Despite the number of times I've been to Europe I am always startled by the kissing on both cheeks to greet both friends and strangers. It manages to slip my mind between visits, and the culture of hugging has been so ingrained in me that I forget proper etiquette until I see the slightly worried expression on my victim's face as I move my whole body towards them. Although Americans see kissing to greet as more intimate than hugging, in many ways it's less intimate because only your cheeks touch, and not the rest of you.
Another thing that slips my mind between visits is assigned seating on trains. Amtrak in the U.S. is a free-for-all and includes a mad stampede rush to get the best seats, and you better stay outta Grandma Edna's way. Every damn time I get on a train here I forget and rush for the first good open seat I see, throw my bags down and begin to get situated, until I hear someone mumbling to themselves on the way by, "well I found coach 18, now where is seat 27" and I realize with a groan that I'm going to have to move. I haven't decided which system is better yet.
Audrey walked me to the bus station so I could get public transportation across Paris to Gare Montparnesse to get my train to Tours. The sandwich I bought in the station was simple cold ham and swiss on baguette, and I could not figure out why it tasted so fabulous until I realized with a laugh that they had put butter on it.
My host in Tours is a woman named Annick but she had already informed me that she wouldn't be available to pick me up, but that her friend Eliane would be there instead. Eliane, "Lily", got me in her car and informed me (in French, she doesn't speak English) that Annick was on vacation for the entire month of August in Italy, but that she would be taking care of all of us. (Unbeknowst to me, Annick was hosting 3 students right now - Barbara, a nice easy-going girl from Switzerland, Yuichiro, a quiet, tall boy from Japan, and me. The house is a huge 3 story, 4 bedroom townhouse style apartment but made of old stone and wood. The first floor looks like the basement of a castle, with low ceilings and the dark, cool, slightly dank feel and smell of cold stone underground. My room is on the 3rd floor, and is enormous, homey, comforting, but hot. It was 95 degrees today, but since it's France nobody has air conditioning. I put my clothes away into the armoire (like the one from the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe), took a shower, and ambled downstairs to see what was going on.
Barbara and I decided to take a walk around the city. Her French is already close to fluent, and I feel very inadequate next to her, but she's friendly and speaks slowly and simply for me. Our walk started off with lots of conversation, but after about 20 minutes we ran out of basic questions to ask, or at least basic questions we thought we could both understand. Although we both spoke fluent English, I think we felt it was inappropriate or somehow cheating to speak English to each other while paying money to live here to study French, so instead we walked in silence, broken only by occastional short thoughts. Our speech regressed into basic sentences followed by long silences. Her: "Where in the United States do you live?" Me: "I lived in New York City but now I live with my parents in Oklahoma." Silence. Me: "Where in Switzerland do you live?" Her: "A small town near Zurich." Silence. Me: "That bridge looks like a castle." Her: "Yes it does." Silence.
If dinner tonight was an indication of things to come, then I'm in trouble. Prepared by Lily, it consisted of cantaloupe and salad to start, ratatouille, cold cut ham, and bread for the main course, then chocolate mousse, apricot tart, and a choice of raspberry, pistachio, or vanilla bean flavored custard for dessert, followed by a small glass of rose wine as an after-dinner drink. This is going to be insane . . .
Another thing that slips my mind between visits is assigned seating on trains. Amtrak in the U.S. is a free-for-all and includes a mad stampede rush to get the best seats, and you better stay outta Grandma Edna's way. Every damn time I get on a train here I forget and rush for the first good open seat I see, throw my bags down and begin to get situated, until I hear someone mumbling to themselves on the way by, "well I found coach 18, now where is seat 27" and I realize with a groan that I'm going to have to move. I haven't decided which system is better yet.
Audrey walked me to the bus station so I could get public transportation across Paris to Gare Montparnesse to get my train to Tours. The sandwich I bought in the station was simple cold ham and swiss on baguette, and I could not figure out why it tasted so fabulous until I realized with a laugh that they had put butter on it.
My host in Tours is a woman named Annick but she had already informed me that she wouldn't be available to pick me up, but that her friend Eliane would be there instead. Eliane, "Lily", got me in her car and informed me (in French, she doesn't speak English) that Annick was on vacation for the entire month of August in Italy, but that she would be taking care of all of us. (Unbeknowst to me, Annick was hosting 3 students right now - Barbara, a nice easy-going girl from Switzerland, Yuichiro, a quiet, tall boy from Japan, and me. The house is a huge 3 story, 4 bedroom townhouse style apartment but made of old stone and wood. The first floor looks like the basement of a castle, with low ceilings and the dark, cool, slightly dank feel and smell of cold stone underground. My room is on the 3rd floor, and is enormous, homey, comforting, but hot. It was 95 degrees today, but since it's France nobody has air conditioning. I put my clothes away into the armoire (like the one from the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe), took a shower, and ambled downstairs to see what was going on.
Barbara and I decided to take a walk around the city. Her French is already close to fluent, and I feel very inadequate next to her, but she's friendly and speaks slowly and simply for me. Our walk started off with lots of conversation, but after about 20 minutes we ran out of basic questions to ask, or at least basic questions we thought we could both understand. Although we both spoke fluent English, I think we felt it was inappropriate or somehow cheating to speak English to each other while paying money to live here to study French, so instead we walked in silence, broken only by occastional short thoughts. Our speech regressed into basic sentences followed by long silences. Her: "Where in the United States do you live?" Me: "I lived in New York City but now I live with my parents in Oklahoma." Silence. Me: "Where in Switzerland do you live?" Her: "A small town near Zurich." Silence. Me: "That bridge looks like a castle." Her: "Yes it does." Silence.
If dinner tonight was an indication of things to come, then I'm in trouble. Prepared by Lily, it consisted of cantaloupe and salad to start, ratatouille, cold cut ham, and bread for the main course, then chocolate mousse, apricot tart, and a choice of raspberry, pistachio, or vanilla bean flavored custard for dessert, followed by a small glass of rose wine as an after-dinner drink. This is going to be insane . . .
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