Bonjour a tous!
I'm coming to you LIVE from Lyon, France! Excuse my extra enthusiasm, I'm trying to capture that 1st day/1st post feeling, while in reality, TWO weeks have whizzed past me! So lets fast forward through the never ending flight to Paris, the suspended flight to Lyon, the late arrival, and lets not forget, the absent coach bus that forced a group of 17 estrogen filled, jet lagged, bitchin women to navigate Lyon's public transportation system while carrying hundreds of pounds (excusez-moi) kilos of luggage. (whew!)
Since that chaotic beginning, it has only gotten better! I have been at learning a lot and really enjoying myself. I find the culture here to be really laid back and easygoing. one of the first differences I noticed was shops and restaurants close everyday at lunchtime so the owners can eat lunch. I've never seen anything like it in the States. Also, they take the "Sunday as a day of rest" thing to new heights! The city is literally closed for business on Sundays. I've learned this the hard way for the past two Sundays, walking for miles to find a place to eat or buy food. But it's always an adventure! =)
Before my departure, I was a little bummed, that I would be missing the coveted American holiday of Independence Day, but I did get to spend Bastille Day (the French equivalent) in Lyon. We had the day off from school and as on any semi-holiday/Sunday everywhere was closed. But the the kabab stands were set up and people filled the streets that night for an amazing Disney World-esqe light show with fireworks. It was simply magnifique!
The people that I've met so far during this experience thus far have inspired me to look at my life as a stage play. They are all unique characters that make up a grand show! We have The Great Dane, The West Virginians, The Aussie, Sweetheart Ela, and our native guide Chole (who is sometimes accompanied by her HOT boyfriend Evan!) The stories are endless and one-in-a million memories. Too much to type now, but stay tuned!
A bientot!
Two days ago, I hit a wall. It was the barrier between me and understanding. Usually, I'm not bothered by people not understanding what I say because this is a natural burden of any traveler. I graciously say "Merci beaucoup" and leave whats lost in translation for the language gods to handle. But this was not an instance where this could be done. I hit this wall in a place where the wall shouldn't exist, in my intensive French class. This is the place that should be a sanctuary of understanding, for this is where I am supposed to learn to do so. Unfortunately, I don't feel like I learn anything new or exciting in class, I mostly work on my listening skills and use context clues to understand my instructors. Honestly, people in the streets of Lyon have taught me much more.
On this particular day, I was attempting to share un grande mensonge (an exaggerated lie) that we were assigned to write for an assignment. I began to share my mensonge, while he wrote it on the board, and then came the dreaded word..."choeur" (chorus). At my first attempt to pronounce the word my instructor, Eddy, made a funny face. During my second & slower attempt to sound it out, I got a more bizarre look than the first. Then I went straight for the context clues "un groupe des chanters" (a group of singers) I said, hoping he could piece together the clues for the word, which I continuously tried to sound out between saying, singer, songs, groups, gospel, etc. in French, and this time adding hand gestures (because those always work...NOT!) By this point I had asked a fellow classmate, who is more advanced, for help and she tried to help clarify. Eddy had began writing different words that he thought I could be saying on the bored, all of which were out in left field, and he began to laugh. A wave of shame, embarrassment, and pure confusion came over me and I just gave up, something I seldom do in any classroom. In defeat, my frustrations came poring out of my flushed face. 
This is when I realized that I was beside myself. There I sat, in a classroom of about 20 students crying. I never considered myself the "woe is me" kind of girl, and I could assume that everyone was frustrated in one way or another, but I was the only one crying about it. Why? For the first five minutes I thought, "This is what I get for putting myself on the chopping block, I shouldn't have raised my hand." But the little people of reason came to the rescue and quickly expelled this thought. I will forever be a student of the universe and at least try. For the next five minutes, I blamed Eddy. "He should have tried harder to understand me." I thought. Then the little people of reason made a U-turn, clearly there work wasn't done. I couldn't blame Eddy. He probably finds it just as difficult to understand my "franglaise" (my mix of French and English when I can find certain words in French) So what is to blame for this tragic moment? This is where I'm supposed to stumble upon the grand revelation of why I'd transformed into an emotional wreck, and its nonexistent. 
Then I thought of a story my professor, Madame Ziane, told me a few days before. She had come to America 10 years ago, and shared with me that she felt very similar to the way I feel here. Madame is a fan of America now, but at one time, she too was afraid to speak to strangers, for she did not think her English was good enough for people to understand her. For the first few months, she cried the same tears I did two days ago. I only share this because it made me realize that there was no one to blame, and I am entitled to these tears. They help to break down the emotional barriers that help people like my professor and I adapt to new surroundings. 
