Important news about Lyon Living dot com

Hello readers! I'm sure you've noticed that I haven't been writing much this summer - I've spent a lot of time thinking about what to write, but not actually doing it!

What I DO need to share with you today is that my former domain name, www.lyonliving.com, is no longer actively forwarding to this blog site. So if you have my blog bookmarked under that domain, it will no longer work as of today.

Please bookmark this site under: www.lyonliving.blogspot.com

And I promise to write more soon!

Have a wonderful, blessed summer.

Wende

Cultural Sweatpants

Hello USA! Our family is taking a short break from France; we will be in the states all summer. We arrived in Charlotte on June 2, after a (thankfully) uneventful flight across the Atlantic. The next day, as Greg and I were running some errands, he asked how I felt to be back in America. I described it as “comfortable, like wearing sweatpants.” Greg laughed and suggested that I adopt this as my new code name for the general feeling of returning home: Cultural Sweatpants.

Think about it – when you wear sweatpants, you’re usually not very concerned with how you look. You’re not trying to make a good impression, you’re just dressing for your own comfort. Sweatpants are relaxing and cozy -- you can get away with slouching and being blissfully lazy while wearing them. It’s the same thing with your home culture. You don’t have to think about figuring out the rules of society because you’ve known them all your life; it’s the way you grew up. So no matter how long you’ve been away from home, you can easily slip right back into the cultural dance.

Having said that, there are a few things about my home culture that two years in Europe had caused me to forget about….things that I noticed as if for the first time. First and foremost is good ol’ Southern Hospitality: just the friendliness of people in general. Strangers will often strike up a conversation or even flatter you with a compliment out of the blue while you’re in line together at Wal-Mart. That just doesn’t happen in France.

Other things I noticed were annoying rather than pleasant. For example, the tendency for retailers to overcompensate for the oppressive heat by blasting the A/C so cold that you have to bring a sweater with you even though it’s 98 degrees outside. Noisy restaurants and the lack of sidewalks and good public transportation are among the other annoyances. Still, these pale in comparison to the terrific “ahhhhhh” experience of easing into those comfy cultural sweatpants. The ability to understand and be understood is a glorious feeling indeed.

Ugh...Another Trip to the Prefecture

I know it's been about a month since my last post, but today I just have the energy for three lines:

9 1/2 hours at the Prefecture for our Carte de Sejour renewal.
Up at 4:30 am; home at 2 pm.
Enough said.

Special Post: A Survey especially for Ex-pat Women

Today's post will be much different than usual. In this blog, my aim has been to share some of the joys and challenges I've faced after moving to a foreign country. Now I'm asking for some audience participation! That is, if you happen to be:

• Female
• Over the age of 18
• English-speaking
• Someone who has moved internationally 

God has put it on my heart to develop a curriculum for small-group study to help women process the ups and downs that are typically experienced after a cross-cultural move. It will be a Biblically-based curriculum but you do not have to be a Christian to do the survey. I want to gather opinions from a wide variety of people, so your input (provided you meet the criteria above) will be incredibly valuable!

Please click HERE to complete this short, 10-question survey. It should take less than 10 minutes of your time, but your participation can have a great impact, Lord willing! Thank you!

La Fête du Travail

Today, May 1, is Labor Day in France - La Fête du Travail. It's by far the quietest of France's many holidays. Schools and 99% of businesses are closed; even the metros and buses do not operate. Yesterday, my husband had noticed a sign on the door of our neighborhood market indicating that they'd be open for a few hours, so I ventured out into the morning drizzle to get a few things we needed: orange juice, milk, baguettes. The tiny store wasn't busy; most people plan ahead and get their groceries the day before. The boulangerie was a different story. Fresh daily bread is a necessity in France, but only one bakery in our quarter was open; a long line snaked around the corner. While waiting, I noticed several groups of women setting up makeshift flower stands along the boulevard. It reminded me of the crude lemonade stands I used to set up as a kid - these "shops" consisted of a folding chair, and perhaps a small table or just a bucket containing tiny bouquets. This is definitely not a normal occurrence -- I realized it must have something to do with the holiday. Curious, I stopped at one of the stands after collecting my bread. A smiling woman greeted me from beneath her colorful umbrella. "Bonjour!" I replied. "J'ai une question. Je suis américaine, et je voudrais savoir pourquoi on vend des fleurs aujourd'hui?" She told me that these flowers, lilies of the valley, are always sold on Labor Day to signify good luck. She further explained that she lives in the countryside, but she has come to Lyon each Labor Day for eight years in a row to sell her flowers. Would I like to buy a bouquet with a rose included for four euros, or just the lilies alone for two? Unfortunately I only had a 2-euro coin left after my errands, so I got the small one. She seemed pleased enough and wished me a bonne journée. I smiled at the irony as I walked home in the rain, clutching my bouquet and baguettes: on Labor Day, the day that nobody works, entrepreneurialism was alive and well on the streets of Lyon.

