The sheer awesome-ness that I find in most things French continues to awe and intimidate me on a daily basis.

I feel like that pretty much sums up my feelings on the subject, but I guess I should give it some context.

I have spent the past week in Paris, visiting two friends: Etienne and Laurent.  Etienne lives near the Rue du Commerce in the 15^th arrondissement and Laurent lives in the 17^th.  Arrondissements are little districts of Paris, starting from the first, in the heart of Paris, where the Louvre is located, and spiraling out from there.  Even where they live sounds cool.  And this aura of cool that surrounds all things French, my friends, is the root of my fear.

There is something, some unnamed quality, some unknown cosmic force, that gives the French this air of mystique, this timeless sense of chic that leaves me feeling frumpy and frazzled in comparison.  This dazzling je-ne-sais-quoi hit me everywhere I went in Paris.  On the metro, I observed guys wearing gorgeous pea coats, almost tailor fitted pants and sharp, shiny oxfords.  Their hair is one magnificent swoop that perches on top of an amazing, chiseled face, that leaves everyone in a half mile radius breathless.  Girls sashay down the streets, cigarette in hand, long wavy tresses fluttering behind them.  They are wearing beautiful winter coats, dark stockings and gorgeous high-heeled leather boots.  No UGGs or Northface to be seen.  And while I feel completely inferior, the classic elegance of French style is such a relief in comparison to the atrocious fashion don’ts I observed on a daily basis back in the States.

On top of the amazing style that every French person innately has, I am continuously awed and delighted by the food.  I could probably fill several pages with that topic, but I will be careful and limit myself to this one paragraph.  First, something that is iconically French, and is very dear to me, la baguette.   Plain, simple, essential, but always delicious, baguettes are something that every French person probably takes for granted.  But, as a foreigner, I was shocked to discover that I could pay as little as 30 cents for a baguette that would cost me about $3 back home.  And I take advantage of this fact daily.  Bread is an essential part of a French persons daily routine, from croissants, to pain au chocolat, to baguettes, the absence of bakeries on every street is something I will sorely miss when I return to the U.S.  Other than that, the best way that I can summarize the quality and deliciousness of French food is with the words of my friend Kendall.  As she succinctly puts it: in comparison to the U.S., you pay a little more, because in the US you can find really cheap food, but for that little increase of price, you get an infinite increase of quality.  Also, many products are locally grown, very fresh, and don’t have that chemically enhanced, tomatoes-the-size-of-my-head quality that I find so frequently in the U.S.

The cherry on this amazing and intimidating cake is the language itself.  Other languages have their own merits: English is incredibly flexible and constantly changing, German is logical and structured.  But French is and probably will always remain the most beautiful the language that I have ever heard.  From my analytical chemistry teacher explaining how nuclear magnetic resonance works, to my friends gossiping at breakneck speed, all of it just sounds good.  And when inspected in more detail, French is a language that lends itself to an elegant way of expression, that transforms everyday prose into poetry.  It was not until I came abroad and started really learning French that I realized how difficult it is to really master a language, and that this feat can’t be accomplished in one year.   For this reason I am continually awed listening to my friends speak with such eloquence and composure (even if they are native speakers).

Not to say that there is nothing wrong with France and the French.  People complain about everything, the bureaucracy is a headache, and the price of living is quite expensive.  I have heard all about these faults, from my very American friends abroad with me.  And my response to them is as follows: you made a conscious decision to come to this country.  No one forced you, as far as I know, you had just as equal an opportunity to stay in the States. But you chose to come here, to a country several hundreds of years older than your own. Of course there are going to be things that you find frustrating and different, but you just need to suck it up and deal with it.

As for me, I couldn’t be happier with this amazing country that continues to awe and inspire me.