Fundamental Difference Between French and Americans

Frenchman: "My English isn't very good."
American: "Ooh it's not so bad. I can understand you."

American: "Je ne parle pas très bien le français."
Frenchman (with a grimace): "No you don't. Your French is pretty bad. Let's just speak in English."

Chez Jeanette

Last night I decided to go to a vernissage at the 12 Mail gallery with a couple of friends. As the gallery was very tiny and as the number of people inside exceeded a safe capacity and as there was no free booze flowing we left in search of other adventures. Our initial plan was to check out another vernissage not too far away and then to grab a quick drink. However, when we failed to find the second gallery we decided what the heck "let's go get our drink on" and that's exactly what we did.

We headed over to Chez Jeanette, the popular hotspot for young Parisians. I've been to Chez Jeanette several times in the past and despite having good time with my friends I was mostly underwhelmed with the ambiance and atmosphere of the place and the service of the bartending staff left a lot to be desired. But something was different last night. We cozied up to the bar, ordered three pints and started chatting away pausing every few moments to check out the new "merchandise" walking through the door. As we were finishing our pints and deciding what to do next (the consensus being to head home and call it an early evening) one of the bartenders surprisingly started chatting us up. A few moments later three shot glasses, filled with an indiscernible red liquid, were placed in front of us and like that our plans to call it an early evening were tossed by the wayside.

There's something to be said for friendly bartenders and free drinks. Since a bartender's wage doesn't depend on gratuities as much as bartenders in the US it's rare to find friendly bar staff let alone get free drinks out of it. But suffice it to say, the small gesture by the bartender last night has completely changed my opinion of Chez Jeanette and it's now a place that I'd willingly and happily frequent again.

Parisian Love by Google - Not So Fast

This morning I watched the Google Superbowl ad entitled "Parisian Love". Initially, I found the ad to be sweet, charming, romantic and everything that is wonderful in the universe. I could hear my mind chanting "Go Love!". But then almost instantly, something dawned on me and it was as if my usually dormant cynical and bitter self awoken (which she tends to do around this time of year) and shouted "that ad was crock of bull". And then I thought about it some more, it's really not because I'm cynical and bitter that I didn't like the ad. It's because I've been living in France for the past two years that I was able to evaluate it with a bit more of a critical eye than someone who hasn't had a similar experience.

In case you were wondering here are the top 3 reasons why the ad didn't resonate so well with me:

1. Every male Anglophone expat in Paris knows that it's not so easy to impress French girls. If it were so easy then maybe the ratio of Anglophone men dating French women to Anglophone women dating French men wouldn't be as skewed to the latter. I'm not going to speculate here as to why this may be but feel free to discuss amongst yourselves.

2. Implying that one can impress a women simply by buying her chocolates is antiquated, overly simplistic and somewhat demeaning to women.

3. If it were so easy to find a job working in France having very little French skills, then I probably wouldn't get as many emails as I do asking me how to accomplish such a feat.

And in case you haven't seen it, here it is:

Côte d'Azur

Back in December my good friend Amy who used to live in Paris came to visit for several weeks during her school break. Amy had always wanted to visit the south of France so we decided to take an impromptu weekend trip to Nice to visit a mutual friend that lives there.

We took the 10 hour night train because we really wanted to get the most out of the experience and I'm pretty sure that I got so much out of it that there really is no good reason for me to take the night train again. Upon arriving in Nice our host met us up at the train station and brought us to her place. Being the wonderful host that she was, she immediately whipped up some crepes, fresh fruit and coffee for us. And after catching up for a bit we were off to the marché at the Cours Saleya. After that Amy and I walked around a bit, took in a few sights and then headed back to the apartment.

On our second day we woke up relatively early and made our way to the Matisse Museum (good), saw some ancient Roman ruins (good) and then checked out the Chagall Museum (can I have my money back please). We stopped briefly for a coffee, chatted with two old men who were impressed with Amy's hair and then boarded a train and were off to Monaco for a few hours. While there we visited the jardin exotique, the casino (of course) and the palace before heading back to Nice. On our last day in the region we visited the Russian Orthodox Cathedral (gorgeous) before boarding a train to Cannes. I really wasn't blown away by Cannes which is probably why I have no recollection of what we actually did while there. What I do remember is that my knee was killing me after walking around so much that I had to stop by a pharmacy to get some medication to alleviate the situation.

Dubai, Oh My!