The Daily Difference - Day 5: Keys

Keys fascinate me. I love the variety of designs and the intricate patterns which pair uniquely with a corresponding locking mechanism in order to open a door.

When we first moved into our apartment in France, we were presented with a variety of large, interesting keys for our doors. Just to get into our apartment, one must go through three separate entrances. It's kind of like Fort Knox.



The first door is the front entrance to our building. It's one of the biggest, heaviest doors I've ever seen. Instead of using a key, residents enter a secret code on a keypad, causing the door to slowly and automatically swing open on its creaky hinges.

The second door is situated a few meters inside the foyer, and the key to this door is really interesting. Instead of jigsaw edges, the key is flat on the sides, and the face of the key has divots of differing sizes and shapes.

The third door is the front door to our own apartment. It's another heavy wooden door, but not nearly as large as the massive exterior door. The outer doorknob is in the center of the door, not to one side like most American doors. Its key has a pattern of square and rectangular-shaped lines and grooves, unlike the average door keys in America which tend to have triangular shaped wedges, like a saw or alligator teeth.

This door also locks automatically when it shuts -- like an OCD person, I feel a compulsion to touch my keys several times when I leave to make sure I have them with me. Getting extra sets of keys can be very expensive in France, unlike the quick process at Home Depot. Keys are cut at shoe repair shops (cordonniers) - not hardware stores - for some reason (if anyone knows how these two industries are related, let me know!)

All of these keys are interesting, but my favorite key on our French keyring is a large skeleton key which opens the front gate to our church courtyard. Although it doesn't fit in pockets very well, I love it. There is something romantic about an old-fashioned, heavy brass key -- almost like you can use it to enter another time, another era when things were simpler.

Ah, to have a key like that would be blissful indeed!

April in Lyon....

....is absolutely gorgeous! The flowers are in full bloom, the sky is a clear, bright blue, and the air is dry. No wonder outdoor cafes abound in Europe.

April has been filled with activity. Children are enjoying a well-deserved 2 week break from school, and we took advantage of the vacances scolaires to visit friends in Heidelberg and Stuttgart, Germany. We somehow managed to bring the unseasonably warm weather with us.

Greg and I also participated in a fun race through the city streets of Lyon called the "Lyon Urban Trail." Die-hard athletes competed in a grueling 35K death march up and down Lyon's many hills, but  at our age we felt just fine about choosing the "lighter" 13K course.

My readers already know that my favorite spot in all of Lyon is the Parc de la Tete D'or, and I have spent every free moment there, basking in the sunshine, reading, cycling, walking, people-watching, and picnicking.

To top off a great month, it so happens that my birthday is in April and my only wish was to have a picnic in the park with my lovely family. Wish granted!

The Daily Difference - Day 4: Independent Kids

Kids are kids, wherever they live. They all love to play and laugh, and occasionally they throw tantrums and exasperate their parents. I haven't noticed large differences in American children and French children except for one thing: French kids are encouraged to be independent at an early age.

Whenever I walk along the river or in the park, I notice families with their young children. French toddlers do not ride in strollers; those reserved for babies only. In France there is no such thing as an "umbrella" stroller, those life-saving devices used by American parents to transport their preschoolers. Kids here are taught to walk everywhere they go or to ride some kind of scooter.

And they start so small! Stores here sell these tiny "bikes" for toddlers that don't have pedals. They are really low to the ground so that kids as young as one or two years old can straddle the seat as they shuffle along the sidewalk. It's a great idea; they quickly learn the balance and coordination required to ride a bigger bike. By the time a child is three, he's graduated to a real bike with pedals and without training wheels.

