I’m still not entirely sure where it was, it might have been Belgium, but my host family took me to a beach. Now let me get this straight, the only beaches I’ve ever seen have always been a magnificant blue, packed with surfers and leathery skin, golden sand smoldering under the sun. Well, this one was different. The sand was quite literally grey, just like the sky, just like the water. It was almost a depressing sight. And the sea was completely flat and stretched out forever without changing a bit. Within a moment, I had added one more thing to my “to do back home” list: Surf.
Afterwards, we ate lunch together at a beach side restaurant. I noticed that waiters here don’t usually wear a uniform or nice clothes – just casual wear. They also treat you pretty averagely (since then, I have seen this at many other cafés and restaurants). I didn’t mind, but it was certainly a change.
I ate lasagne – my host mum commented “Why would I want to eat something when I already ate it earlier that week?” Which seemed like an absolutely ridiculous thing to say to me considering I’ve pretty much eaten pasta every day since I was born. The others ate oysters and gave me a few to try – I can’t say they were my cup of tea.
Afterwards we went to yet another café (definitely in Belgium this time) and passed the remainder of the day walking, shopping, seeing, drinking, smoking (for some) and then driving home. It was a very random pop over to la Belgique but I’m very glad to have gone.
At the house, there were always heaps of people over. My host mum would later describe it as a “community”. Normally there were several people over for any given meal – and the extended family all had keys to the house. I felt less of a hassle then, less in the way, less noticed – which was good.
School, during class, I studied French. I simply couldn’t follow anything the teachers said. I ended up reading my dictionary as though it were some novel I couldn’t put down. I was surprised at the amount of English words in French, probably about a third. (Or French words in English?)
Class for me was as incomprehensible as:
Each day after school, I would go home with Claire. I was always happy to get back, school was such an effort. I would pass the time doing nothing in particular (watching TV with Claire, meeting new people, swimming, reading…) until dinner and then bed. I was so tired all the time, sometimes during dinner I could barely keep my eyes open. I had to have a minimum of 10 hours sleep to fonction properly, or else my brain could simply not keep up.
I had my first contact with Australia on the Monday – half a week after I had last touched base. It hadn’t been long, but already I felt so far away. I skyped David, Jwalita and my parents. Claire sat and watched, which made me feel self conscious. In Australia, computer time is private time. But here, I got the vibe that people didn’t really have “private time”. I also found that people here didn’t really use computers (even though my host family had several). This would later become more and more evident.
I tried to make several jokes in the first week, mostly to Claire – none going down well. I thought it was just my French, but after repeating in English, she just looked at me as though I was a fool for trying. I decided that the humor here must be different (definitely true) and that I wouldn’t try again until later.
I swum alot with my host sister during the first few weeks. It was nice, but I couldn’t understand a word in the pool room – it procuded such an echo! So I just hung around, awkwardly playing with Claire and her friends.
On Thursday, we went to Belgium. Claire told me we were going so I could see the neighbouring country – but really, it was so her and her friends could buy cheaper cigarettes. We went to the Service Station and had a drink at the café next door and then drove the 30 minutes home. At the time, I had a blast – but looking back, I’m a little annoyed that she told me we were going “for me”.
Saturday morning was spent at school. Then we drove to the parents of Xavier (host dad) for lunch. Claire and Guillaume are similar in that they are both very negative. They like to complain and poke fun at things lesser than great. So before we got there, they had already told me that their Grandma cooks terribly and is most definitely insane. I thought neither. Even during the meal, they weren’t afraid to voice their dislikes or even refuse to eat some things. I thought this was very rude, but maybe it was normal here?
Looking back on my first week… nothing much stands out except the incredibly strong sense of discomfort.
All the time, I would be nervous, anxious, intense. Even in my handwritten diary I wrote: “Afraid of the sound of approaching footsteps”, which was true. You can hear the heavy footfalls of my host family as they wander the house, so I know when they are coming to whichever room I was in. This isn’t to say I was afraid of them, I was just so beyond my comfort zone here. Everything was a challenge.
This is why my bedroom was such a lifesaver. I loved it. It was a little segment of my new reality which allowed me to step away from everything that I found so overwhelming – just for a moment. Sometimes when I closed the door, I would let out a little sigh of relief – I was one day closer to cultural comfort.
