Sorry for the EXTREME Australian-isms today, but I’m feeling very homesick (it doesnt happen often) and having another round of culture shock (yes, it is still possible to suffer from culture shock a year and a half after arriving).
I was so pathetic this morning that I texted my sister in law and asked her to send me a quick film from her iphone of my little niece, even if it was just 20 seconds of her asleep in her cot.
God, I’m such a sooky-baby-with-a-dummy-spit-out today.
So, what was the trigger?
Well, 2 things.
One was the dinner we went to last night.
All of M’s work colleagues have been trying for ages to get them plus partners all together socially, but there’s always someone who cant come. Last night was the first time that EVERYONE could be there. I was so excited that M was going to spend some time with mates, and I could meet all the partners (I already know his colleagues, so this would just deepen my knowledge and the connections – and maybe I’d make a new friend or 2).
So we arrive early, and it’s summer, it’s hot, we’re in a bistrot and damn if I dont need (want?) a rasberry mojito from their blackboard menu to quench my thirst while we’re waiting for everyone to arrive. Then M reminds me: it’s considered rude in France to start eating/drinking before everyone arrives. NOOOOOO! I wailed and pouted and said “But I’ll die of thiiiiiiirst!”.
OK, disaster averted when the waitress asked us if we’d like a drink while waiting and M said “yes”, but, argh, when you grow up in a culture where it’s just natural to grab a drink while you’re waiting and relax into the evening, having to put the brakes on, in summer especially, it just seems kinda painful.
Then everyone starts to arrive, about 10 of us in total. The boys all chat, laugh, smoke, drink heartily and generally relax and enjoy themselves. I make a suggestion to put all the colleagues together and all the partners together and then realise this means separating into a group of boys and a group of girls. This, I am NOT a fan of, and thankfully, no one else is either.
But I’m sitting right at the end of a long rectangular table. And when the female partners get bored of listening to yet another work story, they yell down to me to ask things and start a conversation (which is lovely and very inclusive). Except, with all the noise, I cant hear them very well, so cant understand very well, and they cant hear what I’m saying either which is even further distorted by my Aussie accent. We all seem to just give up a little, because it’s just too hard. Conversation comes to a halt. And I’m back in my little isolated corner again.
Then the boys start telling stories we are actually interested in, and the whole table is listening, but they’re speaking so quickly and in slang, and mumbling, I barely even work out what the topic is. I lean over to M a few times to ask for an explanation, but this pulls him away from the group vibe, so I just stop asking and sit there not understanding.
Even when I did have conversations, ok, they were alright, but there was always this invisible wall that came up. I tried my best to be “me”, while still being within acceptable “French” boundaries for dinner-table conversation. I dont know, just when I thought I was making inroads, SHAZAM! and I’d get the wall again. Sometimes this manifested itself in the person physically turning away from me mid-sentence, or before the natural conclusion of the conversation. Yes, I talked to the back of quite a few heads.
One of M’s colleagues insists on lighting the girls cigarettes for them, even though the girls already have a lighter in their hand….yes, it’s gallant, but when he has to lean all the way up the other end of the table to do it? Slightly impractical, non?
Time to pay – I pull out my wallet and M gives me the “put. your. wallet. away.” look. Yep, that’s right, it’s only the men who pay. (And yes, in very posh restaurants in France, the waiters do still give the menu with the prices to the “men” of the table, while the women get just the menu with the dishes, no price.) Yes, yes, it’s gallant, blah blah blah, but all the girls at the table were working women (well, except me, but then I’ve got my own finances to rely on). Sigh. I put my wallet away….
Then we were all leaving, and after we kiss on both cheeks with each person, one might say “oh, it was lovely to meet you, I hope that we’ll see you again soon?”, to which I reply “yes lovely to meet you too! and of course we will see you again because….” but at this point, the person has moved on to give kisses to the next person and isnt listening to a word I’m saying. New cultural lesson: saying goodbye isnt an opportunity to talk more, it’s just for saying goodbye. Anything else you wanted to say should have been said before, or should be left for another time. Yes, it took me 3 “goodbyes” where I ended up talking to myself before I realised what was happening.
How could I have forgotten that in Paris, one must remember that one is just a very elegant chair? (see my first few posts). Does anyone talk to a chair? No. Does anyone expect to have a conversation with a chair? No. You just sit elegantly, listen, and expect nothing.
As we were walking back to the metro, M asked me if I had a good night…..and I explained that yes, I did, but it’s just still so hard for me to fit in, even though I try really hard. He gave me a big hug and said that he knows its hard for me, but that I’m doing well, and that he will always be there for me, regardless. Yes, his support encourages me to keep going, but geez, it’s bloody tough.
And then the second trigger is that M’s family is coming down from Dunkerque tonight and we’ll all be eating dinner together at his aunt and uncle’s place around the corner.
I love his family, but when they’re all together, they all speak a million miles and hour, tell jokes that I dont understand (sometimes at my expense, which is actually a way of saying they like me), and I, almost always, get left behind in the conversation. And again, yes, hello, that’s me, the mute foreigner in the corner, smiling like an idiot and hoping that I’ll understand something soon.
And I’m still not really family. Yes, they’re accepting and welcoming, but I dont have the shared history and connection. Which I understand is normal when you’re just starting to get to know the in-laws, but when there’s a language barrier in there as well, it just takes twice as long to make those connections.
Maybe I’ll have a little nap before we leave for dinner, so that my concentration powers will be at super-maximum-strength?
Maybe I’ll just play Foreign Mute Girl again.
Anyway, as I was writing my other post today about health insurance (ooh! exciting!), I started thinking about the overall experience since I arrived.
When I left Australia, I dont think I thought that all this uncertainty, the frustration, the surprises, would be so much fun.
And I really mean that. This adventure has been, and continues to be fun.
And it stays fun – as long as I keep it all in perspective.
I always wanted to be a “child of the world”, to live and work in various countries, to fully experience different cultures so that I could be more enlightened and aware and less narrow-minded.
These experiences, these hurts, culture clashes, homesickness – it’s all bending me and moulding me into the person I wanted/want to be.
It’s making me more compassionate.
It’s making me think outside my narrow understanding of “society” and “community”.
It’s making me think more about what our commonalities are, and what it means to be humain.
This is one, long, interesting game. The objective of the game is to understand as best as I possibly can, and that’s something that cant be done over the course of one dinner.