First Impressions Are Not Always The Best Ones

We were told that experimental art was very popular in this city of Barjoles; I wasn't quite sure of what that meant, so this city was sort of an experiment for me too. I've never really gone to a place having "aucun idée"* of what to expect.

First of all, the city was in the middle of nowhere. Our bus driver showed great valiance in undertaking narrow winding roads which snaked up montains and by rivers. While looking out the bus window, trying my hardest to avoid the inevitable nauseau from this twisted bus ride, I felt like I wasn't in France anymore. I was so used to the city of Aix and Marseilles, the french riveria. What was this river? This mountain? All of these trees?

After what seemed an endless route of nauseau inducing fear enhancing twists and turns, we finally descended the bus into a petit village with quite the pungent odor. We found outselves in the middle of the Barjoles outdoor market. And, let me tell you, that this outdoor market made me appreciate Aix a smidgen more than the usual. While trying to navigate our way out of this sub-par market with a more than sub-par smell, we get bombarded by our first "experimental art experiment". It was two adults. With lemon juicers. And oranges. And I don't want to go into detail just incase there are any minors reading this blog, but this little experiment scarred me for life. Just a tad.

So, you, my lovely readers, can suspect that Samantha and crew were not very pleased with this city of Barjoles.

After going to a museum described in an upcoming post (oh no! can you handle the suspense?), we went back into the city, and your lovely blogger went to a boulangerie. And then, at this boulangerie, she bought a brioche. Her and her friends sat on a crumbling wall, and the first bite into this brioche was, you guessed it, highly inferior to those brioches of Aix. While walking to the garbage can, which will become the new recepticle of my inferior brioche, I knew that there had to be something more to this city. Why would they bring us here anyway? It was at that moment when Franseca, the bubbly program coordinator put her arms around my friend and I, and declared in her broken English "come! I give you tour of city!"

Francesca took my good friend and I, and two other people I didn't really get to know yet into the heart of the city. It turned out to be a gorgeus city! It turned out that we were all being negative nancies on the outskirts of the city! Such excitement lay just at our feet, and we didn't even think to continue on! It facinates me that sometimes, people get so lost in thier own negative cloud that they don't notice what is right in front of them.

In this amazing part of the city, there were hilarious street performers who did their stunts with a backdrop of a classic yet unique french town. What made Barjoles unique is that it had classis french houses with those iron balconies and colored shutters, but Barjoles also had these large ugly concrete buildings that all looked torn down and haunted. Allow me to add that these two styles of architechture were always "tête à tête"**. On top of exploring such a charming town, we met Francesca's friends! This was a great opportunity to practice our french. Also, her friends were all "experimental artists/actors"! They were such interesting people - they all wore strange clothes (including a grape vine unitard) and had strange hair (Princess-Lea style). Just being honest here, when I first started talking to them I was quite the intimidated human - but after I got used to thier, well, strangeness, they were actually fully functioning members of society, and I am glad to say I enjoyed thier company!

We were sad to see that it was almost time for check in, so we had to find our way back to the outskirts of the city. After seeing its preformers and talking to its people, I saw the city of Barjoles in a completley different light. i walked past that same location where we were attacked by the lemon juicers, and subsequently scarred for life. I realized that that preformance was by people. And those people probably lived in Barjoles, and were probably friends with the people I was just spending time with. I think the purpose of that escapade was to show us that in life, there are going to be situations that will make you feel uncomfortable, and things that you just don't want to deal with. At first, this city of Barjoles was something I just didn't want to deal with - I didn't see the point of going and I just wanted to go back to Aix. However, towards the end of our day there, I learned to appreciate it. Retrospectively, (currenly writing this here in Long Island - I'm trying to re-live my france experience through my blog), I can say that Barjoles was probably one of the best days.

The city was a true hidden treasure of la belle sud - I wish to return one day.

Moments of happiness

It seems that every day holds one moment of pure happiness.

It always lands at a different time; never following any precise pattern.

