Chapter 17: Champs Les Sims (Part One)
Bienvenue
Emery stirred as the taxi came to a stop. The sun was bright and harsh to her tired eyes. She’d fallen asleep on the long drive from the airport to the hostel where she’d be staying in Champs Les Sims. She blinked to see out the car window more clearly, and the large building came into focus. It was very old, but well cared for; despite its obvious age, the exterior did not look in need of any refurbishment. It was larger than Emery had expected, and she wondered what it was originally used for before it was converted into a hostel.
She paid the driver and thanked him as he helped her get her bag out of the taxi, then headed inside.
She was greeted by a member of the staff, an older woman with white and gray hair pulled back into a neat bun and thick, black rimmed glasses perched on her nose. “Bonjour, mademoiselle. Avez-vous une réservation?”
“Uh,” Emery hesitated. “Oui, c’est une chambre pour Emery Tevellyn.”
“Bien sûr,” the woman smiled, checking the name on her computer. “Is Simlish preferred?”
Emery smiled sympathetically. “Yes, I’m afraid my Simçais isn’t very good.”
“Pas de problème,” she replied. “I see you’re staying for a few months? You ‘ave a private room upstairs. I can show you.”
The woman gracefully moved around her desk and leaned forward to greet Emery with a light kiss on each cheek. “La bise,” she said. “‘Ze traditional greeting ‘ere. Welcome.”
She picked up one of Emery’s bags and headed towards the staircase. “My name is Claudine,” she continued. “Let me know if you need any’zing while you are ‘ere. It is a small town but still many ‘zings to see and do.”
They reached the top of the stairs and Claudine proceeded to a door part-way down the hall. She placed Emery’s bag on the floor and unlocked the door.
“‘Zis one will be yours,” the elderly woman smiled. “It ‘as a balcony. Simple but very nice, I ‘zink… I’ll let you get settled.”
Claudine put the bag she carried into Emery’s room, smiled at her once again, then headed back downstairs. Emery brought her second bag in and took a look around. The walls were a nice medium shade of blue with warm oak trim and a chair rail. The furniture looked older, but it was in good shape. Small pink roses adored the dresser and the bed’s headboard. The bed spread had a black and white houndstooth pattern and sat atop white sheets with delicate black stripes. It was a simple room, but a nice one, as Claudine had said.
Emery stretched and yawned. She wasn’t in the mood to unpack just yet – it might even put her back to sleep. She decided to explore the town and maybe find somewhere to get a cup of coffee. After refreshing her deodorant and saying thank you and à bientôt to Claudine, she was back outside.
A large notice board in front of the hostel caught her eye. Upon closer inspection, she saw that it detailed local places of interest, classes and even temporary work opportunities. Among the flyers, she finally found one advertising a free Simçais class being offered nearby. The LlamaLingo language learning app on her phone only got her so far; she wanted a more immersive experience if she could get it. She snapped a picture of the flyer with her phone and noted the name of the class’ location: Circle of Knowledge Bookstore. She was a bit relieved that the course wasn’t offered at a school; she’d never really been in a classroom before, so art school was going to be enough of an adjustment.
Emery took a deep breath and reminded herself she didn’t need to have everything figured out on her first day here. She looked around. The hills reminded her a little of home, but the architecture was much different, and there were so many more houses! It wasn’t at all like the photos of Bridgeport that Rukiya had showed her – it was exactly like the quaint photos of small European towns that she’d seen online. She smiled. She knew she’d get overwhelmed sometimes, but she could already tell that coming to Champs Les Sims was going to be a great experience for her.
Emery set off up the street towards the town’s market square, admiring all the yellow brick and stucco walls, the terra cotta tile roofs and lead-framed windows along the way. A few of the homes along the way had small gardens planted with sweet smelling flowers. As she got closer, she could hear the low rumbles of conversations and a fountain from the square.
The sidewalk curved and opened to a beautiful stone courtyard. The buildings around it formed more of a circle than a square, but Emery was fairly certain that it was the ‘town square’ nonetheless. There was a large fountain on a raised platform in the centre, with shrubs, lavender bushes and blue hydrangeas in the garden beds around it. Some large trees shaded areas, complemented by a few smaller, more decorative trees. Benches faced the fountain while café tables with striped umbrellas were grouped at one side. Emery walked up to the fountain, practically swooning at the sight before her. She already loved this little town.
