Visions of Paris

We may not like to admit it, but a lot of our beliefs, behaviors, and personalities are determined by the societies in which we are born and raised. Many who do not get the opportunity to travel, whether due to financial restrictions, personal preference, or fear, never get the chance to see how those raised with a completely different set of ideals go about life. For so much of human history, travel was a difficult, expensive and dangerous activity. Now, we have the possibility of fairly inexpensive, and generally comfortable travel options in which we can see and immerse ourselves in the culture and environment of people completely foreign to your birthplace. I am a firm believer of the multitude of benefits that come with travel, from exposure to new ideas and peoples to the wonder that comes from seeing amazing natural and man-made sights. Although it may seem like a daunting challenge, I want to encourage you to do everything you can to travel to as many foreign countries as you can in your lifetime. There is so much more to the world than the little corner you were born in, that to limit yourself to only those sights and viewpoints is like intentionally hobbling yourself to the possibilities of life.

This will be the first of many travel writings I plan on making, to not only let you see into places far away but to expose you to the lifestyles and lessons that I have taken away from the experience. I won’t be focusing on the pleasantries you will find in most travel blogs: where I ate, what I drank, how it tasted, travel tips and tricks and all of that. My focus is to show you the experience of traveling; the knowledge and perspective it gives about yourself and others. I hope for these writings to motivate you to do everything within your power to visit foreign lands so that you too may have these life-changing experiences.

– Entice Your Mind – Visions of Paris –

Most Americans have a long-standing belief in a rumor that has unfortunately gained traction over the years; the belief is that the people of France are rude. The stereotypical French person is a snobby, arrogant elitist who looks down on Americans with a condescending sneer behind a curtain of wispy cigarette smoke. It is amazing that even though this and other degrading attributes about the French people have so much credence in the states, it has not deterred our obsession with the country. As nations, the USA and France have been tied together since our birth. France was instrumental in financing, supplying and fighting alongside Americans in the American Revolution. The French Navy won the Battle of the Capes, leading to the siege of Yorktown and sealed the deal in our rebellion, forcing England to turn its attention back to its historical nemesis and grant us our freedom. Along with doubling the size of our nation with the Louisiana Purchase, constructing and delivering the iconic American symbol of the Statue of Liberty and fighting alongside Americans in two World Wars, our historical bonds go very deep. The obsession that I speak of, though, is not tied to the history between our two nations, but more for the American cultural obsession with all things French. For many years of American development, France was the cultural capital of the world, while a majority of America was either the rugged frontier or quickly developing and dingy cities teeming with hundreds of different and discordant cultures and traditions. We seemed to look at France as an example of how a unified nation should present its culture to the world, and many tried desperately to capture that image of class, style, and grace.

The idea of visiting France, especially Paris, became a signifier that one had wealth and a knowledge of this cultural superiority that we so lacked. A vacation in Paris thus became a status symbol that many tried to achieve. Paris draws more tourists than any other destination in the world, but the number one tourist in the city of lights is the American. With 1.6 million American tourists descending upon the city every year, what is it that makes this city such a compelling draw?

Most of my reasoning for wanting to visit Paris was an appreciation for the rich history and sightseeing available; the culture was never something that enticed me the way it did others. My fiancee’ on the other hand dreamed of buying croissants from local bakeries, sipping on fancy coffees at outdoor diners and kissing in the shade of the Eiffel Tower. Her image fit with what so many Americans travel to Paris to find, a cultural experience filled with good food, drinks, and romance.