One of my unofficial New Year's resolutions is "do more, think less". This may not sound like the best motto to live by for some but for me it's a truly useful reminder to not get all caught up in the constant analysis, processing and what if scenarios that tend to cloud my judgment and paralyze my decision making when it comes to experiencing certain things in life.

So do more, think less is exactly what I did when an opportunity presented itself for me to travel to Dubai. The old me upon considering the situation; alone, to an unfamiliar region, to visit a guy that I had only met once, would have never even considered it a possibility let alone been able to board an airplane. The new me however, looked up ticket prices, run a quick cost benefit analysis and was on my way. Life is all about experiences is what I keep reminding myself.

As for my trip, it couldn't have been better and all of the fears of the old me were for naught. My host was absolutely amazing, kind and generous and I can't possibly thank him enough for welcoming me into his lovely home. Dubai doesn't have the charm that old European cities like Paris and Rome have and I was initially put off by the somewhat its Vegas-esque, faux feel. Even though there were quite a few things that I didn't like about Dubai I have to admit that it is quite impressive what they were able to build and accomplish there in the middle of a desert. Whether or not it's sustainable is yet to be seen.

Transitions

As you may have noticed I've taken an extended blogging hiatus as of late. The reason being is because past couple of months have been somewhat challenging and I wasn't ready face certain impending realities, let alone put it all out there for the masses to read.

What I can and am willing to say at this time is that I'm going through a transitional phase and how things end up is anybody's guess. But stay tuned to see how it all pans out.

In the meantime, I have a few recent trips that I took that I plan to blog about in the upcoming days.

The Big Chill

During the winter I tend to sleep with the window cracked open a bit because I cannot sleep with stifling heat. However, someone has been sleeping on the job and they have yet to turn the heat on in my building and for the past couple of days it's been colder in my apartment than it has been outside. I've even resorted to pre-heating my clothing in my little convection oven for some added warmth. When I arrived home from work this evening I saw the lovely sign below taped to the wall in between the elevators.

Sent from my iPhone

Mykonos in Photos

Click to enlarge collage

Click to enlarge collage

Santorini in Photos

Rats on a Train

Coming from New York I am used to seeing rats scurrying on the subway tracks while waiting for my train. As gross as it may be it's pretty commonplace and accepted by most subway riders. Occasionally, and a little less tolerable I have even seen large rats on the actual platform where straphangers wait for their train. In Paris instead of seeing large rats hanging out down by the tracks I'm more likely to see little mice instead which are not nearly as ugly or threatening as their NYC counterparts.

This morning however, everything changed and a barrier was crossed. As I sat enjoying my commute to work as best as I could just days back from my holiday I came face to face with none other than Ratatouille himself. He was perched on the shoulder of his owner oblivious to his surroundings. On the big screen Ratatouille came across adorable, endearing and talented but when confronted with him in person I was less impressed with his personality traits.

Throughout the ride I tried my best to maintain my composure and to pretend that there was nothing out of the ordinary going on around me. I even resisted the urge to change seats but I think that was more so out of fear of not being able to find another one. I did however break down completely into a fit of laughter after witnessing another passenger completely freak out when she saw the giant rodent perched on the shoulder of the passenger standing next to her.

On Holiday

So I'm finally in a cab heading to the airport to start my much needed holiday. Athens, Santorini then Mykonos which means no new updates for at least 10 days (except maybe a teaser photo here or there).

In the meantime, for all you fashionistas out there check out the brainchild of my friend YM signature9.com.

Oh and one last thing Happy Birthday M-Unit!!

Envoyé de mon iPhone

Remembrance

As I sit at work reading the various status updates on Facebook, twitter and stories on various news outlets I cannot help but feel overcome with emotions. Thinking about that fateful day eight years ago my emotions resonate as if it were yesterday. I can remember exactly where I was, what I was doing and how I was feeling. Just thinking about gets me all choked up and teary eyed.

I remember when I first moved to Paris a lot of people that I met would ask me about my experience that day after learning that I come from New York. I understand their curiosity in wanting to know my experiences, emotions and thoughts but at the same time most of they could never possibly understand how raw and close to the surface my emotions remain concerning that day and most of the time I would respond as I fought back tears.

As much as I don’t enjoy experiencing this deep sadness, it’s nothing compared to the great loss that so many others experienced that day, and I welcome them because they serve as a reminder that allows me to never forget what happened on that day.

