The first update, posted 5 days after it was written

Bonjour tout le monde! I’ve only been in France for about three days at this point, but both me and my group have managed to have some crazy encounters. To begin with, our plane was delayed for an hour. My friend Scott and I heard the flight attendants talking in nervous voices about some sort of scary vibrating sound coming from the lavatory (which was, mind you, directly behind me). When one of them said, “I don’t feel comfortable taking off right now,” we got a little worried... after all, as Scott said, “If the flight attendant is scared, I’M SCARED.” After the problem was supposedly fixed, we took off, but then we had the worst turbulence of my life. Everyone else seemed terrified too – the plane was completely silent, each person obviously thinking that the scary vibrating lavatory had doomed us. But it passed, as those evil lavatories are apt to do. And then we came to France!

Not much was different from America in the French aeroport. Except that pop was cheaper than water, coffee cheaper than pop, and wine the cheapest of all. Also, there were security officers roaming around wearing “POLICE” camo and sporting hardcore machine guns. Yes. Large, machine gun-type things strapped to their bodies. Super-cool (say it with a french accent)! Anyway, while we were waiting on this terrace thing in the airport, one of my friends started smoking. All of a sudden, three of the gun-wielding officer guys came up behind her, saying, “Blahblah unintelligible french blah CIGARETTE?” So she turns around and says, “Pardonne?” Then the guy says, in French, smiling, “You like your cigarette?” So Kelly, oblivious to the no-smoking signs surrounding her, replies with, “Oui, c’est bien. Tu le veut?” This basically translates to “Yeah, it’s great... want one?” He didn’t. He made her put it out, while he watched her. But the kicker is that she addressed the policeman with the informal version of you... a casual form used between friends, people of the same age, not police officers. It denotes... a lack of respect. She didn’t realize what she did. We also think she was racially profiled as an American, since about 15 other people were smoking around her, but she was the only one with blonde hair, a lot of luggage, and near a big group of scared kids speaking English – and consequently the only one who had to stop smoking.

So we took a train from Paris to Angers, and when I stepped off, I was immediately attacked by a woman yelling, “Marissa! Marissa!” I laughed and tried to explain that no, my name was Lisa. Not Marissa. She just nodded her head and kept saying “Marissa!” and hugging me. I eventually figured out that her name must be Marissa – I had found my host mother! I was so happy! So she and her husband whisked me away. They were so excited. A few minutes later, Madame Meynard, the director of my program here, called my name, with another woman about the same age in tow. It was... (cue dramatic pause).....my real host mom, Madame Thenie!! And then Madame Thenie attacked the Marissa mom, each claiming that she had a right to the beautiful, amazing yours truly! No, not really. The Marissa people just got really confused, and then so sad. I felt bad. I just kept saying, “I’m sorry, I’m Lisa! I’m so sorry!” They had thought I was Marissa based on this picture they had... I looked at it, and I have to give them credit, because it did look like me. Later I saw them leave with some chick probably named Marissa who didn’t look like me at all, but is apparently as photogenic as me.

So my family is lovely, my real family (in France... I still love my biological family). I live with Madame and Monsieur Thenie and their daughter, Lucie. Lucie’s 18, and I really like her... she’s very animated when she talks, and she’s always singing. Actually, the whole family sings all the time. Maybe it’s a French thing, maybe it’s a Thenie thing, I don’t know. Lucie and I watched Degrassi today. In the house, I have my own room and bathroom. The house is small only by American standards – I’d say it’s perfectly economical and perfectly French. I live in a very nice neighborhood, though it’s pretty far from my school and where most of the other kids live, but I have a bus pass. The family has done such a good job of adjusting their French for me – slowing down and somehow understanding me – that I think it’s given me a false sense of confidence. They seem to understand me much more than everyone else! But that’s good. I talk to them pretty easily.

On my second day in France, I managed to get lost in Angers twice... for a total of about 4 hours. And this can definitely happen when you don’t have a cell phone yet and all of the phone booths only take calling cards. First, my friend Gloria and I had a mix-up with the buses, and ended up sitting in the rain for about an hour. Then when we finally figured it out, we walked in every wrong direction possible until finally finding our destination, completely drenched (we were two and a half hours late... oops). Later that night, we went to a bar (my first bar! my first bar!) where we sang karaoke to “Barbie Girl” by Aqua. That part was fun, but irrelevant to the getting lost part. Afterwards, Laura (my neighbor) and I discovered we’d missed the “late” bus (as a college student, I do not think a bus that leaves at 11:30pm is “late”... that’s when party starts, non?). Luckily, one of the boys volunteered to walk us back, along with some others on the way. After dropping off the first people, we continued on toward our neighborhood. And continued. And continued. And it was a hell of a long way. And then we got lost, and it was after 1am, so no one was even out to ask for directions. I eventually made it home, but man... my hands were so cold that I could barely unlock the door. Then I tried to leave a note for my family, but my hands were so cold that my handwriting was whack. I thought for sure they’d just think I had been drunk and trying to write a note, so I used really good grammar to prove it was cold hands. I’d like to say I learned my way around the city yesterday... but ehhh, I don’t know.

Which brings me to today. Apparently, Tuesday must have wiped me out more than I realized, because I about passed out straight to the floor during one of our meetings today. Now I find it embarassing, but at the time, I thought I was dying. I’ve just never blacked out before – I got all woozy, and then I couldn’t hear anything, and I got all hot, and then I kind of slumped over. My diagnosis? I don’t like thinking about negative health effects on the body. That’s the damn truth. The only time this was ever close to happening before was during a discussion of stress in my freshman health class. Today we were talking about blood alcohol content – and I don’t know. BOOM. Lisa’s down.
They took me into the hall, and all of the school’s French students were staring at me. I had to strip down to my little tank top because I felt really hot, and apparently, I also went completely white, my hair was everywhere. Yeah that’s right. Sexy American, dying in the hallway. My group was really nice about it though. They held me up and stuff.

So this was long, and I’ll bet they’ll always be like this. And to be sure, this is hardly all – I’ve tried to pick some stories you might find entertaining. In between all of this, there has been delicious food, fashion crises, my first Euros, and many, many new experiences. No smoking dogs. YET. Maintenant, I must rest and recover from my fainting spell. My classes start Monday, so hopefully tomorrow I can explore the town a little more! Annoying as it is to not have a computer at my beck and call, I’m kind of enjoying it. Life is very laid-back here. Bises et au revoir (ou au re-ecrire)!

P.S. I read all of the emails you guys sent... it was good to hear from all you, especially on my first day here! I didn’t respond because I usually only have a French keyboard... and the typing is slow, sporadic, and often spontaneously insane.