France calling

A month ago I was “French fried frites, yo.” Ready for some dollar menu, to see my college friends again, to speak fluently everywhere, to comprehend television in my sleep. All I wanted was America.

But here I am. Back one month, and all I want is France. Maybe it’s melodramatic of me, but I think I miss the freedom most. I miss being anonymous, blending in. I miss the feeling that my every action would not set off some reaction that would eventually get back to everyone I knew. It’s not that I was running around making a fool of myself, but I reveled in that traveler’s bliss of being here one day, gone the next, remembered or forgotten inconsequentially.

An Irish Thanksgiving: Belfast

I was already freezing as we boarded the top story of the Belfast double-decker tour bus. Sarah overheard the two kids in front of us (approximately 9 and 7 years old) discussing whether a man playing a Stroh violin looked exactly like Mister Bean. This was undeniably the U.K.

And Ireland … you could tell it was by the low haze that hung around the city and encircled the hills in the distance. Tubby sheep grazed on that distinct, hilly, sad-looking Irish land. People spoke an English I could sometimes barely make out.

Parliament building surrounded in fog.

I couldn’t have been more grateful to get out of mainland Europe. Everyone spoke my language in Belfast. People waved and smiled on the streets. The puff pastries bulged with pepper-seasoned potatoes or chicken and beef cubes. My limp blond ponytail was the norm. I wanted to hug everyone in Ireland for speaking English with such a charming accent. They wanted to hug me too, in the sense that cold French double bisou were not welcome. I think I could be seduced by nearly any Irish person if he or she said the c-word enough and talked about Snow Patrol.

I Amsterdam, I (Am)sterdam

So it took a day as equally bleak, cold and rainy as the day I left Amsterdam for me to finally get around to writing this, my Amsterdam story.

Canal in Amsterdam.

I’m not sure what drew me to Holland for my birthday. Maybe it’s the one place in Europe everyone expects you to visit when you’re abroad. It was my birthday and I admittedly wanted something crazy. I already did 21 (on a dry Sunday in Oxford, Miss., no less). I knew the Tulips would be out of season. I guess I really knew nothing about Amsterdam before I planned the trip, save that you could get really high there and buy a hooker. Isn’t that the appeal of Bourbon Street, too? I do Mardi Gras every year …

But thank you Amsterdam. I think you changed my life a little, you changed my semester a lot and you changed how I look at travel. No, the pot’s not that good. (I mean, maybe it is. I wouldn’t know.)

Obama-rama: Being American abroad on Nov. 4 (Nov. 5)

I know this is horribly old. It’s not like I get paid to blog. Anyway …

Being an American in France on Nov. 5 (our election day) was completely surreal. First of all, I started my day off hearing of Obama’s victory at 6:30 a.m. I watched his speech and headed home to sleep through my first class.

For the next few days, all I heard was congratulations to Americans.

Obama, the last chance. Did you know he's the messiah?

My phonetics lab instructor told me how her parents woke her early to tell her the good news. They celebrated.

A friend who lives in the foyer (like a dorm with nuns) said the nuns treated her special and asked her if she needed anything extra at meals. I mean, she did just save the world by voting!

Guess the poorly pronounced French word, the game

So not too long ago, I posted a piece about France that I wrote for The Knoxville News Sentinel. In it, I joke about assigning points to different French sightings.

Well, the game exists!

Over the weekend in Amsterdam (I know – more later!), I mostly hung out with French guys. My travel buddy hates speaking French if she can avoid it. So, in a room with six French boys who spoke minimal minimal English, she asked questions such as “What is your favorite cheese” and I translated the really hard stuff.

Celebrating the Obama win from France

I wish I had more time to really write.

All I can say is I stayed up at 6:30 a.m. here in France to watch the outcome of the election. Myself and ten other Americans cheered on Obama and rang in his administration with champagne, an impromptu singing of the national anthem and much relief. I’m not sure how many of us actually managed to vote thanks to the sheer complexity of the task, but I’m proud we represented our “apathetic” generation crowded around someone’s probably 15-inch monitor switching from CNN to BBC to FOX to see the next direction of our country. I skipped class this morning, and I’ve got a test this afternoon, but almost all that matters is that our country has a chance now.

And … we French exchange students promise to come home now!

Can Joan Baez come back to Ole Miss this spring?

Watching the vote in France

I couldn’t be more excited today! Today we choose!

Well, more like tomorrow at 3 a.m. you choose for those of us in France right now. I mean, really, U.S., can’t you close your polls at a time that’s normal for us to be up in France? Can’t you all vote early like me? I have a lit test tomorrow.

So, of course, how could I not stay up and watch the elections like every other time? I might even help MTV get some coverage on my Flipcam.

I just thought I’d pass on some sentiments from the French (not direct quotes):

Homesick on Halloween

I’m homesick.

There's my French pumpkin (left - spider).

I miss my mom with her endless chatter and her delicious warm meals and a woodstove keeping our house all toasty.

I want to be wherever Lindsey and Andrew are. Guys, I wish so much to be in one of your many former or current apartments doing something really mundane like playing a board game and talking about journalism politics or grad school or whatever.

Breaking through the French-English barrier

I met with my language teacher today to find that she thinks I’m totally bored in class and fed up with Asians. I can’t say I’m excited about her kindergarten-style teaching, but it’s way easier and more entertaining than having a strict, boring teacher. And the Asian thing, totally not true. I am tired of doing vocab especially for them, but I’m finally getting to know some of them (it’s hard when you can’t pronounce the difference between Ji Hye and Jihui), and they’re really fun. I tried to tell her that in the U.S. I normally sleep in class, so “bored” is really making progress.

But in talking to my teacher, I think she really hit on one thing that I hope goes away.

A Study in how to become French

By yours truly, from The Knoxville News Sentinel.

Oh there it is – the sigh. Lips slightly pursed, outwardly turned, delicate. My seatmate at the train station turns away slightly, sips her coffee again.

That was no contented “ahhh” coffee sigh of a lazy American mouth. Two points.

The best victories in the game of spot the Frenchman are those that confirm all cultural stereotypes.