An American Girl in Avignon

Saturday : Avril 18
Sometimes you need a change of scenery – mix things up a little – makes life more interesting. There is something healing in “getting away for a day” that helps clear your mind (especially after the difficult situation in our host family, which I will address later). Why is it that one can think so much clearer once you “get away,” remove yourself from the situation, and just relax? Maybe this is why we supposedly do our best thinking in the shower. I am willing to argue that we also do our best thinking on vacation.

Today I hopped on the TGV with Rachel, Adam, Jenny, John, Kyle, Kristina, Katie, and Meghan to spend the day away. Destination: Nîmes. To be honest, I knew nothing about Nîmes before going there. I had heard that the city was clean and pretty and since was dying to get out of Avignon for a day; I thought it sounded like a good (and cheap) solution. Boy was I shocked when I stepped off the TGV and found a Roman arena (miniature version of the Roman coliseum) in front of my eyes. It made me want to hop ofnthe next train and head for the Vatican. The formerly Roman-occupied city was architecturally stunning, and by purchasing a day-pass for around 7 Euro, one was granted access to the four major sites: the arena, la Maison Carrée, la Tour Magnes, et la Jardin de la Fountain.

Side note about French trains/TGVs: before you board, your ticket has to be “composted” at these little blue and yellow machines scattered around the station. You stick your ticket’s barcode under the red light, and it is “composted,” meaning that the station of departure is inscribed in black ink on the side of the ticket. Pretty nifty, huh? Yet your ticket is not considered valid, unless it is composted – even though the paper clearly reads the date, time, and place of departure. This is odd. Also, no one checks your ticket before boarding, or in our case, when you are on the train (meaning that we could have easily gotten a free ride to and from Nîmes that day). The Europeans lessen the likelihood of free rides by threatening to fine every last penny centime out of anyone who boards the train without buying or composting their ticket (over 200 euros to be exact…that’s a pretty penny). Fear (and the rare times that conductors do make their way through the cabins to check tickets) steers the dishonest away from the rails. But I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a handful of train hoppers every day. I also find it bizarre that train stations, like many other places in Europe, make you pay to use the restroom. I guess I really don’t mind paying 50 centimes to use the toilet if it means the facilities will be clean, and if there won’t be bums sleeping in the stalls at night. But imagine having to go and having no cash on you. It’s a win-lose situation.

Thankfully, the weather was wrong today…again. I learned from my host family that French people rarely check the weather, because it is almost always wrong. In Provence, you can be sure of two things: number one: the météo will predict rain for the day; number two: it probably will not rain, but if it does, it will either sprinkle or be a violent thunderstorm complete with whipping wind, lightning, thunder, and hail. The weather today, however, could not have been more perfect. To quote a Relient K song, it was “sunny with a high of 75.”

Our first stop with the pass was the arena: a place where they used to hold gladiator battles is now a location for modern bull fights. My favorite part of the day was when we climbed all the way to the tippy top and stood at the summit of the circular arena. The view and the sensation of being so high sans railing was worth the climb, but getting down was a different story. Slipping/getting too close to the edge=death. Thankfully, we all made it out alive to go to the Maison Carrée (a miniature version of the Parthenon) to watch a 3-D movie about the history of the city. I think the sole reason that the movie was in 3D was to make it more interesting, but what I found really bizarre was how a 3D movie about gladiators and bullfights involved reading a lot of on-screen text. A little disappointing, but being inside the maison was worth it.
Lunch was a starving student’s dream, and a dieter’s nightmare: Pizza and ice cream. We stopped at a café in Jenny’s guidebook for authentic Italian Pizza (yes, I am aware I am in France), and was it worth every centime. Deciding to be my “adventurous” Sagittarius self (I don’t really believe in this kind of stuff, but I think it is interesting that some of the personality traits are dead-on. Apparently, I am supposed to like to travel and to try new things, and hate feeling constrained or tied down. Hmm…who knew?), I thought I’d try an ice cream flavor that I had no idea what it was. I still can’t remember what it was called, but it was a vanilla/pale yellowish color and had bits of cookie-like pastry pieces in it…and it was dang good. I tend to try things when I don’t know what they are; I can be a risk taker in that way. One could say that I am adventurous with my taste buds. That sounds really weird. Never mind. ..

Even though Nîmes was a beautiful, clean, and friendly city with lots to offer, it seemed like we kept crossing paths with dead pigeons everywhere we went! As we were walking by the Maison, Kyle thought it would be funny to say, “Oh look, Catherine (but only he and everyone else keeps insisting on calling me Cathey…don’t really know what that’s all about. haha), I found you a new friend,” referring to the dead, featherless baby pigeon with bulging eyes, a broken neck, and deformed body lying on the railing. I am going to have nightmares for that one! It seemed like we just couldn’t escape the winged pimples on the pure façade of France, because we saw two more deceased, disease-invested pests that day. One’s remains happened to be adorning the side of a statue in the Jardin de la Fountain. Thankfully, I have yet to see Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds.”

The Tower de Magnes was located at the top of a hill in the Jardin de la Fountaine, and after a hike up the stairs, we realized that our day of fun was coming to a close, so we decided to head back to the square by the Maison to relax and chat before boarding the train back to rainy Avignon.

While sitting on the steps in the Place de l’Horlage, we started talking about Athens and all of our friends back home. I had just bought some postcards, so I think this must be why “home” came up. I started thinking about how weird it was going to be to go back to Athens in the fall. We all had the same fears: losing touch with people back home, losing someone we loved back home, or just plain feeling out of touch when we returned. We all know it will be strange when we go back, because there will be all these things that happened with our friends this quarter that we will have missed and vice-versa. What will the common ground be? Will our friends be the same? Will we be the same? Will we have problems “getting back into the swing of things” after spending so long abroad? We realize by then we will have made and bonded with new friends over here, as we are sure they will have done the same back in Ohio. It is amazing how much people don’t realize what they have until its gone; sometimes it takes journeying to the other side of the world for you to realize what it is you truly had.

Thankfully, we will all have our summers to get over a phenomenon called “reverse culture shock,” but I admit that I am a little worried about things being different. Thankfully, I adapt pretty well to change, so this shouldn’t be too much of a problem, but I know it is going to be an adjustment. Three months is just a drop in the bucket.

To close, we finished reading Marius the other day. One of the last lines Marius says is, “Je suis sûr que si je partais, tu m’oublierais.” (I am sure that if I leave, you will forget about me). I don’t want this to be the case for me. Even though I am having the time of my life, I still haven’t forgotten about my friends! Many students have the fear of losing their significant others or friends, because of the distance. Sadly, several have already had this fear become a reality (in the significant other department) since being here. I consider myself lucky in that way. Instead of worrying about losing someone, or contacting them every day, I began thinking about how exciting it would be to bring someone special back here someday. I made a vow to myself that when I am in love, I am returning to France: it truly is a country for lovers.

At the end of the novel, just as Marius is leaving, Fanny says, “Je t’attendrai; je ne t’oublierai pas” (I will wait for you/I won’t forget you). Athens, see you in the fall!