Soapy Places, Dopey Faces, Stupid Phrases, and Cat Chases

Bonjour, hola, konnichiwa! 

Told ya I'd have more stories soon! I've finally had enough noteworthy brushes with embarrassment and awkwardness to make a post, and I think you'll find in the descriptions below that traveling across the ocean hasn't at all impaired my knack for attracting humiliation. Before we get started, I'd like to give a special shout out to the world's bestet Big and most terrific triplets, Jessica MacDonald, Alex Mills, and Fiona Ryan! Love and miss you all (and the rest of the awesome KGB clan)! As you've seen me in several embarrassing situations, I hope that this post will be particularly entertaining! Alrighty everyone, hold on to your chapeaus, 'cause here we go. 
*the following will be arranged from least embarrassing to most embarrassing  

Cake cake cake cake….hey, wait a minute 
Two Fridays ago, I went to Centre-Ville (the center of town) with my American friends Natalie and Sarah.  We'd just eaten at La Tomate (see "Fruit Salad" post) and were exploring the little stores located near Comédie. As we meandered past some cute boutiques, a store with beautifully arranged cupcakes caught my eye. Dessert is one of my true loves in life, so naturally I begged to go in. Upon entering, it was evident that the scents in the store were…peculiar. There was a definite sweetness in the air, but also a strong, tangy odor. Too concentrated on how everything looked to pinpoint the exact smell, I browsed around thinking of what might taste the best. It wasn't until I saw the price tags (which listed prices far too steep for a mere cupcake shop) and read a sign that said something about bathing that I realized: the odor in the air was soap, and there was nothing edible in the shop because it sold only bath products. Luckily, I came to this conclusion before asking the salesperson which cake flavor tasted the best, but it was definitely still a derp moment. 

WARNING: STARING AT FRENCH BOYS MAY CAUSE TEMPORARY BRAIN DAMAGE 
I'd say about 75% of the humiliation I face in life has to do with males. It hardly comes as a shock then that this next story involves me looking dumb in front of good-looking university students. During my second week of classes, I walked into the building that housed my first course of the day while a group of French guys simultaneously walked past me. To my surprise, one of the cutest stopped me and asked a question in rapid French. Unable to register what he was saying due to my fixation on his smile, I gave a completely ridiculous look that showed I was hopelessly confused and shook my head side to side. He then said more slowly "You don't understand what I'm saying? Okay, sorry," and walked off laughing with his friends. I realized shortly thereafter that he was asking if literature classes were in that building (which they were). That'll teach me not to fall for French charm again — or at least not to stare at people's smiles when they're asking questions. 

I don't even have a heading… "Most Pathetic Moment of the Century," perhaps? No, that title definitely goes to the wretched ZU Homecoming Incident of '08 (get Emily Breeden to tell you about that catastrophe) 
This tale's unfortunate. First off, when finalizing my schedule for the semester, I unknowingly chose a class for 3rd year Philosophy students and ended up keeping it (we'll see how all that goes); but that's not even the embarrassing part. Last week in this class, the professor was looking for volunteers to analyze a 20-page text and present the findings this week with another student. There seemed to be no one willing to take on the challenge, including me. In an unanticipated turn of events, however, my attempt to talk with the professor after class morphed into me volunteering for the presentation. I'm still not sure how it happened, but the best explanation I can conjure is this. I made my way to the front to ask a simple question regarding the class but mysteriously forgot my inquiry while walking. Once I reached the prof, he eagerly looked at me and asked if I'd come to volunteer. Unable to recall my original question and guilted by his eagerness, I instead said one of the dumbest things that has ever left my mouth: "I…want to do…the project…but I don't…know if I…can," to which the prof responded "Um, why not? Sure you can" and pushed the sign-up sheet towards me. There weren't many people left thankfully so mainly the prof and my partner heard me, but it was still pretty mortifying. Way to play the stereotypical dumb American card, right! I'm sure my prof thinks I'm certifiably cray cray in the noggin. The presentation is Wednesday,  so I'll report with results afterwards. Let's just hope that I don't forget what I'm supposed to say then. 

