“Studying Abroad”
by Renee Johnson
A description of insights gained during a writing workshop that I attended in France this past October.
I was not the typical student traveling abroad for further study. At forty-eight, with a degree in business and a full time job that promised retirement in eight more years, this was not part of a curriculum. This was much more important.
When I first discovered Janet Hulstrand’s writing workshop in Essoyes, France, I only earmarked the site. This past summer, the timing felt right. I applied to ‘Writing from the heart…in the heart of Champagne’, although a little nervous about traveling alone.
But this class was just what I needed! Something dies in the soul of a person who isn’t following his or her passion and I had not been pursuing what I truly loved to do: reading and writing. In fact, writing was such a natural process for me that ideas for novels came to me often, especially whenever I traveled to new and exciting places. I used these locations as venues for storylines that I wanted to read and thought other women my age would enjoy. But did I have talent? Would anyone be interested in what I had to say or the plots I created? Somehow I knew that Janet Hulstrand’s class was the right place to find these things out and she thought so too.
For me, studying abroad wasn’t like taking a course at a local college. It was more like training for an athletic event. I needed to regain some physical strength in the muscles that had atrophied after a fall I had sustained in the previous winter, hone my French speaking skills, and acquire a global phone. I needed to read more books and write regularly. I learned to set a schedule for myself and to stick to it.
I ended up making all of my own travel arrangements as my travel agent had retired and I was having difficulty finding another who could listen to what I wanted instead of pushing what they thought I needed or was most convenient for them. I bought the required texts for the class in advance and read through both of them, doing the exercises at the end of each of Julia Cameron’s, ‘The Right toWrite’, chapters. Each accomplishment lifted my spirits in a way that made me feel years younger, and this was before I ever left North Carolina. I learned to value discipline.
Of course, such happiness and harmony cannot exist without its equal balance of disruption, the yin and yang of travel. My class took place in October of 2010, right in time for the bulkhead of traveling nightmares.
Terrorists threatened attacks on Europe and the population of France was disgruntled over the proposed retirement age hike to sixty-two. Strikes halted trains and buses. Protests led the European news outlets. The Eiffel Tower was emptied on at least one occasion and travel alerts were issued by the state department to anyone considering travel to France.
But I didn’t work this hard and wait this long to explore my passion just to give in to fear. So, I ploughed ahead. It was another lesson for me; doing something that could be dangerous or disruptive in spite of fear.
The RER-B train that runs from Charles de Gaulle Airport to Paris was closed for repairs when I arrived on Sunday, October tenth. This was a couple of days before the class began, but I wanted to have time to recover from jet lag and get accustomed to the time schedule. So I just took a taxi to Gare L’Est where I had a ticket for the noon train to Troyes, a medieval city on the path from Paris to Essoyes. From there, I had another train ticket to Vendeuvre where I planned to meet the four others in the class in order to share a taxi into Essoyes.
I intended to rent a locker at the train station and spend a little time exploring the city of Paris, but the lockers were closed. My global phone wasn’t working at all, and as it was Sunday morning, few shops were open. Again, I decided to make the best of it, calling my family collect from a pay phone that wound up costing forty dollars for a quick “I’m safe and my phone isn’t working” conversation. Then I purchased a café de crème and croissant which I had to keep rescuing from errant birds that saw my crumbly croissant as a fantastic steal. I would have found this charming, except for the presence of the French military walking stoically in triangular formations with their machine guns at the ready.
At least I finally got a French sim card for my phone when the Phone Store in the train station opened and I followed his advice on getting Virgin Mobile as the provider. He must have chuckled over this, as Orange seemed to be the more widely available service provider. I bought minutes from the tobacco shop, but when I dialed the necessary number for recharge, the instructions were all in very speedy French and I just could not understand which numbers I needed to enter in the right order. Oh well, another lesson in depending on technology. I regretted dropping the French lessons in order to have more time to shop for cute boots as I had expected to use Google Translate whenever I had a language barrier.
Three of the other four students ended up arriving in Troyes a day earlier than originally expected. The transportation strikes were playing havoc with everybody’s schedules. We were not able to get to Vendeuvre on the train, so we scheduled a taxi from Troyes. One ended up renting a car in Paris and driving to Essoyes alone. I learned to have a back up plan and to be ready to execute it.
Two of the three students who came to Troyes wound up staying in the same hotel as me, Le Champ des Oiseaux. I saw it online and immediately felt compelled to sleep beneath its wooden ceiling rafters and sit inside its lap of a courtyard garden. I could picture myself there, the sun being filtered by the surrounding buildings, the ivy profusely growing up the stone and timber walls. It did not disappoint. The third met us in the lobby and we sat around a table of wine and fruit while getting to know each other. They were all older than me and much more experienced. One was a retired attorney, another the wife of a French Ambassador with an incredibly distinct aristocratic air about her, and the third was a professional writer who had majored in journalism and English. I felt like a sour green apple; too young, immature, and without the right credentials. But it wasn’t because of anything they said or did; they were lovely and warm. No, it was my own insecurities sneaking up on me from behind like a mischievous little brother who tags you and yells, “YOU”RE IT”!
