Bittersweet

I’ve spent a good part of my day taking a few moments for myself. Not the Netflix-watching, facebook-trolling, tumblr blur that I’m used to when I take ‘time off’ during the day in the States. It was a deep meditative couple of hours to myself where I think I caught a glimpse of that cliché ‘–this-is one-of-those-moments-that-you’ll-cherish-forever-and-ever’.

This solitude was much-needed, as my passed few attempts at having ‘me days’ have turned into ‘we days’ along the lines out pig-outs, last-minute shopping sprees, and general errand-running. I think the alone time did me good. I spent the early afternoon walking from the city center across town to my favorite museum in Grenoble- Musée Dauphinois-  which is conveniently perched atop a mountain.

As I hustled through the streets, trying to escape the oncoming heat, I reminded myself to slow down. At the recognition that I was speed-walking as if late to a meeting, I took the scenic route towards the museum- passing by grand sculptures of the Musée Grenoble and the graffiti –laden bridge. Once on the opposite side of the river – “the Italian side” since it once belonged to Italy- I recalled when this part of town seemed so disjointed. Now it’s just the part of town with the best pizzerias.   

The ascent to Musée Dauphinois is about as beautiful as it is terrible. One has to climb .15 meters (still don’t know the conversions) of ancient stone stairs at an ungodly slope to get to it. On the way up, I stopped periodically to gaze out over the now-approaching distant cityscape (and to wipe off beads of sweat).

Once at the entrance (feeling like Rocky) I stepped inside to a now familiar space and guided myself to the “Lingeries des Isères” exhibition-once again. Today had been the third time I’ve visited just for that exhibit and I can’t help but still be enchanted by it; the timeline, the anecdotes, the seamless joining of fashion & function, old & new… ahh, so long to my eye feasting. I’ll miss this commodity once I’ve gone back to where the closest reputable museum is an hour away. I was sure to get un obscene amount of iPhone photos while scouring the place for any piece I might have overlooked. The delicates took on a whole new meaning knowing that it was the last time I’d get to visit and have such a rush of inspiration.  It was also a great feeling to be there all alone.

“Alone” has such an ugly connotation- as if spending time with just you is idle, selfish, and inconceivable to some. On the contrary, I think being alone is rejuvenating, intuitive, makes for good character. I’ve found that there’s no better feeling than being in a museum free to let your eyes roam without a time limit, or a schedule, or having the pressure of needing to say something clever to the person next to you about each piece.

Before departure, I made a quick stop at the garden terrace that overlooks all of Grenoble. Instead of snapping pictures to savor the moment, I placed my phone back in my pocket, went under shady tree, and sat. I had nothing to do and nowhere to be (thanks John Mayer) and it just felt…well, right.  People often get caught up in what they are doing and not who they are being. In Western culture we have so much running around to please this person or that person, to get ahead, to get anywhere but in the present moment. And it’s really in the present that we thrive- we just don’t realize. To sit and just be is such a blessing.

On my way down from the mountain, I was sure that it would take me at least half an hour to get back home from the opposite side of town. On the way back I darted and weaved myself in such a way that I made it to my first tram stop in 10 minutes. I was so proud to realize that after 5 weeks of getting completely lost and mostly following the directional cues of others like a school of fish, I finally know where I am. Just in time to leave tomorrow morning- no less. The city that seemed so treacherous during the first couple of weeks has become a sort of stomping grounds: I know exactly which trams go where, I can recommend great restaurants or tell one to avoid others, and I’m even a ‘regular’ at a downtown bar. 

I spent my last meal with my host family at lunch today. We’ve all gotten comfortable enough to where we take no more than 15 minutes to eat and don’t bother with small talk- I’ll take that as a compliment. My comprehension of their conversations has gone from minuscule to semi-pro; even though I know what they’re talking about now, I still can’t interject with appropriate swiftness- so I avoid it. Ya win some, ya lose some.

The line between ‘here’ home & ‘there’ home is becoming more solid. Things got very surreal as I packed last night. As I chucked trinkets and clothes that I never used, I felt silly about much I clung to the thought of absolutely needing 90 days worth of multi-vitamins before arrival in France. I carelessly threw out clothes (the holy grail of my people-fashion designers) and other “just-in-case” things of the like.  I nipped my hoarder tendencies in the bud by throwing out every shred of paper and flyer I’ve received.  “C’est pas grâve”, as the French would say.

