Hannah Thornby in Website Form

This last weekend, I had the great pleasure of making it to one of the most magical places on earth: Mont-Saint-Michel.

The ancient fortress-like abbey built up on a 265-foot rock mound in the middle of the English channel is truly the stuff of legends. Originally a church first built in the 12th century, it was said to have been inspired by a dream the Bishop of Avranches had of Archangel Michael. Since then, Mont-Saint-Michel has born witness to the great tumults of French history – wars, revolutions, wars, and more revolutions. Though an abbey, intended as a place of prayer and people of the cloth, it was inevitably a symbol of great power and was therefore the object of many a conquest. For various times during its history its battlements were adapted to defend against siege and at one point during the French revolution it was turned into a prison.

Yet today it stands restored as an abbey and one of the wonders of the Western world. Thousands may once again make the pilgrimage to the island off the coast of Normandy as they have done for over 800 years to seek God atop the rock in the ocean.

An agnostic on a school-sponsored excursion, I cannot count myself among those believers and brave souls, many of whom make their way to the island by wading through the water. For my visit, I was actually amidst a horde of tourists.

Regardless, I was touched and left speechless. Mont-St-Michel is an incredible, incredible place. 

After making my way across the land bridge and up no less than 900 steps to the top, there is a wide open yard and the kind of view that makes a person forget about everything: how they might live in a city with traffic and sirens and people rushing past each other, how they woke up at six to drive four hours, and maybe even how they are a tourist amongst hundreds of strangers snapping pictures.

I can only imagine what it would be like to live as a brother or a sister living on the island, as people still do, and have the chance to pray every morning in silence when the tourists are not yet around. With the ocean and the stillness, it seems impossible not to feel some kind of presence.

Then there is the actual abbey, a Gothic masterpiece in and of itself. Immediately upon walking into the chapel, I could feel the weight of the millions of prayers that had been uttered there from millions of hopeful souls. The combination of the stained glass and the stone gave everything a subtle greenish glow, giving the air that this was a place out of time, where even those who normally struggle to do so could be quiet with their thoughts and with God. Again, I am not religious and as a tourist I had my camera with me, but everything seemed to point to the fact that this was a special place and that I was blessed to be there: I put my name and my prayers in the prayer book.

My visit to the port town of Saint Malo where I indulged in the region’s specialities – seafood and crêpes – was also well worth the trip north to Brittany. Yet nothing was quite as memorable as Mont-Saint-Michel.

I do not know what all I have to say, but I feel I must say something. For this post, I am going to avoid my normal discussions on food and architecture to comment on something more important to our world and future: equality and prejudice.

France is a couple steps ahead of the United States in terms of formal protections for same-sex couples. For years they have had pacte civil de solidarite (PACS), which are essentially the equivalent of civil unions in the United States. Moreover, as of February 12, a bill is underway to establish equal adoption rights and officially allow same-sex couples to call their relationship a marriage.

From what I can tell the bill’s passage is on large part the efforts of the French Socialist party, who would have France be seen as progressive in passing same-sex marriage the same time as other European countries look to do so. Led by President François Hollande and with majorities in both houses of Parliament, the Socialist party is expecting to defeat all opposition to the bill by early May.

I also find myself looking to cast France as progressive and as a liberal leader on the equality issue, yet I have come to realize that to do so would be ignoring a large part of the population. In January, hundreds of thousands of people gathered at rallies in Paris both to show support and protest the bill. While supporters invoked the French motto “Liberté, égalité, fraternité,” protestors appealed to the Catholic tradition of France, which upholds heterosexual marriages and families. Opponents also have spoken out against the government’s role in propelling the legislation.

What follows is how I have personally been exposed to anti-gay sentiments in France. Again, I look not to characterize the country in any way. As with every post in this blog, I am trying to portray my experience as an American in new surroundings.

When I visited Paris a few weeks after the protests I was taken aback by the anti-gay posters depicting the union of a man and a woman as the only way to marry still up on street poles. Though I know those sentiments exist in the United States, I have always lived in thoroughly liberal cities (Portland, Oregon and Austin, Texas) where homosexuality is an accep

ted part of life. I have never seen such blatantly anti-gay messages displayed in such a public way.

