Jour 1 - Ceren is Catwoman

This trip is about experiencing French culture through French people, but… But I’m being slightly sidetracked by a new thought as I make use of the flight time over the top of the world - setting up my blog, awkwardly snapping photos of the shattered ice pack below (tele lens against plastic window), pushing to finish Level 1 Rosetta Stone (thereby laying claim to a degree of French language competency; ha-ha, yeah right), sipping on “Premium German Beer” (according to the label on the can), reflecting amidst new sounds of a foreign tongue being spoken around me (German). There is an unexpected thought; feeling really. It is that I am “of” Europe and for the first time returning to the source; as if finding new significance in the journey. I wonder if that sentiment will grow.

Arctic Ocean with Shattered Ice Pack from 33,000'

Okay, I’ve had some time on the ground in Paris now, after writing the above paragraph on the plane. I’m thinking its BS. If I was starting to feel nostalgic about an ethnic heritage that I really know nothing about, it has left me. It may have been the fact that I’m half German on a German airlines with German speakers travelling to a German destination (we stopped in Frankfurt before the final flight to Paris). I do have a funny story though, which happened in the men’s bathroom of the Frankfurt airport.

I walked in and began using a bank of 5 urinals. As I “pulled up” to the center urinal, I remember there was a man on each side (no dividers at these urinals) and a WOMAN leaving the toilet stall just behind my right shoulder as I turned to square up with my urinal. I was in a daze from missing a whole night’s sleep and simply accepted this as the way of the Germans. (LOL) I kept my eye on her though, as I went about my business. The two other men left, and it was just her and I. She was the Cleaning Frau, and she went about her business with an exceptionally-professional demeanor, as if her focus could not be broken. This was a consolation to me as she quickly swabbed each urinal on each side of me as I shifted ever-so-slightly side-to-side opposite the direction from which she was performing her important task. (What the heck?!)

Okay, Paris, finally! Ceren is Catwoman! We will get to that later.

When I got off the plane, I had a text message waiting for me from Ceren. It was an address to her place in the city. I texted back that I had arrived in Paris, and it was “love at first sight”. The flight into Paris had exposed a most delicious landscape of thick, lush woodlands and green fields punctuated by pretty clusters of hamlets well laid-out. These were further accented clearly by the occasional cathedral and graveyard. It was a warm, sunny, lofty blue sky with white billowy clouds day. Yes, it was love at first sight. But that feeling was quickly superseded by “punch drunk” from a lack of sleep, confusion from a language barrier and unfamiliar surroundings, and the seemingly-massive task of getting myself through Paris. Ceren obviously had great faith in me, and I thought to myself, ‘why not? – I’ll believe in myself too!'

Bienvenue en France

La Jeune Femme and Fish Therapy

After many times going in circles (literally, the airport terminal was round) and taking the elevator up when I wanted to go down (they labeled floor levels with bottom floor on top, pretty sure), I got going on the train (Metro) into Paris. (Merci!, kind femme at the information desk for your assistance.) I quickly realized that most French really do not speak much Anglais! They know some, but are not fluent. That’s just my generalized observation so far.

Un jeune femme (one young woman) whom I had seen in the airport terminal during a few random “I’m lost” circuits getting her feet cleaned by submerging them in a tank of petite poisson (tiny fish) was standing near me as I boarded my first Metro train. She was cute, and I could tell by the way she glanced at me that the sentiment was returned. I asked her how the experience with the poisson felt and got a smile but no further response. One of her travel companions did know Anglais very well, and confirmed the limited fluency of English by the French population (that I should expect this in general). I told him I had a secret weapon – Google Translate – on my iPhone, and proceeded to pull it out, flashing the phrase “le jeune femme” to the pretty girl. She smiled. She got off at the next stop, and we exchanged our last glances and more smiles. Yes, I’m going to love this land, in many ways I think.

The Metro, especially in the main city, is simply crazy.

Ruescape ("rue" means "street")

Ceren; AKA "Catwoman"

I found Ceren, at the last Metro station. She showed me her apartment and introduced me to her wonderful mother. We then went out on the town where we inspected a velo verte (green bicycle) she wanted to acheter (purchase). We drank beer and wine at an open café, met her old friend from university, and had incredibly tasty Vietnamese cuisine. Ceren is a photography, and I am a “wanna be” photographer. We played a game where she placed chop sticks on the pattern-topped table and asked me to compose a creative photo only using what was in front of me and more games such.

Now to Catwoman. We were on the Metro again, on our way to meet Ceren’s childhood friend Iris. We had just boarded the train, chatting in English while Ceren was looking down to use her iPhone. A man grabbed it in perfect timing for escaping as the doors closed – almost. Ceren turned into Catwoman instantly, as I was going, “ah”. She pounced on the closing door, sticking her arm out to stop the two halves from closing completely, as she yelled aggressively to the offender – le plus de grand homme (a very, very big man).

I turned, and with all my might joined in trying to pull the doors apart. They sprung open in a few seconds (Ceren later remarked she was surprised they opened), and my left arm continued with one of the doors to get wedged in between it and the side of the train. I was literally stuck as Ceren ran out and chased down the man on her own. (She was absolutely fearless.) I tugged on my arm, and it came out quickly, after which I followed Ceren in hot pursuit.

She had one of here mains (hands) on the man and was digging in with her finger nails, chastising him with great composure and energy, in Francais. I came to the other side of him. I was just about to reach for the phone in the man’s hand opposite to Ceren when he relinquished it to her. Ceren grabbed me and said, ‘let’s go’, as we backed away and re-boarded the train. Everyone on the train and in the station seemed to be watching this calmly, as if it were on a television screen. Ceren said she thinks she was targeted because we were speaking Anglais (i.e. that he thought we were easy tourist targets – he was only half right).

Iris (left) and Ceren

So Iris is a beautiful Parisian with a soft, pretty voice. She is Ceren’s childhood friend. According to Iris (as we were introduced), she only knows a little English (waving her finger between her and I, saying ‘this is how we will communicate’; i.e. through gestures). But I found she knows quite a bit of English. She said that most French know only a little English, and would probably prefer not to worry about learning it, except that then they would miss out on a lot of things coming into their world (e.g. movies). Ceren was a great bridge builder/interpreter half the time. The other half of the time, Ceren and Iris “caught up” in French as I observed. I told them, ‘don’t worry about keeping me in the conversation, I love to just listen'. It really is a beautiful language. Here’s a video.

Première Expérience de la France

Jour 1 – Ceren is Catwoman

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