The month before I left the United States, I flipped through a brochure filled with photos of Limoges and strained to imagine myself in this town at the heart of France. Is it too small for me? I thought. How will I get along with people in this new culture? The wheels of my mind spun with hypothetical scenarios and notions of what French people might be like. These questions evoked an inexplicable feeling that led me to pack my things and move to rural France for four months. I wanted to discover a microcosm of European culture, gain an understanding of people who think differently and see the world through another lens.

On the day of my arrival, my train sputtered into the station of Limoges some two hours late. It was getting dark outside and the welcoming team had already gone home. I was annoyed, tired and nervous. I tried to maintain my composure and suppress the feeling of dread rising up in me. I felt totally left to my own devices. After taking some time to put together a game plan, I hailed a taxi and left for my bed and breakfast. Upon arriving, I realized that not only was the door locked, but my host, Pascal, was nowhere in sight. I called to see where he was, but all I could gather from his rambling on the phone was that he was angry, not home and upset by the quality of my French. I was offended by his coarseness and dumbfounded by his impoliteness. Although Pascal was well- intentioned, his brash attitude made me want nothing more than to catch the next flight back home.