She looked around at the buildings, noting a camping supplier, souvenir shop and a bookstore. The latter might be ‘Circle of Knowledge,’ but she couldn’t see a sign. Before checking, she had something more pressing on her mind. Emery turned around and saw what she was hoping for: a café.
A sandwich board out front explained this was The Catania Café and today’s special was bouillabaisse. Emery wasn’t sure what the local time was, but she hoped they had fresh coffee. She went inside and was greeted by a young man with shaggy brown hair.
“Bonjour. Je peux vous aider?”
“Oui, seulement un café s’il te plait,” she replied.
He nodded and grabbed a mug from under the counter as he walked over to the coffee machine. Emery smiled at him as he returned with the cup, now full and steaming.
“Ten Simoleans, please,” the man said.
Emery wondered why he switched to English. Probably her accent. His tone wasn’t impolite, so she decided to just smile and hand him the cash. He thanked her as she picked up the mug and took a seat by the window.
No other customers were in the café, but a few people milled around outside. A man who had been sitting alone at one of the tables near the fountain was now accompanied by a woman. Two children, a blonde boy and a girl with chin-length brown curls, left the bookstore and began playing. A woman in a green jacket was leaving the square. Emery watched them as she sipped her coffee. She enjoyed her solitude at home, but there was something charming about watching people going about their day – and not knowing who they were or their stories. She wondered if there were towns in SimNation that looked or felt like Champs Les Sims. It was so different from her reality in Appaloosa Plains, and yet, she felt at peace. Perhaps its quaintness made her feel that way; so far, even though it was a much livelier locale than her hometown, it didn’t feel too busy or overwhelming.
After finishing her coffee, she stepped back outside and headed towards the bookstore. A blonde woman was inside and seemed to be helping a customer that Emery couldn’t quite see. As she got to the door, Emery noticed a small noticeboard. ‘Événements au Cercle de la Connaissance,’ the largest poster read. Underneath was smaller text with the translation, ‘Events at Circle of Knowledge.’ A small calendar detailed when Simçais classes, book club meetings and a local author’s reading event would take place over the month. Emery snapped a picture and glanced back into the store. The woman and customer were still chatting, but it was just as well. She had the schedule on her phone now, so there was no need to bother the attendant. She decided to leave the square and explore a bit more of the town.
Emery headed down the road opposite where she’d first entered the square. She planned to take the long way around instead of going straight back to the hostel. Much like home, trees were scattered alongside the roads and there was a lot of green space around the buildings. Emery turned left as she passed a manor house with a stone wall protecting their lavender bushes and yellow lilacs. Up ahead, she could see a white building that she recognized as her school: École nationale supérieure d’art des Champs Les Sims – ENSA Champs for short.
Emotions swelled in her chest. Her school. She hadn’t expected that it would make her emotional, but as she got closer and saw the little red pennants with the school’s crest embroidered in gold, she found herself blinking away water from her eyes. She shook her head, dismissing any tears before they could form.
A black sign with modern white type displayed ‘ENSA Champs’ over the front steps and the entrance. Two large windows on the side of the building had the school’s full name in gold leaf lettering. A mix of traditional and modern paintings could be seen through the glass.
Emery poked her head around the outside and peered into the courtyard, but ultimately decided not to go in. She didn’t see anyone at the desk, and she was already feeling tired again. ‘Best to head back to the hostel,’ she thought, and made her way there.
She greeted Claudine and went up to her room. She planned to unpack, but as she sat on the bed, she decided to rest her eyes for a moment first.
She woke up to the sound of her phone ringing. Wearily lifting her head, she saw it was bright outside – she wondered if she had slept through the night. Emery sat up and answered the phone.
“Hello?” she said sleepily.
“Emery! Thank goodness,” her mother’s voice exclaimed. “Did my messages go through? I started to worry when I hadn’t heard from you.”
“Sorry, mom, I was just tired and fell asleep,” Emery mumbled. “I’m fine.”
It sounded like Bridget was catching her breath. “That’s alright. I’m just glad you’re okay…. How’s your room? Have you seen much else yet?”
“It’s nice – the bed is comfy,” she laughed. “I walked around a bit when I first arrived. The town square is the cutest thing. And all the buildings are beautiful.”
