This past week has included many France firsts for me. First time at the market, first classes at l’Universite d’Avignon, first time seeing Brad Pitt dubbed in French.
On Sunday, Joelle took Kim and I to Les Halles, a bustling, indoor market. Les Halles reminded me of Toledo’s Erie Street Market, except this one was actually populated. More than populated. I, being the wide-eyed foreigner that I am, couldn’t turn without having to say “pardon-moi.” There were booths bursting with vegetables and fruits, burdened with pounds of chocolate, and buried under piles of flour-covered loaves of bread. I learned the awesome word for pineapple- annanas- and I tried to keep up as Joelle expertly navigated the booths.
After that, the time came for lunch and Joelle took a small steak and some raviolle out of the fridge, telling us to feel free to make ourselves lunch while she went to work. Clearly she underestimated how American I am, having never attempted to cook meat. Tentatively, I poured some olive oil into the pan and added the steak with a wet flop. After about ten minutes of awkwardly poking and flipping it, I judged one of my first culinary attempts to be edible, and, since I’m here to tell the tale, it was a success!
The next day, Monday, was the first day of classes. Frankly, I think we should get class credit for even surviving long enough to see the first day of classes. Unlike Ohio University, l’University d’Avignon is basically all in one building, which is nice for those directionally impaired like me, although I have managed to get lost in the building numerous times this week. Christophe is teaching my obligatory grammar class and he claims to love grammar. I’m suspicious. I also have a French literature class, taught by a lanky man who reminds me of one of those teachers in movies who motivates students to achieve things, plus he wears suits every day. So he’s okay in my book. Today we learned that “La lumiere en Provence et dans le sud rend fou.” (The light [truth, actuality] in Provence makes one crazy). So that was comforting. But actually, it’s an interesting concept and I look forward to figuring out the merit behind the proverb. I have a hunch that the Mistral is behind it all.
On Tuesday, Provence and the Mistral (a strong regional wind) were kind enough to give me a second shower on my way to class. It was a class about French Resistance during World War II and I think I’m going to love it. I’ve had a lot of interaction with American World War II veterans and it will be fascinating to learn about the war from the French perspective.
After class at dinner, my host father, Guy, asked what we had for lunch. I said a sausage sandwich (un sandwich du saucisson) and everyone immediately grinner and looked down at their plates. I can only guess what that means because I was not about to ask for an explanation, but I have to applaud their courageous efforts to hide their laughter. And, now I know that I have a knack for stumbling upon those charming phrases in any language!
I’m running out of fingers on which to count the times I’ve gotten lost so far and the only reason I get to class every day is because Kim has an actual sense of direction. But every time I get lost, I learn something new about the city and I can eventually figure out how to find my way back. That’s actually how I spent the first part of this afternoon. Alex (another Ohioan in the program) and I set out to get lost in the city and we succeeded wonderfully. It was a great way to spend the warmest day we’ve had in Provence so far.
But tomorrow, we’ll be in the French Alps. The brave people will be sledding and I’ll be trying not to fall off a mountain in my snowshoes. Speaking of, my “times I’ve tripped in France” count is holding steady at 4. Will I survive the many hazards of the French Alps? Will I find a cord to fit my camera? Will I instigate a French strike just because? Stay tuned!
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