Because I knew that would happen eventually. I knew that I would find a day where I could call this place something of a home. I knew that all I had to do was watch the others, and do what they do, and wait. I didn’t know how long it would take, but I thought I could make the time pass quickly. And it did go quickly – the plan was to evade boredom at all costs. Over the next five months, life here would just get easier and easier. That was fact.
“A man is not made for defeat. He can be destroyed, but he cannot be defeated.” -Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea
After English class, I decided I would compliment a girl on her wicked cool undercut. I think I said it wrong, but the message got through. Next thing you know, I was in the middle of a circle of French girls introducing themselves. These would be my first friends.
Maya Blaikie equivalent: The girl with the undercut was essentially a massive hipster. She joked around all the time, seemed to be quite a party girl but also had a very caring side – as I would later find out. Her name was Camille, pronounced: Kammie.
Indigo Strudwicke equivalent: At first, I didn’t think there was an Australian equivalent for Juliette,nor did I think there was an . She’s very different from Indy, but is just as patient and sweet. There is also some physical features that remind me of Indy: the body shape, the pointy teeth, the facial shape, the forehead. Juliette seemed to be the most interested in me, perhaps because she is so passionate for the English language (which she spoke better than anyone I had met so far, except the English teacher).
Beth Mason equivalent: I don’t know what it is about Valentine, but she reminds me so much of Beth Mason. Maybe it’s just the physical features, but I think it’s also alot to do with the vibes emanating from her. As hard as it is to describe, I feel almost like I’m in the presence of Beth when I’m with Valentine. Sure, they’re very different in many ways, but then again – are they?
Honor Lukhurst equivalent: She’s super nice and has brilliant blonde hair like Honors. She seemed very extraverted but not like she was the leader of the group (was there one?) Her name was Claire and I liked her straight away.
There were a few others of that day: Nowel, another Valentine, Lindsey and the Martini sisters: Lisa and Clara. I found that boys voices were too rough to understand with my limited French, so I didn’t talk to any that day.
The next day, I woke up buzzing with excitement. I literally jumped out of bed and did a quick work out on my hard wooden floor before showering. Petit dejeuner consisted of a bowl of chocolate cereal and freshly squeezed orange juice – delicious, but maybe not a great combination (as I would later find out).
There isn’t too much to say about my first morning before school, but of all the French that entered my ears I understood only one thing. As my host mother was walking me to the front doors of the school she looked at me and asked “T’es prête?” Was I ready? I felt no fear at that moment, everything was less scary now that it wasn’t so distant and vague and alien. I had already gained familiarity with a few simple things: the stairs leading to my bedroom, what it feels like to tear a baguette, the taste of French butter and the inner workings of the shower. Though they were of little or no importance, it was something. And it was somehow enough to convince me that there was nothing to be afraid of in such a foreign place. I was going to familiarise myself with one thing at a time, object by object, person by person, word by word. I knew what I had to do. There was nothing more to it.
After a quick meeting with the Principal about my timetable – I didn’t understand a word – we headed back home. Apparently I didn’t have class on Monday morning. I used Claires ordinateur to Skype my parents and a couple of friends and afterwards I ate lunch with la famille d’accueil and Monique, my host Mums sister. It was delicious, as usual. Then we were off to school again. Now, was I prête?
The first class I had was English. Quel chance! As soon as I walked and they introduced me I turned red as a tomato. I didn’t mind too much though – I wanted people to think that I was weak. Not simply because it would make it easier to make friends, just because it was true. I could do hardly anything on my own and if trouble arose I wouldn’t be able to fix it. I was about to make friends who pittied me and I knew it. That didn’t upset me though, I just hoped I could repay them oneday. Whoever they might be. The teacher made me speak to the class a bit – and I was quite pleased with how I went. After all, I didn’t speak French. But after the lesson was over she asked me if I was struggling with French and I was a bit annoyed. Of course I wouldn’t be fluent just yet, it was my first day! Did people here expect me to already know the language quite well?
After I was given the grand tour, we ate lunch outside in the sun. We had some traditional French food – these spicy sausages that oozed out deliciousness with a simple salad on the side. Then they brought out the cheese and fruit selections, drinks and baguettes. A very typical end to a dejeuner français.
