Our class was canceled on Monday, so we spent the day studying and catching up on small things. After that, we soaked up the sun and the fact that no class one day meant six hours the next.
We got to school in the morning while there was still a bit of a chill in the air; it was the first time in the past month that I've arrived without sweating (not that it ever stopped me from immediately buying a cappuccino). I entered the classroom of my favorite teacher we've had so far, Karine, six months pregnant and the absolute model of a patient teacher.
The morning was spent focusing on grammar, learning the intricate details of the past tense, which everyone had thought that they understood. We hit our vocabulary hard, took a break and regrouped without losing much steam- I took this as a really good sign, since some people in the group are easily distracted by the amazing view in front of the school.
Three hours. Lunch break. Back for three hours... This time, we focused on speaking and becoming comfortable with different accents. While we normally work in pairs, she through us into awkward quartets that we would have never chosen for ourselves, forcing us to use more of our vocabulary than we would otherwise. I was really proud of myself: Normally, I'm one of the quietest in class and I volunteered to play a game where I had to be interviewed by the entire class. I love public speaking and all, but there's something so completely different about a classroom setting that still gets me all jittery and nervous. My classmates have caught on to the fact that I blush (rougir, in French)about everything, so they're always calling on me to say things. I knew that I was gaining confidence in my ability when I volunteered myself for so much speaking.
I left class on such a high note, walking out in the perfect 25°C weather with a sky so blue and clouds so white you would think they were a family portrait backdrop, that I had to just give myself a moment to stand and realize what I was doing. I took the walk home slowly, taking in all of the daily happening, the gardens being watered, the streets being swept, the grocery stores closing for their lunch breaks. But this day, I took extra care to take in the things I could never see again: a trim black cat dodging down a narrow side street, the pink flowers blooming against grey apartment buildings, a weathered man sitting in front of the bar by our residence that was painting the buildings leading to the church. The man had some of the oldest paintbrushes in his army-green cup that I have every seen. I would never have expected his hand to be so steady. The detail on his paper stunned me; the trees' leaves blew in the wind and the buildings seemed heavy with their age.
I went back to my room and ate my dinner in front of the open window, watching les pies pecking at the ground around the tree that fills my view. Their voices carried up to me and I was glad I hadn't reached for my i-pod; it's so easy to let them pull you out of your world.
I've started my second French book, Le Rue du Havre. It's one that I found for 20 cents in Paris, and the langauge is so fluid that it's easy for me to read out loud. When I was mentally exhausted, I rolled over and let myself drift into a nap, thinking of how happy I was to be missing everyone, and how great it would be to see them again, or even better, to have them here to share it with.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
Le Week-end Dernier
So, we were all a little torn on whether or not we wanted to celebrate the fourth of July. That is, everyone but Jennifer. On Monday of last week, she decided that we were having a pot lock- and everyone was required to supply red, white and blue. It took some real creativity, but we all figured out something different to bring. I brought as much of France with me to the dinner as I could: cherries, a baguette and blackberry jam (that looked blue).
Jon definitely won the prize for most original dessert. He spent the afternoon baking three-layered cupcakes like pancakes in a skillet, due to our lack of ovens. They were iced with cream that he tried to whip by hand and got to a thicker, gel-like consistancy, and the layers were strawberry and blueberry. Then, the chef grated dark chocolate on top and made us all look bad for just slicing things and putting them in bowls.
We ate three different flavors of spaghetti with three different sauces (thank God one of the sauces wasn't blue), a tricolor salad and drank beverages of, ok, two colors: white and red.
As the night went on, we got more excited about the idea of a real celebration, and we were missing our fireworks. So, we headed out into Chambery and went to BRC, a small bar/club in the centre ville. It wasn't very lively when we got there, but some girls that had been there before insisted we be patient.
At about one, the dance floor was filling up and we all joined in. Lights and electro dance music were filling the air. Greeks, Italians, French and Americans were mixing together in air heavy with hot breath and body heat, and all of the odors that go along with that combination. Everyone was moving, smiling, jumping and feeling the most alive most of us had felt since arriving in Chambery.
