Bonne Année !

After taking the entire month of December off from this blog, I now have a little hole in my heart.  Yes, it’s true.  I really miss writing quippy (I think I may have just invented that word) little posts about my life in France.  So I resolve, from now on, to write in my blog (at least!) once a week.  Please keep following!

This is my "I'm-sorry-for-neglecting-my-blog" face

 I returned to Besançon a few days ago from an epic twelve-day journey to my homeland, the United States of America.  I spent three days in Virginia, six days in New Orleans, two more days in Virginia, and finally one day in Washington, D.C., before taking off for Paris.  Whew!  By the time I got home, I was ready to sleep and watch mindless TV shows in my bed for about 5 days straight.  But alas!  I arrived in France the morning of December 31^st.  Can’t sleep away New Year’s Eve! 

My trip home was fantastic!  I enjoyed seeing all my friends and family and being in a place where everyone speaks American (as opposed to the other forms of the language we like to call “English”).  

My Family: together in New Orleans for Christmas

One thing I did miss about my life in France: here, when I do something weird or culturally unacceptable (purposefully or not), I just play the “foreign card.”   Generally, if I look cute and naïve enough, the French feel sorry for me and let it slide. 

Let’s just say the foreigner card does not work for me in the U.S.  We’ll leave it at that, alright?

When I arrived in Washington D.C. from Paris, I noticed the chirpy way the airport worker said, “Move along folks!”  Folks.  Now that’s one word I hadn’t heard in quite some time! 

My dad picked me up from the airport, and we drove past “Paris,” a small town in rural Virginia on our way home.

Paris, France

Paris, Virginia

I have been living in France since mid-September.  So I faced a bit of culture shock when I arrived back in my homeland.  I had forgotten what it was like to have people, dogs, and upcoming events thrown at you when you walk in the door.  I had forgotten what it felt like to speak English to strangers, to drive to the grocery store, to shower standing up.  I had even forgotten about that glorious combination: peanut butter and chocolate. 

When I arrived at home, I was bursting to share my new life with my family and friends.  Somehow, I expected them to have changed as much as me and to magically understand the new perspective I suddenly had about the world and my place in it.

I quickly realized I was going to have to slow down. 

At the risk of sounding like a super-nerd, I am going to make an analogy:  It’s like I had stepped onto a spaceship traveling at the speed of light.   Over the past four months, time has slowed down for me. (It sounds corny, but it’s true.) Because I constantly deal in a foreign language and a (relatively) foreign culture, I am forced to focus, to live in a kind of slow motion.  I listen to each conversation with every ounce of my attention so as not to miss some vital detail.  I find myself constantly noticing the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes around me; not only because they are different, but because they are potential clues about the meaning of this strange new world I inhabit.

Meanwhile, my friends and family back on Earth have continued to live the same life they have always lived.  Happy, comfortable, busy, and at times, on auto-pilot. 

Here, I am like a kid, constantly amazed by the simplest things: a new colloquial expression, a delicious raspberry tart, the strange rules for a French board game, my beautiful new boots from a local boutique, a glass of regional wine.

Some of the simplest tasks pose a challenge: going to the store to buy eggs, eating lunch with my French colleagues, opening a bank account.  Things that I do automatically (and while half-asleep) in the United States suddenly demand an abnormal amount of thought and energy. 

I am slightly embarrassed to admit this, but one of my proudest moments thus far in France was the day I set up my Internet box – all by myself!  This required reading a detailed manual in French, making two phone calls in French to my provider Orange, and even some technical computer work (at which I normally fail miserably). 

When I went home, I somehow expected everyone to just get it. I expected them to understand that my life has suddenly slowed down, that I learn something new every five minutes, that it is both extremely frustrating and extremely gratifying, and that despite the seeming banality of buying eggs – I am having the time of my life.  But then I realized I was going to have to be patient with these earthlings.