“Well, I’m finally here,” I thought to myself as my plane landed in Nice Côte d’Azur Airport about sixteen hours after flying out from the airport in Lubbock, Texas. I had been really glad to leave Frankfurt because the airport seemed rather dismal and everyone spoke German. (Most of the German I know I learned from watching the old TV show Hogan’s Heroes.) Even before that, I was rather displeased with Lufthansa because they so happened to be having scheduled crew member strikes in Frankfurt the day I left the United States (8/31). Those strikes, along with a flat tire on the plane, were part of the reason my flight from Houston to Frankfurt was delayed by an hour and a half. So it was with a little apprehension and a little excitement that I looked out my window on the plane from Frankfurt to Nice and saw the clear blue water of the Mediterranean Sea sparkling in the midday sun of the French Riviera.
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| Picture of Nice Côte d'Azur Airport |
After taking a shuttle from the airplane to the airport, I followed the signs all the way to the baggage claim. (They were in French and English so don’t feel TOO proud of me.) There were a herd of people all around the baggage claim for my airplane since two other flights had just landed, and I had to stand on my tip-toes to see the luggage as it flew past the long belt. (It was going at a pretty good clip for a baggage claim.) However, I was eventually able to approach the belt, only to have it stop suddenly. For the next fifteen minutes, the luggage just sat there, half in the baggage claim and half behind. In the meantime, they moved some of the luggage to another baggage claim without telling us and then proceeded to fix the line.
As the luggage moved past, I began to feel my heart beating faster because I didn’t see anything that looked like my luggage.
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| Insert scary music. |
“Great,” I thought. “Here I am just landed in Nice after a sixteen-hour flight, and I only have the change of clothes I stuck in last minute in my backpack.”
I walked rather nervously up to a counter that looked as if it had something to do with lost baggage, only to find out after a rather long wait in line that I was at the wrong place. The rather miffed lady behind the counter told me in a French accent that I needed to go down to the Lufthansa desk, which was nowhere to be seen. I moved off feeling rather dejected, homesick, and tired when I happened to glance by the baggage claim for oversized baggage.
To my overwhelming relief, my baggage was sitting off the oversized line as if it were waiting for me!
I grabbed it and hurried off to the customs desks since I was already late for my pick-up by the study abroad program. Nevertheless, what should appear before me but empty customs desks! I stood there puzzling over that one and wondering if I could go ahead and go through, but I saw a few other people just walking through, so I did the same. Thank the Lord, an older tanned man with a witty smile
was holding a CEA sign, still waiting for me!
He took the three of us he had come to meet out to a van and loaded all of our luggage, after which he drove us from Nice to Antibes, which is about a twenty-minute ride. I quickly realized that the French drive as if they’re riding roller coasters.
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| Okay, not that bad, but the concept's the same. |
The driver whirled around roundabouts as if they weren’t even there, missed
other cars by just a few inches, and sped down tiny streets with cars parked on both sides—all while blithely chatting in French to the lady who accompanied him.
After dropping off the two girls who had also been picked up, I was taken to the Boulevard de Président Wilson, where I met Kristin Kerr, the resident director for the program. She was really excited to see me and hurried me over to an apartment building similar to those found in New York and other big cities, with seven stories and a doorbell on the door for each apartment. I clambered into the elevator inside and arrived on my host mom’s floor. Madame Françoise Mazza, an older lady in her sixties or seventies, greeted me with my first French bisou and showed me into her quaint little French apartment. At the same time, I met my roommate, Dennis, who had arrived a week earlier.
Dennis took me down to the two stores nearby, and, for lack of anything better at the moment, I bought a frozen pizza for supper. It was not actually that bad, though I was a little intimidated at first by ham and mushrooms. Ah, well! I suppose desperation and exhaustion can make you do things you wouldn’t ordinarily do…
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| Looks gross but tastes surprisingly all right. |
Anyway, I eventually met the four study abroad girls who live in an apartment just below Madame Françoise’s and then proceeded to take one of the most appreciated showers I’ve ever had. Let’s just say that I slept really soundly that night. That was even more amazing because the window in our room was open onto the busy boulevard all night long, almost a necessity for my roommate and me because the French are not really big on air conditioners.
Things proceeded rapidly the next few days. All of the study abroad students who had arrived already had an orientation meeting at a little crêperie down the street, where I had my first pain au chocolat (my latest addiction) and an espresso to honor my sister Stacey’s wishes that I try one at least once. Afterwards, she took us on a tour of our neighborhood, especially Vieil Antibes, or Old Antibes, which comes complete with quaint narrow streets, pedestrian pathways, a cathedral, a wall first built by the ancient Greeks, and, of course, a beautiful view of the Mediterranean sea with the city of Nice in the distance and low mountains behind.
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| One thing I am definitely going to be longing for when I come back |
After a day or two, Madame Françoise—she’s like a French grandmother, by the way—taught me how to make a really good quiche, though some of the ingredients would be difficult to find in the States.
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| Quiche, glorious quiche! |
On Monday, our study abroad group traveled by bus to our university here, SKEMA Business School, where we had an orientation and those of us wanting to take French had to take a really difficult evaluation. I only had about ten minutes to scribble something down in French for the essay question, which asked me to describe myself mentally and physically. I did my best, but I keep imagining the amused expression on the grader’s face when he sees them. The best part was when I only had two minutes and so I hurriedly started scribbling down a whimsical physical description that became especially silly when I wrote, “Moi, j’ai des lèvres grande.” (“I have big lips.”)
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| Yes, I still have to study SOME while I'm here |
Well, I hate to have to stop writing, especially since I haven’t until now broached the subject of our day excursion into Nice, the beautiful hilltop village of Èze, and the climax, Monaco. But it’s getting late, and I need to go shower “avant me coucher” (before going to bed). À bientôt (See you soon)!
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| A taste of what's to come |
