Anniversary.

One year ago, at this exact moment, I was in the plane on my way from O'Hare to de Gaulle.

I've been thinking about that for about an hour, and what it means.

Maybe later I'll go into more detail but if I don't post at least this much now, I feel like I won't have honored that landmark enough.

I Still Exist!

Two month followup coming soon.

In the meantime, if you REALLY REALLY want to read more about me, start checking my United States blog at:

lifeisapond.blogspot.com

--G

Move it to the exits

Avignon
June 8^th, 2008

I think this might be the last time I update this blog from France.

So let's make it good, I guess is the moral of the story..

I'm sitting in my room at 34 Avenue de la Trillade, Avignon, France. The four white walls, two chairs, one desk, one bed, one window, and three decorative rugs that no longer bear that terrifying unfamiliarity they had on my first day here. In the two and a half months I've spent here, they have become familiar to me, so that even closing my eyes I can envision them.

My one window is propped open for light and air, and outside I can hear the telltale hiss of the Mistral whispering through the leaves. For most of this morning that sound has been the only sound, and then it began to remind me that I'm going to be in the air myself in a few days, and then I turned my own music on—nothing evasive, mostly slow and quiet stuff. The Mistral accompanies it, calling me like home starts to call me.

Every now and then I stop to wonder if I should even be inside right now. I wonder if I should get up, get out, just walk. Walk around the city, take in those sights that will be lost to me in a short four days' time. I wonder if I should go to my kebab on the corner and order a steak-frites from the vendor who wears thick glasses and tells me “grazi.” I toy with climbing to the top of the Palais and watching the Rhone. And invariably I decide that right now, I'd rather be here, cross-legged on my bed, listening to my music, the Mistral, and taking some time to just contemplate where I am. Six hours until dinner. I can afford to use one of them writing down a few of the thoughts that have been swirling nonstop through my head since I passed the one week mark.

Because while the Mistral and the gorgeous blue sky are outside calling me, I look around my room and have no choice but to face the reminders of the week to come.

I've taken my suitcases out of the closet where I stowed them away two months ago. I peeled the baggage check labels from March off the handles, and started to pack. The smaller suitcase is almost full now—the lid is stuffed as full as it can get without bursting the seams, and the larger part is nearly full of souvenirs, presents that I continually pray to the powers that be are adequate. My swimsuit, some other clothes I know I'm not going to wear again in the next four days. The larger suitcase is the bigger intimidation—almost completely empty, it lies open against the wall and looking at it reminds me that I'm going to have to try to stuff the rest of my life in France into that unassuming piece of cloth and plastic.

My desk chair, the one that has never moved since I arrived, now serves at coat rack for the outfit I'm flying home in. I went ahead and decided, so that I could put those clothes aside: pants, tank top, t-shirt, collared shirt, blazer—the idea's to wear as much home as I can wear without looking too much like a freak.

On top of the desk are three piles. One of stuff that'll only be of use to me once I've left Avignon—my American cell phone, my American money, little pieces of my life back home that were useless over here. Counting out the US currency was surreal in its unfamiliarity. The sizes of the bills and the coins seemed all wrong. The bills were all the same color, and a quarter feels freakishly light. The other pile is of things I need to finish classes: four books, one French-English dictionary, all of which will be put in the suitcases by Monday night. The third is what I won't be bringing back to the US at all—the booklets, box, and charger to my program cell phone. The phone itself is out of minutes and I'm trying to make it the rest of the trip without buying any. It'll be a nice alarm clock until I turn it in on Wednesday.

All that being said, the rest of my earthly possessions in France are either in my closet or piled on my bed. Looking around this room there is no mistaking an eminent departure. And that is both thrill and fear for me. Just like the passport I had to take back out, like the reservation codes and flight numbers I have neatly written out beside it. Thrill and fear, tempered with a heartbreak I never in a million years expected to feel.

“Once we get to the one week mark, I'm sure I'll be totally ready to come home.”

How many times did I say it, each time trusting its truth implicitly? I always figured that by this point in the program, home would be calling me so strongly that I would actually want to leave sooner. Point blank, I thought that by now I'd want to leave...and I don't. Not completely, and not yet. And while it's true that an enormous part of me is already aching for home, a part of me is devastated that the final goodbye is so close.

