Archives from France


Cafe de Sad


The Beginning of France

The one thing I don't like about my friend's blogs when they go abroad is that I feel like it's not personal.  What good is reading a note if it wasn't specifically written for me?  I don't quite feel special to this friend, unless the account of their journey I am reading details their experiences in an exact way that caters to our friendship.  This may be selfish, I know, but that's how I feel and I am taking this issue into consideration as I sit down to write my first Lacoste blog entry.

This blog will probably reflect the way I like to travel.  I don’t care for tours.  I know, tours are "so great" but I would actually rather learn less and discover the place on my own.  I don't like the structure of tours, to be specific.  This blog will have no structure.  Sometimes I may write about what I did that day, and sometimes I may write more on an idea that was on my mind all day.  As far as the personal part goes, I plan to write in my journal as usual and convert those journal entries into a blog entry.  And so as my blog readers, you are tapping in to one of the most personal parts of me: my journal.  And so I hope that as you read, you don't feel like I'm writing a generic blog that everyone can read, but I'm sharing with you an entry from my journal, as if we were having coffee and I had my journal right there to show you.  Thanks for taking the time to read a part of my life.

French Girl

I stepped off the bus that took me to Lacoste (a remote place that's a two hour cab ride from any city with a train station or airport) and from the road, I walked up a small hill and crossed from asphalt to cobblestone, onto the grounds of the SCAD Lacoste campus.

After running our luggage up to our rooms and claiming our favorite beds, my roommates and I explored until dinner.  Huffing and puffing up the steep stone streets I noticed that each building in Lacoste fits in it's own litte pocket of the hill.  It seems that the city takes after the Greek philosophy of building one's building around the land, not formulating the land around the building.  The buildings are made of light brown stone with terracotta tile roofs and blend seamlessly into the countryside.  The only way to tell what is a building is to look for the shutters, ranging in color from bright French blue to yellow ochre.

My favorite part of today (my second day in Lacoste), was going to the market.  We, the students and teachers, all got on a bus and went to Apt, also known as our saving grace for purchasing anything we need because there's not many places to get things in Lacoste.  When I stepped off the bus I was told by a fellow classmate that in France, they rarely give you bags when you purchase things, you must bring your own bag.  I did not do that.  "No worries" I told myself and I glided through the sunlit market, taking in rows of soaps in rainbows of color, and listening to the sound of quiet French voices mingling with the flapping of the tablecloths and flips of the tents.  And voila! I found what I was calmly searching for: a bag vendor.  I purchased a palm-woven market bag with leather straps.  Directly after buying the bag I went to the next stand and bought my first baguette.  I stuck the baguette in the bag and made sure it was sticking out at the top a little bit.  Immediately, I was a French girl.

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