Le Premier Jour

by theboneyqueenofnowhere

After I was given the grand tour, we ate lunch outside in the sun. We had some traditional French food – these spicy sausages that oozed out deliciousness with a simple salad on the side. Then they brought out the cheese and fruit selections, drinks and baguettes. A very typical end to a dejeuner français.

I felt, not vivid awkwardness or self-consciousness, but an underlining sense of the two in everything I did. It was the base emotion that I would encounter every day for the next, at least, two months. So when I met two of Claires friends – Dylan and Celia – I acted quite differently to how I normally would in the cultural comfort of Australia.

We swam, played cards – they smoked. Which was the first piece of culture shock I confronted. I knew that alot of people smoked in Europe, but I never realised how often. I almost laughed at people back home who called themselves smokers – a packet of cigarettes every week or two. Here, if you smoked, you smoked hard. Five, eight, ten, fifteen cigarettes a day. A whole packet. Maybe two. It was culture shock for me for many reasons: firstly, because of how young most smokers are. Secondly, because they smoke so often. Thirdly, because they aren’t planning to quit. But most of all, it’s simply because they aren’t ashamed to do it.

The rest of the day I have almost no memory of. I recall the suculent tastes of the food and I have a vague sense of my emotions, but not really. I can’t remember what I was thinking as I drifted to sleep and nothing of my host family. The day passed as a surreal blur, and I can only seem to remember how bright was the sun.