"In Paris they just simply opened their eyes and stared when we spoke to them in French! We never did succeed in making those idiots understand their own language."- The Innocents Abroad
Whew. What an exhausting day. I have slept for 3 of the past 24 hours, or something like that. It's going to take a while to get used to the time difference. Lots of adventures today (and by adventures, I mean near-disasters, but for the sake of my sanity I will frame them as such.) My mother and I landed in Paris at 8:00 a.m. Paris time in hazy, rainy, downright ugly weather. After taking a packed bus from the Tarmac to the terminal, we waited for our bags by a rickety carousel for about 5 minutes, and then an airport employee came running up to everyone at the baggage claim yelling that we had to evacuate because they had found an abandoned piece of luggage in the terminal that could be a bomb. So, sans baggage, we were hearded with everyone else and their brother out of the baggage claim to "le fond de terminal" where we got to stand for an hour and fifteen minutes waiting to either be killed in a massive explosion or let back in to retrieve our luggage. After the bomb squad (or whatever they have here) determined that the bag was not, in fact, a weapon of mass destruction, they let EVERYONE back in the terminal without making anyone go through security. Hm.
Aside from this harrowing experience, today was relatively uneventful - we basically showered, napped, and ate. Tomorrow will bring the touristy stuff. I have, however, made some careful observations of the French populace, which are as follows.
1. Lines mean nothing here. I discovered this first when waiting for my bags, post-bomb scare, when I found myself smushed between a hissing old woman in a wheel chair and a bunch of French teenagers who sounded like they were speaking in tongues, although I'm pretty sure it was verlan, a type of French slang. In any case, I found myself quickly pushed out of my advantageous spot at the carousel by one of these slang-spouting adolescents. I so wanted to come up with a scathing French insult, but the only bad word I know is merde. I guess I could put that together with the word for head, tête, but I'm not sure it would have much of an impact. I satisfied myself with sticking my tongue out at the back of her head.
THEN, after waiting 40 minutes to recover the bags, we walked outside into the pouring rain to find that the taxi line was a mile long with no promise of moving. What's more, people in the middle of the line were running out and flagging down taxis on their own. Finally this lady with a baby who was standing by us managed to get one, but when it pulled up, she didn't think her large family could fit inside, so she told my mom and I to take it. We asked if she was sure, and she said yes, but then an airport employee came up and started yelling at us for trying to take a taxi from a woman with an infant. He then managed to cram the lady and her 5-person family into said cab. Basically, my mom and I were left looking like the jerks who try to steal taxis from women with small children. We finally gave up and managed to get on the French version of Supershuttle. (And for those of you that know me, you know how I loathe the Supershuttle.) But, it was cheap, and it worked, so there ya go.
2. The French could care less whether you like them or not. People here are bitchy, period. If I am going to survive here, I will have to shed my Southern sensibilities (namely, wanting everyone to like me and trying to smile sweetly as much as possible.) It's cutthroat out there, and apparently the key to being respected here is to show no one respect.
3. French men like sweaters around their necks. A lot. I have seen more men who looked like they stepped out of The Preppy Handbook today then I have in all my time in D.C. Apparently, it's quite stylish for men to sport their sweaters tied loosely around their necks here. Very my-daddy-has-a-summer-home-in-the-Hamptons, although I'm pretty sure the majority of them don't know what that means...
4. People are way nicer if you at least attempt to speak their language. Of course, the minute you open your mouth, they know you are American and if possible, they will speak to you in English. It's actually kind of frustrating to try and communicate with a waiter in French only to have him reply to you in English with a "you silly American, don't even try" simper on his face.
Ah, well, that's the news for now. Tomorrow will probably be more exciting and hopefully less stressful!