I can’t  believe that today is my LAST DAY in Strasbourg (before I find a way to come back!)

I am going into the Vosges mountains with Emmanuelle and Jean François for the morning, and then my host mom is cooking me a final dinner (with champagne and everything! she said).

I still have way too much luggage and I have no idea how I am going to make it all the way back to New York without leaving 30 pounds of it behind.

As I sit here, quarantined in my room from the terrible gastro virus that is running rampant throughout my host family’s house, I have a bit of time to reflect.  I just got back from a “dinner party” at the apartment of the woman whom I student teach for.  Her name is Petra and she was born and raised in America but has spent the last 20 years of her life in Strasbourg.  She speaks English, German, French and Italian all fluent.  I could never be that competent in anything! Being around her and her friends makes me feel simply inadequate because they all speak several languages, listen to classical music and enjoy deep conversation.  I stammer in French and couldn’t tell you what Bach’s most famous piece of work is.  Anyway, if nothing else, the food was delicious; she made a turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, basically a traditional thanksgiving meal.  Emmanuelle and Jean-François were there of course, and so was another couple and their child.  I was the youngest by at least 20 years (save the 3 year old) but I managed to understand and at times input my opinion into the conversation even though everything was in rapid French.  I am glad, regardless of all the difficulties of this semester, that I was able to have an opportunity like this; where I can sit in a typically Alsatian apartment and enjoy others company.  That is rare sometimes among my con-disciples.

I am at a point where I don’t know what to do next.  I was skyping with my good friend Jeremy the other day (for upwards of 2 hours) and he asked me if I was excited to come home. OF COURSE, of course I am excited to come home.  I can’t wait even. But, I explained to him, it is weird that this is ending.  Being abroad was the only goal that I’ve ever really had and it was the only goal that was ever really certain.  I always knew, without a doubt, that I would get to go abroad my junior year of college and that was never in question.  Now that it is ending, nothing else seems as certain and as possible.  Everything is just a giant uncertainty.  That, I continued, makes me nervous and uncomfortable.  And what he said really made sense, however simple it seems, but he told me “aren’t you proud that you accomplished this goal?  and in any case you will just have to make new goals, more specific goals, and you will have to work to attain those.”

So that is where I am.  I am thinking and thinking that I have to get back here.  And I mean that.  I was pursuing grad schools and I saw two incredible programs that are way outside my academic range, which scares me so much because I am not ready for the higher education world.  For example, NYU has a grad program especially for French Education majors, which divides the two year program into one year in Paris and one year in New York.  Also, the director of my program suggested that I come back to Strasbourg as a teaching assistant for 7-10 months.  These are all ideas that I really want to work to realize. I don’t want to have more missed opportunities.  Because I’ve had so many, and I’ve learned so much in just under 4 months that I can’t even imagine what I can be capable of in 7, maybe even 12.  Who knows. These are just thoughts.

Random thought: Strasbourg is tiny. Tonight on my way to Petra’s apartment, I saw the actor from the theatre piece I saw last weekend walking down the street.  When I was leaving, someone came up to JF, E and I and asked me if I had been in Galleries Lafayettes the other day ( I had) because he recognized me…I said no, just because I was creeped out, and didn’t want to seem like such a shopaholic.

There were two girls in my Didactiques (french université school) who sat next to me the entire semester at our once a week class.  The first week I met them, I said “A tout a l’heure” meaning see you later and one of them responded to me questionably saying..”later? you mean next week?” From then, I was kind of scared.  But after working on our theatrical presentation for the class together, they started to loosen up.

Three weeks ago, they asked me to eat lunch with them after class, and I bailed.  The week after that, the same story, and I told them I had to go to Syracuse.  I finally had said, okay okay, next week, for serious.  And they had said “we don’t know if we’ll go to class or not, we’ll text you.” To my surprise, they DID text me.  And despite the fact that they didn’t show up for class, they were waiting for me outside of the classroom and off we went to eat a “traditional french dish” aka “tarte flambée” at Flams.  Best place…ever.  For lunch they have an “all you can eat tarte flambée heaven/hell.  Between the three of us, we ate 6 tarte flambées plus dessert.  AMAZING.  And it was actually really enjoyable.  I didn’t just listen. I  spoke too. And when I spoke, although horribly and grammatically incorrect, sometimes incomprehensible and frustrating, they listened anyway, asked questions and responded to mine.  I was amazed.

After, Claire suggested that we go see a movie! It was so stunning to hear that it was going to extend past lunch.  I realized that maybe they weren’t just spending time with me just because they felt bad.  They went all the way out of their way to come to the FAC (université) and then decided to spend more time to see a movie?  As we walked to the theatre, we walked through the marché noël, and we went into several stores, tried many things and laughed a lot.  It sounds incredibly lame, but I really enjoyed myself.  And I felt like they really did a good job of making me feel welcome.

We saw “Burn after reading” which is an American movie.  Although it was confusing to begin with, it was entirely in French and so I had to pay great attention or I missed it all.  Brad Pitt’s dub voice is quite enjoyable though.

Tonight, I went to Emmanuelle and Jean-François’s.  They gave me maps of Rome because tomorrow I debark on a weekend voyage.  I always mention how great they are, but as I was leaving Emmanuelle rushed over to me and gave me a bunch of typical Alsacian cookies and told me they were from her hometown and they thought of me while they were there.  That was just so endearing, I just shouted “je vous aime!!!” (i love you both!)  I am going to miss them so much!!

When I got home, I promised Charlotte we would make some chocolat chaud.  She was in the process of rearranging the furniture in her room at 11pm, and I got roped into helping her.  We spent over an hour moving everything and somehow it all ended up where it started.  For some reason, I had a “fou rire” (literally translated; crazy laugh) and couldn’t stop laughing the entire time.  It’s astonishing how something so simple can bring so much fun just depending on the person you are with.  Too hilarious.

I forgot to mention how although I don’t want to leave, I am falling apart at the seams and so I think I have to return to home base. I rode my bicycle into a pole last night on my way to visit my friends for the last time, had a fever and smashed my toes on a wood plank in Cha’s room.  I still can’t bend my knee.

Okay well this is not cohesive but I have to go to bed because I have class at 830 am and ROME at 16h!

Bisous,

Laurette

It is 2 am and I can’t sleep.

I am currently having a heart to heart facebook chat with Charlotte’s twin, Bérangère, instigated by her on her own accord due to our sleeplessness.  She is only two doors down from me.

I am a little surprised, she never is around and never wants to talk to me.  And now she is complimenting my French.

