You and Your Racist Friend

One of the drawbacks of living in Paris is that little by little, you become aware of the things about Paris that are not beautiful, inspiring, or fun.  For me it's the awful sensation of being both extremely visible and invisible at the same time.  This stems from the fact that if you are a woman, in Paris, and are even moderately attractive and young, you will be stared at by sleazy, sketchy men everywhere you go.  And all bets are off if you like to go running.  Welcome to anomaly-hood.  So, everywhere I go, no matter how sloppy I look, I get stared at by men.  It would be less creepy if it were the beautifully dressed beautiful boys who I see on the metro all the time and are actually my age, but it's usually the creepy old dudes.  I've checked with my friends and this is something that happens to us every day.  To those men I just say, seriously?  Read your book.  It's fine to notice someone who's attractive but if I see you staring at me every time I look up from my book on the metro, I am creeped out, not interested.  Okay thanks.  Au revoir!

As for invisible?  I have been stepped on, bumped into, pushed, shoved, and squished so frequently since I've been here that I sometimes feel like I live in a city of blind people.

Another thing?  Well, in a word, racism.  At the last party I went to, I met this guy, who in between talking about his love for techno while his friend explained the intricacies of building a better hashish cigarette to me, informed me that immigrants are just a problem and should assimilate and be French or not come to France at all.

To which I was like, "Hmmm, in the US we see it a little differently, because, you know, everyone came from somewhere else."

To which he said, "Yeah, but in the US you guys have problems with immigrants too, you know.  They really shouldn't be allowed into the country."

To which I decided that we should probably just agree to disagree -- you know, him back to talking about techno, me back to smiling and nodding.

This reminded me of this guy who interviewed me to share an apartment with him, and informed me that where he lived was best because there weren't immigrants around to cause trouble.

Seriously?  If immigrants cause trouble, whose fault is that?  The immigrants, or the stigma that the French have towards them that causes them to have trouble accessing basic services?  I mean, really.  What do you think perpetuates what?

It just makes me mad that there's this tacit racism that's treated like it ain't no thing.  Of course we have racism in the US, but we also have this idea of political correctness and the importance of "diversity," which, while sometimes cloying and just a cover for the real problems, at least has its heart in the right place.  Sometimes I think France could care less about diversity.  And it's times like this that I am so glad that, yes, that's right, I live in Chinatown.  Where there are people from other countries.  And poor people.  And everything doesn't look perfect and strictly French to the point of scary.

This has been really bothering me lately, and I think it all started when I heard about how Switzerland is banning minarets.  This really upset me, because minarets are beautiful.  When I lived in Senegal, you could always look out across the city and see all the minarets from the mosques.  I loved them!  And there's also the whole lack of freedom of religion the ban implies.

Oh yeah, you guys can totally have your mosque, but please dispense with that annoying call to prayer.  Love, the Swiss Government.

Nothing about it is okay.  I mean, do they think that minarets cause terrorism?  Really?

I am so not down with the anti-Arab sentiment I detect here.  Again, it's something I just thought was worse in the US, but here it's just repressed and comes out in really subtle or shocking ways, which isn't better.  I really do think that in the United States we have a more open view of what makes a culture or a country of value.  I guess because the notion of ranking them is just stupid.  But many Parisians think of Paris as "the capital of the world," and there's very much a sense that the French way of doing things is the right way.

I really do love Paris.  But there are times when I am just so happy to blast the Ramones on my iPod on the metro while wearing my running shoes and unflattering jeans and my Space Travel t-shirt and a hoodie and my glasses and no makeup.  While clutching a paper cup from Starbucks.  Because when it all comes down to it, I am American.  And while I have my qualms with where I'm from, it's home.  Luckily I live in a part of Paris that feels a little like Seattle -- Tang Freres is no Uwajimaya, but I can get Japanese food a few blocks from my apartment, and when I look out onto the eyesore construction around the train station with the towers of the Bibliotheque Nationale in the distance, it could totally be the place where downtown Seattle and industrial Seattle come together.

