Dijon, France. Spring 2003.

When Michel Rocchi asked me to write a short essay about my experiences in the Dijon program, to refresh my memory of the recollections of my semester abroad in Dijon, France, I opened up my journal/scrapbook I kept while I was there.   The cover made me laugh.   I had entitled it “Le Fabuleux Destin de Kathleen Sullivan,” inspired by the title of the famous French movie, “Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain.”   Albeit presumptuous, the name of this colorful movie was appropriate for the expectations I held for France.

I expected to hear an accordion soundtrack playing in the background as I walked down cobblestone streets; I expected to go to the corner boulangerie where I knew the baker's first name; I intended to have long, rich, decadent French meals.   Fortunately, I was right about the meals, and indeed there were several accordion players in Paris, but as far as developing a personal relationship with any French baker, well, I was way off base.   The best personal relationships I developed were with Nathalie Choplain, the directrice /mom of our program, with her charming husband and children, and with my host family.   In a sense, my time in France was learning which of these common stereotypes were correct, which were fabricated, and learning about the nuanced French culture that stereotypes just don't cover.   In another sense, going to Dijon was learning about Americans, about me, and about why each individual travels away from home.  

For the first month or so of Dijon, I felt like a small child.   What was this language that I had been studying for the past seven years of my life?   Although my host parents Marie-Claude and Dominique were extremely understanding and encouraging, I often felt that I just missed the punch line to a joke.   I especially felt younger when I hung out with my 22-year old host sister Julie and her friends; their fast-paced, slang-filled conversation in loud Dijon bars made comprehension very difficult.   In Dijon, I began to really understand what it means to be a good listener, and I began to see how Americans in general, myself included, are not efficient speakers.   Certainly, French is not nearly as rich in vocabulary words compared to English, but the French words can have multiple meanings, and the sentences need not be nearly as convoluted as English allows.   Every time before I opened my mouth in France, I first thought, is what I am about to say going to add something significant to the conversation? And secondly, what is the least amount of words I can use to convey my meaning?   Many of the Asian students in my classes at L'Université de Bourgogne, frequently commented on the inefficiency of English and English speakers. I did notice how many Americans always needed to “ remplir le silence ,” – to fill silence – more than the French.   After returning to the United States, this effusive, long-winded character of English vexes me, and I try to face the necessary silences of conversations as natural and as good opportunities to observe.

Although French became easier, I still felt very much humbled throughout my time in Dijon.   In my gastronomy class at the university, I learned the correct decorum to cut a wedge of Brie; many nights I would help my host mom prepare a five course meal for our 8:30 p.m. dinners – two events that humbled my Americanized, rushed eating habits.   Watching my host parents talk for at least one hour at meals made me hang my head in shame for all of the times I ate lunch while walking to the library, or ate in front of the TV, or hurried through a meal to get somewhere a few minutes earlier.   The dinner table for the French is a place of relaxation, pausing to focus on loved ones, eating slowly and delectably, or arguing politics.   Going out to lunch and dinner with the Dijon group during our excursions was when I got to know much better Nathalie Choplain and the rest of the group.   I remember one day, about mid-way into the semester, finally feeling French when my host mom simply gave me money and sent me off to buy a loaf of fresh bread before dinner.   Like the French, their food is fresh, flavorful, and rich.   After reentering the American college world of fast food, late night snacking, and crappy coffee, I make concerted efforts to eat slowly and relish the moment.

It quickly became apparent that everyone of us had gone to Dijon for different reasons.   Some had gone because they wanted a smaller town instead of Paris, others wanted to be in a place where English was rarely spoken, others wanted to be in a good location to travel the rest of Europe.   I went for a combination of the three, and to truly understand another culture, which as of now, I am convinced is impossible without learning the native language.   I loved the independent thirst for knowledge that developed as soon as I set foot on Dijon's Rue de la Libération.   Unlike college at UPS, students abroad are extremely cognizant of their limited time in one place.   This awareness consequently triggers a hunger for discovery and exploration.   On a day where I would normally lounge around and watch movies in the States, in Dijon I would go to the Musée de la Vie Bourgognne, walk to the Parc des Colombiers, converse at a café close to my house, or hop on the TGV for a weekend trip to Paris.   This passion for new experiences is one of the hardest things to retain when one reenters college life, as the snares of routine and comfort tempt and tease. I now appreciate when Michel told us during the orientation sessions before leaving to savor the cultural adventures that will inevitably change us.

Back in the United States, I was surprised to see how hard it was to reintegrate.   Little things that I never noticed before now unhinged my nerves – people talking too loudly about their personal lives in the grocery stores, the sugar-coated, passive way Americans have of disagreeing with others, and the way everyone orders coffee to go.   In some ways, Dijon remains a clip show of memories and images.   I see it as going to the Condorcet – the UPS center in Dijon – to check my email or make dinner with the rest of the group.   I see Dijon as a network of people interested in learning French and the people who were eager to teach us, I remember it as a buttery pain au chocolat , or a passionate moment spent arguing politics with students at Atmo – a club downtown.   Going to Dijon truly changed my life, and I dream that in the future I can have an equally enriching experience once again in France.

Kathleen Sullivan '04 [Dijonnette 2003]