After arriving in Paris, my study abroad location, where I would be residing for the next four months, I desperately searched for a salad. “Um, where is the nearest Sweet Green?” I mumbled under my breath, afraid locals would laugh at me. “Dumb Americans!”
I sat down at the nearest cafe, “Bonjour! Can I get an almond milk latte, please?” I asked, embarrassed by how American I sounded and self-conscious about my lack of knowledge of the French language. “No almond milk!” he responded.
The waiter brought me a regular latte. I WAS ABOUT TO DRINK MILK FROM A COW! Even though I had eaten a quesadilla the night before I left. I WAS STILL ASTONISHED BY WHAT I WAS ABOUT TO PUT INTO MY BODY. Three hours later… the waiter came back and gave me the check. Lunches here are long. I checked my pulse, pulled out Snapchat very publicly, snapped a selfie, and realized I was alive. I drank a regular latte, and here I am, ready to embrace my next four months in Paris and become a local or at least a less embarrassing American tourist.
Here’s some background information on me: I love cooking healthy meals. I love healthy restaurants and workout classes. I eat healthy because it nourishes me, and I work out because it makes me feel good. When I chose to go abroad, I knew I wouldn’t have chickpea pasta and Purely Elizabeth Granola accessible.
I decided it was time to embrace the Parisian lifestyle. Chocolate croissant for breakfast? Yes, please! Steak and Frites? Extra sauce, please! Another cocktail? Let’s do it! Mcdonald’s at 1:55, right before they close at 2 am? Let’s not completely forget I’m from America; c’mon, people!
Now I want to work out. Where is the nearest Corepower yoga? Wait, they don’t have that here… of course. I knew that. Duh! Parisian women walk everywhere, so that’s what I’ll do. As they walk, the regular milk lattes and croissants somehow disappear from their bodies. It’s miraculous. I LOVE PARIS.
Since my arrival, which was a month ago, I have found some healthy cafes, I have grocery shopped and found granola that’s not Purely Elizabeth, but it’ll do, and I snap selfies on Snapchat a lot less publicly; you could ALMOST say I’m a local! I have learned embracing culture is the most crucial part of going abroad. When I’m hungover, I eat baguettes and pastries; I barely remember what a bagel tastes like. In French, they say, A pastry a day keeps the doctor away. Au Revoir! (except imagine me botching that with my American pronunciation).