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I took three planes and an Uber to arrive in Aix-en-Provence. I was given a vague French address for my accommodation, and with my three heavy bags, I made it up five flights of stairs into my empty nine-square-meter bedroom. The first night, I slept with my plane neck pillow and a hoodie for a blanket. When I woke up the next morning, I walked to the university, to my film class taught alongside French students. I turned my computer brightness all the way down, worried that I might be picked out as an American-French impostor by the girls behind me. My notes were half-formed French sentences and sudden English pauses, one-line bullet points, and zoomed-in photographs of the projector screen. Halfway through the class, the professor said, “On peut faire une pause de 15 minutes,” and most of the students got up to leave the amphitheater. The class lasted three hours with one break. At the break, I didn’t want to make any moves that could potentially embarrass me. Incredibly desperate as I was to fit in, I sat there silently, surrounded by French chatter, texting my friends in America, all fast asleep.

Even with all the intensive travel I had done no less than 24 hours before, my hardest moment in France was this first class. I was pathetically clueless, at the very start of an exciting, life-changing, but difficult six months. The first few weeks in France were scrappy; I collected necessary items for my petite room like pillows, a comforter, pots, pans, knives, spoons, forks, bowls, soap, trash bags, toilet paper, etc. By the way, I was searching for friends and connection and language, too. I met many European ERASMUS students at a one-hour, not-so-informative international student orientation. Then slowly, through my classes, I was even able to pick out the other ERASMUS students like me, who were not enrolled into the university’s online interface, whose schedules changed by the day, who stayed behind in the back—confused, nervous, or both.

This wasn’t my first time living in France, but it was my first time integrating myself into French life as a student and a (sort of) citizen, which meant it was an immensely different experience than the month I spent in a language immersion school. This time, I was expecting French culture shocks and much more fluent in the language than during my August in Angers, France, 2024. While my experience in Angers prepared me for French “mode de vie,” there is an incredible difference between one month in another country and six months in another country. I started in January on rocky feet, mostly petrified to be caught with a foreign accent amongst French peers or nervous to strike up conversations with strangers. It was cold and abnormally raining for the south of France, so many nights were spent indoors alone in the tiny room. I fell more deeply in love with France and my life abroad each day, but also I struggled to feel connected to the friendships I made or to feel as if I belonged in the community I inhabited. Over time, I slowly relaxed about my accent or being perfect in French, and eventually fluency became easier and easier. Still, I was impatient to feel integrated into the culture immediately. What should have been obvious, and took me months to fully understand, was that cultural integration, or relationships with people, much like language, took time and effort to master. There was, and still is, no “end point” to my six-month adventure in Aix-en-Provence. All of the people I met, all of the lessons I learned, I now carry as a large part of my identity.

I started in January nervous about fluency, friendships, and community. I ended in July bilingual, with three lifelong friends and a newly found sense of comfort in a foreign community and city. I gained a level of independence and confidence I didn’t know was possible in myself. I learned that I could take a suitcase and a plane and start over anywhere in the world. I learned how to travel alone, how to find good friends, and how to communicate with people despite language barriers. 

Before I left, when I dreamed about this semester, I thought that if I could master French in some capacity, then there would be no greater gift I could receive. My second to last week before I left, I went to Paris and I found myself very cliché, on a bridge over the Seine crying – I felt like leaving France would rip me apart. I had created a life all by myself; I started with a plane neck pillow and hoodie for bedding. Now it’s been one month since I’ve returned from Aix-en-Provence, and I know now that the greatest gift I received was one I never knew I could have: a second home.

Miranda Shaver

Modern Languages

Digital Filmmaking 

Graduating May 2027