La fin d'une époque

Eh, oui, mes amis. C’est une journée de double malheur : non seulement un vendredi 13, mais aussi la fin de validité de ma carte de séjour et donc la fin légale de ma résidence française.

Je sais que je pourrais toujours avoir une nouvelle carte, mais je suis triste de voir la fin de cette série-ci, que j’ai tenue depuis presque 7 ans. Et après tout ce que j’ai fait pour l’avoir, j’en veux toujours énormément à la dame à la Préfecture qui a rejeté ma demande pour une carte de résidente (validité : 10 ans) l’année dernière !

Aujourd’hui, la France me manque.

Can't read this? Either study French harder or copy the text here to get the gist of it. Although I do feel compelled to add that what Babelfish translates literally as "I want some always enormously with" is actually an idiomatic expression for "I'm still very angry at".

TIMM: Bisous

TIMM = Things I'll Miss the Most

There is another thing that I miss about France: the kissing. (No, not that kind of kissing.)

Les bisous or la bise is the kissing-on-the-cheek that the French do as a greeting, as a good-bye, as a thank you, as almost any expression of goodwill or affection between friends and acquaintances. There are lots of little rules about how bisous are done that you learn over time (Isabelle and other French experts can feel free to add or correct):

1. Generally, it's not really a kiss. You just press your cheek briefly against the other person's cheek and perhaps make a vague little kissy noise. Once in a while, you'll come across someone who does actually kiss you on the cheek, but this is usually the French equivalent of your grandma or great aunt pinching your cheek. My friend A and I have a mutual acquaintance who gives a big, wet sloppy bise, and A and I always complain to each other about it.
2. If both people are wearing glasses, at least one of you will have to take them off, otherwise you will inflict and receive injuries to your face (and possibly your fashionable frames). If only one of you is wearing glasses, they can remain on, but the glasses-wearer will need to tip her/his head very carefully, to avoid scratching the other person. The truly considerate always take off their glasses, even if the other person is eyewear-free; I am not that nice and feel that the possibility of scratching the other person is much less important than the hassle to me of removing my glasses.
3. Most people begin with their right cheek to the other person's right cheek. Going in for the wrong side can lead to disaster, or least a sore nose.
4. The number of bisous given (alternating cheeks) varies according to region and social class. Two, three and four kisses are the most common, although in Rennes, Brittany, where I spent a semester abroad in college, a single bise was the norm. There's definitely an element of social hierarchy: two-bising people will usually tell you that giving three or four bises is low-class or for country hicks; four-bising people say that those who only give two bises are stuck-up snobs. Two is most common in Paris, and when in doubt, I generally do two bisous and then pause, pulling back only slightly, so I'm ready if the other person keeps going. You don't want to be the person trying to keep kissing while the other person is pulling away--that's a real faux pas!
5. Women give and receive bisous more than men. Bisous are generally shared between any two women who have an even slightly warm or affectionate relationship (relatives, friends, colleagues, acquaintances), between a woman and a man who are friendly, between two men who are family members or very close friends of long standing, and between an adult and almost any child under 12 or so. Otherwise, the default greeting or good-bye is a handshake. In professional settings, you always shake hands with people on a first introduction and generally continue to do so with colleagues until you've established a "work-friend" sort of relationship. I was often surprised at casual parties at friends' home, because almost everyone I met would immediately give me la bise as soon as we were introduced. Women who don't want to receive a kiss from someone can pre-emptively stick out their hand for a handshake instead.
6. On special occasions, bisous are even more freely given. Every year at Christmas, my building superintendent in Paris, along with his wife and their two children, would all line up in the hallway to give me bises to thank me for the tip I put in their Christmas card (I was never sure if this was normal or a sign that I was tipping too much). And when I was moving back to the U.S. and went to say good-bye to the people at my boulangérie, we all exchanged bisous for the first time.

As a good Minnesota girl who was brought up hugging close friends and family, all this kissing weirded me out at first. It seemed far too personal and intimate. But over time, I came to see bisous a warm and heartfelt way to express affection for the people in my life. And hugging--pressing my body against someone else--that seemed like a weirdly intimate thing to do with relatives and platonic friends!

