After eight hours on the plane, an eternity on the subway (in which I provided a pick-pocket with my incredibly valuable map of the Parisian underground), and a good two minutes of pressing the intercom button outside of my dorm-- I swear it was hissing at me every time I tried to say Bonjour-- I am finally in Paris.
The city really is magically romantic. Or perhaps romantically magical. It's all about the architecture and the layout of the city. It simple to look at those white balconies and 45 degree angles and forget that you are in the twenty first century. It is easy to allow the desire to pull out a book and while away the day at a cafe in true expat fashion a la the nineteen twenties to overcome you. But then I remember that there are museums and gardens and palaces I should be visiting. That there is more than beauty in Paris, there is history and culture and cuisine, all that must be savored and relished.
Its overwhelming really. And it explains why yesterday, I passed out at around 4 pm, only to wake up today at 8:30. I should have gone out for breakfast, explored the cafes. But, I didn't. Why? I'll admit it, because I was scared. I've been abroad before, and I know what it feels like to be a stranger in another country. But there is something about France that makes it even more intimidating. It is not just that I don't know the language. Rather, is that instead of feeling like a guest here, I feel more like an impostor, someone who has infiltrated their midst and is trying to go along without causing any ripples in their fluid French lives. Except that is impossible and they know I'm here. I have the premonition that every time I attempt to speak French, ask for help, or God forbid, speak English, I am highlighting a target on my back. I may just have a negative vision of the French, full of preconceived notions and stereotypes. But...every stereotype is derived from a grain of truth is it not? Still, as I review my encounters with the French, I realize that perhaps I have no need to be so fearful.
Encounter #1
Enter Me. Alone in a French metro station, lugging a 50+ pound luggage behind me. Freshly kicked off a train two stations too early, I appear confused, concerned and very, very American. As a stand there deciphering an incomplete map of the metro system, a French man, about 45 years old, standing nearby approaches me.
Man: Bonjour.
Me: Bonjour
Man: Jabbers away in French, gesticulating to the map.
Me: I'm sorry I don't speak French.
Man: Where do you want to go?
I point on map.
Man: Mumbles to himself in French. Go downstairs. Take B, two stops.
Me: Merci. In my head: I JUST GOT KICKED OFF THE B TRAIN. THIS COUNTRY MAKES NO SENSE. I go downstairs.
Encounter #2
I continue to be confused. A metro director appears across the platform. I ask him for help. Review Encounter #1. I get on the train he has pointed me towards. Apparently today the D line is the B line. Sacrebleu.
Encounter #3
Enter Me. Still lugging a suitcase. Now up a giant flight of stairs. Suddenly a young woman appears, about twenty years old.
Woman: Speaks quickly, but kindly, in French
Me: Mumbles something in English, strained with the weight of the luggage.
Woman: Gestures towards me suitcase. Grabs one of the handles. Helps me carry it up the stairs.
Me: Merci, merci, merci, gracias, merci!
Encounter #4
Woman at the cell phone store. She is one the phone with customer service and helping two costumers at once. On of which is my friend and I, neither of whom speaks English. Nevertheless, she provides us with the two phones we are looking for, puts the phone into English for us, teaches us how to check how many minutes we have left, teaches us where we can recharge our minutes, all while on the phone, never without a smile, and using perhaps only two words of English. Oh, and she helped the other customer as well.
Encounter #5
Walking down the street, speaking English with a friend. A wild French girl suddenly appears! She would like to know where we are from because she is trying to learn the difference between English accents. We oblige. We engage in conversation for a few minutes. She seems put off when we introduce ourselves. I guess the French don't introduce themselves to foreigners, or perhaps strangers in general. She helps us find the street we are looking for however. She comments that the French have a reputation for being unhelpful and she wants to change that. Then she rollerblades off to the weekly French rollerblade thing that apparently takes over the streets.
Encounter #6
Unhelpful subway ticket selling lady.
So I suppose my conclusion is that while the French have no intention of initially being charming, they are willing to be helpful. They are not warm people, at least at first, by any means, but if you make the effort to communicate with them, they will to some degree reciprocate. Perhaps tomorrow I will while away my day at a cafe.
No comments:
Post a Comment