Most French kids also get to school independently at an early age. I've seen kids of about age eight riding the metro on their own, lugging backpacks bigger than they are, on their way to & from school. I don't necessarily feel comfortable with this independence - I admit, I worry about the safety of these very young children. But in this society, it's just the cultural expectation.

In America, I'm afraid we've gone a bit too far towards the other extreme. Kids are taught to be wary of strangers and other dangers, and rightfully so -- but as a society I think we've created a culture of fear and stifled our children's ability to learn how to be self-sufficient. Greg told me just this morning of a news story about an American family under investigation for letting their elementary school aged children play in a neighborhood park without parental supervision. I don't know the details so I'll withhold commenting too much, except to say that I played outside all the time as a child, wandering freely through my neighborhood for hours without any supervision. It was just a normal part of growing up in that era.

There's got to be a balance somewhere. We don't want to put our young kids in harm's way, but we also need to let them grow up.

Now it's your turn: are you raising children in France, America, or another country? In what ways are they encouraged (or discouraged) by society or by your own parenting style to become independent? Have you noticed other cultural differences pertaining to children? I'd love to hear from you! Share your thoughts in the comments section.

The Daily Difference - Day 3: Money

In comparing currency, France takes the advantage. The Euro, like the metric system and the celsius temperature scale, just makes more sense. No wonder -- they had a long time to perfect the system. European fiscal leaders had been planning for a common currency since the 1960s, and they took three whole years to launch the Euro since its "virtual" birth in 1999 (coins and bills started circulating in 2002). Yes, the Euro has problems - I won't go into the fiscal fiascos - I'm just interested in how the average Joe uses coins and banknotes.

Why do I prefer the Euro over the Dollar? First of all, let's compare the coins.

The Europeans have three small copper-colored coins of 1, 2, and 5 cent pieces. 10, 20, and 50 cent denominations are gold colored. And then you graduate to the hefty 1- and 2-euro coins (the 1 is silver in the middle with a gold edge, and its big brother, the 2, is gold in the middle with a silver edge). What makes sense is the size of the coins: they gradually increase in size as the value goes up.

Well duh, right?

Not so fast, let's take a close look at American coins.

Most Americans are so used to irregular coin sizes that they don't even think about it. But I remember teaching my girls the values of our coins when they were young, and it was difficult for them to understand why the dime (10 cents) was smaller than the nickel (5 cents)! After all, the dime is worth more. Our penny (one cent) is bigger than a dime but smaller than a nickel. What?? At least Americans only have to learn 4 coins instead of 8.

Now let's examine the banknotes.

Again, the Euro has the right idea: not only different sizes but also unique vivid colors for each denomination. And no little one-notes to artificially fatten up your wallet. Those are taken care of with coins. (Incidentally, one drawback to the 1-and 2-euro coins is the psychological devaluation of their worth. They're just coins, I tend to think, not "real" money. On the other hand, sometimes digging under the couch cushions can reap rewards!)

Now look at the US banknotes. Same size, virtually the same greenish color (although technically the background colors differ slightly). You have to pay attention when using cash in the US or you can easily mix up the bills. On second thought -- who pays with cash these days?

So there's my two cents. Sorry - couldn't resist.

The Daily Difference - Day 2: Traffic Lights

Greg, the only driver in our family with a French license, had a difficult time getting accustomed to the traffic signals in France. In the US, traffic lights are hung up high and are situated across the intersection from where you have to stop. In France, you pull right up to the stoplight. On major streets, the light is usually hung above the street, but you end up practically underneath the light when you are the first one to stop. On minor streets, the light is very low - almost eye level - and to your right. In either situation, my very tall husband has to crouch down in the driver's seat and crane his neck to watch for the light to turn green.

Another difference is that the yellow light is extremely brief. Unless you are already midway through the intersection, it's best to stop. When we visited Geneva, we noticed that Switzerland has added another twist to the yellow light: when you are sitting at the red light, the yellow light starts to blink several seconds before the light turns green, to give you a "heads up." This is a great idea! I'm sure it cuts down on noise pollution, too -- no more honking at the clueless driver who doesn't know that the light has turned green.

