Are the planning stages the best part of the trip? In other words, do expectations surpass the realization? There's enough anxiety in the planning to make it exciting, dealing with bumps in the road like not being able to get a frequent flyer seat despite my
51, 365 Mileage Plus Miles (get ready for me, Capital One), and coming up with the money after income taxes and property taxes have been paid, with a falling dollar making the trip ever more expensive even as I write this. But it's all anxiety with a safety net, because I'm still at home.
Balancing the anxiety is the excitement of imagining living for a month in "my" apartment, steps away from the Jardin du Luxembourg with its shabby green metal chairs, boule players and children sailing boats in the bassin; the hope of speaking French fluently; the anticipation of meeting other expatriates (I'm including myself in this group temporarily) who might grease the way to some vrai French acquaintances, or at the very least, provide me with social contact while I'm there and perhaps become a liaison to future stays in Paris.
Is "safe imagination" the best part? Or is it actually sitting in the metal chairs, choosing fruit from the marche en plein air, smelling the overpowering chevre in the cheese shops, eating frogs' legs, having a biere blonde in the sidewalk cafe... because with each of these savory activities I make myself vulnerable to the displeasure of the French. I have learned a few things though - the outdoor markets are not self-service, if you want ripe fruit, you ask pour aujourd'hui (for today), if you want it not-so-ripe, it's pour demain (for tomorrow), you pay less for the beer at an inside table than an outside one, and even less standing at the bar among the cigarette butts. I know that a "Bonjour, Madame/Monsieur" goes a long way toward good service at the patisserie when buying your morning croissants, and that anyone, anywhere will go out of their way to help you if you have "une petite probleme."
So - I can hardly wait to be in Paris again - in spite of the anxiety that accompanies me nearly every moment of my time there, because the pleasure of being in my favorite city in the world outweighs the fear of a snub, or getting off at the wrong metro stop, or even the pickpockets that always seem to find me (it's probably my starry-eyed gaze that gives me away).
Someday - I will speak French fluently and be thin enough that I will be offered the French language audiophone in the Centre de Pompidou.
