildly annoyed this morning, I also realized that this kind of relationship is nice. We are comfortable together, enough to find little things to get annoyed about but still be ok.

This past Sunday, I went for a small hike and picnic lunch with my host family on the sea. Sunday is getting to be the day where I really try to be home and hang out with them, with nothing else planned, because the rest of the week goes so fast and gets so crazy. I was a little hesitant about the picnic, because the son of my host family was home from his boarding school this weekend, and I didn't want to intrude on their family time,. I think this was the first they had seen him since the end of August. I didn't want to be the annoying American student poking my head in and constantly trying to somehow fit into the conversation. But, it worked out. I hung back when I felt like I needed to and just enjoyed observing, which is something I've learned is very important here - learning to be comfortable with just observing and not feeling bad when you're not directly participating.

This kind of goes along with the fact that it is impossible to compare yourself to anyone else while studying abroad, because, while it is very tempting to do so, the only way to get the most out of the experience is to be completely comfortable in your own skin and seek out your own niches, rather than worrying about everyone else is doing. This is important. If I feel myself falling into the trap of comparing myself with others, I end up stressed.

Anyways, the picnic was excellent; anytime I get to visit the sea here I'm ecstatic, and I love watching how cute European families on Sunday trips to the sea interact.

After the picnic, we got home and I was studying when Anne-Camille came over to me and announced, "I'm going to make some cookies."

"Oo!" I said. "What kind?"

"Yours," she said, referring to the cookies I'd made for them the last weekend.

"Ah," I said. "I think I see what you mean. Shall I help you?"

"Yes, please."

So, we made cookies together, and it was ridiculously fun. My host parents and brother were on the computer trying to fill out a a college application for my brother in Canada, and so in between trying to figure out the stupid conversions for the cookie ingredient measurements, I was running into the office to translate for them. It felt amazing being able to help, instead of just sitting around like a bum, not understanding what's going on and feeling helpless. At one point, the power went off, because we were using too many appliances at once. The house went completely dark, and while my dad and brother fumbled around in the blackness for the fuse box located somewhere outside (my dad sporting a cheeky miner's lamp strapped around his head), Anne-Camille looked at me, gasping, "The cookies! The cookies!" Our cookies were sitting half-baked in the powerless oven. Everything turned out alright, though, because soon the power came back on and we ended up eating most of the dough raw anyway.

Emily and Ansley eat their way through Europe

Life falls into a nice rhythm here: classes, free time to write in my favorite cafe, come home to hang out with my host family each evening, go out on the weekends to explore the country of Provence during the day and the city of Aix in the evenings,and delicious food from all of my new best friends, with a few malentudus thrown in each day just to keep things spicy. I am now friends with the man who sells coffee near the Passage Agard, which is a small alley in Aix that looks like it's from Harry Potter. "Chocolate with your coffee?" he asks each time, like he doesn't already know the answer to this question.

I am also friends with the man who seels cheap paninis with Nutella and bananas close to the AUCP. And, I am starting to become good friends with Paul, the guy who smokes his cigar and runs the crepe stand in the late afternoon/evenings. I like the size of aix very much. Even if I'm not exactly friends with someone, I actually recognize many people on the street every day - the old painter who rides my bus, the twelve-year-old kid who always has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

Every week, I think I've found my new favorite place or favorite thing to do in France and then find myself constantly surprised and having to rethink things. That is a good way to look at this study abroad experience: a lot of surprises, many marvelous - more often than not marvelous - and a lot of rethinking the way you've previously viewed the world. On the other hand, there is also a lot of remembering ways you used to think about the world and returning back to those things. I am always surprised by the memories that certain places evoke here. This past weekend, we had an AUCP excursion to Le Camargue, where I found myself constantly reminded of the everglades in Florida, where I used to go quite regularly when I was younger.
It's a region close to the Mediterranean, just west a couple hours from Aix. We saw bulls and flamingos (!) and rode a little train around the countryside that sounded ad moved like a dying chain smoker. The other students decided that it reminded us of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride before it was remodeled, but without any exciting piates or singing. There were swamps and estuaries and more palm trees. There was a little bar/restaurant tucked into a grove of palm trees in the middle of the country. Right in the middle of the swampy country, our professor read us a poem from a local French poet. The sky was muggy and blue. I fell in love.

We visited the "collines du sel", hills of salt, where salt is harvested from the sea. Later, we visited a village called Saint-Mairie-de-la-Mer, which was tiny and tucked right into the crook of the sea. We ate more gelato, of course, and had lunch. Emily and I have decided that this semester is going to be called "Emily and Ansley eat their way through Europe." Each day, I tell myself - no more Nutella! No more pain! No more crepes from Paul! But, later, I immediatly and easily convince myself that life isn't really life without being able to eat whatever you want, especially if you happe to be in France. Diets in France? Just not very practical.
In Saint-Mairie-de-la-Mer, we climbed up unto the roof of an old, old church, and looked out over the village and the sea.

Sunday, I ran a 5K race with Hannah and my host dad and my little sister - called Cours de l'Integration Algernon. It was very relxed, non-competitive, with thousands of participants. The goal was to run with the handicapped and raise money for them as well. it took place in Marseille, right in the city along the sea. The good feelings and energy in the air were so tangible. Hannah turned to me at one point and said, "THIS is what it means ot be in France!" She was so right. Just being there in Marseille and running with everyone else, not having to speak French!, made for a very good Sunday morning.

Tha hard parts of studying abroad so far have been feeling detached from home, isolated, out of control, disconnected, especially with things going on in the States like the elections. There are some days that are SO frustrating. The language drives me crazy - I am head over heels in love with French and also driven mad by it at the same time. A few nights ago at dinner, I thought that my little sister said she pushed a handicapped person while she was running the race Sunday.

"Anne-Camille!" I scolded. "Quel horreur!"

"What?" she replied, looking at me in confusion.

That wasn't what she had actually said, of course, and I still don't know what it was she did say.
But, I feel like here in France we are all given everything necessary to be completely happy - like trips to swampy everglade like villages with flamingos and hills of salt and old churches. I mean really, I can't imagine anything better than that.

MId-terms are next week, then vacance! I am off to Paris to visit a cousin, then England to visit Beth.

Jean-Michel

I am amoureuse with all of my French professors here.

Also, I can feel myself changing. Not changing into someone else - rather, back into an older version of what I used to be, when I was six and sixteen. Does that make any sense? I think everyone should still retain a little bit of who they are when they were six and sixteen. Those were good ages.

I broke my camera in a Roman monument Saturday. But , I made up for this tragedy later on by using a Turkish toilet for the first time and feeling extremely proud. Anyways, a few more straggler pictures from my dead camera.