During dinner with Jean-Claude and Maryse,  they usually get swept in to the political stories aired on local news and forget all about anything else. This is totally fine by me, but I can’t usually understand much of what they are talking about because my French lessons didn’t cover political lingo.

Click to continue reading Fruit Art

I am no stranger to the long-distance relationship game. I was in a (ridiculous, joke of a) long-distance relationship for the better part of four years. I was young (too young,)  and stupid and told a boy some lies about who I was to impress him. What started out as innocent as that turned in to a rollercoaster ride for years where we played the long-distance game, repeatedly broke each others’ hearts, and finally moved on with our lives. We worked better apart, and that was the terrible truth.

About a year ago, after being without the long distance boy for quite a while, I met a nice boy who was almost exactly my polar opposite. Christian to my atheist, chocolate lover to my disdain for the stuff, death metal to my indie/folk. Needless to say I liked him instantly. The first six months were rough: he lost a job, got in to a car accident, ran out of money, wasn’t sure if he would finish school. Our relationship was so hot and cold because of all of the commotion, and there were times where I thought it wasn’t going to work. Neither one of us is one to quit, fortunately, and we got through it in one piece. You learn a lot about a person when you see how they handle life when terrible situations are placed upon them. I saw how he handled it : Not always well, not always so strong, but so incredibly persistent. And kind. Everyone is prone to losing their shit, but he kept it together the best he could and managed to continue being a good person. I loved that I was there to help him through it, that I saw what kind of man he really was, and that we still wanted to be together after that. The commotion started to pack up and move out. And then I left for a three-month trip to Europe.

Given our experience with crisis management and my lengthy experience with making long-distance work, I honestly thought that being this far away wouldn’t be so hard. Maybe that was naive of me. Maybe I just had a lot of faith that things were going to work out. Maybe I’m f-ing nuts.  We used to be so close, I used to see him all the time and hear about his day, and we used to pride ourselves on keeping things as balanced as possible so that one person doesn’t end up doing all of the work. All of the sudden, I feel like I’m in it alone. I know he’s just keeping busy so that he doesn’t feel bad, but I feel like I’m not in his life anymore. I’m an afterthought at the end of his day, when we talk for however long he can before he starts to pass out on the keyboard. I’m not even a consideration on the weekend anymore, when we’re lucky if we talk for an hour between Friday and Sunday. It makes me really sad that I’m not much of an inclusion anymore.  It’s the thing that, more than any other aspect, makes me feel a full 6,000 miles away from home.

Before I came to France, I did some research on French culture and took the time to read about half of a very wonderful book from a Canadian couple who came to France and lived here for two years while writing a book all about the French. I feel like I came here prepared to witness the differences between my culture and the French culture, and anything I wasn’t  sure about I could ask about or  just try to be as subtle as possible. This research was part of my quest to avoid being the dreaded, ugly American.

Click to continue reading The Ugly American

It’s a rainy, yucky day in Grasse today. The fog is so thick I can’t see anything at all outside my windows. The town is completely blanketed in white clouds, and my first instinct was as it always has been on days such as these: Find a book, find some tea, find a couch, and get cozy.  I’m happy to report that this formula is winning wherever I am in the world.

Happy Sunday.

One of the many reasons why I chose to stay in Southern France was because I was told (by people from here,) that there are a lot more native speakers who are happy to oblige in public. That is very true, but my hosts are very old-school French people who either did not learn English in school or did not bother to remember any of it.  I totally came here expecting that, and I wanted that..because it forces me to improve my french.

I have the basics down – Please, Thank you, May I have, I need, and some basic nouns and such. I am making my way quite well. I’ve been here for a week, so I’m starting to get used to the speed at which French is spoked (ridiculously fast, 15 words sound like 3) Where we seem to get stuck is in the general day-to-day conversations between people who hardly know each other but are co-habitating together temporarily. A trip to the dinner table would not be complete without the wide array of French-English dictionaries and phrase books that accompany us, and it’s a rare occasion when we don’t pick one up at some point during the meal. We take turns looking up words we’re trying to use, but sometimes meanings simply get lost in translation. For example:

Jean-Claude is telling me a story about how the entire family calls him this name, which is defined as a dustbin in English. I’ve never heard of a dustbin..dustbin..trash can? TRASH CAN. Right. Got it. It’s funny that they call him a trash can, but the moment is over too late for me to enjoy it.