Just one moment of

pure

contentment.

Sometimes it lasts for a long time,

And sometimes, it's an evanescent spark.

A moment of happiness I would like to elaborate on with you occurred yesterday, in Marseilles, during the descent of a gigantic hill borderline mountain.

On the way up, I literally thought I was going to die.

I was just so unhappy.

I really wish I could tell you that I enjoy vigorous and painful exercise, but no, unfortunately, that's just not my forté.

So I finally see a light at the end of a tunnel...the hill is almost mounted! Ah yes, sweet sweet victory.

Not exactly.

After this monstrous hill, my friends, lie three grand sets of cold hard concrete stairs.

I remember standing there facing that staircase to heaven watching everyone else be a trooper and climb up. I wished that when I was three and tried soccer and all those other adorable team sports I didn't kick the ball into the wrong net, or strike out every time, so then I would have stuck with those sports and have been athletic right now in my life. And then, if I didn't kick the ball into the wrong net, and I scored a home run, I would be feeling fantastic mounting those stairs.

But no.

Samantha is highly unathletic.

So Samantha just looked at her skinny legs, and pretended to not hear their cries of utter distress as she forced them to climb.

When we finally reached the top, I sounded like a donkey entering vigorous labor. However, once I got over my exhaustion and was able to turn around and absorb the view, I found myself in an alternate reality. I was standing on a balcony above the entire city. I saw every corner of Marseilles from above. I was like a bird - flying high. The entire city was practically in the palm of my hand. And then, after the city was the great Mediterranean -- it stretched far and wide. And then it was broken up by islands. Islands which struggled their way to surface but are now standing tall and strong.

I think that I was on one of those islands, on the third day of the trip. I looked down at that island on which I thought my feet have trodden and I felt like I was looking through a wormhole on my past self. It was only the third day of the trip. I was still in the semi jet lagged excitement of first getting to France. There was so much I haven't learned yet. So many people I haven't gotten to know. So many experiences, lacking from my memory.

So I kind of experienced a sensory overload.

Just a tad.

Because, mes amis, we were served the food.

And then.

After all of that.

We descended the mountain of the city.

We were high on life and felt like we earned what we saw. And now we are all returning with food in our belly's and a picture of possibly on of the most incredible views, burned forever in our memories.

And that. That, my friends, was my moment of pure and complete bliss.

Home.

"Just run in. Just do it. Because if you touch your toe in and try to wade in slowly, your going to back out. Just do it. Trust me."

I stood there facing my adventursome roomate and the mediterranean sea was calling me. The waves crashed on my toes - cold as ice in Antarctica.

I felt like I should be in some kind of health class movie. " And remember kids, don't give in to your daredevil roommate! Don't go swimming in subfreezing unhealthy water! Live above the Influence!!" The devil and the angel commence thier cross-shoulder banter:

"Don't do it! The water is so cold - you'll freeze to death!"

" Its going to be an amazing experience...you'll get to tell people you swam in the Mediterranean"

"But it's so cold! You'll get hypothermia"

"come on. It's the mediterranean. You have to swim. Look how clear the water is. You'll never get this on Jones Beach where the water is warm and brown".

I looked out onto the clear blue water and the rock formations. Together they created the perfect picture post card.

So what did I do?

I ran.

I ran away. I ran from school and from pressure. From essays and from books and from responsibilities.

What next?

I dove.

I ignored all the voices telling me I couldn't do something.

I ignored my freezing body, which told me to get out of the water.

I dove into the ice box, and that ice box soon became my heart.

And then I was numb.

The water felt warm and cool and warm and cool and warm again.

And then, there was nothing.

Nothing but a clear crystal blue. A reflection of my swimming body entered my retina.

I looked around at my friends and the rock formations.

The people speaking french around me.

I looked at the freezing cold water that was so petrifying yet so inviting.

Where was I?

I was home.