Bérangère: hahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa un gros mots francais !!! je suis fiere de toi lol tu devient une vrai francaise

(haha a french swear word. i am proud of you, lol, you are becoming a real french (girl) )

Bérangère: looooollll moi aussi elle me fait chier c’est dommage ke j’ai pas plus parler avec toi avant !!! j’aurais du…mais je suis jamais a la maison lol

(lol, me too, she pisses me off. it’s too bad that i had’t talked to you more before!! i should have! but I am never at the house…)

I am way too incapable of giving my own update of my trip to COPENHAGEN, DENMARK to visit the beautiful, talented, danish speaking Lauren Lynch, soul mate of my life, best friend extraordinaire.  And so, that being said, after a wonderfully memorable weekend in Copen  hangin’ I can gladly say that I left with a lot more things that I came with (metaphysically and spiritually of course.)  Here is the abridged update, taken directly from Lauren’s blog.

“”Overstimulated with thoughts right now I have too many things to say simultaneously.  Last Friday Lauren Speranza came to visit and it was really fun, minus the fact that within teh first 3 hours of her arrival my wallet was stolen.  Woo!  So after I brought her into the center of town we ended up spending about 2 hours looking for my wallet but to no avail.  Then I had to make a number of phone calls to cancel my cards, etc etc,c all the police, and all that.  On top of that it started Snowing for the first time this year in Copenhagen, but when I say snowing I don’t mean nice harmless gentle picturesque flakes but rather near blizzard like conditions.  Really, I will upload pictures eventually becuase they are hilarious, but you should look on facebook for them for now.

Friday night Lauren and I went to Eva’s for wine and…. herring.  Ew ew ew ew ew ew ew.  I’m really sorry, but herring is NOT on my list of tasty food items, and even though I really try to like most things, this was not one that I could be convinced about.  It’s raw texture, fishy fishy taste, and marinated mixture of yoghurt, apples and raw onions just didn’d do it for me.  Luckily, it did not go to waste, as Eva, Veronika, and Søren all actually really loved the dish.  Some things just aren’t for everyone.

Saturday morning Lauren and I woke up and went over to Fields and Bilka to purchase Christmas Lunch decorations for our party.  I will omit the number of hours we spent there.  Then we came back to my apartment and, to the tunes of wonderfully obnoxious Christmas music, we decorated the house and prepared for the party to begin.  Saturday night was the party, and there were 9 of us in total who sat down to share the meal.  We had 5 different courses, I wish I had the card with the names of each on it becuase I honestly can’t remember but I will try.  First I think we had rugbrød with our favorite food ever..herring.  Pickled herring or herring marinated in curry sauce… to be honest Lauren and I obvisouly just stuck to bread and butter.  This was followed by tarteleta (a little pastry cup with chicken pot pie mix filling, or at least thats how Lauren and I described it, which was quite tastey), after which we had rugbrød with leverpostej and tunmous.  Then I think we had some sort of purple cabbage, and also some sort of green spinach like cream mixture, with Danish meatballs.  Mmm… I know there was more but I can’t entirely remember at the moment, but I will say that we finished with something like a rice pudding that Daniel made, called Rice A la Mande, which tasted of vanilla and almonds and was served with cherries.  We also drank some Christmas beer and snaps… and it’s fair to say that Lauren Speranza and I have made a vow to NEVER drink snaps again.  We prefer to call them liquid tears. “”"

Ah, tu me manques ma cherie, Lauren <3

Bisous et bonne nuit.

Last night I didn’t sleep very much.  I had two exams today, but I’m not sure that that was entirely the problem.  It is strange to me that while we are all studying and rushing to conclude this semester in terms of classes, people are leaving left and right.  Thursday about 30 students will go back to the United States back to their varied and sundry locations.  And while we all were not the best of friends (we had our groups, and our alliances) we all had a general understanding and compassion for one another.  I’ve never been one for endings.  I still remember my 10th grade summer Spanish class at Nassau Community College.  I was devastated when it concluded, where are those people now? I can’t even remember their names.
Getting out of your warm bed is so difficult when you know that the only thing that awaits you is a 10 minute bike ride in less than 30 degree temperature with the wind whipping at your face.  I literally started to tear up on my bike this morning because it was so cold.  I have never ever before left my house with as many warming articles of clothing as I do now.  If I leave my gloves at home, I turn right back around to get them because I’d rather be late than risk frost bite.

But that in itself has been another adjustment. In the warmer weather you don’t notice it as much, but it is really difficult to find the strength to cross an entire city just to get to class. Plus I am constantly riding between Syracuse, IIEF, Louis Pasteur and my student teaching, sometimes several times a day.  It makes you realize how convenient a closed campus really is- in which you get out of bed, walk to the dining hall across the street and then walk 3 minutes to your class.

My tests today were stressful.  Art was not as bad as I had anticpated, the anticipation is always the worst.  We had five paintings that we had to prepare the night before and my professor was to choose one that we were supposed to write about for an hour and forty minutes.  Personally, I had tests like that because it means that 4/5 of what you are studying is useless.  Not at all motivation to succeed.  The rest of the test was easy peasy because I had been studying in bits and pieces since Saturday.  Phonetique on the other hand was harder than I had imagined.  We were to transcribe a text sort of in the way you would see in a Dictionary.  All things considered, the class met once a week for an hour and it was therefore easy to forget that which we learned.  I did my best.  It doesn’t count for anything in my major, I literally took it for sport, but I can sadly say that I didn’t leave the class with much more than I entered it with.  Now those two are out of the way, plus my final for Didactique at Université Louis Pasteur.  The weight is not lifted however because the exams continue.

I guess, coming full circle, the reason I could not sleep last night had something to do with the fact that I cannot believe that once I leave here, I might never be back in this place again (that bed.) I fully intend on coming back to Strasbourg, but you know that it will never be the same.  That’s the hardest part.  Leaving somewhere when you know it wil never be the same again.  I’ve never had that kind of courage before. I still dont.

I find it funny how in every major PUBLIC UNIVERSITÉ, store, ‘what have you’ building there is a Christmas tree. There is no menorah thrown on the table haphazardly like in America where if you celebrate one holiday you celebrate them all.

