cool frenchie

Hey friends… I know I haven’t updated this thing in forever. The truth is, I haven’t felt very good since moving to France. It’s hard, I don’t have very many friends, I’m shy, I’m constantly asking myself, “WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING HERE?!” And I haven’t felt like detailing my struggle in this blog.

So here’s a typical day: It was the evening of Thursday, 29 January. I was walking around the beautiful, yet filthy streets of Paris, lamenting my decision to leave all of my cool friends in California. I was thinking about how I only seem to attract stupid men, with whom I have nothing in common, or Algerian/Tunisian immigrants, with whom I have nothing in common. And I was thinking about all of the ways in which I need to change myself to attract the type of people I admire. Need to be more outgoing, read more, lose some weight, start appreciating art, learn to meditate (and enjoy it), learn to play my ukulele really well, start making cool artsy things like comic books, etc. etc. etc. After a good long walk, I settled into a cafe to study a bit of French, comme d’habitude. The large, much older man sitting next to me asked if I was a French teacher. Non, I explained, j’essaye d’apprendre le français. He offered to “help me,” you know, over a drink sometime. Could he have my number? Sure. I didn’t want to be rude.

I left the cafe with my feelings about Paris confirmed.

I walked from the Canal St. Martin, where Christina and I used to live, to Gare du Nord where I would take the RER D back home. The problem was, it was the day of transportation workers strike. Most trains weren’t running, but there was minimal service on some lines. As I waited for my train I tried to make sense of the announcements that were apparently explaining that RER D is running between Gare du Nord and Chatlet. But to go further south, I need to take the metro to Gare de Lyon.

I got off the RER at Chatlet, as instructed, and walked towards my connecting line (14). A young guy walking beside me asked “Êtes-vous de Paris?” I wasn’t sure if I heard him correctly, so I hesitantly said “Non”. I asked how he could tell I wasn’t from Paris. He said it was the color in my face. Parisians don’t see the sun much.

He’s from the south of France and was in Paris to take some kids camping. He seemed chill, adventurous, friendly, intelligent, skilled, and a bit alternative. Just like my cool California friends.

We walked together until we reached the RER at Gare de Lyon. I located my train and noticed it was about to leave. I quickly thanked him for helping me and said goodbye before running off. I didn’t ask his name, number, anything. I was too busy thinking about how I would get home. I instantly regretted my decision the moment I left.

I thought about how I gave my number the man in the cafe when I had no intention of ever seeing him again, but I didn’t even ask for this guy’s name. Stupid mistake.