I have changed on this trip. I figured I would, but not as drastically as I feel like I've changed. I feel independent, and I feel like I know myself. “We talked about you last night,” Cat told me, “Talked about how much you've changed here.” And not all of us can say that. There are people here who say they haven't changed a bit. There are people who called this quarter a waste of their time. There are even people who claim their French has gotten worse. But I can feel it—I can feel that I'm different.

And this trip hasn't been perfect. Let me pause to assure you of that. As in any kind of life, a life abroad has ups and downs, has enormous highs and the lowest of lows. On this trip I've felt despair that practically had me non-functional. I've felt anger the likes of which has made me want to strangle something. But that's not what this journey has been about. It's like I've found a part of myself that was hiding over here all along.

When I look at my passport, it reminds me that re-entry is coming. If France has made me what I am right now, can the changes even survive the US? Will I go back to my old life and lose everything I've gained? Will that part of me I found here stay behind?

Every moment now feels like the end of something. My final Friday and Saturday are already gone, I have four lunches and four dinners left, only four nights to wander the city at night with my friends. That's why I've started packing. Now that I can hear the countdown clock ticking at every moment, I want the bags packed. I want the homework done. I want every last minute with my friends in France that I can manage. Going home last night at 1:30 in the morning felt like a loss, because the others stayed out later. How can I spend any of my precious remaining time doing something as menial as packing?

I guess that's why I'm still thinking that I should be out walking instead of sitting here writing. But maybe at least if I can say some of the stuff I'm thinking, then I won't have to let it bug me anymore. Maybe if I can just spend a quick half-hour wallowing in the fear, I won't feel obliged to deny it.

I am a compulsive, self-critical, anxious person. That much won't change. For the next for days there will always be that little voice inside reminding me of the passing time. But I will not spend the last four days in Avignon bracing myself for the end.

And in five days, I'll be home. No matter how afraid I am of losing this experience, being home is a thrill that counters the anxiety blow for blow. I'm going to see my family. I'm going to see their faces and for the first time in two months, they won't be the frozen smiles in my handful of photographs. I'm going to play with my dogs. I'm going to talk to Sam, whose voice I've barely heard since leaving. I'm going to have a house I can sing in, a house I can live in like I belong there. I'm going to eat dinners I choose, I'll have ranch dressing and co-jack cheese and ohmigawd Cooler Ranch Doritos and ohmigawd popcorn. Peanut butter hasn't been that big of a deal for me, but MAN do I want some popcorn. I'm going to have a showerhead that attaches to a wall. From pretty details like food all the way up to the immense joy of hugging my Mom and Dad for the first time since March, everything about home is calling to me. It's the high to counter the low that is leaving.

I have made real, true friends here. They have changed me, they've showed me myself as they see me, they've made this experience what it is and has been. They will be my classmates next quarter, although I wonder if we'll ever be this close again. They will forever be happy memories of the people who helped change my life. Leaving that will be difficult to say the least. But then I picture myself running through the airport into my family's arms, and I realize that I'm just in a four-day state of limbo. No, not the “how low can you go” kind of limbo. I just mean someplace sullen, someplace where all I can do is reflect, and take it day by day, and hope I have more than just suitcases to take home from three months of living in France.

I can't stay inside anymore. I'm getting my shoes and I'm going for a walk.

I expect I'll write once or twice once I'm home. After all, the end of this journey is nothing if not a new beginning, a new launch point, a new pond to jump in. I've got my toes on the edge of dry land, and in four short days I'm going to take a flying leap.

I love you and miss you all, more than ever before.

-G

Universite d'Avignon et des Pays de Vaucluse
June 10th
1:45 pm

This is the final post from France. I'll see you at home.
Thank you for letting me share this adventure with you.
I'm deeply grateful.
Love you, miss you.

I'm coming, guys, I'm coming,
G

Gather all your jackets...

Avignon
June 6^th, 12:39 AM.

Well, I guess I should start by profoundly apologizing for being the girl who cried blog update a few days ago. I suppose I was just so sure that I'd get around to it, and I shouldn't have been. See, with the program winding down like this, we all seem to have realized that we want to spend time together, we want to go places and take pictures and savor like it's our last day. But that's another blog entry. It's far too late at night at this point to get so depressing, even if I do want to write some metaphorical stuff. Maybe if you would find it interesting I could get metaphorical and introspective and things a few times after I get back home, I just hope it doesn't seem too narcissistic of me to keep a travel blog going after I get home. It's awesome that you have all enjoyed it so much, and heaven knows I've certainly loved writing it, but I understand that this is a blog about a journey, and that journey is going to end. Well, I've gone and gotten all depressing anyway.