I felt, not vivid awkwardness or self-consciousness, but an underlining sense of the two in everything I did. It was the base emotion that I would encounter every day for the next, at least, two months. So when I met two of Claires friends – Dylan and Celia – I acted quite differently to how I normally would in the cultural comfort of Australia.
We swam, played cards – they smoked. Which was the first piece of culture shock I confronted. I knew that alot of people smoked in Europe, but I never realised how often. I almost laughed at people back home who called themselves smokers – a packet of cigarettes every week or two. Here, if you smoked, you smoked hard. Five, eight, ten, fifteen cigarettes a day. A whole packet. Maybe two. It was culture shock for me for many reasons: firstly, because of how young most smokers are. Secondly, because they smoke so often. Thirdly, because they aren’t planning to quit. But most of all, it’s simply because they aren’t ashamed to do it.
The rest of the day I have almost no memory of. I recall the suculent tastes of the food and I have a vague sense of my emotions, but not really. I can’t remember what I was thinking as I drifted to sleep and nothing of my host family. The day passed as a surreal blur, and I can only seem to remember how bright was the sun.
My very first impression of the house was homely. The walls are painted with nice, calming colours like white and orange that make the rooms look big. They had a big screen TV, a nice set of sofas and a fireplace in the lounge room. There were two dining tables, one for special occasions and one for everyday eating (in the kitchen, which was quite a modestly sized room). After checking out the rest of the first floor (Xaviers study, a toilet and the laundry) we went upstairs.
Nothing much seemed too important to me on the second floor. Though there were two bathrooms and a toilet. The rest were just bedrooms – but not mine? I couldn’t figure were I was going to be staying – unless I was going to share? But surely not, there weren’t enough beds in any of the rooms. So in the heat of my confundrum, as I thought we were heading back down stairs we turned into what I thought was a closet to reveal yet another staircase! THREE STORIES.
My bedroom was perfect, it was empty now but I could imagine what it might look like once I unpack and settle in. For five months at least, it would be mine. I had a basins, a closet, a full body mirror and a half body mirror, a double bed, a heater, a clothes hanger and an open window which revealed the fantastic weather of the day.
In total:
Bedrooms: 5
Toilets/bathrooms: 5
Kitchen: 1
Dining room: 1
Whatever rooms: 2
Storage rooms: 3 + a basement with many rooms
I love my Australian house back home, but this one was simply without comparison. I had never even seen such a huge house before. Then after I put my things in the bedroom, they showed me outside.
It was the most beautiful weather – little did I know I would never see the weather so good again in France. Sunny, still, calm, hot but not too hot. Perfect. They had a fireplace in the backyard for cooking and an outdoor dining table. The grass was green and there was quite a bit of plant life. And just as I thought I had seen the whole sha-bam, someone opened a gate to reveal another massive backyard, a platonque track, a pool and a second house. What?
The other house was in construction and they explained that they were going to move into it once it was finished. The backyard of the second house was much bigger, but not as nice. The pool had a contraption on to keep the heat in – a sort of glass box. Overall, I was amazed at just the existance of about 3/4 of the place, and excited for 4/4. It was so gorgeous, I fell in love straight away.
I took a train with the others who were going to the same region (Carolina the Espagnol, Oscar from Nouvelle Zealand, Rachel the Americainne, a girl from Russie and a Joponese girl) By this point, I was able to simply dismiss my worries and just float through the situation. Everyone was freaking out as the train gradually slowed down – and perhaps some unsettling emotions were stirred in my stomach, but I just let them go and went on to meet the family I would be living with for the next five months.
There were three of the five there to meet me: Jacquelyn (mère d’accueil), Xavier (père d’accueil) and Claire (soeur d’accueil). It was bizarre how the-same Claire looked to the only photos I had seen of her – as I approached and she remaiend still it were as though I were only looking at a picture. Nothing much stands out for my first impressions of my host parents, everything was going so fast I barely had time to soak anything up.
When I got to them there were ‘bisous’ all round. That’s where you kiss either cheek. They spoke to me in simple French but I wasn’t able to respond with much. After a quick AFS meeting and photos, we got in our massive four wheeled drive and drove home. The atmosphere was slightly awkward and they tried to converse, but I simply couldn’t understand. Then all of a sudden, we were in Sin-Le-Noble pulling into the drive way of my new home.
Olives Odyssey 