There were marches and parades in the streets, people yelling for solidarity and unity. But they brought balloons to the protest so we weren’t intimidated. The police escorted them in and out of Troyes and our taxi left as planned. When we arrived in Essoyes, at the Hotel Les Canotiers, a beautiful hillside hotel that overlooked the Ource Valley and the surrounding mountains, the last member of the group was already there. She spoke a little French and had worked in France before. She was the oldest of the group at seventy-three, but she was in good shape, mentally sharp and had driven herself in after nearly being carjacked in the airport parking lot. Quelle Horror! These women were redefining the entire aging process. I learned not to let age define me.
Janet Hulstrand arrived with hors d’ouvers and champagne, welcoming us to L’Aube. I immediately told her about the credentials of the other women and my own deficiency of literary degree and experience. I suppose I was giving her the chance to admit that I had been selected by a terrible mistake and could leave whenever I wished. But instead she assured me that it didn’t matter as long as I had something to say and knew how to say it. That was the moment when I knew I was in the right place with the right teacher. This Buddhist proverb says it best: ‘When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.’ I learned to be that student.
The guidebooks of the region recommended Reims and Dijon as places not to be missed. Normally, I would have followed their advice. However, in Essoyes the people were the real treasures not to be missed. The hotel owners, Jean-Jacques and Evyline Chenut worked around the clock and we bonded over our love for their exquisite cuisine prepared by chef Frederic Joffrin, but especially the local Epoisses Cheese. It actually became a symbol for our group. The mayor’s parents, Andre and Micheline Cintrat, along with the doyenne of the village, Maurice Goyard, hosted a luncheon for us at Janet’s chalet style home in Essoyes. It was a little misty and foggy on that day which gave the whole experience a dreamy quality. After walking from the garage along a path lined with tall hemlocks and dotted with treasures such as a fountain and a stone table with chairs naturally decorated with colorful fallen leaves, we entered into a cozy atmosphere, a long French table in front of a fireplace. Micheline had prepared the meal herself and served us on her treasured wedding plates purchased sixty-seven years prior at Printemps in Paris and even older ones that belonged to her mother. She told us that we needed baggage for a journey; food to sustain us. Andre poured champagne and the eleven year old wine that Maurice provided. He said little, but was adorable. The doyenne at ninety-eight was the oldest citizen in the village. It was an honor that he dined with us, shared a photograph of his deceased daughter, engaged in a dispute with Micheline over some small detail about Renoir, Essoyes’ most famous resident. I loved it!
Herve, a vigneron for Christian Senez Champagnerie, personally gave us a tour. Having spent time in California and marrying a beautiful young lady from Wisconsin, he spoke fluent English. The lilt in his voice enlivened the words he used and I took mental notes so that I could recapture his enthusiasm in words that would sing from the page. He poured full glasses of champagne as we tasted the bubbly nectar from four different types of champagne produced there. Warmed by the fire burning in the large stone fireplace that faced the long table we were seated at, all of us were entranced by Herve’s knowledge. I learned the importance of having passion for your work and for the Russian Proverb that says, ‘She who risks, gets to drink champagne’.
I walked through the ancient stone village dotted with reproductions of Renoir’s paintings; was welcomed into the art studio of Denis Herbillon and Anne Fierobe, treated like a special guest at the grocers and witnessed the handsome banker open up for one of us when the ATM outside had ceased working. I walked through the golden vineyards, and along the Ource River. I found these walks to be inspiring and nurturing. Windows and old wells brimmed over with flowers as did the clay pots placed along the street. The sense of community was palpable. I learned the importance of being a good host and in placing a little beauty in your path.
Janet Hulstrand; writer, teacher, editor; had reserved one day for consultations and critiques. I was awed by her support of my developing voice. She also gave me ideas for growth and publishing. I left Essoyes with friends, confidence, discipline, perseverance, self-reliance, and a plan for execution. More importantly, I did what everyone is supposed to do in class. I learned!
RateYourStudyAbroad.com is an independent website for students to research and review study abroad programs, with over 4,000 programs and reviews added by thousands of students. It was founded by two study abroad students in 2008.
Rudy Maxa and Allan Comport judged the RateYourStudyAbroad.com Fall 2010 Travel Writing & Photography Contest. Rudy Maxa is the host of PBS‘s RudyMaxa’s World, a former Washington Post reporter and the former host of NPR‘s The Savvy Traveler. Allan Comport is a professor of art at the Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA).
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