Up, Down, Up, Down, Up

Well life in Ashleyville has been just a little bit crazy, hence the lack of posts, so I'll try to recount everything that's happened lately.

As the old saying goes, what goes up must come down. After an amazing weekend, school resumed with a giant slap in the face. Everything went fairly well Monday and Tuesday, we received homework and were told that we would have our midterms this coming week. Wednesday, psh, Wednesday was a doozy. A day when I am usually permitted to sleep later than the rest of the weekdays, as I don't have class until 13h10. This past Wednesday though, was a make-up day for my Expression Orale teacher, as our program doesn't allow our spring break to align with the rest of the students of France, therefore, she had missed the week before.

Th make-up class was scheduled for 10h30 and we had an oral comprehension recording that we had to hear and analyze, followed by an avalanche of questions. It was very difficult, needless to say that we all failed. The regularly scheduled class that was later in the afternoon was set aside for two of our oral presentations. We had to report on a topic and spark a debate about said topic. There were numerous problems leading up to mine (she told me the day before that I had to change my topic that I had chosen weeks ago, because the other girl who had been rescheduled for that day too, had a topic too similar to mine and since she wasn't in class that day, I was the one who had to change. She also told the both of us after our tests that we had to follow a new rubric . Not to mention, she had me restart my presentation two minutes into it, which was considerably rattling, because I felt redundant.) Many problems, and yes, I realize that I'm whining.

After giving my presentation, she told me that she didn't understand anything I said, that I speak French horribly, and that the fluidity of the exposition was far too choppy. I just stood there trying not to say anything or tear up. She said because she was the professor and a native speaker and didn't understand, that no one else could have possibly understood, so she repeated all of my points verbatim ad asked if that's what I meant. Yes. Obviously, she understood something if she wrote down all of my main points exactly. Ugh. My friend then did her presentation and also received a pretty heavy beating and we all left either mortified or terrified (considering there have only been a few presentations).

A few of us got off at the St. Pierre tram stop and bought some sweet things at a boulangerie. Practically everyone told me that they understood my presentation, and didn't understand why she was so antagonistic about it. After getting home, the stress of the day and the week came crashing down on me and I had a few minutes of ridiculous tears and self-pity. I was promptly called to dinner and I just kept my face in my plate for the duration of the meal. My host mom asked how my presentation went, and I proceeded to recount the story in French, as proof to myself that I can actually speak well and the teacher was just being harsh. They were blown away, said that it happens, and told me to not let it effect my speech confidence. I went to bed under the impression that things would be better in the morning.

They were not better. I woke up with no motivation to get out of bed and seriously thought about hiding in my room all day, but after washing my face and jamming to Seether and Taylor Swift while getting ready, I felt a little better. My friend and I went to the SNCF office to buy Saturday tickets to Rouen, as we had decided to perk ourselves up by doing something fun. I didn't say a word except for 'merci' at the office, as the speech confidence that I'd built up for the last month was completely evaporated the day before. Class was long, as Thursdays are usually my long days, but it was quite a fog, literally and figuratively. Friday, I woke up and was late to class, as usual at 8h20 on Fridays, but redeemed myself in answering practically every grammatical question correctly.

There were only like seven people in class and no one had make-up on, and we were all in comfy clothes, just trying to get through without humiliating ourselves again. After class, my pride was in better shape, as my previous knowledge and the fine-tuning I've learned here has exercised my grammatical understandings significantly. I took my friend, who is the same friend who was going with me to Rouen, to Café 101 and we had tea and toast, while gabbing about the things we missed about Texas, where we want to settle down, and what we wanted to do on our trip Saturday. After a while, we parted and agreed to meet at the train station at 7h00 the next morning, since our train was leaving at 7h17.

