Lorsque en France: the longest blog entry to date... in the world!

I reckon I should apologize for two things. One, for delaying this blog for so long. Two, for unloading it all at once. It might take you a little while to read it, but just remember, it took me longer to write it. Besides, it’s 2 late 2 pologize, anyway. Anyone? No? No takers? OK, I'ma start from square one as best as I can. I'm sure I'll miss something or other here and there... such is life. A'ight. Please fasten your seatbelt and keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times... and thank you for visiting me hear at Blog-neyland (interesting fact: a general rule of thumb is that the French people essentially detest anything Disney. Quel horreur!)

Avant de partir des États-Unis

I passed a wonderful last few moments with friends and family chez moi (at home) and then my wonderful parents took me to the SLC airport where I waited, with fingers crossed, to see if I was going to make it to France that day. This time, flying standby certainly paid off. After a few minutes of stressing about whether I was going to get on the plane or not, the gate agent listed my name on the boarding list. What a relief! What's more, when you fly standby, they typically fill up all of the business class seats before they put anyone in coach. Such was the case this time. I sat next to a very nice lady who showed me all the perquisites (look that one up... it's English) and bells and whistles of flying with the big boys. Let me just say that it's going to be hard to go back to flying in coach, and this is why... preflight, I was offered my choice of orange juice or champagne. Figuring that it was a rather special occasion—I was heading to France and I was riding in the business class—I opted for the orange juice. After we took off, my flight attendant (yeah... MY flight attendant) who I will call Deborah said, “Mr. Holloman? I'm Deborah, and I'll be taking care of you for the remainder of the flight. Don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything.” After we were at the cruising altitude, the attendants came around with hot towels so we could freshen up before our appetizer. If I remember correctly, it consisted of some crazy dank delicacies that I'd never heard of before. I had, for my main course, some sort of pumpkin ravioli. After that I had some fancy cheeses and a custom-made bowl of ice cream. They really wouldn't stop feeding me food and beverage. I've never been treated so much like a king. After I was stuffed with 16 cubic yards of food/drink, I reclined my seat all the way back and pulled out my personal TV which had a jillion channels and movies (<----although these are paid models, they do a ver good job at expressing the high class one enjoys whilst in biz class) I could watch. I watched “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” but unfortunately fell asleep towards the end. Anyway, I digress. I know you don't want to hear my incessant rambling about how cool business class was... for what it's worth, I really don't want to write any more about it. I really feel bad that none of you got to fly business class with me. It's ripping me apart to put you through this. Suffice it to say, it was/will remain one of the best experiences of my life, next to the day I was saved and the day I'll get married/have kids... what? Oh yeah, I gotta shout out some thanks to my homeboy, Nang Sung Lee, for hooking me up with the buddy pass.

Dès ce temps-là jusqu'à présent

I love it here! The people, for the most part, are really awesome. I mean, there are exceptions to that rule everywhere you go. For example, one day, my hostess gave me five euros to buy two baguettes. Pas de problème. I had a break between my classes and I thought that I'd go buy them then because sometimes les boulangeries run out of bread as the day goes on. Long story short, I went to one just down the street from my school. I said, “Je voudrais deux baguettes, s'il vous plaît (I would like two baguettes please).” She prepared them for me by wrapping them scantily in little pieces of paper. This is how they normally do it, so it's not like she knew I was American and was treating me like crap or anything. Knowing that I'd be carrying the baguettes around for a while until I got home, I politely asked “Pourrais-je prendre un peu plus grand sac (Could I take a little bit bigger sack)?” To that she responded, “Non.” And that was that. I was kind of dumbfounded. The French's sense of customer service is completely different than ours. She explained to me after I looked a bit shocked that the sacks were for the “special bread.” Ce n'était pas grave. (This is my room... it's dope, I know----->) It was just funny as I'll get out. And by the time I got the baguettes home, they were kind of sad looking. It's OK, though because they still tasted about 8 million times better than anything you could buy in the states for the same price. Seriously, Wonder Bread sucks the behind of French transients, who, by the way, often smell of the most pungent, unearthly filth. I reckon they don't even have to be transients. Like the other day at church, for example... there was a (I believe they were) British couple who reeked to high heaven. I think it was just the old man, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he hadn't showered for a couple months. They were sitting right behind us, and I had to lean forward the whole time to prevent myself from chundering all over the place. It was pretty dég. Mais, c’est la vie, I guess. I guess on the flipside of it all, they’re conserving more water by not showering as often. Speaking of showering, I reckon I should talk a little bit about where I live.

