With only three dollars and no francs yet, my first day in France promised to be a challenge. The first man I encountered ushered me into his cafe.
“No sir,” I explained, embarrassed by my strong American accent, “I have not yet any French money. I am waiting for the bank to open on Monday.”
“No problem,” he said repeatedly to me in French. I crossed my fingers and hoped that I had understood him correctly. I had visions of scouring pots and pans in a hot, steamy kitchen with a man named Gaston yelling at me to hurry up. I was seated in a front table and brought a ‘Coca’ to drink. He then brought me a sandwich (dried sausage and Swiss cheese on a half a baguette with butter) with French fries and an energetic “Bon Appetit!” After my lunch, he accepted my three dollars and told me to come back and visit him soon. And thus began my relationship with the French.
We were a small group of American students spread out all over Paris, reunited at weekly classes and monthly meetings. Most of us were New Englanders at heart, trying to learn the ways of a large city and understand the oftentimes “Non-Kansas” surroundings in France. Collectively, we chose to band together for the first month. We broke in our new sneakers discovering old areas of Paris not covered in the Paris version of the Beantown Trolley Tours. Before memorizing the metro we opted to walk, sometimes from one side of Paris to the other. We walked through Paris’ famous cemeteries, leaving flowers and kisses on the tombs of Oscar Wilde, Jean-Paul Sartre, Gertrude Stein, Eloise and Abelard, and Chopin.
We took grammar classes with other foreigners, lunching outside along the Seine with German, Italian, Spanish, Israeli, and Chinese students studying abroad like us. Once familiar with the metro, we enjoyed Saturday morning train rides complete with accordions or violinists. Unplanned days with our new friends led to such unexpected events as sunset viewing on the steps of Sacre Coeur and toasting with champagne after winning at the horse races.
After the newness of Paris wore off a bit our group branched off and found our individual niches within Paris’ many quarters. We attended our musician friends’ concerts in old cathedrals or visited Shakespeare and Company for tea. We immersed ourselves in the French universities, taking notes alongside fellow French classmates. Some of us met French families through babysitting jobs or English lessons. We read, wrote, studied, and eventually gave presentations in French. We even learned to argue effectively (a talent which comes in handy when trying to return anything in Paris!) Everything was in French Technicolor, no subtitles, living, breathing, or dreaming.
Our first outing led us north to Normandy where we walked along the beaches. We peeked out from what is left of the German bunkers and moved silently through the American cemetery. We mounted the great stairs of Mont St. Michel and learned about the monks who built this tiny city surrounded by water. In Monet’s gardens we squinted and saw before us Monet’s great paintings. We crossed his arched bridge over his water lilies. We gazed from his bedroom window to his garden’s rainbow rows and even stood before his stove where he made tea.
Our longest trip brought us along the Loire valley with all its many chateaus. We walked through hallway after hallway, necks cramped, trying to take in each detail, each castle’s tapestry weaving into the next. We snaked down great stone stairways, tiny hallways. We descended into the dark kitchens and climbed into the great attics, no cobblestone unturned. Outside the castles, we wandered through labyrinths and stopped to rest at fountains.
Despite all the walking I have just described, not many of us returned home wearing the same jean size. “You must not leave the country until you have tried every pastry, every cheese” decided my determined French friends. And in a country that has more cheeses than days of the year, this was a tough, although pleasurable goal. I never thought that I would eat such things as rabbit, snails, goose liver, or frog’s legs, and yet I did, holding up my plate for more “S’il vous pla’t.” The Paris Program was never stingy at restaurants. We dined often and well. Cider and camembert in Normandy, Wine, well, wine everywhere! During my first trip to the bakery my French friend said, “Let’s get croissants here and our baguette across the street.” I thought this idea rather absurd at the time, but after tasting breads and pastries from many bakeries, I soon found my favorite places to go for each treat, and they were never in the same bakery!
Perhaps the best part of the Paris Program is its strong theatre class. This class is designed around contemporary plays currently playing in Paris’ large and small theatres. In class, we read and studied several plays. We were rewarded with the experience of visiting some of Paris’ finest theaters and watching what we had studied come to life. We were able to choose one play on our own for our final paper. I was fortunate enough to read and study Euripides’ “Medea” and to see her played by my favorite actress, Isabelle Huppert.
For us, the Paris Program was not simply a semester abroad in a French University. Traveling created an awareness of other perspectives. While learning how to find our way around, opening our own bank account, understanding what the pharmacist is telling us, we gained more than practical vocabulary and knowledge. We gained confidence in ourselves. This confidence is the best reward, because unlike photos and memories, confidence is something that can never be lost. It is something each of us carries with him now every day no matter where we are.
For those interested in participating in this program, please stop by one of our informational meetings on our Year of Study in France for Wednesday Feb. 26 and Thursday Feb. 27 at 2:30pm in M-4-235. The Year of Study is open to ALL UMass students with the requisite competence in French, not just French majors.