Culture at Mealtime

I thought I'd share one of my essays from my time as an undergrad researcher with you all. It's rather short, but will hopefully open up the idea of cultural differences at mealtime into a discussion-starter, so feel free to leave a comment below! 

A pivot question one must ask themselves in the study of cultural nutrition is what makes food more than just a combination of ingredients? What turns a dish into a meal? The simplest answer is passion, relationships, and the social behavior associated with the daily ritual of a communal eating session. This explanation is summed up into the theoretical term of “scholarship”, which essentially means that one possesses a particular passion for cultural aspects of food and cooking styles in general- exploring and sharing those experiences along the way. Another important term to consider in this multifaceted explanation of the meal-times’ importance is in "satisfaction", or more specifically the psychological idea of "crispness" with the food being enjoyed, not necessarily the satiety involved. This aspect is determined by the tasting quality and textural pleasantness of the food being eaten, and whether or not it met the partakers expectations.

The physical characteristics of the meal, and how it is served, play a huge role in the cultural significance of the affair. For example, in American, and also in some British customs, the meal is served in a series of courses, beginning with an appetizer or two (constituted of either sweet or savory foods portioned into small bites), then continuing with subsequent dishes including the main dish (typically being a meat in one form or another), a side dish (this could include several individual dishes usually composed of vegetables and starches like pasta or potatoes), and lastly a dessert or two (a cake, pudding, pie, tart, etc.) usually with a fruit component, depending on the occasion. These courses may be served one at a time in a more ceremonious way (sometimes by domestic staff or catering services) designed for formal occasions, or served “family style”; a favorite of American’s, in which the entire meal is laid out on the table in serving dishes for the family members around the table to self-serve as they desire throughout the duration of the occasion.

Food ways and customs vary greatly both within and between cultures around the world today, and it's not hard to see why the culinary arts are such a colorful tapestry of taste and tradition that is happily enjoyed by all global citizens every day of the year.

The Best Shoes for Trekking Through Europe

Disclaimer: This post is not endorsed by any organization or establishment, nor is the author compensated in any way for this publication.
Also, this article is more for my lady-readers, so sorry gents! You'll have to stick to the old stand-by footwear for now.

  I'm the kind of person who doesn't spend their hard-earned money on anything significant (like shoes that will have to withstand my test of excessive wear and tear) without doing some serious research. I am now prepared to share one of my latest discoveries with you, my readers, for your benefit. I believe your wardrobe and feet will thank for you heading my advice. But what sort of footwear exists that can be both functional AND fashionable, you say? I'm so glad you asked! 

  Introducing the JBU Women's Wildflower from Houser Shoes, INC. 

   I chose to purchase the "Expresso" or tan /suede color, although there are several other color options available (e.g. black, light blue, and dark red). Colors are subject to availability, and the black sells out quickly once it's available. In regards to sizing, I can only speak from my positive experience, although I'm sure every size is comparable to the other in both availability and fit. I just so happen to have larger than average-sized feet; about a 10 US is what I need. As you can imagine, finding a shoe in this size that looks good and is comfortable is the needle in the proverbial haystack. 

  I loved the design on the website, and when it arrived in person, I was even more thrilled with what I saw. The paisley design is even inside of the shoe on the soft, memory-foam innersole; it even has a colorful splash of paisley on the weather-proof rubber sole!!! 

 The leather on the top is cut into beautiful flowers that have cut-outs for breathability and style, while the back of the heel has mesh for added flexibility and comfort.

 Walking in them has been great so far, and I've been using them for a few days now. No blisters or hot spots, and that's without even having the time to "break them in" before use. I look forward to using these during my summer travels, so stay tuned for more posts of me in Europe wearing these shoes!

Here's a quick recap of the facts:

PROS-

• Looks amazing!
• Comfortable wear for summer
• Weather-proof soles
• Nice stitching along the sides and top
• Good color
• No chaffing and hot spots
• Is a great sandal-meets-shoe combination
• Affordable (free shipping options also available)

CONS-

• All-terrain rubber soles are noticeably high up on the shoe
• Sides of shoe (edges along the top) will "cut into" wide feet
• Velcro straps will wear out over time
• Memory Foam innersoles will become flat and hard by the end of the day, and will take several hours/overnight to fill up with air again.

  
That's the end of my review for now. I hope you enjoyed it, and don't forget to leave a comment below on what you think, or if this review sold you on getting a pair for your own adventure! 

If you would like to purchase your own Wildflower shoes from Houser Shoes, Inc. Just check out their website below or contact them here:

Houser Shoes Inc. 5418 Asheville Highway, Hendersonville, NC 28791 - Customer Care: 1-866-270-8411

https://www.housershoes.com/jbu-women-s-wildflower-espresso-1.html

A Mountain of a Fortress~ Le Mont Saint-Michel

   I had the privilege of visiting a national landmark of France not too long ago, and the experience left me awestruck! I began my spellbinding journey to Normandie Basse on a tour bus packed with teachers and students from L'Institute de Touraine from Tours, France early one morning. The subsequent 4-5 hour drive through the picturesque countryside was beautiful at first, but as the hours wore on, most of the passengers began to be lulled by the constant sound of the motor and humming tires on the tarmac and fell asleep. As we approached our destination, you could see people starting to nudge their seat companion in a non-verbal communication way as if to say, "we're almost there". I will never forget my immediate sense of wonder as the rolling hills of auburn grains suddenly revealed the glistening towers of Le Mont Saint-Michel in all of it's splendorous glory. I distinctly remember the phrase that was echoing through the buses' cabin: "It's like a real life Disney castle..!" 

