The Inaccurate Tourist

6. Greetings

It's February in Paris, and it's cold. It's cold, and it's raining, and it's not entirely agreeable. I might as well have stayed in Vancouver -- at least I'd be in a country with TWO gold medals (in the 2002 Salt Lake City Winter Olympics, for future reference). Apparently, a FRENCH judge admitted to being "influenced" when her vote cost Canada a gold medal, but then the officials decided that pairs figure skating wasn't really a sport anyway, so they just handed out gold medals to everybody.

Anyway, I didn't take any new pictures this week for a couple of reasons. First of all, it was rainy and grey, and I didn't like the light. I also spent quite a bit of time this week arranging things in my apartment. My stuff finally arrived from Canada last week after seven weeks in transit.

But it was a very eventful weekend. On Saturday, I did my usual grocery shopping, and bought my weekly Asterix comic. I even took advantage of a sale at the local GoSport outlet to buy elbow pads for roller blading, in case it stops raining. In the afternoon, however, I met some work colleagues and about ten other people at an internet cafe for a network party.

I don't really need to go into the four hours of running through virtual worlds (incredibly detailed virtual worlds) in order to inflict explicit and detailed violence on your friends and neighbours. I think the experience is probably universal across all video-game playing culture.

Afterwards, the ten of us went to a Chinese restaurant by Place d'Italie in the 13th arrondissement. It's been said that all Chinese food is authentic regardless of where it's served, because the nature of the recipes are to adapt and incorporate the local, available ingredients. In fact, I ordered the sweet and sour duck, served in a hollowed-out half-pineapple (I've noticed that fresh pineapple is very popular here). Of course, there was little (if any) cheese to be found, but there were Frog's Legs on the menu -- the first I've seen.

Something that threw me for a little loop, however, was that we didn't order buffet-style, which is nearly exclusively how I've ordered Chinese food in Canada. We each ordered our own dish, and ate that.

Another loop-throwing custom is the casual cheek-kiss. My first experience was when I moved into the apartment, saying goodbye to my landlady. She kissed both my cheeks, but I wasn't expecting it. I explained, in my broken French, that I was a bit awkward because it was my first Parisian kiss. She replied, "alors encore une fois" ("then one more time") and gave me another cheek-kiss. I find it to be a delightful and charming habit, but it is also against my instincts (which are generally not to kiss strangers, or acquaintances, or friends, or pretty much anyone).

I should also warn beginning French students to be careful about discussing kisses. The French noun for "a kiss" is NOT to be used as a verb. And by the way, if you hear a cab driver calling somebody names, the english translation is probably NOT "duck".

(By the way, I never got around to explaining that the pictures in this travel log are leftovers from over the last month. I was taking pictures of food for fun.)

I have been told that if you go farther south, the cheek-kiss greeting is more elaborate -- three pecks instead of two (alternating cheeks). And in the country, it may be four pecks.

In Canada, I'm used to shaking hands when I meet somebody for the first time ever, or when they graduate, have a baby, get married, or get back from a trip. But the custom at work is to greet each person every day EXACTLY ONCE with a handshake. When encountering a group of people in the morning, you have to determine who you need to shake hands with, and who just gets a smile (because you've already shaken their hand that day). I find this to be a bit foreign, but it also makes sense -- a handshake is a more personal and intimate greeting, and it's a nice touch to remember it, rather than just forget and shake hands randomly. It's rather like knowing what your work colleagues take in their coffee without having to ask.

Finally, the French say "Bonjour" much less frequently than we say "Hello". It's sufficient to say it when you're shaking hands, and not necessary to repeat on each encounter. And when somebody asks "Ca va?" ("How are you?"), you can just reply "Ca va?" or "et toi?" ("And yourself?"). As in Canada, it isn't necessary to give a real answer.

I had a bunch of things I was going to write about this week, but I seemed to spend all my time on saying hello. I was going to talk about the bande desinées (comics), and some interesting geopolitical facts comparing France and Canada. I'll have to save that for another rainy week, because this weekend is going to be bright and sunny. But one thing can't wait -- Monsieur Knucklebunny, the unofficial mascot of the Paris Mètro. Monsieur Knucklebunny is an anthromorphic rabbit designed to demonstrate the dangers of being near the Mètro doors, presumably to spare us the sight of a small child or other human in such obvious pain. I am thinking about giving him a second job as travel log mascot -- it's not like he's going anywhere.

But I'm going to conclude with the long-awaited caricature. Now you can see for yourself what two euros will get you. In case you've forgotten what I look like, I included a disturbing passport photo of me (pre-France). Other than the shape of my head, jaw, ears, and the part in my hair, and my nose, it's a pretty good likeness, don't you think?

And remember, kids, M. Knucklebunny says "--Ouch ouch ouch it hurts it hurts why won't it stop ouch its unbearable my fingers my fingers--".

Posted by The Inaccurate Tourist at February 15, 2002 12:00 PM