It's been three days and two nights since I arrived in Pau, a gloriously picturesque little city at the foot of the Pyrennees. The chateau beside the river, the pretty little Juliet balconies decorating white-washed, majestic town houses and the buzzing cafes lining windy streets amount to an idyllic portrayal of Southern French life. I'm still in disbelief that this is the setting of a year of my life... And after finding a gorgeous appartment that bought to mind snapshots from 'Amelie', along with an extremely pleasant French collocatrice named Cecile, I have to say that I'm extremely content. That's not to say the last few days haven't been ever so slightly stressful, to say the least. The Leeds French department came up trumps in the disorganisation stakes, informing us that it would be dead easy to find a place on arrival (by us I mean a fellow Leedser, Polly, who I have been flat-hunting with), but the first thing that the accomodation office asked was why I hadn't contacted them in June. This led to some rushed 'annoncement' searches, but I was especially in luck, the first person that I contacted being Cecile. Polly, however, had a lot more difficulty and has only just found a place, which is only contracted for a month anyway.... but we'll just put it down to character building and life experience. My rusty knowledge of French adds to the latter, having being used less and less since May, when uni finished. My initial fears of not having enough exposure to the language, as I was warned, have since vanished thanks to the monumentally small amount of English that the residents of Pau speak, which is fantastic, but often difficult and tiring. I'm sure not many people would go out of their way to describe Rosie Blunt as unconfident, but I froze up when I uttered my first few words to a friendly waitress. Since then, I've been talking on the phone, having light-hearted gossips with Cecile and discussing complicated deals for mobile phones with salesmen. I have no doubt that my confidence, if not my French, has improved obscenely within just three days.
However, I still have the weekend left in a lovely, chateau-style appartment overlooking vineyards and mountains before my parents leave me all alone in the big, bad monde on Monday. It is still most certainly the honeymoon period, and there will be even bigger challenges to face as the year progresses. But, at the moment, I am raring to get stuck into ma nouvelle vie francaise.
Thursday, 24 September 2009
Sunday, 20 September 2009
Sir Benfro
Before heading off to the notoriously snobby country of France, I thought it appropriate to enlighten you on one of the most underrated and deprecated regions in the world: Wales. Why did no one tell me before about the breathtakinly unspoilt, majestically beautifully and unexpectedly fun-filled land of Pembrokeshire? I suspect the former is the reason. Unlike Cornwall, seemingly miles and miles of Pembrokeshire is untouched, the reason behind this perhaps being the lack of 'cool' credit the region obtains. For me, the stereotype Pembrokeshire tourist instantly brings to mind a middle-aged, yet unfeasibly physical, white-haired hiking enthusiast, forcing his way through scorchingly cold wind and rain along the Pembrokeshire coastal path, staying in unfriendly B & Bs, and repeating the mantra: 'It's just great to get away from it all and immerse oneself in Mother Nature! 'Staycations' should have been brought back years ago!' Translated as: 'I'm really regretting leaving my cosy semi-detached in Surrey and coming to this god-forsaken, freezing-cold hell hole 'cause I couldn't afford to go skiing this year. Bloody recession' .
Perhaps not the location one would choose as a romantic holiday for a 21-year old couple. My sights were set on a cute little Cornish cottage somewhere near surf beaches and pubs...the setting of my summer holidays as a child.... However, the last-minute nature of the arrangement and the financial situation of a student and graduate/care assistant prevented this idyllic and completely unobtainable fantasy from being realised. Along with their fashionable status, 'staycations' have become expensive. Various budget holiday websites were searched, with delightful destinations such as Benadorm and Magaloof being almost considered....before Pembrokeshire appeared on the suggestions list. The first B & B I e-mailed, Fynnon Clun, situated just outside the charming village of Goodwick, replied within minutes. To add to the excitement, owners Mike and Christine had a self-catering 'Cwtsch' available, later discovered to be an adorable little barn conversion, complete with ladder up to the bedroom, log burner and free-range eggs and bacon. It cannot go without mentioning that Mike and Christine were the perfect hosts, and, dare I say it? Pretty cool.
I rarely use the word 'stunning', but I feel it an appropriate adjective to describe the scenery surrounding Fynnon Clun. By day, sublime cliffs and deep blue seas, delicate flowers decorating windy little roads, awe-inspiring open country and pretty little villages with multi-coloured, smartie-like houses. By night, silence and the milky way. What could be more romantic? Oh, and so one doesn't get too bored with one's loved one and that beautful backdrop, there's always surfing, kayaking, coasteering, rock climbing, fishing, hiking and wonderful food and drink. Who needs places to go out in the evening when, actually, all you want to do is sleep after all that action? However, despite our lack of enthusiasm for evening activities, there seemed to be many a lively pub, cinema or concert within distance.
I will return to Pembrokeshire again and again, and if Mike and Christine allow it, to Fynnon Clun. Referencing an appropriate proverb for Wales; It pays not to be a sheep.
Perhaps not the location one would choose as a romantic holiday for a 21-year old couple. My sights were set on a cute little Cornish cottage somewhere near surf beaches and pubs...the setting of my summer holidays as a child.... However, the last-minute nature of the arrangement and the financial situation of a student and graduate/care assistant prevented this idyllic and completely unobtainable fantasy from being realised. Along with their fashionable status, 'staycations' have become expensive. Various budget holiday websites were searched, with delightful destinations such as Benadorm and Magaloof being almost considered....before Pembrokeshire appeared on the suggestions list. The first B & B I e-mailed, Fynnon Clun, situated just outside the charming village of Goodwick, replied within minutes. To add to the excitement, owners Mike and Christine had a self-catering 'Cwtsch' available, later discovered to be an adorable little barn conversion, complete with ladder up to the bedroom, log burner and free-range eggs and bacon. It cannot go without mentioning that Mike and Christine were the perfect hosts, and, dare I say it? Pretty cool.
