It Happened One Night

I really like movies.

A couple of months ago, I decided to look up the 1001 movies that everyone should see before they die.  Last night when I wanted to watch a movie I pulled out the list and randomly decided on It Happened One Night, from 1934.

It was a delightful black and white movie with a classic 1930s plot.

This morning I woke up and realized that It Happened One Night is the movie that Anna and her friends went to see in Anna and the French Kiss.

It is a delightfully plain and predictable book with a classic Teen-Romance plot.

It's about this girl (Anna) who goes to Paris for school.

And I started thinking, Kenna kind of sounds like Anna.

And I may not be in Paris, but I'm am in France.

Plus, not to stereotype the people I've met, but I've already met Dave - the kid in my French class who would rather be drinking; Amanda - the girl who for some reason keeps sending me dirty looks, even though I don't know her; Meredith - the nice girl who befriended me that first day; and St. Clair - that kid with amazing hair and a very attractive accent who speaks French.

Plus, while my French teacher is very nice, she did reprimand someone for talking in class once; not because they were talking over her, but because it wasn't in French.

You can see why it is now difficult for me to not automatically match people up with the character they fit.

Anyway, it doesn't really matter.  Because the more I thought about it and how well all of these people fit their character, I realized I am not Anna.

Unlike Anna, I'm actually happy to be here in France.  And while I may be just as socially awkward as Anna is, I like to pretend that I'm not as annoying or unintelligent as she is.

In other news, I haven't eaten since breakfast and I'm starving.

That's all.

Comfort Zones

A couple of months ago I heard the delightful song "Southern Comfort Zone" by Brad Paisley on the radio and felt like it was calling to me.  This was mostly because I heard the lyrics wrong and thought that every time he said Dixie Land he was saying Disneyland (still a little disappointed that's not actually how the song goes).  He also talks about Europe, though, and I felt like this song had been written especially for me because it was all about traveling the world and seeing new places.

However, what I have come to realize is that when you study abroad you aren't traveling somewhere new, you are living somewhere new.  This probably seems like common sense to most people, but I only realized the significance of that difference today.

For example, when you are traveling abroad it is totally fine to only speak the basics of a language.  Being able to ask, "Where can I find..." or know when to say bonjour versus bonsoir is not only acceptable, it's pretty good.

When you are living abroad the basics that got you through a week are no longer good enough to get you through four months.  It's a bit overwhelming.

Now that I'm living abroad I have to start doing 'everyday living' things that I was allowed to ignore when I was just traveling.  This is hard because I don't know 

how to buy civil liability insurance or how to open a French bank account so that I can buy civil liability insurance;

where to buy nail trimmers;

where that one store was that had the spiral notebooks;

or where to go to buy an umbrella.

And for the record, Google does not understand the question, "Where can I buy an umbrella in Lyon, France," nor does it understand "Umbrella Store near Lyon, France."

So this evening I was walking around looking for a boulangerie -- naturally -- and I started thinking about comfort zones.  I've always been a bit confused why people always make such a big deal about going outside of your comfort zone.  I love going outside of my comfort zone.  I feel like I'm my best self when I'm in a new place surrounded by people I don't know.  For me, it feels like an opportunity to rise to the challenge and show myself what I'm capable of.

But as I kept thinking (and kept trying to find a boulangerie) I realized I don't love going outside of my comfort zone, I just have a weird comfort zone.  I'm not really comfortable surrounded by things that are never changing, nor does it appear that I am as comfortable as I thought being completely surrounded by the unknown, as my experience at the bank will testify to.  My comfort zone is so weird I don't even know what it is.

But then I bought a baguette, and no matter what my comfort zone is, I am positive that it includes all boulangeries.  And as I walked by an old Gothic church I realized that my comfort zone also includes Gothic churches.

And while I may not have originally put the bank in my comfort zone, there is a Gothic church just down the road, so I think I could stretch my comfort zone a little to fit around the bank.

In fact, with all the churches and boulangeries around Lyon, I'm pretty sure I could stretch my comfort zone to fit around the entire city.

