The Beginning

It was mid-June 2009 when the fantastic idea struck me. I'd always planned on studying abroad my junior year, however my junior year was originally scheduled for 2011. Apparently my life wasn't crazy enough with my dual major-minor program, and you know what I said?

"Hell, I'll graduate a year early, and study abroad this coming spring!".

Stupid. I immediately emailed my university study abroad office, assuming I was far to late to apply for a program less than a year away. Boy was I wrong. My school's specific study abroad plan consists of the following rule: Push every single detail off to the last minute, bringing you to within an inch of your sanity with no true outside help, and then get on a plane and leave for six months. Haha, so true. So, as I geared up for my 17 credit fall semester, it never crossed my mind that I was jumping head first into a 2 foot swimming pool.

However, the semester certainly wasn't boring. In my opinion, the process of applying to study abroad should be a 3-credit class in itself, along with the lovely visit to the consulate to obtain a visa, the search for a flight that doesn't rip the money from every source you have, and the final days of packing up for the trip ahead.

The initial process began in September, when I hurriedly arrived at the study abroad office, worrying that I had long missed the deadline for studying abroad in the spring. The woman at the desk stared at me as if I had a pea sized brain when I asked what the application process was for spring semester.

"You have plenty of time, we are currently only accepting application for winter programs. Here are the forms you can start filling out, and because you are going through another school, you should contact that school for more paperwork," she told me.

"Well good," I thought until she slapped a packet of paperwork weighing more than a math textbook on the desk. I quickly figured out that my school would not be very much helpful with this process, considering I had chosen a program at another school. However, this program was not only one of the cheaper options, but was very independent, and would submerge me in the heart of living in Paris. So, after contacting the school in which my program was being hosted, I tried to find out as much information as possible.

"When would I know I was accepted, who should I contact, where should I go?" It was quickly revealed to me that this school, being as it was located 2 and a half hours away, would also be less helpful as I originally planned. So, what to do? I decided I needed to ask someone who had been through the process. I began emailing a guy who had also studied abroad in the previous spring semester through the same program. He was certainly the most informational person I talked to throughout the whole process, sending me advice on where to go, what to do, what websites I should visit, cell phone plans to stay away from, and most important, the best student bars and happy hours:).

So, after learning this basic information, I pushed the process into high gear, and finished all of the paperwork I needed. I was in the financial aid office multiple times, asking questions, and finally obtaining a loan for $7500 to help finance my trip. I was quite the stress case, but I hoped that this coming spring would pay off. I was a nut job in the midst of this process, and I was sure to keep copies of everything as well as receipts. Once my appointments (as in more than one) with the french consulate came, I was more aware of why this was so important. But don't worry, I'll get to that nightmare.

After all the paperwork was finally handed in, I received my acceptance letter from the program itself. I was ecstatic, and I thought to myself, "Hm, should be all gravy from here." Pfft, yeah right. Since I had already obtained a passport in 2008, I now was on to the process of getting a French Visa.

First, we had to make a profile on a website, putting in information such as our language proficiency, our financial means, or schooling, and of course almost every detail concerning our lives. This joyous profile took about a week, but finally I was confirmed. I then made my visa appointment for November. I felt quite behind, but my coordinator insisted I was fine. He said to just not make any flight arrangements until we obtained our visa. Each week I just watched the flight prices go up, but I waited.

Finally, the appointment came. I took the "Megabus" bus service (which I highly recommend with their low prices) and arrived in New York City(2 and a half hours from my school), in order to have said "personal interview". Vague directions stated the paperwork I needed, as well as copies, passport, and a printed page saying I had an appointment. Right.

I made my way down to the city, taking a day off from school in order to finish this. To my utter delight, I made it to the embassy with my boyfriend without getting extremely lost. As I reached the door of the french embassy an hour early (as a precaution), I was greeted my a big man with an even bigger scowl. He was absolutely terrifying. I felt like I was a 5 year old as he grunted, "Where's your appointment page!" in his thick french accent. He looked disgusted as I produced a page that detailed an appointment in an hour, and quickly closed the door, muttering to come back at my appointment time.

"Well," I thought. So much for that. So, my boyfriend and I perused the ritzy french neighborhood for an hour, admiring the clean streets and endless array of fur and jewelry shops in this "Little France" sector of New York. We arrived back to the embassy, and my boyfriend continued on to look around the city a bit more, since no one is allowed inside the embassy with you. I began talking to the rest of the students standing and waiting outside the embassy, and quickly got the impression that this was going to be a less than enjoyable process.

Finally, we were ushered inside the embassy, undergoing a search comparable to international airport security by the lovely man at the door. He quickly pointed and grunted to go upstairs, and a few other girls and I climbed the stairs to our doom. Three hours went by as we waited in a line, not for an interview, but for a quick exchange with a french individual on the other side of a window.

Multiple times we heard the "Shhh" and "be quiet!" screams over the intercom. I felt like I was in a prison, and I would not have been surprised if they had made us don orange jumpsuits. Secretly sending text messages to my boyfriend who was waiting for me outside, I thought I was in danger of being arrested for possessing a cell phone that was turned on. As each person in front of me reached the windows, I heard them each get rejected. I started getting extremely nervous, "How can I return here, I have school?"

