French Stereotypes Episode 2

So, back by popular demand (or just the demand of my father) is the wonderful section that dives into the facts and myths behind French stereotypes!

French people drive really small cars: Not exactly true. I've seen two smart cars and one tiny Italian car in the 3+ months I've been here. In general, they drive normal sized cars, though I do see the occassional SUV. I have yet to see a Hummer, however. My other seemed to be under the impression that the French don't use large tractor-trailor things for shipping. They do, just like in the US.

French people don't say the letter H: although technically they don't pronounce their H's in words, I have noticed that French people tend to say H's at the end of words that don't need them, like "lundi" becomes "lundihh." And in English, it's true that they don't say H's when they should, but they also tend to insert H's where they don't belong, like "I have eight hats" becomes "Hi 'ave height 'ats."

NEW! Some stereotypes to replace the ones I've broken:

French people are super obsessed with having neat school papers: I'm serious. Their papers have like a thousand lines on them, to make sure everything is nicely lined up, they use rulers to underline everything, write in different colors. It's all far too organized for me.

French people don't go barefoot: my host mom always gets really shocked when I don't wear shoes inside. I guess it's a cultural thing, since I love having naked feet.

Exploding Churros!

So last night was my final night in my first host home. I'll be moving in with a new family today, and to end things with a bang (which turned out to be unintentionally literal) my host sister and I decided to make churros. This is the second time we've cooked together, the first time being our adventures into the world of fudge, and that didn't go so well, so you'd think we would have taken a hint.

But anyway, at the beginning it wasn't too hard. Sometimes we were a little confused by the directions of the recipe, especially since it was all in Spanish, but we managed to make the dough, and fry a few churros before disaster struck. We were just finishing off our second and final batch, and Mathilde and I were leaning over the pot of boiling oil to examine a rather bizarre looking churro when BAM! there was a very loud noise, we were covered in hot oil, and Mathilde's mother came running into the kitchen to scold us.

Besides having rather painful burns on our face and necks, we were relatively unhurt. But my host mom wasn't too happy. She scolded us while mopping the floor, and then went to bed. Mathilde and I ended up staying up until midnight cleaning oil of walls and cupboards and pots and pans, and we found a churro that had flown from the kitchen all the way into the hallway. Overall, despite the fact that I now have a funny white burn under my lip, it was a lot of fun.

And we're planning to get back together in a few weeks to make Christmas cakes. This time, the recipe's in German. Oh, and fudge. Christmas fudge.

Turkey Day with the Froggies

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Naturally, living in France, I don't get Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday off, but I did get to give a presentation in English today on the topic. Unfortunately, the prof decided to set it up more like a question-and-answer session and kept talking about weird stuff. He's nice, the prof, but he's not very interesting, even for the French. So anyway, I brought a whole bunch of markers with me to school today, and as a little celebration, my friends and I all drew turkeys on our hands. Yay!

I hope everyone has a great Thanksgiving! I know I did.

An English Speaker's Guide to Harry Potter in French

You know what's good for making friends around the world? Discussing Harry Potter. I mean, not only is he universally popular, but he's MAGICAL. However, discussing the characters and plot with someone who has read a translation can be slightly difficult, seeing as several of the names are changed. Which is why, if you should ever find yourself in France and wishing to discuss Harry Potter, I've compiled this simple guide to the French language translation of Harry Potter.

Harry Potter: is still Harry. Nothing changed here. Hermione and Ron get to keep their names to, along with all the Weasleys and Dumbledore and the Dursleys, too. The French however, like most of the world before the films came out, can't pronnounce Hermione's name worth beans.

Hogwarts: is officially named Poudlard. Worst. Name. Ever.

Lord Voldemort: gets to keep his name, too. Lucky.

Severus Snape: becomes Severus Rogue. Fail.

Draco Malfoy: becomes Drago Malefoy. Not really sure why.

