Surprise!

Last night, I had plans to go out to dinner with Melanie and hang out. Nothing big, nothing special - a relaxed Saturday night. I spent the day watching movies and reading because everyone was busy.. No biggie! I'm on Toussaint break, I can do whatever, whenever. I was talking to Melanie yesterday and getting ready, because our reservation was at 8. Fancy, right? A reservation? Then, right before Melanie is about to be here, she tells me that she forgot, the reservation was actually for 8:15, she'd meet me at my house.

I meet up with Melanie and we walk a block away to an Italian restaurant. She asks the waiter, table for 2? We walk down a spiral staircase - Melanie makes me go first. I'm not really looking at anything, just trying not to fall down the stairs, and we turn the corner and.... This isn't a table for 2. All of my friends were sitting together, waiting for me - a surprise birthday party! If I could take that moment, when I first saw everyone and realized what was happening - if I could take that moment and replay it over and over, I would. If I could replay the whole night, I would.

Thank you Melanie & Wes - the party planners. 

And those are the only decent pictures, but last night was amazing and I thank every single person that was there very very very much because I had a fantastic time! (:

Crossing the Baie du Mont Saint-Michel

On Saturday, my class took a trip to the bay of Mont Saint-Michel. Mont Saint-Michel is a tidal island (an island at high tide, connected to land at low tide) and village in Normandy. We took a bus from Rennes to Normandy, and had a picnic before starting on our trek. I didn't know what to expect - I knew that the walk was 8km, and I knew at one point that there'd be water. For some reason I thought it would be a long, grassy path that we'd follow until coming to a small section of the bay to cross.. I was wrong.

Right off the bat, we took off our shoes and our top layers. We all had on our shorts and stood in the sand with our bare feet.

This is how we started. Barefoot and chilly, with Mont Saint-Michel far, far away.

It was really fun crossing the bay. The dry sand became wet and rippled (from the water when the tide is high) once we got started. It was squishy, and as your feet sank into the sand with each step, your toes would feel funny with the sand slipping between them. Sometimes the sand would be drier and packed into the ground, and sometimes you would take a step and the earth would be quivering underneath you. It looked like a water bed - you could see it shaking underneath as you walked on top, but you never sunk into it. And then there were times when you would sink into the sand. You'd sink in  to your knees and have to have a friend drag you out, there arms under yours, pulling with all of their strength. The sand would grip to you, and suction you in, and refuse to let go. Quick sand. The slowest quick sand, I'm sure, but quick sand (which was much more menacing 10 years ago). 

The sludge.

And then came the water. I mean, sure, there was some ankle deep puddles that we had to walk through, but this.. I guess they were right when they said to wear shorts. We pulled up our britches and trudged through this water, and our shorts were even shorter as the water came dangerously close to hip-height. 

Calf-deep in sand! It took us this much to be Pauline's level (Teresa's host sister in the middle)!

But it got deeper than that - It's just a bit difficult to photograph when you're hip-deep in cold water!

It was like the world was mirroring the sky, and heaven was everywhere.

This is from the other side of the island. We walked around the side of the island (on the left) - this is where the island connects with the land. 

The bay was 8km, and took us more than 3 hours to cross! Our footsteps were washed away soon enough by the high, high tide - nobody would have known that we even crossed the bay on foot. It was absolutely incredible, and gorgeous, and stumbling through quick sand seems to make you love your friends even more than you already do. 

Meet Nathanel.

This is Nathanel (Nah-tah-nell). He's a 7 year old ball of energy that never stops. His shiny loafers sound like taps shoes with their hard soles on the wood floor, he spits whenever exasperated, he hasn't quite gotten the hang of knocking, he likes to grab onto your arm and hold on real tight throughout the whole story. He likes hanging upside down and playing the piano, he doesn't like his vegetables but has to eat them anyway. His French is better than mine, and likes to explain things numerous times, even if I understood the first time. We silently bond every morning through the passing of Nesquik chocolate powder - he likes to sneak some onto his bread when his parents aren't around. I let him have the leftover batter when I bake, and we have a game of catch with whatever small objects are in the kitchen before dinner every night. He's crazy and loud, and a new experience for me everyday.

