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the flight:
I flew out of Dayton to DC (2 hours, not bad), then from DC to Frankfurt, Germany (7 hour flight. what a thrill). I have to say, German scares me. Just the language makes me feel like i'm about to be pulverized by Hitler or something - the people at Frankfurt were SOO terse and unemotive (but I guess an international airport does that to you). Like I accidentally got into the passport line for EU citizens, and when I got up to the counter I showed the lady behind it my passport. all I heard was "mumble mumble mumble," so I asked what she said, and then she looks at me really coldly and starts treating me like a retard "ZEEE NOOON-EEEEUUUUU CIITIIIZZZEEENS GOOOOO THEEEEEEEEERE"... I understand the complications language barriers can bring, but this lady almost made me cry.
the arrival:
I finally made it to the Lyons airport and met up with another girl on my program (Aileen) and a random CEA liason, Corinne. Corinne doesn't actually work for CEA - she was a student last semester with the Grenoble program and she happened to be in the region and free to help (she's an au pair somewhere in the mountains). It was a 45 minute bus ride to Grenoble, so Corinne and I chatted - very cool chick, went to school somewhere in Cali and is originally from Texas. We arrived in Grenoble and met up with the program director, Patrick (such an awkward, sweet guy) and then Corinne showed me to my appartment.
the apartment:
I LOVE THE APARTMENT. I was expecting a piece of crap 2nd hand living space in a high-rise building somewhere, but instead it's the lower story of a two story cottage type thing. it's so quintessentially French (ex. the only sink we have is in the bathroom - tres retarde). wooden floors, huge spiders, high ceilings, itty-bitty hallway. it actually has three bedrooms, so I had my pick of the three when I got there. the place is owned by this British guy, Mr.Fairholme, who rents it out to CEA since he doesn't use the bottom level much. it's cute - Amanda (my roommate) and I are known as les filles de Fairholme, the Fairholme girls.
that's all for now - the sun beckons, and I want to finish my sandwich. so there.
Comments
My mom's a retired French teacher; she'd take students along with either my brother or me, then my Dad would bring the other kid over after the student trip was over and we'd stay another couple weeks, crashing with family or at bed-and-breakfasts. On one trip, when I was 8 or 10 or 12, we were staying with my somehow-cousin Jean-Francois and his family in their posh house. The housekeeper came, and, being just a wee kidlet, I didn't know enough French to converse with anyone. Trying in some horrible way to communicate with me, perhaps [I imagine] attempting to spur some idle chit-chat about how I was liking my stay, the housekeeper began yelling at me. The more I didn't understand, the louder her voice got, until she seemed such a large and terrifying thing, shouting so slowly and so haltingly, that I fled to my mother in tears.
It's pretty horrible. I hope I never do that to anyone by accident. You just want them to understand, you know? But man, is it scary.