David Lynch at the Galeries Lafayette

Yesterday I went to the Galeries Lafayette with a colleague to do a little shopping. Unbeknownst to us the acclaimed American filmaker and visual artist, David Lynch was also set to make an appearance that evening as well. He was there to celebrate the 11 display windows that he designed around the theme "Machines, Women and Abstraction".

Upon leaving the store we saw his creations and we were both quite impressed with the creativity of the designs.

Unfortunately, we didn't stay long enough to get an actual sighting of David Lynch himself. But if you are so inclined the window displays will be available from now until October 4th if you care to check them out yourself.

Be Careful What You Wish For

Last year when I started my job with company x they paid for two weeks of intensive one on one French classes in Paris for me. The classes were good and I learned plenty but the problem with an anglophone trying to learn French in Paris is that so many people speak English it's difficult to apply what one has learned outside of the classroom. Or maybe I should say that it's easy to not apply what one has learned if she chooses to. So after those two weeks my comprehension improved tremendously and I was able to understand when my colleagues spoke in French but I continued to respond to them in English.

As dysfunctional as that system sounds it worked for a while and I was a happy worker bee. During this past spring I started toying with the idea of taking a two week holiday to the south of France and enrolling in another 2-3 week intensive French course. My plan was to sneak away without telling anyone where exactly I was going and to return speaking more French than I had previously. Around the same time, my colleagues that are in charge of external training and development told me that there was still training budget left over for the year and it could be used to some additional French classes if I felt so inclined.

That's when the wheels really started turning. I put it out there that I was intending to take some French courses anyway on my own using my vacation days and if company x was so inclined I'd be more than welcome to have them absorb the costs of my holiday training course especially since communicating more in French is listed as one of my objectives for the year. To my surprise they agreed and so at the end of October I will find myself enrolled in the Instituit du Français in Villefrance sur mer just east of Nice. Sounds lovely doesn't it?

Well not so fast. Because my manager doesn't want to feel as if the company's money is being tossed out of the window, as of yesterday I was told that my dysfunctional system that I've come to love and enjoy will cease to operate. Going forward all team meetings will be conducted 100% in French and my contributions will have to be in French as well and participation is not optional. This is probably the kick in the ass that I need but the anxiety that I'm experiencing isn't pleasant.

So stay tuned to find out if L'Étrangère Americaine let's this French nonsense get the best of her and packs her bags and moves back to New York or if she steps out of the way of her own growth and achievement...

They Got Me Covered

My trip to Greece is in exactly two weeks and it feels like I've been planning the adventure for ages. With the maternal unite in tow we will explore mainland Greece and the islands of Santorini for 10 days. Hopefully we don't kill each other.

However, just in case I fall ill or suffer some freakish accident I took a precaution and applied for the European Health Insurance Card or the carte européenne d’assurance maladie as it's called in France. According to the European Commission website:

The card ensures that you will get the same access to public sector health care (e.g. a doctor, a pharmacy, a hospital or a health care centre) as nationals of the country you are visiting. If you have to receive medical attention in a country that charges for health care, you will be reimbursed either immediately, or after you go home to your own country. The idea is that you are given the care you need to allow you to continue with your stay.

That good news for a hypocondriac like myself. I easily applied for the card by submitting a request on the Assurance Maladie website and two weeks later I found the little blue card in my mailbox. The card is valid for one year and will cover me during any visits (personal or business) to any EU countries and a few others. So paying the pied piper isn't so bad afterall and actually has some benefits.

The Man Giveth and the Tax Man Taketh Away

Yesterday when I got home from work I checked my mailbox as I normally do. Because I love getting mail I was excited to see several letters waiting for me in my mailbox. One piece of mail that caught my eye was wrapped in a blue plastic wrapping with the emblem of the Republic Francaise in the upper left hand corner. Curisous as to its contents I quickly ripped open the packaging en route to the elevator. After a quick scan I realized that what I was holding my hands was in fact nothing at all to be excited about.

What I held in my possession was my avis d'impot sur les revenues or more simply put my tax bill. Now, while I understand the importance of paying taxes and I'm more than willing to pay my fair share of them in order to reap the social benefits, when it comes down to it I'm less than thrilled to have to write a four figure check made out to Sarkozy (I jest the check was actually made out to the treasurer or something).