Regardez. This is building in which my house is. The entire top floor of the house is my bedroom. The entire building dates back to the 18th century sometime and belonged to some rich noble dude. It’s since been remodeled and now houses about 10 different homes. It’s totally decked out with nice, new hardwood floors ad what not. The kitchen is stocked with an oven that could land a module on the moon if it had to. It’s crazy! I’ve made root beer over here a couple times (thanks to my mom and aunt Cheryl for sending me the extract). Sadly, the French don’t get what’s so great about that godly drink… whatev. More for me and my American friends. Anyway, to make root beer, you have to boil water and dissolve sugar therein. Well, when I prepare the water on the computer in the kitchen, it’s boiling in like 1.2392 minutes. Insane. So yeah. Pretty much every other student is jealous of my living situation here. I have to admit that I consider myself VERY VERY VERY lucky to have been hooked up with Evelyne and her kids. Jordy the Tiger says, “They’re grrrrrreeeeeeat!”

Evelyne, the mom of the household, is a crazy-hard worker. She never stops, and I find myself telling her from time to time that she needs to slow down and take a break… and eat something. She’s very skinny. Regardless, she’s awesome and ALWAYS in good spirit and cares a ton about her family and her guests (AKA me and Ashley… another exchange student who is from Michigan). I’m pretty sure she’s the nicest French lady that has ever lived. She might even qualify for nicest lady in the world competition if there was such thing. Ha ha! That would be so funny! (left: Ashley; right: Evelyne----->) Nothing would get done because all the competitors would just keep saying, “no, after you. I insist” and “I really don’t deserve this trophy, so I’m going to give it to the next person.” I can see it now. Genius. Then, the real way to win would be by being the most genuinely modest of the group. Yeah. I’m gonna write that idea up and send it to Simon Cowell. OK, where was I? Yeah. Evelyne works as a journalist for a local newspaper called La Nouvelle République. It’s so cool. She told me that she knows a lot of people because she’s always writing stories about different local topics. I believe her, and I have many reasons to justify my belief. For example, I think it was the first or second day of classes, and she was walking with me on her way to work. Just as we were about to Les Cents Marches (an ancient-ish stairway shortcut into town), a calèche (horse-drawn carriage) was passing by. Coincidentally, she was writing a story about the calèche in Tours, so she flagged the driver down, had me climb in for a picture (she takes her own pics for the newspaper, too), then climbed in after me, and we got a ride to town. (<------walking Les Cents Marches) It was awesome, and I’m positive that I was the only kid in town who got a ride to school in a calèche that day, except for the cute little 6-year-old French girl who was sitting next to the driver. She was probably his daughter or something. She was the cutest little thing du monde, and her eyes were beautiful enough to paralyze. I like that… eyes… paralyze. Bon.

Yeah, Evelyne rocks. She’s a bomb cook, too. The French cuisine rocks! I eat very well all of the time. I love the fact that I can walk into a bakery and get an entire fresh, delicious baguette for about $0.80. Alongside the bread, the cheese is great and cheap as well. Another great thing I’ve discovered since being over here is the kebab. They’re basically as healthy as eating 6 triple cheeseburgers blended together with bacon lard, but they’re SO GOOD. (A delicious eclaire--->)I’ve been doing pretty well about consuming them moderately, but sometimes I just can’t resist the temptation. Oh yeah, another thing… the place where we get them offers the Formule Classique (which is basically like ordering a #1 on the menu at McDo’s) with frîtes du volonté (unlimited fries). Needless to say, if I stayed here any longer than a month, I probably wouldn’t fit in the seat on the airplane when I can back to the US. Unless, of course, I lucked out and got biz class again (insert Homer Simspon drooling sound here).

