The view from the balcony of Mikey and Rose's apartment. The sun setting over the city makes everything look beautiful.
Gotta go to the gym to mitigate situations like this.
So now we’re in Paris trying to settle in. I definitely appreciate how much structure helps me feel organized, so Seth and I are attempting to construct some kind of routine. The first week involved reconnecting with Mikey and Rose, getting a gym membership, and eating food. I had steak tartare twice within the first 24 hours of our arrival. For folks who have not had the pleasure of steak tartare- it is minced raw beef spiced with onions, capers, pepper, and Worcestershire sauce. That’s right- raw beef- often served with a side of french fries. The first time I ventured to dine on this red rawness, my stomach was definitely on the verge of a tilt at the thought of eating raw beef- despite enjoying every bite. Our friend said that the quality of American meat often doesn’t lend itself to being tasty in the raw, so we’ve been trained to have an aversion to it. After some psychological reprogramming, I am an avid steak tartare enthusiast. I have also already relished the creme brûlée at the restaurant at which I loved it on a previous trip. Creme brûlée has been one of my favorite desserts throughout my life- I have a hard time not making myself sick on it, but leaving any in the dish just doesn't feel right! So I slog through the richness to the very last bite.
Le Philosophe 2014
Le Philosophe 2017.
As a group, we also love to make dinner together, the preparation of which is a little more involved than in the States. It's uncommon for a store to have all the things you would need for a meal. Instead, one must go to a store that specializes in each ingredient (at least if you want the good stuff). So for beef Bolognese night we swung by the vegetable shop for onions and mushrooms, the boucherie for ground meat, and the boulangerie for a baguette. There's a convenience store across the street with a well-stocked market where we got the pasta sauce and noodles. That's where we do a lot of shopping to get one-off items, but it does have organic products, so still a step up from grocery shopping at CVS. Mikey also directed me to buy butter from the fromagerie (cheese shop) where it is freshly produced. Its butteriness and large salt crystals churned throughout did not disappoint. After doing quite a bit of eating out, it was lovely to have an evening at home with a warm, comfy bowl of pasta.
You can get this with tomato sauce or light crème fraîche. The cheeses are goat cheese, French blue cheese, a semi-hard Swiss cheese, and mozzarella. Yeah, I'm not even embarrassed.
To give you full the picture of things, I must report that we've also had Domino’s Pizza, which is better than American Domino’s Pizza, but still Domino’s. It was one of those nights where everyone agreed to be garbage. We ordered five pizzas for five people. I swear, it was fun, but maybe you had to be there. And before you judge too harshly, think about what a four-cheese pizza is in France. It's delicious- that's what it is.
Typical evening walk around Sacré-Cœur
The thought of making ex-pat life work is still on my brain, so in an attempt to put the right foot forward, I asked Rosie to teach me a few phrases in French. I requested to learn how to say "I am American" and "I cannot speak French" while we were in the steam room at the gym. We went over it several times- she broke it down for me word for word and helped me get the pronunciation. As I walked around the city throughout the day, I recited the phrasing in my head and checked it out with Rose periodically. At dinner, I proudly demonstrated to Mikey all that I had learned and enunciated, "Je suis américain." He responded, "Évidemment," with a flat expression. That means, “evidently," which sounds almost the same in French and English, so I got it when he said it. Although the hopeful flame of my attempt to start learning French was extingushed by the ginger-monster Mikey, I respected Mikey’s lesson that I did not, in fact, have to inform others that I was American. Obviously. I also do not have to inform people that I did not speak French. It is immediately evident when any utterance escapes my mouth that I am an American that cannot speak French. So while I'll continue to embarrass myself trying to speak French, I am at least spared from the embarrassment of informing French people of the two most obvious things about me.
The building to the left is the Palais de Justice.
