Wymiana w wymianie

In case it didn't come to you, titling my blog entries in a foreign language is my way of making them intriguing, enticing you to read them. Which means that if you are reading this right now, I have very well succeeded.

This time the language, unlike previous titles in French, Chinese, and German, is a language I previously had no knowledge of. Hailing from eastern Europe, the language is Polish, and it is the language that has been surrounding me this past week.
It's a hard language to describe; in fact, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between Polish, Hungarian, Slovenian, and other eastern European languages if I heard them. (Well, now that I know some basic Polish, I can at least distinguish that.) But my impression of Polish is that it sounded slightly like Russian, although at times it sounded like Italian and even Chinese in certain syllables. Either way, I loved hearing it. There's nothing like listening to a language you don't understand to remind you how little you know and how much there is you can learn.
I found the Poles to be very hospitable, sweet people. Natalia, Noémie, and I ended up living alone at Natalia's house (a small apartment with 52 steps to get to the entrance) due to lack of space. Despite that, her mother was still very welcoming and happy to have us at her house, and she even made Noémie and me these pillows to commemorate our exchange. They are personalized with some inside jokes from the week and my favorite Polish words, and I know I will treasure mine forever. The Poles' ability to speak other languages is more impressive than that of the French, which is a recurring idea that I will mention more of later.

Now that that's said and done, here is a day by day account of my week!

Day 1: Friday, April 5
The day started early. I was at the high school at 4 in the morning; all 40 kids boarded the bus and it left soon after. We had lunch in eastern France, somewhere near the border between France and Germany. One of the things I did on the bus ride was play this game called 4 Pics 1 Word on my iPad (I recommend it), and just as we were about to cross the border, this set of images came up...

Wow, so hard to figure out

In the early afternoon, we entered Germany!
I had never been there before, and it amazed me how all the road signs just suddenly changed from French to German. I would brag that I understood them all, but it's not that big of a deal to understand things like "Frankfurt 65 km"...
We arrived in a city called Bad Hersfeld at around 7:30 PM, where we established ourselves in a youth hostel for the night.

Day 2: Saturday, April 6
Thankfully, the day didn't start as ungraciously early as the day before. We had lunch at a gas station restaurant (oh by the way German gas station shops are super fancy) near Dresden. I didn't prepare a picnic because I wanted something hot, and was I glad I made that decision. I even managed to muster up the courage to speak to the lady in German and place my order, and when she spoke to me back in German I understood! My heart swelled with pride and even more desire to eat the meal I had just ordered.

Currywurst mit Pommes

At some point in the afternoon, we finally entered Poland, and the landscape was entirely covered with snow, the sky an overcast gray. I didn't understand the road signs at all, nor did I have any idea how to pronounce the city names. Our English teacher announced that the city spelled "Wrocław" was pronounced along the lines of "Vrocwaf," just to give you an idea.

Yucky weather

We reached Katowice, our destination, at around 7:00 in the evening, where I was greeted by Natalia upon exiting the bus. After meeting her cousins at a family party, the three of us retired to her house, tired but excited to start the week.

Day 3: Sunday, April 7
Have you ever been to a coal mine before? Yeah, I thought not. But on Sunday, Noémie, Natalia, her uncle, her adorable cousin Szymon, and I visited the Guido mine. Part of the visit included going 320 meters under the ground! Just for a comparison, the Eiffel Tower is 324 meters tall.

Me and Szymon

It was a difficult concept, knowing how deep down under the Earth I was. I thought of the Chilean miners, having had to be trapped in such an atmosphere, and shuddered. In my quest to go everywhere, I never thought of exploring the depths of the Earth in a mine! Look at how eerie it is.

At some point, I engaged in conversation with one of the guides who spoke English very well. And then somehow we ended up speaking (broken, in my case) German. It just amazes me how being multilingual is not a big deal here in Europe, and it continued to amaze me throughout the exchange.
Later that day we took a walk around Natalia's neighborhood.

Day 4: Monday, April 8
When I heard we were going to the Beskid mountains that day, I groaned. I couldn't imagine how cold it would be. However, I was wrong, for the day was bright and the weather perfect! The sky was an endless blue, contrasting with the blankets of white that covered the ground and lined the creeks. We drove through tranquil mountain villages and alongside cliff forests overlooking similar landscapes across on the horizon. We stopped by a famous ski jump and took the lifts to take a look at the view offered to us.

Our next stop was a traditional Polish mountain house, where we got to listen to a guide describe to us how their way of life used to be. I particularly enjoyed the instruments he showed us, such as the ocarina, this kind of bagpipe composed of inflated goat skin, and a horn so large and so long I wondered how they managed to play it.
We spent the afternoon in a town called Cieszyn. This place is special because a section of it belongs to the Czech Republic, and another belongs to Poland. We had free time to eat our picnics then explore the city, and later that afternoon, we had a guided tour. To get to the Czech Republic, we had to cross a bridge, so we spent about ten minutes over there.

Poland side

Czech Republic side

As of that evening, so far on my exchange to France I have also been to Spain, the Netherlands, Germany, Poland, and the Czech Republic. And I haven't even started Eurotour yet.