   It was a mountain of a fortress: a glistening golden peak from the top of the cathedral steeple, funneling out into the gradated layers of architectural design, ending in a wide parameter of simple village homes and turreted defense wall, dotted intermittently by green, leafy trees of various sizes and species. The hungry seagulls' calls could be heard high above as the picnicking tourist horde began their search for a dry spot on the basin floor to set up their meal. The sense of openness was incredible! It was like you were on the edge of the earth somewhere. The flat skyline eventually morphed into a mirage far off in the distance, where I knew the ocean must be- waiting for her chance to make her nightly return to the castle walls and lap at the rocks that encircled the edges of the "Mont".

   Mounting the walls was a grueling endeavor, as hundreds of steps led to yet more and more flights of stairs in an increasingly steep incline. Frequent pauses along the way were common, both to catch ones breath and stop the muscle burn (daily step goal achieved at least), and to take pictures of the awe-inspiring views. I marveled at the architecture as I looked down the castle walls and observed the very physically defined social structure in what was once a medieval city. Lower levels of society were quite literally in the lowest levels of the edifice and were made of cheap, less permanent materials. The quality of these homes and buildings increased as one ascended, eventually leading to the cathedral itself, where the highest points (also literally- this place had some seriously pointy spires) could be seen as a beacon of spiritual hope for faithful citizens living far and near. 

  On our guided tour of the cathedral, it was said that the bishop or priest (I can't exactly remember what rank he was in the monastic order) had a vision in which he saw Saint Micheal himself, or "Saint-Michel" hence the name, and was given orders by the archangel to build the marvelous structure seen today at the sight of the apparition. It has been suggested that the man of God was also given the instructions for the overall design. Regardless of the level of intricacy with which Saint Micheal gave his instructions, it took over a hundred years for the "Mont" to complete its construction, and ended up never actually being used for it's original purpose. Talk about having your plans come to nothing...! But all is not lost, as this magnificent site calls tourists from all over the globe to marvel its ingenuity and design, giving many photographers (such as myself) an unforgettable opportunity to get the perfect shot. Whenever you visit, make sure to leave in plenty of time before the tide starts coming in, as the Police Nationale will forcibly keep you on the island until it goes out again!

To schedule your own visit or to find out more about this location, visit their website here: 

https://www.ot-montsaintmichel.com/index.htm?lang=en

Image is Property of France- Prints Available for Sale at the Mont Saint-Michel Gift Shoppe

To "Manger", or Not to "Manger"...

Hint: Always "manger" (or eat) when the food looks as good as this!

 Whenever you travel, one thing is for sure- you're going to be eating out. I certainly did my fair share of that during my time in France, and here's some insight on what I ate , where I ate , and what you have to try while you're there.



     The program that I was a part of provided two meals a day, so lunch was your own affair. This led to quite a lot of simple fair to keep me on budget, but I certainly didn't want to scrimp on quality, so what was a foreigner like me to do? I went exploring and followed the crowd. The place where I could see the locals eating every day was where I knew good, cheap food was sure to be found. Yes, I would splurge once in a while...but my 20 euro/week budget for lunches wasn't going to handle that sort of thing ever day no matter how good the food looked. One location that became increasingly popular (especially during the last week or so of my trip) was a corner grocery store called, Carrefour. People from all walks of life would crowd in every day during lunch hour (and yes, you get a full hour over there) to grab their choice of pre-made sandwiches, baguettes, fruit, etc. It was sort of like a build-your-own packed lunch, only they did all the work for you. This typically cost me between 4-6 euro/day, and I always had plenty to eat! 

    I only drank bottled or filtered water while I was there, and here's some good news for you hydrating tourists out there- water is SUPER CHEAP!!! A 2-liter bottle of water is only 15-35 centimes, depending on what city you are in. No joke. In Paris, a 6-pack of 2-liter bottles is just over 2 euros, so my friends and I made good use of that during our summer trekking through the City of Light. 

 Remember that gorgeous photo of some awesome-looking pasta from the beginning of this post? That was from one of many Italian restaurants that dot the cafe circuit of the French streets. This particular dish was served piping hot, the pasta was soft and yet firm enough to hold the sauce and cling to the fork. I'm assuming this denoted that it was freshly made and not dried. The clams were not over-steamed, and easily came out of their perfectly presented shells. The star of this dish was certainly the sauce. It was so absolutely delectable, that I actually told my friends that I would have licked the plate clean if it had been socially acceptable! 

   This next set of pictures are from the cafe and snack shop at the edge of the garden at  Château de Chambord, which is a popular tourist location and visitor center. Our whole tour bus was rather hungry after our tour, and soon devoured a good share of the delicacies seen above. 

Ah..! Donuts! You are my nemesis...why can't I ever resist you? For the record, my "trio" included a pink one, a plain sugared one, and one with the white icing and confetti. They were pillowy soft, definitely made on site, and the sweetness of the icing harmonized with the delicate yeast - dough taste, a chewy bite with a slight crunch from the topping.