Who Let the Cats Out? Oh Yeah, Me 
Kay, this is the most recent and most pitiful story in my opinion. Remember my host fam's cat Fiona, the one who was soon to be with child? Well, after spending a week at her "fiancé's," I'm almost positive she's preggers and due to have kittens a short time from now. What does that have to do with me right? During her pregnancy, it's imperative to keep a watchful eye on Fiona as she's still able to mate with a different cat and have kittens that aren't thoroughbred. She's therefore not allowed outside and must be watched carefully so that she doesn't escape and get it on with a stray. I'm usually exceptionally careful about ensuring that she's not around when I open or close a door, but this morning disaster hit. As I was leaving for my first class, I took a second longer than usual to find my key and lock the door. This tiny window was all Fiona needed to sneak past me like a ninja and dart out into the parking lot by my hosts' home. Being the dog person that I am and not realizing that lots of noise and panicking drive cats away, I dropped my bags on the ground and started sprinting after her like a lunatic (which is exactly what the neighbors probably thought I was). I found her first under a parked car and slowly lowered myself until I was flat, crawling on the filthy pavement to try and coax her out. I could see it working as she started to inch closer and closer, but after one rapid movement that I guess scared her, she ran out the other side of the car and into a neighbor's yard. Close to tears at this point, I went to the neighbor's yard in search of her, but she was nowhere to be found. Thankfully, Mme, who'd realized what happened, came out to look for her herself and magically retrieved her in less than 5 minutes. I guess this account wasn't so much embarrassing as it was pathetic. Of course I'd be the one to accidentally let the cat out when that was the exact thing I was warned not to do. I'm just glad she didn't end up somewhere unretrievable or give her goodies to a stray. Needless to say I'll be paying even more attention when I open the doors from now on. 

Well, there have definitely been more embarrassing "Mari moments," but I'd say these fall into the Top 50 category for sure. I'm hoping not to have many more mortifying tales to share, but if I do you'll all be the first to know. Please continue to pray for me on my journey. 

À tout à l'heure, 

Mari

Back to school

Hi everybody!  It's Laura again.

IFE classes have started, and they're going well so far. The main course right now is about French history as it relates to modern politics and is taught by a professor from Sciences Po. I've also taken 4 trips with the student group. 

The first was a tour around the Bastille quartier in the 11e arrondissement, where the IFE building is located. It was very cold, but we learned about the history of the quartier and walked around little back streets, full of historical buildings, architectural studios, and one sad melting snowman decorated in seashells. We also went to the Musée Carnavalet, a museum dedicated to the history of Paris that is housed in a historical mansion in the Marais.

Today we had two more visits. First, we were experianced the the awe-inspiring glitziness of the Hotel de Ville. As our guide took us around, dozens of employees bustled about, moving folding chairs from one room to the next and polishing every nook and cranny until it shined like the top of the Chrysler building.


That's a lot more mopping than I ever had to do for Starbucks.


Then, in the afternoon, we had a visit to the headquarters of the Socialist Party. I was told beforehand that my American understanding of socialism would not apply to the Socialist party here, but I am proud to say that, after my visit, both the American socialist movement and the french social democrats remain equally incomprehensible to me. This is because our socialist guide gave his unnecessarily long, roundabout socialist lecture in the hottest socialist room of the socialist headquarters. Within 5 minutes, everybody was wearing a glazed "I don't speak this language" expression and/or doodling in their notebooks.

This is what I took away from the experience:

1. French socialists like democracy and accept capitalism in the private sphere. They also like to keep old vintage posters of failed Mitterrand campaigns as some sort of a hipster statement.

2.They're really psyched that Hollande is the president, and

3. The main courtyard where they like to take group photos is named after a man who committed suicide at some point in time for some reason. The logic of this was completely incomprehensible to me the first time around, and I refuse to google it.

Also, the socialist party logo makes me nostalgic for my native town of Roseland.

What, you don't see it?

If you want to see what the group looks like, there a bunch of pictures on the official IFE facebook page and probably more to come. For some reason, in the William and Mary group photo I'm repping for the Jersey Shore cast with a glowing orange complexion. But I swear it's some weird combination of lighting and photo filter, not a spray tan!

IFE's Official Facebook page

Now I'm going to talk metro, so unless you're planning to be a student in Paris sometime soon you may want to skim.

