Adventures in France -- the black dog

This morning there was a dog. 

And by dog, I mean this big fluffy black dog that was blocking my way and completely trapped in the corridor. The only way to breakfast was the corridor. The only way to the outside (where I could go buy something if I wanted) was the corridor. 

What stood between me and food (and I hadn't even since two PM yesterday), was this dog. 

Only here's the problem. 

Something not a lot of people know. 

I am actually afraid of dogs. 

Especially strange dogs. 

Logically, I knew the dog was probably harmless. I couldn't imagine my host mom letting something into her house that was dangerous. 

But that was logically. 

I approached the glass door, and the dog stared at me. It did not seem friendly. 

I retreated to my room. 

I texted my host mother. 

No reply. 

I tried again, shaking, opening the glass door and stared the dog down in the corner. He didn't budge. Neither forward nor backward. My heart started pounding. I closed the door, and went back in my room. 

I checked my texts. No reply. 

At this point it was getting stupid. 

A wave of laughter came over me as I considered the dog and all that this entailed. 

A (likely) harmless dog, stood between me and my breakfast. There was no real danger (probably) only my fears. 

Yet I couldn't move forward. 

I started cracking up in my bedroom. 

A fluffy dog was stopping me from living my life. What a metaphor! 

Finally, in hopes of getting some kind of clarity, I texted one of my good friends who lives in California. Typically, he gives some pretty good advice. 

I told him about the dog. At that point, I'd been avoiding the dog for 20 minutes. 

His reply? "Just do it, tell it good dog, and be on your way," 

I looked out my window. The dog was now in the garden before the hall. Well, at least I could run, if I needed to. 

Reader, I swear my heart was pounding in my throat. 

And there was such a touch of irony to the whole thing. We own a dog. I've had dogs my whole life. 

Yet this fluffy black dog was causing me to shake like crazy. And in addition, when I'd gone into the corridor for a bit, I'd heard voices. My other phobia. 

Walking into a space and interrupting with people I don't know! I thought about not eating. But I also knew I was expected and the look I knew I would get from my host family and additionally, not eating when I was hungry seemed stupid. 

So with my friend's encouragement, I faced the dog. 

Well, faced is an overstatement. I went up to him, staying four feet away. I put my hand out and talked in bad French. I referred to him formally, in VOUS, (which is the equivalent of talking to a dog like you'd talk to your boss). 

He just stared at me. 

I was going to have to make my move. 

I briskly walked past him. 

He did absolutely nothing except for try to follow me back inside. 

I closed the door, shaking, and made it to the main door of the house. One down and one to go. 

I could hear the voices. 

I considered going back or out and walking aimlessly, but it seemed stupid, even to me, plus if I went out, I'd have to go past the dog and get my bag. NOPE. 

I opened the door. 

There were a lot of people and three of them were looking at me curiously as I came in. 

I took a deep breath. I saw my host father, I said in my nervous French (which gets worse when I'm nervous or tired) Good morning and I hoped I wasn't bothering anyone. 

My host dad said of course not, and waved me to the table. 

Reader, there were croissants, good ones. Melt in your mouth good ones. And everyone was nice. 

But of course.

My host mom.

She looked at me sideway. 

"You're not afraid of the dog, are you?" she asked.

I admitted that I was. 

She looked surprised and amused. "No!" she said. "Of him? Noooo." 

The dog had been let inside and was now sleeping harmlessly. 

He was fluffy and cute. 

I managed something akin the lines that I'd texted her. 

She checked her phone, saying she apologized, she'd had it off. 

She sat down. She read my message. And then she started giggling. (And she has the sweetest laugh). 

For reader, this is what I had written. 

"There's a dog in the corridor. Will it bother him if I get breakfast?" 

The giggles intensified until she was full on laughing. She showed my host father who also seemed amused. 

I laughed with her, laughing until tears pricked my eyes. 

I mentioned I'd avoided the dog for 20 minutes. 

She continued to laugh. 

It was so bizarre, and the metaphor aspect was not lost on me.  

We stopped laughing and the topic turned to other things. 

Then, about 10 minutes later, my alarm went off. 

She looked at me curiously. 

I explained (badly) that I had an alarm to make a decision. I had to explain it a few times, but she finally got it, and once again she was amused. Only a smile and some good natured teasing this time. 

And then the 2nd alarm went off. 

She turned to me. 

"And that was one is for?" she asked, her eyes amused, "For making another decision?" Her smile warm, but very amused, she was waiting for a response, her wit sparkling. 

"I'm not responding to that," I said pointedly. 

She laughed. "You're French comprehension is getting better," she said. 

I finished my food, still very much imitated by the social anxiety and not wanting to be a bother. 

But let this be a lesson to you all. 

Sometimes the only thing standing in the way is a cute fluffy black dog, and your own fears. 

~ Emery 

Tourism -- part 1

So today, let's talk Tourism and Tourists. 

Something I much prefer about Tours is that it's not a tourist's city in the same way that Paris is. Walk down the streets in Paris, go on the metro, and the odds are someone's speaking English. In restaurants in Paris, and in the attractions, the staff will switch to English fairly quickly -- especially if you have a strong American accent or stumble over words. 

There's always been a lot of irony in involved in Tourism for me though, because as much as I'd like to pretend otherwise, I *am* a tourist, not a local. It IS all new for me, and YES I'm going to gawk at the sites. But tourists, ESPECIALLY American tourists, are annoying. There's a reason we have such a reputation in France. When I was in Paris, I saw it all the time -- Americans coming in, being loud, speaking English, being disrespectful, and being entitled, angry that someone wasn't speaking English. In France. In a foreign country. 

This is the stereotype. And unfortunately, it's true, the amount of entitlement that comes from Americans is truly ASTOUNDING. 

The more French I learn, the more I'm inclined to side with the French. Everyone I've met in shops, in restaurants, in attractions, is ALWAYS polite, friendly, and professional. No one is RUDE. I just wanted to point this out because this is such a stereotype. It's simply not true. Now, if you barge in, don't say hello, demand to be served right away, and do all this in English, then yes, you know what, they might be snippy. But I would be too. 

I've found that French people are genuinely excited when Americans are speaking French, and the better your French, the more pleased they are. But even a drop of effort will open doors. On the plane over here I sat next to a girl, probably a few years younger than me, who was going to visit her boyfriend. They were going to be in France for a few weeks. He told her she didn't need to learn any French, because everyone knew English. I mildly commented that you know, a "Bonjour," and a "Merci," wouldn't hurt, but she waved me off. 