Day 5: Tuesday, April 9
I'm not entirely sure where it is we drove to, but we pretty much just visited a Polish dancing troupe's base. (...I think) To become more familiar with Polish traditional dance, we were shown costumes and part of a film of a dancing spectacle, and we watched a demonstration by dancers during rehearsal. What I loved most about the dance was the music. In general, I love traditional world/folk music, but Polish music is just so lively, spirited, cheerful, free, boisterous, you get the point. We had lunch in this rather fancy dining hall, and I was able to ask one of the servers IN POLISH "Excuse me, water please." (Which makes a grand total of four languages I got to use during this week)

The view from my table

During the afternoon, Natalia showed us around her city, Katowice.

That evening, a lot of us had planned a game of laser tag at the local laser tag place. There were teams of 12, and it became French versus Poles. Due to numbers, I became a Pole. We won!

Day 6: Wednesday, April 10
Starting at about 10 am, we had a guided visit of Krakow. How I love being able to discover a new major European city! They are truly magnificent, all with their own character, particularities, a plethora of different people... everything that pleases me. During the visit, we saw the castle, the center square, the old part of the city, and the Jewish quarter. We then spent the afternoon in the Schindler Museum.

That evening, Natalia had arranged a visit of the organ museum at the Academy of Music in Katowice. Our guide, one of those old wise musicians, was passionate about organs! Seriously, there was this twinkle in his eye as he spoke about them, and it made the visit really enjoyable and interesting. You wouldn't have thought there'd be so many things to say about organs... But anyway, he is a pianist by profession. I was very happy to hear that, and he reminded me of my piano teacher Don, with his kind voice and knowledge. He spoke to us in fluent French, and he told us he also speaks Polish (being a Pole), Czech, and German. I asked if he spoke English, and he said no, because it wasn't a requirement of his generation. That made me even more thankful to be fluent in French myself.

Because Noémie, Natalia, and I really took a lot from his tour, I asked if I could play the piano to thank him. He said of course, so we were able to get access to a classroom that had two baby grand pianos in it. I squealed with delight. I don't think I had had the chance to play on such a piano before then. Since it had been one of my goals once I found out I was going to Poland, I played him a polonaise. I didn't play him my signature polonaise that I learned when I was 14, but I played one I just learned (op. 44) and haven't mastered completely yet. I knew he would be forgiving though, and when I was done he asked if I studied at a conservatory. Well, not anymore, I told him. Either way, he told me to continue, and I was very satisfied being able to play a polonaise in Poland for a Polish person. (Two, counting Natalia!)

Day 7: Thursday, April 11
We had free time in Krakow in the morning, and I loved it! My friends and I spent most of our time promenading around the city, buying souvenirs and looking at shops. At some point, I wanted to find a bathroom, so I left the group and headed to where I thought the bathroom was. There was a group of French girls going up to a door that I knew was locked, so (assuming they were from my high school) I asked them, "Are you looking for the toilets?" and they turned to me in shock and exclaimed, "She speaks French!" Oops. They weren't from my school. Either way, I spoke with them and found out they were more desperate than I was to find the bathrooms, so I wished them luck and they told me "au revoir" as they went on their way. I thought about how I must have confused them... what is an Asian-looking person, who speaks French like them, doing in Poland? This is why it's fun to be me.
That afternoon, we visited Auschwitz, the World War II death camp.
It was very, very distressing.
Throughout the visit, I was in disbelief, a myriad of thoughts endlessly racing through my head. I have been long aware of the existence of such camps, having learned about them in class and seen them in films, but absolutely nothing compares to actually being there where all those atrocities occurred. Then I saw tangible proof being displayed, like suitcases, pots and pans, shoes, and, most disturbing, the hair they cut from women.

By far the most terrifying part was walking through the gas chamber. There was this inexplicable coldness contained within the metal walls, and I thought of all those who walked in and never walked out, but instead ended up in the crematory ovens that were in the same haunting room.
I thought of how Primo Levi (an author whose testimony of the Holocaust we studied in class) described the dehumanization of the victims, then conjectured that it wasn't only the deported, the imprisoned, the tortured, the assassinated who were stripped of their identity as human beings. The Nazis too could no longer be considered human; they were worse. To emotionlessly make all these innocents suffer, to see one's fellow men exterminated in mass, their corpses burned in ovens, to witness the degradation of their being, all INTENDING for it to happen, indicates an utter, total, indisputable lack of humanity. Whereas the prisoners were made to be no longer human, the Nazis were no longer human themselves in doing so.

According to this memorial plate (set in many languages), the present existence of Auschwitz serves as a reminder and a warning. After that, mass executions shouldn't have happened anymore, but then I think of the Pol Pot Revolution in Cambodia and all the conflicts that have happened since. I ask myself, is the human race doomed to succumb to the manifestations of its own hatred? Are we fated to never know a peaceful world? Current events seem to make "yes" the answer. But then I think of some exemplary human beings who, despite the evil, continue to have faith that "no" can one day be the answer. People such as Maximilian Kolbe, the Polish priest who starved to death to save another prisoner's life in Auschwitz, Mahatma Gandhi, and, of course, exchange students, who foster tolerance, open-mindedness, and, most importantly, hope in the new generation. As long as this tradition is kept alive, the human race isn't going to wipe itself out just yet.

