Baguettes and Peaches; some thoughts after two weeks in a new place

It’s been two weeks now, since I flew into France. It seems longer though, as it always does when the days are full and the setting is new. Aix-en-Provence is quite pretty. The city center looks like everything one would expect a town in southern France to look like; red tile roofs, narrow streets lined with cream colored buildings, cobblestone, foutains and plazas filled with markets and cafes.

I have the good fortune though, to be living in the countryside. My house is about a twenty minute bus ride from to the center. Everyday I get off the bus, walk another five minutes and arrive home as the evening is beginning to take hold.

Mornings though, are my favorite. Classes don’t start until late, so I never have to use an alarm. I peacefully wake up around 8:00, and take my time in fully getting out of bed and turning on my daytime brain. I like them because they are predictable (one of the only predictable things that I have in this new place). I know that after I climb down the ladder of my loft, continue down two flights of stairs, and enter the kitchen, I will be able to make toast and coffee. There is always fig jam and honey. On my first day here, my host mother, Marie Noelle, showed me the toaster and how to use the coffee maker. I have been enjoying my daily French breakfast ever since.

I like mornings also though, because they let me start over. I am washed of the fatigue of the previous day and have only hope for the new day left. I have only hope that my french will be better and the assurance that I am one day further in understanding what this country is all about.

I realized a few days ago, that my windowsill is just wide enough to sit on. That has become a part of my morning and nightly ritual also. One of the most refreshing things is to lean out over the roof and breathe in the morning or evening or rain or sunshine. There is a slow-flowing creek near the house which feeds tall cottonwoods. The birds or crickets are always singing from their branches.

But all this beauty comes with a few frustrations as well. I honestly cannot convey what I want to say most of the time. It is not only French vocabulary that prevents me, it is also what is behind the words. There is so much that I do not know. There are so many things about which I am mistaken, and am unaware of my mistake. There is so much I don’t know that I don’t know. It is huge, this task of learning to communicate all over again. I am like a baby spitting out words that no one can really understand. The other students at the school I attend are quite the comfort and so nice to be around. We are all in the same boat, all 29 of us Americans. We speak French with each other and take the time to try and understand what it is that the other means to say.

My language partner, Anais, is also good at being patient with me. Last week I spent a lot of time with her. She is quite an interesting person, and I can’t do her justice trying to describe her in writing. It will have to suffice to say that I think we will be good friends.

Besides all of that, my life is made of baguettes and peaches, interesting classes (most of the time) with nice professors, a new-to-me bicycle, and a bit of frisbee. All in all, I have to say, it is not easy to be here, but I think it is nonetheless quite good.







my window and desk and closet and loft and some cheese at the market

I Am Very Glad They Let Me Go To Scotland

Denmark was a beautiful place. One of those places I am glad that I have seen, but will probably never return to. I met quite a few very interesting people, and saw a few different ways of living. The 23th of August, I moved on. I couchsurfed for a night with a really cool Danish girl in Odense, Denmark. She was conveniently an artist and had a sweet downtown apartment. We had some great conversations, some terrible chinese food and some AMAZING ice cream, (that I was almost too full to enjoy). In the morning I journeyed the rest of the way to the airport and flew on over to Edinburgh, Scotland.

At the airport, things began smoothly. At immigrations I was the only one in the line for people with non-EU passports, so I skipped right to the front. The woman began with normal questions; where, why and how. I told about my plans to work on an organic farm and how the WWOOFing program works. That was a mistake. Little did I know, any sort of volunteer activity in the UK needs loads of paperwork and special visa information. This is where things got scary. I got detained in the waiting area and later, was led to a questioning room. Fortunately, the immigrations officer turned out to be a really nice woman. The interview ended up being about an hour and a half and they let me into the country under the condition that I promise to forget all of my WWOOF plans and stay solely as a tourist in Edinburgh. I quickly agreed, happy that they had mercy and did not send me home.

So, there I was, at the airport, with a complete switch of plans, and no place to sleep. I had been warned that there wouldn't be much space in the hostels, because of the huge festival happening in Edinburgh. But, I couldn't worry and proceeded to call hostels. The cheapest hostel on the list had one bed. WOOHOO! I couldn't have been happier and hopped on the bus to town. The hostel was only a short walk from the bus. Later on that evening, I noticed a sign hanging from the front desk. "Planning on staying awhile? Why not ask about working for accomodation?" It said. I quickly signed up and it quickly became my new home.

The work was only 15 hours per week and I moved into the staff room (on the top floor-- 5 long flights of stairs). What a deal it was! I not only got a free bed, but I also met and lived with a bunch of wonderful people! And, to make it even better, I was in the center of an absolutely gorgeous city, full of chimney-pots and small alleyways. I think I will call it the city of epiphanies. I learned some things there that would not have been possible without that certain mix of people and those antiquated buildings and that spitting rain and those few rays of sushine and those cold nights.

It was the first place that I was genuinely regretful in leaving. Not that I plan to return, but that there was still more. Still more to develop. I truly felt comfortable there. There was such a variety of people that I felt I could add my own individuality and still find appreciation and love.

So I worked, and explored, and went out, and met people, and became more whole.

And then, yesterday, I turned in my key, walked down to the bus and went back to the airport; this time headed for France.

wow. it's today. that sure snuck up.

FRANCE!!!! TODAY!!!!!