Gryffindor: is spelled Gryffondor. Kind of like poor Drago, was this really necessary?

Hufflepuff: is even cooler in French. It gets changed to Poufsouffle. You gotta admit that's awesome.

Ravenclaw: becomes Serdaigle, which translates to "Claw of Eagle." As a side note, the French don't have a concept of raven, and it's really hard to explain. "Um, it's like a big crow? But not a crow? It's really smart, and it's a big black bird?" "You mean a crow?" "No, I said it's not a crow. You know Edgar Allen Poe? You know his poem? With the bird, who always says the same word?" Sadly enough, the French aren't well versed in Poe. They know the name, but can't get the concept of raven...

Slytherin: becomes Serpentard. I take it back. Poudlard isn't all that bad as names go. Serpentard... Oh, Serpentard...

Flourish and Blott's: is Fleury et Bott. I mean, really, are this changes necessary? Sort of like changing the name of Mundungus Fletcher to Mondingus Fletcher. Really? Really?

Snitch: Vif d'Or.

Hagrid: Hagrid, thank God.

Mirror of Erised: Miroir de Rised. Less cool in French, but not terrible.

I haven't read through all the books yet, but I'm pretty sure the Cruciatus Curse changes names, too. Anyway, this little list should be enough to help get you through a simple conversation covering the world of J.K. Rowling, whether you should choose to discuss it in French or English. Oh, and Neville Longbottom? Yeah, he's Neville Londubat now, biznatch.

Find Vicki on the Map!

Check out what I did! Had a little free time, so I fiddled around on Google Earth and paint and made an image of about where I'm located in Europe. Pretty nifty, eh?

The Corrida

Yesterday was November 11, and as such, all schools in France had the day off in remembrance of the end of the Grand Guerre Mondiale de Quatorze, or the end of World War I. I had been invited by a member of my Rotary Host Club to go see the Corrida, or bull fighting. Now, I know you're thinking, "Bull fights? Isn't this girl in France? When did she get transferred to Spain?" Don't freak out, I'm still in France, but being as I'm living in the very south of France, near the Spanish border, I get to experience some of the traditions that have carried over from Spanish culture, the most notable one being the corrida.

First, I got picked up by my host, and then we drove for an hour to St. Sever (I didn't realize until I wrote it while thinking in English that it's really not a very pleasant name, especially when the subject of discussion is something violent like, well, bull fighting). After a look at an exposition of corrida-inspired art, we had lunch (because nothing in France is complete unless there's a meal involved). After lunch, Fix, the husband of the woman who brought me, took me to talk with some of the other people around my age. I got into a conversation with a guy who actually is a bull fighter (though he wasn't participating in this particular corrida) and he explained a lot of the idea behind the corrida.

Basically, the bull is a special beast, because unlike most animals, when attacked, he doesn't flee, but fights and continues to fight. It's for this that the bull is considered a good adversary and the bull fighters want to engage in competition with him.

After this, I actually went to go see the corrida. It was four fighters, and four bulls killed, one by one. First the bull enters the ring, charges around a bit, then the fighter faces him one on one and spins around and dodges him for a while. Then they stab him with a few spikes. This is usually done my someone else, though one of the fighters did it himself. After, the bull is more angry, and the fighter continues to dodge his charges. Then, the bull fighter gets his sword, and attempts to kill the bull as swiftly as possible, though this doesn't always work out well.

It was nice to have Fix there to explain the traditions to me. For instance, if the crowd considers the fight to have been good, they wave handkerchiefs demanding that the ears of the bull be cut of and given to the fighter. One ear is nice. Two ears is excellent. On very rare occasions, they give the fighter both ears and the tail. And if the bull was excellent, his corpse is pulled around the arena and applauded.

Honestly, I'm not sure how I felt about all of this. It was very interesting, and at times quite beautiful, but in the end the bull always dies (apparently really strong bulls are allowed to live, but this is a SUPER RARE occurrence). I think it really helped to get the little introduction to the practice beforehand, otherwise I would have been completely lost as to what was going on.

