First. Also, first in France. This isn't a coincidence. I don't believe in those.

This past Monday marked my entry into France. This is my story.

But this isn't artsy, so don't go jumping to conclusions. I'm just scatterbrained right now. I'm still adjusting to the time zone. They call that décalage in French.

Warning. There will be other french words in this post. They are in bold for your viewing pleasure. Dictionaries are fun. Voilà.

I don't really like going into details about travel. I hate flying.  It's fairly monotonous. When reflecting, I always remember the waiting, the lines, the confusion.

There was a beautiful sunrise though, viewed over the shoulder of my seatmate.

And for once, I wasn't seated next to a baby. High school girls with an insatiable need to journal at 3AM were a welcome relief.

I like trains. The train ride from Paris to Angers was my favorite part. There's so much more to see. Farms. Vineyards. French rednecks. The countryside was pretty wet. Several rivers were flooded.

There was a bum at the railway station in Angers. I was waiting on my ride, and I made an easy target. He followed me around the gare. Yelling irlandais, irlandais. I wanted to tell him he was right, but I figured he'd want a euro for it. 

My room here on rue Edgar Degas is pretty comfy. I have a bed, a chifferobe (again, dictionary, but this one has made into English), and a desk. I have since eaten two meals (exclusing breakfast. let's be honest, that's not really a meal. toast is toast. but it was better.) with my host-mom.

I call her mom for short. I'm sure there's more than one person who will find that disturbing, and at least one person who'll be a tad put off.

More about my university and doings there later.