I guess it's called "Study" Abroad for a reason...

As much as the last few weeks have been an entrance into Breton daily life and culture, they have also been a sobering immersion into intense schoolwork and studying. Every day we begin class at 9:15 a.m. and remain there until 5:00 p.m. (or in French terms, 9h15 à 17h, which I still have yet to get used to.)  I am at the humanities campus of Université de Rennes, along with other Rhodes students and many other students from different countries who are also studying in Brittany this summer. Welcome to what I call, "the space station."

Without a doubt, this has been the most challenging part of my time here in Brittany. The day is quite long and intense, and I often find myself wishing I were out in the city instead of in class for so many hours every day. Becoming a part of this university, however, has given me an insight into French culture and daily habits in such a way that would have otherwise been impossible to attain. Personally, it is here at the university where I receive the heaviest doses of culture shock. It is humbling to say the least, but it reminds me to stay firm in who I am as an American, yet open to new ways of life, knowing that I am trying my best to assimilate as much as possible each day. 

One of the most striking features of Université de Rennes is its modern, almost futuristic architecture. I think that this is very much an integral part of current French interior form though, as even the apartment where I am living is laid out in an economical, sterile, and geometric way; Design seems to be ruled primarily by efficiency. If you can imagine IKEA, you've got the visuals!

We are enrolled in a series of six courses, separated by the groups into which each of us tested. My level takes classes in Advanced French language mechanics, French economics, Breton/French Civilization, Oral comprehension, Written expression, and French Cinema. 

All of my professors are so different, and all so French. In the beginning of the morning we have a language class with our professor, M. Gil Prévôt for two hours. He has quickly become the collective favorite as he is full of energy, delivers plenty of jokes, demands our attention, and has perhaps the heaviest French accent I have ever heard. Even though we are still drowsy when arriving to class, the morning goes by quickly with him. 

Next we have our Economics course, where we more often than not get into some pretty lively debates. Beforehand, I usually snack on a rolled up crêpe aux chocolat that Yseult always buys at the store "à emporter." They are weirdly addictive and I really should stay away from the snack cabinet...but they come in handy because they give me mental energy for this class, which I always need!

And then, there is lunch.
I will just say this, if anyone ever questions the degree to which the French take eating seriously, all they need to do is observe this cafeteria for two minutes. Every person receives a full meal, accompanied by bread and cheese, a yogurt, and a dessert. All hold their forks and knives properly, eating slowly and talking with lowered voices. No rushing goes on in here.

I look forward to this time because it is fascinating to see how the French function in a duly academic and social environment. All of us from Rhodes sit together, and it is always both funny and reassuring to hear about their experiences in different classes and how each person is also adapting to living here. 

I have found that even during breaks from class, the experience of just being at Rennes 2 is a learning lesson in itself. It may be as simple as letting my guard down to speak English for the first time in hours or taking a few moments alone to sit outside. There is a heightened sense of self-awareness, and I very often feel that I am constantly being observed by my professors and other native French speakers, which does intimidate me a bit. At the same time though, being at Rennes 2 has only deepened my love for my country, as I have frequently found myself in situations where I have had to unapologetically defend the goodness of the U.S. and the American spirit. I see this though as a great and unexpected gift.  

After lunch, a few of us usually get a strong cup of coffee or espresso from a small stand outside the Villejean metro station before the afternoon's classes begin. Our classes are varied, sometimes with one class for three hours, other times with two. In between each we take a short "pause café " for about ten minutes to regroup.   

At first, being at school for eight hours a day was very difficult for everyone. I think now though, our unanimous resolve over the grueling schedule has become a bonding factor for us, which helps us get through the work with a positive outlook and always a sense of humor.

But, it never hurts to come back to Yseult making tea with her friend and having some Breton tea cakes at the end of the day.  