STUPIDFREAKINGFRENCHWEBSITETHINGSPUITANDEMERDE!

Grah! I mean seriously!

This is my blog, so I'm going to take up this little pocket of the internet to rant for a bit.

Ready... go!

Okay, so I finally got around to signing up for the big Europe bus trip thingy near the end of the year because I'm tired of waiting for a response from my parents telling me whether I can go or not and those naggy emails from the lady in my district who's in charge of it asking me if I'm planning to go and why haven't I signed up yet and am I when am I going to sign up and am I still alive and I went through like pages of sign up but instead of having it in nice answer two question move on to next page format the had every fill-in-the-blank crammed on the same page and so it was really hard to figure out and I get through it all leaving large sections blank because hello, it's not the nineties, not everyone has a fax number, and I fill it all out and it gives me pages to print and I read the first page and it tells me my French host district is 5240 and I'm like, "Crap puitan! I screwed up on the second question! My host district is 1690!" So I got back and look through all my info on the website page and my host district is, in fact, entered as 1690 and it's the stupid form that's screwed up and they can't even get their stupid stinking forms right because there's so much stinking paperwork to wade through and it's stupid stinking stupidness and anyway Mom and Dad that means you're going to have to pay several thousand dollars or whatever now for the trip but I'm not exactly sure how much it costs now with the financial crisis because I stopped checking the conversion rate because it was overall too stressful and you're going to be getting a little letter in the mail with twelve or so pages to sign and then mail to some address which I need to look up again but not right now because I'm going to dinner because I can't take it anymore all these stupid hoops I have to jump through and my residence permit and all that stupid crap.

And breath in.

Thank you. Good night.

Let's Parle Franglais!

So I've decided to take this blog section mabobber to discuss a little bit about language differences. Naturally, living in a country where everyone speaks a different language can be a little difficult, and sometimes I feel mildly bipolar when it comes to speaking. I'm definitely progressing in my language skills, because now, if I try to speak or write in English, I end up ajouting French words. Just little things, like mange, parle, melange, ecrire. And if I talk to fast in French, I stick in English words too. Hence the birth of my fluency in Franglais.

As English goes, most French people have a basic knowledge, though I have to tell them to not practice their English on me. They seem only too happy to rattle off in French anyway. However, there are several things that all French people can say in English.

"Where is Bryan?" It's from a stand-up comedy act by a French comedian, and the proper response is always a malpronounced "Bryan is in the kitchen." Other useful phrases the French know from this comedian include, "It's raining today," "Where is my umbrella?" "Where is the sister of Bryan?" and "She is in the bathroom."

"We go to ze beach." I'm actually not sure why they know this one, but they say beach like the other, similarly pronounced curse word. And it's my new response to any Frenchy who tries to speak English with me.

"You take ze bus?" Not sure why they know this one either, actually....

I Am a Migrant Farmworker, and Other Strange Facts You Probably Didn't Know

So, a lot of things have happened since last I wrote, which means I've got a lot of stuff to write about. However, I'm very cold, so I'm going to try to keep it short (which won't happen).



First off, Rotary Weekend at Nerac. This weekend was far better than the one at Royan for two reasons: the rooms were larger and heated. Besides that, both weekends so far have been awesome. Moving on, it was great to get together with all the exchange students again, and talk with them and compare experiences and chum around and sleep very little (or not at all, in some cases). Well, I slept very little, but I had to get sleep because I was coming down with a cold and literally could not keep my eyes open. Basically the weekend was amazing, from doing another high ropes course to chumming around with friends to, in my case, speaking in French with people from all over the world. Unfortunately, the generally excepted language at get-togethers is English, since everyone speaks it to a varying degree, and usually better than French, but this weekend, unlike the last, also saw an increase in French conversation.



