The unfamiliar flies at you hard and fast, including the seemingly simple things I wouldn't think twice about back home. I expected some form of culture shock, sure, but the strangest aspects of living abroad weren't the things I'd mentally prepared for.
A Canadian living in France.Brittany Barber | Narcity
Going to the grocery store (and recognizing close to nothing)
There is no more humbling experience than trying to grocery shop in another country.
In Toronto, I had my routine locked in. It was Gerrard St. East for fruits, veg and fresh fish. No Frills for pretty much everything else. Nothing particularly glamorous, but it worked. Living abroad and deciphering which grocery stores are less expensive, which ones have the freshest produce, and which I should avoid altogether? Yeah, I'm still working on it.
Then there's the sea of brands I’d never seen before. I've never spent so long staring at a single box of crackers, trying to decide whether or not I should risk the two euros on the unknown.
Even when the food is good (and I mean, it's France, so it's usually very good), the mental gymnastics have made me totally glitch out more than I'd like to admit. I'm learning what I like all over again, and very much adjusting to seeing milk and eggs unrefrigerated.
Being mistaken for American (and having to explain myself)
Turns out, being mistaken for American is a near-daily occurrence as a Canadian living abroad. And what follows after politely establishing my True North identity? The unexpected challenge of trying to explain the difference between us and our southern neighbours.
It's something that feels obvious at home, but surprisingly difficult to articulate on the spot. I’ll start listing stereotypically Canadian things like poutine and hockey before moving into discussions about healthcare and politics, only to realize halfway through that none of it quite captures the distinction I'm trying to make.
The confusion only heightens when people learn I'm Canadian and don't speak fluent French. Canada has two official languages, after all.
The problem is that many Canadians (myself included) grew up speaking almost entirely English. Explaining this abroad can feel mildly fraudulent, like I'm failing some kind of national authenticity test.
Yes, French is technically everywhere in Canada. Yes, we all studied it in school. But no, that doesn't mean every Canadian can confidently carry on a conversation in it (unfortunately), especially if you didn't grow up in Quebec.
Cooking for friends (and being judged every step of the way)
Growing up in Toronto means I absorbed bits of a dozen cuisines — Indian, Jamaican, Japanese, Italian, Moroccan, you name it. When it comes to cooking, I tend to improvise, experiment, and apparently over-spice.
So, cooking for my new French friends? I've never felt so exposed.
There seems to be a right way to do things here, but I am very much a "throw it in a pan at it and hope for the best" type of cook — fusing whatever techniques I've picked up over the years without batting an eye.
Getting dressed (and saying goodbye to my athleisure wear)
I was very comfortable bopping around Toronto in my lulus. I mean, why wouldn't I wear a hoodie and sweats to run errands? Or leggings to grab a coffee and gab with a pal? But doing that in France just feels like a big ol' nope.
I've found myself taking more time getting dressed before leaving the house, thinking more intentionally about what I'm wearing. Part of that might be the natural urge to present your best self in a new place. But it also feels cultural. In France, it seems like leaving the house is an occasion, and people tend to dress like it.
Getting on the Metro (and being too polite about it)
As a Canadian, I'm basically trained to apologize if someone bumps into me. I wait patiently to the side as people exit the train, sticking to the right as I trudge up the stairs.
In France, however — particularly Paris and Marseille — the Metro appears to operate under a slightly different set of rules.
If you hesitate for even half a second while boarding, you're simply absorbed into the moving crowd and left behind on the platform. You have to take up space. You can't be so apologetic.
Waiting for the right moment will land you the role of overly polite NPC, watching the train doors close in front of you because you were too busy being gracious instead of getting where you need to go. And I'm not saying the French are being impolite, exactly. It's just a different system that, as a Canadian, I've had to learn to adapt to.
Opening a bank account (and being a giant baby about it)
Nothing has made me feel less competent than trying to bank abroad.
I understood the Canadian banking system. Maybe not in a "I love banking" kind of way, but in a "I know how to function"
way. I knew what a chequing account was. Heck, I even knew how to file my own taxes.
Then I moved to France and found myself in appointments where I understood maybe 40% of what was being said, while pretending I was absolutely still a fully-formed adult.
Why do I need this many documents? Why does opening an account feel like applying to university? Am I really feeling nostalgic about e-transfers right now?
Doing literally anything (because everything is different from what I'm used to)
Living in a new country has made me realize just how much I've moved through life on autopilot. I know how to pay, how to return something, how to book an appointment, and how to make a joke. Even when things are annoying, they're relatively easy because they’re familiar.
Moving to France has absolutely stripped that away. Suddenly, every little thing requires strategy.
Buying shampoo requires translation. Going to the pharmacy requires a pre-written script. Mailing a package feels like a side quest. Calling customer service? It's just not happening.
It's the constant micro-disorientation, the thousand tiny moments of “Wait, how does this work here?” that have made me pause and reflect.
Leaving home exposed all the invisible ways Canada taught me how to move through the world, and how much I've had to relearn starting over somewhere new. It's humbling, occasionally exhausting, and oddly thrilling all at once.
If nothing else, I now know one thing for sure — never underestimate the emotional support provided by your fave yogurt brand.
The opinions expressed in this article are the author's own and do not necessarily reflect the views of Narcity Media.
