Le Nausea: culture shock in reverse

So when Professor Brault warned us about Le Nausea brought on by one's own country, to quote Baudelaire, I was not so sure I believed that it would happen to me. I had been craving an enormous, juicy burger (or any barbeque, really) and a walk to the Lake since about half-way through my time in Paris and was looking forward to finally satisfying my obsession. But of course, Brault was right, and I do not know why I ever doubted her wisdom.  I have found that I truly prefer french fashion (in the sense of casual style, not the couture stuff, which is nice but impractical), and was told yesterday that when dressing as such, I "look weird." Sigh. Oh, America. And everything is so huge. My latte this morning at ArgoTea was about 6 times as large as any espresso drink I consumed in France and about 1/10 the quality.  Why I even thought that the croissant here would satisfy my desire, I will never know.  I feel a bit stifled, a bit claustrophobic in a way, and cannot really grasp the reasoning.  I feel disoriented at hearing the Chicago accent and seeing men with some sort of muscular physique (the french may not have any body fat, but have no muscle either).  This is not to say that it is a bad thing, only that I feel very out of place at the moment. I desire greatly to share my revelations with friends and relatives, but so far, when I have gone to express them, they escape me.  I feel myself slipping back into old habits that I wanted so greatly to change, and dream of recapturing whatever energy I found by the Seine.

I have this wild fear of losing my french, and it haunts me.  I am plagued with nightmares about not being able to speak french, I awake to my tongue poised to rattle something off in french, only to in the end feel swollen and numb at the realization that it would be wasted.  Recently, at being awoken by drunkards in the street, I desired greatly (almost unconsciously) to scream out my window down to them, "Ça suffit! Alors! Vous en bas, arretez! Vous n'etes pas chez vous! Ecoutez, respectez les voisins, alors!" And then I realized that correcting others is taboo in the US, not to mention that the streets are too big to simply yell, as everything would echo and further wake the neighbors.  

All of this being said, I am not trying to find a sad ending to my trip.  I felt very happy to be back at home where people are friendly, and you can chuckle opening upon overhearing someone's phone conversation about their friend's wild and crazy drunken night, and that they can turn to you with an appreciating smile and nod. Or that you can find a bathroom open for the public at just about anytime of the day or night. Or that you do not have to worry about an exchange rate that kills your bank account.  I had an amazing Sweet-Home-Chicago moment yesterday when I took a lovely walk through Lincoln Park Zoo, watching families gobble down popcorn and ice cream, and continuing on, listened to a live band belt the blues on the lakefront.  Couldn't get any better than that, and you definitely cannot find that in France (regardless of just how much they love Jazz and the Blues).  

Perhaps Atlantis?

                                                           

As for Venice....

It is like nothing I have ever seen, every bit full of the romanic and picturesque scenes in movies, posters, and postcards.  The crumbling buildings along the waterside take you back in time to wonder just how much more beautiful Venice could have ever been in its earliest days of splendor.  The sight of gondolas, while indeed touristy, never gets old for me, and I long to be transported back in time when they (and perhaps sailboats--my other favorites) were all that traversed those waterways.  [Side note: gondolas do NOT have to cost 100 euros. We crossed a canal for the cost of 1 EURO EACH in a gondola manned by two men. While it was not a tour at sunset in the romantic embrace of a lover, 

nor lounging in the luxuriously guilt and upholstered seats of the tourist gondolas, I can now say that I have INDEED ridden in a gondola in Venice, and that is enough for me... until I marry that Italian and he picks up the cost.]  

We did experience the not-so-uncommon phenomenon of the flooding of Venice while in the city, and after having thought that it was a once-a-year occurrence, were shocked to find nothing being done to prevent the water from creeping its way up the stairs of St. Mark's Basilica or inching its ways below artwork in museums with nothing but gates for doors.  The sirens sounding, my friend turned to me perplexed, "Aren't those the sirens you read about in that travel book?" "No, couldn't be... or could it? St. Mark's was flooding up from beneath the ground just an hour ago." With the streets filling with police, we posed the question one officer and found that we were correct in our presumptions. We were the only panicked individuals, or seemingly so, as we ran past a flooded Piazza di San Marco, avoiding the sewage smelling water at our heels.  The water was not just rising up from beneath the ground, but also licking the walkways along the waterfront with huge waves, making the avoidance of getting wet impossible.

  After running frantically for an hour to find the water bus that would get us safely back to the hostel, we came to the depressing conclusion that in the not-so-distant future, Venice will be our modern Atlantis.  Its paintings disintegrated by the lapping water, all that would remain would be its splendid mosaics and architecture, hinting at its once colorful splendor, then reduced to white stone with green algae accents.   If global warming and the melting of the polar ice-caps threatening the existence of California does not bother you, think on the disappearance of Venice, and the loss of its unmatched beauty. 

"Prego!" not the sauce

As I discovered in Venice, "Prego" is not only the pasta sauce, but rather the response to "thank you" (also used in the context of "may I help you?" in a store). 

Another discovery: Italian is a just combination of Spanish and English, and can be partially determined from French.  Smiles, hand gestures, and bad attempts at pronouncing phonetically written phrases also help.

