Sarah Marcoux, Class of 2007

Letter From Sarah Marcoux, studying abroad in Dijon, France.

Two hundred and nine. That’s the number of days I have been in Dijon, spending my junior year abroad in the capital of the Bourgogne region of France. I’d like to say I lead some kind of fabulous and exotic life abroad, but the reality is actually rather ordinary – homework, laundry, dinner with friends. Sometimes it feels like just the backdrop has changed. Upon reflection, however, I think that it is this feeling of normalcy that has become the most valuable part of my study abroad experience.

It’s impossible to describe the sensation of waking up and thinking, “Hey, alright, just another day in France.” There is such gratification in living according to the routines and customs of another culture, absorbing them until they no longer seem foreign. Apart from the strikes, the cigarettes, and the twenty-four hour clock, I’ve tried as much as possible to seek out the typical aspects of French life and make them my own. I’ve enjoyed driving the back roads more than the highways, spending afternoons in villages more than metropoles, food shopping at the farmers’ markets more than the grocery store chains. Culturally and linguistically, the experiences may have been more challenging at the time, but I can say now that they were infinitely more rewarding.

Admittedly, getting to this point has not been without difficulties. My first semester was one of almost complete immersion – thus, full of administrative nightmares, linguistic slip-ups, and a few bouts of homesickness. Ordinary errands and responsibilities became ten times harder when dubbed in another language. Cell phone plans, weather forecasts, tonsillitis – what was this vocabulary and why didn’t I know it? At school, as the only Anglophone in a history class of almost 100, my notes were punctuated with question marks and phonetic spelling. During one November lecture, the professor began speaking passionately about placing an “éclair” in its historical context. I spent a perplexed two minutes trying to figure out why he was going on about pastry until I deciphered the accent and realized he was talking about Hitler.

Thankfully, la vie française has gotten easier, and beyond the day-to-day routine I have had some truly exceptional adventures. I’ve made a wonderful group of international friends who, at the beginning, were just as lost as I was. With them, I’ve had the opportunity to travel with native speakers, to go beyond touristy experiences and really feel out a European lifestyle. I spent Christmas with a family in Germany and February vacation in a tiny village outside Toulouse. I ate wine grapes, warmed by the October sun, in a Bourguignon vineyard. I watch the news, really take pleasure in food and wine, go to movies and concerts. To be honest, I still make just as many mistakes, but at least they are different ones. Actually, when it comes to my language faults I’ve found most people to be genuinely helpful rather than critical. I’ve gotten a vocabulary lesson from a cheese vendor in Nimes and had a discussion about music with a random seatmate on a train. Overall, my impression has been one of generosity and curiosity, and thanks to these travels and interactions I feel more self-reliant, more confident in my language skills, and more culturally sensitive in general.

My two hundred and nine days, then, can maybe be compared to a sumptuous French meal – sometimes overwhelming, and a lot of hard work to prepare. However, the end result proves to be well worth the patience and effort, as the taste is richer, the experience has been savored and shared, and the memories of the moment will linger for a long, long while.