Day 8: Friday, April 12
The last day in Poland arrived far too fast, and I didn't feel like leaving. I had made some incredible Polish friends, I was having a grand time learning Polish, and I was really in love with bigos (a traditional Polish dish that sounds like "beau gosse," French slang that roughly means "handsome devil"). For the last day, we visited Wujek mine (just the museum) then spent a few hours at the high school with the Poles. I spent most of my time talking with Natalia, and two of my new friends from the week Kasia and Ala, who became dear to me very fast. Kasia has the character of both an exchange student and a speech/debate person (consequently we got along instantly), and Ala too loves foreign languages, and I have carried conversations with her in English (mainly), French, and German. My Polish friends are all very smart and respectable, and I sincerely wish I had more time with them.

I love polonaises- the piano pieces and people!

Ala and me

Kasia and me

Natalia and me together again!

Day 9: Saturday, April 13
All the French and the Poles were gathered outside the bus at around 7:30 in the morning, the French getting ready to leave. It was extremely hard to say good bye to the girls; they told me they were happy to have met me and asked me to please come back to Poland, because I would always have a place with them. I pinky promised Ala I would, and I told them that I really loved my stay in their country, especially because they became my friends. Traveling is really about the people you meet on the journey, and they make the places you visit all the more special. I had tears in my eyes as I hugged Natalia tightly and let go of her hand to board the bus, knowing for certain I would see her again but uncertain when, and we left at around 8, bound for the country we call home, France.

Day 10: Sunday, April 14
That's today! I've been working on this blog entry throughout the bus trip, which was pleasant (except for the overnight drive, because I couldn't sleep.) Now that I've left France several times, I always feel relief and comfort whenever I make the trip back, to a language I speak and to scenery I recognize. I stopped feeling like an exchange student in France a while ago; I just feel French now. It was difficult enough to leave my mini exchange in Poland, so I can't fathom how difficult it will be to leave France.
Wait, I have to leave this place?
June 30 draws menacingly closer, though I keep it in the back of my mind.
BUUUT first, my Eurotour starts tomorrow. AW YEAH. Be right back. 

And so it begins

The Month of Madness is finally under way!
It began on Friday the 22nd with a five-hour trip on a bus and three trains from Parthenay to Mayet, where Brooke lives. We stayed there the night in order to meet the Rotary kids the next day.
On Saturday morning, we waited along a highway for the bus to arrive. Once it stopped, I eagerly boarded it to hear my name being called from my friends all over the bus. As is customary, the atmosphere was full of joy as I made my way down the bus hugging my fellow inbounds, some of which I haven't seen in over three months. There's nothing quite like being reunited!

What exactly did we do in Paris? Well, we didn't go through all the cliché stops like you might have expected us to.
First, the bus drove us straight to Montmartre and stopped in front of the street that we had to walk up to get to the Sacre-Cœur. Chatting and catching up along the way, we hiked up to the landing where we got a good view of the basilica.

We spent about 20 minutes eating our picnics and taking pictures, and then began our lovely walk down the butte.

On the way, we saw this wall with "I love you" written in many languages 

We saw the Opéra too!

Actually, scratch the "lovely."
What we all thought would be a relaxing, picture-taking stroll ended up being a mad, two-hour rush to the bateaux mouches in front of the Eiffel Tower (according to Google Maps, it's a distance of about 6 kilometers).

Nobody was too happy about the fact we had to travel all that distance using our own legs, but at least at the end, we got on a boat to take a cruise down the Seine River to see Paris from a different perspective.

The Pont des Arts and the Louvre

Under a bridge

I hadn't previously done one of those river cruises, so it was a pleasant experience. The Rotary kids, being the crazy outgoing exchange students we are, waved madly at all the boats that passed by us and at the people looking out from the bridges.

A lot of people actually waved back!

Like this kind lady

The next morning, we paid a visit to the largest cemetery within Paris' city limits, the Père Lachaise cemetery. The ambiance was very appropriate for a graveyard; the skies were overcast, everyone was solemnly silent, and best of all, a crow perched atop a leafless tree would occasionally caw, its call ominously echoing among the tombstones and mausoleums. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to see Edith Piaf's grave, but I was able to see the grave of another one of my musical inspirations.

This is the grave of Frédéric Chopin.
I made sure to stand a few moments in front of it, thanking him in my head, before I continued on.
Our next stop was Fragonard. I myself didn't even know what that is, but if you're part of Rotary, you have to be prepared for anything. It's a perfume museum. We went through a tour and learned how perfume was made and how people end up in that trade, and then of course there was a gift shop, where I got real 25% concentration perfume. Hey, it was Paris, might as well, right?
After that, I left the group because, to everyone's jealousy, I stayed in Paris that night. I met up with a friend of my mom's from high school, and we were able to walk around Paris for the afternoon. We ate at a chic restaurant, meandered along the Seine, visited the Place de la Bastille at night, and as a bonus I got to see the front of Victor Hugo's house. For once, it was nice to see Paris without a set schedule or a group to stay with. I can't get enough of that city, with all that there is to explore.

