Paris Day Two

September 2

My first full day of Paris, and what marvelous sights to see… Or rather to smell and eat. Because just eating a sandwich from a boulangerie is at least ten times better than a sandwich from the US. Everything revolving the senses is so much more potent in France than in the US. The sights, like Parisian architecture, or gardens are beautifully planned, symmetrical and high in abundance. The smells of the flowers, the people and yes, dare I say it, the cheese are so much stronger that at times it can hurt your head. The tastes of food are less watered down and fresh, like the wine and even the basil and tomatoes on my sandwich. And I can’t even begin to describe the sounds. Using my American ears, all I can hear sometimes is the yakyakyak of francais, constantly giving me a headache because I am concentrating too hard. But other times, it’s time, it’s nice hearing people poking fun with each other, greeting friends loudly from down the street, or even seeing a child squirm and scream in the métro while his parents hold him by arms and legs… And the feel of Paris… well I haven’t gone around feeling up many Parisians quite yet, but other than that I get the feeling of welcome. Everyone is really kind, helpful and approachable. I think that really was the most surprising thing. Everyone has an idea of studying in a country of another language as very daunting, and it truly is but a lot of that comes from our own reservations and nervousness. By showing that you are really trying, and just throwing in a smile here and there will get you a lot further than not trying at all and not messing up.  That’s certainly a life lesson.

So yes, while I’ve been taking advantage of every hour allotted to me in this fabulous country, and feasting my eyes upon the sights, it seems like the sights are feasting their eyes upon me as well. In a not at all subtle fashion. There is a huge, ginormous, titanic, magnificent (do you get it?) difference between Latin cultures and Germanic cultures when it comes to the acceptability of staring and cat-calling from men. I am referring to people of languages who descend from Latin (e.g Spanish, French. Italian, Portuguese), and people of language who descend from Germanic cultures (e.g Germany, English, etc). In America and England approachability between the sexes is generally limited to few settings like bars, clubs, and casual café meetings (so cliché haha). It would be weird to walk down CommAve and hear young men leering are you. Or staring, and staring, oh and yeah they don’t stop, they stop and then follow you.. Of course in America there is always the occasional landscaper crew waiting to freak you out on your walk home, or to the mailbox. But in France, it is practically a state law to engage in ‘leery’ activity. And believe me, this isn’t limited to attractive women or unsuspecting foreigners.  And what’s with the fact that there always seems to be ten men for every female? I go into a métro, or into the Jardin du Luxembourg and I’m thinking, ‘Wow, where did all the estrogen flee to?’ and then I’m like ‘Oh, duh, they are smart enough to escape these creeps’. Stupid American me. And a lot of the creeps are old men! Ew. Just ew. Of course, most of the cute ones are not leerings, it is the old middle-aged creeps who must be going through some sort of mid-life crisis. Or maybe they are just French.

To the point of why I am here… to eat really good food.. No just kidding.. Well actually I am not even sure because the first thing I learned from my Orientation leader «Soyez gentils à vous!». Which means basically be good to yourself, take care of yourself etc etc and I am thinking, okay, I’ll sleep more and not get overly critical of my inability to speak French properly when I don’t have a glass or two of wine in me (I think that is healthy by French standards anyway..) But I was wrong. Being good to yourself means «Gastronomie Francaise»… And you’re like what the hell is that? Is it a space ship? Sarah, are you speaking about Astronomy? No, I am talking about the art of feeding yourself properly. Yes, all you Americans out there. Ever since you were a bitty witty tatter tot you have been feeding yourself wrongly. And all because I called you tatter tot doesn’t mean that you should be eating them.. because honestly I don’t think they have those in France. So my first class was about how to pick out a good bottle of wine when you want to have a dinner, and how to pick out a bottle of cheap shitty wine for when I want to get drunk, quickly. Yes, my teacher noted this difference for us. She also gave us a recipe packet of all different foods because we need to cook for ourselves in the host and dorm stays. So while this was an amazing first lesson, we also learned the proper art of kissing. Yes, kissing, but not French kissing because I was told that that needs to be found on my own, but rather the art of social kissing.. That’s right, I had to get up and walk around my classroom «en faisent la bise» everyone that I met. Amusing, hilarious, and just another day in Paris. 

The more I get to know my host family, the more that I love them. They are really sweet and understanding. Today was our first dinner and we had lasagne which was fantastic with a petite salade and of course, lots and lots of wine! They really keep that flowing here. We talked about everything, from the viruses that killed the oysters a few years ago, to my best friend Kathy! and the hurricane, and how Greece can’t be kicked out of the EU even though they are really lazy. And for dessert: chocolate cake. Life can’t get any sweeter. Versaille and some lecture on Marie Antoinette… and unlike the movie with Kirsten Dunst, she doesn’t survive.

So I have attached the video below about social kissing: which is described as both a necessity of Latin cultures and an epidemic that is just way outta control. Can it be stopped ???

 À toute à l’heure!

Day One: Parisian Life

September 1 2011

My first day in Paris and I couldn’t be more tired. I don’t know what tired me more out… the Viking man who was sitting behind me on the plane and kept kneeing my chair (personally I think he enjoyed it, the damn 6ft 6 bastard), or the constant yabber yabber of a foreign language… And for my first day, jet lagged and out of practice for three months, I think I did pretty damn well. I was able to meet my host family, the adorable Zeennis! Who are like the French grandparents I never had! Starting to speak was hard, but I think even at my intermediate level I have established some sort of positive relationship. And I also came to a huge realization that I don’t give a shit if I say it wrong, at least I tried. And it only took me eight years and 36 hrs of sleep deprivation.

So let me describe my fabulous room. At first they put my in the biggest room but then after peeking at the other rooms, I asked to switch for the smaller cozier room that has its own private balcony overlooking the garden and other apartments… Can anyone say future french neighbor stalking? in french? because I am too tired right now. Not only that but I have a gigantic desk that has as shelf of French novels, philosophy, encyclopedias, art books and even grammar books! The other parts of the house are rather small, but typical for a Parisian apartment. Grandma always said ‘you know you’re rich when you have a place you can swing a cat around in while you’re in Europe!’. God knows where she got that one…

My host family was so nice as to offer to show me around the metero, but I politely declined.. I mean after all I practically live in the NY subway and at the Boston T stops… However the French metero does give the NY subway a run for its money on pointless signs and just general stupidity. Like what’s the deal with those latched doors that are pressurized  and are almost impossible to pull up? And why make them pull up, instead of down, its so damn harder! And of course, being me the day that I buy my new ‘Navigo’ card (monthly pass) and decide I’ll wait for another day until I get a smaller picture for the ID part, is the day that the Metro Police are there waiting for you to come off and to check my card. So naturally this Frenchman is trying to explain the importance of having a photo ID and I’m trying to explain that I just arrived today and if he doesn’t let me go I might just start sleep standing during his speech. 

And for dinner I met up with forty of Boston University’s Paris Programme students and we ate crepes and I drank wine. Because I am legal. Again. Funny how I seem to be an on-off legal drinker. It makes being an ‘adult’ confusing. Anyways, much more to come once the weekend starts! Tomorrow I am off to my first class! And after I am forcing myself to review some grammar before I go out dancing the night away with some awesome new friends!