Paris Part Deux

As it turns out I do have a few more stories to share from Paris:

For lunch on my last day I went to a Chinese restaurant. It was where I was when I got hungry and the price was right, and only after I walked in the door was I struck with panic – what if these Paris-residing Chinese people don’t speak English? I don’t speak French or Chinese! Luckily the guy there did speak quite good English, and he was nice.

After lunch I went to Starbucks (I know, I know) for a cup of coffee. As I walked in the door one of the baristas turned to the girl next to her and giggled as she said “French-french-french-french-American-Eagle-french-french-french!” This comment was of course in reference to my blue American Eagle coat. I started laughing, and looked down at my jacket and asked if it really did say “American Eagle” on there? She said “no – but I know it is because I have the same one!” You can meet fellow ex-pats everywhere!

Coffee in one hand and camera in the other, I headed to the Champs Elysees area to check it out during the day. I was enjoying all the beautiful buildings and marveling at the original stores of all the famous Parisian companies – Loreal, Chanel, Cartier, Dior, etc. The next beautiful building I came across was the American Embassy – “how cool that it’s here in the middle of all these beautiful things!” I thought. CLICK went my camera. The next thing I heard was the sound of a guard’s whistle, and I suddenly realized what I had done.

Holy cow, was I an idiot?!?! I took a picture of the American Embassy! The guard came running toward me and I immediately started apologizing. I knew better, I really did, I had just forgoten, and I showed him that I immediately deleted the picture. He was nice about it, fortunately, and no harm was done, but I really couldn’t believe I had been that stupid.

Now embarrassed at sticking out like an obnoxious American tourist for the third time today, I continued toward Champs Elysees anyway – camera still in one hand……and an empty hand. Before lunch I made a stop at Hard Rock Café to get Chris a glass – but I had left it in the Chinese restaurant. I turned around, walked back past the guards at the embassy, and retraced my steps to the restaurant. Smooth…real smooth.

Next I will address in general how I learned to deal with French people. I think I had a lot of success because even though I don’t speak French, I am very polite and courteous – probably unlike most obnoxious American tourists. Every time I would interact with someone the first thing I said was an apology for not speaking French, THEN I would ask if they spoke English, then thank them for speaking English with me. I always made sure to say “bonjour” and “merci” or “pardon” on the Metro to let them know I was trying. I never ran into any problems and everyone was always polite back to me.

But it is true that they do get offended very easily. I decided on my last night that I wanted to shop for a coat. Everyone in Paris wore beautiful coats, and a few days earlier I had seen some for very reasonable prices, but of course I couldn’t remember where they were. I settled on browsing the area near my hotel. I tried on coats in two stores – in the beginning the store clerks were extremely helpful, and helped me pick out what would look good and helped me put them on. Only after I said “I’m sorry but it’s just not what I’m looking for” would they give me the cold shoulder and start pouting, and wouldn’t even look at me or say goodbye when I left the store (but I made sure to thank them for their help). Yes, it felt like I was doing business with kindergarteners, but I guess that’s their sales strategy – to guilt the customers into feeling bad enough to buy clothes. Sorry, but that tactic doesn’t work on me.

One last thought – speaking of stores, their store closing ritual was bizarre to me. Before we ate dinner one night Paul wanted to run into a store to find a Christmas present for his brother. I stayed in the women’s section while he went upstairs to the men’s. It was about 7:40 and the store closed at 8. When the clock struck 7:45 they made an announcement that the store was about to close, and suddenly everyone flocked to the exits. I moved closer to the door and waited on Paul, but a lady actually came up to me and said “our store is closing you need to leave” (well, it was in French, but I’m assuming that’s what she said because she pointed sternly toward the door) – meanwhile my watch still said 7:45. Apparently when French stores close at 8, it means they want you out so they can go home at 8. At least that’s what I took from it.