Oui, liberté

I wrote this coming of age piece in early October, before I learned of the widespread political unrest taking place in France. I have decided to upload this post anyway, as a love letter to a country that helped shape me. France, tu me manques.

I’m on my bike. The smell of a ham and gruyere filled buckwheat crêpe wafts under my nose. A memory. Less because of the scent in the Back Bay Boston air, more so elicited by the Écouter playlist blaring in one headphone, a mix of French songs I made to remind me of my invaluable experience in Dinard.

The crepes we had made in “French club” at my suburban high school in CT were nothing like the crêpes I tried with my French exchange family. I was also not expecting (or wanting) to try fresh oysters, but giant ones were delicacies where I went. So, with a scrunched nose and shut eyes, I swallowed one whole. Now I love oysters.

That’s the thing about traveling when you’re young, throwing yourself into something you’re not at all prepared for. You can do all the research in the world, but the world will school you nonetheless. 

When I was a Junior my local high school offered a French exchange program. Host a French student in America for 2 weeks. Then travel to France and let their family host you. Our specific plan also included a weeklong stay at various hostels throughout Paris. 

As someone who had put my name in the lottery for every other school trip opportunity, but never got picked (triste), this was a no brainer to me. Luckily, my parents were both on board.

Before my exchange student even came to America, we were pen pals. She wrote to me in English most of the time, and I wrote back in French. I didn’t realize until I was in France how much this solidified my speaking. Once there, I could tell full on stories in French, I could ask for directions, or I could get to know someone. Crazy, cause I had taken French for years beforehand. And could not have formed and linked many words together without a translator tool (aka the web or my sister). I was awarded most improved by my teachers afterward but I think it helped that my French was so crappy to begin with. ^^

Some say I returned from France with style (I think it was just good timing with a chic haircut and side bangs that I got shortly after), but the shopping over there was incredible. So incredible that on a field trip through a boutique laden port, my friend and I missed our boat back into town. I’m grateful she stayed by my side; it was entirely my fault. I had my eye on scarfs not the time.

Shopping bags in tow, I asked people in French for help, and she relayed to me what they said back. My ability to speak French and her ability to understand it worked congruently. We took a later ferry back to our very worried host families. 

I guess no matter what country I’m in, navigation and timeliness remains a struggle. Age hasn’t changed that. But despite my shortcomings, my confidence remains steadfast. If I trace back the origins of this confidence, I believe it all started with France. Ironic, because I look very dorky in many of the pics. Church clothing, stiff postures. But everybody starts somewhere. Perhaps for me it was in Paris.

How could medieval fortresses, gravity defying castles, and lovely picnics not knock some ignorance out of me, leaving me open to serious history and life lessons. Travel is a privilege, I know. But I personally learn significantly better by stepping out of my comfort and time zone.  

Mont-Saint-Michel

Me in Mont-Saint-Michel

^This is one of the more graceful photos captured of me in France. I was slim and fit, but also awkward, in many people’s eyes. Obvious to me now, but also then. I definitely did not “walk the walk” or “talk the talk” or learn yet how not to care.

I enjoyed myself nonetheless. I genuinely was so excited riding a double decker bus taking in the Parisian architecture, or chomping down on a pain au chocolat. 

The fun started in America. Having the French students join our high school made school days a lot more exciting. There were also after school events and various parties on the daily. The gatherings always involved great conversation, laughter, and music (sometimes live). Only one made me 'un peu' uncomfortable, mainly because of a very awkward French kiss. By French I mean with a French guy in the program, accompanied with a love letter.

I pushed him away. Unfortunately this took place in a visible location where many exchange students, American and French, were watching. Many, including himself, were surprised at my reaction, given my cheery vibes. Affectionate ridicule about it followed me all the way to France.

My friendly side verged on flirty, even then. It didn’t help that I was so excited to be able to carry a conversation in french. But also I see nothing to apologize for. To this day, personal liberté comes in the form of knowing I have the right to stop someone in their tracks when they cross a boundary that I’m not okay with. Even if it’s in front of many acquaintances. Even if I led them on unintentionally.

Didn’t have to travel for that lesson, but it was my first in that general arena. 

Though my parents and I took our French student and her closest friend on a fun day trip to NYC, the American students definitely got the better end of the deal. Some of the field trips here were touring the Mark Twain house in Hartford and Faneuil Hall in Boston. Our trips in France were to the mystical Mont-Saint-Michel (a castle that can appear to be floating on the water), Paris, and beautiful coastal towns. Nights out included moonlit beaches and discothèques, where I’m pretty sure I learned to dance unapologetically.

You’ve seen at least one video of me dancing around goofily. Admit it. I’m embarrassed to say I’m not that embarrassed by them. 