The Mystic Blue of Saint Malo

St. Malo is a minuscule maritime city, walled off from the English Channel that surrounds it on all sides. Nothing seems to better describe Malouins than their phrase, "Ni Français, Ni Breton, Malouin je suis, Malouin je reste"  (Neither French, nor Breton, but I am of St. Malo, forever.) Various greys of granite, slate, and stormy sky dominate this wild coast, and the dramatic vastness of the sea is accentuated by the dismal and yet dazzling weather that seems to change as frequently as the tide. Today, however, the sun makes a rare appearance, illuminating the water below our boat and the sky above us.

We initially sailed out of Dinard, a resort town just across the water from St. Malo that is frequented by many Brits who traverse the Channel for vacation. The ocean here is a greenish blue that is both bitterly cold and alluring. Visitors walk along rough granite walls that plunge deep into the harbor, diving into the cold water that is enough to fully awaken any sleepy person! If, however, going straight into the ocean is not one's cup of tea, a natural swimming pool lies right on the beach. When the tide comes in, the pool is washed over and filled with sea water, and then when it retreats back out, the water remains. Every high tide then is the pool's own natural mode of replenishment.

When we first drove into Dinard, I gasped at the sight of St. Malo that loomed in the distance, a sight that prior to now I had only imagined from photos. It seems to eerily await its curious visitors who are entranced enough to sail across. No wonder it is often called "La cité corsaire," eluding to its past of plundering pirates. Malouins will tell you, however, that there is a difference between a pirate and a corsair; a pirate simply robs his riches, but a corsair is sent by royal order of the king to do his dirty bidding.   

 St. Malo at a distance is threateningly warlike but also disarmingly helpless. As we approach by boat, I cannot help but imagine the mounting tension that mariners must have felt as they too approached this fortress hundreds of years ago.  

Today, St. Malo is the number one port in northern Brittany, and every fisherman swears he has the freshest catch. There are daily fishing boats that bring in scallops, sardines, mackerel, and sea bass, and the harbor is filled with boats that arrive with fresh hauls of langoustines and oysters. Meanwhile, others set out for weeks at a time, in waters as far away as Ireland, and return with holds of lobster and cod. I am told by a jovial storefront owner who pops his head outside that in every port across Brittany, a "criée," or fish auction, begins as soon as the boats dock and unload.

We had a bit of time to wander around for lunch, so a few of us found an old stone staircase out of the sun. Even inside the town, the wind still smells of the sea.

There is an old Breton saying that goes, "Bretons are born with the waters of the sea flowing 'round their hearts."  After lunch then, we went down to the beach to see the Mor Breizh for ourselves.

There are three fortified islands that form the first line of defense for St. Malo from the encroachment of the sea. The largest of which is called Le Grand Bé, the tomb of French Romantic writer Francois-René de Chateaubriand. Le Grand Bé, however, is only accessible during low tide.

                                 

The tides on this coast are deadly, the highest and swiftest in Europe, with incoming waves that can overtake a man at the speed of a galloping horse. There are signs all along the beach to beware of the power of the ocean, warning that if the tide has risen above the walkway up to Grand Bé and a soul is caught behind the water, he must spend the night on the island.

Le Grand Bé

Here and there are isolated bluffs, and the apartments within are surrounded by a single fearsome wall that protects against the bitter winds and relentless waves. The town's architecture can seem rather somber, but it makes me think that this is exactly the way it is meant to be. There are no garish hues that distract from blue of the sky, the softness of the endless beach, or the inky hues of the sea.

It was out of St. Malo that Jacques Cartier first sailed from France to what would become french Canada, and having some Québécois blood myself, there is certainly a sense of pride stirred within me. Up here you can stand above the water from a granite lookout point, watching what is right now a calm ebb and flow become soon a roiling, restless ocean. 

To be honest, there is a loneliness to St. Malo that when first coming here I did not expect. Though it is filled with such vivid beauty, it leaves with me an even more immense feeling of solitude. An old Breton fisherman's prayer puts it perfectly: 

 "O God, Thy sea is so great, and my boat is so small."