'Murica

Aside from a couple quick jaunts to Canada that don't really count, my interest in the world abroad really started when I took some summer classes at the University of Salamanca in Spain when I was 16. A teacher at my school told me I would probably be pretty good at it so I went and I have been itching to travel ever since.

When I got back after my first trip to Spain, I had a hard time readjusting to my life in the States. I had obnoxiously started referring to my country as "The States," for one. Even though I was only there for five weeks, I felt like I had grown so much in this place that was so unlike my home and no one could relate. My family is a bunch of homebodies. None of my friends had ever been abroad. No one seemed to get me. Of course a lot of this has a lot to do with the fact that I was an angsty 16 year old girl who was having identity issues anyway, but my first homecoming was not a pleasant one. Neither was my return from Seville four years later after my semester abroad. I went from being a globe-trotting college kid, in a new European city every other weekend, to dead-broke, jobless bum on my parents' couch in rural Western New York. Not exactly a happy time in my life.

You can understand, then, why I was nervous to go home at the beginning of August. It had been eight months since the last time I was in the US, the longest amount of time I had ever been away from home. Obviously, I was excited to see my family but I was also I was terrified I was going to have another one of my reverse-culture shock moments and just be that horrible In-France-things-are-so-much-better snob that I could easily see myself becoming.

My trajectory was a bit jacked up from the get go and I knew I was in for some stress first thing in the morning. My original ticket was the second half of the Baltimore to Paris round-trip flight my mom got me for Christmas. (We all remember the difficulties I had on the outbound trip). I had already changed the return date (for $250) and purchased a flight from Bordeaux to Paris (for 50€) and from Baltimore to Rochester (for $100). Why I thought I could get off a plane at Orly at 9:00, gather my checked luggage, take a bus across town, and be on a flight at Charles de Gaulle by 11:15, I will never know. I was shitting myself with anxiety, waiting for this bus that was supposed to be an hour-long trip. I was sure I was going to miss my flight. Lucky for me, though, the bus was only 25 minutes and even after I got off at the wrong terminal, I still had plenty of time.

Like, four extra hours.

By the time I made it to the counter to check in, my service agent looked as though he had had a rough morning. Any time a major international flight is delayed like that, people are going to lose it. In my nicest French, I asked if he thought it was possible to make my connection in Philly. He gave me the classic French shrug and said they would help me figure it out once I landed in the US. I'm not going to be the millionth person to get in this man's face at 11am so I just shrugged right back and went to use my meal voucher.

Once we got to Philly, I had missed my connection by a measly 15 minutes. I fly pretty often and this was the first time I had ever had an issue this major so I figured I was due for it. I went to the counter to figure out some options and they had a lot of nothing for me. I could get on the 9:20pm flight to Baltimore but there wasn't another flight from Baltimore to Rochester until 9:00 the next morning and the difference in fare was $120. Nope. I could buy a ticket from Philly to Rochester for 9:50pm but that was going to be $430. Nope again. I was already exhausted from traveling and didn't have the energy to think. I called my mom in distress, who then got on the phone with the airline and fussed at enough people to get me on that flight to Rochester for free. My mom gets it DONE.

My initial thoughts upon arriving back in the US were, in this order:

1) Everything is HUGE. Big buildings, big roads, big cars, and sadly, big people. Seriously. Obesity is a problem in America. I know we all keep saying that but when you're used to living in a place like France where most people are pretty slim, it's really jarring. Yeah yeah yeah, every body is a beautiful body but when your body is bad for your health, on either end of the spectrum, maybe you should think about changing your habits.

2) Everything is LOUD. Why is everyone yelling? French people don't talk that loud. My ears were bleeding the second I stepped off the plane and the airport staff were shouting at each other across the hall. Walk over there and talk to her in a normal tone of voice. Goodness.

3) Everything is so FAST. You gotta get there and get it done like right now! NOW! People walk quickly, they talk quickly, they eat quickly and then turn around and wonder why they're tired all the time. We had lunch at a restaurant. We ordered, ate, they gave us our check and we were in and out in less than an hour. Any meal out is a two hour minimum ordeal in France.

