Fin, and Europe pt 1

I haven't posted for two weeks. The longer I wait to post, the more I have to write about, the more I'm too intimidated to even start. I apologize for this absence which was started by wanting to take advantage of my parents who I hadn't seen for 10 months and enjoy my last week in France, and compounded by having too much to write about to even start.

On my last day of school, my class threw a party for me. It was the most touching thing that has ever been done for me, and I still feel incredibly spoiled and unworthy. My last class of the day was French, and my friends decided we should ditch and go lie in the sun in the grass outside. I didn't want to, because I wanted to say goodbye to everyone, but they convinced me to just show up 10 minutes late. When we showed up to French, muttering vague excuses about how sorry we were and how my friend was constipated, everyone ran to the back of the room and started singing to me. They wrote me a song based on this old French tune, Céline by Hugues Aufray. The new chorus is:

Non non non tu ne restes pas là

Non tu ne restes pas là

Tu as, tu as, ta famille là-bas.

Tu ne restes pas là non tu ne restes pas là

Mais nous penserons toujours à toi.

Which translates to:

No no no you aren't staying here,

No you aren't staying here

You have, you have your family over there

You aren't staying here, no, you aren't staying here

But we will always be thinking of you.

I won't even get into the verses because I don't feel like crying.

Then, as if that wasn't enough, they showered me with presents. They had all collaborated (even the teachers!) to get me a necklace, a book of photos of the Vendée, chocolate mogettes, a book of classic French children's jokes, a hat, and finally a white T-shirt that they all signed, with sweet messages wishing me well and saying goodbye. My French teacher even gave me two books of Doisneau's photography, since I had liked his work when we talked about it in class. Then we sat around and drank iced tea and ate baked goods that people had brought, and sung some Rihanna because one of my friends is into Rihanna. At the time I couldn't even express how touched I was by this, but this will remain one of my favorite memories. I had no idea they were going to throw me a party, and I am so lucky to have spent a year with such kind, generous, thoughtful people. They say that the French are hard to get to know, that Americans are much more open and hospitable. But French friends are friends for life, and once you have a relationship, they'll do anything for you.

That same night, my host brother came back from his internship in Germany to celebrate his 20^th birthday and to meet my parents. It was nice to see him, as we thought we wouldn't see each other again before I left. We threw a party for his birthday and my departure. Most of my friends couldn't come, but it was fun anyway.

The next day my parents came. Their train was 3 hours late due to flooding and landslides because France has been having crazy weather – it's still raining in the Vendée and in Germany, I can't go outside because I would probably get heatstroke. But eventually we were reunited. I was sort of expecting some climactic, satisfying feeling that would leave me writing “I can't describe how it feels to see one's parents for the first time in a year, but it made my year complete and wonderful.” But actually we were all just really tired, so we said hello and hugged each other a lot and then brought them home, and it was anticlimactic but nice anyway.

My parents stayed with us for a week. After they got over their jetlag, my mom got along very well with my host family, as she speaks decent French. My dad and my brother, who don't speak any French, were a little lost. Our week was filled with meeting the people who were important to me (extended family, my friends, my frisbee coach and team, etc.) for drinks and snacks, so my parents could meet the people I had talked about so much, as well as touristy outings. On Monday we went to the Puy de Fou, one of the most famous historical theme parks in the world. It was sort of like a cross between Disney and a Renaissance Festival. It wasn't really a problem that my family didn't understand any of the stories behind the shows they put on, because it was just visual eye candy – a falconry show, a viking battle, the three musketeers having a sword duel, a chariot race, etc. I highly recommend it.

On Wednesday we went to l'île d'Yeu, a beautiful island off the coast. We rented bikes and explored the coast.

Thursday was my last frisbee game. It was also the first week of good weather, so we went to the beach and played in the sand. Afterwards, I plunged in the ocean with a friend of mine, and upon coming out we gave everyone sopping wet hugs, despite their complaints. They then presented me with a frisbee, signed with all their names and lots of “bisous”, so I can continue playing with the Jets years after we're separated.

Needless to say, this was pretty special as well. I can't really think of how to describe frisbee except to say that if you've ever been in marching band, or done soccer or dance or theater, you probably know what I'm talking about. Even if the people in the group aren't your best friends, there's a certain sacred bond that makes them very close to your heart.

