My Year in France Essay -- How Education Has Changed My Life

The bus is swerving around corners at uncomfortable speeds, but no one seems to notice. My bags are falling all over the place, while everyone else's are clutched calmly at their sides. I'm wearing a collered shirt with khakis, and everyone else is wearing black I'm feeling a little out of place. Â   As the shuttle zooms between the various terminals at Paris's Charles de Gualle Airport, I glance nervously at my watch. I have a reservation on the train to Marseille that leaves in 20 minutes. In French, I call up to the driver from the middle of the bus, 'is this stop the train station ?' No one responds. I call again, 'is this stop the train station?' A girl my age timidly shakes her head 'no.' I approach the bus driver three stops later and ask him which stop is the train station, and he responds, 'it was the last stop, Monsieur.' I asked him why he didn't indicate that fact to me, as he had heard me call out earlier, and he curtly replied, 'you didn't ask me, Monsieur.' Â   I missed that train, and had to go into Paris to take the next train, which got me into Marseille several hours later than planned, and into Aix-en-Provence with just enough time for the receptionist at my hotel to inform me that my room had been sold because they thought I wasn't coming. My year in France was off to a frustrating start. Â   Flash to mid-November, ten weeks later. After rolling out of bed in my loft, which is decorated with seventeenth century frescos, I climbed downstairs to fix my French toast in my well-equiped kitchen, complete with a view of a courtyard. I'm worried about finding time to go shopping for tonight's dinner party, what kind of wine I should pick up, and whether I should go to Florence or ... ...ure don't look American anymore. Gone are the bluejeans and concert T-shirts. Gone are the IU sweatshirts. In are turtleneck pulls, dark slacks, and smart shoes. Â   I have grown accustomed to the breakneck speed French drivers maintain, and have learned to travel light. I now know to ask the bus driver first thing to signal my stop, and they are always happy to do so. Â   It's amazing how quickly something so different can become so familiar. For me, that is what I love about traveling-learning to understand the differences in order to discover all the similarities. Looking into that girl's eyes and seeing her complete and utter despair, I realized that my mere ten weeks had already given me the knowledge and attitude necessary to feel comfortable in this foreign place. The learning curve in the months that have followed has been exponential.