Besides the traffic lights, there are quite a few other driving differences between our two countries. For example, you can't turn right on red, unless you have a blinking yellow arrow indicator - but this is rare. And at non-signaled/non-marked intersections, the person on the right has the right of way. My advice is, if you're going to be driving in France, learn the rules before you go!

And learn to parallel park.

The Daily Difference

 I've had the idea in mind for some time to write "mini-posts" examining some of the small differences between things in the US and things in France. I'm talking about everyday items that people in both countries use, but in different ways. Things that I noticed immediately upon arrival in France, but have become quite normal to me now -- so normal, in fact, that when I travel back to America I find the once-familiar things strange once again. I just asked my family to name some of these differences, and the examples are plentiful:

• electricity voltage
• traffic lights
• measurements
• money
• keys
• school supplies
• credit cards
• keyboards

 I hope to write about all of these and more over the next few weeks. But the one thing that I use every day that got me thinking about this "daily difference" idea in the first place is:

TOILET FLUSHERS!

 Most American toilets have a lever off to one side that activates the flushing mechanism. When you push on the handle, it pulls a chain connected to a flush valve, letting in a whole bunch of water and voilà, the toilet flushes. You can easily lift off the top of the tank to see the inner workings - quite exciting stuff indeed.

 In France, instead of a handle you typically have a large button on top of the tank divided into 2 halves, marked "1" and "2" for use depending on - you guessed it - what you need to flush down. (The "2" gives you a more powerful flush.)

 The button on our toilet is actually screwed into the top of the tank, and to remove the tank cover one needs to unscrew the button. But we've never had to open the tank, because amazingly we've never had a clogged toilet. That's right, we've never once had to use our plunger in France. In the US, unclogging the toilet was at least a weekly occurrence. How come we can't have this terrific toilet technology in the great US of A? Americans, keep your eyes peeled for this type of potty on your next trip to Home Depot, and if you find one, snatch it up! You'll bet your bottom you'll be glad you did. 

OK - enough potty humor. Check back with me tomorrow for a hopefully less filthy "Daily Difference."

Chicken Run

Greg likes to quote a Bible verse to describe how the French drive: everyone did what was right in their own eyes.

Lanes are mere suggestions, and suddenly veering across traffic to snag a coveted parking spot is perfectly acceptable. The rule seems to be, "don't get hit, and don't get caught." Otherwise, anything goes.

I have to say, it starts early. You better watch out for kids on the sidewalks learning to ride their trottinettes (scooters) or their first tiny bicycle. But with kids, you expect it -- you naturally walk defensively, keeping a wide berth, anticipating a crash or a sudden turn.

I never thought I'd have to walk defensively amongst adults, though. Imagine walking down a wide, relatively empty sidewalk. You look ahead, and someone is walking straight towards you. There is plenty of margin on either side. What do you do? In the US (at least in the south), each person tends to give way a little bit -- there's a bit of a dance, maybe, to see which direction each person will move, but generally both parties give in a little bit. In France, there must be some hidden rules that I don't know about. Walking down the street is a bit like playing "chicken." People will walk directly ahead, not budging one centimeter, while they stare menacingly into your face. 99% of the time, I'm the one to sidestep completely out of the way.

Maybe there's a pecking order - do they size each other up to make the determination as to who gives in? Old vs. young, male vs. female? I'm not sure, although more than once I've actually seen two people come to a complete standstill on a blind corner, each one holding their ground and not willing to capitulate.

The funniest example of chicken happened just yesterday. You had to be there, but I'll try to paint you a word picture. Greg and I were running in the park on our favorite trail. On a very wide part of the trail, a man passed us on the left, however, there was still plenty of room to navigate. Looking ahead, I could see another man coming towards him on his same trajectory. I glanced over to see if the passer noticed, and yes - these two men were staring each other right in the face. The rest was like a slow-motion movie where two lovers run dramatically across a field into each other's arms. You guessed it - CRASH! They ran right into each other, hands flailing up to protect themselves at the last moment, stumbling into the bushes, mumbling half-hearted apologies. I nearly died laughing, which is entirely possible while you're already breathless from jogging.

Until I learn the rules, you can bet I'll be running defensively from now on!

The Writing Challenge

Can I make a confession?

