Hi everyone. Je m’appelle Megan and I’m a francophile.
My fate was probably sealed when I cracked my first edition of Le Petit Prince in high school, now worn with translations lovingly scribbled in the margins. My fascination with the language led to multiple French exchange students, a whole lot of daydreaming and a fierce determination to get the heck out of dodge (i.e., the suburbs of New York).
By the time I was college-bound, I had long envisioned myself in a glamorous (yet meaningful) career skillfully wielding the latest French slang to change the world – for no more than 35 hours per week, bien sur – before heading home to my shabby chic apartment in the Marais.
Things were going according to plan for awhile. In the manifestation of every parent’s nightmare, I returned from my year studying abroad in Strasbourg, France with a French boyfriend (he goes by Frenchie, in real life and now in blog life). Diploma and translated resume in hand, I packed two suitcases and headed to Paris to return to the task at hand. It probably took my poor parents about six months to pick their jaws up off the floor.
Moving abroad was probably the hardest and most fulfilling thing I’ve ever done. I loved the thrill and challenges of getting comfy in a new language and awkwardly learning the social code. Somehow, the expat life – even with the challenges of finding a decent job and learning to dress, if not with effortless French flair, at least without blaring American markers – felt like I was finally living in my own skin.
There was one minor hiccup. Naturally, I had fallen for the only Frenchman who fancied himself an American, complete with an American dream. So much for catching a break.
And so, because what’s l’amour without a bit of compromise, we braved the trials and tribulations of US immigration. After a short stint on the West Coast, I find myself stationed (for now!) in NYC with the same longing for all things Gallic. I’m constantly on the hunt for a French fix. In a city with over 70,000 French expats, there’s plenty to keep me busy, while being married to a Frenchman brings its own linguistic and cultural adventures. As I amass a collection of successes and failures, I thought a blog would help me share my learnings and hopefully stumble upon more inspiration.
I hope you’ll join me (and be patient as I try to learn how to take decent pictures!) in my quest to find pockets of right bank life in the big apple and beyond, and to navigate the seemingly endless twists and turns of a bilingual and bicultural relationship.
So with that, bienvenue et c’est parti!!