The other night we had our “farewell dinner” with the Syracuse program.  It was entirely amusing. We went to a typically Alsacian restaurant and ate delicious food such as tarte flambée (yuuum) and duck! It was my first time trying duck and I must say, I might choose to leave that precious and majestic creature in the lake in which it came from.  Not an awful experience, just not something for which je craque.  It was the last time all 40 something of us would be together since the very first night in Berlin where we passed the night together.  All of our teachers were there too.  It was at that moment I realized that we had come a long way, despite whether we all wanted to admit it or not.  Each student had his or her completely unique experience but here we were all the while sharing it all together.
During our director’s final speech (he makes a lot of them, it was weird to hear his final one…) he said a lot of profoundly moving things.  At one point, he said “a student recently came to me and told me that they think about him {matt} every day.”  I wanted to shout out…I DO TOO.  It felt so intense to know that each person in that room has had something change within them since that day.  And no matter how little we talk about it outloud now, 2 months after, it is nestle there inside of us…for good.

“I can’t explain the state that I’m in , the state of my heart, he was my friend, all of my powers, day after day, I can tell you, we swaggered and swayed. terrible sting and terrible storm, I can tell you the day we were born. My friend is gone, he ran away.  I can tell you, I love him each day. Though we have sparred, wrestled and raged, I can tell you I love him each day.  Terrible sting, terrible storm, I can tell you...”- Sufjan Stevens (I can’t get enough of Sufjan right now, mainly because I met someone last night named Sufjan and it spurned me into one of those musical moods.)

Today I woke up to be productive and to get my studying on for the next two weeks of Final Massacres. I woke up late, which is something I don’t often do, started to “do work” but then of course got side tracked when Charlotte asked me if I wanted to take a break.  We drank hot chocolate in the kitchen and spent more time “breaking” than actually studying.

In the kitchen, while we were making our chocolat chaud, I asked Charlotte for something, but I didn’t know the word so I made one up.  She answered, and knew absolutely what I was talking about.  I turned to her and said “je suis contente qu’on n’a pas besoin de mots.  On se comprend toujours. ” (I am happy that we don’t need words.  We always understand one another).  She looked at me and acknowledged the incredible truth in this sentiment.  It definitely makes trying to speak another language a lot easier, knowing that you won’t get stared at like you have 5 heads everytime you are confused.  Sometimes, I must admit, it feels like we are having two different conversations because neither of us understand the other.  And sometimes she can stare at me and said “je n’ai pas tout compris” (I did not at all understand).  But othertimes, it just works itself out, and that’s why it’s so great.

At 16h, I went to see a play with my Literature Class called Variations.  It was literally around the corner from my house (oh the conveniences of living in the center of a major city) and I met up with Ashley and we ran there together (we were late.)

The play kind of reminded me of a French “Rent” but with less happiness, dancing and without an unrealistic ending.  For a play entirely in French and entirely dialogue, I am proud to say that I understood approximately 75-80% of what was going on.  That’s a good number, especially after 3.5 months of French. I  must say that my listening skills are something that I am incredibly proud of.  Come on, oral ability and grammatical nuances!

In other news, I need to just say…feel better soon Uncle Paul

I cannot believe, in pure sincerity, that I only have 16 days left here in Strasbourg.  How can that be possible?  I literally just got off the plane in Berlin that first day and now it’s time to rearrange my things? Pack everything up? Say good bye to this life that I was just getting into the swing of?
As I sit in Café Brant, right outside the Palais Universitaire in an effort to study for the plethora of finals that are going to cloud up my final days here, I can’t help but to be a touch reflective.  I may have just eaten my last Croque Monsieur and Schwepps this semester, but I really do hope it’s not my last.  I know that I have to come back to Strasbourg, my work here is far from finished.

To be honest, there are a few things that I cannot wait to get home to…besides the obvious of family, friends and loved ones, I really cannot wait for:

1) Poland Spring Water, not paying for refills on water at restaurants…2) a country that curbs its’ dogs 3) Being able to communicate my emotions in a more cohesive manner. 4) Being able to lay in bed all day without be judged! 5) The comforts of being home, in my house, with my family and not a “fake” one.   Despite it’s bonuses and amusements, I am ready to be at my real home with my real family.

But then again there are many things that I am going to miss.  I am going to sincerely miss the sense of progession that I felt in terms of my French language (despite the somewhat daily obstacles and frustrations.) I am going to miss my “french sister” of course, because she was one of my best friends here.  I am going to miss the beauty of this city, especially during the Christmas Markets where everything is lit up and smells delicious.  I am going to miss the sensual overload I get just by walking out of my house.  The sights of daily life, baguettes in hand, the sounds of french, EVERYwhere, the smell of boulangeries, patisseries,  vin chaud. everything.

I can’t believe that it’s time to go.

jeune femme sublime
29 ans type mannequin
cherche un homme viril
30 ans enfants acceptés

explosive colombienne
tempérament de feu
cherche un homme joueur
pour un grand voyage à 2

superbe slave
35 ans féminine
dessus comme dessous
cherche homme sensible et doux

bel homme grand standing
bac plus 4
grande classe
cherche femme très ronde
pour relation à 4

si ça nous va

colonel 57 ans
sensible et cultivé
cherche une femelle de 20 ans
départ ivre pour mers du sud

jeune homme actif passif très musclé
cherche mâle d’âge mur
aimant les nouveautés

sublime geisha
splendeur samouraï
lèvres de Malaisie
et douceur du corail

si ça nous va

40 ans dentiste
superbe raffiné
humour forcené
dentition distinguée

très grand couturier
très hauts revenus
responsabilité immense
cherche femme ambitieuse
pour partager standing
pour partager standing

jeune homme doucement
commence à apprendre
qu’on est seul dans cette vie
qu’on est seul dans cette vie

I know, I know my time has passed
I’m not so young, I’m not so fast
I tremble with the nervous thought
Of having been, at last, forgot

There are certain songs which I cannot get out of my head.  They instantaneously connect me to a place and time which I am no longer present to.  Often, they can make me a bit despondent or better yet pensive.  Right now–I cannot turn off “no sleep” by Sam Roberts.  After being in France for only three weeks, I can immediately tell that his accent in the middle of the song is far from French.  It kind of makes me laugh a little bit though.  I can listen to that song and place myself back in Boston around April/May.  I hate how only a few months ago can feel so far away.  I feel myself younger, less aware, out of touch.  How is that possible, that was only a few months ago?  I know that a lot can change, but I am not too sure it has.  I really feel as though I may not be living some grand transformation in France.  Maybe these “incredible changes” that we hear are often in store for us are not so incredible or noticeable at all.  Maybe I am just little by little adopting new tendencies and habits unlike myself 5 months ago. For one thing, I am hell bent on drinking a bowl and not a glass or mug but a bowl of tea every morning once I get back.  Also, I do not disagree with the incredible overusage of nutella and the completely acceptable consumption of chocolate and pastry for breakfast.  I’m living the dream.

