Letter From Paris
Paris Kiosque - October 2008 - Volume 15, Number 10
Copyright © 2008 Harriet Welty-Rochefort - Used with permission.
Shenandoah, Iowa: It's a hot late September day and I'm in my
hometown of Shenandoah, Iowa, for a class reunion. Standing in
the parking lot of the Day's Inn chatting with a former
high school classmate, I stare at the adjacent cornfields and the
huge blue Iowa sky. People passing by, whether we know them or
not, salute us with a friendly « hello » and big smile.
« Sure is different from Paris, » I say, in a state of
shock (no self-respecting Parisian smiles or says
« bonjour » unless he or she has known you
and your family for roughly the past thousand years - not to
mention that there are no cornfields in Paris and the horizon is
dotted with world-famous monuments).
Harriet in Shenandoah standing in front of her childhood home.
« You can say that again ! » he agrees. (He
didn't say « you betcha » !).
I have now lived in Paris longer than in my hometown so am well-
placed to answer a question I am often asked, both by Americans
and the French.
Which country do you like best ? America or France ?
And here's my answer : I love America when
I'm in America and I love France when I'm
in France. When in America, I don't think about France
and when in France I don't think about the States.
Very convenient.
It wasn't always this way.
Before I woke up and smelled the (French) coffee, I was one
frustrated lady.
In France, I yearned for a huge American house with extra
bedrooms, huge washers and dryers, a mammoth ice-making
fridge, and chocolate chips. When in the States, I pined for French
style (as in to-die for store windows, tastefully wrapped gift
packages, the French touch in general) and those long, convivial,
savory French meals which are now a part of my everyday life.
I'd be sitting there in France, ticked off because my
Parisian apartment was so small compared to the American house
I grew up in, the dinner hour was so dratted late, and French
teachers were too hard on my kids. Back in the U.S. on vacation, I
deemed the houses way too large for people's needs
(who needs a three car garage ?), the dinner hour way too early,
and American teachers way too soft.
A definite lose-lose situation.
One fine day I experienced an epiphany (the result of years of
yoga ? writing an entire book on the subject of living in France ?)
and since then have spread the word in the many speeches I give
on intercultural differences. Here's the deal when it
comes to living or even traveling in another country : observe the
differences, list them if you will, but DO acknowledge them and
DON'T judge.
So there I was standing in Iowa, my feet almost in a cornfield,
savoring the big sky and friendly atmosphere. Had I been by
myself, it would have been just another trip home but this time I
was accompanied by my French husband, a Parisian to the core of
his being, so I got the fun of seeing his reaction to things he found
typically American (ok, those of you living on the coasts can now
stop reading as « typically American » might be
« typically Midwestern » - but I don't
think so).
What was typically American for my husband ?
Number one : Patriotism. At the class reunion, we pledged
allegiance to the flag, hand over heart. American flags were
everywhere, windows, storefronts, porches, and even car
dealerships. The French are patriotic (some say chauvinistic) but
they don't express it with their flag the way we do.
Number two : Our American (Midwestern ?) exuberance and high
spirits. At the class reunion, classmates who finally recognized
each other let out wild yelps of glee to the point where the room
reverberated like the landing strip of a major airport. The French
for some reason modulate their voices even at class reunions (I
know-I've attended a few with my husband).
Don't ask me how they manage such restraint. In any
case, my husband was quite amazed by the decibels.
Number three : Donations. « What's that
basket for ? » my husband asked, indicating one that had
been placed on a table near the door. « Oh,
that's for donations », I replied.
« Donations for what ? » he asked. « No
idea, but I think it's to cover extra expenses, » I
said, throwing in a bill. My husband was taken aback, not because
he's tight with his euros or dollars but because in
France, where people pay fully one and a half times more taxes,
they feel like they've already done their donating.
Number four : The high school annual. I don't need
to explain the importance of the high school annual to my
American readers. My French husband had never seen one. Do
you know why ? Because in French schools, there are no extra-
curricular activities. That includes high school annuals, football
teams, glee club, the marching band, you name it. School in
France is simply... school !
Number five : Obesity. This is a sad thing to write but you just
can't ignore it. There are overweight people in
France ; in fact, more and more French children have weight
problems. However, it is nothing compared to the obesity that is
rampant in the States (and not just the Midwest).
Number six : The almost total lack of interest of Americans in the
outside world. My husband was shocked to see how hard it was to
find news about other countries in U.S. papers. French
newspapers and magazines have their faults but one they
don't have is in their extensive coverage of world
news.
Some differences are postive, some negative. In any event, it was
a pleasure for me to be on my territory for a change, and not on
his. For once, I led the dance. He was on his best behavior but I
DID have to keep him from driving the French way as I was afraid
we might get lynched if he applied the Parisian parking technique
(bump the car behind you and then the one in front of you) on an
unsuspecting American driver.
All in all, my French husband did quite well in this foreign
environment. We even almost bought a house which brings me
to point
Number seven : The price of real estate. Of course you
can't compare the price of real estate in Paris to the
price of real estate in Shenandoah, Iowa. Still, it was a shock to
see that we could buy back the beautiful five-bedroom Victorian
house I grew up in, complete with stained glass windows, marble
floors, and thick oak doors, for the price of a teeny tiny studio in
Paris.
I have to admit I was tempted for about five seconds. But as the
title of a famous book wisely surmises : « You
can't go home again ».
Instead, when I can't get to sleep at night in Paris, I
take a mental tour of my hometown. I walk from my house on
Center Street (which is not in the center - failing expected
expansion, it's on the eastern edge of town). Down
West Thomas I go to Main Street where I head straight for the
George Jay drugstore, angle for one of the eight counter seats,
and order one of their famous malts.
It's fun to travel on a magic carpet from my bed in
Paris to the childhood haunts of my small town in Iowa. You
can't go home again ?
Yes, you can. In your dreams.
Harriet Welty Rochefort is the author of
"French Toast: An American in Paris Celebrates the Maddening Mysteries of the French and
"French Fried: The Culinary Capers of an American in Paris."
French Toast was hailed by the Los Angeles Times as "wise and devastatingly
funny". For world-famous chef Alain Ducasse, her second book French Fried
"in a lively and hilarious style ... gives an inside look at the world of
French cuisine and wine." Both books are published by St. Martin's Press.
She is currently working on her third book about the French.
Coming to Paris? Harriet gives
tailormade wine and cheese tastings to individuals as well as to university
groups. For more information, visit her webpages:
www.frenchfolio.com and
www.understandfrance.com .
If you've had some funny, startling, satisfying, or dismaying
food experiences in France you'd like to share,
you may contact Harriet directly at
harriet.welty@hwelty.com.
Editor's Note:
Dear Readers, while our writers are always
delighted to hear and to receive comments, both about their columns in the The Paris Kiosque,
as well as your experiences in Paris,
they are unable to answer requests for travel information.
Thank you for your understanding.
Your Cellphone in Paris