I also wanted to point out (again, because I've done this in another blog post) that NOT EVERY FRENCH PERSON SPEAKS ENGLISH. 

Should I say this again? 

It's weird but it's like FRENCH is the language of FRANCE or something? 

Here's the other thing. Some may not speak it at all, some may know a few words (the nice lady in the phone shop who couldn't read the sim card notes in English in my phone as we were installing it. She said, my English is "nul" which in French means, it's 0, does not exist), some may have learned it in school and forgotten most of it (my host mother), some may have some phrases and comprehension (my Paris host mother and the doctor I saw last night) but dislike speaking it because it's hard for them and they feel uncomfortable and self conscious. Some are fluent. There was a doctor I saw here who's English was practically perfect. Great! But to assume that of everyone you meet is stupid. 

So onto my day. 

Both weekends, I've tried to see and do things. Mostly because my host mother keeps being like "really. You're in France. And you're not going to see anything. Huh." But also because last weekend, I got an invitation to visit my host family in Paris! 

It was a last minute thing, but I absolutely jumped on a train and went to see them. They are super and I had an absolute blast. 

Saturday I walked around Tours looking for a SIM card and grabbing lunch (I did not find one and my ankle hurt) and honestly, I did not really enjoy that day. 

But Sunday, early, I walked to the train (20 sweat drenched minutes) actually found my seat correctly on the train this time, and went to Paris! 

It was quite honestly, as I remembered. The metro was as easy as before, and I got straight to San Michel (aka the Tourist stop of Tourists stops) to go to Shakespeare and Co. 

Unfortunately for me, I have no god d*** sense of direction. I got lost. Well, not lost, because I knew where I was, but lost because I had no idea where I was going. 

I stopped and got breakfast at this restaurant, but I can't say I enjoyed it too much. I was panicking (I didn't have a SIM card, I was worried about my ankle, which was really bugging me), the food was not great (it was fine, just not great), so I just picked at the Ham and Cheese crepe (I'm pretty sure my host mother would have thrown me into the Seine for that. But luckily, she wasn't there. Or maybe unluckily, I'm sure she would have had good advice), and drank my water. The air smelled like smoke, as the restaurant was full of smokers. Which, funnily enough, I never noticed the first time I was in France, but have noticed much more this time around. Plus, the man spoke to me in English, despite me replying in bad French, which made me feel like a Tourist. 

Then, instead of asking for directions like a sane person, I asked him for the nearest Tabak (smoke shop) where I'd been told I could buy a sim card. I headed off in that direction after paying . . . and did not find one, continuing to be lost. 

Now, this was the question asked of me by my host mother. "Why didn't you ask for directions!" 

Well. Um. 

Uh.

Hmm.

We'll call it anxiety, stubbornness, and dumba**ery all rolled into one and carry on. Also, between you and me, I really didn't want to admit, that (a) I was lost, and (b) I was looking for a tourist attraction. 

So, let's call it stubbornness and leave it at that. 

So I did what any anxious person does when they're lost AF and doesn't want anyone to know. I pretended I was just wandering around enjoying the scenery. (Really, I was looking for a company that had wifi I could steal, but no luck). 

 I "enjoyed" the Seine (Anxious OH LOOK THERE'S THE RIVER I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ENJOYING!), and walked along it for a bit, and thought back to memories where I'd taken a sandwich and eaten next to it. 

I "watched" the tourists, thought about asking for directions some more, didn't, and looped the river. Now I actually was lost, because I had no idea where I was. I did, however, know the area, and I spotted Notre Dame. I decided to go there because let's face it, I was hoping there was WIFI. 

So I did. It was boarded off, and it was then I remembered there'd been a fire there. That it wasn't open anymore while it was being restored. I couldn't help but feel like I was in this surreal moment. *I'd* actually been there. BEFORE the fire. I knew what it looked like. And how the world had changed! 

There was something going on to the left. I was still searching for wifi, but no luck. I glanced at the sign again. It was some sort of exhibit and I was admittedly very curious. 

So, finally figuring that I had a lot of time (and wanting to stop circling. I'd absolutely got RIGHTFULLY honked at when I walked on red in front of cars and a BIKE -- Dumba**ery level 5, anxiety was high at that moment, tunnel vision) so I decided to check out the exhibit. And that was when things got cool. 

Turns out the exhibit was a history of Notre Dame, and especially focusing on how Victor Hugo had saved it, and made it a huge part of the Paris culture today. There were illustrations, old photos, and all this stuff they'd found under the cathedral, including a whole bunch of stuff on how Paris was founded and the old ruins and stuff. It was VERY cool. 

Basically Paris was built by recycling these old . . . like stadiums? And turning them into something different? And the Seine river used to be in a different place. So that was cool. 

As far as Victor Hugo goes, basically, the French wanted to modernize the city and thought the cathedral was an eyesore, so Victor fought hard, wrote The Hunchback of Notre Dame, made everyone fall in love with this thing, and then it was redesigned and updated. Pretty cool, I think, especially considering it was his writing that changed everything. Plus, the film Disney made, made the site even more popular. So that's pretty cool. 

I also enjoyed chit chatting in French with the security guy. He told me my French was good. (Always a plus. He even said tres bien, so there!) and to watch out for thieves. (Voleurs) because there's a lot of them in Paris. (Which is true, and they go after tourists, because tourists are easy targets.) 

After that, I left the exhibit. 

I was pleased to realize that after turning my phone off airplane mode (which I did to avoid international charges, which I strongly recommend,) while I didn't have internet, I could access a map with a dot with me on it. It was in this really stupid, insipid fashion, that I finally found my destination -- Shakespeare and company, though not before going through a lovely garden first, which I actually quite appreciated. 

Here are a few shots of me being like HA! Shakespeare and Co is just ahead! 

And so I made it to the bookshop. 

I wish I could say I found it as magical as some people seem to. To me, it was one of those things that was left better in my imagination. They way I remember it was a mix of old and new books, tight corners, and I remember finding this really cool Aladdin papercut out book that I wanted to get for my mom (I didn't because she said don't get me anything. Regrets). It was old and different and mysterious. 