Fig Tarts; they looked great, and were a pretty good size, but I was too full from my donuts to indulge.
Learn more or plan your visit here: https://www.chambord.org/en/

These couple of images are of a gorgeous raspberry tart that I thoroughly enjoyed while in Paris. I cannot recommend Paul's Boulangerie enough to you all. Their food was excellent; a nice crisp crust on their chewy baguette sandwiches, and lightly sweet custard filling with glazed berries over a crumbly shortbread crust. I had the Poulle Crudette on poppy seed encrusted bread, with this lovely tart for dessert. Everything is made so fresh, that they frequently run out of items early on in the day. Paul's only makes small batches of their sumptuous baked goods every day so as to not have too much, if any, waste left at closing time. Although there are multiple locations around the city for convenience, this bakery was near Rue Rivoli (where our hostel was located) just a block or so from Notre Dame Cathedral. Learn more or plan your visit here: 
https://www.paul.fr/en/

  This last little number is from the Palace of Versailles, the King's own castle restaurant. This "bianca" was the most decadent dessert I had during my entire time in that country. The outside texture reminded me of what a marshmallow looks like, but the delicate mousse underneath defies adequate description! A center of pure, blissfully thick raspberry puree over a sugared graham crust gave way to ombre layers of flavored mousse that were accentuated by the fresh berries and gold leaf on top. White chocolate garnish and raspberry coulis completed the experience. If you have 21 euros to spend on a culinary and gastronomical experience, then you have to try this dessert on your next trip to Angelina located in the Palais de Versailles. Learn more or plan your visit here:
 http://en.chateauversailles.fr/plan-your-visit/facilities/restaurant-angelina

Although there was nothing overly remarkable about this picturesque ice cream cone, it came as a welcome relief in the palace gardens on that blisteringly hot day in July during our visit. In a country where air-conditioning is limited and walking isn't, you'd understand my exhilaration with this treat if you were there. 

My Favorite Photos from Versailles

4,382 miles in 26 Hours

Part 1

The metallic clattering of the train car coincided with the jostling speed of the subway on it's way to the International Terminal at the ATL Hartsfield-Jackson airport. The light suddenly flickered and I was in momentary darkness, closed-in by strangers in the crowded place, with my only friend in the world next to me as we sat on the brink of this incredible journey. The last few days had seen a hectic pace of travel that was only the precursor of what I was about to embark upon. Our anxiety and excitement was palpable in the relative silence around us, and as the flashing light revealed glimpses of my bleak surroundings, I reflected on how I had come this far.

 Only two days prior, I was sitting in a lecture hall at my Alma Mater hundreds of miles away, desperately trying to keep my intellectual juices flowing just long enough to stay focused on my back-to-back environmental biology finals, before closing my rented duplex for the next 5 weeks and driving my luggage-packed car 5-6 hours upstate to my friend Sharron's family home. They were kind and very hospitable to me upon arrival, which was merciful considering that my level of exhaustion had turned me into less than my typically sociable self. After a rather late evening meal and a few blissful hours of sleep on their luxurious guest room bed, I joined the ladies of the house the next morning on an all-day shopping spree at a large Atlanta mall for last minute luggage essentials, clothing items, and a pampering pedicure. An evening at the house visiting with Sharron's siblings and helping her pack (with her mother) finished our last day in the USA. Her father's early morning drive to see us well on our way had gotten us to where we were at this moment: about to board our first non-stop flight out of the country...

 "Hey!" Sharron's voice abruptly snapped me out of my momentary reverie. "Isn't that the guy who we saw earlier?" Her gesturing hand indicated the location of a long-haired, unshaven young man sitting across from us several feet away. He was slumped over in a worn T-shirt that at one time may have been red, his loosely fitted khaki cargo pants and a single backpack hanging carelessly by his side completed the disheveled look. "I think it is.." I hesitatingly replied. He looked up as he gathered his unkept hair into a ponytail, and I saw a kind face smile shyly to the both of us during another flash of light through the gritty window to our right. "This is our stop." Sharron remarked and began to stand up as the train slowed next to a well-lit station. The florescent lighting hurt my squinting eyes as we exited the subway.

 We planned our next move on our way up the escalator, "Let's find our boarding terminal first, and then see what we can find close by to grab for lunch, okay?" "Sounds good to me", she said. Several minutes of following overhead signs, and double then triple checking our boarding passes and tickets went by before we only had a few more hallway turns left to go. I looked over my shoulder and saw the mysterious figure appear some distance behind us. "Look! There he is again!" I quietly exclaimed to Sharron. We began keeping our focus behind, as well as in front of our route, and suddenly he was halfway up the escalator in front of us. "How the heck did that happen?!" Sharron muttered as a sudden uneasiness swept over our already anxious minds. Was this man following us? Impossible...surely he's just on his way somewhere like everybody else and this is just a coincidence...right? I tried to reason with myself. Living practically alone in a college city had made me over-conscience of my surroundings, even if it was to the point of being irrational. I stuffed these thoughts back in my head and focused on matching the right number and letter combination to an imminently visible overhead sign in the copious waiting area, sectioned off by that annoying seat-belt like rope used at events and (of course) airports, in which we now were. "There's hardly anyone here yet, and we still have around 45 minutes before they even start to board." I remarked to Sharron. "Yeah, but I still want to be right in front so I can be the first to board with the express pass that Dad bought me yesterday. You're coming with me as my 'traveling companion', so I need you to stick with me, okay?" she declared. "Fine! But I'm buying some water and something to eat. It's a 10 hour flight minimum, and I'm already hungry and thirsty. Want to come?", I replied. "Make it quick!", she ordered and briskly began walking in the direction of the non-distinct food odors.

