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Home » Uncategorized » Memory is a Funny Thing…My Journey Back to Poitiers 32 Years Later

Memory is a Funny Thing…My Journey Back to Poitiers 32 Years Later

Updated on March 4, 2021

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Memory is a funny thing…Sometimes triggers are predictable—any Talking Heads tune transports me instantly back to my college dorm—while other times, memories can hijack your reality out of the blue.

Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris in Autumn
Nôtre Dame in Paris 2019
girl in front of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris in 1985
Nôtre Dame in 1985

When I stepped into the square in front of the Hôtel de Ville in Poiters, France 22 days ago, I wondered which memories might wash over me.

It had been 32 years since I’d last sipped “un verre du vin” on the terrace of the café on the corner as a California college student during my year abroad.

Hotel de Ville in Poitiers

That café is still there.
But my thoughts were quiet.

Le Dauphin Bar/cafe

I recognized the silhouettes of the buildings, but the cobblestone streets are all polished now. Poitiers is buzzing in 2019 in a way that it never was in 1985.

No doubt a credit to the steady influx of tourism dollars from nearby Futuroscope, a family theme park that went up a few years after my departure. (Future what? France has changed.)

Interested in other posts on France travel? Read about:

• off-the-beaten track things to do in Paris

• my heritage travel to see the Normandy D-Day beaches

• must-see villages in the south of France

I’d been yearning to return to the Loire Valley to see what had become of Poitiers for decades, but the time was never quite right. I think it was really a yearning to revisit myself during such a formative year.

That California girl who flew across the pond from Santa Barbara was brimming with French fantasies when she arrived for her first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower…starry dreams of foreign lovers, sophisticated fashion choices, and late nights in smoky bars swapping ideas to better the world.

In fluent French, of course. In short, it was permission to try on a different persona.

girl in front of the Eiffel Tower

And I wanted to share that fantasy version of my early self with Steve who was along for the ride this trip.

Memory is a funny thing. Have you ever driven through a city you used to live in many years after you moved away? Familiar. And yet… not familiar.

As we nudged our tiny rental car towards 37 Rue des Carmelites where I spent a year living alone in a studio apartment, I glimpsed the old post office on the corner first.

post office

In those days, I used to save up my francs for a phone call home and then feed the hungry meter in the phone booth across the street from that post office when I needed a hug from home. Such an empty feeling when the money ran out and the meter clicked off…

street view of Rue des Carmelites

red door with a vine growing overhead

There were no cell phones in those days. Not to mention Facebook…

But quick aside: That experience of absolute immersion was so valuable to both Steve and I during our exchange years—he went to Denmark—that we sent our daughter in high school for a summer to Italy with no cell phone either, to the shock of the other parents.

To be fair, though, cell phones weren’t as indispensable in 2009 as they seem now. Who can live without Google Maps?

I didn’t meet a great love that year in France. And my paltry student budget didn’t accommodate my fantasy fashion budget at all.

What is most memorable about my year there is a stark sense of loneliness. Sure, I went to Rome and Barcelona on school breaks—I even heard the Pope offer a Christmas blessing in dozens of languages live at the Vatican—but day-to-day life is different when you’re living alone in a foreign country.

You still have to chop wood and carry water. You’re just doing it in France.

photo of fireplace mantle with a bottle of wine and bread
Still life chez moi in 1985.

It can really wear on you when you’re not a native. Everything takes so much effort.

Just as I’d think my French was coming along, a shopkeeper would look at me like I was speaking Martian. Or…I’d be confidently taking notes on the Cold War in class when I’d miss two paragraphs of what was said, leaving a gaping hole on my paper.

French students typically went home to their parents in other cities on weekends, too, leaving my weekends stretching wide open devoid of social engagements. I’d intentionally isolated myself from most of the Americans in town in my determination to become fluent with French friends (which did, in fact, work, but at a cost).

However, it’s fair to say that the Americans proved indispensable on my 21st birthday celebration… seeing as how it was a non-event for French students who’d been drinking since age 14.

Group of American teenagers around a table with bottles of boozes

Plus, Europe struggled through one of the coldest winters ever that year. I’d wrap up in my flimsy imitation wool flea market coat or my shabby electric blanket (or sometimes both lol) and watch the icicles drip outside my window.

