Laissez moi tranquille

I wrote this for the Hatchet; you're lucky I'm giving you a sneak peak...

Oh, Paris. Yes, the bread and pastries are irresistible, the wine is good and cheap, and simply walking down a street leaves you smiling. I find comfort in the winding streets that lead to the Eiffel Tour from school, a slight pang in my heart for the things America does better, but I leave my apartment in the 16th arrondisement every day knowing that change is good.

On one of our first nights here, the student advisors organized a bar crawl in one of the popular neighborhoods, the Latin Quarter. We were led by a handsome, Lebanese, New Yorker, who insisted all night that 18-years-old was not too young for my friend, a 23-year-old graduate student. He also mentioned earlier in the day that French men love to go to tanning booths. My friend and I found this another reason to stay away from French men.

We were all out of our element, and loving it. What is most shocking to Americans here is not necessarily the price of everything (which is shocking enough), but how the rules of attraction are redefined.

The French learned that by merely mentioning Obama they could easily catch the eye of an American girl. As a good GW student through and through, we were up for talking politics while the French men took this as an invitation to aggressively pursue you on the dance floor. After that night, I had to learn how to say “leave me alone” in French, and when I asked my French professor a few days later, everyone erupted in laughter. I hoped they were as eager to know the answer as I was, rather than laughing at my incompetency.

After leaving the third bar, I found myself in a heated debate with three French boys over the quality of musicianship between Jay-Z and 50 Cent. I was outraged at the comparison, and told them that any person who chooses 50 Cent over Jay-Z is no friend of mine. The group was heading to the last bar, but the French boys continued to follow me and my friend, insisting we go to a “funky club” with them. I still don’t know what they were talking about.

A British freshmen, who had coincidentally been kicked out of GW last fall, told us to follow him into a nearby restaurant that the French boys wouldn’t be able to afford, and therefore would go away. We followed our new friend’s lead, and the French boys disappear. My friend and I took note of this new trick for future run-ins with the locals.

These new and unknown customs still come as a shock to me everyday, so I surround myself with familiar reminders of home. Whether that’s watching Grey’s Anatomy online or spending 11 euros (14$) on Oreo’s at an American grocery store, you do what you have to do to make yourself at home.