But in reality, I must stop eating pastries.  The fact that my ever rounding face is becoming recognizable at “Patrick” the best patisserie this side of Avenue Des Vogues can only mean trouble for me and the way that my pants fit.  I cannot even convey the absolute happiness that a simple baguette sandwich can bring me on a day to day basis.  And then there is always dessert for breakfast, dessert after lunch, dessert after dinner and dessert after dessert.  I am going to take a page from French grammar for a minute.  There is a phrase “il faut que” which symbolizes a strong necessity to do something.  In this situation, I might say “il faut que je ne mange plus les patisseries!!!”

France is a magnificant country, however.  I love the effortlessness that comes alongside almost everything.  Even aspects of the French language all seem to say “relax” to me.  I do not feel the rush and the urgency that is ever-present in the United States.  I do not feel the competition- the good, better, best- the petiness or the superficiality.  Sure there is a lot of capitalism to say the least, but it does not permeate into everything I do at every moment in time.  I feel like France has retained it’s most beautiful aspects of the past and perpetuates them throughout the present.  The United States is constantly evolving and changing- and although it is amazing that it can do so, it often loses that originality that creates an identity for the nation as a whole.  I like the sense of commradary, the sense of “we are all French”…even though I am not French, the minute I try to speak it, I am treated as though I am such.  I completely disagree with every nasty thing I have ever heard about the French because I have not seen one example of such in my 3 weeks time.  It may be too soon to judge, but it may also be a good indicator that stereotypes hold absolutely no water against reality.

La Cathedrale

I love being able to say that. I went to Germany for no other reason than to get a particular flavor of ice cream that is not sold in France.  And what particular flavor had me on a tram to a bus to Kehl, Germany you might ask? Well it just so happens to be called “cookies” and it just so happens to be God’s greatest gift to Germany and the rest of Eastern Europe.  During the Identity Seminar, we went crazy for it, and now I am so thrilled to have it back in my life.  It’s amazing–these schengen borders–that allow us to freely come and go from country to country.  I do so enjoy it.  PLUS, everything is way cheaper in Germany making shampoo and conditioner a valid purchase as opposed to in France where I’d rather not have clean hair than to empty my wallet for some Suave.

Today was “Lauren and Strasbourg” time.  While a bunch of other students went to Nice (just a fact, it is not always nice in Nice–it’s raining all weekend) I did not have the luxury to travel just yet.  I decided to walk from where I live au centre ville (downtown) to get my bearings.  It’s a funny thing to live somewhere for 3 weeks and still be confused as to where you live.  I am also used to riding my bike, and I thought it would be a great idea to go à pied instead. So I left my house at 11:15, and I was downtown within 5 minutes.  It is an amazing thing to be that close to the center of a city.  I’ve begun to notice that there are a lot of markets that go on at Place Broglie on the weekend.  I saw giant (I mean giant) cheesewheels, dead animals hanging for the eating, clothes, bags, jewelry, 8 euro shoes and anything else you could ever desire.  It amazes me how Strasbourg is so crowded on the weekends with tourists and Germans (thanks, schengen borders.)

After I debated whether or not to buy an entire block of cheese, I met up with Morgan.  It was then that we went to the train station to get this sweet 12-25 card that gives ridiculous (we hope) discounts on all trains within France, and hopefully also outside.  We wandered around—looking like tourists of course—trying to piece together the fragmented puzzle of Strasbourg. And then we got “cookies.”  What a great day.

After our little adventure, I had to go over to UMB (Univeristé Marc Bloch) to find out what level I placed in for the IIEF (International Institute Études Français.)  While I was waiting at the bus stop, a French boy accidentally stepped on my foot.  He was apologetic but he knew by my stammered response that I was not French.  He announced this information to his friend and began to speak to me in English.  What a sinking feeling- this feeling that the minute I open my mouth I am automatically cast as an outsider.  This does not happen all the time- in fact it makes me so excited when despite my broken French, I am answered  in French.

Apparently, however, I placed in the highest level which was both a shock and a confidence boost.  After my little ineptitude display at the bus stop, I needed to know that I was not a complete waste to the beauty of the French language.  Well, at least I can somewhat write it.  Courses there begin Monday, and I find out whether the 10 hours a week of intensive French at UMB will be compatible with my other classes at Syracuse and at the master level French Université.

Tonight I think I am going to spend time with my host sister.  She may or may not be the coolest French person I know.  We are going to make mai-tais. Very French.  I am getting used to this family and this apartment and this city.  It is all falling into place.  Well, it better.  I’ve been here exactly one month today.

Here are some pictures of the Place de la Republique which is one of the hubs of Strasbourg which I live 2 blocks from.

because she will inevitably find a restaurant called “Hippopotamus” with Haley which is essentially the Outback Steakhouse of Europe.  Amen pommes frites.

Tonight, I went to a music festival called Musica.  It is dubbed the international festival of today’s music.  I think that must be the nicer name given to a lot of noise.  Never have I ever heard so many sour notes made purposefully to create the “Transformation of Jesus.” The group was from the Netherlands which made the chorus very interesting to dechiper.  All in all, the 2 hours I spent listening were mostly spent dwelling on how impressed I was.  Not necessarily with the sounds I was hearing together but separately.  I am impressed because it is something I could never do.  I played the violin in 4th grade and I did not have the coordination nor talent of a philharmonic.  Regardless, I am not one for cultural music festivals but I did so enjoy it.

At this moment in time, I am waiting to shower in my host family’s nicer, more French bathroom because I haven’t since Sunday; our hot water is not functioning.  I feel like I am roughing it in a luxurious apartment on Avenue des Vogues. It is okay, as Lauren Lynch assures me this is all normal in Europe.
Today I had class before the sun even rose.  I left my house promptly around 7:30 to find the Université on my bike.  I have been there several times before, but always by tram.  I always feel like I will somehow stumble upon my location, or develop a sudden keen sense of direction but that is never the case.  By the time I got to the Université and locked up my bike (bike parking in France is like parallel parking in the streets of New York City) I was arriving just a few minutes before 8.  Every Tuesday morning I have this course called “Savoirs Culturels” which discuss the more intimate aspects of the French culture.  Today we talked about clichés, stereotypes, and strikes.  Do not ask me how they were all related, because at 8am this morning, my French ears were sadly not functioning as well as they are usually able to.