Boat ride from heaven

I'm on a boat and it's going fast and

I've got a nautical themed Pashmina Afghan

I'm the king of the world, on a boat like Leo

If you're on the shore, then you're sure not me, oh

-Wise words, from the Lonely Island

But seriously. I was on a boat.

And it was awesome.

We all walked up to the front of the boat! Yes! It was like that scene of titanic when Rose and Jack stood at the foot of the boat "my heart will gooooo on!" Except we weren't standing that close to the edge - don't worry mom.

I stood and threw my hands in the air.

The wind was blowing through my hair.

Even thought I could feel myself getting terribly nauseus

I didn't even care.

Why?

Because I was in the moment. Nothing could stop me.

This boat was going at top speed and I was at the front.

For one time, I didn't think about all the work I have to do when I get home.

I didn't worry about college. Or my letters of recommendation. Or paying for college.

I was just

there.

Disappointment on Bastille Day

Allow me to slip into a cliché: when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.

And then, if you just don't feel like making lemonade, you eat the lemons and deal.

Lets start off by saying that in the beginning of the trip - to be more precise - when I first met everyone at the airport, one of the few things we were able to converse about was how excited we were for Bastille Day. We thought everyone would get really into it and we would paint our nails and wear shirts that said "Bastille Day 2011". We assumed there would be a great show of fireworks! And then after a full day of nationalistic celebration, everyone would lean back sing "La Marseillaise" all together as one happy french family.

UN-fortunately,

French people don't get into Bastille Day.

Americans get more into Bastille Day than french people do.

And that, my friends, is depressing.

Let's start off by giving some credit to the French. They had started out with something good. There was a video projection "sur La Rotonde"*, and the french music playing in the background created quite the patriotic ambiance. However, an announcement was heard: "Mesdames et Monsiers - les feu d'artifices sont annulés pour ce soir à cause de le vent"**

-cue the gloomy violin soundtrack-

But! There's still hope! We heard an impromptu concert was to be set up on the Cours Mirabeau. Maybe this night can still be saved!

Nope.

The only songs played (that we remotely knew) were "we will rock you" and "YMCA".

Yeah.

It was fun.

And then when they sang we will rock you, they couldn't pronounce it, so it sounded like "We will watch you - we will we will AH-CHOO!"

And, by the way, no one attending that concert was below the age of 60.

I hate this negative attitude. And honestly, I know I sound like quite the grouchy complainer in this post, but really! We were all so excited for Bastille Day. I have

to say that being disappointed is probably one of the worst feelings you could get.

But, to make this better, everything else on this adventure has been absolutely perfect and incredible, so I think every other amazing day here will compromise. This failed concert showed me that maybe the french people aren't completely perfect and coordinated in everything they do. To tell you the truth, Aix's failed Bastille Day made me feel a bit better

about my American identity.

At least we can pronounce "rock you".

At least we got cotton candy!

* "sur La Rotande" translates to "on La Rotande". La Rotande was the huge fountain in the center of Aix.

** the fireworks are cancelled because of the strong wind.

Happiness in the Rain

Most people don't like the rain. You can't go outside. Everything gets wet and moldy. People get headaches in the rain. Backaches, knee pains, you name it. People don't like the rain.

On the other hand, rain brings people closer together.

Allow me to provide an example.

We're in Aix en Provence - France. Trying to make the best of it and profit fully from every situation good and bad. So then when we looked outside at the torrents of rain... what do we do?

At first we were sad...we've been going out so much - we didn't know how to stay in our apartment!

So what did we d0?

We all ran to our appartments and grabbed whatever leftovers we could find.

We shared an umbrella and went over to the boulangerie next door and bought a baguette.

What did we do?

We put some tables together near a window and watched the rain while eating a home cooked meal. We joked around. We listened to music. And we just sat there and watched the rain.

And honestly, that was one of the best lunches I've had on this trip.

Being in such an incredible place sometimes makes you forget about the inredible people your with as well.

And even though just staying in the appartment one day isn't exactly making the most of Aix...it was.

