This blog hasn't been an enormous, bulging catalog of every great experience I've had in France. I simply haven't been updating very often. However, I can now rest calmly knowing that, looking back on this blog, I'll have this meaningful moment, captured as it was. The following post is here to tell you, future self, that your exchange in Provence really made you happy. This post can't tell you exactly when you played that soccer match in Val-en-Sol, but it can reassure you that you had a good time doing it.
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I just got back from an afternoon in Forcalquier. Which means that I wasn't in Forcalquier before the afternoon, and am currently not there either. Which means that yes, I have switched host families. My second host family, les Parents, live in the countryside just outside of Forcalquier. Staying here (it's currently my 13th day!) has been great: les Parents are really nice, they have a dog and cats, and I'm lucky enough to have a piano in my room now. However, living outside of town means that I depend on my host parents for rides, limiting my independance. Or I can choose to take the bike. This afternoon, I tried out the second option.
Direction Forcalquier: Uphill. It wasn't a grueling test that pushed my body to its last breath, and it really only took 20 minutes, but it was nonetheless significantly less pleasant than the 7 minutes it would take me to walk to the center of town from my last house. It was nonetheless something that I had to push through, and will have to push through again the next time I bike to Forcalquier.
Direction Chez Moi: Happy. I didn't just go downhill, I happily went downhill. And not because I simply wasn't working as hard. But because I felt good about life. I was mostly alone for ten minutes, save for the occasional strolling Frenchman, rolling with the countryside, the sun lingering, giving a few more moments of yellow, energetic light before its typical orange descent. I had just had a pleasant afternoon with friends, where we goofed around, ate junk food, and played music, and I had Jeff Buckley stuck in my head. Feeling courageous, I sang out a little louder than one would venture with houses to their left and right. Then louder, and louder. I wanted to sing at the top of my voice, because moments like that don't come everyday. So I did. It was just a moment of pure happiness. I may have paused while passing a pedestrian, but I didn't feel bad about having sung. In those moments, I was aware of how cheesy I was acting, riding through the sunlit countryside, singing. But I didn't dwell on it, like I have before. I just let it go. I was just happy being there.
And that's not to say that life was perfect in that moment, that life is easy. That I don't miss my family and friends back home, and my mom. That I don't crave Mexican food, American sports, and the feeling of being at home. That I haven't had my share of battles in life. That I hadn't, a few hours earlier, been on that same road, struggling uphill in the cold, planning to never bike to Forcalquier again. Those things could have held me back from enjoying that moment. But I was in the frame of mind to let them go.
And that, I think, is the ultimate thing that a youth exchange can give you. It raises a big hill in front of you, sometimes figuratively, other times literally, and says, "Climb. It's gonna be the best year of your life." So you climb. And at times, the climb sucks. But if you buy into it, if you let yourself learn from your year, if you, well, climb even though it sucks, you reap the benefits. For me, it was a gorgeous, happy moment, that only Provence could have produced. But the climb happens anywhere. The transformation a youth exchange offers occurs within you, it gives you a certain frame of mind that, in my opinion, is the most important thing in the world: Openness. (The movie A Room With a View calls it the "Eternal Yes"). If you're not open to life, you feel held back. No matter your surroundings, your external situation, what you feel is governed by how open you are to the moment. And a youth exchange shows you that first hand by placing you in those different surroundings so you can see the strength of this openness in action.
The Jeff Buckley song I had been singing with my friends, and later singing alone in the countryside, was his version of Hallelujah. Stuck in my head were the lyrics, "I heard there was a secret chord that David played, and it pleased the Lord, but you don't really care for music, do you?" That chord David found, it sounds really good, from a religious standpoint or not. But you have to care for music to hear it. A youth exchange teaches you how.
À la prochaine,
Chris
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Saturday, January 7, 2012
I'm Dreaming of a...Cold Christmas?
Well, maybe dreaming isn't the right word for it. More like, "I'm noticing that this is not a White Christmas, nor ever a Cold Christmas, seeing as I'm wearing flip-flops and eating the lunchtime Christmas Eve appetizers on the porch."
That's pretty much how all of Christmas went this year: I was still enjoying good food with my (host) family, and the Christmas spirit was still there, but it was just different. While everything this year has been different, you notice it most when the more "special" things change. If I eat duck at school instead of tacos, I accept it as part of a different culture (honestly, though, each country should have both!!). But when something changes with a Holiday tradition, you feel it a little more. I was aching for Christmas carols and endless Christmas specials on TV.
Getting past all of that, however, Christmas was really nice. My host family took me with them to see their family (my host dad's parents, his sister, and her husband and three kids) in the South-West, about an hour North of the Pyrenées, and an hour East of the Atlantic. The week, I spent there, then, was marked by a trip to the Pyrenées for skiing (or, for me, falling), a trip to the Atlantic city of Biarritz, relaxing with board games and, of course, eating. A whole lot of eating that saw the likes of black truffles, chocolate truffles, duck, smoked salmon, oysters, yellow kiwis, leek tarts, and a chapon (the traditional Christmas roasted chicken), but what really took the cake was certainly the fig foie gras. As unappetizing as fowl liver made into a paste sounds, the taste makes up for it.
