My Parents in Europe: Paris, Nantes, and Salamanca!

So Friday I took the morning train to Paris. It was a beautiful dusk ride; we passed so many foggy blue rivers and sleeping villages. In Paris, I took a Metro to the West Train Station and walked to our fine 1 star hotel: Hotel du Brabant. I spoke to the manager and told him I was waiting for my parents, sat down in an easy chair next to a giant wolf-hound named Joker, and commenced to reading Madame Chrysantheme by Pierre Loti, which is excellent and very enjoyable.

I waited for around forty five minutes in the lobby, my heart skipping a beat every time I heard the sound of suitcase wheels rolling along the pavement outside (as there were many, many hotels on the street, which was named Rue des Petits-Hotels – Street of the Little Hotels.) Finally! the sound of the rolling suitcases belonged to my family – I jumped out of my chair and ran and jumped up into the arms of my brother, nearly knocking him over.

It immediately felt so wonderful to be with them again and to feel a part of my own real family. What's more - they brought me lots of my comfy winter clothes I'd left behind, various American products I'd requested - and most importantly they brought me Bowlin' - the most beloved doll in the world and the doll most near to being human. Bowlin's favorite part of Paris was the Eiffel Tower.

Paris was passed busily, with lots of Metros (a bit difficult for my father, who came with his foot in a boot as a result of an ankle spur) and lots of sights in only two days! My favorite part was probably visiting the Musee d’Orsay, which is considered to be the most beautiful museum in Europe, and was indeed extremely beautiful in its own right – it is a converted train station - and very, very full of beautiful paintings. I loved especially getting to see Monet’s Water Lilies and Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

Other high lights included: walking the Champs-Elysees, taking the street car ride up to the top of Monte Montre, Sacre Coeur, which is truly my favorite building I’ve been in the entire time, and other less epic but no less wonderful moments, like my father singing “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire” while we all ate over-priced Chestnuts we bought off a bum, walking with my mother through the Jardin des Tuileries, and just getting to be with my wonderful brother, who looks and acts like such a man! It’s crazy.

Then we went through the ordeal of renting a car, which was actually wonderful in that we ended up with a super nice Fiat, and then drove to Nantes.

In Nantes, immediately after checking my parents into their hotel, we walked the two blocks to my apartment to have dinner with my host family. It was a very funny and wonderful evening! My host family tried very hard to speak English, with Arnaud working the hardest and speaking the best. I had to translate quite a bit, but it wasn’t too terribly awkward, and Clotilde went all out preparing an amazing meal. It started with Kir in the living room, then we moved into the dining room for our entre, which was fried egg, salmon and caviar with a homemade sour-cream based sauce. For our “plat principal” Clotilde prepared a traditional Moroccan meal, as she spent part of her childhood growing up in Morocco. It consisted of a lamb curry stew that was divine and served over couscous. For desert, she made a white chocolate ice cream cheese cake with a brownie crust. It was seriously one of the best things I’ve ever tasted. My parents were rightly very impressed, as was I, and kept telling Clotilde and Arnaud how badly they’re going to spoil me. It is true that I do have it very, very good here.

While in Nantes, we also went to a traditional Breton Creprie, went to a few bars with Hanna in tow, and while I was in class my parents visited the Cathedral and Chateau and Jules Verne museum and all that. In all, I think they discovered that Nantes is a truly wonderful town.

And then Tuesday night, in the middle of rush hour traffic and a rain storm, we headed out of Nantes for Salamanca.

It was an incredibly long and taxing drive, longer than I think we had all expected, but it felt very comforting in a way, to be on a road trip with my family – it is the time of the year for such drives – traditionally driving between Nashville and Knoxville or Nashville and Detroit – and it felt somehow suiting to me that we should have such a road trip now since there will be no such experience this Thanksgiving.

On the way down the coast, we stopped in Biarritz for lunch and San Sebastian just to see it, and both towns were very lovely. In San Sebastian, the tide was coming in and was crashing in full waves over the ramparts, completely drenching pedestrians and cars. The power of nature is so incredible – even in civilized, ancient Europe.