After six months back in the U.S., I'm used to hugging again, but what I really miss about la bise (or even hand-shaking) in France is the constancy of it. French etiquette requires that you consciously greet and say good-bye to those around you, every time you see them, and every time you leave them. Families generally exchange bisous every morning when then get up and every evening before they go to bed. Friends give la bise every time they get together. Colleagues make the rounds of each others' offices to shake hands or kiss or at the very least formally say hello when they get to work every day. Not to do so would seem cold and rude.

You know that reputation that the French have for being cold and rude? Part of it may stem from the fact that the French see Americans as being rude, every time they enter or exit a shop without greeting the people there. That's right: in France, it's considered polite to say "Bonjour mesdames, bonjour messieurs" whenever you enter a store or a public room and "Au revoir" when you leave. I once heard a crotchety old lady on a French bus complain at great length about the rudeness of kids today after a group of teenagers got off the bus without thanking the driver and saying good-bye to the other passengers!

And the thing is . . . taking a second to acknowledge other people is nice. It makes me sad that when I reflexively say "Hello" or "Thank you, good-bye" to the cashier at a restaurant in the U.S., I often get a strange look. And it makes me sad that I'm starting to lose that lovely French reflex. I miss the unquestioned certainty that each and every time I greet or say good-bye to a friend, there will be a physical acknowledgement of our friendship and affection for each other, whether the acknowledgement be a kiss or a hug or a handshake.

I miss les bisous.

Six Months Out

So, it's 2009 now, happy new year, blah, blah, blah. The more important event that some of you may have overlooked this week was on Tuesday, December 30, 2008, the six month anniversary of my departure from France.

People these days are fond of asking if I miss living in France, and I have to fumble around to find an appropriate response, usually saying something vague like, "Oh, sure . . . but you know, I mostly feel like I'm still just getting settled in here, so I haven't had time to miss it too much yet." This is mostly prevarication, my feeble attempt to hide the dark, awful truth lurking in the depths of my soul:

I don't miss France as much as I thought I would.

Or perhaps I just don't miss France as much as I think I should.

Or perhaps missing France doesn't look and feel like what I thought it would look and feel like.

In any case, my missing of France is too far complicated and sensitive to discuss with strangers in small talk. So instead, I'll post it here on the internet.

Any good living-abroad book will tell you that cultural repatriation is often far more difficult than expatriation. With expatriation, despite its many challenges, you at least have the excitement of new discoveries, and you're surrounded by people who know that you're different and will (usually) tolerate at least some of those differences. Returning "home", you're often faced with being re-immersed in the same-old, same-old and are surrounded by people who expect you to be just like them, and just like you used to be, without really caring or wanting to hear about the ways that you've been Changed by your experiences abroad. Shortly after returning from my semester abroad in France in 1990, I remember sitting talking to a dear college friend, sobbing and telling him, "I just feel like I'll never be happy again, living in America!"

So I was fully expecting to be abjectly miserable upon moving back this time, and I'm really rather discombobulated that that hasn't happened. Yet. (A girl can keep hoping!)

My theories on why I haven't been missing France that much? Well, this is the first time I've moved to a place where I already know a lot of people, many of whom are among my oldest and dearest friends, so I've had less social downtime to sit and pine for Paris than might otherwise have been the case.

It's also true that I still don't feel at all settled here. Moving to a new city while almost simultaneously starting a new, work-from-home, part-time job means that I still feel like I'm waiting to get back to "real" work. So far, I am working enough and billing enough hours to make ends meet, but it hasn't really sunk in that I'm not on vacation and probably need to establish more a of real routine in my life. The huge towers of book boxes remain steadfastly unpacked in my office (I've sworn an oath to unpack by Monday, which is good news for you, since when given the choice of unpacking or blogging, you can see what I choose!), and I still have no couch around which to organize my living room (in my own defense, I'll point out that after weeks of couch-shopping this summer, I ordered the stupid thing back in August (!!), but the furniture store which shall go unnamed, although it rhymes with Freight and Peril, is finally supposed to deliver it next Tuesday. That's January 6. Four and a half MONTHS after I ordered it, not that I'm counting.)