They chatted a bit longer and eventually her father joined the conversation as well. He asked a lot of the same questions her mother had, but Emery didn’t mind. Eventually her parents said they should get to bed, but they didn’t get off the phone before repeatedly reminding her they loved her and to stay safe.
“I know, I know,” Emery said with a smile. “I love you too. Don’t worry so much. We’ll talk soon.”
After hanging up, she stretched and headed next door to the bathroom for a shower. Classes would start the following day, but she decided to go to the school to make sure everything was set up and maybe get a tour. She wanted to be prepared.
It was a beautiful day and Emery could see several people were milling about inside the ENAS Champs building. She took a deep breath, forced a smile, and walked up the front steps to the large wooden door.
‘Here goes nothing.’
Like the hostel, the building was old but well cared for. The floors were a light-coloured parquet while the walls were covered in darker wood panels. The art on display in the window was on the left of the entrance and a large staircase was on the left, leaving little space for furniture. There was a single desk centred between the two archways that lead to a larger, brighter room ahead. At the desk sat a thin, dark-haired woman with bold red lipstick and a patterned cardigan, tapping away at a computer.
“Bonjour,” she said without looking away from her screen. “Vous êtes une nouvelle étudiante?”
“Oui,” Emery replied quietly. She paused a moment as she tried to translate her requests in her head. “Je voulais vérifier mon inscription, et peut-être avoir une tournée?”
“Your name?” the woman asked, switching to Simlish. Emery wondered how bad her accent was, or if she’d made a mistake.
“Emery Tevellyn.”
“Bien…” she muttered, tapping several keys. “Yes, you are enrolled. Everything looks good.”
She finally looked up from her computer and gave Emery a small smile. “Your classes will start tomorrow, but I can show you around now, if you want?”
Emery smiled and nodded. “That would be great, thank you.”
She stood up and walked towards the archway on the right. Emery liked her outfit more now that she could see the whole thing; a clean white skirt and dark blue blouse helped offset the loud yellow pattern on the woman’s cardigan. The ensemble was still too bold a choice for Emery, but the French woman pulled it off nicely on her small frame.
She jumped right into the tour. “‘Zis is ‘ze main common area. Students can relax ‘ere, socialize, read… ‘ze fridge is shared with all students and staff, so please be respectful of ‘zat….”
They walked past a few couches and bookshelves, a dining table where students were chatting over a pizza, and a small kitchenette. Turning down the hallway, they passed two rooms with tables, chairs and white boards that had glass doors and large windows along both the hallway and the outer wall, allowing light to pour through from outside. The rooms had clearly been more recently renovated than the previous part of the building. As they continued, Emery saw that most of the original interior doors had been replaced with more modern glass ones.
The woman continued narrating the tour with an unenthusiastic tone. “You can use ‘zese meeting rooms if you ‘ave any group projects or presentations to make. We also use ‘zem for staff meetings and ‘zings like ‘zat. Down ‘ere is ‘ze ‘eadmaster’s and some professors’ offices. ‘zere are more upstairs. At ‘ze end is one of your main classrooms. We ask you do not use ‘zose easels outside of class time. Instead ‘zere are workrooms upstairs for independent study.”
“Any questions?” the woman asked, turning to Emery.
“Um, I guess not? Not yet, anyway,” she answered.
“Bien. My name is Annette, if you ‘ave questions later or need information about your tuition or fees. Feel free to ‘ave a look around upstairs at the workrooms before you go. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
With that, Annette offered a curt smile and walked back down the hallway. Emery wondered if the tours always only included the first floor or if Annette was just busy or having a bad day. Still, she was optimistic about school. It felt like an art school – it was a beautiful combination of old elegance and modern chic. Emery peered through the glass door into the classroom, noting that there were just five easels and an area for supplies and cleaning up.
Emery took Annette’s suggestion to look around upstairs. It quickly became clear that she would have to go back down the same staircase to get back to the front doors and access the rest of the second storey – it was split into two parts. Emery guessed that where she was now had once been a separate building that was connected later. The hall she had just entered had a row of lockers and some beautiful spray-painted pieces on display, as well as a small bulletin board. Through the glass door was a large classroom with tables covered in canvasses and painting supplies. Half of the room’s floor was vinyl tile instead of the wood that dominated the rest of the school; she guessed it was for easier cleaning – spray paint cans and stencils were scattered around.
