A Cariad Life

Recently, I was reading a blog by an expat living in Malaysia. The blogger was sharing lessons she had learned living for the previous year as an expat, specifically ones that no one told her before she moved. One was what it is like to go back to your home country for a visit, and she stated that Erin McBrayer (no idea who she is) summed it up perfectly…”But while I love arriving back in the US, where I understand the customs (and the language), it doesn’t feel 100% comfortable to me. It’s like putting on a dress from years ago that still technically fits but isn’t quite my style.”

I appreciated this insight not only because I love a good analogy, I also am beginning to understand this sentiment of not being 100% comfortable. Not to argue with Jon Bon Jovi, who maintains that you can “take the home from the boy, but not the boy from his home” because for sure we all take “home” with us, and it will always be part of our perspective…but leaving also changes you a bit. Although we can go back home–it looks and feels a bit different.

I think what Erin describes is similar to when we go to college or when we move to a new town and have new experiences. We come back “home” and and there is familiarity/ease, but there is also tension because the new routines, cultural norms, and people/experiences we’ve just had don’t exist when we come back “home.” What seemed odd and different at first in our new surroundings, has now became a new familiar; further, the absence of our new “home” creates a sense of loss, while we are at the same time reconnecting with our past.

Let me say first, there is a bit of vulnerability in writing this blog about this topic specifically, and I hope you will give me space to consider how I am changing and reflecting on how my experiences are leading to my change. I don’t want what I share to be misinterpreted as a value judgement on either the US or France. This isn’t about the places; it’s about how I feel in those places.

We just returned from a quick visit back to the US, where we (finally!) got our visas. We had wonderful dinners with good friends and family, saw familiar sites in the DC area, where we lived for 11 years. I could clearly understand every time someone communicated with me, and if I asked someone for something they understood me. I understood the signs and could pick up on the subtext. The restaurant servers were super friendly and helpful–suggesting great menu selections and always keeping my glass filled. We ate delicious food–fried chicken, grilled cheese (not croque monsieurs), pasta, and fish tacos–rode the metro, took an Uber, and saw lots of American flags. It was fully accessible to me; it was familiar–it felt easy.

But even though we have only been in France for 6 weeks and unlike Bon Jovi who sings, it “feels like I never left” when he goes back home, I began to feel the slight discomfort Erin speaks about. It was the tension of the new with the old. I noticed in general we threw too much in the trash can; the price of a baguette (when I could find one) was almost 5 dollars, and the price of wine was ridiculous. Portions in restaurants were easily twice as large in the US, and junk food was cheap, while quality food was expensive (completely the opposite in France.) There were so many choices, that at times, it felt overwhelming and excessive.

My personal biggest discomfort, and one that is purely subjective, was how loud it was as we began traveling with more Americans–people spoke loudly with one another everywhere–on the airplane, on the phone, walking down the street, in restaurants, and then there was the volume of the music. Perhaps people speak so loud because they are trying to hear themselves over the music. I found myself overstimulated by the noise–it’s strange because I had never noticed it before and it certainly did not previously have the impact that it did on this visit. I began to reflect on what had changed. I have noticed in France the quiet tones with which most people (in our area of France anyway) speak. Sometimes I stop Darrell in a grocery store or in a mall (yes, they have them in Bordeaux) and say, “Listen, it’s so quiet!” There may be music playing, but it is seldom; and, if it is playing, it is on a very low volume. People speak in hushed tones, though they are very animated and loquacious (some say that if something can be said in 25 words, the French will use 250 words).

I guess what I am feeling in France is a growing appreciation for understatement and imperfection in French culture–for limited choices and an emphasis on quality more than quantity. As I think about the old (and some might say run-down) stores and homes in our area of France and the small hatchbacks that almost everyone drives here, France has become more beautiful to me because of its imperfections and quirks…and there are many of them….

–There are many public bathrooms that do not have a toilet seat and sometimes I have to pay a euro to enter the bathroom;
–Gas is expensive (over $6/gallon, which is actually sold by the liter);
–There are not a plethora of fast food options and many restaurants expect you to make a reservation (really requiring you to think about your meals in advance)
–there is also no snacking culture, and people do not walk around eating and drinking things;
–the buildings, many of the cars, and the streets are really old; it is expected to recycle almost everything except food scraps;
–Customers bag their own groceries and need to bring reusable bags
–There is always a strike or a looming strike that can make travel plans change unexpectedly;
–and finally, French homes, hotels, and B&Bs have imperfections; they are not what you see in the movies or the Pinterest decorating pictures of perfectly executed and curated, “French country”

Going back home to the US reminded me of the many wonderful things about the US and I fully enjoyed every minute of it, particularly the familiarity and ease. I also know that as I embrace the imperfect and quirky French culture, it will bring some discomfort when I go back home. The two places are not the same. Instead of comparing them, I can just fully enjoy what each is when I am there, recognizing that there will be a bit of discomfort wherever I am. A bit of discomfort though it is not bad–it reminds me of my humanity and what I value. I’ll close with this quote by Michael Crichton, who I think sums it up perfectly…

“Often I feel I go to some distant region of the world to be reminded of who I really am…Stripped of your ordinary surroundings, your friends, your daily routines…you are forced into direct experience (which) inevitably make you aware of who it is that is having the experience.”