Paris: Passing Thoughts

I’m about halfway between Paris and Zurich – the train just made a stop somewhere in northeastern France – and I thought I’d take a minute to make some passing random comments about Paris.

I’d like to say I love Paris, but that’s not quite true. I’m in love with Paris. I already miss her and I can’t wait until I have an opportunity to go back and see her again.

I was concerned that my spotty French might be just enough to get me into trouble, but it turned out there was nothing to worry about. While I wasn’t going to have any deep conversations with anybody in French, I was able to feed myself and get around with little problem. Unlike Brussels, which was more Dutch than French, and Zurich, which will be more German than French, in Paris, everything is in French and that made things less confusing. I also was amazed at how quickly French will come back to you after a dozen years when you are immersed in it.

I’ve always heard about how rude the French are, particularly to Americans. I found this to be untrue, at least in Paris and at least in my experience. Of course, I tended to stay in touristy areas for the most part and you would expect people in that field to be extra nice and helpful to their sources of income, but even when I went out into the little shops in the other neighborhoods, I found the people to be charming and patient with my broken French.

One quick story – speaking of broken French – when I went to the soccer match Sunday night, a girl came up to me and wanted me to fill out a card, something to do with a giveaway related to the match. She spoke quickly, and I wasn’t particularly interested, so I told her I didn’t speak French. She replied that it was okay, she spoke English. It turns out that her English was like my French and after she explained what was being given away, I still had no clue. She then asked me if I was “interesting”. I wanted to assure that I was, but that I was not “interested” in whatever she was trying to get me to do. Remembering that people hadn’t picked on my French, though, I decided not to pick on her English and just passed on the card.

On my way to Sacre Coeur, I stopped by to take a picture of the Moulin Rouge (see left). After taking pictures, I walked down the street on my way to the church. Down the street was an interesting mixture of adult theaters, sex shops and other businesses of the same nature. A virtual pornucopia of adult-related . . . umm . . . entertainment. Just in case you’re in Paris and are so inclined.

Okay, that’s it for now. I’m beginning to see mountains. Alps? Maybe. I’m not sure when I’ll have internet access and be able to post this, but you’ll hear from me in Zurich, I’m sure.