Emery walked back around to the front hall and smiled politely as she passed Annette’s desk. Up the main staircase was a hall that lead to two offices and two workrooms: the first was small with three drafting tables and some supplies in the corner, while the second had larger work tables, two easels, more supplies and a wash-up area.
Emery left the little campus still optimistic. It was hard not to be, when she looked around her. She continued to wonder how a place so different from her home could still feel so familiar and comfortable. She still felt nervous whenever she had to speak Simçais, but she understood most of what she’d heard people say so far, which reassured her that the language would come with time. She looked forward to her language classes and wondered what they’d be like. Probably a bit more like ‘real’ school than ENAS Champs, she thought.
She spent the evening at the hostel. After preparing herself some dinner, she picked a book from one of the shelves in the living room and went upstairs. As much as she enjoyed Champs Les Sims, Emery had to admit that this experience was a lot to process. Her father had reminded her to take time to herself to recharge, and as he often did, he recommended sitting down with a book. Entering her room, she finally noticed just how spectacular a view she had. Above the trees and against a purple sky, the Eiffel Tower stood in the distance, glowing gold and white. She’d noticed that she could see the tower from her window, of course – but it was a detail that had initially been lost among the other thousand new things she was experiencing in her first few days in France. Now that she took a moment to look at it in the evening light, she realized how beautiful it was and how lucky she was to have such a view. She smiled to herself and got comfortable on the bed. She looked out the window again as she opened her book. She wanted to remember the colours and the lighting to paint that scene later, but she suspected she’d never quite capture its true beauty.
Emery arrived at school the next day dressed in her painting clothes, eager to get started. The building was much busier, with students chatting and coming in and out. Annette wasn’t at her desk, but Emery noticed a man come down the stairs whom she recognized from one of the professor’s offices the day before.
“Excusez moi,” Emery said quietly as she approached the man. “Est-ce que vous êtes un professeur?”
“Yes I am,” he replied. He had an accent, but it was much less pronounced than Annette’s and Claudine’s. Emery was confident she hadn’t made any mistakes with her question, so he must have switched to Simlish based on her own accent. Hopefully some language classes would help with her pronunciation.
“Do you know where the fine arts class is this morning? Is it the classroom here on the main floor?” Emery asked.
“Ah,” he smiled. “I’m your professor. We will have class upstairs, today, actually.”
He turned towards the other students in the room and spoke loudly to the group, “Bonjour. Hello, good morning. Les étudiants en beaux-arts peuvent me suivre. Fine arts students – follow me.”
The professor began walking up the stairs and continued to speak, “Je suis votre professeur, mais vous pouvez m’appeler Étienne. La première semaine de cours, j’aime voir les compétences de mes étudiants avec différents médiums. Aujourd'hui, nous allons commencer avec le dessin.”
He stopped in front of a workroom door, which Emery remembered had drafting tables inside. Before opening the door, the professor turned to the students once again. “For those better with Simlish, don’t worry,” he said. “Please ask if I forget to translate or you have questions. I’m your professor, but you can call me Étienne. The first week of classes, I like to see my students’ skills with different mediums. Today we will start with drawing.”
Étienne opened the glass door and ushered the students inside. There were only three drafting tables in the small workroom. He surveyed the group briefly, then motioned for Emery, a young Asian woman and one of the two white men in the class to walk farther in. “You three will work in this room. You all prefer Simlish, yes?” He paused to observe their nods of agreement, then turned to the other students. “Le reste viendra dans la pièce suivante dans un instant.”
Before guiding the others to the next room, Étienne showed Emery’s group where the supplies were and explained that he wanted them to first produce a piece using pencil or ink, followed by a second with charcoal, conté or pastels. He promised to return in a moment, then lead the remaining students out the door.
The three Simlish-speaking students looked through and selected their supplies, then each sat at a desk. Emery was nervous. It had been a while since she’d really practiced drawing; she felt much more comfortable with a brush and rarely sketched out her work beforehand. She looked at the paper in front of her with a furrowed brow, took a deep breath, and decided to jump right in.
