After six weeks in the U.S., I returned to Paris three days ago, having been served during my United Airlines flight what might have been the world’s worst croissant. Sometimes after being away for a while it takes me a couple of days to get back into the swing of things in Paris, especially in winter. But this time the swing of things started straight away. Here are 10 signs.
I know that I’m back in Paris because:
1. Returning home from the airport on the metro during rush hour everyone looks so… French. And there’s a whole new set of posters on the wall announcing exceptional concerts and exhibitions that I’m unlikely to go to.
2. Before I can unlock the door to my apartment my neighbor greets me by saying, “Bonjour. You’re back! I’m glad because now you can turn on your heat to help warm my apartment.” Solidarity, we’re big on that in France, as long as someone else is footing the bill. But I feel the same way about her.
3. After unpacking I open my mail and find two notices from divisions of the national health system asking for information that I’ve already sent twice.
4. While the apartment warms up I go grocery shopping. Checking out, the cashier, whom I’ve greeted with a customary “Bonjour,” complains to me that the person in front of me line hadn’t been polite enough to say “Bonjour.” I respond, “Exceptionally, today I don’t give a damn,” to remind myself that I haven’t forgotten how to interact in French. The cashier then declares us all a “une bande d’impolis” (an impolite bunch) and punishes me by shoving my goods down the ramp. I’m already missing Thriftway.
5. It’s noon. I climb into bed, making sure to set the alarm for a 90-minute nap, only to wake up four hours later. There’s no better bed than one’s own.
6. At the mall in New Jersey two days before leaving I was happy to have found a sports jacket that I liked for $99. When I asked the salesman how he thought it fit, he said it fit fine, that it was normal for one of my arms to be longer than the other, and he reminded me that there was a two-for-one Presidents Day sale for that rack. Those are three things that I’m unlikely to find in France: a president being celebrated, a sale worthy of its name, and a salesperson responding kindly to serve me well even without a “bonjour.” But I rarely have a good occasion to wear a sports jacket (let alone two) in New Jersey, whereas I’ve just arrived in Paris and already I have a good occasion to get gussied up. I shower, shave, and get dressed to meet Corinne LaBalme, one of France’s top French-American travel writers and the newest contributor to France Revisited, for a drink at the Hotel Plaza-Athénée …
… after which we visit the Imperial Suite. We’re told it would cost 26 000 euros to have them turn down the beds (there are four in this suite). Breakfast, the general manager says a little too cheerfully, is extra.
7. The following day I give a tour of Pere Lachaise cemetery to some young Canadians. It’s freezing out, but we’re glad to be alive—and I’m personally happy to know that my neighbors are solidarily helping to heat my apartment for when I return.
8. I’ve been invited to serve on the jury of the Concours Général Agricole discerning prizes for French wines at the International Agricultural Show, and so on Saturday morning I find myself wearing a sports jacket and sitting at a table with four others assigned to the task of tasting, describing and judging 15 bottles of Chateauneuf-du-Pape (five 2012 white, 5 2011 red). The tired half-smile is the after-effect of a 2-hour tasting and a desire to not show my purple teeth.
9. That evening I attend the Gourmand World Cookbook Awards at the Carrousel du Louvre. Another sports jacket occasion (reminder to self: look for tux sale when next in New Jersey). The big winners are China and Scandinavia with some choice Mexican, Spanish and South American winners. The foremost prize for an American cookbook goes to Timothy Ferriss for “The Four-Hour Chef,” which wins for Best First Cookbook.
The Norwegian-American food photographer Nancy Bundt, sitting at my table, comes in second in her category. Marc Lagrange, a French doctor also sitting at the table, wins in the category “Drinks and Health” for his book “Vin et Médecine” (Wine and Medicine). We all feel healthier for it.
10. The following morning, Sunday, it’s market day in my neighborhood. Need I say more?
I love returning the U.S., but there’s no mistaking: I am now back in Paris.
© 2013, Gary Lee Kraut