Study Abroad

On January 18, 2023, I was introduced to my host mother in Montpellier, France. Realizing she spoke no English, my palms began to sweat as I stumbled through introductory phrases that I had learned during my American-taught French classes at home. I was nervous to speak, struggling to form complete, grammatically correct sentences in a reasonable amount of time. This struggle was ironic for two reasons: my primary major is English, so I’ve always prided myself upon my ability to speak eloquently and contribute to a conversation in a meaningful manner, and, I had actively pursued the homestay experience because I wanted to improve my French skills.

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But I was uncomfortable. Incredibly uncomfortable, academically and socially. Thankfully, my host mother Catherine, recognized my uncertainty and lack of confidence, and worked with me each evening during meal times and on the weekends, helping me with far more than simple language development.

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We ate spaghetti on our first evening together. “Tout le monde aime les pâtes!” she remarked as we sat down to eat. I was starving after the long day of exploring Montpellier with the other American students, and after hauling my suitcase and carry-on up the five flights of stairs in Catherine’s building. Because there was no elevator. I remember being surprised at how quickly I became comfortable in Catherine’s home, and being even more surprised at how quickly I began to think of it as my home too.

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By the end of the first two weeks, I felt less awkward during conversations at the dinner table, telling Catherine about my family and friends at Clemson, and how I felt about American politics. She encouraged me to use my French whenever I could, even if it was a broken phrase to a café worker, because the citizens of Montpellier would appreciate the effort.

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And they did. Teachers, salespeople, bartenders, and other students would smile at me even when what I said was not grammatically correct. They liked the fact that I tried, and several told me that my American accent was cute. Catherine explained that Americans speaking French was more pleasant to hear than citizens of the UK speaking it, and told me that I should not be embarrassed when my accent was noticed. Her reassurance and guidance led to my complete settling in by the end of January. Catherine’s apartment was my home. And so was Montpellier.

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My attachment to Montpellier would not have been the same without Tori Fuhr, a student from Minnesota who I luckily had classes with. We quickly bonded over our status as English majors, our love for F. Scott Fitzgerald, leather jackets, and cute boys we would see. We also shared an appreciation for French culture and a hope to improve our language skills. She excelled in grammar, understanding l’imparfait and when particular articles needed to agree, and I excelled in speaking and comprehension, mostly stemming from my conversations and consistent practice at home. We made each other better.

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That fact was one of many reasons that she and I bonded so quickly, as was our shared love for Montpellier, and our hope to return to Europe after graduation. Tori made me see my academics and the French culture in a different light. She still does.

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We would spend afternoons after class wandering the streets of Montpellier, taking random turns and taking photos of cafés and book stores we hoped to return to. We were on a permanent search for iced coffee; locations which served it regularly were few and far between. She took me to the Musée Fabre where we would wander for hours and debate which painting we resonated with more.

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When we traveled, we did it together, exploring Barcelona, Nice, Monte Carlo, Chania, Rome, Amsterdam, Budapest, and London. With each trip we became closer, realizing how much we loved each other, and how much we loved France. I felt lucky to find such a friend, and to share the love of Montpellier with her.

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I expressed this to my parents when they visited in the first week of March. I showed them all of my favorite places in the city, including Le Bookshop, where I had my internship. I took them to the best restaurants, our favorite being Catherine’s home, where she so graciously hosted my parents and prepared a duck confit. Our dinner lasted several hours, with Catherine telling me to explain the importance of the after-dinner cheese course, and my dad requesting that I let Catherine know it was the best duck he had eaten that he did not kill. She loved that joke.

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As I walked my parents to the tram, my dad turned and told me that he was so proud of me, and had kept thinking “I cannot believe that is my child!” as I translated the whole meal. Obviously, my translations were not perfect, and Google Translate had to be used more than once, but the majority of conversation flowed through me. That night is forever going to be one of my favorites, and I will never forget it. It made me realize that Montpellier had become my home, and a part of me that I will carry forever.

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It is important to mention that while my experience abroad was an overwhelmingly positive one, there was a short period of time during which I became ill, and was in and out of the hospital system. I was mildly sick for a week before seeking care, and a primary misdiagnosis resulted in the worsening of my condition, leading to severe dehydration, weight loss, and poor kidney function. Luckily, Catherine worked alongside my program coordinators to ensure I received the care that I needed. While it was not a pleasant two weeks, I learned a lot about the inner workings of the French healthcare system, seeing firsthand the difference between public and privatized hospitals, and the manner in which diagnoses and treatment plans are created.

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I also learned how much I loved Catherine, Montpellier, and being in France. I was the sickest I have ever been, but knew I wanted to get better so I could keep improving my spoken French and keep enjoying my time in Montpellier. I got stronger as the weather improved, and after a week of treatment, I began to return to my normal schedule. Well, more or less.

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Our schedules were never quite regular due to the continuous strikes protesting the raising of the national retirement age which impacted the public transportation systems and caused several instructors at the University of Paul Valery to go on strike. The disruptions necessitated the utilization of different locations for class and required significantly more outside of class work, in order to make up for the days in which we did not meet. But less time in the classroom meant more time in the city itself, and I made sure to take advantage of it. As mentioned, Tori and I did take weekend trips to different cities and countries, and traveled during our spring break, but opted to remain in Montpellier on the majority of our weekends.

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As the weather became warmer and May approached, my attachment to the city, to Catherine, and to Tori and another American student, Jeremy, increased. I wanted to spend every minute I could doing something with them and appreciating Montpellier. Our last week snuck up on us, and I called my mom on the Monday before I left, crying because I did not know when I would see any of them again, or when I would be able to return to our city. Her response was just what I needed, as she told me that “a little grief is the price of love and it is always worth it.”

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Montpellier is a city that I love for many reasons, especially since it brought me so many people that I love. We are far apart now, but that semester in France has connected us forever, and I know one day, I will go back.