Homestay Adventures: "Well...I Have No Idea Which Bus You Should Be On." Pt. 2
I wrote the title of a "Get Lost (And other Misadventures)" post and set in my draft folder since I figured that I would just maybe need it.
Well, here we are.
I got lost. And no, it was not on purpose. Thus, this post deserved a header all it own.
The morning of my first day of orientation before classes, I was told that since I was so far away from campus, I would be needing to get on the bus. The morning of, Andrea clasped my wrist into her bony hand, a boa constrictor of a new sort, and promptly set off, nearly dragging me down the street and running onto a bus last minute. We were silent now that her hand was instead wrapped firmly around the yellow pole. She looked at the others on the bus who were not looking at us, but towards the screen showing the next stop, and promptly started spouting of all the French words. Words I did not know as if my very confused facial expression made me look less American.
None of these words I think included what bus I needed to get on later.
Or what time the bus would becoming.
Or where.
We simply jumped off before I was hauled into class orientation an hour before anyone else got there. I sat and stared at the unopened containers of orange juice, picking at the edge of my folder where Mase, Kendra was printed clearly along with my home school.
The day went well, I met some new people who were taking classes with me and people who are not. I met people who were there to travel and party and those who came to Aix to study because, why not? I think I was more in the latter section which seemed few and far between. I ate my first crepe (banana and nutella).
But most importantly, I FINALLY got to walk around Aix.
It was beautiful. The windows and the architecture astounded me and only promised that I would be taking far too many pictures of picturesque streets where the building leaned just enough to remind of Les Mis.
I walked down quite a few of them after I went to the housing office in search of what bus to take and what my address was, as both things were not yet mentioned to me by my new homestay mother. I got a sticky note with the address before the two of us spent a good half hour talking about my homestay, which no, was not going as well as it could have, while also trying to figure out which bus was best. With a thank you and the number 19 in mind, I set off reluctant to go home at all, but all in all, in search of the bus. I felt like a true city girl which up until then, I was never.
Standing at the station I vaguely remembered getting off at that morning. I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
I waited almost 40 minutes as a stream of red and white paused and went on without me. I wasn't sure what to do. At this point, I was not stupid. My bus was not coming. When I accepted this however, my heart began to race. My feet began to walk every which where trying to figure out the question I had been asking my whole life, only this time in a very real way.
Where did I belong?
That bus station certainly was not it. I tried to call anyone I could, only getting a automated message of a woman screaming "Bonjour!" over the line before I assume telling me my call could not be completed.
Somehow, I jogged all the way back up to my school of IAU, desperately hoping someone would be there. It was already almost seven or so. They would be closed.
But the door to one of the buildings opened. A secretary let me use the phone. Coping the numbers one at a time, the phone rang and rang...please pick up, I nearly began to pray.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Catherine," I may have never been so grateful to hear my professor's voice before. "So, I am very lost. I'm sorry."
In a cherry voice she told me that instead of her coming to me, that I should go to her at the apartment where she and the rest of her family were staying. Once I did that we could figure things out and make a game plan.
She and her other professor husband fed me chocolate. He proclaimed that maybe the housing coordinator was right early, I should probably switch homestays, especially as Catherine continued to dial Andrea's phone number to no answer. "You'll never see her again. Don't worry about feeling bad."
I shrugged. It was late now and I was unsure even though he had a point.
Catherine and I went out in search of the 8 or 19.
It took us almost another hour to find it, but a little after 9 p.m.
The bus I was supposed to take? The 2.
Well, here we are.
I got lost. And no, it was not on purpose. Thus, this post deserved a header all it own.
The morning of my first day of orientation before classes, I was told that since I was so far away from campus, I would be needing to get on the bus. The morning of, Andrea clasped my wrist into her bony hand, a boa constrictor of a new sort, and promptly set off, nearly dragging me down the street and running onto a bus last minute. We were silent now that her hand was instead wrapped firmly around the yellow pole. She looked at the others on the bus who were not looking at us, but towards the screen showing the next stop, and promptly started spouting of all the French words. Words I did not know as if my very confused facial expression made me look less American.
None of these words I think included what bus I needed to get on later.
Or what time the bus would becoming.
Or where.
We simply jumped off before I was hauled into class orientation an hour before anyone else got there. I sat and stared at the unopened containers of orange juice, picking at the edge of my folder where Mase, Kendra was printed clearly along with my home school.
The day went well, I met some new people who were taking classes with me and people who are not. I met people who were there to travel and party and those who came to Aix to study because, why not? I think I was more in the latter section which seemed few and far between. I ate my first crepe (banana and nutella).
But most importantly, I FINALLY got to walk around Aix.
It was beautiful. The windows and the architecture astounded me and only promised that I would be taking far too many pictures of picturesque streets where the building leaned just enough to remind of Les Mis.
 |
| the face of a girl who was told to smile for a photo after being lost for almost four hours |
I walked down quite a few of them after I went to the housing office in search of what bus to take and what my address was, as both things were not yet mentioned to me by my new homestay mother. I got a sticky note with the address before the two of us spent a good half hour talking about my homestay, which no, was not going as well as it could have, while also trying to figure out which bus was best. With a thank you and the number 19 in mind, I set off reluctant to go home at all, but all in all, in search of the bus. I felt like a true city girl which up until then, I was never.
Standing at the station I vaguely remembered getting off at that morning. I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
I waited almost 40 minutes as a stream of red and white paused and went on without me. I wasn't sure what to do. At this point, I was not stupid. My bus was not coming. When I accepted this however, my heart began to race. My feet began to walk every which where trying to figure out the question I had been asking my whole life, only this time in a very real way.
Where did I belong?
That bus station certainly was not it. I tried to call anyone I could, only getting a automated message of a woman screaming "Bonjour!" over the line before I assume telling me my call could not be completed.
Somehow, I jogged all the way back up to my school of IAU, desperately hoping someone would be there. It was already almost seven or so. They would be closed.
But the door to one of the buildings opened. A secretary let me use the phone. Coping the numbers one at a time, the phone rang and rang...please pick up, I nearly began to pray.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Catherine," I may have never been so grateful to hear my professor's voice before. "So, I am very lost. I'm sorry."
In a cherry voice she told me that instead of her coming to me, that I should go to her at the apartment where she and the rest of her family were staying. Once I did that we could figure things out and make a game plan.
She and her other professor husband fed me chocolate. He proclaimed that maybe the housing coordinator was right early, I should probably switch homestays, especially as Catherine continued to dial Andrea's phone number to no answer. "You'll never see her again. Don't worry about feeling bad."
I shrugged. It was late now and I was unsure even though he had a point.
Catherine and I went out in search of the 8 or 19.
It took us almost another hour to find it, but a little after 9 p.m.
The bus I was supposed to take? The 2.
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