The ferry to St. Lucia was ridiculous. We got there 3 hours early, which was essential, because the way the ticket booth was ran was anarchical. People standing around, throwing luggage, speaking all sorts of languages, ugh. But my old man and I, after some pushing, paying and pleading, made it onto the boat. And, most importantly, after Tim bribed the luggage loaders with 10 dollars ec because my bag was entirely too heavy. Thanks, Dad.
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| Windayy. |
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| Fast ferry! |
The boat was huge and there were a ton of people-- seat stealers, tourists, drunk and Frenchies all the same traveling over a fairly calm sea. My dad and I spent most of our time on the deck, which was extremely difficult in a pink dress with no hair tie and no prior boat experience.
The first night in Martinique, Tim and I met a Canadian named Macy. Macy seemed kind and warm at first, but I think he was half drunk and I soon lost patience with him. However, he joined us in our rocky taxi ride to any "Cheap hotel" from the ferry in Forte-de-France. The cab man took us to the Caraib Hotel, a mere 60 euro a night hotel far from campus. It'll do. Thanks taxi man. After we had checked in, Macy, Tim and I went out to dinner.
Holy shit, I'm in France.
The island is remarkably different from St. Lucia, (en francais, st. lucie). The inhabitants have a similar physical appearance (in other words, I am a minority....a very, very small minority) but the dress, attitude and, of course, language are incredibly different. This place is a baby France with palm trees. When you speak French, you get better service and more attention at any kind of business (unfortunately mine is in the works and Tim's predisposition to Spanish has created some obstacles). My first meeting with Forte de France went well, there were colored lights everywhere, a beautiful park, old lovely buildings and an air of French delicacy all around.
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| LA MARTINIQUE! |
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| View from common area in my dorm |
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| home sweet home |
Monday was orientation. The only thing I can compare this emotional rollercoaster to is the drive up and down, through and over the Piton's. It's volatile, unpredictable, there are stark falls and indescribable highs. Sometimes I look down at the tops of trees, and other times I look up wondering how they got up there. It's been an incredible journey already.
Anyway, Monday was interesting. I walked in early (of course nothing starts on time here-- it's the Caribbean) into a meeting of another program of foreign exchange students, during which a lady came to me and told me shorts were not allowed and in violation of a dress code. A dress code? Are you for real? Later, she drove my dad and I to our hotel to get my things and explained, in French only, that this is not like America. The boys here prowl on those they know are foreign, and therefore vulnerable. So you have to wear long shorts or pants. FML.
Anyway, after their meeting and before mine, I got to know some of the other foreigners. There are 4 girls from Dominica, a near by English speaking island. There were a couple of girls from Quebec (cheaters...) and a dude from Germany, and one from Atlanta (AMERICA!). Others came and went, everyone with an almost tangible weight of fear following their every move (except for the Quebecoise....cheaters). Talents vary among the students, some, like Anna, are very good, others, like myself, are like lost infants. Regardless, it's nice to know a face or two around campus. Most of us live in the same dorm, so before everyone comes back to school, we can look around and hope to get some kind of bearings of the place.
Anyway, after their meeting and before mine, I got to know some of the other foreigners. There are 4 girls from Dominica, a near by English speaking island. There were a couple of girls from Quebec (cheaters...) and a dude from Germany, and one from Atlanta (AMERICA!). Others came and went, everyone with an almost tangible weight of fear following their every move (except for the Quebecoise....cheaters). Talents vary among the students, some, like Anna, are very good, others, like myself, are like lost infants. Regardless, it's nice to know a face or two around campus. Most of us live in the same dorm, so before everyone comes back to school, we can look around and hope to get some kind of bearings of the place.
There were a few students who are doing a year long program. One from London, one from Jamaica, another from somewhere and somewhere else. They ALL speak English (awesome. I'm not cheating here-- it gets tiring speaking another language ALL the time) and they had some words of advice-- run.
What?
Yes. Run. The town closes shop around 6, if you're lucky. Buses (our only means of getting into the main part of town, it's way too long to walk) are undependable and difficult to understand. Classes will change for the first 4 or 5 weeks, teachers are unreliable and inaccessible. There is no club life, and night life is hard to come by.
So what's good?
You get to watch the sunset over the ocean, make great friends and your French will be incredible.
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| campus! |
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| My dorm |
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| ! |
I don't care if the classes blow, I don't care if I get lost (which happened already), all I care about is making some good friends and improving my French. But I think that your biggest obstacle is yourself. Coming from the states, from my best of friends who can read my tones, movements and thoughts to being a foreigner, someone who can hardly speak never mind relate on such a deep level is remarkable. Being foreign is inexplicable.
But I made my first French friend last night, Stanley. Improvement!
Tim left today. I felt like a 5 year old on her first day of school. I guess it's time to buck up and be foreign as best I can.
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