One night, Ashley and I are going to make an American dish for our host family, and the rules are that everyone at the table has to speak English… and drink root beer. I haven’t told Ashley about that one yet because she doesn’t like root beer… totally un-American. Her and I have gotten into some pretty good debates (in French, mind you) over silly little things like whether it’s necessary to use soap when you wash dishes. Can you guess which side I argue? Yeah. You’re probably right. That makes two of us (oh burn). We also debate religion, too. That’s good times. She’s a born again Protestant Baptist spitfire bible breathing Christian, and I’m currently a member of the Church of Pink Floyd (I don’t know if this actually exists)? Regardless, it makes for some interesting conversations. Above all, she’s probably the nicest girl in the world, and she’s great because she loves to speak French just as much, if not more than I do. (<-----my school an me). Therefore, whenever we’re together, we speak in French. That makes all the difference in the world when it comes to learning French. I find that if I didn’t go to school with a ton of other Americans, I’d be learning a tone faster. This is why I’ve decided to stay over here and find a job. I’m sorry I had to break it to you guys like this, via my blog and all, but it’s just something I feel like I gotta do. I’ll write often and what not. Ha ha! OK, but seriously, I really could see myself coming back here sometime in the near future. I just HAVE to learn to speak/understand fluently. I don’t know if there’s any other way. Evelyne said that she’d be willing to talk with me about renting a room from her. That would be awesome! I’m thinking I might move out here for a couple of months after I graduate this December. Ouai, ça serait très stylé. Time will tell. Good times.

In other news, Evelyn also has two kids who are awesome. I love them to death. There is Thibault (16-year-old boy, pronounced Tee-bo) and Ninon (14-year-old girl, pronounced Nee-nohn). They’re great kids. I love playing football (AKA soccer) with them. In fact, I played a match with them today. And almost every night, Thibault and I faire des pompes (do pushups). Ninon is a little cutie. They’re totally at that age, though. I mean, you know? They’re kind of like little rebels every now and then. For example, we’ll all be eating dinner and we’ll all be talking about something, and when there’s a word or something that I don’t understand, the kids are right on the ball trying to explain it to me. They offer me the “new-age” definition or what one says currently, and when they’re mom tries to add anything, they roll their eyes and remind her how old school she is. It’s a very lively dynamic in this household. The French are VERY proud people and are very concerned about how they appear to others. That’s probably why they are one of the leaders in the world of fashion. If it’s cool, the French are doing it… well, at least the young, impressionable French. For example, for some reason, it’s way cool to smoke over here. I mean, they know darn well that smoking causes lung cancer, but ils s’en fichent (they don’t give a damn). It’s interesting, they are really on top of fitting in with the latest fashions and what not, but when it comes to respecting authority, they strive towards the contrary. Anyhow, the kids are way awesome, and they’re always on Facebook. At least I know I won’t have any problems keeping in touch after I take off.

My daily routine is just that: pretty routine. I wake up in time for class at 9:00 AM. Breakfast is always ready for me. I appreciate Evelyne because she understands that b-fast is the most important meal of the day for Americans. I mean, I don’t get biscuits and gravy or anything, but I always get my fill of cereal and delicious bread, butter, and homemade confiture (jam). There’s also this delicious French specialty called “Quatre Quarts (four quarters).” It simply has equal amounts of four different ingredients: flour, sugar, eggs, butter. It’s so simple. Evelyn said she was going to teach me how to make it. She also said that she is going to teach me how to make real French crêpes and gaufres (waffles). Yeah, I’m totally stoked. Anyway, I’m way lucky because a lot of French people only drink a cup of coffee and eat a piece of bread in the morning. That’s it. (Medieval Tours, where I walk everyday to school------>) Some of the other students are getting a different French experience. Luckily for me, Ninon is really really picky. I mean, I’m not picky at all with what I’m fed, but it’s nice to know that Evelyne is patient and understanding about certain dietary needs. OK, anyway. My routine. I wake up, shower, eat breakfast, and then walk to school. The Institute de Touraine is about a 25 to 30 minute walk from where I live. It’s a really beautiful walk. I have to cross a bridge called le Pont Napoléon where there are almost always fishers with gigantic poles hoping to catch something in the river below. After I get over the bridge, it’s a short ways to Medieval Tours and La Place Plumeraux. It’s absolutely amazing that I get to walk through streets that people have traversed for five or more centuries. Cool side note: remember how Evelyne knows a lot of people? Well, she knows a lady named Véronique who lives at the Place Plume in an ancient house. I kid you not, parts of it date back to like the 14th or 13th century. SO RAD! Anyway, she was such a character. (<-----Saint Martin... again, I walk by this daily). Apparently she bought the house back when the Place Plume was a freakin’ dumpy ghetto or something. Now the Place Plume is pretty much the most popular place in Tours. Needless to say, her house is pretty much priceless now. She gave us an amazing tour and explained a bunch of the history involving the house and the surrounding areas. Cool. A’ight. After I pass the Place Plume (and the bon bon shop), I get to walk past a couple of old towers that were part of some ancient castle/cathedral. They’re the only things that remain of it, but one of them is still a bell tower which I can hear from my room at night (it’s about a mile or two away). After that, I get to walk by (remember, this is every day) La Cathedrale de Saint-Martin. It’s beautiful, and they still use it to this day. In fact, Pope John Paul II visited it back when he was alive. I don’t know if that makes it a Basilica or what. Anyway, it’s way rad. After I pass all that cool stuff, I arrive at my school, which, like my house, probably once belonged to some rich nobleman. It’s way cool. (the view out of the top window of my school------->) All of my professors are awesome (and some are pretty foxy, too). I think the way they speak makes them more attractive. I don’t know. Someone should study that. My primary teacher is Claudine. She is so awesome. She’s very patient with everybody and especially me and my weird sense of humor. For example, I have, since being here, made up two jokes that French people actually get. I mean, they’re not incredible, but you know? Anyway, she totally tolerates me. In fact, after my joke today, she said “pas mal (not bad)” while simultaneously looking astonished that I was so freakin’ clever. Ha ha! Vraiment, je suis très modèste.

