So I mentioned I spoke French, right? You know, all the way back in We've only just hit the crust? Well, over the four years I attended the University of Utah, the last two were spent face-deep in French grammar books and Fairy Tales. I was on the path to a degree in linguistics, which I've done laughably little with over the year since graduating, but it's still a vital part of my story. Without linguistics, much of the self-discovery I experienced would have been displaced or possibly even absent altogether. Places I saw and people I met through needing to meet both language and degree requirements for the BA now encompass huge parts of my life. And without linguistics, I would never have gone to a specific job fair to see a brochure with the words Paris Internship boasted on the front. Overwhelmed with intrigue, I researched everything I could and soon found myself in interviews with the Hinckley Institute, the U's key sector for local and international internships. My acceptance was mostly thanks to having connections to the French Department. I was close to the department head, Madame Lair, who had been my professor twice. I never doubted that her letter of recommendation was what convinced the Hinckley Institute to accept me in this highly coveted internship position.
I was put in touch with an agency in Paris who was responsible for placing students from anywhere in the US. Once I was accepted, the agency had some work to do:
- Find me a job
- Organize an interview with that job
- Find me a host family
- Get me accustom to Paris transportation
- Acquaint me with the other students
- Find me a second host family ...a story for another time.
Going to Paris wasn’t some graduation gift to me. My yearning to learn French, having become more than some meager Bachelor’s of Arts requirement, stemmed from my relationship with my grandmother, yet another story for later. I actually mocked the concept of learning another language all through high school, but look at me now. As you can see from the crudely drawn itinerary from back then (a JB original), I had a few stops ahead of me in this epic learning adventure to come. Leaving Utah on May 19th was the easy part. What this well-detailed depiction doesn’t tell you, is that I was meant to land in O’Hare, Chicago then go to London and only then would I head to Dublin to sleep for a night before my final destination. It so happens that it’s a difficult feat when the flight from SLC is 20 minutes late to Chicago and my sprint to the next plane only ensured my front-row viewing to my next flight leaving without me. It inspired this video of pristinely-articulated impromptu:
Eesh. Well, that could have gone better. The dashing little cottage-hotel didn't refund my money; strike one for the Irish. Even though I planned to stay a night in Dublin each way on my round trip, I chose a generic airport hotel on the way home. So my excitement in finding this spot was in vain. But I mean, look at it. Isn't it cute? Go ahead and click it. I'll wait.
Now you understand my disappointment. But I was on a mission, and heading to Paris a day early presented new challenges. It was miraculous that there was a direct flight to the country of my ancestors less than an hour later. I sat in between a guy around my age, leaving for a Euro trip, and a French businessman returning home who, first thing, comments, "You're the one I saw running down the airport!" My reputation precedes me. I spoke with the older gentleman for only a few moments. We became acquainted in French then moved to English, or at least he did, after he deemed my nervous French inadequate. Speaking to a native speaker of your second language is always mortifying. It still renders me shaky, even though this became the new standard after leaving the university. This first experience alone was humbling enough to force me to realize I was doomed to be linguistically pulverized before this trip was over. It didn't matter that I've always been one of the top speakers in class.
We had two meals over the course of the flight. I woke up to this festive breakfast and I didn't know whether to giggle or sigh. I don't get the hate for airplane food. It wasn't the best thing I've ever had, but it beat my expectations. And yeah. I was that guy. Most everyone is just waking up, but there's a jackass taking flash photography of his fucking airplane food. Thank god I captured this momentous occasion. Where would we be had I not chosen this moment in time to reveal this picture over a year after the fact?
The only other flight I had been on before this was round trip to Portland, Oregon for my uncle's wedding. I absolutely love turbulence (yet I have no interest in free-fall rides at amusement parks). I get it - I'm weird. But for me, it's easy; I just assume the pilots have an interest in self-preservation and that's always been enough. This flight, being much longer than Oregon, had plenty of turbulence and a good many hours over a barren ocean - a journey not for those with weak stomachs or claustrophobia. An overhead monitor told the plane's speed and outside temperature. What was interesting was that we flew upwards making an arch into Canada and a good deal more north before coming back down through, ironically, London. I've been told I have a bladder of steel and I take pride in saying that I never got up during the 13-something hour flight to Paris from Chicago.
No, these two weren't the step up from the greeters at Walmart, but getting off that plane felt like one small step for man and one giant leap for yours truly. I was in a surreal landscape with a foreign tongue being spoken and written all around me. But wait! I spoke this foreign tongue! It just turns out that understanding it was a whole different thing entirely. I now realized that even my most advanced professors had been going so, so easy on us all along. I almost felt ripped off, like my years of study meant nothing. I eventually acclimated from understanding 30% to ~80% by the end. Two months isn't enough time, and that's the only reason for which I might envy a missionary.
The only thing that went very wrong was the bending and eventual breaking of my, luckily, detachable aux jack for my headphones after reaching my hotel seven hours after getting off the plane. It took almost a month before I got around to finding a tech shop that had a spare for two euros. I guess, at the time, that was the final straw, because I had no clue this day would end with me at the Last Minute Inn sobbing face down into my pillow.
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