Why France?

I wasn’t looking forward to the first day of school because I wasn’t looking forward to having to answer the question everyone would inevitably ask me; “why France?”

I had my armor ready. I had a good answer to give. I like France, I mostly speak the language, and it’s a lot cheaper to go to school here than back home.

But even with a prepared, readily acceptable answer to doll out, every time someone asked me, it made me think about the real reason I picked France.

I only looked at schools in France, and not all over Europe (it’s cheaper almost everywhere over here than the good ol’ states), because of a boy. I decided to get my masters so I could have a visa so I could stay in France, because of a boy. That maybe 70% of the reason I decided to do this isn’t a reason anymore.

I knew that coming back here would be a new kind of hurting and healing process, but I still wish I thought about it less.

Sometimes I think if I ended up here anyway then why did we break up? I know that’s not fair. But I’m here and I’m following the plan that we created together, only he’s not a part of it anymore.

I think about how it would’ve been easier if he were here. Having someone to help me do everything and find a place to live. Then I remember all the times we got into a fight because he wasn’t always such a big help when it came to that sort of a thing, anyway. I’m doing it all on my own, I’m doing it well, and who can really say if it would’ve been any easier doing it together?

Breaking up can’t justify not going to a really good school to get my masters in a field I’m passionate about. So perhaps he wasn’t 70% of the reason after all.

It’s not about wanting him back; it’s about mourning over what we had and what we lost. It’s about finding a French life without him, and how he wasn’t the reason I moved to France but he was the reason I wanted to stay. And it’s okay to fall in love and it’s okay to start over. It’s okay to miss him and remember our life together.

And I’ll be okay, even if it does hurt a little every time someone asks me “why France?”

One day maybe it wont be such a loaded question.

Being back in France.

Day one was a combination of “oh yeah, this feels right” and “what the hell am I doing here?”, with the overwhelming sensation of my suitcases being much too heavy for a normal person to lug across an airport, on the RER, on the metro, on a train, and then up two flights of stairs.


Me and all my things in front of John Wayne Airport.
Not seen in photo: my 84357 pound backpack.
Two weeks in, and while I have found a place to keep my suitcases, the sentiments seem to have stayed the same. Coming back to France has been like catching up with an old friend. It isn’t quite as easy and natural as it was when you used to know each other very well, but that connection is still there.

That said there are still times when I feel completely overwhelmed and can’t believe I put myself through this voluntarily. I had somehow forgotten how long it takes to get things done in this country (or perhaps I purposefully blacked it out as a coping mechanism for willfully returning here?).

Things I have done:
1. Found a place to live!
2. Moved into my studio.
3. Gone to Carrefour to buy plates, sheets, pillows, sponges, etc.
4. Gone to the week of la rentrée activities, without actually, you know, registering for school.
5. Registered for classes without actually registering for school.
6. Registered (finally) for school, and got wifi access on campus. A week and two days after the “first day of school.”


Things I have yet to do:
1. Re-open my French bank account. Attempt number two will be on Thursday.
2. Put the electricity bill in my name. I need my bank account reopened before I can do this, so at any moment there may no longer be electricity at my place. Comforting.
3. Get internet. Again, I need my French bank account, but I am also hoping to be able to share wifi with some other people in my building (the landlord suggested this).
4. Find a laundromat.
5. Go back to Carrefour to purchase all the items I forgot about during the previous trip. This could have something to do with somehow loosing my checklist mid-shop.

So far I am enchanted with Troyes, and am happily becoming acquainted with UTT (Université of Technologie à Troyes).


Troyes.
It's nice to see you again, France.

A Thank You and An Announcement

First and foremost I just want to thank everyone for the lovely, heartfelt responses I’ve received after my last blog post. I originally intended for this blog to be a place to tell stories about my life in France, but it quickly became a place to find community. It gave me a sense of belonging, which was especially appreciated since I never really felt like I belonged in France.

That being said, I am doing the crazy thing and am moving back to France to get my masters! My plane leaves California the 28th of August, and I will once again be on French soil the 29th.

All your comments and support helped me through this difficult decision. What it came down to is I have an amazing opportunity in front of me, and although it will be a challenge, I think I’m ready for my next adventure. I hope you all are ready for it, too.

Dear friends and strangers,

I have been avoiding my blog because I have been avoiding dealing with my French life as it currently stands.

I don’t know how to tell funny anecdotal stories about France right now.