Our vacation included three days in Switzerland, so my first view of Paris was a hectic flurry of catching one train after another on our way from Charles de Gaulle Airport to our first Swiss destination of Bern. My first attempt at speaking the very little French I had hastily been practicing over the past couple of months was an utter failure. After two separate metro trains (equivalent to the subway trains of the US, or the “L” for my fellow Chicagoans), we found ourselves in a sprawling station with no indications of where our TGV Lyria train to Switzerland would be boarding. I was assured by many articles that my failure to grasp the French language wouldn’t be a problem, because most Parisians could speak English fluently, as long as I made the effort to start the conversation in French, they would willingly continue the dialogue in English. I hadn’t taken into account the challenges of finding my way around foreign train stations and found out we had about 8 minutes to board an international train that we didn’t know the location of. I ran up to a built-in coffee and bakery kiosk with a young woman tending the shop. “Bonjour, parlez-vous Anglais?” Which translates to “Hello, do you speak English?” in a very basic way. She shook her head and said, “No, no anglais” with a polite smile. I quickly tried to ask “Ou’ est TGV Lyria?” hoping that would suffice, but this just resulted in another confused smile as she shook her head. As I scrambled to get out my phone to utilize my Google Translate App, an older man walking by saw our struggles and asked us in heavily accented English, “Do you need help?” We quickly told him our predicament and he gave us perfect directions. In our haste, we managed to turn the wrong way after a turnstile and he yelled out after us and pointed in the right direction with a bemused smile on his face. We sheepishly yelled our thanks and scrambled away. After making the train with seconds to spare, I realized that nothing I had taken for granted through my internet research could be guaranteed. Not only was English proficiency not a given, but maybe at least some Parisians might be sympathetic to a couple of ill-prepared and flustered Americans.

After a brief, amazing stay in the Bernese Oberland of Switzerland, we made our way back to Paris. The weird itinerary was due to the fact that flying into one city and out of another was actually several hundred dollars more expensive than round-trip flights and several trains. Sometimes accepting a little challenge and discomfort can go a long way in making vacations more affordable. One thing I had noticed on my way through Paris, and now especially on our way back in, was the interesting differences in how their trains worked. First off, the sheer scale of their public transportation is staggering. The city of Paris can boast that 100% of citizens have easy walking access to public transportation, topping the world charts in that aspect. You couldn’t turn a corner without seeing another metro staircase or bus stop, they literally cover the city. It was absolutely never a problem to get from point A to point B, and there were often multiple possible ways of doing so. The speed at which they come to the stations was amazing. While in Chicago I may wait 15 or more minutes for my train, Paris trains arrive every 5 minutes. I don’t think I ever waited even that long. We would almost always walk into the station and right on to a train which would speed to the next station almost immediately. People packed every train and yet I almost never felt crowded in the actual stations themselves. I was also intrigued by the fact that such a sprawling and efficient system was in no way uniform in appearance or structure. Every station had different designs, every train was built slightly different. From the maps of the stations inside (some paper, some electronic) to the cushions on the seats, to the literal shape of the train itself, it seemed like every line and station was built by separate independent organizations that somehow connected this vast system simultaneously, miraculously not resulting in disastrous multiple train pile-ups.

As we stepped out into the light of Paris for the first time, I felt my vision take on that slow, detailed and vibrant quality that comes on when you are completely and viscerally absorbed in the present moment. The streets bustled with pedestrians, the buildings (which spanned a block in length) each were adorned with ornate balconies or intricately designed window shutters. Cafes with outdoor seating that faced outward filled my sightline. People sped down the streets on mopeds and on the sidewalks people on metal scooters (yes, of the Razor variety) pushed their way by us as we unashamedly walked in circles, letting our eyes drink in the sights of a city so utterly foreign yet so vibrantly alive and welcoming. Women could be seen wearing leather jackets, no bras, or the ever more interesting fashion of a dress with gym shoes. While the smells of bakeries, restaurants, and coffee did fill the air, it was often interrupted by something I had very much grown used to not experiencing. An almost constant barrage of second-hand smoke. With a smoking percentage twice that of the US, it seemed like everyone and their baby had a cigarette in their hands. Maybe I had become accustomed to the growing anti-smoking sentiment of the states, or maybe I wasn’t used to the density of people compared to cities in the US, but as a former smoker who cringes at the smell, it was definitely a bit of a shock to my system.

As we walked I saw through the break of distant buildings, the unmistakable spire of the top of the Eiffel Tower. As cheesy as it sounds, the first glimpse of that building filled me with an “in-person” excitement I hadn’t experienced since my visit to the Niagara Falls (another must-see). When we actually approached the Eiffel Tower for the first time, any inclination that the building was over-hyped was completely destroyed. There truly is nothing comparable to this structure. I had never seen something that so blended the two worlds of sculpting and architecture so magnificently. The sheer size of the wrought-iron girders making up the base of the structure was awe-inspiring. It was a blending of art and engineering without comparison. There isn’t a doubt in my head, this building alone was worth the trip. Some sights can’t be described properly. Some are not done justice by pictures. This is one of those sights.

