This is my last posting
from France, but within the past two weeks, I have been able to
participate in experiences from all over the world! As I count down
the days, I also have to count down the countries, cities, small
towns, customs, and attitudes of those I have had the pleasure to
meet while I have been here, each with their own unique style....
12 Day Countdown—Day
One: Christmas in England
Since I was to be here
during the Holidays, as was my good friend Ben, we decided to spend
Christmas together. Ben wasn't able to go to his native England for
the Holidays, so instead of revisiting the English
Christmastime shenanigans (or if you're English, a Christmastime
“do”) with his two kids, he spent it teaching me all about the
English way to celebrate Christmas. It pretty much entails as much
food and candy as our Thanksgiving, but with a few differences that
are pretty much to be followed as law.
First,
you HAVE to listen to the Queen's Christmas Address. I didn't even
know the Queen gave a
Christmas address, let alone the fact that everyone in
England watches or listens to
it. She reflected on the general state of affairs, including the new
developments by the newlywed couple, Prince Edward and Kate
Middleton. Admittedly, I have to give the Queen props for the fact
that even after all these years, her eloquence in speaking and her
stance is nothing short of royalty.
You
saucy minx, you! (My favorite rendition of the Queen by Lucian
Freud)
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/1723071.stm |
Secondly,
you HAVE to have Christmas Pudding. What is this concoction that's
as mysterious as mincemeat? Well, it's pretty much a dense, greasy
half-ball shaped dessert (which, as Ben tells me, hardly anyone eats)
made out of candied fruit. The only reason to buy such a thing is to
do what any normal human being would conclude: set it on fire!
After
the Christmas pyrotechnics, you pull on what are called “Christmas
Crackers” (the sound, not the food), which brings me to the third
and possibly most important pre-dinner tradition: wearing the paper
crowns. The only time I've seen these flimsy little hats is in
“Bridget Jones' Diary”, but all that does is distract me to
thinking about Colin Firth and his role as Mark Darcy...
mtv.com |
Which
leads to me thinking about Colin Firth's role as Mr. Darcy in “Pride
and Prejudice”...
http://austenacious.com/ |
Which
leads me to think about Matthew MacFayden's role as Mr. Darcy in the
newer version of “Pride and Prejudice”...
http://www.takerootandwrite.com/2009/08/how-to-find-mr-darcy.html |
Okay,
I've digressed long enough—back to the matter at hand!
So...the
other part of the British Christmas tradition is to have the British
Christmas meal, which is prepared with traditionally roasted foul
(usually turkey, but in this case chicken because all the stores were
closed after Ben and I both returned to town), stuffing, gravy,
potatoes (see the pattern with Thanksgiving?)...until you get to the
(in my opinion) crown and glory of the meal...the parsnips!
Ben was so worried about making this meal perfect using so many
canned/powdered/frozen ingredients, but to have so many wonderfully
prepared foods, I was thoroughly enjoying myself. Especially the
parsnips.
After
eating such an awesome meal, it's tradition to take a walk afterward,
while still wearing the paper crown, mind you! We were the only
French/English-speaking people on the streets, donning our tissue
paper headgear, but we were having a blast.
After returning, then it's time for dessert and conversation. I
must have eaten my weight in chocolate, water crackers, and did I
mention the parsnips?!?!
My first British Christmas was unforgetttingly epic.
Days
Two Through Six—Chinese-Mexican-French-Japanese Picnics/Coffees and Visit to Tours
During
my last full week in France, I was able to have a picnic with several
friends who are staying in Angers until the end of the traditional
semester. Meeting with a group of Chinese, American, and Mexican
friends, we all had a picnic outside of the University's main
building, even though the wind was blisteringly cold, and we were
continually attacked by a very hungry
French cat, who ate most of our pâté. Amid teary goodbyes in
English, Spanish, Chinese, and, of course, French, we ate cuisine
from all over, some bought in the local grocery store, and some sent
to us from our families back home.
I was also able to have lunch and
coffee with a few other international friends during my countdown, including a
coffee and visit to Tours with my friend, Ben. Ben and I are both
used to the idea that “having coffee” is about lounging around in
coffeehouses and conversing for an hour or so over one single cup of
espresso, but not in France! In France, it's tradition to order your
java, chug it, and go about your business; it is something to
accomplish, but not something to socialize over. So the one place we
could find in Tours that was just a
coffeehouse, as opposed to a restaurant disguised as a “Café”,
was located in a bookstore, and we were lucky to find it.
At
first, we thought that the French barista would adopt the “drink
your coffee and go away” attitude that is the traditional method of
coffee-drinking in France (not a rude attitude, just a different
one), but as soon as the woman behind the counter depicted our
English (and American English) accents, her face brightened, and she
practiced her own English knowledge with us, conversing
enthusiastically about our visit to Tours. This is not the first
time I have noticed this—whereas many people think that to speak
English in France is cause for rude glances and underhanded remarks,
playing up the stereotype of French people in general—I have been
privy to several cases where this is simply not true. Many people
are excited to be able to practice other languages with you as soon
as they find out that you are a native speaker of one, and are happy
to oblige any opportunity to converse with someone from another
country in terms of travel and experience.
Along with the example
here with Ben, my friend Jen and I met a genial WWII veteran in a
random grocery store in Angers while trying to figure out the
produce-weighing machine. Not only was he happy to teach us how to
use it, but was ecstatic that we were students Studying Abroad, and
encouraged us to travel all our lives, because “there might not be
another chance”. With regard to his experience in the Second World
War, I am happy to take the veteran's advice as gospel!
