Having been home for two weeks now, I’m surprised by how easily I fit back into my old routine. I expected the lack of my French lifestyle to hit me like a sack of bricks, leaving me in a state of disappointment regarding American food and a number of our over-blown customs. But I didn’t. I’m back to watching TV with my mother, driving around Brevard County like it was riding a bike, and eating terrible, awful cheese. I really hate America’s excuse for cheeses.
Just because I’m so easy to get back to my old lifestyle, however, doesn’t mean I don’t miss France. I miss the accessibility walking around Aix gave me: the ability to walk to any place of food or shop that I wanted within the span of roughly thirty minutes. I miss the chalets along the Cours Mirabeau and the churro lady who would give my roommate and I more churros than we asked for. I miss the corner cafe where I could watch people preparing for weddings at the courthouse of Hotel de Ville. I miss pain au chocolat.
I don’t miss the French post office.
I’m still deciphering how I’ve changed as a person because of my travels. I know I’m more independent, more capable, and more willing to find a way to be kind to myself. Am I completely different? I can’t say. I suppose only time will tell.
No matter how much or how little I’ve changed, though, I would never trade this experience for anything.