La Fin du Commencement

As classes start up again back at Penn, it is only fitting that here my first class is just wrapping up. Tomorrow will bring the end of the “intensive” French class, and with it the third mini-exam of the course. After that, its game on, as “real” classes start Monday, for me at 10am. Of course, that does not mean I’m actually registered for any classes, as that would be far too logical for France. Instead, for each class, we must attend the first session, and then speak with the professor to see if he/she will allow us to take the class (apparently there is a limit to how many international students can be in each section), as well as if we can take the final exam early, as their exam period is in the middle of January, at which point I will be back in Philadelphia. Another problematic aspect of class registration here is that there is absolutely no course timetable, so in order to get the times of classes offered, you must look at a certain board outside the office of each department in order to see what class happens at what time. Quite difficult. For this reason, I’m keeping it simple and only taking classes at IEP (Institute of Political Science, roughly translated) which, as I think I previously described, is associated with Lyon 2 but not exactly the same university. Long story short, there are 9 IEP’s throughout France, which you have to pass an entrance exam to get into (as opposed to other universities where you can literally walk in the front door and sign up for classes), and one of them happens to be in Lyon. So, I start there on Monday.

With a little bit of a break in the action, I finally want to actually present the family that I am currently residing with for these 4 months. The Rossi family has 7 children of their own, yet all above the age of 24 and thus out of the house. Thus, to replace them, they continually welcome exchange students into their home, and I am the third Penn student to live with them (plus various other students). The mother definitely runs the show around here, and although she has been overly nice to me (and hasn’t killed me with any egg-laced products, yet), there is definitely a feeling that things need to be done her way, or else. The father is a bit quieter, more of a deep thinker, who is big into movies and a true wine connoisseur. However, his defining feature is that about 5 years ago he had a serious bike accident that has left him paralyzed. In addition to this discouraging me from ever nearing a bike in Lyon (I told you it was dangerous for everyone involved), it prevents him from traveling excessively around the world or around the town, and makes even getting around the house a complicated task (the devices he has set up to get from one floor to the next are an engineer’s dream). It is this condition that first encouraged the family to invite exchange students to their house, as our stories and countries are sort of a way for them to experience the rest of the world. Touching? Absolutely, but also a whole lot of pressure to stammer through some French in order to explain complicated American things such as health care, Edgar Allen Poe, and Idaho (all topics of discussion at dinner to which it fell to me to explain). The family loves to have friends over (read: lots of wine and even more food), and tries to include us in everything, even if we give them blank stares in return. But both sides are trying, and so far it’s working out well.

Anyway, its off to real class on Monday, a welcome break from the opening two weeks which are, apparently, the two hardest of the semester. After looking at my possible schedule for the upcoming semester, I am really beginning to understand why its all downhill from here. As it stands now, I have 10 hours of class per week, spread out over 6 hours on Monday (two separate three hour lectures – fun times in any language), and two hours each on Tuesday and Thursday. So, in review, that is only 10 hours a week of class, no class before 10 am, and no class period on Wednesday or Friday. Again, this could all fall through in the blink of an anti-American professor, but for now I’m pretty content.

Otherwise, group is doing well, no swine flu (yet, apparently its coming?), and Lyon is, slowly, beginning to feel like home away from home.

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.

Les Premières Jours

It’s day 5 here in Lyon, and I’m just starting to get comfortable in my new city. 21 of us brave Penn students have made it here so far, and have managed to get a good sense of the city, the food, and the French people. I’ll address each in turn.

In my last post, I noted that my host family’s house is on the top of one of the main hills of Lyon. When I first got here, that was a wonderful thing, highlighted by the amazing view from my window. However, the challenge is getting to this place. The only way to get into downtown Lyon (except by car) is to descend a massive set of stairs that make “The Exorcist” stairs in DC look miniature in comparison. To get to the University its about a 30-40 minute walk in total, and a metro route is complicated and indirect, so I’m a bit stuck. The highlight of Lyon transportation is the bike system, where you can pick up a velo from anyone of the 350 stations throughout the city and leave it at your final destination; yet, as most of you know, my skills on a bike are quite limited, and with narrow winding streets full of angry drivers, I’m not real anxious to show them off.

