Parisian metro etiquette : "Americans are the worst!"

This is what an old near-toothless woman was grumbling on the metro (line 1 - lots of tourists!) as more and more people poured in and a very tall tourist (obviously!) wearing a huge backpack was bumping her with it every time the swerved. It was audible enough for everyone to hear, in French and still kind of low and grumbly: "There it is! Again! He hit me again! Americans! They're horrible, Americans! ... Again! That's the FOURTH TIME! I am so sick of impolite Americans!"

I was sitting a few seats away from where she was standing and realized then that I should have given her my seat so she could escape the tyranny of the imposing American tourist backpack. But just then, the person two seats away and quite convenient to her, got ready to get off the train and told her to sit down. Then a small Asian woman boarded and with the lower bars all occupied and unable to reach the bar from the ceiling, I offered her my seat since I holding onto the bar at the height of (apparently) a man's grasp is actually not a problem for me. I found myself facing this cranky old lady and I said "They just don't know how behave in the metro." My seeming sympathy got her going and she said "There are polite Americans, and there are impolite Americans. He is NOT polite!" I assured her it was more ignorance than anything since when Americans (take note please) are in France they don't  understand how you are supposed to avoid inconveniencing ANYONE, EVER. That is a huge, probably number one social rule. L'Americain had failed in a big way to even realize this is a thing. Parisians lower their bags and backpacks and luggage and briefcases and bouquets of flowers and grocery trolleys and hold them roughly between their legs, thus taking up no more space than you already would just standing (legs not too far apart, mind) and holding on to stabilize themselves* with their other hand.

 I had at least some pity for the American, but he and his wife seemed absolutely helpless and unwilling to do anything about it either. Shame on them! The wife said "It's the next stop!" The man shook his head and said, nodding toward the crowd of people between him and the door "I'm sorry, but..." (admittedly he did try to be less in the way moving toward the back, but he still took up like three persons worth of space. Pas gentil.) I saw that he basically didn't know how to get out of this situation and was going to get off at a later stop where he would eventually accost more Parisians, undoubtedly without saying "Excuse me" first, and get them riled up all over again. So I said "Just say 'Excusez-moi' really loud. They'll move." He nodded and smiled sort of surprised and not exactly happy I'm sure that I had to tell him something SO FREAKING BASIC. But hey. I tried to help.

The terrible Americans got off at their stop and I continued my little chat with the cranky lady. She had worked in exports with producers of Limoges ceramics for like 40 years, and many of her clients were from California. She was really proud of how she made it possible for her clients to save a LOT of money with the détaxe. Turns out, she loves Americans - er, at least Calfiornians. (Too bad that guy left before I could tell him. He probably hated his vacation.) She spent lots of time in San Francisco and Santa Cruz and Monterrey, all gorgeous places. French people really love San Francisco in general, it seems. Moral of the story, culture clash rarely ends in clear communication. All someone had to do is tell the Americans not to be such inconsiderate space-hogs and say excuse me when you interrupt people's lives, and that if they did these things French people would like them. And the lady just needed to know that someone cared that she was "dérangée" by this and also kind of explain how Americans just don't know that about France. No one ever tells you. (I am now, but I am awesome.) She actually seemed really happy to talk about her work. She loved doing it - "C'était formidable!" I wonder if she is just a generally crabby person because she doesn't have that anymore. It's crazy how much diplomacy could actually solve.

As for Americans traveling in France, or anywhere, I think it's safe to say we tend to think ourselves free to do what we want wherever we are. It's kind of a cultural trait that has gone, like everything else, to the extreme and that actually does us harm in the long run. Because we aren't free to do what we want everywhere we want, and even if we were, people who have that kind of entitlement are jerks. Perhaps the French are too uptight about rules - social or otherwise - and the school system, according to Flavia (mom of my host family) "breaks their spirits and only teaches them rules." So I get it. BUT there is something to be said for the order and civility of France. I really didn't understand it before. It is civilized. So civilized. People are civil, even when they have a problem. The French love of rules and absolute truth is an entirely separate post though.

 *Holding yourself up so as not to bump other people is also a huge social responsibility as I learned from another old woman. I actually was trying to be considerate and moving out of the way for someone as the train approached the station, and the train hit a bump and I fell backwards, stomping on an old lady's toe. She didn't know who it was and my STUPID honesty urged me to say, "It was me, Madame! I am so sorry! Really!" And she just lectured me the rest of the time about how I should hold on (I had been until someone needed to get out) and how I hurt her (but I couldn't do anything about it). So she basically shamed me almost to tears. This is how you learn NEVER EVER to be so bloody careless again! Gah!

au Musée Rodin

I went to the Musée Rodin a couple weeks ago (and am just getting to writing about it now). Flavia, my host lady accompanied me. I remember my friend Judy telling me it was one of her favorite places she visited while she was in Paris and it definitely amounted to time well spent.

