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There is a reason why the word ‘bureaucracy’ is of French origin: it is VERY present in French administrative life. Of the many examples, I feel that registering for courses is pertinent here. Over the course of four rendez-vous with Rachel, Holy Cross’ on site academic coordinator, I managed to get my student card, my carte culture (which grants reductions in cultural activities), official registration, and pre-selection of courses. Granted, courses begin on Monday and the class room numbers are yet to be known. It must be highlighted that I managed to get all that done, because I was with Rachel, thanks to Rachel, and in spite of the process. I cannot imagine how many students glanced at us with hatred as we glided in front of them to overcome the loooooong cues and speak directly to the department secretaries. That is to say that I have not experienced the real process of registering for courses in Strasbourg, because I had the privilege of getting all of the above done in the total amount of time that would have taken me to do barely one of the above. God bless the HC online registration process. My narrowing down of courses has also been thanks to Rachel, and her persistent request of course descriptions in the departments. If I were French, I would have none. Granted some leeway is allowed because the separate universities recently became a single university, and massive reorganization has been done. Regardless, the process is inefficient and tedious. Thank God for Rachel.

While the week consisted entirely of administrative affairs, the trips continue on the HC agenda, and, to my personal gain, the bonding with my host family is just incredible. Last weekend we had the privilege – I think so anyway – of going to Struthof, one of the Nazi’s many concentration camps in Europe and the only one in France. It was really something. Many of course think it is a bad experience, a sad experience; but I must admit my love of history was stronger than the sadness I felt. Even more enriching was the trip to the Deportation Museum, which is fabulously designed and which allows you to understand that mentality to the Alsace-French so much better. This is really a special piece of land in the world, because there are not many case studies of bordering countries that harmed each other so much and have overcome the pain so gracefully life Germany and France. My weekend ended with a truly Family Sunday, from going to mass in the morning to a 5 hour promenade and picnic around a French Castle (yes, that is normal in Alsace).

And a month into my year abroad has gone by incredibly fast. So far I can guarantee that the French are NOT big on bureaucratic efficiency.

I can now swear on my soul that France is beautiful, well, Alsace anyway. After being here for about 20 days, the lovely woman in charge of us HC students, Malou, has made it her duty to take us EVERYWHERE. On my very first Saturday in France, when we went on the route du vin (yes, the wine!) AND we went to one of the many castles that belonged to Wilhelm II. Now, for someone who grew up among regular wine drinkers on the pretext that it is “good for the heart,” that was just lovely. My eyes saw thousands and thousands of grapes on both sides of the route for a good 30 minutes. The route led us to a wine cellar, with barrels made with Hungarian wood dating the 1600’s. There was also the famous wine tasting of Alsace’s best wines, blanc and rose.

And the Castle, well, I could only remember Professor Cary’s history classes come alive, especially since he is an expert on German history. For someone who loves history as I do, this is paradise. The Kaiser was there; the Wars threatened its existence. It is truly something. Naturally, the bus stopped in numerous tiny villages in Alsace, such as Ribeauville, with markets selling all sorts of cheeses and breads the size of a bed.

That is just one trip outside of Strasbourg, because the city itself has one charming place after another. If you love baking and chocolate, you need only walk around Centreville and let the smell drown you. It has taken inhuman strength to keep me from spending all my money in these tiny bakeries. If you want to relive Beauty and the Beast, you need only go to La Petite France and find houses identical to Belle’s. And of course, if you want French Couture, go to the tiny streets next to the Cathedral and find Gucci, Louis Vuitton, and Co. No, I have not dared to go in. My point is, I find that this city has everything for everyone: the fashionable, the religious, the studious, and the bakers. What more can one want?

Au revoir!

There is an ocean of difference between the days following your arrival, jet-lagged and lost, to a country across the Atlantic, and the week after your arrival, when it feels as if you have been here forever. The days become almost routine so quickly it is hard to remember what it felt like to arrive. I wake up, take a shower, have my very healthy French breakfast, and jump on the tram for 20 minutes to go to my lovely French classes. I even dare to think that I might not look so much like an outsider because by now I am familiar with the “French tram behavior,” such as using the ipod and gazing blankly out the clear windows in the amazing august sun. I believe I feel this way because I like my life in France, and I feel it will only get better. There is not a breath of regret, not in the food, or in the amazing host family, or in the annoying French classes. This program, so far, suits me.

The other nice part of living in France is that, as I suspected, few French people know my country exists! So I get to sit for about an hour a night to talk about my life with my host mother. It sounds so foreign to them, which is the complete opposite for me because I know my share of French history. The good aspect of it is, I am certain I will leave a mark in this house, and on every person that I have to explain where I come from. Yes, it is a democracy. No, we do not have dishwashers. Yes, there are poor people. The feeling is one of mutual benefit: I learn their ways and they learn mine.

The title of the blog is entirely due to the fact that life here has me going from place to place non-stop. “Del ping al pong,” as said in Dominican slang. One moment I am taking French classes as an intermediate student getting used to the language, the second I am meeting with the one-site director, the adorable Madame Price-Kreitz, and I am a total debutante again, bombarded with information about responsibilities unlike any other I have encountered. Interning at the International Institute of Human Rights, for instance, was all but a dream for me until it was offered as a viable option over tea. My head spins, literally. I feel, and I hope I am not exaggerating here, that this will be an unimaginable year for me.

After three days in lovely Strasbourg I can safely say this is when I’ll fill up my “embarrassing moments” archives to last a lifetime of stories and laughs. The city is simply adorable: the perfect combination of German and French architecture over 100 years old functioning with the perks of modernity. It is incredibly diverse, truly international and multi-cultural, so the “ambiance” is simply perfect for me. My interaction with the city, however, is not all natural yet (and well, its only been three days). As was seen when I tried to use the automatic cashier to pay for a notebook (two people had to come help), and when I tried to order the check (I completely forgot the thousands of skits done in the practicums). Best of all was trying to open the door of my host family’s house with the key (I could not do it!). Well, it has been funny all around, and all I can do is laugh at myself and look forward to the time when this will all be automatic. You can never really prepare yourself for cultural immersion, no matter how many books you read and how many movies you watch, it’s not the same until you go out there and do it. So I can only keep trying until I get it right, that’s the important part.

The countdown is now 3 days until crossing the Atlantic for an entire year, and there are a ZILLION things racing through my head. It is not so much that I won’t see my family often, since coming down to sunny Dominican Republic is something I can only afford in December (Thank God in December!), but it’s pretty much everything else. The rhythm will be totally different. Right now the superficial questions are: what do I pack for? How do they dress? How do I greet my host family? My way (kiss and hug), or their way (three kisses!)? How do I recover from jet-lag? What if I get lost on the train to my language classes? What if I don’t understand A THING they say? And I can keep going. But most of all, I am just extremely exited. I am literally going to start a new life, outside my comfort zone at home and at school. I will once again go to a school where I will get lost, instead of going through Stein and O’Kane which are memorized like the palm of hand. Scary and exiting days are ahead, but right now, I have to pack and enjoy my last days on my sunny island!

A bien tot!