 Several minutes later, we returned to the spot of our last discussion with take-away deli wraps, a few snacks, and an extra large bottle of water. I promptly sat down and began munching on my lunch while she called her parents to let them know what was going on. I jumped when I suddenly heard my name called over the intercom above us, "Please go to your terminal at once with your passport", it instructed in a booming voice. My stomach sank like a pebble in a still pond. What happened? I couldn't possibly be in any trouble... After all, I'd already gone through TSA security and everything. I went to the awaiting uniformed employee behind the podium at the boarding gate; with no small amount of trepidation in my voice, I identified myself and subsequently handed my passport into his open hand. After what felt like a long time, he simply handed it back with a tight smile, after typing something into his computer while inspecting my documentation. Whew! Why do I feel like I just dodged a bullet?, I wondered as I returned to my seat and quickly finished my meal before calling my mom for one last goodbye before my leap into the great unknown through that gate.

 Only a few moments before they called for the first boarders, another name was called to have their passport checked, and who should show up to our gate and answer the call but the mysterious stranger from the subway! "Go say hi", urged Sharron. "I can't do that!", I gasped "What would I say to the guy? 'Hey! We've been noticing you following us all this time and thought we should at least say hello?!' " "Whatever! He noticed us looking at him and is coming this way now", she said as her eyes faced the general direction behind me. Before I could say another word, the all too comfortably dressed traveler sat by us and proceeded to introduce himself. "Hi! I'm Mark. I saw y'all a lot earlier and it looks like we're on the same flight outta here," his thick southeastern drawl continued, "sorta looks like we're goin' to the same place now don't it?" Before I could stop her, Sharron (not used to having to be cautious around strangers) blurted out, "We're on our way to France for a study abroad trip in Tours!", and commenced the introductions. "That's cool," the now identified man commented, "I'm doin' the same thang myself." You have got to be kidding me! This kind of person is going abroad for intellectual purposes? I sat in disbelief while our flight was called to board. At least we won't be sitting together. 

  "Boarding pass, Miss!", demanded an overly stressed flight attendant. I showed her my seat number; a full class behind Sharron's, even though I had boarded as her companion. The woman sniffed and then sputtered through ill-concealed disdain, "That will be way back there to the partition and then to the left." I meekly followed her instructions. It wasn't my fault that the airline had forgotten my seat assignment and had to assign me a new one only a day or so ago. I approached where my next 10-12 hours would be spent. Oh my gosh...This is really bad! I thought as I regarded my situation with dismay, not only was I in the "sandwich seating", I was directly in front of the jet-powered toilet stations. On an overnight flight to a foreign destination, I was already having a nightmare.

Part 2

 I shifted uncomfortably in my confining airline seat as the steady drone of the jet engines hummed through my very being. SWOOSH! Another startlingly loud flush of the overused toilets behind me ruptured the monotony. A stewardess, struggling to roll an unruly cart down the crowded isle, moved towards my row of seats, "Water, coffee, coke, or wine?" she asked. "Wine please," I responded. "White or red?", she interjected."White, thanks", I specified before awkwardly reaching over an impressively tall and thin African Francophone male to my left who appeared to be just as uncomfortable in his aisle seat as I was in my middle one. "Pardonnez moi," I apologized, "Je suis désolée." I felt as though these were the only words that we had exchanged on this flight. Whenever I had the need to use the facilities behind me, or make any movement really, I had to say these words while trying to do so. My fellow passenger to the right was in no condition to move out of the way for me either. He was a very overweight Swahili/African man of middle age, and therefore could barely fit in his seat. This made it so that every time he moved, I was jabbed in one area of my person or another.

 Only a few moments before, the seat belt light was turned off (for about the fifth time on our turbulent journey), which I promptly took advantage of and walked up the rows of seats to where Sharron was watching a movie with her headset and asked her about the sleeping pills that we had both brought. "We have about 4-5 hours before they bring us breakfast, so let's try and grab some sleep while we can, okay?", I reasoned with her. "It's only 6 o'clock in the afternoon back home. I'm not even tired", she complained, "and I forgot to unpack my sleeping pills before we sent off our luggage...so can you just bring me some of yours?" "I guess so, sure!" I said as I turned to go, "Just let me go back there and take down my carry-on." On my way back with the medication, I passed a somewhat familiar face in line for the restrooms. "Hi!", I quietly greeted Mark with a wave. He flashed another smile before turning away to look at another passenger.