On Friday we went to Noirmoutier and went on a boat trip to take advantage of the good weather. Finally good weather after about 6 months of cold and rain.

I guess I ought to write about Saturday, the day of my departure, because the point of this blog is that I'm sharing my exchange student experiences. But I don't think I can. It's too personal and too fresh. But I will draw a conclusion from the final painful exchanges I had with my loved ones: Yes, I admit that I spent a lot of my 10 months complaining about things and wanting to go home. Particularly the first half was hard, and even during the second half I was just counting down the months, then weeks, then days until I'd see my parents and my brother and all that homesickness would be over. But in the end it was so hard to leave. It wasn't even “mixed feelings.” Leaving that house and boarding that train was just one of the most awful things I've had to do. It wasn't like leaving home – home is always there, and I knew I'd be coming back. But I don't know when I'll next be able to come back to the Vendée. In 3 years? 5 years? 10? My little cousins might be all grown up and have forgotten me, my frisbee team might not have any of the same members anymore, my class will have graduated and left the area. Essentially, I left for good. Nothing will be the same anymore. And suddenly I realized just how many good things I was leaving behind: how many good memories I have here with good friends. The interesting travel I got to do. All the people I met. All the boundaries and fears I overcame. The changes. The everything. It is pessimistic human nature to spend a year complaining about the bad things only to reminisce about the good times upon leaving. And I can't regret what I lived through, saying I “should've been more optimistic,” because my homesickness and loneliness and all the other bad parts were legitimate. But I guess I didn't give enough credit to the good times. Would've could've should've. The point is, it's worth it. It's painful to come and it's painful to leave, but all that means is that it was worth it, and those who I met and loved and lived with in France will always be in my heart.

Like emotional whiplash, the tears of the train station turned into joy at being reunited with our good old friends upon arrival in Germany. We spent a lovely week in Heidelberg with them. It was nice to do some touristy things (touring a castle and taking a riverboat cruise) but otherwise be with people who speak German and know the city, which made for lovely hikes, shopping, gelato expeditions, and hanging out in their apartment when it got too hot to do anything else. This is my favorite kind of travel: couch-surfing with good friends who know exactly what activities would make us happy.

I have also fallen in love with Heidelberg, which goes on my list of places to live someday. It's beautiful and has all the necessary components of a picturesque European city: a castle, a river, arched bridges, a very urban downtown and yet very green and forested surrounding mountains.

Heidelberg

View of the ruins from up top

And from on bottom

They have almost everything that I've been missing while living in France as a bustling university town with a strong foreign presence and excellent ethnic food. I have eaten delicious Middle Eastern food as well as the classic heavy German staples of bratwurst and schnitzel. You hear a surprising amount of English on the streets, from the soldiers who were here on the US base (that is now closing) or the scientists at the University. Most of the shopkeepers speak English, and speak it quite fluently. I also heard conversations in French, Japanese, and other languages I wouldn't know how to recognize. I would love to live in a place so used to foreigners that I would be commonplace, not a curiosity labelled by my own accent. I also like the fact that I look German. Oftentimes the French have mistaken me for German, and apparently the Germans do as well. I look just like all the other pale, blonde, blue-eyed girls on the street, and people often mistakenly addressed me in German, while our Italian-blooded host Cheryl seldom gets that treatment despite her four years in Heidelberg.

Unfortunately, the hot weather hit that week, and there were two days that were hot enough that we couldn't do anything except stay in the apartment in front of the fan and consume cold drinks. My mother and I melt into useless sludge in anything above 90°F (32°C). But we would go out for gelato as the day began to cool down, and that was enough activity for us.

The weather broke just as we left, and we got on a bus to Frankfurt-Hahn as it was raining. Flying with Ryanair, which is a cheap European airline, is very odd because they only use obscure airports that no one else uses, which means taking a 2 hour bus before even getting to the airport. Other than that we had good luck with Ryanair. It is notorious for charging you extra for everything (your carry-on is 5 cm too fat, so we'll charge you more than your plane ticket cost to put it in checked luggage!) and so it's a little like playing the lottery – you might win or you might lose, going with such an airline. But we won, and ended up safely in Venice. More later.