Tess and a friend in front of Chateau Chambord If you had told me a year ago that I would master public transportation, I would have laughed out loud. In preparing for a school year in France, I couldn’t imagine that I would have ever even have look at a bus map. I was the kind of girl who forgot her lunch box everyday of the third grade, always rushing from the house to catch the school bus. I was certain that if I even stepped foot on a subway, my ride would turn into a scene strait out of The Taking of Pelham 123. Accustomed to boarding school life, I anticipated a longer voyage than was my usual hundred yard commute from dormitory to classroom. Before my departure, I imagined what it would be like to journey to and from school. The fantasy usually consisted of me on a bike, sporting a beret and a fabulous outfit with a baguette in hand, pedaling two or three blocks at most. I nearly toppled over when I discovered that my ride to school would not be the quaint bike ride I had imagined, but a full blown oddessy. I remember trembling with fear as my host mother sent me off to my first day of school. I uncovered two bus routes and one seemingly endless metro ride. The pressure was on; I had to overcome my anxiety of traveling alone and do it in time to make a very precise French bus schedule that left no room for error. I anticipated a year full of wonderful food and monumental language improvement. But my year away gave me something I had not ever expected, I overcame my reluctance to travel, it trained me to be three steps ahead of whatever I was doing in order to be on time. Flying home leaving my dream year behind me, I carried a wonderful new wardrobe, fifteen extra pounds of proof of my well-fed self, and a new passion for travel.