  I was now desperately trying to get some sleep in this unrelenting environment.  I slowly finished the Dixie cup of generic wine from the stewardess before curling myself as far down in my upright seat as I could, while leaning hard against the toilet station wall behind me, as if trying to gain just one more inch of recline. I put on the provided sleeping mask, turned on the meditation music station through my headphones, and tried to force myself into a dreamlike state. I could feel the men to my sides turn and shift restlessly in their seats, unavoidably nudging me as they did so. At least I'm not the only person suffering at this moment, I thought through my medically-induced drowsiness. I drifted off and began to see visions of places now far away when suddenly...SWOOSH! I was jolted awake by another passengers' bodily fluids being loudly disposed of. I am never going to get any sleep at this rate...what are they..6 hours ahead of us in France? That means I'm going to go a very long time without any sleep doesn't it? My tortured thoughts voiced their despair in my head. This would indeed be a very long, cramp inducing, and groggily-maneuvered flight before we reached our destination.

Part 3

 Sharron was already waiting in the hallway as I entered the reception terminal. I looked over to my right in time to see Mark emerge from the customs terminal and swing his backpack over his shoulder before joining us as we walked out of the corridor and into the larger section of the airport. Immediately, Sharron began making it clear that getting her luggage was a priority, "We have to find the luggage terminal before we do anything else!" We looked around and soon realized the near impossibility of doing so, as there were no signs/labeled areas that led to anywhere we may need to go, no uniformed persons to ask directions from, and no instructions on our luggage claim slips for finding the "baggage claim" area. "Wut are we goin' da do?", Mark inquired bewilderingly. "Just so I know what to expect, do you actually speak French, or is that the whole reason you came on this trip in the first place?", I asked. Sharron and I had spent some time in French classes together at university, but her reading comprehension always surpassed her spoken ability/vocal knowledge of the language. Not that it would matter in this case... unless she had to speak to someone in French. "I don' know mucha' tall", Mark responded, his accent seemingly verifying his claim. Great! So I guess all the verbals are going to be up to me, I thought. I didn't doubt my ability, just my nerve to go so far out of my comfort zone while our entire trip practically hinged on my ability to successfully communicate and comprehend.

  After several anxious moments of consulting various directories on giant TV screens around the airport, we finally found what we hoped would be the luggage from our flight number. It should be mentioned that in the process of our search, we also discovered that our recent flight booked from a major US-based airline was also listed under a completely different name (or company) and number than the original one that we had been given, apparently due to a partnership between the US airline and a major France-based airline, although it was in fact the very same airplane! Once we had figured that out, we were able to locate the right alphabetical area for our baggage claim. Now we were standing around a rotating conveyor belt of luggage fitting every possible type of description, hoping that the proverbial fruits of our labors would soon be made evident. Sharron presently spotted her distinctly patterned pieces of luggage with personalized tags, and the excitement of our first big accomplishment set in as we began looking for my much less remarkable old grey suitcase, passed down to me from my late grandfather. In the sea of baggage, seemingly consisting of one shade of grey or another, it took several minutes for me to be able to claim my heavy traveling accessory. I turned to Mark and asked where his claim was located, to which he replied, "This is awal I got!", gesturing to his backpack as he did so, "I prefer d' travel lyed..." It would appear so, I thought to myself, but kept quiet as we moved forward to the next phase of our adventure: getting the train tickets to Tours.

  It was at this time that Mark decided to announce to the group that he was a smoker and had an urgent need for a cigarette. Apparently being on a non-smoking flight (and in an airport with a likewise restriction) for the last day or so had really taken its toll on his nicotine addiction. It was also at this time that I realized my urgent need for a cup of coffee! To make matters even more interesting, Sharron voiced her need to purchase a specific SIM card for an international cell phone plan that was supposedly located somewhere nearby. As we were leaving the now practically deserted baggage claim terminal, we noticed a strange room or chamber located at the exit area across from us. It was made of clear glass, possibly soundproof, and had an unmistakable vent pipe sticking out of the flat, white roof. How unusual, I wonder what it's for... my curiosity peaked as I moved towards this transparent encasement.

Part 4

 Sharron was already waiting in the hallway as I entered the reception terminal. I looked over to my right in time to see Mark emerge from the customs terminal and swing his backpack over his shoulder before joining us as we walked out of the corridor and into the larger section of the airport. Immediately, Sharron began making it clear that getting her luggage was a priority, "We have to find the luggage terminal before we do anything else!" We looked around and soon realized the near impossibility of doing so, as there were no signs/labeled areas that led to anywhere we may need to go, no uniformed persons to ask directions from, and no instructions on our luggage claim slips for finding the "baggage claim" area. "Wut are we goin' da do?", Mark inquired bewilderingly. "Just so I know what to expect, do you actually speak French, or is that the whole reason you came on this trip in the first place?", I asked. Sharron and I had spent some time in French classes together at university, but her reading comprehension always surpassed her spoken ability/vocal knowledge of the language. Not that it would matter in this case... unless she had to speak to someone in French. "I don' know mucha' tall", Mark responded, his accent seemingly verifying his claim. Great! So I guess all the verbals are going to be up to me, I thought. I didn't doubt my ability, just my nerve to go so far out of my comfort zone while our entire trip practically hinged on my ability to successfully communicate and comprehend.

