Ugly American

Artist at Montmarte

I am returning from France where I was on a speaking engagement. After a lecture in London earlier in the week, I moved on to Paris to share “my infinite wisdom and knowledge.” It was a very short speech and the quotations are intended to emphasize the inflection of my sarcasm.

It’s a funny thing about teaching or giving lectures. I always learn more than I think I actually teach. I certainly learn from research and preparing my topic. However, speaking opens doors in which people share with me their experiences and knowledge. I walk away feeling that others are far more interesting than me. I get the best end of the bargain because I meet someone terribly interesting I did not know before and learn something new.

While in Paris, I took some personal time to explore and see the sites of city. This was my first time in Paris.

Paris is intoxicating. There is something about the city that makes even the hard-hearted feel romantic and full of love. I never could tell if it was the food, the French language, the sites, the architecture, or an abundance of beautiful women. It probably was a little of each. Nonetheless, Paris makes you believe you are love even if you are traveling alone (though I wished my wife were on the trip to share the city and romance together).

I was extremely apprehensive about traveling to Paris. My high school French had been long forgotten and everyone warned me how the French only speak English if necessary. Americans do not get a warm reception. It probably has a lot to do with the whole “freedom fries” things a few years back. Perhaps it was Lance Armstrong winning the Tour de France seven times and not ever getting caught doping despite best efforts of the French.

Paris is a dichotomy. On the one hand, the city is a magnificent, wonderfully enchanting place. I surely want to go back again. It has an intimate, charming attraction that draws your soul in.

However, I must say despite my best efforts to be very sensitive about not being the “ugly American,” I found myself in a number of circumstances where I really felt the French people were rude.

I hate making generalizations and judging my entire impressions of a city and culture on certain people’s bad behavior. However, the treatment I received on certain occasions left me wondering about this strange dichotomy of Paris.

Let me give you a couple of examples. On Saturday I was free and had two friends map out a route I should take to tour the city, i.e. Musee de Lourve, Tuileries Jardin, Hotel de Ville, Hotel Sully, Plaza de la Vosages, Plaza de la Bastilles, Maison au Victor Hugo, etc. The morning was cold and got worse by noon as it began to rain. I found a cute little café to duck into out of the rain to have some potage français d'oignon, a glass of Bordeaux, and a crepe au nutella assisted with a warm espresso.

Like many cafes, it was busy with people. The very French waiter asked if I was alone and raced off to find me a table. Meanwhile, a French couple came in and the waiter immediately whisked them off to the window table ahead of me to the table he was originally preparing for me. I waited for quite some time until the waiter returned and then he promptly sat me at a table three tables away from the window. The other two tables near the window were empty. I just tried to smile and ignore that inwardly I felt very much mistreated.

Later in the afternoon, I stopped into a pub to warm up and have a pint. This waiter was a bit more gracious as he sat me by the window so I could look out onto the street to watch people walk by. I was feeling good about this experience as my body shivered with cold. The waiter has sat me in a location beneath a heater. I could begin to feel the warmth come back into my body.

The warmth and experience was short-lived. Once the waiter served up my pint, I am convinced he went to the back room and turned off the heater. With the heater, the seating location was delightfully warm. However, the table was by the door. With no heat and the door constantly opening and closing from patrons, the Parisien chill quickly returned. I am convinced the waiter purposely turned the heat off because about halfway through my pint, a French couple was seated next to me. Once they sat down, it was incredibly coincident the heater quickly turned back on.

Paris is like a bad relationship with a beautiful woman. The woman is incredibly beautiful, her looks are mysterious and sexy, her smell is intoxicating, and she has an aura about her that makes you her prisoner.

However, she treats you badly at every turn. Despite her bad behavior, you hang on paralyzed and intrigued by this sensual attraction unable to let go.

After being annoyed and offended by the discrimination I experienced, I decided I would still love Paris and turn the other cheek on some people’s bad behavior. I am sure the French have lots of experiences with obnoxious, uncouth Americans. I just wasn’t one of them!

For me, I decided I could only do my best not to be an annoying or obnoxious American tourist. However, sometimes I found it hard to ignore the poor treatment I received. A little graciousness would go a long way….from both sides.

However, I want to be really clear. Not every French person I met treated me badly or was rude. On the contrary, I met some really great, genuine people in Paris. But it was those experiences that were more frequent occurrences than when I had visited other parts of the world. This left me with a very distinct impression.

I decided much of the circumstances depend on my internal ability to overlook a local cultural “misbehavior” and make the most of things.

So I am going to remain attracted to the sensual, intoxication of Paris and ignore the rest.

Cheers,
dale