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Our post sippin' photo (we had smoothies again).

Say "bonjour" to Aubin.

Today was another goodbye-- my final language date with Aubin.

We chatted about our upcoming exams, torture as an inefficient means to an end, and why the French think Americans only eat copious amounts of greasy "MacDo". We exchanged bisous and email addresses as we said goodbye, and we plan to keep in touch. As I was walking away from the cafe, I felt as if I should have met Aubin along the way, not at the end of everything.

I took three tests today, two of which were steps from impossible. The third was MI:4.

Natalie handed back our theatre exams in class. I got a 12.5/20. This, in American averaging, would be a D-.

I am not a D- student. I am not even a D+ or a C or a B student. I am Katie Gant and I have A written all over me. Or, at least I thought I did until freshman year of college. That year, my transcript was forever smeered by an honors professor who clearly didn't know that when he gave me my first B, my tiny world temporarily imploded. Tears were not enough for my all-consuming grief. I wrote furious emails to this professor-who-wil-not-be-named that I never sent, lamenting his unfairness and daring to give me, Katie Gant, a B.

Luckily, the French grading system different than the American grading system, and my 12.5 is more like a B+. But, the point to all this babbling in this: I am different now.

I have been thinking about what I have learned and how I have changed since coming to France, and in the way of grades, I think I have undoubtedly changed for the better. That is not to say I won't always try my best, but that is to say that when someone casually says "Don't worry, its just a grade." to reassure me after a tough test or difficult homework assignment, I will actually agree with them instead of nodding my head "yes", but secretly thinking "no, no, no, NO!".

My world is fully intact and I am not in the midst of my own personal Armageddon because I got a 12.5. Maybe, I'm a petit peu plus francais, or maybe, France has taught me that there is a grand difference between earning a grade and living one.

What I've been doing lately (as I definitely haven't been studying for finals)-- in pictures

I took this picture Friday morning at the market. It is a huge hunk of dried meat. Annie and I simultaneously said "Gross!". I keep returning to the market day after to"stall shop". I wander the colorful produce, listen to the rapidly babbling French farmers, and wish that I had made more recipes with vegetables and fruit and honey and spices and cheese and baguette and basically any ingredient French.

Annie and I enjoying the goodbye BBQ on Friday.

Annie and Karinne doing the same thing.

We celebrated Karinne's 21st birthday party Friday night. This is the only picture I took during the evening (that's Allison), but I think it captures the mood of the event nicely.

I went to the beach in Marseille on Saturday. It was lovely-- I fell asleep as the Mediterranean wind messed my hair.

Look how clear that water is. A few of my friends ventured in, but I was not brave enough to face the cold. I dipped my toe in and exclaimed "No!" as I spread out my towel and tuned my iPod to my favorite sleepy listening-- Harry Potter on tape.

The group packing up to go. There is Greta, Jill, Danni's feet, Allison, and Annie.

I took this picture yesterday of one of the most known fountains in Aix-- The Four Dolphins.

Karinne, Haley, and I planned to go on an Aix photo shoot, but the weather didn't necessarily behave. Its so funny that I have pictures of me standing in front of the Sagrada Famille in Barcelona and Notre Dame in Paris-- but I don't have pictures of me in front of Aix's tiny, but none-the-less monumental landmarks. Well, now I have one pictures I suppose.

I can check Book in a Bar off the list of things to do before I leave. We played scrabble, and [insert gasp] I bought ANOTHER book. If it looks like I'm crying when I see my family at the airport on Sunday, it won't be because I'm glad to see them, it will be because security made me throw some books away because my carry on was too heavy. Just kidding family!

The most wondeful sight in the world-- a cup of tea at Book in a Bar. I feel soothed just looking at it.

Maybe, just maybe...

... I've been avoiding writing my blog because I would have to write about leaving.

Sunday, I packed. Now my apartment looks miserably empty, and my two giant suitcases are haughtily sitting at the foot of my bed, taunting me because I actually have to carry/drag/kick them a mile to the bus stop on Sunday.

Friday, I went to a goodbye BBQ.

Yesterday, I passed out 18 magnets in class that featured the word "Oklahoma!" along with sauntering cowboys, grazing buffaloes, and jumping river bass as remember me! gifts to my classmates. Natalie loved hers.

