Toulouse

Here's how it is to be inside my head right now.

Second #1: I can't wait to go home and see everyone.
Second #2: I'm not ready to leave. I'm never going to stop crying when I get on the plane home.
Second #3: Just don't think about it.

And then it starts all over again.

For my last weekend in France, I spent the night in Toulouse with a few friends. Toulouse is one of France's largest cities and has a very diverse and mostly student population. We found several second-hand clothing stores, coffee shops and bookstores, and the atmosphere kind of made me wish I had studied abroad in Toulouse instead of Pau. Our art history teacher met us at the train station and showed us around the city's curvy streets and pink brick buildings, then left us to do our own thing in the late afternoon. We drank vin chaud (hot spiced wine) at the crowded Christmas markets in the town center, ate at a nice Indian restaurant for dinner, then got a drink at the bar next door.

The bar seemed to be popular with the young crowd, and it wasn't long before a large group of French people invited us over to their table. So cool! And it was during the conversation with them that I realized I could finally understand everything perfectly, and communicate without any problems. I may never speak French as well as I want to (especially only having lived in France for three and a half months), but I have made amazing progress with my comprehension and vocabulary since I arrived in September.

Toulouse is a place I would like to visit again. I'm glad I went this weekend, especially since it's only two hours east of Pau by train. When I got back on Sunday afternoon, I decorated the Christmas tree with my family and we ate another raclette for dinner. I believe I've eaten four times my weight in cheese while I've been in France.

It's pleasant evenings like that that keep me from packing my suitcase. The pulling of clothes from my closet is something I have trouble facing.

14 Avenue Montilleul

The fireplace and its heat on my toes; my hands in a bowl of raw pastry crust; the spiral staircase leading to my room; the smell of baking cheese and potatoes; mugs of tea in the upstairs kitchen; sunlight filtered through my yellow drapes, coloring the air in my room like butter or gold; fast piano music; Michèle's radio in the morning; rain on the roof; family pictures, maps, dictionaries, books; the rich, lively colors of the walls and furniture; the green shutters and willow tree; raindrops on my bike seat; the echo of your fingers drumming on your desk; the warmth of my down comforter; the purple silhouette of the Pyrénées from my window; the drying of dishes; French words running like piano music from your lips

Skiing in the Pyrénées

While I spend my last two weeks in Pau excited to return home and increasingly heartbroken over leaving, I'm trying to enjoy every minute of my time here.

I went skiing with my host family in the Pyrénées on Saturday. Michèle, Charles and I drove an hour to their tiny apartment on the slopes on Friday night, then Philippe and Dénis (my host dad and other host brother) joined us Saturday morning. At dinner on Friday night, I found what might be my new favorite French food: raclette. This monster is a hunk of cheese that you melt under a heat lamp and spread over potatoes and various gourmet pork products. I think I may have gained about 10 kilos just from dinner, but I don't even care. If I ever see raclette on a restaurant menu again, I'm getting it.

Saturday was the first day of the ski season, so there were a ton of people on the mountain. There was also a lot of fresh powder, which I got to know quite well because I spent a lot of the day tumbling face-first into the snow. I haven't fallen at all the past 5 times I've been skiing in Colorado, but for some reason, I had a really hard time staying upright in the Pyrénées. Maybe I suck. Or maybe I can blame the snow, which is more humid and heavy in the Pyrénées than in Colorado. All members of my host family are excellent skiers, so I was taken on my first-ever rouge (rouge=black on Colorado trails=basically cliffs with moguls), and got well acquainted with useful French skiing vocabulary such as dérape (slide), chasse-neige (wedge), and virage exagéré (exaggerated turn).

Despite spending half the day on my face, I still had a great time. How amazing is it that I got to skiing on the other side of the world? The views of the mountains and towns below were incredible, and it was a sunny day without falling snow or rain. We stayed until about 5:00 in the afternoon, then headed home.