We arrived in Salamanca a bit later than anticipated as a result of rain, and so it was dark when we approached the city. It seemed to be surrounded by a vast empty space, devoid of lights, which we came to discover was in fact a desert. Gross. But.
Salamanca is beautiful. I would say that it is very much the Spanish equivalent to Nantes – not too large or too small, not too touristy. It does seem much cheaper than Nantes, which is certainly an advantage.

Additionally, as mentioned previously, Spanish culture seems much more flamboyant than French culture and this was evident in everything: people are friendlier, architecture more intricate and less reserved, bars louder and more raucous, etc. Even the color of the earth – the warm brownish orange of the sand and stone that comprise the buildings – is much more welcoming than the straight lines and cool colors of the while limestone buildings of Nantes and northern France. It is quite amazing actually how different the two countries are despite the fact that they share a border.

Jonathan was such an excellent host! He met us the first night in the town plaza, after which we checked into our hotel and then found a Kebab restaurant to eat at since we’d arrived so late most other restaurants were closed. The next morning we met him after his first class, had tortilla’s at a nearby bar, then visited the cathedral.

It was seriously the grandest most beautiful building I’ve ever seen. It is so immense and decorated so intricately and vibrantly, with lots of gold and bright colors and stone carvings. It was also incredibly tall and large and light.

Wonderful.

We visited an ancient Roman bridge, various beautiful university buildings, an Art Deco museum, roof top gardens. Joey and I also went with Jonathan to his apartment to meet his Senora Maria. She seemed very funny and boisterous, and Jonathan’s house mate Matt was very friendly and sweet. I did find though, that the standard of living between Nantes and Salamanca is very different: Jonathan’s apartment was much smaller than the de Kermadec’s, much more modern and less attractive. He also explained how much more cautious he has to be about using lights and taking long showers, etc, as in Spain such things are very expensive for the average individual like Maria.

In contrast, such things aren’t too terribly expensive in France, and the de Kermadec’s are decidedly wealthy. (I was cautious the first few days about using lights, etc, as in our Introduction material we were told that French people are very stingy with their electricity uses – however this only resulted in Arnaud coming in the room and asking me if I could see alright, acting like I might be a little crazy doing my homework in dim lighting, and then flipping on several lights for my benefit.)

I met several of Jonathan’s friends and they all seemed really wonderful. Spanish foreign exchange students might be, surprise surprise, slightly less pretentious than French foreign exchange students.

I hated leaving Jonathan. I cried, as usual. It was dumb.

And then came the ride back towards Paris. We ended up spending the night Bayonne, where we had coffee the next morning. Then we drove up to Tours, where we had dinner and walked around a bit before heading to the train station where I said goodbye to my parents.

It was incredibly hard on me, I love the three of them so much, and they have always, the three of them, been my closest and best friends. I feel so lucky to get to have such a great relationship with them, so blessed that my parents raised me to be close to them and also raised Joey to be someone who I truly feel will remain my best friend for the rest of my life, but all these factors contribute to making such separations truly, truly difficult. I cried so hard.

The following things are a consolation:

• that when I see them next, it will be glorious, heavenly Christmas time.
• that when I see them next, plans will be underway for them to give me my very own little kitten named Pantoufles.
• that despite the fact that I was incredibly sad in Tours, shortly after arriving in Nantes I went out with some friends and had a great night
• that I am enjoying myself so much and have a great situation: good host family, good town, good classes
• that I have a Hanna that I get to see every day
• that I have a Jonathan that I get to see two to three times a month

Mostly, I know that I wouldn't change anything about this experience. It has been such a blessing, such a challenge, but I feel that I have grown and continue to grow as a person because of it. I truly feel that it was neccessary for me to do this - it is something that I've talked of doing my whole academic career - and I am just sooo grateful that I have parents and friends and a university that all support me in such endeavors.

And now I am off to Avignon with Hanna and Jonathan. Huzzah!

Catching up: San Sebastian, Life as a Vrai Nantaise, etc...

Traveling is so exhausting, and frequently when I get home I'm too worn out to do much at all, and so I've been a bit remiss in updating my blog.

Zut!

Thursday, October 8, woke up incredibly early (5:30am - yuck!) with the help of three alarms and a phone call from my parents. Laughed to/at myself as I made my way to the tram station, for the following reason: It is abnormal for the French to be up so early, so whenever I passed someone walking, I eyed them suspiciously and thought, "They are so weird. What could they possibly be doing up this early?" and they in turn viewed me suspiciously, thinking, "What's this girl doing up so early? She must be a delinquent or crazy." It was very funny and very noticeable.