Thank you for taking these pictures, Melanie!

Did you know that he was my first friend here in France? This kid.. (;

Milk.

Today we're going to cover a very serious topic. I've postponed it for far too long, and the world needs to be educated. Today we're talking about milk. That's right. The title up there wasn't just a creative little thing I came up with all on my own. We're speaking the truth right now. No holding back. I'm saying what needs to be said. Let's continue:

You walk into a grocery store looking for milk! You head straight to the refrigerated section - Stop right there! You've already gone too far. You have a puzzled look on your face. Must I remind you that we're in a French grocery store? You nod in recognition and turn back towards the refrigerators. Stop!! Did you not just hear what I said? French. In France. Things are different here. We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto. This is the real world. You look at me in bewilderment. You're thinking, Where do I go? If it's not in the refrigerated section.. Am I at the wrong place? Do they have separate milk stores in France?

Oh, silly, silly you. You've got one thing right - the grocery store is where you need to be! But let me guide you, past the aisle of bread (Don't even think about pausing for a second. That's dangerous stuff right there!), through the dry sections of the grocery store, until we find ourselves in the Dairy aisle. But wait, you think. There aren't any refrigerators here! All I see are boxes and bottles of bleach! You must be wrong. But, oh no, my friend. I'm not wrong. You've just reached the milk section. It's a bit unnerving, isn't it? You could be looking at a long road of recovery. It comes with time. Now take a step. That's it, just a bit more.. There! The milk is in front of you. What?? I see why you're confused. The milk looks like this:

Oops, that's the mug shot!

This one's less menacing. Do you see how this milk and bleach are cousins? Very close cousins? This milk screams bleach when you're walking down the dairy aisle and you just stare in confusion.

And the boxed milk. A bit familiar, right?

Now let's tackle the big question. Why aren't these boxes of milk in the refrigerator? Well friends, take a look at the bleach - I mean milk - up there. You should see something that says "Stérilisé UHT". Do you know what that means? This milk is long-life. It ain't fresh. No, no, sir. This milk can sit in the cabinet with the vacuum cleaner for weeks or months, if you so wish, and you can take it out and use it whenever you please! Personally, though, this long-life milk only flies when it has some Nesquik mixed in with it. That's the real way to go. And I wasn't exaggerating about the vacuum cleaner cabinet. That's where it is! Once that baby's been opened though, it goes into the fridge (Thankyouthankyouthankyou!). 

And that's all we have on today's news. I'm Elizabeth Ollero, bringing world news to you! 

A Month in France!

I cannot believe I have been here for a month! Sometimes it seems like it has passed by in a minute, and sometimes I feel like I've already been here forever. This is home, but with adventures around every corner. There's something new to learn, to try, to taste, every single day. The trees refuse to turn, and I'm learning that even though it's dark out, you still need to get up for school. My host family is evolving into my family, and the word "host" ceases to exist in my vocabulary. I have 3 brothers and 2 sisters, and every day I get to know them a bit better than before. I'm coming to know this city better, taking the bus and the metro (by myself!) to get where I need to be. My French is improving, my English is worsening, and my sign language is superb. My showers are shorter, and there's such a thing as "second day hair". Dinner is at 8:30, and can last until 10, and the whole family is there, always. The clocks run for 24 hours, instead of starting over once they hit 12.  The weather can't make up it's mind, and today it's raining even though the sun is shining! Sometimes I sit on my window's ledge, looking out over Parliament and the Opèra and the old buildings that line up across the city, and I can't wrap my head around the fact that I am in France. I get hit with this incredible feeling of awe, and it's so difficult to explain the fullness of my heart. I am so grateful for this amazing opportunity, and I am so, so excited for the next 8 months!

©Teresa Chappell

I quite like these girls.

And if this is what the next 8 months look like, I love the view.

Finistère and Morbihan, Part 2

I bet you're thinking, it's about time! I know, I agree. Please, forgive me, living in France isn't easy! You're always busy learning French and walking through the city and eating crêpes and trying not to get caught in the rain.. It's tough.

