cou-cou!

“Un ananas s’il vous plaît”.

Il a commencé comme ça!

Last weekend - Paris (a treat gift from the parents of my crazy Parisian friend, Lou Lou). Lou of course had no idea about our cheeky plan to surprise her with my visit ! I travelled to Paris by TGV - taking exactly 3 hours and 10 minutes from Grenoble. On arrival, I took the metro direct to Lou's work where I had arranged to surprise her. I was close to reaching her work when I suddenly realized I was empty handed! I could not possibly surprise her without jumping from behind something, so I desperately searched for a florist hoping to find a large colourful bunch of flowers. I found no florist. Isn't it always the way? When you are looking for something you can never bloody find it. Instead I crossed the path of a little man outside the metro station selling a selection of no more then four fruits on a petite, rustic table. He looked so hopeful as I stared at his pineapple for a very long time. I pictured my appearance for a moment – me holding the pineapple in replacement of the flowers. I liked this idea and so I bought the pineapple and thought it would be way cooler anyway to be sprung from a pineapple then a bunch of inedible flowers. The little man was overly thankful - so thankful that it made me think he found the pineapple! You can imagine how the surprise unfolded. A knock, an answer, a pineapple, some hideous sunglasses I found in my bag, a thousand laughs and very few words. We headed straight for the café below Lou's work and in total excitement we shared our many stories, ideas and plans over a delicious cold beer.

The initial feeling of excitement didn’t fade all weekend. It felt unreal to be visiting such a beautiful city for the weekend and being welcomed by Lou’s beautiful family made me feel so far from feeling like a tourist! A dinner party for Bruno (Lou’s father) was planned for Friday night. The fact that Bruno is the father of three daughters means that the company of women always tends to outweigh that of men. You could tell Bruno doesn’t complain about this, particularly when it comes to present opening on his birthday. He received fragile, sentimental gifts such as pots of flowers, soaps, books, his very own teapot for one and a weekend away of pampering. He was in heaven! We ate delicious food prepared by Aude (Lou’s mum), drank beaucoup de vin rouge and I don’t think I paused from smiling all night.

Samedi et dimanche événements:

Jumping from fabric market to fabric market under Sacre Coeur, Montmartre.

Strong morning coffees and surprise mouthfuls of freshly cut pineapple.

A picnic in Luxembourg gardens featuring a lot of exciting people watching.

Cutting each other’s hair in Lou’s apartment with domestic scissors she had found that struggled to cut sticky tape.

Passionate singing into baguettes along to old French classic songs I mumbled the words to.

A walking English-to-French vocabulary list following me.

Walking the streets, following our noses into teashops, boulangeries, soap boutiques and antique shops.

A long description of each building, street and shop from my personal tour guide and know-it-all - Lou Lou.

Running in the rain, laughing from bar to bar along St Germain des Pres.

Afternoon cups of teas on Lou’s friends house boat that happens to be situated on the Seine in front of the Eiffel Tower (I don’t think I could close my jaw the entire time).

Cheese platters and fruit salads in Le Marais.

I couldn’t have imagined a more inspirational weekend away. It felt great to be around familiar faces in a busy city and it gave me a stronger sense of direction. Being in Paris again also made me a lot more excited for my return in a few weeks to meet my brother and his girlfriend and for my move there mid year, but for a bit longer than a weekend. Time flies by so I have to make the most of where I am and right now, I haven’t quite finished yet with the mountains!

jellyfish

I could make many excuses for not writing but that would just be silly. Instead I will tell the truth. I have been busy creating an igloo to keep from the cold until spring, cracking noix collected during autumn, and on my days off, watching the mountains all around me like a film that never ends.

My time in Saint Hilaire du Tuvet continues. Already I feel a very special relationship with my family here. Besides the most common factor - living together, I have found what brings us closer, particularly when speaking is not always the easiest form of communication, are the practical things that are often far more descriptive and meaningful. By that I mean sharing recipes and tasting new flavours, mixing colours and painting memories.

La fête d'anniversaire de neige de Thomas
Thomas' snow birthday party

I am so past feeling humiliated and caring that I ask the most stupid questions over and over. I have accepted that this is the way it is and millions of people have felt the way I do, learning a language in a foreign country. I am not the only one. After this realisation, I have begun to open my eyes a little more, focus on the positive in each day and take advantage of this incredible experience that still feels a bit strange and untrue.

As I continue to struggle with my severely unwell French, I triumph in delivering my message accurately via a combination of colourful sign language, baby French vocab and beaucoup hideous facial expressions. I am no longer surprised by the obscure looks that return my way.

Some of the most memorable blank and confused faces I have received were during the five days I undertook a beginners ski course at our local ski resort (five minutes from our house).

‘Told a tiny lie about being an extremely experienced skier but honestly, how hard can it be’. Bridget Jones.

I found out quickly that skiing is actually a lot harder than what Bridget quotes. I was grouped with all the beginners in our local area for the week – five children aged five and six. All children stared at me like a big jellyfish you find on the beach… minus the excitement. I could easily read the questions in their minds: “Why is she so big and can’t ski?, Why can’t she talk properly? Why does she keep falling over if she is so big?’ What is wrong with her?”. It would have been helpful if they could have equally read my mind: ‘Look kids - there is more than one language in this freaking wide world and yeah I’m big and I can see that this ski school bib only reaches just past my chest whereas yours all fit down past your hips, and I am big because I am not five. I am 22 years old and I am good at other things other than skiing. Ok?’ All week I remained an alien to them and I am sure they talked about me to their parents because even they began giving me strange looks like I was brainwashing their children on the slopes. In fact all I was doing was learning to ski.

After the learn-to-ski week I jumped the in-between years of practice in one day as my French family insisted I experience the many international ski resorts in the area. The father kindly left me with the kids to do the red and black runs while he headed off-track to meet us later at the bottom. I reached a speed I never thought I could do alone, not because I wanted to, but because I could not stop! Even after being in a similar situation and feeling, I have to say it, like the biggest dick, I don’t think I will laugh any less watching Bridget Jones in the scene where she attempts to ski. It is too funny – but I must admit, a lot funnier to watch than to actually do!