Then, on Thursday February 14th, the Subway sandwich shop beneath my dorm (literally directly below my room), posted a note for a heterosexual couples-only Valentine’s Day special. Below the sign was an asterisked notation that read:

“Discrimination: The marriage for all law has advanced, but has yet to be ratified by the Senate. Until then, I’ll use my freedom of expression.”

Most likely because I had never seen such discrimination on display, but the seriousness of the sign did not really sink in until two of my friends (both heterosexual girls) were denied the deal after pretending to be a couple. The next day, the Subway was shut down and the news of its special was in international news.

Real-world prejudice has never seemed so close as when I have walked past the closed Subway this last week.

Then, there was the discussion with two people I counted as some of the nicest Frenchmen I have met while living here. In my time here, they have been of immense help, always offering to tutor me in French or explain things in English. I always see them talking to different people and they seem to be of those people that everyone thinks they are friends with immediately because of how generally friendly and easy-going they are.

I am honestly still too shocked by the conversation to remember how it started, but I reckon it began with talking about when Subway was going to reopen. Regardless, swiftly it became clear that my two friends are more than homophobes. They are utterly anti-gay and hold both disgust and anger for those who might identify as such.

Reeling, I mentioned I was a bit surprised. I had never heard such a conservative outlook come from someone of my generation and I was still trying to cling to the idea that France was farther ahead than the United States in terms of gay rights and equality.

To which my friend responded that he is familiar with the French gay marriage bill and he hates it. Becoming somewhat animated, he boasted about how he attended one of the anti-gay rallies in Paris and cheered on those who were beating up gay couples on the scene.

My other friend echoed his disdain and explained that where he was born, Mauritania, homosexuals are thrown in jail. He seemed to think the practice solved a lot of problems.

I became immediately sickened as the image of my happy-go-lucky friends shattered and I found myself unable to escape imagining what might happen if they came across any of my gay friends in a dark alley. Suddenly, all was up in the air: what have they done and what would they think about me after hearing my views?

I did conquer some of my speechlessness to describe my experience with homosexuality: I grew up in a city where the Pride parade was one of the biggest things that happened all year. I grew up always having gay family friends and have even attended a gay wedding celebration. From all that I know and have experienced, homosexuals are no different. They have never done anything to possibly deserve any of the hate my two friends have just expressed.

Yet my friends fire back saying that homosexuality is indeed “unnatural” and gay people are “diseased.” By the conviction with which they spoke and the way they then casually joked about how they would beat up a gay person in the streets, it became clear that their opinions were not going to change by our conversation, no matter what I say. I suspect that they lack real experience and interaction with homosexuals and have not put their violent words into action. Time did not allow me the chance to further question the origin or the extent of their views, nor am I wholly confident I would have had the guts to do so.

The last few days I have been sad, infuriated, and terribly confused. I have a strong belief in the equality of all human beings, be it race, gender or sexual orientation. I believe in the equal treatment of all. The fact that two people I have been calling friends do not respect the dignity of every human being as I do and hold such a hate has left me feeling lost.

The situation I am in demands that we see each other often. I cannot avoid them. Yet I cannot say that I will ever consider them friends in the same way. There is a part of me that will always feel incredibly uneasy around them, knowing how they feel and how helpless I am to change that. Yet after writing this post and some soul-searching with family, I have decided upon a few things.

These two friends of mine are still good people. I feel myself shuddering writing this as I consider all I have ever stood for and believed. Yet I do believe that they are. I believe their hate to be driven by naiveté and their ability to understand and empathize debilitated by their lack of experience and upbringing. This is ultimately, not unforgivable. At the same time, I wish with my all of my heart for them to start upon that path towards more understanding. I will do all that I can to help.

