Et Voila, C'est Tout!

(I realize looking back that this is by far my longest post ever (for-evah evah, evah evah?), but there was plenty to recap over the past three weeks, and even more to wrap up over the past four months. So please, bear with me)

It appears that my ambition to crank out many more posts some three weeks ago may have been a little bit beyond my actual ability to deliver on that promise. Apparently there was still plenty to do here in that wrap-up period some three weeks ago, from taking a couple more exams to completing some end of the year paperwork to doing much-delayed Christmas shopping. Additionally, everything was compressed into one week because I was off to Paris on that Saturday to meet up with my sister, and eventually my parents as well, for a week’s worth of traveling throughout France. Spending a week in Paris, a day in Dijon and three days in Lyon, we all thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. For the other three members of our traveling circus, the trip served as an introduction to another culture, as combined they had only spent two days in France over the past 30 some years. For me, it helped close the book on this semester abroad.

I’ll quickly summarize the actual trip. In our time in Paris, we basically covered all the tourist sites imaginable, except perhaps the largest one; the Eiffel Tower. I personally walked underneath the tower on four separate days, but due to a laundry list of reasons (huge crowds, cold temperatures, French people closing the tower too early, etc.) we never did actually make it to the top of the symbol of Paris. In reality, however, it was not a huge problem, as we truly did everything else; museums including the Louvre and Orsay, icons such as the Arc de Triomphe and Versailles, and daytrips to Normandy (back to the American WWII Cemetery) and Chartres (very famous gothic cathedral). You name it we did it. Add to that the fact that it was Christmas, when we went to Notre Dame for the first Mass I have been too that was surrounded by tourists (cannot stand those people) taking pictures of the service and of course the Neuman family special of a mother-chosen romantic comedy, and you have yourself one fantastic celebration. Christmas in Paris is apparently a popular celebration, and the city looked its finest throughout the week. But we could not stay there the whole time, and on Saturday evening we packed our bags for a less-than-daytrip to Dijon, where we definitely accomplished our only goal for those 16 hours: buy mustard. With the spreadable gold in hand, we boarded the first TGV possible and headed to, the one and only, Lyon.

By the time we got to Lyon, only my parents remained with me, my sister not being brave enough to venture anywhere outside of Paris. But I still felt a distinct sense of pressure to positively show off the city that I called home for four months and had given such high reviews. On Monday, the city obliged by showing its best side; it rained and was just a notch above freezing. Still we hit the major sites, including the Basilica, Roman theatre and Place Bellecour, and wrapped the sightseeing up on Tuesday with a trip to my now shuttered university. My visitors were staying in the Renaissance quarter of the city (Vieux Lyon), and were quickly enchanted by the winding cobblestone store-lined streets, in addition to the Lyonnais cuisine. Monday night provided some entertainment, as my host family and real family met for the first time, and despite the fact that neither side coherently spoke the other’s language, I think we all agreed on the fact that it was a fun evening. Sadly, the trip did have to come to an end, and my parents headed to Geneva on Tuesday night to catch their morning flight back to DC. I stayed in Lyon for one final night with the Rossis, continually searching for the words to fully express my gratitude for the entire semester.

The trip was simply the final chapter on this four month long experiment and, somehow, that experiment has come to an end. I looked back at the first post that I wrote on here, back when getting a Visa was still an issue, and I did not know the pronunciation difference between Lyon and a lion (its Leeeee-on vs. ly-in). That nervous excitement feels like yesterday, but today I write to you as I head back to the States (and will hopefully post this from my own house in NoVA). The time flew, but it was without doubt time well spent, and I cannot imagine having missed out on such an opportunity.

When I officially decided to pursue study abroad back in January, I remember feeling as if I was signing myself up for something that I was not at all ready for. All the info sessions and power-points seemed all fun and games, but even then I knew that I did not truly grasp the concept of studying, and living, in a completely foreign country (having left North America for a total of 8 days in my whole life). The words on the page were just that, and even as I nodded along I was far from actually absorbing what advisors were telling me. I hit that “commit” button in April to lock myself into a program I was equally scared of and excited for. Even if it was spread out over several months, I hurtled through the abroad process only to board that August flight not knowing what to expect once I stepped off.

