Counting Up: Quebec, Week 1

It has been an incredible week.

And I am dreading going home.

I arrived in Quebec last Saturday and arrived at the house of my "host mom," Marie, around 10pm. I didn't know what to expect, but as soon as I arrived, I knew I'd love staying here. Marie is even more kind and thoughtful than necessary, and the other women from my program who live in the house (of which there are five) are equally kind and thoughtful. It's like I fell into a rainbow.

Of course, even rainbows take a while to get used to, and between cellphone issues and anxiety and excitement, it was 2am before I fell asleep Saturday night.

Sunday, it rained. And rained. And rained. I had planned on arriving Saturday so that I could check out the city and settle in before class started on Monday, but instead, I sat in my room, then went to church, then checked out the nearby shopping center, then sat in my room, then had dinner with my "family" (Marie and the others) before returning to my room to sit around some more.

My Sunday in 1,000 pixels.

Monday morning started slowly, too. All of the new people gathered in a room together, and it became readily apparent that I was one of the only students that already spoke French relatively fluently upon arrival. We spent a long time waiting to take our oral exam, then we spent a long time waiting to pay for books, then we spent a long time walking around the building doing a tour, then we spent a long time waiting for the other half of the group to get their tour, then we spent a long time getting spoken to in mostly broken English about what we can/can't/should do while at the school (the main take away: don't speak anything but French). Then we finally got our books and our class assignments, and someone took us to our rooms.

I was placed in the top class with a professor named Simon. And I have to tell you--I couldn't have been placed with a better teacher. He's witty, he's dramatic, he draws weird pictures on the board (like a picture of Miley Cyrus on a wrecking ball singing Je fais de la démolitiooooooooon). He makes class fun. Even though it gets a little slow sometimes, and I yawn A LOT (it's cold and there's a lot of white noise thanks to the vents), there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

In addition, there's a whole contingent of students in my class that I've come to befriend and enjoy, none of whom are American. Of the 16 people in our class, 9 speak Spanish as their first language (8 Mexican women and a guy from Ecuador). There are two Brasilians. There's a guy named Mohammed. There are two people from England and one person from Ontario. And then there's me. I love it. There are two women in particular in the class that I always sit with: Scarlett and Maria, who are both Mexican. We do all our projects together and we always call ourselves the "Fete de Trois"...because in Quebec French, "fete" (party) sounds like "fight," and in all our glorious immaturity, we think the prononciation is hilarious.

Maria actually lives with my host mom, too, and I swear to you, she is a Mexican version of my sixteen year old self. Okay, not exactly. She dresses well and wears makeup and speaks three languages, but otherwise, she's the same as I was: big into the Catholic church, a sucker for romantic comedies, and a lover of all things sweet. So, of course we've bonded.

Outside of class, I've been trying to take advantage of the activities the school offers. Monday, we got a guided tour of the National Assembly of Quebec. Wednesday, we went to a baseball game. Thursday, we went out to Old Quebec and ate poutine (a fries/cheese/sauce combination famous in Quebec). Truth be told, though, the activities have been kind of a let-down. Monday, at least half of the tour was in English. Wednesday, the baseball game was long and cold and expensive, and (because there are so many students who don't speak much French), the conversation was mostly in English again (despite school rules). Thursday, there wasn't even a guide for the visit to Old Quebec. We literally paid fifteen dollars to eat a $6 poutine and walk around together in the cold (mid-40s with high humidity). I don't think I'm going to be partaking in those activities anymore.

Friday has been my favorite day so far. In class, we gave presentations on films (okay, not my favorite) before going to the weekly award ceremony, where I got a "présente mention" for "grande implication et esprit d'équipe." Which means I got an award for participating a lot and having an almost-obnoxious amount of team/class spirit. In the afternoon, we played a game of Guerre de Clans (Quebec version of Family Feud) during which we laughed a lot (and during which my team won!). After school, I went running and ran down to the river (literally down because there's a massive elevation difference between my house and the river), ran along the river, and then ran back up again. Shower, dinner, and then we were off to the centre-ville for a huge outdoor show/theater experience in the old part of the city.