Flash forward to today. It reminds me of pretty much every other bookstore I've ever seen, and seeing all the English titles is a bit unnerving. I genuinely miss the French language and hearing the (nice) booksellers talk in English is also a bit unnerving. That, coupled with the long line that had been outside the store, reminds me that this is why Paris' tourism will always feel a bit . . . frustrating to me. But mostly, let's just admit I'm a snob and be done with it. 

I did pick up a few books, plus a cute bag, the most interesting book was what I'd consider a collector's item: a history of Shakespeare and Co, hardbacked, and stamped. Uh, DUH I'm getting that. It's going to be a pain to take back to the US though. Books are heavy! 

Still, considering I want a private library, I think it's a pretty good piece. 

I want to basically be that person who has books and treasures from all over the world. I just think it's cool, you know? 

So SPEAKING of libraries -- my transitions are great, RIGHT?? -- my next step was the Francois Mitterrand library -- the part of the library open to the public -- that was once the biggest collection in the world! (The library of Congress now has that honor -- don't think it's not on my bucket list!) It was SO SO cool to check it out. Though, the lunch was subpar (I stopped at Pret a Manger which is chain and it's . . . what you'd expect. Not bad, not great. But it turns out I hate Chutney.) AND of course, 

I GOT LOST! AGAIN! 

*&*&

Did I ask for directions? 

Did I follow the signs? 

Did I turn around when I was clearly going the wrong way? 

No 

No 

and yes, eventually 

READER we are not going to TALK about HOW FAR I WALKED before I realized it was the wrong way. 

(hint, it was FAR!) 

I could just hear my host mother, like a little critter on my should going, "You know, that SIM card? The thing I've told you for a week to use? Do you think that might come in handy now?" and "You . . . could ask someone. Anyone really." 

BUT eventually, due to my little blue dotted map, I realized which way I needed to go. And I wrote down a new year's resolution in my notes on my phone: LEARN HOW TO READ A MAP/TAKE AN ORIENTEERING CLASS! 

But -- I admit, it was worth it. 

The library was WAY cool. It was surrounded by this garden, and there was this HUGE building in front of it, which honestly, I don't know if it was just there, was a part of the library, THE LIBARY at one point or what, but it was huge. I took a video of it. but I'm lazy, so here's the pictures. 

Once inside (there was a huge line + security check) I was an idiot, walked too far the wrong way, hit a dead end and was told I needed a ticket to check out the library. Which in hindsight, DUH. I'm not sure how I missed the big welcome sign, but I did. 

I finally purchased my ticket, then made my way to the library. I do stand by the fact that it was HUGE. Each type of section, art, literature, etc. had it's own big room, with many many shelves. Most of the books were in French (DUH) but some were in English. I enjoyed checking out the different rooms and enjoyed seeing the Foreign Languages section (literally translated would be STRANGE LANGUAGES), the children's section (you've met me right?? Also the magazines were cool), and of course, I was most content in the Graphic NOVEL section. 

I was beyond thrilled to find a copy of Tillie Walden's Spinning! What a way to come full circle! 

I definitely want to buy my own copy some day. I read what of it I could understand, which was surprisingly a lot, then carried on to other sections. 

The last thing I saw in the library, was two HUGE globes, meant to go to one of the kings (Louis. But I can't read Roman Numerals too well). There was one of the earth and one of the sky. They were GIGANTIC! They must have been at LEAST 30 feet by 30 feet. The one with the sky on it had the astronomy figures. It was very cool. No photos allowed though. 

Then it was OFF to visit my host family! 

This was my favorite part of the trip, and the reason I'd gone in the first place! My host family was so incredibly special to me when I was in France and I always wanted to tell them thank you. 

I got the official okay around 4 and I headed right over, around arrived in Malakoff at 4:30. It was just as I had remembered. The metro stops, the street, the sky . . . and I didn't need to use my GPS anymore. I knew exactly where I was going. My feet led the way. My heart pounded. It felt like HOME. 

And then I was dumba** and couldn't remember which gate it was, and didn't have a key, so I hung around like a lurker, emailed my former host family, and waited. 

Then I heard an "EMERY?"

But I couldn't see anything. 

So I waited. 

Then finally, I saw her. 

My host mom, looking AMAZING, in this perfectly put together outfit. She wore a red shirt, a beautiful red neckless, and a skirt that matched. 

Her eyes and voice were as kind as I had remembered them. Her smile too. 

She welcomed me warmly and we spoke in French, my heart pounding, feeling awkward as I wondered if she felt obliged, if I would be able to speak at all. 

She complimented me at once on the improvement of my French. And then we were in the Elevator. 

It was smaller than I'd remembered but the same color, white. Then the voice from the elevator, "Troiseme etage"  

I had arrived. 

My host mother explained that they had renovated in between now and then, and my host father sat in the center of the living room. Blue carpet, the entire back wall covered in windows. Elegant, classic, warm, with lots of wood. 

He was warm too. 

We were awkward for a bit, I can't lie, all of us sitting there, feeling polite and shy. But at some point, it shifted, and it was like no time had passed, and more. We spoke easily, happily, engaged. I spoke about Hollins, California, my depression, the time began to shift quickly. They spoke of their children, Hollins closing its Paris Program, and how their last host student had been in 2018. My host mother seemed sad. They had hosted their first student in 1983, with students all after since. She went to look for the exact date. I spoke to my host father. I complimented the rug (it was a cool rug) he told me it had been a 40th anniversary present, and how soon, it would be their 50th. 

My host mother returned -- I begged for a photo. And got one. I sent it to their joined email and asked if it was common to have one like that. 

My host mom laughed and said no, that it was just them and most people thought it was old fashioned that they did that. 

My host dad proudly pointed out that he had one of his own. For business. 

My host mother just laughed at him. "And when's the last time you got something there?" she said. 

He only grinned at her. "Never," he admitted. 

I showed them pictures of my family, whom they'd never seen before. We talked more. 

Then I noted I should probably go. 

But my host mother was having none of it. 

OH NO, she said, I MADE YOU DINNER! 

I was stunned. I had originally invited THEM to dinner. I had assumed since they said no that they had other plans -- and they both assured me that they had already eaten. But they WANTED me to eat. 

My host father pointed out that my host mother was NOT letting anyone leave with an empty stomach. 

So I ate. 

And her cooking was absolutely wonderful. There was a salad, with a dressing I can never replicate, ham, and rice. I noted, with some struggle, that I had LOVED beets ever since she had made them for me. 