Or, I will say a word in English that is also a French word, which causes a world of confusion for us both :

Last night after our meal, I am sitting at the table eating a piece of kiwi with my hands. I’m a mess, and Maryse hands me a napkin.

“Merci,” I say. (Thank you)

“De Rien,” She responds.  (You’re welcome)

I proceed to clean myself up, and mumbled under my breath that I am very messy.

“Messy, Messy, Messy..” I go on to say.

Maryse is looking at me like I’m a crazy person and responds again,” De rien, De rien, De rien.”

It takes me several minutes to understand what just happened, and by the time I do there’s no point in trying to explain myself. They’ll just think i’m ridiculously grateful.

So, my hosts and I have had a lovely time getting to know each other and exchanging cultural differences. One of the biggest differences for me has been the food. It is SO GOOD, but I’ve had about two things that I normally eat in the states. And because I am always telling them I have never tried whatever it is we’re eating for dinner, they are terribly curious what I am/am not wiling to try. This curiousity seems to have launched some sort of underlying test to see how I like traditional French meat/poultry/fish/cheese, and because I made a pact with myself to be open to trying most new things my response to most inquiries is, “Sure! I’ve never had it, but I’ll certainly try it.”

This worked out well when I was given the chance to try calf meat, duck, and a mystery meat that I’m pretty sure was bunny rabbit, but I found my limit the other night.

Click to continue reading Tripe. Eek.

Grasse is a little town just outside of Cannes in the Cote D’azur region of France. I chose to stay here because 1) It was totally in my price range 2) It sounded like a more interesting place than typical Cannes or Nice and 3) Doesn’t it sound overwhelmingly charming to stay in the perfume capital of the world? It turns out, though, that while it is the perfume capital of the world it is NOT the flower capital of the world as I had hoped. It’s still my dream for my camera to meet an endless field of colorful flowers, so I’m going to do some more research and see what I can do about that.

Arrival in Nice

I was greeted by my lovely hosts Maryse and Jean at the airport at about 2 AM on Wednesday, and we drove back to their home in Grasse.  I didn’t see much of Grasse until I woke up the next morning, when I was greeted with this view:

A skip over to the opposite side of the house gave me this view, Mediterranean in the foggy day background :

And the accompanying fallen jaw..

because I totally scored.

..but I just haven’t felt like it? Is that fair?

I’m finally in France. It’s beautiful and wonderful and grand. And my first few days here were a total nightmare.

I left Los Angeles excited about this trip and what it meant for me..and from the moment I arrived here until about three days later, I could hardly breathe from all of the crying I was doing. I don’t know exactly where I turned in to a mess, but I did finally figure out why : this trip is much too long, and I’ve agreed to go by myself to some places that I do not think are kosher. I finally called my dad and told him about Italy. I explained that I thought three months here was too long, and that I thought it was a bad idea for me to be traveling alone and staying in Bed and Breakfasts for a month. I told him I felt like it was dangerous, and he agreed. So, I’m going to come home after quick stops in Paris and London.

After I eliminated what was eating me about this trip, I was able to have some fun. See the next few posts for details!

I just arrived in London and am waiting for my connection in Nice – two more hours to go. My flight from Nice to London has been delayed because of a strike — how French. London Heathrow Terminal 3 is freaking ridiculous.  It’s like a mall on crack. Every ridiculously expensive store known to European man has set up shop here. There’s even a kiosk to purchase caviar, should you feel the need..   

Click to continue reading Bye Bye, Baby..

Accommodations were my biggest concern while doing research for this trip. I  already decided that I would be using the “home base” technique for my travels when I ran the gamut of possibilities through my head:

Click to continue reading Home-Basing in Europe