Paris in June: Part Two: Roaming Paris

So here is Part Two as promised. It is now going to include last night's adventures as well since I didn't get around to this in quite the timely manner I had hoped. I didn't even finish the last post; there was more I wanted to say, I just couldn't find the words at the time.

What was really amazing about the Musee D'Orsay was the way it made me feel. Hemingway said that after he finished writing he felt empty, both sad and happy as if he had just made love. But I feel like just absorbing and seeing these work of arts you feel much of the same sentiments. To be around such beauty and genius is overwhelming and it actually made me physically exhausted. But maybe that's just me.

Anyway, on to France's social scene, or lack thereof. Perhaps, lack is too strong of a word. Undoubtedly, there are places for college students to go and things to do, but they are often difficult to find and difficult to enjoy simply because we are not French. This goes far beyond not speaking the language. Even if I spoke perfect French, it would still be a challenge to engage in Paris's social scene. The key to having a good time here is knowing Parisians.

I'll begin with Wednesday night. My friend Adela knew of this party along the river that from the description she was given, sounded as if it were on a docked boat--hence the name Floating Party. It took us ages to find the place because we couldn't exactly see a boat that looked like it would house a party, especially not one near the address we were given. We ended up just splitting bottles of wine along the edge of the river until we decided to explore some more. Completely by chance we ended up running into these small group of French guys--probably college students--as we were illegally jaywalking. Some of my French-speaking friends struck up a conversation with them, though we later found out they spoke English and Spanish, and discovered that we were all headed to the same place. They offered to take us there and we agreed.

After risking our lives crossing a small stretch of highway that was marked by a blind curve obstructing our view of oncoming cars (the French guys crossed this like it was a fashion runway; You know, no big deal, let me just whip my scarf around my neck as I stroll across No Man's Land) we take the stairs down to the edge of the river. Suddenly, there are hundreds of teenage Parisians, all dressed in their chic blazers and scarves, looking quite posh. Some of them were holding bottles of wine like us; nearly all of them were smoking.

Now at this point, I was definitely thinking, this is out of my league. I am not dressed to fit in with these people, nor do I have the extreme desire to kill myself of extended lung cancer and emphysema that they posses. I was ready to cross that killer highway once more, find a nice cafe and sit down and watch cute French boys meander by. But, no. I told myself I was here, and I was ready to experience a real Parisian night on the town.

French Guy (at this point his friends had disappeared so there was only one) in his, not broken, but limited (if being slightly arrogant and misogynistic counts as limited) English warned us multiple times that the French were very snobby and that if we wanted to get into this party we should go in with him. So he takes us through the mass of French kids, at which point I realize there is a sort of barrier created around this portion of the bank, and leads us through the gates. Our bags are checked for bottles of alcohol, because God Forbid we don't buy their alcohol--weed and pills? Fine. But pre-bought wine? Never!-- and then all of the sudden we are inside.

After a while French Guy disappears, though not after ensuring us that he and his friends are going to make love to all of us. Stranded in this mass of French of teens we decide the only logical thing to do is buy a drink. But that proves impossible because you can't just buy a drink with cash. No. You have to wait decades in a line, stumble over your awful French as the vendor glares at you, and then buy a ticket. At which point you have to trade in that ticket for a drink. Far too much effort, so we decide instead to dance.

Once again, a disaster. The DJ is playing only techno music, and while almost everyone is on the makeshift dance- floor facing the DJ, no one is actually dancing. There is some head bobbing and shoulder shaking, the occasional guy putting his hands in the air, but for the most part everyone is just standing around, talking and smoking. And it isn't easy to talk in there due to the music and the sheer number of people, I promise you. It was the strangest thing I have ever experienced. Talk about culture shock. I found it especially surprising that in a place where the guys will whistle at you and call out to you on the streets they won't even come close to you while you are dancing. Everyone has their own bubble and space and it is never invaded. thus, it is impossible to get to know anyone besides the people you came to the party with. Unlike the United States, where you go to a bar to meet new people, in Paris you go with a group of friends and you very much stay with those people. you ignore everyone else, which left us, alone and confused, not understanding anything that was happening.

And as far as I have experienced this happens everywhere I go in Paris. We went to a bar afterwards and it was the exact same thing. Even though they were playing American music, no one danced together. Last night I went to another bar (this one was mainly white people, the other bar was mainly black) and once again no touching. In fact, only a few people were even up and dancing; everyone else was just sitting down watching them with this bored look on their face.

I guess what I don't understand of this is the appeal. If I wanted to just sit around and talk and drink I would get a bottle of wine and go to the river (which hundreds of kids do) or frequent a cafe. But to go to a place of music where it is loud and crowded and then not dance or rage is an action beyond my comprehension. Maybe my Americanism, my desire to go out and dance and not care if I make a fool of myself is out of place here. I got the sense that people cared a bit more about appearances, and looking chic and hip. Dancing makes you sweat, it makes you look spastic, and when caught in a photo it can make you look downright crazy. But it's fun. And standing around in a dark crowded room just isn't.

One thing I would recommend going to though is a Polyglot Party. I'm not sure what street it was on, though I do think it was at a club called Wagg. What you do is you wear a nametag that has what languages you speak and what languages you would like to learn written on it, and then you can go around talking to people practicing those languages. When we got there it was mainly older people, from their late 20s anywhere up to like 60s. But it was interesting. I met this Italian guy who had been living in Paris for 12 years. He also spoke Spanish and English, and while he continuously invaded my personal space and I could smell the cigarettes on his breath he was sort-of interesting to talk to. Ok, actually he was kind of boring, but he was the first person my friend and I started talking to, so we went with it. I later found two French guys who spoke Spanish and English and were trying to learn Portuguese because they wanted to work in Brazil in the future. They had just moved back from Panama where they were working before and they loved it there. They invited us to go out with them later, but then we lost track of them and they disappeared. The last guy I talked to was this really sweet old man who gave me his card and asked if I would call him to practice English over the phone. After 11 pm the club turns into a dance party, but my friend and I didn't stay for that part.

So the nightlife is very much miss on the hit-or-miss scale thus far, but I'm hoping that will change. As it is though I am having more fun during the day just exploring the city. I've found some cute little shopping streets, and I have to put in a plug for the Latin Quarter. Cheap food, cheap clothes, and a quaint little atmosphere, it's my favorite part of the city so far. I'll post some pics of the places I've been.