My next big challenge is dawning upon me: how to find the balance between the enchanted traveler and the dedicated student. In this city it is easy to forget why I am here in the first place. But the program reminded us straight away: On Tuesday we took a placement test that grouped all those participating in the program into classes of levels 1 through 6. I dreaded taking that test, because while I knew that it would in no way filter into any of my grades, I wanted to be placed in a class that was challenging yet manageable. I wanted to improve my French by leaps and bounds, but not stress so much that the experience is no longer enjoyable. By some bizarre twist of fate, I was placed in level 6. I’m proud of myself, but terrified at the same time. I’ll let you know how that goes.
In the morning I have 3 hours of French. An hour and a half break for lunch at noon, and then 3 hours of an Intercultural Communications class. Next week, the afternoon class will be replaced with my chosen elective, a museums course. Both of my classes this week have been in French, and while they are challenging, I love the conversations we have in each. My language professor is an elder gentleman who, at first glance, looks like he must know everything about everything; the humble intellectual. I was thrilled that I had him as my professor because he evaluated the speaking portion of my placement test, and was nothing but kind and encouraging. In the two language classes that I have had thus far, I have discovered that he is kind yet firm, generous yet challenging, patient while demanding resilience in return. He never hesitates to add little bits of interesting facts while we are flying through grammar congugations or deciphering articles. For instance, he told us how the word “copain”, meaning friend, originates from the sharing of bread, “pain”, between two people. Isn’t that a beautiful bit of knowledge?
My Intercultural Communications professor is also wonderful. This class is designed as a transition guide to help students adjust to living in France. We talked about different cultural perceptions of time, space, and relationships. We discussed human characteristics that are personal, cultural, and universal. We talked about stereotypes and expectations. We talked about individual, collectivist, and hierarchical structures, and whether different countries and governments believe people to be intrinsically good or intrinsically bad. And all in French. So it’s safe to say that after 6 hours (sometimes 8) a day of heavy concentration, my brain is ready for a nap.
In the morning I have 3 hours of French. An hour and a half break for lunch at noon, and then 3 hours of an Intercultural Communications class. Next week, the afternoon class will be replaced with my chosen elective, a museums course. Both of my classes this week have been in French, and while they are challenging, I love the conversations we have in each. My language professor is an elder gentleman who, at first glance, looks like he must know everything about everything; the humble intellectual. I was thrilled that I had him as my professor because he evaluated the speaking portion of my placement test, and was nothing but kind and encouraging. In the two language classes that I have had thus far, I have discovered that he is kind yet firm, generous yet challenging, patient while demanding resilience in return. He never hesitates to add little bits of interesting facts while we are flying through grammar congugations or deciphering articles. For instance, he told us how the word “copain”, meaning friend, originates from the sharing of bread, “pain”, between two people. Isn’t that a beautiful bit of knowledge?
My Intercultural Communications professor is also wonderful. This class is designed as a transition guide to help students adjust to living in France. We talked about different cultural perceptions of time, space, and relationships. We discussed human characteristics that are personal, cultural, and universal. We talked about stereotypes and expectations. We talked about individual, collectivist, and hierarchical structures, and whether different countries and governments believe people to be intrinsically good or intrinsically bad. And all in French. So it’s safe to say that after 6 hours (sometimes 8) a day of heavy concentration, my brain is ready for a nap.
In the morning I have 3 hours of French. An hour and a half break for lunch at noon, and then 3 hours of an Intercultural Communications class. Next week, the afternoon class will be replaced with my chosen elective, a museums course. Both of my classes this week have been in French, and while they are challenging, I love the conversations we have in each. My language professor is an elder gentleman who, at first glance, looks like he must know everything about everything; the humble intellectual. I was thrilled that I had him as my professor because he evaluated the speaking portion of my placement test, and was nothing but kind and encouraging. In the two language classes that I have had thus far, I have discovered that he is kind yet firm, generous yet challenging, patient while demanding resilience in return. He never hesitates to add little bits of interesting facts while we are flying through grammar congugations or deciphering articles. For instance, he told us how the word “copain”, meaning friend, originates from the sharing of bread, “pain”, between two people. Isn’t that a beautiful bit of knowledge?
