Nine Tiny Tweaks

The little things that make my life different in France

Moving to France has altered many aspects of our life, like the way we do the laundry, living without a car, speaking an entirely different language. These were big shifts. There have also been trivial adjustments, as well – those tweaks that don’t have a significant impact on my life but still act as constant reminders that I live in Rennes, France, Europe.

A few of these transitions took concerted effort. Others felt seamless. Like what?

Here are Nine Small Ways France Changed My Daily Life.

I don’t use a top sheet on the bed

Top sheets are Not a Big Thing in France. Instead, we use just a fitted sheet and covered duvet. That means I have to wash the duvet cover as often as I wash the sheets. The washing part isn’t such a big deal, but we all know that one circle of hell is populated with poor souls trying to put duvet covers back on. Just make your husband do it. Problem solved.

I take my shoes off as soon as I come home

I used to think about this in a whimsical kind of way when we lived in Philly, but I never followed through. Now that we live in an apartment, where I sometimes hear the woman upstairs clonking around in her heels, it feels neighborly to take my boots or sneakers off as soon as I walk in the door. I’ve noticed many of our guests do it, too. The practice also helps keep the tiny stones and mud from our rain-soaked paths and sidewalks from being tracked inside. Plus, it allows me to purchase a whole new category of footwear: slippers.

Shoes, Part Two: I only wear stable, heavy-soled shoes

One word: Cobblestones.

The shoe rack. Burping the apartment. Dishwasher salt.

I compost

As you all know by now – thanks to my incessant whining – garbage disposals, like top sheets, are also among the soon-to-be-trademarked Not a Big Thing in France. Also, Rennes is super eco. So we toss food scraps into a stinky bucket and empty it regularly into the even stinkier compost receptacle in our building’s trash room. Considering the number of brown banana peels and slimy old cucumbers, there’s a big ick factor. If the lid is even slightly askew for 10 seconds, I can smell it behind a closed door two rooms away. Just make your husband empty it. Problem solved.

I burp the apartment. Before American influencers anointed this with the catchy moniker, the practice of opening the windows wide to air out the house was known in Germany as Lüften. The French and other Europeans do it, too. I hesitated at first. We don’t have screens (Not a Big Thing in France™) and I worried about mosquitos and flies. That hasn’t been a problem at all. Letting fresh air circulate throughout the apartment, even during the chilly, rainy days of winter, really does provide as much fresh relief as a good belch.

I add salt to the dishwasher. This is necessary to fend off the limescale that builds up from the extremely hard water. I thought we had hard water in Philly until I moved here, but, oh, la la, it’s way worse here. If you don’t take preventative measures, the chalky build up can gunk up machines, pipes, shower doors, electric kettles, and anything else water touches on a regular basis. Including my hair.

I rarely use an umbrella.

That’s right, I live in one of the rainiest regions of France but hardly ever carry an umbrella. That’s because Brittany is also very windy. Here, umbrellas are merely mankind’s pitiful attempt to prove its superiority over the stinging, windblown droplets that fling into our faces. Every. Single. Day. I gave up and got a superhero of a rain jacket with a decent hood. Have rain jacket, will travel.

I store eggs on the kitchen counter

Eggs don’t need to be refrigerated here because they are processed differently than in the US. In the States, eggs must be washed and sanitized against salmonella before being sold to consumers. The washing removes the cuticle from the eggshell. In Europe, salmonella is combatted by vaccinating chickens, making the washing of their eggs unnecessary. With an intact cuticle, eggs are shelf-stable. Oddly enough, that also makes them vulnerable to mold if you do refrigerate them.

I don’t get coffee to go

The French café culture, while not as robust as it once was, is still a big part of the fabric of life. Even though a few fancy coffee shops have muscled their way in, with their Chai Lattes and takeaway cups, it’s the Starbucks in town that routinely becomes the victim of vandalism during every major protest. The vandals seem to be targeting the idea of big, fat corporate America co-opting the near-religious French tradition of sitting on a rattan chair, nursing a tiny cup of espresso and watching the world go by. Don’t be fooled, though: Plenty of French people love their takeout Grande Mocha Lattes. But it’s not really about the coffee, is it? The hard truth is that French café coffee is not all that good. It’s the experience of sitting down and drinking the coffee that matters. I do that in spite of the taste.