That night, my host family took me to a dinner to which we had been invited at an older couple's house in Caen. They are both psychoanalysts and the amazing woman, with the perfectly manicured house and garden who is a child psychiatrist, was also there. The house was beautiful and there was a roaring fire in the fireplace when we arrived. Immediately, I felt relaxed. We had an aperatif of sushi/shrimp rolls that my host parents made, awesome flat breads made by the hostess and champagne. They all were asking me questions about Texas and school and what not. I felt better in explaining myself and appreciated that they were being so patient with me.

We had a Mediterranean dish with fish and silver beets, spinach, amazing cheeses, and fruit cocktail for desert. Keeping in mind that I was getting up at 6h00 the next morning, we left around midnight. I sprung out of bed when my alarm went off the next morning, as I was so excited to travel somewhere else and arrived at the train station at about 6h45. I paced, looking around for my friend and bought a croissant, as I had forgotten to eat breakfast in my hurry out the door. She finally got off the tram 5 minutes before our train was due to leave. We mounted the train and began chatting away. Apparently, the tram drivers switched out and took forever talking, and that's why she was late.

When we arrived, the sun was out! We walked out of the train station with no idea where we were going and did circles looking for the tourism office. In short, we needed a map. We took a short detour at a huge medieval-looking tower close to the train station and took pictures, as it was the first awesome thing we had seen in Rouen. After a while of wandering, we gave up on the tourism office, for that moment at least, and looked for a place to eat breakfast. The French don't do breakfast like Americans or Brits, they have breakfast at home or grab a baguette and coffee on the way to work. It is a very light breakfast too. We found some cute creperies, but guess what, they weren't open yet. It was 9h00.

We found a boulangerie near Le Gros Horloge and ordered apricot croissants and coffee. After having breakfast and finally obtaining a map, we headed toward the cathedral, as she had only been in one of the smaller ones in Caen. We walked around snapping pictures, and she asked if we could even do that, because it felt a little sacrilegious. "Yes, it's fine," I told her and after rounding some ladies who were reciting the Rosary together, she asked what they were chanting, so I explained the Rosary and the saints, and Catholics' relationship to Mary and basically gave her a crash-course in Catholic beliefs, as she is Baptist. We roamed around in awe and after exiting, we resumed our normal speech patterns, as opposed to the whispers that feel obligatory in cathedrals, we headed towards the vieux marché and l'Eglise de Jeanne d'Arc.

Walking along the old streets we were complete tourists, snapping pictures at every building (the architecture is typically Normand and beautiful, plus we don't see much of it in Caen because the stupid Nazis destroyed most of those styled buildings), giggling loudly, and pointing out shops to which we wanted to return after seeing the historical places. The street we were following suddenly opened up into a large area with one of the most awesomely shaped buildings that I've ever seen. The whole open area is the vieux marché and the church and le bucher are in the middle. I'd read on some tourist websites that the church was not that impressive. Ha. I want to know what those people were smoking. The roof is spectacularly shaped, almost looking like a flame (a rather dark connection, I know). The inside was beautiful too, the ceiling, the stained glass, I loved it. We then exited the church and walked around to the other side. A simple cross is erected where she was burnt and there is a little garden area around it.



I took a few photos and sat down on a rock, while my friend was looking at the map and figuring out where we were going next. Attempting to not sound cheesy, I must admit the reflection on Jeanne d'Arc's story and the thought of being in the place were she was tied to a stake, set aflame, and met Dieu in front of a hostile, jeering crowd was the memory that stood out for me the most during the Rouen trip. My friend was anxious to move on and I laughed against her rushing tone. She stopped and laughed too. "We have plenty of time, why am I freaking out?" she asked. So we sat and chilled a bit more, my feet hurt anyway, and then made our way to the art museum.



