A Biospy of a French Family

Having heard some of your horror stories, I realized I got pretty lucky with my host family.  For the most part, they were great, if a bit odd.  So here’s a little overview of my family, and some of the culture differences they helped me to see.

First there’s my host mother, Annette.  She used to work in finance, or something like that, that sounds really boring to me, so I can’t be very specific about it.  She stopped either because she was bored, or because she had kids.  Not sure which.  But she started her own organization, “Bienvenue à Paris,” to show expats and tourists a deeper side to Paris, past the obvious tourist sites.  She teaches healthy French cooking classes, leads tours, etc.  She, with help from her Filipino housekeeper, makes lunch and dinner for her family every day, which includes a salad, a main course, and then fruit or yogurt for dessert.  She offers water during the meal.  There is no wine or cheese.  She does the laundry and the dishes, and enjoys entertaining guests for a meal.

My host father, Olivier, works in Marsaille, and commutes a couple times a week.  He often gets home around midnight, stays for a day or two, and then leaves at 6 am.  He does not know how to operate the dishwasher, the laundry machine, or how to cook himself a meal.  His owns a business that sells window hangings, or something.  Again, not super interesting.  He laughs incredibly loudly, and though he seems pretty fit, his wife and daughter frequently yell at him to stop eating so much. 

The daughter, Valentine, is 18 years old, pre med, and probably weights about 80 pounds.  (Ironically, my host parents often nagged me for not eating enough, and seemed concerned that I might be anorexic.  Yeah.  Okay.)  She often whines at her mother, as teenagers do, and plays American top 40s music loudly in her room.  Her mother has to yell her name several times before she shows up to dinner, eats quickly, and leaves, much to the displeasure of her mother, who would like her to stay and make conversation.  She reminds me of why my relationship with my parents got so much better once we weren’t living together, but she’ll be living at home while she goes to medical school in Paris.

The son, Alexander, is 22 and just got an internship with Amazon.  He is still living at home, and he and his sister often fight loudly over who gets to use the shower first.  That’s about all I know of him.

My host family is odd, and sometimes confusing.  But I was offered a good dinner every night, a view of the Eiffel Tower from my room, and a cool cat to hang out with.  They were patient with my questions and only allowed me to speak in French, which helped me improve a lot.  They corrected my grammar without seeming condescending, and asked questions about my family at home.  Overall, not the worst pace to spend three months.