I guess here I should interject with a description of my class situation.  You would think- Lauren is in France, she is most certainly going to go to a class on how to not go to class! But you would be wrong.  At Syracuse Université (note the French spelling to differentiate between French Syracuse and NY Syracuse) there are three options:

Option I: Take all of your classes at the Syracuse Université (some in French, some in English, all at the quaint Syracuse House/Center)

Option II: Take classes at this place called the IIEF- The International Institute of French Studies- which embodies 11 hours of language intensive French for all international students and then some one hour courses to supplement.

Option III: Take your classes DIRECTLY at a French University, enrolled and alongside your French peers.

Originally, before arriving to Syracuse, I was Option III.  Pfft.  I knew that I could mix and match, maybe take an Art History class and a French LIterature class (in French) at Option I and then do some more French courses at Université Marc Bloch.  The day I went with Monsieur Marxer (who would, I guess, earn the title of adviser at Syracuse for the French majors/minors) to UMB to register for courses, I had a panic attack and decided I didn’t think I was ready.  He kindly (because he is the kindest French man of ALL time) suggested that it might be beneficial for me to take courses at Option II, because speaking French is my biggest fear.  But all of this was hypothetical because there was a big placement exam that would decide whether the 11 hours of French would conflict with my already up and roaring Syracuse classes.

So I took the test, and to my (seriously) surprise, I placed in the highest level.  And to my even greater surprise, not one of my classes conflicted with the 11 hours.  The only problem is, I was still going to take a course in Option III at UMB because I need to take an “instructional methods course” for Boston College in order to fulfil my graduation requirements.  The even bigger problem was that this was a masters level French class on the didatics and lingusitics of language.  What does that even MEAN?  I was scared out of my mind, but Marxer insisted I go anyway.

Today I went to the classroom I had so carefully plotted on my map.  I was an hour early due to timing and decided to sit outside the classroom.  I don’t know what made me do it, but I looked at the door and noticed a flyer that had all sorts of crazy numbers and codes written in French.  I could tell it was a schedule of classes in that classroom and so I searched for mine.  Tuesday—noon—where was it? It was not there.  I panicked.  Asked the nearest French student what that meant. Where was my class?  She directed my a bit across campus to the Secretariat but once I got over there discovered they had nothing listed on the board.  Went back to the room, only to notice that the course was changed from Tuesday to Thursday.  To my relief, the time conflicted with my Syracuse class so I do not have to go to the intimidating French masters class.

After this fiasco, I went back to the SU center, but stopped Chez Patrick to get my usual sandwich au fromage with my obvious tarte citron.  YUM.  Once I returned, Monsieur Marxer and I worked dilligently to find another feasible course for my major.  I tell you, no one at Boston College would ever try so hard to get me into classes that I need.  BC’s attitude is very much “too bad, so sad” when it comes to registration.  Marxer reminds me a little bit of my high school guidance counselor who made sure he did the best he could to help you out! I’d be lucky to know my BC adviser’s name (that’s a lie, because I’ve been hounding her by email.) Anyway, we found another didatics License course (undergraduate) at a different, closer university.  He immediately informed me we would scoot over there only 20 minutes before my art class.  Turns out the class does not conflict and has not started yet! I have a good feeling about it.

PHEW that was a long explanation for a long ordeal.  As it stands now, I have quite an—intensive—schedule.  I have 11 hours of French a week (3 days, Friday included in which my classes start at 8oclock.) I have 2 courses at Syracuse for 9 hours total a week, I have one hour of phonetiques at the IIEF, and hopefully this Didactics course.  Don’t forget, I need to start student teaching soon.  When I am going to travel, I have no idea.  But I am hoping all of this blood, sweat and tears will at least enable me to say Bonjour without sounding like a dumb American by the time I leave.

The saddest part about being here is that I feel so…..I can’t explain it. I feel as though I am living a lie.  Being this “French facade” but secretly harboring my ineptitude for the language.  I almost wish that I was physically different from all of these French students so that it wouldn’t be something I felt like I was hiding.

Tonight we had crepes for dinner.  I love the food in France.  I will post more about that—tomorrow!

nosh, nosh, nosh. Time for my 3rd warm shower in the month that I’ve been here!

Bisous

At 10 oclock I am watching Camp Rock, the Disney channel original movie, with Charlotte my host sister.  She is 19 years old, and would kill me if she knew I was publicizing this information.  Good news is, she can barely speak English and therefore is unaware that she is a part of my blogosphere.

I spent this past weekend in Dijon and Beaune.  Let me just tell you right now, Dijon is more than just a mustard.  It is in one of the most beautiful regions in France which you may or may not know as Burgundy.  I went with the Syracuse Program and so 40 other students.  We took, as always, our faithful purple bus with the butterflies on the side and Professor Bach and Professor Marxer accompanied us.  It was a busy weekend, of course, with a lot of tours and a lot of beef bourgogne.  On Friday night we stayed in a hotel in the hub of Dijon, but on Saturday night we were lead to the distant and forgotten countryside.  It was MAGNIFIQUE.  We literally quadrupled the town’s population of Sac du Levey for the night.  Before dinner, while roaming around the dirt roads, we encountered two little French girls who gave us a tour of the land.  We met their donkey, their dogs, and all of their other livestock.  They were the cutest two French girls!  I finally learned what a word that Charlotte always says means.  C’est chiante! I take it that means “that’s shitty” in French.  Thanks, Cha.  Tonight at dinner I said it and my host mom yelled at me that I should never learn French from Charlotte anyway.  It is back to using the word “zut” which literally means “gosh darn it” and is reserved for losers to use.

Anyway, Saturday night in the countryside, we ate a delicious home cooked meal and then had a “talent” show.  We were all a little apprehensive of this part of the itinerary.  None of us have talents…or so we thought.  The first group, all of the boys on the trip (aka all 5 of them) sang a harmony of “my girl” which was hilarious.  Next, a girl named Kate and a young lad named Nick did their version of “Mama’s good to you” from Chicago with dance and shimmying included.  Our professors and the bus driver Patrick taught us a French drinking song to accompany all of the Burgundian red wine we were drinking at dinner.  Several hours later, the talent show was still going on! It was really nice to see everyone acting a little bit of a fool.  I am not going to tell you what me and my friends did, but in short, Haley, Morgan, Ashley, Kate, Rachel and I may or may not have sang, acapella, a medley of Disney songs with dances included.  My favorite was the opening song to the Lion King in which all of us entered the floor as varying animals.  I love silly things like that.

Here I am back in Strasbourg again, however, trying to bust out a 7 page paper that is due Friday.  I just started it today, which is earlier than some of the other 40 students, but I really enjoy the topic.  Let me know just how interested you are in the victory of Czechoslovakia in the 1958 World Fair’s Exposition and how it was just a smear of propagandist information to create an illusion to the Western world.  I’ll tell you what I know. And hopefully by the end of the paper, I will finally know how to spell Czechoslovakia.

