Remembering Paris

It’s time for the journey to end, the photos to be uploaded, and the next chapter of the book to be written. Both London and Paris treated us well (and the south of France simply divine) but I expect that it’s Paris I will most dream about on my plane flight home. And long after we are back and settled in San Francisco, I expect Parisian nostalgic sounds, scenes and scents to continually haunt us, reminding us of the romantic interlude we had from our regular frenzied lives.

Like anyone infatuated, I can easily overlook the city’s faults. Paris isn’t the cleanest city (I managed to step, slip and slide on unmarked dog poop on several occasions). Nor are the convoluted streets easy to navigate (we got lost in side alleys about three times a day). However, it still maintains a unique charm that inspires one to revert back to a naive girl, prance softly, and fall in love with life.

LOVING LIFE AND LIVING WELL—LESSONS FROM PARIS
Ah yes, Paris is vibrant, it’s real, and it’s inspiring. The city made us think about our culture, our actions and taught us a few lessons to bring home.

FIND VICE
I suppose others may not find the smell of fresh baked baguette intermingled with smoky cigarettes appealing, but I feel I may slightly miss it in uber pristine San Francisco. Surrounded by super jocks and vegan eaters, I will miss the slim smokers and fois gras advocates that believe vice is the spice of life. After all, don’t the French live quite long after their diet of Bordeaux and Philip Morris? And they certainly don’t believe in a low carb plan. (a baguette under the arm is a fashion statement). And naturally all Frenchmen scoffed when I asked them about their exercise routine. In their eyes we are crazed overachievers that are only happy when we are outdoing someone else. Now, I will never stop running, but my competitive streak now resembles that of a sleepy French bulldog.. The only time you will see me pushing a sub 8 will be to race to the nearest bakery.

FIND ROMANCE

Paris also has am amazing ability to salvage your belief in romance. Past broken hearts can make us girls callous and cynical. We become overly independent, playing both feminine and masculine roles as if to prove a point that we don’t need anyone else. We rush through personal interactions, whether friendly or intimate and focus on masking our own insecurities. Luckily for us four girls, Paris has started to help us peel off those hard layers and make us much more in tune with life around us. For how can one stay cynical while watching lovers kiss in the street? (Never mind that half of the smitten people we saw were likely with their mistress). And even if not in love, people greet each other on every occasion with smiling Bonjours and Bonsoirs and Bisous and sound actually interested to the answer of "How are you?” Elderly gentlemen call us mademoiselle, and nice men across the bar send us wine….and er…small plates of sausage (nothing says ‘I love you’ like a pile of fatty pork!). Whether it’s receiving a kiss on the cheek or free piece of meat, you feel as if you had entered the land of possibility and are once again who you used to be; feminine and optimistic. In fact we even started to allow doors to be opened for us…

DON SCARVES
The French dress well. Full stop. In addition to building height restrictions, I feel Paris has also put a dress code on the city. Women run around in simple yet elegant dress combos while the men walk confidently in their suits and scarves. Conversely and sadly, most American men seem to think anything that isn’t wrinkled or denim must imply they are gay. “Why, if I wore those form fitting trousers and purple shirt, everyone would think I was a homosexual,” an American man once said to me on a shopping trip. However, I wonder if this notion isn’t really a lack of confidence. No French man feels uncomfortable in pastel regardless of sexual orientation. I would like to persuade all straight American men reading this that if the objective is to ‘not look gay’ and attract more women, scarves and lavender shirts will get you much further than ripped Levi’s and an untucked polo. For my gay friends—you already know you get enough action—pastel works!

STAY FUN, BUT NOT SMASHED?
French women, in addition to looking impeccably put together when they leave the house, also stay impeccably put together into the wee hours of the night. “French women”, one male friend explained to us, “do not really drink much. They don’t allow themselves lose composure and appear wild or coarse. French women are delicate.” Right. My mind immediately flashed back to a prior night where all of us American gals lost more than a little composure on mojitos and may or may not have made space in a crowded bar to do crazed lambada moves. We grinded with each other, with nearby strangers, and perhaps even with a few intimate objects. (I actually think one of us dry humped someone’s briefcase).
With a slight cringe I also recall that no one else in the bar was dancing that night. Right. Now I also do not think these delicate French girls came close to being as fun as us. After all, nothing gets the party started like us Americans. However, I do think pacing alcohol is a thing we may have forgotten how to do. Perhaps one should draw the line at dancing with someone’s work satchel? Then again, that was the highlight of the evening.

SPEAK SOFTLY
We also noticed that the French, and practically all other nationalities, speak much softer than we do. Now, on this trip I had been using the International Accent™ (uncanny and unintentional ability to imitate anyone who speaks to me) and thus had softened my voice to an overly articulate UK version. However even with this modification I still feared my voice carried much further across dining rooms that it should.

“We find the American accent hard to understand,” said one Frenchie. “Americans just speak abrasively.” This last comment was made by an older Australian couple. Now this does seem a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, but instead of becoming defensive us more feminine girls decided to pay closer attention. Sadly, out heightened sensitivity made us notice volume offenders everywhere.

CASE STUDY:
Monica and I entered the infamous Bar Heming way at the Ritz for a ‘last night in Paris’ martini (it may also be my ‘last martini in Paris ever’ as the sticker price on those things relieved my wallet of a day’s wage). No sooner did we step foot into the quiet bookshelf lined bar when we heard a loud Texan shout to his American counterparts at the next table. But he wasn’t shouting in his mind. He was having a normal (aka LOUD) conversation bragging about how he had the city of Paris under his thumb. He went on to detail out his fine dinners and luxurious spa services. Since I couldn’t hear Monica across the table over his voice and have our own conversation, I debated crawling under the table, martini in hand, in horror. This man’s wagging tongue supported why every European despises American tourists. He will be my first student in the International Accent™ soft speaking course for loud Americans. As for me, volume control remains a work in process-I have given the girls free range to kick me if they hear me sounding too ‘American’ in public settings.


All in all Paris is a treasure and an inspiration. We hope to bring back bits of it home and plot out our next adventure. Many of our stories have not been documented on this blog- “What happens in Paris, stays in Paris,” but further details of the trip and our delicate female psyches will be found in the aforementioned novel I am diligently working on (in-between glasses of wine that is). Due to multiple wine and cheese breaks, it may a while before its published, but Europe has taught me to have patience. At least I have material--our little month abroad gave me enough the entire thing! : )