Ever notice how life seems to be just ok, and then your body contracts a cold and the first day that you feel better feels like one of the best days of your life? Maybe that's just me, I tend to think about such things too much, but one of these said days is today for me. Thursday was carnival (French definition: university students dress up like Halloween and run around downtown getting really, ridiculously drunk and then retreat to the bars. This is a school sponsored event too, the drinking age is 18, so no one cares.) and I didn't have a costume, not to mention it was cold and rainy, therefore, a friend and I went and bought sweet treats and wine and hung out, warmly and dryly, inside.
First of all, it took two American girls 10 minutes to uncork a French bottle of wine. In our defense, the corkscrews here are weird. Anyway, so after only drinking maybe a third of the half-bottle I bought. It was time for me to leave, so I tried to put the cork back in half-way, like one can do with Llano wine. It didn't work, so she handed me her coke, twist-off lid and I held it over the bottle opening.
She walked me to the bus stop and it was severely delayed on account of the drunken students wandering the streets. Considering that, and the fact that I didn't know if I could bring an open drink on the bus/the bottle was only like 2 euros, I left the bottle in a trashcan by the bus stop. Terrible, I know. Finally, I parted and got off at one of the tram stations, because I had to take that the rest of the way to get home. The tram too, was very behind, and the first one that came by was packed like the UNT buses when the temperature gets close to freezing. The doors slid open and an enormous cloud of beer-scented air about knocked me over. Regardless of the packed-ness, a few frustrated people who'd been waiting longer than I, squeezed on the tram. I decided to wait, good thing too, because the next one had like two other people on it. On our way to the next tram stop, we came to a halt half-way to it. There had been a wreck up the track a way, so we sat and waited, needless to say it took me almost an hour longer than usual to get home from my friend's house.
Friday morning, the sidewalks and tram tracks were littered with broken bottles and cigarette butts, as I made my way to campus for my rudely early grammar class. There were like 5 people there. (I should mention that Thursday we had only our morning classes, and then were released for carnival. Well, since I was one of the only people in class, one of the other girls, who apparently had a cold, sat by me through the entirety of our classes, she also tends to get in your bubble when she talks to you, so I think I got sick from her. I haven't had even a cold since last June, so being sick here makes me a little bitter.)
During class, in which I am usually very participatory, I just tried to hide behind the people in front of me. I did not want to wake up and only decided to drag myself out of bed 5 minutes before I had to leave for the tram. After class, I went to the SNCF boutique to buy train tickets, as I had decided to go see the American cemetery this weekend, because the weather was supposed to be relatively nice. Afterward, I went home and decided that I needed a break from French. Seriously, I love French, it's what I want to do with my life, but I am so incredibly burnt out. Taking 19 hours and not getting a spring break until literally the week before finals is a really stupid way to run this program.
In honor of my break from French, I caught up on some of my American TV shows and made a dent in one of the novels I brought, but as the day went on, I began feeling worse. I'd woken up with a sore throat and drainage, but assumed it was an allergic reaction to France. Spring is here. Nope. I woke up to go to Bayeux and then to the beaches feeling like crap, but I'd already bought the tickets, and I couldn't leave this country without seeing them, so I drug myself out of bed and surprisingly had enough in me to put on make-up.
Getting to the train, just before it pulled out, I chose a seat and listened to music as the countryside began to rush past outside the window. It was only about a 15 minute ride and then I waited for 45 minutes at the bus
station for the right one. While looking over the time charts a woman walked up to me and asked if I was going to stay there, I replied that I didn't know, I was just looking for my bus and time. She switched to English, interrupted my answer, and asked me again. Dang it, I understood her, she was just in a hurry and asked me to watch her bags. I said, in English, I didn't know, I was just looking for my bus and time, and that I might go into town. She stomped off and proceeded to ask a young man who was doing the same thing as I was. He said sure, and took a seat. I wandered around and went into the train station, completely irked, as I was not feeling well and was slow to respond.
Our correct bus finally came and when I went to pay for my ticket the bus driver said "quatre" ("four"), so I repeated it and found 4 euros in my purse. She then said 7euros40. What? She had charged me for four freakin' people. I just didn't even care at that point and handed her a 10. I told her that I was traveling alone and asked why she charged me for four. She just had the girl behind me pay me for her two tickets and then she'd let me ride back for free, no explanation. Ugh.