First off, metro tickets: Fairly standard stuff. First of all: Keep your ticket for the duration of your ride, because there are a couple of random stations that require you to pass your ticket through the machine again on your way out. Most don't, but it's good to be ready. But also, don't keep 20 used metro tickets in your pocket, because if you do you'll be stuck there passing every single one through the exit machine like me. Tickets are €1,70 each, or €12,70 for a pack of ten. But next week, I'm moving into the 21st century with my shiny new Passe navigo.

I've been very confused about the "Passe navigo," which is a fairly complicated metro card. I think I have it mostly figured out now, but won't attempt to explain the rules of the system until I've used it a little longer. My monthly card will be active on February 1, but I bought it early because I hear that the lines can be brutal at the beginning of the month.

As a semi-permanent student with a Paris address I am able to purchase a pass by month or by week (or by year, although this only makes sense for full year students). This will not only save some €s, but will also allow me to travel all around the Ile-de-France region without an additional cost on weekends (midnight on Friday to midnight on Sunday). This policy is called "dezoning" and applies anywhere within the border of Ile-de-France, provided that you have a monthly or annual pass. So, if it were already February, my trip to Provins would have been free. Train tickets aren't too expensive anyway, but the dezoning is a very nice feature that I'll be sure to take advantage of in the next few months.

I have other fun things to say about patisseries, falafel, and my Saturday trip to the village of Provins, but that will have to wait until next time. Until then, enjoy some pictures of street art in the Marais.

À bientôt,

Laura 

French Culture: 101

Bonjour a tous! 

After some intense calculating, I realized that I've been in France for a whole month (UN-BE-LI-EV-AB-LE)! It's been such a wonderful adventure so far, and the country has in many ways exceeded my expectations. However, certain things have contradicted my original ideas about France and the French language, revealing that I sadly don't know as much as I previously thought. In the hopes of sparing others from falling victim to the same ignorance, I will post my original misconceptions and the truths that counter them below:

Fallacy #1: France and America share little in common. Before arriving, I suffered under the ludicrous delusion that France was a place completely different from the US. This assumption was a) obviously wrong and b) idiotic, stemming from my previous lack of exposure to European society and concentration on traditional France as opposed to the modern one.Though France varies in several ways from the US of A, the similarities between the two far outweigh the differences. It's been so interesting to draw parallels between two countries that I before found quite unrelated. I'm discovering that there are both societal and generational norms that transcend borders. Older people believe in dressing modestly; university students party like it's 1999; going to sketch parts of town at night is a no-no; McDonald's is not considered a legitimate restaurant (you get the point). Recognizing these commonalities between France and America has caused me to look at the world in a broader way. I feel that in the US, we're often too engulfed in happenings on the home turf to notice what's going on elsewhere. While watching news programs and reading books may seem like sufficient ways to learn about another country, I've realized that it's impossible to truly understand a culture, and thereby make assumptions, without being fully immersed in it. 

Fallacy #2: "Salut" is a universal greeting. Anyone who studies French is well aware of the grammatical distinction between "tu" and "vous," and that there are different ways to speak to others based on which category they fall in. What few people probably know (and what I've discovered only since being here) is that even the way you greet someone is contingent on whether they're a "tu" or "vous". For as long as I can remember, I've used "salut" when speaking to both friends and people of distinction. However, this is very wrong. Only close friends or family members should be greeted this way. Those with whom a formal relationship is maintained should only be greeted with "Bonjour, " "Bonsoir," etc. So to those who are just learning this, remember: "Salut" pour tu, "bonjour" pour vous. 

Fallacy #3 (more of a personal realization, but take note for those of you who feel the same): I've been studying French for 8 1/2 years, so I'd definitely consider myself fluent. Yeah, this is a total lie. I may be fluent in the Americanized, academic version of French, but when it comes to speaking fluidly in everyday contexts I don't know jank. My host family has been exceedingly helpful in correcting me and helping me become a better speaker, but I definitely have a long way to go until I become entirely fluent. The lesson here? It's good to be confident in your lingual skills, but always be open to learning more (because truth is you probably don't know half of what you should). 