After circling part of the building a few times, we finally came to the front and were able to go inside. It was a beautiful collection. There were many famous impressionists, such as Monet, and a number of HUGE paintings that were seriously at least two stories high. After finishing, we headed back to that one street, near that one thing, you know, that store we wanted to see? That was or conversation upon entering the outdoors, so after some translation between us, we began wandering, because frankly, we were both famished and not making mush sense. We came across one of the stores and went inside. I began shaking and my head began to hurt, shopping wasn't even a good distraction at this point. I grabbed my friend and said we needed to eat before shopping, we could come back. The thought of food gripped her quickly too, and we stumbled up and down the street looking for a cafe that wasn't too expensive.

We found a cute one with just a few tables inside and out. I ordered the soupe à la maison and some green tea. The soup was amazing! It came with large croutons and an ENTIRE BOWL of shredded cheese. I was quite excited, kinda wanted to kiss the waitress a little bit, but she had the typical Northern scorn of being troubled by having to bring our food ALL the way over to the table. I dumped half the cheese into the soup and began dipping the croutons and slurpping (which was now like trying to eat pizza or pasta elegantly with stringy cheese everywhere). I'm sure I looked just fabulous. Regardless of appearance, I finally stopped shaking as my bowl grew empty and sat back to enjoy my brewed tea. We sat digesting and discussing our next destination.

We found several cute shops that were not chains and had handmade and local clothing in it. I bought some things from the big chains when I first arrived, but I guess I'm a snob now :) I'd prefer to buy the clothes without tags or with handmade tags, they much more personal and I understand the work that goes into a single garment. Anyway, we also hound matching pairs of cute flats that were on clearance for a whole 5 euros.

We went into one store and the lady was very talkative, that's what happens when the stores are the size of you thumb. It gets awkward if there are three people in it and no one is talking. We tried on some clothes and she asked us about Texas and cowboys and horses. I am not exaggerating when I say everyone asks me about these things. It's gotten tot the point where I play to these people's fantasies and go on and on about the stereotypically Texan things.

After shopping, the sky greyed and the crowds began to swell. It even began raining, but still wave after wave of people came out into the streets. We made one last shopping stop in a chocolaterie and bought some amazing chocolates, then headed back toward the first tower we had seen, that was the Joan of Arc dungeon and we hadn't realized it. Some history buff I am. We walked up, taking pictures and entered wth another pair of tourists. The man said they were closing in 8 minutes, so if we ran up the stairs, he would let us in, so we ran. Tried to run. Drug ourselves actually, to the top of this enormous tower. The spiral staircase just went on and on and we arrived at the top feeling like cattle and breathing like race horses. To our disappointment, the door to the rest of it had already been locked. Sad day. Needless to say, when I bring my hubby over here, we have to go see that.

We began tripping and fumbling back down the stairs with cramping, jello-like legs and whiningly took pictures of the outside and some local graffiti, which I am happy to report is not nearly as prevalent as in Caen. We walked back to the gare, which was a few shaky steps to the left of the tower and collapsed into chairs, and waited for our train (which was still an hour out). We had SO much fun, but half-dozed all the way back to Caen. When I got back home, my host family had some guests over, we've hung out several times, so I knew they'd understand if I just ate in my room and crashed, they wouldn't be offended.

Monday morning came, early as usual, and we received information for our midterm test that we had today. I went back home and ran into my host mom, who was making tea. She startled, as I have a habit of sneaking up on people accidentally. "Oh, I forgot you had class this morning, that is just rude! It is just rude to make you be in class that early-IN FRANCE!" she said grinning. Yes, yes it is, story of my life. I've tried to will myself into being a morning person. It doesn't work, but at least the sun is out this week. That helps. Last week though, not so much.

Last week I was horribly frustrated and homesick. I couldn't stop thinking about my man and my dog, and English, and my friends, and all the things that I left behind in the US. Everyone was on spring break in the US too, my brain wanted to be on spring break. Ugh. Our schedule is so moronic. My host mom, noticing that I'd been down and quiet most of the week, always retreating to my cave, so she asked how I was doing. I gave the normal "fine" response, and she smiled and asked if I missed Texas, and I seriously stuck out my bottom lip like a pouty, deranged two year old and said yes in a pathetically comical voice. She said she completely understood, she's lived here 17 years and every once in a while she feels that way, she just wants to speak her native language and be around the things with which she grew up, although she admitted, when in Australia, she feels that way about France too.

