À Bruxelles

I’m in Europe! I’m writing this at a café in the Brussels airport. Unfortunately, I can’t get online, so I’ll post it later. By the time you’re reading this, I will have figured out the online payment system (6 Euro for 30 minutes) and posted it! Crazy. So my flight went well: I watched The Birdcage during the sub-par dinner and listened to The Princess and the Frog as I fell into a melantonin-induced sleep. I woke up a few times but it was okay. My seatmate was awesome—she lives outside of Brussels, and was coming home after six months studying in Texas. She was really helpful when it wasn’t clear which terminal I needed to go to after immigration.

The biggest thing I’ve noticed about the Brussels airport (besides the fake potted trees) is that most of the signs and advertisements are still in English, or at least reserve the biggest font for English. I guess it’s the international language of business, but it seems strange for a country that already has two languages of its own to deal with. However, so far my French has had great success. I have said “Bonjour, un pain au chocolat et un café s’il vous plaît,” correctly paid with euros and then said “Merci.” Look at how international I am! Also. Delicious. (Not me.) For the uninitiated, pain au chocolat is a croissant with two thin bars of chocolate baked inside. It is the best ever. I have also correctly recognized a French pop song playing in this café—Ella Elle l’a, a ballad about the iconic Ella Fitzgerald, sung by the similarly iconic France Gall. It was one of the first French songs I ever heard, courtesy of Brother.

Even though they’re serving me delicious breakfast food and playing 60’s French pop music, I don’t think I’ve fully recognized that I’m in Europe for the next six weeks.

FAN GIRL MOMENT: they just started playing Dernier Danse par Kyo. So good!!! Beloved classic of high school French students everywhere.

Okay, back to reflection time. I speak French—I’m really good at French. But part of me is so nervous that when I’m hearing it all the time and expected to speak it all the time, I’ll clam up. (Or I’ll say “euh…” way too often for anyone to want to hang out with me.) For the past… 24 hours? Does anybody really know what time it is? (by Chicago.) Anyway, random phrases keep popping into my head, either French ones I should remember or English ones I can’t figure out how to translate. I even converted miles to kilometers on my phone in Newark so I could say J’habite quarante kilomètres de New-York. I know once I’m immersed it will all come so much more naturally, but part of me is still worried. I’m too pretty to be an Ugly American.