As I look around, I appreciate the contrasts. My barren room is contrasted by my full journal. The un-uploaded photos living in my camera are contrasted by my intangible memories. My ease in conversing in another language is contrasted by my irrational fear of never being able to convey, with simple words, how life changing this experience was.  Bittersweet, it is.

Re-prioritizing en France

Priorities before coming to France: Why they are now distant and very skewed dreams 

•  Become Fluent in French: In 5 weeks? Pffft. I sincerely wish I could go back in time and slap the smug look off of my face when I said this to myself. I came here with a solid ‘B2’ level in French- as noted by my Professor back home- which is a Mid-inter.  I was humbled after a week a grammar review classes at the Université Stendhal where I was demoted to a level B1.7.  In my remedial-sounding B1.7 class, I am struggling to comprehend more than half of what is said. Oh Arielle, you’re so cute and naïve sometimes.
•  Travel to Italy, Vienna, Spain, and maybe Greece: Silly me- I thought it would be easy as pie to jet-set from country to country in 5 weeks. Damnit, Eat, Pray, Love – you made it seem so easy! Between the time I devote to class, friends, finding my way home, and generally having enough time to digest the day, its impossible to even think past dinner. Not to mention how much it costs to get to said places. The rail system in Europe may be superb, but it’s not as fast or as cheap as teleportation, so I’ve found.
•  Find a slew of French suitors: Being the undercover romantic that I am, I pictured my fate once abroad with rose-colored glasses: locking eyes with a kind stranger on the busy metro and suddenly, hopelessly, desperately falling into a love affair for the duration of my stay. Ahhhhhh (Cue heart flutter). So far the only reputable ‘action’ I’ve gotten consists of being asked out to wine by a senile Franco-Egyptian who was 60 years my senior and I've been groped by a sleazy Italian whom I would’ve punched had I had the sobriety. My lack of having so much as a head-turn to brag about is especially infuriating now that not one, but two of my girlfriends here are living the French lover dream; one with a hot tour guide that we met by chance and the other with her host brother. I KNOW, RIGHT?!?! If I’m lucky enough to find one that I do fancy, he’s (obviously) gay, taken (with his girlfriend), or just a stereotypical foreign sleaze. Plus, I can’t communicate adoration with my 5-year-old vocabulary. My friends seem to have found a way around it, though. Sigh. Mark my words: I’ll be damned if I brought 16 condoms with me to not even open one for the hell of it.

Priorities after arrival & digestion of France: What is attainable and how

•  Make friends- quickly, before they’re all gone!: The nature of being on a time-limit really makes one fast-forward trough the pleasantries of 'normal friendship' and get down to the nitty-gritty. Questions that flash through your head- “Do I like this person? Would I hang out with them under different circumstances? Am I only tolerating this behavior because I probably won’t see them again? ” It’s a bizarre microscope to put people under, but no less true. I hope this habit carries over into connecting with people back in the U.S. In the fashion of summer-camp, I can say that I’ve met people I will talk to for an unforeseeable amount of time. That’s all the judgment I’m passing thusly. 
•  Bonding with my host family: I do not share things when I can help it: Personal space being one of my bug-a-boo’s. Not only would I have to share meals and space with these strangers, but I'd also have to share time and effort. The thought intimidated me heavily until I met them. I was happy to integrate fairly well into my host family the first 2 weeks.  I assimilated, joined into the conversation when I could and was attentive on the verge of eaves dropping.  I have since felt my language comprehension peak because of all the English spoken with API friends but I’m slowly finding equilibrium between speaking inarticulate French and a sort of Franglais with my host family. Hand gestures seriously help. Inhibitions have slowly fallen away into a distant comfort- just in time for me to say goodbye in 2 weeks (sad emoticon).  So far my wonderful host mom (Claudie) says I’ve improved, my host sister (Celestine) is your a-typical sassy 16 year-old (she wants absolutely nothing to do with me- still), and I am now able to hold a 10-minute conversation with my 12-year-old host brother (César) and his eccentric friends. Our chats usually consist of cursing in different languages, video games, and comparing American pop culture phenomena like Family Guy vs. The Simpsons. I’m so proud of myself.  
• Going, nay, Living outside of my comfort zone: I’m quite proud the things I’ve marked off my scrolling bucket list- I’ve been swimming in freezing cold water and ice rain at Lac Annecy (à la Titanic), I’ve gone ‘hiking’ on a real-life mountain, I’ve seen a good chunk of the art in-person that had previously only held merit in books, and my french has improved dramatically from my arrival. For the sake of being in France (and being young and stupid), I’m finally getting to do things that I’ve always wanted to do- sans regrets. I have a fairly new motto: “Do it for the story”. We’ll see how much trouble this gets me into later. In the spirit of the story, I will be paragliding through the Alps this week, skipping some class for much needed alone time to process France (screw credits- I'm on my victory lap of college anyway), and spending my 22^nd birthday weekend with a penpal in Montpellier whom I’ve never met in-person. Let the discomfort begin!

