For over two decades, I have frequently traveled to Paris, France. And for the most part, the city has lived up to its “full of attitude and flair” reputation. I still remember the first time I visited. I was still a minor and was traveling with my family. We had all studied French for several months before arriving, but our skills were still quite limited. French people are very particular about their language, and actually have great disdain for anyone who doesn’t speak it perfectly. I distinctly remember exiting the plane in Charles De Gaulle airport and asking for instructions on how to maneuver through the customs process. The gentleman who we spoke with practically waved us off before we could get a full sentence off. Before we knew it, he was walking away. I can still remember my mother laughing about it. Truthfully, all you could do was laugh. I suppose in the man’s defense, he was probably asked the same questions hundreds of times and certainly, he was just over it. Needless to say, I rarely had a good experience in France before I learned to speak their language fluently.
Many years, and many trips later, I had formed a close friendship with a French guy I met in San Diego. He was originally from Marseille, but had finished his university studies in Paris, and was still living there. He often visited me in the United States, and every time I visited Paris, I would stop off to see him.
One year, I visited while he was working on an application for a master’s program at Carnegie Mellon. One of the requirements was for him to get all of his French university records translated into English. He knew of an office where this service was performed. I went there with him and witnessed something incredible. An older woman was behind the counter this day. She seemed like a sweet enough lady until my friend asked her a question. She demanded thirty-five francs, which was the going price for transcript translations back then. My friend continued to try to ask his question, “But I just wanted to know—“ “Thirty-five francs!” the woman demanded. My friend said okay and, while removing his wallet, attempted to ask the question again. The woman stopped him again. “Give me the thirty-five francs first,” she continued. She proceeded to explain that people get her caught up in asking questions, and then she would forget to collect the fees. She wanted the money before any questions were asked. Just like my mother had done many years before, my friend laughed. He paid the money and then had all of his questions answered.
If I had been there alone, and the woman had spoken to me in that manner, I would have found her incredibly rude. I would have also taken it very personally, thinking that she was treating me that way because I was a foreigner, or maybe specifically because I was an American. But witnessing her treating another Frenchman that way opened my eyes. I finally realized that the perceived rudeness that we often prescribe to Parisians is a cultural way of being. It actually isn’t that they have disdain for foreigners who don’t speak their language. It is simply a way that they behave that completely throws off anyone visiting. But another French person, like my friend, remained completely unfazed. After she received the thirty-five francs, the woman was just as pleasant and helpful as I imagined she’d be when we first entered the office.
Just a couple of months ago, I was in Paris and I noticed a change from my last trip, which was still during the Bush Administration. During the Bush years, when I traveled to Europe, I kept to myself and slipped in and out of places I wanted to visit as unnoticed as I possibly could. The reason being, whenever I chatted with someone, and they found out I was American, it would become a huge debate about the war, and U.S. policies. I would be grilled about whether or not I was a Bush supporter, which I wasn’t. I always felt on the defensive, but I didn’t have a good defense. There were no weapons of mass destruction. On one of my excursions, just after the war had begun, I remember lying on the beach in the French Riviera. All around me were conversations about the war and Bush policies. I quickly realized that Bush bashing was one of France’s favorite pastimes.
On this last trip, a couple of months ago, I found Parisians to be super pleasant. The waiters were not only patient, and helpful, they were full of jokes. After a few days of being in Paris, I realized there was a phenomenon going on. Obama’s election hadn’t only affected those of us here, in the homeland. The entire world, and certainly those in Paris, were breathing a sigh of relief. There was a sense of peace and calm that came along with the success of Obama’s “Hope” campaign. This is how I see it, clearly as it is.
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