The next day, I took the metro to the Gare du Nord, another very pretty train station, where I boarded a train headed for Amsterdam. The three hour trip passed by quickly, though the last twenty minutes or so before I arrived were a bit tinged with adrenaline as I knew when I would get off, I would see my family again after 7 months without them.
Or so I thought.
They weren't there when I got off, nor were they at the meeting point as I left the platform. I roamed around aimlessly the train station for about ten minutes wondering what to do, when finally, I was approached by this old guy asking me if I was who I am. I recognized one of our family friends, Gerrit, and I told him, "Yes. Finally!" He told me to wait as he fetched my parents, and at last I saw them (and not my sister) again.
Well, I saw my sister when we got to our family friend's house.

Me back with my family after 7 months!

We spent three nights in Hoofddorp, the Netherlands. Other than some fantastically cheap shopping in Primark and seeing windmills, a wooden clog factory, and Amsterdam (there's nothing like the first time in a new big city), there were two highlights to this trip.
First of all, the Kuik family has two sons named Vince (18) and Sam (17). Their parents are very good friends of my parents, and I even ended up in preschool with Vince and Sam while I still lived in the Philippines. Although we get sent their family newsletter every year at Christmas, I hadn't seen any of the boys since I was about 4 years old. Of course, I don't have very many memories of my time spent with them, but there was a picture of us that we successfully recreated (13 years later version)...

Sam, me, and Vince

When I was about 9 years old and still in the Philippines, May-Ann, the boys' mother, connected me with a girl my age who was in Vince's elementary school class in the Netherlands. I was to have my own pen pal! We wrote each other a few letters about who knows what, and I remember sending her a keychain, and she sent me something like that too. Either way, we didn't write that many letters; eventually we switched to email (on those nonsense addresses all kids that age seem to have), and we lost contact. However, after I planned the trip to the Netherlands, I asked May-Ann if she could find Jamie for me. She did. We became friends on Facebook, and I told her that I was going to be in her country and we should meet.
We did.

Sushi, the dinner of champions

Despite us not being in contact in years, we unknowingly ended up a lot like each other. She too ended up being a young ambassador, volunteering in Zimbabwe with a charity called World Vision. She has a lot of international friends, speaks French, loves foreign languages, and traveling. She draws well, plays the piano, sings, and plays the ukulele (and I know that when someone plays the ukulele, they are instantly a cool person). Needless to say, we had a lot to talk about and got along like we had known each other for years (which, well, we kinda did).
Jamie is one of those rare friends I feel very lucky to have, one of those people I instantly formed a tight bond with just like Natalia from Poland and Nyrika from India. She's one of those people I feel like I was meant to meet, like it was inevitable and bound to happen. We were both born on the same year, she in Hoofddorp and I on the other end of the world in Cebu City, two cities that just happen to be sister cities. I find that rather remarkable.
Of course, since we both play the ukulele and sing, we prepared a song together.

Until next time, Jamie, we'll meet again somewhere...I am certain!
After we left the Netherlands, my family and I spent three nights in Paris, renting an apartment in the 3rd arrondissement. I was only gone for three days, but I really missed France and hearing French all around me, and it was such a relief to be back. Plus, my family got to see how fluent in French I have become.
We explored Paris so much I know the city better now. We did most of our getting around by metro, and on our trip we rode lines 1, 2, 3, 4, 8, 9, 12, and 14. Here's a map to give you an idea...

The two highlights of the trip for me were the Musée Dupuytren and the Espace Dali, my two new favorite Parisian museums out of the 200+ that exist.

The Musée Dupuytren is a room within the René Descartes medical school containing shelves and shelves of preserved anatomical anomalies. Some, though, were (extremely accurate) wax models, but most of the samples were well preserved in their jars despite their age.
Although I wasn't allowed to take photos, there are a myriad that can be found on Google Images, just to give an idea of what this obscure room within a medical university in Paris houses.

I figure that most people who visit this museum are medical students (or future medical students, wink wink). The world of medicine fascinates me so; it continually proves that reality is indeed stranger than fiction. I first read about this museum some time during sophomore year, and I made it a goal to visit it someday. Here is yet another item I crossed off my long bucket list as I wandered around the museum, contemplating the jars that held within them objects that seemed to have been fabricated by a macabre, twisted mind. If the role of museums is to inspire and awe, this one definitely did the job.  

As for the Dali Exposition, it was in Montmartre, the famous artists' quarter of Paris. This is a permanent exhibit that showcases about 300 of his works! 

"Surrealism is myself!"

Salvador Dali is my favorite artist. I love him for his intriguing pieces, many with recurring themes. Surrealism is also my favorite genre of art. Now that I think of it, Dali's mind could have easily conjured up the figures I saw in the Musée Dupuytren...

After Paris, I took my family down to Parthenay and gave them the tour of the town. They met my two host families, homeroom teacher, and class as well. It was a successful visit. They left on the morning of Wednesday, April 3. I will see them again on June 30, which I know is going to get here way too fast...

I've been putting off this blog entry a bit getting super sidetracked with my ukulele, Facebook, and packing for Poland. 

I leave tomorrow from the high school at 4 am. We spend the entire day on the bus, then spend the night somewhere in Germany, not reaching Katowice, Poland until Saturday evening. I am not looking forward to the long bus ride, but the destination makes it worth it. I figure I'll have aaall the time I would need to write about Poland on the bus ride back next week.

Ahhh, Poland...a new country to explore, the home of my favorite composer! Here we go! 

