Faking French

Apparently, I fake French quite well. Basically, everywhere I go people assume I’m French, something I take as a compliment because it means I’m not one of those tourists that drives every local crazy. I try to keep quiet and speak the bare minimum of French. I learned how to say “I don’t speak French” and “do you speak English” so that I can keep death threats at a low. And while I’m not completely certain how French I manage to look, I do get asked all the time for directions. I honestly think it’s because I’ve always got my iPod in, which tends to make you look like a local. And because I don’t really have a set direction when I set out in the morning so it may look like I know where I’m going when really, I’m just winging it. Either way, it’s kind of nice and also sort of annoying because I keep having to apologize for not speaking French and they tend to take it one of three ways:

• Option One: the person gets really excited that they have an American in front of them and speak English to me.
• Option Two: the person gets annoyed with me and leaves in a huff.
• Option Three: the person thinks that shouting at me in French is going to assist me in figuring out what the hell they want.

Option Three never works, although it’s been often tried on me. Mainly it leaves everyone really exasperated.

The first day I went out into Paris, I stood waiting for the bus to come. Once it finally arrived, two French girls (whom I heard speak French) got on before me. This little old lady in Willy Wonka-type glasses and with a plaid bag stood in the doorway and let them through. I tried to be polite and let her off. She started speaking to me and gesturing, which I had no idea what was being said. I interpreted it as “come and get on the bus”, so I did. After I stepped on, she started shouting at me. This little four foot tall grandma was shouting at me. In French. On a packed bus. So I replied with “je ne parle pa francais”. Apparently the old lady was also slightly deaf because another woman had to pass on the message. And then she helped the lady get her bag off the bus, which it turned out the entire fuss was about. She wanted the bag off. Instead of asking the two girls before me, she decided to ask me and my confusion made me look like a bitch. Lovely. And then I turned around, after apologizing and reiterating my lack of French speaking skills, to an entire bus full of people staring at me. Being a tourist is fun.

Along with that, I tend to get the creepy old guys who try to chat me up. Usually the language barrier works in my favor but sometimes they get really happy and try to woo me with English. It fails.

Another problem that I’m attributing to culture is smiling. I tend to smile at people. When I sat in front of the Eiffel Tower for six hours, I saw the same soldiers over and over again. After a few times, one started smiling at me, something I thought meant that he thought it was funny that I was still there. So, I started smiling back. Apparently, he and I were on two different wave lengths because the second to last time I saw him, he gave me a really vulgar gesture. One that made the women who were near me look at me and ask me if that really happened. I mean, woah. I guess I tend to forget that I’m sort of an adult now so I can’t just grin at guys like I used to. I don’t know. I learned a little in NYC to stop smiling at guys but I forgot, I guess. I like being happy. I like smiling. I don’t like the whole interpretation of my smile as something completely different.

Speaking of different, did you know that the French don’t tell each other “bless you” when they sneeze? They don’t say anything unless they actually know you really well. So sneezing on the bus or in public means you get nada. It’s so weird. Half the time I’m inclined to say “bless you” but I don’t know how to say it in French and I also don’t want to be accidentally rude. Complicated stuff, huh.

The Louvre

I learned about the sneezing two days ago, when I went to the Bastille, which apparently doesn’t exist anymore. Maybe I completely fell asleep in history class that day but I don’t think we ever covered the fact that the Bastille was destroyed during hte French Revolution. It was. Now there’s a courtyard or something. After that, I went to the Louvre. Well I didn’t go into the Louvre because you can get in free if you have proof that you’re a citizen of the European Union and I totally am so I decided to wait another day. Instead I sat around in the gardens and people watched some more.

The Louvre's side entrance

Fountain in the courtyard

The famous pyramid entrance

Old and new (and my attempt to be artsy)

There were two frat guys beside me, the type that made me so happy that I didn’t go to a regular college. They talked about their friends “Nate-dawg” and “P-brah”. Seriously. These two bros referred to their friends incessantly as those names. And the girl with them was hanging off their every word, totally crushing on one of them. It was kind of sad because the guy she liked didn’t like her, which was pretty obvious.

The fountain where I sat until I got sick of the bros

After I got sick of hanging around them, I walked towards the Louvre again and laid down in some grass. The busses I use to get around were on strike so I had to stay til about 7 in Paris itself so I wouldn’t get caught in traffic. It was there that I saw one of the best looking guys I’ve ever seen in real life.

He was lying on the bright green grass in an unbuttoned pink button-down shirt. He was perfectly tan and rocking bright green sneakers. His hair was dirty blonde and he had a book beside him. In short, perfection. It was great, trying to figure out how to become his future girlfriend. I mean I had a plan and everything. There were these two dogs and somehow they were going to get us to strike up a conversation and true love would occur, of course. It was going perfectly, until his actual girlfriend showed up. And the actual girlfriend was quintessentially French and marvelous and it was absolutely heart-breaking.

The grass where I saw the (momentary) love of my life

Luckily, my heart’s got a quick rebound rate so I moved on pretty easily.

PS. I apologize if these posts seem so picture-heavy. I’m just trying to document everything because it’s ridiculously exciting for me.

Tags: Eurotrip 2010, Paris