But, despite some transportation issues, the city is truly spectacular. Home to not one but two rivers (the Rhone and the Saone), Lyon was the capital of the Roman territory of Gaul back when Ceasar was still cool. A few remnants from that era remain, including a crumbling stone amphitheatre, mainly in my section of the city, dubbed old Lyon. Interspersed throughout the city are many medieval churches, and the center square’s statue of Louis XIV gives some continuity throughout the ages. Otherwise, the streets are narrow (like all of Europe I guess), there are bakeries, cafes, and ice cream shops on every corner (after all, it is the food capital of France), and all the buildings are low to the ground. The city is quite expansive in width, but like Washington, DC and Paris, it has few skyscrapers. Now, in DC and Paris this is done to protect the visual preeminence of such treasures as the Washington Monument and the Eiffel Tour. Lyon’s one building that dramatically stands out against the rest of the low-lying landscape? A Radisson Hotel. Classy.

The highlight so far has definitely been the food. The opening night food was just a small preview of what was to come; each dinner (and weekend lunch) is full of choices (sans eggs, of course) that, while at first may be new to this uncultured American, quickly become excuses to ask for seconds. Throw in the baguettes with every course and the diverse set of cheeses that get passed around at the end, and I’ve been quite well satisfied. Of course, there have been some bumps in the road of this immersion into French food. Take Saturday for example; we had guests over, so of course we had a lavish meal. The main course tripped me up though, as I reached for my serving and kindly inquired what it was that I was taking for myself. “Escargot” my host mother kindly replied. Sure enough, one bite later, my broken French comprehension was confirmed; I had just eaten a snail. After a minute or two the whole group asked me how it was, this first taste of escargot, to which I replied that it was a “new experience.” That’s about as nice as I can put it, because in the end, it’s still snails.

And then there are the French people. Remember that this all started with my disaster with the consulate back home in DC. Well, it turns out that the first day 7 people were missing from our program (and one still is) because of delays and problems with said Consulate. Similarly, we also got an email from our advisor at Penn alerting us people as to when the deadline to register for classes at Penn is, a scary thought considering all the preparation that has gone into this semester. Despite that, over here we have discovered that French people are relatively nice, at least compared to Lyon’s infamous reputation for being a “cold” city. All the host families are working out well so far, and most of the vendors and such have been patient with us as we bumble through simple sentences. The most humbling experience has been hanging around little kids, as they clearly are ahead of us in their language, despite being, oh, 14 years younger. But we are trying, and apparently the first 2 weeks are the hardest, so we’re pressing on. Only a couple times have I tried to say something in French and the people have kind of raised one eyebrow at me and said (in English), “Where are you from??” Tomorrow we start our intensive French class for 8 days, which, hopefully, will help.

So far, so good, that is definitely the prevailing feeling. Still a lot of work to do to settle in at the University (namely, sign up for actual classes), but it’s a good bunch of Penn kids and I think we all have a sense that this could be a pretty fantastic semester, and we all walk back to our respective houses feeling pretty good about what’s ahead.

That is, until we reach those stairs, which only me and one other poor student have to climb everyday. Apparently you get used to them (according to a like 60 year old guy who saw a couple of us struggling), but until then, show me the water.

Bienvenue à Lyon

And so it begins.

After spending a few days relaxing in Southern France, I have now officially arrived at my final destination; Lyon, the city where I will be spending the next four months of my time. It’s one of those days that I had circled on the calendar long ago, but never thought would actually come. However, the time has flown, the summer has passed, and the new semester is here.

I was able to stave off thinking about classes and work and all those other bothersome things for a few more days while spending almost a full week in the cities of Aix-en-Provence, Avignon, and Montpellier. Thanks to a missed connection at the start of the trip, I was unable to drop my bags in Lyon, and thus was lugging around everything I will need for four months through the streets of medieval cities, not exactly designed with an overweight L.L. Bean roller bag in mind. My exploration was distinctly hindered thanks to that deadweight, but I still was able to see plenty of the three cities.

