joie de vivre
Integrating into the French way of life, step by step
I’m writing this as the thirty-degree heat beats down upon the apartment; I’ve spent the past couple of weeks sweating profusely around the clock. I’m not complaining about it, either.
Having a defined summer season is just one of the many reasons why I grow to love living in the south of France more and more with each passing day. It’s almost guaranteed that I’ll wake up to the sun rising on the horizon, unobstructed by clouds, the temperature almost reaching its peak before I start work for the day. I could gripe about being uncomfortable – especially with no air conditioning – but I feel grateful, energised, happy.
There’s a physical upside to it, too. It’s no secret that vitamin D is extremely beneficial for our bodies, and the abundance of it here has helped me tenfold. Before the move, my skin had broken out into the worst case of eczema I’d suffered for years. The stress of changing jobs, applying for a visa, commuting to London throughout the week and getting married on top of it all had me flaring up all over my arms, legs and face. Now, it’s completely disappeared. I truly haven’t felt this good about myself in a while, despite the near-constant perspiration.
Getting used to the heat will take time, as will integrating into the French way of life, but I’m wholly dedicated to the process. I had to prove said dedication recently, as I was summoned to the Office for Immigration and Integration for a mandatory appointment. Here, I would have to sign a declaration confirming my willingness to adapt to French society and put the effort into settling in, as well as undertake both a written and spoken language exam.
My heart was in my throat as I pulled up to the building, rehearsing the worst-case scenario in my head and fully expecting to be laughed out of the door for my French skills. After arriving and having to sit in a dead silent, clinically lit waiting room, myself and several others were taken into a classroom that felt strangely similar to high school – individual chairs and desks in rows, hushed whispering amongst us in trepidation of what was to come, and exam invigilators stood watching at the front, stacks of papers in hand.
We were given twenty minutes to complete our written French exam. It involved creating an email to a creche, enquiring about their availability and facilities; analysing a newspaper article about a retiring teacher; and sending text messages to my “son”, confirming that I’d pick him up from school and offering to buy him a textbook. I struggled my way through, convinced I had failed and would have to attend a mandatory 600 hours of language lessons (a very real figure, by the way).
I was then led out of the classroom and to a booth, where a lovely French woman began asking me questions about where I’m currently living, what I’m doing for work and what to expect from my next few months in the country. She didn’t speak a word of English, and it was only after a ten-minute conversation that I realised this was my speaking exam. Thankfully, I managed to respond to everything she asked and, after the time was up, she revealed her perfect English and told me I had passed.
To put it lightly, I was elated. I had spent the whole morning panicking for no good reason – my efforts had paid off, and I showcased a good enough understanding of French to be able to remain in the country without the need for further lessons. It was a lesson in ignoring self-doubt and believing in myself, as cheesy and as cliché as that sounds. Moving countries is an arduous task, one where you’re constantly worried that you’re doing something wrong, but I left the appointment with a spring in my step. I had overcome perhaps the biggest obstacle I’d faced since arriving, a huge weight lifted.
I still have a medical appointment to come, as well as four full-day civic courses in Montpellier to attend. During these lessons, I’ll learn all about France’s laws, politics, history and the systems I’ll eventually be fully integrated into. I’m excited and motivated in equal measure – my nouveau debut continues, and it’s going even better than I’d hoped.
Aside from the administrative developments, I’ve simply been enjoying the summertime. My husband and I spent the past Saturday at Valras-Plage, our local beach that becomes considerably packed during this time of the year; families and tourists arrive in their droves, injecting the usually peaceful town with a buzzing energy that I love.
We grabbed lunch at La Cabane Bleue, a beach bar that also offers private sunbeds to enjoy after your meal. It’s a gorgeous spot, decorated with striking blue paint and straw lampshades with panoramic views of the sea just in front. I was starving, so I opted for a double hot dog with fried onions – it was essentially an entire baguette with frankfurters and dijon mustard, which gave me a good excuse to drag my stuffed body over to a lounger afterwards.
I have always cherished any opportunity to swim in the sea. I never really ventured to the beach much whilst living in the UK – I much prefer sand to stones, I don’t fare well with crowds and I don’t fancy entering any water that’s quite literally full of shit. But, I find there’s something healing about swimming in open water. It goes without saying that the Meditteranean is much preferable, but it feels even better knowing that it’s just a stone’s throw away.
Whilst slurping down a Piña Colada, I actually said to my husband that it feels like a holiday. It reminded me of conversations we’d have before moving, in which he’d remind me that the reality of living somewhere I’d only previously visited for two or three weeks at a time would be very different. It was a fair point, as my infatuation with the south of France was heightened by the fact I’d always have to leave. However, it’s been four months since I got here and the novelty is yet to wear off. I'm not sure if it ever will.
