Of Chateaux and Seafood Salads

Edit: It's come to my attention that it's fucking hard to leave comments. I changed the settings. Hopefully it's a bit easier.

First, a few choses (that's cosas for you Spanish-speakers -Marc- and أشياء to you Taylor) administratives: Whoever is reading my blog from the UK, I demand that you identify yourself. After scouring my list of Facebook friends for likely candidates, I have come up empty. The controlling, neurotic part of me will not continue in this endeavor unless I'm absolutely sure I know who knows what about me. Also, you should totally comment. I put almost no effort into this but I expect you to.

Now, on to my French life...

Interesting things that have happened in the past week:

We visited two chateaux in the Loire Valley Saturday. They were, obviously, gorgeous. I, obviously, forgot my camera at home. It will all be okay though, because instead of dazzling you with photos that would allow you to abandon your pathetic lives and live vicariously through me, I can instead regale you with this scintillating cultural observation: French people love ham. Or they assume that Americans do. Everyone whose family packed a lunch (Holla at Dana's host mom, who takes the acceuille out of mère d'acceuille), packed at least two ham sandwiches. Usually with pats of butter. And also there were usually three. And sometimes four. I don't know if they assume we're all obese but carry it well or if this is simply another one of those magical why-aren't-the-French-all-suffering-from-diabetis moments, but there you have it. When you're picnicking with the French it's go hard or go home.

My host mom continues to be awesome, although her dog farts a lot. I guess she's not to blame, but still. I feel like I should have more to say on that front but I definitely don't. Those of you who know me well will be reassured to hear that I have yet to break a single thing! This I find absolutely amazing: no faucets have been broken, light bulbs mysteriously burnt out, or curtain rods torn down. Speaking of broken homes, I feel no homesickness at all (sorry Mom, the joke had to be made. I definitely love you. And our family. Which is not broken. It is great.) This is worrying (because I probably should) but encouraging (because yay delay-onset culture shock!)

In other new for which I have no way to appropriately transition, we started our classes today. This consisted mostly of us introducing ourselves. And it consisted entirely of us introducing ourselves along with a cultural quiz. So that was fun. We then had two information sessions regarding our program the first of which broke the mold and actually provided us with useful information. The information on housing, however, kept with the hallowed tradition of JYF by providing us with just enough information to illuminate the shadows of the dark in which we've been kept while doing utterly nothing to actually educate. And in a southern French accent! (MP if you're reading this your accent is quaint. You're like an American Julia Childs. Who was American. What I mean to say is I like you in absolutely every way and am only ever facetious).


That's all the news I care to think about. Stay tuned for more. Also check out Taylor's blog. She's going to Jordan and will have much more interesting stories than I will.

First Transmission

Quick first update:
-The group flight was the best choice I could have made (except that AirFrance check-in people are the most monumentally bitchy and inefficient I've ever encountered in my limited experience of actually checking luggage. As those who know TravelBen are aware, I tend not to pack more than a backpack because I am lazy and like to pretend like this will minimize the risk of me losing things along the way). They weigh your carry-on and the thing you're putting under your seat as one item; consequently, there was a line out the door of JYF Students who had to pay to check another bag, and one crusty old French woman whose badge said her job title was "Escort" ( to which I ask ''escort to whom...and in what century?'') dealing with the overflow. Consequently the line to deal with that took longer than the security and boarding process combined.
-The flight was as peaceful as one could hope. I sat next to a group of Portuguese people who were awesome in every way and frothed at the mouth when I said obrigado when one of them handed me something. I'm overproud of this accomplishment. Also, in the Some People Should Just Not Have Children file let's add the woman across the aisle from me whose hoop earrings were larger than her four-year-old's head and whose thong rode so far up her ass that it managed to bisect her tramp stamp. No jokes. Only the truth on this blog.
-Arrived in Tours eventually, host mom is amazing, asked, essentially, if we could "bust this joint'' rather than wait for the boring welcome speech, took me home, and introduced me to her equally interesting friend. We spent the night talking about family (famille récomposé, mère poule, faire des soucis), careers, life stories, and the time she got locked out of her house in a nighty. I win the first-host-family-experience jackpot.