I am currently dripping in sweat, and swimming in cultural differences. If you Google culture shock, you'll find that there are number of stages, much like grief that you go through. There are four, apparently, but today I only care about two. Honeymoon stage, and the frustration stage. Obviously, the first three days were nothing but honeymoon. I was over the moon, and I adored everything about France. Today, I am a bit more cynical, especially after yesterday.
After I finished writing, I sulked for a bit, which, let's be honest, is something I do quite often. Then, at nearly 7, my host father knocked on my door and told me he'd gotten a doctor's appointment for me at a bit past eight, and that I'd have to eat quickly and go. I admit I was very impressed he got a same day appointment, and at night, no less.
But then came dinner. As I've mentioned before, my host mother is a super cook, and typically, she gives me more than I can eat. This would not be a problem at home, or in an American restaurant, because you'd simply get a doggy bag, that you might or might not eat later, and be done with it.
Here, in France, and especially in my host family's house, this is not the case. A "doggy bag" is unheard of and frankly borderline offensive, if not offensive. Last night, I finished, left a few pieces on the plate (in America, it's polite to not scrape your plate and to leave a little). You could see the look of frustration on my host mother's face.
"No waste," she said. Or roughly that, I was so tired last night that my French was going in and out. I misunderstood her and thought she was pleased with the fact I'd finished almost all of it. "I'm trying," I said.
Then came the part where one of these days, I'll be lying in bed, and this memory will come and haunt me, she asked if anyone wanted Dessert, I had seen her working on this pie and it looked amazing. So I said I'd like some, then she looked at me funny. Very funny. "But you didn't finish your food, and you want DESSERT?"
Reader, I wanted to disappear. But it gets worse.
She looked at me again, "You are like a child," she said.
Not going to lie, I turned red and wanted to cry. I honestly nearly cried on the spot. I think there was an air of teasing to it, but I was so tired, I just couldn't separate that from her words. And too, they have been clear how much they hate waste.
So, here our story gets even worse. She gave me to pie. And I tried it. It was figs, which I discovered I do not especially care for. And I realized I was more full than I'd thought. I finished half then stopped. I felt like if I ate anymore, I would throw up.
My host mother just looked at me. She actually glared. This piercing glare that made me feel about an inch tall. "You're not going to finish?" she asked. I don't remember if the after all that was spoken, or just subtext, but I felt it.
The other host students were looking at me.
The smart response would have been just to eat the damn thing. But I am nothing if not ballsy and stupid AF.
She mentioned something about waste and garbage.
And me, being the dumbass I am, said, "I agree that that is very important, however, I also don't want my body to be a garbage can." Or a less articulate version, rather, as I was tired, and that's a hard sentence.
She just looked at me tiredly. After all, what else was she going to do?
My host father chimed in then -- maybe I could have it for breakfast?
I don't remember who added I could have the remaining food also.
I still wanted to disappear.
I said sure, of course, absolutely.
But I could still feel the tension.
My host father and I went off to the doctor, and my host father was quite kind. I can't imagine driving in Tours, the streets are so narrow. We talked about the doctor's visit and I apologized for the waste and suggested ways of fixing it -- mainly asking for less.
He seemed pleased with this.
When I returned, I expressed the same sentiment to my host mother, who was gracious as always and seemed very relaxed. She assured me multiple times that it was ok, really, it was not a problem.
I don't know. These things are hard for me. I also joked to her that my parents called me a princess, though I tried not to be so.
She seemed past it.
But. The pie did end up in my breakfast this morning. Obviously, I ate it without comment and left none. It was good once I got a sense of it, but I very much had a sense of this seen from an American Girl Book I read when I was little. It involved Turnips.
But it's not just this scene that has led me to feeling spoiled. My host family is very conscious of water use, lights, cords plugged in, heat, basically everything. Basically there's a law that you can't have your heater above 66 degrees F. (19 C) They asked what I was used to. My host father actually repeated the number back to me to make sure he understood. We usually keep our heater at 73. Thank god I didn't mention that I like it at 75. I think he might have fallen to pieces in shock. It doesn't come naturally to me to conserve, and it always feels a bit pointless. A lot of struggle for something that feels fruitless. Not that I would tell them that. I'm sure in reality is does make a difference. The truth is, I hate being inconvenienced. Which very much makes me feel like a spoiled American, and my sense of shame is strong.