Francais Pour Une Journée

Yesterday, I accepted a challenge. A page was held up to my face - in delicate script it read: "I declare that I will speak nothing but the French language until 5:00pm". Without really thinking about what I was getting myself into, my roomate and I signed our names on the line. In the begginning of the day went by rather smoothly. It was of course easy to get by sans-Anglais for our morning French class, and le petit déjeuner avec mon camarade de chambre who is practicaly fluent in French. However, after French class, we had lunch. That day, I ate lunch with two of my other friends who haven't taken French as long as I have. Oh no. My roommate and I started to realize that we couldn't converse about anything solid or funny without the utilization of our native tongue. Allow me to include a snippet of our lunch conversation:

"Ah, c'est bon, n'est pas" (This is good, isn't it)

"oui! J'adore le fromage avec confiture sur une baguette" (Yes! I love the cheese with jam on top of the baguette)

and then...what do you talk about! It was so hard to have a solid conversation in a language that isn't yours - after a while of shallow banter, we just sat in silence because there was literarly nothing we could talk about. At this moment, I thought to myself that the ship was going down. I actually felt like I knew no french beacuse I just couldn't maintain conversation here. Here we are, four friends who are always way too loud, sitting in complete silence.

And then, there was laughter.

We just started laughing. And we couldn't stop.

And from that point onwards, the french just rolled off the tounge - completely effortless. My roomate and I even gossiped about people in french - c'était très magnifique!

Speechless in Arles

Do you ever have those speechless moments? You're with your friends, walking side by side blocking sidewalk traffic, and it's not like there's nothing to talk about, we were all just walking together in silence. The city of Arles was just so magnificent we didn't know how to respond to it in words.

"Chaque bâtiment" (every building) has its own color scheme, with matching shutters and doors. The buildings are also quite old; some have restless ivy, and others have wrinkles - wrinkles of experience in the siding.

We sat looking upon the Rhone River

en mangant la glace - c'est trés magnifique

The streets were so small that the petite european cars struggled to make their way through. We proceeded to walk through these streets with our thoughts silently in tandem. We all marveled at the sheer beauty of this place.

Another facet of Arles which was "totalement" fascinating was its history. My friends and I found ourselves in another speechless moment as we walked through the "amphitheater". The 120 arches of this amphitheater date back to the first century, BC.

Just think about this situation. Shoes. The shoes I wore to Arles were bought in a mall. Nordstrom, to be precise. They were made somewhere far away, and shipped to the very store from which I bought them. And now, look at me now, these shoes are walking on the same turf where thousands of others shoes have walked. Shoes that were bought at a boutique. Shoes made by an artisan. Shoes made by a mother. Bare feet - because shoes weren't invented yet.

Eyes. My eyes. My eyes look upon a fantastic building depicted above. So many different eyes have glazed upon that building. Eyes that haven't seen an ipod. Eyes that haven't seen a car. Eyes that havn't seen electricity. All of these eyes, minds, and shoes are so different. They know different things, they speak different languages, they have different personalities. But also, they are all the same. How? How can so many different people from so many different backgrounds and time periods all share one thought? They share the thought of being completely speechless.

Speechless at the sig†ht of something incredible.

La Belle Plage au Marseilles

I proclaimed that I would return to Aix Sunburned and pickpocketed. Yes.

We were going to Marseilles, the second biggest city in France, where the sun beats down strong

and the pickpockets are savvy. While I was sitting in the back of the speedboat on the way to the island

depicted above(more about that later), I was completely mesmerized by the Marseilles cityscape.

I wish I could include a picture but I didn't bring my camera out of a fear of gypsies.The Marseilles landscape

just featured so many different "époques" (eras) of architechture. There was a sleek, iridescent building next to

a huge, florid mosque next to a terra cotta mideival castle. And then next to all of this were a bunch of the

"south of France" style houses depicted above. Another idiosyncrasy of the city of Marseilles is the

incredible diversity. While walking through it's busy streets, I noticed groups of people wearing tradition

African garb - colorful and rich. Then, you would turn around and see women vailed from head to toe. I couldn't

believe it, but I found myself experiencing another culture shock! Aix and Marseilles are polar opposites.