My favorite part (besides the statue of a hilariously confident Balzac pictured here!) was seeing the work of Rodin's mistress, Camille Claudel. Flavia told me that she was his student first and later became his mistress and it was artsy and tumultuous and ended badly of course. As Camille surpassed Rodin in ability, he became jealous to the point of driving her mad! She spend the last 30 years of her life in an asylum. (I don't know if this is the movie version she told me but it's all I got.)
 
In the actual sculpture anyway, her mastery of sculpture beyond his is evident. Claudel had a finesse Rodin did not, though she is obviously of his school in her general style. To me, the greatest difference between the two was in the gesture of the people, especially the women, each portrayed. While Rodin's male figures are active and grounded in power poses, taking up a lot of space, the women are sort of waning, bending, being small. The only piece in the Rodin Museum where a woman isn't hugging herself/bowing sort of in shame is one with no head or arms where her legs are spread open to give a view similar to L'Origine du Monde, if you know what I mean. (If you don't know and you google it, just know it's NSFW. Like, super not...)

In contrast, not only does Claudel portray women in  ordinary situations in which I suspect Rodin was never very interested like Les Causeuses (The Gossips), but she does it with such a fine, capable touch as to almost make Rodin's bronzes resemble his sketches more than a final piece. Perhaps it's the masculine/feminine opposition at work in Rodin's rough surfaces and Claudel's more polished sensibility. I actually don't know much about it. I never read the little curator notes and the Musée Rodin doesn't have a complete collection or anything. (Apparently one of the reasons her brother had her committed to an institution was because she was destroying her work.) And I love the texture of the surfaces Rodin creates, especially how he renders hair and beards. The Rodin Museum really lets you see so many of his works all together, it's impossible to deny he was a genius of his time. You can kind of tell he didn't think much of women, but I find it absurd to judge art based on some moral objection to the person who created it. So, I admit he was a genius. And it satisfies me to say, Camille was too, only more-so. In fact, according to Wikipedia, "The novelist and art critic Octave Mirbeau described her as 'A revolt against nature: a woman genius.'" That's right. He thought "woman genius" was an oxymoron.

Definitely worth going to when you're in Paris. More on that later! I'm compiling a list that the skinny on a bunch of Paris museums. Should be interesting...

at the grocery

First of all, not all French people shop in little markets like this one (this is the one in Amélie where Domonique Bretodeau hears the cabine telephonique sonner, sonner, sonner...) BUT a lot of them do. However, they do have supermarkets. And in fact, (well, I'm not really sure it's a fact more like rumor maybe) I heard that WalMart was inspired by France's Carrefour. Maybe it was the other way around but I don't really care. What they say about not being able to get peanut butter, or as Davis Sedaris hilariously complains, about it only being sold in a one-sitting tin can, that's not really true! You can get your peanut butter if you really insist on being American and not eating the very worthy Nutella instead. But it comes in smaller quantities than the double-gallon Costco packages. (I'm not judging. I love Amcerican-sized Costco peanut butter.)

What I found most illuminating was what other things they had on the American aisle at the supermarket (and likewise on the Middle Eastern aisle, the Brazilian aisle, the Jewish aisle etc.) Voici:

So basically, it's everything you need to indulge your fatty, sugary homesick food binge when the fatty, sugary French food exhausts you!

Next time I will take a photo of the yogurt aisles (yes, plural) because they are frankly, quite insane. Actually it seems to be the same in Britain and is getting there in the US, because I saw a Guardian article asking something like, "How much is too much choice in the yogurt aisle?" Or maybe it was on David Leibovitz's blog (wherein he also comments on ridiculous things you can get in French supermarkets here.) Enjoy that one.

The family I live with is pretty busy. The mom, Flavia, is a great cook but doesn't make a huge fuss with the 5-course meals every night. She's a music therapist (more on that later) and she has two highly energetic, brilliant children to deal with. Her husband Dominique does lots of the work and they are very egalitarian in household things, but he doesn't work at home like Flavia does, so the cooking falls to her. She doesn't like going to a bunch of small shops to do all her grocery shopping, so she took me to LeClerc, a shopping center/grocery/everything store kind of like WalMart the first weekend I was here. It's right down the street, perhaps just as close if not closer than the bakery. Although Americans romanticize the old-world, old-timey shops where everything is specialized, we would hardly countenance waiting in that many separate lines. I went there Tuesday to buy a few things to contribute to the household, and I think aside from the yogurt aisle, the biggest section is the wine department. Pretty darn impressive. The wine "cave" even had this plastic-y wallpaper stuff on the outside that made it look like it was built of stone blocks like a castle. Funny.

