My friend Kendall was here visiting Paris and he came my way yesterday. We spent time meandering and talking and talking. I was telling him it is always gratifying to spend time with friends from my original cultural context. There are many layers to that - place, people, religion, references and of course, language. France has been challenging on levels I never expected it to be. Socially, for instance. Generally, I flit about and have the impression that I please people around me. Generally, that is, in my life - until I arrived in France (alright, I'll be honest - I wasn't as staggering a hit in Oxford as I thought I would be either). I've been startled by people's reaction to my approach...when my extended hand on their arm while I speak is met by what looks like repulsion on their face. While teaching English, I was told more than once, "
You cannot touch people when you talk." I've also tried consistently to charm people with warm eyes or a big smile - effortless at home - sometimes totally ineffective here. Humor is another struggle for anyone who is not in her own language. Xavier does a great job with this, but even he, I think, would admit that there is something that just catches right - timing, references, tone - in your own language. I've become more malleable in all of these senses since coming to France. I mean, now the lady at the boulangerie meets my gaze and we've even had a good laugh together. With time, I think you basically learn to read people, and on their terms rather than your own. Still, you are always reading. So, when I laughed wholeheartedly at Kendall's stories or finished sentences or ideas for him - or him for me, I felt the social grease that seems to have often ducked out for me here in France. All in all, great conversation - plunging far, no context needed. Ahh.
Now for the picture above. The bird-woman, singing away in her red canary dress, was our entertainment when we took a break from talking. She was a character. She was part of a performance at Madeleine - the end of the long line of trees below. It was relishable, even if it was fashioned for the tourist in Paris...
Ave Maria, Pachelbel's Canon in D, Mozart's Night Music and
Vivaldi's Four Seasons - easy listening, if you will, in the field of classical music. Nonetheless, she was something to watch. She kept us tilted forward. Her voice was lovely but little, almost elfin. In such a grand space as that church, I think she would need to put on 25 pounds to have the mass necessary to project properly. The thing that got me was that while singing, her inhale was frantic. She was unconvinced that she would make it, so naturally, so were we. Unhinged she was. Ah well. The dress was a sight.
And then we had a stop at Fauchon, of course, for some lovely bread, cheese, honey, tea and chocolate. We were instructed to place the cheeses in the fridge for 25 minutes before serving. "Not more or they will lose their gelatinous quality." I love that kind of French specificity. That little jar of honey was 15 euros - and, yes, the honey jar is smaller than the cylinder of chèvre perched nearby. I think three big tablespoons would empty the jar. Heaven. Three tablespoons of heaven.
(Photo from
their site. You've got to love their branding - effulgent and then mad as a March hare).
