Hannah Thornby in Website Form

I have always thought it was hard to make me cry. Only a few things will really make me break down and shed a tear. Yet, the list is expanding. Now it is the music from the Olympics, when dogs or horses die in movies, when there is no more chocolate, and a few French commercials.

As an American who has had quite a few commercials shoved down my throat – geese squawking better insurance rates, people moved to partying from their late-night spoils at Taco Bell, and terribly catchy jingles – I found myself unprepared for the deep emotional roller coaster that lay in watching French commercials.

Before I go on without you thinking me a sappy nut, check out this commercial from Air France and tell me if you are thinking about how much it costs to fly or if you even have a destination in mind. Unless you are a robot, I would say chances are you are like me, without a penny to spend on (another) Air France ticket but left feeling like a trip on one of their planes would be like some kind of spiritual journey.

American television advertising en masse is much more direct and exacting. 30-second spots are about companies communicating with an audience in ways in which they will be convinced to buy their product because of the things it offers or money it saves you. Here in France, I am not sure it is as forward. In fact, I would argue that the French are more concerned with the expression and the art than the details or actual sale of the product.

Take, for example, two commercials for the same product, the Ford Focus. The American one is explicit, highlighting the car’s innovative features. The French version, on the other hand, is achingly beautiful and undeniably powerful, but gives no tangible justification for purchasing a Ford Focus.

Whereas American commercials are first and foremost designed to rouse people towards pulling out their wallets, French commercials seemed preoccupied with rousing an audience’s emotions. It is much more apparent that French ads are art forms, preferring style over clarity and provoking passion like I have seen very few American commercials do.

Speaking of passion, French commercials absolutely utilize sex in ways that could never be seen on American basic cable – check out this Peugeot car commercial.

It seems, as with food and so many other things, commercials are supposed to be sensual experiences in France. Oh la la.

A lot happened this last week, both good and bad. I want to talk about both, but I will do so in two different posts. I need to cleanse, so I am going to get the bad stuff out of the way first.

Traveling this last Friday was a nightmare I do not wish upon my greatest enemies. My traveling companion and I tried to do our homework, spending hours beforehand asking people and on the computer looking for advice on how to get to where we were going, the Beauvais airport, but there is no way we could have mentally prepared ourselves. It was like when Frodo and Sam left the Shire and headed off into Middle Earth.

It really is too painful to even talk about, but here is the rough lowdown: on Friday morning, I woke up at 6:30 to catch a tram to catch an 8:30 train to Paris. Two hours later I arrived in the Montparnasse train station where I hopped on Metro line four to Gare du Nord, another train station in Paris. There, after waiting in the wrong line twice to buy a train ticket to Beauvais airport, I missed the train that I was hoping to make and had to wait forty minutes for the next one. I bought a ticket for the next train, but had zero expectations of getting there on time to make my flight.

Though there were no tears, there was lots of confusion and frustration. Even when I was able to ask people questions about where something was or when it would arrive, the language barrier left me always uncertain. Furthermore, the way that even people at information desks talked about Beauvais – some far off place sort of near Paris that no one had ever been to – made me start to wonder if the airport actually existed.

Also during this time, my iPhone was stolen by one of the many pickpocketers who roam train stations posing as a beggars for charity. I have heard the millions of stories about pickpocketers in Europe – including one instance when a person had a camera looped around their neck have the straps cut and the camera stolen – but I am still amazed at the speed and skill with which it was done. I know the two-minute span in which it happened, but I never felt a thing. Many have told me that I am lucky that nothing else was stolen (my passport, credit card, and money were in a wallet wrapped tight around my wrist the whole time) but it was still absolutely horrifying to lose something I so heavily rely upon less than three hours into my trip. That iPhone was the most expensive thing I owned and the thing I use to communicate the most with my family. I have also discovered it is the only way I ever know what time it is.

With no choice but to move on, I finally made my way to Beauvais airport on a despair-ridden adrenaline rush a train and a bus later. And by some magic and the fact that Beauvais functions more like a mall than an international airport, my friend and I made our flight, going straight from security to the plane — although we did have one more setback in the form of a unexpected fee to check bags. RyanAir, the airline we chose for its famously cheap flights, is also famous for its hidden fees and the fact that it only allows one carry-on. My friend’s bag was just a little too big and the fee to have it checked was more than the actual flight.

After a day of so many horrors, the thought of returning to Oregon and never leaving my room definitely crossed my mind. After all the uncertainty I definitely craved the presence of a “grownup” – someone who was not 19 and on her own in Europe for the first time.

Looking back however, I daresay I am proud of myself for staying with it after all the ups and downs and finally making that plane.

Stay tuned for the good stuff. (SCOTLAND).