I love trams and wish Nashville had them. They are crazy convenient.

In the train station I continued to be overly cautious, as I always am, sitting sleepy and hunched over on a bench with my foot wrapped through the strap of my backpack to keep it from being stolen - despite the fact that Nantes does not really have a problem with such things. I'm sure I look stupid but I can't help being too careful: I'm my father's daughter.

It took me FIVE trains to get to San Sebastian. Or it would have, if things had gone well, but I'm getting ahead of myself. I adored all my trains this go around. I sat and watched people, business commuters, sleepy and unamused or sometimes talking with their customary traveling companions, teenagers, nervous traveling by themselves, their mother's waving goodbye to them from outside the train, children being adorable, couples snuggling. Everyone rides trains.

When I got to Hendaye, there was a 25 minute delay, which meant I missed my next train. I got my ticket refunded and attempted to buy another ticket while in France,where I spoke the language, but was informed at the desk that I should wait till getting in Irun.

Boarded the train to Irun, only to find that it didn't actually go to Irun, but stopped instead in the town just before Irun. Everyone exited the train, following directions given in Spanish. I talked to a conductor who pointed to a bus - I got on the bus, not too sure I was doing what was correct but trying to verify as best I could.

There had been a strike at some point, I believe in Bordeaux, and so we had to take a bus the rest of the way to Irun.

The minute I got on the bus - I noticed a difference in the passengers. They were talking to one another, loudly, friendly, jovially. They were speaking French, but with a strange accent. I was thinking how odd it was to see French people being so chatty, which is when on cue all the women switched to Spanish, which was obviously their native tongue. So from the instant I arrived in Spain, I noted a marked difference between the Spanish and the French and that difference can be summed up by a general friendliness towards others, especially strangers, that the French seem to lack.

In Irun, I still needed to buy a ticket to San Sebastian. No one in Irun, which is just over the French/Spanish boarder, spoke French. It was unbelievable. I finally sort of kind of got the feeling that I was supposed to buy a tram ticket that would take me to San Sebastian, confirmed this vague notion with an Australian family who said they were under the same impression, and bought the tram ticket to take me into San Sebastian.

So that was my all day, 10 hour train journey adventure, completed mostly peacefully, and entirely by myself. I am proud.

And then I was in San Sebastian! Which is currently my favorite city in the world!

Jonathan had had a similar misadventure getting there, and he was set to arrive via bus an hour or so after I arrived. So. I walked around the city a bit by myself. It was so beautiful! Just stepping out of the train station the city presented itself so romantically and beautifully: the river, lined with a promenade and rows of trees, just starting to turn their autumnal gold. I was in heaven.

When Jonathan got there, he called and I hurried my way back to the train station, just in time to catch him looking around for me, while an orchestral version of "A Whole New World" from Aladdin played and we greeted each other with a kiss while the music crescendoed. C'etait parfait.

The next three days were passed so wonderfully - walking around casually, not trying to do or see too much, just trying to relax and enjoy getting to be together in the most beautiful city on earth. We walked along the beach and the ramparts and along the river, went to get tapas and beers, walked up one of the mountains to a castle and chapel on the top with a fantastic view of the city, took an old tram ride up to the top of the other mountain and walked down both, ate lots of gelatto, pastries, etc, went shopping for some clothes for Jonathan at H&M, went swimming!!! (and the water wasn't even too cold) ate lots of picnic lunches on benches with good views, etc. It was one of the best weekends of my life, spent perfectly, seeing neither too much nor too little.

I love Spain. It feels very different from France - less reserved, a bit more like a party. The people all seem just a bit friendlier - even the architecture is more flamboyant than the reserved style of French buildings. So I'm excited to go back so soon!

Heading home again, I cried at the train station, just like last time, and even stupider than last time because I'm driving down to visit Jonathan with my family in a week.