I said it wasn't any particular thing, I was just frustrated with a dash of pissed-off-ness. The weather, the teachers, the classes, the damn graffiti, all of it. She just nodded giggling. She also has the severe problem of not waking up on time in the morning, like I do. We concluded that it is due to it just being so cold all of the time. In Texas and Australia, it's hot as soon as the sun is up and you want to throw off your covers and start the day, the rain doesn't help either. I can't complain too much though, spring is on its way and everything is beginning to bloom. This week is supposed to be sunny too, so that's exciting. Seriously, I'm in the best mood today because I've seen the sun's shiny face for more than 2 hours this weekend and the fact that there is a huge bush/tree thing in the front yard that is an aura of pink flowers helps the morale also :)

I had my first midterms this past week and will continue to have them for the next week and a half. I think I've passed all of them; the fact that I am happy about that should tell you how hard these classes are. Friday rolled around and my host mom invited me to a spectacle at the local theatre, so of course, I accepted. The theatre was nothing to sneeze at, but the ceiling was gorgeous. There was dimension to it a cause de several little lights that hung down from variously placed boards. The spectacle had dancers of all sorts, video elements, opera singing, and other cultural blends of singing. The dancers were amazing, there was pointe ballet, hip-hop, break, a fair amount of gymnastics, and a guy that performed on these pogo-stick things strapped to his feet. There was also a guy on crutches, he had one leg and still danced SO, so well. If the video hadn't been so crappy, I would have liked it a lot more and I think she would have too.

Saturday morning we awoke to go to a traveling private collection of Italian drawings and then had some lunch. After eating, we had to buy a birthday present, since my host brother was going to a birthday party later in the afternoon, so we went to Natures et Découvertes. Awesome store! Look it up! We then parted ways and I headed back to the house. We later went to pick up my host brother at his friend's. When we arrived, there were a pack of worried-looking parents standing outside the courtyard door. I wasn't really listening when we walked up until I heard "Ah, bah-oui, il y a beaucoup de sang." Blood? Apparently, there the kids were playing and someone got hurt.

When we walked into the house, the two glass sliding doors that led to their personal courtyard was smashed into pieces. Blood covered everything and there was a trail leading back out the front door. Yes. A kid went through the glass doors. The parents of the house were feverishly cleaning and still shaken, while the other parents of the child who'd been hurt had just taken him to the hospital.

I met a New Yorker friend of my host dad's also, while we were on our way to the grandparents' house for dinner. He kept trying to convince me that the best way to learn the language is to "go out." Yea, that's not my style, I don't really even do that in the US.
"Oh well you're not 21 are you?"
Yes, I am.
"Oh, well take that as a compliment."
I just laughed and he said that he'd been stationed in Corpus Christi when he was in the military.
"Everybody was so nice. I was like, 'What do you want from me?'" he said.
I just smiled and said yes, I was having a hard time adjusting to the lack of the street niceness that is non-existent here, much like New York. He laughed and agreed. Don't get me wrong, everyone I've formally met, like my host family and their friends have been amazingly sweet, but people don't say excuse me on the tram, people rarely help each other with groceries or falls, things like that.

Anyway, now that I've written a book here, these are all of the note-worthy events since my last post.
 Enjoy :)

A Random Plane Story and a Medieval Wonder

Not going to lie, after going to the movies to see True Grit-VO (VO means with French subtitles and original audio) with my French family earlier this past week, I was struck with intense and unexpected homesickness. The Southern accents, the beautiful and dangerous countryside, even the exaggerated arrogance of the Texas Ranger made me miss all things that are Texas. We also received many school work assignments, without any real instructions as to how to do them, so needless to say, I was rather depressed most of this past week and slept as much as possible.