She laughed and seemed happy. She noted that most students loved her salad dressing. (which I get, it's AMAZING) but couldn't remake it because the ingredients in the US are different. 

I looked at my watch and noted I should probably go, but again, she insisted. She'd made dessert. Apple Sauce with Fresh apples from Normandy. 

Ok but WHO CAN TURN THAT DOWN. 

She insisted I put a little sugar on it. 

READER. 

That apple sauce. 

WAS MAGIC. 

The love I felt from her and her husband, the warmth, the talk, the food, and the sugar. I just wanted to cry from happiness. 

But it was time to leave. 

I had two final requests. 

When I was in Paris. every night, I'd sit in the kitchen and look out their window -- because at night, you could see the Eiffel Tower, blazing, gleaming out. I asked to see it again. 

She seemed pleased. "But of course!" she said, "It's the symbol of France!"

So I looked, and I saw it, steady and glowing as always. 

But I had a second request. "Can I hug you guys?" I asked. 

But this was met with even more enthusiasm. 

"But of course!" 

She hugged me then, and did the french thing that I've never quite mastered of kissing first on one cheek then the other (which no one in Tours does -- probably because of Covid). I turned to my host father who was standing rather stiffly. "You too?" I asked. 

He gave me a warm smile and hugged me as well, with the same cheek kissing thing that I did just as ungracefully as the first time. 

And then I left -- with talks of zoom, may thanks on both side, and a warm appreciation for the people who were even kinder than I had even remembered them. 

And then I got onto the metro, got to the train station, bought sweets and french comics, took the train home . . . and got lost of the way back again. 

But that is a story for a different time. 

All for now! 

~ Emery 

Intro to Psychology

There's a reason I like the Owl House so much, Eda's cry of "Us Weirdos have to stick together," has basically been my motto for as long as I can remember. I've always made an effort to be friendly and kind to everyone I meet, and for the last 3 years, I've been lucky in that this has frequently been returned. People in Northern California are extraordinarily nice, and I picked a great field. 

   

But today a lot of my insecurities came roaring back. When I was a kid, and a teenager, and in college, I've always felt . . . somewhat invisible. Or if I wasn't invisible, a nuance, the kind of person that needed to apologize for existing. I always said the wrong thing, stood awkwardly, and seemed in general, to have missed the guidebook for acting normal. 

For the last 3 years though, I've actually felt pretty normal, which has been nice. 

Today though, thinking about my host mother's urging to find friends, I asked a classmate if he wanted to join me for lunch. I'm not sure if he thought I was hitting on him (he's married, so I would NEVER), or if he didn't feel I knew him well enough, or if he simply didn't want to speak French (I'm trying to talk to everyone in French) but he said no. Very kindly, but a clear no. 

My brain has since gone into overdrive. I will state something, for the record. I do like being alone, and for the most part, I like it quite a bit. I'm a loner by nature. But at the same time, I'm also a loner because I don't want to get hurt. I hate rejection. I hate feeling like I'm not enough. Most of the time, I feel like I'm too awkward to exist in a space with others, ESPECIALLY those of my own age. I constantly feel judged and waffle between feeling like they think they're too good for me, or that I'm *really* too good for them. What was it that is said in ATLA? "Pride is not the opposite of shame but its source,"?

Sometimes I think I like writing because it's something you can ignore easily. If you don't like my writing, you can stop reading. I can't get on your nerves. I'm not too much. I haven't the foggiest where this comes from, but I'm a big fan of being transparent. And social situations have ALWAYS been hard for me. I'd rather have an uneven dynamic. It's easy for me to talk to someone who needs help, a teacher, a CEO, something like that, where I know where I fit in that person's universe. Or if someone is themselves a self proclaimed weirdo. Then I can manage. But social things are always hard for me, and every time I forget, the dragon rears its head again. 

Oh well. 

So I did what any girl with a sweet tooth would do. I went and got myself a raspberry tart, and munched on it sulkily. 

It's getting cooler here now, and the leaves are golden and falling off the trees. There is talk of Christmas (Noel, here) and I saw a tree -- like a grand Christmas tree -- the other day in the center of town. Supposedly the lights go up towards the end of November, so that should be cool to see. The month of November always has been a melancholic event for me. 

On the opposite end of my awkwardness spectrum, is my host sister. She's incredibly beautiful, well spoken, and speak French with speed and fineness. She is a social butterfly. She is very kind, but she is always running off to do something, and coming back in late. She is smart and popular. 

But funny as it may be, I don't envy her. I think she's lovely, and she seems to enjoy what she's doing, but as funny as it may sound, I'm actually very ok with myself. I love spending my time the way I spend my time - writing, drawing, reading, walking around searching for sugar, bookshops, going to Paris to see my host family that I've kept in contact with for 7 years, going to the same restaurants and bakeries so much that they know my face and are glad to see me, listening to my music and dancing along like a weirdo, talking cooking with my host mom and watching Chef's Table France, cartoons in French, talking with my professor, applying myself in my French studies, improving. Talking online with my friends back home and all over the world. It's marvelous, and it's me. 

So for all I still struggle with social things, for all I wish making friends came as easily to me as it did my host sister, I'm actually ok with the fact that it doesn't. 

I'm going to close out this statement with yet another cartoon quote (because of course). "There's no one I'd rather be than me" (Wreck it Ralph. The first one. The good one). 

Because at the end of the day, and this has taken me a long time to get to, I very much like myself. And as flawed as I may be, I'm happy with who I am, what I stand for, and what I'm doing. 

~ Emery 

Food

 Today marks exactly two weeks since I left California, and I am pleased to say I have never been happier. It is one of the best choices I have ever made and a large part of me never wants to leave France. 

It's a bit strange to feel most like yourself in a place that is nothing like you grew up in, that is completely foreign and different. But yet, there is something about it that just makes me feel alive, and like my strongest self. The things I like about myself are clearer here, and even the bad things don't feel as bad. My head is clear, my depression gone, and my anxiety minimal. I feel like I can do anything. I feel capable and free and I am enjoying every moment. 

I feel like I have a future. 

This week has been tremendously interesting and enjoyable. I've done a lot of studying, been to the library, cruised around Paris, had a joyful reunion with my host family in Paris, that made me want to cry, and enjoyed some TRULY delicious food. 

