French Expectations

27 years ago yesterday, I arrived in France.

Via a train ride from Geneva, across the countryside of France, I arrived at the small fishing town of Martigues of  La Provence.

 I remember being picked up at the small train station by my roommate and a local couple. They drove me in one of the smallest cars I have ever seen, through the tiny roads that lead down the hillside and across the town, over the bridges, and to my apartment. They all spoke French, and although I had studyied before arriving, I was amazed in the speed and ease of how they spoke French- even if they were French. I would learn later they also had a Southern accent that I had never even imagined existed and had not prepared for.

 Nothing was how I imagined it. Nothing. And that is when I realized that no matter how much you think you understand something, no matter how prepared you think you are; when dropped in the middle of something you have never experienced, a place you have never been, or meet people you have never met: it's all going to different than what you expected.

 But all that being said, it's OK. It's good to be surprised from time to time.