Friday though, because God loves me, the sun came out and it brought with it a cold, northern wind and drier air, but regardless of my extra layers, the sun makes me smile.  Not knowing the sun was out though, and after staying up considerably late talking to my man, I seriously considered not going to class. Honestly, the only reason I did attend was because a friend and I had planned a shopping date after class. She confessed during our coffee break that she too, only drug herself to class in anticipation of our excursion. Giggling, we suffered through the last hour of class, went to take care of some administrative issues she had with housing and then off to centre-ville we went.

Walking through the stores, we would enter with a French greeting, giggle while speaking English to each other, and then switch back to French when we needed to talk to the store associate. Stopping off to get lunch we talked about our lives at home and she flat-out told me that I was crazy for leaving my almost husband right before our wedding. I shrugged and told her the timing of our story and that I miss him immensely. We continued our hunt by traversing down Rue Froide, which has many private boutiques, as opposed to the chain stores. Of course, that means the products are plus cher, but picking through one selection by a private designer, we found some dresses and shirts that were very reasonable and tried them on. One of the shirts fit me well, my twins almost didn't fit though (in those kinds of stores, one has to hope to be the designer's idea of the right size, because they only come in one size as they are hand-made). I asked if it made me look pregnant and she laughed and said no, that I just can't eat are large lunch and would have to wear nice shoes and jeans to dress it up, because it was quite prairie.

I couldn't argue with that, but I like country style. Speaking of country style, mimicked cowboy boots, pearl snaps, and earthy, prairie tones and fabrics are so popular here for the spring and summer. Ironically, I should have brought all of my Texan gear, as it would have been authentic!

After finding a few more rough diamonds, we both began a shoe hunt, that turned into sore feet and a realization that we'd been walking around centre-ville for the better part of five hours. We finally parted ways and I headed home to pack for the grand adventure that was in store for me this weekend. All ready to go, I sat on my computer and twiddled my thumbs until my host dad knocked on my door and said that we were leaving in 10 minutes. Ok, I was ready, after taking my things to the car, we sat inside waiting for my host mom to pack, as she had just gotten off of work. She came down the stairs laughing after about 20ish minutes saying that she meant 10 French minutes :)

The car ride to Champeaux took about and hour and a half and I was briefed on the way, that the family smokes, a lot, in the house, I would have a couch bed (but also the best view in the house), and that they are hospitable and fun. I was quite excited about everything except the smoking part. I really am an oddball here, because I don't smoke, but no biggie. Upon arrival, we were greeted by 4 dogs, one of which was the largest golden retriever I've yet to see, tons of people, and the faint aroma of Cayenne pepper.

We dropped our things inside and sat in the sun room that overlooks the bay to the Mont-Saint-Michel, c'était dommage qu'il était la nuit. We had an apératif of rosé champagne and cheese, then took our places at the dinner table. A burnt orange, suede type of table cloth graced the table, adorned with chocolate-rimmed plates, and dark blue wine glasses. In the middle of the table was a huge plate of deviled eggs with bright orange balls on them. Raising an eyebrow to myself, I recognized it as being caviar (which I've never had) and  I've never been a big fan of deviled eggs because of the texture of the yoke, but I took a large breath and decided to get over myself. I took the first bite with an open mind and was pleasantly surprised! Caviar of salmon, it was delicious, especially in combination with the eggs, which for some reason I like now?

After that course, Yann, the matriarchal grand mother, brought a huge pot of something that smelled like a mild crawfish boil during summer to the table. She announced that in my honor, she made an American dish that is from a Louisianan cookbook. Opening the lid, I almost teared at the sight of jumbalaya. Everyone heaped piles onto their plates and ooed and awed over the masterpiece rolling around in our mouths. I was apparently the only one who knew what it was or had eaten it before. She asked me directly if I knew the name and a hush came over the table that seated a dozen people, et ensuite I uttered the name. Everyone giggled at the awkward syllables, and I just sat and listened to their thick French accents trying to pronounce the southern word.

