Somehow, I have been living in France for over a month. It is weird to even say much less comprehend. Perhaps the best way to cope is with a reflection post, summing some of the things I fell in love with this last month as well as some of the the things that gave me some reason for pause. This is in no way a list of the best or worst things I have come across, but these things have certainly made their mark on my experience here.

Favorite Things:

Moutarde: I remember vividly the day I rediscovered mustard my first week in France. I had mindlessly ordered mustard as my sauce for my first kebab at a kebab shop (the small and family-run French version of a fast food joint with sandwiches and burgers). The kebab, although good, was familiar to me as something I could probably manage to find in the States. The mustard, on the other hand, was a whole new world. Apparently when you order mustard here, it is Dijon, and much stronger and spicier than any I have ever had in the States. Upon a recommendation from a Frenchman, I bought the brand Maille to keep in my dorm mini-fridge. I am not sure I should again. Perhaps it is because I have been depraved of all other types of spice here, but it is always so delicious that I tend to overdo it and end up with a wasabi-like nose fire. Once, when I put too much on my chicken, I broke down into choking tears while on Skype my mom. Eh, who am I kidding, I will probably buy it again.

Scarves and baguettes: I always thought the image of Frenchmen as always wearing scarves and carrying baguettes to be more cartoonish than anything else. I never would have imagined how laughably true that stereotype is. Literally, everyone wears scarves – from little children to old men. It is to the point where scarves are so prevalent and seem so important that I do not leave the house without a scarf for fear of automatically sticking out. And the baguettes. I never would have imagined how casually Frenchmen can pull off constantly carrying around baguettes. It is so common that sometimes I wonder if Frenchmen do not know how to leave their homes without picking one up.

Bonjour: People may not say hi on the street as often as people in America, but if you walk into their store or shop they sing-song Bonjour. Knowing that such a charming welcome rests inside of boulangeries makes the task of ignoring their breads’ aromas and pastry displays near impossible.

Honorable Mentions:

Razor scooters are back! I have seen quite a few schoolboys, aged primary school to college, whirring by on their razors, their scarves dancing in the wind.

Galettes and Crêpes: Street food is always a good idea. Here in France, I am especially in love with how cheap and easily I can get a egg, mushroom, and champignon galette and then follow it up with a banana and nutella crêpe.

Old, colored doors: Beautifully ornate and colored doors are everywhere around this town. I want so very badly to be able to regularly go through one.

Not my favorite:

French fashion: My mom, born-and-raised in Southern California, always used to comment on how terribly the people of Oregon dress. It is one of those things I always heard her say but never really understood until I came into contact with the complete opposite in France. With peacoats, scarves, hats (real ones, not baseball caps), heels, boots, leather shoes, satchels, turtlenecks, sweaters, and a million other fashionable items outside my reach, French people are always looking good. Even if it is snowing outside, you can find girls in cute leather jackets and heels. It is ridiculous and terribly exhausting for my Northwest self who just wants to bundle up in whatever is warmest when it is cold outside. I have been dutifully wearing scarves and pea coats everyday but I often find myself yearning for my high school glory days where I lived in an oversized down vest because I liked having a warm, snuggly center.

Bathrooms with a charge: Whenever I have to pay for the bathroom — as much as 3 euros sometimes — all I want to do is invoke freedom rhetoric in the overused way Americans seem to do sometimes: we are not free until we all can pee for free! 

Near-death pedestrian experiences: With a concentrated downtown and a decent public transportation system, Angers is a walking city. With 25 minutes between me and school, I am always walking and most of the time it is lovely – lots of window shopping and people watching on cobblestone streets and old alleys. But, I do have to cross some traffic. Moreover, I have to battle against the will of French drivers who regard pedestrian personal space very differently from Americans. Apparently, it is perfectly okay to pretend you are going to hit me by not slowing down at all or getting as close as you can to the crosswalk where I am walking. Just thinking about how many times I thought I was going to get hit and did not makes me want to open up a bottle of wine.

Yet, I am alive, well, and still feeling incredibly lucky to be here. I am excited for all that I might learn in the next four months – hopefully some more French.