Christmas morning brought the same smiles here in France that it did back home. My host parents' 10 year old niece insisted that we scatter the presents around the room, adding a little search to make each unwrapping a little more worth it. And after each and every present, the giver and the getter shared what the French share best: two bisous, a kiss for each cheek.
All and all, I'm happy and grateful that I was able to enjoy a Christmas with so much warmth, not only in the weather, but also in the people I spent it with.
Happy New Year and à la prochaine!
Happy New Year and à la prochaine!
Chris
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
"Trop Cool" -- Too Cool For School
Well. This is awkward. When I said I would write that second blog post about my high school (Lycée Félix Esclangon), I honestly did intend to write it soon after, maybe two, three days. So here I am, with my tail between my legs, saying I goofed (again) on the whole being-a-responsible-blogger-and-updating thing. Fortunately, new resolutions are easy to make, and this post marks the beginning of a new era of being-a-responsible-blogger-and-updating.
Now, back to the good stuff! The Rotary Youth Exchange Program places all students in a high school, so that (most of the time) they are surrounded by other students, supervised, and making progress in learning their new language. In addition, for those students who are willing to put in the work, it can mean being able to transfer credits and not have to graduate a year late. And, of course, if for whatever reason you need to graduate a year late (i.e. your American school refuses to accept the credits, or you just don't want to stress over homework), you do what you can, and profit from your year in other ways. Because, needless to say, school these days is way more than just academic learning: Apart from the weekend, you spend the majority of your days au lycée, and accordingly a huge chunk of your cultural learning takes place there.
What better way to give a quick glimpse of life at Esclangon than with a Pros and Cons list!
Pros:
1) Classes: This is probably the best place to start, because it deals with the structure of the school itself. In French high schools "classe" does not refer to a course, as it can in English. For example, in the sentence, "My Music class has no structure; my teacher just plays it by ear (he he, get it?). Instead, "classe" refers to the same group of students that you go to your core courses. So, whereas in the States you might be with a completely different group of people depending on the period, in France you can stick with your friends all day long. While this could be seen as a Con (maybe you don't get to see friends who are in other classes), it really helps exchange students: Once the ice is broken and you've made a couple of friends in your class, you can rest assured that you'll have some support throughout the day, and throughout the week.
2) Food: After five years of not having a cafeteria, it was definitely a change to start buying lunch at school again. But what a worthwhile change it was. Again, I don't have an American high school experience to compare it to, but I can say that the meals served in the cantine are filling, well-balanced, and so, so tasty. After a long wait in the lunch-line, anticipation runs high when you cover your tray with entrées like cucumber salad and tabbouleh, cheese, deserts, plats like ratatouille with rabbit and couscous, and of course all-you-can-eat slices of baguette. And, if you decide not to eat at school one day, you can head out into Manosque (the centre-ville is two minutes away from school) and buy a sandwich, pizza, or kebab at one of the many stands throughout town.
3) Schedules: In the States, my schedule was more or less the same everyday: a course was assigned a period, and it would meet every day at the same time. In France schedules are closer to college schedules, where each day is broken up into periods, but classes don't meet each day, and rarely meet at the same time on different days. This helps break up the monotony of a school week. You wind up looking forward to certain days more than others, rather than ruing a specific class every day of the week. In addition, schedules in France get two big thumbs up for incorporating récréations, 15 minute breaks at 10 and 4. While a huge number of students and teachers rush outside to smoke, others, like me, just relax, maybe buy a soda, and hang out with friends. Lastly, I can't forget to mention the hour for lunch. That's pretty nice, too.
Cons:
1) Le Bac: Here it comes, the big, the bad, le Baccalauréat. For students in France, "passing" high school does not mean accumulating enough credits by passing individual classes. Instead, in the second semester of their final year, they take exams in each individual subject that include material from the last two or three years (except the occasional subject, like French Litterature, which they take at the end of their Premier (Junior year)). Each student piles all the information they learn into insanely organized notes, and (supposedly) reviews old information at the same time as the course progresses. For two or three years. I can definitely see the pedagogical upside of being forced to not forget what you learn in class, but, frankly, I think they work really, really, hard here.
2) Strictness: I won't pretend to be in the strictest situation as an exchange student (I have a friend in Marseille who's Biology teacher kicks students out for not saying "Bonjour" as they walk in...), but I've definitely noticed the heightened level of formality at Esclangon. First and foremost, French has a formal equivalent of you, the vous form (kind of like a "you sir" or "you ma'am" instead of a simple "you"). I'm still struggling to adjust to refering to my friends as tu in class, and then asking a question using vous to show respect to the teacher. On a lighter but still bothersome note, I wrote what I thought was a really super introduction to a presentation, in which I described our group's project as trop cool (very cool). To my dismay, I was told that it was too familiar, and was forced to remove it. Sigh...