Let's talk about Marseilles and things.

Well, last Friday we met after Oral Production class to bus down to Marseilles for the weekend. Actually, we spent Friday afternoon hiking around the calanques. (Side note: why do program directors not tell you that you'll be hiking on this program, and that maybe you should bring some hike-appropriate shoes?) The calanques are gorgeous, and each photo was totally worth the hours-long climbing on trails of rocks (if you have facebook, go look at my Marseilles photo album and you'll see the kind of hiking I'm talking about.). The whole time I was thinking about the incredible stuff I've seen and done on this trip, and hoping against hope that someday I really truly will come back to Europe. My inner realist has already started reminding me that there's no guarantee I'll ever be back, but there's always that hope that someday I'll be able to get back, maybe hit Italy, which is the one thing I genuinely wish I would've done that I didn't. Man, I'm apparently pursuing depressing material tonight. The calanques hike was roughly three hours, a great deal of it uphill and over enormous rocks (I mean, you couldn't see dirt between the rocks there were so many rocks), but it was one of my favorite things I've done on this whole trip. Talking linguistics on the way uphill with Major, quoting Robert Frost poetry on the way downhill with James, and everything in between was pretty fantastic. I use very dramatic adjectives, don't I? Fantastic, gorgeous, incredible...I guess that's a good thing that I can use all these great expressive words.

After we were done in Cassis (that's where the calanques are, it's not technically Marseilles,) we went to Marseilles and got a little time in our hotel (Hotel Relax) to shower and get ready for dinner. Dinner was at this rather fancy place called La Maison Blanche, and it was one of the most fantastic meals I've eaten in a long while. And keep in mind that I am in France, so I've had a lot of other fantastic meals on this trip. This one blew most of those away. First course was eggplant with goat cheese and bacon on top. I've learned to like goat cheese, but only in small quantities, not that you'll find that particularly interesting. Anyway, the bread and salad were great too, and the water was pretty good (funny thing about France, you've pretty much got the choice of wine or water with dinner. I've been drinking lots of water since I got here.) Then the main course was seafood risotto complete with mussels, squid and, get this, baby octopus! Which is pretty good if you can get past the fact that your food has small tentacles. That was disturbing the first time I ate one, marginally less disturbing the second time, but seriously, they weren't half bad taste-wise. That's one way I think I've changed over here: I've definitely gotten used to eating new foods almost without hesitation. I don't even ask what things are anymore, I just pick up a fork and dig in.

Oops. My alarm goes off in seven hours. Seven hours is more sleep than I've gotten in quite a while, so I'm going to take advantage. If nothing else at least I'm pretty sure this is getting posted tomorrow, and I'll at least finish talking about Marseilles if I've got time. Worst that can happen is that I leave you in suspense for a while.

Anyway, let me at least conclude in case I don't add any new material tomorrow. I'm officially in my last week of the program, which is uber depressing although I have never been so anxious to see my family before. We're spending a lot of time going out at night, walking around in the afternoons, and just generally spending the rest of our time in each others' company enjoying the last moments of our incredible life in France. So I hope you at home will understand if I am not the most faithful of blog-keepers from here on out. I hope to put up at least one more good-sized update, but please understand that I have to leave this country knowing that I lived every moment to its fullest, and I've got to be spending as much of this time with my friends enjoying Avignon as possible. No promises, I'm going to try, but just keep that in mind.

Plus in a week I'll be with you in person, and I'll have a ton of stories to tell in person. Hopefully I won't repeat my blog entries too much and bore you all. I'm so excited to see you all that I hardly recognize myself. One week and four hours from now I'll have landed in Columbus. I will see you SOON!

Until then, miss you all, thinking of you all (and really sorry that I'll probably beat my postcards home, but that's another entry...)

-G

Avignon
June 6th, 10:09 AM

Alright, well I guess I'm going to try to add a little to the entry as I wait for my turn to give my final talking presentation for Oral Production.