Nantes is starting to feel more and more like home. Not as good as a real home, but I'm growing accustomed to everything. I walk around the city and feel like a true Nantaise, and that is a wonderful feeling. My French is improving, I believe - I now can understand almost everything my family or professors say, though of course sometimes I still get lost. I know where to get good coffee cheaply, good pain au chocolate, good gelatto, good pizza, and do so when I need a pick me up. I say things like, "Let's meet in the Place Royale," and then in the Place Royale, I wind up in lots of tourists' pictures, sitting on the fountain steps with Hanna eating a sandwich on a large baguette, our scarves thrown over our shoulders, and I'm sure those tourists think, "Oh! And we got these French girls in our picture. Look at how typically French!" But really its just two Americans getting really good at pretending.

I am still having a very difficult time with school work. I anticipated spending all of my 15 hours or so in trains this past weekend studying, but in reality spent closer to 15 minutes. It is a real problem, but I think it is one most of the students here are experiencing. So hopefully it will be fine.

It is difficult though because the French teachers here are trying to emulate the American University system but failing miserably. I feel it would be better for them to either just do things the French way, but trying to pretend that this is the way American schools work is stupid. For instance, Hanna has two mid-terms planned for one of her classes. So they obviously don't get what a midterm is. And we have a "Devoir" deadline, which is when our homework is due. But its just one assignment. They don't seem to grasp that homework is actually a recurring, three or four times a semester deal. Its mostly funny, but also confusing.


Mostly though, I have decided that this is the last Autumn and Winter I ever want to spend away from home. I love traveling, and I plan on doing it for the rest of my life, but in the future I plan on doing it between January and September. October-December seems so suited to being home, to being snuggly, walking around in long john pjs, or footy pajamas, sipping tea all hours of the day, etc. And it is just impossible to do these things living with a family you're not actually a part of, or living in hotels.

So. Caitlin Gilliam better appreciate that I chose (and Hanna and Jonathan chose) to study abroad in the Fall almost specifically so that we could be there for her graduation in the Spring.

In other news, my parents get here tomorrow! I'm taking an 8 o'clock train to meet them in Paris, where we will spend two nights. I am so excited! I have missed them so badly, and cannot wait to show off my European/French skills and hangouts.

And Jonathan too...

My first memory of Jonathan, straight up, is this:

I had to sit next to him in our 5th grade social studies class, where the seats were alphabetically arranged (Moody -> Mooradian), and I recall that I thought he smelled funny, a mix between apples and b.o.

I remember at some later point that first week of middle school that I gave a poem to my teacher for her to read, and she informed me that another student had also given her a poem and that we might should become friends, and that his name was Jonathan Moody.

I recall from these days that he wore huge shirts, used to pick a word out of the dictionary each day (or week?) and use it as his exclamation - as in "Oh pumperknickle!"

I remember he told me he wrote poetry and that he brought me an example one day - a very lengthy and illustrated poem about a dragon, and I think that was when I first got a crush on Jonathan Moody (although, truth be told, I was only ten and he was not the only boy I had a crush on, of course).

I started calling him - never by myself - it was always three way calls with Mary Tek or Sally Wilson - and basically tried every annoying and typical preteen girl tactic under the sun to try and get his attention. I remember at the end of sixth grade during one such phone call I told him I thought he should stop jelling his hair, and that the next day, the last day of school, he came without jell and I wondered if maybe he DID care about me.

But all of this was very silly.

He encouraged me to start attending youth group more regularly - I had only been a casual attender previously - and I cannot imagine how much said encouragements have shaped my life and what sort of adolescence I would have had if Belmont youth hadn't been a part of it.

Throughout seventh and eighth grade we became better friends as a result of this - talked more about things that actually mattered. I grew increasingly impressed with him: his straight A's, his sweet saxaphone skills and his jazz band, his musical taste. We realized we had a lot of the same values - values that maybe are a little outside of what is normal - that include a love of the land, and farming, and love for simplicity, a dislike of materialism, and an overall enthusiasm to know and see the world and better understand its beauty.

We both had these sorts of things figured out at a very young age.

And so the summer before my freshman year of high school, we went on a mission trip to Mexico, where we spent every day together, grew closer through sharing some intense experiences there, and on the last night in Mexico as the guys and girls were separating to go to bed, he hugged me very intensely and intimately - our first ever hug - and whispered softly in my ear, "I love you."

It was one of the happiest moments of my life.

And so today is his birthday, and he is twenty one, and he is not a little boy anymore, as he was when we met, but something more closely resembling a man.

And I have never known a better man.