Obligatory Post on the 19th: March

Tuesdays are the worst...

First of all, they're Tuesdays; not quite the middle of the week, yet considerably far from the weekend that was just completed.

Second of all, I have classes from 8 - 5:30 every Tuesday, no exceptions (unless a teacher is absent). 

Third of all, this week has been going by painstakingly slow, due to my excitement as I prepare for what is going to happen this weekend...and the five weeks that follow.

There won't be much written on this entry other than a brief update of what has been going on and what will be happening. Let me introduce my schedule that has been set since November!

On March 23 - 24, I have my fourth weekend with the other inbounds in the district. While I have gotten the chance to see my closest friends since the last weekend in Rennes over three months ago, it will be swell to be reunited. Oh, and we're gonna be in Paris, no big deal.

On March 25, I leave Paris on a train to go to... Amsterdam! What in the dickens am I doing in the Netherlands? Well, I am seeing my real family again. GASP. Meaning my parents and my sister, who I haven't seen in almost 7 months. I don't really know how to feel, but I will say that I am excited to be able to talk to them face to face about everything that has happened so far, delighting my parents and exasperating my sister.

We stay in Amsterdam at a family friend's house for three nights, exploring the city, enjoying the company, etc., you get the idea.

On the 28th of March, we take the train down to Paris and stay there for three nights as well. I have A LOT planned (the Eiffel Tower being the only mainstream tourist attraction we are seeing), but I will write about that once it's done.

Once our stay in Paris is terminated, we go down to Parthenay, arriving on the evening of the 31st. My family will stay in my house and get to meet both my host families. Considering that my family speaks no French and my host families speak no English, it ought to be interesting.

My parents and sister leave Parthenay on April 3.

But no, it's not over yet!

Around 3 AM on April 5, my class and I depart for a trip to... POLAND!

We don't get there until Saturday morning (we spend the night in Germany). The main point of this trip, as my history teacher explained at the beginning of the year, is "to understand what it is like to live in another country, experience another school system, and see how other families live their daily lives by staying in a host family."

...

(TELL ME MORE, MADAME, I AM SO CURIOUS AS TO WHAT THAT IS LIKE)

In Poland, we will see the Beskid mountains, the city Katowice (where we're staying), and the Auschwitz Concentration Camp. Now that is going to be something to write about. Plus, I get to see Natalia again and I am super happy about that!

We make the return trip about a week later, returning to Parthenay late morning of Sunday, April 14.

And then on Monday, April 15, I begin my second bus trip... 

EUROTOUR.

Yep.

6 countries. 12 days. A bus full of crazy exchange students. If it's going to be anything like my Spain bus trip, it's going to be beyond glorious.

On April 26, assuming I don't die of happiness and exhaustion on the way home, I get back to Parthenay to complete my Month of Madness. 8 countries in 5 weeks? Not bad, not bad at all.

I have been waiting over four months for this odyssey to start, and now that I'm on the last week, on the TUESDAY of the last week, you can probably understand my angst.

(Also, I tend to use the CAPS LOCK OF EXCELLENCE when I feel very vehement about something, or when I feel euphoric, enthusiastic, okay, a lot of reasons, actually, but it has been quite prominent in this blog entry. You get it.)

YEEEAAAA

On a completely unrelated note, how would you like to see what French report cards look like?

All other translations aside, I did well, my teachers like me. I know you're happy, mom and grandma. This also justifies the fact that I am missing two weeks of school, so I feel less guilty about it.

Now you have the brief overview of what I have coming up for me. I can't wait to write all about it once I have lived it, but for now, I will finish this blog entry and get back to my wallowing in my pool of excitement and anxiety and please-just-let-this-week-be-done-already.

Sprache öffnet Türen

"Les langues ouvrent des portes"

"Languages open doors"

Such was the phrase our German teacher presented to class on Tuesday the 5th of March.
Therefore, our assignment became to write (in German, of course) some sentences about our experiences with a foreign language we have learned in our lives. We had to go in order with the four following factors, which I will write below. Of all the foreign languages I have taken in my life (Japanese, German, French, and Chinese), I chose to write about French.

Here is a more elaborated version of my answers, written in English, thank you very much.

1. Erste Schnitte (Les premiers pas/First steps)
I can't really think of where I got exposure to French before I started taking it in 7th grade. All I can remember is that I found it one of the most beautiful languages in the world, and when offered the chance to take a foreign language as an elective class, I immediately chose it. Never mind that most people went into Spanish believing it would be more useful. I made my mind up and decided that I should learn how to speak French. At the time I don't think I was aware of what I was capable of, and in no way did I imagine I would become this fluent in a matter of four years. All I knew was that I was determined to do my best as I started out learning it (French was the first language I took formally in a class at school). I caught on to the language quickly, and was very excited to be learning it.
Let me put this picture from my very first blog entry just as a reminder, and as a demonstration of this.

2. Erste Schwieriegkeiten (Les premières difficultés/First difficulties)
You know how you think you can speak a language, and then you hear it being spoken in a song, or a film, or by native speakers on a voyage, and you understand nothing? I felt like that so many times. I was going through my travel journal, and there were times when I was in San Francisco hearing French being spoken. I could understand nothing except that the language was French, and it made me feel incredibly stupid. How could I do so well in a class, yet not make out what real French people were saying? That was quite frustrating, and I was beginning to question how much of a grasp I really had on the French language. This doubt also made me reluctant to exercise my skills whenever I had the chance to speak with a French person (before I met Aurore in 10th grade).

