From the beach to the city. . .

Wake up.


No.


Yes, wake your ass up, you need to pack the rest of your things into your "day bag" as Jane calls it then go turn in your key and head down to breakfast.


No.


It's the last morning in Cannes, now it's off to Paris.


Paris?


Yes, the reason you came to France in the first place. You know that city up north you've been waiting all summer for....


Yes. Paris. Today?!




Now you're awake. You stand up a bit dizzy. Too fast. Feel around for your phone under your pillow, check the time 7:55. The others will be knocking on your door to walk down to breakfast in five minutes. They are always on time. Stumble on over to the sink fill up your water bottle and wash your face, shoot you packed your towel in your suitcase which was sent up to Paris last night. Oh well. You take off your t-shirt and use it to dry your face instead, then set about shoving the rest of your goods into your beach bag, even though you're sure there is still a bit of room in your back pack.


Now you think you can hear them grumbling down the hallway to you. 8:30 is a horrible time to have a group of young people meet. Change your clothes really quick then stuff the last things into your bag. Shit. L is still asleep, you should have woken her when you woke up. You call over the desk to wake your temporary roommate, only to remember that she is an own travel student, she left last night. There's a knock on the door just as your pj pants find their way into your bag. "It's open!" That was loud. In they come ready for the day, but just as unhappy as you feel. 


You double check the room, force your last few Euro coins into your pocket along with your new French phone, and your ATM card, just in case then head downstairs. The others have already checked in their keys, so you split here as they head into the cafe. There's a crowd around the door, but luckily you spot Jane in the middle, you make eye contact and then she makes her way over to you, "Do you want to just give me your key and I'll check it in for you while you eat." she asks in her wonderful British accent. "Yes." You are still half asleep so it takes until you give her the key for you to remember to say please, then you throw in a thank you. "You can leave your bags down here if you'd like, some of the others have done so as well I'm watching them." When Jane talks you can sense that she has been to many places and lived a fulfilling life, which make you wonder why she is currently playing shepherd to a group of American students, although she does seem to enjoy it. 


Her offer sounds enticing but it's too much effort to remove your backpack and computer case, plus your beach bag doesn't really close, so you mutter "No, merci." and head run up the stairs as fast as your tired body can, it's easier this way, with the momentum. You gulp down a cup of coffee, that doesn't taste like coffee, followed by the French equivalent of sliced white bread (looks the same, tastes/feels different) covered in laughing cow cheese, you'd think the land of fancy cheese could do better. Oh well.


Next thing you know you are at the train station in Cannes standing with your group, waiting for the train and trying not to pee your pants. The entire water bottle you drank, along with the coffee, were not good ideas, especially since the Cannes train station is so small that it doesn't have "les toilettes." You think Jane is both judging your bladder and laughing at your potty dance so you crack some jokes that are only funny because everyone is tired.


Train bathrooms are small, and less fun than airplane bathrooms because there isn't just a little bit of turbulence here and there, the whole effing thing is turbulence. But still so worth it.


The train ride itself is rather miserable. You are not one prone to motion sickness but today it's all you can do not to hurl your small breakfast onto J. 


Perhaps you shouldn't have had so much wine last night.


It was only like three glasses spread out over the course of the night. I feel sick because trains suck, and I stupidly stayed out late.


It's probably the wine.


It's not the wine, it's the tired and the crap coffee and the cheese bread. Plus I am legal to drink here, and almost legal to drink back home, and it wasn't actually that much, AND it was the final beach party.


I'm not sure "beach party" and not drunk are compatible.


Yes, they are. I spent most of the night shepherding drunk companions back to school, or chatting with F and the others anyways. If I wasn't on a train/functioning on like four hours of sleep I'd be fine.


Touché.


You sleep through as much of the train ride as you can. You write a bit, add a couple of pages to the novel that will never be published, then pass out again. You find out that Jane has two extra "pic-nique" sacks and she heard you talking about your love for the little applesauce space pack things, so she saved you one. It's nice to know your almost peeing your pants a few hours ago didn't totally ruin her opinion of you. You slurp the applesauce down then back to sleep, computer open and headphones in, like a giant iPod. Sleeping around your computer on the small table is difficult but soon J is shaking you awake to show you the picturesque little towns with graffiti covered train stations. They do look lovely and you're a lot less motion sick now that you've slept a bit.


Eventually the loudspeaker turns on and a man jumbles through something in French, then in English he translates, apparently it's the conductors last ever day at work for the TGV, he will be retiring after today's trip, so don't feel alarmed if you hear fireworks of pops going off as we arrive. Good to know; don't freak if it seems like your train is being blown up. As the train starts to slow Jane comes by to give instructions for what to do once we de-board: follow her to the truck that drove all of our luggage up, here we will meet with Claire who will give us our housing assignments on a slip of paper, then with our roommates we will load in to taxis and embark on an adventure into the unknown.


As soon as you and A get off the train you realize that you both have to pee, but you stall too long deciding whether or not to just re-board real quick and go, so instead you hold it as The Group slowly navigates through the conductors celebration on the platform. You make it to the truck and ask Jane if this station has a bathroom, she almost smiles as she informs you that it does, but it's on the opposite side of the building and probably costs money. 


M agrees to watch the potty groups bags while you, A, and two others all retrace your steps back inside behind Jane. You have almost lucked out, a temp bathroom has been set up close to the station entrance, but it costs 50 Euro Cents and there is a line that is not moving very quickly.


The first thing you buy in Paris is the privilege to pee.


Now you are in a taxi with J, heading off to your new home, trying to guess which street will be yours and navigating the route on the new little tourist map Claire gave you. 


There's the Notre Dame, I think that one's The National Assembly? according to the map we are pulling up towards The Louvre. THERE'S THE OBELISK! You explain to J why it has been controversial lately, it bores her but she listens, you're both to dumbfounded by your surroundings to actually be aware of your surroundings. That road's the Champs Eyséese! This is cool.


Now you two are lost in a courtyard, there are two open doors leading to two staircases and the first doesn't go all the way up to your floor, while the second looks as if it is inside the house, you call Claire, AIFS calls your host mum, and in what seems like no time since you left this morning you are unpacked and lying on your new bed. You turn to J "Hey remember that time we were in Paris, and got lost in a courtyard?" "Yeah, good times."


A tout à l'heure,

Vicarious Paris


(No translations today, too tired, and most everything can be easily looked up if you don't already know them (which you should)).

Tu comprends?

Walk in, careful not to trip on the single step by the door. Smile, these are your new friends after all. That little nod they gave in return proves that you are not the only one who's tired. Take your usual seat in the small rectangular class, the first one, there on the left, between the corner and the heater, next to the broken one with the broken desk. Maybe you should exchange your seat for the broken one, so that your neighbor will be pleasantly surprised when all of her notebooks don't slide off. Too bad she's right behind you, you've been with her since you rushed in late to breakfast.

Coffee is not a meal.

Despite the fact that the two of you are on completely different French levels, you're secretly glad she's in your class. It's nice to have a friend near by, even one so new.

Together you greet the teacher. "Bonjour!" The teacher is filled with so much energy that you sit up a bit straighter. You want to impress her, because you want her to realize that you appreciate all that she is teaching you. You remember the warnings that the AIFS advisors gave you, "Your teachers will not be like you had back home, they will be blunt, they will correct you, and you may find them mean or rude. That is just the way, don't fret." She is not like this at all. She smiles, and laughs, she makes jokes, and yet can correct your pronunciation without making you feel stupid, yeah you definitely are going to regret not having her as a teacher in Paris.

The lesson has begun while you were thinking, you look over at J's desk to see what page you should be on... cent seize. You flip through trying to find it, the whole class may not make sense if you miss this first part. You find it, but you're tired, you don't understand what she's saying, it's all in French. You try hard to focus. You think that was "le verbe," perhaps you hear "le pronom," wait what about the Passé Compossé? Is that done now?

The class continues the page is turned, you missed the directions to do so, once again J's book provides you with the right number. Now you hear and vaguely understand the directions you have come to recognize as the signal for the class to complete an exercise out loud. Each student answering a question in turn.  You stare at your page trying to decipher the French directions for the French grammar lesson you didn't understand. "Tu comprends Robyn?" No, you don't but there are 11 others in your class, you can tell they are looking at you so you keep your head down and lift your left hand, palm towards the ground and twist it slightly from left to right signaling "comme ce comme ca," an on the fence gesture that says "I know it, but I'm not confident I know it." She understands that it really means "I have no clue what's going on, but I don't want my peers to laugh at me."

She explains the main points again, but slower, you start to get the basic concepts, J watches your face as well to translate under her breath when you really get confused. You think you understand enough to participate in the exercise. "Ahhh, oui, oui je comprends."

The exercise starts and you quickly count out the people who will go in front of you to find which question will  be yours. Shit. You will be the first person to answer a question in whatever exercise she choses next. You scan the page trying to answer the first question of each exercise before they get to you, but you don't understand the concepts enough to answer them in time. One ear is listening to the answers that the others give, trying to find some sort of life raft that will save you once your turn arrives, but you get distracted, and now all eyes turn to you as you are assigned exercise 4. You read off the directions out loud, but you have no clue what the words you say mean, you could be condemning an innocent man to death and still you would blindly proceed, fingers crossed in hopes that your accent is not too thick. You slowly read the example, hoping to soak up its secret. Now you read the question, you recognize some of the words as you say them, it's asking if your husband got you flowers, but you don't know how to phrase the answer so you stall, "comment ce dit cet "mari" en anglais" you don't even think that you phrased the question properly, the teacher translates the entire sentence into english, you can tell she is frustrated you start slowly, she asks questions, each answer providing the next word in the sentence, eventually the answer appears and you sigh. Done. J'ai fini. J easily answers the next one and the class continues, but you look at the clock and know that there are still 2 and a half hours of class left today. . . (to be continued.)

A tout à l'heure,

Vicarious Paris

Bonjour [bon-jor] - hello/good day


cent seize [sont says] - 116


le verbe [le verb]- the verb


le pronom [le pro-nohm]- the pronoun


passé composé [pass-a compose-a]- the past tense


Tu comprends? [too com-prond] - Do you understand?


comme ce comme ca [comb-see comb-saw] - an answer used to determine how a person is doing, often in response to the customary greeting "Comment ça va?" which asks "How are you?" It is the indifferent response, both it and the accompanying hand gesture essentially mean "neither bad nor good," aka, in the middle.


Ahhh, oui, oui je comprends [Ah, we, we jzu com-prond] - Ahh yes, yes, I understand.


comment ce dit cet "mari" en anglais? [comm-o say dee say ma-ri on ohng-lay]- a rather American way of asking how to say a word or phrase in English, often used among students to discern the meaning of a new term, or to help find a word they do not know if "anglais" is replaced with "français." Roughly translates to "how is "insert word or phrase" said in English/French?" In our case it is most likely spelt wrong and or being used improperly.


J'ai fini [Jzay fin-ee]- I have/am finished.

Welcome.

You and I are now one in the same.

Welcome to the world you innocent little thing, now we can share adventures together.

When I say "you" myself is included, and when you see me write "I" know that you are included. Now that we are the same all things I do, you do, so pay attention, perhaps there is a lesson to learn. From this point forward you are invited to share in my triumphs and defeats, in the sights I see and the words I learn. . . but only if you choose to take such a risk.

A tout à l'heure,

Vicarious Paris

Cannes you handle it?

Life here in Cannes* [kahn] runs at an other worldly pace. On the surface it's slow and lazy, each day seeming to fill the place of five so that the last week feels more like a month.

In "reality" it has only been a week, and it's been anything but slow. Since our group of students began arriving in London last Friday morning a great deal has happened. Tests have been taken, half a semester of French classes have been crammed into one week, sun burns and bug bites have plagued numerous students, and a few days on the beach have earned even the palest, discernible tan lines. Parties have occurred in the sand, where it's easier to communicate with dance than with language. Stories have been told and secrets have been shared. Buses routes have been mapped, and money exchanged and spent. Conversations about food allergies and intolerances have been mangled but pieced together through "franglais*"[fran-glay] and gesticulation. Toothpaste has exploded on planes, notebooks have been bought and the macaroons at "Jean-Luc's . . ." have been consumed.

And most interestingly, friendships have been made and cliques seem to have been formed before anyone even arrived in Europe. At least that's what it seems. The term "Fast Friends" is an under-statement here. From looking at the group you'd think that we have all been at the same school since we were five, and that despite the cliques, we recognize our status as a single large unit. Watching the interactions and over hearing the gossip, it's difficult to comprehend that despite not knowing everyones name, everyone seems to have been part of "The Group" for their whole life.

Here things are often compared to the feelings, emotions, events and connections of Freshman year in college. To a certain extent it is the same, but there is still the under lying feeling that we have become too comfortable with each other too quickly for things to have an overly happy ending, even more so than in Freshman year.

In college the first friends you make are a form of temporary survival, it's ok if they don't last because you will make new ones in class or through clubs. Here, "The Group" is the unspoken key to survival, especially for those who don't speak French. "The Group" are your roommates, your classmates, your dinner buddies, your tutors, your translators,  your stress releasers, your empathizers, your "safety in numbers." So while in a normal college residence hall many would probably not acknowledge the others, here it could prove dangerous to stick with your clique. Many may disagree with this, but here we are in a world apart from the rest of our peers, we came as a group, we live as a group, we leave as a group. The dynamics are fascinating, and begs the question. . .  what will happen when the first set of students finish their sojourn abroad and leave the rest of us here. .. how will "The Group" be affected when suddenly all but three are back in their respective states?

Perhaps time will tell, but who knows.

A tout à l'heur,

Vicarious Paris

Cannes- a town in southern France known for its amazing beaches and international festivals.
Franglais- an unofficial language that combines various amounts of both French and English terms often used by those learning, but not fluent in one of the languages.

Here is a video that keeps "The Group" going.

It's always interesting when you start off. . .

The last few days have served to remind me that sometimes you just have to jump in. Or as the French would put it... 

<<Prends ton courage à deux mains et jettes toi à l'eau>>

It pretty much means what it looks like it means, but it just doesn't have the same "taste" in English. Sort of like poetry that's been translated.