So much for every week, huh?

So I'm starting this post thinger on Wednesday ... who knows when it'll actually be finished.

So. Bet y'all want to know about my foot.

Well, two weeks ago on a Thursday (the most Dreaded Day of ... sport) we were running laps. I guess I didn't stretch enough or something because my the end of the Three Laps of Death, my ankles hurt like a biatch and I could hardly walk.

Don't worry. It got better after a few days, and by (I believe) Sunday night, I could stand and nearly walk normally.

Unfortunately, Sunday night brought more harm to me in the form of ... bees.

That's right, folks, bees. As in the little yellow-and-black things with stingers that make honey.

"Why?" you are undoubtedly wondering, "Why is Leah around bees?"

Oh. Haven't you heard (actually I don't remember if I said this last time, so I really don't know whether you've heard): the Petiot family keeps bees. It's a hobby of sorts, I suppose. For the past few weeks there was even some honeycomb sitting on the counter and every now and again someone would take a spoonful and just ... eat it. I seriously considered it, but when I saw bees on it ... I chickened out.

So. I was minding my own business, peeling potatoes for dinner (yumm ...) and there were bees flying in and out of the kitchen; the wondows and doors were opened and they don't have screens here, it appears. It so happens, actually, that bees terrify me out of my wits as do any other sort of bugs. So there I was, innocently, possibly even whistling an uplifting tune like "Put on a Happy Face" or "Tomorrow," when a bee--that's right, folks, a bee--dive bombed me and buzzed in my face and it was

terrifying.

Trying to be brave (grey skies are gonna clear up, put on a happy face), I brandished my potato peeler at it with an air of impatience, clearly telling this bee I had no time for its silly antics and attepts to terrify me (brush off the clouds and cheer up, put on a happy face ...)

Nothing doing. Apparenly, this was a Leah-eater ... and it was hungry.

Abandoning my pretense of mere irritation, I bolted from the kitchen table towards the living room, shuffling my socked feet, as the ankles were still a bit sore, you know.

Then I met a new nemesis: soft wood floor.

Suddenly, I was lying on my back, staring at the high ceiling (it has windows, I observed) as Douglas calmly shooed the bees outside and asked if I was okay.

"Feeling extremely graceful," I replied. I rose to my feet and tried to walk back to my potatoes. But the damage was done.

Luckily, when I tiptoed it hurt less, so my high-heeled shoes did me very good. Hah.

Until Tuesday morning.

Tuesday morning I had to get to school on my own because it started at 11 and by that time, my only available mode of transpotation was the dreaded RER (dreaded because it keeps telling me my tickets are invalid ... long story, hard to explain, and not entirely interesting). It was raining that morning, but that's okay. I don't mind rain.

The streets here slope. I like that, personally, I think it adds character to the town.

But my foot had things in mind besides character. As I was walking past the fruit market (don't picture Produce Palace ... it's more of an open-air kind of thing, but on a small scale) my left ankle just folded underneath me and I slapped the pavement hard, falling to the ground.

Made it to school fine, and quite frankly didn't notice the repercussions until I took off my boots later.

My sentence: Thursday, my snkle was dubbed too swollen for walking and I remained home from school. A doctor came and made a house call and decided in all his wiseness that I would benefit from three days of rest.

Apparently, this has a happy ending.

No! I mean ... umm ... I was sad to miss long-long-long French school, especially because that Friday I had nine-and-a-half hours, and I was even mire agrieved to hear that there was no work for me to make up.

Sad, I know.

I have more to say, but Victoria is cleaning and I am in her way (yes, I offered to help!). So I'll leave you with this for now, and fill you in on any other adventures later.

Love always,
Leah
who is awesome
and in France
which you aren't
hah

Righto ....

I've managed to fix my blog so that anyone in the world can comment. And to Aunt Dee/Uncle Scott: hello!!!! They're Italians! France's enemy in soccer! Gosh ...

Where did I leave you ... merde ... hold on a sec ...

Oh, I should let you know that France ended up winning that footie match 3-1 ... which is as it should be.

SO.