Emery wasn’t satisfied with what she drew, especially compared to the girl next to her. The young Asian woman seemed comfortable and happy throughout the exercise, her pencil practically dancing across the page. Her shading work was extraordinary and the piece looked very polished after an hour. Emery’s, on the other hand, still looked like it might be a sketch. Her afternoon’s work with pastels wasn’t much better.
Luckily, painting was next. Over the next few days, the students were to create a piece with watercolour or gouache, another with oils, and either a second one of those, an acrylic, an ink wash, or some combination. Emery decided to paint a somber image of the school’s courtyard fountain with gouache and a brighter abstract piece with oils. She would wait to decide on the third piece based on her professor’s feedback over the first couple days.
Emery was surprised to find it was tiring for her to work this way. She wasn’t used to managing her time so closely and thinking about showcasing different skills through her work. Usually, she was proud of her art as an expression of her creativity and her ability to translate an idea in her head into a beautiful image on a canvas. Still, she knew that was the point of coming here: to challenge herself, to learn, and to ultimately become a better artist.
She also wanted to improve her Simçais. Even though it had been a long week, Emery was determined to attend one more class. She got dressed and enjoyed the fresh air on her balcony while she called her parents to tell them about her week. The Simçais class at the bookstore was a convenient ‘out’ to keep the conversation to a reasonable length.
She walked over to Circle of Knowledge and was greeted by the shopkeeper, a golden-haired, middle-aged woman who introduced herself as Estelle Fouchier.
“‘Ze o’zer student is already waiting upstairs,” Estelle said warmly, gesturing for Emery to follow as she walked over to the staircase.
The other student was a young woman with ash blonde hair that paled in comparison to Estelle’s rich golden locks. Her dress pants and striped blouse suggested she worked in an office, but she also wore a jean jacket and a black bowler hat, so Emery didn’t want to assume.
“I’m Ali,” the girl smiled.
“Emery.”
“Please, sit down,” Estelle said kindly. “Why don’t you each share where you are from and whether you speak any Simçais?”
The three women each took a seat around the long antique table near the middle of the room. Ali explained she was from SimNation, but was visiting France from the Netherlands, where she was doing an internship. She had just arrived in Champs Les Sims that morning and thought it might be nice to start her visit with a language class to learn some basics that could help her with her travels. Emery noted she was also from SimNation, but knew a little Simçais already and was hoping to improve her pronunciation and get more comfortable with conversations.
Estelle thanked them for coming and picked up one of the books on the table. She flipped through the pages looking for a specific section, then passed it to Ali.
“‘Zis section will ‘elp you get started with ‘ze basics,” Estelle explained. “Please read it first and ‘zen I will go over it with you and we can practice.”
Ali nodded and Estelle turned her attention to Emery, “Peut-être on peut pratiquer maintenant?”
“Oui, c’est bon,” Emery smiled.
“Qu’est-ce qui t’amène?”
Living at the hostel was another thing Emery had to get used to. There were new people around all the time, and most were gone as quickly as they’d come. She felt like she was always cleaning the kitchen before she could cook in it even though a staff person came through to clean everything each day.
Sometimes the travellers’ company was nice. She met so many people that she learned to ask how long they’d be in town and stopped worrying about remembering too many details about the ones who were only visiting for a night or a weekend. They came from all over – SimNation, Egypt, China – and most spoke at least a little Simlish.
As much as she liked Champs Les Sims, sometimes she missed home and her family. Some of the stranger hostel guests made her especially grateful that she had somewhere she loved to go back to when she finished school.
Emery also got to know some of her classmates. Ezekiel, who was from Africa, and Gabriel, who was from elsewhere in France, were both in the Simçais-speaking section but spoke a little Simlish and were very social with other students. Emery often saw them at the café in the mornings. She also met another student there on Saturdays before her Simçais classes. While tourists sometimes came to one or two classes, Amelia went at least once a week like Emery did. Amelia was from England and had more tattoos than anyone Emery had ever met. When she admitted that to her, it made Amelia laugh. “This is nothing,” she’d said with a grin. “I’m not even half done.”
Amelia’s Simçais was a similar level to Emery’s, so sometimes Estelle would give them something to practice in conversation while she worked with another student. Emery could very clearly remember the first time Amelia referred to her as a friend. Amelia seemed so cool with her tattoos and her punk style that Emery was happily surprised to be considered cool enough to be her friend.
