Setting Out

Hello all,

Sorry for the relatively long hiatus between posts. I was originally postponing this post until I got some pictures to put with it. That took a surprisingly long time because, well, I'm a paranoid person convinced that there are hordes of pickpockets waiting to swarm me every time I step within 500 feet of a Metro station. The only person who has accosted me, thus far, was an Asian girl asking me if I believe in God (Answer: I believe in catching my train more), but that didn't mean the criminals weren't out there. Finally, however, I summoned up my courage, locked my camera bag to the inside of my purse (I wish I was kidding) and now have photographic evidence that I am finally in Paris.

In Paris. It's surreal being here after so many months of planning and anticipation. I don't know that I'll ever get my head around the fact that my life--for the next year, at least--is here now. This was particularly difficult to comprehend in my first few days here, when I felt a bit out-of-sync with the city. I woke up on my first morning here with no motivation to venture out of bed. This reluctance stemmed partly from a poorly-timed, and rather nasty, cold. But it also came from a dawning realization that I was living in a European city filled with millions of foreign people and thousands of unknown streets. Taking the Metro seemed scary, let alone going to the post office or registering for classes. But finally, fearful of being seen as the lazy American on my first day with my host family, I took my first steps onto the streets of Paris.

And after that, it all got easier. Yes, I did avoid the Metro entirely my first day (you'd think the El would have beaten out my fear of public transit, but apparently not), but the sights of Paris will do wonders for the psyche.

I don't want this blog to turn into a laundry list of places I've visited (the Eiffel Tower! How original!). But, in the interest of time, I'm going to give you a laundry list off places I've visited over the past week. Some of these sites merit more in-depth posts, but I'll get to those later. Anyway, here's the week, day by day:

Saturday-Luxembourg Gardens

Sunday-Luxembourg Gardens again, the Opera Garnier, Eglise Madeleine, Place de la Concorde and Tuileries Gardens

Monday-Luxembourg Gardens yet again, and I did some other stuff....that I don't remember right now (I know, this is terrible. I vow to get much, much better with blogging/journaling).

Tuesday-Walking tour of the 5eme and 6eme arrondissements, lunch in the Greek Quarter, first sight of Notre Dame (this trip) and back to....the Luxembourg Gardens

Wednesday-Post office (not really a sight, but still important), Notre Dame, Shakespeare & Co. (absolutely one of my favorite places in Paris thus far), Berthillon (for the best ice cream in Paris), Place des Vosges, Victor Hugo's apartment and the Place de la Bastille

Thursday-Two methodology courses and my bed (the week finally caught up with me)

This weekend will be equally busy, though I'm not sure that taking a boat tour of the Seine and going to a concert in Montmartre really counts as being "busy," in the same way as going to the store. I'm looking forward to exploring some of the as-yet unknown neighborhoods of the city.

Of course, Paris is not perfect. And I've had a few minor brushes with the unpleasant side of the city (Note to creepy guy at the post office: Your penchant for standing uncomfortably close to American girls in front of you in line is not attractive. It is pervy and unacceptable. If I ever see you again, I will be forced to do more than weave continuously from side to side and glare nastily at you. Good day). But the fact remains that Paris is a beautiful city.

The best representation I can find of this dichotomy is something I saw yesterday in the Metro. It was rush hour, and I was navigating the tunnels with the rest of the herd when I heard music. Of course, I've seen a million performers in subway stations across the U.S., generally with open guitar or saxophone cases close by. But this was something different. As I mounted a flight of steps, I saw the musician, strumming away at his harp. A harp. The man was playing an honest-to-God harp. I can't even begin to imagine the logistics of navigating a harp through the Metro. But there it was, amidst the dirt and grime of a Metro station. It was a little moment, but it will stick with me for a while as a representation of my new city. The honeymoon stage is still on.

A bientot,

Alanna

It's Normal...Too Normal

I always expected to get sick when I came to France. Not with a headache, or a cold. Not even with the dreaded swine flu (Grippe A, en francais). No, the sickness that would strike me down would be that most horrible and merciless of all foreign diseases: culture shock. I was warned time and time again, by pamphlets at the study abroad office, by fellow students who had braved overseas study and, most notably, by a faintly terrifying article sent to me by my own program.

Contained in this article is a description of the second stage of culture shock. This unnamed period follows the short-lived honeymoon phase, and brings with it such symptoms as “excessive washing of the hands.” (Good for preventing Grippe A). “The second stage of culture shock is in a sense the crisis in the disease,” the article warns, “If you come out of it, you stay; if not, you leave before you reach the stage of a nervous breakdown.”

Needless to say, I was rather concerned by this. But, despite all trepidation, settling into French life has not been difficult so far. Actually, the strangest thing about life here is how not strange everything is. There are, as far as I can tell, three main reasons for this disturbing normalcy:

a) I’ve only been here for 12 days at this point. Duh. I haven’t even been out of the States for two weeks. And it’s not as if I would be going to class or working if I were back at Northwestern. So I still feel like I’m on a slightly extended vacation in some country where they just happen to speak a strange-sounding language and eat lots of cheese.

b) Tours is a very insular environment. Lest you think me hyper-critical, let me assure you that I am really enjoying my time here. I love, love, love my host family; the town is beautiful and charming; the food is delicious; the people (both on the Sweet Briar program and in the city itself) are incredibly nice. But so far I’ve managed to avoid any major—or even moderate—inconveniences. Classes are made up exclusively of Sweet Briar students and my section rarely gets homework. Plus, I speak mostly in English when I’m with friends outside of the program center. So far, I would estimate that I’ve had 10 actual encounters in which I had to speak French to people outside of my host family. And at least two of these encounters have gone as follows:

Alanna: Un sandwich, s’il vous plait.

Sandwich Lady: €3.85, s’il vous plait. [Takes my money and hands me the sandwich].

Alanna: Merci. [Walks off triumphantly, hard-won lunch in hand]

Yes, my life is a seventh-grade French textbook.

Again, I don’t mean to be critical of the program. I think spending two weeks in Tours is actually a really good idea. It gives us a chance to practice our French and get used to studying again, while softening the blow of culture shock.

c) The last reason for this normalcy is, I think, the fact that I am living with a French family. The past two times I visited European countries, I was living it up tourist-style. Most of you know exactly what I’m talking about (I can say this with reasonable certainty because I have a good idea as to who is reading my blog, all five of you). Most days are itinerated. You’re living in ho(s)tels, eating at restaurants, taking thousands of photos a day. It’s really obvious that you are on a Vacation, having lots of Adventures and visiting Important Cultural Destinations.

Living in a family changes that rhythm significantly. I get up every morning, make myself some toast, go to class, eat dinner at the same table, with the same napkin, every night (the green napkin because, in the words of my host family “Tu es irlandaise”) and fall asleep in the same bed. I’ve had days where I’ve visited chateaux or museums. But I’ve also had days like yesterday, where I spent all afternoon reading Gone With the Wind on the swing in my host family’s garden. (Eunice, if you are one of the above-mentioned five readers, it is a really good book). I guess there is the danger of getting too lazy, but it does make for a more relaxing and authentic transition into a new country.

In short: Living in France is not as strange as I thought it would be. I guess this is a good thing. But it seems almost too easy. How am I supposed to “find myself” and start my “journey of self-discovery” if nothing seems that different?

Still, I am sure that this normalcy will change as soon as I get to Paris, start classes and have to interact with French government officials. There will eventually come a day, standing over a Parisian sink, hands bloody from over-washing, when I will look back on this entry and shed a tear for these simple days. But that’s for another day. For now, I’m just enjoying my last—normal—days in Tours.

A bientot,

Alanna