I haven't felt like writing in a long time. Now that won't come as a surprise to regular readers who expect me to post something once a week. It's been over a month since I've posted anything, and the last one wasn't even mine - it was a guest blog from my dear daughter.

This is unusual for me. Writing is by far my most effective means of communication. I'm a slow processor as well as an introvert, so my spoken words are hardly profound -- at best they are factual observations and at worst they tend to be a spew of unfiltered reactions that I long to reel back in before they do any damage.

So back to writing. Why have I been resisting the admittedly strong urge to journal or blog lately? Why have I found any excuse, valid or otherwise, not to sit down for a few minutes and share my experiences as an expat in France?

I think it's because life has entered a new season. We're technically more than halfway through a 3-year commitment in Lyon, and I guess I've entered a "mid-life crisis" of sorts. Part of my heart cherishes my new vie française, while the other half beckons me back to my American comfort zone.

The second big thing that's happened recently has only intensified the tide-like pull back across the Atlantic: Lori was accepted to a university in North Carolina and will be starting classes there this August. While I'm thrilled beyond measure for her, I cry silently inside every time I think about leaving her stateside without us. This summer will be a very bittersweet time indeed as we return to the US for several weeks to visit family, raise financial support, take a much needed mini-vacation, and, at the end of it all, drop Lori off at college. I don't even want to think about getting back on that plane heading towards France without her!

Yet, it's time. Children grow up, and they should leave the nest. Hard decisions about staying or moving on have been weighed, prayed about, prayed about some more, and determined.

These realities are so emotional, so raw and personal and tender...that's why I haven't wanted to write about them. Writing them down for everyone to see exposes my heart, in its weakness and vulnerability. Keeping the mask on, the façade all shined up and pretty, is so much more comfortable. But this is reality - it's definitely a challenging one, yet this is a season that I want to remember and document in my journey.

Therefore, I choose to take the mask off.

And write.

Guest Blogger Lori: Chamonix

I don't think I have ever seen a place as pristine as this small town nestled in the Alps. Tucked away in a valley next to Mont Blanc, Chamonix is the definition of pristine. There was not a single cloud in the breathtakingly blue sky, the mountains were covered in perfect, blinding snow and the town itself looked like a gingerbread village dusted with powdered sugar.

The small ski town was flooded with people, skiers, snowboarders, paragliders, tourists and locals. The town was full of energy and had a very, for lack of a better word, "chill" vibe. We walked around the town for a while before stopping for a hearty, real alps style lunch, full of cheese and bread and warmth. We then decided to see the bottom of a ski slope. We started trudging up the hill that looked like it led to the base of one of the surrounding mountains.

We had fun along the way, throwing snow at each other, slipping around on ice and thinking of all the ways the absolutely massive icicles could fall and kill you. We ended up not being able to find the actual base, but kept on walking. We found a huge field that we all frolicked around in for a while.

 Then, we suddenly heard a strange "whoosh" sound. To our surprise and amazement, one of the many paragliders landed extremely close to us, just over a small ridge that lead to another field. We realized we were right next to the landing zone, and spent a good while watching paraglider after paraglider land.  Now, for those of you who don't know what paragliding is, you basically go to the top of a mountain, you get harnessed into a parachute (with a guide unless you are very experienced) then you run.. off the mountain. You don't fall, it's not like skydiving, you really just float around in the sky. I have wanted to do it for a very long time, and I almost had my chance. We heard a paraglider speaking english to his friend after he landed, so mom and I decided to go say hello. I expressed my interest in it and told him I had always wanted to try it. "I could take you right now if you want! I don't think I've ever seen such perfect conditions to fly." the man said. I started to become excited. It was a relatively cheap price and it looked like I was going to be able to cross something off my bucket list, until he said I needed a ski pass to get to the top of the mountain. Which I didn't have. Which was stupidly expensive. Goodbye hopes and dreams I had of running off a mountain that day. I told him I couldn't swing it that day, but would definitely come back.

 After that wonderful experience and very interesting conversation we had with him, we decided to walk back into town. We went to a small bar for drinks and coffees, sitting outside and people watching. After a nearly perfect day, we hit the road back to Lyon, taking in all the views driving through the Alps had to offer. So if you're ever in France, skip the cities and beaches, go to the mountains, especially Chamonix.