Where did we leave off? After Day 1, at the hotel? That sounds about right. After a very long, exhausting, but fun day, we got to the hotel! And I have to say, it was at the perfect time.

I mean, look at the sky. It was just minutes before the sky exploded into pinks and purples and oranges.

Here's a bit of a funny story, but it's an insult to myself and probably a lot of Americans.. At the hotel, we had our own rooms with roommates, etc. etc., you know how it works. Well, Teresa (my roommate) and I had to beds in our room, and they looked like ordinary hotel beds, but we had extra sheets and blankets on top! Weird, right? We eat dinner, we go swimming in the hotel pool, we have a small dance party, and our teachers checked us in before we even touch our beds. We hear one of our French teachers say something about the bed (in French, of course), but we didn't worry too much about what we missed.. Bedtime rolls around very quickly, and we're exhausted, and as we pull the covers back on the bed, we realize there aren't any covers! Just the top blanket is on the bed! So Teresa and I, who were SO ready to just lay down and sleep for forever, had to pull our beds out and make them, and it wasn't a very difficult thing, but oh, the process of it all! If you could have heard us, you would believe almost every single American stereotype. "We don't have to do this in America!", "I'm tired, why am I making my bed at a hotel?", and the best one, courtesy of Teresa (read this with sincere horror).. "What if they make us clean up our room?!" As you can tell, we survived. 

Day 2! We started off our day (bright and early..) at the Cathédral Gothique de Quimper. Quimper is the "capital" of Finistère, and the cathedral was in the middle of the city. 

It was massive. I couldn't get it all in one picture.

After we toured the cathedral, we visited the Musée de Beaux-Arts (which directly translates to the museum of beautiful art!), and then I treated myself to my own piece of beautiful art. It was DELICIOUS. No words can fully describe the wonderfulness of this dessert. And check out the size of the cathedral behind it!

I love the crookedness of France. The cobblestones, the architecture... this guy we met on the street..

And that was Quimper!

After Quimper, we hopped on the bus and drove to the beach! I don't think that was on the itinerary..

It was just a simple moment that we took out of our day, and it was spontaneous and unprepared and perfect.

And we were on our way again.

Fun Fact: Did you know that "moulin"means windmill? So Moulin Rouge is really just Red Windmill!

And then my camera died! Don't worry, you're not missing much. After the beach we visited another church, a small and very old one (and we all went in with sandy, bare-feet.. shh!), and then we visited La Pointe du Raz. It is the most western point of France, and we walked along the cliffs and rocks and looked out at the waves crashing below us.. It was beautiful. For pictures, go here!

Day 3! We started our day at La Cité de Concarneau. It's a closed city - an wall surrounding the entire city (although it's not very large) - in Finistère. It had a harbor, and cute shops on narrow, cobblestone streets...which I don't have any pictures of. 

I did try a Kouign Amann, though, which is a traditional dessert in Bretagne. If you ever find yourself in my neck of the woods (for the next 8 months, at least!), try one of these. But make sure to eat the inside part! The "crust", if you get part of it, will disappoint your dentist. A lot. 

From outside the city - the walls completely surround it!

We then traveled to Pont-Aven for lunch. It's a city (well, town) of painters. The streets were crammed with galleries and workshops of little artists painting the scene around them. 

I don't blame them. 

After we left this tiny town, we headed to our last stop.. Les Alignements de Carnac. It's the French version of Stonehenge. Look all you want, but let's just say it wasn't the top of my list. The buses were filled with cranky teenagers just wanting to go home after a tiring weekend.. but here it is!

Lots of rocks.

THE END

(of the first field trip!)

Happy Birthday, Mommy!

Today I celebrated my mother's birthday over skype. It was a bit awkward singing happy birthday by myself in my bedroom, but I got to see her blow out the candles. :) And I tried some cake, too (I wish)!

Awkward faces, but look at that cake!

Yum.

If I Had A Brother

I would imagine our relationship would be somewhat like this:

Right as the video ended, I was pinned to the ground screaming "For France! For France!"

P.S. This happens often.

You can't send food to America.