Now about that incredible island. All I wanted to do was meditate. Where was I? I wasn't quite sure. Some island off of the city of Marseilles, all I know, is that I was in heaven. Honestly, if you were to look up "paradise" in a dictionary I think that one would find the above picture - the beach on which I sat like a happy Buddha. While I was writing about the city of Marseilles I couldn't get my mind off of that island. Words don't come to mind when I think about my time on that island - I just think about that happiness that I felt while there.

Way too stereotypical

"Oh My god. This is way too stereotypical"

This phrase seems to slip from our lips "tous les temps" when we amble down the narrow streets of Aix en Provence. While that exlamatory statement does make us sound painfully American, it is probably the best and simplest definition of Aix en Provence.

Aix's narrow streets are flooded with ou

tdoor cafés, fountains, and shops that are a tad too appealing to the eye. If I let my feet carry me into one of these shops I will end up spending all the money I have; " Ah! Quelle jolie chausseurs!" defini

tly ranks number two in the "most said phrases while in Aix en Provence".

While the city of Aix is not afraid to flaunt its classic french style, there are also a few subleties which I picked up from our "exploration des étroites rues d'Aix en Provence" (exploration of the narrow streets of Aix) on the first day.

I think it's too funny that the trucks and busses here are mercedes :)

First off, crossing the street in europe is a completley different business than in the States. There are crosswalks on the major streets, however, on the little alleyways that make up about 80% of the city, crosswalks are nowhere to be found. Donc (therefore), if there is a petit French car speeding down la rue (the street), every time, the driver finds a way to skid to a stop at the last second, and he/she will impateintly beckon us "slow Americans" to cross the street.

I have also noticed that a majority of french stores don't have normal doors that open and close. They are completely open to the street, like an open garage door. I personally love how stores don't have formal doors. They are completley open to the public. Now, I may be overthinking this, but I believe that this is rather symbolic of an element of the French culture. A store doesn't have doors; it is open to whoever wants to come in, and whatever happens will happen - "c'est la vie". The french seem to have this wonderful calm, fun, and romantic attitude that I envy! If a situation doesn't go according to plan, it's not the worst thing in the world! Instead, they will embrace whatever comes at them as a new situation, time is only a number. This attitude is quite different from that which I grew up with living in New York. If something doesn't go according to plan, we will try our hardest to push this irregularity into our detailed plan. Because we ( or just I) try so hard to make everything work out exactly how we want it, we may completley miss a wonderful oppurtunity.

I think that being in Aix, I am starting to conform to the "french way" of "expecting the unexpected" and I am so happy. I hope that this wonderful attitude will stay with me when I drag myself back home to New York.

A bientot!

Expect the Unexpected

When, from time to time, I slip into a lull in my day to day activities, I find myself day dreaming about this next month's journey. I want to step off of the car from the Marseilles airport into Aix and feel the lug of jet lag quietly slip away, because of the excitement I will feel from parading in to the city I will spend the next month absorbing.

I have to say that another one of my top expectations for this summer is to improve my accent. Last summer, when I went to an International Summer Program, I drove up the courage to speak to some French people in my dorm. Here's how that played out (translated into English for those non-Frenchies reading my blog)
(after some banter)
-Do you like my French? I take it in school.
-Allow me to be blunt...your speaking French perfectly, you have the vocab and the grammar, but it doesn't sound like your speaking French

gee, thanks.
Thus, my other goal for this program is to make a tourist mistake me for an Aix local. I want to develop the "French Swagger" and the perfect French accent. I know its ambitious, but that's what I want so badly!

And, last, but most certainly not least, my goal for this summer is to "Expect the Unexpected". I want to do and experience what I could never imagine.