Wasting my time

My time in France is more than halfway over, and I have to wonder if I've wasted it. Wasted it speaking English with my API friends- that is. 

Never have I felt more American than when I am abroad.  It seems like my whole group is clinging to our mother tongue with the grip of thousand fists. I’d compare it to a mild form of diaspora: where we simply must communicate, for the sake of losing our language. Or some pathetic excuse like that…

Okay, okay enough bollocks… it’s JUST EASIER. OKAY- I know I didn’t come halfway across the world to speak English 90% of my day. I know I can’t learn anything if I don’t ‘put myself out there’. I know that this experience is what I make it. Wait-before I get to riled up- I have to remember the small victories…

I look at the sizable chunk in my journal that once seemed so intimidating for me to fill in one summer. It is now is jam-packed with chicken-scratch anecdotes that try to cram each lovely day into a single page.

I look at my watch reading 9:45 AM. Class started well over an hour ago. Old Arielle would be ripping her hair out and pacing the floor with each passing thought of the consequences. New Arielle reasons with herself to say “You are socially exhausted. You need ‘me time’".I conquer self-care and rejuvenation. Not out of diversion, but necessity.

I look at my body- bronze shoulders and new freckles show me that I have spent every single day exposing myself to the great outdoors. Whether it’s a quick morning in the Les Hales market or a weekend spent sunbathing perched on top of Mont Blanc, I was OUT living life. To put this into context, I spend most of my summers escaping the god-forsaken Texas heat by watching Netflix from the hours of 12am-7pm. This is a gargantuan difference that’s sure to leave an impression on my reclusive ways.

I look at my sketchbook. The blank pages are now occupied by scratchy doodles characteristic of a Wes Anderson storyboard (flattering myself, I know). This is a great accomplishment for me since I haven’t picked up a pen to draw anything more than a dress in 3 years. The new sense of liberality I feel here is leaking into all outlets.   

I may not have the facility with the French language that I expected at the beginning of this trip but I’ve got new friends, newfound confidence, and more adept sense of self to prove that this experience is absolutely not a waste of time.

Culture Clash

Things I’ll never get used to

Kissing on the face to say 'Hello': For someone who has trouble making and maintaining eye-contact, a part of me will always hesitate a bit when going in nose first with a total stranger for "bisous".

Directions: Since this is the first time I’ve ever really had to use a map (lord, how I miss you GPS) it is a huge emotional milestone for me. I simply CANNOT format aerial perspective into the real world. I hope I’m just ‘artsy’ and visually dependent, but spending 3 hours lost on a bus last week tells me it's more like my lack of attention to my surroundings.

French Salespersons: No cliché have I found to be truer than the FACT that French salespeople are rude. Yeah, I said it- and I’m 100% correct! No one has put me on the spot more than the fast-talking, straight to the point, no-nonsense breed of Frenchies that is the “vendeur/vendeuse”.  In it’s natural habitat, the salesperson has a hospitable air. The French breed, though, become hostile (at least in my experience) upon the detection of an American accent and attentive smiles fade into rolled eyes.This is most evident in the well-touristed areas. To avoid being followed and/or “that American", I now say no more than “Bonjour”, “Oui”, “Non” and “Merci” to anyone with a nametag. 

