In Which Rayla Is Claimed From The Orphanage

After arriving in Rennes (arrival requiring a seven hour plane ride, going through customs, baggage claiming [extensive process], and five hours of riding in a bus), we’re finally here, at our beautiful school! I’m seriously not kidding though, this school is beautiful. It’s a big, old brick house with a totally awesome French-looking roof. It’s a nineteenth century private home, and I get to take all my classes here for nine months. Surreal, I’m telling you. I’ll attach some pictures of our beautiful school so you can marvel at its beauty.

Anyway, we’re here! We unloaded all our luggage (which is a lot of luggage!) and are waiting for our host families to pick us up. This waiting is a fairly unnerving process; a bunch of people we don’t know, but have heard about, are coming to meet us in person, chit chat in another language, most likely attack us with French/European customary cheek kisses, and – best of all! – take us to their house to live with them for nine months. Most of us who hadn’t really gotten nervous yet were definitely beginning to feel a little on edge.

It’s at this stress-filled, extremely exciting, and continually surreal time that I’m talking with a few other SYAers, and someone says, “Does anyone else feel like we’re at an orphanage or something, waiting for our parents to claim us?” This totally insightful question is greeted with lots of laughter and agreement. “That’s exactly how it feels!”