Katie's Homestay--the first week

Katie speaking, as one would assume from the title. But just for clarity's sake:

These past few days have been fatiguing to say the least, some moments more pleasing than others. One by one, we were all claimed by our new host parents and taken away, almost like a street orphanage on super speed.

My hostess was late, stuck in traffic. And let me tell you what, you have not seen crazy traffic until you have seen the traffic in Paris. It’s terrifying. For one thing, a lot of the roads are unmarked with traffic moving in at least two, if not three or more directions. Especially in front of l’Arc de Triumph. At that particular spot, it’s more like a “drive wherever there’s space for your car in the general direction you want to go.” We were literally inches away from other cars, buses, and trucks. And don’t even get me started with the bikes, motorized and not. They go wherever they want, at whatever speed they want. It’s lucky they keep to the roads for the most part, otherwise I would be a lot more wary about walking around outside.

My hostess gave me a quick tour around the neighborhood in her car, then we parked it in a side street, where she managed to squeeze into a space literally the size of her vehicle. It was impressive and again, terrifying. I think she actually managed to tap the bumper of the car in front of us, but it wasn’t a problem. Looking around, most of the other cars were touching or almost touching, so it must be an accepted aspect of driving in this city. Then she walked me around the neighborhood and showed me where the metro was, which seemed simple enough and not too bad of a walk, about ten minutes.

We returned to the car, dropped my stuff off at the apartment, left again to park the car in a parking garage, then walked back to the building. I am on the sixth floor and in the apartment I have to go up a flight of tight, winding stairs to reach my bedroom. (The Hollins abroad program is housed in the top floor of Reid Hall also—I can’t get away from them!) My legs are going to be hard as rock from all the walking and stair climbing.

Speaking to my hostess is a little difficult, only because I’m nervous and second guess myself, so all of my useful French flies out of my brain whenever I try to have a conversation with her. But I think she can sense my frustration and desire to learn, and she helps me figure out what I’m trying to stay. She gave me a little notebook as a welcome gift, about the size of a pocket book that reporters use, but much thicker. So far I've been using it to keep notes and write down vocabulary.

The food is good, and so far I've had a bit more diversity than I expected. Lunch is always out and for the most part consists of sandwiches or salads. Dinner is a bit more varied because they are home cooked or eating out at restaurants/cafes. So far at the house, I've had pork and pasta with a savory sauce that reminded me a lot of mom’s beef stroganoff. One night we had mashed potatoes with fish flakes mixed in. Literally bits of fish just mixed in with the mashed potatoes. The whole time I was eating it, I was thinking, this is so weird, they’re fishy mashed potatoes, but for some reason that I do not understand, it’s actually working for me. Always there’s a salad and often fruit for dessert. Last night we had a salad of tomatoes, mozzarella cheese slices (not shredded, apparently the notion of shredded mozzarella is exceedingly weird), and some olive oil which was really good. Very light and refreshing. I think that’s one thing that has surprised me. I was expecting all the food I ate to be very heavy and rich, and pretty much destroy my digestive system, but mostly it’s been much of the same food I eat at home presented in a different fashion, and perhaps a greater quantity of fruits and vegetables.

One of the great differences between American and French meals is the hour in which they’re taken. Breakfast isn’t  normally a big meal here, but my hostess has been doing this a while I think, so she provides a lot of things that are not part of the standard French breakfast, like yogurt, cereal, orange juice, etc. Lunch happens sometime between 12 and 3ish, and is apparently the big/important meal of the day. Dinner is the weirdest one, because usually they eat from 7:30 to 9 pm. This subject came up in an earlier post, and for me this isn't really so far outside of what I’m used to. The problem is, during this orientation week, we've been running literally all over the city of Paris, usually with an hour or so to grab lunch. That means we go to a café or a supermarket and pick up stuff, and because of the rush and confusion, usually the amount is less filling than desired. Because of all the activity and the lighter meals, by the time dinner occurs, my stomach is hell bent on trying to consume itself.

The large negative drama of the week would be my getting lost trying to find the metro station. It was a simple mistake that led to over a half hour of panicked wandering. The road split at one point into a Y intersection. I didn't remember moving in a diagonal direction when I was with Mme. Mella, so I stayed on the sidewalk, which looked a little straighter to me. That was not correct. On my first circuit around the area I didn't even notice the alternative. If I’d wandered in the right direction I probably could have found the metro, but I don’t believe I have that kind of luck in those kinds of situations so I kept trying to retrace my steps, thinking I’d found a point that I recognized and desperately hoping it was right, only to worsen my confusion. Eventually I went all the way back to the beginning and walked out again. This time I noticed the split and when I looked along that road, I recognized a few shops. I followed it, found more familiar markers, which led me to signs pointing toward the metro, which got me the rest of the way.

Relief was the strongest emotion at the moment when I was riding the metro, but I was deeply shaken. It didn't take much to set me off again. I looked at the map carefully after I got off the metro and found my path. However, as soon as I stepped out of the tunnel onto the street, I was completely disoriented again, with no idea where to go. I chose a likely direction and hoped for the best, squashing the rising panic as best as I could. At one point I literally started muttering to myself, talking myself down. When it started to overwhelm me again, I stopped in a bakery and asked the owner/employee for directions. He seemed a little confused by my request, or perhaps giving directions makes him as nervous as it makes me. Also my French was pretty much destroyed from the morning’s stress, so it could also be that he was having difficulty understanding me. But he gave me the assurance that I was in fact going the right way, and that my turn was literally at the next corner.