I no longer have a French boyfriend. I’m an American girl who moved to France, fell in love with a boy, grew disillusioned with the country but tried ever so hard to stay there despite being unhappy a lot of the time because she was in love, was unsuccessful and deported. An American girl who, despite moving back into the home she grew up in, felt like a foreigner for the better part of 4 months and is still readjusting to American culture. One who’s long distance relationship with a Frenchman lasted 6 months.

And now I’m on the precipice. I’ve been accepted into graduate programs in France, but I’m not sure I’m ready to jump off the cliff. It’s as if the adventurous spirit of the brave girl who moved to France in 2007 was beaten out of me by that country.

To go or to stay? I wish I knew.

Bisous,
Laura

FBF en Californie

You will have to excuse me for radio silence as FBF is in fact, at this moment, in California with me for two whole weeks!


FBF and I enjoying the sun setting over the Pacific ocean last time he was in California.

We are going to be much too busy soaking up the sun's rays on the beach for me to blog anything substantial (one of us may in fact already be sunburned), but I'll commence our regularly scheduled programming once he's back in Le Nord.

Choc Culturel Inverser

My first moment of reverse culture shock came rather quickly. It happened the same day I arrived in California. After the hour and a half long drive home from LAX, I really had to pee. I groggily went to my bathroom, and took care of business. It was after that the culture shock occurred.

I went to flush the toilet, and something was wrong. There was nothing on the top for me to pull or push. “How do I….” I began to think, when I almost immediately remembered that in America, the flush is on the side of the toilet.

Most of the big differences I was mentally prepared for. I knew I would be carded again and that the cars are bigger here. It was the smaller stuff that crept up on me unexpectedly; the weight of a coke can; how awkward it felt ending a text conversation without “bisous.”

I think what made it so weird is that most things were still the same at home. I would often quickly remember, “oh right, that’s how we do things here.” It wasn’t my home that had changed. I had changed.

Despite feeling ever so American the entire time I was living in Lille, I now felt entirely too French. It would seem I am no longer 100% either way.

Taking the DALF (Diplôme approfondi de langue française)

When it started to look 100% like I wasn’t going to get my work visa renewed, I looked into other ways of staying in, or returning to, France. Not yet being ready to make the giant commitment that is matrimony, I decided to attempt to reenter the country in a way that France really likes; for my studies.

In order to do most masters programs in France (for there are a few taught in only English), one needs to have passed either the TEFL or the DELF/DALF at a B2 level. I decided to take the DELF/DALF because it is a life long diploma, whereas the TEFL is a certificate only valid for two years.

Although the programs only required B2, I wanted to push myself and be sure I was taking the highest level I could possibly achieve. After much internal struggle I decided to take the C1. It is possible to take both of them, but the tests do not come cheap and I was unemployed.


The book I bought as my study guide for the DALF.
Free study resources are also available on the CIEP website.

Something I had a lot of trouble coming to terms with is the fact that the French don’t ever think you should get 100% on a test. To pass the DALF one needs to get 50/100 points total, and score at least 5/25 in each section (there are 4 areas). This would be failing a test in America.

I’ve always been an honors student and over achiever. It took me a while, but I finally did accept the fact that there were questions on the test that even FBF wouldn’t be able to answer and it was okay that I didn’t know everything.

The other part of the exam I had to come to terms with is that the first part of the exam (listening comprehension, reading comprehension, and written comprehension) lasts three hours. Three hours during which one is not allowed to leave the room (i.e. no potty breaks).

On the day of the test, stressed out but with an empty bladder, I got to the Alliance Française office ten minutes early. I met my fellow testees, two middle-aged people taking the test purely for pleasure. I couldn’t believe anybody would torture themselves in this way.

The test started. The listening comprehension boosted my confidence; I understood almost everything that came out of the speakers. The reading comprehension part proved more difficult, but that was to be expected. Overall I came out of the listening/reading/essay writing part of the exam feeling pretty good.

Then I had a two-hour break to eat lunch and become even more stressed out for the oral presentation part of the exam (which lasts 1.5 hours; one hour to prepare and 30 minutes of presenting).

Although I felt most confident about my speaking skills (thanks to FBF and speaking French every day for the past two years), speaking in front of people who are grading you is so much more difficult than simply talking to your boyfriend. Nevertheless, after making a joke about being really nervous, I was able to present almost everything I prepared, and even stayed after to chat with the graders (in French, of course).

Although I felt as if I had passed, I didn't want to simply pass. I wanted to excel. I also was worried that I might have misunderstood everything and would never be allowed to go to graduate school in France. My whole future plan was dependent upon passing this test.

For the first time in my dealings with France, however, the turn around time for finding out if you pass is super quick.

