112 lines
9.1 KiB
Markdown
112 lines
9.1 KiB
Markdown
# Croissants are Shit After Noon
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I've been living in Paris for the past couple of months and I thought I'd share some of my observations on the place, the language, and the adventure as a whole.
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I've spent most of my adult life living in London, so I'd primarily like to draw some comparisons between the two cities.
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Though there are two [classic](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Tale_of_Two_Cities) [books](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Down_and_Out_in_Paris_and_London) comparing them, I'll open this post by admitting I haven't read them, and that's only the start of my ignorance.
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## French
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I spoke French as a 6 or 7 year old, and went to an international school in the Paris.
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This means I have the [phonemes](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phoneme) associated with French, for example the trilled 'r' in F**rrr**ance, or the guttural 'yeugh' in meill**eur**.
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However, this is about where my advantages end, much to my chagrin.
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In the years since leaving Paris, my French had atrophied, virtually to completion.
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Children are great at picking up accents and languages, but they're great at losing them too, it would seem!
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After a few years of clawing it back - I'll save the details of my approach for another post - I felt comfortable visting France on holiday, ordering things in restaurants and navigating within or between cities.
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I was not prepared for the intensity of spending an entire evening or day speaking nothing but French.
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As it turns out, using a language you're not fluent in is **taxing**.
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Trying to keep up with a conversation between natives is Sisyphean, as they'll speak to each other faster than I can parse what's said, let alone try to form a response.
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This isn't the worst thing in the world for myself - I quite enjoy just watching and listening, rather than always taking a vocal part - but I can imagine the dynamic is strange for those I've spent time with in groups.
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One-on-one, the situation is a little better.
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I can't be more than a phrase or two behind in context, and if I've not understood something or make a nonsensical reply, it's an opportunity to check in and get myself back on firm ground.
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The flipside is that I've no chance to recuperate.
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On one evening, I went to a friend's house, had a beer, and played some chess.
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We spoke in French the whole time, and it was a pleasant evening.
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However, as it started to get late, I started to flag - I was slow to understand what he said, and even slower to put together a response.
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As he walked me back to the metro station, he asked if I'd get home OK, to which I could barely manage a 'oui'!
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Once on the train, the language-parsing part of my brain no longer in demand, I felt almost immediately more energetic.
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I hadn't expected the impact of speaking another language for an extended period to be quite so physical, so visceral.
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I'm very grateful to the few friends I've made here for putting up with me, though they all speak better English than I do French.
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I'm also humbled.
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The UK has a large immigrant population, all of whom have had to learn English.
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People speaking accented English is so normal and widespread that it's become utterly unremarkable, though it very much is.
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At some point every single one of them has gone through having to spend hours, days or weeks communicating in a language other than their mother tongue, often as a necessity for a job, without even having the fallback that I've had, being an anglophone in Paris.
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Overall, my immersion strategy has been successful: I speak far better French than I did at the start of the summer.
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It's developed primarily my ability to speak and listen, rather than to read and write.
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Even then, my command of the grammar and vocubalary hasn't advanced so much as my confidence.
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I think this has been driven in part by necessity.
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In a conversation, you don't have time to translate completely what someone's said, so you draw on context and what little you've parsed in the split-second after the other has spoken.
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This, coupled with a slapped-together reply, has been the unit of practice I've been trying to encounter as much as possible.
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Then, it's been driven by having confirmation.
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After putting together some phrase and speaking it, and the next response comes, it's brilliant: I've been understood!
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Though a totally normal thing, every time I'm understood in French is a moment of magic for me.
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Being able to carry and continue conversations on a wide range of topics, without constant faux pas or speaking gibberish, has bolstered my confidence like nothing else.
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I feel that on my return to the UK, my continued French learning will be all the more effective as a result of this experience.
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## The French
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Parisians have a reputation for being rude to outsiders.
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In my experience this hasn't been the case at all, I've found them to be accommodating and (almost overly) polite.
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In London it's rare to greet others on the street, or even to look them in the eye.
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That's not the case at all in Paris, though it's a denser city, and just as metropolitan.
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Walking past people on the stairs in my building, or navigating a shop, or public transport, people are always sure to say hello, and to wish each other a nice day on departure.
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There are more smiles in Paris than London.
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They're very ready to talk about politics, language, culture, France itself of course and are very open on a number of topics I'm too British to risk mentioning here.
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I think the notion of their rudeness is a misinterpretation of what is actually directness.
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The British operate a social culture of subterfuge and doublespeak, whereby it's common to express your displeasure to someone and for them to receive it with a smile, left to understand the reproach only later, or never.
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The French play no such game: they say what they think.
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Personally, I'm a fan of this direct approach.
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I find it hard enough to determine what someone means even when they're not trying to hoodwink me.
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With the French, I'm much less worried that someone may be or have been duplicitous.
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The stereotype of a smoking, drinking Frenchie, I'm sad to say, holds no water at all. Of the friends and acquiantances I've made, not a single one has smoked, only a handful have had alcohol and a good number of them have even been vegan.
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## The Lifestyle
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Parisian authorities have a concept of a ['15 minute city'](https://www.thelocal.fr/20230215/what-is-a-15-minute-city-and-how-is-it-working-in-paris).
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The idea is that one's daily needs should be within 15 minutes of where they live.
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For my flat in central Paris, this is absolutely true.
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This is true even to the extent that Gare du Nord, my link back to London, is but 10 minutes on the metro from where I sleep.
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Combined with the fact that metro lines run quite comfortably in to the early hours makes travel in and around the city faster, cheaper and dare I say even more convenient than that in London.
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The French prioritisation of lifestyle over personal assiduity is clear as every night, weekend or otherwise, the eateries and bars are packed to the brim.
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Even walking around to find bites for lunch, the brasseries are packed, and on any evening even approaching warmth the shores of the Seine are shoulder-to-shoulder.
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The necessary ingredients for such a lifestyle are easily accessible, too; a coffee, croissant and a baguette - breakfast and most of the way to lunch - together cost less than a coffee on its own would in London.
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Wine is readily available in almost every building with a door and far cheaper than a London pub.
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Beer is the only loser here, which is still about blow-for-blow for when you're out in Soho.
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The emphasis on freshness is palpable in a way one doesn't find in the UK - indeed, 'fresh' is a bit of a stretch for any food item in the country at the moment.
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For most of my working life I've tended to take lunches quite late, but am having to adapt my strategies here.
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If I fancy a pastry, I'm sure to get them in the morning.
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From the same chain boulangerie, I made the mistake the other day of buying a croissant at 16h, or four in the afternoon, and it was horrible.
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The same bakery has served me plenty of delicious ones both before and after, but at that time in the afternoon it was dry as a bone, and the butter in it tasted almost salty.
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## Isolation
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Though a fascinating, enjoyable and productive linguistic and cultural experience, I have experienced more homesickness than I expected to.
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The last time I moved to a city alone was to the Midlands for university, but I quickly made friends on my course and made use of university societies.
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It is much more difficult here.
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Not only is it a new city and a new language, but as an adult in full-time work wanting to make adult friends who'll also be in full-time work, my opportunities for making friends are painfully finite.
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When I do have time to find and make new friends, I still have to contend with plain old exhaustion.
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This is also my first experience living alone for an extended stretch.
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Again, though informative and an experience I'm grateful for, I think I'd prefer to live with others.
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I've enjoyed my time in France, and plan to make the most of my last few weeks, but there is a part of me that I didn't expect to pine as much as it has for home.
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À la prochaine!
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