I really need to make some French friends…like 3 weeks ago…this is getting a little bit ridiculous.  I asked Charlotte to go with me to some French student functions, and she laughed at me and called me a “bouef” which is basically a “hick” or a “loser” from what I gather.  What a sweetheart.

All of my American friends are going to Oktoberfest this weekend, and I don’t know that I can.  But if I do not make it there, you can bet your bottom euro that I will be throwing my own fête de la bière here in good old S-burg.

Time is approaching for Camp Rock without subtitles.  I will have to translate it into French for the host sister.  Much better than reading Petits Poèmes en prose by Charles Baudelaire for homework, non?

@ + tard, mes amis.

This evening as I was getting ready for bed around 9:30 (that’s me, in a nutshell) I get a text from Charlotte who is literally three rooms away, saying “come here, I have a plan.” So unvariably, like every night, I go to her room to borrow her hair dryer and ask her what is going on.  She then informs me we are going to prendre un verre by Place Broglie.  I then look down at my pajamas, and say…OKAY!

A quick wardrobe change later, we are off on our bikes and down the streets of downtown Strasbourg.  She looks at me and says (in french, of course, in case you are wondering) “we must really be alcoholics to be on our bikes at 10pm on a wednesday night, looking for something to drink.”

This came at the most opportune moment.  Today, like most days, I was going through my quasi depressed stage of hopelessness caused by my inability to learn or see any sort of improvements in my French.  I got really frustrated and kept telling myself, if only I had some French friends.  But I keep forgetting…I am really lucky, because in this family situation, I basically got a built in French friend.  Of course, I accredit our personalities matching as well, but it was really nice to go out with Charlotte.  We sat at some restaurant drinking wine, me trying to explain the american politcal system to her, and her trying to tell me about the french school system, until the place closed.  Then on our bikes coming home, swerving all around Place de la Republique and Ave de Vosgues, it felt like the closest thing I could have to my sisters at home.  IN FRENCH.  It was just what I needed for today.

And then, since we snuck out without the other American student in the house ( I know, very….not nice of me, but SO deserved) once we got home, Charlotte goes outloud “so anyway, Lauren, how was the library?”
All in all, it was a funny event.

That’s all for now, but is a medley of entertaining photographs:

Syracuse

It is with a heavy heart that I must write this post.  But instead of doing so with sadness, I will do it with joy.

On Friday morning, a boy in our small Syracuse Abroad family of 40, passed away here in Strasbourg, France.  The cause of death is still uncertain.  It has been a tremendously trying experience and so I ask that you, whomever you are that reads this, keep him and his family in your prayers.
I remember getting on the plane on August 19th.  It was 11pm on a Tuesday night and I was too scared to be excited.  I had just spent 4 hours waiting in the airport lobby, anticipation building, ready to pop a tylenol PM and wake up in Berlin.  I got on the plane and was struck by how much was already in French.  My stomach dropped.  As I walked further and further to the back of the plane, I realized that I was in the last possible row.  The kid sitting next to me was already there.  His name was Matt.

I dragged all of my stuff, backpacks, duffle bag, chocolate, ipod, etc with me and dropped it all with a sigh.  We introduced ourselves briefly, and I remember thinking to myself…this won’t be too bad.

In short, I did not end up taking that tylenol PM that night.  I was so occupied talking to this boy.  He was so excited, so funny and so pumped to be going to France.  He made me forget that I was nervous and flying across an entire ocean for the next several months.  We shared our two mini aircraft bottles of wine. I got the white and he got the red because, he told me, it went better with his dinner.  And we toasted to Strasbourg and to being airplane buddies.

We talked about things from music to religion.  He distracted me during take off because I guess he noticed that I was scared.  I do hate planes.  We must’ve slept for about 2 hours or so.

The most important things that I remember about Matt (besides his uncanny ability to get 20 of us lost in East Berlin at 12:00am on our first night in Europe) are that he was essentially the most vibrant and vivacious 20 year older I’ve ever met.  He was so positive and easy going.  He made everything look easy.  Thursday afternoon we were unlocking our bikes together and I asked him about Oktoberfest.  He told me they would figure out where they would sleep when they got there…he wasn’t worried.  He never really was worried.

I remember writing in my journal when I first got here that these “big and noticeable changes” everyone talks about while going abroad haven’t happened yet.  I bite my tongue now, because I do not think that these big and noticeable changes should have come at the cost of such a precious life.  But it is undeniable.  40 of us are now different because of this event.  There is just a lot more to think about now.

Several weeks en retard:

For my birthday, all I wanted to do was go on a bateau mouche around Strasbourg.  Peter told me we’d go together and so on Wednesday afternoon we found our way to the dock.  Unfortunately it was filled to the brim with German tourists and so we stood there deciding what to do.  He turns to me and says, “what are you doing for your birthday weekend?” He suggested we go somewhere, and me, always unable to commit, said “yeah, maybe, sure, I guess, it depends.” We went our separate ways and within the hour, I got a text message saying “we’re booked.”

So that was that, we were on our way to Interlaken, Switzerland for the weekend.  He invited a few other girls to go with us and then before departure decided it would be more efficient and less expensive to just rent a car and drive there. According to European mapquest, Interlaken was 2 hours and 15 minutes from Strasbourg.  I don’t know at what speed limit that estimate was supposing, but it was most certainly lightyears longer than 2 hours.

Of course on the way, we got lost…SEVERAL times.  The roads are so unclear in Europe that you never really have any idea where you are going.  Whatever the case was, we drove from Strasbourg south through Basel all the way to Interlaken. I loved every minute of the car ride. I got to watch the sun set on the French/Suisse country side as we drove through fields and tunnels and dark mountainous regions.  It was the first time in a while that I really felt like myself.

When we pulled up to the hostel around 9:30 pm, it was full of life.  We stayed at a place called Balmers, which is actually an American oriented hostel.  The Australian at check in would prove to be one of the perks of the trip for his sassiness and companionship to our group.  So, we checked in, dropped off our shit and went to the bar in the basement of the hostel.  It was incredibly nice to have a bar built into the hostel because it eliminated all of the problems of going out.  The music they played was from 1995, but pints of beer were cheaper than water was and no one could complain.  I felt a little bit like I was back at Kennedy High School with the crowd, but that was irrelevant then.