He has striven for academic and moral perfection as long as I've known him, and has been able to achieve something close to it with relative ease. As he's grown older, he has grown more independent, and strives to determine solidly for himself what is right and what is wrong.

Jonthan is adventurous. He has been to Mexico five times on mission trips, one of which lasted over a month in the very isolated town of Juxtlahuaca. And now he is in Spain, and where as I have had Hanna with me this whole time, he went without knowing a soul and has already made so many friends!

His skills as a musician are and have always been amazing to me. He can decide to start playing an instrument and within a few months he's a master at it. I mean - he can play saxophone (although not lately), guitar, banjo, and recorders EXCELLENTLY. It is amazing to me how easy it comes to him, and he has -par none- my favorite singing voice.

Other skills/hobbies include: moccasin making, crocheting, recorder making, unicycling, bicycling, hiking.



Most importantly, Jonathan is one of the best and most tender people I've ever met - whenever one of our friends has a problem - large or small - he is sincerely concerned and always does his best to help the situation. Rare qualities in a lot of young men these days! He is far kinder than I am - honestly - and has always encouraged me to be better in all of my relationships. He is level headed, full of discernment, and always seeking God. He is a loyal, loyal friend and son and brother.


And Jonathan is an excellent boyfriend. The best I've ever heard tell of. He is always so attentive, so giving of his time, so complimentary. He has only ever made me happier, made my life less anxious and more rich, and this is the way all relationships should be. I feel so blessed to have gotten to have a relationship as good as this - it was nothing that we've had to work too hard at - and yet I can say that we've been passionately in love for six years. And that is rare and magical.

So when, as has happened, someone asks me if I've wearied of dating the same person for such a large portion of my life, the response is always an emphatic NO! because Jonathan is one of the most interesting people the world over. In the past six years, his personality has remained endearingly the same, while his spirituality, his morality, his social conscience have matured and grown and his interests have bounced all over the place.

I am so so happy and proud of the 21 year old he has become, love him so much, and cannot wait to see what the future holds for him!!!

The One Where I Write About My Mother...

As it is my mother's birthday today:

The earliest memories of my mother are only shadows now, barely visible through years of forgetting, but they start somewhere like, "Good morning, Mommy," and crawling in her bed, it still dark outside. She was always welcoming. Never once do I remember being turned away - mostly I remember crawling in beside her, and how warm she always seemed in the morning. I remember I would put my small hand on her cheeks just to feel how smooth they were, and run my hands along her arms; she was my first vision of what it was to be a woman, to be feminine and soft, my first vision of what I would one day miraculously grow to be. And she was(is) so beautiful and perfect.

I remember other things. That she used to, I haven't seen her do this in years, pour salt into the palm of her hand to dip her carrots in. My earliest earliest memory is of this: I remember being very young, with her on bed rest from being pregnant with Joey, and her asking me to go fetch the salt and carrots from the kitchen and me being delighted at the task and scampering through the house to complete it.

I remember creek walks at my aunt's farm: both her and my aunt, my two mothers, teaching me the wonder of the world - the small minnows hiding out in the deeper waters underneath tree roots, the small snails clinging feebly to slimy rocks, and the water crest, that my mother taught me to eat, and which we did eat, the taste somewhat like a radish but so much better because there it was - a free salad perched in the middle of the stream.

I remember water colors - silly drawings, sweet drawings, the millions of games that she created. Games that instructed and entertained. Some that merely terrified, like playing hide-and-seek in the house with all the lights out. (My favorite! Still!) I remember her playing guitar - my first real introduction to music - the beautiful song that she and my Uncle Donnie wrote "California" (or is it called "Gold Rush"?) being the first song I ever learned to play.

There is the way she mothered Joey and I both; the support she and my father always showed us in all of our endeavors - paying for whatever lessons we wanted to take - never pressuring us - always complimenting us probably more than was merited. There is Joey's painting that hangs above the mantle piece, my book of poetry on the coffee table, the musical instruments and equipment Joey and I are both allowed to leave everywhere, the practices, loud and inescapable in the living room. There is the fact that we were always allowed and encouraged to talk to our parents about anything and everything - and the fact that we were almost never reprimanded for our confidences. These are the privileges of having exceptional parents that Joey and I have enjoyed our entire lives without much taking the time to consider how lucky we are. But I will say it now: no one has parents better than mine. (As good as, perhaps, but it would be impossible to surpass them).