Secondly, I am now a migrant farm worker. Not quite sure exactly how it happened. It was kind of weird at first when my host dad told my Mathilde was going to harvest kiwis over the vacation for a job, since in the US harvesting fruit has a sort of, "Oh, that's the Mexican immigrants' job" stigma to it. But in France it's the job of the high schoolers, which means that today I went out to a farm and picked kiwis all day. It was actually really nice. The work, though not too hard, was satisfying. And I've also seen what farmwork can be: friendly, welcoming, even a desirable job and a safe working environment for teens. Definitely a much better alternative than the slave-labor-evolved-into-immigrant-exploitation that is so common in the US. But that's all for now, really. Oh my goodness, I kept it short.

Le Bac Blanc

So yesterday was the Bac Blanc, which, for everyone who's not familiar with the education system on France, is like a mandatory SAT at the end of high school. Yesterday I took two hour tests on the subjucts of History, French, and Physics/Chemistry. And it was ridiculously hard. I managed to get a page and a half written in analysis of the historical document (without the use of my dictionary!) and the teachers were really impressed when I handed it in. As for the French and Physics, however, I'm pretty sure I did really poorly. I didn't even finish the Physics test. My brain quit when I had ten minutes left to go, and was only halfway through. I'm really curious to see whether I did worse on French or Physics.

I am however making progress in my schoolwork. I got a score of 10 on my latest essay for French class, which was actually the same score of several of my classmates.

Today I'm skipping school because I've got a train in a few hours, and I'm heading of to Nerac for the weekend for a get-together with all the other Rotary kids. Hooray!

Holy Heffalumps!

That is how you spell heffalumps, yeah? My spelling's a little shaky when it comes to nonsense words.

So so. Life in France continues to be Frenchtastic. I've been watching a lot of the Simpsons in French. It's like a knew lunchtime tradition. Oh yeah, my school has a television in the break room for students. And let me tell you, with French dubs, the Simpsons are just not the same. Bart and Homer's voices are pretty much the same, but Marge's voice made me burst into giggles the first five or six times I tried to watch "Les Simpsons." Also, I end up catching a lot of references that my French friends don't. Like the room full of monkeys that typed up Hamlet for Mr. Burns. I had trouble explaining that I was laughing so hard because it was from Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

Also, by some weird turn of events, I was told a Yo Mama joke in French by a German friend. Then, some French friends wanted me to translate it into English because they insisted it was better. So I thought you might want to hear my French/German Yo Mama joke in English too:

Yo mama's so fat her blood type's Nutella.

Toodles for now!

Parle a Ma Main!

Sort of like the Kelly videos that are such huge hits on YouTube, only far better. Enjoy.

http://fr.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4FamibkUH4

French Stereotypes Revealed

So, as I've been living in France for a little over a month, now, I've discovered how terribly incorrect some stereotypes are, and how correct others are. So now, courtesy of "Les Aventures de Vicki" is a new feature I like to call "French Stereotypes Revealed":

French Women Don't Shave: Definitely a false one, because they do shave. Impeccably. And more often than I do. Either that or they just don't have body hair at all.

French People Stink: Also false. They smell rather nice, and, being in France, they not only smell good naturally, but know how to use parfume without putting on too much and reeking. Occassionally, someone will smell mildly unpleasant, but that happens in the States, too. It's not like Americans are super adept at avoiding all perspiration.

French People Love Wine and Cheese: Yeah, this one's definitely true. Food in general, actually, but wine, cheese, and of course bread, are by far the most important. There are three meals a day, and not much snacking in between (but the meals are so big, who needs to snack?) and at special occassions wine is of course served. At first I was unsure as to whether I should drink wine or not, but my host club has been very insistent that I should try their drinks, as in champagne, and all sorts of French wines.