I had the opportunity to meet my third host family sometime that week-- the Moissonier family. They invited me to dinner in Paris one evening. Myriam (the mum) and Loick (the younger brother--Victor, the older brother, is currently in Texas) arrived at Guite's house when I was upstairs getting ready. I ran down the stairs and nearly died--Guite's stairs are marble--near the bottom because I slipped. I found them in the dining room on Guite's computer, looking at Victor's blog. When they detatched themselves from the computer, we did the whole French kissy thing ... that is to say a kiss on each cheek ... not snogging.

Riiiiiight.

Anyhow, Loick does it very oddly. Usually, they just press their cheeks to each other and make a kissing noise, but he actually does this thing where he turns his head and kisses my cheeks ... odd.

Anyhow, we drove into Paris and picked up Pierre--the father--who had been in some sailboat race or something. Then we went for ... Chinese! When in France ...

Well, this was the home of THE most disgusting eggroll I had ever tasted in my life! I kid you not, mes amis, it tasted like vomit. The rest was good though. And I ended up liking the Moissoniers very much.

I also went to the movies with Loick and some of his friends a few days later. Boys are so dumb. They got soooooo lost on the métro. It was ridiculous. We got to "Lady in the Water" a few minutes late. But the movie was so horrible I wish we'd missed the whole thing. Oy vey.

I didn't stay with Guite forever. As sweet as she was, I had a real first home family to go to and after I'd been in France for a week, they came home.

"You will like Victoria," Guite told me, "she is very ..." at this point, unable to find the words, I picked up that she was very outgoing ... in you face, maybe.

Haha! I was right!

Victoria Petiot came to pick me up in the evening of Wednesday the 30th of August and knowing her now, I can tell you that the "nice cup of tea" we had with Guite before departing is not a normal routine for her.

"I love wine!" she exclaimed later, as my new host brother Sacha explained that she was always like this when she was happy.

So now I have a new host family. Meet them.

The dad, Didier: When I met him, he had heavily greying hair, but the next days Victoria dyed it black, so he looks quite young now. He is a "notaire," which, he explained to me, is something like a lawyer. And a few days ago he had me try some whiskey (he had some friends over after work--his exact words were "Drink with us, Leah?"). It was ... well, not so bad once diluted with Perrier. Otherwise ... ew. But he is a very nice person, if not Victoria's polar opposite ... or nearly, anyway.

The mom, Victoria: She is quite a personality. She teaches the French version of kindergarten, she loves children, and she loves wine (as she grandiosely announed the first day I was there ... wait ... told you that already). She's got frizzy red hair and wide eyes and this HUGE smile that's incredible. She also loves cheese and tells me that by the time I leave France I will too. I don't know, though ... Great cook!

The older sister, Lola: I actually don't know much about Lola ... she's in Mexico right now and I'm living in her room. She's got awful taste in toothpaste, though. Other than that, I'm sure she's a lovely person.

The older brother, Sacha: Three words, my friends, three words: oh là là. Luckily, he's not only nice to look at, but he's nice to be around as well. He took me to his friend's apartment one day in this dingy little section of Paris, and I understood NOTHING anyone said, but it was soooo much fun. Can't really give a good reason, but ...

The younger sister, Alice: Alice is pretty on a nearly Roxanne-Kozma-caliber, which, for those of you who don't know Maggie's sister, is incredible. She's only fourteen but she looks and (usually) acts a lot older. We hit it off pretty decently the second day when we went to a mall in Créteil and she bought me a shirt. I really like that shirt too.

The younger brother, Douglas: He's shy. We barely ever talk except once, but that was when Alice was around as well. I think he's a nice kid, though ... other than when he and Alice are getting on each other's nerves.

Lame descriptions, I know. But onto other things.

On my birthday (which was on Friday the first of September, not Saturday like my email a few weeks ago said), the Petiots threw me a small celebration. We ate dinner at the Table that is Never Used and they bought me a chocolate birthday mousse. Now, I've never liked mousse because it's like pudding, but the texture of this mousse was different and it was soooooooo good! They gave me for a present, a small silver ankle bracelet from India. I've yet to wear it because I'm always wearing jeans ... ooh! I'll put it on today.