There is our perch, her perch, in the living room on the love seat, and the bird feeders visible from either window- the little stone bird that sits on the coffee table laden with books about birds, and the binoculars to better watch their little world. There is the coffee always sitting just beside her - half&half and sweet&low and frothed milk. And the whole of her perch covered with the Tennessean all scattered about in the morning - the Sports and Business section laying dejected in the corner and my mother pouring over the Classifieds - hunting for sail boats and house boats and tear drop campers.

There is cooking: tiramisu, baklava - my sixteenth birthday when we spent the whole afternoon preparing chocolates, divine chocolates, that caused in us a jubilant euphoria we later read was from breathing in too much chocolate, inducing a marijuana-like high. There is the way she dances - wild and emotional - a true child of the seventies. And there is the way music moves her, and makes her cry - the way she feels it until it is a part of her.

And then there is the wilderness that is my mother. There is Black Mountain and its views and hundreds of thousands of year old rocks. And Stillhouse Hollow Falls - the morning we met the photographer there at six in the morning, set up a sleeping bag and read and napped and passed one of the most peaceful mornings of my life. There is Devil Step Hollow, the holy place, where my mother crawled on her belly into the hollows of the earth. There is all the land that she has saved.

There is poetry: Wendell Berry and Annie Dillard and Sam Keen and so many others. The poetry that gets to the soul of her, that inspires her religion and mine. And there is her writing - the articles she writes for her annual reports are beautiful vignettes and she has written some very beautiful poems and songs.


There are my grandparents - Nana and Pa Don - that both live in her. She is every bit my grandmother, who understands and marvels at the beauty of the world and understands in an inspired way the goodness of God, and though I never met him, I know that she is my grandfather too - mischievous and stubborn and confident and powerful. There are her siblings- her best friends and some of mine too - who she respects, confides in, adores, admires - and for all of them I know the feeling is mutual, despite their differences. There is the way that all five of them seem absolutely determined that they will not grow up - and I do believe that thus far they are still winning this battle. Despite their 50+ years.

There is my father, and the way they are still in love, the way they are still at times too much in love too much in front of Joey and I or whoever else is around and kiss each other and make eyes and act like teenagers. My father, one of the sweetest men alive, one of the best father's alive, supports her in everything she does, and she in turn respects him for everything he is - for the excellent man he is. Their marriage is one to aspire to have.



And in short, I cannot say how much I love her. How much I am grateful that I was raised by her and my father, grateful too that I am so like them both. It has been difficult for me, going this long without my family, but in two short weeks! they will be visiting me and traveling down to Spain to visit Jonathan.

In short: I love you, Mama! No one's like you the whole world over, and I'm so glad its me who gets to be your very own favorite daughter!

Happy Birthday!

The Superiority of French Cuisine, How I Adore all of my Courses, and How I am Homesick None-the-less...

First, I will assure you that despite being slightly homesick I am enjoying myself a ridiculous amount.

I am constantly overwhelmed by my French dining experiences. Favorites:

1. It does not matter where or when you buy it, Pain au Chocolat is the best. The bread and chocolate seem to melt in a sweet heaven in your mouth. I have had Pain au Chocolate for 1euro that was less delicious than Pain au Chocolat for 2euro - regardless - even sub-par French Pain au Chocolate is better than just about any American desert had for the equivalent price.
2. Wine. With everything. And semi-locally grown. I have grown to love wine while here - especially "rose" wine. I love that you can buy it anywhere - any restaurant - any cafe - sells really excellent wine for really cheap prices.
3. Coffee! I love it. In my house we have a machine. You insert a little pretty capsule in the top, press a button and PRESTO out comes delicious espresso. I even had some 50cent coffee out of a vending machine that was heavenly.
   
4. Cream. In everything. BUT. Don't make the mistake of drinking the milk here plain. Its seriously disgusting because it is really more like half&half then real milk.
   
5. Pizza with cream sauce. Pizza here is seriously superior to American pizza. Last week, Hanna and I bought a 2euro frozen pizza that was seriously some of the best pizza I've ever had, all because they use cream sauce instead of just tomato sauce.
   
