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Waiting in the train station with all the other Americans, I felt kind of like a puppy at the pound, hoping the next person to come would take me home with them. It was quite a suspensful wait because, of course, I was the last one to leave. Finally, my host mother Francoise and her daughter Valerie came to pick me up, and off we went. The ride to the house took forever on those windy French roads (and the town is quite small) so I already assumed I would never get my bearings. When we arrived my host father Dominique and the youngest daughter Julia were there. We talked for a little bit, until about the time I exhausted my French vocabulary. It was then that I decided to go out and see what this little town was made of. |
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