Well, I have finally arrived. I’ve been in Paris for a few days now, and I think I’m still getting over the jet lag. Usually it’s not a problem for me, but I don’t think I’ve gotten up before about 11 any day this week. This has lead to my days being somewhat less than productive, especially since Sanjay’s OCD habits – which have shifted to obsessive cleanliness – prevents us from leaving the house before completing about three or four hours worth of daily compulsive rituals. I haven’t felt terribly compelled to see all the museums and attractions this time around, since I’ve already seen them on prior excursions to the city, so a lot of my time has been spent just walking around and taking in the different neighborhoods.
I finally met Sanjay’s good friend, Jean-Michel, who was described to me as being typically French, but as jovial and slapstick as he seemed to be, he struck me as being anything but typically French. Apparently it was his taste for cheese and wine that defined his Frenchness, as far as Sanjay was concerned, but I haven’t met anyone else here who smiles or laughs as much as he does. He is, however a walking example of why I’m not jumping on the motorcycle/scooter bandwagon anytime soon; he has a cast on his leg because he tore two ligaments in his knee when he crashed his scooter. Yet somehow, he still manages to ride it, even with his leg plastered completely straight.
Jean-Michel is also typically European with regard to his linguistic ability, being fluent in French, English, Spanish and German. Fortunately though, he did a very good job of not making me feel so bad about my mono-lingualism; I do a good enough job of doing that myself! (Actually, I speak 1.23 languages: English – 100%; Spanish – 20%; German – 3%). A slightly more embarrassing encounter happened earlier today though, when I finally met up with Sam Imberman. I believe it was the first time I’ve seen him in about seven or eight years, so it was nice to catch up a bit. I ended up having lunch with him, three Italian and one British friend of his, which went passably well, since clearly the Sam and the British fellow, Pete, spoke English, and because the Italians spoke a very little English, but were eager to give it a shot (not to mention they also understood Spanish fairly well, because of its extreme similarity). After lunch, Sam and I had a nice conversation about urban planning, mass transit systems and modern architecture over some tea at what seemed to be some sort of Arabian café, and then met up with several Spanish friends of his. The languages of choice were French and Spanish, and although theoretically I should have been able to understand what was going on about 50% of the time, I’m still can’t keep up with high speed (i.e., normally paced) Spanish conversation, especially with a thick Spanish (versus Mexican) accent thrown on top of it. I’m terribly out of practice and it shows, with embarrassing results.
Speaking of embarrassing things, I managed to pull a doozey. Before I left Michigan, I put together an envelope full of my travel documents so I wouldn’t forget anything. And I didn’t forget anything, except for my Eurail pass! Only that little flimsy, $1100 piece of paper! I don’t know why the Eurail system isn’t computerized to the extent that I could provide proof of identity at a train station and simply have a replacement document printed, but that’s just not the way it works. Therefore, I’ve had my mother FedEx it to me here in Paris, so hopefully it will arrive safely. Please! Especially since I need it on Sunday to take the train to Konstanz. Boy, this was a nasty mistake
On a slightly more enjoyable note, on Wednesday evening, I had dinner with a pen-pal of mine who lives in Paris. Having gotten bored with the outlets for conversation at Kettering, I managed to acquire several European pen-pals who also enjoy talking as much as I do (though I’m not sure any of us could rival Brandon). Olga was born in Tajikistan, but spent most of her life in Israel, and then recently moved to Paris to attend university. She’s another obnoxious polyglot (no, not obnoxious, I’m just jealous), able to speak French, English, Hebrew, Russian, and some Spanish and Arabic, but fortunately for me, tends to favor English. Anyhow, I suggested we have a meal, since I’d be in town, so we went to a nice, but surprisingly affordable Japanese restaurant Wednesday evening, and then traipsed around the city for several hours thereafter, quickly realizing what a bad idea it is to drink about a liter and a half of water each during dinner in a city where public restrooms are about as common as subway stops in Detroit. (Okay, okay, there are public restrooms, but a very few, and none I’d like to use if I plan on not catching the bubonic plague.) After finally finding a fast-food place with a public restroom and feeling as if we’d just won the lottery, we continued our adventure with a tour of La Défense, the only modern skyscraper area of the city, and topped it off with what probably seemed like a much longer walk than it was back to Sanjay’s apartment building, since we neglected to catch a ride on the metro before it closed.
Okay, time to watch some French television. No, I'm not violating my principles here; it's not for entertainment, it's for language exposure!
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