I’ve been talking about studying abroad in Paris for pretty much as long as I can remember, so it’s somewhat surreal to finally be here in France for the semester. I’ll be spending four months in Paris, but right now our program is in Tours, a small city a couple hours from Paris, for a two-week orientation. Orientation in Tours is the French version of Camp Amherst (Freshman orientation), meaning we have very little work and lots of chill time.
My schedule right now looks something like this:
8:45: Wake up in my cozy little room on the second floor and look out the window to see if the neighbor’s cat is out reclining on the roof. Then walk downstairs to grab a cup of coffee and some bread and jam before heading out for the twenty minute walk through the city to the Institut de Touraine.
9:45-12:45 French Class: Unfortunately, I didn’t end up in the class with the eye candy prof, a tall, dark, handsome and well-dressed Frenchman whom everyone has been gushing over all week; but my prof is this cool, young French woman who wears a huge, chunky, silver necklace and makes three hours of school something I actually look forward to sitting through.
1:00 Lunch: Today it was Naan, stuffed with falafel meat and frites, drizzled with spicy Algerian sauce; yesterday it was a baguette with tomatoes, mozzarella, and ham, drizzled with olive oil. Lunch can last anywhere from an hour to all afternoon.
After Lunch: We explore Tours, discovering new parks, the cathedral of France’s patron saint, St. Martin, a patisserie displaying towers of pink, blue, and violet colored macaroons, and hidden streets. Or sometimes we just camp out at a café for the afternoon, sipping on espresso with whipped cream and scoping out the French students. Sometimes I’ll spend an afternoon at the bookstore on Rue National, always coming away with another book that probably won’t fit in my suitcase on the way back home.
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6 or 7: I head home. My host family lives about a mile from the centre ville, which means lots of walking everyday for me; a good thing considering the amount of bread we consume at every meal. There’s a little park five minutes from the house, so I run there in the evenings, or on the trail along the river.
8-9 Dinner with the host family: My host parents are beautiful, tall, dark-haired, and impeccably dressed. They also know how to cook. Tonight we had a gratin, a dish that puts American macaroni and cheese to shame. It consisted of pasta, French cheese, zucchini, and carrots, and spent several hours in the oven before making it to the table. We also ate a delicious version of potato pancakes, and for dessert, mini, flourless chocolate cakes. My host mom loves to cook vegetables. She buys them fresh from the market every day. We’ve had lasagna with eggplant, eggplant skins sautéed in olive oil, and cucumbers with vinegar and garlic. One thing I’ve noticed though is that they don’t seem eat a lot of fruit here, something that was a bit of a surprise after a summer in New England.
9:30 Sortir: Every night the whole city seems to congregate at Le Place Plumereau (affectionately known as Le Place Plum). Bars and cafés circle an open area filled with tables and umbrellas. We sit and sip rosé and chat with French and British students. A popular drink among students at the Place Plumerau is a giraffe of beer. A giraffe is a whole lot of beer in this massive, tall, plastic tube, hence the name “giraffe”.
France is an aesthetic playground. Everywhere you go you’re met with the seductive scent of baking bread, the sight of houses built five hundred years ago that seem to lean conspiratorially in toward one another, and immaculately kept gardens hidden behind towering stone cathedrals. This first week in Tours has been pretty ideal. As the French say, I’m living “la vie en rose”.