I made it!

The language assistants' handbook that I received two months ago says that the weeks before you leave for France and those in which you arrive will be "challenging, but wonderful." However, perhaps because I was not very responsible about realizing what going to France for a whole year would feel like, I wouldn't describe the past few weeks before my departure as particularly challenging. In fact, they were exactly the opposite. I experienced two weeks of being completely unemployed and blissfully without obligations in Portland, which chose to give me a whole week of glorious sunshine so I would remember it fondly. It worked of course. It seems that this summer, I've been able to have my cake and eat it too. Lots of cake.

The photos of us laughing, eating, drinking and dancing could go on forever. Also! We were once in Grants Pass.

After two weeks of playing, eating out far too much and tying up loose ends, it was time. I didn't get around to mentally preparing at all [how do you do that anyways??], but my parents came up, and it felt more real. On my last morning we went to Jam where I ate blueberrychaioatmeal pancakes and was made fun of by the waiter (this always happens to me there...I think because I get stupid giddy over those damn pancakes), and it rained hard and I kissed Trevor goodbye and gave him my rainpants. XOXO Portland.

I usually like flying for the jitters of going someplace far away, especially when I travel alone, but this was just a very long, exhausting journey from plane to plane to station to train. I was rather zombie-like and speaking French was a bit of a nightmare. This is where my experience began to correspond with the handbook. It was challenging. More challenging than I had expected.

For some reason in Mexico I was fine speaking terrible, broken, cavewoman Spanish, and everyone seemed perfectly content with it. Here, I unintentionally hold myself to a higher standard and blush at my hesitations and constant need for repetition. I am living for the time with Katia, a teacher of French lit. at my highschool, and her three children. None of them speak English confidently, though Katia tried until I assured her that I would eventually get better at French if we kept struggling to communicate. It is so bizarre only understanding 50% of what she says, especially as she has been my guide these first days. I usually understand the gist of things and we get along great despite the blank nods I give her so often.

It is the details that are difficult. At lunch yesterday 7-year-old Annette became upset and cried and pouted and I couldn't figure out why even though Katia told me. When Katia placated her by covering up her food with mashed potatoes, I decided she was in tears because she didn't like fish. On my first night here, the kids' dad came to the door and they all yelled "Papa!" and leaped from the dinner table. Katia gave me a pained and vacant look. She explained that he had left her last year. She said "suddenly" in both French and English, and said it was hard for the children. All I could say was I am sorry and that it must be very hard, but I wanted to say much more and understand more of what she was saying.

The house looks unassuming from the outside. Number 4, Rue Normandin

For some strange reason, Katia seems confident that I do understand most of what she says and seems to enjoy talking with me. She asked me to take Annette to school this morning, after she left for work. She repeated the time a couple of times, and I knew she said 8:30-8:45. After she left, though, Ana sat on the stairs outside my room and sniffled a bit and paced around. She walked up to my open bedroom door, but not come in or let me see her. When I came out she would run away, and when I asked her if she wanted to play a game or read to me she claimed to not understand me, and just looked at the floor. I think she was just scared that I didn't know what time we need to leave.

Eventually we left, ten minutes early, and immediately she was happy. She began to talk to me and understand what I said to her. We got to school early of course, and we sat on the steps and she made herself a mustache with her ponytail and giggled a lot and I asked her a lot of simple questions. French children are adorable, partly because they all pull along rolley backpacks and clank them carelessly up the stairs like they are incorrigible puppies.

Two important things: we have a beautiful garden and my room is really cute with a lofted bed. An assistant I met last night described it as a tree-fort bed (she has one too). And see the big polka dots on the walls? Looks like a target ad.

I know I haven't described it at all yet, but La Rochelle is really, really lovely. More soon once I take some pictures!