My two overarching abstract goals coming into this semester were to learn about France/Europe, and to learn about my own country. Some stereotypes about les Bleus proved to be true; the whole population smokes, strikes are a common occurrence (even if I sadly did not actually get to join one), and berets are fashionable.

But not all French people are snobbish, they do occasionally get up from sipping their cafes to do actual work, and they generally like Americans (thank you Obama!). There are aspects of French culture that I will truly miss, highlighted by the fresh bread and (stinky) cheese at every meal, while there are also those that I cannot wait to get rid of, like the fact that everything in the entire town is closed by 10pm. Walking down the streets, trying to go the library, reading the newspapers, I was constantly reminded about the stark difference between the United States and France: France is a nation of workers while the US is a nation of consumers. For us, if people want it, we will provide it, no matter the hour, in order to make that money, but there the flow of demand is tempered by the willingness of people to actually provide that service. Yes it is probably better for overall wellbeing, but who is to say that we cannot work past a certain hour if people are willing to make the sacrifice in order to earn that little bit extra? The social welfare state has its benefits (universal health care), but I was constantly reminded of its shortfalls as well. On the whole, however, I fell for this second culture, even if its popular culture is completely dominated by America’s. I can only hope that my future somehow leads me back to not only Europe, but more specifically France and this city on two rivers. Lyon may not have been a tourist destination, but it sure was the best possible place to live for a semester abroad.

As much as I profess my newfound love for French culture, I realized at different points throughout the semester that it most likely will always be my second culture. As cliché/Middle America/Sarah Palin-esque as it may seem, I am an American, and I do not think I will ever change that or want to change that. Maybe the future will hold something different, and I will look back on this and laugh, but during these four months I definitely noticed that, even abroad, I am an American above all. I found myself constantly comparing everything back to familiarities in the States, following the news in the US, everything short of going to McDonalds’ in order to reconnect with my long lost homeland.

Most of the other posts I had hoped to write before being swept up in end of semester fever revolved around the complex relationship between Europe and the United States, but since I missed that opportunity, and understanding that few if any of you actually care to hear a rant on that, I’ll spare you of that here (but consider yourself warned!). I’ll try to keep my political comments to a minimum, but I cannot resist from throwing a few in here, so bear with me. Despite what some people may say, the United States is still the most important country in the world, and it is a privilege to be a citizen of our country. Sure, we are not perfect, but every Frenchie I met was genuinely interested in talking with me solely because I am American (of course in addition to my stunning good looks, those go without saying). Learning English is not just a matter of broadening their cultural horizons, but necessary to succeed on an international level in today’s globalized world thanks to the dominance of America. The French news sources follow the actions of the US government (more than just Obama) closer than they follow the French government because they recognize the relative power of each of those two decision makers. While they may not always agree with America, Europe as a grossly-generalized whole recognizes that what the US does the world will follow; one could even argue that they want to follow America, and are more than eager to join in a supporting role. It is our job to take that responsibility seriously.

But enough with the ranting, this is about me ending my semester abroad. I should probably mention the supposed point of this semester, that being actual studying and coursework. That never really did take up a whole lot of ink on this blog because, frankly, up until the last couple weeks I did not actually study. With all of my classes formatted in a straight lecture style where for two hours the professor talked and the students listened (that is assuming the professor showed up for class), and only one final exam at the end (no homework), I was not exactly on the Penn academic calendar. That is not to say that this was an easy semester; instead, study abroad is a different kind of work. There is no way that you could handle a Penn semester in a foreign culture. The majority of my “work” here was spent adjusting to this new culture, overcoming the language barrier, adjusting to life with a host family, etc. While we supplemented it with some activities, namely tutoring in a local high school, these were all relatively minor compared to what we were all accustomed to back in West Philly. We instead were thrown into this new culture, and adapting to that required plenty of effort. Of course there was downtime, and study abroad definitely requires a certain level of personal independence, but after finding the right mix between school work, host family activities and Europe’s wonders, we all were able to find our daily rhythm.

