What my host mom did for me in driving me to Barcelona is one of the most generous deeds anyone has ever done on my behalf. It was more than that, though--my host mom had an attitude about life that made her laugh at funny art she said she didn't fully understand, try new foods and delight in them whether they were good or bad tasting, and seize opportunities like helping a host daughter because they were amusing adventures that lightened the mood of life.
I share my grandfather's ability to sleep anywhere, but moving cars and book-in-hand situations are my speciality. Put me in a car for more than half an hour, and if it's even the slightest bit dark--whether from rain clouds or the impending dusk--I just conk right out. My other narcoleptic tendancy is any situation in which I'm reading a pice of text that exceeds just a few pages. However, feeling deeply indebted to my host mom for her generosity, I thought the least I could do was not pass out in the passengers seat and leave her to an 8 hour drive by herself.
Instead of snoozing my way down south, my host mom and I marveled at the gorgeous countryside through France. She taught me new words, explained French history, told me the products and specialties of the regions we drove through, and debated with me about various topics. However, no matter what we were doing, every 30 minutes or so brought about an entirely different view that poked its way into whatever conversation we were having at the time. From rolling hills to flat farm land and lazy cows, from tall trees to pine trees to short trees to no trees, it was a constant overhaul of the entire landscape every so many miles.
Though I was anxious to get to my parents that night, my host mom was anxious to get to Carcassonne. I didn't understand what the big deal was until we spotted the city just as the sun fell. Although my host mom said it would have been magnificent to see during sunset, I thought it was pretty darn good anyway:
The city is a CASTLE. Well, medieval city, but still. I'm not sure you can fully appreciate it from the photos I was able to catch, so lets invite Google to expound upon the beauty, shall we? I urge you click here, and here, and here to see what I saw as I approached the city where my host mom stopped for dinner.
A good--but not great--quick dinner later we were back on the road. The city had been more delicious than the food, but as the scenery had been so beautiful, and as I had consumed almost a whole, fresh baguette on the way down there was really no complaint.
Not too long after that Madame and I were marveling at the width of Barcelona's grand boulevards in comparison to Paris' narrow streets, some of which are so small that chunks from buildings edges had to be removed so that cars could pass through. We sensed our way through the city without a whole lot of detail in our directions, and finally passed right by my father, who was sitting outside our apartment on a bus bench. It was late, and we said our good-nights and our thank-yous before Madame took off for her nephew's house (in Barcelona--how convenient, right?), and my parents and I went to sleep.
I share my grandfather's ability to sleep anywhere, but moving cars and book-in-hand situations are my speciality. Put me in a car for more than half an hour, and if it's even the slightest bit dark--whether from rain clouds or the impending dusk--I just conk right out. My other narcoleptic tendancy is any situation in which I'm reading a pice of text that exceeds just a few pages. However, feeling deeply indebted to my host mom for her generosity, I thought the least I could do was not pass out in the passengers seat and leave her to an 8 hour drive by herself.
Instead of snoozing my way down south, my host mom and I marveled at the gorgeous countryside through France. She taught me new words, explained French history, told me the products and specialties of the regions we drove through, and debated with me about various topics. However, no matter what we were doing, every 30 minutes or so brought about an entirely different view that poked its way into whatever conversation we were having at the time. From rolling hills to flat farm land and lazy cows, from tall trees to pine trees to short trees to no trees, it was a constant overhaul of the entire landscape every so many miles.
Though I was anxious to get to my parents that night, my host mom was anxious to get to Carcassonne. I didn't understand what the big deal was until we spotted the city just as the sun fell. Although my host mom said it would have been magnificent to see during sunset, I thought it was pretty darn good anyway:
The city is a CASTLE. Well, medieval city, but still. I'm not sure you can fully appreciate it from the photos I was able to catch, so lets invite Google to expound upon the beauty, shall we? I urge you click here, and here, and here to see what I saw as I approached the city where my host mom stopped for dinner.
A good--but not great--quick dinner later we were back on the road. The city had been more delicious than the food, but as the scenery had been so beautiful, and as I had consumed almost a whole, fresh baguette on the way down there was really no complaint.
Not too long after that Madame and I were marveling at the width of Barcelona's grand boulevards in comparison to Paris' narrow streets, some of which are so small that chunks from buildings edges had to be removed so that cars could pass through. We sensed our way through the city without a whole lot of detail in our directions, and finally passed right by my father, who was sitting outside our apartment on a bus bench. It was late, and we said our good-nights and our thank-yous before Madame took off for her nephew's house (in Barcelona--how convenient, right?), and my parents and I went to sleep.