Which, by the way, that is the reason I am sweating, not from the heat (no, definitely not from the heat) but because they walk everywhere in Tours. (France, at least Paris also walks and does the Metro). I don't know if it's because the city was built that way, or because they want to cut down on the pollution, but they are STUNNED that the walk to the Institute is long to me. It's 0.7 miles each way, so about a mile and a half to two miles each way, and it takes about 15 minutes. It took 13 when I nearly ran this morning. This is a LOT for me. But they are very much like, "DUDE, it's TEN minutes, SOME PEOPLE walk 30! It's very close!"
Ok, so they don't say dude, but it's the same energy. And I want to clarify, it's never mean, it's just genuinely surprised. It's a cultural difference. In the same way we're used to an hour of traffic, or long driving commutes, and our expensive health care, it's just not something they think about.
Speaking of health care, the doctors here, I'm sorry, but they are much quicker and cheaper (I will not say better, because I only have one experience and I do like many American doctors). Not only was I able to get in an appointment same day, the wait was 5 minutes, the doctor, bless him, offered to switch to English for me, and spoke fluently, figured out the problem tout suite, and I was out in 10 minutes, including paying the bill.
The cost? Which he seemed concerned for me paying without insurance? $67 dollars. I'm tempted to upload the receipt for proof. So cheap!
And for my medicine that he prescribed? I got it today, at a Pharmacy two minutes walk from my school. There was no line. I could walk into any of them, they didn't have to be sent somewhere, and it came to . . . the grand total of 11 dollars without insurance. Which again, the pharmacist seemed concerned that I had to pay.
My regular medicine WITH my work insurance (when I had it) was more than that!
So, that was that.
But on top of it all, guess what has been the subject in my classes. WASTE! This morning, I wrote an essay on the type of pollution that bothers me the most. I wrote about plastic in the ocean, which I hope means I didn't mess up the prompt. We also discussed ugly fruit and expiration dates, and two for ones that cause people to buy more, and things like that.
I feel like I'm getting a message from the universe. OR SOMETHING!
But onto the good after the whining.
Classes today were really good. I got a great night's sleep last night, and felt really refreshed. I understood and could follow along much better. I enjoyed my class, despite having to take two tests in it, and we were also talking about urban gardens, which was pretty cool considering one of my favorite classes in college was Environmental Science.
I had two other classes today. They were taught by the same lady and had many of the same students, so they blurred into one.
But one of the highlights was that I have another American in class. Not only that, he's from Sonoma County. So that's a thing. He's nice but he insists on speaking English. So, today, since I think I came across as rude yesterday, I just told him, "Hey, I'm happy to chat, but it has to be in French!"
He was surprised, but down with it.
So later, before class, he and I were talking, but we were talking in French.
My instructor came by and heard.
She was very pleased. "Two Americans! Speaking French!" she said.
I grinned through my mask. I was tickled pink with the Brownie Points.
The rest of the classes were very interesting, I obtained my medication which made me proud, as I wasn't certain if I would be lost or not. I didn't find a restaurant like I planned, but I snacked on Luna Bars and felt proud that I did something. I very much like being in France and surrounded by the French. I am encouraged by my progress and I spent lunch feeling grateful, and conjugating verbs in an app, and listening to Amy Grant and a few others.
Now I'm going to turn on my other light, read my page of homework, and chill for a bit. Tomorrow, if I don't lose my nerve, and my ankle doesn't hurt too badly (it's doing well today, but I also avoided stairs) I'm going to attend a language conversation group and attend a lecture in the evening.
Thursday is apparently a holiday here too (Veterans Day) which will be good for resting my ankle.
All for now, I am a little nervous to eat this evening, because I'm worried I will upset someone, but honestly, I do think I'm overthinking. They have been nothing but kind and sometimes my worries just get away from me.
~ Emery
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