I have had an odd stomach since I arrived. I can eat one meal and then I just don't feel up to par. Not sick, but yukky full all of the time. The French think it is liver problems, but I really don't think so. Anyway, Dick has had the same problem, and when he went to Denmark three weeks ago it disappeared only to reappear on his return. I'm not quite sure what that means, if it's the fat or sauces or whatever. But it is a feeling I don't like.
Otherwise, things have been fine. I miss going to class this morning. It's not only learning French, but the people you meet.
There was Fatima from Saudi Arabia, who has a house in Washington DC, a house in Saudi Arabia and some sort of living conditions here in Paris. She has four sons, two who are Americans, and she told me about the times she'd been profiled while going through customs.
There is Monica, a Norwegian, a very sweet shy lady, who befriended me right away despite my terrible personality. She invited Dick and me to dinner where we met her very nice husband Jan.
There is Xen, who is from mainland China and married to a German and hoping to get pregnant soon.
There is Nina, who is 35 but looks like a student of 18 from Brazil and really funny.
There is Saint Claire, who is an older guy from Brazil, who had to work with me in class and was always horrified at my ideas, and when the others in the group went along with me, shouted he wasn't responsible.
There is Claudio from Italy, who was a great voice in the group, but I'm afraid he fell for the teacher, who is really quite cute, if not the best teacher around.
Guido from Venice, who speaks French pretty well but no other language, except of course Italian.
And Christine, who went to New York university, speaks German and English and is struggling with the rest of us.
And last but not least Joseba, a guy from the Basque region, who played my son in a skit we did.
Yes, it was a real international experience, and one which I truly adore.
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