I found the school. Another wave of relief, but I’m even more destabilized. I walk into the building only to discover that it is not small or simple like I imagined from previous student’s descriptions. There are three floors with two different wings and many different international schools contained within. I found a map and discovered which floor I needed, but I couldn't tell which wing. So I chose at random, but this time I was wrong. I wandered around that floor for a while before another teacher came out to talk to a student, asked me what I was searching for, and directed me to the other wing.

Went back down the stairs. Climbed up the other side. Wandered around the third floor again. Finally discovered the classroom, where it appeared that everyone was already gathered and proceeding onward with the meeting. Audrey was pleased to see me, and didn't seem put out at all that I was late (granted I wasn’t too late, just by a couple of minutes—but I felt horrendous because I gave myself an hour and a half, using all of that time, for a trip that should have taken me 45 minutes). She asked me if I had fared all right on the metro, and I tried to nod, but I was thoroughly crushed on the inside, with residual waves of terror running through my brain. I think when I was on the street, in the middle of the crisis I was able to hold myself together because I had no other choice. I had to get to my destination and crying definitely wasn't going to help me. But as soon as I found it, my resolve and willpower crumpled into nothing. And I've found in the past that when I experience such an event, asking if I’m okay is the trigger to completely lose my mind. I literally felt my face crease down and my eyes started pouring, even though in my brain I am shouting at myself about what an idiot I am, and why can’t I just be okay, I made it here, didn't I? There was no reason for my tears now and I was only embarrassing myself.

But it happened and Audrey immediately leaped out of her chair and herded me into the office, probably to keep me from distressing the other students and to give me some privacy. She talked to me and tried to reassure me that it was okay, first days were always rough. I think I did a pretty good job explaining what was going on in my brain, in French none the less (for the most part), so that was a bit of a silver lining in very dark skies. The rest of the day was crap because I was so distressed, but being with my host mom actually helped calm me down. She has a reassuring and stable personality, like she’s not perturbed by much, so I tried to absorb a bit of that energy.

So after some quiet time and sleep, I was feeling much better. Nervous about going out again because of the first day, but it passed with no problems. I was actually the first one at the school the next morning for my program, even before the director. I think she was relieved that I’d had a successful venture.

So we’re pretty much touring the whole city bit by bit with a tour guide, who is English and has a great sense of humor. She switches from French to English and back again, so that’s kind of nice, and I've picked up a lot of words from her to write in my little notebook. We've seen some amazing sights, and there were plenty of times when I went to take a picture but gave it up as a lost cause, because the picture didn't capture the magic—it missed either the extravagant detail of the subject or the immense size and grandeur. Either that or Rachael was two steps ahead of me with her iPhone camera. I like my camera and I prefer to have my phone and camera separate, but hers is definitely more efficient and doesn't sacrifice much image quality. So if I don’t already have my camera out, and she’s pointing her camera at the same places I would, I just wait until she posts them so I can steal them and save them to my computer.

Tuesday we took the placement test, which was an official government test a lot like the SAT in America, without all the pre-anxiety or studying because I decided months ago I didn't want to be in the advanced French grammar/composition class. Had a moment during the test when I was about to lose it again, because I didn't understand the recordings of french conversation enough to answer the questions, but then I decided that I didn't care, because I wasn't trying to pass into the upper level french class. So then it was okay and I was able to calm down. My French isn't nearly that up to snuff and it will be easier on me to take the two subjects separately at the lower level. But we also did a dictée with Audrey the day before, where she read a few lines and we wrote it down, and from that she said I was borderline and that I could possibly take the higher class if I felt up to it. She instructed me to attend both classes on Monday and decide then. So that’s the formal plan. But the informal plan is still in place, and I’m proceeding with the formal one to go through the motions.
          

It’s kind of nice to have her confidence, but honestly I just don’t think my conversation skills nor my vocabulary is as advanced as it needs to be and I don’t want to put more stress on myself. I've already made myself sick once in the past school year from that, and I’d rather not make it a habit, especially when I’m so far away from home.

Well this has reached seven pages now, so I’m going to stop and let the pictures fill in the rest.

Bonsoir!

Passed this adorable cafe in Honfleur, one of our stops on the way to Paris. The name is "The Cat who Fishes." There's a little black cat sign at the very top of the picture by the red flowers. 

Calvados is a French liquor made from fermented apple juice. Normally consumed as an aperatif, during the social drinking hour before dinner. 

Rachael and me in the church or eglise in Honfleur. The ceiling was built to look like the bottom of a ship. 

"Sanctuary!!!" --Quasimodo

Rachael in front of the arches of Notre Dame (which translate to "Our Lady" in french, and is a church dedicated to the Virgin. For those of you who didn't know the translation/connection)

Wickedly intense archways up close. This scene depicts what happens to people after they die--their souls are weighed and they are given wings to ascend to heaven or chained and dragged to hell. This was one of the ones that has so much detail it was impossible to capture on the camera, but we tried. 

More posts with pictures later. Tomorrow is the adventure to Versailles!