I guess I had left you off with dinner at La Maison Blanche. After dinner we randomly walked around the port for a while but we were all pretty exhausted from the calanques, so none of us stayed out long. Kendall and I were both into our room by 11:30, and decided to go French channel surfing. Since I have gotten to France, I have watched a grand total of about two hours of television, and 95% of that was all weather or news reports that Danielle sometimes turns on for background noise. So the opportunity to go French channel surfing was pretty fun. We found many bizarre things, dubbed in about ten different languages, only two and a half of which I understood. However, let me share with you the magnificent adventure that IS the fact that

They show Battlestar Galactica in France! It was dubbed and magnificent and it was even from the early seasons before they ripped up the plot. It reminded me how much I miss my US television, which is funny because I don't even really think I watch that much television at home, compared to other folks my own age at least. But as soon as I heard the theme song I wished I could just kick back and watch some TV. That'll be something to do once I get home. Watch some television.

The next morning James, Ian, Major, Kristen F., Melissa and I met in the lobby and started randomly walking around the city. We almost ended up going to Chateau d'If but we didn't feel like paying 15 euros apiece so we decided to go to Notre Dame. Melissa and Kristen took the little tourist train, but the boys and I decided to walk.

Cue: second enormous uphill climb in a twenty-four hour period.

Again, it was so worth it. Great view, and climbing all the way there really made me feel like I earned the pictures. After that we got some steak-frites and met back up with Melissa and Kristen (silly them and getting driven up the enormous hill...). After some cafe time a bunch of us went over to the beach for the rest of the afternoon.

It was really cool, and I jumped in another pond (which for those of you who don't know is a metaphor for doing something cool or adventurous that I wouldn't do at home,) but I just don't feel like advertising it on the blog. I've been jumping in several ponds lately, and each of them are stories for getting home. Don't worry, they're not racey or anything, I just figured I should reserve some stories that can only be heard in person. That way I don't get home, try to tell all my fun stories and get a lot of "yeah we heard that, yeah that was on your blog, yeah we heard that already too."

Eek! Presenting time. Hopefully I'll update more after I present but if not,
Miss you all, see you in LESS THAN ONE WEEK.
G

Did he just call me...Avril?

Start checking for a new post should new posts interest you. I can't guarantee it'll be today but if it's not today it'll probably be tomorrow.

(Cassis, Marseille, Bill and Avril, jumping in ponds...)

Rock on.

(New music! Haha, this blog's playlist is awesome, and continuously under construction.)

Well folks, I hope it's not too inhuman of me, but I'm going to tell you about my week.

On the grand scale of things, this last week has been pretty awesome. I'm really having the time of my life over here. Between decent classes, a great group of friends, and all the random (usually unexpected) adventures, it's true what everyone told me--I wouldn't trade this experience for anything. I can't wait to come home and start putting these changes into practice. And I do feel like this trip has changed me as a person. But that's another entry.

Right, the telling of the week.

I believe I last updated a week ago today. Tuesdays are my big days of magical accomplishment here, so that's the best day to sit down and write blog updates. Here's how I've been since then:

Wednesday we met seven French resistants. That was incredible, and it was really something else to hear accounts of the resistance from those who lived in it, who participated, who hid messages in the handlebars of their bicycles and sheltered wounded pilots. Some of them were arrested and deported, one was a liaison agent, and even though a few of them had thick provencale accents I loved listening to their accounts of what they had done for their country. I particularly liked hearing from Mireille (she was the liaison agent.) She told us about one of her most emotionally difficult moments during her time as a resistant. There was a woman who had turned in the names of 40 communists, and Mireille had to carry a message that said that this woman could no longer be trusted, and had to be killed. She said it was very difficult for her to deliver that message because she knew that the resistants would kill this woman to keep her from giving more information. I cannot even imagine what that must have felt like, to hold that message in your hand and be responsible for delivering it.

The Resistance museum is in a place called Fontaine de Vaucluse, which is gorgeous if not, as Danielle puts it, "tres touriste." Good thing about touristy places, though: always good ice cream. I got a scoop of chocolate and a scoop of caramel. I also like ice cream cones now. Before I used to just throw the cone away but after I ate the cone a few times I started to like it. Random only semi-interesting tangent, sorry.

