Tortillas

I tried to explain to my host mom what a tortilla is, and how delicious they are home made and with honey. I think all she got is that it's like a crêpe.

September 11

I have strange and mixed feelings about the September 11 tragedy that has now assaulted our memories for ten years. They say you understand things better when you get a new perspective on them, but in this case I find this incorrect. I do not and never will understand how someone could plan what occurred in New York those years ago: no matter how much hate, how much dissonance, how much misunderstanding...how it could result in thousands of deaths. No, rather I understand more of the picture. Occasionally Madame puts the T.V. on in the background during our long french dinners (they're becoming some of my favorite times), so that we can improve our french, discuss the news, etc. She purposely left the T.V. on today because she understood how me and my housemate felt: distant. Distant from our country where everyone we knew was getting together to remember and honor those who lost their lives. The images were horrible, and watching them this time i felt a weight in my heart like I have never known. I think seeing these things in this setting- completely removed from them in space in time- gave me a greater ability to reflect and imagine their reality. The reason I share this here is because I had a singular experience that I can't bring to you any other way. When we watched the planes crash through the world trade center, I held my breath. But more importantly when Kristin, my house mate from Rhode Island saw the planes crash she held her breath. And when Madame saw the planes crash she held her breath. And the tears that swelled in my gray eyes swelled in blue eyes and they swelled in brown eyes. It was an American tragedy, but I realized in full today that it didn't just effect us by any means. The world stopped. And the world was wounded and horrified by what they saw as we were. And this is never so real as when you see your horror reflected in an others' eyes.

Day 1- sensory overload

Yesterday was a little overwhelming to say the least, but it was hard to stress with all the beautiful things constantly invading my view. One of my first glances of France out the window of my plane was an epic view of Paris in all it's massive glory covered in sunrise fog complete with the Eiffel Tower. The CDG airport was not nearly as much of a maze as I thought it would be, but I immediately realized my French is BAD. Every one was nice, however, and I managed not to get lost. I found the train ride pretty pleasing as well, excepting the fact that the only information for stops was presented by a very quiet, fast speaking French announcement. The scenery by my window was gorgeous, but I barely got off at the right stop. A fair trade off. I wasn't sure what to expect at the train station, but I certainly didn't think I'd be meeting my host mother, Madame Vogel, and housemate right then and there. I struggled to introduce myself, had no way to express my happiness except through a smile. I can imagine that in all my plane ride/ train ride glory I looked about the way I felt- disgusting, smelly, zombie-esque. The day was far from over. Mme Vogel drove us back home where I had time to put down my bags and was shown the rooms. The place is adorable, and I can't help but mention how Mme Vogel reminds me of my granny, maybe because of her big brown eyes, but her home in some ways also looks similar. I guess the standard old lady house translates. I felt incessantly stupid at my ability to barely comprehend her. Speaking was even sadder, the majority of what I said yesterday was "oui". My longest sentence was probably uttered at dinner, when Mme and her daughter asked me if I liked to dance, I replied "oui, mais je danse mal." ( yes, but I dance bad.) Mme Vogel walked me and my dazzled house mate around Aix, which I remember in a haze of old buildings and winding streets. We returned home where I started unpacking, but ended up falling violently asleep in plank-form on my bed. And then it was time for my French dinner. We started with appetizers, bread and crackers with a brown paste, which sounds sketchy, but it was delicious, it was all delicious. Pistachios and, of course, wine and talk. For dinner we had chicken with sauce and a cooked vegetable dish, and bread. After that we had salad. And then we had cheese. Me and my room mate were stuffed and as exhausted as we were, falling into deep comas. When our host offered us ice cream we must've given her sad eyes because she laughed and sent us to bed.

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