Mes Eleves et Mes Etudiants.

I started working last November in Moulins. It is an agriculture Lycee, so my students ranged from Middle School to "Vo-Tech" level. I am not sure of the actually numbers, but it seems that a good 80% of my students were boys, which made the experience even more interesting. Also, I picked up a job working for the Universite Blaise Pascal teaching the "senior" undergraduates English as well. Across the board, I have enjoyed my time with them.

"What's your phone number?" or "Do you have a boyfriend?" or "Do you want to go to B-Box with me?" were the questions I was plagued with at the beginning of the semester. For each new class that I taught, I would have to answer a series of questions about my life in the U.S. Sometimes they were jealous of American life (how easy it is to get a drivers license) and sometimes they were disgusted by it (what do you mean, you don't have Saucisson?)

I remember the time that a boy in class tried to take a picture of me underneath his desk. He was just your normal troublesome boy, so I laughed. He gave me the most desperate look, "Please don't tell the teacher." I merely shook my head and pointed at him sharply to say, "If you do it again, I will set her loose on you." Then there was the boy who asked me at the end of class if I liked honey. I said 'Yes' of course, and he handed me the most adorable little bottle of honey that had been harvested at the school. Such friendliness is rarely found in the adults of this country, and to me, these students will always be the ones who brought me in.

They were really the ones who taught me to speak French. I can write it, no problem. But in that moment where you are alone staring at 20 students who are completely confused, you have to try your best to spit something out to explain it. I always enjoyed the surprised looks on there faces when I spoke French, as if they thought I'd lived in this country without even trying to speak it. At the same time, I sort of had done that. Living among International Students where English is the most commonly shared language meant that my French speaking practice was limited to class. But with my students, it was necessary.

And the teachers were such a help as well. They offered me coffee every hour, food every month, cheese after lunch, wine, etc. They would be so patient with me when I spoke French, and they helped me with my homework more than once. They never patronized me. They smiled at me and invited me to lunch, to sit with them, and share in a little conversation.

I will never forget the Christmas meal cooked for me by my professor, and the Spring lunch cooked for me by my BTS students. From oysters to Foie Gras to pear pie, these delicious kindnesses have made my time here feel valuable. And for that, I will always be grateful.

Le Train.

Trains always felt like something from another time. Something for movies, for western outlaws, for secret meetings, or for murder mysteries. Now I take a train to and from my job in Moulins twice a week. It has become something de ma vie quotidienne. Nevertheless, each time I hear the little ring before announcements at the train station, it seems a bit like magic.

I love the landscapes slipping past. Unlike driving a car, I do not have to focus on the road in front of me. I can allow myself to study the little points of interest. Having taken the train from Clermont to Moulin every week, I feel like I know every aspect. I have a favorite hill. It's covered in thick, green grass. At the top is an old white, anonymous house. There is a tree off to the left that I watched go from barren white to light spring green to lush summer green. During the fall, I watched the huge cow feeders fill to the top with corn. I can spot the Army barracks, the last building before the Clermont station, a mile away. It's the sign of relief. At last, the journey is over.

I have experienced the evils of the train. I huddled hours on the hard benches in the freezing cold of an unheated train station waiting for a train that would never come because of the strikes. All of my most precious possessions were stolen from me on the train. Some person swiped my purse underneath my eyes. My iPod, €50, my Titre de Sejour with the perfect photo of me, a brand new wallet from Spain, and my purse that I bought in Paris are gone forever. I was able to renew my bank card and my student card. My Passport was found in a near by town. I had to take a train to retrieve it.

There is also a phenomenon thanks to the introduction of cell phones that play music. It's always some dumb kid around 15-18 years of age who plays his favorite rap songs aloud for the world to hear. I'm used to it by now, but I'm always amused by the adults coming across this problem for the first time. They stand up and stare at the kid as if their entire concept of the world has been turned upside down. I smile at them and shrug my shoulders.

Nothing, though, can take away the pleasure of sitting across from someone who is dear to you during your ride. Normally this takes place on some great adventure. First to Paris. Then to Brussels, Stockholm, London, Barcelona, Rome? Choose. They are all just a plane or another train away. In your excitement, you face the person you love. Or maybe you don't know you love them yet. But, you realize you wouldn't want to sit across from anyone else on your way to Barcelona. You let the thought fade away and begin any number of great conversations that you will never forget.

When I step off my last train from Clermont to Paris, I think I will be a little sad. I'm sure I will ride trains again in the future. This particular route, however, holds a special place in my heart. In my dreams, I'm sure I'll pass those fields of yellow flowers, the snowy hills that went on forever, or misty plains revealing the first colors of the sunrise. I will never forget them.

As the end nears..

So, I gave up. After spending some time porting my laptop to the city center every week, it reached a point where I didn't want to do it any longer. Then it got cold. Very cold. Then I fell in love. Then I didn't want to do anything else but be with him. That hasn't changed much, but he needs to study. So, now I will write again.

Eight months up. One to go. What have I gained? Not a great deal of French. No French friends. In fact, I feel that Clermont has given me nothing for the most part. Will I ever want to return? Certainly not.

In last few days here, however, I would like to outline some of the things that I have gained from this experience. I will begin today.