Au revoir, la France!
Le vendredi 14 juin
Bon matin de Nice! Today we slept well into the morning, catching up on rest from previous late nights in Paris. The sun made its way into our studio window, which overlooked an alleyway leading to Rue Massena.
Once we were dressed and had packed our swimsuits, we headed out to find a boulangerie or fromagerie to get some picnic fare for the beach. The forecast showed sun and we wanted to spend the entire day soaking in the Mediterranean rays.
We found a spot where we purchased an olive-filled baguette, a fresh-squeezed orange juice, a tomato foccacia bread, some waters, and a cup of fruit.
Our afternoon consisted of burrowing down into the pebble-covered beach, searching for a comfortable position on our towels, and trying not to burn our toes on the scalding rocks as we made our way to and from the salty seawater. (A restaurant nearby was named Le Galet, literally meaning “The Pebble”.) The warmth from the sun on our skin was impeccable. The Mediterranean Sea water felt pleasantly tepid. Vendors with beach blankets and coolers walked around quietly. French women applied sunscreen, some sans swimsuit tops. Our snacks carried us through the day until the early evening.
We decided to dine at a well-reviewed restaurant named Frog. It was there that I had my first experience the taste of frog legs. As cliché as it may sound, les cuisses de grenouilles really do “taste like chicken.” Our server was a younger, charismatic gentleman with blue eyes and a dishwater blond ponytail. He told us a story about going to school in the banlieue (suburb), which is the equivalent of attending an inner-city school in the United States. There, he said he and his classmates were not polite towards the teacher and would often play pranks on him or her. Claire seemed to understand his story from his gestures and pantomiming, even though he told it entirely in French. He brought us a limoncello digestif following the meal, and in the far room, we could hear the servers and chefs gathering together and cheersing one of their colleagues whose last night was that night. I thought it was lovely how collegial they all were, as if they were celebrating the accomplishment of a family member.
As the restaurant neared its closing, we walked into the warm night back through Place Massena where a group of teenagers were practicing a hip hop dance routine and likely preparing for the following weekend’s Fête de la Musique festival. Claire and I took a picture in front of the water fountains that sprayed vertically and lighted up in different colors, before heading back to our room for our last night’s sleep in France. The following morning, we would board the TGV back to Paris before catching the RER to Orly for our flight home.
This trip to France was an important milestone for me, as it was my first visit back since I have become a teacher of French. My journey of learning and teaching the language has now lasted over fifteen years, and I am proud to say that I was able to travel back to France on my own and survive, without speaking English once before Claire arrived. My journey of learning the language has thus been worth it; I am able to live on my own in a francophone region and thrive.
Now that I am back in the US, I plan to live with a little more intention and a bit more slowly, enjoying the little things, focusing on savoir-vivre, and treating my friends and colleagues like family. I dedicate this post to my late friend, Nasim Ghanadan, who was the queen of savoir-vivre. This post is also dedicated to my family, my friends who are my family, and my dog, Cecil, who has since joined our household and looks just like the little chien from the Marie Laurenceau painting. Finally, I dedicate this post to my students. May they read my anecdotes, and may my stories and experiences teach them something about the culture or language that will encourage them to keep learning French. May their journey in learning the language become one that creates unique opportunities and enhances their lives.
Alana
Bon matin de Nice! Today we slept well into the morning, catching up on rest from previous late nights in Paris. The sun made its way into our studio window, which overlooked an alleyway leading to Rue Massena.
Once we were dressed and had packed our swimsuits, we headed out to find a boulangerie or fromagerie to get some picnic fare for the beach. The forecast showed sun and we wanted to spend the entire day soaking in the Mediterranean rays.
We found a spot where we purchased an olive-filled baguette, a fresh-squeezed orange juice, a tomato foccacia bread, some waters, and a cup of fruit.
Our afternoon consisted of burrowing down into the pebble-covered beach, searching for a comfortable position on our towels, and trying not to burn our toes on the scalding rocks as we made our way to and from the salty seawater. (A restaurant nearby was named Le Galet, literally meaning “The Pebble”.) The warmth from the sun on our skin was impeccable. The Mediterranean Sea water felt pleasantly tepid. Vendors with beach blankets and coolers walked around quietly. French women applied sunscreen, some sans swimsuit tops. Our snacks carried us through the day until the early evening.
We decided to dine at a well-reviewed restaurant named Frog. It was there that I had my first experience the taste of frog legs. As cliché as it may sound, les cuisses de grenouilles really do “taste like chicken.” Our server was a younger, charismatic gentleman with blue eyes and a dishwater blond ponytail. He told us a story about going to school in the banlieue (suburb), which is the equivalent of attending an inner-city school in the United States. There, he said he and his classmates were not polite towards the teacher and would often play pranks on him or her. Claire seemed to understand his story from his gestures and pantomiming, even though he told it entirely in French. He brought us a limoncello digestif following the meal, and in the far room, we could hear the servers and chefs gathering together and cheersing one of their colleagues whose last night was that night. I thought it was lovely how collegial they all were, as if they were celebrating the accomplishment of a family member.
As the restaurant neared its closing, we walked into the warm night back through Place Massena where a group of teenagers were practicing a hip hop dance routine and likely preparing for the following weekend’s Fête de la Musique festival. Claire and I took a picture in front of the water fountains that sprayed vertically and lighted up in different colors, before heading back to our room for our last night’s sleep in France. The following morning, we would board the TGV back to Paris before catching the RER to Orly for our flight home.
This trip to France was an important milestone for me, as it was my first visit back since I have become a teacher of French. My journey of learning and teaching the language has now lasted over fifteen years, and I am proud to say that I was able to travel back to France on my own and survive, without speaking English once before Claire arrived. My journey of learning the language has thus been worth it; I am able to live on my own in a francophone region and thrive.
Now that I am back in the US, I plan to live with a little more intention and a bit more slowly, enjoying the little things, focusing on savoir-vivre, and treating my friends and colleagues like family. I dedicate this post to my late friend, Nasim Ghanadan, who was the queen of savoir-vivre. This post is also dedicated to my family, my friends who are my family, and my dog, Cecil, who has since joined our household and looks just like the little chien from the Marie Laurenceau painting. Finally, I dedicate this post to my students. May they read my anecdotes, and may my stories and experiences teach them something about the culture or language that will encourage them to keep learning French. May their journey in learning the language become one that creates unique opportunities and enhances their lives.
Alana
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