Today I was on the other side of town when I realized that I forgot to send my package! I had been lugging it around with me all day, and I really wanted to get rid of it. When I say on the other side of town, think of it this way: There are 2 blocks south of Parliament Square, Parliament square is one big block, and then there are 2 blocks north.. I mean, there are more than that, but I was at the bottom of the 2 blocks south, and the only post office I knew of was 2 blocks north! And after walking so much already (I walk all of the time here), I had to walk all the way to the post office.

When I got to the post office, I talked to the nice old man behind the counter in FRENCH, and then he told me..

You can't send food to America.

But you can send food from America to France! How do French-Americans get their real macarons, and delicious food that we don't have in the USA? Why is France so selfish, why won't the French share? Not fair!

So I walked back home with my package in my bag, again. I wasn't sending the package (to my mom, dad and sister) for the food, but it just so happened that this tin box that I really liked came with food, so it was all going to the USA! Except now it's not. So while the tin will still be sent (No problem! Cheaper shipping!), the food is all for me. I bought it in a small town surrounded by a huge stone wall.. I won't post a picture of what the tin looks like until my family gets it, but I felt that I should share the cookies with everyone! That's what was in the tin. Les galettes and les palets.

To your left we have les palets, and to your right we have les galettes.

Le palet. It's thicker, and softer than le galette. 

It tastes kind of stale.. and faintly like fish.

And then we have le galette. It's more like a cookie. Less on the fishy side, but still stale and sort of salty?

I'm glad the French wouldn't let me send these home. They were probably a bit embarrassed. I guess my family will just have to try everything when they visit!

Finistère and Morbihan, Part 1

This weekend I took a field trip with my school to Finistère and Morbihan, two of the four departments of Brittany.

We started Friday morning, boarding the bus at 9:00, and heading to Le Calvaire de Guéhenno, in Morbihan. A calvaire (or calvary, in English), is a sculpture - a monumental crucifix. In Brittany, it differs from other calvaires because it is usually surrounded by figures representing Mary and Jesus' Apostles, but also saints and symbolic figures, too. Le Calvaire de Guéhenno is at the Catholic church o Saint-Pierre and Saint-Jean-Baptiste. Now that you've had your history lesson..

From behind the church. It's gorgeous, and ancient - built in the 16th century! 

Le Calvaire de Guéhenno. I'd apologize for the sun, but that doesn't happen very often here in France. Take what you can get, right?

Melanie, Me, Jasmine, Teresa. 

From Guéhenno, we continued on to le Parc de Sculptures de Kerguéhennec, in Morbihan. It was a huge chateau, and the property (which was a huge span across the woods and rivers and ponds) was covered in sculptures from different artists. We walked through the chateau, which was gorgeous, and then on through the woods. The sun was shining and we had a few hours of free time.. 

The view from the woods. 

Right to the left of this picture is a pole... "sculpture", and it looks like a plain pole. Except the art in it is that it's filled with fish? It still looks like a pole, it just happens to be filled with decomposing fish. 

Visiting the chateau was the most familiar thing since I've been in France. My mom and I visit chateaus and old houses, in Paris, in Newport.. And while they're all different, they all have the same feeling. And you walk through them all in awe, wondering how someone could have lived there, how it could have been their home, and looking around at all of the details in the marble floor and the grand staircase, and the bookshelves lining the walls of the library. 

Shout out to my mom, it's her birthday month! (It's my dad's too, but he isn't quite as insistent and gets the 2nd half of the month). 

This is what happens when you have 2 hours of free time in the woods. It's the quartet!

These pots are all filled with cement. Huh. 

From the Parc du Sculptures, we headed to the Village de Poul Fétan. Quick history lesson: Bretagne (Brittany, in English) used to not be a part of France! It was separate until 1532, when Claude de France married François I, the king of France. Bretagne had it's own language, Breton, which still exists but it isn't an official language and is only used by 2% of the region. It had it's own culture, too. This village is a replication of what Bretagne used to be like, clogs and all. 

Clogs are not my preferred footwear. They're wood, for crying out loud!

Bretagne is beautiful.

For your entertainment. Walking on stilts, not so easy.

And from there, we went on to the hotel. But there is much more to that.