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

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

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