I was delighted to find such gourmet indulgences (for me) as lavendar honey from Provence as well as more common (in France) items like Breton butter. The candy/chocolate aisle is of course divine, as in France, chocolate must contain 30% cacao to be legally called chocolate. I'm all for such laws, but they would never pass in the US! Hershey's in only 6% cacao and I'm sure they wouldn't stand for it.

Les Français, fashion and being thin (or not)

I was talking to my boss and her boyfriend over lunch last week about an American's ideal Frenchman:  effortlessly well-dressed, scarf, cigarette, baguette in hand, with a philosophy or poetry book in his jacket pocket. Charles insisted it's not really like that, despite the fact that he pretty much looks like a Frenchman should look. He at least thinks it's a flattering image. But they just don't see it! I see plenty. Like this photo of a guy waiting for the bus:

I was surreptitious/creepy and took this while pretending to check my makeup. But doesn't he totally look like you think he would? Even his posture! Switch out the iPhone for an Anouilh novel and there ya go.

Charles and Auriane are on a quest to restore the more negative image foreigners have of Parisians — that they're rude, snobby, refuse to speak English, etc. They both speak really good English, and Charles said that when he first met Auriane she scolded him for approaching tourists who looked lost and asking if they needed help. "Do you know him? If you don't know him YOU DON'T TALK TO HIM!" she would insist. But now she's on board. And they say the tourists seem really amazed. I'm sure it's also because Charles is kind of boisterous and exaggerated in a totally nice way. And Auriane is every bit the slim, sexy French woman Brigitte Bardot would be proud to call her fellow française.

Back to the men here. A lot of American men (er, boys/guys) make fun of French men, especially the two-to-a-scooter ones, and say stuff like "they're all gay!" I always countered them (like I love to do with sweeping generalizations) and said, no, it's just they don't see physical closeness or nice clothes as something effeminate, they are secure with their sexuality, etc. But now that I'm here, sometimes I really think (not on purpose) "hmmmmwonderifhesgay" and EVERY TIME, his woman shows up, often with a stroller, and I think. Nope, just French. I feel like American men only dress like that if they are super rich or super gay or if they love France. Or any combination of those three things. But these ones aren't gay. And they're not effeminate either (since those aren't synonymous, btw), especially since French women seem to be so in touch with being feminine, so unafraid to be sexy and so unashamed of how they look. It's impressive, really.

I was particularly impressed with Auriane. She's into fashion, she's slender and very lovely. And she has taken me shopping twice during work hours in the three weeks I've been here. (I will admit my clothes are rather sad. I basically don't know how to dress myself and I have resisted buying stuff in the States so I could re-do my wardrobe here and she is loving it.) So, one thing about French women is that they don't seem to have a single, all-encompassing ideal of what's beautiful, or even the impression that there IS one kind of beauty. Each well-dressed woman I see in the Metro or on the street is confident in her unique style, chosen by her, for her body and for her own enjoyment of wearing something she likes.

When Auriane took me shopping I was really self-conscious because I am not a size 2 (far from it... what can I say? I love cheese) and I haven't seen a lot of stores here that would seem to have my size. BUT that's not true. It's a pain shopping in the US because I'm not juniors sizes, petites are too short and regulars are too tall. Plus sizes make me look like I'm drowning in fabric but regular sizes are just a tad too tight. We went to Zara (OMGILOVEZARA) and I tried on a suit jacket I'd seen and loved. The single button wouldn't button thanks to my exaggerated top half, and I motioned around my chest and said "I have problems." She very calmly and reassuringly said, "No, you don't have problems, you just need a different jacket." She wasn't scolding me or being too insistent or condescending like when people outright lie and say "You're NOT FAT." She just was totally non-judgy. But this taught me a few things. First, the JACKET didn't fit ME. It's not that I should fit into the jacket! That's backwards! This is already a striking contrast to American women's relationship with clothing. It's almost like we enjoy torturing ourselves into feeling unworthy because we don't fit into some arbitrary number. BUY CLOTHES THAT FIT YOUR BODY. BODY > CLOTHING.