IEP, my university here, has a requirement that every student spends a full year abroad; at Penn, only about 25% of all students take advantage of some kind of abroad opportunity. I tend to side with the French on this one. By stepping out from the Penn bubble for a semester (or two), everyone benefits from a broadening of their horizons that in the very least will help them appreciate their “normal” life back in the States. For Europeans it is relatively easy to discover a different culture; they just walk across a nearby border (no more than a 3 or 4 hour drive away from any town on the continent). It is a bit trickier for Americans, as we have that large ocean in between, but it is a bit embarrassing how little of an effort we make to understand other cultures. With the assumption that the rest of the world will speak English to us, thus nixing any need to actually learn another language, we turn our attention inward, and lose sight of the rest of the world. Study abroad makes you see that need for change, as well as allowing you to benefit from a personal cultural exchange. More people need to take advantage of this opportunity.

I guess it is only fair that I wrap up this post, and this blog, by talking about myself. This whole concept boiled down to the fact that I thought that some people would actually want to read what I had to say, and the jury is still out on whether or not I was right in that belief. But if you for some reason have stuck with me this long, you probably are used to this egotistic side of me anyway, and thus will grudgingly read on.

The fear of eggs hung over me before I left for France, and after having been to the doctor numerous times in the weeks leading up to my trip, I was pretty sure that I was going to run into an egg laced munchies on about day 2. Because of that fear, I really had not thought what the semester would bring on a more global scale. I was going to a city that I had knew practically nothing about, in a program with people that I had either only vaguely met, if ever, or had lost touch with over the course of two years, and in a language in which, in hindsight, I was pretty much lost. But somehow it worked, and I think there are very few of the 23 of us that came out of this semester feeling disappointed. I would be quite surprised if the majority of us do not stay close as we return back to Penn.

But the semester was about more than just the cliché valuable friends; instead, it was about the cliché culture and city that was undoubtedly hard to leave today. After four months of getting to know each other, my sense of sadness in leaving was tempered by the fact that I now know, in some way or another, that I will be back for all the wine, bread, and cheese that France has to offer. And even if my level of French has probably reached its lifetime peak, and if it is all downhill from here in terms of communication, I still have a sense of validation that I made it through four months in this foreign language. I did not try a Croque Monsieur, did not make it to famed Southwest France, did not even learn how to ride a bike in a city built around them, but I literally survived. Talk about accomplishments.

And somehow you are still reading. For those of you anonymous readers (or followers, which I never did quite determine the point of) that did put up with these unorganized musings, thank you for sticking around this semester. I am sure that if you are still here, then the point of this blog will be easily accomplished, that of reconnecting once we cross paths again soon. Instead of having to answer everyone’s least favorite question, “How was abroad?”, which is perhaps the most common yet the most general/vague question you could dream up, we will just be on a whole different level. Not missing a beat coming back to the States, or at least minimizing the gap, is all I can really ask for.

So the ambassador is coming home, sad to leave behind what he gained, but excited for all that he is returning home to rediscover. I hope you all have an awesome New Year’s, and will hopefully talk to all of you in the coming days.

La Fête des Lumières

Yes, it has been a while since I last posted on here, and I apologize for those of you that have been sitting on the edge of your seat waiting for me to drop my latest and greatest words of wisdom. The week long absence can be attributed to two factors. First is not as fun; exams have officially begun, making the whole vacation-in-Europe aspect of this semester vanish into the night air. Just as Penn begins their exam period, my exams in Lyon began today, with two more coming next week. But, in case you think that my life has been completely dominated by school work, remember that I am not at Penn, so there still is time for taking advantage of the surroundings. This brings me to the second reason for my absence, the subject of this post.