The dancing is so free here. There's no need to be on each other, telling the whole room that you're together, and what you'll be doing later. People were dancing together and with five other people at the same time, spinning and throwing themselves around, not caring what it looked like to anyone else there. It was as if I was dancing in a room, completely alone, and yet surrounded by my closest friends; our inhibitions were gone, and it was not due to any alcohol... We were able to get in, hang out and enjoy the night with only one person having to buy a drink.
Saturday, there was a trip set up for us by ISEP, the exchange program. We took a bus through the countryside and the mountains up to Chamonix, the city at the base of Mont Blanc. The mountain is the highest in France, and stands out with its ice and snow from all of the other tree-covered, rocky peaks and cliffs surrounding it.
Jon and I packed a lunch and set out, trying to escape the American entourage for a day, into the middle of the town. We wandered through the market and bought fresh fruit (I'm going to miss that so much) before returning to a cafe for the afternoon. The cafe was close to the tram station that carried you up to the ice caves of the mountain, and when you looked behind the station, Mont Blanc stood staring back at you. I sat at an outdoor table and spent the afternoon journaling and staring at the largest mountain I have ever seen.
French people were all around us, as were hikers from around the world that had come to climb the mountain for the day. I listened to their conversations and took in as much as I could, partly for language learning, partly for possible things to write about later. There are so many things that I have heard, felt and seen here that I am so afraid to forget but have no way to put into words.
One of them, and certainly not the least of them, was the cappuccino that I sipped while sitting in the sun of the cafe's deck. The espresso was strong; the froth was a perfect foam; the grated, unsweeted chocolate melted from the steam of the drink. With my sunglasses on and my book in my lap, I had never felt more at ease and perfectly content.
Jon definitely won the prize for most original dessert. He spent the afternoon baking three-layered cupcakes like pancakes in a skillet, due to our lack of ovens. They were iced with cream that he tried to whip by hand and got to a thicker, gel-like consistancy, and the layers were strawberry and blueberry. Then, the chef grated dark chocolate on top and made us all look bad for just slicing things and putting them in bowls.
We ate three different flavors of spaghetti with three different sauces (thank God one of the sauces wasn't blue), a tricolor salad and drank beverages of, ok, two colors: white and red.
As the night went on, we got more excited about the idea of a real celebration, and we were missing our fireworks. So, we headed out into Chambery and went to BRC, a small bar/club in the centre ville. It wasn't very lively when we got there, but some girls that had been there before insisted we be patient.
At about one, the dance floor was filling up and we all joined in. Lights and electro dance music were filling the air. Greeks, Italians, French and Americans were mixing together in air heavy with hot breath and body heat, and all of the odors that go along with that combination. Everyone was moving, smiling, jumping and feeling the most alive most of us had felt since arriving in Chambery.
The dancing is so free here. There's no need to be on each other, telling the whole room that you're together, and what you'll be doing later. People were dancing together and with five other people at the same time, spinning and throwing themselves around, not caring what it looked like to anyone else there. It was as if I was dancing in a room, completely alone, and yet surrounded by my closest friends; our inhibitions were gone, and it was not due to any alcohol... We were able to get in, hang out and enjoy the night with only one person having to buy a drink.
Saturday, there was a trip set up for us by ISEP, the exchange program. We took a bus through the countryside and the mountains up to Chamonix, the city at the base of Mont Blanc. The mountain is the highest in France, and stands out with its ice and snow from all of the other tree-covered, rocky peaks and cliffs surrounding it.
Jon and I packed a lunch and set out, trying to escape the American entourage for a day, into the middle of the town. We wandered through the market and bought fresh fruit (I'm going to miss that so much) before returning to a cafe for the afternoon. The cafe was close to the tram station that carried you up to the ice caves of the mountain, and when you looked behind the station, Mont Blanc stood staring back at you. I sat at an outdoor table and spent the afternoon journaling and staring at the largest mountain I have ever seen.
French people were all around us, as were hikers from around the world that had come to climb the mountain for the day. I listened to their conversations and took in as much as I could, partly for language learning, partly for possible things to write about later. There are so many things that I have heard, felt and seen here that I am so afraid to forget but have no way to put into words.
One of them, and certainly not the least of them, was the cappuccino that I sipped while sitting in the sun of the cafe's deck. The espresso was strong; the froth was a perfect foam; the grated, unsweeted chocolate melted from the steam of the drink. With my sunglasses on and my book in my lap, I had never felt more at ease and perfectly content.
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