Having had the opportunity to spend a number of stays in France over the decades, as long as a year and a half, I have been able to adopt, fleetingly, the feeling of processing existence through a French mind. This did not come about quickly or easily. People ask me at what point one "knows" one has become French. Is it when you first realize that you have dreamed in the language? Has "Frenchness" then become the default mode of existence? I cannot pinpoint a pivotal moment. But I know that at various times I have been that cultural chameleon who crosses over, then eventually back, with both identities intact.
Before viewing the world through a "French" mind, I spent a lot of time sensing the world through a "French" body. As a college student on my first summer trip to France, my corporeal existence was transformed--by the food, the air, the sights, sounds, and textures around me. The air was different from the moment of stepping off the airplane. A special automobile exhaust smell mingles with the smoke of Gauloise cigarettes, the steam of espresso, and the slightly greasy smell of baking croissants. (If this sounds unpleasant, it is not.) People speak more softly, but motorcycles and sirens rip through the silence. Cobblestones meet the foot in a way that feels and sounds different from asphalt. The food is infused with the essences of the French “terroir”--the land, the sun and the air. Cheese might be covered in mold, ash, bits of straw, or even an occasional goat hair. The rituals of the table provided a discipline and a structure for the rest of daily life–the reverse of my prior experience. As one lives these sensations and rhythms, one comes to feel almost French.
One recalls Blaise Pascal’s 17th-century exhortations to adopt the rituals of Christianity first and true faith will surely follow. Similarly, if I lived as if I were in a French person’s skin, “Frenchness” might be conferred on me. This did happen at certain moments, after long periods of immersion. I only became conscious of it after the fact when I realized that I had negotiated an obstacle with no extra effort, no feeling of awkwardness, and no sense of being an outsider. When I realized I had handled a situation with nonchalant discretion, with a light dusting of understated irony, I knew that my transformation had been--at least momentarily--successful. When I realized that my interpretation of a situation showed the “esprit critique” of a French person, I knew I had crossed over into “Frenchness.”
I do not claim to be French. In France I would not pass for French. I am an American who is several inches taller that most French women, and most French men, for that matter. But part of my being was forged by living among the French, by breathing the same air, walking on the same stones, tasting the same earthy flavors, using the same words, and thinking with the same independence. So I have experienced the world, at times, as a person living in a French body, and as a person thinking with a French mind. Bi-culturalism is sometimes attained through wrenching or disagreeable circumstances. In my case, it was voluntary and desired. It has been one of the privileges of my life to experience this delicious duality. If only it could be available to all who desire it . . .
Being a French native who has lived in the United States for nearly 30 years (it will be 30 years in very late August), I consider myself quite bilingual/bi-cultural, although I should say that I am probably a whole lot more familiar with current American culture than with French culture -- because of the mere fact that I live on this side of the Atlantic.
It took me literally anywhere between 3 and 5 years to become what I would deem "an American," and adapting to life in this country proved far more difficult that I ever thought it would be. In fact, I still mention this experience as one of the most wrenching ones in my entire life (I am now 52 years old.) I guess that a little "schizophrenia" sets into the bilingual/bi-cultural mind. One is never the same person in either language, which is rather a strange sensation. I have occasionally written about that weird feeling in my blog (walisabeth.blogspot.com).
I have also come to realize that I am not sure whether or not I could ever relocate to France (I occasionally contemplate retiring there, although I doubt that I would be able to afford it...). Why? Because I never really lived as a "responsible adult" in France. I moved to the U.S. because I married an American and, before getting married, I was a student and lived with my parents. I am not sure how I could relate to the French as a person who is not just vacationing in France, or living there temporarily. My plan is to take a sabbatical year in France, to see how I fare, and take it from there. Sometimes I feel that I might be feeling like a stranger in my homeland...
Posted by: Elisabeth | May 17, 2005 at 04:55 PM
What a lovely post! I feel like I'm a completely different person when I'm in France, much as you've described. I remember the first time it occured to me that I could listen to the TV and understand everything that was going on. It was like a bolt of electricity -- an "oh my god I really get this!" feeling that was fantastic. I had the experience last summer of working in France as a camp director and that proved to me that while it might be easy to get along as a student, the work culture in France is very different than what I'm used to. Being a fluent speaker and knowing how to navigate situations in the grocery store and cafe didn't help me there.
Posted by: Michele | May 19, 2005 at 08:53 AM