Whoops #1

Usually when I think of surrealism I think of melting clocks and body parts in places that they shouldn’t be. So when I came on this trip my expectations proved to be very different than the surreal reality. Of course the days leading up to my flight to the Charles De Gaulle Airport I was nervous and shaky, never knowing how to answer the question “oh my gosh you’re almost gone for Paris are you so excited?”, but when the wheels touched down in France I went numb. A record in my head just began playing, “you’re in Paris, you don’t speak French, you’re in Paris”. For some reason this record didn’t make what I was experiencing seem any more real. Clearly no matter how I approached the situation, my lack of knowledge and affinity for the French language was very apparent. As the days went on I picked up what any American in Paris would memorize; things like “bonjour”, “pardon”, “merci” and so forth. For me these little feats of saying everyday pleasantries was like finishing in the middle of a race, not too bad but not too great...until I stumbled; apparently it confuses French cashiers at markets when you say bonjour at the end of your transaction instead of an appropriate “merci”. 

In a foreign country everyone is bound to have their fair share of language or cultural faux pas’ to bring you back to reality and to remind you that you are not in fact, a local. Even with my constant language slip ups I still felt as if I was watching a movie of someone traveling in Paris. This movie was getting tiring and I wanted to get out and actually feel and experience what was out there to feel. No more surrealism. My epiphany came one day when I was sitting outside at a cafe in what seemed like a more “unique” part of Paris. I felt very grown up and sophisticated as I sat there observing the glamorous couples in tight white pants and mesh shirts. Unexpectedly I saw two young girls, about eight, and a boy about the same age with one of their mothers, come up to the corner of the cafe. I watched the boy wave goodbye as he turned to leave and walk in the other direction from the group. Apparently the boy and I shared the same tendency of cultural slip ups as one of the little girls grabbed him by the shoulders and scolded him in French. I thought this was odd, the boy seemed nice enough, clean, nice hair, friendly smile but then he proceeded to kiss each girl on either cheek before he began to walk away for the second time. And thats when the fog lifted. I realized that I am in a real city, with real people. Even though the real people seem like actors with their mysterious language, they actually exist and function under a set of cultural and human rules. Going forth with this incredible opportunity I will remember the individuality of not only the people I meet but the country and culture itself, and maybe I’ll throw in a couple bonjours when they’re not expecting it.