Here I am again, up in the air, somewhere over the North Atlantic Ocean. I’ve made this trip once on a boat, and more than sixty times on a plane. And though there could be some monotony to this travel, each time still excites me, especially when I’m headed east. I’ve learned over the years to go with the flow: there will be factors beyond my control such as delays, bad weather or mechanical problems. And I know that to get from one side to the other, this is part of the journey. But there’s the satisfaction of knowing where I’m headed and the familiarity of the place. As soon as I get my feet on the ground, my muscle memory kicks in. I know what language to speak and what food I’m going to eat
When you grow up in one country then live in another one, it can be hard to find one’s way. How do I decide what I want to keep of my former life and how do I integrate it into my new life? Without realizing it, I’ve slowly incorporated pieces of my Belgian world into my U.S. one. I missed the daily bread I grew up with from the Belgian bakeries and ended up having a bakery where I made some of those breads. I missed the cheese I could get at the small mom and pop grocery store down the street in Genval and I now have a cheese shop here where I carry some of those cheeses. Inspired by my time in Belgium, I deliberately planned periods of rest into my work schedule. As the world becomes more global, I can now find some of the foods I crave wherever I go. The cultural differences are more accepted than they once were and I’ve even discovered some French language speakers in our community.
But there’s nothing like being on the ground, soaking up the specifics of a culture. On this trip, that means the smell of baguettes baking, the feel of cobblestones beneath my feet, the hand gestures that accompany the use of the French language, the long human history held by ancient buildings, the rocking of the high speed train, the cafés where people take the time to sit with friends. And the many intangibles that I’m still in tune with even though I haven’t lived here for a while
.I suppose that’s why I return regularly: to ascertain that life there continues in that familiar manner just like it does in this culture when I’m here in Goshen. And to soak in those things that I’ll never get enough of like a fresh croissant with the best butter, the “Bonjour, Madame!” and“Merci, Madame!” of the shopkeepers as I enter and leave their shops, that certain “je ne sais quoi” which makes it still feel like home.