3. Schön Erfahrungen (De belles expériences/Good experiences)
It shouldn't surprise you that at this point, I have countless good experiences with French. I will start from the very first one that could count, and then recount some recent ones.
During my first time in Paris three years ago, we had some time for dinner after seeing the Notre Dame. So I went with my French teacher and some of the other kids to a place called Le Café de Notre Dame, and we sat down looking at the menus. I managed to muster the courage to order in French, and the waiter understood! It was a big deal. I even recorded myself ordering (and listened in horror two years later thinking, "And I thought I was good!?"). Well, we all have to start somewhere, don't we?
Some weeks ago, I dined with Claire the Australian, Matthieu the outbound, and two of his friends for lunch. Matthieu introduced me to them as an exchange student. The one I was sitting next to turned to me and, incredulous, asked, "Wait, you're a foreigner? But you talk like us!" I had nothing to say to that but "Really?" with a dorky smile on my face. I don't know if he realized how much it meant to me to hear him say that.
Throughout my exchange, I've met a lot of my friends' host parents. I don't mean to toot my own horn, but all the ones I have met remark on how well I speak French, and even now it still makes me feel bashful. I love hearing the compliments, and they remind me how far I have come and how this dream of mine is really coming true. Now that I have been here for over half a year, these are some of the compliments I have gotten as of late:
"You speak perfect French."
"Nobody would think you were a foreigner if they heard you talk."
"Hearing you talk, one would say that you are French."
and lastly
"You speak better French than certain French people."
I have a hard time believing that last one...
However, none of these can compare to the incident I am the most proud of.

4. Erfolgserlebrisse (Un moment où on était très fier/a moment that made us really proud)
The bac blanc oral for French class.
This is how it goes: the student would enter the room, and the professor would hand them a random text from the 11 we have studied in the year so far. It would be either an excerpt from the book Si c'est un homme by Primo Levi (about the Holocaust), or a poem by Baudelaire. The student would also be handed a prompt. Then they would have thirty minutes to write out and organize a plan to respond to the prompt. After that, they would sit in front of the professor and speak for (ideally) ten minutes, explaining their analysis of the text while responding to the prompt, and then be interrogated by the professor for another ten minutes on complimentary texts we studied class.
In short, the idea of it terrified me.
As I spent two and a half hours reviewing the 11 analyses we did of certain texts, I ingrained the idea into my mind that it is better to have tried, experienced, and failed, than to have not gone through it at all.
I was scheduled to do the oral on the Monday after the vacations, at 2:10 PM, in room 212.
The morning felt like an eternity as I dreaded the coming of the hour. I couldn't recall a time on this exchange where I have been as nervous. As the hour drew near, I could feel my heart beat uncontrollably as I ascended the staircase. I stood in front of room 212, watching the second hand on my watch tick. I ran to the window and stared out at the bright, clear day into the open countryside, then paced back and forth. Finally, I decided it was now or never, and I knocked on the door.
...
Upon entering, receiving my text (a Baudelaire poem), and sitting down, my nervousness dissipated as I diligently, determinedly wrote out my draft for the oral. That sort of working under pressure reminded me of the good old speech and debate days, and I almost ended up enjoying it.
It took about as much confidence as it did to order in the Café de Notre Dame as it did for me to walk up to my professor and take a seat in front of her.
I don't know if I spoke for ten minutes; I doubt it, but I spoke nonetheless. It wasn't up to my standards perfect, but what mattered to me was that I spoke clearly and professionally like I have been trained to. Madame Dumas seemed interested, and when she pulled out various other texts we had read in class asking me how they related, I was able to answer instantly, drawing from our studies in class. I'm not sure how long that went for either; all I know is that the entire thing lasted the 20 minutes it was supposed to.
At the end, Madame Dumas was very proud of me, and told me, "That was well done, Amanda. You are going to pass the bac at the end of the year. You've made so much progress throughout this year, it's crazy, in class and with your accent when you speak French. Congratulations!"
I got a 13 out of 20 when the class average was 11. Of course, she took into account that French was not my native language and didn't give me too complex of a prompt, but it's still worth celebrating nonetheless.

So anyway, about this business of languages opening doors.

I don't know if you read the first blog entry I posted in January, but in it I mentioned having met the author of a book on the Algerian war in a bar in Bressuire.
On Saturday the 9th, I found myself in the same bar, La Promenade, and the little old man was there again, playing card games with his friends. I wasn't sure if it was him, so I just sat down and took out my French homework, and just like the last time he went up to me and asked me what I was working on. Just like last time, I told him I was working on some poetry. He seemed rather content to see me again, and brought up his book, telling me he'd give it to me for 15€ instead of the 18€ retail, but then told me I wasn't obligated to. However, I told him that it interested me, and took up the offer. That made him very happy, and so he bought me a drink and gave me his business card and told me he'd see me again sometime and have his book for me.