In many French restaurants and cafes, the bathroom is located down a narrow set of stairs in a small basement. Most of the time there would be room for only one unisex bathroom, which I didn’t think much of, you have to make do with what space you’re afforded. One of these times, after making my way down and entering into a bathroom, I noticed it was actually large enough to contain multiple stalls as well as two urinals on the far wall. I didn’t think anything about this until as I was washing my hands, I heard a toilet flush and out of the stall came a woman to wash her hands. After a brief moment of internally freaking out, thinking I had entered the women’s bathroom, I checked that the urinals were still there and that I wasn’t losing my mind. The woman came up beside me, washed her hands and left the bathroom. I suddenly realized how ridiculous it was to think the idea of unisex bathrooms as an issue. We have Americans are freaking out about who is allowed to use what bathroom, while it seems like Paris didn’t give a single fuck. There were places where there were men’s and women’s bathrooms, but unisex locations were all over and once I got over my initial culture shock, it became a non-issue.

Most people enjoy people watching, yet Parisians have made it into an art form. We need more cafes with outdoor seating facing outwards in America. It creates a sense of connection with the city and the people making their way around that you don’t get from facing away. You can easily talk to those you are with while also filling your eyes with the stimulation they crave. It was so easy to be in the moment when there was so much to take in around you, a constantly undulating sea of people flowing through the streets like blood pulsing through an artery; each one so unique and interesting. You could almost feel the difference in body language that people had as they sat and enjoyed their meals. They truly took their time and enjoyed the relaxing moments, even during the lunch hour. Maybe this slight change of direction will help Americans put down their phones, stop rushing and become present with their surroundings more often.

One of the most striking cultural differences that I saw which, in turn, made me examine my own custom based behavior, was the French relationship with alcohol. Drinking in public, especially during the daytime, was extremely common. Yet it was done relaxingly in a way that seemed so natural. A glass of wine on a park bench, a cocktail with a cigarette in front of a cafe, a bottle of beer while talking with friends on the sidewalk. It never seemed to be more than just a casual drink, never being rushed. In grassy areas, a picnic with a bottle of wine during the day, groups of kids with cases of beer and wine bottles at night. It never seemed to be creating a problem, people were just enjoying it openly and yet I think the only truly drunk people we encountered on the entire trip was ourselves on the night we tried to see how much booze we needed in order to enjoy the achingly boring deep house music of French clubs. The drinking age for beer and wine was 16, for liquor 18. Instead of causing the chaos many in the US feel that would cause, it instead seemed to have fostered a normalcy to drinking in a publicly acceptable way. I feel like the American stigma around alcohol has pushed it into the shadows where kids learn to slam it down instead of appreciating and easing into its effects. I feel like over enforcement of moral codes of behavior make people naturally resist and creates more problems than it solves. We could learn a lot about drinking moderation and appreciation by relaxing our laws concerning the practice. We consider ourselves the land of the free, but we can be thrown into a cage for having some wine during a picnic in the park.

While most aspects of Paris were beautiful and enchanting, it is a real place and has its own set of real problems. The amount of graffiti in Paris and Europe, in general, was honestly unbelievable. The city center, with its ornate historic buildings, was generally free of tagging but once you got into the periphery of the city, it was more common than the black gum circles on an American sidewalk. There were some amazing pieces of artwork and murals, but a by far majority were indecipherable tags and scrawlings that were an incredible eyesore. There was a big problem with litter, and a general sense of a carefree attitude when it came to cleanliness. Eventually I realized that it wasn’t to a level I should be worried about, and honestly, I started to become uniquely aware of the known American obsession with cleanliness within myself. While public parts of Chicago were in no way cleaner than the public areas there, when it came to private businesses or tourist areas, the attention to scrubbing things to a point of sterilization I have grown used to was completely absent. My shock at the lack of uniformity in the metro stations also made me realize the obsession with uniformity in the US. I almost got the feeling that Paris had so much beauty in its architecture and design that they didn’t stress the gritty details.

