Last summer, I knew I wanted to whisk away from Ottawa for a brief while. Unlike most of my peers in Saint-Etienne, France, I didn’t stumble on this summer opportunity. I went looking for it. I joined Carleton University’s International Student Office’s Summer Language Program and opted to study French in France.
Saint-Etienne is a small, sleepy city in central France known for its mining history. In many ways it reminds me of Ottawa, but with more emphasis on Renaissance-style architecture, and with large hills instead of highrises.
My time in Saint-Etienne largely consisted of studying and learning to live on my own. I held conversations with the locals, tested out coffee shops across the city and relaxed by the parks, occasionally watching a game of pétanque, a popular sport in France.
The goal of pétanque is to toss a hollow metal ball and have it land as close as possible to its wooden target. This can get competitive, as players often knock their competitors’ balls further from the target.
As someone who lives for coffee shop outings, I set out during my first week to find a space in Saint-Etienne to begin writing this article and perhaps do my homework.
After a short, confusing train ride, I found Mary’s Coffee Shop, an American chain. It had large windows, a cozy interior with plants and industrial stairs leading up to another level that overlooked the city square.
I spent many afternoons here, reflecting on the fact that I was so far away from home, in a different country and time zone. It was a terrifying and thrilling experience that left me with bubbles of anxiety. Luckily, my program included exciting daily activities that kept these anxious thoughts at bay.
My peers and I went all around Saint-Etienne, where we got the chance to explore the city’s streets and culture. We went to a makeshift music festival every Thursday on the grounds of the old mining factory-turned-museum, Musée de la Mine, founded in 1991.
One night, I remember waiting at a train station looking completely lost, struggling to figure out which line I had to take to get back home. A woman with big, dark curls and thick-rimmed glasses looked at me with obvious humour on her face.
I knew she could tell I was lost. I reached out and in broken French, asked if she spoke any English.
Shahrazad spoke perfect English and stayed with me on the train until I got off. She spoke about moving around a lot and settling in Saint-Etienne with her family. She told me of her and her daughter’s experience in Saint-Etienne: How the toddler had basically grown up there and ran around like it was her second home.
She encouraged me to try out her friend’s cafe Black Flamingo during my travels.
I wasn’t able to get to Black Flamingo Cafe until a couple of days before I was set to leave. My weekends were always booked with an away trip and my afternoons were spent mulling over dinner and taking long walks around the city.
The cafe was run by Shahrazad’s lovely friend Emeleen from Toronto, who I first saw sitting at one of the tables indoors taking a business call with a wide smile on her face.
At the cafe, I shared a refreshing conversation with Emeleen about the cultural differences between Saint-Etienne and Canada. We spoke of how living in Saint-Etienne felt like living inside of a postcard, and how refreshing it was for her to live somewhere much quieter than Toronto.
I shared my travel experiences with her and where I was headed next. She told me of her own travels, including to Australia, where she met her business partner Ridha.
Afterward, I had a sweet brunch consisting of a chai tea latte and atayef pancakes filled with ricotta cheese and dusted with pistachios — reminiscent of meals from Emeleen’s Lebanese background. I still think about it to this day.
Although Saint-Etienne served as a home base for my travels to other parts of Europe (such as Paris, Italy and Switzerland), my time there was full of self-exploration and learning. Reflecting back, I came out of the program a more evolved person, partly because I had just completed something I never thought I would do.
If I were to ever return to Saint-Etienne, I’m sure I could pass as a local, unless someone asked me to speak French.
Featured graphic by Alisha Velji/The Charlatan
