Paris_ The Collected Traveler - Barrie Kerper [261]
—Missy Van Buren, Hollins Abroad Paris, 1975;
former client relationship manager, IPC Systems
From a kaleidoscope of memories of a college student’s year abroad comes this one: less pleasant or inspiring or soul-searching than some, but important in its lesson about living in harmony with la vie quotidienne—everyday life—in Paris.
My roommate Amanda and I had been in Paris already for several months when we happened to bump into our elderly French hostess on the street close to where we lived with her. We were stepping into a bakery to buy a baguette, and Madame followed us into the shop while we made our purchase.
Back on the street, she turned to us in fury. “Are you always so rude to the baker?” she demanded in French. Amanda and I looked at her, and at each other, in stunned silence. We had said please and thank you. We could not imagine that we had been anywhere close to rude.
Turns out, in Paris, it is de rigueur to catch the eye of the shopkeeper upon entering an establishment and to greet them with a heartfelt Bonjour, madame/monsieur! After making your polite request and payment, it is also important to conclude the visit with Merci and Au revoir, madame/monsieur!
While this might seem like a formality to Americans, it is a small ritual that echoes throughout boulangeries, newsstands, pâtisseries, and boutiques all over the city, day after day, woven into the culture of which the French are so proud and so protective.
I’ve shared this story with countless Americans who have asked about the (supposed) rudeness of the French, and I think it helps them to appreciate a timeless exchange essential to the fabric of everyday life in Paris.
—Nicole Osborn Ash, Hollins Abroad Paris, 1984; personal coach and former vice president of marketing, American Express
In the back of the stage at the Paris Opéra is a beautiful room where cocktail parties are held after some performances. While you are sipping Champagne and munching on wonderful treats the curtain is raised and you have this spectacular view of the orchestra. Each time it gives me goose bumps!
—Frances Hershkowitz, Hollins Abroad Paris, 1962; former executive with McKinsey & Company and Ballet de Paris enthusiast
A FRENCH REMEMBRANCE
Paris was the first real city in which I ever lived and is like a second home to me, even though I have only returned to visit a handful of times in the past twenty-five years (including my honeymoon!). In 1982, my roommate and I lived with a family at 115 boulevard Saint-Germain, just steps from the Odéon Métro station and a quick jog to the Palais de Luxembourg with its beautiful jardins. While our room-and-board contract did not include lunch, our family was generous, especially on the weekends, and often included us in their Sunday dinners if we were around. Because the Vietnamese maid had Sundays off, the fare was usually something simple, such as choucroute (sauerkraut) with sausages, a spinach dish with hard-boiled eggs, or a roast chicken. One Sunday during lunch I offered to make the family a meal that was typiquement Américain the following week. I couldn’t think of anything more American than meat loaf and baked potatoes. My roommate, not being much of a cook, decided she would contribute dessert—banana splits.
The following Saturday we went to the open-air market and purchased the ingredients, which was an adventure all on its own and a rather expensive endeavor for our meager student budgets. The family’s kitchen was not exactly up to date, with a gas oven and stove that required using a lighting device to get started, a very small refrigerator, and quite cramped quarters. After almost setting the apartment on fire trying to light the stove, everything took twice as long as it would have in a normal American kitchen, especially the baked potatoes (no microwave to fall back on).
When everything was finally ready the family had been waiting for a very long time and they were hungry.