Finally, I am settled in with my host family and everything is starting to feel real. I live not right in Paris, but just outside in the suburbs, or "le banlieu," in a section that I have been told is the Parisian version of New York city's upper east side. I did not arrive until after 19:00 today so I did not have a chance to explore, but the area from the cab seemed beautiful. Picturesque, as everything has been. My host family could honestly not be any kinder.
My host family's apartment is on the top floor of the apartment building. My bedroom, as well as all of the other south-facing windows in the house, has full-length double window doors opening to a wrought-iron balcony where you can see the Eiffel Tower. The apartment building is old (I would guess early 20th century) with high ceilings carved so elaborately. The house itself is classic in layout and design, with curtains draped widely around the living room windows and a spiral staircase next to a grand fireplace, but still the house is made a home with quirky, mismatched furniture, decorations, etc. The bathroom is simply a bathroom, "la salle de bains," and the toilet is in its own room (traditional in France). Pictures of the most adorable children are everywhere - the grandchildren of the couple I am living with. One of their sons, who is about my age, lives at home when he is not at school so I got to meet him today as well.
Specifically, I met him when I was trying to get into the apartment. Earlier today, when the program coordinators finally announced who we were each living with, we had to call the host family, introduce ourselves and ask when they wanted us to arrive (yes, all in French). That was more nerve-wracking than meeting them in person. Along with the personal information of the family and a brief biographical description, we were given directions on how to access each of our houses. I was supposed to enter a code and then hit a button with a bell and then call up to the family on the intercom. The taxi dropped me off, I found the entrance to the building, and I entered the code, hit a button that looked like a buzzer and nothing happened.
Slightly worried, I stopped a woman walking by with her young daughter and asked if she might know how to do it. She got the door to open, and after the door, inside was the list of names and the intercom. I struggled with my four bags through the door and over to the intercom. Of course, I then could not find the family's name on the list partially because I could not find the listing and partially because of course, all the lights in the hallway were off and God only knows how I was supposed to turn them on. Luckily, a moment later a young man walked in and looked at me and said he thought I was staying with him, and asked if I was the American student. We introduced ourselves and he let me in and onto the elevator and we finally made it to the apartment where his mother greeted us. She was so kind and complimented me on my French - which I know is not so great but I will graciously take the compliment. And hey, I made it through dinner speaking entirely in French and I was surprised to find I understood most of what they said to me. They speak quickly but very clearly which I think will definitely help me to improve my French. Tomorrow, Madame said she is going to show me around the area, especially where the metro stop is as I will be using that to go into the city and to go to school.
It is difficult deciding when to take a chance and try to franglais it up with some Frenchitized American English words, like yesterday when I told the man selling me the SIM card for my phone "Je suis confusée" because I could not remember the word for "confused. Such a thing can be risky because often cognates are false, like when I realized "confusée" generally means not "confused" but "promiscuous." Whoops. Pardon-moi, je suis tout simplement une autre bête américaine. Don't take me literally, please.
We are learning more every day. Those random poles in the walkway are not so random. I realized today they are set up to guide cars onto the sidewalk because that is where they park instead of on the street as in the United States. One thing I would never want to do is drive. Drivers are insane, the streets are crowded, and mopeds and bikes are the craziest of all. Motorcyclists occasionally scare me in the United States when they suddenly cut in front of you from seemingly nowhere, but in Paris, it happens nonstop. They pay little attention to traffic lights and pedestrians and it is completely acceptable to ride between cars in traffic.
The social life is very different. In Paris, it is expected that young adults will go out with their friends often. We were warned against staying in a lot because our French hosts will think we are weird and not understand us (and no, Mom, I am not using this as an excuse to go out, it is true). Also, however, it is not at all normal to invite friends over. Adults having friends over to visit or for a party is one thing, but it is not appropriate for young adults to invite friends over to spend the night or even to "hang out." When you hang out with your friends, the emphasis is on the "out" in Paris.
One other thing I have realized, as my friend Jamie pointed out, is that everything here even smells different. In New York and Boston, both of which are cities I love, the air is a heavy mix of fuel and grease from restaurants. Here, everywhere smells sweet and inviting. I think it is all the bread. Even the metro does not smell bad like the piercing odor of New York subways. I have walked across no steaming stench from any grates in the sidewalk.
Tomorrow, my only plans are to see this area with my host mother at some point. I think that tomorrow night I am going out venturing with some kids from the program. Pictures to be posted beginning tomorrow now that I am finally settled and going to be using my new camera! The pictures of the first three days will be posted in May... oops.
Bonsoir!
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