Notes from l'Hexagone

This entry is not about my day; it's about everything else. The huge things, the minor things, and everything that periodically makes me go, "Oh wow, I'm in France!"

There are small things that I know I'll have an interesting time readjusting to when I get home. The way the toilet flushes, for example, with a handle instead of a button. For that matter, the toilet actually being in the actual bathroom. The lack of rows of tiny cafés punctuating every street, and how much wider the streets are themselves.

And how damn classy the McDonalds' are here; the one I'm sitting in currently is newly renovated, with a pastry counter (McCafé!) as you walk in, two floors, and new, clean modern furniture. From upstairs I sit at the counter at the window overlooking Rue de Rivoli, home of my metro stop. The service, however, is much the same as in the U.S. I ordered my food, desiring McNuggets, fries, and a soda...but as soon as I said "Chicken McNuggets" she immediately grabbed them from behind her, told me my total, and held out her hand for my money. Had I been in America, I would have politely told her I wasn't finished ordering. As I am in Paris, where my French is embarassingly elementary (and lacking in the constant reassurance from my teachers at home!), I told myself that soda isn't good for you anyway, and since I'm planning to get ice cream with my friends later, I really don't need fries.

This, I think, is the reason that I find myself engaging in English conversations with my friends from the program here. Because even though I can get by in daily life, find my way from place to place, hold conversations with my host mom, there is just so much more that I want to say that I can't communicate in French, and thus remain silent. But I want to talk about the crazy thing I saw on the metro this morning, or recount my McNugget incident, or worry that the creaking floor is waking up my host mom in the middle of the night when I get up for more water...and that is when English comes into play. That, and the understanding of my peers, who are going through the exact same thing.

That is something that is really helping to keep me grounded, as well - having 17 other students who I see every day, struggling with the same things that I am. I find myself slightly better prepared than some of the students, since I've spent considerable time in France before. After hearing multiple times of the drama of trying to use the pay phones here upon arrival, I am brought back to the time I spent here at age 18, on my own and trying to call Jessica from the train station, asking a million different people to please help me out with the phone - and at that time, having only my high school French experience to back me up.

And what is it about French pay phones? I notice so many instances where the French seem lightyears ahead of us in terms of convenience, and at the same time, an equal number of times when I wonder how on earth the haven't caught on yet. Credit cards, for example, are so much easier here - if you're from Europe, that is. Americans have difficulty. Why? Because the French have discovered the simplicity of embedding a chip in their credit cards that allows them to simply be tapped or inserted into machines, where we are stuck with the primitive magnetic strip. Because of this ancient piece of plastic, I can't use my credit card in most self-serve machines at the metro and find myself continually bugging the person at the window for help. Restaurants and grocery stores present a similar problem; I've wasted a great deal of time trying to explain that you have to swipe the card, quickly, or it won't work.

This, so advanced, and yet I still can't figure out how to take a simple shower due to the lack of curtain, laundry hanging, and handheld showerhead. Is it so difficult to use real showers? And the aforementioned payphones, with their sneaky telecartes - which thankfully present less of a problem as more and more people get cell phones - but it just all seems like more trouble than it should be.

Anyway, that's the end of my complaining for the day. I can be nit picky and find the things that are less than perfect, but I mean, let's be real. I AM IN PARIS. I am madly in love with this city, more than I ever thought I could be with such a huge area, being such a small town girl myself. I find myself baffled by how lucky and blessed I am to be here, doing this. Even when I miss home, I know that I'm happier here. I get frustrated with myself when I can't understand some small encounter in French, but my self confidence grows exponentially on the occasions when I can handle myself in French, even though it is clearly evident that I'm American (which it seems to always be).

Plain and simple, I love it here. I love my classes, I love our excursions, I love my host mom and the apartment. I love waking up and remembering that I'm here, I love falling asleep hearing the noise outside my window. I love taking the metro, and I love wandering around like a tourist with my handy little map of Paris. I love it all.

This is how I feel here:


And now, I must remind myself about the main thing that got me here...time for some homework!