First week in Paris

Sorry for the group email and hopefully your spam filters don't delete this email but I thought I would send an update after my first week in Paris. Unfortunately with work, settling into my new apartment and getting my bearings I haven't had the opportunity to do too much on the touristy front so this email will be more about the experience rather than experiences. I'm also writing this email around 6am so forgive me if it trails off at points. It would seem that I drank the equivalent of 3 vente sized espresso's yesterday so sleeping in wasn't an option this morning. Each time we went to the coffee room I would chuckle at how the machine dispensed such tiny servings. Like a pothead getting used to the stuff in a new city, I underestimated the potency and kept my regular quantities going. I'm sure at some point I must have muttered the words " I can handle this shit". Lesson learned. I can't.

My first discovery has been that speaking nothing but French all day long gives me a tiny little ache somewhere behind the temple that only seems to go away with doses of wine. I'm having less language issues and more cultural issues in understanding people. Yesterday's lunch at work was a perfect example. I understood every word they spoke but not a thing they were saying. In large groups I find myself sitting in the middle of the table grinning, nodding my head and laughing when it seems appropriate to laugh. I'm cooked if I don't figure them out before they get wise to my plan.

On the work front, I need to debunk the myth of the French work-week. Someone led me to believe that it was supposed to be 35 hours. I had images of people walking out of meetings at 4:30 because the day was done. Truth be told I was looking forward to it! Nothing could be further from the truth. I tap out at 6:30 and most people are still there. Not that I'm the best example, but I'm giving the North American work ethic a bad name here. The day starts late enough fortunately, around 9:30. In any case, I find myself on the metro home by 7 most nights. Now here's were the French work stereotype shines through. Work is only one metro stop and a few short walks away. That one metro stop has taken anywhere from 10 to 35 minutes depending on the day. It would seem that whoever runs the transit system has fully subscribed to the shortened work week. I'll stop at that because bitching about the trains is a very Parisian thing to do and I don't want to go native so soon.

On the social front, Paris appears to be one of the toughest cities to be alone in. I say that not in a self pity way, but with appreciation. My local bistros are filled to capacity until late in the evening. A friend of mine who moved to Lyon years ago claimed that it was because French television was so bad that people were forced out on weeknights. Whatever the reason, I love this aspect of the city. I stick out a bit like a sore thumb sitting alone and people watching but it's far too much fun and a part of me keeps thinking that some jocular group will insist that I join them for a drink. (I should point out that, while people watching, it's only the tables of hot french women that I hope will invite me into the group... inevitably it will happen and I will find myself at a table of German tourists complaining about the richness of the food). In passing, if anyone can explain the difference between a bistro, brasserie and a resto I’ll be forever in your debt. They all look the same to me.

Finally, a little bit about where I’m living. The apartment is great. In time I’ll get used to not having my stuff I’m sure, but for now... I miss my stuff. I miss having knives that cut and for some reason, someone here decided that a frying pan was a luxury. I’m cooking my eggs in a wok most mornings. I can’t think of a comparable area in Vancouver to describe my neighbourhood. Probably because there is no Turkish neighbourhood in Vancouver. I only bring that up because of the culture shock of getting my haircut by a Turkish barber where the finishing touch uses fire as a tool. You really don’t expect to have your ears and cheeks slapped around with a flaming wad of cotton when you go in for a trim. In general though, the area is nothing trendy, not so modern, but very safe and comfortable feeling with a strong community appeal. Maybe Commercial Drive area on steroids would be a good description.

I’m sure you’ve all read enough for now. Hopefully I have some adventures to tell in my next email and don’t have to bore you with observations of how they sell rabbit in the supermarkets and diet coke costs more than wine in restaurants.