After a week I called the Alliance Française to ask if I passed. After getting my name, the lady on the phone said, “oh! You scored very high! You passed with 70/100!”


My score.

Relief and pride washed over me all at once. Not only did I pass and would be eligible for graduate school in France, but I scored very high. Ladies and gentlemen, I am officially, government recogonized-ly, fluent in French.

Cathédrale de Reims - Rêve de Couleurs

Back in the Middle Ages when most of France’s beautiful cathedrals were built, they did not look like they do today. Instead of being a uniform beige color, the façades were painted bright, beautiful colors.

Although the paint has faded away, they still remain awe-inspiring. While in Reims for my 24th birthday champagne drinking extravaganza, FBF and I explored the Cathédrale de Reims.



Reims Cathedral, where France's Kings were crowned.

Something FBF and I didn’t account for on our trip to Reims is that my birthday falls on the same weekend as France’s journée du patrimoine (Heritage Day). La journée du patrimoine is a day in France where the public is allowed access to public buildings that they normally aren’t allowed to, or are allowed to access said buildings free of charge.

This made my birthday trip to Reims even more special, because we were able to explore things we wouldn't have been able to normally.

During the summer, and also on the weekend of the journée du patrimoine, Reims Cathedral is transformed back to its medieval glory. A twenty-minute video is projected onto the façade showing the construction of the building up to the beautifully painted finished sculptures.



Reims Cathedral illuminated at night.

After a dinner of fondu, FBF and I walked the cobblestone streets of Reims up towards the Cathedral. Making our way through the crowd, we settled for a spot in the middle of the courtyard where we had earlier enjoyed a glass of champagne. With the chiming of bells, a stunning compilation of music and lights brought the cathedral to life in a way I've never seen before.

A 41 second clip of the spectacle.

It was an awe-inspiring, wonderfully romantic way to end our first day in Reims. It was as if France gave me a birthday present, too.

La Déesse

In the beginning of the First French Republic, many countries challenged the authenticity of this new government and saw it as an opportunity to take over parts of France. Lille was subjected to attack from Austria in 1792. After several days of cannon fire, Lille won the battle.

To commemorate Lille's victory, a statue was erected in the Grand'Place (or la place du Général-de-Gaulle) in 1845. The statue is known as La Déesse (the goddess) because of her mural crown. Her left hand points to an inscription of the Mayor at the time's refusal to surrender the city.


Lillois enjoying the sun while sitting around La Déesse.

She is meant to watch over and protect Lille. She holds in her right hand a boutefeu, a stick with which one ignites a cannon.


A close up on La Déesse and her boutefeu, as well as the top of the tower of the Chambre de Commerce.

Although originally just a column in the middle of the square, La Déesse is now surrounded by a beautiful fountain. She is a meeting place for many a rendez-vous in the city center, as well as big cultural events (like when Lille won La Coupe de France). If you stop by during la rentrée (the return to school) in September, you will often find college freshmen plunging themselves in the fountain.


La Déesse and her fountain in the center of la Grand'Place.

It's a great place to stop, sit, and enjoy the beautiful Flandres architecture that surrounds la Grand'Place. Especially when the weather is nice.

Check it out:
Place du Général-de-Gaulle, otherwise known as la Grand'Place

Comment Dit-on?

One of my family's stories is about my Uncle Gene. Gene studied abroad while he was in college, spending a semester living in Vienna, Austria. When he came back from being abroad, my mother says, he used to flaunt it in everyone’s faces, continually asking, “oh wait… how do you say [insert German word] in English again?”

I would always laugh at how pompous Uncle Gene had been, sure of the fact that he was just being snobby and shoving his German knowledge under everyone’s noses.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have become Uncle Gene.

Since moving home, I am often times unable to think up a word in English. My sentences no longer flow. I find myself starting a sentence in a way that only makes sense in French.

I’ve been home for quite a while now, and yet I continue to find myself in situations where my brain is unable to come up with an American equivalent of what I want to say.

Sure, when I came home after a semester of studying abroad in Paris I didn’t have this problem, but when I compare my study abroad experience to my uncle’s (I got to Skype home every weekend and spoke English at school; he never got to call home and was immersed in a German university), I say he really did earn the right to forget English words.

And while I still do feel ridiculous and pretentious every time I forget a word in my native language, I know I’m not doing it on purpose or to show off.

It’s made me “rethink” my opinion of my uncle.

Have you moved back home after a long period abroad? How long did it take you to feel like your English was back to Native-Speaker-Normality? It's been 4 months already, brain, get it together!