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

The bus is swerving around corners at awkward speeds, but no one seems to notice. My bags are f wholeing all over the place, while everyone elses are clutched calmly at their sides. Im wearing a collered raiment with khakis, and everyone else is wearing black Im feeling a little out 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 tone at to Marseille that leaves in 20 minutes. In French, I call 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 sequence timidly shakes her head no. I approach the bus driver tercet stops afterward and ask him which stop is the train station, and he responds, it was the exist stop, Monsieur. I asked him why he didnt indicate that fact to me, as he had heard me call out earlier, and he curtly replied, you didnt ask me, Monsieur. I mi ssed 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 change because they thought I wasnt coming. My year in France was off to a frustrate start. Flash to mid-November, ten weeks later. After rolling 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 in a bad way(p) about finding time to go shopping for tonights dinner party, what sort of wine I should pick up, and whether I should go to Florence or ... ...ure dont look 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 bountiful accustomed to the breakneck speed French drivers maintain, and have learne d to strike light. I now know to ask the bus driver eldest thing to signal my stop, and they are always happy to do so. Its fearsome how quickly something so different can become so familiar. For me, that is what I love about traveling-learning to understand the differences in order to discover all the similarities. Looking into that girls eyes and seeing her complete and utter despair, I agnize that my mere ten weeks had already given me the knowledge and attitude requirement to feel comfortable in this foreign place. The learning curve in the months that have followed has been exponential.