The daughter, who is 16, was asking me all kinds of questions in l'argot and I only caught one of them, so I answered and her mother made her slow down and explain her other questions in standard French. She spoke a few words of English confidently after her dad picked on her about her slang, but after she heard me speak in English to my host mom, she didn't try any more English. She said she hadn't understood anything we said, and then ran into an English word that she didn't know, so gave up.

After dinner, the kids invited me to play a game called 1000 Kilometres. It's a simple board game of drawing cards and dishing out car problems to other people and trying to draw the cards to fix the problems and screwing other people over, all while trying to get to the 1000 kilometer mark. Guess who won? Oui, moi. I then joined the adults back in the dining room and listened to the conversations while trying not to inhale too much smoke. The dad, who is a famous French photographer-awesome guy, offered me some Scottish whiskey, never having tasted Scottish whiskey, I accepted and he poured me way more than I knew I could finish of ANY whiskey, but what the hell. I took a sip and it was delicious. It had a strong, earthy, peaty flavor, not like the sweetness of corn-based bourbon that I'm used to drinking.

I took a few more sips and we all called it a night. I went to take a shower and realized that the shower and sink were down the hall from the toilet. It makes sense I guess, I'm just not used to it. Once I stepped into the shower, I thanked the Almighty aloud, as the shower head was attached to the wall and I didn't have to turn it off in order to soap up! I retreated to my make-shift room that they barricaded with chairs to keep the dogs away from my bed and couldn't find my damn earplugs! I spent like an hour looking for them and crashed shortly after that.

The next day, I awoke several times to the sound of the two young boys running around screaming and shooting each other with nerf guns. Joy. When I finally decided to get up, I had some breakfast and my host mom told me that we were going to the Mont-Saint-Michel later so make sure that my camera was charged. Yes ma'am!

The drive was gorgeous, regardless of the fog that had nestled itself on the bay that morning, and I got to see so French countryside. I missed it so much, I'll never be able to live in the city permanently, I love wide open spaces and grass and trees and all that that entails too much. We stopped for a photo-op a few kilometers away and then drove up on it. It was truly breathtaking, I'm so glad that it was sunny, because I was able to take some amazing photos.

We walked up to the islet and upon entering the gates to the lower part, we were greeted by several cafés and souvenir shops before getting to the more impressive architecture. I was taking so many photos, my camera could barely keep up and I kept losing my host parents, as I was stopping to gawk every five seconds. I told them as we walked up to not mind me, considering France has turned me into a picture-taking fanatic.(Seriously, I hung out of a hole in the castle wall to get some pictures. No fear.) They just laughed and said to take my time, so we circled the islet up to the abbaye and my host dad said he'd meet us back out there in an hour, so my host mom and I went to get tickets. Being under French social security as a student and she being an artist of sorts, we both got free admission. Frickin' sweet!

We began climbing more stairs to the abbaye and I noticed that with the exception of the grand doors to everything, the normal everyday doors were almost too small for me, hence the picture. Tallness is a dominant gene? That's my rationale anyway. The spires, the gargoyles, ah c'est magnifique! We snuck past a big group of tourists who were waiting for the tour guide and entered the original abbaye itself. Walking in, I stopped in the middle of the huge doorway to let the feeling soak into my bones and then looked for the stoup to perform the Sign of the Cross, habitual to any catholic, and considering Catholicism is the closest faith I claim other than general Christianity, it was compulsory. We walked around in silence, honestly, what do you say in a magnificent structure like that?



We passed into the next room and then the next, she reading aloud the French explanation paper we received at the entrance and me walking around with a gaping pie hole and exclaiming that I wanted a picture in this huge fireplace and then that one. At the top, there is an open garden where it would be impossible to take a bad picture and so took several lovely ones. Rounding to the last room, there was an enchanting light beaming through the window and we paused for a bit, while I fiddled with my camera, trying to find the setting that would capture the essence properly.

