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Why I have fallen out of love with France

She used to see France as a paradise, but three years on, it's sadly all changed for one American blogger.

Why I have fallen out of love with France
Image copyright: Moyan Brenn
The blogger who wrote this article has asked The Local to keep her name anonymous.
 
She fell in love with France as a 19-year-old exchange student and continued her love affair when she returned to work as a teaching assistant three years ago. But since then the relationship between the American and her adopted country has regretfully gone sour. 
 
 
For a long time, I honestly thought France did everything right. France’s secular laws seemed fair and made sense; free higher education and affordable health care are human rights; maternity leave and subsidized childcare and reproductive rights are a given; abortion isn’t a hot button topic; vacation and work-life balance are an important aspect of everyday life; people are open and accepting; salaries are much lower but there is so much more government support for people and families who need it to get by. I saw France as a land of opportunity.
 
But over the past six months or so, my rose-coloured glasses have become jaded. I feel so torn, because even though I still want to love France, I seem to have fallen out of love with her.
 
Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely do not miss gun culture or in-your-face-Christianity in America. However I find France’s secular laws outlawing religious expression and symbols in schools to be racist and xenophobic. Especially in light of all of these recent terrorist attacks, I feel as though Muslims (and especially French-born Muslims) are unfairly treated and ostracized throughout the country. Most of these terrorist attacks have been committed by fully-fledged French citizens – and I don't believe this is a coincidence.
 
France is not as open and accepting as we are led to believe, because she is extremely conforming. Foreigners, and even French people who are seen as “different” are expected to conform and accept the French (Caucasian) ways of life if they want to be seen as “equal.” And in some ways, I understand that. It’s important to respect the place you are living – to learn French and try new foods and integrate into the workplace. 
 
But it’s much, much deeper and more problematic than that. I find that subcultures are not equally respected in France – if you do not conform to the French way of life – in regards to what, when, and how you eat, dress, and think, you will not be accepted.
 
I don’t complain as often about the ridiculous store hours or incompetencies of the bureaucracy; I pay French taxes and follow French laws. But I get so, so sick of being judged or reprimanded for not reading books in French, for speaking English with my friends at a bar, for eating outside of “designated” meal times, or for dressing in fun, bright colours. 
 
Although America is not known to be open or accepting of world languages, overall I find that the United States does a much better job of finding and celebrating the equality amongst differences and subcultures – we are equal because are not all the same and we have something different to bring to the table. 
 
The United States is still racist, but at least we talk about race-related problems, such as white privilege and systematic oppression, and acknowledge that they exist. In France, many claim that racism doesn’t exist here because they make it illegal to ask for your race on official government forms (yet it’s still completely acceptable to require a photo with your age and marital status on your CV/resume). 
 
I used to think that free higher education was an amazing thing, until I saw what zero tuition fees brings to students in 2016 – an unequipped classroom with only a chalkboard and not enough seats for all students; no free and accessible wifi; no computer labs or free printing or libraries with study rooms and places for students to just hang out – all things that I took for granted during my time at university. 
 
Inside a French university's lecture hall. 
 
Now don’t get me wrong- we pay too much money for tuition and school. But in France there are students who automatically receive grants and scholarships based on economic need to pay for the small tuition fees, but then don’t actually use the money for university purposes, and then they are not required to pay the money back when the fail the year (which is such a waste of tax payers’ euros). 
 
I also have a problem with teacher training– in order to become a teacher, you merely have to pass a content-based exam. Thankfully over recent years, there has been more guidance and observation and pedagogical learning that has been integrated into teacher training, so that is changing. However, I find it so screwed up that brand new, inexperienced teachers are sent to the worst, roughest ZEP schools, instead of experienced ones who have some classroom management experience, and there is next to zero special education and French as a Second Language programs.  
 
Many teachers are still expected to teach without computers or wifi or even a dry erase board, in 2016. Now don’t get me wrong, there are some really great teachers in France and I know many of them, but in 2016, in a westernized, first world country, I find it absolutely astounding that these things still do not exist.
 
I admit, having affordable health care is amazing, and it is way too expensive in the United States. But, I joke a lot with my Anglophone friends that the French go to the doctor for literally every single tiny little thing from a slight head cold, because you need a doctor’s note in order to be reimbursed even the most basic of medicines.
 
Don’t even get me started on the fact that you need a doctor’s note to run a race or join a gym or do remotely anything physical. On the contrary, I find teeth cleanings here to be an absolute joke – the philosophy here is to “fix problems” rather than to “prevent them” (my own French dentist literally said this to me).
 
I love French food and French dining culture. It is probably the number one thing I have most conformed to whilst living in France. I snack a lot less and I cook a lot more. I enjoy having hors d’oeuvres/apéro before dinner and taking my time at the table. I indulge in a glass (or two) of alcohol every night and do not enjoy eating whilst walking. But sometimes I miss big coffees and eating on the go, and not being judged for doing so. 
 
