Home At Last - The Exit Interview

I am finally back in Illinois and it feels infinitely weird. Being back here makes it feel like France never even happened. I try to fight these silly feelings of time. After a lovely week at my grandmother's summer home in Michigan with many family members that I haven't seen in years, it's time to get back to real life. I feel both excited and slightly overwhelmed. Such are the in between times.

The journey home proved quite interesting. My host mom dropped me off at the airport at 6 am where a lovely Air France employee tried to convince me that both my carry on objects were supposed to weigh only 12 kg together when my backpack alone weighed twice that. This was ridiculous considering they had let me on the Air France plane to get to Pau without weighing anything. This was only the beginning.

Let us preface this by stating that I have grown up in O'Hare. It is a normal sized, easy to navigate airport that we have always used and I have always been able to get through easily. I have no problem in one of the biggest international airports in the world, but Charles De Gaulle is a nightmare. Getting through to get to Pau required taking a train and a bus to the terminal. It's a maze of insanity.

We landed in Paris and I felt fine because I had three other girls with me and I knew we would figure it out eventually. Our flight to Chicago had be delayed 4 hours, which sucked but it gave us more time. We found our way to United's check in and collectively reached into our bags to get out our passports and info. I unzip my backpack's front pocket to find nothing. Nothing. That's where I put my passport. I didn't put it anywhere else. Telling myself not to panic, I practically dumped both my bags on the floor next to the bathroom looking for the one thing you're not supposed to lose. It wasn't there. There's a moment when you lose things that are as important as your passport where there is a twinge of denial. What functioning twenty year old loses their passport in a foreign country?

A tired one.

Somehow I instantly knew it was in the seat pocket in the plane we had just been in. I don't remember putting it in there, and I rarely ever put things in those pockets, but I knew.

Through a series of pleadings directed at many airport employees I was directed to gate 2F, which required me to take the train. I sat, clinging to my carry ons, and listened to a very attractive Australian pilot talk about the weather with one of his colleagues. I realized I wasn't panicking. I realized I trusted God. I realized He was the One that loved me the most. We always want to be in a place where we can trust God in these crazy situations. We always want to believe that we'll know Him enough to believe that He'll take care of it. If you had asked me before if I would have panicked and started crying had I lost my passport, I would say yes, but in that moment trusting was the only choice. It was the choice my heart made without question, despite everything my head knew. I knew I would get my passport back. I knew I would get home. My flight was delayed four hours so I could run around CDG for two.

After the train ride, some very nice Air France people called around and found out that they were holding my passport at the gate we landed at. The plane could have gone back to Pau, along with my passport. It didn't.

As the lady handed me my proof of citizenship, she told me I should play the lottery. These things don't just happen.

After this I was just happy. I rode the bus, train, and 9 hour flight back to Chicago, went through customs, got picked up by my mom and drove 4 hours to Michigan, and I was just happy. It was probably one of the craziest days of my life, but I can probably fly anywhere alone now.

I can't really sum up everything I "learned" in France or how exactly I've changed. I think those things will reveal themselves over time. All I know is that it was incredible, and that it's strange being back here. Reverse culture shock is a real thing, people. It's so funny to think that "normal" isn't normal everywhere. I really noticed it when I was out shopping with my mom and sisters. We were in a little boutique in Grand Haven, Michigan, when I realized I was really annoyed. It took me a second to figure out that everyone in the store was talking very, very loudly. I realized I wasn't used to hearing (or understanding for that matter) strangers' conversations. People don't talk loudly in Europe. It's considered an intrusion of others' privacy. I had to leave the store because I couldn't hear myself think. It's strange what we get used to.

The second instance was when I was in an antique store buying a couple of rings. The very old, very nice saleswoman started talking about how she thinks it's interesting that people wear rings on their middle fingers when she has always been used to just wearing them on her ring fingers. My instant though was, "Why is this lady talking to me?". Small talk isn't really a thing when you shop in France. Customer relations are generally much more formal than here, and it was and is entertaining to me to see what now freaks me out about America.

I am in a time of intense transition. Last year of college, probably last summer living at home, getting my first apartment. I am beyond excited to go back to Minneapolis, but the whole looming future of actually being an adult is a bit daunting. My blog will no longer be "the adventures of an American girl in Southwest France" but "the adventures of a glasses wearing, sweater sporting, book nerd doing random things".

Thanks for reading.