French People Smoke All the Time: Yes and no. Certainly they don't have a smoking age, and there are kids at my school who are sixteen years old who step outside for a smoke during the breaks, but not everyone likes smoking, and it's not acceptable everywhere either, like in stores or most restaurants. Still, it was definitely weird at first to see students just casually standing by the doors of the school smoking.

Multimedia Blogging!

So, my camera was broken when I visited the Dune Pyla, the LARGEST DUNE IN EUROPE, but other people not only had working cameras, but my friend Rémi actually videotaped the descent of the dune, which can be found at http://fr.youtube.com/watch?v=wWxpmZ9m_L8&eurl=http://www.new.facebook.com/inbox/readmessage.php?t=51604719096&mbox_pos=0

Check it out, and please try to ignore my very bad accent...

Rotary Weekend in pictures

Yeah, my camera may be broken, but that's the magic of the internet: other people take pictures, and I can steal them. So here, for your viewing pleasure, are some photos of the first get together of Rotary exchange students in my district.

Right, so this is a photo of all the students District 1690 is hosting this year, except for a Brazilian boy who accidentally napped through our trip to Le Jardin du Monde. I'm in the middle left. Look for my bangs.
Yeah, Equipe Bleu! At Royan, where the get together was held, we were divided into teams to participate in relay races. Our team sucked athletically, but we're still awesome.

That's me in the background with another American girl and a boy from Sweden. The lady's face just kind of amused me.

Four of the five Americans in District 1690, representing the US and singing the national anthem. We also danced the Soulja Boy.

This is my buddy the prawn head. I found him in my food, which was rice and seashells. Oh, and a boy from Taiwan. Yay.

I have a lot of respect for those crazy enough to do a year long exchange

Oh wait, I'm crazy enough to do a year long exchange. Don't get me wrong, I love France. It's really amazing here, and I know my language skills are improving. I can follow adult conversations (because, unlike teens, they speak slower, don't use slang, and take turns talking) and I'm learning new words.

I am, however, really starting to miss the comfort of having a circle of friends who know everything about me and love me anyway. I know I can count on my new friends here to help me out, but I don't want to be burdensome or annoying. Also, when everyone around you is speaking in another language and giggling frequently, you can't help but fear that they're laughing at you.

Anyway, it helps to know that these feelings are natural, and not permanent, either, and I'm always finding some new activity or subject to learn about to keep myself occupied.

Stage à Voile

So the week long boating trip with my school has ended (sadly) but I've definitely learned a lot, like some slang French words for stomach, and how to sail a catamaran.

Monday morning, after school photos, the bus left, loaded up with all the Premiere class students (that's Juniors, in America). After a drive of about two hours, we reached Biscarosse, a lake town with a sailing school! I paired up with a friend, Francois, and we both decided to learn to sail catamaran, which was definitely a unique experience.

At first the week seemed really daunting. I mean, I was away from my host home, surrounded by dozens of kids who all spoke another language. Things got better, however, and I think the experience helped me to understand what people are saying, and follow conversations.

And did I mention I learned to sail? Oh yeah, I can set up the boat, steer, turn, adjust the sails for the direction of the wind, and even hang out over the water suspended by a wire attached to the mast, to maintain the equilibrium as the boat goes speeding across the water. I'm pretty pleased with myself.

And, on the bus ride back, I sat with Rafaele, who helped me learn some new vocabulary by teaching me the words of the bus, and then of course quizzing me on them later. Now I know all sorts of useful French words for net, ashtray, handle, and window. Hooray!

CHapter 6: In Which Some Stuff Happens

So, school is moving forward, and as time moves on, I've started to lose track of how long I've been here (two and a half weeks, but it feels much longer). I've been put into three different sixth grade French classes, because it's at an easier level and hopefully it will help me become fluent more quickly. If I want, I could drop these classes, but I think they're helping me right now. I'm still spending the bulk of my class time in what corresponds to the Junior year in the US anyway.

