I've come to realize that even in Paris, I need a sense of normalcy sometimes (I prefer "normality," but since Warren Harding made up the word back in the day, I'll just go with it).
It's Sunday, it's raining and just plain gross outside. Usually, I like to go exploring somewhere in Paris, most of the time by myself, just so I can feel like I'm really experiencing the city. Most Sundays I'll try to go to a museum or some other historical site in Paris, but today, I just need to chill out.
Back in Philly or D.C., I have no qualms about sleeping in on the weekends and spending the day inside to do work (a luxury that is typically not afforded to me in D.C. because of The Eagle, but once in a while comes around). But living in Paris makes me feel like I have to be going 100 percent of the time, always jumping around from place to place, operating on what I like to call "experience overload" because everything here is part of "The Experience" to me. Getting to class late because an RER derailed and those who crammed on the train that finally pulled in refused to get off even though they were blocking the doors? Part of The Experience. Not finding a taxi home at 3 a.m. on a Saturday night because a) they all have passengers already, b) there aren't enough taxis working in Paris and c) because they don't want to drive me all the way to the 20th arrondissement? Part of The Experience. Having men stare me down to the point where they're obviously undressing me with their eyes, some of them even trying to cop a feel on the metro? All part of The Experience.
Sometimes living for The Experience just tires me out. Every morning I wake up at 6:10 and am out the door by 7:15. Some days I'm not back at my host family's apartment until close to 6 p.m., later on other days. As much as I love living here and love seeing what the city has to offer, I do need to sleep sometimes. Only sometimes, though.
So right now, I'm getting a head start on my homework and enjoying the afternoon from my apartment since I slept through the entire morning. Even though I do wish I could go to a museum and absorb more of Paris today, I need to let tiny breaks now and then enter into The Experience.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Sunday, February 11, 2007
C'est l'amour
It took a while, but I'm finally in love.
I was starting to feel a little concerned with myself - I'd been in France for almost two weeks, but my mental jury was still out about how I felt about the whole thing. I liked it, don't get me wrong, but I was still not pleased with the amount of cigarette smoke I encountered, the cabbies who turned down my fare because of where I live or the cashiers who answered me in English just because my French is a little slow. Since I've been looking forward to this experience since I popped out of the womb, I was afraid that I had played it up too much in my mind. I didn't want to go home, but I didn't feel like I was appreciating the experience in the right way.
I don't know what happened this weekend, or even today, but I feel more confident than before that this is the best thing I've ever done for myself. I'm a person who likes to be comfortable. Not too hot, not too cold, exercising only indoors (on machines that can help me regulate my breathing - physical activity is not my strong suit), and never appreciating a freak rainstorm when my hair is straight (if your hair fro'ed out like Diana Ross in the humidity, you wouldn't be happy, either).
Ever since I moved in with my host family, I've been out of my element. I can't always understand the kids because they speak quickly, and when I answer someone, I usually have to think about what words to use to respond for a few seconds, making me look like I didn't understand the statement, thus causing the speaker to repeat what he said either a) slowly (always good) or b) in English (pride killer). Spontaneous conversation has always been what I need to work on the most with my French, and living with a host family is the only way I'm going to get it down.
Little by little, I'm realizing that I may not get it right the first few weeks, but in time I will get better. I'm une vraie perfectioniste, and to not be able to improve instantly has made me feel more than incompetent. I can understand my host family a lot of the time; it's thinking completely in French that's hard, and it doesn't help that my friends and I all speak English to each other when we're hanging out. I'll never say another word about people in the U.S. who speak their mother tongues to each other when they're out and about. Who wants to be uncomfortable when they don't have to be?
Sunday night I had dinner with my host family and their neighbor. We were eating cheese fondue with tiny baguette pieces, and, but of course, I drop my first piece of bread in the fondue pot. Tradition has it that I should be punished. Luckily, my family didn't make me sing, in English or in French, like they said I should, but after that incident (and dropping a second piece in the fondue pot), I became more at ease with myself here. Just listening to my family speak with each other helps me more and more each day. I'm still the awkward American girl who mixes up some French words every now and then, but the only place to go from here is up. I'm nowhere near perfect yet, but I'm starting to accept it more and more.
There are still going to be plenty of times when I'm uncomfortable, like when it's pouring rain at 3 a.m. in the Latin Quarter and there isn't a taxi in sight, or when I ask a waiter for change and he brings me another espresso. But if I can tell a cabbie where to drop me off in French and feel at home studying at the local cafe in spite of a few verbal blunders, then I know I'm becoming more and more at ease and at home here in my temporary home.
I was starting to feel a little concerned with myself - I'd been in France for almost two weeks, but my mental jury was still out about how I felt about the whole thing. I liked it, don't get me wrong, but I was still not pleased with the amount of cigarette smoke I encountered, the cabbies who turned down my fare because of where I live or the cashiers who answered me in English just because my French is a little slow. Since I've been looking forward to this experience since I popped out of the womb, I was afraid that I had played it up too much in my mind. I didn't want to go home, but I didn't feel like I was appreciating the experience in the right way.
I don't know what happened this weekend, or even today, but I feel more confident than before that this is the best thing I've ever done for myself. I'm a person who likes to be comfortable. Not too hot, not too cold, exercising only indoors (on machines that can help me regulate my breathing - physical activity is not my strong suit), and never appreciating a freak rainstorm when my hair is straight (if your hair fro'ed out like Diana Ross in the humidity, you wouldn't be happy, either).
Ever since I moved in with my host family, I've been out of my element. I can't always understand the kids because they speak quickly, and when I answer someone, I usually have to think about what words to use to respond for a few seconds, making me look like I didn't understand the statement, thus causing the speaker to repeat what he said either a) slowly (always good) or b) in English (pride killer). Spontaneous conversation has always been what I need to work on the most with my French, and living with a host family is the only way I'm going to get it down.
Little by little, I'm realizing that I may not get it right the first few weeks, but in time I will get better. I'm une vraie perfectioniste, and to not be able to improve instantly has made me feel more than incompetent. I can understand my host family a lot of the time; it's thinking completely in French that's hard, and it doesn't help that my friends and I all speak English to each other when we're hanging out. I'll never say another word about people in the U.S. who speak their mother tongues to each other when they're out and about. Who wants to be uncomfortable when they don't have to be?
Sunday night I had dinner with my host family and their neighbor. We were eating cheese fondue with tiny baguette pieces, and, but of course, I drop my first piece of bread in the fondue pot. Tradition has it that I should be punished. Luckily, my family didn't make me sing, in English or in French, like they said I should, but after that incident (and dropping a second piece in the fondue pot), I became more at ease with myself here. Just listening to my family speak with each other helps me more and more each day. I'm still the awkward American girl who mixes up some French words every now and then, but the only place to go from here is up. I'm nowhere near perfect yet, but I'm starting to accept it more and more.
There are still going to be plenty of times when I'm uncomfortable, like when it's pouring rain at 3 a.m. in the Latin Quarter and there isn't a taxi in sight, or when I ask a waiter for change and he brings me another espresso. But if I can tell a cabbie where to drop me off in French and feel at home studying at the local cafe in spite of a few verbal blunders, then I know I'm becoming more and more at ease and at home here in my temporary home.
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