Change on the Horizon...

I have mentioned before that my photography professor, Andy, is British. What you don't know about this wild man is that he doesn't like the French and he doesn't much care for Paris. In preparation for coming to Paris he had much to say about his favorite things to hate about the natives.

I am making it sound stronger than it really is, but still, it had its effect on the students. Several of us (I'm ashamed to say including myself) were starting to drag our feet about coming--to one of the most beautiful, bustling cities in the world.

Boy was Andy wrong.

Day 3 of our Paris excursion is half over. I feel as though I were an empty cup that's been filled to the brim with culture. It was a dramatic assimulation between the pace of village of 300 to a city with over 2 million human beings.

One of the main highlights has been interacting with Parisians. Parisians aren't really Parisians--most people I meet are originally from some other country--especially in N. Africa and all over Europe. On our first day here, my two best mates, Anna, Sherin and I wandered through the Montmartre district. In the middle of the afternoon, we found a cafe and had a beverage (I drink sparkling water every day in France--hoorah!). After paying our bill, we struck up a conversation with two gentlemen who were also having a drink. One of them asked me how I was doing in Spanish. I answered in like tongue. Sherin's first language is Spanish, so the conversation started to fly. Then they offered to buy us all a drink--waters and coke all around. One fellow was from Spain and the other from Nigeria. One spoke French, the other spoke Spanish. Neither of them spoke English very well. So, we pieced together a conversation in at least three different languages. Where words failed, we smiled and laughed. In the end, we took pictures together and they made us promise to send copies once we returned to Lacoste.

Anna and I had dinner last night at a restaurant called the Hippo. In the European way, it lasted for two hours. At the end of the night, we struck up a conversation with the two gentlemen next to us. No, not THAT kind of conversation. They heard us speaking English and struggling with French and wanted to know where we were from. One of the fellows, in particular, had a GREAT deal to say about America. Brace yourselves. You know the stereotype is that the French hate Americans. There is much truth behind this.

Let me give you the condensed version of this conversation. The fellow said that he very much respects Americans because he considers them pragmatic--they are good business people, they know how to make money and take care of their own and they are ambitious. He says that when Americans decide that something in society needs to change--they just DO IT. Americans are survivors. The French like to write books and philosophize--read and study, think and ponder--but not actively do something about their problems. The older generation still clings to their traditions, but the younger generation is beginning to want to change their ways. He also believed firmly in young people living in big cities because it forces them to live with people unlike themselves. He talked about clinging to traditions and said that this causes people to have small hearts and small brains. In the end, he said to me and I quote "I want you to tell the other Americans that there are French people who like them and Arab people as well." Incidentally, he was French, but of Arab descent.

We are grappling with new languages, new thoughts, a new way of life. Any few words that I can communicate to someone else (besides my American friends) are like a jewel in my palm. Expression and communication and understanding seem so precious--it's creating a hightened sense of living.

Well, my timer is telling me that I am about to run out of time at the internet cafe. I hope that you are all doing well and enjoying the English language.