And I was profoundly grateful not to be living in France while my dad was in the hospital this fall.

So I guess there are a number of reasons for me not to miss France so much, just yet. It's also possible that my missing of France is manifesting itself in more subtle ways than flashy, abject misery. For example, it's possible that my unpacking procrastination is indicative of a deep-seated, pathological desire not to admit that I'm actually living in Minnesota, and that I'm clinging to my boxes as proof that I'm ready to return to Paris at a moment's notice. But no need to give any more fodder to my more therapy-minded readers.

However, I do miss France some. And some things in France more than others. At the head of the list of What I Miss Most in France is my friends there. While I lived in France, Thanksgiving was the one and only day each year that I knew I would be fiercely homesick for the U.S. and my family. So I was very surprised that this year on Thanksgiving (the first I'd spent with my family since 1993!), I was fiercely homesick for my group of ex-pat friends in Paris. I missed the sense of coming together with my fellow country people, with our tales of triumph in finding rare and exorbitantly expensive turkey and pumpkin, for our national feast which we would generously share with the untamed natives (who were always stunned to learned that pumpkin can be made into something other than soup!). I miss the stories of hardship and heartache as we struggle with renewing our residency permits on either side of the ocean. I miss the bizarre French-English franglais mixture we all speak without even realizing it. I miss hanging out with these people I love.

The other things I miss about France were brought sharply to mind and heart during the week before Christmas, when I was in North Africa for a work trip and had access to some of those tantalizing tidbits of France which are so readily available in its former colonies. The first night there, we had a working dinner at a colleague's house, and someone picked up bread and pastries from chez Paul. Yes, the best chain bakery in France has a franchise in North Africa, and my soul was singing with the first bite of baguette de tradition--not to be confused with the pathetic "baguette traditionale" sold at Lunds in the Cities ("traditionale"?! not a word in English, not a word in French)! The chocolate macaroons were nice, too. Later, I turned on the TV in my hotel room, and my heart was made glad again: not only were the stars of NCIS and Les Experts--Miami, New York ou autre--speaking French once again, just as God intended them to*, but the French commercials were also tugging at my heartstrings! I got misty-eyed when I saw the Christmas station-identifier ad for TF1 and was inordinately pleased to watch the holiday commercial in the Bouygues ad series "Le répertoire de Mathieu".

So maybe if I feel like I haven't been missing France, it's just a case of out of sight, out of (the forefront of my) mind. But six months out of France, it's definitely not out of my heart.


*One very disconcerting part of my return to the U.S. has been trying to get used to the American (aka "real") voices on some of my favorite shows, like NCIS and the various CSIs. I started watching these shows when I lived in France, and I've found that I have a very different perception of (and less liking for) several of the characters, because of the accents they have when they speak English. For example, several of the characters on CSI: Manhattan have a strong Brooklyn accent, which automatically (to me, at least) signals "swaggering blue-collar tough guy", an image that I did not have of that character in French. Very weird.

TIMM: France Friends

TIMM = Things I'll Miss the Most, or in this case, what I'll miss most of all.

A and me, glamour incarnate on the Champs-Elysées. I met A and her then-fiancé P when we joined the American Church in Paris in 2002. A is my best friend here, so she's at the very top of the list of what I'll miss the very most.

EJ's fabulous 40th birthday cake at the Parc des Buttes Chaumont. EJ went to high school with my best friend in DC, and he and his wife Isabelle took me under their wings shortly after I arrived in Paris. How not to love a chef who makes birthday cakes with 2 kg of chocolate and 3 kg of butter?!

K and S and me: Three Americans who came to Paris in 2002, working for nGo, now on three different but incredible paths in the jungle of international development.

Friends from the Office, outside our favorite "greasy spoon" diner. In Paris, "greasy spoon" diners serve amazing salads with foie gras.

"I" in her cute new apartment. Don't tell her you saw this--I promised I wouldn't post it! (Sometimes, I lie.) She and I met through our professional Helping People connections, and then she joined G's book club (see below), and now she works at nGo. Small world!

YESTERDAY'S PARTY

P and A had a very cute theme of "Where She's From/Where She Will Be From" for my going-away party yesterday, complete with a half-French (bottom of this pic) and half-American (top of the pic) buffet table!