I thought of all those things as we approached the door to my apartment a few weeks ago.

girl holding a baguette in front of a red door
The same woman 32 years later holding a baguette in front of the same door

An older gent smoking on the stoop next door sized me up as I approached. When I told him I was making a brief stop to revisit my past at 37 Rue des Carmelites, he said he’d lived there since 1967! (“And I bet his wife makes him smoke outside these days,” said Steve.)

The door to the apartment is still maroon like it’s apparently always been. But I’m pretty sure it hasn’t been painted since 1985. Possibly because the apartment still rents out to students just as it did then, according to my neighbor.stone cathedral

Window with blue shutters and lace curtains

But now there’s a new landlord. The portly man who spent his days swabbing the stairs in pungent disinfectant is gone now. He never could understand a word I said so we didn’t connect much.

Steve and I popped down to the bottom of the hill where my old boulangerie is still cranking out the fresh baguettes and apricot tarts. (New name, same corner. Except it’s all organic now.)

green store front of a Poitiers boulangerie

I lived mostly on bread and cheese in those days—I had a single sink and hot plate in my studio—so I knew exactly what time the baguettes were warm and just coming out of the oven…which was conveniently three times a day.

You could smell fresh baked bread on the street.

As we ambled through town, I kept looking for the law school where I’d spent my days. I could picture it in my mind but couldn’t place it on the map.

And then, we rounded a corner and all my memories POPPED IN TECHNICOLOR!

government building with blue shutters

There was the law school where I took that class on the Cold War.

And just across the street was the best pâtisserie ever. The name’s changed but they’re still selling a delectable selection of pastry there!

Gree canvas owning and pastry shop store front

I swear my skinny French friend Sylvie lived on pastries and cigarettes that year. (Miss you, Sylvie, and wish we could connect.)

There was the bar where I had my first (and last) cigarette talking politics and slurping wine with the French copins that I did in fact, eventually meet. Having those very “if-we-could-change-the-world” late-night conversations I’d imagined. In fluent French, I might add.

But memory is a funny thing!

Just steps from the law school where I spent my days…literally on the way to that pâtisserie…lies the incredible Nôtre Dame de Poitiers Cathedral.

facede of cathedrale

side view of Ntore Dame Cathedral

Facade of Notre Dame Cathedral with a hot pink churro stand in front

I have no memory of it.

Nôtre Dame La Grande is a Romanesque masterpiece. And it’s been on this very square since the 10th century, Wikipedia informs me. The colorful frescoes inside are mind-boggling beautiful.

But the only reason I know about them is because I ducked into the church 22 days ago.

How could that possibly be?

Have I somehow forgotten this glorious church? Or did I really never venture inside?

One thing I know for sure is that I’m a much more confident, exploratory me at 55 than I was at 21. I spent way too much time watching those icicles drip from my rooftop when I should’ve been bundling up and ducking into cathedrals. (Crappy flea market coat be damned.)

I’m a lot more willing to lean into discomfort when I travel these days. I’ll mangle a language I don’t know in my effort to connect with a taxi driver or smile instead of cringe when someone looks at me like I’m speaking Martian.

And I think I have my year in Poitiers to thank for that.

Poitiers streets

The loneliness of that year has paid dividends in all of my years since.

Sort of like planting a garden when the seeds haven’t sprung yet. That early exposure to learning how to be uncomfortable has helped me to panic less during many flavors of discomfort later.

I went to restaurants alone and films alone. I took overnight trains alone to meet friends in far-flung places. And I learned that I could always count on me.

When one of the young women from our exchange program returned home at Christmas that year, I was rabidly jealous. Homesickness peaks at Christmas for exchange students on a year abroad.

But I’m so grateful I stuck it out. All the very best things happened after that.

I got a chic French haircut that year and took to wearing monster-sized earrings (which is as close to fashionable as I’ve pretty much ever managed).

I spent some magical weekends at the homes of friends around France, including frequent weekends to Paris and New Year’s Eve in a Normandy Chateau owned by a French family I befriended.

A woman holding a French toddler
No, these are not the monster-sized earrings. I had a pair that practically dragged on my shoulders.

It was in the last half of that year that I became fully French.

And when a stranger asked me just before I returned home where in France I was from because they couldn’t quite place the accent, well, it all seemed worth it.

Because I’d become at ease… in France.