Remember back when I kept hinting at the one major tourist weekend in Lyon? Well, it finally came, along with three million tourists. Aptly named “la Fete des Lumieres”, or the party of lights, this Saturday to Tuesday Lyon wide party featured countless lightshows, colored street lamps, and plenty of street vendors selling everything from hot wine to hot dogs. The history, like every major holiday, has largely been forgotten, but I will give you a quick synopsis; threatened by a nasty plague in the 16th Century, the citizens of Lyon prayed to Mary (their patron Saint) for protection, and after she delivered, they decided to celebrate in her honor every year on December 8th (due to commercialization, and much to the lament of my host mother, this now always includes a weekend, somehow). The traditional way to celebrate is by placing little candles on your windowsill, and throughout our Tuesday night travels, we were impressed by the number of Lyonnais that still hold to this tradition.

But the new and improved way to celebrate is with lightshows, and the city did them up right. The premise is that they use the historic buildings of the city as a backdrop, and splash 10 to 15 minute short films onto the building’s façade. Examples: on City Hall, the show was called “playing with time”, and featured a huge clock and metronome surrounding by the changing of seasons (seen in the picture above). On St. Jean Cathedral, they had an animated history of the Church. You get the picture. Over the course of three nights (fine, I had to take one night to study/relax), and with both my host family and fellow Americans, I managed to see about five out of 15 of said shows. Clearly need some work, but I definitely was not disappointed in my performance either.

But the lightshow was not the entire attraction. The historic Louis XIV statue in Place Bellecour is currently in the shadow of a massive Ferris wheel, visible from basically the entire city. Apparently it is going to be up through Christmas, but this weekend it doubled as another screen for a lightshow (those Europeans do not like to waste anything). The other main feature of the weekend was not one, but two sets of fireworks displays (the more impressive display booming over the Basilica was the set of fireworks saved from this year’s rained out Bastille Day festivities). Although my host mother kept complaining about how her taxes were literally going up in smoke as the show dragged on, the “leftover” fireworks were very impressive, up to American quality. Sadly, the second round, set off Tuesday night from a bridge on the Rhone, failed to live up to the lofty precedent, and were so low to the ground as to seem somewhat illegal. Still, I was skeptical going into this about the quality of French fireworks, but I am coming out of it pleasantly surprised.

It really was a party for all, with infants and French students and elderly people seamlessly interspersed through the crowds. And speaking of crowds, they were impressive. The unofficial count was placed at three million but whatever the official figure, the city seemed to be just about stretched to the limit. The entire center of town was shut down to cars, yet the streets were still jam-packed with people. This festival is a Lyon only thing, so people came from across France (even the Parisians respect its value) and Europe just for this weekend. Never had I seen so many people in any part of Lyon, and the scene just repeated itself on every corner, street, hill, even the stairs were crowded (of panting people stopping for a midway break). The cameras were out in full force, complete with those tourists who take pictures of buildings that even I can look at and question why someone would ever want to remember that. Languages spanning all of the Old World floated into my ears, including English, and plenty of maps were being analyzed by groups sporting faces with that distinct look of being lost. Tents of street vendors lined the Saone, selling everything from kebabs to crepes to French fries, and there was even a Native American music tent. Everything tacky/touristy you can think of, for one weekend, Lyon had it.

For four days, Lyon was awash in light, and the city I have come to love came to life. It was a completely different side of the city than I had ever seen, with a typical cultural celebration overwhelmed by the crowds. It was fun to see so many people trying to get a glimpse of this city I am currently calling home, even while I realize that the majority of them were bouncing to and from historic sites simply to gaze at what is projected on them, and not caring about what is inside them. But if that is what it takes to get people to recognize this hidden gem on the Rhone, then I am all for it.

Quick editor’s note in that I am nearing the end of my semester here, yet still have a few topics to rant about, so both this weekend and after the close of my exams next week, I hope to roll a few of these out consecutively in order to beat the clock. Hope you can keep up.

Les Enfants Terribles

For the first time in quite a long while, mid-September to be exact, I enjoyed an entire weekend in Lyon with no traveling, tourists or tour guides. Following our raucous Thanksgiving affair, and the beginning of serious end-of-semester work, a shock to all of us at this point, I was definitely looking forward to a quiet few days in Lyon. While it was definitely not strenuous, the weekend turned out to be an action-packed (host) family weekend. From the Friday arrival of a host son (and his wife) currently living in Switzerland through the final Sunday afternoon celebration featuring a dozen family members, I was once again completely immersed in French family life. What stood out for me this weekend were the children, not so much in how they were different than Americans, but how the ridiculousness resembled something I am familiar with back in the States.

