At the age of 14, I moved to France and lived there for five years. When I tell people this story, they tend to immediately ask me where it was I lived. My usual answer is simply Strasbourg. It’s a straight forward and simple answer but it’s only 3/5ths true. The other 2/5ths of the truth is Epinal. My first taste of France. What is Epinal? It’s the Lancaster, Ohio of France.
I associate that town with what was probably the worst period of my life. Had I been able to speak more than 5 words of French before I arrived, I might have developed a more favorable attitude towards that city. But alas, I was dumped in the middle of nowhere France with zero knowledge of the French language, dumped in an all-French school with French kids who spoke as little English as I do Spanish. It became clear to me in those two years how important communication is for human beings. Not only is it important logistically like ordering a drink or telling members of your tribe where a herd of elk are frolicking. It is also crucial for us on such a primitive and raw level of human social interaction. If one can’t communicate, one feels isolated, alone, frustrated. Just look at the deaf community and the frustrations they describe in dealing with a world that takes spoken language for granted. I learned this lesson the first year I was in France. In Epinal. In truth, my time there was difficult but it must be said that it was a time of self-discovery and a serious exercise in patience and appreciation. If I could go back, I would definitely have told my younger self to study his French more instead of mopping around, but I wouldn’t have told him to head back to Ohio.
Back to the present day, I returned to Epinal this past weekend to pick up the bag I’d sent with my mom back in June. She and my step-father went on vacation with some friends they’re still in contact with who live in Epinal and handed the bag to them. It was then my responsibility to come and pick it up. Looking back, I probably should have really, really, skimped down on my packing and brought both bags with me. Mais bon. Coulda woulda shoulda. The trip was short, cold, and wet, but in the end, enjoyable. I was fed until the lining of my stomach was bursting, I saw a couple old friends whom I haven’t seen in over a decade, I took a tour of a local chocolatier and stuffed myself with chocolate. I walked around and saw what had changed. What hadn’t. I was also surprised by how nice people are here. I had gotten used to the French people you experience in Paris and in Lyon and it’s easy to forget that there are people who aren’t affected by the hustle and bustle of large city living. During the tour of the chocolate shop, people would kindly move out of the way to let other people get samples. They would pass the plate samples around and excuse themselves if they didn’t see you behind them. They’d hear my accent and ask where I was from and would get excited when they heard I was American and asked what in the world I was doing there. It seemed really refreshing and it made me wish more French people would be like that.
Perhaps a trip back may be in the works. But I would need a really good reason because, quite honestly, there’s still a lot of Europe I haven’t yet seen. Epinal? Been there, done that.
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