Some other things that have been going on recently:
Last weekend, I finally got to see Longlegs. I’d been keeping an eye on the buzz online and had subsequently bought into it, as I hadn’t been truly scared by a horror film in years, despite loving some recent releases. I’m also a fan of Maika Monroe since seeing her in It Follows years ago, as well as Nicolas Cage (we share the same birthday, after all). Not to mention, the frequent comparisons to Se7en – one of my all-time favourite films – and The Silence of the Lambs were definitely intriguing.
My husband was extremely nervous before heading into the cinema, whereas I was beyond excited. Cut to two hours later, and I emerged feeling nauseous and shaken whilst he was absolutely fine. Longlegs lived up to my expectations and more. I hadn’t felt that scared and uncomfortable watching a film since I first saw Sinister twelve years ago; Monroe and Cage’s performances are exceptional, the plot is complex yet fantastic and the scares are incredibly effective. If you haven’t yet watched it – and can handle a truly evil film – I highly recommend.
We’re also racing our way through Ink Master, the US-based reality TV show in which tattoo artists from across the country compete for $100,000. I’m an avid tattoo fan, having 18 of them in total, and it’s fascinating watching these people create absolute masterpieces from scratch in the space of six hours. Some of the artists across this series are truly world-class, and I cannot fathom the level of sheer creativity it takes to design and apply artwork that’s entirely out of your comfort zone, whilst on camera and under a time limit.
Of course, the real entertainment comes from a) the bad tattoos, of which there are plenty, and b) the drama, of which there is also plenty. It’s like the straight man’s RuPaul’s Drag Race – you can very easily tell when production has stepped in to make the contestants fight over nothing. They will yell and scream at each other in the green room over the most petty, unimportant things, and I lap up every single second of it.
It doesn’t come without its controversy, though. Each season has its own unique theme, and the one we’re currently watching is a ‘Battle of the Sexes’. Some of the men are grotesquely sexist, without the talent to back it up. Thankfully, they’re actively called out on screen and made to feel antiquated, as they should be. Despite their questionable and offensive remarks, the satisfaction comes when some of the women routinely out-tattoo them with ease. It’s an infuriating watch at times, but a stark insight into the dynamics of the tattoo industry.
In terms of music, I’ve listened to barely anything aside from JADE’s debut single. Angel Of My Dreams is a soul-bearing, energetic, unpredictable pop masterclass, reflecting on her time with Little Mix under Simon Cowell’s label, Syco Music, with complete honesty: “Selling my soul to a psycho / they say I’m so lucky / better act like you’re lucky, honey.”
All three of the Little Mix girls have now made their solo debuts, with varying levels of success. None of them are bad, per sé – and Leigh-Anne deserves so much more – but it feels like Jade has flown out of the gate with a statement. No other pop song in recent memory sounds like this. A Sandie Shaw sample gives way to an X Factor winning ballad-esque introduction, that then evolves into a grimy, pulsing beat that’s set to be a gay club staple for months to come. There are definite influences of Xenomania, Girls Aloud and arguably even K-Pop throughout, suggesting that Jade is both a dedicated student of pop music and, now, a teacher.
And that’s without even mentioning the music video. Partly set in Deptford (two stops away on the DLR from where I used to live), it tells a highly-dramatised tale of how the music industry chews women up and spits them out in favour of the younger, fresher talent. It’s surprisingly emotional, visually arresting and has tons of replay value. I cannot understate just how powerful it is, not to mention unique. Jade is a superstar, and I cannot wait to see what comes next.
Speaking of living near Deptford, I knew that Jade also lived close by after she uploaded a few TikToks in the park that was two minutes’ walk from my house. It was a running joke between my housemates and I for almost two years that we’d soon bump into her, and we’d invite her over for drinks and she’d be our best mate eventually – and then one day, whilst working from home, I strolled to Canary Wharf for some lunch and walked directly past her. Of course, I said nothing as I didn’t want to interrupt or bother her, but the mere sight sent my heart racing so fast, I had to sit down for five minutes. She’s powerful, I’m telling you.
Here’s a playlist of ten songs I’m enjoying at the moment, which I think you’ll enjoy too. JADE is in there, alongside the new Kesha single (which I still have on heavy rotation, of course), new ones from the Clairo and Kaytranada albums, as well as the latest single from the Margate-based Tokyo Tea Room. My friend is the band’s lead singer, and to watch their profile explode over the last few years has been very exciting – it’s well deserved. They make blissful, dreamy music that offers the ideal soundtrack to a tranquil summer.
Wishing you all a fantastic, sunny week ahead – bonne semaine à tous !
