Things are looking up…I have gotten a considerable amount of work done, and am well on my way to understanding at least a fraction of the material. Please dear God, don’t let me lose my job…I don’t want to go to South Korea to teach. It’s hard enough trying to read signs here, never mind trying to learn an entirely different alphabet.
I am completely 100% determined to learn French. If I ever wish to switch careers (i.e. get fired), my chances of finding a job with a French background would be incredible. Plus it’s just silly not to know two languages. I am learning a little though, and constantly listening to the conversations around me. Or the radio is always playing in the background.
Last night was by far my favourite night here so far. The Boy who has been taking me around Lorient all week asked if I would like to go for a drink somewhere. I might have responded a little too enthusiastically with “OH SWEET JESUS YES”, but whatever. It was only when I got back to my apartment and started chatting with CubeMate that I pondered whether this was a date or not. Shit. A sober date?
I cleaned up my act, and joined him for a night out at Larmor-Plage. It was the most incredibly romantic non-date I have ever had, no lie. We took a stroll along the brick walkway that borders the beach. The sun was setting but the air was still warm, and couples were linked arm and arm everywhere. We wandered through a few streets dotted with old, stone-faced beach houses and shops. Then we sat in a little retro cafe on the beach, sipping beers and discussing everything from our lives in Canada and France to speed dating. The fact that we stumbled through conversation because of the language barrier was even more charming.
By the time I arrived home, I was grinning and giddy and ecstatic, just because that’s how it should be. Not stupid hook-ups at the bar, or dragging home a lover who has to vomit in your bedroom’s trash can several times while fornicating. Not that that has happened to me or anything.
But now it is Friday and I am completely alone. The Boy has taken off for the weekend, and nobody else enjoys my company. I can’t blame them; people in Canada sometimes have difficulty understanding me, never mind the French. I went to the supermarket and stocked up on precious French wine and beer made within Brittany. And dear lord did I ever need a drink when I got home from work. And sweet merciful Christ can you imagine my panic when I realized there was no bottle opener for my fancy, local beer? I did locate a corkscrew at some point, and managed to pry off the beer cap with much work. When it came to opening the wine, I struggled with the stupid cork for so long that I nearly gave myself a hernia, and once I had removed the cork discovered that I had somehow caused myself to bleed all over the place.
It is nice to be alone, but I would love some companionship for the weekend. I think my favourite part of travelling is going out at night with a bunch of friends, getting drunk at a discotheque and dancing the night away. I prefer the pubs at home, but in a foreign country, there’s never a better atmosphere than inside a disco. There’s going to be hot weather all weekend, so I will wander to the beach and perhaps make some friends there. Or sit in the sand and tan my little heart out, whichever comes first.