In all, the weekend encompassed 4 huge meals (including 3 different pies), I think 9 bottles of wine (but who’s counting), and six different types of cheese. But, more importantly, we had family members ranging in age from 2 to 32, with many in between. The excuse for this celebration was the 6^th birthday of my host mother’s grandson (my host nephew?), a ball of fun on the verge of losing his front teeth, and proud of it. This character is around the house at least two times a week, with his older sister keeping him in line, and it is through him that I realize how much progress I still have to make in French. Clearly, little kids are not big on the sugar coating, and if you try to tell them something that they just do not understand, they are not going to help you out by making an effort or anything. No, they make it painfully obvious that you cannot speak the language, and quickly become disinterested as you try to find the correct conjugation for a particular verb. Making it worse, their particular brand of mumbling is not exactly the French I was taught in the American education system, so the struggling goes both ways for me. Humiliated by six year olds; welcome to study abroad.

But I generally try to overcome the French barrier with him in using the universal language for any guy, that of sports. The only basketball I have played has been when I was dribbling around little Bicente in circles a couple months back (his defense needs some work), and obviously he is a huge fan of kicking a soccer ball and watching me try to do something resembling an athletic move with my feet. But again, this is all about cultural exchange, and naturally I tried this weekend to teach him the basics of baseball. His one confused look at my mitt revealed that we were going nowhere fast in that department, so I switched over to just the baseball, with little luck. Catching was a foreign concept for him, and so the first time I lightly tossed it in his direction, he just let it hit the floor and started to kick it around. After informing him that this was not an American version of a soccer ball, we attempted to work on the receiving end of the toss. Again, my French catching vocabulary could use some work, so it was more of a hand gesture activity than a conversation, but we went with it anyway. Finally, he caught on enough to make a two handed grab, reason enough for him to get back to kicking the baseball around in celebration. Maybe not a future shortstop.

The Sunday celebration brought even more grandkids over to the house, and thus more debauchery on a little kid scale. Only in France will you find the stark contrast between adults sipping on un apéritif while the children are racing through the conversation evading capture in a mean game of tag. While they may pass on the champagne, during the meal the kids do try to emulate the elder statesmen at the table by taking healthy helpings of both bread and fancy cheese. But after the last of the cake had been munched down, they go back to the frenzy, and two things struck me as undeniably universal in the small melee that erupted. First is that no matter their nationality, kids just love beating up on me, and this time around I don’t even know what to say to try to get them to stop hanging on my arm or demanding a piggy back ride. Definitely took a beating. But on a different level, everyone calmed down a little bit in astonishment when my host mother pulled out from a back closet a dusty yet impressive electric train set. All of a sudden, I looked around the table and saw my host father, two of the sons home for the weekend, myself, Henry, and the two grandkids all working together to make this electric train set work. To recap, that’s 3 different countries represented, with ages ranging from six to about sixty, all fascinated by the same toy. Talk about spanning cultures and generations.

In the end, Bicente’s haul of gifts turned out to include a paper airplane calendar, a Lego action figure, and a remote control car, three things that I have definitely received (or at least asked for) over the course of my 20 years. I guess that even if we cannot understand each other, and come from completely different backgrounds, we share more than one would think. Chalk it up to globalization.

After such a family weekend, today brought a touch of loss, as my roommate Henry headed back home to Miami. While I was definitely sad to see him go, his departure made mine seem that much closer, and now I am really having to face up to the fact that it is December. So much to do, so little time; there are worse problems to have.

Le Thanksgiving, pas un Jour Férie

I hope you all enjoyed a relaxing Thanksgiving yesterday, and made the most of America’s holiday dedicated specifically to eating and watching TV. In France, it was just another Thursday; no turkeys, pilgrims, or “harvest” celebrations were to be found anywhere in Lyon. In fact, I even had classes yesterday, and both of my professors actually showed up, a true rarity. But while everyone is getting ready for Christmas here in Lyon (a little early if you ask me), Thanksgiving passed by the French without so much as a friendly gobble.