3 things I do every day

We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence then, is not an act, but a habit. - Aristotle

From early childhood I was encouraged to set goals and work towards them by my type-A high achieving Dad. As an adult I've drifted away from setting specific, measurable goals and moved more towards forming habits that (hopefully) shape my character in a positive way. Here are three character-molding things I do (almost) every day -- and one not-so-good-for-you habit just to keep it real.

1) Time with God. For some reason I balk at the term "quiet time" -- it just sounds so churchy. Nonetheless I do make a habit of spending the earliest part of my day with the Lord. I call it my "BPPR" time: Bible, Pray, Plan, and Reflect. There's nothing scripted, and I don't do all four things every day. It's simply a chance to spend some time alone with my thoughts and with God through His Word and in prayer, and hopefully hitting the "spiritual reset" button. Some days I pick a chapter or two and read. Or I work through my women's Bible study lesson (currently a powerful study on Forgiveness). I need to focus more on prayer, the most difficult of disciplines for me. After praying and reading I ask God what He wants me to accomplish, and plan out my day. On a good day I spend some time reflecting on the last 24 hours: what do I need to confess? How can I make things right with someone I've hurt? What happened yesterday that I am thankful for? 

2) Exercise. This is a huge priority for me, and gives me a much-needed energy boost. I used to exercise to look good, but now that I'm in my mid-40s it's all about health: feeling good, flexibility, strength, posture and balance. I like to mix it up: jogging, walking up the steps to the Fourvière basilica, and even sometimes doing an insane cardio workout like P90X or the aptly named Insanity But my favorite exercises are bodyweight-only mat exercises like pilates or Power Yoga. I know what you're thinking: Christians don't do yoga! But the only praying I do during these exercises are cries of "help me, Jesus!" as I struggle to keep up with Sean Vigue's crazy YouTube workouts.

3) Learn Something New. Usually my learning comes from books. I'm old-school; I like to hold a book made of real paper in my hands, I like to underline key points and dog-ear the pages. Currently I'm reading a couple of great books for my assignments with LifeSprings women's ministry. I also read books together with Lori - we read a chapter each week and then discuss what we've learned. Here are some other ways besides book-learning that I use to stretch my brain: Ted talks, online magazine articles, documentaries, studying French...there are unlimited opportunities to learn something new every day.

After all the positive benefits of renewing my mind, body and spirit, it's time for a break. So here's the not-so-good thing I do every day: veg in front of the TV. I look forward to snuggling up on the couch with my honey and my sweet girls, laughing at silly comedies like Arrested Development or Scrubs, and turning off the brain for a bit. Like I said, just keeping it real!  

And what about you? What life habits do you try to cultivate? Share yours in the comments section!

Little Things: Grocery shopping in France

When adjusting to a new country, it's often the little things that make a big difference. Early on, there were a lot of "little things" to learn about and get used to. Now that we've been in France for 18 months, these differences seem so normal that I don't even think about them. But for the sake of other readers who may be new to France, let me share a few of the small contrasts that originally caught me off guard. I'll start with the grocery store.

• Bags - In the US I always cringed at the amount of plastic bags I was given at Wal-mart. Sometimes the cashier would put just one or two items inside each bag. They're free for the customer, so nobody seemed to care about the financial -- let alone the environmental -- cost. In France, the customers are responsible for bagging their own groceries and they also must pay for the bags. A tiny "sac plastique" costs 2 or 3 centimes, which is fine when you're just running into a store unprepared. But almost everyone here brings their own large, sturdy grocery bags for big shopping trips, or even better: a grocery caddy on wheels. 
  

• Milk - Giant gallon-sized containers don't exist here. Milk comes in 1-liter opaque jugs, which can be bought in singles or in a 6-pack. Also, most of the milk is UHT processed (ultra high temperature), so it has a long shelf life and there's no need to refrigerate it until it's opened. Personally, I think it smells funny and tastes quite different from refrigerated milk, so I only use it with cereal. We usually buy low-fat (demi-écrémé), easily recognized by blue caps no matter what the brand. Lait entier (whole milk) comes in bottles with red caps, while écrémé (fat-free) comes with green lids. 

