Ever since I arrived, I've been wanting to take French classes. I hate having broken French, and I'd felt like a few courses at the Sourbonne could iron those kinks right out. But as I mentioned in a previous post, classes weren't an option financially speaking, so my team leader here in Paris suggested that I work at a summer camp with all native French people, and after a few weeks, she promised that I'd feel more comfortable with the language. She sent out a few inquiries, and a week later, I signed up to work at one of these such places.
So, August 15th, I headed off to what I believed was a children's camp. I'd emailed the camp's director a few times regarding when I'd arrive and what train I'd be taking, but I'd never heard anything back. I had sort of worried about this lack of communication, but using the "no news is good news" mentality, I decided not to over-think the issue. Days before I left, I received a preparation packet in the mail, and it was all really vague--you can use our washing machines for 5 euros, you can eat our food, you have to bring your own pillow and sheets--stuff like that. So, I brought along all the phone numbers I'd found, and reasoned that, if worst came to worst, I'd just call from the station, and wait for someone to pick me up.
Still, I felt really stressed out the whole way down--what if I got lost? What if I had the wrong train? What if camp was cancelled and that's why no one had responded to my emails?
I started feeling even worse about things when I reached Bordeaux. First of all, it was 116 degrees, and I was still wearing my Paris in the Summer clothes--jeans, a short-sleeved shirt, and a cardigan sweater over top. I was burning up, and all the girls walking past were wearing these flowery dresses and skirts. I hadn't brought anything like that! And second of all, they were all speaking in this weird, Southern twang that I could barely understand--"main" sounded like "mang", "demain" sounded like "demang", that kind of thing.
But there was no turning back, so I took the final train into Tonneins, and let me tell you, that station was absolutely deserted. There was an outdoor toilet with a hole in the wall so huge that all the world could see you doing your business. There was really no inside-the-station. Tonneins was basically just two railway tracks and a roof.
Thankfully, there was a bus sitting by the door and several people were packing their luggage inside. The side of the bus read Agape Village, and while I was staying at a place called Chateau Peyreguilhot, from what I'd understood from reading the pamphlet, it was owned by this Agape Village. So, I boarded.
We drove down this narrow, windy roads, and everyone around me was chattering away like they'd known each other for years. I was still shaking, thinking about how heading to camp at 24 was somewhat less of a dream come true than heading to camp at 8. But finally, I got my nerve up, got the French worked out in my head, and asked the woman next to me, "So, is this your first time working at this summer camp?"
She looked at me really confused, and said, "This isn't a summer camp." She whispered something to the woman next to her, and all the sudden, they were both looking at me with the strangest expressions on their faces.
I felt cold all over. I'd probably hopped into the wrong bus. I was headed to the wrong place. Who knew if I was even in the right city? There hadn't been any conductor on the train checking tickets, and they hadn't announced the name of the station when I'd arrived. What if I hadn't gone to Tonneins afterall?
But we pulled up in front of this large house, and I ran up to tell the driver, "I think I shouldn't be here."
He asked me why, and I replied, "Because I'm supposed to be working at a summer camp called the Chateau Peyreguilhot."
He laughed and said, "You're here."
I looked at the big house, which, upon inspection, did look rather like a small chateau, and I said, "This isn't a children's summer camp?"
"No," he said. "This week, it's a spiritual retreat center for singles 25-40."
Looking around me, they all did look like singles ages 25-40.
I walked into the castle and asked for the director who, of course, couldn't see me, because she was helping the new arrivals settle into their rooms. So, instead, a tiny woman with frizzy brown hair came out and said, "Come with me."
I smiled and tried to act really genial about the whole situation, until I realized that we were leaving the chateay and headed out into the woods.
I tried to ask, really casually, "Where are we going?"
"To the caravan camp," she said.
And I started panicking when I saw the caravan camp. It looked just like the gypsy caravan camps in Pontault-Combault.
"I think I'm staying in the castle," I said to her. "I got something in the mail that said I'd be in the castle."
"No," she said, and she showed me a piece of paper that said, "Katie Fleetwood--Caravan 4."
So, we arrived at this tiny caravan, and I stood at the foot of the steps while the frizzy haired woman walked off. I was not sure at all what I should do. When she was out of sight, I finally went in, but unwilling to believe I'd actually be staying there--exiled to the back woods of the chateau--, I just stood in the doorway, holding my suitcase so tightly my hands went numb. And that's when I started crying. Because I was so panicked and surprised and unhappy and miserable. And then, I started looking around the caravan with it's neon pink curtains and gaping hole where a refrigerator had once been, and I started laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. I think this is the first time I'd ever really laughed and cried at the same time. Maybe not. I remember doing that while I watched Steel Magnolias, but that's beside the point.
Anyway, not having any idea what to do, I sat on the bed, put my head on the suitcase, and slept. For three hours.
When I woke up, I looked at my watch and realized I'd way overslept. I ran back to the castle, and tracked down the director. Who still didn't have time to talk to me.
So, I went off to meet my fellow campers, and was inundated with questions such as "What would you say is your gift in life?", "Who do you admire most in the world?", "What kind of family would you like to have?", and "What age is the prime age to be married at?"
But to condense the rest, after one day, I was allowed to move into the attic of the castle, which was a blessing. I ended up not doing dishes and housekeeping as I'd originally thought--I, instead, was given the task of co-leading the kids' program. (There was a family camp that was going on at the same time, so plenty of children were there after all...) And though it was awfully hard, there were plenty of nice volunteers who encouraged me. (One woman said, "You know what the Cht'is say about coming up North? They say, "You'll cry two times...when you arrive and when you leave." She said, "I'll tell you the same thing about this camp." Incidentally, however, I didn't cry when I left.)
And to leave you with, I thought I'd write down two funny things that one of my boys said:
1) Boy: So, is everyone in heaven dead?
Me: No, they have eternal life.
Boy: But they had to die first to get there, right?
Me: Usually, but there's Enoch in heaven who never died. And Elijah. He never died either. God took him to heaven in a chariot of fire.
Boy: Well, here's the thing: I don't want to die. Do you think God could take me to heaven in a chariot of fire?
Me: Ummmm....he could. God can do anything. But I don't think that's likely.
Boy: I'm still going to pray that he'll take me to heaven in a chariot of fire.
And sure enough, every day when he prayed before kid's church, he prayed that God would take him to heaven in a chariot of fire, so he wouldn't have to die.
2) Same Boy: Why is this Jesus crying all the time?
Me: What?
Boy: Everytime you mention Jesus, you say Jesus Cries.
Me: No I don't.
Boy: Yes, you do!
Me: I'm sorry, but I don't think I do.
And then, I started thinking. Jesus. Jesus Christ. Ohhhh....
Me: Do you mean Jesus Christ?
Boy: Yes! You said it again!
Me: No, I said "Jesus Christ."
Boy: What's a Christ?
Me: It's part of his name.
Boy: Ohhhh....
Anyway, it was a half great/half miserable time, and while I had a lot of fun moments, I'm so glad to be home. And now, even though I hate to see summer end, I think I'm ready for fall classes to begin at Asnieres. I can't wait to get back to work.