So that's what I'm going to do this semester.  I have no intention of leaving my comfort zone; I'm just going to keep stretching it little by little until everything that I'm not comfortable with can fit inside.

Which means that I'm going to have to visit a lot of churches and boulangeries -- obviously.

The Honeymoon Stage of Studying Abroad

In our pre-study abroad orientation, they talked about the honeymoon stage of studying abroad.  This is when you first get to the new region and everything seems adorable (but will later drive you insane).  I was totally prepared for this stage of studying abroad - I was even fairly certain I would be here for the entire duration of my program.

But I got over that real quick.  Because of gelato.

One of my favorite things about France is that there is a boulangerie everywhere you look with window displays of all different kinds of breads and macaroons.  And then today at 2:00 I realized I was hungry.  And I really wanted a baguette avec fromage et jambon.  But that meant not only would I have to get out of bed, I would have to walk to one of those stupid boulangeries.  And I'd probably have to walk to a few just to make sure I had chosen the one with the best baguettes.

So I decided to stay in bed.  And because I didn't have anything better to do (because I didn't want to get out of bed), I read.  A whole book.  And then I beat 10 levels on the Bejeweled game on my French phone.  And then I read half of another book.

At this point I was starving.  But it was 5:30, and if I left now for lunch it would be dark before I could get back home.  Plus, we eat dinner at 8:00, so if I could just hold out until then I would be golden.

So I set an alarm on my phone and decided to take a nap (doing nothing all day is exhausting).

But I woke up 30 minutes later.  Go figure.  I have 3 hours to kill and for the first time in my life I take a short nap.

I read a little more and then decided to head downstairs and spend some time practicing French while waiting for dinner.

Lucky for me, dinner was ready early and I thought, "I'm being silly.  Studying abroad is still awesome even if there isn't always food in the fridge and you have to walk two steps to get bread.  I mean, life in France is still pretty great."

But then I asked my host mom's daughter (my host sister?) where to buy the best gelato.  And you know what she said?

"What's gelato?"

WHAT'S GELATO?! You live two hours from Italy and you don't know what gelato is?! My roommate and I explained it to her and she said, "Oh, you mean like Häagen-Dazs?"

No, I did not mean Häagen-Dazs.  America has even ruined gelato.  She then apologized because you can not buy gelato in Lyon.

I started thinking really fast at this point. "If there is no gelato in Lyon, am I just going to have to start taking the train to Paris every weekend? Or should I just head over to Italy every time I want gelato?  Do I even want to stay here if I can't get gelato? Do I have to buy a plane ticket home now?"

I mean, I was really worried.  But then Google came to the rescue.  And you know what I found?  Rene Nardone, which is only 0,6 km from my apartment.  Reviews even claim it is better than Italian gelato.  But most importantly was this little tidbit of information - "They had a wide variety of flavors that were refreshingly original - madeleine, speculoos..."

Ahh, speculoos.  The world has been made right again with speculoos flavored gelato.

I don't know what it's like to actually be in love, but if I had to guess I would say it's the way I feel about speculoos gelato.  And I may no longer be in the honeymoon stage with Lyon, but speculoos and I are most certainly on a honeymoon.

And probably will be until death do us part.

When Speculoos and I first met - it was love at first taste.

Notre Dame is...

This morning I bought a map. I didn't look at it once the rest of the day (which is why I got lost) but it was still nice to know I had it if I needed it.

And as it turns out Notre Dame is pretty lame, but more on that later.

I walked all over the city today, passing monuments and statues and fountains.  And what I discovered is that the French have weird art, just like we do in America.

For example,

what is a guy with wings doing on roller skates?

I mean, who thought that that was a good idea and decided to memorialize it for future generations with a statue? 

"Yes, today I think I will build some metal wings and try to fly in them while roller skating."

...

Luckily, Lyon has plenty of cool buildings to balance things out.