His name is Roger Talbot

Unfortunately, I didn't know when I would be in that bar again...
The next day, I was in Bressuire again like previewed, on the way home from La Roche sur Yon. I had a wait of 2 hours and 45 minutes before my next bus, and had planned to stay in the station reading since everything is closed in France on Sundays. However, it was such a nice day outside, so I decided to see if La Promenade was open, doubting it was.
It was.
Just for that Sunday, too, since there was some sport event on the TV.
I was pleasantly surprised and pleased with my luck, and there was hustle and bustle going on in the bar. Satisfied, I went in and looked for Roger, but he wasn't there. I took my seat and, figuring I had time and nothing to lose, took out my phone and called the number he gave me.
He spoke with me on the phone, and being the nice little old man he is, told me he'd be at the bar in 20 minutes.
Once he arrived, he joined me and ordered me another drink. We spent some time chatting, and as he is somebody who frequents the bar often, many people came by to greet us. One of his friends came and sat down with us. Although they said more to each other than I said to them, it was still enjoyable company.

Jean-Luc and Roger
They fondly reminded me of my own grandpa and his buddies and how they would meet up at the coffee shop discussing who knows what 

I joined in the conversation as much as I could, and they seemed to appreciate my being there. Roger spoke of how he had many friends who were professors, and when I told him my dad was a professor of violin, he applauded and told me to pass it on to him. (Here you go, dad.) And apparently, Jean-Luc was also born in 1959 like my dad, so he had a toast to pass onto him as well. I also found out that Jean-Luc grew up in Parthenay, so he too bought me a drink, just between Parthenaisiens. Seeing as I had already had two glasses of iced tea, I almost refused the offer, but he insisted. I passed about 2 hours with them, and the atmosphere was very amicable. I'm not sure how I was able to sympathize with two older men, and I can't say I was expecting I would spend time with a jolly old war veteran and another Parthanaisien in a bar 30 kilometers away from home, but what can I say...

Oh, the book!

I got it.

On the inside page, Roger wrote me a dedication...

Here is the translation:

"Dear Amanda,
I am really satisfied to have had the chance to meet you. In this dedication, I wish you success and happiness in your life. I also dedicate this to your sister Cara as well as your parents. I am thankful that I met you. Receive, Amanda, my most sincere and cordial of friendships.
I wish you well.
R.T
P.S. Especially, good luck for your studies in the United States."

I was touched. He hasn't even known me for that long, I didn't even play the ukulele for him, but simply because I spoke with him and showed interest in his book (which is genuine, by the way), he told me, "I'm not going to forget you. Thank you so much," before he left. I had no words but, "I did nothing."

Really, I didn't.

I was simply being myself, which made me wonder, what must he have seen in me? This led me to look into myself and realize that there is nothing that makes me happier than knowing that I have inspired joy within others just by being who I am, or doing simple things like playing the piano or singing and playing the ukulele for them. And it is for that reason that I want to be a doctor when I grow up. I live for people telling me I have helped them, people giving me their most sincere gratitude, people telling me I have made them happy. Many humans in this world care too little about others, are intolerant, close-minded, or indifferent, and the least I can do is not join in their ranks.

That is another reason I love foreign languages.

I doubt the incident with Roger would have happened if I did not speak French. The more languages I speak, the more people I will be able to reach out to, the more stories I will be able to hear, the more lessons I will be able to learn, the more my life will be enriched. Sure, everyone is learning how to speak English, but it is way different speaking to someone in their native language than it is in a language they are often forced to learn.

In my opinion, to love languages that are not one's own is to love humanity.

One more theme that seems to be recurrent on this exchange; it's up to you to interpret it now. It's a little word called

Actually, I should put the French version of it that just HAPPENED to turn up on a poster at the last Rotary dinner I went to. Coincidence?

I think not.

6 Mois en France

It is only on special occasions that I go to the pâtisserie and treat myself to a tasty pastry. Today, February 28, 2013, was one such occasion.

I don't really know what this was, but I ate it all after dinner. It had raspberries on top and in the cream filling.

As the title connotes, I celebrated my 6th month in France today.
Just to let you know, time is continuing to zoom by beyond my comprehension. There is proof of my confusion in various journal entries, where I write something along the following lines: mercredi le 19 sep décembre 2012, or even samedi le 26 décembre janvier 2013. (Yes, those have been real mistakes I've made.)
If you are my friend on Facebook, you may have seen the photo I posted to commemorate the main events of these past 6 months, and by main events, I mean places I have graced with my presence.

I've been keeping a list of all the places I've visited until this point

I also had this discourse in French, and I will provide the translation for it here.

Ces 6 derniers mois ont passé trop vite; je n'arrive pas à comprendre comment j'ai déjà vécu une moitié d'une année de ma vie en France, le pays de mes rêves. 

Avec ces 6 mois sont venus des souvenirs que je garderai dans ma mémoire à jamais. Des gens que j'aurai à jamais comme amis, des amitiés qui duront le reste de ma vie. Les leçons apprises, les réussites, les ratés, tout ce que j'ai vécu feront partie de moi, de mon âme, de mon esprit...à tout jamais. 

"These past 6 months have gone by too fast; I can't understand how I've already lived half a year of my life in France, the country of my dreams.