Since the day I started working I knew that this day would eventually come because unlike in the US no income taxes are withheld from my monthly check. Because of this, each month I would studiously put aside a portion of my paycheck into a separate account to cover this expense. However, as the balance in that account increased I became quite attached to it and the idea of such an untimely parting seems cruel and harsh. You see I just replaced my stolen iPhone with the updated 3GS, my summer holiday to Greece is rapidly approaching and a trip back to New York is in the works to celebrate my cousin's wedding. So while I generally love France and put up with their way of doing things, in this case I would much prefer to deal with my taxes the way I have in the US which is by getting a nice tax refund check several weeks after filing my tax returns.

Provocative French PSAs

Because I'm feeling too lazy and emotionally drained to write a proper blog post I present you with the first and probably last the series "Public Service Ads in France That Would Probably Never Fly in the US". The following are brought to you courtesy of the Paris mayor's office.

"Woman's Best Friend"

"Man's Best Friend"

A Day at the Park

During a conversation several weeks ago with some friends it came to our attention that one of our friends had never been to an amusement park and has never ridden a roller coaster. As someone that has very fond memories of warm summer days and evenings spent at Six Flags riding the scariest rides and roller coasters I was completely shocked and so was everyone else. It was then that we decided that a group trip to Euro Disney was in order. It would be a first for me since living in Paris.

On Saturday, we were all up early to meet on the platform of the RER A and to make our way out to the happiest place on earth. After about 40 minutes or so our trained arrived and instantly upon exiting the metro station we were all instantly transported to another world. After getting oriented, the requisite coffee stop and a potty break we decided to make our way to Space Mountain first after catching the tail end of the parade of course. I was nervous that the first timer wouldn't enjoy the ride or find any amusement in it at all. However, when it was over and with a huge grin on his face he asked us if we could ride it again. The answer of course was "non" because there were plenty other attractions to see that day in the park.

Surprisingly everyone had a blast in the park and it was as if ever so briefly we were all children again. The best part about the whole experience is that we get to do it again for free before the end of September thanks to a special 2 for 1 promotion Euro Disney is currently running.

Oh and so you all don't think we're mean people we did manage to ride Space Mountain a second time before heading home and it was even better than the first time around.

*image from Ma vie est tout à fait fascinante by Penelope Bagieu

Scrapping Cheese

My colleagues have been great at teaching me new French words and phrases and for the most part they have the patience of saints. However, most of what they teach me is usually quickly forgotten because the exchange oral only and I rarely get a chance to visualize the words to help the memorization process.

During lunch with my colleagues yesterday I asked one of them if I could have a taste of his dessert. His dessert was a tart au chocolat with a perfect dollop of chocolate goodness melted on the wrapping. Being the generous colleague that he is he agreed to let me have a taste and walked away to get a cup of coffee. By the time he came back I had already helped myself to the lonely dollop. Unaware of this he asked me if I still wanted to taste his dessert. My other colleagues responded to him in French and told him that I had already scraped the dollop off the side. The verb racler or to scrape was new to me and for a few moments lingered in my thoughts which is rare for me when I hear a new word. A few moments later after some mental gymnastics a light bulb went off for me. It was at that moment that I associated the verb racler with the cheese raclette. Raclette is typically eaten by melting it over a grill and then scraping off the melted portions and serving over potatoes. I mentioned this insight to my colleagues and they seemed both impressed and slightly amused.

For me making that connection was key in helping me to visualize the new word and to commit it to memory in a place in my brain where it won't easily be forgotten. If only I could do that with every new word I'd be all set.

My Acupuncturist the Dragueur

Today I went to see an acupuncturist for treatment of my persistent migraines.

While taking my complete medical history he asked me a whole bunch of questions none of which seemed out of the ordinary. At one point he did inquiry about my relationship status which I found a tad peculiar but I let it slide and the querying continued. However, when he finished asking me all of the "official" questions the following dialog took place:

Acupuncturist: So why are you single?
LE: Uhm I'm not really sure.
Acupuncturist: Do you ever think about why you are single?
LE: Uhm sometimes but generally I have other thoughts that occupy my mind.
Acupuncturist: I don't understand because you are a nice girl.

END SCENE

Now, I may not have a background in ancient Chinese medicine but I'm pretty sure that the above line of questioning is not only unnecessary but totally inappropriate. But I figure with the cost of the session partially being covered by the French social security system and the balance being covered by my mutuelle, making the visit essentially free, I can't really complain can I?