Going Native

The big aim of every tourist is not to look like one. Today I was loose in Paris by myself, doing errands, getting ready for bigger errands to come, and today I was asked directions for the first time, and asked to donate to a local charity: I look like a native! Our first days of reconnoitering and using our Navigo Découverte cards all over the Metro (and past years’ experience both here and elsewhere in Europe) have done the trick, as has walking in a deliberate manner, wearing a good wool coat, as well as a Roman wool foulard that has an arabesque pattern on it, black clogs and a determined expression.

Last night, there was snow, and this morning the fish-boys on Rue Daguerre were feeling frisky, scraping snow off the awning for snowballs. At Place de la Concorde, the Tour Eiffel rose bluey-grey in the mist across the river. By this afternoon, the sun was back out, but there is still a sense of continuing holiday in the air, brought on by the snow. How long do the decorations stay up here – until Lent? Hooray for Epiphany-tide and Carnival! The skating rink is up and running in the place in front of the Hôtel de Ville (City Hall), as is the double-decker carousel. The big wheel is up in Place de la Concorde, and there are blue lights on all the trees along the Champs-Elysées.

Part of going native is using local public transport, and for people coming from suburban College Station for the first time (past students of mine, for example), it is an entirely different experience from someone visiting from New York or even San Francisco (though BART is pretty silly-small next to the London Tube or the Paris Metro). The amount of wear-and-tear saved on the feet is incredible with a Metro pass, although you get to know the various quirks of the various subway cars and the ethnic make-up of the various subway stops more than you do the surface of the city.

The trains on the 4 line, for example, have curious little levers you jerk upwards to open the car doors (other lines generally just have a button) and some of them have a little bell that rings -- as well as the buzzer – before you pull away from the station. The 1 line, which goes straight from La Defense to Vincennes, right along the main axis of the city, is much slicker and built for heavier traffic, with no breaks between cars and lines of seats along the walls, Japan-style, and doors that open of their own accord. Then the real trains, the trains that take you to London, or to Montpellier or places like that, those are yet another experience for the car-driving suburbanite… and all of them make it easier to read and think rather than just drive, or (God forbid) drive and talk or text). Oh, and there may be texting going on during subway rides, but virtually no phonecalls: only quick answers like “yes, I’m almost there, I’ll see you soon” and no long, loud conversations.

And I intend to become a native of the Louvre: I now have a 4-day pass which I intend to use for as many hours of the 4 days as I can. I also now know that I may in fact take my tray of pastels, my pad of paper, and yes, even my little portable stool into the Louvre, so let me tell you I am one happy camper. More on that as it happens. Oh, and a trip to Galignani Bookstore has set me up with a good English-French/French-English Dictionary, so that now I know that the sign on the well-worn wooden stairs of this apartment building means: “Wipe Your Feet!” and that the wonderful shop sign Quincaillerie means “Hardware Store” and that the incredibly exotic sounding Bonne Maman jam we bought (Quetsches) is just “Plum.” With that, and with my new George Sand novel and Rousseau essays (in English of course!), I am ready to “walk the walk,” even though I really can’t “talk the talk” beyond a few basics and “vous parlez l’Anglais?” Oh, well: until I open my mouth, nobody needs to know I’m not a native!