So there you have it! With the amount of time teenagers spend in school (Tuesdays I arrive at 8 and leave at 6...), it's essential that we enjoy the school we're in. Lucky for me I have Esclangon!
À la prochaine!
Chris
Now, back to the good stuff! The Rotary Youth Exchange Program places all students in a high school, so that (most of the time) they are surrounded by other students, supervised, and making progress in learning their new language. In addition, for those students who are willing to put in the work, it can mean being able to transfer credits and not have to graduate a year late. And, of course, if for whatever reason you need to graduate a year late (i.e. your American school refuses to accept the credits, or you just don't want to stress over homework), you do what you can, and profit from your year in other ways. Because, needless to say, school these days is way more than just academic learning: Apart from the weekend, you spend the majority of your days au lycée, and accordingly a huge chunk of your cultural learning takes place there.
What better way to give a quick glimpse of life at Esclangon than with a Pros and Cons list!
Pros:
1) Classes: This is probably the best place to start, because it deals with the structure of the school itself. In French high schools "classe" does not refer to a course, as it can in English. For example, in the sentence, "My Music class has no structure; my teacher just plays it by ear (he he, get it?). Instead, "classe" refers to the same group of students that you go to your core courses. So, whereas in the States you might be with a completely different group of people depending on the period, in France you can stick with your friends all day long. While this could be seen as a Con (maybe you don't get to see friends who are in other classes), it really helps exchange students: Once the ice is broken and you've made a couple of friends in your class, you can rest assured that you'll have some support throughout the day, and throughout the week.
2) Food: After five years of not having a cafeteria, it was definitely a change to start buying lunch at school again. But what a worthwhile change it was. Again, I don't have an American high school experience to compare it to, but I can say that the meals served in the cantine are filling, well-balanced, and so, so tasty. After a long wait in the lunch-line, anticipation runs high when you cover your tray with entrées like cucumber salad and tabbouleh, cheese, deserts, plats like ratatouille with rabbit and couscous, and of course all-you-can-eat slices of baguette. And, if you decide not to eat at school one day, you can head out into Manosque (the centre-ville is two minutes away from school) and buy a sandwich, pizza, or kebab at one of the many stands throughout town.
3) Schedules: In the States, my schedule was more or less the same everyday: a course was assigned a period, and it would meet every day at the same time. In France schedules are closer to college schedules, where each day is broken up into periods, but classes don't meet each day, and rarely meet at the same time on different days. This helps break up the monotony of a school week. You wind up looking forward to certain days more than others, rather than ruing a specific class every day of the week. In addition, schedules in France get two big thumbs up for incorporating récréations, 15 minute breaks at 10 and 4. While a huge number of students and teachers rush outside to smoke, others, like me, just relax, maybe buy a soda, and hang out with friends. Lastly, I can't forget to mention the hour for lunch. That's pretty nice, too.
Cons:
1) Le Bac: Here it comes, the big, the bad, le Baccalauréat. For students in France, "passing" high school does not mean accumulating enough credits by passing individual classes. Instead, in the second semester of their final year, they take exams in each individual subject that include material from the last two or three years (except the occasional subject, like French Litterature, which they take at the end of their Premier (Junior year)). Each student piles all the information they learn into insanely organized notes, and (supposedly) reviews old information at the same time as the course progresses. For two or three years. I can definitely see the pedagogical upside of being forced to not forget what you learn in class, but, frankly, I think they work really, really, hard here.
2) Strictness: I won't pretend to be in the strictest situation as an exchange student (I have a friend in Marseille who's Biology teacher kicks students out for not saying "Bonjour" as they walk in...), but I've definitely noticed the heightened level of formality at Esclangon. First and foremost, French has a formal equivalent of you, the vous form (kind of like a "you sir" or "you ma'am" instead of a simple "you"). I'm still struggling to adjust to refering to my friends as tu in class, and then asking a question using vous to show respect to the teacher. On a lighter but still bothersome note, I wrote what I thought was a really super introduction to a presentation, in which I described our group's project as trop cool (very cool). To my dismay, I was told that it was too familiar, and was forced to remove it. Sigh...
So there you have it! With the amount of time teenagers spend in school (Tuesdays I arrive at 8 and leave at 6...), it's essential that we enjoy the school we're in. Lucky for me I have Esclangon!
À la prochaine!
Chris
Sunday, September 18, 2011
One word: Raclette.
Hello all! My apologies for not posting for quite some time. Things have been getting busy here in Provence, and the inevitable school-year fatigue is rearing it's sleep-depriving head. All the same, I couldn't be more pleased with the way the school year has started. And that's why I'm going to reserve a whole other blog post for mon lycée, Félix Esclangon. More importantly, I can't have too much information in this blog taking the spotlight from la raclette. But we'll get there soon enough.