I have experienced a bit of a fright, however. One of the sixieme teachers is absolutely terrifying. We'll just leave it at that in case, by some horrific freak occurrence, she finds my blog. Part of me says I can drop the class if it's so terrible, but the kids! They are absolutely the sweetest kids I've ever met. I first met them when I asked which class they were, to make sure I was in the right place, and within seconds they were all crowded around me asking me where I was from, how old I was, how long I'd been here, how long I was staying, who was I staying with, did I have any pets back home, what were their names? They are all so sweet and friendly. It seems the grouchier their teacher is, the more friendly they become, and everyone who knows me should know how much I love children. They're so creative and intelligent and open! I feel I can't abandon them just like that.

Also, my host family basically owns a forest! I didn't know until today, when I decided to go for a little walk, and it turned into a full-out romp through the woods! The land is basically endless! Well, no, not endless, because I did reach the end, but nevertheless it's expansive, and I'm really looking forward to more exploring, provided I can avoid the snakes, because I guess the snakes here are pretty nasty.

Anyway, I'm leaving tomorrow morning for a boating week with the school. I still haven't decided whether I want to learn windsurfing, katmaran, or regular sailing. Tough decisions. I'll be sure to update on how it all goes as soon as I get back!

Pardon my French!

So I've been having a lot of fun picking up new words, especially those that are strange or sound funny. For example, the word for seal ("foque") sounds an awful lot like the F word. I just have to remind myself when I use it that it's French, and believe me, I've had to use it pretty frequently because people like to ask me about the marine life in California.

When my peers find out I'm from America, they always ask me if I've been to Las Vegas, not New York or LA, but always Las Vegas. French teenagers harbor a mild obsession for Las Vegas. I've also heard a lot of music in English. I'm absolutely sick of Viva la Vida and I Kissed a Girl; it seems like every time someone turns on the radio or TV, one of those songs is playing!

Speaking hasn't gotten much easier (that I can tell). People still have to speak slowly and ennunciate, and every now and then someone will ask me something and, even though I know the words, it just won't register, and I kind of stare at them stupidly until they explain. But people are understanding and friendly, and I know in a few months it will be no problem at all.

Hi, I'm Vicki, and I attend a Catholic school

That's right, I'm attending a Catholic school. I haven't noticed anything specifically Catholic about it yet, though, except for the chapel, and a priest. I assume he teaches religion classes, but I haven't had him yet. As for the other classes, it's really hard to keep up with what's going on, but the teachers are nice and understanding. I've only had two half days of school so far. On Wednesdays, school always gets out early, but don't be jealous my American pals back home, because school goes until six in the evening every other day.

I have two classes in English: English itself, and a geography history thing. I wish my old high school taught classes in other languages. It'd make studying French so much easier. Anyway, I'm not too worried about those classes, since last I checked I was fluent in English, but my other classes are going to be a lot more challenging. Everything's a bit overwhelming. Even the binder paper is different (it's thicker and has about a thousand more lines).

But sitting in a classroom listening to a teacher talk about "science de la vie" isn't nearly as hard as making friends. For the last two days I've just tagged along with my host sister Mathilde, but being around a group of French girls is difficult. They all talk fast, and at the same time, and sometimes break off into giggles. It's very hard for me to even understand what they're saying. But I did somewhat confidently answer some questions a boy posed to me today after school, and I felt good about that. My French may not be great, but at least I'm learning to communicate. And that's the entire reason I came, right?

The French can eat anything with chocolate

At least that's what I'm discovering. They have chocolate in their cereal; not chocolate flavored cereal, but actual pieces of chocolate in their cereal. And yogurt too. What we consider pudding, they consider chocolate yogurt. And you know how people say the French wo,en are skinny because they eat in small portions? Not true. They eat a ton. Every meal (even dinner, which, as Gilles told me, is a small meal) has three or four courses. I am going to get so fat.

