The first few weeks of this trip have been a flurry of paperwork and a healthy dose of confusion, chock full of conversations with folks back home just to check in and convince them I’m still alive. That last part will be a learning curve, I think.
I have joined the debate club (because I know that’s what’s cool here; see below), signed up for weekly Yoga and Ballet classes, and dropped my name on a list for a language buddy. I know, it’s very Northwestern to be a joiner.
Impassioned young speaker at Sciences Polémiques’ first debate of the year. The auditorium was completely packed and the speeches were sharp, if indulgent. Debate at Sciences Po is something like theatre at Northwestern.
The first week’s orientation and methodology class really gave me a good taste of what I mentioned in my last post about those ideological differences. It’s become abundantly clear to me exactly what I had feared to begin with: Americans are very spoiled and exceedingly single-minded. I knew this in my heart of hearts all along of course, but I guess some part of me was holding out hope that this trip would turn out like a four-month episode of Muzzy. I was having visions of singing about vowels with an extra-terrestrial who eats parking meters and a princess named Sylvie. (see: the language series my parents used to make me watch)
Instead it’s been a lot of pleas like; “but shouldn’t I be able to structure my essay the way I want to? Will it really be my essay if it’s written in a way that feels unnatural to me?” It turns out, they’ve got a strictly standardized way of doing things at Sciences Po that leaves no room for the innovative genius each of us aspires to back home with every new paper that, say, takes a satirical approach to biodiversity. Originality is about as valued in France as your pair of Lululemon leggings (which, by the way, impress exactly no one).
Me, the day we had class at UNESCO, excited about the mobile
A style note here: making cultural observations is my favorite aspect of living in a different country, and they make writing about it especially fun for me. For instance, in only one month I’ve learned just how narrow-minded I am with respect to hot chocolate. The sheer silliness of me! Why on earth accept watered-down carob with freeze-dried marshmallows when hot chocolate can be just that: melted cooking chocolate in a teacup, served with a side of cream so thick it could clog a drain. What a revelation—truly! My blood will be 100% cacao by the end of this.
Paris is full of contradictions as well; in fact, if I were limited to two words to describe The French Way, I’d choose “delightfully inconsistent”. My experience of being an ex-pat, and more specifically, an American college kid abroad, has been focused on studying and adopting The French Way so that I blend in as much as possible. Every day is like being undercover; watching, silently sweaty, as passersby scan me for signs of my Visa holder status. Oh no, I think, what if I walk American? Beware, nailing down The French Way is not as simple as developing a comfort with nudity and sprinkling your kitchen floor with croissant crumbs. Every day it seems I’m learning a new quirk to write in my rule book of do’s and don’t’s. Sarcasm: very French. Relating to strangers with sarcasm: not French. Trust me, don’t try being friendly on the metro, just bring a book.
A favorite photo taken from the Bateaux Mouches (literal translation: fly boats, as in house fly). A crane and La Tour Eiffel sharing the skyline, maybe it’s just me but notice any similarities?
Perhaps most illustrative has been comparing the delicate balance Parisians keep between rigid practicality and an odd need for quotidian whimsy. To illustrate: yes, we always bring our own reusable bags to the grocery because each of us has a responsibility to the planet—elementary! Furthermore, at any given moment in Paris you will never be more than one kilometer from a children’s carousel! …Pardon?
More on this phenomenon, I’m sure, in subsequent posts. For now I’ll leave you with a photo of Marcel, the Sciences Po cat, who is free to roam the classrooms at 13 rue de l’Université. In the animated version of this story, Marcel would mediate debate and maybe smoke an e-cigarette.
Forever trying to keep a straight face,
Savannah