Anyway, Fontaine de Vaucluse is...I guess I'd call it a natural spring? I think that's the best way to put it. I'll put some pictures up on the blog when I've posted this entry. Gorgeous, although the water is freezing. Just ask Amanda and James, who jumped in. That was one of the funniest moments of the trip thus far, and I am jealous of them for having done it. Now that it's all said and done I wish that I'd jumped in there with them, just to say I've done it, but oh well. I didn't have a change of clothes with me and wasn't interested in wearing freezing wet jeans to the museum.

Hmm...other highlights...I've got lit class in half an hour, here, so I've got to condense. I figure that I've got so little time left here (relatively speaking) that I'd better start hitting harder with the blog entries. Once I get back in the states I'm thinking that my readership is going to drop significantly. I'm not offended or anything, I just figure that my French adventures are more interesting than my random commentaries on life in Ohio.

(Barracuda just came on...hold on, I've gotta air-guitar for a minute. Picture me doing so, should you so desire!)

Thursday I think was one of the nights we went to Place Pie. There have been a lot of late nights out with friends this week, so they're starting to run together. Funny how at the beginning of this program I used to know exactly what I did, what I ate, who I saw on any given day of the week. Now a week goes by and it feels like an hour, and all the meals and faces and jokes all blur into one another. Anyway, we went to Place Pie and hung out for a while. My first (hopefully ONLY) major headache of this trip hit that night though, so I turned in earlier than everybody else. Big thankya to Ian yet again for walking me home.

(Can't...stop...air guitar-ing!)

Friday in Oral Production we learned weather words, a source of much sarcasm throughout the group as we had already learned pretty much all the vocab list...in MIDDLE SCHOOL. Cath and I cobbled together a weather report for our participation grade, and then reveled in our free Friday afternoon. Friday night Kristin went to Le Comptoir (snooty bar/resto) and I wasn't really interested, so I went to the island with a bunch of the others for the evening. I've already told the story of island night so many times that I'm just going to sum up, but long story short...

1) I've learned not to hang out at the island at night anymore
2) I know how a French person reacts if you flip them off and yell something vulgar (for the record, I DID NOT DO THIS)
3) Ian got head-butted in the face, and
3b) Ian gets sorta scary when he's really angry.

Got home late again, slept in semi-late Saturday morning, then spent Saturday walking around randomly shopping/eating ice cream/sitting in parks with Catron, Kristin, and Caitlin. Caramel ice cream from the magical corner. We also watched random creepy guys jump on and off the carousel, and found the park where Petrarch met Laure. It was a grand adventure. Saturday night was...Place Pie again, I think.

Sunday was rainy and rather lousy out, so I spent the day straightening up my room, reading, napping (may or may not have been multiple naps...) and then Kristin and I walked around the block after dinner to stall doing our history and resistance homework. Hung out in Cathy's room for the night, catching up since we hadn't really seen her since Friday.

Then last night was Lit, History, and then our second Resistance test. Two long essay questions, each of which we'd already discussed more or less completely in class. I feel like I did fine, but we'll see once I get the paper back, I guess.

Last night we hung out at Catron's apartment for the night until after 2:00 in the morning, and it was pretty awesome, listening to 90s music I had no idea I still knew ever word to, singing Chicago, and eating potato chips for the first time since leaving the states.

Sorry I'm getting really brief and un-detailed, I've got ten minutes to lit and like I said, little description is better than none. I can always go into more detail later but if I don't get the time, at least you know something.

Today it was pretty hard to drag myself into Writing Workshop, but I wrote my bio for our project (more on that later) and feel like I did decently at it. Now I've just got lit left today, then some kind of "neighbor party" in the city tonight, then we're going over to Catron's apartment again. Tomorrow there aren't any classes, but Thursday I should be back online and I might even have a halfway decent entry to put up. I miss having the time to sit back and write metaphorical ones. I could wax eloquent for so long about how this trip has already changed me, and how I feel about how much time I've got left here, and all sorts of pensive stuff that's a little more "a la Grace." So I guess the moral of the story is keep checking back here. I haven't forgotten the blog, I'm just trying to really live up my last few weeks. Partying like it's 99, as it were.

In the meantime, hang out here for as long as you want and listen to my awesome music. Air guitar optional, but encouraged. Rock on.

