Power of 3

A 3-day visit to France, this week. A bit last minute- but what with my looming French oral exam, my promise of a visit to Susan, and the fact that Diana's going at the same time, I think, why not. The 3 days take me on a journey of recognition. I begin to see my year abroad in a new light as it condenses in my mind into separate sentiments.

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A 2am wake-up to catch our 6am flight, and I'm shattered. I feel strange being in Montpellier because it's not my France; even though I've visited the city before, I never called it home like the others could. Surprisingly, speaking French comes back ultra-quickly and I jabber away to Susan as if no time has passed at all since we left Blois. But it's tiring, no doubt about that, and I remember the effort of living abroad; how simple things become a mission in themselves- things you wouldn't think twice about in England. As I struggle for words I've forgotten and tenses that have rusted over in my mind, I feel thankful for home, for the effortlessness of communciation, for the comfort of living in your own culture.

At the same time, seeing Susan and reminiscing on our time together takes me back to Blois and our 7 months there. Waking up in a strange appartment, I look out the shuttered windows to 3 cement walls. Then, I look up and see a square of brilliant blue sky. In this moment, I'm transported back to the crispness of skies in Blois; cobbled streets; the river and sunshine; autumn leaves; visiting castles; sunsets from my window, cycling to work in the mornings. The day before, someone in town hands us postcards for some cause or other; triangles of blue, on the reverse the words "Un coin de ciel bleu, c'est comme un coin de bonheur". And I think, yes- this corner of blue sky makes me happy because in an instant it plays a thousand memories in my mind. But a corner of sadness is there too, because I'm no longer living the French life. I can no longer waltz down the quaint streets like one of the locals, or eat my fill of baguettes and pains au chocolat. I'm back to being English- a tourist.

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Susan and I go to a Salsa club on Tuesday night, and I learn 3 important lessons.

1) a basic understanding of salsa

2) to like beer

3) not to wear a strapless top to such events- it will insist on sliding down, and it is rather ungraceful trying to incorporate shifting it up while dancing, especially when with young men who are likely to be impressed upon by such things....

I get talking to an Argentian (who is, bless his heart, rather unsuccessfully trying to teach me to dance). I start talking to him in French but he tells me he'd prefer English. It's his first night in Montpellier as an ERASMUS student and he's full of enthusiasm- the expectation of a year of parties, of friends to be made and drunken nights to be had. I didn't live the ERASMUS life; I lived the rather more tame life of a language assistant in a medium-sized provinicial town with not much of a nightlife to speak of. All the same, I remember the excitement and the freedom and expectation of it all, and in that moment I wish I could do it all again- not make the mistakes I made this year- embrace things more, profit from every experience that I missed.

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Day three. We're at Diana's church- the wednesday night student meeting. I went to her church last time I vistited- I remember how scared I was of talking French and how much I tried to avoid at all costs speaking to anyone. I did that a lot in France; social situations where I felt so inadequate and stupid and frustrated and scared of making mistakes, all I wanted to do was cry. Not that I've done a complete about-turn, but in moments of talking to French people this time around, I remembered it. So I prayed the day before for more boldness. For some reason I find it much less intimidating speaking to non-native French speakers... around French people I clam up, I become tongue-tied.

As it turned out, there were quite a few foreign students there at the meeting. 3 American girls, among others. When Philip (the pastor) asked one of the girls a question in French that she didn't understand, I recognised in her- in that moment- myself. The slight panic; the deer-caught-in-headlights expression. And I realised, that's not me any more. However clumsy and mangled my grammar can be, or however many mistakes I make, I have done the year abroad. I am not where I was when I started- I've come a long way. If only I had known this a year ago- that the secret lies not in your abilities but your confidence.

As we go round the table introducing ourselves one by one, I practice in my mind what I'll say. I hear my accent, my words... and finally, I hear confidence. Honestly? Yes... I'm still a bit scared to speak to French people. Yes, the Montpellier accent is somewhat beyond my full comprehension... and yes-my French could still be a lot better.

But a year on, I am a year older and wiser, and a year better. And from now on, when someone tells me 'tu parles bien' ... I'm going to try and believe it.