Between the workload from my classes and research project, and Paris’ drizzling weather, the vacation couldn’t have come at a better time. The nine of us students and our Lexia chaperone, Julien, boarded the 8:20 a.m. high-speed TGV train Friday morning, and were off to the south of France.

After just one step off the train in Marseille, we knew we were golden. There was lots of sun, and the temperature was in the 60s with a refreshing sea breeze. In Paris, I’m still wearing my winter coat, but in Marseille, I was comfortable in a tee-shirt and Bermuda shorts.

I adored the easy, friendly atmosphere of the city, the lively harbor and authentic portside fish market, the tropical-colored building facades and shutters, and how everyone’s colorful laundry was hanging out to dry in the springtime breeze. I took the same long, meandering walk twice, along the harbor and up and along quaint little streets.

The stomach bug/food poisoning came out of nowhere. I woke up Saturday morning feeling nauseous, but tagged along with the rest of my group on our day trip to the stunning little village, Cassis, and spent the morning trying to appreciate our first French beach through stomach pangs.

While the rest of my group ate lunch at a cute restaurant overlooking the water, I went back outside for fresh air and ended up vomiting all over pretty, portside steps down to the sea. By the end of the afternoon, my roommate Anne had contracted whatever bug I had, and that evening when we returned to the hotel, Julien insisted on having the emergency médecin (doctor) come to our hotel room.

Within an hour, the doctor came a knockin’ and gave us concise French check-ups. He poked my stomach, took my blood pressure, measured my temperature with the old thermometer-under-the-armpit trick (he mentioned that it was customary to stick the thermometer up the patient’s derrière, but he was being kind because we were foreigners), and delivered good news: all I needed was rest.

I heeded the advice, called it an early night, and by morning, felt well enough to venture out and enjoy our final day in Marseille. By some miracle, it was a beautiful and warm night when we returned to Paris and as we deboarded the train, I felt like I was home.

The striped church, or so we called it. Interesting factoid: someone told me that in the movie "Love Actually," Colin Firth's character drives past this chuch.