Last weekend, Rotary District 1760 organised a trip for its exchange students. All I knew was that I needed to pack a swimsuit, and by late Friday night I would be somewhere high above the world in Les Hautes Alpes. When the train first rolled up to the station, Colleen, who lives about 10 minutes from me, and I were greeted by our district's Youth Exchange Officer Mme Arlette Librini. She took us to our seats, we met the other exchange students, and the trip to Briançon, "la plus haute ville en Europe" commenced. We students had plenty of time to get to know each other, between the hour long train ride, the 2 hours spent in a bus, and the final 20 minutes when all 8 of us squeezed into a van driven by a 9th passenger, Theo, the President of Briançon's Rotary club. Finally we arrived at the town's youth hostel, we spilled out of the van, and settled in for the night.
This trip, it turns out, involved a lot of English. Of the 7 exchange students, 5 are American, one is Canadian, and Akiho, who is Japanese, told us early on that her English is better than her French. Mme Librini speaks a little bit of English too, and to top it off, Theo was from the English Channel island Jersey (no, he didn't fist pump, not even once, the entire weekend =D). As such he, his wife, and his two children are completely bilingual. So, yeah, we spoke some English that weekend.
Anyway, the next morning, after breakfast, Mme Librini filled us in on what the weekend had in store for us. And, oh, did the weekend have things in store. Saturday would continue with a visit to the thermal baths, white water rafting, and finally (dum, da da dum!) RACLETTE FOR DINNER. Then, Sunday would bring a morning of parkour at l'Aventure Parc, a final meal in Briançon, and the trip home. I guess the best way to progress is just to steamroll through this incredible weekend one activity at a time (titles are links for further exploration!):
2000 years ago, the Romans were chatting about the snow level that year, or maybe the eminent control they would hold over the entire Mediterranean. Who knows, right? One week ago, Samantha, a fellow exchange student from Arizona, and I were discussing just how much the female life guard was flirting with her male counterpart. The kicker? These two conversations took place in the same baths. Well, more like in water that came from the same springs. But, hey, still pretty cool. The spa we went to played up this Roman connection, naming the cold room the Frigidarium, the hotter room the Caldarium, and so on. Despite being forced to buy a Speedo (their crazy rules prohibited swim trunks and the Speedo-like boxers I brought...), Les Grands Bains were incredible. I completely understand why the Romans made public baths like that such an integral part of society, and I would go back in a heartbeat.
Briançon is the site of a few tributaries that combine to form one of the bigger rivers of Les Hautes Alpes and Provence, la Durance. About 7 km upstream from Briançon, we geared up with our wetsuits and paddles, and pushed out onto La Guisane (the western tributary). The purpose of the activity, in fact the whole weekend, was to build a sense of community among the exchange students. Rafting definitely does the job. What better way for new friends to break the ice than being wedged together at the bottom of a tiny raft, each taking away the other's space for the common goal of not falling into the freezing, possibly dangerous rapids? Maybe twister, or that game where you have to guess the celebrity's name written on your forehead. Regardless, it's in the top three. And, of course, the rafting itself was incredible, even though I may have fallen in once. But ONLY once.
Finally. The moment has arrived. The moment where I can rave on, and on, and on about raclette. As soon as I heard we would be having raclette for dinner Saturday night I gasped, my jaw completely dropped, and my eyes practically popped out of head. I had eaten raclette once before. It was long enough ago that I didn't completely remember the meal. All I remembered was a big cheese wheel, and globs of gooey cheese. Believe me, that food memory is enough to make someone drool themselves a swimming pool. (I apologize for the image, but it's completely necessary.) The verb "racler" means to scrape. Raclette, therefore, is a dish that involves melting cheese slices on small trays by means of a shared grill, and then scraping the cheese onto potatoes, ham or saucisson, and cornichons (mini pickles). It's basically, in my opinion, the ultimate comfort food. There's the heartiness of the potatoes and, of course, the bread. There's the saltiness of the cornichons and the savoriness of the meats. And, most importantly, there's the smooth, warm, gooey rich cheese smothering everything. It's like eating a cozy evening curled up beside the fireplace. And the evening was exactly that! Warm and cozy. There's no room for homesickness, for loneliness, for fatigue, for problems with food like that.
Parkour is basically one giant playground. It takes you right back to those days when you would jump from couch to couch, pretending the floor was lava. Except with parkour if you actually fell you would probably seriously hurt yourself (don't worry, we had harnesses!). Needless to say, the 6-year old in me was excited to be climbing things once again. L'Aventure Parc, where we went, was the world's first parkour park. Its creator apparently did similar sorts of extreme activities in the military, and enjoyed it so much that he built a whole park upon his return home. Soonthereafter, it spread outside of the Alpes, to the rest of the world!
