This is Richael Best, your trusty study abroad blogger, writing to you from Aix-en-Provence.

I have begun my third week in France, and I’m starting to feel like I actually live here, like I’m not just another tourist. The days have started falling into a familiar routine, I’m fitting in with the family dynamic, and I know my way around town without looking at a map or street signs. I know where to go to get a cheap-but-delicious sandwich for lunch, where to buy a multi-ride bus pass and how to use it successfully, and I’ve managed to cut my walk home down to a swift 25 minutes. A vast improvement from the first 45-minute attempt in the sleet with numerous wrong turns and awkward blunderings.

I know why the French can recognize Americans so easily now, because I’m developing the same uncanny ability. It isn’t just the clothes, though style can be an obvious give-away. The biggest thing is how people walk through the street and how much control they have over their face and general demeanor. Americans tend to walk leisurely in bunches, conversing loudly, swiveling their heads to and fro to take in the beautiful old buildings, cute boutiques, and delicious-looking pastries around every corner. There’s an uncertain and apprehensive look in their eyes, as well as an openness and implicit willingness to smile. I’m not reluctant to admit that I displayed all of these qualities at first, and continue to do so occasionally, but especially when walking alone I feel like I’m becoming slightly more French.

The Aixoises, when they walk across town, look straight ahead or slightly downward. There are lots of odd curbs and obstacles to avoid, as well as more unpleasant things in the streets.   They know their destination and rarely stop to look into store windows. They look serious, their emotions guarded. This is not to say that they are cold, not at all. It’s just that shows of familiarity and effusive affection are mostly reserved for private spaces. A smile in the street doesn’t mean anything compared to a quiet conversation at a café with a friend, and it seems like people save their smiles for when they matter, when they’re deserved.

By contrast, in stores, there is much conversation between the owner or employees and the customers that generally follows a certain formula. Customers do not generally talk amongst themselves, but one must always say “bonjour” upon entering a shop, ask nicely (and in the conditional tense) for the desired product, and say “merci” and “au revoir” when leaving. It’s a simple rule, but seems much more personable than in the United States. I suppose chatting with cashiers is normal, but I never noticed people saying goodbye every time they went out the door. Here, if you don’t say “au revoir,” the vendeuse will prompt you by saying it first as you walk away. It is definitely seen as rude if you forget and leave without saying goodbye, even if you say thank you.

These phrases have become entirely natural now, and I feel my pronunciation of even these simple things improving. Everyday expressions roll off the tongue, and I find myself thinking in French, composing topics of conversation (or, rather, a sentence or two that I can correctly pronounce) to bring up at dinner in my head as I walk home. I’m getting used to using the “vous” form of verbs, which is slightly more formal than “tu” and used with people older than you and people you don’t know well (e.g. everyone you talk to in a store, host parents, professors, etc.).

Of course, there are roadblocks. Sometimes I will be following a conversation moderately well, making adequate, if faltering, responses, and then I’ll hear a sentence that makes absolutely no sense. I don’t know where each word starts and stops, all the vocabulary is new, and it is pronounced with such speed I can barely repeat it in my head before more confusing words follow. During those moments, which are not infrequent, I realize how much I still have to learn. Though I’m learning how to assimilate, I am not French. I know I still have the telltale wide-eyed mien when I encounter new situations or areas of town, and switching into English while walking with American friends is too easy. My vocabulary is limited, and having to conjugate verbs to the correct tense can insert horrendous gaps of mental calculation into a conversation. Still, I am getting better at expressing what I mean, even if it takes a few tries, and I’m much more comfortable in the French lifestyle after a few weeks to soak up a different way of living.