• Eggs - Americans seem to prefer white eggs, which come from white chickens (or perhaps are bleached -- conspiracy theories abound on the internet). In the US, eggs are washed and sanitized before being sold in the supermarket. That's why they must be refrigerated -- the processing removes the natural protective coating that keeps eggs from becoming contaminated. In France, eggs are sold on the shelf at room temperature, and the same carton can include a variety of colors: brown, speckled, beige, you name it. Since they aren't pre-washed, I always wash the outside of the eggs before cracking them just in case. From time to time I find a feather (or worse) sticking to the outside of the egg -- yuck. 

• Butter - Butter comes in bricks, not sticks. A brick of butter in France is 250 grams, while a stick of American butter is 1/2 cup (113.4 grams). Converting recipes for baked goods that call for a "stick" of butter can be challenging. I usually guesstimate by using slightly less than half a brick, and the results have been just fine. Speaking of baking, recipes using the metric system use weight in grams for solid foods like flour and sugar. I still don't have a food scale; I just use my volume measuring cups and handy conversion charts I've found on the internet.

There you have it, four everyday "little" things that are different in France than America. Perhaps I'll do a part 2 another day (followed by part 3, 4, 5....) Until then remember that the little differences aren't a big deal: one is not "better" and the other "worse", they're just "different." 

And what about you? What little differences have you noticed between your home country and France? Leave a comment below!

Epic FAIL!

When it comes to language learning, I've uncovered some universal truths:

• You're going to make a million mistakes
• Mistakes won't kill you
• The ability to laugh at yourself really helps
• One step forward, two steps back
• Pride comes before a fall

You see where this is going.

This week I was feeling pretty good about my French progress. In 18 months, I've learned a lot. I have a solid base of grammar and vocabulary. I can read French fairly well. My "ear" has improved dramatically. Speaking is the most difficult, but there are days that I can string a few coherent sentences together. I progress petit à petit. 

This week, everything was put to the test when our downstairs neighbor knocked on our door in a panic, because water was pouring out of the light fixture in her kitchen ceiling. It wasn't hard to understand what she was saying, especially when accompanied with a dramatic charades-like pantomime. Sure enough, we discovered a leak underneath our bathtub. This required a call to our landlord. A phone call! Nothing strikes terror into the language-learner's heart quite like having to talk on the telephone. But I was successful: the plumber was summoned, he understood our need, fixed the leak, and all was well. I felt invincible!

Until part two. After the plumber left, I turned on the tap to run a shower, and lo and behold -- no hot water. I tried the kitchen sink. No hot water there either. And the water pressure was really low. I looked up a few words and grabbed the phone once again. This time, the gas company came to our rescue. I was hosting a friend for coffee when the technician arrived, so I was admittedly a bit preoccupied, but I explained the situation and left him to his work. A mere five minutes later, he showed me a part that he'd replaced and presented me with a paper to sign, speaking in rapid-fire French the entire time. I nodded and smiled and "d'accord-ed" heartily. "C'était très rapide!" I praised, "Merci beaucoup!" In time, my guest left, and I went to test the hot water, relishing in the anticipation of a steamy shower. 

You guessed it....still no hot water. 

3rd phone call. Lots of waiting on hold ("ne quittez pas!"), and then once again some rapid-fire French, of which I only understood the important "He'll call you back." He did call back, and this time Greg answered the phone. The mechanic actually spoke English much better than we speak French, and he told Greg "I already explained to your wife that I couldn't fix the heater because I have to order a part and get clearance from your landlord to proceed with the repair." Ohhhhh. So when he was showing me the part that I thought he'd replaced so efficiently, he was actually telling me he needed to replace it. Looking back on it, all of his quizzical looks at my smiles and praise suddenly made sense! I had to laugh.

That's the most important lesson I've learned in this language journey. How to laugh at myself.

And how to take cold showers.

Un Accueil Chaleureux (A Warm Welcome)

The girls enjoyed a "goûter" (snack) at the home of one of the host families 

Being asked to organize a project outside of your comfort zone can be challenging, to say the least, but ultimately rewarding. I was recently stretched in this way when I was asked to find French host families for a group of American high school students who were visiting Lyon. It took some time and networking, but in the end I was able to successfully pair the five students and their teacher with familles d'accueil for their week-long French immersion experience.