Donning super spiffy jumpsuits, we headed off to the course, and took on every obstacle, from ziplines, to firemen poles, and even tarzan swings. There was even a "sensation course", which required you to remove your harness and trust only netting beneath you to catch you when you fall. We all had a blast, and made good friends with our instructor, Stefan!
Once we had said goodbye to Stefan and our jumpsuits we headed to a restaurant in Briançon for a very french meal: steak-frites, salade verte, quiche, and flan for desert. A wonderful way to end the weekend. Thoroughly exhausted, and with our bellies full, we headed off to begin our trek home. Promptly, we all fell asleep to the rolling lull of the bus.
All in all, it was nothing short of a fantastic weekend!
À la prochaine!
Chris
Last weekend, Rotary District 1760 organised a trip for its exchange students. All I knew was that I needed to pack a swimsuit, and by late Friday night I would be somewhere high above the world in Les Hautes Alpes. When the train first rolled up to the station, Colleen, who lives about 10 minutes from me, and I were greeted by our district's Youth Exchange Officer Mme Arlette Librini. She took us to our seats, we met the other exchange students, and the trip to Briançon, "la plus haute ville en Europe" commenced. We students had plenty of time to get to know each other, between the hour long train ride, the 2 hours spent in a bus, and the final 20 minutes when all 8 of us squeezed into a van driven by a 9th passenger, Theo, the President of Briançon's Rotary club. Finally we arrived at the town's youth hostel, we spilled out of the van, and settled in for the night.
This trip, it turns out, involved a lot of English. Of the 7 exchange students, 5 are American, one is Canadian, and Akiho, who is Japanese, told us early on that her English is better than her French. Mme Librini speaks a little bit of English too, and to top it off, Theo was from the English Channel island Jersey (no, he didn't fist pump, not even once, the entire weekend =D). As such he, his wife, and his two children are completely bilingual. So, yeah, we spoke some English that weekend.
Anyway, the next morning, after breakfast, Mme Librini filled us in on what the weekend had in store for us. And, oh, did the weekend have things in store. Saturday would continue with a visit to the thermal baths, white water rafting, and finally (dum, da da dum!) RACLETTE FOR DINNER. Then, Sunday would bring a morning of parkour at l'Aventure Parc, a final meal in Briançon, and the trip home. I guess the best way to progress is just to steamroll through this incredible weekend one activity at a time (titles are links for further exploration!):
2000 years ago, the Romans were chatting about the snow level that year, or maybe the eminent control they would hold over the entire Mediterranean. Who knows, right? One week ago, Samantha, a fellow exchange student from Arizona, and I were discussing just how much the female life guard was flirting with her male counterpart. The kicker? These two conversations took place in the same baths. Well, more like in water that came from the same springs. But, hey, still pretty cool. The spa we went to played up this Roman connection, naming the cold room the Frigidarium, the hotter room the Caldarium, and so on. Despite being forced to buy a Speedo (their crazy rules prohibited swim trunks and the Speedo-like boxers I brought...), Les Grands Bains were incredible. I completely understand why the Romans made public baths like that such an integral part of society, and I would go back in a heartbeat.
Briançon is the site of a few tributaries that combine to form one of the bigger rivers of Les Hautes Alpes and Provence, la Durance. About 7 km upstream from Briançon, we geared up with our wetsuits and paddles, and pushed out onto La Guisane (the western tributary). The purpose of the activity, in fact the whole weekend, was to build a sense of community among the exchange students. Rafting definitely does the job. What better way for new friends to break the ice than being wedged together at the bottom of a tiny raft, each taking away the other's space for the common goal of not falling into the freezing, possibly dangerous rapids? Maybe twister, or that game where you have to guess the celebrity's name written on your forehead. Regardless, it's in the top three. And, of course, the rafting itself was incredible, even though I may have fallen in once. But ONLY once.
Finally. The moment has arrived. The moment where I can rave on, and on, and on about raclette. As soon as I heard we would be having raclette for dinner Saturday night I gasped, my jaw completely dropped, and my eyes practically popped out of head. I had eaten raclette once before. It was long enough ago that I didn't completely remember the meal. All I remembered was a big cheese wheel, and globs of gooey cheese. Believe me, that food memory is enough to make someone drool themselves a swimming pool. (I apologize for the image, but it's completely necessary.) The verb "racler" means to scrape. Raclette, therefore, is a dish that involves melting cheese slices on small trays by means of a shared grill, and then scraping the cheese onto potatoes, ham or saucisson, and cornichons (mini pickles). It's basically, in my opinion, the ultimate comfort food. There's the heartiness of the potatoes and, of course, the bread. There's the saltiness of the cornichons and the savoriness of the meats. And, most importantly, there's the smooth, warm, gooey rich cheese smothering everything. It's like eating a cozy evening curled up beside the fireplace. And the evening was exactly that! Warm and cozy. There's no room for homesickness, for loneliness, for fatigue, for problems with food like that.