  After several anxious moments of consulting various directories on giant TV screens around the airport, we finally found what we hoped would be the luggage from our flight number. It should be mentioned that in the process of our search, we also discovered that our recent flight booked from a major US-based airline was also listed under a completely different name (or company) and number than the original one that we had been given, apparently due to a partnership between the US airline and a major France-based airline, although it was in fact the very same airplane! Once we had figured that out, we were able to locate the right alphabetical area for our baggage claim. Now we were standing around a rotating conveyor belt of luggage fitting every possible type of description, hoping that the proverbial fruits of our labors would soon be made evident. Sharron presently spotted her distinctly patterned pieces of luggage with personalized tags, and the excitement of our first big accomplishment set in as we began looking for my much less remarkable old grey suitcase, passed down to me from my late grandfather. In the sea of baggage, seemingly consisting of one shade of grey or another, it took several minutes for me to be able to claim my heavy traveling accessory. I turned to Mark and asked where his claim was located, to which he replied, "This is awal I got!", gesturing to his backpack as he did so, "I prefer d' travel lyed..." It would appear so, I thought to myself, but kept quiet as we moved forward to the next phase of our adventure: getting the train tickets to Tours.

  It was at this time that Mark decided to announce to the group that he was a smoker and had an urgent need for a cigarette. Apparently being on a non-smoking flight (and in an airport with a likewise restriction) for the last day or so had really taken its toll on his nicotine addiction. It was also at this time that I realized my urgent need for a cup of coffee! To make matters even more interesting, Sharron voiced her need to purchase a specific SIM card for an international cell phone plan that was supposedly located somewhere nearby. As we were leaving the now practically deserted baggage claim terminal, we noticed a strange room or chamber located at the exit area across from us. It was made of clear glass, possibly soundproof, and had an unmistakable vent pipe sticking out of the flat, white roof. How unusual, I wonder what it's for... my curiosity peaked as I moved towards this transparent encasement.

Part 5

 "You're not going to believe this... Look!", I ushered our group forward to the subject of our recent interest. "It's a smoking room for people who are stuck inside the airport and can't go outside. Have you ever seen one of these before?" "Awesome!", Mark replied and hastily went inside to light a cigarette. He was puffing away before his backpack even hit the ground. As us female companions looked on in amusement, the irony of his position became evident. Granted, the health posters inside the glass room showed a passive-aggressive discouragement of the addictive past-time taking place inside it's transparent walls, but the social and psychological impact was clear; one had to separate themselves from everyone else in order to smoke, and then be displayed to passersby in an exhibit-like fashion, all while protecting the rest of society from the harmful fumes of second-hand smoke (not to mention the nauseating scent that accompanies it). "We could really use those in America!", Sharron observed. "I think so too," I said while noticing a metallic box with images of food on it. I walked up to it and began reading the options on the distributeur automatique. "Hey! They have coffee in this vending machine!" I excitedly informed Sharron. "Well then, there you go! Help yourself, you know I don't drink any" was her reply. As I went to insert my currency and select the coffee option, I noticed a sign by the cash insert slot. "OH NO!", I couldn't help but voice my dismay. I turned to Sharron who was studying a map of Paris that she'd picked up from a nearby travelers resource kiosk. "It's out of order until further notice." "That's some rotten luck!" she laughed, "Sorry... I'm sure they'll be others around here in a place as big as this." "I hope so", I dejectedly replied before studying the directional signage around the baggage/lobby area that we were now in, while we waited for Mark to finish in the newly christened "smoker room".

   Just as he was emerging, I noticed a uniformed man in a reflective orange vest heading in our general direction, pulling some sort of trolley system. "Pardonnez-moi monsieur, mais ou est la station de train?" I inquired. The man gestured in a general direction while replying that it was back through the door that we had just come out of a few moments ago to get our luggage. "Merci! Vous-êtes trop gentil!" I thanked him. We subsequently went back through the doorway and looked around for any signs of direction. When none became apparent, we went back into the baggage area and through the door on the far end, just in case there had been a misunderstanding. "There's nothing here!" Sharron exclaimed. "Why don't you go ask one of the women at that tourist help center?", she suggested to me. "No way! I don't want to do that!" My social anxiety was beginning to show itself again. "Mark, you go and ask them!" I pushed him. "Wut em I gonna say?", he asked in a desperate manner, "Y'all know I don' tawk like them." "Just use your charm or something like that..." I suggested. Mere moments later he was sauntering up to the women there and nervously asking for directions in the clearest English he could muster. He soon turned around and told us he didn't know what they had said, and recommended that we just wander around until we found somewhere that looked like the right place. No doubt about it, we're lost in a huge airport and nobody that we know could help us if we called them. We were truly out of options, so we decided it was best to follow Mark's advice and simply go searching in all directions until we found at least one of the things that we were looking for. It was then put forward that we might be more effective in our goal if we searched the expansive areas around us individually, then meet back in the middle where there were sofas and artificial trees prominently placed for the comfort of weary travelers.

   We were just heading to one of the many stairways that were on that particular level of the airport when suddenly, Sharron noticed a sales stand by the railing. "Let's grab a snack. I'm starving!" she said. That sounded good with me, as there had been nothing but snacks, and airplane food- that to be honest, was little more than a glorified snack itself- and water for the past two days. While selecting our bottled beverages (mine included an iced coffee, as that was the only coffee option available), sandwiches, and various other foodstuffs, Sharron noticed the SIM card that she had been looking for on display for purchase. "Great! Now I've got everything I need, even if it's more expensive than I thought it'd be...", she voiced her glee. After paying for our colloquially-termed haul, we moved over to a nearby empty bench to eat, and to let Sharron insert her new SIM card and get her cell phone working on the new French network. Mark and I talked to pass the time and to get to know each other a little better. After all, if we were going to be "stuck" in the same place for over a month in the same group, we should at least learn enough about the other person to be comfortable with the situation.

