*Note: I actually wrote this entry last weekend, but only just remembered to post it now! sorry!
We're coming to the end of our chapter in Paris, and looking back on the past 7 months we've spent here, I have to say it's been incredible. We've changed, we've grown, and all for the better. Our tastes have developed, we're learning how to work with each other's strengths and weaknesses, we know a new culture, complete with language, cuisine, lifestyle, and people. We've come to love Paris!
Well, for the most part that is. I have to say that we still oftentimes experience those "are youkidding me?" moments, but as far as I've heard (even according to French standards), that never really goes away. This culture can be so retarded. Sure, any culture can be, and probably is, but it's so much worse when you're dealing with a culture foreign to your own.
It's getting to be Christmastime in Paris, which proves to be wonderful! The streets have taken on a new glow, especially considering how often the sun or streetlamps have cause to reflect the rain-strewn roads. There are mouthwatering delicacies everywhere. It's tempting to just look at! I love strolling through the market with Andrew, especially on a Saturday morning. It may be cold, it may be raining, it will be crowded, but there is such joie de vivre in an outdoor market that the other elements don't matter. Looking back, it makes me laugh to think of our first market experience. We'd only lived here 4 days and tried to dive right in. We felt so incredibly overwhelmed, and were totally exhausted by the time we got home (although we didn't buy anything). It took my courage away; I didn't know what the signs said, and although I saw lots of different prices written, from the way the men yelled to get your attention, you'd thinkeverything there cost "un euro! un euro! un euro!" Now I find a type of solace in the market, of strolling the stalls and marveling at the foods, listening to the sizzle and crackle of roasting chickens steadily browning away while the merchants call out their wares, taking in the scent of each new stand. I suppose I could do without the smell of the fishmonger's stalls, although Andrew loves that!
We love walking through the streets. What an incredible place to live! You can get across the city in such a short time, in that aspect it's very easy to go exploring. The more difficult thing is to discipline yourself to see new places, and not just always to revisit old favorites. The city has begun to really sparkle for Christmas! We went to our beloved "spot" at Place de la Concorde to discover that it was the start of a grand "Marche de Noel" on the Champs Elysees, complete with vendors, twinkling lights, and a giant ferris wheel! It's been lovely to just "be."
On the other hand, France can be so anti-productive at times, it's enough to drive you mad! It seems that lately, Andrew and I find ourselves out-doing each other as we recount to each other the absolutely ridiculous circumstances that we've had to deal with that day. Last week I ended up having a 15 minute lunch break at work because the van coming to pick me up after my set didn't wait for the set to finish! I was told that I could wait for the parade bus to take me back after it dropped off all the performers, a 5-10 minute wait. Fine. Well, let's not forget that the bus carrying the performers arrives after all of the floats in the parade, all slowly crawling up the single road that leads to the same place that my set ended. 40 minutes later, I was finally on the bus back to change for lunch.
Or how about Andrew's experience that happened that same day: laundry! Our laundromat closes at 10pm, and it takes about an hour and 15 minutes to wash and dry one load. Andrew started the load in the wash at 8pm, and went to go switch it to the dryer at 5 minutes til 9pm. When he arrived, he was distressed to find that the cleaning lady was already there, shutting the place down! He felt so bad--he hadn't realized that the clock he had been going off of at home was an hour off! Begging the woman to wait, he rushed back home to grab a sack for the soaking-wet clothes. While he was at home though, he checked two clocks, both of which read 8:55. When he arrived back at the laundromat, he checked the clock there. It had been changed to read 9:55, and here was the cleaning lady, wanting to have her Saturday night end a little earlier than planned, who had changed the clock when she arrived! Oh la France!
Final anecdote: there has been a train strike in Paris for the last 5 days, affecting the line that I take to get to work. Because of this the trains are only during rush hour, and then about 2 in 4 trains running. Quel horreur! You can only imagine...the trains arrive, it's terribly crowded because it's already filled about 5 times past capacity, but everyone must somehow get on the train because everyone must get to work. When I first got on, I couldn't hold on to anything because I was jammed in with people on 6 sides of me!! When some riders got off at the next stop, I took the opportunity to claim a couple inches on the hand rail, and braced my stance for the bouncy ride. A few moments later, I found a pressure on my foot, and looked down in time to notice a grumpy middle-aged French woman pushing my foot away from her with her own foot! Apparently, she didn't like it that my foot had been touching her shoe. I'm thinkin', LADY! What is your problem!??! This is YOUR retarded country where personal space doesn't exist,not mine, so what's the big deal? Not to mention the fact that it's YOUR fellow compatriots who are striking, and NOBODY on this train had any space to begin with! Were I a self-respecting Parisian, I would've shoved right back, or at least cussed her out. Well, I was just so surprised that I more found it funny! From culture that so highly prizes etiquette and language, not even so much as an excusez-moi from my new friend. Well, Grumpy moved over and took up LOTS of space as soon as more people got off, but I had to move to. Except now she had her back against the hand bar, and I had nowhere to hold on. So I snaked my arm ever-so-carefully behind her back, and was able to get a grip on the bar. Mind you, no part of my body was touching her. But she must've used her snoody-sixth-sense to feel my presence, because she looks over her shoulder, spies my hand, and starts to hit me on the hand (while saying nasty words under her breath!) By this point I just started laughing to myself, I couldn't even believe this woman!! I mean seriously now--WHO DOES THAT!?!?!? haha!
Anyways, this is the stuff of everyday. Life here in France has been interesting, but very very good. After all, this was the first time in 7 months that I got my hand slapped...
Monday, December 21, 2009
Our Parisian Staycation
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