Parkour is basically one giant playground. It takes you right back to those days when you would jump from couch to couch, pretending the floor was lava. Except with parkour if you actually fell you would probably seriously hurt yourself (don't worry, we had harnesses!). Needless to say, the 6-year old in me was excited to be climbing things once again. L'Aventure Parc, where we went, was the world's first parkour park. Its creator apparently did similar sorts of extreme activities in the military, and enjoyed it so much that he built a whole park upon his return home. Soonthereafter, it spread outside of the Alpes, to the rest of the world!
Donning super spiffy jumpsuits, we headed off to the course, and took on every obstacle, from ziplines, to firemen poles, and even tarzan swings. There was even a "sensation course", which required you to remove your harness and trust only netting beneath you to catch you when you fall. We all had a blast, and made good friends with our instructor, Stefan!
Once we had said goodbye to Stefan and our jumpsuits we headed to a restaurant in Briançon for a very french meal: steak-frites, salade verte, quiche, and flan for desert. A wonderful way to end the weekend. Thoroughly exhausted, and with our bellies full, we headed off to begin our trek home. Promptly, we all fell asleep to the rolling lull of the bus.
All in all, it was nothing short of a fantastic weekend!
À la prochaine!
Chris
Monday, August 29, 2011
First Impressions
Incredible. My first impressions are that Provence, the people I have met, and my entire exchange so far have been incredible. Now, where to start? Today, I begin my fifth full day in Forcalquier, and I already have stories itching to explode from my fingertips. Or maybe those are just leftover vibrations from mountain biking on Saturday.
But we'll get there later. Upon arriving in Marseille, I took the escalator down, and was immediately met by friendly faces and a "Welcome" sign. There to see me were my host family, the Groffes, an exchange student from Australia, and the Governeur of my new Rotary district with his wife. The Governeur introduced himself, gave me a pin for my blue blazer, and hurried off (he had been at the airport all day, meeting each kid who arrived that day). Pia, my host sister, Brit, who arrived from Australia in January, and I collected my suitcase, and we were off!
Driving home, I got a beautiful view of Provence. The topography here is stunning; as the van wound through the valleys between hills, all I could do was soak in the gentle rolling. As much as I love Champaign, there aren't any hills there. And Forcalquier! I don't know how it happened, but I think I was placed in the perfect size town. Sure, big cities have an intense energy, but the sheer beauty and calmness I've seen in Forcalquier, so endearing, is unmatched in my mind. My first morning in the town I took un petit tour à velo, and have some pictures that show-off Forcalquier a little:
And the people! Everyone has been extremely welcoming. My host family has gone above and beyond planning meals to introduce me to the community. The first meal, at our house, started my exchange off on the right foot. As derrières filled the chairs, food filled the stomachs, and voices, well, talked over each other, opportunities blossomed. Martha, a friend of my host family, comes to Forcalquier each summer, and teaches Pilates and Gyrotonics in Boston the rest of the year. Luckily for me, she was offering free classes for the community about 2 minutes from our house. The next evening, sure enough, my host parents and I were twisting and turning in figure 8's with the locals. Back at the party, I met my third host family. Aurèle, who will be my host brother, has a band that just so happens to be looking for a drummer. Oh, and did I forget to mention that Forcalquier has a soccer team? It's only five days in, and this year is already showing definite signs of being busy. In a good way, of course!
Alright, I guess it's time for the mountain biking story... Now, don't get your hopes up, it's not a thrilling tale of death-defying jumps while being chased by bears. But it does exemplify what I think to be the aim of taking a youth exchange. It all started with dinner at the home of Lorent and Bénédicte, friends of the Groffes and Brit's first family. Sitting to my left at dinner was their son, Antoine. At one point in the dinner, he excitedly asked me, "Tu veux faire du vélo avec moi?", which means "You want to go biking with me?". I interpreted that as "You want to go [road] biking with me?" when he meant "You want to go [mountain] biking with me?". The next day I found myself at the top of a mountain outside of Forcalquier, with nothing but a bike and a helmet to take me home. Antoine, one of his friends, and I started our descent, and within ten minutes I was soaring through the air -- without a bike beneath me. Yep, I fell. Three times by the end, with the scars to prove it. But after we got past the rocky (in more ways than one) start, I got the hang of it, and was happily speeding through the countryside.
After returning home for a quick shower, I headed off with Antoine, his family, and Brit for a jaunt to Aix-en-Provence, the nearby big city, for some shopping. Needless to say, I slept well that night.
And now, another week is beginning, surely with more incredible experiences waiting.
À la prochaine!
Chris
But we'll get there later. Upon arriving in Marseille, I took the escalator down, and was immediately met by friendly faces and a "Welcome" sign. There to see me were my host family, the Groffes, an exchange student from Australia, and the Governeur of my new Rotary district with his wife. The Governeur introduced himself, gave me a pin for my blue blazer, and hurried off (he had been at the airport all day, meeting each kid who arrived that day). Pia, my host sister, Brit, who arrived from Australia in January, and I collected my suitcase, and we were off!