Which brings me to Notre Dame.  Notre Dame was going to be my thing in Lyon, the place I would have all these memorable experiences.  Where I would go to do homework and people watch or eat some French bread.  But I rode the metro to Notre Dame on Saturday and what I saw wasn't all that great.  When I tried to walk to it today I had to go through sketchy streets and up a giant hill, but I still couldn't make it over to the church. 

However, at the bottom of Notre Dame is St. Jean's Cathedral.  Which is absolutely stunning.

And just down the road is St. George's Cathedral, which is smaller, but almost as wonderful.

Additionally, on my way home from Notre Dame I accidentally went the wrong way and instead of ending up at Parc de la Tête d'Or I ended up at my school.

C'était parfait.

Except then I had to walk back home, which was kind of embarrassing.  I mean, I had really gone the wrong direction - for a long time.

I finally did get home - and still have yet to open my map - when I saw this out of my window.

And I realized that even if Notre Dame is not what I thought it would be, it is still pretty amazing.

Also, I can see it without walking up a giant hill, so that's a win.

Aujourd'hui is Dimanche

Today is Sunday. 

Sunday means church. 

Sunday also means that all of the stores are closed in Lyon.

Originally I was a huge supporter of this.  I don't want to work on Sunday, so I'm glad that no one in Lyon has to work on Sunday. 

But sometimes you just need someone to work on Sunday.

I left my apartment with 10 minutes to get to church.  Not my smartest idea.  I had been talking to my host mom, and I didn't know how to say, "I'm sorry but I have to go to church now," so we just kept talking.

I first stopped at the grocery store where you can buy packs of ten tickets.  Except, it was closed.  And there was a creepy guy out front, so I quickly walked away (in the wrong direction) so that I didn't have to pass him again.

Naturally, I got lost on the way to the metro.  When I finally found it, it wouldn't let me use cash bills to buy my tickets, I had to use coins (weird, right?).  It also didn't accept my debit card, my other debit card, or my credit card.

At this point I accepted I was going to be late for church.  I also secretly hoped I could be a full hour late just so that I didn't have to show up to any specific class late.

Because I only had bills, I figured I would just stop at a boulangerie and buy something little with my bills so that I could get some coins to pay for my metro tickets.  However, I was afraid to venture off of the street where the metro stop was because I knew I would get lost and I didn't have a map.

So I walked down this street for about 30 minutes looking for an open store, except it's Sunday, and nothing is open.

Finally I accepted that it was time to go home and Google search how to walk to church (and possibly give up on this whole adventure).

As I was walking back, I passed a boulangerie.

An open boulangerie.

I know I shouldn't be glad that someone had to work on Sunday, but I was.

I walked inside, ordered my brioche natural in very poor French and handed her 10 euro.

She handed me back a 5 and a few coins.  I thought, "A five?  Lady, I need coins so I can buy my ticket for the metro!"

Except - of course - I can't say that in French.  So I said merci instead and hoped that somehow I could have enough coins for the metro.

I did.  I don't know how much my brioche natural cost, but it was less than 1 euro.  And now it's my new favorite kind of bread.

It symbolizes hope for the future.

And making it to church only an hour late.

And it also makes you want to cry a little bit from deliciousness and happiness and having enough money for the metro.

So tomorrow, (lundi) I will be buying a map and a pack of ten metro tickets.

As well as some brioche natural because I'll be exploring the city and I'll need as much help as I can get.

I've Already Broken Something

The past few months I have made a serious effort to learn as much French as possible.

And by serious effort I mean I've done a few Rosetta Stone things and listened to 30 podcasts in my sleep.  (I thought it would help when I listened to them for real if I had already slept to them, because the French would be in my brain.  But I only ever listened to a few of them in real life. This is why I'm only able to count and say, "Je suis prête pour apprender le français avec Coffee Break French.")

I also put up post it notes all over my house with the French word of different items.  I didn't think I would ever really need to know that hallway was couloir or that a kitchen sink was un évier, but I felt like I was practicing my French when I would walk into my bathroom and think salle de bain.

As it turns out, these are not the most effective methods for learning a language.

