Author: Sean Reed

We all know that the holiday season is most often enjoyed in the company of one’s family. I associate the holiday festivities with grandma’s cooking, the parents with wine glasses in hand and the noise of the younger cousins in the early morning.

Many say it is this festive time of year that is one of the hardest during an exchange experience abroad. The holidays spent abroad, away from your parents and all that you know is difficult, but I found that it doesn’t matter whether you are cuddled on the couch with your biological cousin, or you are dancing with your cousin from your life abroad during a France high school abroad program. When you are under the roof of a warm, welcoming house, between smiling faces and even trapped in the embraces of open arms, it doesn’t matter to whom the house belongs, or whether those arms pertain to your birth grandma or host family grandma because all the same, you feel the love.

Warm kisses, open arms, and silly moments I will remember from my holiday abroad:

• Just us cousins struggling and accomplishing ordering… and paying, for the sandwiches for the entire family.
• The Grandma, who hollers in her own silly and energetic character when I take second helpings, complementing her tartiflet, or when I try to help her do the dishes. The Grandma who is rosy cheeked Christmas eve, content with the celebration and the champagne.
• The Grandpa, who shows me the secret of a slice of onion with your cheese, how it intensifies the flavors. The Grandpa who spends the entirety of a song dancing with me Christmas eve.
• The brother-in-law whom I accompany outside while he smokes a cigarette, just so I can release the gas that has built up thanks to the rich Christmas dinner; then laughing over the secret between us two, because apparently I wasn’t the only one who built up air in my digestive system.
• The aunt who caused me to lose a bra strap after challenging me to a dance contest at the height of the Christmas festivities, and who later teaches me all about how to eat cheese and their different interesting facts.
• The younger cousin who isn’t shy to tuck his feet under or over me, when there isn’t enough room for all of us on the couch.
• The older cousin who follows along as I try to teach what little I know of the swing dance during a song that isn’t even swing.
• The uncle who I serve yet another glass of champagne to while he plays the DJ, and who was always full of interesting questions.
• The Mom ,who was always encouraging me to try the new foods and not be shy about taking seconds, taking time to describe each entre, and convincing me I won’t gain too much weight.
• And finally the Sister with whom I can snuggle up with at the end of each day’s adventure with a nice Disney animation despite the fact we are both close to 18 years old.

This was my Christmas. This is the family with whom I had the blessing of sharing my holiday season.

Throughout the week of holiday celebrations I  would meet new and incredibly kind family friends and/or family members and sharing conversation over grand French meals overflowing with enchanting flavors. I didn’t have a single chance to be down. Although I might have eaten a bit too much each day, I was delighted with the delicious tastes of high quality compté, camanberge and goat cheese, homemade typical French dishes, and the new flavors of frog legs or froi gràs appitizers.

I completely enjoyed my opportunities to participate in this classic French culture of sharing stories and discussion over a 4 course, 3 hour meal. Although I have been living “un peu près” the life of a French teenager for the past few months, teens all over the world are not too much different. It was during the week of Holiday “fetes” that I was exposed to the typical French culture in full bloom. But even with all the excitement and exposure to a completely new way of celebrating the holidays, the best part that made this particular Christmas of 2012 so memorable and joyous was experiencing the love from this family. I felt their affection, not as a family of correspondents for the short five months of my stay as an exchange student, but like they are the family who has always and will always take me in as their own. I have been assured that I am welcomed back with big kisses and open arms and am overjoyed with the idea of passing equally enjoyable moments with this family in the future.

Today, I noticed I am halfway through my stay, and I… well, honestly I don’t really want to think about it. I also noticed I haven’t written in a while. Coincidently, I recently stumbled upon an experience I find “bien bon” to recount.

I might briefly add that this is not my only exciting or notable experience since I arrived, but perhaps the one that can say the most in a single moment.

This week is “semaine A;” I start school at 9:30 a.m.

The bus to get me to school on time at this hour is a bit unreliable. The bus is scheduled to leave at 9:15 a.m., and allows for a perfect amount of time to get to our class “tranquille.” However, if it is late, if the driver takes too long to smoke his cigarette or drink an espresso, well, then we are either running to class, or late.

This Wednesday, though, there wasn’t even a bus.

I made my way to the bus, and since I was the last to leave the house, I knew I absolutely couldn’t miss my bus. As I approached the corner store that’s on the route to the bus stop, I neared a mademoiselle walking in the opposite direction. The habitual smile appeared and I said “bonjour.”

She asked if I took the bus at 9:15 a.m. and then explained that there was another “grève de bus”, (a strike) so the buses wouldn’t be running again until it was time to return home from school. Well shoot. How was I going to manage? But of course, how could I forget? Not only I am in southern France where the people are nothing but sweet and the regional culture is strong, but I was in the best little village of the province: Bernis!

Not long after presenting me with the bad news she turned the whole situation around by offering to taking me my high school herself. Not previously warned about the grève, she had been planning on the bus to get her to her own school at a college in Nimes, and Milhaud was on the way.

“That would be awesome if you could!” is somewhere along the lines of my reply.

From there we continued together in full conversation to her house and little red car that “bugged.” She commented on my accent, once the worries about the greve were set aside, and asked where I was from. I started my story, and from there we weren’t shy on discourse material. By the end of the 10 minute drive to school, I was filled with delight. Not only had this new comrade listened to what I had to say, and was fully engaged to what I had to say, but she continuously complimented my French. My spirits were definitely lifted.

After hanging out with friends that love to give me a hard time about my language skills, and a Brazilian exchange student that is about three times better at French as I, her comments were very much welcomed!

It was an introduction into the fourth stage of my cultural exchange, the “sunny side.”

I would say it was a miracle I ran into her and for the ride to school, but honestly with all the warmth surrounding this town, I don’t think all hope would have been lost without having found her. However, it did make things easier and definitely gave me a story to recount. Additionally, I have no doubt this memory and experience will stay with me well beyond my return home.

***

Two days later I ran into her again. While in conversation she revealed that the first time she saw me, her first impression was that I was French. Hearing my accent, she had just wondered from where I was from in France.

A big smile lit up my face, and I guess all the teasing towards my accent has really just been a bit of affection.