The root of the problem is that the French do not understand the holiday, plain and simple. They do not bother with translating its title into French, and simply say “Happy Thanksgiving” (featuring that distinct French challenge of pronouncing an “H” at the beginning of a word) with a smirk whenever it is brought up. In a variety of forums, from my high school students I tutor to my host family to dinner guests, I tried to explain the reasoning behind it, and all I received in return were blank stares. There is no point of reference for them, this day when Americans simply celebrate what is around them. To the French, they are pretty sure we all silently eat TV dinners every night by ourselves, and they believe that their concept of a family dinner fully makes up for one random day. Thus, at the heart of it they find it simply pointless.

History lessons about the origins of Thanksgiving are another topic of conversation that quickly digresses into confusion and cultural misunderstandings. “Native Americans” is a tough one, considering that the French are very proud of the fact that they are the real French who have been in France for thousands of years, and never had to boot anyone from the land in order to make room. Also, apparently Squanto is not as much of a celebrity here, as his name continually falls on deaf ears whenever I drop it as part of the history. But again, turkeys, pilgrims, harvest, all are either new concepts or new vocab for the conversation, and usually I get bogged down in the Mayflower part of the story, and have to quickly summarize the rest (“point is they had a big meal, that’s basically it”). My 17th century American history lessons are not quite up to par with my 21st century rants, but we’re getting there.

But the main problem is the French think they understand the holiday, and this only leads to further mockery of the United States. To be fair, my description of a typical Thanksgiving with my family involves sleeping in late, watching football (or the Dog Show, if my sister has the remote), and then eating my biggest meal of the entire year. Clearly, the Frenchies all hear that and kind of smile and say “well, it is America after all.” If there is two things that the French love to bash on about America, it is that we are fat and love American football, a sport they will never begin to attempt to understand (they already have the “real” football, what else could they possibly need?). At that point of the conversation, each of my audiences gets that look on their face that just screams, “ah, we are so above that.” Language, still a struggle, but I can read facial expressions thank you very much.

Despite the overwhelming obstacles facing us, the Americans in the group did manage to make the most of the holiday. An apparent Penn-in-Lyon tradition, all the students and the host families (plus a couple real families here for the holiday) went to a fancy Lyonnais restaurant, all dressed up of course, for a highly-anticipated dinner. They tried to make the food as American as possible, and after the ratatouille appetizer we did receive some turkey, potatoes and cranberry sauce (my number one Thanksgiving dish) for our main course, with pumpkin pie arriving for the egg-ivores at the end. Not quite the same stuffed turkey, biscuits, and canned cranberry sauce that I have come to love and miss, but for the French, not bad.

In terms of atmosphere, we took it to a new level, even if it had nothing to do with Thanksgiving. The dilemma facing our program director was that there really is no traditional celebration to go along with all the eating. So, we started with the next best thing: Christmas songs. Featuring hits such as the 12 days of Christmas (in the round, of course), Jingle Bells, and even a couple random (apparently “classic”) French ones, some of us were bold/dumb enough to attempt to lead everyone in rousing song. Lyrics were provided for all, but seemed to help no one. Not sure if the host families were more intimidated by our gumption or embarrassed for our clear lack of talent, but at least we had a good time making fools of ourselves.

So there you have it, my first holiday abroad, one of the harder parts about being out of the States. There’s obviously no replacement for that family meal, with the stories that invariably come out every year and the family members that you can never seem to spend enough time with. But there are only a few weeks until this abroad experience is over, and the focus now is on making the most of our short time left. Even if that means forgetting about the things back home that you miss the most, now is the time to realize what you have here.

In a sense, it’s all about giving thanks.