Sunday, I made a list of the things I have to do in Aix before I leave.

1. Go have a cafe at Les Deux Garcons-- the hippest, most expensive cafe on the Cours Mirabeau-- and people watch.
2. Go to Book in a Bar and complete my mission of tasting every tea on their menu.
3. Have a picnic in Parc de la Torse.
4. Slowly appreciate one last nutella crepe from Crepe a Go-Go
5. Jump in the Rotonde Fountain.

Number 5 might be tricky. And, if I buy one more book while I'm doing number 2, they officially won't let me come back to America, as I will be over the book weight limit (I have about 12 stuffed in my bag right now).

Now, I'm off to study. And mourn. I have six finals this week.

Sippin' Smoothies With My Best Bud Aubin

So, maybe he isn't my "Best Bud", but after two rendez-vous, I think we are taking steps in the bff direction.

Yesterday, Aubin and I met on the Cours Mirabeau and had a lovely Frenglish chat while we enjoyed raspberry/banana smoothies. Aubin is allergic to pollen and is suffering terribly from the Spring bloom, so we made a lovely pair coughing and blowing ours noses together.

Aubin asked me if Miami was in California. I said no, but that Oklahoma has a town called Miama (Don't worry-- I added the appropriate twang). I tried to explain how archeologists created the plaster casts of those poor souls who died in Pompeii, which involved few words and many hand motions (I mimed a volcano exploding, people covering their faces in fright, and an archeologist injecting plaster into a hole-- which any charades professional would admit is a hard thing to do). Maybe, just maybe, he understood what I was trying to explain. Or maybe, he thinks I'm a petit peu folle, and just nods his head and smiles to appease me.

Today, I took wonderous gulps of fresh Aix air while leisuringly strolling to class in the sunshine. Karinne noticed a hint of color returning to my cheeks, and Natalie even said I looked better (If Natalie says it, you know it must be true).

I was missing home so much today I drew an Oklahoma on my hand, counted down the days in my planner until I fly home, and generally wished that I could have a QT hot dog and large coffee instead of my compulsory baguette and frozen vegetable mix. Oh... only 10 days, and I will say "au revoir" to suculent tarts, constant second-guessing, and cobblestone streets and "howdy" to chocolate chip cookies (they don't have brown sugar in France), a language I know how to explain a volcanic eurption in, and an endless expanse of highways.

Sicky: Part II

I made it to class-- barely.

I threw my cacophonous phone across the room when my alarm went off this morning, forcing the poor thing into what I fear is a permanent sleep mode. For those of you who don't know me well, I live by one general rule when it comes to waking up in the morning:

1. Never, EVER, no matter how many precious few minutes of sleep you may have received, snooze your alarm.

I guess I have a gift for waking up early, and I have always managed a life sans snooze. I even harbor an ever so tiny grudge against those who do, stupidly priding myself on my morning wakefulness.

Anyway.. back to the point, which is that you know I am not feeling like myself if I snooze. The sickness is getting to me-- especially my nerves. I'm trying to appreciate my final days in France. I want to smell the spring air. I want to revel in the glorious sunshine at Parc de la Torse. I don't want to walk at superspeed to my apartment after class, yearning for my beautiful bed with every step. I don't want to scare my teachers and elicit multiple "Pauvre, pauvre Katie"'s from Natalie. I don't want to scare poor pedestrians in the rue with my hacking-- their lingering glares seem to say, "You don't cough like a French person either!".

This bronchitis better run its course, and it better run it quick. My phone's life hangs in the balance... as well as my lungs... and maybe even a bit of my sanity.

Sicky

I have bronchitis.

I finally forced myself to visit the doctor, as I was dreading the half-French, half-mimed conversation I was surely going to have (I could just imagine myself pointing at my throat, coughing, and making a sad face). Luckily, he spoke English, sparing me the charades, and luckily, he loaded me up with four different prescriptions.

Hopefully, I'll be feeling better soon. Until then, I plan to sleep twelve hours a night, watch Toy Story on YouTube (oh how I miss American television!), and not study for my finals.

Finally... pictures!

The new links at Cork and Lismore, Rome I and II, Capri, and Dublin!