Yet another discovery: I need to be by water to be tranquil and content in life.  I had the realization while riding the Venice water trollies that I am happiest when near bodies of water: Lake Michigan, the Seine in Paris, the Rhone in Lyon, the canals of Venice... I am drawn to them as though I embody that ancient tool the "Y" stick (interesting mental image...hm), eagerly seeking refreshment in the brisk air and sea spray.  Anyone that knew me in my youth can attest to the fact that as a child, I never found it even the slightest bit difficult to spend all day swimming. I was indeed convinced that I was a mermaid. Yes, a mermaid (Ok, in a former life, perhaps).  As an adult, I am still convinced that I embody remnants of that dream, to be constantly near the water feeling it lulling motion, toujours changeant et fugitive.  

And still another discovery: After all my years spent obsessed with France and french culture, I found that I felt the most at home in Italy.  Perhaps it is because they are so jovial and welcoming, (or conversely perhaps because I had no class distract me with stress), but in any event, I was reminded that all stereotypes are rooted in truth: the french are indeed more private and isolated, while the italians are more laid-back.  This is not to say that I am going to up and abandon french (I prefer the sound of french to that of italian), just that my image of the ideal foreign husband would be a man that speaks Italian, french, and english, lives in Italy, but has family in france (this is inspired from a real-life individual).   Best of all worlds, really, for all those girlfriends of mine that share my desire to marry a foreigner and live abroad.  This is a long time down the road, of course, and a girl has to plan ahead if she doesn't want the carriage to turn into a pumpkin at the last minute. Haha. 

"Si!" not "Oui!"

I must say that these past five days spent in Italy were probably the best days I have spent in Europe in the past few months. Italians are remarkably welcoming, non-abrasive, and helpful--a combination that makes for a great vacation.  I felt a bit awkward, guilty, and self-conscious not being able to speak Italian, as I felt that it would be offensive (I am used to France and its view of english speakers) but most everyone speaks english in Milan and Venice without hesitation or hautiness.  With a few sheets of phrases and pronunciations, we stumbled through our amateur attempts to ask for the bill, or the toilet, or directions, and found that we got smiles instead of sighs or confused squints.  I am ok with being laughed at, especially if it means that the individual will be more willing to help me.  We spent our time as "flaneuses," simply discovering our environments by walking, talking, and napping in the sunshine. Talk about relaxing! We could not have asked for better weather in both cities (especially considering it was supposed to storm for two of our 3 days in Venice); nothing but clear skies and sunshine.  We did have midday rainstorm in Milan, which we took the wild chance to walk through and get completely soaked, as well as one windy night threatening storms in Venice, through which we sat outdoors drinking wine, eating pizza, and talking about our travels with our new friends from across Europe.  

For all those looking to travel to Milan: some tips:

Milan can be done in a day or two unless you want to spend copious amounts of money on clothes and museums.  It is expensive at the city center, as any major city, but one can find some great bargains on the outskirts, not far away. It is not that large and can be walked from end to end in for the most part in an hour or so.  There is a lovely little artistic area, full of night life, along the canal on the outskirts that is worth seeking. The castle is worth visiting, and as everywhere in Milan, it is also a museum (cost 5 or 6 euros), but the cathedral is free and one of the most beautiful that I have ever seen. Gelatto is a must, and we ate far too much of it. Pretty much anywhere in Italy, it is better tasting and cheaper than Paris (rightfully so, it IS Italy), but is worth eating as much as you can take.  CALORIES DO NOT EXIST ON VACATION. 

Hostel accommodation:  Hotel Diablo. It might as well be a hotel, but be aware that you will be staying in mixed gender rooms.  David at the front desk is not only one of the most handsome Italian men we met, but also the most friendly and helpful person, that I, personally, have met in all of Europe; a great friend to have (yes, we hope he is reading this).  The language barrier was an entertaining factor and between english, french, and Italian, we managed to have some riveting conversations about the quality of the pizza at the local Kebab stand. 

 This was the second instance in which I have used french as the language with which to bridge the gap; the other time being at the Cannes Festival when foreign films were subtitled in French. It is not only an element of stress relief, but also one of pride, to be able to have multiple modes of communication.  It is truly an inspiration to learn more languages.  An interesting phenomenon occurs when one encounters languages foreign to not only one's native tongue, but also that of a second language learned. I warned my travel partner about this and she experienced it full-blown. The experience is that of reverting to the second language whenever one hears any other foreign speech.  Throughout our journey en Italy, my friend found herself speaking french, with which she had been struggling in her classes in France. I dare say it actually helped her flip the switch at last.  Once you become accustomed to thinking in another language and comprehending the science of phonetics, it becomes far simpler to transition to the next language, even if only for a few pages of phrases.  C'est plus facile.  

Paris, je t'aime

Reflecting on my time in Paris, these are some things I will miss:

Accordionists on the metro

Bread and patisseries

The Seine at night... with wine

Hearing random french conversations between natives 

My french mom

French markets

Old french ladies that wear sexy black high-heals in all circumstances

French style, bohemian and blouse-y

The metro: always on time

French wine for less than 4 euros

The old white-haired homeless man that sits on rue Vavin with a 1664 beer smiling and talking to himself all day long

The espresso machine in the Alliance

Eating slowly at dinner

Yogurt

The architecture

Massive use of salad spinners

The electric tea pot at my host home that lights up when ready

The Arcades/Passageways of Paris

Cafés: sitting for 3 hours to drink a tiny espresso 

Hidden cabarets in bar basements

My french bed

Antique flea markets with things older than from the 1960s

Drinking in public at any hour of the day

Petits Beurres

Good tasting cheese that doesn't cost a fortune