I rarely use the word 'stunning', but I feel it an appropriate adjective to describe the scenery surrounding Fynnon Clun. By day, sublime cliffs and deep blue seas, delicate flowers decorating windy little roads, awe-inspiring open country and pretty little villages with multi-coloured, smartie-like houses. By night, silence and the milky way. What could be more romantic? Oh, and so one doesn't get too bored with one's loved one and that beautful backdrop, there's always surfing, kayaking, coasteering, rock climbing, fishing, hiking and wonderful food and drink. Who needs places to go out in the evening when, actually, all you want to do is sleep after all that action? However, despite our lack of enthusiasm for evening activities, there seemed to be many a lively pub, cinema or concert within distance.
I will return to Pembrokeshire again and again, and if Mike and Christine allow it, to Fynnon Clun. Referencing an appropriate proverb for Wales; It pays not to be a sheep.
I always thought blogs were slighty pretentious. An unnecessary and confusing technicality for people who think too much and overindulge in sharing the boring details of their tortured minds... But here I am. I'd like to take a fresh approach to blogs, and share the things that I think are worth sharing. The things that I'd like to hear about if I were you.
In all honesty, I'd like to (perhaps a little conceitedly) suggest that my life of 21 years has suddenly got quite exciting. I leave for France on Tuesday, where I'm going to live for a year. I'll keep you updated about my adventures, and whether they match up to my decidedly hopeful expectations involving cheese and wine-filled nights with intelligent French students arguing about politics.
I feel quite differently about going to France then I did about travelling to Sri Lanka in 2007 and Uganda last summer. (Oh dear, here come the boring details of my tortured mind...sorry.) Both were enormous adventures for me, particularly Sri Lanka as I was only nineteen and hadn't even lived away from home before. Plus I was to be gone for four whole months, living amongst a completely different culture. It was hard at times, but it was incredible and I grew up a lot. As for Uganda,I was going away for two months with a whole load of people from university, which made things much less scary. I enjoyed myself in the wilds of East Africa even more than I did in my gap year. From living in a mud hut amongst the malaria-ridden, poverty-stricken, yet wonderful villagers of the deserted Murchison area to travelling around Rwanda, Tanzania and Kenya, those two short months were the most eye-opening, beautiful and fun I have ever had.
But France? It's only across the channel, or an hour or so to Pau on a cheap Ryanair flight. It's a similar climate to here in England but slightly hotter, the food is reportedly delicious, and the people are, well, let's wait and see. I've heard mixed reviews. There's not a lot to be scared about. But then, I am the foreigner. Yes, I was even more of a foreigner in Uganda and Sri Lanka. But I was there to build schools, teach English, do environmental stuff. I was useful, I was there to help. I was welcome with my knowledge and my enthusiasm and, arguably most importantly, my money. When I arrive in France I have to hunt down some cheap accomodation and then hunt down some French friends, so that I can 'immerse' myself in the culture and triumphantly return home fluent in French... I feel as if I'm somewhat imposing myself and expecting a lot. I am more of an étrangère than ever before.... merde.
In all honesty, I'd like to (perhaps a little conceitedly) suggest that my life of 21 years has suddenly got quite exciting. I leave for France on Tuesday, where I'm going to live for a year. I'll keep you updated about my adventures, and whether they match up to my decidedly hopeful expectations involving cheese and wine-filled nights with intelligent French students arguing about politics.
I feel quite differently about going to France then I did about travelling to Sri Lanka in 2007 and Uganda last summer. (Oh dear, here come the boring details of my tortured mind...sorry.) Both were enormous adventures for me, particularly Sri Lanka as I was only nineteen and hadn't even lived away from home before. Plus I was to be gone for four whole months, living amongst a completely different culture. It was hard at times, but it was incredible and I grew up a lot. As for Uganda,I was going away for two months with a whole load of people from university, which made things much less scary. I enjoyed myself in the wilds of East Africa even more than I did in my gap year. From living in a mud hut amongst the malaria-ridden, poverty-stricken, yet wonderful villagers of the deserted Murchison area to travelling around Rwanda, Tanzania and Kenya, those two short months were the most eye-opening, beautiful and fun I have ever had.
But France? It's only across the channel, or an hour or so to Pau on a cheap Ryanair flight. It's a similar climate to here in England but slightly hotter, the food is reportedly delicious, and the people are, well, let's wait and see. I've heard mixed reviews. There's not a lot to be scared about. But then, I am the foreigner. Yes, I was even more of a foreigner in Uganda and Sri Lanka. But I was there to build schools, teach English, do environmental stuff. I was useful, I was there to help. I was welcome with my knowledge and my enthusiasm and, arguably most importantly, my money. When I arrive in France I have to hunt down some cheap accomodation and then hunt down some French friends, so that I can 'immerse' myself in the culture and triumphantly return home fluent in French... I feel as if I'm somewhat imposing myself and expecting a lot. I am more of an étrangère than ever before.... merde.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)