Un café au lait, s'il vous plaît

Ah, Paris and its million cafés.... I had my first parisian café experience two days ago at a typical and busy café on the corner of Blvd Montparnasse and Rue Brea.  It was not romantic by any stretch of the imagination, being situated on a bustling boulevard, but for the awkward and entertaining experience that it was, ça suffit.  I needed to read Balzac's Pere Goriot, and felt that it would be most appropriately read at a café.  Up until this point, I was under the impression that you just plop yourself down at any table and wait for service, order, and pay (no tip).  And that is just what I did.... but not before walking past the café a few times to make sure it was ok to order seulement un espresso (only an espresso).  In america it is engrained in us to wait to sit, or to be sure to order something sufficient if taking up a table, and of course, to tip.  So, I nervously sat down toute seule, and commenced to journal my recent experiences, anxiously awaiting the server to tell me to leave or something terrible.  But alas he did not. In fact, he did not come around to take my order for several minutes. Quel horreur for someone who worked in a restaurant where you have 2 minutes to greet your table.  I was not upset, just nervous that I had done something wrong.  I looked around for a sign that said something like "order here" or "wait to be seated" or any signal of people ordering before they sat down.  I must have looked so foolish, especially on such a busy boulevard with people passing to rush home from work.... 

Anyway, the server finally came, and I tried to calmly but quickly order "seulement un café au lait" because I felt that I would somehow be cheating him if I ordered something as cheap as an espresso (café au lait is more expensive by about 2 euros).  He brought it with the bill and left. I placed the money in this funny little dish with the bill without any tip (as I have been trained), and he picked it up.  That was the end of things. He did not give any indication that I was to leave when finished with the drink, so I stayed and attempted to journal and read.  

 

As the sun was beginning to set, an american couple from the east coast asked the woman next to me for directions.  I listened intently to the interaction and to the kind voice of the english-speaking parisian.  When they had finished, I felt compelled to tell her how nice it was that she was so kind to them.  Interrupting people in public places, except to ask for directions, in not something common in Paris because of the unsaid rule that everyone keeps to themselves.  In any case, I felt that if I were to talk to anyone, it would be this woman, who had so kindly spoken to a couple of very american tourists. I leaned over and said, "Excusez-moi madame, mais vous etes tres gentille!" "Excuse me, madame, but that was very kind!" And she responded in french, "Well really, it's no problem. Im from Paris, so I should be able to help out those who are lost." I told her that I was american and that it is difficult to find people who will respond kindly to those americans who don't speak french.  And immediately we struck up a conversation about the different cultures within the US, ie the differences between the people in NYC vs. Chicago vs. California and Texas... Her perception of these different regions was pretty spot on, and I was impressed.  

When we parted ways, I realized that Paris is not always the cultural and social bully that it presents itself to be.  Il faut chercher des interactions si on veut decouvrir la vraie culture.