First day jitters

Although I speak French, I’m not fluent in the way that 20 year olds speak. I'm trying to make friends with what feels like a partially-amputated personality.

In France, ‘back to school’ is ominously called la rentrée, which means “the return.” I feel the phrase should be followed with a ‘dun, dun, DUNNN.’ 

To make matters more dramatic, la rentrée fell on America’s Labor Day. Yes, all French employees are spoiled with 30 days of paid vacation, but I took offense nonetheless for working on what Uncle Sam deemed a day of rest!

Mondays are my busiest days, with classes starting at 10:15 a.m. and continuing until 9:15 p.m. It’s a bizarre schedule compared to American universities. I have five classes, including a Cours Magistral, which is a lecture course with a discussion section. Each class meets only once a week for two hours. But my Thursdays and Fridays are free. 

The Sunday night before my first day of “15th grade,” I felt every bit as nervous as an incoming kindergartner. I packed my bag and planned my outfit. 

‘Will the people in my classes be nice?’ 

‘Who will I sit with at lunch?’ 

‘I hope my classes aren’t too hard!’

My study abroad experience is unlike most other Duke students, but I feel it’s more authentic to what an exchange program should be. As in, the majority of my Duke classmates essentially choose a European country with all their best friends and enjoy a four month vacation, traveling most weekends. I imagine Duke students rival the number of Germans at Oktoberfest. 

But all my classes are in French. Sciences Po is President Emmanuel Macron’s alma mater. In fact, the university is so French, we have a designated smoking spot on campus. 

On Monday morning, I washed my anxiety medication down with a shot of espresso (I’m assimilating!). They probably canceled each other out by virtue of PEMDAS. 

My first class was the discussion section for my comparative politics Cours Magistral. I was one of two girls on exchange amid a room full of second year Sciences Po students. 

Since we hadn’t had the subject’s lecture course yet, the teaching assistant reviewed the syllabus. Pretty much all my classes are structured similarly, with partnered dissertations and exposés (written papers and oral debates, respectively) worth up to 50% of my grade. 

Then the most glorious, splendiferous scenario that I never would have imagined happened: the TA said our research paper was to be in English. After all, it’s the language of academia.

My French classmates looked terrified. All eyes went to the PolySci student from Duke. 

Understandably, no one wants to be with the exchange kid. They heard my accent. But a research paper in English? Now that changed everything. I immediately became a marketable partner. 

It happened quickly, but a group of five French friends sitting near me basically picked my partner, a girl named Chaima. Does this mean I’ll likely be doing all the writing? Probably – but, hey, I have a partner!

All Sciences Po students are required to study abroad during their third year. My classmate Chaima is considering the University of Miami because of Alix Earl. She asked me if I was in a sorority. I didn’t feel like explaining how I rushed Alpha Phi and then dropped the next semester, so I said oui. Bama Rush is her dream. 

After my comparative politics discussion, I had the correlating 150 person lecture. Another stroke of luck: the professor previously taught the course in English and posted the wrong slides. I quickly downloaded 12 weeks’ worth of lectures before he replaced them with the French versions. So far, things were going alright. 

In our age of immediate gratification, staying focused for two hours seems impossible. Many students (even the French) were chatting nonstop, making it more difficult for me to understand. 

The end of class brought what might be my biggest culture shock thus far. Once the lecture finished, 150 students erupted into a round of applause for the professor. They just kept clapping. I asked the girl next to me if they always do this. “Bah ouais,” she said.

It seemed ridiculous given that most people were barely paying attention. You all don’t even know what you’re clapping for! I thought.

Every class brought similar fears about who to sit beside. It’s disorienting re-learning how to make friends. I find it comes with a lot of second guessing familiar social customs. Should I introduce myself to my neighbor? Do we exchange phone numbers? Instagrams? Do my questions make me look too eager? Should I smile? Wait, no, I’m in France… don’t smile? 

Although I speak French, I’m not fluent in the way that 20 year olds speak. I learned the language in the classroom. Meaning, I haven’t yet mastered making or understanding jokes in French. 

It feels like a piece of my personality was amputated. I like to think I can be funny or smart or witty. But without a sense of humor, I have to rely on, what, the universality of kindness to make a friend?! Or at the very least, not looking like a total freak. 

I started to understand why everyone here smokes. I craved something to take the edge off.

In my geopolitics of the Middle East class, I found a sliver of familiarity in an exchange student from none other than the University of North Carolina. A Tarhole!

It felt treasonous.

But at that moment, I needed nothing more than someone with whom I could speak a language of college basketball and Cook Out.

Pépites:

The adorable French word pépite translates to ‘gold nugget’ or, more figuratively, gems. And Paris is full of them. This section of the series is dedicated specifically to my favorite recent bites, observations, flea market finds or whatever else testifies to living à la vie parisienne. 

1. Eat:

   • Top bites from the week include Spanish tapas at Cave Saint Gilles, specifically the pimientos del padrón, and the carrot cake from Partisan Café Artisanal.  The cake had generous chunks of pecans and visible flecks of nutmeg, with a perfect ratio of cake-to-frosting for those who don’t love sugary buttercream.

     

     To be honest, I wouldn’t return to this restaurant, but I enjoyed the peppers (far right). Most the other dishes were tasteless, and the service was stereotypically French. Read: bad.

     

     The two other Duke students at Sciences Po and I met for coffee at Partisan Café Artisanal to catch up about our first weeks.

2. Drink: 

   • The coffee from Partisan Café Artisanal was divine, and it came in a size almost like what I’m used to in the States. The space had both indoor and outdoor seating that made it ideal for people watching. It’s a popular spot during Paris Fashion Week.

3. See:

   • A complete ‘pinch-me-I-live-in-Paris’ moment is the fact that I walk towards the Eiffel Tower every day on my commute to class. Yes, it’s touristy. No, I’m not sick of seeing it.

   • I came across a street named Gabrielle! Practicing my flâneur has paid off.

     

     Rue Gabrielle located in Montmatre!

   • Paralympic festivities are still going strong, and I was lucky enough to watch the fireworks for the opening ceremony from a boat on the Seine.

     

     I watched the opening ceremony for the Paralympics from a boat on the Seine.

4. Do:

   • I’ve used ClassPass to try several different workout classes. I shamelessly plan to leech off my family members’ email addresses each time my month-long free trial runs out. Bonus: I now know how to say downward dog in French! Chien vers le bas.

   • I watched Paralympic ping-pong! Expect more on this later, but it was endearing to witness the French be so visibly proud. 

5. Shop:

   • Paris is dangerous because it continuously proves I have expensive taste. This vintage store Bobby had the coolest finds. I almost convinced myself that 380 euros for a Burberry trench coat is cheap. Compared to its original value of 2,000 euros, yes, it’s a steal. But still, I could do a lot with 380 euros.

     

     Bobby in Le Marais is full of designer vintage finds. My Duke friends and I stumbled into the store on our way to France’s National Library.