At first I didn't like this, and I bemoaned my quartier's lack of perfection, but I actually think it's kind of a wonderful and interesting place to live.

Also?  Today I sent in my application to UC Irvine.  And after disastrous nanny duty, I made quesadillas in my apartment.  I had to use emmental and kidney beans, but they tasted really good.  In Paris, even home-made pseudo-Mexican food feels like a delicious rarity.

Frustration aside, I'm remembering a saying I learned in Senegal.  Ku mun muun.  Indirectly translated, it means I'm pressing on.  "Your Racist Friend" by They Might Be Giants is pretty special to me right now, though.

Also, my across the hall neighbor is my new favorite person.  He opens jars for me.  You know you no longer go to Smith when you share a hallway with two guys, one of whom is a rad jar-opener and the other just plays bizarre soft rock way too loudly.

They also have never complained to me about blasting the Clash, which given that I'm in a transition and they're my go to transition band, well, my neighbors are pretty okay.

So I guess this one goes out to the treizième.  I go back and forth, but right now it's home sweet home.  Also, I realized yesterday that I have best friends in Paris, who will console me on the phone while I'm in Carrefour buying groceries and freaking out about work, and with whom I am going to eat sushi and eclairs and watch Love Actually and color and paint nails on Friday.  And somehow, just knowing that I have people here, that bear hugs are just a phone call away, is pretty damn reassuring.

Crunch Time for Nounou

I am officially a nanny for a Senegalese family in Montparnasse, and I have yet to get over the irony of this. First of all, Montparnasse, once the bohemian and artistic center of Paris is where I go to babysit. Hello, bourgeoisie. Maybe the 13th isn't so bad. It's where the poor artists are. Which is way more bohemian than the wealthy non-artists of Montparnasse. I still sometimes wish I lived there, but don't tell anyone.

Anyway, all over Paris, you see North African nannies taking care of white babies, and then there's the six-year-old girl I babysit for, and me. We are an odd and unexpected pair in Paris, but I kind of love that my nannying situation is the opposite of what you usually see.

Today we were walking home and one of the kids from her school walked up to her and said, "Who is that? Your mom or your sister? Nounou?"

And I realized that I am a nounou. This is the French word for nanny. I wasn't sure whether to find it cute or to be sort of weirded out.

Nose is set to the proverbial grindstone (why do people always think that using the word "proverbial" makes clichés sound less lame? Well whatever. This is a blog.) on grad school applications to MFA programs. Definitely have a newfound appreciation for online applications. But UC Irvine's sneaky 2-writing-sample-requirement? Not so much. For shame, UC Irvine. Why must you be one of my top choices?

Also, sometimes I have these moments where I just think, oh dear, why am I a teacher again? Because one of the teachers at one of the schools I work for asked me if I knew a song that includes all of the days of the week, to teach the kids the words in English, and my first thought was "Police On My Back." By the Clash. And for a minute I was like, well, they probably wouldn't understand the lyrics anyway, and I don't think the teachers would care, and "I been runnin' Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday" is pretty catchy. And what day in Paris do I ever not have the thought, "What have I done?"

Then I remembered that it has lines about shootings and stuff. And I am a teacher. So I went with a song that has no lyrics except for the actual days of the week, and a youtube video with a man singing in a fluffy hat. With hand puppets.

Also, when do you know you work with kids? When you pull out your umbrella because it's rainy in Paris and a flash card comes floating out onto the sidewalk with the word "NOODLES" on one side.

