My Year in France Essay -- How Education Has Changed My Life

The bus is swerving around corners at uncomfortable speeds, but no one seems to notice. My bags are dropping all over the place, while everyone elses are clutched calmly at their sides. Im wearing a collered shirt with khakis, and everyone else is wearing black Im feeling a little go forth of place. As the shuttle zooms between the various terminals at Pariss Charles de Gualle Airport, I glance nervously at my watch. I have a reservation on the drawstring to Marseille that leaves in 20 minutes. In French, I border up to the driver from the middle of the bus, is this stop the train station ? No one responds. I call again, is this stop the train station? A girl my age timidly shakes her head no. I approach the bus driver three stops afterward and ask him which stop is the train station, and he responds, it was the last stop, Monsieur. I asked him why he didnt indicate that fact to me, as he had heard me call start earlier, and he curtly replied, you didnt ask me, Monsieur. I missed that train, and had to go into Paris to take the next train, which got me into Marseille several hours later than planned, and into Aix-en-Provence with just enough time for the receptionist at my hotel to inform me that my room had been sold because they thought I wasnt coming. My year in France was off to a frustrating start. Flash to mid-November, ten weeks later. After rolling fall out of bed in my loft, which is decorated with seventeenth century frescos, I climbed downstairs to fix my French toast in my well-equiped kitchen, complete with a view of a courtyard. Im worried about finding time to go shopping for tonights dinner party, what kind of wine I should pick up, and whether I should go to Florence or ... ...ure dont tonicity American anymore. Gone are the bluejeans and concert T-shirts. Gone are the IU sweatshirts. In are turtleneck pulls, dark slacks, and smart shoes. I have grown presumptuousness to the breakneck speed French drivers maintain, and have l earned to travel light. I now know to ask the bus driver first thing to foretell my stop, and they are always happy to do so. Its amazing how quickly something so different can become so familiar. For me, that is what I love about traveling-learning to interpret the differences in order to discover all the similarities. Looking into that girls eyes and seeing her complete and utter despair, I realized that my mere ten weeks had already given me the knowledge and attitude necessary to feel comfortable in this foreign place. The learning curve in the months that have followed has been exponential.