Provence, Papes, et Ponts, Tout dans un Weekend

You want to know what my favorite types of trips are? The free ones. Or at least the ones that Penn pays for. Yes, I realize that these may have been factored into the cost of this semester abroad, but it still feels good to travel, sleep and eat all on Penn’s dime for a weekend. This weekend was the second of two such excursions, a two day affair in the Provence region in the south of France. Similar to the trip in Reims, we were immersed into French culture for this short period of time in regions just off the beaten track in order to show us the hidden gems of France. By now you know that I am not a big fan of tourist traps, thus a weekend like this was right up my alley.

An excessively early start on Saturday saw us leave Lyon for a three hour drive down l’autoroute to a small town called Uzès (no clue where it is on a map, but somewhere South). Fortunately, upon our arrival we did happen upon a farmers market where some of the vendors mistakenly offered up free samples, something us half-awake, hungry college students took full advantage of. After clearing the vendors out, and supplementing that with a picnic overlooking the valley below, it was back on the bus, and back to sleep for most of us. I think we all felt bad for our tour guide, because as a local history teacher, he clearly knew a whole host of things about the area we were in, and eagerly was talking over the bus loudspeaker in between each stop along the way. Problem was that he just knew too much, and after a series of loosely correlated tangents, one by one we all busted out the jacket/pillow, and eased our way back to sleep. No worries though, he kept talking.

The Pont du Gard turned out to be the highlight of the weekend, for a few reasons. First, it is a 2000 year old aqueduct (bridge for the water, not only over the water), no small feat within itself. With three separate tiers of arches, the whole of the bridge is still intact and dates all the way back to Roman times, one of the best preserved in the world. Second up is a more personal reason, but after emerging from the woods and coming to the Pont, I had a déjà-vu moment: I knew I had been there before. For the first time this semester, I remembered a specific part of my one week journey through France in eighth grade, the only other time I have been in Europe. I had completely forgotten about this stop along the way, so although I was visibly stunned and confused, I definitely enjoyed being transported back to 2003 and the good old Potomac School days. Third and final highlight of the bridge was not related to the structure itself, but instead the surrounding environment. While it was not a baseball field, I found basically the closest thing to it, namely a flat waterbed with a rocky shoreline: yes, I was skipping stones. While I eventually failed at teaching others this fine art, I did put my own brother’s instructions to good use, and could not help but enjoy one of my favorite pastimes. Later that night and throughout the next day my arm felt like I had just thrown about 7 innings, but after six months off, it felt just right at home.

As for the rest of the weekend, it was mainly focused around food, as is any good trip through the French countryside. When I had seen Avignon on the program sheet, I thought for sure we would hit up the two main attractions that the town has to offer: the Palais des Papes, and the Pont d’Avignon. For those of you who have been around since the beginning, you may remember that Avignon was a stop on my pre-trip travels, and the one day we spent in the town was a perfect length of time. That time around, we arrived in the morning, toured the Palais (the center of the Catholic church at one point in the 14^th and 15^th Century), and after lunch went onto the Pont (12^th Century bridge featured in the French children’s song, Sur le Pont d’Avignon) before heading out that evening. In, out, perfect. This time, with the Penn group, we did not do either fixture. We drove by Avignon at night on Saturday, and obviously spotted both all lit up, and then briefly hustled around the town on Sunday morning, but no going in or on either of them, simply photo ops from a distance. Surprising, but then again we are trying to become French for the semester, and thus did not want to seem touristy or anything terrible like that.

Instead, we explored the French countryside. We stopped briefly at a small medieval town protected by a menacing hill-side castle, and admired a similarly old (yet much smaller) Roman bridge. We sampled some of Provence’s famous olives, and even briefly strolled through a roadside olive oil museum (yes, an olive oil museum, about as cool as you would expect). Unfortunately, the rain and gray skies cut short our morning exploration, so we did what any good Frenchie would do: we ate! One four hour meal later, we were all deliriously full of amazing food, and let our food coma takeover on the way back to Lyon.

In between fits of sleep, I could not help but notice the lights of Chateaus spotting the hillsides. I’m sure whoever built those medieval towns did not imagine they would ever becomes roadside afterthoughts, but I am definitely appreciative of their effort. 12^th Century castles are not something that Americans do well, so I guess I will have to appreciate them while I can, even while rolling along into the night.