Let's talk about the food for a minute (I know you would all rather hear about Paris, but I wouldn't!). It's pretty cool that here there are so many good places and all around you, there's French, and you're in places that are genuinely French. They are made for French people, and all around you, the locals are coming in for lunch, their bread, or a pastry. 

One of my absolute favorite things in France is the concept of a Boulangerie. It just means bakery, but it doesn't specialize in sweet things. They have sweet things there, but that's not the point. A Patisserie is where you would go for something sweet. Or a Chocolatier. I need to visit those at some point. But the bakery, the Boulangerie is different. They sell bread, sandwiches, tarts (called tartelettes here) pies, croissants, pain au chocolate, and an assortment of other things. They are beyond belief delicious. And cheap too. Sandwiches with fresh, crispy bread, are about 3-5 euro, depending on what you get. The tarts come in different flavors. In the past I'd only tried Strawberry, which remain my favorite, but are sadly out of season right now, but now I've tried Raspberry (delicious), and lemon (my host mother's favorite - which is also good). She recommended I try chocolate next, so that's something to think about. 

I'm strong here. I'm walking two plus miles a day, and I'm getting stronger. It used to be I'd sweat buckets each time, but now I don't, and I'm only a little out of breath. Plus my ankle . . .  it hasn't been hurting like it used to. My host mom remarked wryly, "maybe you just need to use it more." She seems to have been right, because it hurts less and less. But she also suggested I get it checked by a doctor here, and suggested he could find ways not to repair it, but to sooth the pain so it didn't stop me from living my life. 

Good idea actually. 

About my host mother. At first, I wasn't sure what to think of her. She was stern, blunt, no nonsense, with a sharp tongue. I was actually more than a little intimidated. 

I still maintain that she is not one to cross, BUT she is also SO SO SO nice! And she jokes quite a lot. She has a fantastic sense of humor, and is actually very easy going in her way. She is also HONESTLY one of the best cooks I've ever encountered. And I know you're all going, YES, YES, of COURSE, she's FRENCH. But it's not like that. 

She's so dedicated to her cooking, she likes good food, she likes to cook, and her dedication to detail, and her ability for complex tastes, and her love for variety. We've had the same thing ONCE in two weeks. And that was only because there were leftovers. (See last blog for her distaste of waste). 

The stuff she makes is GENUINELY mind-blowing in my book.   

Last night she made two things -- a really good, really complex mushroom, potato, zucchini + soup. It had so much flavor! She pared it with this corn baguette, which, I'll be honest, I didn't even know that was a thing. After that, there was greens, and this really really really good bunch of cooked vegetables. I can't even begin to describe it. But they were amazing. Potatoes, carrots . . . things I didn't recognize . . . delicious.

The night before? The woman made an F-ing caramel. Like, literally, poured over this yogurt like dessert. It was literal caramel. Just CASUALLY THERE. She made F-ing crepes that night too. LIKE A LITERAL ham and cheese, and egg crepe with this dark flour. Just, there, casually. 

The night before that? (I really should start keeping a food journal or something) she made pot stickers. At least I think that's what they were. But the thing was -- they tasted completely different. They tasted like they came from somewhere in Asia. Her sauce was to die for. And the meat inside them was delicious too. 

What else. She made me, on a Saturday night, when she was out with her friends, this DELICIOUS pasta salad with eggs. I am ACTUALLY going to upload a photo (GASP) of that, just so you can see this woman's insane ability. 

 

Ok, there we go. The lighting isn't my favorite thing ever, but you can definitely see the effort that went in to it. 

I'm just so genuinely impressed. 

Ok, I think that's all for now. 

Bye my loves! 

~ Emery 

Day 5

 I am currently dripping in sweat, and swimming in cultural differences. If you Google culture shock, you'll find that there are number of stages, much like grief that you go through. There are four, apparently, but today I only care about two. Honeymoon stage, and the frustration stage. Obviously, the first three days were nothing but honeymoon. I was over the moon, and I adored everything about France. Today, I am a bit more cynical, especially after yesterday. 

After I finished writing, I sulked for a bit, which, let's be honest, is something I do quite often. Then, at nearly 7, my host father knocked on my door and told me he'd gotten a doctor's appointment for me at a bit past eight, and that I'd have to eat quickly and go. I admit I was very impressed he got a same day appointment, and at night, no less. 

But then came dinner. As I've mentioned before, my host mother is a super cook, and typically, she gives me more than I can eat. This would not be a problem at home, or in an American restaurant, because you'd simply get a doggy bag, that you might or might not eat later, and be done with it. 

Here, in France, and especially in my host family's house, this is not the case. A "doggy bag" is unheard of and frankly borderline offensive, if not offensive. Last night, I finished, left a few pieces on the plate (in America, it's polite to not scrape your plate and to leave a little). You could see the look of frustration on my host mother's face. 

"No waste," she said. Or roughly that, I was so tired last night that my French was going in and out. I misunderstood her and thought she was pleased with the fact I'd finished almost all of it. "I'm trying," I said. 

Then came the part where one of these days, I'll be lying in bed, and this memory will come and haunt me, she asked if anyone wanted Dessert, I had seen her working on this pie and it looked amazing. So I said I'd like some, then she looked at me funny. Very funny. "But you didn't finish your food, and you want DESSERT?" 

Reader, I wanted to disappear. But it gets worse. 

She looked at me again, "You are like a child," she said. 

Not going to lie, I turned red and wanted to cry. I honestly nearly cried on the spot. I think there was an air of teasing to it, but I was so tired, I just couldn't separate that from her words. And too, they have been clear how much they hate waste. 

So, here our story gets even worse. She gave me to pie. And I tried it. It was figs, which I discovered I do not especially care for. And I realized I was more full than I'd thought. I finished half then stopped. I felt like if I ate anymore, I would throw up. 

My host mother just looked at me. She actually glared. This piercing glare that made me feel about an inch tall. "You're not going to finish?" she asked. I don't remember if the after all that was spoken, or just subtext, but I felt it. 

The other host students were looking at me. 

The smart response would have been just to eat the damn thing. But I am nothing if not ballsy and stupid AF. 

She mentioned something about waste and garbage. 

And me, being the dumbass I am, said, "I agree that that is very important, however, I also don't want my body to be a garbage can." Or a less articulate version, rather, as I was tired, and that's a hard sentence. 