4) This food is DELICIOUS but makes me SICK. I was nervous that I would become a huge food snob because we're so spoiled living in Bordeaux but I was not disappointed at all with the food I ate back home. The only problem is that after every single meal, I felt uncomfortably full and a pretty urgent desire to poop. Do all the preservatives and hormones and pesticides serve as laxatives as well? Yikes. I think the fullness factor also has to do with the ridiculously large portions (see #1) and how quickly you're expected to eat it (see #3). Your stomach doesn't have time to let your brain know that you're full so you just keep eating everything that's in front of you until they take it away and then you realize you just inhaled your body weight in breadsticks for no reason at all.

5) People are so FRIENDLY. The moment I entered Philadelphia International Airport, there were about a million chatty US citizens trying to get chummy with me in the passport control line. "Bummer about that delay, huh?" My French shrug doesn't quite carry the same weight here. "So where are you coming from?" Why is it so hard to say Bordeaux without sounding pretentious? "I hear it's really nice there but French people are so rude!"And I'm not sure how to respond to this because while I haven't experienced a ton of blatant douchebaggery from the French, they certainly are not the type to strike up a random conversation with a stranger while waiting to clear customs.

Perhaps it's the fact that they have to scrounge for tips just to make something close to minimum wage, but people in the food service industry were particularly aggressive in their friendliness. It was hard not to be cynical about it ("You don't really care how my day is going") after eight months of the if-you-need-something-you-can-come-find-me service in France, but I do appreciate the sense of camaraderie that is palpable in the US. Whether you like it or not, you're going to feel a little bit closer to the people around you when you have to actually interact with them.

6) COMFORT takes precedence of everything else. There's AC in almost every building and it's set at Arctic. You don't have to walk anywhere because you have a giant car to drive on a giant road and there will be ample parking at your destination. You would never think of buying a washing machine without an accompanying dryer because how else would your clothes get dry? Forget about the energy crisis or global climate change. Service workers break their necks to make sure you have everything you need at every moment because it would kill you to wait an extra minute for your decaf non-fat soy latte. (See also #3.) We buy instant meals made from processed "foods" because having to prepare a dish on your own takes away much needed time from watching TV or dicking around on the Internet. All of these things are signs of wealth and prosperity, which should be a good thing, but instead I feel like it has made a lot of people impatient and spoiled.

7) Everyone works so MUCH. When I explained to my family that Jason has 6 weeks mandatory paid vacation on top of the normal government holidays, they thought I was kidding. "I don't know what I would even do with all that time!"I don't know... Go on vacation and see your friends/family you have been promising to see for years. Read a book. Get in shape. Work on that project you started and never finished. Take a break from your hectic job and enjoy your life! Just because you work 50 hours a week for 50 weeks of the year doesn't mean you're more productive. In fact, it's usually the opposite. But we feel guilty for taking time off because everyone around us is working so much and if I'm not working, I must be a slacker. Am I suggesting that we take off from work for the entire month of August like France? No, but I do think we need to take more time for ourselves. You are not just your job.

8) Everyone is so PROUD. American's are known for loving our country and while I was once a bit embarrassed by our over-zealous patriotism, after spending some time in France, I actually kind of appreciate it. On Bastille Day, France's national holiday, I didn't hear the Marseillaise even one time. NOT ONCE. There were a few extra flags here and there, but mostly on government buildings, and I am certain no one rocked a bleu blanc rouge tie to work. The fireworks display was decent but there wasn't even any music with it. This may have been due to technical problems, but had it been in the US, the whole crowd would have stood up and burst into an a cappella version of God Bless America, complete with three part harmony. Followed immediately, of course, by a tearful rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner and at least one accidental gunshot wound. A small price to pay for any true patriot.

So, I didn't have a mental breakdown, I don't think I offended anyone with my stories of my time in France, and best of all, I think I might even love America a little bit more. Sometimes I feel a bit like this guy, but at the end of the day, I'm still proud to be an American and I am happy to have the opportunity to represent my country abroad. You're crazy, 'Murica, but I love you anyway.