Well, on my first Sunday evening with the Petiot family we went to a 20th birthday party of a family friend or a cousin or something. It was waaaaaaayyy out in the country, maybe a two-hour drive ... don't remember exactly. Although it was awkward at first, I somehow fell into a conversation with this British (swoon!) guy and we ended up chatting the rest of the night--including dinner, which I remember, yet have no recollection of eating--until Sacha took Alice and Douglas and I home at about two in the morning ... well, I guess we got home at two in the morning. Victoria and Didier stayed behind for a while because Victoria wanted to swim. I think she'd had a bit more wine than the rest of us, but who am I to judge? It isn't as though I had none.

I had a really weird dream that night involving a band of Hell's Angels and M. Night Shyamalan.

I also had this dream about three pitch-black centipedes (vomit) who were crawling on this white padding thing (which doesn't exist in real life) that was hanging on the staircase in my bedroom. I was looking down at them, then they all disappeared. Bizarre.

I know what you're thinking ... "why in the world do you have a staircase in your bedroom?"

Did I not mention it? Silly me. Well, see, I have my very own shower in my bedroom!!!!! It's quite incredible. If I want a shower at midnight all I have to do is climb up some stairs and voilà! There I am ... I can take a shower!

That Monday I met my hosting Rotary Club. They're amazingly nice people, just like in Royal Oak, but no singing during the opening of the meeting.

I had a nice time, but nothing extraordinarily noteworthy happened ... good food. Oh yeah! Everyone laughed at me because I didn't know the French word for fork. Forchette. I'll never forget.

Ahh. Wednesday came. The first day of school.

That day was, without a single sliver of a shadow of doubt in my mind, my worst day of my exchange thus far. I was completely overwhelmed my unfriendly professeurs and was quite upset when I got home. It was only four hours, but it had been four hours too many. After lunch I spent the rest of the day in my bedroom.

The second day was much better.

One might even call it the best day yet of my exchange, or close to it, anyway.

I got to school ...

on

a

motorbike.

Really fast.

With a guy who's English was accented British.

'Nuff said, my friends ... 'nuff said.

According to my journal, that night I had no electricity in my room. I forgot about that.

I had another weirdly and horribly vivid dream recently, but I won't go into detail. Too boring ...

School this week was ... eh ... it was there. I got out of Spanish class--hoorah! But Thursday I got injured in sport, likely due to me not stretching enough, but I still like to blame my evil sport teacher.

Friday night Victoria took me to a bar called Batofar because the Hard Lessons were playing--a local group from home--and they're friends of mom's and wanted to meet me. Unfortunately, we missed their show. We watched the other band (Ok, Go) play, but when they were done, we decided to go outside in hopes of spotting Augie, from the Hard Lessons.

Well, there were two guys standing near the entrance to the backstage area, and I recognized one as a member of Ok, Go. Victoria suggested I ask them if they knew if the Hard Lessons had left yet, but I told her I'd feel bad asking a band if they knew about another one when they'd just played. See how thoughtful I am?

Somehow, though, she convinced me, and I went up to the Ok, Go guy and said, "Hi, I hope this doesn't sound horrible because I just saw you play and you're amazing and I love you more than anything ... but do you happen to know if the Hard Lessons left yet?"

He indicated the guy beside him and said, "He is the Hard Lessons."

Naturally, because I am incredible, I didn't recognize Augie, who exclaimed, "Oh my God, are you Leah?" ... that was kind of gratifying.

The fifteen minutes or so that we spent chatting were totally worth it, though I did feel a little bit homesick when we left. Like I'd had "a little slice of home," as Victoria put it, a little too soon.

Yesterday, though ... yesterday is the day that gives day number two of school a run for its money.

Last night was the birthday party of a Rotarian--Michel. It was out in the country, like the other party, but only about an hour away, if that. On the way, I saw something awful--a development. NOTHING ruins the charm of a French house more than the forced settlement of a thousand nearly-identical homes plopped in the middle of a would-be countryside.

However, Michel's house was far from in a development. It was a huge, old, beautiful house. I WISH I had taken my camera! Hopefully, I'll see it again before next July.

