Take and eat first....

Well, the time has come to talk of other things....

Mainly: food.

This is my mantra now: Take and eat first,..... well, you know the rest. Last night I had the most unfortunate encounter with les moules - still in shell. Of course, I took a healthy helping, not wanting to offend anyone. My host mom asked me if I liked les fruits de la mer and I commented I had never been a fan of seafood. On top of the rubbery texture, salty/fishy taste, and the fact that they looked yucky - I still had this image in my head where they were still alive somehow although I had seen my mother boil them into oblivion. The face I was making as I tried to pry one out of it's shell must have been priceless, because I had the whole table laughing. I tasted it, gave it a chew, and slowly worked it down my throat. My mom assumed I didn't like it, and asked to reassure her assumption. She was dead on. I said I was incredibly sorry and felt guilty as she told me just to put my plateful of crap mussels back into the pot. She gave me, instead, a package of sliced meat that (I deduced from the smell and taste) was also some sort of seafood. I later found out after I ate it that it was indeed seafood. Crab. My mother is becoming a grandmaster at hiding potentially repulsive facts until after I have consumed it. Kudos.

Today marks Day 2 of the stage. I was sufficiently worn out yesterday and had to complete homework on top of that. I thought the French barely ever had homework. I've been deceived.

I am currently chatting with my boyfriend and good friend on skype. They happen to be sitting in the same room, so it is slightly weird because I am talking to one via video chat, but sometimes I ask questions via the video chat to the one I am only type chatting with. If that makes any sense whatsoever.

Accent Goggles

I am currently sitting in what will be my classroom for the entire week. I feel like a child.

What might make things easier (or should I say, who) is Shay. I have met my first Brit, and I fancy him if I do say so myself. It might make this week slightly more bearable sitting next to him. With each other's help, we managed to make it through a "petite quiz" on France that wasn't so "petite".

Yesterday, I had the most amazing glass of beer and chocolate ice cream at an outdoor cafe. Simply perfection. I then proceeded to flirt with a restaurant employee to get him to help me get on the internet using the free Wi-Fi (it wasn't working at first). It wasn't necessary to flirt, I know, but I figured if it helped in getting my internet to work then I was all for it.

It's quite odd using the term "boyfriend". I haven't had one in so long, it almost felt wrong saying it. I had a conversation with a fellow American about how her boyfriend was back stateside as well and the story evolved into us telling each other cute things that the boyfriends had done, so of course I had to relay the story about my hike to Shadow Falls. I received an "awwwwwwwwww" every 5 sentences or so.

Postcards sent yesterday. While Mathis was showing me where to mail them, I had to ask if his mom was annoyed by my computer use (what else are younger, more impressionable host siblings for than to get inside information?). I ended up finding out that she was discussing me with a friend on the phone (where I heard from upstairs "Samantha" "l'internet" "l'ordinateur" and "wi-fi" but not much else) about possibly installing wi-fi so I could use my computer in my bedroom. Apparently she doesn't hate me after all, that's a relief.

Last night, during dinner, I had to take a step back and think "holy crap, I must look super badass talking so fast with this French family". Of course, that would appear so to only those who are rusty with their French, or have no skills in that department whatsoever. Although, I have to admit that for how long I have been here, my French has improved quite a bit. I was having a solid conversation at the dinner table with my host family. I even managed to get in a few funny one-liners that made everyone laugh.

I now know where I can access wi-fi, so Skyping (or as my father so eloquently puts it: "syping") is now a must with anyone who is available. This week, I can skype after 4:30 pm my time, or I can get up early and head to the school around 7am-ish my time. For Oregon residents, that would be roughly 7:30am or 10pm, not ideal, but doable if you really miss me :)

I am just waiting on my USB cable to come in the mail, and then photos will pop up like daisies.

Les Gâteaux!

Note: Today's events were the reason I had to leave an internet conversation so abruptly, so the person with whom I was conversing, here is my excuse.....

If I had known I would be spending hours on end trying to decipher the rapid speech of my host mother and her friends, I would have brought a book like my host sister did (way to throw me to the wolves, Salomé). I spent the day at an outdoor market and then drove an hour to visit my host mother's cousin and have a picnic.I can now add camembert to my list of cheeses I have tried. We had a lovely casual picnic and then walked down a quaint country road (everything was very French). It was along a river and I couldn't help but imagine scenes from the 10th Kingdom in my head. Photos soon to come. Everyone kept asking me if I was cold and I had to keep insisting that I was from the Pacific Northwest - we don't get cold easily.

After the lengthy time outdoors, we went back to the house and had a meal I refer to as afternoon tea. I sat and endured mindless gossip between the two cousins and then was told I could maybe read the French Sunday paper and try to understand. Salt, meet wound.

Apparently, I am the expert on hurricanes and the current turmoil going on as a result of hurricane Irene. Note: ouragan = hurricane. I keep wanting to think orangutan whenever I see the damn word.

I have noticed that when the French pronounce my name, it sounds similar to "ce matin".

Also, my stress level has gone from " get me a glass of wine and a plane ticket to the States" to "get me a shot (or three) of fisk and a plane ticket to the States".

One more thing: now I can officially add paté to the list of things I have eaten while in France (just got back from dinner at grandma's - apparently she makes paté). My philosophy is quickly becoming "eat first, ask questions and quietly vomit in the shrubs later".