Somehow, I have been living in France for over a month. I really cannot say how I feel about that but I daresay the occasion calls for some kind of reflection post. I thought a good way to do this and sum up the last month would be with a quick list of my first loves of France as well as some of those things that have given me some reason for pause. This is in no way a list of the best or worst things I have come across, but these things have certainly made their mark on my experience here.

Favorite Things:

Moutarde: I remember vividly the day I rediscovered mustard my first week in France. I had mindlessly ordered mustard as my sauce for my first kebab at a kebab shop (the small and family-run French version of a fast food joint with sandwiches and burgers). The kebab, although good, was familiar to me as something I could probably manage to find in the States. The mustard, on the other hand, was a whole new world. Apparently when you order mustard here, it is Dijon, and much stronger and spicier than any I have ever had in the States. Upon a recommendation from a Frenchman, I bought the brand Maille to keep in my dorm mini-fridge. I am not sure I should again. Perhaps it is because I have been depraved of all other types of spice here, but it is always so delicious that I tend to overdo it and end up with a wasabi-like nose fire. Once, when I put too much on my chicken, I broke down into choking tears while on Skype with my mom. Eh, who am I kidding, I will probably buy it again.

Scarves and baguettes: I always thought the image of Frenchmen as always wearing scarves and carrying baguettes to be more cartoonish than anything else. I never would have imagined how laughably true that stereotype is. Literally, everyone wears scarves – from little children to old men. It is to the point where scarves are so prevalent and seem so important that I do not leave the house without a scarf for fear of automatically sticking out. And the baguettes. I never would have imagined how casually Frenchmen can pull off constantly carrying around baguettes. It is so common that sometimes I wonder if Frenchmen do not know how to leave their homes without picking one up.

Bonjour: People may not say hi on the street as often as people in America, but if you walk into their store or shop they sing-song Bonjour. Knowing that such a charming welcome rests inside of boulangeries makes the task of ignoring their breads’ aromas and pastry displays near impossible.

Honorable Mentions:

Razor scooters are back! I have seen quite a few schoolboys, aged primary school to college, whirring by on their razors, their scarves dancing in the wind.

Galettes and Crêpes: Street food is always a good idea. Here in France, I am especially in love with how cheap and easily I can get a egg, mushroom, and champignon galette and then follow it up with a banana and nutella crêpe.

Old, colored doors: Beautifully ornate and colored doors are everywhere around this town. I want so very badly to be able to regularly go through one.

Not my favorite:

French fashion: My mom, born-and-raised in Southern California, always used to comment on how terribly the people of Oregon dress. It is one of those things I always heard her say but never really understood until I came into contact with the complete opposite in France. With peacoats, scarves, hats (real ones, not baseball caps), heels, boots, leather shoes, satchels, turtlenecks, sweaters, and a million other fashionable items outside my reach, French people are always looking good. Even if it is snowing outside, you can find girls in cute leather jackets and heels. It is ridiculous and terribly exhausting for my Northwest self who just wants to bundle up in whatever is warmest when it is cold outside. I have been dutifully wearing scarves and pea coats everyday but I often find myself yearning for my high school glory days where I lived in an oversized down vest because I liked having a warm, snuggly center.

Bathrooms with a charge: Whenever I have to pay for the bathroom — as much as 3 euros sometimes — all I want to do is invoke freedom rhetoric in the overused way Americans seem to do sometimes: we are not free until we all can pee for free! 

Near-death pedestrian experiences: With a concentrated downtown and a decent public transportation system, Angers is a walking city. With 25 minutes between me and school, I am always walking and most of the time it is lovely – lots of window shopping and people watching on cobblestone streets and old alleys. But, I do have to cross some traffic. Moreover, I have to battle against the will of French drivers who regard pedestrian personal space very differently from Americans. Apparently, it is perfectly okay to pretend you are going to hit me by not slowing down at all or getting as close as you can to the crosswalk where I am walking. Just thinking about how many times I thought I was going to get hit and did not makes me want to open up a bottle of wine.

Yet, I am alive, well, and still feeling incredibly lucky to be here. I am excited for all that I might learn in the next four months – hopefully some more French.