6. Yogurt. Vastly delicious. All sorts of varieties. My recent obsession is eating plain yogurt and then adding lots of sugar, like the rest of my homestay family does. It is seriously the best thing ever.
   
7. I love cafes. They have such good ambiance: people to watch, lots of interesting menu items, cheap prices, and frequently very lovely presentation of the food.
   
8. I love street vendors. Cheaper prices than cafes, really good sandwiches, really convenient locations.
   
9. Lots of delicious and unusual dishes: plumb pie, squash curry soup, croque Bergers (croque monsieurs + goat cheese), cold red pepper soup with olive oil, and on and on and on....
10. Mostly great that I can eat all of these things without gaining weight because I walk 5 miles a day (or more).
    

My schedule has finally been finalized, I have finally found all of my books (this was quite a chore, actually!) and finally started filling up my various cute French notebooks. I think that I am going to love this semester academically, even if it will be hard to squeeze all my work into days that I'm not traveling.

Classes include:

• Poetry of the turn of the Century: My professor, M. Postel, is a very little, petite and enthusiastic French man. He talks very quickly, is a little too obsessed with caesuras and rhythm, in my opinion, but none-the-less is so enthusiastic that its contagious. I am loving Baudelaire, who we are currently studying, and want to adopt for life the concept of "les fleurs du mal," which is essentially that there is beauty even in the grotesque, tragic, and quotidian.
• French Writers in Foreign Nations: So far this class has been a bit bizarre. We have been focusing on various French stories that describe trips taken to America. Out of the five stories we have read, only one could be said to have a favorable view of America. Most find it too ugly, too crowded, too materialistic, etc. The only story that depicted America in a way that I found accurate and in which the author actually liked America? L'Étudiant étranger by Philippe Labro which takes place in the American South! Excellent!
• Palestine: My professor, Mme de la Foye, is very funny, enthusiastic, and has written a very straightforward and informative book on the subject (which we were of course forced to purchase) called the United States and Islam. This class, like the French Author's class, is interesting because it talks about America frequently; I really am coming to feel that we are and have been on the wrong side of the Israel-Palestine crises, and it is difficult to hear all of the ways in which America has greatly messed up the situation. It is also a bit terrifying; the Muslim world really does hate America, with some cause, and the past and future ramifications of that hatred are terrifying to think on.
  
• Translation: This class is at the University. MY PROFESSOR'S NAME??? Michael Christian Faith. He made a joke about how he should probably have been a television evangelist instead of a professor. He is very dorky, very sweaty, but very sweet too. So far the translations haven't been too difficult, I'm still a bit worried that our final, which consists of two translations without the use of a dictionary, counts for 50% of our grade.
  
• Literature of the Strange: Taught by a very young M. Claudel, this class is going to be so excellent! I find it very exciting, so far we've been exploring the definition of the word 'fantastic' and the origins of its birth in literature in the 19th century. It is very interesting, and I think it will be really inspirational in terms of my writing.
  

Despite the fact that I am loving everything, I am still a bit homesick. I suppose it comes from it being fall now; Tennessee is always so beautiful in the autumn. I find myself longing for Nashville in the fall: for Belmont Blvd and the way the leaves stain the sidewalk with their prints, my backyard, full of birds, and all my Halloweens, pumpkin carving with my family, stuffing a "scare crow" for the front porch, Aunt Linda's house and all its bustle. I find myself also longing for Sewanee: for hikes - last year around now didn't we do Cedar Hollow Lake? - and Mountain Top Ball, and all the glorious, glorious trees, and chai tea, and snuggling in the morning with Jonathan and the windows all covered in frost and the earth outside sleeping in fog. And what seems strange to me is that I miss them both: Nashville and Sewanee, and can only suppose that when I have left here it will be the same, to a lesser extent, with Nantes, tagged on to my list of homes that I long for when I am away from them. It is one of those sad, sad aspects of growing older that I do not too much like, and I will be glad, I think, years from now, when I am settled in a more permanent fashion one way or another again.

And not to be dramatic, but it puts me in the mind of a terribly beautiful line from Kings of Convenience: "Homesick, cos I no longer know where home is."

Only I know that my home is Nashville and Sewanee both and that it is difficult for me to miss them both simultaneously instead of one at a time.

Not to mention my family and Jonathan and all my friends.