My Intercultural Communications professor is also wonderful. This class is designed as a transition guide to help students adjust to living in France. We talked about different cultural perceptions of time, space, and relationships. We discussed human characteristics that are personal, cultural, and universal. We talked about stereotypes and expectations. We talked about individual, collectivist, and hierarchical structures, and whether different countries and governments believe people to be intrinsically good or intrinsically bad. And all in French. So it’s safe to say that after 6 hours (sometimes 8) a day of heavy concentration, my brain is ready for a nap.
My Intercultural Communications professor is also wonderful. This class is designed as a transition guide to help students adjust to living in France. We talked about different cultural perceptions of time, space, and relationships. We discussed human characteristics that are personal, cultural, and universal. We talked about stereotypes and expectations. We talked about individual, collectivist, and hierarchical structures, and whether different countries and governments believe people to be intrinsically good or intrinsically bad. And all in French. So it’s safe to say that after 6 hours (sometimes 8) a day of heavy concentration, my brain is ready for a nap.
Some friends and I set out to explore downtown Lille, which was also beautiful! It’s about a 10-15 minute walk from our dorms, with ample opportunities to walk, shop, and experience great architecture and open-air markets. I bought an English-French dictionary and a grammar book at a 6 story bookstore facing the town plaza, and stopped to admire the fountain in the middle of the open space. I had a tiny revelation that day: France has gorgeous architecture everywhere, it seems. Like it lives in the past, at a time when intricate metal balconies, picturesque architecture, and beautiful doors were the norm rather than the exception. But the beauty is made a bit more beautiful in Lille by the fact that it is our home for a little while. As if we are unreservedly allowing ourselves to admire the town, as if we are appreciating at last the fact that such beautiful architecture is now a constant in our lives. Something that won’t change soon, something we can rely on seeing when we walk out of our door. It’s a comforting kind of beautiful. Because in some small way, it is ours.
My friends and I found a wonderful café just a block from our dorm that is one of the cutest I have seen, right next to a gorgeous little piano store that features a red baby grand in its window. The menus are in the shape of old vinyl records, and the prices are wonderfully sympathetic to student budgets. C’etait excellent. My friend squealed for joy when he saw that a tennis match was playing on a large screen when we arrived, and he proceeded to explain every play made and every point scored throughout dinner. So I now know more about tennis than I ever thought I would, which still isn’t very much. My retention, I’m afraid, was not very high.
Now for the most glorious part of our neighborhood: right down the street is a boulangerie–patisserie that is so good, it makes the world a better place. The menu is not extraordinary. They offer an unexotic selection of sandwiches like cheese, veggies and cheese, ham and cheese, and the likes. But their ingredients are divine, as if picked straight out of a garden in the back somewhere, or as if the cheese is freshly made every day with the milk of a pet cow that grazes on fields of wild daisies. I don’t know. But that place is magical. And its selection of pastries can make anyone question the sanity of dieting.
The girls and I cooked a pasta dinner the other night in the dorm kitchen. We did a wonderful job, if I do say so myself. We got two different canned sauces and cooked the pasta al dente, and were bold enough to grab a bag of mustard-pickle chips. New life goal: to have these beauties sold back in the States. The sauces tasted practically home-made, and we ate well and happily. I love these girls. They are my family away from home, my rocks, my saviors when I have no sense of direction. Ma petite famille. And tomorrow we are off to Bruges, Belgium, the Venice of the north! So off to another day, off to another adventure.
Now for the most glorious part of our neighborhood: right down the street is a boulangerie–patisserie that is so good, it makes the world a better place. The menu is not extraordinary. They offer an unexotic selection of sandwiches like cheese, veggies and cheese, ham and cheese, and the likes. But their ingredients are divine, as if picked straight out of a garden in the back somewhere, or as if the cheese is freshly made every day with the milk of a pet cow that grazes on fields of wild daisies. I don’t know. But that place is magical. And its selection of pastries can make anyone question the sanity of dieting.
The girls and I cooked a pasta dinner the other night in the dorm kitchen. We did a wonderful job, if I do say so myself. We got two different canned sauces and cooked the pasta al dente, and were bold enough to grab a bag of mustard-pickle chips. New life goal: to have these beauties sold back in the States. The sauces tasted practically home-made, and we ate well and happily. I love these girls. They are my family away from home, my rocks, my saviors when I have no sense of direction. Ma petite famille. And tomorrow we are off to Bruges, Belgium, the Venice of the north! So off to another day, off to another adventure.