Visiting a French school

Shopping at the marché

The word "accueil" in French means "welcome." You'll see this difficult-to-pronounce word at information kiosks and reception desks at hotels, museums, and other such locations throughout France. The expression un accueil chaleureux is similar to "a warm welcome," and that's exactly what the American girls received when they met their French families for the first time. Their initial jitters swiftly disappeared when they were immediately included as temporary members of the family. The girls each had different opportunities to immerse themselves into family life: some shopped and cooked with their host moms; others went to school and hip-hop classes with their new French "sisters." At the end of the week, one girl told me that her preconceived stereotype of the French being "cold and distant" was transformed into the complete opposite impression as a result of staying with her French family.

One of the girls with her host "maman"

The experience was enriching on the French side, too. Upon debriefing with the host families, they all gushed about what a wonderful experience it was to spend time with a young person from a different culture. The French teenagers especially enjoyed meeting "real Americans" and found that they had many activities and interests in common. Thanks to modern technology, I expect that these new relationships will continue to thrive across the miles.


I believe that this sort of cross-cultural experience is so beneficial to anyone who has the opportunity to experience it. When you visit another country as a tourist, you typically only get a small glimpse of reality. It takes an immersion experience to get to know the true culture and perspective of the people that call the country "home." A good compromise for tourists is to try to find a way to spend at least part of their trip interacting with the natives. That might mean choosing a B&B or host family situation over a hotel, or going off the beaten path, eating and shopping with the locals rather than visiting museums and tourist attractions. In the end it will be worth the extra effort, and you may even make a new friend in the process. It also doesn't hurt to extend un accueil chaleureux to a tourist visiting your own country!

Kids are kids, no matter where they're from!

Je Suis Charlie

I see it in the somber yet proud faces of those I pass on the street. I see it in the increased police presence around Lyon. I see it in my own soul, as I struggle to comprehend the events of the past few days. And I see it plastered on posters and signs around town: Je Suis Charlie.

This phrase is nonsense outside of the context of the horrific tragedy which unfolded last week in Paris, and I doubt that even western foreigners can fully understand the impact of this slogan -- myself included. But the three simple words brilliantly capture the national sentiment in France after the senseless murders which occurred January 7th through 9th.

Americans believe in freedom of speech, yet we often seem to shy away from controversial topics in the name of tolerance and political correctness. For the French, although the cartoons at Charlie Hebdo were clearly offensive and provocative, it's truly important to defend the national French values expressed in its motto Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité....despite the controversial messages portrayed in the cartoons. The ideal of free speech, regardless of the content, is at stake in the minds of the citizens of this nation which has a long and complicated history of war, revolution, and uprising. The French come together today in solidarity, as one people, to march for their freedom rights. One million plus are gathering in Paris as I write, and there is also a huge march in Lyon going on at the same time. So what will these marches accomplish? Where will we go from here?

Above all, I believe that we all need to continue the march. We need to stand together, regardless of nationality, religion, political viewpoint, color, or any other mask that divides us. We need to come together against terrorism of any kind. I'm encouraged when I read about imams who are not remaining silent, but are speaking out against these evil practices. Muslim imams, Christian pastors, and Jewish rabbis alike need to band together in peace to condemn the actions of extremists who killed in the name of Allah or any other God. I think the brother of the slain Muslim police officer Ahmed Merabet said it so well, and I'll quote his words directly from the Guardian:

“My brother was Muslim and he was killed by two terrorists, by two false Muslims,” he said. “Islam is a religion of peace and love. As far as my brother’s death is concerned it was a waste. He was very proud of the name Ahmed Merabet, proud to represent the police and of defending the values of the Republic – liberty, equality, fraternity.”

Malek reminded France that the country faced a battle against extremism, not against its Muslim citizens. “I address myself now to all the racists, Islamophobes and antisemites. One must not confuse extremists with Muslims. Mad people have neither colour or religion,” he said.

“I want to make another point: don’t tar everybody with the same brush, don’t burn mosques – or synagogues. You are attacking people. It won’t bring our dead back and it won’t appease the families.”

I pray today that we will always remember these wise words from a heartbroken brother. I pray that we would wake up and treat one another with love and respect. Believers, may we show people today that we love God by loving the people He created.

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” - Jesus 

According to Le Progres, no less than 300,000 people marched in the streets of Lyon today.
Here's the scene in Place Bellecour. Wow!