She just looked at me tiredly. After all, what else was she going to do?

My host father chimed in then -- maybe I could have it for breakfast? 

I don't remember who added I could have the remaining food also. 

I still wanted to disappear.

I said sure, of course, absolutely. 

But I could still feel the tension. 

My host father and I went off to the doctor, and my host father was quite kind. I can't imagine driving in Tours, the streets are so narrow. We talked about the doctor's visit and I apologized for the waste and suggested ways of fixing it -- mainly asking for less. 

He seemed pleased with this. 

When I returned, I expressed the same sentiment to my host mother, who was gracious as always and seemed very relaxed. She assured me multiple times that it was ok, really, it was not a problem. 

I don't know. These things are hard for me. I also joked to her that my parents called me a princess, though I tried not to be so.

She seemed past it. 

But. The pie did end up in my breakfast this morning. Obviously, I ate it without comment and left none. It was good once I got a sense of it, but I very much had a sense of this seen from an American Girl Book I read when I was little. It involved Turnips. 

But it's not just this scene that has led me to feeling spoiled. My host family is very conscious of water use, lights, cords plugged in, heat, basically everything. Basically there's a law that you can't have your heater above 66 degrees F. (19 C) They asked what I was used to. My host father actually repeated the number back to me to make sure he understood. We usually keep our heater at 73. Thank god I didn't mention that I like it at 75. I think he might have fallen to pieces in shock. It doesn't come naturally to me to conserve, and it always feels a bit pointless. A lot of struggle for something that feels fruitless. Not that I would tell them that. I'm sure in reality is does make a difference. The truth is, I hate being inconvenienced. Which very much makes me feel like a spoiled American, and my sense of shame is strong. 

Which, by the way, that is the reason I am sweating, not from the heat (no, definitely not from the heat) but because they walk everywhere in Tours. (France, at least Paris also walks and does the Metro). I don't know if it's because the city was built that way, or because they want to cut down on the pollution, but they are STUNNED that the walk to the Institute is long to me. It's 0.7 miles each way, so about a mile and a half to two miles each way, and it takes about 15 minutes. It took 13 when I nearly ran this morning. This is a LOT for me. But they are very much like, "DUDE, it's TEN minutes, SOME PEOPLE walk 30! It's very close!" 

Ok, so they don't say dude, but it's the same energy. And I want to clarify, it's never mean, it's just genuinely surprised. It's a cultural difference. In the same way we're used to an hour of traffic, or long driving commutes, and our expensive health care, it's just not something they think about. 

Speaking of health care, the doctors here, I'm sorry, but they are much quicker and cheaper (I will not say better, because I only have one experience and I do like many American doctors). Not only was I able to get in an appointment same day, the wait was 5 minutes, the doctor, bless him, offered to switch to English for me, and spoke fluently, figured out the problem tout suite, and I was out in 10 minutes, including paying the bill. 

The cost? Which he seemed concerned for me paying without insurance? $67 dollars. I'm tempted to upload the receipt for proof. So cheap! 

And for my medicine that he prescribed? I got it today, at a Pharmacy two minutes walk from my school. There was no line. I could walk into any of them, they didn't have to be sent somewhere, and it came to . . . the grand total of 11 dollars without insurance. Which again, the pharmacist seemed concerned that I had to pay. 

My regular medicine WITH my work insurance (when I had it) was more than that! 

So, that was that. 

But on top of it all, guess what has been the subject in my classes. WASTE! This morning, I wrote an essay on the type of pollution that bothers me the most. I wrote about plastic in the ocean, which I hope means I didn't mess up the prompt. We also discussed ugly fruit and expiration dates, and two for ones that cause people to buy more, and things like that. 

I feel like I'm getting a message from the universe. OR SOMETHING!

But onto the good after the whining. 

Classes today were really good. I got a great night's sleep last night, and felt really refreshed. I understood and could follow along much better. I enjoyed my class, despite having to take two tests in it, and we were also talking about urban gardens, which was pretty cool considering one of my favorite classes in college was Environmental Science. 

I had two other classes today. They were taught by the same lady and had many of the same students, so they blurred into one. 

But one of the highlights was that I have another American in class. Not only that, he's from Sonoma County. So that's a thing. He's nice but he insists on speaking English. So, today, since I think I came across as rude yesterday, I just told him, "Hey, I'm happy to chat, but it has to be in French!" 

He was surprised, but down with it. 

So later, before class, he and I were talking, but we were talking in French. 

My instructor came by and heard. 

She was very pleased. "Two Americans! Speaking French!" she said. 

I grinned through my mask. I was tickled pink with the Brownie Points. 

The rest of the classes were very interesting, I obtained my medication which made me proud, as I wasn't certain if I would be lost or not. I didn't find a restaurant like I planned, but I snacked on Luna Bars and felt proud that I did something. I very much like being in France and surrounded by the French. I am encouraged by my progress and I spent lunch feeling grateful, and conjugating verbs in an app, and listening to Amy Grant and a few others. 

Now I'm going to turn on my other light, read my page of homework, and chill for a bit. Tomorrow, if I don't lose my nerve, and my ankle doesn't hurt too badly (it's doing well today, but I also avoided stairs) I'm going to attend a language conversation group and attend a lecture in the evening. 

Thursday is apparently a holiday here too (Veterans Day) which will be good for resting my ankle. 

All for now, I am a little nervous to eat this evening, because I'm worried I will upset someone, but honestly, I do think I'm overthinking. They have been nothing but kind and sometimes my worries just get away from me. 

~ Emery   

Day Four

 Day four. 

This will be brief as my attention span is short and dinner is just around the corner. 

I am having one of those days where I am wondering "WHY DID I THINK I COULD DO THIS," I don't think that's talked about enough. We all get them. 

So far I've coped in a healthy way: retreated to my room and talked to no one since about 2 or 3. It's now 7. 

Things that are overwhelming me: 

1. My ankle. I am concerned that the walk from the school will be too far. I am looking into other options. I am wondering if I can put a notice on the board and ask if I can pay someone to take me to and from or do an uber. The cold makes everything all the worse. And I would have liked to explore the city, but I don't think that's going to happen. Hopefully it still will, but one can't blame me for being pessimistic. Option two is a bike, but I'm not sure that will help. Also I hate stairs. 