(Photo: Sophie/Flickr)
 
The French labour laws have definitely made me look at France in a new light. With an unemployment rate at 10 percent, many French people think they are entitled to a job. And it's so difficult to be hired in this country; it is even more difficult to be hired on a permanent contract, and then once you have a permanent contract it is nearly impossible to get fired, even for things that merit being made redundant. 
 
Salaries are extremely low here in comparison to the United States, but there are more social programs and government support. It’s still a foreign concept to me to find it normal to rely on the government to take care of you and give you money. Why can’t France just pay people normal salaries and drive down income taxes so we don’t need to give families extra money in order to afford children and basic life necessities?
 
I love that the French place so much emphasis on work-life balance and find vacation/rest time to be important, but at what point does the government intervene just a little too much?
 
When you ask foreigners what they think of America or Americans, many respond by saying that Americans are positive and optimistic. We see nothing wrong with thinking outside the box and we believe we can do anything. I used to be ashamed of this fact – people viewed my culture and by default me, as childish and out of touch and a bit in the clouds. After living in France for three years, I have never been more grateful to be American and to have kept this mentality. I believe it’s what helped me to find a permanent contract here. I’m grateful that at 26 I still feel like it’s possible to change my path and start over and do something new. 
 
I don’t always feel that is always the case with some French people. I find people here to be a bit more straightforward about possibilities for work and for life. Don’t get me wrong, the French know how to vacation and they know how to relax – I’ve learned a lot from them because I ate into American work culture.
 
But when talking to university students and beyond about possibilities for the future, the mentality is still more like a straight ladder and less like a curvy, multi-layered jungle gym. In my opinion, this probably is in part due to the fact that the French have to choose a general career path at fifteen and then (mostly) try to stick to it.
See original image
 
All in all, France is not the worst place to be female, but it’s not the best place by any means. There are still subtle gender roles and subconscious expectations about how females are expected to be. Even more so, if you’re Muslim and female and you wear a headscarf (or some derivative of it), many French people try to say that it is a form of oppression in order to justify the secular laïcité laws, and that outlawing headscarves/religious symbols helps liberate women (because let’s have a white Christian male explain female oppression). 
 
Headscarves are also not allowed to be worn it in public schools, in addition many areas of work. I shared a carpool with a man to Brussels who was on his way to visit his wife who was an engineer but who was not allowed to work in France because she wore a hijab. There is also a lot of body shaming in France, and it is difficult to be a fat woman. On a positive note, women can bathe topless and breastfeed in public without reprimand, and sex education is much more comprehensive in France, but cat calling and street harassment remain HUGE problems, and is not taken very seriously (although it is beginning to change). 
 
I’m afraid I have fallen out of love with France, and I am desperately searching for that spark I had when we first met all those years ago. I know deep down I still love her. Despite all of my negativity, I am very happy here – I have smart, interesting, worldly friends, I do work that I (mostly) love, and I have enough time to travel to new places.
 
But I’ve come round full circle – from hating the USA and loving France to completely hating France and loving the USA, to finally having a bit of a love-hate relationship with both.
 

WINTER

‘One year in Sweden made me realize we can weather anything’

Madeleine Hyde, a philosophy researcher and English teacher based in Stockholm, reflects on her first year as a Brit in Sweden.

'One year in Sweden made me realize we can weather anything'
Autumn in Stockholm. Photo: Hasse Holmberg/TT

Autumn

When I lived in the Czech mountainside city of Liberec, my grandma would send me woollen scarves and gloves, worried that I was freezing in a city that has, according to some of its optimistic residents, a half-year-long winter. It was September in Sweden, and I'd only been here for two weeks, so no such package had arrived yet. Little did I realize that I could have really used it already, when I went on what I deemed a Great Northern Adventure.

In my wide-eyed naivety and wanderlust, I set off northwards on a night train, looking to spend my work-free fortnight covering as much of northern Sweden and Norway as possible. I had got as far as Luleå, a north-eastern coastal university town lying just an hour shy of the Arctic Circle, when I realized that both my money and my corresponding capacity for adventure was running short.

I stepped off at Luleå's near-desolate train station to thick cloud and 8C, less than half the temperature that Stockholm was enjoying. Senseless town planning had left a centre of wide avenues completely exposed to blusters from harbours on both sides, and anyone who traverses it open to the full blast of available wind-chill. One harbour had erected palm trees and a patch of sand; whether out of optimism or irony, I still cannot tell.

