What happens when you invite both cultures into the same old country house for a long weekend — and what it taught us about the life we’re building here
Every summer, when friends and family visit from the U.S., I’m struck by how differently our life runs now. The contrast used to be subtle. These days, it’s impossible to ignore.
Once you’re living in France, visitors force a choice you didn’t expect to have to make: do you revert to your old American style, or do you try to share the French one? I never anticipated that choice being stressful. But it is. And this summer, it played out in the most vivid way yet.
The American approach vs. the French one
When American friends visit, the goal is usually to pack in as much as possible. Every single day. A typical French Sunday — long lunches, slow conversations, maybe a nap — can look a lot like “doing nothing” through that lens.
I’ve learned to savor the drawn-out ritual of a slow French meal, from apéritif to dessert. But I watch my American guests start to fidget somewhere around the second course. I feel torn between wanting them to relax and quietly worrying we’re not doing enough. The hard truth is you can’t make people slow down. They have to want to.
One old country house, two very different families
This summer, those two worlds collided in the most literal way possible. Our old French country house — one shower, an 80-year-old electrical system — played host to an American family of five and a Parisian family of four, for four days, at the same time.
I had a list of outings ready. Our American friends were eager to start checking things off. Our French friends? They wanted to stroll to the market, plan a nice dinner, take a walk, play a card game, and chat. The outings sounded fun enough, they said — but wouldn’t it be better to just let the long weekend unfold on its own, simply by being together?
The difference showed up in the kids too. Our 12-year-old American guest sweetly brought his VR headset to share. The 14-year-old French boy wasn’t especially interested. The headset was entertaining enough, but it pulled him out of the group. He’d rather play with the dog, debate the best French films, and laugh over cards with his family.
That French capacity to be fully present and genuinely happy for hours — with nothing but people you love and good food — still astounds me. I’ve come to love it deeply, even if it felt strange at first after years in a culture where speed and entertainment are always front and center.
The moment it all came together
By the end of the weekend, something had shifted. Our American friends slowed down — not all the way, but noticeably. They more than held their own at a long dinner where we swapped childhood food memories and debated what makes people resilient. Watching them settle into that rhythm, I felt something I hadn’t quite felt before: like I was finally sharing the real richness of the life we’ve built here. Not the sights. The life itself.
“The longer you’re here, the more the gap widens between your old habits and the life you’re growing into. It’s odd to watch your own culture start to feel foreign.”
What I’m doing differently next time
I’ve made a decision. The next time we have visitors, I’m simply going to live my French life the way I usually do. Guests are welcome to join as much or as little as they like — but I won’t feel pressured to match a frantic itinerary. I’ll give fair warning when a meal will stretch for hours, so everyone can relax from the start rather than wonder when it ends. And I’ll make clear that the whole point is just being together in the moment.
That’s one French habit I’m not willing to give up.
As Renée said in her Baguette Bound interview: “France will change you — if you let it.” Turns out, she was right.
Baguettes and butter foreva — Raina ❤️