I've been having a lot of adventures before school starts. Friday, Sylvie, Mathilde and I went to the beach, and I cut my poor foot up on some underwater rocks, but besides that it was oodles of fun. Oh, and women don't wear bathing suit tops if they don't want to. Definitely a sign of culture differences between here and the US, because Mathilde told me that there was a nudist beach a few kilometers over, indicating that this was not one.

Saturday, Gilles took Mathilde and I to Lourdes, a place where a few hundred years ago a shepherd saw a vision of the Virgin Mary. Now the town gets millions of pilgrims each year. The cathedrals there were enormous, and really ornate. It's hard to describe except to say that it's breathtaking. Unfortunately, my camera decided to stop working once we got to Lourdes. It's better now, but that was unfortunate.

School starts tomorrow, so there'll be a lot less of me romping around the countryside, but Sylvie has arranged for me to participate in drama, yes, drama, at the lycée. Which will no doubt be insanely difficult, but good for my language skills!

Je Suis Arrivée

Yesterday, I arrived in France. It's all very strange at the moment. I'm staying in the countryside, or, as my host mother, Sylvie, says, "in the bush," which is very different from my home in California. My family speaks English well, but they're nice enough to speak mostly French with me. I'm doing okay, but there's a lot I don't know, and when many people talk at once, very fast, I get confused and give up trying to listen. At first, my body was very confused; I was hungry, but when I tried to eat I felt sick, and Iwas tired, but could not sleep. Everything was confusing. Even the keyboard layout is different, and I couldn't figure out how to login to my Facebook and Blogsopt accounts because the numbers are different.

Besides that, I've been doing well. Today, we visited a friend who had a pool, and I went swimming. I learned a card game called Jungle Speed, and even won twice (Jungle Speed is most like a combination of Uno, Egyptian Rat Screw, and Set, but mostly like none of them). I also met a little deaf girl, and she was hard to understand at first, but I got better.

Today, at dinner, I discussed American politics and the Civil War with my host mother. It was difficult, but very fun. And after dinner, my host sister and I cleaned up the dishes. I even made a joke about le chevre, the goat, and got her laughing, which is good, because I'm pretty sure she doesn't know what to say to me, so it's often awkward.

School starts next week, and I'm Sylvie has arranged for me to participate in the theater. That's right, there school has a theater! Also, she has arranged for me to go on a boating week, to learn to sail. I'm a little scared.

C'est tout! The keyboard has worn me out.

Pre-Trip Fears

Tuesday morning, at 5:55 am, I'm flying out of Santa Barbara for a year in France. I'll be staying with a host family and attending a lycee, or high school. I'll be immersed in French and hopefully become fluent.

To be honest, I'm really freaked out at this point.

I need to finish packing, and at this point it's mostly just gadgets, gifts for my hosts, and paperwork. Still, it's been years since I've gone out of the country, I've never been to Europe, and I've never traveled on my own. I keep having these weird nightmares where I land in this tiny little airport much like the one in San Luis Obispo, and they won't let me through Customs. Or, I arrive, and it turns out I'm fluent in French, because the French language goes no further than the simple phrases I learned in school, like, "Je voudrais un croque-monsieur." "J'ai soif." "J'aime la musique." "Est-ce que tu vas au piscine?"

Worse yet, though, is the fear that I'll arrive and my host family will realize that I'm not at all what they expected.

Then again, these are all my irrational fears. I should also add that I'm afraid of ghosts living in the basement of my mother's piano studio, and zombies in the backyard (they'll attack you in the jacuzzi if you're not careful).

Beyond all these fears, I also have about a thousand cheerful hopes for how my year abroad will go. I will become fluent in French. I will live in the French countryside. I will get to travel all over France and Europe, absorbing the ins and outs of a culture that most American tourists just skim over on a ten day trip.

Of course, the nagging doubts are always louder, and sometimes I feel as if I am just about to plunge into a lake of ice water, and it's to late to turn around and stay dry. But what else is there to do but plunge, right?