Welcome Home, and Cheesy Fries

So I thought I was feeling nostalgic Saturday on my last walk through le Marais, baguette in hand and another in the other, enjoying the slow paced, boutiquey quaintness/richness/gayness of my favorite neighborhood in Paris. But ever since I stepped off the plane at O’Hare, the real sensation of “OMG I’m not in France anymore” has definitely hit. Multiple times. Like a cannonball. Or wrecking ball, as Miley Cyrus is on the radio here. Holey Moley I’m back.

Can I get some cheesy fries with that?

Suburban America is… BIG. Big portions. Big driving lanes. Big… people. Walking around in Europe I mostly noticed the clothing worn by passersby and judged accordingly, but returning back you can’t help but notice the size of people. The corridor leading to the plane was lined with wheelchairs not simply for the elderly or handicapped but those who just don’t… walk. Motorized scooters in malls, and lines at the drive-through pharmacy when there’s no wait inside… doesn’t anybody walk? And the portions… boy I love me a Portillo’s cake shake but a medium-sized drink is bigger than a large anywhere else in the world. None of this is new information, of course. It’s just, back in France I didn’t have to worry about portion control because the portions were just… already controlled for me. But you know the American way… more, more, more!  

Also, screens are EVERYWHERE. In restaurants, in stores, even in the library. At my 8am dentist appointment (no problem, as I was up by 4am), I get seated in a chair with an HD television screen in my face showing Good Morning America. I can’t help thinking of that episode of Black Mirrors I recently watched and suddenly feel claustrophobic about the screen and noise and just want it to be turned off but at this point I’ve got sharp objects dancing away at my gums so I just hold my tongue (away from the sharp objects). It’s a stark contrast to my French doctor, who operates out of her apartment living room, no thrills or frills (I wasn’t even allowed to use the bathroom).

Now lean back!

Some things have changed, at least in my little suburbia. We have a new Trader Joes and the cutest family moved in next door. I went to the movies yesterday and the seats are literally armchairs with adjustable footrests that are more comfortable than my couches at home. And there are the sweet things that I’ve missed. People say thank you ALL the time. And it always feels good. I can call a cellphone provider and a human answers. 2pm appointments actually start at 2pm. And there’s frozen yogurt galore!

So now it’s day 2 of being back, and I guess by now the shock factor has faded. I feel myself sinking back into old habits. Hummus and pita bread. Ice in my water. Coach purses. I haven’t even worn black all week! And if feels great to let it all go but at the same time, I’m a bit scared, afraid that those layers of my French years I’ve built up are beginning to peel away. Walking through the same mall I went to back in high school, I got a sort of vile feeling that I’ve landed back where I began. I used to be that girl that was just home for the holidays, off again in 5 days to her exotic life in France, where they don’t even speak English! I’d say “oh stop, it’s really not that great” but it was still cool to be that somebody that did something different. Now I’m back to being the American girl living in America and following her American dream. Just like any other American girl. And it’s not so exotic but it’s what I want. And I don’t think I would have been this sure about it if I’d never gone away. But still… I wish being the girl who “used to live in France” sounded just as cool.