France: Day 1

I arrived yesterday. When I landed in the airplane, it was "Here I am!" going through my mind.

So, the airplane ride: it was the best trip I've ever taken on a plane, which is good considering that I went by myself for the first time. I am now a walking advertisement for scopolamine patches. The only bad part about the plane is sleeping. The pillows that I had were ridiculous.

Getting off the plane: the key is to follow everyone else. I am So glad that I was at the back of the plane. All I had to do was follow the others off and we all went through customs & got our passports stamped. Then I went to get my baggage and tried to get on the WiFi. But that was a complete and utter failure. Charles de Gaulle! You have horrible internet service!

Then, I guess I accidentally got my phone off of airplane mode. So, my phone was eating away its battery by trying to find cellphone service, even though I am unable to get any kind of service without contacting my phone company or buying a French SIM card. It was dead by the time I arrived at school. Sorry, Mom and Dad! I couldn't contact you or anyone else. I was being eaten by guilt and fear for them until my host mother finally got home and gave me the password for her WiFi.

Okay, I'm through customs and have our baggage. Now, I just had to get out of the right door to find the man driving the correct shuttle to take me to school. Oh my WORD is that airport confusing. Yes, there are many signs, but I discovered that the door numbers make no sense. So, if I remember correctly, the doors on the first floor (ground floor) are even numbers and on the second floor (where baggage, hence me, was) there were only odd numbers. I needed door 2 (porte no. 2)! Oh la la! So, being the brave, calm person that I am, I went to the nearest Information (same word with a French accent) desk. Side note: anyone traveling in France, especially women, even if you are lost and scared, appear confident on the outside. You are more respected and, I've heard, the men leave you alone, if you know what I mean. I ask (in French) directions from the woman there and she gives me instructions in really fast French. Thankfully, I understand enough to know that I need to go downstairs.

Down the stairs I go. And I don't see my door. The numbers started at 8. Once I passed door 16, I decided it was time to turn around and find another information desk. Unfortunately, the line was horribly long and I thought the shuttle was going to leave soon. So, I went up to the next best person: a police officer, who, thankfully, spoke English. He told me (with French roughness because another person had just asked him something else in English, but the English speaker seemed really rude to me...I understand, monsieur. Les americains peuvent difficiles; Americans can be difficult) that the door I needed was blocked off for a while and I needed to just wait. I thanked him while I silently panicked (But I need to be at the shuttle at this time!). It only took them about 5 minutes to open that hall, though, so it was all good.

Once I got to the door, though, it wouldn't open! The door wouldn't open! Thankfully, an airport employee was right behind me, so he had a key. Long story short, I not only got to the shuttle on time (since the driver realized that the door wouldn't open), but I was the second person there.

I just want to mention the drive from the airport to Caen briefly: during the entire ride, the only thing that showed me that we were in France was the street signs and the toll booths are a bit different. Other than that, it was like driving through a hilly city in the US: hills, grass, little cities passed by, and cows. Lots and lots of cows sporadically.

I also feel like the driver didn't know exactly how to get us to the place he was supposed to drop us off (there were seven of us), because he kept going in circles or turning around. We got to our destination, though.

Once we arrived at the building, one of the French students that are in charge of helping us, Benoit, was there to greet us in both French and English. I think he speaks the language very well. Of course, I think that pretty much every French person that I've met speaks English well, but I wonder if it's because I can still understand them if they have to switch back to French for a few words. Maybe I'll ask one of my new friends (more on that in my post about Day 2...today, currently).

So, we all had to stay in the lobby of this tiny building until our host family picked us up or, as for Brooke (one of the other girls from my American school) the other group coming to Caen to study arrived so that she could be shown to her dorm room.

I, unlike other home-stay people, was not picked up by my host mother (or parents for them). I was picked up by her sister and niece, Marie. Her sister did not speak any English, so it was a little awkward for us to converse. After all, I had just arrived after an 8 hour flight into a brand new country where all I could hear was French. Overwhelmed, exhausted, and not at my destination. I am sorry that I couldn't communicate with her to put her at ease.

Marie could speak a little English, though. So, we talked in Franglais (French and English mixture). The car ride was really long because they couldn't figure out how to get to Colette's house. You see, there were a lot of races going on yesterday. (It was really cute how Marie kept calling them "runnings"). But, I guess I got my first official tour of Caen, even though I couldn't really pay much attention. The jet-lag was getting to me and my patch was wearing off.

It's so frustrating trying to soak things in after you get off of a red-eye flight. (Sigh)

Let's see, where was I? Oh, yes...

After getting to my host mother's house, Marie showed me around the house and my rooms. Then we had orange juice and cookies (jus d'orange et des biscuits). Then they left and I was alone...for maybe two hours.

That was when it got to me: a bit of...not really homesickness...more like I was sad because I hadn't talked to my parents in almost 26 hours. And, I couldn't get the toilet to flush. Oh, the embarrassing things that happen to Americans in France. You can't simply just push the button; you have to push it hard and fast!

I was trying to read as I waited for my host mother to arrive home. She had been with her mother for a week helping her around. I wasn't succeeding, though. After every other word, I went cross-eyed.

Everything fell into place after she arrived. She showed me how to open my windows so that my room could cool off. She gave me the coveted WiFi password so I could call my parents. And, most importantly to the French, she fed me: really good pasta, a salad, and (of course) bread. Oh, and apricots. It is her favorite fruit. She has a ton of them. 

Then, we talked a little about politics. I know! That is one of the taboo conversations in France! They do not talk about politics, religion, and money. At all. Period. But, I think she was okay with it because she has had other students before. I'm not sure, but maybe she's had other American students. And we Americans talk politics. A lot. But, the conversation started because she explained that she arrived home late because she had to go vote. They just elected a new president, so yesterday she had to go vote for a member of parliament.  She asked a few questions about the US government and President Trump. I tried as best as I could to answer, but I think I was too tired to really give good answers.

After dinner, I climbed up to my bedroom (on the second floor...all the way up again) and took a shower and went to bed.

All in all, it was, as I told Marie as we drove around town, an adventure.