Phillip in France | #MyEmigrationStory
Phillip and I go way back. In terms of childhood friends, I don’t have many left. I moved when I was going into 1st grade, and again going into 3rd grade. Most of my middle school friends are who I would now consider to be my childhood friends. But there’s a select few who I met just one year before starting middle school, when we were in our finest 5th grade awkwardness. Phillip is one of those glorious friends, who I can look back at the past with and laugh. Once we moved on to high school, one of our few remaining classes together was French. Even though I couldn’t continue during my Junior year, and he is still kicking butt. Which leads me to his story of moving to France and his experience with the language and the culture.
I moved to France because I was studying French at school and going there would be the best option for really learning the language. However, beyond that I think most of my desire to go was because I wanted to go on an adventure, but almost like a really simplistic version of an adventure, one that feels rooted in Western style stories, and what better place to go an adventure than one of the more influential Western countries?
The visa process was easy and hard at the same time. The entire experience enlightened me to a truly bureaucratic piece in the government. The biggest issue I had with the process itself was the convoluted nature of acquiring the correct documents and doing so in the correct time frames.
The biggest example I can remember was I needed this stamp or seal-like document, I think it was issued directly from the French government. To acquire this stamp, I had to supply all sorts of personal documents proving I was in fact myself, as well as receipt for the tuition I paid, as well as I think a transcript from my current school, as well as a thumbs up of sorts from the University I would be attending in France. I had to apply to this website that took a few weeks to even process that I had created an account and I definitely remember the feeling of time ticking away because I only had so long to get all of this done. Then after waiting for the website to accept me I was able to submit everything I need only to be informed that this document would most likely take from 2 – 6 months to arrive. It ended up taking about three months to get to me. While that sounds not too terrible considering I was applying for a legal presence in another country, I was trying to accomplish all of this in the span of 4 or 5 months, so I definitely was feeling the pressure. By the time the stamp document arrived I had collected all my other documents and was just waiting for this one. The day I got it, I set up an appointment at the VISA office for the following week, only maybe a month away from my departure date.
The closest French visa office was in San Francisco, so I had to take a day trip out to San Francisco for like a 15-minute visa appointment, and if that appointment failed somehow, I would have to redo whatever section I failed and reschedule and fly back to California and redo everything. I remember this was actually the smoothest airport experience I have ever had. I was like the only one in line for security, I was on my own row on the plane, and even making my way into downtown San Francisco went incredibly smoothly.
I found the building quickly as well, though I was rather shocked by the appearance of it. It was an extremely nondescript skyscraper and when I entered the building there were no doors on the bottom floor but an elevator. It was completely in marble and it was echoing like some dramatic movie. Really it all felt like a movie. When I was waiting in line at the French visa office, I watched others go up to the window, have their lives seemingly fall apart because they forgot one page, or they did not have the correct financial support lined up, or some really small reason. Meanwhile I was at my seat, sweating bullets. My name was eventually called and the lady looked at my documents and smiled with relief and said something like “Thank you for being so organized, you’d be surprised at how many people aren’t.” They took my finger prints, and then sent me on my way. After leaving the building, I laughed hysterically for a second at the ridiculousness of that entire process.
My thoughts of France before moving there were pretty vague. I was aware of that stereotypical view of France, in particular the stereotype of Paris being this city of romance and dreams, where everything is clean and picturesque. I think because of how I studied and what my classes focused, on my view of France was very shallow and mechanical almost. My knowledge of France was its history, and various things that have happened there but I had no real cultural context which ultimately lead to a really deep appreciation for the style of life that exists.
I definitely didn’t have many expectations, not in a bad way but I try not to hold too many expectations because it will only cause disappointment. One thing though that I did have (without my knowledge really) was this underlying assumption that it would be somewhat the same. It’s not like I was removing myself to the far corners of the planet in some completely culturally different set of people. No this is France, it’s like one of the corner-stones of western culture. And I think on the surface it was but the people were different. Shocking I know. They were just different, it’s hard to explain what made them so different. Maybe it was being overall not boisterous like the US, or maybe their lack of smiles at random people. It was difficult to place. But the difference was whimsical perhaps, there was a level of satisfaction with daily life that I feel Americans don’t always display, or even have.
The biggest thing I liked about the culture was the seemingly minimalistic nature of a person’s life. As I have mentioned before, they seemed rather content with their daily life and their “lot” in life. From what I gathered with French host families and the people that would host little groups for parties or dinners was that the average person didn’t have a ridiculous amount of “stuff” that an American might have. They would have what they needed and maybe an extravagance here or there (mostly wine I feel like, they always seemed to be pulling out wines here and there to pair with food, time of day, the color of my clothing). I think this concept of non-consumerism spilled into their concepts of work where work isn’t livelihood but a means to keeping themselves happy in their own life.
A big thing I disliked was business hours, this wasn’t something that I am irrationally pissed about but definitely something that was very hard for me to get used to as an American. Sundays were always days-off for places, even the grocery stores would close up shop at like 1 in the afternoon. This could get frustrating if you didn’t plan accordingly as all your plans could easily go awry if the proper foresight wasn’t employed. Business hours were also more flexible, people could take a really long lunch for example and the shop says it would be open but isn’t. Again, not the biggest deal but certainly was hard for me to get used to.
Another thing I didn’t like out of my own discomfort was “la bise”. It’s when you make the kissing motion on the cheeks of someone you’re greeting that you know. Or even if you don’t really know them but you have a mutual friend! Which added to the already weird social dance. There are so many varying rules on which cheek you start with, or how many times you do it, and should I consider it for only an acquaintance, or forgetting if I start on my left or their left. It’s a stupid and small complaint but every time it happened I felt VASTLY uncomfortable, and the most American person.
Making friends with French people was the most difficult part for two reasons: first was that the city I lived in had a very high international community. I made friends with MANY international students. I think part of the reason was they were more willing to look past a language gap, plus I had classes with many of these students so you are eventually going to hang out with them.
The second reason is French people were almost difficult to get into a social setting it felt like. I’m very sure I could have tried harder and succeeded, but also what felt like part of the problem was the ever-looming language gap. While my conversational skills were alright in French, it was definitely a hindrance not being able to easily understand someone in a bar or talk about something with great intricacy. Really the only French people I hit it off with were seeking English people out to improve their English, mostly through like the conversation group that they hosted in towns, or French students interested in the various international students hanging around school.
Not to say I’m bitter or regret anything, while I definitely could have done more to make more connections and improve my French skills, I do not regret the friends I made in the international community. And in some ways, I think international students helped me learn French more, because when you are in a car with a Russian speaker, a polish speaker, and Spanish speaker (all who are studying French and do not know English) suddenly French is the Lingua Franca (harking back to like the 1700s) and we all know the struggles each of us are having when we try and say something. In fact, I think this is what finally released me from a lot of speaking anxiety because I could make a mistake and they would understand and go with the flow.
Everyone talked about culture shock, and how I would experience it when I lived there. I honestly didn’t really believe them, and for the first few weeks I did not feel any sort vastly different thing with my life, other than the experience of physically being in a new country. But soon I did start feeling this really odd exhaustion. I was tired, like all of the time. When I think about the whole experience I think I can determine I was exhausted with the constant foreign interaction, speaking French, reading it everywhere, as well as holding myself to the best of my abilities as a French person (which I could NEVER pass for in the South of France.)
Want to read more on France? Check out my blog posts from Paris, Rennes, Versailles, Monaco, and Nice.