(Also, with recent events I have to note that Parisians method of protesting makes America’s demonstrations look like Fourth of July parades. I stand with the recent yellow vest movement, and the worldwide struggle against neoliberal policies that widen income inequality and shift tax burden from the wealthy to the struggling middle class. The passion I witnessed in France is fully evident in their refusal to allow themselves to be taken advantage of. We need to learn from their example and fight back against the same injustices we face at home. Keep resisting, the power is in our hands.)

Many people in the US have become frightened at the prospect of traveling in Europe with the recent terrorist attacks and the exaggerated issues of Middle Eastern and African migrants. Yet while I was there, there was never a moment that I felt in danger. In every crime statistic you can imagine, France is way safer than the United States. I couldn’t believe that people I know wouldn’t have an issue walking the streets of Chicago talking about how risky it is to visit Europe these days. It truly goes to show the power that violence centered media has on Americans who have never traveled to see for themselves. The only culture shock that made me feel less safe was one that is obviously done in the name of safety. There were fully camouflaged, armed soldiers randomly patrolling the streets. There wasn’t enough to make you feel like you were under occupation, but definitely enough to make you wary about why they felt that was necessary. I’m not naive enough to not appreciate the danger that terrorism poses, but I also believe that allowing ourselves to cave to those fears by having soldiers patrol the streets is in a sense giving power and credence to the terror they have hoped to inflict upon us.

Remember that man that saved us at the train station? Well, he definitely wasn’t the last kind soul we met. From uber drivers to waiters, kids at the bars and clubs, people sitting next to us at cafes and the multitudes of Parisians we had to ask questions on the street, the only people I have ever encountered that are friendlier than French people are Canadians. Which, honestly, isn’t even a fair comparison. Yes, the rumors are true, Canadian people are so warm, friendly and accommodating that it doesn’t even seem real. But maybe some of that comes from the French in them, because my fiancee’ Sabrina and I were helped by, talked to, and served by so many absolutely kind and welcoming people during our stay in Paris. I do have a theory of where the rumor started from, and I believe it is due primarily to two factors:

1. Americans are used to vacations in which they are catered to and pampered by poor locals who fear to lose their jobs if they are rude to their guests/customers. I am speaking about the vacations to Cancun or Punta Cana where they stay at resorts and have their every desire granted with a smile and in haste. Although Paris takes in so much money from the tourist industry, the city has a proud history and isn’t modeled around catering to tourists. Also, there is generally no tipping for service, so waiters, waitresses, and bartenders don’t grovel and dance for their customers the way they do in America. In conclusion, I feel like the American that is used to service being servile is shocked by the fact that many in Paris just treat them normally when they are a customer.
2. Americans tend to think everyone should speak English and will display that ignorant belief quite loudly. We all know the joking stereotype of the American yelling English slower as if that makes it more understandable. Although I found out a majority of Parisians do speak English, it is always polite to start the conversation in, and use as much of, French as possible. Can you picture how rude we would think French people are if you were serving them at Applebee’s and when you didn’t understand French they started yelling it slower at you?

Through all of these differences, I was able to look back at myself and the culture I was born into. I found things I liked about the USA and my upbringing, and I saw many ways in which I think we could learn from France. This is the epitome of the importance of travel, the opening of your eyes to wondrous sights and the opening of your mind to ways different than what you know. My time in Paris showed me a culture that could care so much about beauty and elegance while caring little for over-cleanliness and uniformity. It showed me a place in which a public transit system could speed bustling millions around with incredible efficiency, while also valuing taking time off, relaxing and enjoying life in a way I believe Americans are losing. There seems to be a pervasive desire for enjoyment and fulfillment, it fills the design of the buildings and the flavors of their food. It can be seen on the smiling faces of teenagers, drinking on grand lawns in front of sprawling 18th-century palaces without care or fear of reprisal. It is in the way people take their time to eat and be with one another, and the subtle smile of the strangers that pass by. When I left, I found out that it wasn’t just the romanticized thoughts of an enthralled American tourist that gave me this vision. It is such a way of life that they even have a term for it. It’s known as “Joie de Vivre”. It means a cheerful enjoyment of life; an exultation of spirit. In my visions of Paris, that is what I saw; in the buildings, the art, the food, and the people, an enjoyment of existence and the unabashed, passionate expression of that joy in everything they create and do.