What life looks like after three weeks in France

After three weeks in France, life is just now beginning to take on some of the routines and patterns that help me feel a sense of stability. My sister, who arrived a day before we did to help get the rental car and cat supplies, left yesterday, returning to the United States. And while there was no part of me that wanted to be able to return as well, there was a large portion of me that didn’t want her to leave.

Today is day one of it being me and my husband in France. I had grand plans for the day that haven’t yet come to fruition, and for good reason. The most recent heatwave — France’s fifth of the year… completely unheard of— has made sleep difficult. Knowing the biomechanics of sleep, I can recognize that my body temperature is not decreasing as it should at night without air-conditioning, resulting in day-time fatigue, restless sleep, and a mild sense of dread as I sit in my home with the windows and curtains now shut, in an effort to keep the heat at bay. The heatwave (cannicule in French) breaks Saturday, but not before reaching 106F/41C tomorrow… not exactly the welcome I had pictured but such is life, is it not?

I am very much a person of routine and am looking forward to finding mine here. I hope to add in daily language studies and also want to hire a French tutor this September. There is still language friction that I am eager to ameliorate by speaking with more fluency and not simply translating from English. That and verb conjugation… oof… verb conjugation…

Logistics are logistics no matter where you are (side note, my mother told me this on vacation one time) but I must say thus far, the logistics are… different here… both because it is France and not the US, but also because we don’t yet have a car. A trip to the post office this morning was done on foot. A small grocery run is just a three minute walk down the road. I am outdoors more than I ever was and it feels incredible. Last night with our apartment more warm than is comfortable, we had a picnic dinner outside, in a garden high above the city, and watched as the solar eclipse took place. As we walked past Cathedrale St Louis toward the Hotel de Ville and out onto the Jardins de l’Évêché, I choked up. Yes, my sister had left that morning and I was hot, but truthfully, I was overcome by the view: orange chimneys, stone houses, slate roofs, trees and land for as far as the eye could see, with a slow river flowing toward the Atlantic. How is this my home?

Yes the pace has changed, and how could it not? I am not waking up at 6am to be to work by 7:45, followed by a full day of seeing patients, then home at 5:30pm, anymore. And the building of my photography business is taking time, understandably so when I just arrived three weeks ago and haven’t yet validated my visa (can’t do that until we have secured long-term housing). So I am learning to wait calmly and build what I can.

It's been three weeks, my French (much to my chagrin) is still B1, I don't have a permanent home, and a part of me still feels like I'm on a long-stay vacation. My sister leaving didn't just take her back to the United States, it also took the last thing between me “The American” and me “actually living here”. I don't know yet if I'm allowed to call this home. I'm just standing here, on my own, finding out.

About me: Hi, I’m Abbie. I’m an American photographer who recently moved to France and I’m writing about it here at A French Lens. Follow along if you love adventure, travel, France, living out a dream, working with your partner, or anything along those lines. I am glad you are here.