Week One

I've only had a week of classes and I've already been to two countries and saw a naked man. France is crazy. My classes are incredibly taxing and after an hour or two of relentless mental translation, I leave exhausted and irritable. I never realized just how much I rely on verbal communication to understand what people are talking about. Luckily, I've got a slew of easy reading material for homework and I get to write a poem in English (thank God) for my British Pop Culture class. All we do in there is listen to the Beatles and look at pictures of Kate Middleton's hats. But my other classes aren't quite as informative. I've got a European literature class where we're reading the French translation of Don Juan, a public speaking class taught by a German professor where we learn how to bang our fists on tables, and two classes where I translate text from English into French and then turn back around and translate the French into English. Hopefully, I'll get the hang of the language well enough that classes won't be so wearing.

After class one day, my French Maman (the lady with empty nest syndrome who I'm renting from) knocked on my door and asked if I wanted to go to Belgium. I replied "When, tomorrow? What should I pack?" and she gave me a strange look and told me to get in the car, we're leaving in 5. So I hopped in the car and we drove to Belgium for the sole purpose of buying a cake to have as dessert that night. In 20 minutes, I had crossed the border to another country! It's less than 10 miles from Lille, but the culture is from another world. The language is entirely different, the architecture is bizarre in comparison with what I've seen in France, and the people all dress and carry themselves in a way that is far happier than the French style. I was shocked to find these separate existences living side by side, yet refusing to contact each other. Although I suppose people didn't travel very far outside their initial city or village up until a couple hundred years ago, and given the age of both the countries, they may have fallen into an old habit that's hard to break out of. My French Maman and Tony stopped at everything I 'Oooh'd' and 'Ahh'd' at and took my picture in front of landmarks to send back home to my parents. They've been incredibly kind. We went to an old abbey type collection of houses called a Begynhof where women who weren't quite nuns lived in this community under the shadow of the steeple so they could be close to their house of worship. It was a beautiful maze of white houses and narrow, winding cobblestones paths. Then we went to two stone column fortresses that flank the head of the canal into the city. I felt like I was in a Lord of the Rings movie. After we sight-saw, we went to a little village and French Maman bought a cake while Tony took pictures of me questioning the chocolatier of a real live Belgium chocolate shop! It was delicious.

Then I ran across the street, bought some sugar and raisin brioche, and was home half an hour later.

Lord of the Rings fortress. I tried to climb the crumbling stone steps that led into the bottom, but the entrance was pretty heavily fortified.

Church that towers over the Begynhof and makes you feel insignificant.

Beautiful and quaint Begynhof. It was incredibly extensive, but pictures can't do it justice.

Inside the church. Notice the intricately carved wooden pulpit in the background. It's a common feature in Northern European churches. 

As for the naked man, I had finished looking at France's muddy idea of a zoo in the park when I passed by a series of shops and residents. I was casually window shopping as I strolled along the sidewalk when I passed by a man in what I assume to be his living room putting on a shirt. Just a shirt. At first, my brain didn't understand what was happening, but a few steps later at the next window, I realized. So I gave a little scream, turned to my friends and looked into equally shocked faces. Oh, France.

À tout à l'heure!