The classes here are really easy. Well, the French grade really hard/strictly, but the classroom environment feels a lot like an elementary school. It’s really frustrating from time to time when you can’t express yourself the way you want to. Fact of the matter is, however, that we’re forced to speak French. I mean, if we’re stuck on a word or something, we usually just shout it out and another student or the teacher helps us figure it out. All in all, I like it a lot. I really wish, though, that there weren’t any Americans around. It’s way too easy to simply default back to English. (<----Claudine, our teacher, is the coolest!) Meh, I guess that’s why I’m just going to have to come back and live for a little while. I quite enjoy living the European lifestyle… well, I reckon it’s a little more Ameropean or Eurican. You know… because I’m not actually European? Yeah. Speaking of, I am really happy and proud to say that I’m from America. It’s such a great country. I mean, we have our problems, but I always feel great when I come home from out of the states. It’s a really weird “I’m finally home” or comfortable kind of feeling. It doesn’t matter if I’m in Cincinnati or Utah, it’s still America, and everyone speaks my language.

Moving along… I’ve had some really cool opportunities to visit really cool places with some good friends that I’ve made along the way. I met a kid named Dane who is one of the best guys I’ve ever met. He speaks/understands French practically impeccably and he’s always teaching me new stuff. Anyway, a couple weekends ago, we had the opportunity to go to Amboise and Blois. Each place was awesome in its own way. For example, in Amboise, there was an old château of which about 85% had been destroyed for some reason or another. Amboise is also home to the grave of Leonardo di Vinci. (Dane at Amboise-->)We visited his house and saw a handful of his inventions therein. It was way radical, dude. Way inspiring. That guy was a bleeding genius in every sense of the word. After Amboise, we went to the châtaeu at Bloise. It was really awesome, too. It was great, because the Institute de Touraine (where I go to school) provided a tour guide named Olivier who is a teacher at the institute. He is awesome! (<----Olivier at Aboise) He spoke completely in French, but he did so in such a passionate, animated way that I could understand just about everything he was saying. It was also great that he knew so much about the history of all of the places. For example, the château at Bloise is divided into three distinct parts where one can see three different eras (13th, 16th, and 17th/18th centuries). It simply amazes me that these places were once houses for people. Anyway, I think from now on, when I go to museums or historical sites or what not, I’m going to read as much as I can about the place or hire a tour guide. It makes it way more memorable than simply oo-ing and ah-ing at everything.