So I took my seat, utterly frustrated, but feeling too sickly to put up a fight. The small towns and narrow roads began going by and as we grew closer, I could see the ocean on the horizon, and the sight helped to lift my mood. Upon arrival, the guy that had waited with me got off too and we both made our way, in silence, to the memorial. Honestly, I would have tried talking to him, especially since we waited for the bus to come back for us in silence for like 20 minutes, but my French brain doesn't like to work when it's sick, and the French boys that I've met so far understand just eye contact as "I want in your pants." I was not in the mood for dealing with that kind of mess either, so silence was just better. I found the welcome center, which is in American English, oh my goodness, I chose the right weekend to take a break from French, and the guards spoke English, or tried, as well. It was a bit strange hearing and seeing it in a public place like that. It makes sense of course, it was just unexpected. Being a minority speaker of a given language, I've gotten used to only speaking English and reading it in certain limited areas, but with something important like that, it just caught me off guard.
I had to speed through the center, because the way the bus times work during this part of the year, I barely had an hour and a half to see everything. Once back outside, I walked along a path, leading to the cemetery, but there was also a path down to the beach, so I took that one first, as it was still sunny, but I could see rain clouds on their way.
It was a winding, softly sloping path with arched trees and wild flowers growing everywhere. There were a few little drainage streams as well and then I came to the bridge of the beach, snapping pictures the whole time. Emerging onto the beach was incredible. It is beautiful first of all, the sand is clean and lightly littered with smoothed stones and shells, the dunes have the picturesque driftwood fences strung along them, and the water! The water is so many shades of blue! The ocean constantly changes color like the light here. Then to walk down to the frigid water and think about the storming was indescribable. Thinking about a band of 17-20ish year old boys running into open fire in the very place where I stood was quite moving. Thinking about my grandpa landing there so many years ago to help heal people and thinking of all of his war stories, it was a lot to take in. For once, I have no words to describe it. Every way I try doesn't feel like enough or it feels like something one is supposed to say, so I'll leave you to your imagination on this one. Much of the trip though, I felt so humbled and as if my chest were too heavy to even breathe, it is hard to describe.
After standing at the water's edge, I walked down the beach a bit and picked up two beautiful stones that had been rounded and smoothed to perfection by the tides and sand, and stuck them in my pocket. Snapping pictures up and down the beach, I checked the time and was angry that I had to move on so soon. I was so enthralled by getting down to the water, I'd forgotten about mounting the hill and the stairs-with a head cold. Regardless, I knew I couldn't slow down and told myself that it would be better to raise my body temperature and move around to get my blood pumping. It was so difficult. I had felt shaky all day before that, and then the feeling grew worse. I was panting like a greyhound and half-stumbling up the last few steps, and then I rounded the corner and saw a field of white crosses, perfectly lined in rows with a few Stars of David dotting the land scape. I just stopped and stood there, completely forgetting about my lack of oxygen.
The wind had picked up and as I looked around, I saw the US flag flying high above the field of white and had to capture that moment. I wish I could have been able to record the heaviness in my chest and the few tears that were stirred up either by the intense wind or the sight before me. I walked around to the front to see the pool and statue before the cemetery and then glancing at my watch, dramatically through my head back, as it was time for me to march back to the bus stop.
After riding back to Bayeux, I walked to downtown and looked for somewhere to eat. Vegetable soup was on my mind, vegetable soup and tea, but of course everything was closed until 19h and my train was leaving at 17h. I just kept walking, burning time, and then remembered that there was a little bar/restaurant by the train station, so I walked back. They had veggie soup! Being the only customer, I scarfed the bowl, especially considering that I hadn't eaten since ten and I had only had tea and a little piece of bread, while running out the door.
The train ride back was uneventful, except that I listened to these four guys talking, who were Canadians backpacking through France. Upon returning home, it was raining, so I retreated to my cave until dinner. There were two of my host parents' friends over and one of their sons also. All in all, it was 5 boys and me. The dinner was potatoes, lamb chops, and a type of Arabic sausage. I laughed at the situation and hung out to listen to the conversation, regardless of still feeling like crap. When there are guests over for dinner, I am very reserved and mostly listen. Honestly, by the time I come up with something to say, the topic is changed and so I give up, but most of the time, someone will ask me a question and everyone gets quiet to listen to me, which is nice, yet intimidating.