With these 6 months have come memories that I will keep in my mind forever. People I will have as friends forever, friendships that will last the rest of my life. The lessons learned, the successes, the failures, everything I have lived will be a part of me, of my soul, of my spirit...forever."

Another thing I did was watch the new Les Misérables in the cinema with two of my French friends. We all thought the film was going to be in French, and were a bit deceived when it ended up being in English with French subtitles. I felt a bit awkward listening to them complaining about understanding nothing but "Madame," "Monsieur," and "Vive la France"; I mean, it is a story set in France in an important period of their history, so I understand their wishing it was all in French. (It would have been more legit that way, in my opinion.) Nevertheless, it was still very enjoyable, and I couldn't help feeling pride within myself whenever the revolutionaries waved their flags around.

During the bus trip, I had a lot of time to reflect seeing as I find it impossible to sleep in a seated position. One morning, while everyone else was sleeping, I spent about 2 hours writing in my journal. Because I'm feeling lazy and I figure I should put raw thoughts on here for once instead of doing heavy editing in my mind before typing stuff out, here are some direct quotes from February 22.

"As we drove closer to Salignac last night and farther from Paris, I noticed a drastic change in the scenery. The roads were very narrow, and there were no street lights, so it was like looking out into oblivion past what was immediately discernible. When we could see buildings, they were nothing at all like the intricately detailed white buildings of Paris, nor were they lined alongside several stories high out over busy streets like other major French cities. No, these were the classic French countryside buildings; made out of stone, very quaint, either in clusters or isolated. It was then that I realized this was all normal to me. The isolation, the dark, the tranquility of the countryside. I have grown so used to it there was nothing new, and it has become an environment I know now. Parthenay may not be as ancient village-y as Salignac, but it's definitely nothing like Paris. After all, Parthenay is medieval, and from the moment one leaves it, one only sees the vast countryside. So really, as much as I don't want it to be true, I really do know the prairie :P [Don't mind this, this is a reference to an inside joke I have with Brooke] Because you see, Salignac is in a region with a lot of rolling hills, which is a huge contrast from the flat land around Parthenay. All of this contrast got me to thinking, most people's perception of France (including me in the past) is the following:  [And at this point, I start doodling]

Paris, 'nuff said
high fashion
busy sidewalk cafés
the luxe of Versailles

"While all this is indeed accurate, after living in the middle of nowhere for six months, my vision of 'France' has become the following:

the silhouette of my walled city on top of the hill
ancient stone bridges that are footpaths spanning little creeks
sheep in the fields
cute little houses

"The countryside, to me, is no longer a novelty. It's all become familiar. I guess I'm happy to know that I got the chance to know the France that not everyone realizes exists. I also think I feel less frustration with it now that I finally got to see Paris and travel around (away from the countryside :P). I have spent almost two hours writing and looking out the window, but I'll think I'll stop writing now."

And I think I'll continue this blog entry now, with one last picture.

My wall of pride

Over these 6 months, my blazer sure has accumulated a lot of crap.

After multiple inbound weekends, one bus trip, and looking out every which way for a new treasure to display on it, my blazer now resembles a kind of unwearable pin display case. I will admit that at the beginning, I was set on not putting a ghastly amount of pins on my blazer like most RYE students and instead setting them aside to put in a display case later. However, the more I got involved with other Rotary kids, the more I became enthusiastic with the tradition that is unique to Rotary exchange students, exchanging pins and placing them on our blazers. 

Thus, our blazers become representative of our exchanges. At the beginning of exchange, the blazers are blank slates, ready to be filled with all manner of knickknacks. Parallel to an outbound ready to learn and absorb a new culture they previously had no knowledge of. As the exchange progresses, every Rotary student customizes their blazer with pins they gathered from other exchange students and other little memorabilia from their life in their host countries. I, for example, have the tags from two items of clothing I wear all the time (my red pea coat and my white infinity scarf) sewed next to the lapels. Finally, at the end, the blazer will become a sort of personal record of the exchange and will carry tangible proof of memories the Rotary kid will have of their exchange. For instance, whenever I look at the little Indian rickshaw, I will think of Aarohi. Whenever I look at the pink macaron, I will think of the chocolate expo. 

That's the thing about Rotary kids. Every one of us is unique and has a different outlook on exchange and how it affects us personally, and no two blazers are exactly alike (unless they belong to outbounds who haven't left yet, like in this picture I have set as my iPad wallpaper that makes me reminisce on good times past).

Okay, I lied when I said my wall of pride would be the last picture.
Oh, I can't wait to see my outbounds again. 

Although each blazer is as different as the person who owns it, the fact that we all own a crazily-embellished blazer is a fact that unites us all as well. All of us, no matter our motives for going on exchange, what we take from it, or what we choose to do during exchange, have in our hearts a sense of adventure and the desire to see the world and experience new things, changing our lives in the process of it. 

As for me, you probably already have an idea what my motives were for going, what I'm taking from it, and what I choose to do. If not, then read my other blog entries and deduce for yourself. I'll sign off by saying that these past 6 months have been so fulfilling, and I continue to be eternally grateful for the chance to do this exchange. I have 4 months left, and a whole lot left to do. Stay tuned! 

woof woof, says the pug eagerly wagging its tail anticipating my next entry

(I wonder if I can put it on my blazer...)