Second, don't talk smack on yourself. (I was about to say, Americans are so lame that way! but that would be hypocritical.) Anyway, I get the impression, though it's unconfirmed by scientific/statistical evidence, that French women aren't nearly as self-loathing as American women. Maybe it's the Puritan thing and we're always apologizing and trying to correct ourselves, even our physical appearance which is essentially dictated largely by genetics and therefore largely unchangeable. (Of course fitness is a thing but I'll get to that.) By the by, French stores DO have bigger sizes, but service is huge here, so often they will have lots of stuff put away and will get it out for you when you ask, and they WILL find you something you like and that fits your body. For example, we went to Promod last week to find me a pullover kind of sweater and the salesgirl was amazingly helpful, made great suggestions, told me that they can order in another size and have it within two days, etc. So don't despair. You don't have to be thin or curvy or have big boobs or no boobs or hips or no hips or thick hair or straight hair or whatever to be beautiful. It's enough to be a woman. It's actually enough to be you.

Macarons are made to be eaten, people.
This one is like a chocolatey PacMan.

Third, eat your dessert. It's true I see lots of thin people here. But they eat dessert, usually two a day. (Mind, these are French portions, like an Activia yogurt or a macaron, not the wall of cake from PF Chang's or anything insane like that.) Sometimes it's a pastry and sometimes just a yogurt or something. But they let themselves end a meal with a little something sweet. No deprivation, but no over-indulgence either. I think it has something to do with the chemistry of taste and how you need all the 5 flavor types to feel satisfied, but it works. IT WORKS. I've lots like 7 pounds and I haven't had time to go running or subject myself to crunches and squats. I walk really fast, go up and down metro stairs and try to sit up straight all day. I walk to buy groceries and go ride bikes with the kids I live with. Just normal stuff. It doesn't have to be so hard! Of course the proof will be in the pudding. We'll see how I do in two more months of Camambert and jambon-beurre on baguette sandwiches. Then again, maybe it will be all the easier to slim down and enjoy my life the less I care about fitting a mold.

la touriste

Today I had planned to go to the Musée Carnavalet, which is all about the history of Paris. It's in the Marais, the oldest district in the city from which the nobility progressively distanced themselves as it got more crowded and newer places developed farther West (like the Louvre). The Marais also has some really great jewelry boutiques, and since I've realized that my style is quite lacking in those finishing touches and I got going pretty late anyway ... um, I didn't make it to the Musée! The other thing on my list was stop by the Jewish area of the Marais and enjoy one of those famous falafel takeaways, but I am dumb and I forgot it was Friday afternoon and everyone who makes a good falafel was already getting ready for the Sabbath.

So, plans changed and I had a cheese plate at some random cafe where I realized how very awkward I am when it comes to interaction with humans. It's only worse in French with the additional linguistic discomfort. What made me almost mortified was my failure to grasp all the unspoken codes like, do I seat myself at a café, or do I make eye contact and say "Bonjour!" to the owner/waiter (often the same person), or does he/she show me to a table? In this I failed. What time is it okay to start saying "Bonsoir" vs. "Bonjour"? In Guatemala the border between tardes and noches was a constant, irritating battle for me. Walking down the street right around sunset (by the way, you basically say hi to everyone there...) I would say "Buenas tardes" and someone would respond to "correct" me with "Buenas noches." I would adjust and say to the next person, "Buenas noches," and they would inevitable feel the urge to "correct" me by saying 'Buenas tardes." So this isn't a new struggle. Also, there is apparently a difference between "Bonsoir" and "Bonne soirée" which is that the first is hello and the second is goodbye. These are nuances no one thinks we need in French 101, and maybe that's true but once you're in the deep end it's a doozie. Also, I discovered today that when you want your check at the café and the guy isn't paying attention, it's not weird to go up to the register where he is engrossed in his newspaper (which is a GOOD thing, people) and give him a big fat hint. I just think he and his buddies (regulars?) who were eating there thought I was insane.

This saga continues with the delicate problem of "la bise" or the little kiss on the cheek they do here. In Guatemala it's just one and since I was on a mission, I never let guys do that and instead opted for a colder (to them) handshake. Sometimes you just have to literally strongarm them out of kissing you, actually. In France, they do two bises in Paris, and three or even four in other regions. (Aren't customs wonderfully inconstant? ...  UGH.) I still have a lot of leftover weirdness about la bise from the mission (and maybe general issues with being around men, in addition to all my natural weirdness about that.) So in short, I am never the one to start dat, even with girls who are SOOOOOO much easier to talk to. By the end of the night, even after a VERY LONG, quite intense, surprisingly weird Victor Hugo compilation performance, I did the proper leave-taking which is saying goodbye to each person individually with a handshake or des bises. *sigh* I am proud of myself for like 10 seconds.

