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Dear Parler Paris Reader,
Those of us who have crossed the cultural divide from our American "default modes" to the French way of life, have on one hand forgotten what our other previous life was like, and on the other hand are reminded of it regularly by virtue of our American friends, family and clients who continue to struggle with the differences.
Even this statement may not make sense to you, but let me give you a few examples.
One time in New York City I was waiting outside a shop in Soho for their doors to open at 10 a.m. along with a few others. At 10:05 a.m. I commented to one of the others, "Oh well. They are just taking their time." To which she replied, "No, they are taking OUR time."
At that moment it was so clear how my perspective had changed after living in France, where a shopkeeper can close at a moment's notice, maybe leave a sign on the door if we're lucky, without a care about loss of business or upsetting their clientele. Our money means so little to them (life is not about money in France) that neither the shopkeeper nor the client would see anything unusual about the situation, but to an American, it would be almost shocking!
Yesterday a friend who spends a couple months a year in Paris asked me if my towels dried as much like cardboard as hers did. In the U.S., it's unheard of not to have a laundry dryer, and it's probably sitting pretty in a 'laundry room' that is as large as a Parisian bedroom, with machines capable of handling up to five cubic feet of capacity. These machines can dry towels in less than 30 minutes getting them soft and fluffy and smelling like roses!
Yes, we have dryers, but who has the space for one? And yes, there are machines that do both wash and dry, but when the only way to extract the water is by condensation to a reservoir which must be emptied (there is no venting system for 'fluff drying'), taking hours to dry towels and tons of electricity, many of us opt out and let them air dry on racks. (I've actually come to like the way the stiff French towels 'exfoliate' my body when drying off and notice that they absorb water faster than 'over-softened' American towels.)
Visiting friends huff and puff up my 70 steps and immediately ask why we don't have an elevator. The only place one might have a similar situation is in an old building in New York City, otherwise 'walk-ups' barely exist Stateside, so it seems like such a 'hardship' to actually use one's legs to get up three flights of stairs.
To this I chuckle since there is no way I'd ever agree to destroying a 17th-century aristocratic stairwell in exchange for a modern convenience that would deprive me from the wonderful natural exercise the stairs provide -- it's like "Step Reebok" without the "Reebok." (My body's never been more fit thanks to the stairs!)
Yesterday in the post office there was an Anglophone (possibly British) on his cell phone talking very loudly while making a transaction all at the same time at the "guichet" (window). No one else in the entire post office was saying a word and if they were, you wouldn't have heard them -- they learn so young to modulate their voices so that discretion is respected. By contrast, he didn't seem to even notice or think anything of everyone hearing what he was saying. It was all I could do to restrain myself from saying something to shut him up (but I didn't).
Once, I was sitting across from an American couple on the bus who were having a terrible argument, but no one could hear one word they were saying. It was a clue that they had lived here a long time and had well crossed the cultural divide.
Guests in one of our apartments complained there was an odor in the refrigerator and so they put all their foodstuff outside the window where it's as cold as the refrigerator. When I went to investigate the problem, thinking something was rotting inside, I discovered there was nothing unusual -- it was just like all the other refrigerators in France that had adopted the odor of a good smelly cheese.
To all of you who visit France or imagine yourself living here, be prepared to let go of your western (or other) "default modes" and cross the cultural divide -- you'll have so much more fun!
A la prochaine...
A la prochaine...
Adrian Leeds
Editor, Parler Paris
(photo by Michael Honegger)
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P.S. My favorite books about the subject of cultural crossings are:
- Au Contraire! Figuring Out the French
By Gilles Asselin, Ruth Mastron - French or Foe?
by Polly Platt - Savoir Flair
by Polly Platt - French Toast: An American in Paris Celebrates the
Maddening Mysteries of the French
by Harriet Welty Rochefort
To order these and others we recommend, visit parlerparis/books/booksaboutfrance.html