Part 6

Oh my word! What is this all about? The sight that met my eyes as I descended unto the level below was startling to say the least, if not utterly intimidating. Three very physically fit men dressed in distinct uniforms of camouflage fatigues, were unmistakably on patrol in the area; their semi-automatic weapons held at the ready in front of them. Their sleeves were neatly rolled up to the elbows, berets were on their heads, and their combat boots clumped across the floor as their eyes scanned every face in the crowd for signs of possible hostility. I had never even heard about such measures being taken in France, not even during our pre-departure briefing from the university foreign affairs office. I did all that I could to keep myself from staring at the authoritative spectacle in front of me. "The train station office should be just beyond the line of ATM's." Sharron informed us, "We can get our tickets there and then wait for the next train to Tours." That was welcome news to the rest of us, who were still rather groggy and tired from the whole trip in general. As we moved in position to get in the queue for the ticket station, I looked around to take in my surroundings. Moving across the overhead balcony was another group of men grasping carbine weapons between their bulging muscles; this time they were dressed in dark blue and black SWAT-style uniforms, with Police Municipal prominently written in white letters across the backs of their Kevlar vests. Moments later I looked up again, this time in the other direction, only to see more uniformed men with weapons descending the narrow staircase (for employee use) to give the waiting area another patrol sweep. I wonder if they're the French version of the FBI... I now became overly self-conscious of my movements, and hoped that nobody wouldn't mistake my curiosity and exhaustion for "suspicious actions".

  Eventually, our little group got to the front of the line and was ushered into a small, but clean and brightly furnished room that resembled something of a help desk and a service storefront put together. As I had previously been elected the spokesperson for the group whenever possible, I moved forward to the desk where several professionally dressed women were standing and addressing customers needs. One of these women corrected me for going up to her so soon, and instructed me to take a number from a nearby distributor machine and wait until my number was called. Before I could ask if this number was allowed to be used for a group, or only for an individual, she gestured me away with a sweep of her hand and began chatting with the next customer. I made the executive decision that we only needed one for our whole trio, and promptly took a slip of paper with a number combination from the machine before going to the crowded indoor waiting area where Sharron and Mark were already waiting to inform them of the situation.

   Many long and impatient minutes went by before our number was finally called. I moved forward, suitcase in tow, while Sharron conscripted Mark to help with her excess luggage as they followed on behind me. We had to produce our passports and ID cards before being able to read out the destination details to the ticket agent, given to us by the program director only a week or so earlier. After clarifying that although we were indeed paying the fare separately, we would still appreciate getting adjacent seats, she handed us the large, rectangular billets while we swiped our credit cards one by one in payment of our passage. Moments later, we emerged from the quiet ticket station, and back into the bustling waiting area where we had previously been. "Do you see the time on this thing?!" Sharron almost had to shout above the noise around us. I looked at the departure time for the next train to Tours which we had just booked. "That's nearly six hours away from now!" I exclaimed in annoyance and dismay. "What are going to do in the meantime?" "I'm fixin' ta go out them doors to git myself another smoke!", Mark announced to the group, and proceeded to walk through the exterior doors only a few yards away from where we were standing. He soon returned with a uniformed airport/station employee, who ushered him into a nearby "smoker room" that was hidden away in a corner of the atrium. We laughed at Mark's embarrassment before finding an unused selection of sofas that we could claim by barricading ourselves in through careful construction of our luggage and carry-on pieces, once seated.

   An hour passed, during which I chatted some more with my companions, laughed at a few jokes that may not have been so funny in a less sleep-deprived state, and people-watched. Sharron looked up from her phone, "You know that you can sign in to their guest WiFi signal for 20 minutes at a time, right?" "Really? I had no idea! Do we need to make an account?" I pulled out my previously useless smartphone and unlocked the device. "I don't think so...", she said distractedly as she went back to studying the screen in front of her. I selected the guest option on the available WiFi menu, typed in a few personal details, and was taken to a "Bienvenue..." page with a 20 minute countdown timer. I immediately went to my email and typed a message to my mom to say that I had arrived safely, with a few other details about what was going on. Just as I was reviewing my text for any possible edits before sending it through cyberspace, I suddenly felt as though I was being watched. I looked up and was confronted by the gaze of a young soldier, his weapon only a short distance from my person. "Bonjour monsieur", I quietly pronounced despite my perturbed and muddled state of mind. He continued to glare for a moment at my upturned face, and then silently turned to look at the Middle Eastern couple reclining on the adjacent sofa. I wonder if they're looking for someone in particular and I just look like them by coincidence...I thought to myself after the alarm had passed. I looked over at Sharron, curled against the corner of the couch, dozing quietly in the lull of the moment. Mark had gone to explore his surroundings out of sheer boredom, and I decided that since I was apparently so safe in this place, it would be a good idea to rest for a bit myself. I leaned my head on the propped up suitcase that had my carry-on over it. We still had five more hours of waiting, four and a half hours at the least, before we could walk out of the nearby doors and unto the train platform to leave Charles de Gaulle airport behind us.

