Chuckling in Paris

Observations from an Outsider: Volume I

As in any culture, France has a very specific set of tendencies that can be hard to wrap your head around. Not following them leads to embarrassingly admitting you're american, confusing, or possibly even death.

I. The five food groups in France are bread, cheese, wine, cigarettes and coffee. This is not an exaggeration, you will see more of these items in a day then there are pigeons in Paris (and there are many, many disgusting and decrepit one-legged or two-toed pigeons here), and you'll be hard-pressed to find a Parisian who hasn't had all of these things by the end of the day. As an ex-vegan American, anti-caffeine, not inclined to be a smoker, and not of legal drinking age, what's a girl to do? Give up and play along, I guess. No matter how much I will it to be, there are no food carts with good burritos (why is it that I have endlessly been craving burritos? what is wrong with me?? Although I have eaten a couple falafels that were out of this world) or japanese food to make my palette feel at home, and the food here, as carb-ridden as it may be, is delicious and mild (no spices whatsoever! I'm a lucky girl). Everything is preservative free and local, so my ideals and my stomach are on the same page. Bon appetit!

a. I'm quite worried about caffeine dependancy becoming an issue. Coffee is a requirement with breakfast, and when I wake up I'm a squinty-eyed monster, walking zombie-like to the table and rummaging around for my café before perking up. French coffee is also much stronger than in the US, so I'm not sure what I'll do when I go back to watered down "french roast" in my giant plastic mug...

b. If bread and cheese doesn't doom my waistband, the desserts will. Oh my God, the desserts! My host dad's love to bake, so every night it's something different - almond cake, fig tart (pictured), homemade yogurt and fruit, brownies (which they call, "the American dessert")! It's like I'm Charlie and I'm living in the Chocolate Factory. Side note - the french word for "yumm" is "miam".

II. For every American hairstyle or trend, there is a French way to do it that it is infinitely more glamorous, harder to create, and more expensive. Take, for example, the messy bun. In the states, maybe it's a look for someone on the go, trying to stay comfortable, wearing ugg boots and sweatpants - in France, it is the height of fashion. Every Parisian girl you see has long, textured hair that has clearly taken years to achieve that "messy but put together" perfection, that they throw into a bun with a thousand clips, accessories, and just the right amount of hair left carelessly hanging down. That, and they pull it together with a blazer, chic tunic, skinny jeans, and stilettos - and they're ready to go to the supermarket. I refuse to be bothered - I hate brushing my hair let alone styling it, so perhaps I'm a lost cause. That, and last week was fashion week so I guess the wounds are still fresh from all of the models running around Paris.

III. Pedestrians do NOT have right of way. Ever. Many of the smaller Parisian side streets do not have traffic lights (which they call a "tricolore" meaning "three colors") or even stop signs,

so cars will just continue on the road, regardless of whether or not you happen to be in the middle of it. I have the street rules of Portland engrained in me, where stepping into a crosswalk makes traffic on both sides of the street come to a stop - so you can imagine how many times friends have had to grab my arm and pull me out of harm's way, aka a speeding car. French drivers are worse then New York City drivers, in all seriousness.

IV. Strikes are everywhere, all the time. Currently, the French government is trying to pass a bill that raises the retirement age from 60 to 62 - all hell is breaking loose. The French people do not work earlier than 9 in the morning, they do not work on Sundays (including stores), they do take three or weeks of vacation a year, so god forbid they work an extra two years! There's probably more to it, but to a girl who sees many middle to lower class families working their entire lives to make ends meet, I don't see what all the fuss is about. Nonetheless, every week or so there is a "grève", meaning strike, that shuts down the post office, all government related offices, and slows the metro down to the point where getting anywhere could take an hour or two. My host Dad, Samir, says it's because French people want to take a day off from work without getting fired. Way to go.

V. Running errands takes all day. Literally, as I'm going to sleep every night, I have to decide what the next day will be like. It's either a school work day, an errand day, or a "cultural" day. There are no in-betweens, as each of those options WILL take the whole day because of transportation, massive lines, getting lost, etc. The worst of it is errand running, though - everything here is compartmentalized. There are no large supermarkets with everything you could possibly need - one stop shopping does not exist. Instead, there is a separate place to get each of the following: bread (pictured left is one of those shops, called the "boulangerie"), cheese, meat, fish, fruits/vegetables (if you want them all fresh), then another place to get a new water bottle since you left yours in the states, and yet another to buy school supplies. Also take into account that none of these places are located in the same neighborhood - and you've got a full day's trek ahead of you. You're lucky I like being busy, Paris, otherwise we might have an issue.

VI. The University system. It is so bad. They tell me everyone in the room is a college student but I just can't believe that any of these people have made it past the ninth grade. I've actually taken to writing notes on all of the bizarre happenings I've observed in a French classroom:

• "We have been sitting in this room for twenty minutes with no professor. Should I keep waiting?"
• "Someone just told me I can't sit in a row of seats because she's 'saving all of them for her friends'. Saving seats?! Welcome back to Middle School?!"
• "Boy just walked out of class half an hour early without saying anything, Professor doesn't miss a beat".
• "Girl rolls cigarette two feet in front of professors face, pulls out a lighter, and leaves the classroom. Returns ten minutes later".
• "Second week of class, students again waiting for twenty minutes with no professor. Turns out he forgot what classroom we were in and was waiting in a different one".
• "Crazy French boy named Felix gets up, and writes 'Le CACA?' on the chalkboard, Professor says nothing. Felix, needing to be noticed, makes a paper airplane, throws it, and then asks for the class to take a break. The professor gives us a break".
• "Professor spends two hours trying to figure out how many people are in his class. Fails to give a bibliography or syllabus, and says 'see you next week!' No one is phased. I panic - no work, no readings, no idea what this class is about!"

I hope none of this is coming off as negative or as if I'm not loving making these observations. It really is quite a privilege to point out the bizarre in the tradition - if I was a part of this culture I wouldn't know any different. Once in a while I get frustrated that I don't fit neatly into the system, but I'm glad to hold my Americanisms close to my heart and take note of all of the tiny, but noticeable, differences.

I just realized how much blogging I have to catch up on.

Whoops.