It's funny to me when Americans say French people are rude because I know exactly why people think that, but I also know why French people think Americans are arrogant and imposing. I think French people have a perhaps inflexible form of etiquette but which makes one very attentive and respectful. Monsieur Sprenger pointed out one day that the source of that is essentially the formation of French culture by a noble class that the US never had, though there have been plenty of Gatsbys/Kennedys, etc. I would add. It's easy to forget that and judge people by your own assumptions. In fact, we do that constantly. It's natural but it's not very helpful or diplomatic a lot of the time.

I have been careful to say "Bonjour" when I walk into a store (not like FNAC or Monoprix which are sort of like Target or something but smaller boutiques and things) before I start browsing. One thing that is beautiful about France is the service is very good. People want to help you and they expect you to let them. They seem to take it very seriously and a lot of them are professional. I was AMAZED the other day when I went to buy a bra from an admittedly high-end, quality shop (because it's something I think is very much worth the money). Only one US shop -- The Full Cup in Virginia Beach -- has ever done a good job at identifying and providing my size, and even they use measuring tape. Victorias Secret is a joke. The shop in Rueil, where I am sure the woman is the owner or a total lingerie expert, took literally ONE look at me, went to the drawer and got me a bra that was an absolute perfect fit. MERVEILLEUX! I thought to myself, as I do quite often, "OMG... I LOVE FRANCE."

After the Victor Hugo thing, I was too tired to follow the young'uns to a club to dance the night away because I am totally an old lady on the inside, and was heading home when I decided on a whim to walk along the Champs Elysées and be a total tourist (but not look like one I hope) and this song OBVIOUSLY got stuck in my head as soon as I saw the sign in the metro:


I stopped at FNAC and bought a copy of Voyage au Bout de la Nuit because it's on the master's reading list, it has the awesomest title and Monsieur Sprenger thinks it is, among many others, "un chef d'oeuvre."

à Lutèce

Well, I am going to France in a few days... you know. (screaming inside!). I will be interning at a web magazine in Neuilly sur Seine —where Nicolas Sarkozy was mayor! Apparently I will be helping plan events for the launch of the e-mag, be the liaison (or as they say in Britain in verb form, liaise) with British, American and Spanish bloggers and do something to do with design. It's part of my master's program in French Studies and the main goal is to get my French to be much much better than it is at this point.

I won't be living in the Paris city limits, but in Suresnes, a western suburb just across the Seine from the Bois de Boulogne. I will officially be in the Versailles ward for church, and since the Paris ward will be inundated with underclassmen on a history study abroad, I might just bike to church on Sundays as M. Sprenger suggested, at least until the weather gets rainy. I mapped it on Google maps:

I have to admit I am bloody nervous. And not just about the language... I am making a pencil skirt tomorrow (with my mom's help) and I bought a few basics like a white blouse, black dress pants and some gold flats to see me through the first week at work. How can I just walk into the chic-est city in the world and not worry about being frumpy?

As far as language is concerned, I still trap myself in self-doubt when listening to native speakers. I usually DO understand but have zero confidence and thus still have the most stupefied look on my face. One of the things I really want to get a handle on is intonation. It's so hard! It's something that is so subtle and innate. With any luck, I will come home sounding like Leslie Caron when I speak English.

There will be so much to do while I am there! I will have a theater class and a Francophone lit class in addition to my internship (supposedly a 35-hour work week). But I have a nice long list of other things I want to do to meet all kinds of new people and immerse myself in Parisian life:

• Practice figure drawing at La Grande Chaumière at least 3 times while I'm there and get as good as this lady (careful! nudes! NSFW!). I suspect I will go more than that, but I will only be able to go to their Saturday sessions.
• Walk around and SKETCH in my spare time, like this amazing person. I can't get over how awesome his drawings are.
• Buy some new underclothing at Prima Donna (NSFW!)
• Go dancing at a boîte de nuit... maybe.
• Rent a bike from Paris Bikes and cycle around the countryside like this
• Meander around the flea markets. Maybe I can find something beautiful like this vintage jewelry.
• For meals, hit up some of the places on Clothilde's list. Plus, ask other locals their favorite bistros and bakeries.
• Go to some debates or conferences.
• Go to the bookstore in the evenings.
• Sit in on some theater lectures at the Sorbonne (and probably sketch while doing so because my brain works so much better when I am drawing.)
• Buy my food at the marché de Suresnes. Quel plaisir!
• Talk to everyone.

And now for some mood music...