Hopefully these tidbits will help others who suffer from cultural delusions extract the truth. In other news, things have been going pretty well in the past week. I met up with some new friends from Turkey, Russia, and Algeria last Saturday and ate some super delish Turquish food! On Sunday, my host fam took me on a lovely hike to the top of one of Montpellier's mountains (I'm slightly confused as to which one it was as there are two or three, but I'll double check and enter deets later). Exciting things have also been happening at school. After two weeks of visiting classes, I finished finalizing my schedule and ended up only having class from Monday to Wednesday! I'm so happy with how it turned out and now have ample study and travel time thanks to 5-day weekends (HOLLA). I haven't done too much by way of traveling yet, but I have plans to visit Paris in February and will be updating about it fo sho! Schoolwork's also starting to pick up some, but it's nothing in comparison to the mounds at W&M so no complaints :) Aside from that there's not much else to report, but I'm sure I'll have something new soon. Plus, I haven't even shared my many stories of embarrassment since arriving, and it's me so obviously there are a ton! 

Until then, 

Your Friendly Neighborhood Mari (I thought that would have a nice ring to it, but it was a fail…)

BYOPB (Bring your own Peanut Butter) and other life lessons

Bon soir!  It's Laura again. A lot has happened since my last post, so I don't think that I'll manage to  catch up completely in this post.

My host parents departed for Vietnam on Friday, leaving their youngest daughter here.  On Friday morning, I looked for the IFE building over in the 11e arrondissement (Bastille).  I found it pretty easily, although I had some trouble getting my bearings when I first stepped out of the metro.  But it's not very far from the stop, plus there is a little stature of Saint Nicolas on top of the building that marks my turn onto Rue Saint Nicolas. I then walked to the Gare de Lyon, a train station that I may see again if I ever decide that Paris has become too familiar. The station also houses the famous restaurant "Le Train Bleu" where Mr. Bean ate his first disastrous French meal in Mr. Bean's Holiday.

That evening, I met up with my Taylor near her appartment in the 7e, just around the corner from Invalides.  She showed me her favorite bakeries, and then we combed the local supermarkets for peanut butter. All that we could find was a half-sized jar of fine, imported American Skippy peanut butter for 4€50 in Paris.  Peanut lovers be warned: bring your own peanut butter, or you may just have to consider switching to spreads like Nutella or Biscoff. Tragic, I know. We ate couscous at an Algerian restaurant called l'Oasis with Taylor's roommate and another of her friends from the American Business School of Paris. The restaurant was nice, with good service and food that was both yummy and inexpensive. It was a lot of fun to walk around the streets in the snow and see Paris turn into a winter wonderland.

Saturday afternoon, I met up with Emily in Montmartre.  The first thing that she wanted to see was the snow- covered cemetery, which was unfortunately closed due to the ice. While standing outside the cemetery gates we managed to attract the attention of an annoyingly persistent Moldovan man. He started by throwing snowballs and making small talk with us (especially Emily, who he called "girl with the blue eyes"), and then followed us for  more than 10 minutes. Trying to ignore the unwanted attention, we stopped for sandwiches at a nice bakery en route to the Sacré Coeur cathedral and lost him shortly afterwards. Lesson learned: Do nothing to encourage this kind of over-friendliness unless you're really interested. It's like giving food to a stray cat.

Montmartre is particularly quaint when blanketed in snow. The gargoyles perched atop the Sacré Coeur stuck out long tongues of ice out at us as we approached the Sacré Coeur.  Unlike Notre Dame, the people at Sacré Coeur object to picture-taking, with or without a flash. Distracted by the elaborately painted ceiling/ general awesomeness of the cathedral, I failed to read the "no pictures" sign near the entrance and was firmly chided by a big imposing man who appears to act as the church's bouncer. Afterwards, we had our first French coffee in an old cafe called Le Progrès and then window-shopped the scenic sex stores of Pigalle in search of the Moulin Rouge. We hopped on the metro to go see the Eiffel Tower covered in snow.  At the base of the tower, my camera died. Emily tried to start a snowball fight with a 10-year-old but failed after missing her mark. Still, the magic of the snow made the side trip completely worthwhile.

I got to know one of my older host sisters and her friends this weekend.  She is a law student who lives about an hour away, but she'll be staying at the house every weekend until the parents return.  She has been very nice; always trying to include me in the conversation when her friends. Although they were definately a fun group, I have to admit that 9/10 jokes went completely over my head, and that the pace of the conversation was much too fast for me.  It was a little disquieting to be reminded once again that my French is not yet on the level where I can carry on a casual conversation with people my own age.