The atmosphere of the hostel was so incredible.  They had no locks on the doors and you were basically expected to just trust everyone.  And I found it really easy to.  Because Peter booked our trip, I was the only girl in a room of 10 boys, several of which were American Army boys stationed in Italy.  The group you can meet in a hostel is so diverse and fascinating.  I even met someone from Long Island. OF COURSE.

On Saturday, because we had our car, we drove up to several mountain towns, of which now the names are escaping me.  It was one of the most picturesque places I have ever seen in my life. I felt like I was in the Sound of Music, spinning around on the green country side with my arms held up!

That is just a slice of the heaven than we encountered.

Regardless, I could go on and on about the sights we saw, the Rodelbahn we rode at the top of the mountain, the swiss chocolate we ate (and the toberlone), the breathtaking places I stood, etc. but I might not.  That night we spent the evening in the hostel with our two new American friends, Dave and Mike, ate some thai food (in Switzerland) and really just felt so at home with each other.

On Sunday, I woke up with every intention to go cannoning.  Since Interlaken is the extreme capital of the world (I made that up) I knew that I had to drop several hundred dollars to do something memorable. Cannoning was a three hour excursion that took you up glaciers, down waterfalls, through rapids, all over the place.  I was PUMPED. Unfortunately we did not have enough people to run the trip, so we had to resort to paragliding! I was certainly not going to go bungee jumping and sky diving was simply not an option.  So we made reservations to go paragliding (aka go running off the side of a mountain and end up sitting several thousand feet off of the ground in a parachute chair.)  Until our 3 o’clock appointment, we rented scooters and drove around the area, saw beautiful lakes, beautiful visions that might equal what you out there could see on the side of an Evian water bottle.  Hmmm, dear reader, you think I am kidding.

Anyway, 3 o clock rolled around and I was kind of nervous. But hey, if I’m gonna go, I want to at least go running off the side of the Swiss Alps, making sure not to run into the cows who were staring at me as I went.  All five of us decided to do it together and we rode this truck filled with foreign men up to an unknown destination.  Nick was to be my tandem partner and he told me all I had to do was run.  I laughed and told him…I don’t run. He would later find out just how true that statement was.

When it was our turn to run off the mountain, I am pretty sure he had to push me because I could not gather enough force to push myself.  But anyway, there we were thousands of feet above Switzerland, watching the leaves change amazing hues I’ve never seen before in my life, seeing lakes, rivers, and others floating in the air among us.  It was incredible.

And the pictures…worth every bit of the 30 Swiss francs that I paid.

This may or may not have been an abridged version of a weekend of paradise.  Peter was the absolute best person to travel with.  He has been everywhere (including Interlaken once before) and so he knows his lay of strange lands very well.  He is always calm, cool, and collected (except in traffic).  He is always up for anything! I really had a blast and am so grateful to him for planning such a great birthday weekend.  We are going to go somewhere in November and I know that that will be equally as memorable!! Go 20 years old.

My French may be stagnant right now, but my English is definitely getting worse.

Coming soon:

-Paris Part I

-Strasbourg Recap

-French girls conversation

That is the title of “Le Monde” which is sitting on my desk at present.  I bought it as a commemorative newspaper to remind me of this day which has been pretty exciting although I still feel all too distant from the United States.  I woke up at 5 AM this morning to join 500 other expat Americans at the Hilton Strasbourg to watch coverage of the election and to celebrate! It was ridiculous and highly emotional.

One thing that struck me, without divulging into a full on political account, is how fanatically happy the French were that Obama won.  Like anyone even noticed when Sarko was elected…

But really, there have been television shows about him all day, there have been video clips on t.v. showing french citizens screaming and jumping and crying in large groups just like in the United States.  They are thrilled.  Amazing how our country can impact the rest of the world so much huh? Point and case economic crisis as well.  But that is another story and another way to lose European adoration…

Lots to report, but not enough sleep last night to be capable.  But tonight, I went over Emmanuelle and Jean-François’ apartment for dinner and for our “english-french” exchange.  For those of you who do not know, this lovely couple is a friend of the woman I student teach for.  She introduced us at dinner because Emmanuelle wants to work on her French while Jean-François wants to help me with my French.  They are the most fabulous couple ever and they speak to me more than my host family does.

Emmanuelle and I spoke an hour in English. What a relief.  But then came dinner.  We ate a typical French meal–bread, fish, vegetables, cheese, gateaux, chocolat, wine, more bread.  What I liked about their dinner was that it felt so much less forced (although I am always a bit awkward) than my own host family.  They are so down to earth and we have been “tutoyer-ing” (informally speaking, in french, using the “tu” form) instantaneosuly, while I am still on “vous” terms (very formal) with my host mother.  It definitely has a whole other level of comfort.

JF and I were supposed to have our hour of French lessons after dinner, but that never happened because we spent 2 hours (IN FRENCH) at the dinner table.  It was an informal lesson where they really came down hard on me and told me everything I knew but needed to hear in French form.  Now I really just need to work on it.  JF, who is a linguistic genius who speaks French, German, Spanish and Latin, was telling me that I am so great at understanding French but I am quite like shit when speaking it (he was a lot more proper than that.) He said he wants to train me, and help me, so that my oral communication matches the level of understanding and vocabulary that I have of the French language.  He gave me tips.  He told me that I am a very active and engaging person.  But maybe I should try speaking French softly and calmly…finding that exact right moment to pause instead of drawing all sorts of attention to the fact that I am searching.  When I take more time, when I press down on the words I don’t know instead of muffling them, I take the time to figure things out in my head, instead of ignoring the problems and hoping no one notices.  Everything he said was true, and he made me really hopefully for working with them.  I just wish it wasn’t once a week.  I really am envious to try everything he said.  Practice imitating French people in my head.  Learn the song and not the broken awkward English that I am only capable of.

I am trying not to hesitate.  Not to reflect.  According to Emmanuelle. “don’t think. speak.” Something so obvious but is so true.  Why draw more attention to myself.  I am more capable than I imagine but I get myself worked up and I put so much pressure on myself that I can even embarrass myself! The key is not to be embarrassed.  Talk to anyone.  Softly, calmly. With thought but not too much.  It is such a science but with only around 6 weeks left, I better get going on it.

Oui, ça me fait plaisir.

The list of French cultural things I am accomplishing is almost as long as the number of prostitutes on the streets of Strasbourg. Je te jure, there are SO MANY.  I am almost surprised, walking home in the second nicest quartiers of Stras, as told by Charlotte, to see them standing around the corner from my house.  And frightening ones too.  But hey, it’s France.  And French people love that sort of thing.