Driving home, I got a beautiful view of Provence. The topography here is stunning; as the van wound through the valleys between hills, all I could do was soak in the gentle rolling. As much as I love Champaign, there aren't any hills there. And Forcalquier! I don't know how it happened, but I think I was placed in the perfect size town. Sure, big cities have an intense energy, but the sheer beauty and calmness I've seen in Forcalquier, so endearing, is unmatched in my mind. My first morning in the town I took un petit tour à velo, and have some pictures that show-off Forcalquier a little:
And the people! Everyone has been extremely welcoming. My host family has gone above and beyond planning meals to introduce me to the community. The first meal, at our house, started my exchange off on the right foot. As derrières filled the chairs, food filled the stomachs, and voices, well, talked over each other, opportunities blossomed. Martha, a friend of my host family, comes to Forcalquier each summer, and teaches Pilates and Gyrotonics in Boston the rest of the year. Luckily for me, she was offering free classes for the community about 2 minutes from our house. The next evening, sure enough, my host parents and I were twisting and turning in figure 8's with the locals. Back at the party, I met my third host family. Aurèle, who will be my host brother, has a band that just so happens to be looking for a drummer. Oh, and did I forget to mention that Forcalquier has a soccer team? It's only five days in, and this year is already showing definite signs of being busy. In a good way, of course!
Alright, I guess it's time for the mountain biking story... Now, don't get your hopes up, it's not a thrilling tale of death-defying jumps while being chased by bears. But it does exemplify what I think to be the aim of taking a youth exchange. It all started with dinner at the home of Lorent and Bénédicte, friends of the Groffes and Brit's first family. Sitting to my left at dinner was their son, Antoine. At one point in the dinner, he excitedly asked me, "Tu veux faire du vélo avec moi?", which means "You want to go biking with me?". I interpreted that as "You want to go [road] biking with me?" when he meant "You want to go [mountain] biking with me?". The next day I found myself at the top of a mountain outside of Forcalquier, with nothing but a bike and a helmet to take me home. Antoine, one of his friends, and I started our descent, and within ten minutes I was soaring through the air -- without a bike beneath me. Yep, I fell. Three times by the end, with the scars to prove it. But after we got past the rocky (in more ways than one) start, I got the hang of it, and was happily speeding through the countryside.
After returning home for a quick shower, I headed off with Antoine, his family, and Brit for a jaunt to Aix-en-Provence, the nearby big city, for some shopping. Needless to say, I slept well that night.
And now, another week is beginning, surely with more incredible experiences waiting.
À la prochaine!
Chris
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Bienvenue à...Seven-hour layover
A 17-year old posts on his blog at 8 in the morning, Illinois time??? That can only mean one thing: he's not in Illinois.
Right now, it's almost 3:00 PM in Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris, France. I've currently split off from the other exchange students to find a seat at my gate, readying myself for the last leg of my journey. 6 hours into my layover in the French capital, reflection reveals that a lot has happened in just 24 hours. I packed up my life, tossed it in a plane, and let seat 24E take me to the country that will be my home for ten months.
As nerve-wracking as that seems, the anxiety really melted away once the really hard stuff -- that's the goodbyes AND the security check, of course... -- had been completed. I met the other exchange students from the Midwest, boarded soonthereafter, and spent the 8-hour flight chuckling at Ed Helms in Cedar Rapids, sleeping, and enjoying the best hot chocolate in a long time (no Cran-Apple juice though...).
Once we arrived in Paris, we spent some time wandering around, confused. See, at our conference in Grand Rapids, we had been told, "once you arrive at either Terminal 1 or 2, check in with the welcome committee". Looking back, I wonder why none of us thought to ask for a little more detail. For example, I don't know, maybe, WHERE THIS "WELCOME COMMITTEE" WOULD BE. Unfortunately, we exchange students didn't ask that question, so we didn't see any welcoming committee. Which doesn't really matter, because we'll all get to our destinations anyway. And yet, you can't help but worry that four or five french Rotarians are sitting alone in a room with some Welcome balloons, more than a little miffed at a bunch of exchange students.
Long story short, we made our own party. Soon we were at our gates, I tasted the sweet nectar that is Orangina, and we played a couple hands of cards. Then, after a couple bouts of exploring the Terminal's shops, we met some other exchange students, from faraway, exotic places like Brazil, Argentina, and Connecticut.
So that's where I am! Chicago? Oh yeah. Paris? Check. Time to get to Marseille.
Chris
Right now, it's almost 3:00 PM in Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris, France. I've currently split off from the other exchange students to find a seat at my gate, readying myself for the last leg of my journey. 6 hours into my layover in the French capital, reflection reveals that a lot has happened in just 24 hours. I packed up my life, tossed it in a plane, and let seat 24E take me to the country that will be my home for ten months.