Love you all, miss you all daily,
-G

Trapped in Thursday

Yes, I am well aware that it is Tuesday. It's a metaphor. One I don't really feel like explaining right now, but it has to do with being stuck between metaphorical Wednesday and metaphorical Friday.

Right now, I'm trying to kill three hours between Written Prod and Lit. Technically, there's probably work I could be doing, but whatever it is I don't feel like doing it. In fact, it's been sort of tough to get back in touch with my motivation ever since I got home from Nice. That's why I haven't updated for a while--I was waiting for it to blow over.

I'm not sure if it has blown over, but at least an update now will be more civil than it would've been a few days ago.

Most of the group seems to have run out of steam this week. I'm not sure if it's possible to explain, or if we just have had to start working harder in order to care. The novelty's gone by now, and maybe we're all just starting to run a little low on patience. They told us this would happen, and frankly I didn't believe them. I figured I would hit rock bottom at the beginning of the program, and then the only way to go was up. Instead, I find myself prey to the very slump they were warning us about in February. Anyway...

I haven't updated since Nice, apparently?

Well, the train home from Nice was pretty uneventful (especially in comparison to the Barcelona group's travels, or so I'm told,) and when Cathy and I got back to Avignon, it was raining. Typical Avignon by my definition. Last year's group claims it rained about four times total during their quarter. This time around it's at least once a week, more like twice. Monday there weren't any classes, so we started back with class on Tuesday. Not much to note about Tuesday-Friday.

Well, actually, Wednesday the history prof was a no-show, so Amanda, Kristin, Justin, Caitlin and I went to the gardens at the top of the palais to kill the time before our quote-unquote "excursion." Discussed the magnificent use of metaphor in "Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife." And oh BOY did I ever put a heaping dose of sarcasm on the word "magnificent." Then we met at the Palais to walk around as they set up the stage for the theater festival (kind of a big deal...haha...picture Cannes only for live theater, and there you have the Avignon festival.) The In-Off happens in July, but they're already starting to set up for it. Like I said, big deal here.

But here's the real interesting part of the update. I'm sure you guys drop by this thing to read about my lovely adventures, not about me being grumpy and bored in class.

Saturday we had a group excursion to Uzes. The weather was okay at first, at least okay enough for us to shop in the market for our picnic lunch. Kristin, Major and I bought bread, cheese, strawberries, some magnificent lemony cake-pastry thing, all for the picnic lunch we thought we'd be having that afternoon. The plan for the day was to have a picnic lunch and then canoe to the Pont de Gard.

'Course this is back before we knew we were going to be here for the rainiest spring in Avignon (probably not actually a valid statistic, it just feels that way.) We had finished shopping, hanging out in a cafe for an hour, and walking back to the bus when it started raining. So we ate our picnic lunch on the bus waiting for the rain to pass, as Chrisophe called the canoe people and tried to sort things out.

Long story short, we spent an hour and a half sitting on the bus in the parking lot at Uzes, the rain ended up making the water too high and the current too violent to canoe, and we improvised. Definition of improvisation: call up the Haribo Candy Museum and see when they're open.

Like most other establishments in France that have employees, the Haribo Museum closes for a few hours at lunchtime. So we had to wait until it opened to go. Hence the whole "sitting for an hour and a half on a bus in a parking lot" thing. Haribo makes gummy candy. How shall I sum up the place? Uhh...museum leg of the visit lasted about fifteen minutes, gift shop leg of the visit lasted significantly longer.

Huge. Stinkin'. Gift shop.

Enormous.

How on earth do you put that much candy in one room? Plus random things like Haribo umbrellas, keychains, postcards. And for one reason or another, the candy is all really really cheap. Therefore, folks seem to take this as an excuse to load up on as much candy as they can carry. The man in front of me in line had his basket full to the point of overflowing, and things kept spilling over the sides. He wasn't the only one. This made waiting in line with my relatively small amount of purchases rather trying. But I guess if you're going to an enormous cheap candy store you might as well load up and then coast on it for a while. I bought myself a bag of gummy fries (about as basic as you can get...) and congratulated myself on NOT going overboard like a kid in a...*sigh* I just lost the desire to complete that metaphor.

Go figure, by the time we'd left the Haribo factory it was perfect canoeing weather, aside from the whole "killer current" thing, but we did still get to go to the Pont de Gard.

