An American Girl in Avignon

June 13th
The 6:30 wakeup call came easier than expected. We knew we had to get out of there and fast. I had taken a shower at some early hour of the morning the night before, because I did not want to be gross when I saw my parents for the first time in three months. Sitting on a plane, in a car, in a bus, or train for hours on end is guaranteed to make one feel in need of a good scrubbing. I threw my clothes in my bag, did some rearranging, and made the triathlon bag-lifting challenge downstairs.
Riding in the taxi to Charles de Gaulle, which ended up costing a hefty 60 euros for the long trip and all of our bags, I thought: this is it. I am leaving France. I have to go to back to the United States. I wasn’t handling this well at all. I wondered if there was something wrong with me. Why didn’t I want to go home? Was home really that bad? Had I grown so accustomed to a culture so different from my own that I would never be able to look at my own the same way again? I watched the buildings seen by the revolutionaries, artists, and countless other famous figures go by my in the window, and as embarrassing as it is, I began to tear up a little. I didn’t want to lose myself right there in the cab, so I just swallowed and fought back the tears, vowing that I would return one day.
Getting to the first terminal, we said our quick adieus and went on our way, rolling pounds and pounds worth of luggage behind.
The Charles de Gaulle airport may be famous, but I think it earned its reputation from 1. Being in Pairs and 2. Being possibly the most confusing place on Earth. Tunnel-vision sloping moving walkways and creepy underground escalators that mirror something like the catacombs just add to the friendly touch. When I walked to my terminal’s gate, it was impossible for me to access the newsstand, because they have the security right by each section of gates and they trap you in there. It reminded me of the Frankfurt airport in Germany. They practically cage you in like animals. The only thing I could access was the café and the bathroom. I had a few euros left on me to spend, so I bought my last legal drink: a miniature rouge martini bottle to knock me out and my last pain o chocolat (bread with chocolate inside). I am going to miss those. Being me, I couldn’t resist some of that black, strong European coffee. Guess I haven’t changed that much, although I grew attributed to café au lait. I’m a black coffee girl any day.
Trapped, with no newsstand to access, I settled with sitting in the airport, I’m sure probably looking depressed and alone by just staring into space out of initial shock. I’m sure shoving that Martini bottle in my bag and lack-of-sleep bags under my eyes didn’t help my distressed appearance. The man next to me, probably feeling sorry for me, turned around and struck up a conversation. Who would have thought that I would be sitting next to an aerospace and medical research professor from MIT. Small world. He had been in Paris for a medical research conference and was going home to give his fiancé the ring he purchased in the city of love. P.S. this was where their honeymoon was going to be. I even got to see the ring! It was quite a rock. We talked for a little while longer and I told him about myself. What most stands out in my memory was his reaction when I said I was studying abroad as a freshman. He looked at me and said, “You studied in France as a freshman?! So, what’s next?” That was the moment. I’m usually really good at small talk, but I had absolutely nothing to say. What was next? It’s like winning the super bowl and then it’s over, so what are you going to do next? Well, I sure as heck wasn’t going to Disneyworld. I had a long plane ride to think of and answer it and finally found it.
What was next? Quebec next summer, of course and then… the internship in Paris for broadcasting. I’m sure as anything in this world that I am going to work like a dog to get it. I talked to my advisor about it this year already, and this is what I am working towards. I guess that means eventually working towards living and working in Paris for an international broadcasting corporation. The best part: you don’t even have to know French! Broadcasting major who knows French… I’ve got an up. I COULD see myself living in France one day. It would be hard leaving my friends and family behind, but when I have a goal in mind, most people who know me that I don’t take ”no” as an answer really well, when I know I can achieve something. I keep trying. “No” is only a reason to make me work even harder. Well, this is the goal/plan: Quebec next summer, which my parents approved, and Paris hopefully junior year. The excitement is not over, it’s only beginning. After all, la fin est seulement le début.
My plane ride home was restless. I was filled with nervous excitement about returning to the US. Thankfully, I had Melissa by my side, or I would have bawled and blubbered the whole way home. She traded seats with a cute French boy and his friend to sit next to me (dang Melissa, just kidding J, it was nice to sit next to someone you know. I wouldn’t have wanted to cry my eyes out in front of two cute French guys). I watched “He’s Just Not that Into You” while filling out that obnoxious customs/ “do you have anything to declare” sheet? Yes, I am bringing wine and illegal items and I am going to list every single thing I bought down to the last earring. Just kidding, but it’s kind of ridiculous.
After landing in Philadelphia, we had to recheck our bags. We went through customs where I was asked really absurd questions, and the guy looked at me like I was lying to him the whole entire time. It was quite comical. If he really wanted to know, I could have easily just opened my bag up for him if he wanted. We rechecked our bags and went through security for a second time, which was unnecessary. It’s not like we could have acquired any illegal items during the flight or from baggage claim to customs. The only thing in-between was a bathroom. There were lots of delays at the airport that day, so the place was an absolute zoo. People pushing and shoving every which way. I felt like I was in Europe again :)
During our year and a half layover of four hours, I did some shopping and then did some more shopping and walking around. Merely to distract myself. When I entered my home country, I experienced a phenomenon that people had been telling me about before I left. I thought that it was all a myth, but it’s not: reverse culture shock. I was shocked by how people dressed, especially the appearance of American boys. Where were the murses, or metro-influenced GQ collared shirts? Everywhere around me I saw sports team t-shirts and baggy pants. The American way of dress, hearing English spoken, and even the set up of the airport, the way people walked and carried themselves, all shocked me! It was foreign to me. I was experiencing complete and total reverse culture shock. What to do you when home doesn’t feel like home anymore? Where do you turn to? Elsewhere? No where? I didn’t know, nor did I have a clue. I was in shock. The initial shock is beginning to wear off, and things are getting easier, but as weird as it sounds, I’m still adjusting to living in America again. On the second plane ride, I knew I missed Europe. I felt out of place in my own country. When you don’t feel like you belong in your own country anymore, where are you supposed to turn? I guess to family and friends to make the adjustment easier.
I had no idea how to react when I saw my parents. I didn’t want to cry, because I had come too close to that on the plane, and I am not a crier. So, I clammed-up. I was upset, but I didn’t want to act like it, because I didn’t want to act like I wasn’t at least a little but happy/relieved to be home. We walked to the baggage claim in near complete silence after long hugs, not knowing what to say yet. One of my bags was missing, but finally turned up two days later. My first stop: Chipotle (I had missed it soo much. I’ve had it like five times since I’ve been home), then Starbucks, then it was home sweet home. Even though I missed Europe already, I was relieved to be home! I walked into my old room and plopped on my bed. Now, I felt at home.