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.

Le Début du Quotidien

Welcome back to week 2 in Lyon, where its great to be American. Despite the occasional updates we all keep receiving from friends headed back to Penn for NSO (the 2^nd best week of the year), everyone we meet here is thrilled that we are American, which is a bit surprising considering both the reputation of the French, and our passionate, albeit short lived, love of “freedom fries.” One reason is that most students have at some point been to the States, and by that of course I do mean New York City. They rave about Manhattan (pronounced man-(pause)-attahn), the lights of Times Square and “their” Statue of Liberty, and then look at us blankly when we try to move the conversation to Philadelphia. So far no one has bonded with us over Philly, but there was an incident in which a French student tried to engage us about Milwaukee, and, as one would expect, that went nowhere. However, the main reason that we are so popular is that French people genuinely love to speak English. Once the secret is out that we’re American, you can expect a gaggle of natives to quickly arrive on the scene, ready to bust out some English phrases. Usually it ends up that we speak in our broken French and they respond in their similarly broken English, and the conversation stumbles along. Yet as much of a train wreck as our interactions must seem from the outside, I personally could get used to this star treatment.

But of course, its not all fun and games here, as this week has been marked by our pre-semester intensive French classes. A pointlessly painful exam on Tuesday sorted us into one of 8 different class levels, and from there we have rolled on 6 hours a day (sometimes consecutively) of various aspects of French. Morning brings oral and writing seminar-style sessions, while the afternoon is a two hour lecture in one of four subject areas of your choice (naturally I chose political science). After many months away from formal coursework, these classes, while grueling at times, are making a solid difference in getting our French back up to speed and preparing us for actual courses, which start a week from Monday. It also puts us together with other students from all over the world, and if you want to see a true disaster as it unfolds, eavesdrop on a conversation between us Americans and, say, a German, in our common medium of French. I’m sure the French students who have just begun to return to campus (easily identified by their movement in packs of people smoking) are really enjoying listening in on us.

Lyon is very much a city defined by its extensive student population, and this week was the end of vacation for students young and old, from the elementary school in my neighborhood to a couple of universities in Lyon. This has brought a flock of people back to the city, and as such, the cafes are full at every hour of the day/night, young smokers (maybe 16 years old, the “official” age to smoke here) are huddled in shady corners giving you dirty looks, and throngs of middle schoolers hang out at the train station at the bottom of the infamous stairs that lead out of my neighborhood. Speaking of those stairs, it’s a bit humbling to come up them at the end of the day all out of breath after somehow successfully completing the monumental task of ascending them, only to be passed by a little 7 year old who just came bounding up behind you, backpack and all. Crushing, but I’m working on it. Also, apparently hazing is universal, as we were about ready to go out from the main square in town one night this week when we saw a large circle of students forming and clasping hands. Not wanting to be left out, a couple of us eagerly jumped in and braced ourselves for some true French culture. We quickly realized however that everyone else was covering their clothes in trash bags and the leaders in the middle were preparing bombs of whipped cream, at which point we headed for shelter, and came out largely unscathed. Later we would learn that this was a tradition of a university’s second year students welcoming in their freshmen, and some members of our group actually donated to the cause by paying 50 Euro centimes to have the privilege of smashing whipped cream on a couple kid’s faces. Talk about intercultural bonding.

Anyway, I think it officially hit me that I am in France for the long haul, and I am starting to settle into daily life here. French family is still cooking great food and treating me very well, although we did have another student show up the other day, a girl from Columbia who I guess has been here for a while but was away during the time I arrived. It’s good to have another English speaker upstairs, but the downside is that her and the other guy living with us frequently converse in Spanish, which adds another linguistic element to my life for which I am frankly not ready. For now, I’m sticking with the French.

Je suis ici...finally

Je suis ici…finally

Yes, finally, I have made it to France. It took a lot longer than expected, and included a lot of ridiculousness along the way, but I’m here. I arrived to my hotel in Aix-en-Provence last night and intended to write this then…but promptly fell asleep. So now, here is the full, dramatic saga that is my travel experience.