By far, my favorite excursion happened last weekend. After our classes on Friday, Dane, Kelsea, Alli, and moi caught a train up to a town in Normandy called Caen (pronounced Cahn). This town is one of the many that is famous for its historical relics of WWII, and Obama was there a couple of weeks ago. It was a beautiful city. I swear around every corner, there was a giant cathedral. It was nuts! Anyway, we ate pizza in town on the lawn of a giant fortress of an old castle. It’s crazy. I think after you’re here for a while, you start to become desensitized to the fact that you’re constantly surrounding by beautiful, old architecture. I mean, at the time, it just seemed normal that we were sitting in front of a giant castle. Crazy. Anyway, after we ate, we walked around the city for a little bit. We found these fun workout machines that had been permanently installed around this park. Needless to say, we had a dang good time with them. After that, we went back to the hostel and crashed. The next morning, we rented a sweet little car and drove around to all of the cool different sites of the D-Day. Omaha beach was amazing. It was crazy to see that world-famous cemetery in person. It was a really sobering experience, well. It varies from person to person, but a lot of people still hold very strong sentiments of gratitude that so many Americans gave their lives for the cause of liberty. Being down on the beach itself was awesome, as well. The water was actually pretty nice. I think it’d be a little less enjoyable if a bunch of Nazis were shooting .30 caliber rounds in rapid succession in your general direction, but I’m just not sure. I kind of got an idea of what it would’ve been like as I stormed the beach myself. There were only a few differences between the day I stormed Omaha Beach and the actual D-Day, and they are as follows: it wasn’t low tide (which man the run about 150 to 200 yards shorter that what the soldiers had to do), I wasn’t packing 40 pounds of gear, I wasn’t soaked with seawater, I hadn’t just ridden in a crappy vomit-inducing landing craft for two hours, I wasn’t being shot at nor were people dying all around me. Those are just a few of the differences. Yeah, but seriously, though. Everyone should find the chance to go check it out at least once. It made me reflect a bit about how much some people have sacrificed so that I would be able to enjoy the life that I have today. I mean, I don’t mean to get all mushy or political on you, but seriously. What am I doing today that will leave the world a better place for those who come after me? Am I doing anything? I don’t know. It’s a good thing to think, though. I think…

After visiting some awesome place that would take me forever to tell you about, and having a car at our disposal, we decided to take advantage of our freedom. We drove a little more south and west from where we were. There, we saw le Mont Saint-Michel in all its glory at night. It was seriously like a dream. That’s the only way I can describe it. Or maybe I could say that it was like being a cartoon in a Disney movie. Mont Saint-Michel itself is a little island which is actually home to a small community of about 60 people. There are also a handful of monks who live there in silence. I totally have to go back there someday… my professor was telling me that you can stay the night for free there with the monks as long as you agree to be silent and what not. I wish I would’ve known that. I totally would’ve done it. Oh. Interesting side note: while walking around the city walls, we ran into this Bretône (someone from Britagne) who talked to us about how he wished the Germans would’ve won WWII. He went on about some other crap about how there was going to be revolution in France and how there was going to be a pure race and what not. He also said some pretty nasty things about Americans… no reservations or anything. Straight to our faces. I then asked him, “Qu’est-ce que vous ferez comme métier (what do you do for a living)?” To that, he said that he worked in tourism. Ha ha! Tourism seems like kind of a pansy job for someone as “hardcore” as he was. You think he’d be fighting a little more against the man and burning more flags and what not. He was a major douche. And at the end of it all, he told us that we had the power to change things if we’d only pull our heads out of our asses. Ha ha! It was a great experience. I think that bro was like the French equivalent of a KKK or a neo-Nazi, except he was way more of a wuss. That seems to be typical French, though: a lot of talk, not a lot of walk.

I don’t remember much or any of the drive home. I crashed for most of it. That was an amazing weekend. And as if Normandy wasn’t cool enough, this last Sunday was la Fête de la Musique. It’s kind of like the 4th of July in that it’s a nationwide celebration in which pretty much everyone participates. It’s different in the sense that it’s solely for the celebration of music. (kick ace break dancers at the fete----->) There were bands and all types of musicians/performers everywhere! Rock here, samba drum line there, death metal here, break dancing there, DJ’s here, punk rock there… it was astounding. I really wish that we celebrated things more often like they do over here. The streets were filled with people… a lot of them drunk or well on their way. It was way good times. I’m going to see if Pleasant Tree or perhaps The Mitchy Evans Project would like to come over and perform next year. I think it’d be good times… ha ha!

OK, I’m going to wrap this up. Bottom line: I’m having a great time and it’s going to be hard to leave. On the flipside, I’m really looking forward to Camp Kern this summer. I’m starting to get the camp itch/bug. It’s going to be wonderful. On the camp note, I find myself from time to time missing Cherry Valley… it’s a’ight though. I will return. Don’t cry for me, Cherry Vallentina. Pour finir, sorry it has taken me so long to write this bad boy… wait a second. No I’m not. Let’s all just take a minute and remember whose blog this is. That’s right. It’s mine. And I choose when I’m going to write and what not! OK, seriously… if you’re reading this, I most likely love you. À prochaine! P.S. Let us all follow the advice of the late M.J. who said, "heal the world... make it a better place." (moonwalk).