Things I could get used to

French sense of timing: 8:00 PM really means 8:30 (no-more like 9ish… no, not even- 9:30. Yes, definitely 9:30) and having dinner at someone’s house practically turns into a sleepover.

Stimulating conversation: While I love to talk about the latest celebrity gossip with my phone in hand to co-narrate my account, it’s superficial conversation. It’s very refreshing to experience the tangents that one goes on when talking about politics, comparing cultures, films, food, everything and nothing. Yes, the French are very opinionated, yet they aren’t offended when yours counters theirs. It’s a passive respect that allows free flow and exchange without verbal persecution; something practically unheard of in America (specifically Texas).

Having 6-course meals… EVERY DAY: Okay, maybe not everyday, but definitely every once in a while. The gluttonous part of me can’t help but be giddy every time the I see the hors d'oeuvres, THEN the entrée, THEN the plat principale, THEN more wine, THEN cheese & salad, THEN the liqueur, THEN 2 types of dessert. It’s like a sensory parade where one seemingly outrageous dish complements the next seamlessly. Might I add that most dishes are as pretty as they are palatable. Yes, the French make eating and drinking an art form; a cliché I’m happy to find true, and will be disheartened to leave. Something tells me this will be the hardest habit to break once I’m back in the land of drive-thrus.

What one week of cultural immersion will do to you

It humbles you: I came here believing that I would have great success and fluidity with the language whose culture I adore so much. My French grades would reflect that potential. Unfortunately, watching Amélie a handful of times does not make you fluent in anything except French kitsch. I find myself struggling with the most trivial of conversations. My lack of finesse is evident in the number of salespeople who have tried (without success) to ‘English’ me; speak in English when I try to speak French. Nothing is more infuriating than when someone asks me, “You speak English?” in as equally of a broken accent as my French. I didn’t come all the way to France to order a kebab en Anglais!

It equips you: Living in a fairly metropolitan city has its conveniences- public transport, nightlife, and culture clash being among them. However, one has to develop a sixth sense when it comes to sketchiness since all the others are subdued. In my case, my ever-reliable navigation abilities have gotten me lost several times on the way home-at night. This wouldn’t be a problem if my neighborhood didn’t drop off from being well lit and populated to Rapeville at every other block. Strength in numbers is my motto now and I try to be extra vigilant when alone. I hope this will sharpen my perception at home and prepare me for the ‘Big City’ life. Now I only need to master French insults to keep the drunkards from trailing me.

It annoys you: Communication is sort of my thing. I pride myself in being a chameleon; ready and willing to blend into any situation, even cultural. I like sharing commonalities, swapping stories, and making really dry jokes. Now I can do none of these. How can I have a shred of personality when I only comprehend 35% of what’s said to me? That, as well as not being able to get what’s in my head out is frustrating. I’m suffering from verbal constipation. The only remedy is to compensate socially in English-right? Wrong. My fellow API friends and I have found solace in using English when talking to one another because, well, it’s just easier. Yet speaking in English all day does zero for your retention- even when you live in the country and have been exercising your language muscles for well over 6 years. I’ve been here for almost 2 weeks and I feel like I’ve peaked. I’m annoyed because I feel mute when I can’t speak, infantile when I do speak, and silly for even trying when my interjections are met with “Je ne comprends pas”. I wish I could fast-forward through this phase and just be able to flirt in French.

Becoming Lost

After 4 days in my host city of Grenoble, France I’m still lost. Lost in so many ways. Lost in the new thought patterns I must create in order to keep up with a simple conversation at the dinner table. I lose my words as they jumble together creating roundabout and elementary statements every few minutes. Lost in a culture where brushing cheeks with a total stranger is commonplace, yet eating with your hands in your lap is a faux-pas.

I lose my temper when I cannot navigate back to my house- only a few kilometers away. I lose my patience with the people I ask for directions: some detect my accent and shake their head rigorously “Non”, others understand my Franglais but cannot reciprocate. I lose time wandering in circles around the same quartier until I call my host Mom to come get me from the city center. I lose my cool when I break down into tears once inside her car. I lose my mind when we arrive at home 2 minutes later; my gut feeling was right all along.

