Vive Les Differences: Une "Clevelander/Parisienne"

I’ve not quite overcome my recent jet lag and the airplane cold that was given to me as a frequent flyer reward for puddle jumping the Atlantic. As a Clevelander/ Parisienne, I am always either excited to enter or excited to leave my respective countries. Upon my arrival I often require a full week to remember how to speak the national language. Most of the time I will just jumble the words and leave it to the listener to decipher what I am attempting to say. Often I confuse Clevelanders by giving them French kisses instead of an appropriate handshake. The French are miffed when I offer my hand instead of my mouth. After 12 years of playing ping-pong between two continents, I have acquired a duel personality (my family and friends will argue that this state of mind existed way before my premier departure).

Nevertheless, in Paris I am different. I wear only heels and expensive hosiery, I sashay like the natives and I can effortlessly contort my face to express my every French emotion. My skill of doing a Parisienne "BOF" of indifference is sure perfection. My natural ability to make a sly smirk and to raise my left eyebrow to convey either flirtations or signal caution gives me bonus points here because the "Frenchies" admire quality gestures. These people are the masters of Le Geste and because of this very few words are actually necessary to communicate here. In Cleveland my carriage and face are different, I walk casually in flats and easily fall into the popular American slouch position that I find both comfortable and reassuring. A hearty belly laugh is a Cleveland luxury for me (in Paris such behavior would leave the French to question my mental stability). In Paris a laugh is basically a small burp with a dash of spit, I love it!

The first time that my adorable French husband experienced Cleveland he assumed that Ohio City must be a poor neighborhood because the houses were made of wood and not stone. He was amused by the Disneyesque colored homes. It took my husband awhile to acclimate to the willingness of complete strangers to discuss the most intimate details of their lives and to talk openly about money (a taboo subject in France). My husband loved the Provencal tree lined streets that many of us seem to take for granted, he found strolling along the Cuyahoga to be quaint and charming (alas, that was a decade ago). The Great Lake became his best refuge, although he questioned why it is so difficult to approach. Downtown bridges made him homesick. Although architecturally different, it is true that both of my cities are divided by a river that separates East- West or Left-Right banks. Like any curious voyager, we have never hesitated to cross a bridge to see what charms exist on the other side.

When it comes to rivers, I insist that every visitor to Paris take a boat ride down the river Seine. The price for the Bateau Mouche (Fly Boat) is feeble and the rewards are immense. As you float down the river you will get a sense of the layout of central Paris, you will pass near the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame. Your boat will take you under the famous bridges that mark the evolution of Paris. You tour guide will instruct you when to kiss and when to sigh. After only an hour, you will begin to feel enamored with this stunning city.

In Paris your best friend will be your stylish pair of comfortable shoes. I suggest that you walk everywhere. Be a voyeur--look up, look down, examine the small details, meander and get a little lost. Go into a perfume shop and sniff, don‘t hesitate to "lick the windows" (French phrase for window shopping). The roots of this phrase are a reference to the array of Pastry shops and Chocolatiers that you will encounter everywhere. Try to tickle a mime, explore a museum and listen to the singing Castrato (don’t forget to tip him, he could use the money for a dose of Testosterone). Enter a Boulanger and choose your perfect baguette, buy some cheeses and a bottle of wine (don’t forget to pack a corkscrew in your check in luggage) and then have your picnic in a lush garden or along the Seine. After relaxing with your second glass of wine you will understand that Paris is famous for a reason—it is truly inspirational!

Reality has now obligated me to return home but first I must pass the newest Starbucks and quickly inhale my cigarette before it is outlawed to smoke in public (I’m already dreading 2007 for this reason), I must not forget to say a bonjour to the 70-year-old prostitutes around the corner from my home c’est la regle to acknowledge your neighbors presence. Most importantly, I must remind my butcher that this year I would prefer that my Thanksgiving turkey be guillotined and plucked before he delivers it. (Last years’ bird became a temporary pet instead of a tasty dinner).

If he screws up this year’s order, I guess that I’ll just have to serve my guests horse meat with imported sweet potatoes.

From Cool Cleveland contributor Denajua denajuaAThotmail.com (:divend:)