Along
with my visits with classmates, I even had the experience of having
an apéritif with my
host family and my French History professor, who used to work with my
host mother. Being a non-traditional student, I was proud of the
fact that not only did I feel comfortable speaking in terms of
equality with classmates of all ages, but also with the professors.
We had a wonderful time conversing over serious matters of school and
life, and the best part was, I understand almost all of it!
Day
Seven—New Year's Eve, aka the Night of the French Sport of
Vandalism
Hearing
that Ben and I had no plans ourselves for New Year's Eve, my host
father, Jean, “invited” me, along with Ben, to dinner with him
and my host mother, Marie-Anne. I have long talked about, in
previous blog posts, how amazingly my
host parents can cook, and this was no exception! We wined and dined
well into the evening, and our conversations lasted until almost 3:00
in the morning—even past my bedtime,
let alone my host parents'! Ben was invited to stay the night, since
alcohol was involved in the evening's menu, as well as the fact that
his BMW, which dons the steering wheel on the right
side (like all British cars, but it sure felt weird being the
passenger on the left during our trip to Tours!), would be much safer
locked in Jean's clos,
or walled-in backyard, versus on the street where Ben usually parks
it in front of his apartment. Jean explained that, on New Year's
Eve, the “national sport” in France was vandalism to cars, and
that Ben's nice car would also equal to be a nice target. With his
BMW safely tucked away, we thoroughly enjoyed each others' company
over wine from Jean's wine room, rare duck prepared by Marie-Anne,
and intense conversation over business (Ben is a licensed independent
consultant), and -gasp!-politics and religion, which are welcomed,
not taboo, subjects of discussion in France.
My
last five days before my departure consisted of packing, sorting,
repacking, resorting, and re-re-sorting all of my belongings,
weighing my luggage each time on my host parents' bathroom scale. A
word of warning to all people planning to travel: pack for the
journey light, and choose wisely what to bring back! Almost all
students, once classes are over and the journey home is drawing near,
forget about all the souvenirs, clothes, makeup, hair products,
accessories, or any other goodies that they acquire, both for
themselves as well as for others, while traveling abroad. It is VERY
important to plan this wisely, especially if you don't plan on paying
extra for overweight/additional luggage at the Airport, which is the
reason why poor Jen almost missed her flight home, waiting in line to
pay her luggage tax for over an hour before she was allowed to go
through security.
As
for myself, I kept this in mind, refraining from buying too many
extra clothes and accessories in Angers, which usually ended up being
more expensive anyway since they were in Euros. Also, it is helpful
to keep others in mind during your sorting-out process. My
plasticware, extra clothes, and much of my food was given away to my
classmates who were sticking around, saving them money and saving me
the grief of feeling like I wasted money by simply throwing stuff
away. Angers also has collection boxes for their equivalent of
Goodwill, called Apivet, which I threw several clothes in for
donations before leaving. When everything was said and done, my life fit right back into my two wheeled suitcases and my backpack, but the memories were immeasurable.
That's four months of my life, right there. |
Also,
keep in mind that whatever you bring back, you have to claim at
customs—the less you bring back, the less you have to remember to
write down! But there was one thing I brought back that was well
worth the extra clothes I kept to keep it well-padded: a bottle of
rose given to me by my host parents, instructed to only be cracked
open during a special occasion. They also fixed me a very special meal as my "Last Dinner" with them--a fish called, in French, Lotte, but known in English as an Anglerfish. Jean was very excited to be fixing this for me, taking me with him to the market to pick it out in hopes of finding one "with the head still on it" so I could see what it looked like. We didn't find one with the head on it, but I did find it online. You might actually know what this fish looks like, it's very, well, unique. Or in my humble opinion, freakin' scary! Are you ready to see what it looks like, this AWESOMELY DELICIOUS fish that I ate?!?!
Wait for it...
Wait for it...
http://ugly-animals.blogspot.com/2011/08/angler-fish.html |
BAH-BAM! Yep, my parents didn't believe me either. "YOU ATE WHAT?!?! That fish off of Finding Nemo???? NO WAYY!!!!! EWWWW!!!!!"
But it. Was. Awesome. The best-tasting fish dinner I have ever had.
This epic dinner was also served with an escargot starter...
...along with plenty of nice wine, cheeses, and, as incredulous as my host parents consider my love of, BEETS! French beets are nothing like American, served-in-a-can-full-of-corn-syrup beets, no, no! French beets are fresh from the garden, and taste like veggie candy. I don't think my host parents will ever forget just how many times a week they would open the refrigerator door and see a whole box filled with fresh beets, along with my own huge jar of cornichons, or vinegar-y French pickles. YUM!!!
As a thank-you gift to them, I also
gave them a present—a bottle of all-American Tennessee Jack
Daniel's whiskey. My boyfriend, Gene, lives in Tennessee, and since
I am also just a few hours by car to it's distillery, I felt that it
was a fitting present to my host parents by their “American
student”.
Day
Zero—Mon Retour
January
Fifth came sooner than I expected. Rising up at the crack of the day
(it wasn't even dawn yet), my host family came with me to the Angers
Train Station. I still can't think of it without tears in my eyes.
There simply weren't enough hugs, enough waves through the train's
windows, enough tears between us to describe how wonderful my time in
Angers was, my time spent with friends, my host family, and even
alone among it's roads and historical statues and buildings. I
wasn't ready to go. I kept waving to my host parents, kept crying,
and kept thinking that, no matter what, my time in Angers wasn't long
enough. But on the other hand, just my experience there, with so
many wonderful people, was such a blessing, I would ever be grateful
for those four short months, those fleeting moments, those wonderful
memories. Angers would always be with me, and in turn, I would
always be there, too, even if just in spirit.