I had a a very interesting dinner with them. We used melted squares of cheese using...some sort of melting appliance and acutensil vaguely resembling a trowel or a pie server. Then we put the cheese on top of boiled potatoes and ate them with ham. Afterwards we played "Burger quiz," a game based on an old game show that involves rubber hamburgers that squeak and a bunch of question cards featuring various condiments.

One more note on French conversation: In one of my first dinners with the family, the father told me that, "French people are always talking about politics."  This is something I've been told before, and it has definitely held true so far. Then, with the group of young law students this weekend, my host sister told me, "French people are always talking about food."  I hadn't noticed that yet, mostly because food has always been in the back of my mind, anyway. But I will test this theory as I go on to try more French foods.  One of the new additions to the peak of my French food pyramid is a spread called "confiture du lait" (milk jelly), a french relative of dulce de leche that is delicious spread over toast.

And so ends my time as a carefree tourist, as I begin my classes with IFE. I already had classes today, but I will tell you more about that next time.

À bientôt,

Laura

Fruit Salad: Yummy,Yummy,Yummy

Bonjour Mesdames et Messieurs!

I realized that I have yet to talk about several topics AND that despite my efforts to catch up, I'm still pretty behind on the posts I wanted to make. Thus, I'm going to do my best to include every important detail to date in this message (which means more reading for you, but hopefully that won't be a deterrent)!

Since arriving in Montpellier, I've been staying in a charming suburban area ten minutes from my university with pretty much the most incredible host family on the planet (no joke, they're the bomb-digity)! They've welcomed me with open arms since my first night, provided me with an amazing room (complete with balcony), and fixed me a ton of extraordinary meals! A family of three, Madame works as a Physiotherapist and Monsieur at Dell. Their son is 13 and loves playing rugby and video games. They also have two adorable cats, Fiona (who's soon to be expecting, so presh) and Nuage (which means "cloud" en français)! I absolutely couldn't have asked for more considerate and hospitable hosts. Due to their kindness, I've felt very much at home despite being so far away from my own.

Backtracking to that part about the extraordinary meals, words truly cannot convey how excellent French food is. Simply seeing chefs on TV preparing dishes is nothing compared to tasting it first-hand. I think that those of you who know what a picky/unusual eater I am will especially appreciate the fact that I've tried each and every thing placed in front of me since arriving! I can now officially say that I like eggs, smoked salmon, baked potatoes, walnuts, leeks, lentils, carrots, mushrooms, mussels, cabbage, some cheese, pineapple, prunes, and even fruit salad! Oh, and I'm OBSESSED with bread. I suppose my taste buds were just waiting for the scrumptious tastes of French food to fully awaken them (sorry for all the years of refusing your cooking, Mom!) Aside from eating scrumdidiilyumptious foods at home, I've been getting some tasty and nutritious meals from the school cafeterias (which, sorry Sadler, definitely exceed the quality of those at W&M). there's also a variety of great restaurants in the area. Today, I met up with friends for lunch at this adorable spot at Place De La Comédie (located in the center of the city) called La Tomate. Apparently, it's been around for fifty years and is still run by its original chef (not to mention the prices are pretty choice)! In case you enjoy my review so much that you wish to spontaneously fly across the Atlantic and try for yourself, here's the link: http://www.la-tomate.fr/ 

Apart from the dining halls, I don't have too much to say about school so far. I really like the layout of the campus (it's much smaller than W&M but similar in arrangement), and the classes I'm in are quite interesting. I haven't had the opportunity to meet many French students yet, but I've made a couple of friends from America and one from Turkey! The sense of internationalism is great and I can't wait to meet more people locally and from around the world!

Another aspect of France that I'm loving is the history. Unlike the US, France holds an array of ancient buildings and traditions that have persisted for hundreds of centuries. Last weekend, my host fam took me to Arles, a nearby Romanesque town with a restored amphitheater similar to that of the Colosseum! We visited L'Abbaye de Montmajor, a monastery from the Tenth Century that's still mostly in tact. It was truly incredible to explore. I've never been much of a history buff, but I might just become one living in an area filled with such rich architecture.

Well, I think I've adequately summed up most of what's occurred so far. France has been unbelievable, and I'm confident that it will only get better with time :) My sole grievance is that there are NO TWIZZLERS (I know right, how criminal), but aside from that I really can't complain!