2. The French language. While normally I LOVE the sound of the French language and ADORE trying to understand it, today, after 2 hours last night, and about 4 today, I would be happy if I never heard it again. It's just buzzing pointlessly in my tired head. 

3. Another health issue I don't want to talk about here. 

4. I am tired. I've been walking up at night and not able to go back to sleep. I sleep too long, too little, it's all messed up. I feel like a failure. 

5. I haven't eaten since this morning. I wanted to find a nice restaurant but instead I caved and went to this cafeteria place so I wouldn't get lost and to spare my ankle. Well, that was a mistake. I grabbed a soda, which turned out to have grapefruit in it, which I can't have. Like, allergic level, can't have. I grabbed some apple sauce, which was fine, and some greens, as a main course, but the greens, ah the greens, I made an ass of myself. I couldn't manage more than two bites and I was feeling ill and tired. It was not to my taste, let's put it that way. And I couldn't see a trash can, so I had to apologize to the poor nice woman in my TIRED french (which is AWFUL) and she was luckily super nice. I told her I wasn't feeling well. Which was VERY VERY VERY TRUE. So that was fun. 

So. That is me. I am depressed, and I am anxious, and hungry. And I've been talking with my lovely friends, which helps, but it makes me feel very useless, and small, and wish I were a braver person. That's all for today. 

~ Emery  

P.S On a good note, yesterday ended well. I spoke to the other host student, and she was nice, and my host mom made carbonara, which I ADORE. And hers was amazing. If I can actually walk a little, maybe I will try and find a bakery around here. I'm sure there are some. 

Also my wonderful friend Robin agreed that it would be a good idea to set small goals: here are some of mine. 

1. See the river. 

2. Check out the bookstores

3. Check out the comic book store

4. Find a grocery store 

5. Find Strawberry tarts. 

6. Find some good restaurants. 

My first three days in France

 Today marks day 3 in France. 

I start classes tomorrow, and I'll actually be wandering around then. I've spent the last two days indoors, resting my ankle. 

Sleep has been a problem. I'm either getting too much or too little and my schedule is all over the place. I woke up at noon today, and made myself get up. Yesterday I slept til 1:30, having gone to bed at 8:30 -- I think I slept for 18 hours. It was a lot. 

I was awake until four AM last night. I tried to sleep, but couldn't quite manage. 

But overall I am very pleased with everything here. But there is one thing I'd quite forgotten. On Sunday, EVERYTHING shuts down in France. So, having been very clever and booked my return flight for Sunday, I have made a mess of things. My host family helped me to find a train leaving the Saturday instead, and I've spent the last little bit finding a hotel. Which I have successfully done. 

Today I just feel more tired than anything. The last two days I've felt very happy and content, and today I just feel fatigued. 

I am excited to go out and explore soon, but worried about my ankle. I am excited for classes, but hoping I'll be able to be awake for them! 

In short, I am a little stressed! But that's to be expected I think. 

On to some cool things. 

The place here is beautiful. If I could have designed my own house or room, this would be it. It is a large house and right now, I have my own floor. It is only temporary though, til the other host student leaves. Then I will have my own room next to the garden. So I can't lose. They are both very pretty. The ceilings are high in the main room, and it is a lot of white. I won't post pictures here, because it is their home, and that is rude, but they have a perfect combination of classic and modern. The stairs are pure white. My room is upstairs, and it has a window overlooking the garden. It is their grown son's room. He lives in Paris now, but they keep the three rooms upstairs open in case any of their three children want to come home. I think that's sweet. 

The place is spotless, but my hosts are incredibly relaxed. 

My room is a nice size. Not too big, not too small. It has a window overlooking the garden. There's plenty of shelves, several mirrors, and art, all around. The bed has a beautiful coverlet, that has blue on the bottom, and black and white stripes on the top. The ceiling is low, with the typical slants that you see in French buildings, but it doesn't feel low. There are the prettiest blue curtains. The level of detail in the room as amazing. There's even a runner mid-wall with black and white flowers. It's really lovely. Airy, yet cozy. 

If you can't tell, I love French style. But then, who doesn't? 

The food has been good as well, and I am trying new things all the time. 

So far, I've had this really lovely vegetable soup, which has carrots and something else in it -- my host mother told me, but I don't know my vegetables, so I have no idea what she said. She also made a pasta the first night, but I only had a bit, because the soup was incredibly filling. The second day, she made me breakfast, even though it was 2 o'clock, which I think was very sporting of her, with ham, eggs, and something I couldn't place. It was very good. Last night was the soup again, this time with deliciously salted potatoes. Also there was cheese for dessert -- yes, it's a thing, and YES, it was delicious, much to my surprise. Additionally, all the meals have bread (pain) with them, and it's SO good. I have to try not to eat all of it. They also have a vase like thing for water, which is nice. For lunch today (remember, I slept until 2) she offered me breakfast or lunch, and I said lunch, because I need to get used to the schedule, there was green beans, a type of meet, a mustard. I had an apple for dessert, which is common in France, and quite good. Despite the French making what I would argue allegedly is some of the best pastries in the world, it's been my experience that most French don't eat nearly as much sugar as those of us in the US do. 

Which honestly, explains a lot. 

We also had some lovely conversation around politics last night. Unlike in the US, where it's a taboo topic, the French love to discuss politics. It's very important. As my host father put it, "how will you know where people are coming from if you don't talk about it??" I very much like this about the French culture and it's interesting to compare and contrast the different cultures. 

We discussed Americans -- and I observed that when you speak a second language, and exist in another culture, you realize that there is not one way to do things, things that you think are for certain, really aren't. My host father observed that he agreed, that it was something he had seen with some Americans, that their perspective tends to be set. 

Which interests me as a cultural note. I also want to point out, that he said this with mild interest, and not as a judgement. 

I have found that the French are very kind. I think we have such a view of them in America that simply isn't true. Of course, these are the people who ENJOY working with Americans, but still, it's food for thought. It is the same thing I found when I was in Paris, and it seems that in Tours, which is an hour south of Paris, it is the same thing. 

It is darker out today. It is a little cloudy and melancholic. And the time difference between here and home is a bit more pronounced. 

But I am looking forward to all this. I am so excited about my French. Already, with out any classes, it's better than I ever could have dreamed. 

