I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to settle in France. One friend recently commented that many people who make cross-cultural moves hit a wall at the 6-10 month mark. Other friends said that it can take a full 7 years to feel like you belong in a new country. In today’s blog, I look at the cross-cultural cycle of adjustment. I also share an empowering moment of clarity, list some of the things that brought me joy this week and celebrate International Women’s Day with a song.
Cross-cultural adjustment
It’s been just over 7 months since I moved here and, recently, I had begun to wonder why I was having trouble picturing myself permanently in France. I thought it might help to look at the cycle of adjustment.
There seem to be a few versions of the phases that immigrants go through when they move. Most sources suggest four phases: preparation, honeymoon, culture shock and adjustment.
Preparation: Research, planning, dreaming – almost everything about it was right up my alley. I started well in advance and took my time.
Honeymoon: According to the various sources I’ve read, the honeymoon phase lasts only a few weeks. It’s marked by excitement and euphoria as you explore your new surroundings.
Culture Shock: This is when loneliness and discomfort begins to set in and you realize the practices that at first seemed quaint are now part of your daily life.
Adaptation: By the adaptation phase, you are through the hard part. You’ve found routines and made friends.
I loved the Preparation phase which was a balance of hard work and dreaming. The Honeymoon phase lasted much longer than just a few weeks and, although the lines are blurred, I think I’m now well into the fourth phase, Adaptation.
The third phase, Culture Shock, has been subtle. I already knew that administration in France could be a source of frustration. I was, and still am, not bothered by the pace with which things are done. Or not done. I knew I would hit roadblocks until my language skills improved and have come to enjoy the challenge. Food – well, it’s hard to see French food as a culture shock, although I wasn’t sure if my friends were putting me on this week when they talked about eating pigeon. As it turns out, it is a delicacy, but they weren’t talking about grabbing one from the balcony which is what I pictured.
Here are some of the practices that have been harder to adjust to:
Formality. I initially found the formality here comforting, then frustrating as I made mistakes. I’m still floundering a bit. I want to be seen as respectful so I continue to default to the formal ‘vous’ instead of the informal ‘tu’ for ‘you’. But there are rules I don’t always get and I’m probably more formal than I should be.
La bise. This is the greeting kiss on the cheek. In Pézenas, it’s done three times. That was a good rule to know right from the start, but I’m very inconsistent with when I use it. Some of my French friends – the women – simply grab my shoulders and go for it. Most men shake hands with me, which I like. I’ve noticed that some of my friends kiss every time they see each other and others don’t at all. For the most part, I’m happy to let others take the lead on this and am just happy that I’ve stopped instinctively saying ‘muah’ every time.
The use of cheques. I’m still a little surprised by the use of cheques here. You can pay your groceries by cheque and use one as a ‘justification’ or proof of address. I would like to subscribe to a local journal but can only do so by mailing in a cheque. And you often need one to join organizations. It’s been over 20 years since I’ve had a chequebook – this is one cultural shift I’m holding out on.
These are pretty minor examples. There are other cultural adjustments but I can’t really point to anything overwhelming which, I think, means that I’m adjusting well.
Clarity
Just as I was wondering if I would ever feel completely settled here, I had a moment of clarity this week.
Tuesday was Mardi Gras which marked the end of the month-long Carnaval. I started hearing about Pézenas’ version of Mardi Gras weeks ago and most of what I heard were warnings. ‘Stay inside because it’s mayhem.’ ‘At the very least, wear old clothes because people throw food.’ Etc. In fact, almost all businesses closed at noon on Tuesday and things that could be thrown or set on fire, like patio chairs and garbage bins, were removed from the streets.
Due to my busy month of moving, I missed most of the Carnaval activities but I decided I wanted to venture out to watch at least one of the two Mardi Gras parades. I ended up going out too early and was waiting around for festivities to begin when I realized I just didn’t feel like being there. I was suddenly very tired and wanted to go home.
If I was travelling, I would have pushed myself. I would have kept walking or looked for a patio to sit on while I waited. I would have done whatever I needed to do to not miss out. But I was struck by the thought that I wasn’t travelling – I was home. I could skip this year’s parade because it would happen again next year, as it has since medieval times.
So I went home. It sounds like such a simple choice but it was both clarifying and empowering. It was an internal shift that I’d been looking for. There will be others, but this felt momentous.
There’s one more phase of adjustment that’s sometimes discussed. Re-entry. This is when you decide to move back to your country of origin. This one unnerves me a bit.
I knew when I moved that, even if I was only away for a year, things would be different if I moved back to Toronto. There would be external changes – new neighbours, new shops and restaurants, a new Toronto skyline – and there would be internal changes. These grow stronger the longer I am here.
Anything can happen, of course, but adjusting to a new life is difficult and gets harder as you age. I’m well aware that the longer I live here, the less likely it is that I will move back to Canada. It’s a strange feeling and one I will continue to digest. But it also means that I can feel free to turn my mind to settling here.
I just reread this part of the blog for the umpteenth time. I think it makes more sense in my head than I’m conveying but there you go. What it comes down to is that I’m sometimes conflicted but quite happy. 😊
Joy Is
Joy was the video call with loved ones which provided all the familiarity, laughter and comfort I longed for. Joy is sharing a meal with new friends. Joy is sitting at a table with French friends who are all talking over each other and realizing that I understand much of what they are saying. And joy is getting many of their jokes without needing explanation.
Joy is lifting my head up and realizing … I live in France!
Song of the week
In honour of International Women’s Day, I spent some time running down the list of women in my life that I’m grateful for. There are so very many.
Here is Banshee Moan by Shannon McNally.
Let their names be known.
À bientôt .
So enjoyed this week’s blog, Sue. You have adjusted easier than most of us who are older and find change difficult. I’m so impressed with your tenacity in adapting to life in France.
Pat Lyseng
Thanks, Pat.
Absolutely adore this week’s post, nearly snorted coffee out of my nose at the balcony pigeon.
When my family moved to Israel, we went through exactly the same phases, very challenging. Language was the worst. But then, one morning, woke up and, gasp, had actually dreamt in Hebrew. Miracle!
Thank you for sharing.
Muah!
Lisa B.
Love it. Thanks, Lisa!
Sue,
Thank you for such a thoughtful blog. I LOVE the way you’ve transitioned and shared your journey…JOY in the Journey. The song is PERFECT…Blessings, Marianne
Thanks, Marianne.
Love your blog. So many interesting revelations that you share. I wish I cojld drop in for dinner with you one night…..oh wait, maybe one day I can! xxx (three kisses 😘 )