Paris (March 19, 2008) -- While packing for myupcoming trip to Nicaragua I stumbled upon a journal of mine that detailed my first few days here.
I knew this gloomy month was the second anniversary of my arrival here, but it's almost right to the day.
Two years ago, the journal says, Paris was just as gloomy and gray and cold as it is today. Being as green as one can be in moving to Paris, I was apparently quite impressed with myself that I could order a sandwich and coke using only French.
I'd say I've come quite a ways since today at lunch I was making jokes with the waiter and drinking white wine with the salmon and pasta starter followed by red wine with the chicken dish.
But I still had no clue the other day at lunch when I ordered boudin noir and, after confirming my suspicions when I got to the office, realized I had eaten quite a bit of bloodsausage for lunch, the black variety.
So it's a work in progress. Also during those first few days, according to my journal, I was getting lost quite frequently. In this area I've made more solid progress. It's now rare for me to use a map when getting around town, besides the one for the metro, and I can't say that I make wrong turns all that often.
Dodging cars that are out to put me in the hospital is still a problem as are French people who seem to think they are still behind the wheel when they walk directly at me, forcing me to get out of the way.
But one thing I have learned is the way old women in the mornings tend to drift down the sidewalks like drunks. And so I can now better predict their movements in order to get around them.
My French still isn't in category of fluent and my excuse about working in an English-speaking environment five days a week is getting a bit tired when I explain to French people that I've been here two years.
But at least I can now explain my job and my lack of French skills in French. I also have taken to saying in French that I'm too stupid for the language, which seems to make the French feel good while also verbalizing something they are no doubt thinking already.
So two years in Paris. Thomas Jefferson once said that it takes two years in Paris to spoil an American. For what exactly the American would be spoiled for I don't think he elaborated upon, but I know I still am having a good time and feel quite spoiled and lucky far beyond what I deserve for these past 24 months.
For some reason, I seemed to be worried about this back when I first arrived.
"But actually settling down in Paris is something I hope I never get used to because it's a feeling I very much enjoy having," I wrote two years ago tomorrow.
It's safe to say that the feeling is still there for me.
I hope this finds everyone in good spirits. I'll be sure to write a dispatch or two next week about being a consummate ass in Latin America.
But for now, it's March Madness time.
Take care,
Brett