We then took a turn about the gift shop, admiring the overly-priced merchandise, some of which I actually did buy, but where else can one find an embroidery kit of the Mont-Saint-Michel on a bookmark? Yes, I embroider. Old fashioned, I know, but it's incredibly relaxing and with the arthritis that runs in my family, I need something to guard the dexterity of my fingers.

We then walked back to the car, enjoying the breeze that would soon turn frigid, when ça t'as plu? interrupted my thoughts. My host dad asked if I liked it, I just turned around with giant, doe eyes and said, oui! Driving home, we had to stop for a herd of sheep that were crossing the road. Only in Europe.





Back at the house, Yann had prepared another enormous, gourmet meal and the same ritual commenced as the night before, except that we had another guest. A quiet man with intense blue eyes and hair that reminded me of Tim Burton when Tim Burton's hair was longer. He seemed quite fascinated by me, as I felt him looking at me often to see if I was laughing at a joke, but I'm used to that, being an alien and all. The young son ran into the dining room after desert and asked me if I wanted to play another round of the game from the night before. I smiled and nodded and he asked his grandma and mom if they also wanted to play, so the four of us squared off, and despite being stuck at the 100 kilometer mark majority of the game and Yann and the mother being neck and neck the whole game, I still ended up winning. 


They then sent the kids off to bed and we convened in the dining room for smokes, whiskey, and conversation. Tristan (the dad) offered me a concoction of Canada Dry, Jack Daniel's, and ice (all of which are pretty exotic here), but I declined, just wanting to stand by the fire that was burning in the chest-high fireplace.The other adults asked who won and the mother said that I did. Encore? My host mom asked, and the mom (Isabelle) said yes, but they should have known that would happen, because they were up against a strong/tough American. I blushed and giggled, of course. They then asked me why I came to Normandie to study and I gave them the standard answer that I give everyone. My mother's family is French, they originated in Rouen (which is like an hour from Caen) and to learn French in general. They asked the family name and so on, and then my host dad told them about my great-grandpa being a medic during the war (that's what it is referred to as here) and arriving in Normandie shortly after the storming . It cracks me up, I think that and the fact that I am a huntress tickles him to pieces, because he shares those things with everyone, I don't mind, I find it flattering :)


Everyone's eyes grew larger and they asked all about my grandpa and then asked me to thank him for them. Many people do that, they will look me straight in the eye and thank me (as if I were the heroic one) or ask me to thank him for them. The French whom I've met thus far have great respect for Americans for that reason alone, which I find touching and it's truly appreciated. Of course the sense of the war is still very fresh here, especially in Normandie, so it's understandable. Yann herself, told us a story about she being here during the bombings and stormings. It's amazing to listen to the stories, because we Americans, in general, were quite removed from the actual fighting. It wasn't on our soil, except for Pearl Harbor, we weren't the ones who were invaded by Nazis, etc., it's quite an amazing feeling being here for that reason alone. 


They also asked me about Texas, and I told them about line dancing, 2-stepping, honky-tonks, and skyscrapers. At about that time I was thirsty so I poured myself some straight Jack, and took a seat at the table. Tristan just laughed at my brazenness, I guess, and began talking to me about different types of whiskey and bourbon. They also coined a nickname for me. Petit oiseaux, (little bird) because that's how I eat. 


I went into the salon a little later to lie down and digest. Suddenly, my host mom came looking for me and asked me abruptly if I wanted to ride in a plane the next day. Oui! Bien sûr! Wait. What? She said that the man who came for dinner has a private four-seater plane and offered to take three of us up in it the next day if the weather was nice. OMG! Is this really my life? ran through my head as I stood there with a hanging jaw. With that thought in mind, I went to bed.