They had begun talking about drinking and what not and commented that I'm quite the alcoholic (considering I rarely drink more than a glass or two of wine, and had refused any that night on account of being sick), so we all laughed and then they picked on me, saying that I'm also quite the chatterbox. I just smiled and agreed, oui, tellement. I went to bed after that, and slept for 12 hours, but woke up feeling much better this morning, which rounds me back to feeling like today is one of the best days ever, because I don't feel completely overridden by a virus.
Other happenings in the life of miss priss here would be earlier this week, I had walked to a bookstore during my break to look for a book. (I didn't find it, but I did find the novel version of a movie we had just watched in one of my classes called Je vais bien, Ne t'en fais pas. Fabulous movie, rent it.) On my way back to class, this tall guy reaches out to me on the street saying, Ah mademoiselle... and kept talking, but I through my hand up saying, Yea, I don't speak French. He trailed after me a bit and said in his very think French accent, Ah zat iz a pitee, because I can say beautiful szings to you. Ok, good day! My thoughts ran, Damnit, that usually works! and it does. Random French homeless people or flirty boys usually give up after they think I can't speak French. Oh well, it was bound to happen sometime.
Wedding research is going well. My man is still looking for a DJ, I'm finding some adorable decorations I want to make when I return, and I'm still battling what kind of favors I want to do. The almost husband and I are also looking for a new apartment, exciting! As long as we've lived together, we've always had roommates, who have been amazing, of course, but it will be nice to have a place of our own when we become hubby and wifey. There have also been administrative things which he has had to handle for me en lieu of my absence. I forget that I'm an adult in my country, considering I live with a family, I kind of feel like an awkward big sister and the way our program is set up, it feels more like high school than college. I also scheduled my trip to Nantes next weekend, so I'm super excited about that. The tickets to Versailles sold out before I could get one the following weekend, but I figure it will be cheaper and better anyway to just go whenever I stay in Paris over the break.
The classes are still stressful and intense. I miss my man, dog, and all of those whom I care about in the States. The excitement about the wedding keeps bubbling up into my cheeks and the weather remaining relatively nice is keeping me sane. Time for sleep now :)
First of all, it took two American girls 10 minutes to uncork a French bottle of wine. In our defense, the corkscrews here are weird. Anyway, so after only drinking maybe a third of the half-bottle I bought. It was time for me to leave, so I tried to put the cork back in half-way, like one can do with Llano wine. It didn't work, so she handed me her coke, twist-off lid and I held it over the bottle opening.
She walked me to the bus stop and it was severely delayed on account of the drunken students wandering the streets. Considering that, and the fact that I didn't know if I could bring an open drink on the bus/the bottle was only like 2 euros, I left the bottle in a trashcan by the bus stop. Terrible, I know. Finally, I parted and got off at one of the tram stations, because I had to take that the rest of the way to get home. The tram too, was very behind, and the first one that came by was packed like the UNT buses when the temperature gets close to freezing. The doors slid open and an enormous cloud of beer-scented air about knocked me over. Regardless of the packed-ness, a few frustrated people who'd been waiting longer than I, squeezed on the tram. I decided to wait, good thing too, because the next one had like two other people on it. On our way to the next tram stop, we came to a halt half-way to it. There had been a wreck up the track a way, so we sat and waited, needless to say it took me almost an hour longer than usual to get home from my friend's house.
Friday morning, the sidewalks and tram tracks were littered with broken bottles and cigarette butts, as I made my way to campus for my rudely early grammar class. There were like 5 people there. (I should mention that Thursday we had only our morning classes, and then were released for carnival. Well, since I was one of the only people in class, one of the other girls, who apparently had a cold, sat by me through the entirety of our classes, she also tends to get in your bubble when she talks to you, so I think I got sick from her. I haven't had even a cold since last June, so being sick here makes me a little bitter.)
