Jet-lagged euphoria

AIX-EN-PROVENCE, France – Euphoria: the first emotional stage of a study-abroad experience, due mainly to a somewhat rabid and irrational love of the host country and a tendency to overlook cultural differences.

That is according to “Maximizing Study Abroad,” a pre-trip guide Overseas Studies gives to every student in its programs.

Granted, I didn’t actually read the book, but one of the finer aspects of self-serving works of nonfiction is that they often come complete with an obscene number of graphs and diagrams – most of which I did glance at as my tendency to wing it was beaten down a bit by my guilt at not reading something that was given to me for free and for my benefit.

Anyway, those graphs. As the “emotional stages” diagram happened to be one of the first in the group, I actually looked at it long enough to derive whatever point it and the chapter I found it in were trying to get across.

What I gleaned was that this euphoria starts upon arrival and ends a little before the trip is half over – which is, for those in my boat who are spending the academic year abroad, until about winter break. My current plan is to spend that time tree-less, Santa-less and alone.

Thanks for the heads-up, “Maximizing Study Abroad.” I hadn’t been dreading that one at all.

But my impending solitude wasn’t without perks – for a moment, that initial euphoria didn’t sound so bad.

Then my defensive side kicked in.

Irrational love of the host country? That seemed a little unfair.

After all, I’ve been studying the French language for six years, and even hearing snippets of conversations between native speakers has always made me a little giddy.
 
Throw me into a place where, well, everyone speaks French – and where I can see a mountain from the window of my dorm room – and you’ll probably have a pretty happy Katie on your hands.

It’s the latter, though, that really bugs the proverbial crap out of me.

Between the cheek-kissing and the lack of urgency and Aixois drivers’ ability to speed down streets most Americans would consider glorified sidewalks and the je ne sais quoi that manages to make the usually makeup-less French women incredibly alluring, France’s cultural differences have been punching me in the face since I stepped off the plane at the Marseille Provence Airport.

That said, I’ve only been in town for five days. But honestly, a little bit of euphoria probably would’ve helped with the aforementioned figurative punching and the jet lag.

I guess Mont Sainte-Victoire, gorgeous architecture and being immersed in what I’ve studied and loved since high school will have to do for now.