Au revoir,

Mari

Paris holds the lock to your heart

Bonjour à tous,

I’m Laura, the other half of this dynamic blogging duo. It's hard to believe that I've already been in France for more than two days!

The plane trip was... interesting. I managed to sit next to the most talkative woman on the plane. She had a copy of "50 Shades of Grey," in her hand, not a promising start. And she loved to over-share. Within the first 10 minutes I had seen every photo on her cell phone and heard all her complaints about the 21-year old daughter who won't go back to school.

I learned all about her visits to the zoo and the names of her dogs, but she waited a while to reveal that she was actually a pretty interesting person. In her early life, she had traveled all over Europe with a single mother who sold Arabian horses. Then she lived in France for the 20 years of her former marriage to a French airplane pilot. Sounds like the plotline of a wonderfully bad romance novel.

She then moved on to extensive and dramatic warnings about the dangers of seductive Frenchmen and pickpockets. Consequently, I was too terrified to take out my camera for my first hour of walking through the city in fear of being singled out as prey. For the record, I don't think there's anything wrong with walking around Paris alone in the middle of the day as long as you are aware of your surroundings.

So, moving on. When the plane landed at Charles de Gaulle, it was snowing!  I took a taxi from the airport to the home of my host family in Maisons-Alfort, just to the southeast of Paris.  They have a direct metro line into the city. The Marne river runs through it and everything is in walking distance- just like a French town should be.  There's a Veterinary school across the street from the apartment where I live that houses a museum of medical oddities. Something for a rainy day, I guess?

My host family is wonderful.  The husband and wife are both professors in Paris. They have 5 children but only the youngest girl lives with them. She is 16 years old. I've really enjoyed getting to the family so far! I can tell that they are very funny, even if I don't always understand their jokes. The mother is an excellent cook and  a big proponent of fresh ingredients. I even tried snails the other night and loved them!  My mom tells me that it is unusual to see escargot served at home, but they were having company for dinner. What she always told me is true: They don't have a very strong flavor in themselves, so you mostly taste the sauce.

My host family has already shared up some interesting ideas about Americans.  We have unhealthy eating habits (true), our cities are not as well-designed as French cities (mostly true), and most American families often do not raise their children right (debatable). The father has actually worked in the United States and knows our culture, so these aren't just  blind stereotypes.  It's interesting to hear their views, though, and to see the way that their family operates. They often tell me that they are atypical of French families because they are intellectuals and keep strange hours. I'm not sure if they are really so strange, but I guess that I'll find out when I compare notes with the other students in my program.

I touristed around Paris a bit yesterday afternoon.  The most difficult part for me was just getting there. For starters, I have an issue with unlocking doors.  I walked out and realized that I had forgotten my map in my room, but could not figure out the right way to jiggle the key to get back into the appartment. I eventually left without a map, impatient to see the city. The outside door was also  tricky, and  it took a good two minutes for me to figure out how to lift the latch- or, more accurately, to pull the latch.

And then, of course, came the metro.  A worker at the metro stop had to explain the route to me 3 times before I could work  up the courage to actually step on the train. After my ride, the route now seems embarrassingly obvious.  I only need to make one simple change from line 8 to line 1, to reach the "'Hôtel de Ville" metro stop. I visited Notre Dame, then wandered the 4e arrondissement, watching street cleaners cart away all of the city's discarded Christmas trees. I also purchased a cell phone with a SIM card from Orange, a big service provider in France.  It was freezing cold as it has been all week, but the sky was blue and I was able to take some very nice pictures.

So, what have I learned so far? Like princess Anastasia, I've discovered that Paris really does hold the key to your heart. Literally; it's probably lying somewhere on the murky riverbed of the Seine.  Just look at all these love locks on the Pont de l'Archevêché:

In case you needed further convincing, there are also bakery windows like this:

Now I know that there is such a thing as "love at first sight."  Because I haven't even bought a pastery... yet.

À bientôt,

Laura

Excusez-moi, je suis perdue!

Hey hey hey, it's…

Not Fat Albert, sorry to burst your bubble there. Okay, so here's the next installment in my series of posts detailing the initial week of my semester in France! Topic: getting lost abroad (womp womp). 