This week I made two tremendous strides in the name of study abroad experiences…

Un:  I ate in the French cafeteria with French students.

Deux: I saw a ballet.

Merci, merci, je sais.

Let us start with numèro un.  Thursday morning I have my one and only French university class with is a class on General Didactics.  A majority of the class, although understood, is lost on me.  I find it impossible to take notes because the teacher speaks way to fast and while I am trying to guess where my accents go, I completely miss the subsequent points.  It is once a week, however, and only 2 hours.  So I manage, and I assume that most of the class is common sense.  You cannot make students learn.  Got it.  I don’t need to be paying to learn that.  Regardless, one of our two only grades, is a theatrical presentation on a textbook we read.  I tried to read the textbook, and got pretty far before realizing….it just was not going to happen in the time frame necessary for the project.  I am way too slow in French and the words are way too technical.  I did the best I could, and I created a list of a lot of new “educational” vocabulary which isn’t bad.  But up until Thursday morning, I was thinking of the best way possible to weasle out of this presentation.

In class, I got roped into a group when my teacher presented me to the class and these two girls next to me told me to join them.  They are sweet, but I cannot guess their intentions.  They are nice to me but underhandedly not so much.  It makes me uneasy, but I deal.  And Thursday after class, they invited me to eat with them at the cafeteria to discuss our presentation.  It wasn’t as horrific as it could have been.  Things weren’t that interesting until I started to tell them about America.  That’s when they perked up.  Otherwise, not so thrilled. We worked on the project, ate two desserts because you can do that at French lunches.  Their cafeteria was seriously gourmet, even with Boston College Restaurant style dining hall standards.  And every student with a CROUS card pays 3 euros for an entire 10 billion course meal.  Not a bad deal.  It may or may have not made me seriously sick last night, but I am chalking that bout of horror to a lack of sleep and not the delicious whatever it was I ate that afternoon.

Deux: Tonight I went to a ballet with Mackenzie!! It only cost us 5,50 euro with our super duper Carte Culture which gives ridiculous discounts on all sorts of expensive things and makes going to a ballet less expensive than seeing a movie in the movie theatre.  It was called Des Ordres/ Desordres and it was AMAZING.  Not only was it interpretative and not your boring old tutu stuffy ballet, but it was lively, emotional and French.  Mackenzie said it best when she said ” I don’t know HOW they did it…but they choreographed to WIND!”

Okay folks, that’s all for tonight because je suis trop fatiguée et je ne peux plus écrire!

Bon soir à tous! Bisous…

That my friends is a direct quote from François, as he sat, in front of my computer, correcting my french essay for tomorrow with Camille, one of Charlotte’s friends.  The two of them discussed and pointed out errors to one another as they grammatically ameliorated my text.  This was after Charlotte had already corrected it a little bit, for no reason other than she wanted to.  Forget what they say about the French being rude, not all of them are.  I could not be happier with my host sister, her boyfriend and her friends.  Even though they laugh at me when I translate American idioms into French, they really want to help me.  And I guess they get some pleasure of it it anyway.

I am just going on the record to say that I am sick of being the beastly American in the house filled with tiny petites françaises.  Everytime I am juxtapositioned next to Charlotte, her mom, her BOYFRIEND for christ’s sake, or one of her numberous model/friends, I feel like the most hideous thing to have every walked on this planet.  There is something to say about the discrepency between look/size/shape/togetherness in France and iin the United States. No more photos of us together. It could not get any worse.

Charlotte literally ate 4 pieces of cake today.  And I three.  And no wonder I am teetering the line of obesity.  It is not my fault my host mom has been on a 2 cake per day schedule, made with American Nestle chocolate chips, as brought by my mom to France.  Everytime my host mom brings it out she says something like “Oh, it’s an Alsca-American cake!” or… “It’s a SarkoBama!”

Every once in a while I will pass a Syracuse student in some part of Strasbourg, on a bike, on a bench, on the train, something like that. There is a look on their face that shows that something is still bothering them, they are still thinking, or missing, or wondering who we have become these past few months.

It really hits you like a tom.

Almost every American in the Syracuse program (gross exaggeration, but I know a few) has a name in her phone book titled: Don’t Answer.

In France, the courting process is nothing like that which it is in the United States.  The subtly and mysterity  of playing hard to get is nonexistent and in fact replaced by an overwhelming and suppressive need to call the perspective courted girl 2 to 3 times a day, minimum.  Also accompanied by “just thinking of you texts” several times a day…all of which follows suit the FIRST 5 minutes of knowing one another and nothing else.
I was discussing my situation which involves the aftermath of a literally 5 minute conversation with a Frenchman named Mikael with Ashley, and she pulls out her phone in full seriousness and goes “don’t worry, i have one too” she shows me “dont answer” and then says “it’s about almost calmed down now….I met him in September…”

Merci France pour les hommes qui sont foux et mieux habillent que moi!

Thanks France for crazy men who are better dressed than I am.

Une fois qu’ils sont assis, et que Lauren a repris ses esprits, n° 3 lui dit : Dis-moi, es-tu persévérante ?
Lauren : Oui, oui.
N°3 : Aurais-tu envie de recommencer alors ?
Lauren : Bien sûr, je ne veux pas rester sur un échec.
N°3 : Tu es sûre ?
Lauren : Tout à fait sûre…  Elle se lève d’un coup : On y va ?
N°3 l’invite à se rassoir en tapotant la place à côté de la sienne : Attends, avant ça, j’aimerais te demander quelque chose : As-tu déjà fait de la marche en montagne avant cette semaine ?
Lauren : Non… Mais par contre (très fière), j’ai déjà fait toute une après-midi de shopping…
N°3 sourit : Alors dis-moi, qu’est-ce que tu sais de la randonnée ?
Lauren : Que c’est chiaaaaant… C’est pour les vieux, et puis ça prend toujours des heures, ça donne chaud et mal aux pieds !
N°3 : Bon, certes, ça peut faire mal aux pieds. Par contre, plus tu grimpes moins il fait chaud. Je te conseille de mettre ton gilet, d’ailleurs (Lauren enfile le pull qu’elle avait gardé à la taille). Mais si c’est si négatif, pourquoi penses-tu que les gens aillent quand même en randonnée ?
Lauren : Euuh, je ne sais pas… Peut-être pour profiter d’être dans la nature ?
N°3 : Oui, ça peut être une explication. Bon, alors tu vois, il peut au moins y avoir un point positif… On va y aller doucement d’accord ? Et si tu as du mal à respirer, ou besoin d’une pause, tu me le dis ok ?
Lauren : Ok.