As nerve-wracking as that seems, the anxiety really melted away once the really hard stuff -- that's the goodbyes AND the security check, of course... -- had been completed. I met the other exchange students from the Midwest, boarded soonthereafter, and spent the 8-hour flight chuckling at Ed Helms in Cedar Rapids, sleeping, and enjoying the best hot chocolate in a long time (no Cran-Apple juice though...).
Once we arrived in Paris, we spent some time wandering around, confused. See, at our conference in Grand Rapids, we had been told, "once you arrive at either Terminal 1 or 2, check in with the welcome committee". Looking back, I wonder why none of us thought to ask for a little more detail. For example, I don't know, maybe, WHERE THIS "WELCOME COMMITTEE" WOULD BE. Unfortunately, we exchange students didn't ask that question, so we didn't see any welcoming committee. Which doesn't really matter, because we'll all get to our destinations anyway. And yet, you can't help but worry that four or five french Rotarians are sitting alone in a room with some Welcome balloons, more than a little miffed at a bunch of exchange students.
Long story short, we made our own party. Soon we were at our gates, I tasted the sweet nectar that is Orangina, and we played a couple hands of cards. Then, after a couple bouts of exploring the Terminal's shops, we met some other exchange students, from faraway, exotic places like Brazil, Argentina, and Connecticut.
So that's where I am! Chicago? Oh yeah. Paris? Check. Time to get to Marseille.
Chris
Monday, August 22, 2011
First Post Time!
Hey!!
It's my last evening in Champaign-Urbana, and THAT means I have some work to do. Packing, saying goodbyes, cleaning my room -- all crucial pieces of the whole leaving-for-a-year puzzle. But I couldn't possibly cut out the US of A cold turkey. And thus, this blog was born! Any and all English-speakers willing to read my ramblings will find these posts chock full of the best stories one exchangee can find in Forcalquier, France.
First, an explanation of the title. This is in fact my first year in Provence, a region located in the south-east of France. But I couldn't name my blog "A Year in Provence" because some "author" decided to write an autobiographical book of the same name, and make it well-known. Thanks a lot, Peter Mayle...
Also, a little about Rotary Youth Exchange:
Rotary is a huge organization, with clubs centered in all corners of the globe. Each club focuses on "Service above Self", and the same values are sent along with the exchange students they sponsor (one of many activities the clubs engage in). The application process starts the Fall of the year before you leave. You contact a Rotary representative in charge of Youth Exchange, have an interview, fill out a LONG (24 pages or something...) application, wait for an obscene amount of time, find out where you're going, emote accordingly, hang out with other rotary youth exchange participants (Inbounds are foreigners in the US, Outbounds are those leaving, like me), attend a Conference in Grand Rapids, Michigan in July, and finally depart at the beginning of your second Fall as a Rotary Youth Exchange Student.
Phew.
So that's where I am! Ready and raring to fly off to Paris, then Marseille, where I'll be picked up by my wonderful host family, the Groffes. In 24 hours, I'll be sipping some complementary beverage on my flight (three cheers for Cran-Apple!), hoping the guy next to me realizes his knee has been touching mine for 20 minutes, and looking forward to the good things to come.
Thanks for tagging along!!
Chris
It's my last evening in Champaign-Urbana, and THAT means I have some work to do. Packing, saying goodbyes, cleaning my room -- all crucial pieces of the whole leaving-for-a-year puzzle. But I couldn't possibly cut out the US of A cold turkey. And thus, this blog was born! Any and all English-speakers willing to read my ramblings will find these posts chock full of the best stories one exchangee can find in Forcalquier, France.
First, an explanation of the title. This is in fact my first year in Provence, a region located in the south-east of France. But I couldn't name my blog "A Year in Provence" because some "author" decided to write an autobiographical book of the same name, and make it well-known. Thanks a lot, Peter Mayle...
Also, a little about Rotary Youth Exchange:
Rotary is a huge organization, with clubs centered in all corners of the globe. Each club focuses on "Service above Self", and the same values are sent along with the exchange students they sponsor (one of many activities the clubs engage in). The application process starts the Fall of the year before you leave. You contact a Rotary representative in charge of Youth Exchange, have an interview, fill out a LONG (24 pages or something...) application, wait for an obscene amount of time, find out where you're going, emote accordingly, hang out with other rotary youth exchange participants (Inbounds are foreigners in the US, Outbounds are those leaving, like me), attend a Conference in Grand Rapids, Michigan in July, and finally depart at the beginning of your second Fall as a Rotary Youth Exchange Student.
Phew.
So that's where I am! Ready and raring to fly off to Paris, then Marseille, where I'll be picked up by my wonderful host family, the Groffes. In 24 hours, I'll be sipping some complementary beverage on my flight (three cheers for Cran-Apple!), hoping the guy next to me realizes his knee has been touching mine for 20 minutes, and looking forward to the good things to come.
Thanks for tagging along!!
Chris
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