Sorry to disappoint, but I must sadly report that my positively crummy sense of direction seems to have degenerated in the time that I've been here. Despite having a clearly marked map each time I've gotten lost thus far, I've still ended up in a place I didn't intend to be (on the way to school, on the way to the market, on the way home by tramway….you get the picture). I must state that i am extremely grateful for God's protection over me in these situations, for though I make light of it, getting lost can really be quite frightening. Now, if others of you studying abroad or traveling in a foreign country likewise don't possess the talent of knowing how to get from one place to another in a sensible manner, I implore you to take note of these helpful tips: 

1) Before departing for your destination, look up Mapquest directions and take a picture with your phone/download from the Internet. The step-by-step format can be used as a back-up in case reading a map proves too difficult while walking simultaneously (this tactic has been successful in many situations)

2) Always keep a record of important phrases in the language of the country you're in that could help you out of a sticky sitch: 
a. "Excuse me, do I turn right or left?"
b. "Excuse me, where am I in comparison to this place?"
c. "Excuse me, you seem to know where you're going. Could you please pass some of your sense of direction over to me?" (alright, maybe this one's impractical)

3) Pay attention to landmarks (ex: the color of the buildings you pass, the names of the stores, etc). 

4) Always keep da popo on speed dial. Worst-case scenario, you get hopelessly lost to the point of tears and need them to come pick you up. Luckily, I've never been THIS lost before, but ya never know so just as a precaution. 

Keep in mind also that you've gotta be wary of who you ask for directions. I typically ask older ladies or gentlemen with canes and pets who seem kindly and trustworthy, but even grandmas can be secret martial arts experts or super sketch in certain ways so just be on guard. I suppose the best advice is to really try not to get lost period (and assuming most people in the world are better with directions than I, hopefully that's not too difficult)! 

I'm slowly finding my bearings and learning my way around, but I have the feeling it'll take most of the semester to really understand where I'm going most of the time. Please therefore keep praying for me and wishing me luck as I navigate around Montpellier! 

À tout à l'heure, 

Mari 

Journey to the Center of Happiness!

Salut Mes Amis! 

I've FINALLY gotten around to blogging (sorry to make several of you reading this wait so long)! Due to this late commencement, there's a ton to recap and I've therefore decided to create several posts detailing my journey thus far. This post will serve as a general introduction and basic retelling of the events leading up to my arrival at my final destination, Montpellier, France, on Jan. 4. I'll try to keep the story as concise and interesting as possible.

First, a little background info: Roughly four months ago, I received the news that I'd been accepted into W&M's Montpellier Semester Program! Being the positively French-obsessed person that I am (a fact of which anyone who's spent 5 minutes with me is well aware) and having never before gone to France, receiving this opportunity was truly a dream come true. I committed to the program immediately and spent the rest of my fall semester preparing for what I was sure would be a fantabulous journey. But of course, no good travel story is complete without a few hiccups and surprises...

After arriving at Dulles International in DC on Jan. 3, I found out that my flight was delayed by over eight hours and the original route I'd planned to take (DC to Denmark, Denmark to Nice, Nice to Montpellier) had to be completely changed! Naturally I started hyperventilating and going cray, but after some moments of silent prayer and help from some very friendly airport staff, I was able to get a new flight to Paris AND a ticket upgrade (as it turns out, my "first class" ticket was really just "economy extra," lols, but in my defense it was a really plush portion of the plane). 

Once I arrived at Charles de Gaulle in Paris, it was pretty much smooth sailing from then on. Not only was I able to easily switch my train ticket from Nice to one from Paris, but I also met a new friend whose brother goes to W&M. Gotta love them Tribe connections! She helped me navigate the train station (which is in the airport bc France is awesome and obviously caters to the directionally-challenged like myself) and showed me where to buy wicked awesome croissants. I then caught my train and arrived in Montpellier around 16h (4:00 pm) safe and sound. 

Aside from the afore-mentioned struggles and nearly straining a muscle trying to tote my overweight suitcase around, I'd say the trip was an overall success :) Though I'd never flown by myself internationally before and had a couple of mishaps, God kept me shockingly calm throughout most of it. After the initial freak out about my plane, I felt completely at ease and was thoroughly able to enjoy my journey to the "center of happiness" (which of course is a metaphor for France)! 

A bientôt, 

Mari