During class, in which I am usually very participatory, I just tried to hide behind the people in front of me. I did not want to wake up and only decided to drag myself out of bed 5 minutes before I had to leave for the tram. After class, I went to the SNCF boutique to buy train tickets, as I had decided to go see the American cemetery this weekend, because the weather was supposed to be relatively nice. Afterward, I went home and decided that I needed a break from French. Seriously, I love French, it's what I want to do with my life, but I am so incredibly burnt out. Taking 19 hours and not getting a spring break until literally the week before finals is a really stupid way to run this program.
In honor of my break from French, I caught up on some of my American TV shows and made a dent in one of the novels I brought, but as the day went on, I began feeling worse. I'd woken up with a sore throat and drainage, but assumed it was an allergic reaction to France. Spring is here. Nope. I woke up to go to Bayeux and then to the beaches feeling like crap, but I'd already bought the tickets, and I couldn't leave this country without seeing them, so I drug myself out of bed and surprisingly had enough in me to put on make-up.
Getting to the train, just before it pulled out, I chose a seat and listened to music as the countryside began to rush past outside the window. It was only about a 15 minute ride and then I waited for 45 minutes at the bus
station for the right one. While looking over the time charts a woman walked up to me and asked if I was going to stay there, I replied that I didn't know, I was just looking for my bus and time. She switched to English, interrupted my answer, and asked me again. Dang it, I understood her, she was just in a hurry and asked me to watch her bags. I said, in English, I didn't know, I was just looking for my bus and time, and that I might go into town. She stomped off and proceeded to ask a young man who was doing the same thing as I was. He said sure, and took a seat. I wandered around and went into the train station, completely irked, as I was not feeling well and was slow to respond.
Our correct bus finally came and when I went to pay for my ticket the bus driver said "quatre" ("four"), so I repeated it and found 4 euros in my purse. She then said 7euros40. What? She had charged me for four freakin' people. I just didn't even care at that point and handed her a 10. I told her that I was traveling alone and asked why she charged me for four. She just had the girl behind me pay me for her two tickets and then she'd let me ride back for free, no explanation. Ugh.
So I took my seat, utterly frustrated, but feeling too sickly to put up a fight. The small towns and narrow roads began going by and as we grew closer, I could see the ocean on the horizon, and the sight helped to lift my mood. Upon arrival, the guy that had waited with me got off too and we both made our way, in silence, to the memorial. Honestly, I would have tried talking to him, especially since we waited for the bus to come back for us in silence for like 20 minutes, but my French brain doesn't like to work when it's sick, and the French boys that I've met so far understand just eye contact as "I want in your pants." I was not in the mood for dealing with that kind of mess either, so silence was just better. I found the welcome center, which is in American English, oh my goodness, I chose the right weekend to take a break from French, and the guards spoke English, or tried, as well. It was a bit strange hearing and seeing it in a public place like that. It makes sense of course, it was just unexpected. Being a minority speaker of a given language, I've gotten used to only speaking English and reading it in certain limited areas, but with something important like that, it just caught me off guard.
I had to speed through the center, because the way the bus times work during this part of the year, I barely had an hour and a half to see everything. Once back outside, I walked along a path, leading to the cemetery, but there was also a path down to the beach, so I took that one first, as it was still sunny, but I could see rain clouds on their way.
It was a winding, softly sloping path with arched trees and wild flowers growing everywhere. There were a few little drainage streams as well and then I came to the bridge of the beach, snapping pictures the whole time. Emerging onto the beach was incredible. It is beautiful first of all, the sand is clean and lightly littered with smoothed stones and shells, the dunes have the picturesque driftwood fences strung along them, and the water! The water is so many shades of blue! The ocean constantly changes color like the light here. Then to walk down to the frigid water and think about the storming was indescribable. Thinking about a band of 17-20ish year old boys running into open fire in the very place where I stood was quite moving. Thinking about my grandpa landing there so many years ago to help heal people and thinking of all of his war stories, it was a lot to take in. For once, I have no words to describe it. Every way I try doesn't feel like enough or it feels like something one is supposed to say, so I'll leave you to your imagination on this one. Much of the trip though, I felt so humbled and as if my chest were too heavy to even breathe, it is hard to describe.