Ok, but story time. So, the first thing I said in French was to the border guard. I spoke confidently in French, and started with "Bonjour Monsieur!". This is VERY VERY important in France. I think that is why often Americans think the French are rude. Because they don't start with that. They've committed a huge faux pas, and they don't even know it. Basically, it is the equivalent of this: Someone comes to your house to meet with your kids. You open the door and they sweep past you, and pretend as if you are a lamp post. Then later, when they are done playing with your kids, they ask you for a favor. Then they leave. It is very very rude not to say bonjour. 

Anyway, I digress. 

I said "bonjour," and I explained to the man, in french, that I was headed to Tours, to study and improve my French. He asked if I had a student card or a visa. I told him I would only be there for 30 days, but I had a letter from my school and for my host family. I gave him these documents, he looked over them, stamped them, and I was through! I stood on the other side for several moments and just felt thrilled. I'd communicated very well! In French! I'd not had to ask him to repeat himself or stared or stumbled over much. It felt amazing! 

My next interaction came from being an idiot and not being able to find the train station, despite being IN the train station. I did multiple laps, went up and down stairs, and finally gave up and went into the post office. She said "Bonjour!"  I started off with "pardon," but remember what I said about Bonjour? It's crucial. I got a look, and she began to speak in English now, "good morning" sounding tired. I quickly looked her in the eye, and said "Bonjour," clearly and empathically. Instant change. I spoke in French, and she instantly switched back to French. I told her I was lost, that I had a stupid question, and I wondered if she could refer me to the trains. She nodded, told me it was just downstairs, and pointed out the people who could help me. I thanked her for her help, and went to the correct place. 

I had smaller interactions in between my big ones, but they were very simple, ordering food, asking if there were any sim cards around (that one got me a look, which was fair, I asked the food mart and they were like, no . . . ?)

The next interaction was one with the ticket masters. We spoke mostly in French, but she switched briefly to English when I explained I was from California and I was extremely tired. But she only switched to tell me the crucial information -- to check the boards 20 minutes before. 

The last satisfying interaction (I spoke french while chaotically boarding my first train as I was completely lost and made a complete idiot of myself, but that doesn't count, that was primarily, "sorry, so sorry, thanks a million, sorry") was when I was boarding the five minute train to Tours. I asked two people if it was the correct train, and they said yes, so I boarded. But here was the cool part! A woman came up to me and asked me IN FRENCH (cool, I passed for a local!!!) if this was the train to Tours. I told her it was. She said some others had told her it was not and she was concerned she had the wrong information. I told her, yes, I was a bit confused too, but it was the correct train, I had spoken to several people. She thanked me and went off. 

WHICH WAS SO SATISFYING! 

Ok, I think that's all for now. I don't know how or when or if I'll update this when classes start, but it's something I can do for fun in the meantime. 

All for now! 

~ Emery  

Differences in France

 Bonjour tout le monde! And welcome to France! Surprising myself more than Anyone else, I am currently in Tours, France, for a language intensive that starts on Monday. I thought I would start things off with a blog, so I can remember these things once I've left. But right now, we're just beginning! So far, I am super happy with everything. But I will write more about that later. Today, I wanted to point out 3 things I ADORE and prefer about cultural ways of doing things, and three that are harder for me. So without further ado -- 

Three things I prefer about France: 

1. Their approach to Covid. 

There is a reason that the USA's rates are insane to France's. Most likely, multiple reasons, but here's the one I've noticed while I'm on the ground. People ACTUALLY are wearing masks. They are wearing them correctly, and when possible, they are socially distancing. In addition, France's policy for visitors is incredibly detailed as well, and there is an existence of a "Health Pass" (or in French, a "Passe Sanitaire") which is a QR code that allows you to quickly prove that you're either vaccinated, or negative for Covid. I haven't seen this at full force yet, but I am quite pleased with the idea. 

2. Public Transportation 

This is an easy one, and I'm not the first person to talk about it. In Paris, they have the metro, and it is incredibly efficient. Here, there was a train from Paris Airport to Tours. It was incredibly fast, on time, and they even had an app or two to help you along the way. There was no huge difficulty, everything had clear signs, and once I was in Tours, there were some cars, but it is a walking city, and it is very lovely that this is so. I think it makes a huge difference in terms of being environmentally friendly, less noisy, and prettier to look out. It is also incredibly efficient. I think the USA, especially California, could take a huge hint about this, as all we have are cars, cars cars. 

3. Beautiful Architecture

This is also a no brainer, but France is SO beautiful to look at, both on the inside and out. There is a beautiful style -- it fits with the crisp air, and there are lots of white, old buildings, and gardens. There's just such a different vibe. The insides are different too, lots of white, sloped roofs in the attic, wood desks, it's just very charming and very beautiful. My host family has a garden here, and it is gorgeous. High ceilings in the main rooms, pure white staircases, there's just something to be said for the taste of the French. Truly gorgeous. 

                                               Things I have to get used to

1. Bathrooms 

The first thing I thought of was the bathrooms in France. There are two things that make me prefer the American way of doing things. The first is that, especially in the train stations (gare, in French) the bathrooms are pay per use, about 1 euro (roughly a dollar and some change) You have to have coins, or a French card (this is new, it was coins only in Paris in 2014). I very much prefer the US way of having it free. And in their defense, some are free. But some are not, and that always seems inconvenient to me. The second one has to do with the homes in France. There are two bathrooms, one with a toilet, and one with everything else -- shower, bath, sink, etc. The toilets are very small, and the bathrooms are large. The thing that unnerves me is there is NO sink in the toilet, you have to go to the bathroom to wash your hands. 

And I will never understand that. 

2. Dinner

This is something one has to adapt to, not a dig on what is done. It is simply a cultural difference. Dinner in France is always late. It starts at 7:30, but can be even later. The reason for this is lunch usually runs until 2, so it makes sense, but as someone who's typically asleep by 7:30, 8, this is an adjustment for me. (Dinners are good, however!) 

3. Walking

This is also not a dig, merely something hard for me. As I mentioned earlier, France is typically meant to be walked. BUT since I have arthritis in my ankle, it's also something that is tricky for me. Typically, 15-20 minutes is seen as not very far. And it's not, if you think about it! But for me, I will have to plan very differently to be able to get around, something I had forgotten about prior to this, something that was not as much as a problem several years ago. I'm hoping, however, that my foot will get stronger as I go along, not weaker. We shall see. Right now, I am resting it from all the walking I did from the aero- airport.

All for now! 

~ Emery