Having arrived, everything is, as was previously noted, extremely nice. The family has treated me to a very warm welcome and I have come to discover that their house is, in fact, nicer than my own at home. But it's also a cookie-cutter and one half of a (very) large duplex in the middle of a French gated community, a "queer" hybrid of cultures the least of which I would not have expected here. That isn't a complaint, however, and I'm relishing the experience.
Très moderne la cuisine, non?
They eat like extremely typical French people do, the children drinking their milk out of a bowl in the morning and dunking their sliced "American" bread avec Nutella in it, the adults consuming extra strong coffee while partaking in "real" bread with lots and lots of butter (Paula Deen would be proud) and "confiture" (preserves/jam) that they make themselves. In fact, they have a garden, so a lot of the things they eat they make or produce in some way or another themselves. It's pretty sweet. Everything from the potatoes to the lettuce to the herbs is grown chez nous. We have aperitifs before dinner usually including some form of interesting Italian liqueur, white or rosé wine, dinner with red wine, salad after dinner, and assorted regional cheeses and cherries after dinner.
Do you have vertigo and envy yet? Voilà the garden.
I must also note that everything in this country tastes significantly better than its counterpart in both Russia and the US, for reasons entirely unknown to me, but totally unimportant regardless. I understand that this family is a little more wealthy than your average French person and that we (they) therefore eat a little better as well, but even still, I have found everything from the street sandwiches to the food in restaurants to be of a much better quality overall.
The family themselves are rather nice, a married couple the same age (almost exactly) as my own parents who do some sort of miscellaneous work in banks and commerce. Their kids are 11 and 14 and thus at that awkward tween/early teen age of being curious who the strange person come to visit them is but also not exactly sure what, if anything, to say. The younger one is much more antisocial, the older one much more talkative. They're both boys, and thus it is a very male household, very obsessed with rugby. They fucking love their rugby here. Two thirds of their conversations are about rugby. I know way more about rugby than I ever thought I would now. The mother, on the other hand, is a little quiet, rather inquisitive, and seems to be fond of good drink.
They drive Renaults, which in their neighborhood, the little cul-de-sac style street they live on and the surrounding vicinity, means that they're not quite in the upper strata of income. It is ridiculous seeing some of the vehicles around here, especially because in France, they are much more expensive. Audi, Mercedes, Porsche, you name it and it's here. The thing is, in this part of town, it's not really considered a flash of income to drive such cars, because everyone has brand new vehicles and they're all of a nice make, so it's just the normal thing to see.
They drive the kids to their private schools (the same place that Babette's daughter goes, hence why she knew them and contacted them to be a host family) in the morning and pick them up for rugby and swimming practice afterward. I got driven to class the first day and they showed me where the stop for the bus is, which turns out is only a short walk past a field with horses away. I got lost and wandered into the wrong gated cul-de-sac the first time around getting back, but no problem. I just want to find a grocery store or some point of commerce nearby, though. Is that too much to ask? You can see how this is all extremely familiar already. Culture shock? What's that?
This is my view every day. Have envy.
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