Draguignan

It's hard to believe I've already been here a week. I'm still trying to decide if it feels like it has been shorter, as in a few days, or longer, as in a few months. I guess a week sounds about right. I'm leaning towards the shorter side only because it means that the next eight months will go by quickly. But I am finally starting to feel at home here; the jet lag is wearing off and I am finding my bearings both in the house and in the town. Yesterday, I put on my "big-girl pants," as Roxy likes to call them, and made the trip to Draguignan all by myself.

Halte St. Bernard, Trans-en-Provence-- a bus stop with a view

After missing the first bus (had to get the kids to school), the second bus (decided to start a load of laundry), the third bus (Ricky was on Skype), and the fourth bus (by 2 minutes), and then waiting at the bus stop for 53 minutes, I finally made it to the city. Draguignan is the closest big city to Trans, the former prefecture of the Var department, and a historic World War II memorial site, where the Americans parachuted in to liberate the South of France. But I was there on very official business. I needed to locate and register at my language school. I had spent a good part of the night before trying to find it on Google Maps, but Google doesn't do street view for most places outside of the US and as hard as I tried to mentally overlay the map of the bus route and the map that Google was giving me, I just couldn't do it. As a result, I had no idea where to get off the bus and no idea where to go after I got off the bus. But it turns out le centre ville de Draguignan, despite it's geographical, political, and historical importance is maybe 2/3 the size of downtown Sacramento. It is also extremely tourist friendly. There are giant maps of the entire city every two blocks on the main streets with clearly marked vous êtes ici labels. On the other hand, the streets themselves are not so clearly marked. I must have walked right past la Rue Georges Cisson at least 4 times, stopping to consult the corner maps in between, before I realized it was the right street. But finding the school, c'était pas de la tarte. 

See that little white rectangle below the big black one? That is the business card for the school and the only marker indicating that it is there. I don't know why I thought it would be more obvious than that. According to Roxy, this was a big WTF (welcome to France) moment for me. But there are places like that in the States too--the French Consulate in San Francisco, for example. Anyways, the first few times I walked by it I thought it was just a lawyers office but it turns out it wasn't just a lawyers office it was where I was supposed to go. So I opened the door and it is pitch black inside-- the kind of place my mother would tell me to never go into by myself. So what did I do? I turned on the light. It was then that I knew for sure that I was wearing my big girl pants. I walked up two flights of stairs to a well-lit and clearly marked door and went inside. The head of the school is British so I got everything taken care of quickly and easily. It turns out they are full everyday of the week except for Thursdays. So I'll have to do all my hours for the week in one day. I asked if there were very many other au pairs in the program and there are not. Most of the students are immigrants in their 30s and 40s from the Middle East and Africa. So much for making a close friend with whom I can talk about my infatuation with Karl Marx and how American pop music is destroying western civilization over a baguette or two and later convince to move to Southern California with me and dress up as Che and Castro for Halloween. Tant pis. Speaking of that making friends, the au pair agency finally responded to my email about other au pairs in the area. They're all German except for one Macedonian girl and one Mexican girl and they're all in Marseilles. I might try to make contact eventually but that's 2 language barriers to cross. It would be nice to have none. But I always have Roxy whom I have been talking to every night since she left. And I love hearing from everyone back home. What would I do without the internet? Or without Max who is currently running around the house pretending the toy train I gave him is a rocket ship? Or Alex who loves all the food that I cook, especially the brownies?

Back to Draguignan. If I could count the number of times paradise has been paved by a parking lot. The Nartuby River used to run through there. While it was diverted long before the parking structure was there, last June the Nartuby flooded Trans killing 20 people. Since it is such a small down, funds to repair the damage are scarce. Community places like the soccer stadium are covered in silt, weeds, and trash washed up from the river. As devastating as a flood can be to a community, nothing hits home like a war. After checking into the school I had some time before the next bus so I decided to head over to the Rhone American Cemetery.

 

I have never been one to cry in the face of death, not at funerals, not in passing. But this cemetery was so moving that I couldn't help myself. Upon entering, I really felt as though I was absorbing not only the history, but the lives of the soldiers buried under my feet as I walked along the rows and rows of crosses. Of all the movies and books I have watched and read about World War II, none of them could ever come close to making me really feel what it meant for the world.

"We who lie here died that future generations might live in peace"

 That really says it all. Unfortunately when I walked behind the memorial, I interrupted a young couple's romantic afternoon. I don't know about all of you but nothing turns me on like a cemetery*note sarcasm*. A brief désolé and I was on my way. I'll have to go back another time. There was also a lot of construction going on, a lot of orange tape everywhere which was admittedly a bit distracting. After I left I made an appearance at the local cemetery but I was starving and needed to get back to the bus station by 1:30 so I didn't stay long. One thing I noticed though, as I was walking back through town was that there were suddenly no cars. Another WTF moment. Everyday from 12:30pm to 2pm everything shuts down- the cafés, the boutiques, the services, except for the one bus back to Trans at 1:35, everything. The locals call it the Provence Siesta. And it blew my plans for lunch but I had plenty to eat at the house. Once I got back, I was exhausted from walking all day. It is very hilly here. But I look forward to more adventures in the town. I'll return to Draguignan for my first cours de la langue next week and all is well.