For example, this morning I got on a plane from Brussels to Lyon.  Everyone welcomed me with bonjour's and au revoir's and I responded like a pro with some merci's and even a couple pardon's.

And then I got to my window seat, looked at the kid in the middle and said, "Umm, I have to, that's my, uhh, seat."

He looked up, said something in French, and moved for me.  Which is when I realized I don't actually speak very much French.

Later, I arrived at the train station looking around for my host mom.  I saw her sitting on a bench - and checked the picture on my phone to make sure it was really her - and then awkwardly stood there trying to figure out how to say, "Excuse me, are you my mother?" in French.

Luckily, my real host mom showed up before I had the chance to embarrass myself.

We spoke French as she drove me to her apartment, and I was by no means fluent, but I thought a three-year-old and I could probably have a pretty good conversation.

Then came the bathroom.

All I wanted to do was brush my teeth.  I had been on a plane or in an airport for 20 hours and they were in desperate need of some attention.  Unfortunately, my shampoo had exploded all over my toothbrush and toothpaste (don't worry, this is all relevant to the story).  So I went into the bathroom and had to rinse off all of the shampoo in a very small sink, which apparently does not drain.

I brushed my teeth anyway, hoping that the water would drain while I brushed.  But then I had to spit into the already full sink (which is now full of shampoo and toothpaste and a whole lot of water).  I took the plug out and still nothing happened.  I then thought maybe there was some sort of special thing under the sink that would make it drain, so I turned a few things before I had the sense to stop.  I mean, what if I had pulled the pipe out of the wall and flooded the bathroom?

I sat there embarrassed for a few minutes - I had only been in their house for 2 minutes and already I had broken the bathroom sink.  Luckily, though, bathroom sink was one of my flashcards.  I went downstairs torn between embarrassment and excitement at getting to use one of my French flashcard words.

Then, I got to the kitchen and realized I could not remember how to say bathroom sink.  I also don't know how to say water.  So I stuttered - in English - about the sink before saying, "It's like the évier, except in the bathroom."

In the end, they had to call a plumber to fix the sink.  That's right - I broke the bathroom sink so well they had to call someone to fix it.

Now my wardrobe won't close.  I've messed with the key a few times before giving up.  I don't know who you call to fix a wardrobe, but I think I'll wait until tomorrow before I break it.  Also, I checked - it does not lead to Narnia.

By the way - lavabo.  The bathroom sink is un lavabo. 

Start Spreading the News...

I stole this picture from http://wallpaperswide.com/lyon_france_at_night-wallpapers.html

I'm leaving today.  We are a great big part of it, New York, NEW YORK*.

Except I'm not going to New York.  But I do have a lay-over in D.C.

I'm really leaving for France.

Two weeks ago someone asked me why I chose France.  I sat there for a while, because I hadn't ever really thought about it.  I just love France.  But after thinking about it I answered Notre Dame.  Oh, and gelato.

I'm going abroad for a semester because of Notre Dame and Gelato.  Which are both located in Paris.  And I'm going to Lyon.

Haha, oops.

When I brought this up with my parents they reminded me about another thing in France which I love - the castle foundation in the basement of the Louvre.

At this point I started freaking out.  Not all the time, just short bursts of panic that would come every once in a while (usually while I was avoiding important things like packing.) So I started making a list of things non-Paris specific that I love.

J'adore the French language, even if all I can say is je parle un peur de français.

J'adore French bread.

J'adore the way France (and Europe) writes the date backwards.

J'adore public transportation and not driving.  Especially not parking.

J'adore wearing a scarf with every outfit.

And I'm sure I will love (I can't translate verbs to the future yet) Lyon.

Even if it's not Paris.  Even if Notre Dame de Fourvière is not the same as Notre Dame de Paris.  And even if there is no gelato.

Wait, I take that back.  If I can't get gelato in Lyon, I'm coming home.

*In case you're wondering, these are not the correct lyrics. He really sings "I want to be a part of it, New York, New York."  But I like my version better...