Hi readers,
I'm still stuck on this "beautiful grace of French community" thing. I first travelled to France in the summer after my freshman year of high school, in a determined attempt by my parents to:
A) Make sure I was doing something vaguely more productive than learning to smoke cigarettes (this had been the crowning achievement of the previous summer, and it turned out, was highly useful in France)
B) Get me out of our hot, crowded apartment and expose me to some non-televised cultural activities
C) Increase the overall effectiveness (and cost) of spending 5 years learning French in school and with a private homework tutor. I'm not particularly adept with languages, though I have a deep, masochistic sense of appreciation for attempting to learn.
I loved France! I ate Nutella. I had a gay homestay brother who took me out to a discotheque. I got lost in Monte Carlo. I visited cheese stores and perfume factories and several very impressive castles. For some reason I can't quite remember, I spent an afternoon in a canoe singing camp songs. I came home with a backpack full of undeveloped rolls of film (no age judgement please), french notes, museum brochures and Parisian metro tickets. I almost minored in French in undergrad. I still love Nutella. I paused over kitshy decorative trays in stationary stores that say things like "Paris is always a good idea".
In the past 12 months I have been on 4 separate trips to France. Even considering that I live not far from the border, it seems like a lot. It's certainly more than I used to visit New Jersey when I lived in New York.
The French culture is enchanting. They love lavender. They eat cheese courses. They invented mountaineering. I can't wait to go back.
For now, some pictures of the past year's travels below.
Aiguille-de-Midi/Chamonix
View of Paris/Sacre Coeur
Senanque Abbey/Provence
I'm still stuck on this "beautiful grace of French community" thing. I first travelled to France in the summer after my freshman year of high school, in a determined attempt by my parents to:
A) Make sure I was doing something vaguely more productive than learning to smoke cigarettes (this had been the crowning achievement of the previous summer, and it turned out, was highly useful in France)
B) Get me out of our hot, crowded apartment and expose me to some non-televised cultural activities
C) Increase the overall effectiveness (and cost) of spending 5 years learning French in school and with a private homework tutor. I'm not particularly adept with languages, though I have a deep, masochistic sense of appreciation for attempting to learn.
I loved France! I ate Nutella. I had a gay homestay brother who took me out to a discotheque. I got lost in Monte Carlo. I visited cheese stores and perfume factories and several very impressive castles. For some reason I can't quite remember, I spent an afternoon in a canoe singing camp songs. I came home with a backpack full of undeveloped rolls of film (no age judgement please), french notes, museum brochures and Parisian metro tickets. I almost minored in French in undergrad. I still love Nutella. I paused over kitshy decorative trays in stationary stores that say things like "Paris is always a good idea".
In the past 12 months I have been on 4 separate trips to France. Even considering that I live not far from the border, it seems like a lot. It's certainly more than I used to visit New Jersey when I lived in New York.
The French culture is enchanting. They love lavender. They eat cheese courses. They invented mountaineering. I can't wait to go back.
For now, some pictures of the past year's travels below.
Aiguille-de-Midi/Chamonix
View of Paris/Sacre Coeur
Senanque Abbey/Provence
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