Aix-en-Provence was easily the largest and most tourist friendly of the bunch. Every sign was in English, the town squares were mobbed, and sidewalk cafes were everywhere. Most of them had single chairs and tables on the very edge of the restaurant’s property facing the street that were strategically placed to improve people watching. As such, every person utilizing said seats gave us a dirty look as we walked by; “stupide Americains.” But this was a town you could spend three or more days in, as there was plenty to do.

Avignon was a day trip for us, and that seemed like the perfect amount of time to spend there. The highlight was the “Palais du Papes”, which during parts of the 14^th and 15^th century served as the seat of the Catholic Church. Very impressive indeed, with intricate paintings, imposing walls, and cavernous ceilings. The second biggest tourist attraction was the “Pont d’Avignon”, loosely translated as a bridge built in the 1200s which then connected Avignon to the world, but now does not even cross half of the river. So as you can see, a day was plenty of time to see all the sights. One not to be missed was in the middle of this historic town. A couple of retailers lined the square, and outside of one was a Chicago Bulls jersey of Joakim Noah. For those of you that don’t know him, consider yourselves lucky because he is a tried and true bum. Yet, he gets prime sale space in Avignon, France? Ah, globalization.

Montpellier was the final stop of the trip for us, as it was west of Aix and right in the middle between Barcelona and Lyon, our respective destinations. Because Brian and Spencer had to rush off early to Spain to get to their orientations, I had some time on my own to get a walking tour of Montpellier. Again all my bags were with me so I may have sweat a bit, but I definitely saw a large majority of the city, both good and bad. I still cannot get over the narrowness of the streets, and the prevalence of town squares; it is a testament to the age of the cities I suppose, but there is simply no comparison from what I have seen in the States (far from exhaustive, but perhaps representative). These cities have been very conducive to wandering, and almost dare you to drive a car through them. Anyway, the highlight of the central square in Montpellier was a man playing and singing his guitar. No, not that rare, but as I got closer to him I realized that I recognized the famous chords of “Sweet Home Alabama” coming from his guitar. Of course, this is France, so when he got to the chorus, he started off with “My home in Alabama”, and continued on from there with his butchering of the song. Just reminded me how far I actually am from Alabama.

My travels finally came to a close this afternoon as I boarded the train to Lyon. I realized that even as I felt the same relief as when I board a train for Philadelphia in the sense that it is where I belong, I had no clue where I was going. Considering how much time, effort and agony went into choosing a college out of high school, with the numerous applications, interviews and school visits that went along with those shenanigans, this time I had chosen Lyon out of the blue, especially the Universite Lumiere-Lyon 2. Right now, I could not tell you how many kids go to Lyon 2, what type of school it is or even what their mascot is (a very important factor), if they have one. Yet, for some reason, I’m not that nervous.

After a few delays on the TGV, which is really letting me down these days, I met Mme. Rossi (my host Mother) at a very crowded train station in the heart of Lyon. We made the drive over and then under the city’s two rivers, and then up a winding road to their house. Tomorrow I will head into town to sort of get my bearings, so I’ll give you a full recap of Lyon once that is complete, but let’s just say that Lyon is a city of 3 major hills, and my house is near the top of one of them, looking back over the city. Amazing.

When I got to the house, there was (surprise!) another student already staying with the Rossis! Henry is a couple years younger than I am, from Columbia by way of Miami and Toulouse, and knows how to relax with the best of them. But for now I will just say that the three others were very nice and welcoming to me, and I’ll leave the full description to another post. Upon my arrival, Mme. Rossi made dinner for the four of us, and Henry had warned me that she was a good cook, yet still I was blown away; after spending four days in a foreign country constantly focused on not killing myself and not necessarily enjoyment, this meal was perfect. Food coma quickly set it, and I had earned it.

Finally, I’m here in Lyon, the “city of light,” and, for the next four months, my city.