A month

Another rainy day in Pau. I wake up to blowing wind and the sound of water trickling off the roof. Monday has become my day to run errands and get groceries, but today I am sitting in bed with hot chocolate and the third floor to myself while Charles and Magali are in class.

I finally spent enough time at the grocery store last week to prepare a true meal for myself: a great vegetable and chicken soup, no recipe used. As much as I miss health food stores in Colorado, I'm beginning to get accustomed to the brands here. I'm sacrificing some of my dedication to only organic and preservative-free foods, but I'm trying not to let it bother me for now. It's hard to explain the relationship with food in France. Somewhat paradoxically, the difference between French and American eating habits is not so much about portion size or meal frequency, but about concern for the content of one's food. No one here prepares a meal with nutrition as the top priority; it's all about taste and what flavors go well together. All of my meals with my host family have been made from scratch (except the ice cream or yogurt for dessert). In America, it seems like people are either extremely concerned with health, or not at all. In France, there seems to be more of a moderate stance: you eat food you make yourself because it tastes good and because it's been prepared that way for dozens of years. You don't take extra vitamins, you don't deny yourself something because it's not good for you, but you don't have the desire to gorge yourself, either. From my perspective, the French are very no-nonsense about their food.

After my three-day boredom streak last weekend, I planned ahead enough to take a day trip with two friends to Biarritz on Friday. We took a two-hour train ride and stopped at a market on our way to the beach. As usual, it was almost impossible to choose just one thing to eat, so we resorted to the traditional French lunch of baguette, ham, cheese, rosé and gâteau basque (like a big sugar cookie with cherry filling). We spent hours on the beach swimming, napping, eating and getting slightly sunburned. The weather was perfect--only a few clouds and 75 degrees all day. I truly felt like I was on vacation, and I know I'm probably never going to get enough of the beaches in southwestern France. They are too beautiful, especially for someone who normally lives 1,000 miles from the ocean.

I also bought a bike this week. It's cheap, ugly and almost too small for me, but it'll suffice for three months. A bike should make it easier for me to go out at night.

We took a placement test at the University last Wednesday to determine our level for French classes that start Thursday. Results posted today--I have no idea where I'll fall in the spectrum of classes yet. Sometimes I think my French has improved since I arrived in Pau; other times I feel like I'll always be hopelessly behind in communication. It's especially bad when I've been speaking English all day and then try to have a conversation in French. My American friends and I have started speaking Franglais partly as a joke, partly to keep our brains at least somewhat in French Mode.

Where is my parapluie? ("Where is my umbrella?")

Mon mal. ("My bad"--probably doesn't directly translate)

Will you please regard this gâteau? ("Will you please look at this cake?")