A French Reflection

I had Google Translate downloaded on my phone even though my mom told me I didn’t need it for our upcoming trip. “You took French!” she said, “you can speak French!” Yes, I took French. Why do you think I had Google Translate downloaded on my phone? I don’t know French. I used my phone for every single homework assignment and my eyes never failed to wander over to whoever’s paper was next to mine during quizzes. I cried during my verbal exam because I hadn't a clue in the world what the teacher was asking me. I don’t know French.

You know who does know French? My perfect older sister who was studying abroad in Strasbourg. My perfect older sister with her perfect GPA and perfect French speaking skills and perfect boyfriend who was about to propose at the cathedral in Strasbourg. Jealousy ran rampant through my veins whenever I thought about my sister. I never understood why it seemed that she got everything. Anyway, I was not thrilled with the idea of visiting her in France for spring break my senior year of high school, though looking back I certainly should have been. I was extremely fortunate to have this opportunity. Unfortunately the 17-year-old girl problems took over and I’m relatively positive I was the most bitter and negative travel companion one could possibly have. Then my mother’s appendix burst.

It's probably a good thing we were still in the U.S. when it happened. I have no idea what appendix is in French, nor do I know how to call an ambulance or speak with anybody at all. We had a layover, so we had settled down at a restaurant in the airport. I’m sure I was unhappy with the choice. My mom had ordered a drink, and she let me have a taste, so when I watched her disappear on the stretcher with the paramedics I was convinced that sip of alcohol had gotten me so messed up I was hallucinating. She ended up in surgery, but made a very quick recovery and we were still able to take our trip at a later date with a few altered plans. I doubt I was any happier about it.

So we eventually made it to Paris, and indeed as everyone always says, it was beautiful. I’d never seen such narrow, winding streets filled with people who couldn’t care less what you were doing. There wasn’t a moment I was alone without the constant chatter of a language I couldn’t understand. Everyone around me seemed to know exactly where they were going and what they were doing. I had no idea what I was doing. I grew up in Wyoming, I’ve never been a big city kind of person. It was all so intriguing, even though I felt insanely out of place.

Somehow my sister had it figured out though. She easily navigated us through the incredibly confusing metro system, though to be fair it was probably only incredibly confusing because I don’t speak French. She spoke her effortless French to all the locals and somehow knew every single fact there was to know about every sight we saw, including the breathtakingly beautiful Sainte-Chapelle, pictured to the right.

Of course the city was beautiful and extremely interesting, but I was so focused on how out of place I felt that I forgot to notice it. My silly little pangs of jealousy and what grew to be overwhelming inferiority kept me from appreciating the rich history of the architecture and how good the food actually tasted. It blurred my vision as I absentmindedly observed the groups of people lounging on their blankets and sitting at their outdoor tables chattering away.  

The idea of traveling to Paris always seems to be full of romance and passion. While there is no denying its charm, it has a certain something about it that has attracted tourists, specifically American ones, for a very long time. As Gregory Rodriguez discusses in his article “Écoutez Bien, Américains! Don’t Expect Paris to Make You More Sophisticated,” Paris represents a place where we can escape and imagine things we can’t imagine while living our normal lives, which I suppose is true of any place we travel to. Rodriguez also mentions the unsettling nature of this particular fascination, something I certainly felt throughout my travel experience. The article credits Gertrude Stein with the words “the brilliance of Paris…is its ability to imbue foreigners with the ‘emotion of unreality.’” As I recall my experiences now, the lack of connection to reality that runs through the city seems to be what made me feel so out of place.

During this time, I was at a place in my life in which I was extremely unsatisfied. Nothing had the power to make me happy or truly satisfy me, so when I took a step back and examined the way of life here my eyes were opened. As discussed in Ajiri Aki’s article “I Left the U.S. for Paris 12 Years Ago—6 Things French People Do Differently than Americans to Live Long, Happy Lives,” the phrase “joie de vivre” that means “the joy of living” is what drives many aspects of culture. Aki describes how pleasure is found in just simply being, just existing. Pleasure is found through the building of meaningful connections with other people, food, conversations and simple time spent.

I certainly observed this simple joy of living throughout my time in France, and the aspects that forced me out of my comfort zone ended up becoming my greatest lessons. While I felt disconnected from others through a language barrier, and from myself through my lack of comfort in an unfamiliar space, the experience gave me a greater perspective with which to view my own life experience, and that of those around me. I still, however, do not speak French. 

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