This week, I had a few strange experiences that led me to conclude that I have finally achieved the goal many Americans have while studying abroad; people have stopped immediately assuming that I am a tourist. Though as soon as I open my mouth it becomes clear that I am not a native French speaker, I think I have exited “this person is the biggest imbecile to ever set foot on French soil” territory.
The first event that marked this transition was not so much an event as an absence of events. For the first week or two that I was here, it was not unusual for a man (usually older than my father) to come up to me and start a conversation which began with “Hello, where are you from?” and ended with something along the lines of “would you like to come back to my apartment and drink champagne with me and my cat?” (True story). This has, mercifully, stopped.
The second marker of my transition away from obvious tourist-hood is that people have started asking me for directions. This is a problem because I have no sense of direction whatsoever. I usually answer by gesturing vaguely in an arbitrary direction and saying, “C’est juste là” (It’s just over there). I myself am only able to navigate without a map because I don’t mind spending my afternoons completely and utterly lost.
I have thought about why I am less consistently identified as an American, and I’m pretty sure it may be simply because I no longer look constantly bewildered. However, I have picked up some Parisian habits that may play a role in the misidentification.
I have always been proud that, despite having relocated to the Northeast, I have guarded my Midwestern habit of smiling and saying hello to people I pass on the street. I have always felt more at home in places where these greetings are returned to me, yet I didn’t notice until recently that I have completely done away with this practice in Paris–not because I don’t want to be friendly, but because there is a very real probability that any Parisians on the receiving end of a friendly smile from a stranger would immediately die of shock, and I can’t have that on my conscience.
I have also stopped apologizing when I run into people on the street. The first week I was in Paris, every time I bumped into someone I would turn around to apologize and would be offended when the other person made no such effort. I was once walking by a café when a woman inexplicably dumped her water glass out on the sidewalk, spilling her drink all over my shoes. She apologized half-heartedly, only after I had walked backward glaring at her for several seconds. But this week, I almost took a woman down when I ran into her at the market. I didn’t even think to turn around and excuse myself until I heard her complaining to her boyfriend (in English) about the horrible manners of Parisians. I am finally starting to blend in.
