It's the little things

Sure moving across an ocean comes with an obvious gaurentee: life will be different.  Aside from the most obvious of changes (language, buildings older than the U.S. on every corner, and tiny go-kart esque cars to name a few) I have found it is the little, everyday things that are different from my American life that have much more of an added “exclamation point” on them.  For instance- doors are different: when you are walking out of a building you do not pull the door in and walk through, you push it out.  It’s essentially backwards to American doors.  So, even when I am reading “Poussez” (push) or “Tirez” (pull) as marked on doors here I still take a second to make sure my muscle memory doesn’t override the French directions my brain has acknowledged by said markings.  Along with doors is the subject of keys.  When you put a key into a hole here the teeth are on the bottom, not on the top like at home.  (Note: this is for more modern keys as France is much older than the U.S. and has many different kinds of keys.)  My shower is a constant reminder of my new way of life as the showerhead is hand-held and not attached to the wall. (Not uncommon in the least over here).  When I go grocery shopping I bring two large, reusable bags to place my purchases in.  There is only a cashier at the register so I do my own bagging.  Plastic/paper bags are not offered, however reusable bags are sold for 0,99 euros in case your forgot to bring your own.

There is a new social code to follow in public here.  When one enters a store, office, etc it is polite to greet whoever is working with a “Bonjour monsieur/madame” (or whatever variation is necessary depending on who’s there) and when you leave it is important to follow up with a “Au revoir monsieur/madame” or “Bonne journée à vous” (Have a good day).  My first week here I forgot to say “Bonne journée” to my new school secretary, who helped me with paper work, and even though I thanked her before walking out of the office- as I turned out the door she said “Bonne journée mademoiselle” with a slightly miffed tone.  I turned around quickly, said a “Bonne journée à vous” and then sheepishly added a “Désolée” (Sorry).  She gave a forgiving shrug and all was well.  No, this woman is not a mean person, I just forgot to do an everyday thing that she was used to so it seemed rude to her.  From there on I have made sure to say my “hellos” and “goodbyes”.  Furthermore, store hours here are very different from home.  Most places close by 7pm- right in time to be home to help prepare dinner (which usually isn’t til 8 or 9pm) and spend time with family or friends.  Imagine large department stores closing by 7 at home…it just doesn’t happen!  My supermarket closes at 8pm Mon-Fri and 7:30pm on Sat which is considered to be very late by most people here.  As I mentioned before on Sundays everything is closed.  I find it peaceful!  For example, I knew today would be my day to just veg out so I went for a run on the quiet streets and spent most of the day reading my new Harry Potter (in French!) book. (Don’t worry- there will be a post about that later!)

Some things do not change from culture to culture.  For example France is now in the semi finals for the Rugby World Cup.  A group of assistants and I went to an Irish pub playing the quarter final match vs England. (England is a sort of rival for France…similar to New York for us Bay Staters).  Since the matches are being played in New Zealand, the time difference made it so the game was on at 9am France-time.  It was packed and the majority of people were drinking beers.  (I was happy to see day drinking on game days is socially acceptable here!)  However that was where the similarities stopped- there were no team jerseys being worn and alongside the beers people had little coffees.  The bartenders even came around and offered free pastries to everyone.  I couldn’t help but think “Shouldn’t these be $5 jello shots?” and laughed to myself about it. The fans would get just as riled up during intense match moments, but there was a more peaceful atmosphere during the France-England match.  With a good amount of Englishmen (and women!) in the pub I was expecting some fighting or yelling or something but there was nothing!  France won and people started singing the national anthem to briefly celebrate and then simply went about their daily business.  No cars were flipped, no fights broke out….compared to when an American team moves on to the semi finals of something, the Europeans were much more tame.  (Aside- rugby is really bloody, looks extremely difficult, and makes American football look like a baby sport. I cringed a lot during the match…how do the players all not have multiple concussions after every match?! Double aside- I still love American football and hope my Patriots own the Jets tonight.)

Food is a major reminder of how different life is here, but this as this post is more focused on the little differences I'll write about my pizza experience. So, of course, my grocery store offers many different things, café and restaurant menus vary, and even American fast-food chains are different here but, as I was eating a personal pre-made pizza that I bought at the store a little difference popped up! When I grabbed the pizza I read "4 fromages" (4 cheeses) quickly and put it in my basket.  As I bit into it I realized four cheeses here and four cheeses at home are not the same thing.  Sure 2 of the cheeses were mozzarella and parmesan but the other two were roquefort (strong bleu cheese) and goat cheese.  (In retrospect I should have expected the cheeses to be different- I am in country known for it's vast cheese selection) but it was a perfect example of something so simple being so different.  The pizza definitely had a unique taste but it wasn't too bad! (Especially since I'm not roquefort's biggest fan)  It's funny how these differences pop up even when you least expect them!

Sure there are uncomfortable moments (attempting to open doors incorrectly in public, forgetting to say goodbye, not being able to shop on Sundays) but for me it makes the adventure all the more fun.  You really get to learn the ins and outs of a new culture when you do the mundane, everyday activities.  After this experience I will have to enter the so-called “real world” and I am thankful for the everyday differences, the little things, that continue to remind me of how fortunate I am to be here.

Word(s) of the Post: les petites choses -- the little things