We arrived at about two in the afternoon and didn't leave until after ten. They served us lunch and dinner on the back patio on a loooooooong table for about fifty or more people and a seperate one for small children (not me ... though I was the youngest at the not-child table). There were at least ten kinds of salads: salted carrots, tomato and basil, sardine (yuck), tabouleh, potato--among much more. There was an enormous barbecue with chicken, beef and sausage; likely more than fifteen different kinds of wine, plus one three-litre glass bottle of German beer, which I tried but I prefer wine; and too many desserts to count. Dinner at 8:30 was leftovers of this, but there was still more than enough.

After we'd eaten lunch, two groups of about ten people played a game called boule or something similar. It's like bocce ball--of which, sidebar, I've played two games in my life both with me and a coworker of my dad's against my dad and a coworker, and me and Marvin (the guy's name, obviously) kicked my dad's butt both times--only thing is, I have no idea how they figured the sequence in which the people threw their balls at the little ball thinger, nor have I any idea of how score was kept. The point is, though, that I had millions of tons of fun and was told that I played well for a first-timer.

At about 10:20 we left, and I was sorry to go because everyone was super-nice AND I understood nearly everything that people had said to me throughout the day, in French.

So ... as a wrap-up ...

I feel officially settled with the Petiot family and am comfortable with everyone, a feat never quite accomplished at Guite's house, where I harbored the suspicion that her daughter Odile didn't like me much. The only family member for whom I have a distaste is the dog. As a cat person, yes, I am prejudiced, but he is annoying and gives the entryway the distinct smell of ... well, dog. Ah, well. He's also the easiest to avoid.

So I'm finally caught up and I'll try to update once-a-week-ish.

Drop a comment.

Cheers,
Leah

Just FYI ...

Thought you should know, France just scored again. 2-0. Take that, dirty cheating Italians.

Allez les Bleus.

Cheers

Here's the sum-up

Maybe you got an email telling you about this blog, complete with a bullet list of things that would be here.

Here's the thing ...

I have been here for two weeks and a LOT has happened. I would love to go into intense detail but ... I just don't have the time. See, I go to school and you know ... live. That is to say, not in front of the computer. The Rotary frowns upon that. Incidentally, so do I.

As the title said: here's the sum-up.

Shoot. First I have to say Allez les Bleus, for as I type this the wonderful French are facing the dirty Italians in a footie match. They just scored--the French, that is ... not the dirty Italians.

Oh ... Italians are only dirty when it comes to soccer. Otherwise they're wonderful people ... great food.

Anyhow ...

I arrived in France about on time on August 23. My first (and current) host family, the Petiots, were on holiday in India at the time, so my second host mother (grandmother?) picked me up: Marguerite (Guite) Benoit.

I didn't want to admit it to myself, but I was sooooo tired that day. In the middle of studying some French verb conjugations, I went to my bedroom to get a pencil and accidentally fell asleep.

Guite's daughter and son-in-law live in a house in her garden (Guite's garden) with their three daughters. Guite's daughter is named Odile and her husband (who's from Nigeria) is named Kadir. Their three adorable daughters are Kenza (10), Maissane (7), and Hilal (1). As little kids tend to do, they avoided me like the Plague at first, only saying "Bonjour!" when Guite asked "Aren't you going to say good morning to Leah?"

At the final Rotary convention-thinger in Ohio, I got a paper that said something approximate to "It is not unusual for exchange students to gain up to 25 Kg on their exchange." 25 Kg ... that's about 60 lbs ... no thank you. But living with Guite, I could see why they said that. She's a very nurturing person (much like my owe grandmother) and would frequently ask "Tu veux encore?" which means "Do you want more?" I made it a point to quickly learn to say that I'm full (Je n'ai plus faim).

I also had the opportunity to meet Guite's brother Emmanuel, his wife, Nicole, and their daughter, Elodie. Emmanuel is soooooo nice--and a Buddhist. He reminded me of Uncle John for some reason ... couldn't say why ...

Well, I'd say that's a reasonable first dose, wouldn't you? More soon, more soon ...

Cheers!
Leah

So ... I have my journal in my lap right now and I was thinking to sum up the adventures I've had thus far. However, the internet is down here almost entirely and of three or four computers, this is the only one with internet access. So ... once all the computers are functional, I'll post something more ... exciting.

Cheers,
Leah