Sightseeing is all great and what not but you really get the essence of France by living with a native. I didn’t get to enjoy Paris as much because I had a host family that made me feel so welcome in Lyon. I found Paris to be overcrowded, and impersonal.
I went to France with an Orchestra that toured it for Spring Break. I have to say, a port of my heart belongs to a wonderful family in Lyon.
I wrote about it for a class….
sorry about the format
“Someone stop this thing,” I thought, tears building in my eyes, as I watched the people I’ve grown so close to waving goodbye, parading with the American flag with love. The bus passed by a sign welcoming the orchestra, and driving away from the happiest week of my life.
Bienvenue a Limonest, the sign read as I stepped out of the bus, and sweet, crisp air filled my body. The sun greeted everyone with warmth, and simplicity. I was led into a modest church, and walking in I heard the children’s choir, singing “It don’t mean a thing” with charming French accents. They smiled and sang, as everyone enjoyed the revving of the string basses, and clapping hands.
“Everyone here looks so different,” I thought, “so… French!” I smiled as I look over to my friends and notice our excitement to be in such a wonderful place. The final note was struck, and everyone stood up clapping with such pure excitement. I could tell people here were truly genuine. Bravo’s echoed through the church and the children stood with smiles.
“I can’t believe we’re in France right now!” said one of my friends, throwing her hands in disbelief.
“I know, this is crazy, I’m so excited!” I said, with a luminous glow, “I can’t wait to meet our host parents.” Tamer and me awaited our host parents, as everyone was sitting waiting for their host family’s named to be called off. The whole orchestra stood there like puppies at the store. We became more and more nervous by the minute, as more and more go off with their new family for the week.
“Jeu!” someone called, and I stood up, looking for who we were staying with. Tamer and I saw a woman with black hair, as lovely as could be, and we went and greeted her with kisses to her cheek.
“Bonjour!” she said, “What are your names again?” she asked.
“I’m RV”, I smiled.
“And I’m Tamer” he said.
“Ah, okay, bon, nice to meet you, I’m Cecile, we will wait for my son Maxime to get here and we can get your stuff and go to the house.”
“Tamer has been practicing the whole flight here, a little sentence my friends and I have taught him.” I joked, “He should say it for you!”
“Je parle un peu de francais,” he stumbled, as we all laughed and Cecile commended Tamer on his valiant effort. A little bit later, Maxime, her son walked over and we met, finally getting into a mini car with our things.
The car saddled back every time the gears were shifted, and I laughed, zooming way past the speed limit, winding and curving through the country side. Cecile and Maxime popped in a cd of Michael Bublé, I’m Coming Home. “This is my most favorite song,” Maxime explained, and I told him that I liked Bublé as well. The windows were rolled down, and the air gushed through, and I smelled the sweet air again. There are some things in life that will always be with someone and I wished so much to just save that moment of freedom, the desire to put that car ride in my every smile. Laughter bubbled out of my mouth, and out of the car, that left it gently floating behind it.
We arrived at the house and I saw beautiful hills, flowing until they eye couldn’t see any longer. A home came into view and I appreciated its simplicity.
When we walked in, I was warmly greeted by my host father, and his eldest son, my host brother. My host brother’s name is Pierre-Alexandre. He was about the same age as me, maybe a little older, and I’m relieved by the fact that I will get to talk to a French teenager.
We sat and ate lunch as we talked about our culture. Most of it was trying to translate each other’s words. Whenever we didn’t understand we would say, “Dictionaire!” and we would get this large dictionary to find the right word.
After a delightful lunch, they boys, Maxime, Pierre,Tamer and me took a walk around the neighborhood. I fell in love with the first glance. High rising bushes covered the neighborhood. The streets were so clean. As we pass by the neighborhood pond, I see and older man with a very young child. The child was wearing yellow boots, and they were fishing on a nice afternoon. The older man pointed out the fish to the younger boy as his eyes gleamed to look for it. I only thought things like this happened in the movies! We continued walking around, me becoming more and more wide eyed and bushy tailed the more we see. The guys and I talk about parties and how they were in France.
“Many girls!” Pierre said when I asked about teen parties.
Later on we were taken back to the school of music. There we had orchestra practice. As practice started, I noticed that the French were a lot more lenient on time. Musicians were will walking in fifteen minutes after rehearsal started. What a culture shock that was for me. In American, punctuality was very very important, and in France, it people went with the flow. I thought to myself that I could get use to that.
During rehearsal, I play my piccolo and my flute solos; I received two big thumbs up from the flute teacher there in the music academy. I was so proud that I stirred such happiness in such a virtuosic flute professor. “Bravo” he said over and over again.
I decided that day to dedicate every note I played to my host family. I dedicated every performance to them I did in France. One of the nights staying with the Jeu family, I decided to give them a gift by singing for them. I sang “Ave Maria” by Schubert. I sang it with all my heart. I owed everything to this family. I never knew I could love someone so quickly and it hurt me so much to have to leave just when I really start to get to know my host family. Before I left, I placed a note on my bed trying to express my gratitude that can never be expressed in writing completely.
I left a part of me with a family in Limonest that week. I will always cherish their love, patience and somplicity. I love that family. I owe them all the world.
The bus keeps on going as we head over to Paris, which doesn’t matter to me. It didn’t matter where I was at the time; part of my heart was with the Jeu family.
©2008 Romuald Victor Mendoza
