Bonjour… Please slow down

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Oh no. This actually is happening. And why on earth did I decide to do this again?

I was sitting in my window seat, watching the clouds float over the French countryside. My heart was racing, and tears were forming in my eyes. I kept thinking, I am so unprepared for this. I literally have no idea what I’m getting into. What if my host family hates me? Or what if they eat escargots every night and their house smells really weird? (Yes, that was a real concern.) 

All the possible minor-to-major concerns one could have were suddenly rushing through my mind. I looked over to my left and saw that the flight attendant was just about to arrive. Trying to act natural (I’m still not sure what that means in France), I pulled off my headphones and waited nervously, scared that I would be discovered to be a non-French person.

 “Bonjour, je vous sers à boire madame?”

 After having to ask him to repeat himself, I somehow was able to answer “Oui, de l’eau s’il vous plaît.” With a polite smile, the flight attendant handed me my water and a “chookie” — a buttery, shortbread-like cookie from the region of Bretagne with little pieces of chocolate inside.

I relaxed back into my seat as he moved on to the next passenger, and felt a little better looking out the window. 

Victory! 

Feeling quite pumped from not having been found out, I pulled my headphones back on and decided to switch from the new ‘Petal’ album from Ariana Grande to a French album my father had downloaded recently, called Gourmandises, by Alizée. The first song on the album, Moi… Lolita, combined with my absolutely massive new achievement, gave me the confidence boost I really needed.

 As the plane landed in Nantes, I woke from my short nap and came back to reality. We got off the plane; I grabbed my luggage in the baggage claim and walked to the exit. After having to recite the program center’s address to the taxi driver about seven times because we both didn’t understand each other, I finally arrived at the IES Abroad Nantes center, where several team members welcomed me and showed me around. 

An important detail about this center and the program is that it is an immersion program, meaning that I was just about to meet my French host family I would be staying with – and that the only allowed language during the entire duration of the program was French. 

My confidence in my language skills from the plane quickly sank into the ground as I met my host dad for the first time. 

In case you don’t know this – I was not quite as aware of this before – the French speak this language – and I wish I were kidding – as if a sentence were an Olympic 100-meter sprint. My host dad was, to my (at this point) unfortunate surprise, a fantastic representation of this linguistic stereotype. 

As he walked me from the center to what would be my new home for the next four months, I tried my very best to understand, at this point, any of the words coming out of his mouth. Completely overwhelmed – as he could definitely tell – I smiled and nodded, occasionally trying to produce some sort of comprehensible sentence myself. 

When we got to the beautiful old apartment, he showed me around and probably explained the house rules and expectations to me (I’m guessing, because it was sincerely all gibberish to me at this point), before directing me to my room. 

After closing the door, I felt the tears starting to form in my eyes again. I lay down on the bed, taking a deep breath and trying not to sob out loud. 

I truly was completely overwhelmed. 

I turned my head toward the classic, tall French windows in my room with the stunningly draped white curtain twisted perfectly around its knob. The sun was shining into my room and onto the blue bed I was lying on. I took a deep breath, and after unsuccessfully trying to escape reality with Snapchat one last time, I accepted it. 

Yes, this was going to be my new life. Yes, it’s crazy. Complètement fou, as the French would say. Yet, in all of my grand discomfort, my tears, and my longing to escape the exact situation I had been so excited to throw myself into, I realised that again this was, indeed, exactly why I was here.

To stretch and be stretched, to grow and to yearn, to cry and to heal, to live and to learn. 

And knowing that, I felt a smudge better about the mascara that had started to run down my face. There’s nothing wrong with a little discomfort and pain — in fact, acknowledging it and giving the tears their well-deserved place in this transition did make me feel a little better. 

Shortly after I had unpacked my suitcases (and wiped my face), I went out to meet my host dad for dinner. He still spoke with the speed of light – but this time, it didn’t make me feel out of place. 

In fact, it made me feel right where I needed to be.

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