When I finally reached the front, my worst fear was revealed. Due to the fact that I did not have a copy of the notarized letter of financial stability from the father that was to the French Embassy, I was rejected. Why the hell I needed a copy of a letter to them was beyond me, and the lady threw some paperwork to me, and instructed me to return another day. I tried to quickly explain I was from 2 and a half hours away, a student, and that I would make a copy right down the street, but she refused to listen. She then called the next person, and I walked away. I was absolutely livid, exhausted, and defeated.

I walked out of the embassy, and immediately started crying. Obviously the best thing to do. My poor boyfriend had stood waiting outside the embassy, so not only was I pissed at the situation, but I felt guilty as hell. Stressed and disappointed, I made my appointment to return the following week by myself. My parents had been less than thrilled at my plans of studying abroad as it is, but my father was not so happy to hear of my tussle with the embassy. "I'm going to write a letter to every congressman, blah, blah, blah," I heard over the phone from my father. "Ok, Dad, whatever you want," I said miserably.

The next week I returned, copy in hand, ready to once and for all obtain my visa, and planning to return to school the same day. After battling the subway and becoming quite lost, I finally made it to my destination at about 11:20am. Well, guess what? The same lovely man at the front door shook his head as I showed him my return papers. "NO, you're late. Come back tomorrow." "Excuse me," I said, "I got lost, I've traveled two and a half hours to be here. I understand I am 20 minutes late, but I also know there's a line up there that will be at least two hours. Please, I can't afford to return here again". Apparently this man heart was comparable to a black hole, and he again denied me entrance.

I was seeing red at this point, and I did what a responsible, mature individual would do. I cried. I had nowhere to stay, no extra clothes, and I was ready to whip out some brass knuckles, and brawl with the french embassy. Luckily, I called a friend of a friend after a few quick text messages, and she offered a night stay at her dorm in N.Y.U. I was so relieved (considering I was weighing the option of staying in Penn Station for the night), and seeing as I was unable to handle the subways earlier in the day; I decided that walking over 100 blocks, "couldn't be so bad".

Shitty idea numero 10132.

By the time I reached her dorm at 6 pm, my legs were swollen and bruised, compliments of the french embassy. Luckily, I indulged on a chocolate cake and some macaroni and cheese, and immediately felt a bit more at peace.

The next morning, I woke to the lovely sound of freezing rain. After many thanks to the girls who had saved my life, I began my trek across the city. Having been wearing the same clothes for over 36 hours and absolutely soaking wet, I arrived as the embassy was opening. Nervously, I shot a dirty look at the same black hearted guard. The man acted as if he didn't know who I was, and proceeded to rifle through my things. The line was much shorter once I reached the top of those terrifying stairs,and I again compared stories with other students returning for the 4th or 5th time. I ended up reaching the windows in a little under an hour. Talk about fast.

The woman who had denied me before again barked at me to show her forms. When I had apparently satisfied her, she smiled slyly. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" I wanted to deck her in the face, but instead I smiled and walked away. I waited in the waiting area for another 45 minutes until a man came out with my passport, and showed me the new sticker that had caused me a week and a half of hair pulling stress, now safely inside my passport. I felt as if I had won a gold olympic medal.

Wet, cold, and ready to go home to my dorm room; I again trudged across the city. I had never looked like more of a trainwreck in my entire life. I stopped by a small pizza shop as I waited for my bus, and devoured a turkey cheeseburger with onion rings (props to that awesome little whole in the wall). Finally, after a snowstorm and hot shower, I was warm in my bed and spent the entire day elevating my legs.

That was definetely the worst part, the part where I questioned whether studying abroad was worth it. However, I know from talking to other people that it will be the best experience of my life, and I just needed to keep on trucking. So I did.

I ordered my plane ticket for a whopping $996 to Paris, France, a good $300 dollar more than the prices a month before. However, it was all real now. There was nothing stopping me from boarding my plane on January 6th.

So, I've spent the last couple days trying to fit 6 months of clothes into a suitcase. I've packed clothes for 2 seasons, and have ditched most of my electronic accessories (minus my laptop). I've learned that while laptops only require a $10 adaptor, hair dryers, straighters, etc. require a $50 adaptor. Pfft, forget that. I'm waiting to buy said appliances when I arrive. I've vaccuum sealed my clothes into bags, and stuffed them all into a very large suitcase (which really is a space saver!). If all goes well at the airport, it will hopefully not exceed the allowed baggage weight.

To sum it all up, this is the beginning of my blog. I'm writing this to keep my friends and family posted on my upcoming trip (entertaining all with my fantastic sense of humor), as well as to keep a record of all my memories. I'm flying out on Wednesday, and I'm both nervous and excited. I will be sure to post pictures at the airport, with my dad crying on the floor in the fetal position, my mother looking less than happy, and my boyfriend ready to kidnap me and take me as far away from the airport as possible.

On arrival in Paris, I have a hostel room for 10 days. Within those 10 days I plan on finding a tutoring position, taking a language proficiency test, getting into a school, finding an apartment with a french student, and becoming accustomed to the French way of life. So assuming a snow storm doesn't delay my flight, I will be extremely jetlegged and lost come Thursday morning in the city of Paris. I will be sure to update as often as I can!

Au Revoir for now!