Stories from Aix
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French Major Joshua Allen's Reflections on Aix
The notion of spending a year in a foreign country can be at first a frightening concept. However, all the challenging elements of speaking a new language, embracing new customs, and being far from that which is familiar will most definitely both broaden one's perspective and foster growth. My year in Aix-en-Provence, France did just that. Not only did I gain a new perspective of looking at the world through a different culture's eyes, but I also grew as an individual in having to gain more self-confidence in speaking a new language to strangers and by discovering more of who I was apart from my own cultural context. I felt that the theme of my year in Aix was beauty. Everything from the landscape of the country with its vast and varying terrain, its architecture, and fountains to the artful cuisine, the French language and the French people themselves reflected to me the beauty of diversity. Spending hours at the dinner table or in a cafe enjoying tasty cuisine and thoughtful conversations are some of my fondest memories in France because I was taking time to simply be which one can easily forget to do in our fast paced culture. All in all, what I learned in France could never be replicated in a classroom. It is only by engaging in life in the country that one truly gains the richness of the culture and language. My year in France is an experience which I will always cherish not only for the beauty I saw while there, but for the lessons learned which will forever be with me.
Mr. Allen spent the 2007-2008 year in Aix.
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French major Abigail Adams writes on her first semester at Gordon's language program in Aix-en-Provence.
Four months ago, I stepped off of my first international flight, stuffed my eggplant-colored luggage (ahem, it was a gift) into a silver Peugeot and began to get acquainted with the exquisite culture of Southern France. It was not what I had expected.
Most people think of France and automatically conjure up images of the Eiffel Tower and unsmiling French natives with little curly black moustaches carrying wine and baguettes and sounding something like those French Peas from Veggietales. So far, that doesn't quite fit the bill.
The first thing that struck me about this country was the sunlight. I think it was all I could really assimilate through the haze of jet lag. But as the jet lag wore off and time wore on, I started to feel the vivid textures of this beautiful country. Maybe it's the near-constant sunlight and maybe it's my international inexperience, but this Provençal world in southern France
is dazzling.
Picture uneven cobbled sidewalks that are squeezed precariously between tiny roads and towering buildings from the sixteenth century. Walking along these streets on any given day are hundreds of people, smoking, strolling and, most beautifully of all, speaking. I have always loved the French language (thus the reason why I am in France) but for the first time I can pick up the twang of southern French accents mixed with the rounded vowels of the Parisians and the odd slang of the collège students as they whine about their middle school dramas (some things are universal).
The tastes and scents of France are just as different as the daily sights. Despite the fact that café's are on every street-corner, it's impossible to find a cup of coffee that weighs more than a few ounces. Quiche is literally available for a few coins, but good luck finding a bagel. The smell of fresh bread wafts enticingly out of each pâtisserie and mingles with the expensive perfume of the truly chic French women and the unfortunate scent of doggy-business that tends to come from the general direction of each sidewalk.
Little markets pop up and down on the streets like clockwork and it's easy to feel lost in time as vendors call out their prices and you meander through the lines of spices, cheese, fruit and olives. Stray dogs wind in and out around the crowds as a beggar plays his accordion to elicit a few coins from passersby. The bells of the two local cathedrals ring in each morning and peal for ten minutes straight to end the evening vespers services, making you wonder if somebody put an energizer battery into Quasimodo and let him free in the clock-tower. As the sound of the bells dies out, night descends gently on the town. Aix-en-Provence is nothing if not idyllic.
Life is not, however, all markets and bells. Taking classes in French is as challenging as living here is charming. Most classes are two to three hour lectures and the school's tacit philosophy is something like "No English-speaking ever, ever, ever, ever, ever." The first week it was fairly hard to adjust to lectures in French, but ultimately, it has become the norm. Most weeks are filled with discussion of European politics and grammatical rules that I didn't even know existed. Luckily, most classes are interesting and the professors are even more so.
After four months, I'm a little more in love with the language, still impressed by the picture-perfect weather and fascinated by the tiny cars, but what strikes me the most are not the "trappings" of French culture, but the mindset. The realities of peace and tranquility often escape me while I'm rushing through my busy life in the States. I mean, between dozens of credits, working two or three jobs and trying to beef up your résumé for grad school, who has time to sit around? But somehow, here, everything still gets done but with an outlook that is so different. Perhaps the age and history of France have culminated into a more relaxed culture, because the French place enormous value on a peaceful lifestyle. They take their time with each day, savoring it like a good wine. Don't get me wrong, hard work is definitely part of this culture, but when they stop, it is not just a momentary pause. So, as cheesy as it sounds to put it like this, the biggest lesson that I have learned in France is the value of living each day and taking enough time to walk through it in appreciation.
Ms. Adams' article first appeared in the Tartan, vol. 50.10 (February 1-7, 2007), p. 5.