The next morning, I helped myself to some Nutella-coated baguette and green tea. Right after I'd gotten dressed and put a little make-up on, my host mom came running inside, as she had been down to the beach for a cold dip, and exclaimed that we needed to leave soon if I still wanted to go in the plane. Needless to say, I was waiting at the door like a puppy needing to be taken on a walk before she even finished her sentence. 


We hopped in the car and got lost a few times, I'm guessing that's what happened, considering we turned around on about five different roads, and then finally found the air strip. He handed us headsets and after a few pictures, we hopped inside. I have never been in a small aerial vehicle before, so I could hardly contain my excitement. My host mom and I were bouncing up and down like children waiting for recess and smiling like idiots while we waited for him to finish his check list. 


Rounding up to the runway, we took off and began circling the area. As my ears adjusted to the change in pressure, I was trying to figure out the best way to use my camera. It got to the point where I was just pointing and shooting, because between all of the glares, fog, and low clouds, I couldn't see much and prayed that they came out just enough so that I could at least edit them well. They did, they look a little retro with the contrast, but it helped get rid of a lot of the fog in the pictures.

We began flying against the coast and bobbing up and down in the changing wind currents. I was too busy snapping pictures and uncontrollably smiling to be afraid or feel anything other than elatedness. As we rounded Granville, which is the peninsula-looking thing in these photos, I could see the outline of the Mont-Saint-Michel, and our pilot said that we were going to circle it. No. No way. There is NO WAY that I could be blessed and lucky enough to see one of the Medieval Wonders of the World from the ground up one day and then from the sky down the next!


As we circled in, I could feel my camera button getting hot from me pressing it so often and the little drops in altitude common in those small planes added to the excitement. The sensation of weightlessness, accompanied by the dropping of my stomach, the buzzing of sheer joy in my throat, and looking down on such a magnificent and magical place is a moment that I will always cherish.

After we landed and headed back to Yann's for a late lunch, we rode back in silence, contemplating the experience that we had all just shared. For lunch, we had pork that had been marinated over-night in black olives and rosé, then cooked to perfection with seasoned potatoes. Seriously, perfection. I cut pork with a butter knife, easily! We then had a pear and apple crumble for desert and laid around digesting for a bit.

Around an hour before sunset, my host parents said they wanted to take me on a walk, so I pulled on my twoish/threeish inch high boots that I'd worn that day, and we took a little drive to a biking and walking path. My host dad explained that we were going to see one of the stone houses that Louis the Fourteenth had commissioned to be built so to house soldiers who watched for English invaders and who basically acted as customs officers during the 18th century. So we walked through a field, the path was half mud and half stone, I was really missing my cowboy boots at this time, and we came upon the house.

Seriously, I would NOT have minded being one of Louis's soldiers if I had had the privilege of waking up and going to bed with that view everyday. The location is absolutely perfect, poetic even. We walked a bit more and then turned to go back, me trailing along far behind, a cause de my incessant photo-taking.  

We then rounded back to the house and my host dad must have read my mind, because he suggested that we stay for le coucher de soleil. I love French, it's so poetic. This basically translates to the sun's bedtime or watch the sun go to sleep.

I climbed up on a huge rock in front of the house for a spectacular view and so that I could clearly hear the waves crashing on the rocks 100 yards below me.

Had I been properly equipped, I would have shimmied down the side of that cliff to get pictures of the rocks and the water, but alas, my cowboy boots and flashlight are in Texas. I'm hopelessly country, upon seeing the cliff, that was my first thought was to get my boots and hands dirty. After the wonderful sight and after realizing that I hadn't had any feeling in my hands or feet in a while, I climbed back down to rejoin my family.

We drove back to have a lovely meal of noodles, cheese, and lardon with baguette and handmade chocolate mousse before saying our mercis and au revoirs. What a trip. My batteries are recharged after a trip like that. I am ready for midterms now :)