Part 7

 "This is definitely the first time that I can remember ever riding in an actual passenger train," I commented as the whine of the rails accentuated the swaying movement of the train car that we were sitting in. Mark shifted in his upholstered seat and looked out of the large windows into the bright, sunny day outside. "So theyas is France.." he mumbled with a smile. I looked around at the nearly empty cabin and wondered why they had booked an elderly lady in the seat next to me. The seating was arranged with four pink, cushioned chairs (two facing forwards and two facing backwards) surrounding a low, IKEA-quality table with a narrow isle for walking between the groupings. The sunlight streamed in the copious windows, revealing glimpses of the picturesque French countryside. I turned to glance at the frail woman who was only inches away from me, but who had said nothing so far. She quietly worked on a Sudoku puzzle, occasionally taking in the passing scenery. I wonder why she traveled alone... I thought. Sharron scrolled through her phone, trying to connect to a cell tower while talking to her parents via her data plan. "This SIM card cost me over 50 euros! I can't believe my phone isn't letting it work properly!", she exclaimed in frustration. "I'm just planning to use the WiFi calling option on mine while I'm here. It's not like there will be a lot of people wanting to talk to me. Besides, I'd like to take a break from all the tech usage for a while." I said, reflecting on how much I had been forced to use some app (or computer program) for one work or university related thing or another during my recent college years. "I'm bored," Mark declared over the screeching sound of a passing train on the adjacent track, "Any of y'all gawt some cards ur sumthin'?" I suddenly remembered that I had put some in my luggage before our initial departure, for just such an occasion as this, and went to retrieve it from the storage cabin area.

  When I returned empty-handed several minutes later, I had to explain to my traveling companions that my playing cards had somehow gotten lost, and that we'd need to find another way to pass the time. Mark suggested taking a nap and promptly leaned back against the headrest of his seat and closed his eyes in an attempt to doze through the remainder of our journey. "How are we going to know when we are at the right station? We have several stops before we get to Tours...", I nervously inquired of Sharron, who had been scrutinizing the map. "I think our stop is on the third station...it'll say this on the platform," she indicated the name of the Tours rail-station on the map with her finger. "Well, we just passed stop number one, only two more to go!" I was thankful for that information at least. There was no knowing for sure if our host family would be there to meet us or not, and whoever they were, there was no telling if they would recognize us when we finally got there!

   I continued to stare out of the window in wonderment at the passing scenery until we arrived at our destination. The reality of my location was only now beginning to sink in. It's like I know we're really here, but at the same time, it's hard to fully believe that we are actually here... I thought to myself in the quiet of the sunlit cabin. The sudden swaying of the train indicated the final stop. I tapped Mark on the shoulder to wake him up and looked out of the window on the far side of the cabin. "Yup! This is definitely our stop!" I announced before heading towards the baggage storage area. As I was lifting my heavy suitcase out from the metal rack where it had been placed at the start of our railway trip, Mark kindly offered to help (since he only had his backpack to carry) and brought it down the steps and across the tracks. We all stood on the platform for a moment before realizing that this deserted place was not our intended final destination. "What do we do now?" Sharron asked. The only practical solution was to ask for assistance, after which we discovered that there was a shuttle train that would take us into the actual Tours train station. Armed with further instructions, we started our way down the platform; Sharron dragging two pieces of luggage and a carry-on behind her, me with my carry-on over my back while wrestling with yet another piece of Sharron's luggage, and Mark with his backpack, gripping my ungainly suitcase.

   "I have got to pee!" I declared, my desperation showing as I searched in vain for relief, "There has to be some sort of WC around here somewhere...!" There wasn't. Before long, our shuttle appeared and we climbed aboard, our feet barely above the tracks on the low-budget version of a train car that we were now standing in. I stood there in utter misery for several moments before looking around and noticing a familiar white image of a male and female figure separated by a line. "Hey!", I nudged Mark, "I think that's a public bathroom stall in that corner!" "Ain't much to it", he observed before asking a nearby Asian girl if she knew if anyone was currently using it. She shook her head, and I hurriedly went to claim the as-yet vacant source of my bodily salvation. It is worth mentioning that while I was in the poorly constructed facility (that was comprised of not much more than an airline-style toilet), that the door would not lock, so I had to trust in my fellow-travelers to keep unsolicited visitors out until I was done. To add to my public embarrassment, the door/walls could not have been more than a few centimeters thick, and I was certain that every single person in that car could hear everything that was happening in my "private" stall. Mercifully, I was soon out of there and could not wait to vacate the seemingly over-crowded shuttle. I hope it's not going to be like this for the rest of the trip... 

  The ear-piercing shriek of the brakes indicated that we were now at our destination. After nearly two full days of traveling, very few hours of which involved sleeping, we were finally disembarking into Tours, France. As we stepped out into the uncertainty that lay ahead for the three of us, we said a quick thanks and goodbye to each other for all of the shared adventures that had led up to this point. Granted, the journey had been exhausting and full of challenges, but we had made it through the ordeal together, and felt a sense of closeness as a result of our time together.

~The End~