Aix: Day 1

My blog titles are getting really creative. I did surprisingly little today: I slept through my alarm and then took another nap this afternoon. I'm not sure if it's jet lag or normal Katherine sleepiness. Either way. But the time I spent awake was well spent: Martine (my host mom) took me to the Institute (where all my classes will be) and around the rest of downtown for about an hour, and we went back to the Institute that afternoon for an open house. (I learned that 5 pm to 6:30 is considered afternoon.) I met a ton of people, and it felt a lot like rush week except the lights didn't flicker, nobody had chosen my outfit in advance and I did not already know half the people in the room. Oh and we weren't singing. There was, however, a running slideshow with everyone's name and picture. It was reassuring that everyone seemed normal and very friendly, but I'm looking forward to getting to know them in a more natural context.

One of Martine's friends, Jackie, is hosting two girls, so they all came over here for dinner tonight. It was delicious, and I enjoyed getting to know other people from the program. Conversation was difficult because they only know a little French, but I translated a lot and there were some hilarious moments. At one point, I asked Martine if she needed help, but I accidentally said d'assistance instead of d'aide, which is the more correct term. Jackie corrected me, "D'aide," which was fine except that then Elle thought someone had died ("dead") and hilarity ensued. Okay, written out that doesn't sound funny at all. Read the post below on bad jokes.

Tomorrow is orientation; I'm meeting two other girls who are staying next door to walk over at 9. It's about a 20-minute walk. Martine had me lead us back from the Institute so hopefully I know it well enough? Most other days I won't have to go anywhere until lunchtime, since my classes are straight from 1 to 5. But that means I'm going to get up and go exploring in the mornings, and smuggle baguette into class. This is the plan.

I'll take pictures tomorrow. Really.

Aix: Day 0

I made it! It's almost midnight here, which means it's almost 6 pm at home. The awesome thing about beng on military time is that midnight shows up as 0:00. Noon is 12:00. There's such a thing as zero o'clock!

Aix-en-Provence is absolutely beautiful and wonderful, even though it still doesn't feel real that I'm here. The rest of my time in Brussels was fine: I got to use my French to procure these delicacies.

It's okay to be jealous. I also got yogurt and a croissant, which was awesome because the yogurt came in a little glass jar and it was so cute! My camera was in the bottom of my carry-on, so I didn't take a picture, but I'm sure you can imagine. Adorable. And I read a lot of Pride & Prejudice (I need some English, okay?) before my flight to Marseille, which I remember primarily as a two-hour nap.

I woke up as we were circling over Marseille to land, and got my first look at the Mediterranean! I was caught up in how beautiful it was and how the color of the water changed closer to the horizon when the plane turned and I saw the Alps and literally my heart jumped. Even though the administrative region is called Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur, living in America and going to visit someone in Florida made me think that the beach and the mountains are mutually exclusive. They are not. I hadn't realized I was going to have so many mountains, and they're so beautiful. There are all these little tan-colored houses with red roofs hiding up and down the mountainside. The effect is much rockier than the Blue Ridge Mountains, and the greens have more yellow and olive in them. I'll take pictures tomorrow.

Two people from IAU met me at the airport and called my host mother, Martine, to pick me up. While I was waiting I got to know Marguerite, who is a 'non-traditional' student in the program. She's in my archaeology class and very friendly. I also learned that my anticipated housemate cancelled for undisclosed reasons, so it is just me here. But that's okay. Martine is a little older than my parents, and has twin twenty year-olds, a boy and a girl. She also has a twenty-seven year-old daughter who lives in Paris. Her son lives at home, so I met him and his girlfriend and they're very nice, and the younger daughter is in an internship but is usually around on the weekends.

My room--view from the door

Martine took me to a barbecue (that's even what she called it) at a friend's house, to which I agreed because I was more hungry than nervous. It ended up being really great though: there were maybe twelve people (and as many bottles of vin; I had some very nice rosé). They were grilling merguez, a kind of Arabic sausage; I also had a couscous salad, a kind of ratatouille-esque casserole with lots of tomates, and a lot of baguette. I counted three baguettes, nine wine bottles and ten packs of cigarettes on the table at one point. (I hate smoking, but we were outside and only a couple of people were smoking at a given time so it was okay.) Most importantly, everyone was really friendly. They asked me where I was from, they tried to talk to me in English (which was funny) and they kept trying to give me more food. At one point a salsa song came on and two of the couples got up to dance, while everyone else watched, which was nice and seemed very European to me. After ice cream for dessert, I was really too tired so Martine took me home and showed me around her house.

View from the bed (door is to the left)

I unpacked, Skyped with Andrew and took another two-hour nap, when Martine woke me up for dinner. We had bruschetta, salad and more merguez. Dessert was fresh apricots from her garden--yum! After dinner, we watched the Sex and the City movie with French dubbing (so cross-cultural) and I facebook chatted with my mom.

My biggest challenge so far might be the shower. I even took a picture:

I know that this kind of setup is common in France, but I’m not entirely sure how I’m supposed to wash my hair with one hand while the other holds the faucet over my head, without soaking the entire bathroom since there are no curtains, and while staying warm because I am just sitting in an empty bathtub. I got clean, but I don’t know how I managed it.

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.

Aujourd'hui!

I'm going to France today! Right now I have "last time ever" syndrome: this is my last shower in America for six weeks; my last breakfast in America... My flight leaves at 6:15 pm and I've been trying to speak in French as much as possible to get ready. Last night I even had a delicious French meal with my family and the Winchesters (my other family): we ate poisson.

Yes.