It started last Friday, the 14th, with a last second showdown with the French Consulate Visa section: would I get the Visa? Phone lines are only open there between 3-5pm, so I drove down to Georgetown and parked my car right outside the Embassy and started calling them at 2:59pm. And calling. And calling each minute. Finally, someone answered the phone at around 3:25, so I (in English thank God) explained my situation about leaving that night, and could he just get me that Visa, and sure enough, he told me that I was not yet “authorized.” At this point we got into an argument that I won’t go into the details of but let’s just say that even though I was on home turf (in English), it did not end well, and he hung up on me. Flight was cancelled, fellow travelers were informed, dreams were dashed.

I did keep calling the Embassy until Tuesday, when I spoke to the Embassy operator, and she promptly told me to “stop calling!” My thought was that I could bother them so much that eventually they would have to give me the Visa…and it worked. Two days later, got the letter in the mail saying my Visa was ready (yes, they actually used Postal Mail), and I went back to the Embassy Friday to have said Visa inserted into the Passport. No physical confrontation with the guy I spoke to on the phone, we were very polite to each other, although he clearly recognized me and my voice. I think he was scared.

Anyway, my new flight was scheduled for 7pm Sunday night, and I was booked from Dulles to Heathrow, and then direct from Heathrow to Lyon. In Lyon I was then to meet up with my host mother, who had offered to drive me from the airport to the train station and take some of my bags while I went off to Southern France for the week. Exciting, right? Well, I made it to the airport, said goodbye to the parents (who were more than happy to see me go after 9 unplanned days together), got to the gate, and then we were delayed an hour and a half due to some battery issue. Fantastic. Flight was fine, first time on a 747 (although they did not let me go to the 2nd deck, disappointing), but we showed up at Heathrow about 20 minutes too late for me to make my connection to Lyon. So much for meeting that host mother.

After such a huge flight was delayed there were obviously hundreds of people needing to be rebooked, and British Airways had an army of people ready to help. Standing in that line though was an experience: in front of me was this big guy from Dallas talking about healthcare and taxes (I did not want to get beaten up in public, and thus refrained from interjecting), I was next to this huge (in numbers) Italian family chattering away about who knows what, and a couple more in front of me were these two families not next to each other yelling to each other in French. Once I reach the front of the line, British Airways comes through, and even though they can’t get me to Lyon in a reasonable hour, they do fly me to Nice, and give me a voucher good for 5 British pounds anywhere in the Airport! Amazing. As to how I spend the new cash money, I do what every other starving, exhausted (I cannot sleep on planes), overwhelmed passenger would do: buy fruit. I figured I should not mess with food on the plane considering the potential egg-induced side affects, and could not recognize any of the other things that were offered to me, so I devoured some fruit.

Anyway, make it to Nice, and now I officially was in France. But, of course, still over a hundred miles from my ultimate destination. But, this part went relatively smoothly. Made it by bus from the airport to the train station, and bought a TGV ticket to Aix-en-Provence from there, all in somewhat stumbling French. Each time I busted out some French, the people looked at me a little oddly, but conceded that they mostly understood what I said, and then finally helped me out. The French are so nice.

TGV was not as exciting as I hoped, it kept stopping in random places along the track, and the conductor would come on saying “the TGV you are on has stopped not near a platform. Please, for your safety, do not attempt to get off.” Great advice. But a pretty amazing trip down the French Riviera, not quite sure why I left Nice. But, we kept on to Aix-en-Provence, where I did get off some 2 and half hours later, and took a Mercedes Benz taxi into town. No major problems after that, as I smoothly made it into my hotel room, bought and enjoyed a bottle of Orangina, and quickly made it to bed.

Through my brief walk around the town and various methods of travels, I’ve immediately noticed a few things about Europeans. First, everyone smokes. The packs of cigarettes say “Smoking Kills” in huge letters, but, no worries, they all just light up everywhere. But, I did think that I officially had “made” it last night when a guy asked me if I had a cigarette. I completely stumbled over my response but to me, that meant nothing. Also, spiked hair is apparently the only way to go for guys here. Doesn’t matter how old you are, if you have hair, some of it (at least) has to be strategically spiked. I’m working on it. Finally, the French do drive on the right side of the road, but the sidewalks and roads all appear very similar here, and I have found out that it is quite easy to get them confused. No real lane markings or any of that nonsense, one flows into the other seamlessly, which makes for a few harried moments.

However, no major problems, and Aix-en-Provence is an awesome introductory city, the picture above is the fountain in the center of town. Somehow I did meet up with Spencer and Brian, and we are all now relaxing in this countryside bed and breakfast we have booked for the next couple days.

Finally, I am in France.