Day 1 et 2

Have you seen a lightning storm from 35,000 ft up? I have. I also was fortunate enough to be able to sit by a mayor of a small town in Mali on the plane ride from Salt Lake City to Paris - Charles de Gaulle. He assured me I would have a fantastic time in France. Upon arriving and having the hardest time trying to figure things out, it was all I could do not to run screaming to the next plane bound for the States. Eventually I navigated my way through the crowded airport and through the lengthy TGV line to get a ticket.Apparently I look like a girl who knows what she's doing (boy do I have them fooled) because multiple people came up to me asking all sorts of questions, running the gambit from "Where do I punch my train ticket?" to "Is this the line for tickets to Paris?" (all in French of course).

I arrived at Poitiers in more or less one piece. The site director, Sylvie, met us at the station. After some conversation, she mentioned to my host mom that she thought I understood French well and that might have been where all my troubles began. Yesterday was completely uncomfortable and I was on the verge of saying, "Screw this, get me a glass of wine and a plane ticket home" more than once. Yesterday was a load of unpacking (I still am not finished) and sleeping.

Today, I took a stroll through the neigborhood with ma mère and stopped at multiple stores. I purchased stamps, post cards and the love of my European life: Kinder chocolate (a surprise egg to be more specific). Afterwards, I got to take a tour of downtown Poitiers where my host mom was constantly mentioning dates of buildings. My mother introducedme to her mother, at which her mother promptly said "elle est très grande!". I was given a key to the house (Power? Yes please.) and then informed that we all would be attending a soirée of sorts at a friend's house.

Let me preface this by saying that when it comes to speaking French, I am stictly little league; I was involved in a conversation this evening similar to the level of NASCAR in comparison. I was in no way prepared for the speed at which these people talked. Until I arrived, I had almost completely forgotten about the traditional French greeting: la bise. There were 6 adults with their respective 2 kids per pair . If you do the math, that's 12 sets of la bise with 2 kisses per set. This is customary at both the beginning when greeting everyone, and when saying goodbye. I trust you can multiply the last number by 2. Again, the first thing mentioned in regards to me was "elle est très grande!"; Yes, I know I am tall, moving on. Next, I made the error of not saying "sure, I'll give ping pong a try and play with the kids" so I was ushered to the grown-up table. Bad move number 1. I was then asked a series of questions about whether I liked multiple sorts of fish due to the fact that there were slices of toasted bread with an unidentified paste on them in a variety of colors. I could best surmise that each was a different kind of fish: tarmin, salmon, tuna etc. At first I thought it was paté, but about an hour into the adult conversation I heard the word "caviar". Oh, so that's what that was. For the record, caviar is disgusting. On top of the fajitas I had for lunch today, I continued my jaunt across the globe with some sort of Moroccan cooked hot pocket, which again, had fish in it. I was informed that it was the first time the host's husband had cooked it, so in other words: experiment. From what I could catch of the conversation when not more than two people were talking at the same time:

1. Kids and sugar make for crazy kids
2. My host brother, Mathis, is in fact, crazy
3. People who work for phone companies are lazy if not complete imbeciles


When my family left, I ran the la bise gauntlet. Again.

It is now 11pm and I am being asked to get off the computer. What little time I had with a language I can fully comprehend is soon to be gone. Crap.

à bientôt!

Recommended Blog

Since part of this blog is dedicated to sharing new and interesting things, I thought I would share a recently developed blog by a friend of mine who is going on an astounding journey. I couldn't do her tale justice, with all the weight loss, preparations for a play she is sewing costumes for, her husband moving to Portland, and much, much more!

Her name is Amanda, I'd appreciate it if you'd give her blog a look-see, click here!

A special friend of mine introduced me to a new kind of inappropriate by the soundtrack of The Book Of Mormon [Explicit]. I'm especially obsessed with the track Hasa Diga Eebowai. That's not the best thing, considering I'm in Salt Lake City at the airport. Careful, this music is for big kiddies (hence the Explicit).

Salt Lake City

Just an update:

I am currently at Salt Lake City International Airport and I have a new best friend:

I hate flying

After spending a fabulous night stargazing with someone who shall remain nameless, I was forced to remain awake and journey to PDX. I love flying, traveling, anything of that sort. Actually, make that past tense: loved.

After my first leg of the journey was pushed back a half an hour and I was reduced to being bumped up to a flight that left in the next 40 minutes, I managed to make it safely on the plane. Upon arriving at Seatac International Airport, I learned that the next leg was delayed 3 hours - causing me to miss my next connection from Reykjavik, Iceland to Paris. After waiting in line for several hours and helping a french teen behind me understand what the ticket agents were trying to ask the crowd, and I must not forget going to the end of yet another line. My apologies for being less than eloquent, I had no concept of time until a few minutes ago when I checked my ipod.

I finally managed a new flight itinerary. I am now flying at 6am tomorrow to Salt Lake City. From there I will have to wait roughly 7 hours to then fly right into Paris (arriving at approx 11am). It was better than the alternative 15 hours in Reykjavik's airport.

With frazzled hair and fatigued eyes. I always have enough energy to enjoy pizza

I am currently at the hotel, where I just received my Domino's pizza and diet soda. It's delightful, sitting here in a king size bed and watching tv. Doesn't hurt talking to someone who calls you "ma petite caille". After struggling to handle both large suitcases and my decent size carry-on, I can only assume the concierge who took care of me felt bad - I ended up in a handicapped hotel room right across the hall from the elevator. It's the little things in life, you know?