I am currently in the middle of my petit sejour (short stay) in Seattle. It's overcast. Mommy is sitting at the computer, Duffy is napping on the floor (for those of you who have never had the great pleasure of making Duffy's acquaintance, he is a dog, hence his location on the floor), and Daddy is studying Italian at the kitchen counter. The scene is almost absurdly typical.
I've been preparing for Paris for many months: applying to the Middlebury program, filling out copious amounts of paperwork, having an extravagantly complicated correspondence with the mistresses of the foyer (the international dorm in which I'll be living), traveling to San Francisco for my visa and, most recently, buying one of those extremely dorky wallets that hang around your neck! They are the most efficient way of proclaiming: I am an American! I don't trust Europeans! They drink too much wine and spend much time loafing around cafes! Therefore, I shall wear a wallet around my neck!
Needless to say, I will be hiding mine under my shirt. Even though I know I will be found out for what I really am--American--I have been trying, for years, to become a more French version of myself. There are many fabulous reasons for studying in Paris, becoming very French not least among them. So! In an effort to get a headstart on my transformation, I've been reading French or Foe by Polly Platt. Here are some of the lessons I've learned about how to be French. To wit:
1. No smiling! At least not at strangers. Apparently, if I flounce around producing that signal of American politesse, the French will think I'm a) a hypocrite, b) trying to get something from them, c) completely stupid, or d) flirting with them. So I guess I'll be saving my smiles for those Frenchies who I actually am trying to get something from. Could be useful for crossing beaureaucratic red tape and getting free drinks.
2. Flirt. With everybody. Even though I'm not supposed to smile for fear of flirting with anything that walks (or even things that don't, for that matter), I am supposed to flirt. Platt counsels: "if you can't find your luggage at the airport, look for an official who is a member of the opposite sex to help you. Flirt! Don't smile--do it with your eyes. Your baggage will show up in a jiffy" (29). Note to self: watch French movies. Practice The Flirty Eye Thing.
3. Be incredibly polite. I am not to walk up to strangers, as I have done in New York many times, and say, "Yo where the eff is Broadway??!! The eff-ing subway dropped me at Fulton and I'm totally eff-ing lost. OMG is that a Prada bag?! I LOVE!" Instead my exchanges with French strangers are supposed to go as follows: "Bonjour, monsieur, excusez-moi de vous deranger, mais j'ai un probleme. Je suis absolument perdue!" Translation: "Hello, mister, excuse me for disturbing you, but I have a problem. I'm completely lost!" Note to self: Practice being polite while simultaneously working The Flirty Eye Thing.
So I have my work cut out for me. It looks like a miniscule patch of blue has appeared in the sky, so I'm off to read more French or Foe while attempting to soak up the last rays of summer.
A bientôt!
Gros bisous,
Alice
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6 comments:
Bravo, Alice. Reading this made my day - and made me laugh - and made me want to get back to beautiful Paris. Keep the musings, insights, and observations coming. A note on Polly Platt: she's fun, and her advice definitely has value, but Jane and I feel that her book is geared very much toward business people and others who will have most of their contact with well-to-do, business-class-type people. On the other hand, I live by the phrase "Excusez-moi de vous deranger." -- Dan
Alice!! I loved your first post and I am so excited to follow your travels through Paris :) Miss you already!
Love,
Kat
Brava, m'dear. Who taught you to write? JK. Keep them blogs coming -- the more the better. You're probs going to cringe at all the corny things I post -- but such are the risks of blogging. You go, Paris girl. xxx Dear old Dad
Guggi said:
I loved your first blog! Keep em coming as they are pure nachas which is not a french word but an all purpose word only pertaining to grandchildren.
Les petites are the only ones capable of nachas and you have given lots.
Je t'aime et je t'embrasse
La gugs
This first post is so funny ... and so true ! C'est très prometteur :) Je te souhaite plein de bonnes choses pour cette année à Paris. N'oublie pas de venir me voir à Bordeaux (yep... Paris is not France. There are lots of other lovely cities around!)
Bisous et à bientôt, j'espère
Sarah
Hey, we want more! Missing you...DOD (dear old dad)
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