My first helicopter ride was thanks to my host family. They went out of their way to secure this opportunity for me to get a bird’s eye view of the region. I am forever grateful.

Though some say people in France are snobby about outsiders trying to speak their language, I didn’t experience any such treatment. If anything I sensed embarrassment from French students and families when they spoke near perfect English. Whereas I could barely switch tenses and applied the same basic French words to everything.

In terms of my host student, and family, I believe I won the jackpot. They were all so kind to me. My exchange student and I naturally became really close. We were at each other’s side for all the school events, and in our prospective homes. Our introspective personalities matched well. Once we got comfortable, it felt like we could do anything daunting together (like attend school in a different nation), and be just fine. The French students were all a couple grades younger than us Americans and traveled first, thus even braver.

To help perk up my student when she was missing home, my parents provided a variety of food. Some were intended to be familiar comforts. Others were uncharted. I’ll never forget her reaction to homemade pancakes, with maple syrup and butter. She loved them.  Though not as much as she loved seeing squirrels scamper in our yard. Écureuils!

 In turn, her parents spoiled me with amazing meals, heaps of Nutella, and made it a point to show me all that their region had to offer. Her drove us everywhere, and always with great conversation. As I remember, her dad was a professional pastry chef, and made me amazing pastries first night, followed by a cheese course (what)?! Her Grandma made the best fresh apple juice I’ve ever tasted. Her little brother was so fun; we could turn any location into an epic game of Hide and Seek. Those hiding spots were next level. It made me realize that play can transcend language.

And though I can’t remember where, I have a fond memory of walking along sensational beach cliffs with my exchange student and her cousin. Together, their English skills astounded me, as well as their maturity from growing up in a tight-knit community with a rich culture and remarkable architecture. 

On one of my last days there, my exchange family took me to a giant sunflower field, with flowers taller than us. 

Now when I look at the bright yellow fields of Bretagne through photos, I have a visceral memory of frolicking through them. It’s surreal, like getting to wander through tulip gardens in the Netherlands. 

Travel forces us out of our little worlds, and sets us in another one. We’ll always return changed. Though I can hardly call living in France for two weeks traveling the world, I do believe it laid the groundwork for a lifelong zest for travel.

A few months later in that year I went to China for a month with a mix of students from Connecticut and the Bronx. The connections made between the CT and NY based students, taking on China together, were really cool to experience. After that I continued to travel whenever possible, conquering fears left and right.

Now when I hear Olivia Rodrigo sing about the palace of Versailles, I can picture it, and picture picnicking outside of it using baguettes for sandwiches as well as swords.

I am all the wiser for saying “oui” to an opportunity my junior year in high school that both scared me and exhilarated me. Probably wouldn’t have otherwise learned to say “ouais” to sound more casual. 

There’s a lot of stuff that textbooks don’t tell you. I know travel is big for retirees (allons-y!) and it’s easy to say when you’re young that you’ll travel more when time allows. But I think traveling at a young age, when feasible, is extremely impactful. Not to mention that it looks great on school applications.

My trip to China was as a “student ambassador,” whatever that means. That trip, too, was monumental. And not just because we scaled the Great Wall, ogled at the subterranean Terracotta Army sculptures, interacted with students in Xi’an, or did a home stay. But because we lived, like little adults. We were given lots of free time to traverse cities all over the country, as well as experience behind the scenes activities that allowed us to take in ancient history and culture. 

Every day that we were in China we entered something previously unknown, that we might never experience again. We slept on trains, rode around on rickshaws, haggled for jade, and figured out the best Pocky flavors. I’m pretty sure I was on the News. I was supposed to act as a representation of the program? I was such a good girl, a safe pick. I was told it would show me interacting with other Chinese students and that I might be asked some questions.

This was a shade of the truth. The filmers had me do things that made me look like an idiot, like play ping pong against practiced Chinese students and fish marbles out of water with a pair of chopsticks. If they were going for inept American, they captured it, but, hey, no one I know watched that segment.

Also, now I can eat basically anything with a pair of chopsticks. The same can be said for my friend Orlando, who I met on this trip. 

Taken on the Great Wall of China !

I’m sprightly, and don’t know when that will stop. Not long ago, my Dad conquered a hike with me up a steep mountain in Bergen under extreme weather conditions. But then, he’s always been athletic. And extremely healthy. So my odds are good? 

But just in case I’m not so fit 20 years from now, I want to know that I’ve done more than just manually spin my globe at home on its axis, learning a new geographical tidbit from afar. 

Like experiencing the sunflower fields in Dinard, I want to be up close and personal.

Don’t you?

Some of us Americans, partying it up in France.

Learning is hard…

But important!