Funny thing about the Pont de Gard, it's not actually a bridge. It is bridge-shaped, but it's technically an aqueduct. What is it with the French and calling things bridges that aren't technically bridges? Between the Pont de Gard and the Pont St. Benezet, they're not exactly batting 1000 with describing their landmarks.

The Pont de Gard is a Roman aqueduct. Oh wait, I mentioned that. So once you've looked at it and thought to yourself "wow, that aqueduct is really really old," there's not much to do but go sit on the rocks and put your feet in the river. And watch snails. There are lots of snails there. And spiders.

By this time I was pretty tired, and didn't really feel like searching for amazing adventures, so most of the group just sat around and climbed on rocks until it was time to go back to the bus. Or, in Kristin's case, take pictures of snails. And talk to said snails.

Once I got home it was definitely naptime, since we had plans to go out to the museums that night. It was the Nuit des Musees, which basically means that most of the museums were free for one night, so the group made plans to dress nice and meet at the carousel. That sort of all collapsed around us and long story short, I spent more time talking to Major than I did actually giving a darn that I was in a museum.

However, there was this one really neat museum that had a bunch of Egyptian and Greek statues (known amongst the group as "the museum with all the rocks.") Sam, you'll appreciate this: they have four or five red figure kraters!!!!! I was tres geeked, although I'm not sure anyone else got why it was so impressive that I knew what they were called.

Got home pretty late, feeling particularly exhausted and like the day hadn't lived up to its potential.

For the first time since getting here, I slept past 9h00 in the morning. I never EVER sleep past 9h30, but Sunday morning I gave myself until 10h45, by which time Amanda had already texted us and wanted to meet up with us for the afternoon. We went to the park and sat around talking until we noticed the very creepy man staring at us from the next bench. Then we decided it was time for some steak-frites. I didn't go to my usual kebab, but it was still pretty good, being a steak-frites and therefore awesome by default.

After that we spent a little time at the internet cafe, and then we just hung out in Amanda's apartment for the evening. It was exactly what I needed-socializing that required nothing but lying on the couch and talking. I miss "just hanging out." When I see people here, it's always at Place Pie or O'Neill's or something, we never just go to someone's house and chill. So Sunday afternoon was pretty nice.

Yesterday, class. Same as always. Civ is now officially torture. Even those who liked it at the beginning of the quarter have lost faith in it. I wrote a journal about it, but it was a little grumpy to publish here. Bottom line: if he's not going to put in the effort to help me understand, I'm not going to put in the effort to pay attention.

Then for Resistance I hadn't done the reading (shh...don't tell Christophe,) so it was pretty slow going. Then IMing with Mom and Dad, then home.

Dinner last night was exactly what I needed: something totally frivolous. You'd never have guessed I was in a bad mood: we talked American television. It sort of turned into a guessing game: Danielle describing an American show, us guessing it, then offering our opinions on it. It was intriguing, since this was a native French woman spouting American pop culture. Here's a sampling of foreign TV according to Danielle.

Baywatch.
Beverly Hills 90210
Hawaii 5-0
Columbo
Mission Impossible
Silver Spoons
Dallas

For the very first Monday night since getting to France, I didn't go out. O'Neill's international night was a question mark (although Irish boy was last spotted on Friday night,) so I decided I'd rather get some work done and watch cartoons with Cathy than hike out to a pub. We did go out to Place Pie on Sunday night to celebrate Cathy finishing Shades of Grey. I had a Coca and a crepe, and we talked old school Nickelodeon shows.

That's about all I have to tell, unfortunately. Lackluster, non? At least a little?

Let me sum up:

Tempers have been touchy and tense, classes aren't any more demanding, but require more effort. Journal entries getting tedious, missing home and feeling guilty about thinking I'm about ready to come home, mood swings from class to class, but I'm still going to say that I'm 83% happy, and that's a solid B, so I consider it a victory.

I'm thinking that I'm going to write another blog entry tonight, maybe get a little more metaphorical like these used to be, and then you'll have something more interesting to read. Until then, this one'll have to tie you over.

Hopefully I'll get out of Thursday. Tomorrow we've got our excursion to meet real French resistants! Probably going to be a long day, but interesting!

Well, I'm going to go get lunch before the cafeteria runs out of sandwiches.
Missing you all,
G