Loire Valley garden on a misty morning

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Filed Under: Europe, France, Travel Stories, Uncategorized

Reader Interactions

Comments

  1. Pat Kaley says

    October 24, 2019 at 5:46 pm

    Chris, Absolutely beautiful story. I loved the then/now comparisons, along with the photos. How fortunate you are to have had the opportunity to make those comparisons! Of course, it was so beautifully written that I could smell the scent from each bakery. Thank you for sharing your story.

    Reply
    • Chris says

      October 24, 2019 at 6:25 pm

      Awww, thanks, Pat, for taking time to let me know my story touched you. I so enjoyed sharing it. 🙂

      Reply
  2. Brian Kelsey says

    October 24, 2019 at 9:33 pm

    Love you Sis – great story. Fun to read. I’m going to pass this over to Kiana so she can see some Aunt history 🙂

    Reply
    • Chris says

      October 24, 2019 at 9:45 pm

      Thanks for reading, Bri. I hope she’s inspired to try it for herself!

      Reply
  3. Roger Williams says

    October 25, 2019 at 1:04 am

    Christie – Loved your narrative. Resonated with me with great power. Especially meaningful for me because I had the same response you had in France. Native Germans asked where in Germany I came from when they spoke to me when I was there in ’61/’62. Guess my accent was as hard to place as yours. Anyway, you are a wonderful writer and so beautiful to read your “mindings.” Thanks love, Pkar

    Reply
    • Chris says

      October 25, 2019 at 7:24 am

      I’m so glad this resonated with you. Quite the compliment from the master linguist 🙂

      Reply
  4. Heather Arsenault says

    October 28, 2019 at 4:27 pm

    Chris, I have read and reread this story. It is wonderful that you could go back to that place in France that at the time was such an adventure for a college student and experience it all over again as an adult.
    The photos were fantastic, loved your 80’s looks!
    I went back to my college reunion recently and it was such fun to reminisce about the old times at the dorm, the college classes the ski hill, etc. Your story was really enjoyable.
    Thanks for posting it for us all to think back at a time in our own lives that brings back fond memories and NO CELL PHONES.

    Reply
    • Chris says

      October 28, 2019 at 4:42 pm

      Thanks, Heather! I’m so fortunate to be in close touch with my amazing college roommies…They sent me lots of letters and even a hilarious cassette tape (!) that year in France. What a time we grew up in with no cell phones, huh?

      Reply
  5. Wendy Lytel says

    November 5, 2019 at 10:22 am

    I enjoyed you blog so much. I felt as if I was reading my own story. I too am now a 50 something mom in North County San Diego who studied in Italy (Padova) for a year abroad from UC Santa Barbara – 1986/87 – certainly a couple of the greatest years of my life. I remember feeling “fluent” when I started to dream in Italian, probably around Christmas. My daughter is preparing to go to college and studying abroad is her number one priority. I must admit it will be comforting to have FaceTime and that immediate connection. One of my happiest days in Italy is when someone figured out how to stick a paper clip in the metal wire that connected the public phone receiver to the actual phone, a metal click click occured giving you the dial tone to call for free! Finally, my parents voices whenever I needed them. Keep traveling! Wendy

    Reply
    • Chris says

      November 6, 2019 at 7:55 am

      Thank you so much for the kind comment, Wendy. A kindred spirit for sure. And wow, I wish I knew about the paper click trick back in the day! How wonderful that your daughter is headed abroad soon. You will know just what she’s going through during every high and low. Thanks again for reading.

      Reply
  6. kay says

    November 11, 2020 at 5:09 pm

    I also studied abroad in Poitiers and woww, even though its only been a few years, I loved walking down that cobblestone memory lane with you!

    I also LOVEEE the old photos of you alongside the current! Time really is magic huh?

    Reply
    • Chris says

      November 11, 2020 at 5:40 pm

      Thanks so much for reading, Kay! Time is indeed magic 🙂

      Reply

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Hi! I’m Chris. Full-time San Diego-based freelance writer and fifty-something mom on a Mission Possible: to see the world in spite of time, money, and other life limitations. I’m about smart planning to stretch your travel dollar without sacrificing comfort…connecting with locals through immersive travel…and enriching my life through delicious foods, new experiences, and deep appreciation for the beauty in our world today. Are you in?

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