Seth has bemoaned my attempts to speak even the simplest of French, stating that I don't even appear to be trying. And it's true. To speak it more properly I feel as though I have to sing it like an imbecile, but I have read and Mikey has confirmed that it helps to "pretend" or exaggerate a French accent and then it actually sounds more authentic. When I do this, I feel like an a$$hole, but the consistent feedback is that it sounds better. I have downloaded a free app called Duolingo that makes learning a new language a little bit of a game. At first, it made me feel like a kid- they use cutesy animations, but still, I felt like I was learning. And I did great in the first lesson! Je mange une pomme! Ju suis une femme! I was on a roll! However, the sheer drop of my learning edge appeared faster than I anticipated in just the second lesson. As I type this, I have yet to complete the second lesson because it prevents you from proceeding after a certain number of mistakes. It locks you out for a period of time. So I am waiting- perhaps third time is a charm.
Seth is much better at languages in general. He is able to "commit" to the accent more. Here he is enjoying pain au chocolat aka chocolate crouissant.
This was actually a really lovely sunny day. As fall descends, most days are cloudy and grey. Hasn't gotten too cold yet, so still pleasant to be outside. But this is what we do most of the time. Walk around.
Whether I'm attempting to speak French or no, I am acutely aware of my American-ness. When describing Americans in France, writers will often bewail the volume at which Americans engage in conversation. I have been mortified (and ultimately trying to accept) that I am that loathed American. I have been walking down the street talking to Seth and it is as if my voice is carried the entire length of the street. Maybe it's because the streets are so narrow? On a bus ride, Seth was conversing with another American recently relocated from California- and as we burst into blasting laughter, I was aware of it's contrast to the quietness of the bus. It was as if we were inviting the entire bus into our conversation, which, of course, the other passengers ruefully ignored.
I'm torn between trying to fit in and just accepting that it's obvious I do not fit in. Either way, I spend way too much time walking down the street with thoughts like, "Is she French?" and "Well, she looks British" and "He is definitely French "and "She smells British" and "I wonder if they can tell I'm not French?" and "I have a shirt like that French woman- do I look French in it?" I think I am more self-conscious because people are generally actually more fashionable just walking down the street in Paris. There's a certain elegance to the average Parisian that makes me insecure about myself, but not so much so that I've actually done anything about it- just relied on the go-to of increased neuroses, no big deal.
Does this make me look French?
But lest you think I'm in a losing battle with my self-loathing allow me to share a recent triumph. Since we arrived, I have had to adjust to the French greeting of exchanging kisses with a person, cheek to cheek. This feels like a total violation of one's personal space (read: my personal space). So initially, I tried to meet them half-way by putting my hand out for an American handshake and leaning into the kisses. This allows our handshake to remain between our bodies while the double-kisses are delivered. The clasped hands between the bodies allows for safety for all because, you know, I don't know you, and you're getting really close to my face! However, I can tell this makes people feel awkward and this on top of all the awkward energy I'm bringing to the exchange already, it's just too much. So once I accepted my fate of the double-bisous (double-kiss), I didn't know what to do with my hands. The handshake allowed for solid hand-positioning somewhere. Without the handshake, do my hands and arms just hang limply at my sides? My impulse is to put my hands up between us like I'm going to push the person away. I've been caught in this defensive stance mid-bisou and it's nearly impossible to adjust- talk about awkward. After about three weeks of being here, I have coached myself into mellowing out about the personal-space thing. I have also mastered the smooth movement of gently placing my hands upon the other person's elbows or upper arms- this is the key. This motion allows for a natural lean into the bisous and communicates, "I am open to receive your cheek upon my cheek- it is really lovely to meet you," even as your internal alarm is signaling, "Not safe! Too exposed!" Voilà! I'll be blending with French folks in no time! And for other unnecessarily mistrustful folks, you're welcome for this instructional.
Seth and I have been taking in sights throughout the week and stopping in a lot of cafes for treats and coffees. I'll report on some of the sightseeing we've been doing in the next one!
My cold-weather socks have been repurposed into Parisian house-slippers. This is Mike and Rosie's living room/Lauren and Seth's bedroom.