So I guess there's nothing left to do except fill my 1-quart bag with liquids from my carry-on, finish charging my iPod and zip up my suitcases. France, j'arrive!

Bad Jokes

There's a line in the ABBA song "Thank You For The Music" that goes, "When I tell a joke, you've probably heard it before." They actually wrote that song from my perspective because, even though I love jokes a lot, I'm not very funny. One time, I told a friend ten jokes to make her feel better. And no pun in ten did.

However, wit and humor are really important in France. Assuming, of course, that French culture hasn't changed since the eighteenth century, having l'esprit (wit; also means "spirit" and a shoe brand) is an important marker of intelligence. For example, once Louis XVI asked a courtier to make a joke using the king as a subject--to which the man replied, "Le roi n'est pas un sujet." Oh how punny! (This was used in the movie Ridicule.) A pun, in French, is un calembour, and French literature is full of them. That's why translations always have so many footnootes: to explain the puns.

My favorite novel, Notre-Dame de Paris by Victor Hugo (not to be confused with this monstrosity, which I refuse to acknowledge), opens on the fête des rois, or Epiphany, which is the day before my birthday. In medieval Paris it was a carnival day much like Mardi Gras still is, and they would crown the Pope of Fools. Part of the sparring takes place with jeux de mots which are punny but also a little harsh. Victor Hugo comments: "A pun is immediately understood at Paris, and consequently is always applauded." So there you go.

What is the point of all of this? Some people mistakenly believe that puns are a form of cheap humor, like it's not hilarious that the Romans in Asterix are named things like Armisurplus and Crismus Bonus. (So good.) So it's totally intellectual that I am Aix-cited to go to France tomorrow.

Get it?

Also. Why do cows wear bells? Because their horns don't work.

Wedding and Westfield

I'm home in Westfield, New Jersey for another week before I head off on my France adventure. (Could I get the term Aix-enture to catch on? Yeah no.) Andrew was just up here from Florida, and we were in Fredericksburg right after graduation. While there, we met with Rev. Fisher, who is going to co-officiate the ceremony with my dad; we saw the country club all set up for someone else's wedding; we met with some photographers and some rehearsal dinner possibilities. Planning a wedding is hard, even though it's a year away, so you should validate it by stalking our wedding website. And then we spent a solid three days working on our still-not-done registries. It was draining. Using the scanner is fun, though!

Unfortunately, the heartbreak of falling in love with the perfect silver pattern only to find that it is discontinued (and yet they are still showing it to you in stores; how cruel) has been distracting me from packing and preparing for France. I don't think that watching the French Open while I typed addresses onto the guest list Google Doc really counts. Tomorrow I'm going to Newport, Rhode Island with my parents, since Daddy has a conference at the Naval War College. Oh how important. Meanwhile, Mommy and I will explore some of the mansions with the lovely Elizabeth Foltz. It should be glorious. I'll try to post pictures in preparation for my "real blogging" once I get to Aix.

Marble House, one of many gorgeous mansions in Newport. It was built for the Vanderbilts. If I were forced to live there, I guess that would be okay.

And a shoutout to the one and only Shiri Yadlin, who is back in America! Shiri spent this past semester studying in Jerusalem; her stories and experiences are incredible. I can't wait to hear all about it in person when we're both back at W&L in the fall. Elizabeth is back too--she was in London this year--but she stopped texting me back, so whatever.

About Me

No, I'm not in France yet. But I'm ecstatic that I have four followers and that two other people told me they read the first post, so I'm going to write anyway. People who have blogs seem to start by introducing themselves, as if they're writing to random strangers. I don't think I am, but my international fame will kick in soon enough, and then I will be. So hello, this is me!

I'm a 21 year-old college student who is not-so-secretly a princess. I am even engaged to Prince Charming, but you can call him Andrew. He's great. We met at Washington and Lee, a small fratty liberal arts college in the middle of the Blue Ridge Mountains. He graduated last year but I'm still here, majoring in French and European history. I just finished my minor in Poverty & Human Capability; I wrote my capstone paper on refugee policy in America, after interning with Refugee and Immigrant Services in Richmond last summer. Basically, being a refugee is hard so people should be extra-nice to them. My dream job is to be acting First Lady when my best friend Andy Budzinski becomes president.

I always knew that I would want to go to France at some point in college. I've been to Paris twice, for a week each time: with my grandmama, freshman year of high school, and with my class junior year. Both times I loved it and didn't want to leave. However, I fell so in love with W&L that I knew I couldn't pick any term to miss, so I opted for the summer. I chose IAU almost purely because my wonderful sorority sister Stephanie Dultz went on the Avignon program. But I'll be in Aix, which is pronounced like the letter X. Essentially all of my knowledge about it so far is from Wikipedia, but it seems absolutely amazing.

One of my favorite pictures from Paris junior year: in the Tuileries with my friend Lindsay.

I started taking French in eighth grade because my brother told me to. I love it a lot. It's fun to know another language, and to have different words for the same thing. But somehow it's always more beautiful and poetic in French. In high school, we'd try to find our favorite French words; some front-runners for me were noisette (hazelnut), flèche ('arrow,' and it has the accent that looks like an arrow coming down) and Sans toi les émotions d'aujourd'hui ne seraient que la peau morte des émotions d'autrefois. This last phrase is from Amélie; without you, the emotions of today would be nothing but the dead skin of the emotions of yesterday. It's pretty intense. As a final cadeau of glorious random Frenchness, I would like to share with you the brilliance of the Flight of the Conchords. When I was president of French Club, we did our own version, but the real thing is almost as good.