I wish you could've been at the spectacle. It was literally one of the most moving experiences with art I've ever had. The name of the show was "Où vas tu quand tu dors en marchant?" which means literally "Where do you go when you sleep while walking?" I expect the title was meant as a play on words, since it gave the feeling of a dream experience. My surrealism professor in college would have peed his pants with excitement.

The show took place in 5 different locations all in the same general area in Vieux Quebec, and after you went through each station, you would walk to the next one.

The first place we went--called "Désordre" (disorder)--had these people dressed as police officers, and they made us walk through a TSA-like line while they shouted at us and warned us that we were at a point of no return. If we passed through the arch, they said, we couldn't turn back.

And then we entered, and there was a man sitting on a ledge gently congratulating us on taking a leap of faith. And there was this amazing amalgamation of activities before us: a silent dance floor, where you wore headphones and danced beside strangers; a circular couch where you could lean back and look at the stars while someone whispered about how, even if every person on earth had their own star, there would still be trillions of stars left unclaimed; a series of camp fires; a place where you could drink chai tea and listen to someone read a passage from a book called "The Lost Art of Doing Nothing"; a place where you could go down a slide into a vat of styrofoam balls; a place where you could write your worries on a piece of paper and leave them behind on a chain link fence.

The second location we visited was called "Machineries," and it had this strange coal-miner-meets-steampunk-feel. There were people making music with gears and cogs and metal trash lids, and a stage with a huge dancing marionette. There were these people that were walking around with creepy human-looking puppets attached to the front and back of them, and if they came to you and you ran away, they'd chase after you. But if you stayed and you were gentle (one man gave the creepy puppet a kiss on the cheek), they'd leave.

The third station was like a drive-in movie, except the screen showed these odd slow-motion videos of a person dancing or hitting a pinata or falling asleep, and the cars were rigged with lights, so that together they put on a kind of light show that corresponded with what was on the screen. Honestly, it was mesmerizing.

The last station we made it to was called "Feter quoi?" Wed walked in and there were people dressed in birthday hats blowing noise makers and welcoming us. Then there was a woman dressed like someone from Brasilian Carnival dancing in a birthday cake. Then there was this long, narrow opening, where we stood against either wall and people came through the middle dancing and playing matchmaker and doing the Chinese dragon dance and telling jokes. Then there was a quiet area with Thai candle lanterns, where you could whisper your worries away. On the way out, there was a karaoke stage that looked like a bathroom (where two girls had volunteered to sing a Maroon 5 song).

We missed the final station, and we got separated at one point, but eventually we made our way back together and stood for a couple of minutes on the sidewalk talking. I'd say about half of the group liked it, while the other half weren't so keen--they thought it was weird, or they didn't "understand" it. But, I explained, you're not supposed to understand it. It's supposed to be a reflection of your subconscious, of the weird images and stories and juxtapositions that happen in dreams.

We ended the night on the Rue St Jean, drinking a beer and listening to a two-person band in an adjacent room playing 90s alternative rock music to an animated crowd.

Yesterday was my host mother's birthday party. She turned 60, and by her reasoning, she needed at least sixty people there. I don't know if sixty people showed up, but it was a nice crowd, and I think she had a great time. She'd made maybe twenty different appetizers, and I tried pretty much every single kind (and liked all but the extra-fishy ones). The other women from the program and I mostly stuck together at the edge of the party, but a few Quebecois introduced themselves and talked to us. I talked a lot with two or three Quebecois--about the education system, about my family heritage, about the difference between Quebec and Louisiana, about where I learned French--and by the end of the night, I was worn out. I went downstairs with a few friends, and we talked for a few hours in English. Because sometimes your brain needs a break.

Today, Maria and I went to church, I watched a French movie, I went grocery shopping, and now I'm going to watch another French movie before all the students in the house from our program take our host mom out to dinner for her actual birthday.

Bref, I love it here.

But boy do I wish it were warmer.