14 Wednesday Dec 2011
Posted in Paris
Wanted to apologize for not putting any pictures in the last slide. I’ll include just a few from my trip to Paris below.
Don't feel like I need to say what this is.
Mike in front of the buttresses of Notre Dame
Our lovely hotel in France. Thankfully, most people we encountered spoke English. I gave French a go, though.
14 Wednesday Dec 2011
Posted in Paris
Now, this blog has a few goals.
One, to talk about food.
Two, to talk about different cultures and their food. The third, to entertain you.
So, the article that I read on CNN, about what one woman learned from her time in Paris is actually quite relevant. Thankfully. Otherwise, you’d think that I’d have no idea what I was doing and go up to the top right of your screen and click on that wee “x” that is so damn tempting.
Please refrain.
I went to Paris in June with my friend Mike and, like so many who have gone before, had an unforgettable time.
The first thing you notice, besides the obvious takeover of the French language (just remember “Sortie” means exit and you’ll be ok) is how incredibly passionate everyone in Paris is. Yes, Paris, perhaps one of the most iconic cities in the world, is dubbed the City for Lovers, well, it really is. So, needless to say after a few excursions around town Mike and I seemed to the surrounding Parisiens that we were as much a couple as Isla Lund and Victor Laszlo were in Casablanca.
But, when I say passionate I don’t mean toward each other per say, I mean just about life in general. They have a certain joie de livre or joy of life that many don’t. Stop shaking your head. It’s true. Their unending love for everything can be seen on every street, to those on the corner taking a love for the art, architecture, the streets they are stepping on, the history that would have once surrounded them just a hundred years prior.
The always-looking-presentable aspect about the French culture is undoubtedly true, too. You would turn to the person you’re walking with, gawk at someone on the other side of the street and rant something cruel, because, well, they just looked terrible. In France, that’s just not the case. You rant, but it’s of the appreciative form. The only eyesore on the streets is perhaps the overweight, mustachioed man with a designer shirt too small, or the seldom hobo just sitting there, hoping someone drops a euro or two into his hat.
They take the “first impression” idiom to a new meaning. It’s as if they don’t like how you’re dressed then you’re shooed away as casually as if you didn’t exist.
What is mentioned little, but I’m grateful that it was, is that fact that the French – more generally Europeans – have long, elaborate dinners. Not even so much dinners, just at every eating occasion. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, whatever time of the day it is, you’ll be there for at least an hour, probably closer to two. You won’t be rushing, feeding your face like a pig stuffing his face, unaware of his eventual slaughter. Sitting there, conversing – something simple that we miss out on – too worried of when the check is coming and what to do after.
All that can wait. Take here and now. Live the French way or at least try. It’s enjoyable. I’ve been doing my best impression since.