Me, J, M, and Isabelle



Hosts A and P and their boys (with Baby J sporting a "J'ai un super papa" t-shirt for Father's Day).



I met M during my very first week in Paris at a "Bloom Where You Work" seminar, about how to survive as Americans in the French workplace, and our friendship blossomed right away.



Me with B and G and their babies. G and I met through a mutual friend, and I joined her book club, and then she met my friend EJ through a different friend. . . . It's quite a tangled web I leave behind in Paris!

They're all talking about following up my going-away party with a "went-away" party, which I'm really hoping isn't actually a "thank God she's gone!" party.

As Isabelle wrote today, I'm leaving Paris la mort dans l'âme ("death in the soul"), a French expression which I love because I think it's a perfect image for what it means: something heart-breaking, that it kills you to do.

It is truly a magical thing to have two countries where your heart is at home, but the downside is that no matter where you are, you always feel like you've left a chunk of your heart somewhere else. I'm going to leave the French chunk of my heart in the safe-keeping of some very wonderful friends, whom I will miss very much.

TIMM: My Sunday Morning Commute

TIMM = Things I'll Miss the Most

We Parisians have a saying about the boring routine of our lives: "Métro, boulot, dodo" (subway, work, sleep). Like anywhere in the world, it's easy to get stuck in the rut of the daily grind and become immune to the amazing beauty of the city where we live.

It takes me 45 minutes to an hour to get to church by métro, and I admit that there are many Sundays when three hours (for the round trip plus the service) just seems like too much for church, so I stay home and sleep in and eat fresh croissants instead. But when I do manage to go, there's always one moment in my commute which makes it all seem worthwhile. Because when I come out of the métro at Alma-Marceau, this is what I see:


I never get tired of it, because every time I see it, I'm reminded how lucky I am: I see the Eiffel Tower on my way to church on Sunday morning. How cool is that?

Ready for Syndication

Well, not really. There is some option about syndication in the blog settings, but since (unlike the comment page configuration :-)) I had no idea what it meant, I just left it on whatever the default setting was.

I have, however, been toying with different themes that I may (or may not) use on Native Observation, so I thought I'd give you a little preview of topic threads that may come up, along with their oh-so-clever abbreviations and acronyms:

• BNT. I confess: "Native Observation" was not actually my first choice for the title of this blog (but just because my baby was unplanned doesn't mean I love it any less!). For better or worse, many of my early ideas were already taken, in some cases by bloggers who, at least at first glance, do not seem Worthy of using my brilliantly conceived URLs. Because I think it's interesting to consider the road not taken (or in this case, the Blog Not Titled), I may tell you about the other titles we might have had. I suppose this theme could also offer the opportunity for guest bloggers who had their own title suggestions to tell us about them, but it's hard to imagine when I might be ready to relinquish that kind of artistic control. I can be a bit Particular at times.
• HYS. Life in a foreign country offers many opportunities for linguistic glitches, and I will be sharing anecdotes of words and thoughts lost in translation, and all the times I have to ask How You Say?
• MPAS. I have strong opinions on many, many things, and this blog is the ideal forum for sharing them. But sometimes, I may have to warn you that My Politics Are Showing (the correct pronunciation of this blog theme is to be "im-pass").
• TIMM. The question I hear most often when I tell people I'm moving away is, "What are you going to miss about France?" It occurs to me that telling about the Things I'll Miss the Most could be a nice way of sharing some of the loveliness of my adopted home.

OK, this is clearly far too cheesy for syndication, but now that the concept is all spelled out in pixels, I guess I'll stick with it.

UPDATE: One more blog theme I'd thought of but forgot to list: OBG (don't worry, Scott, I'm not going to have an entire topic thread dedicated to gynecological issues!). Way back when, in the dark ages before I started this blog, I sometimes sent out mass e-mails with stories about life in France to selected friends. I may recycle some of these Oldies But Goodies for use on this blog. Partly because, in my far-from-humble opinion, some of the messages were funny and deserve a broader audience, and partly because I'm lazy but can claim that reusing old material makes me Green.