Attrapper-ing un rhume with the unaccompanied majors

And the time has come for Hostel #3. I was staying at a really nice, kind of pricy hostel in the 14th, but they ran out of space after two nights, so here I am at Aloha Hostel in the 15th, which reminds me of the unaccompanied minors room I once spent a few hours in before my connecting flight to Paris when I was eleven. It was a chaotic little room in an airport where a bunch of unaccompanied minors ran around wearing stickers declaring their unaccompanied minor status and watched movies until they were allowed to go to their gates. It was a little chaotic. Here everyone is my age, but because Paris is having a torrential downpour day, everyone is inside watching Lord of the Rings or checking email. This, compounded by the fact that Aloha's color scheme is neon and they also have a beer vending machine, makes it like a grown up room of unaccompanied minors. Only, instead of catching a flight, I'm waiting to get an apartment.

And I found the perfect studio in the 13th yesterday, so I have my fingers crossed that it will come through. It's in a nice old-ish building, not Haussman, but still pretty, with a courtyard/parking lot and views of other buildings around the courtyard. The studio is on the fifth floor, and it's being rented by a man who honest to god looks just like a gnome and kept on extolling the virtues of the building's lift, which is so small it could probably be an effective torture device on the claustrophobic. It fits three people leaning between two uncomfortably close walls and you can't turn around in it. And the gnome man kept telling me that the building is great because you don't have to take the stairs.

Um. If I get the apartment, I will only take the stairs. But I appreciated the sentiment.

Anyway, the studio itself is a good size, with a bedroom with a huge window and furniture (!) and an equipped kitchen and even a nice bathroom. It's the same price as the studio I saw in the 10th, and I wouldn't have to buy any furniture for it. This is a plus.

The area it's in is the 13th, which isn't as swank as a lot of other areas of Paris - it's a bit more working class, but all in all I don't think it would be a bad place to live. And the building is just off the Metro and it was really lively when I was there and felt really safe.

The other people visiting the apartment were mostly students, and the gnome said he wanted to rent it to someone who doesn't have to get their parents' permission first to rent it. He also seemed reassured that I have a job and a contract for a specific amount of time. He said that I am one of three people he's considering for the apartment, and I am really hoping it works out. When I told him I was American, he told me that I don't have an American accent, and that my accent sounds more Italian. I took it as a compliment.

This was after I looked at an room in the suburbs that is being rented by yet another middle-aged Frenchman. He kept talking about how the suburb was rich and white and conservative - all of which he presented as major pluses - and he was really nice but seemed a little bit racist. And after seeing the apartment and the surrounding area (it's like Bellevue in Washington State - comment dit-on "no way in hell"?) I know that I want to live in Paris no matter what. It might mean staying in youth hostels a bit longer or subletting or living in a less fancy district, but there is no way I am succumbing to the suburbs. I hate them at home, and I hate them here too. I'll take Paris any day, with all its grime and noise and air pollution. I mean, I kind of like those things.

Nuit Blanche was also a success. I went with some other assistants, and got crepes and watched a video installation outside of Centre Pompidou, which had free admission on Nuit Blanche, so we got to go in and see an exhibition of work by women artists, including Rachel Whitereade, Cindy Sherman, Barbara Kruger, Nan Goldin...basically everyone who was included in the feminist art unit of my art history class last spring. It was really cool to see the pieces in real life, though, just because when I see art in class I never think that I'll actually get a chance to see it in real life. It was a really good night. There was also a giant disco ball hovering over the Luxembourg Gardens.

Oh, and I managed to get a cold the next morning, so now I'm sniffling around Paris, discovering the joys of French cold medicine and tea. Last night I had dinner with some family friends, and they sent me home with both. It was great to see them, and to have all of my dumb Paris questions answered, although by the end of the night my French had seriously deteriorated. I've been spending a lot of time with the other assistants, and the program has some oversight, and the directors are doing their best to get us acclimated, but sometimes it just helps to talk to a French person who isn't paid to tell you that the children will love you because you're American.

Things are still a bit disorganized - I was supposed to meet the contact person for my school(s?) today, and I'm not scheduled to meet with him until Monday. But given that this is France, I am just glad there's a meeting at all.

I hope it stops raining soon. But this hostel is playing Nico and the Clash in the lobby, so it's an okay place to be stuck with a cold for now.