After standing at the water's edge, I walked down the beach a bit and picked up two beautiful stones that had been rounded and smoothed to perfection by the tides and sand, and stuck them in my pocket. Snapping pictures up and down the beach, I checked the time and was angry that I had to move on so soon. I was so enthralled by getting down to the water, I'd forgotten about mounting the hill and the stairs-with a head cold. Regardless, I knew I couldn't slow down and told myself that it would be better to raise my body temperature and move around to get my blood pumping. It was so difficult. I had felt shaky all day before that, and then the feeling grew worse. I was panting like a greyhound and half-stumbling up the last few steps, and then I rounded the corner and saw a field of white crosses, perfectly lined in rows with a few Stars of David dotting the land scape. I just stopped and stood there, completely forgetting about my lack of oxygen.
The wind had picked up and as I looked around, I saw the US flag flying high above the field of white and had to capture that moment. I wish I could have been able to record the heaviness in my chest and the few tears that were stirred up either by the intense wind or the sight before me. I walked around to the front to see the pool and statue before the cemetery and then glancing at my watch, dramatically through my head back, as it was time for me to march back to the bus stop.
After riding back to Bayeux, I walked to downtown and looked for somewhere to eat. Vegetable soup was on my mind, vegetable soup and tea, but of course everything was closed until 19h and my train was leaving at 17h. I just kept walking, burning time, and then remembered that there was a little bar/restaurant by the train station, so I walked back. They had veggie soup! Being the only customer, I scarfed the bowl, especially considering that I hadn't eaten since ten and I had only had tea and a little piece of bread, while running out the door.
The train ride back was uneventful, except that I listened to these four guys talking, who were Canadians backpacking through France. Upon returning home, it was raining, so I retreated to my cave until dinner. There were two of my host parents' friends over and one of their sons also. All in all, it was 5 boys and me. The dinner was potatoes, lamb chops, and a type of Arabic sausage. I laughed at the situation and hung out to listen to the conversation, regardless of still feeling like crap. When there are guests over for dinner, I am very reserved and mostly listen. Honestly, by the time I come up with something to say, the topic is changed and so I give up, but most of the time, someone will ask me a question and everyone gets quiet to listen to me, which is nice, yet intimidating.
They had begun talking about drinking and what not and commented that I'm quite the alcoholic (considering I rarely drink more than a glass or two of wine, and had refused any that night on account of being sick), so we all laughed and then they picked on me, saying that I'm also quite the chatterbox. I just smiled and agreed, oui, tellement. I went to bed after that, and slept for 12 hours, but woke up feeling much better this morning, which rounds me back to feeling like today is one of the best days ever, because I don't feel completely overridden by a virus.
Other happenings in the life of miss priss here would be earlier this week, I had walked to a bookstore during my break to look for a book. (I didn't find it, but I did find the novel version of a movie we had just watched in one of my classes called Je vais bien, Ne t'en fais pas. Fabulous movie, rent it.) On my way back to class, this tall guy reaches out to me on the street saying, Ah mademoiselle... and kept talking, but I through my hand up saying, Yea, I don't speak French. He trailed after me a bit and said in his very think French accent, Ah zat iz a pitee, because I can say beautiful szings to you. Ok, good day! My thoughts ran, Damnit, that usually works! and it does. Random French homeless people or flirty boys usually give up after they think I can't speak French. Oh well, it was bound to happen sometime.
Wedding research is going well. My man is still looking for a DJ, I'm finding some adorable decorations I want to make when I return, and I'm still battling what kind of favors I want to do. The almost husband and I are also looking for a new apartment, exciting! As long as we've lived together, we've always had roommates, who have been amazing, of course, but it will be nice to have a place of our own when we become hubby and wifey. There have also been administrative things which he has had to handle for me en lieu of my absence. I forget that I'm an adult in my country, considering I live with a family, I kind of feel like an awkward big sister and the way our program is set up, it feels more like high school than college. I also scheduled my trip to Nantes next weekend, so I'm super excited about that. The tickets to Versailles sold out before I could get one the following weekend, but I figure it will be cheaper and better anyway to just go whenever I stay in Paris over the break.
The classes are still stressful and intense. I miss my man, dog, and all of those whom I care about in the States. The excitement about the wedding keeps bubbling up into my cheeks and the weather remaining relatively nice is keeping me sane. Time for sleep now :)
It must have been amazing being on the beach. I miss you! Keep updating!
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