Quirks of Paris: Odds & Ends

My tendency to get bored quickly is a trait I recognize in myself, and while I used to consider it a negative, I don't see it quite the same way anymore. Not that there's anything wrong with routine or comfortable surroundings, but I prefer having my curiosity piqued and knowing there are still places unexplored, waiting for me to find them. This quality means that I sometimes find myself in situations where I feel confused, unsure, or like I plain don't belong, but I also think it's the reason I'm where I am right now, i.e. sitting at the desk in my apartment in Paris eating an omelet I just made.

For example, I felt utterly confused when I tried to purchase some bananas and apples earlier today. I know what you're thinking: this girl got into NYU, and she can't even figure out how to buy some fruit? ...that's exactly what I thought when I strode up to the cashier, clutching my bananas with confidence, only to have her stare at me blankly then point to the scale behind me.

"What??? No, I waited in line for 15 minutes for these 3 stupid bananas and 4 stinking apples, and I'm going to pay for them right here and right now," said the indignant American inside me.

But my foreign frustration was no match for the French system, so I sheepishly sidled over to the scale. We stared at each other. A woman behind me sighed and tapped her black pointed-toe pump. I stepped aside and let her show me how it was done. I watched, mesmerized, as she flipped through a book with various items and their corresponding codes. Her fingers typed in the combination for carrots with the swiftness of a professional market-shopper. And then, voila! A machine next to the scale spit out a receipt like magic, telling her exactly how much she would owe the cashier.

Five minutes later, I strutted out of the store with my apples and bananas, mentally thanking my impatient, silent teacher and feeling very pleased with myself.

It's hard to sum up how different, challenging, and rewarding it has already been living here for not even a month, but hopefully comparing my bumbling episode with your own smoothly executed grocery trips can help give an idea.

The feelings I described at the beginning of this post all seemed to have rather negative connotations, and that's not the atmosphere I want to convey at all. There are so many books and movies about being an "American in Paris" for a reason; it's difficult, yes, but it's AWESOME! There are so many things that absolutely tickle me as I walk down the street, and I can't imagine myself ever getting bored of them, despite my previously described chronic restlessness.

There are so many things here that I would just never see at home. Like a woman in a little black dress and stilettos sneaking bites of a giant baguette on the metro. Or old men playing bocce in a tiny park as I walk to school. Or a businessman father and his elementary school-aged son using scooters as a legitimate method of transportation; the former holding a briefcase, the latter a backpack (And when I say scooters, I don't mean the motorized kind or tiny mopeds. I'm talking old school Razor scooters).

It's hard to put it into words, but people here seem to live so differently. As in, they just live. They aren't worrying about what time they have to wake up tomorrow, or what they should have for dinner tonight, or how they haven't been to the gym in weeks (or more likely, ever), or how ridiculous they look riding their Razor scooter in a suit. It's very refreshing, and I think I like it :)

One of the things that has taken some getting used to is the whole coffee situation. The French don't drink coffee; they drink espresso. So even if you order "un café," you will inevitably receive an elf-sized cup of quadruple-strong coffee. Café au lait does not exist, and café créme is a false godsend. It is NOT coffee with cream. It is espresso with milk, and it still comes in the cup for people with baby hands.

The one on the left is stingy by our standards, so the one on the right (mine) is basically the restaurant saying "Here, you can try a sip of mine if you want."

I can't complain too much, though, because in our residence hall we can get "coffees" like the one on the left for 40 cents.

Speaking of the residence, living on my own has definitely been a learning curve. At home, if I turned off my alarm and fell back asleep, and it got to be around 7 am, which was when I typically emerged from my cave, my wonderful father would knock on my door and wake me up. By the way...thanks, dad! Here? When that alarm goes off I better get my sorry butt out of bed or else I'm missing class and losing two percentage points. Yikes. 

Thankfully, the responsibility aspect of living on my own hasn't been an issue as of yet, and I love the freedom to plan out my day according to my own schedule, and heck, if I want to change it at the last minute I can! Autonomy at its finest. And if I'm ever feeling lonely, my friends are only an elevator ride away, or in Jaci's case, about 1 1/2 steps across the hall. 

Our residence hall houses students from universities all over Paris, not just NYU, so the inhabitants are a pretty eclectic mix. I've already shared pictures showing the courtyard my room overlooks. I love to keep my windows open, so this gives me the blessing and the curse of hearing all the goings-on of my neighbors. Whoever lives to my left seems to have a pretty tumultuous relationship; lots of angry French being spoken/yelled over there between a male and female. Across the way, someone has phenomenal music taste, ranging from the Beatles to Mariachi bands to Dean Martin to songs off the soundtrack of a John Hughes movie. Even though the last few days have been a bit chilly, I've kept my window open in order to enjoy his DJ selections. 

Also, some yet-to-be-identified delinquent seems to get a perverse joy out of setting off the fire alarm at obscene hours of the night, but I won't even get into that right now.

In addition to various humans, we also have a resident cat here at Rue Oberkampf. I'm not sure if this kitty is a boy or a girl, but if you ask me, his name is Otis.

Back to the charms of Paris in general, there are dogs everywhere. In bookstores and cafés, on the metro and in designer boutiques. They're more or less permitted anywhere humans are, and they probably eat just as well as we do and sleep in beds just as comfy as we do. These are some pampered pooches. So, without further ado, here is the latest installment of les chiens de Paris.

Photo credits to my brother Daniel

Okay, so she isn't from Paris, but her name is Brie, and I miss her a lot, so I think that's close enough.

What's in store for the future: a weekend trip to the south of France on Friday/Saturday! Stay tuned :)