There have been other good losses as well. I lose my inhibitions around new friends. I lose judgment within a very bizarre yet loving family dynamic. I lose count of the calories I’ve consumed and elastic waistbands become my best friend. I lose track of how many glasses of wine I’ve had and feign sobriety at the table- easy when you’re mute. I lose track of time and willingly bathe in the sun for 3 hours after a picnic on the Grenoble mountainside- très French. I lose my way of communicating with others so easily- paving the way for real conversations with those around me. I lose sight of objectives; I now use my planner as a paperweight and take it all in moment by moment. I lose myself in a world of distant observation and wild introspection- first time in, well - ever, that it’s happened. I am lost. I am found. One in the same.

“ …to be lost is to be fully present, and to be fully present is to be capable of being in uncertainty and mystery.”

-Rebecca Solnit, “A Field Guide to Getting Lost”

Arielle

Pre-Departure Woes

What they do tell you (what I should have listened to)

Pack Lightly. 

      Advice that I kept hearing thrown around was “take the essentials- then cut that in half.” My afro-liscious hair do' wouldn't let me take less than 2 toiletry bags. Obviously the 2 weeks of pre-packing and 1 week of actual packing didn't make enough of a dent. My 'half-ing' was still large enough to occupy 47 pounds worth of luggage. Needless to say, my definition of essentials will have to change drastically when I leave.

Practice your French. 

     I pride myself in being the first to raise my hand to answer any question in French class. Yeah, I’m that kid. So to receive a 68% on my 'proficiency quiz’ through API was more than disappointing.  Though I have spent the last weeks finding pen pals to e-mail, nothing beats a good ol’ face-to-face conversation. Unfortunately, Texas is about as full of Frenchies as Amanda Bynes is full of sanity. I did have to opportunity to talk with 2 native French speakers 2 weeks prior to departure. However, I couldn't help but feel subpar when summer let my vocabulary slip through my fingers. Reviewing my notecards and flagging pages in my grammar book wouldn’t have hurt.

What they didn’t tell me (what I had to learn quickly) 

Things will still be there when you get back. 

To prepare for my departure abroad, I spent an obscene amount of money on 2 things.

1.     Whataburger

2.     Toiletries and small things within which to keep the toiletries

I don’t even know how this fast-food demon creeped its greasy ass back into my life considering that I was a strict vegan (for all of 3 weeks) up until recently. I tried to justify my retreat back to late night bingeing by saying that I wouldn’t be able to enjoy them for a month, therefore I had to savor hat I could à la moment. Non. When you’re going to the biggest gourmet food capitals of the world, this is no excuse.

While playing the nervous departure waiting game, I developed a nervous habit of buying things. Just things. Things that I didn’t need. Things that added frivolous weight to my bag. Things that have no business being 1.99/ounce. Damn you Target for making so many cute teeny tiny things. A word to the wise; no one needs 4 bags of toiletries. No one. Contrary to popular belief, France is not a 3^rd world country. They have all of the things you need to make yourself presentable in the morning at 1.5 X the price. Just deal until you get off the plane. 

Another thing I exploited was time. Time with people I love. Granted, this is because many of my friends have graduated and are leaving to do bigger and better things in places other than Denton. With most of my good friends scattering across America (okay, more like Texas), I’ve tried to allocate adequate time to each one. The side of me that usually turns down invitations happily got in all of the conversation/ hang-out time I could. At the end I was tired and a bit off course, but loved nonetheless. “I can’t help it that I’m popular”. 

Truth is…These things/people will be there when you get back- even if that means they will be at a distance (Though my sweet, sweet honey butter biscuits will still be only a mile away- Mmm). I get it, 6 weeks is a long time. It's enough to change your life but certainly not enough to withdraw completely from it. You will be okay if you don't see someone's actual face in front of you. You will be okay if you brought too much shit with you- you can throw it away (and more importantly, buy ALL of it back in the spirit of American consumerism).You will be okay if your french is  more than rusty. It's all a part of the process. 

The next step on my journey will be allocating time between the ‘real world’ back home and this topsey turvey, smoke lined, well-dressed French world. No complaints. If only I could master the time difference.

 À demain.

-Arielle