I waited eagerly at the bus station for my ride back down south. A Swedish friend I'd met in Scotland, Per, lived in Umeå, which was a four-hour bus ride southwards and a further six-hour train from Stockholm. Visiting him was the perfect decision. It was like I had taken a piece of my old life in Scotland with me, but it was still distinctly Swedish.

At his place, warmth in abundance awaited me: a traditional Swedish candlelit dinner of mushroom-something and a sauna that was sold to me as equally traditional. So this is how they survive winter. It was a lesson learned: my visit up north had given me a window into the autumn and winter to come.

I returned to Stockholm on a balmy evening, the busy station street all the more alive in contrast to its muted northern counterparts. I may not have crossed the Arctic Circle, but I had seen something of 'real' Sweden, I told myself.

What an overstatement: it was just one facet.

Winter

They tell you that winter is hard in Sweden, but it was January and I still wasn't sick of it. I wasn't sick of watching snow fall, sipping chai lattes or feeling a sugar rush in my cheeks after eating overly-large cardamom buns. Whatever mysig really translates as, it was something akin to this. It was staring out from a thick turtleneck jumper at everyone else in the café, all poring over their writing too, but somehow in a quieter and more stylish manner than I could ever attain. This was my winter office, and we were united in sheltering ourselves from the bitter outdoors. For shame, because what an outdoors.

If I was ever in my university office in winter, it was because I loved to see the snow dusting the thick fir trees outside. A fixture of Stockholm winter scenery as much as candles on doorsteps and lit stars in windows, it was like Advent had never ended. When the sun shone through, the whole affair turned into something really special.

You can keep your sweltering beach holidays: I have never felt more alive than when the sun glared through but the temperature remained firmly in the minuses. I would get off the bus to work just to walk by a frozen lake and see people and shadows dance across it, even though the wind could blow so strongly that it would leave your face in pain. It is so worth it. Step outside, just for a few moments, and you are rewarded with a glittering, frozen paradise.

Spring

What spring? I was told by many good sources that this spring was one of Sweden's worst in years, weather-wise. But I contend that there was a spring of sorts. I saw it and felt it, or at least I thought I did. It was those sunny days in February, March and April where the sun penetrated any dullness and the snow retreated, even if only momentarily. On such days, you would catch people stopping in the street, eyes shut and arms stretched out just to take in the sunlight in that very moment.

It was on days like these that the water that surrounds Stockholm took on a life of its own. The ice had broken and melted, turning the seas and lakes into a way to travel once again. Suddenly jetties began to overtake park benches as my sitting spot of choice: now my contemplation could have a new background of boats and birds instead of city passers-by. The boats that passed through seemed ever bigger. I couldn't wait to climb on board one.

As a present to ourselves, a friend and I visited Helsinki on the weekend ferry. Helsinki itself seemed stuck in winter, its islands still frozen and its city centre keeping a windy chill that could bite. But somewhere over the Baltic on our way back, winter was broken. The clouds abruptly ceased and something that must have been Swedish spring broke through. That Sunday morning, we glided in through a sun-gilded Stockholm archipelago, the coloured houses on the islands sun-soaked as if warming up for their owners to join them for a summer retreat.

Summer

The most-hyped season in Sweden didn't disappoint. I've never been outdoorsy, but then again, I've never been forced to be before. Sunlit forests, heated rocks, and glistening lakes beckon you in and resistance is futile. Best of all, nobody tells you to resist. The near-deserted office practically pushes you out of the door and into the sunshine. Those who aren't working will send the message around on a fine day: this afternoon, we're going bathing, no excuses.

For most Swedes, the central feature of their summer is their stuga, the family's cabin in the woods (just add water). I don't have one of course, so when I wasn't borrowing someone else's, my playground was Gröna Lund. Based on the island of Djurgården, a royal parkland whose primary purpose is to host embassies and museums, Gröna Lund is an old Swedish Tivoli that retains bucket-loads of charm and adolescence. It also hosts concerts all summer at a very democratic price. For the cost of an average dinner out in Stockholm, you can enter the park as often as you like in summer, and waste your coins trying to win oversized chocolate bars. Better still, you can do so while listening to Elton John, The 1975 or First Aid Kit. In a country and city so spread out but sparsely populated, you need to find your happy place. In the absence of my own summer house (or any house, for that matter), I found mine.

Everything

Like pretty much anything that exists, my year in Sweden mostly revolved around the sun. A culture so entwined with nature creates a people whose mood almost depends upon it. The brightness of the sun is a spotlight on the most memorable days, but my inner stoic refuses to live by it. I recognize such resistance in other Stockholmers too. Throw what you want at us: snow storms, terrorist attacks and unforeseen political earthquakes, and we will make the best of it. We can weather anything and, by God, we have the resources to.

This guest blog was written by Madeleine Hyde and first published on her blog, Sweden-Shaped.