10 Things I've Learned in France That Probably Won't Apply to Real Life Ever

Living in Paris has been wonderful. But sometimes I can't help but feel like I'm not exactly living in the real world. Don't get me wrong--I love French people-- but occasionally I have brief moments of clarity where I realize that their behaviors aren't exactly... how you say.. normal. Of course all of the observations here are generalizations (and all generalizations are wrong) that probably don't apply to many or even all French people. But they're patterns that I can't not notice. So without further ado here are 10 things I've learned in France that probably won't apply to real life ever:

1. If You Can Get Your Car There, You Can Leave Your Car There

Parking in France is like being in a Nike ad: you Just Do It. Is your car halfway on the curb? Great! That means it's not in the middle of the road. Are you preventing another car from leaving its spot? No problem.. First of all he'll be happy to have an excuse for being late to work. Secondly, what an asshole! He shouldn't have parked there! Is your vehicle pinning down a human being? Well, maybe fix that.

2. Do Whatever You Can to Make Sure People Know You're Not Trying

This may seem like a contradiction, but let me assure you that French people will do anything to make it look like they're not trying. Whether due to malnutrition or general attitude problems, not having the energy to completely button your shirt/pull up your pants/try a sweater on before buying it to see if it fits/etc. is normal (herein lies the secret to French fashion: it's important to always have at least one article of clothing haphazardly draped across your body like "I thought about dressing myself this morning, but eh"), and if you do these things you will look like a try-hard.

3. Having Good Posture Is Not Cool

This goes along the same lines as #2. You wouldn't want to put too much effort into having healthy spine positioning. Sometimes I wonder if the slouch is the French mating call when a pack of adolescent males passes by in the midst of a contest of who can make the best upside-down "J" with their vertebral column. (N.B. This rule applies except if you find yourself in a ballet class, in which case TUCK YOUR GODDAMN PELVIS UNDER YOU CAVEMAN)

4. Americans Are the Worst

THE. WORST.

5. Not Working Is an Important Part of Working

Maybe even THE most important part.. The waiter will consider bringing you your check once you have bothered him at least twice about it, sat to think about your disruptive behavior for a good 30 minutes, and already missed that show at the Moulin Rouge. A monthly paycheck isn't earned without at least the consideration of a strike and this idea is lurking the back of every French employed person's mind at all times.

6. Deodorant Is Optional

Are you going to perform a highly strenuous physical activity in a relatively small, poorly-ventilated building on a warm day? Sounds like the perfect opportunity to skip the deodorant and make sure everyone is aware of your presence! Seriously though, I will never understand this one. I have literally had to exit buildings, leave elevators prematurely, and request new seating because of some French guy's musk.

7. The Food Isn't Disgusting, You're Just Uncultured

What, you don't like ground-up fattened-duck liver? Does the gelatinous inner portion of a bone not sound or look appetizing to you? Has your enteric nervous system begun the process of reverse peristalsis (that's upchuck for all of you non-scientists.. see, I'm getting the attitude thing down already!) at the thought of consuming a single snail, not to mention the five others that come with that appetizer? Well any français will tell you that with enough garlic anything tastes good, and if you can't appreciate the delicate aromas then why don't you go back to America where you came from?

8. Nobody Takes the Bus

If you're cool you take the Métro to work. If you're really cool you ride to work nonchalantly past centuries-old national monuments en vélo. And if you're indescribably next-level cool, you swoop between the Peugeots and Citroëns on your moto. Nobody takes the bus.

9. Wine Is Appropriate at Any Time of Day

Do I need to explain this one?

10. The Parisian Sidewalk Is the French Version of the Colosseum

There are few arenas more savage than the Parisian sidewalk. If someone is heading in your direction there are a few important steps to take in preparation: First, be sure not to make eye contact as this might send the wrong impression to your opponent, as if you give a single shit about them or something. Of course, if you do, don't let it change any of the following steps. Second, find the exact middle of the sidewalk and establish your line of attack. Finally, follow through and do not ever give in to the Other. This is both a contest of brute strength and one of stamina. Whoever remains on the sidewalk at the end wins. This becomes much easier if you have friends or multiple children to back you up because, as you know, multiple people can simultaneously block a larger width of the sidewalk than one alone can. I have a theory for why French people love to carry baguettes under their arms, and it has nothing to do with dinner.



Anyway I hope I haven't offended all of you. Or maybe I do hope you're offended, I don't know any more.

à la prochaine,
Miura

Lost and Found

Another city. It's beautiful, just like the one before and just like the next one. Different, of course, but beautiful just the same and by now my ability to appreciate the differences is saturated to the point that even Asia looks like Europe looks probably like Australia and I want to go home. The life of a vagabond is surprisingly unrewarding and passionless. I don't know if it's a defense mechanism or just the result of overstimulation but I can't feel any more. It's so so beautiful and yet I feel nothing except the feeling that I should be feeling something.

I used to leave the house every day hungry for adventure and often returned empty-handed and frustrated. Now I wake with no appetite, stuff down as much as I can, and go to bed early.

Sometimes I remember the old me and I miss her. The new me is responsible, punctual. But jaded. I don't know where the creativity used to come from but that part is long dead.
How will I go back to America knowing how to pronounce Uber and not be an immediate outcast? If nobody understood me before they definitely won't now. But still I want to go home.

Baltimore burns and I read about it in the news. I should be there to help fight and to help clean up afterwards, but instead I'm taking a walk in this goddamn beautiful city, eating another piece of honey-soaked baklava that doesn't taste nearly as good as it did in Dearborn, spreading myself yet thinner over the globe.
Which movies came out last week? Last year? Which songs are being blasted in the frat basements and who is blasting them? I don't know and I don't care.
The call to prayer is wallowing from the minarets twice as old as my country and I'm looking for a WiFi network--more out of habit than necessity--to no avail.

Everything I miss about America can be classified as a little thing: paying with a credit card, crunchy pickles, conversations about the local sports team in line at the grocery store, the most ridiculous friends you can imagine, free water, singing in the car. But in the end all those little things add up to something quite big.

I'm tired of analyzing and questioning and still not understanding. I'm tired of fearing that tight bonds might do so much more damage than the weak ones. I'm tired of people asking where I'm from when I just want to fit into somewhere and be a part instead of an other. I'm tired and I want to go home.