On her fellow students’ recommendation, Emery made a trip to the local nectary after Simçais class one Saturday. It was quite far from the town square and the hostel, but it was a beautiful property with flagstone paths, a fountain surrounded in flower bushes, and of course, the vineyard.
Emery practiced her Simçais with the sommelier who was working there, Gaston Dutiel. She learned about his family and was even invited to join them for dinner some time! For the moment, though, he recommended she take a look around and then rejoin him at the bar to try some samples and learn about how they made nectar.
Emery took his advice and went through the large wrought iron gate to the nectar-making area of the building. The walls and floor were all stone, worn from their age. She walked forward and noticed someone was removing nectar bottles from one of the machines. It was a woman with short black hair who was maybe a little older than Emery, wearing dark jeans and a black vest over a lilac-coloured tank top.
The woman turned and noticed Emery was watching her. “Is ‘zere some’zing you need?” she asked.
Her dark makeup accentuated her angular features. From her tone and the jewelry and rips in her jeans that Emery could now see, she looked like she had a bit of attitude.
“Um, no, sorry, I was just looking around,” Emery replied.
The woman walked through the gate and stood in front of Emery, who didn’t know what to say.
“Your first time at ‘ze nectary?” the Frenchwoman asked. Emery nodded. “Are you a tourist?”
“Well, sort of…” Emery said. “I’m an art student here.”
The woman paused a moment, then said, “I’m Colette.”
“Emery,” she replied with a sigh of relief.
“You were so nervous,” Colette laughed softly. “Don’t worry, mon chou, I won’t bite.”
“I know ‘zis place well,” she continued. “Do you want me to show you around?”
Emery smiled awkwardly and hesitantly agreed. She was glad she did. Colette did know the nectary well and taught Emery a lot about the art of nectar making as they walked around the building past the large machines and numerous barrels.
“It iz a passion,” she explained. “My sister and I, we learned from our parents. Our maman grew grapes and papa made ‘zem into nectar.”
“And now you do, too?” Emery asked with a smile.
“I—how you say—dabble? Mostly I ‘elp Gaston sell ‘is nectars to restaurants. My sister and I are not very good at growing ‘ze grapes,” Colette laughed.
“Well, I don’t know anything about nectar, but I’m a pretty good gardener,” Emery smiled.
“Maybe we can teach eacho’zer sometime.”
“I’d like that.”
Colette ended the tour outside, pointing out the fruit trees. “Apples are very good for nectar, and sometimes a hint of o’zer fruits like lime, plum or cherry is good, too.”
The two women stood in silence a moment, looking out at the trees, flowers and night sky. It was quiet except for a few crickets and the sound of the fountain gurgling in the garden.
“The stars here remind me of home,” Emery said quietly. “And the open space… just trees and grassy hills for miles…”
Colette gave her a small smile. “I should get ‘ome,” she said softly. “It was very nice to meet you, Emery.”
“Thanks for showing me around. It was lovely.”
Colette nodded and walked away into the dark, her footfalls fading into the quiet of the night. It wasn’t until Emery was alone for a moment that she realized she hadn’t gotten her phone number or even her last name.
Author’s Notes:
Apologies for the long hiatus! This is my first 2-part chapter - it took a long time to shoot and write. It was difficult to stay motivated to finish it, but I didn't want to publish something before it was how I wanted. (Plus, you know, real life always gets in the way ;-) .)
Since Emery did normal 'World Adventures' things in my original play-through to gain points towards a higher Visa, I had to stage almost this entire chapter. I also really wanted to show her in art school, taking language classes and building new relationships since I think these are important character development points for her.
All of the 'Townie Sims' that Emery met in this chapter were ones she met in my original play-through, but all of the students, Annette (the school administrator) and Professor Étienne were created for story-telling purposes.
Simçais is my Sim world version of French, a play on Français in the same spirit of ‘Simlish’ as the Sim world equivalent of English. Since the game specifies that Champs Les Sims is in France, I kept the country name and the word 'French' for cultural descriptors (e.g. I say "French accent" rather than "Simçais accent").
I didn't want to change the look of Champs Les Sims by adding a new building for the art school, so I used the 'shell' of "The Tulip House" that was already there and modified the inside. I've included some overhead/floor plan screenshots below.
As always, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
‘The Tulip House’ repurposed as art school, ‘ENSA Champs’:
