It's hard to believe that almost two weeks have gone by since I arrived here. I feel as if I've been here longer, but, at the same time, can't believe how time has gone.

Over the weekend, I had the opportunity to work on my French a little bit. I seem to understand much more than I can communicate; I'll get there eventually.

Saturday, I attended a Rotary meeting with Paul, who was turning the presidency over to someone else that night. Having met Rotarians at home, the members of the club in Vaison seemed similar to the ones back in Grand Rapids.  Overall, the night was fun (as I found myself faced, once again, with good food).

I've gotten used to answering questions about myself while I'm here. To every new person I meet, I must explain what my purpose is here in France and other various questions about myself.  While I felt everyone was overwhelmingly accepting of me, it was during one of these question sections that I found myself feeling uncomfortable.

I don't believe that the comments were in anyway meant to be judgmental, but not being able to properly defend my position or explain anything makes it come off that way.  Of course, all of this stemmed from the always unavoidably uncomfortable question:

What do you want to do when you get out of school? (At least she spoke English, right?)

Then comes the lengthy explanation of "I'm not completely sure, probably I'd like publishing. There aren't a lot options for that though in the area. Of course the ultimate goal is to have my work published blah blah blah..." Continuing to say that while I'm almost done with school, my boyfriend works at the moment to save money to go back and won't be done for another few years. So likely, I'll work toward finding a job in the area first.

That's when I got the look and the sort of tutting noise that people make when they hear about in old friend from school who went down the wrong path and is now addicted to all sorts of drugs.

This woman was disappointed in me. Because, quite clearly, in her eyes, I was planning my life around a boy. Now, I didn't (and won't here either) go into how much I agree that planning your life around a boy is one of the stupidest thing a young girl can do. After all, how often does it work out? Instead, I politely explained how long we'd known each other and how long we'd been together.

The response (which normally consists of a smile and "that's so cute and nice to hear") was another shake of the head and soft tutting. The second woman shook her head as well this time and seemed to woefully explain how her daughter has been with the same boy for ten years, but what can you do?

Much of the remainder of our conversation consisted of me being told that I needed to "Get out of Grand Rapids" if I wanted to experience the world. That I should go and take an au pair job for a year and to "learn languages" to open the world to me. If my boyfriend loves me, he'll wait etc etc etc etc.

I can't disagree with getting out of Grand Rapids and seeing the world (what else was I doing for six weeks in France? and hadn't I just told her how much I'd loved Ireland?). And learning languages is a wonderful way to  open yourself to the world.  I love to travel; I want to go to Japan and Australia, Spain or China. But I'd like to do a lot of those things with my boyfriend.

We've been together for over six years now; I think there's a point where you decide you'd like to include somebody like that in your plans for the future. Granted, no, we aren't married or even engaged at this point, but I'm not going to go tromping around the world by myself with out considering our relationship and where it is likely headed in the future.

Anyway, small rant aside, the evening proved fun. I got to sit next to a nice woman who was a new member of the Rotary group, and I had a lovely conversation with her.

Every year when the children get out of school, Crestet has a small festival. There were bumper cars and a few carnival games, but the main event was a big meal.

So last night, I got to practice my French a bit. Because the town is so small, everyone really knows everyone else, so Paul introduced me to quite a few people.  A live band played, and people danced the Madison (which has become strangely popular in France).

For the first time, the food I couldn't handle.  I don't like seafood. The mussels I tried because I'd had them in Ireland (with lots of garlic mind you) and enjoyed them.  These ones just tasted like sea water.  So I pecked at my chicken and rice and ate bread until the cheese and salad came.  It was a small town get together, and it was fun.

More and more I find I like the slow the quietness of Provence. No one is in a big rush to be anywhere. Meals at Domaine de Crestet, for the most part, are eaten together. Evening tea (did I mention I was starting to like Green Tea a bit? Mission Accomplished).  It's all so relaxing.

Table d’hôte

On Tuesdays, the market invades Vaison. The smell of fresh fruit, cooking food and baked bread fill the nostrils and keep you walking around.  Other scents also invade the senses, as there are soap merchants and spice/herb sellers as well.  I don’t get much pleasure from these scents, though, as I’m allergic to much of them.  Despite that, I did purchase a bar of framboise (raspberry) scented soap from a shop.

It would be insanely easy to spend hours in the market; it’s huge.  Everywhere you look; there are clothes or shoes, food or any number of other things being sold. It was a bit overwhelming, but I love to look at things.  While wandering, I came across a place where people had puppies (I supposed they were selling them). I didn’t take a picture of the dogs, but I wanted to take the tiny, eager things home with me.  I spent an hour and a half in the market, which doesn’t seem like much, but I’ll go again next week.

The way to Vaison seems to be uphill both ways at least that was how I felt while riding my bike. The roads here have bike lanes at the side of most of the road. I’m told cars still drive in them, so of course it is always important to be an aware biker. However, the presence of the lanes alone makes it safer than trying to ride your bike in the street back at home.  I made it to Vaison and back and look forward to seeing where else I can go on my bike.

On Monday, I walked to the old village of Crestet. I seem to be only spending a short amount of time in places so far, but I enjoy my exploring.  Crestet is a medieval town that people still inhabit.  There are small car parks because, mostly, the residents can’t drive their cars into town.  Go up the winding cobblestones and reach the top to find a panoramic view of the surrounding area with an illustration that details which of the mountains in the distance are which.

Yesterday, I discovered the pool. I’d known it was there the whole time, of course, but hadn’t ventured in yet. When I arrived, there was nobody else there. However, others followed shortly. In particular, I was greeted by JoAnne, and we talked while wading through the water.  As a French teacher, she’s been to France many times over the years and has taken student groups as well. It was nice to hear that she likes to come in order to stay current on what it’s like in France.  Things change so much in places over the years; staying current is important.

I’m being careful to remember sunscreen, but the sun still warms my skin. Who knows? Maybe I might actually be tan when I come back. (That’d be something, eh?)

Both Tuesday and Wednesday consisted of a great amount of cooking for the table d’hôte. Guests sign up for the table d’hôte just after arriving, and if there are enough people interested, a very large meal is cooked. Twenty-one people gathered last night, and everyone sits around one big table. Fantastic.

I love to cook, and there was so much to do.  I helped peel mushrooms, apples and potatoes. On Tuesday, I tried to help with the onions, but I only managed to get a few. They were too strong; my eyes stung and watered to the point that I thought I might cut off my finger. My favourite thing to make (and they were sooo good) were the chocolate covered cherries.  I’ve never liked cherries very much in my life, but the one’s I’ve eaten here are delicious (especially when covered in chocolate!). Cooking for twenty-one people is a big job, but it got done, and we set the table.

Once again I’ve experienced good food and good company. An amazing four course meal:

1^st: Soup

                Tomato Gazpacho with basil and cheese. (Soo Good!)

2^nd: Main Dish

                Beef cooked with onion, carrot, wine, olives among other things

                Potatoes sliced thinly with cream and nutmeg

                Veggies—peas, mushrooms etc.

3^rd:  Cheese

4^th: Dessert

                Raspberry-Apple Crumble

                Chocolate covered Cherries

                Vanilla Ice Cream

Of course there was also plenty of wine.

The whole night was so much fun. I sat next across from JoAnne and next to her husband. She’s lots of fun to talk to and very nice.  It also helps that she’s from the States, and as such, speaks English. I’ll miss her when they leave on Saturday. It makes me a little bit sad that people come and only stay for a week at a time. 

Sunday Lunch

A hundred year old wagon sits outside the front door of Domaine Crestet.  At one time, it was used to carry wine barrels into town. Now, it sits and looks pretty against the hills of the French countryside.  What intrigues me most about the wagon are the two names that appear on either side of a small drawer underneath:  Farrud Clovis and Louis Carle.  Clovis was the proprietor of the wagon, and Carle’s name appears with the word ‘Forge,’ which likely makes him the blacksmith of the ironwork.

The wagon at Domaine Crestet is yellow, but there is a second, blue, wagon at another house that Paul and Miriam rent out.  I haven’t looked to see if there are names on this one.

I love these wagons, and I’ve left my folder of writing on my external harddrive instead of remembering to put it on my new computer after the backup. This means I can’t work on any old projects and becomes the perfect opportunity to start a new one.   I’ve been given two characters so far and somewhat of a setting; now I just need a story to write.  What sort of life can I give to Louis Carle et Farrud Clovis?

It rained a bit on Thursday and Friday. I’m actually surprised that it has been colder than I thought it would be. There is a wind that blows in the area with a name that sounds like Mistral when Omi (Miriam’s mother) says it.  The heat is also dry, which differs so significantly from Michigan’s constant humidity.  I prefer the weather here as I’m not dripping wet every second of the day.

I haven’t explored much on my own. I’ve gone along with Paul and Miriam on errands, a nice way to see the surrounding area, and I get to help out.  Saturday was cleaning day because there were people coming to the Olivier house, so I vacuumed and mopped the floors and helped to make the bed.  

Being helpful is an easy trade off for the wonderful opportunity I have.

Saturday night welcomes the new and current guests to the villas.  A welcome drink provides an opportunity for the different people to get to know their neighbors.  One couple in particular had arrived from Pennsylvania.  The woman, Joanne, enthusiastically greeted each person she met. I talked to her for awhile, since she spoke English (the other couples were German and Dutch, and they spoke some, but little, English). Joanne teaches French at a small college near her home.  She excitedly offered to help me with my French and seemed overly enthused to be in the area. I liked her; it is important to be excited and open to meeting new people.  I’m still a bit shy in that area, so I hope I will be able to see her again.

Sunday is Father’s Day in France as well as in the States, but the French also have a Sunday tradition, of which I learned today: LUNCH.  It goes without saying that France and good food are like tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches—a perfect combination.

The amount of good food I have consumed in the last five days makes my regular meals at home look like bean paste.  Maybe it’s because I’m somewhere new and it’s France, but even the simplest meals are beautiful and delicious.

But Sunday lunch is a big deal. In fact, the whole day is dedicated to it. We ate a very small breakfast this morning and had already started cooking for today’s meal yesterday.  However, there was more to be done.  I taught Miriam how to use a spoon to shell hard boiled eggs. Peeling eggs by hand works poorly for me, so I pulled out a spoon.  Miriam liked the trick, and it’s interesting to see what sort of weird things you take for granted that other people just know.  Stuffed (deviled) eggs were made by Fabienne (Paul and Miriam’s daughter) and me.  Paul put a leg of lamb on the barbecue.

At twelve/twelve-thirty, the parents and sister of Fabienne’s boyfriend (who couldn’t make it) arrived.  All eight of us sat in the courtyard to drink champagne and eat the eggs—lunch officially started.

I was thankful as we sat there when people spoke to me in English. I have been far too timid in my own use of French, and I’m sure it is probably rude of me. I say little sometimes because I’m not sure I’ll be able to form the words.  I will have to make more of an effort.

Eventually, we moved to a larger table.  We cleaned the small table of eggs and glasses and set the other for the larger meal.  Pasta salad made the day before and freshly baked and bought baguettes sat between wine glasses, water pitchers, and plates.  We helped ourselves to pasta and, soon, the lamb was done. Once again, the food is beautiful, simple and delicious.

Lunch turned into dessert and red wine into white. We ate a small chocolate cake and a raspberry dessert that I can only (unfairly) compare to the blueberry/strawberry dessert people make for the fourth of July with Cool Whip. Then back to the small table for coffee (or, in my case, water) and a bit of the chocolate Paul received for Father’s Day.

I said we started around 1:00PM, right?

Well, it wasn’t over until 6:00PM.

Five hours of good food and good company as a Sunday tradition. Beautiful.  We need to start doing this at home. 

Windmills in the Water and Mowing the Lawn

I’m crap on planes. They make me nauseous, and nothing productive gets done.  The actual traveling part of going abroad, or going anywhere really, has proven itself time and time again to be my least favourite. 

For my flight from Grand Rapids to Marseilles, I was required to take a commuter plane from Grand Rapids to Detroit, a commercial jet to Amsterdam and another commuter into Marseilles, where I was greeted by Paul and Miriam.  Small commuter planes are the worst, and I spent most of those flights with my eyes closed or my head on my knees.  Normally the larger planes are better.

Not this one.

Much of the eight hour flight was spent praying that I wouldn’t throw up and about five minutes thinking I was really going to.  Almost all of the flight attendants recognized me by the end of the flight. The most fortunate thing about the flight to Amsterdam is that I had no one sitting beside me.  The unaccompanied minor who originally occupied the seat was moved so that he might sit by himself.  Where the kid was moved to, I’m not sure, but it meant I got to lay down a bit when I got tired instead of having to sleep awkwardly while sitting straight.  While no one ever sleeps fantastically on an airplane, I probably received a much better night of sleep and more than I would have otherwise.

Despite my issues of motion sickness, one of my favourite things about flying is being able to look out the window and see the world below. My heart nearly skipped a beat when the pilot said we would be flying over Shannon airport (Which is the airport I flew into when I went to Ireland).  I probably wasn’t awake for that portion of the flight though.

Flying into Amsterdam was beautiful though.  As we flew over the water, I noticed that beside the boats there were small fields of wind turbines.  It’s nice to see clean energy sources being utilized. I’ve often thought it would be a good idea to put turbines out in Lake Michigan.  Lots of people think they’re ugly; I don’t mind them. However, putting them out in the lake would mean no one has to look at them. Plus, it’s windier out there anyway. 

Thursday marks my second day in Crestet which is near Vaison La Romaine.  My journey from Grand Rapids to Marseilles was long, but it is surprising that I am not more jet lagged.  I arrived yesterday at 12:20 local time and then it was a ninety minute drive back into Vaison. 

The French countryside here is amazing.  Hills and mountains creep up toward the sky with old villages nestled into the rock.  It’s right in the middle of wine country, so grapes grow in Provence like corn does in Michigan. Everywhere you turn there’s a vineyard.  However, I think grape vines are more aesthetically pleasing than corn is, so I don’t mind.

Yesterday is sort of a blur; however, lunch consisted of bread from the boulangerie.  I had pain au chocolat for lunch yesterday and again for breakfast this morning. It’s flaky and delicious, and I think you can get it sometimes at Schulers at home, though I’m sure it isn’t the same.

There was a lot of touring the house, meeting the dogs (whose names I can’t remember at the moment or even know how to type), and settling in my room.  I managed to stay up until eleven without much effort, but when I did go to sleep, I fell asleep quickly and slept until almost nine am local time.  I’ll try to start getting up earlier tomorrow.

After breakfast this morning, Paul, Miriam and I headed into Vaison la Romaine. Paul had a few errands to run and so I got to walk around town for about an hour.  There are quite a few shops as well as places to get ice cream or chocolat, and of course, restaurants. I only recognized a small part of the town from the time I spent here with my family when I was eleven.  It will be nice to maybe go to the market next week.

Today, I was put to work and started helping out around the house. Paul has hurt his left hand and can’t do many things that require both hands, such as driving or in this case, pushing a lawn mower.  So it was my job to mow the lawn.  Which, of course, I was happy to do. 

Man was it hard.  Their mower is electric to start and very hard to push.  The main lawn was easy as it simply consisted of grass.  However, there is a patch that they mow near the vineyard which largely consists of very tall weeds.  Pushing the mower through that was certainly a workout.

I’ve gotten quite a bit sun already, but I’ve been given a bottle of sunscreen, which I must remember to wear religiously.  It’s hot here in Crestet and the sun is constant. 

Ticket to Ride

It's Official.

I bought my ticket to France Tuesday morning. The whole trip has seemed like one big maybe up until this moment. Now I'm committed to going--in just two weeks.

Next step, packing my bags.

My plane leaves on June 14th; I'll return on August 1st, with just enough time to get myself ready for my very last year at GVSU.  Everything seems like a whirlwind, and I'm hitting that point where I'm wondering where the hell the last few years of my life have gone. The final stretch has begun.

This trip to France has offered me the wonderful opportunity to work toward a distinction in writing, which I was told about this last fall. I was told that most people start it in their sophomore year at Grand Valley, but as it would be, I'd already worked my way through half of it.

I told myself when I came to Grand Valley to study writing that I would do as many writing related activities as I felt I could handle.  That was the whole purpose of coming to GVSU--writing.

I've had my ups and downs over the last three years, but I'm hoping this trip proves to be a productive one.

The writing across cultures aspect of the distinction in writing interested me greatly especially after having spent five months in Ireland at the end of my senior year of high school. I knew I wanted to go abroad, but none of the study abroad programs appealed to me.

Well, all the distinction says  under study abroad is that you have to keep a journal/blog about what you've learned and where you've traveled. Any credits I'd earn on a study abroad trip would be empty credits--they wouldn't be going toward anything except the distinction and just be free electives.

I was told I could just go for six weeks and keep my blog--make it about writing.  So that's what I'm doing.

I've been offered room and board through a Rotary connection my dad made while in France for a wine festival in March (To learn more about what Rotary is and the wonderful work they do, please visit www.rotary.org). In exchange, I'll help out a few days a week with the villa's (on a vineyard!) the couple rents to tourists.   It's a fantastic opportunity, and I'm extremely grateful and excited to have it.

I've added a donation button to my blog if you would like to help me recoup some of the cost of my trip (as I'd like to still be able to buy books come the beginning of Fall semester. You know the whole poor college student shtick).  Immense gratitude would be sent to anyone who gives me just $1 (I don't expect you to go broke either) and sends this along to other people.

Here's to an awesome summer!