I think we just got Frenched… 

During our first week of moving to France, we had to drive from Paris to Lot et Garonne, our temporary home for the next month. We chose a cool property down in Lot et Garonne. The drive down there would take 6 or 7 hours. With a dog in tow and so much to see in this country, we decided to break the trip up by spending a night in a city that you wouldn’t normally visit on a vacation. This would give us a chance to see the ‘real France’. We chose the city known for its beautiful porcelain, Limoge. It was a good location settle between Paris and our house in Borlins.

We got up the morning of our exit from the comfort of Paris. Why I say comfort is that we were just tourists for the weekend, enjoying the ease of finding English speakers and familiar surroundings. We were both excited and nervous. Our vacation mode had to end and carving out a new life was about to start. Everything was about to get real.

We took an Uber from the hotel down to Orly Airport to pick up the car we leased for the first few months. We got dropped off in a very remote part of the airport near the cargo services. We had four big suitcases, two backpacks and a dog. Knowing that French cars are smaller, I was hoping and praying that everything would fit in what they called an SUV. The attendant had the car ready for us, but it was our first taste of having to communicate with a service provider who spoke very little English.

Luckily, we managed to cram everything in, though Sully, our dog, had to adjust to a much smaller space. We had to acclimate ourselves to dashboard controls that we had never seen before. Luckily, the attendant knew well enough to at least ensure that the controls were programmed for English. He also made sure that we had enough gas in the tank so the low fuel light wouldn’t come on until we left the airport grounds.

We were off on our adventure.

Leaving the airport, I had two immediate worries: finding a gas station and not going over the speed limit. A British couple we’d met during our planning phase had warned us about the strict speed enforcement in France. The husband told me that you can get a ticket for going one mile an hour over the speed limit. Great. I am a lead foot accustomed to fending for myself on Southern California’s psychotic highways.

Our first stop was the most American of things to do. We were headed to Costco. There are two around Paris. I knew that one was on our way south. I just hoped that we had enough gas to get there. Our plan was to grab a cooler and some food for the trip down south. I had read that the Parisian Costco’s had impressive French cheese, wine and food selections. We also needed to grab some gas asap.

It's funny that something as mundane as heading to a Costco can feel so odd when you are in a foreign country. It was the little things. In America, I was accustomed to getting bumped with and blocked with carts as people herded around the free food stations.  I had no idea what to expect in a French one. Turned out, it was not a big deal. I was able to find a small cooler, some good-looking snacks, some charcuterie meats and a couple of bottles of wine. Of course. The only odd thing was when you check out, there were no boxes to put my things in. It turns out that everyone brings a bag to the store in France or they just take their things in their car. Luckily, I had the cooler.

Now it was time to get some gas. At the pump, everything was in French. There was no English language option. I was on my own. I was going to have to guess and fake my way along just like I did back in school. I went for it. I inserted my card. Nothing. I tried again, still nothing. Now there was a line of impatient Citroens and Renaults behind me. Using a translation app, I realized my card was being rejected. Fantastic. The Costco visa didn’t work in the Costco gas pump, even though I had told them I would be in France. I used another card and we were back on track.

That was now behind us. Time to find Limoges.

The drive to Limoges was beautiful, with fields of yellow wildflowers. D snapped photos while I kept a nervous eye on the speedometer.

We arrived in the late afternoon. We had heard from everyone that since the next day was May 1^st, everything would be closed (France has a lot of holidays, more on that and what it was like getting out of town the next day at another time). We were going to be heading to the next place tomorrow. So, if we wanted to eat when we got there, we would need to bring our food with us. I decided to grab some food and water from a store called Casino. Inside, I felt a wave of anxiety. Everything was unfamiliar. I found some chicken breasts, a bag of salad and dressing, some herbs de Provence (of cours) and water.

As I headed toward the checkout lines, I was horrified to find that they were all self-serve lines. How was I going to check out? I can’t fake that. What if I don’t understand what it says on the screen? What if someone is behind me? Why did we move to France?

I ran the barcode of the water over the scanner. Numbers popped up on the screen. Excellent. Now what? Panic came over me. It is amazing how the brain can shut off when you are completely out of your element. Everything on the screen is in French. I have no idea what to do. Over to my right I see two security guards standing in front of the roping around the checkout area. I walk toward them with the water in my hands still. Sheepishly, I ask “parlez vous anglaise?” The taller of the two said something I did not understand. I turned and pointed at the checkout machine behind me. Again, he said something very quickly to me. Still not registering with mind, he walks over to the register and hits several buttons. He then looks at me and gives me the indication that it is time to pay. I grab a 20 euro note and hand it to him. He looks back at me, says “non”, and points at the machine. By this time I really feel stupid. I put the money in, some change comes out and he says “voila”. My God, I wanted to hug that guy. I had the biggest smile looking at him, I grabbed my water and headed back out to the car.

When I got to the car D asked how it went. I told her that I have never been as confused in my life. But it was now behind me. Time to get the air bnb hotel.

Our plan was to get to the hotel, drop off our things and walk around the town. The map said that we were 4 minutes away. As we were pulling out of the parking lot my phone rang. It wasn’t an American number. “Hello?” I say gingerly. Rapid fire French is on the other line. “I really don’t speak French, no parlez Francais”. In a nano second, the man on the line starts speaking great English. He tells me he is the owner of the building where we are to stay. He also says that he is very sorry, our room is not available now. What? How does that happen? What are we going to do? It is a Sunday afternoon in a city we have never been to, it’s a holiday weekend. And we have a dog.

We pulled over next to a park. I pull out my phone to open the booking.com app to see if I can find a room. I am also randomly venting and bitching to D. After about ten minutes of me searching for another room, the owner of our original reservation called me back. He said that he felt really bad and had called around and found us another place to stay. Phew. We got the name and looked up the address. It was just a couple of minutes away.

We parked outside the new hotel, grabbed Sully and went inside to check in. There was a large wooden door that opened up into a courtyard sized room. At the end of the room was someone sitting at a desk with a guest opposite him. We took a couple of steps toward him. As soon as he noticed us, he started shouting “no chien, no chien”. WTF. What do you mean no chien. We were just told that you had a room for us. Well, that’s what I would have said if I knew French. D and I looked at each other. I said to her “let’s get out of here”.

We got back in the car. D asked me what we were going to do now. I had no idea. I looked at her and it finally occurred to me what had just happened. I looked at her and said “I think we just got frenched”. She laughed, “Oh my God, you’re right.”

We sat there for a few minutes to regroup. Once again, I started to look for a room that would take a dog on short notice. Everything I found was in other towns15-20 minutes away that we’d never heard of.

Soon thereafter the original host called me back. Miraculously, the room was now available. We headed back to the place we originally booked. The host had told me that there was parking around the corner from the room. We parked in front of the building, grabbed Sully and went in to find our room and drop off our light luggage. I would grab the four monster bags afterwards. Luckily, our room was on the first floor so I would be able to just roll them in.

We went inside and found the key to our room right where the host told us it would be. Then we looked for room 12. Room 12 was up a 34 step winding double staircase. In France, the first floor is really the second floor. We just got Frenched again.

Despite the anxiety and hurdles, we made it down to our first house. Every challenge turned into a lesson, teaching us how to adapt to our new life in France. Through the chaos, we started to embrace the unpredictability of this adventure.