I’d like to kick this off by saying I feel like a real asshole writing about mundane or silly observations about life in France when my home country is buckling under the weight of its own poor decisions. (Nice way to say that fascism is popping off and it’s horrific.) I’ve been spending too many nights watching videos of violations of due process, the Constitution, and general human decency, and then crying. More recently, I’ve been watching even more videos of my fellow Americans fighting back, protecting their neighbors, chanting “shame” at people who need to hear it, which also makes me cry.
Meanwhile, I’m way over here, 6-9 hours ahead of North America, enjoying a galette de rois, with an option to tune out reality for a while if I so choose. Once again, the guilt of being far away, unable to help except by clicking donation buttons. It’s almost like my penance is to watch the news, stay up to date on every atrocity across multiple frontlines; at least if I’m not there, I won’t close my eyes. But someone, someone who lives in the US, told me to keep living my life and finding reasons to be happy if I’m able, for my own sake and for others. So I guess that’s what I’ll do, even if I might still be an asshole.
I’m not sure if it’s due to age, motherhood, or desperate times, but I’m on a corny and earnest mission of late to try to appreciate the little things in life. Maybe some appreciation will make this year a tad more bearable until the midterm elections, until work picks up, until the sun comes out again, both figuratively and literally. I’m also in the middle of writing about something that is kind of a downer, but I want to sandwich it with upbeat posts so that you don’t associate seeing “Franchement” in your inbox with bummer thoughts (even if that’s kind of the state of the world right now).
These are the types of appreciations I chant to myself to counteract the effects of a rude driver, a cramped metro, or when my child feels the need to point out every morsel of fecal matter we encounter on the street. Yeah, it’s literally shitty here sometimes, but at least the bread is good. As trite as the wisdom might be, appreciating the little things does make me feel better, so maybe I can pass it on and make at least one other person’s day a little brighter. I mean, figuratively brighter, because it’s mid-January in Paris; I can’t make any promises of sun.
Alors, a few of the little joys of French life that keep me going in winter, hard days, transport strikes, or dark times back home.
The joy of doing a boulangerie run entirely in French, not messing up the gender of a type of bread, not having to repeat your order, and getting out of there with your pride intact.
The first galette de rois of the year, and you find the fève.
Walking through any town, village, or neighborhood, no matter the size, on market day.
The fact that my phone plan with Free has been 19.99 for six years, including international data, unlimited internet, etc. Every year, I anticipate an email stating that my monthly rate is going to go up, as it used to back in the US. This has never happened, so I continue to pay in a year what I used to pay in a month for cell service. Bless the phone companies in Europe.
Cheese distributeurs, aka cheese ATMs. Sometimes in cheese-focused regions, you can find cheese ATMs so that you can buy cheese when the cheese shops are closed, which is often, because this is France. These are also great if you don’t feel like interacting with a human. I’ve also bought potatoes, bread, pâté, and shrimp from an ATM here with varying results.
Passing by castles and Medieval villages on road trips.
No billboards on road trips.
My child’s crèche. I freaking love his daycare, and not just because they take my child off my hands for 8 hours a day. I love that he eats better and more balanced lunches than I could make for him, usually three courses like beet salad, fish, and camembert. Last week,I saw a cheese mousse on the menu. He recently went to the opera on a field trip. And while it is not free by any means, it’s fairly priced based on income, and far less than I’d be paying back home.
The Salon International de l’Agriculture (mark your calendars, it begins end of February!)
Frankly, French cows in any setting.
Quiet mornings because North America is asleep, so no one can bother me with emails or calls until after lunch.
Crowded train stations on a Friday afternoon, when the SNCF “Beem, bomp, bomp bomp” sound plays before an announcement
When vendors at the market give my son a little treat like an apple or morsel of cheese or a chouquette, just because he’s little and cute.
Seeing a metro or train full of people reading. Well, yeah, a lot of them are still on their phones, but I’m always happy to see more than a few commuters reading actual paper books every day.
Seeing a metro arrive with barely any people at all. Hell yeah, quiet metro, with our pick of seats.
The Metro.
French rest stops. I love seeing everyone crowded around the tall coffee-drinking tables and espresso machines, the only time you’ll see French folks enjoying a quick, standing coffee. The bathrooms are spacious and generally humane (clean-ish, useful, baby changing stations). You can buy essentials like baguettes and cheese and pâté and Haribos.
A cheese-based meal of raclette or croziflette after a long day of skiing or ski-related activity (like reading next to the slopes from the safety of a bar or cafe).
Walking out of your home to find out there’s a brocante or vide grenier taking place on your block, full of old treasures.
Becoming pals with a butcher or baker or bar owner, knowing I’ve become a regular, enjoying the odd free drink or treat because we’re pals now.
Making friends with other customers because I’m a regular, especially if they’re nothing like me, especially if they tell me my French is good.
When I’m at a French function, and a song comes on or someone references a well-known jingle, and everyone at the function joins in singing because they all know it, and I’m happy for them even though I have no idea what they’re singing or where it’s from, but they all seem so happy, so it’s still a nice moment.
Enjoying oysters and white wine at a market even though it’s not even noon yet, and despite the fact that the last time I had oysters, I became so sick, I thought I saw god.
The prevalence of small book shops. The smell of these book shops (it’s what book stores smelled like in the US before Barnes & Nobel eradicated that model and scent). The way the book shops will wrap your book in beautiful paper, usually for free.
When the waiter leaves you alone.
When the waiter notices you need bread and brings it without you needing to ask.
Manifestations. Yeah, they can be annoying if you need to get to the other side of one. But the right to assemble and disagree with the powers that be is looking mighty fine at the moment.
Pharmacie visits that end without even having to reach for my wallet (well, except for my Carte Vitale, but you know what I mean).
Same for Doctor’s appointments.
Same for giving birth, having surgery, having an emergency.
You know that day that always comes in March, the first day when the sun is out but you can actually feel the heat on your skin? The day when the cold no longer sneaks past your coat and into your heart? Everyone flocks to the terraces and basks in the rays, no matter that the high is only like 62 F. Even if you’re not out at a cafe, if you happen to walk or ride by, the joy is intoxicating and for a few moments, all is right with the world. I freaking live for that day each year. Also, yes, this is a metaphor.
If you take a step back, most of these little moments of joy are all thanks to food and socialism, with a little sunshine tucked in here and there. Could that be the secret to happiness? Food, socialism, and sunshine? One could do much worse. But let’s not think about that right now.
Let me know what I missed. Let’s crowdsource a big list to draw from when we’re feeling down.
Shelby
IMAGE CREDIT: all photos copyright Shelby Chambers
Introducing Contributor, Selby Chambers
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