(First appeared on Lois Winston’s blog.) Going to France costs so much money. I didn’t realize how lucky I was to go there and study there during graduate school. And now I’m a writer, what better way to travel back, without buying the plane ticket, than to write a novel set in France?
I want to be transported on the pages of a book. To go to the south of France, to smell the pastries in the patisserie, to feel the breeze off the Mediterranean, to watch the seas of the Côte d’Azur sparkle in the sun, and listen to the French language spoken wherever I go.
But even when traveling in person, it’s not always as perfect as one hopes. My first view of the Mediterranean as a student was on an overcast rainy day, and I was decidedly disenchanted. Without the sun, the water was as gray as any river and the rain reminded me so much of home, I wanted to cry. How could this be France? It was miserable, and no one should ever be miserable in France, right?
That wasn’t the only trouble. I left home thinking my French was stellar. I’d studied for years and spent weeks brushing up, but I never counted on how difficult it would be to understand native speakers. I could barely converse with the locals.
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Travelling alone, managing the European transit system without anyone’s help—it scared me. I never knew how much I depended on having loved ones and friends nearby until I was in a strange country with everyone I knew across an ocean.
The good news though, I had plenty of time to learn and experience. It wasn’t a vacation where I had to go home in three days. I had weeks. The sky eventually cleared and when the sun came out… the sea was so blue, it was blinding, and the sun so bright I could feel it warming me from the inside out. I learned to navigate the town, found my favorite places, and studied how to converse with the local people.
It became as idyllic as I imagined, even though, just like any good story with a well-earned happy ending, it wasn’t easy at first. But the good stuff was all the sweeter when it happened. It made me a braver, stronger person and showed me I was more independent than I ever thought I could be.
Writing Racing To You was as cathartic as I’d hoped. I will go back to France someday. But I learned what I miss isn’t just the place, but the amazing things the journey taught me about myself.
