We all do things we’re not proud of. When you’re in a foreign country, we do even more. So for your reading pleasure, I present you with the first post of what will surely be a very long series: Embarrassing Things I Did in Paris.

Went to Starbucks on my first day in Paris

What can I say? I was jet-lagged, hadn’t slept the night before, and hadn’t had a cup of coffee since SFO nearly 24 hours earlier. There was a coffee pot in our apartment but no filters and no coffee. I would buy filters soon, and coffee, but first, I needed…you know, coffee. Because I dare not shop in a foreign language uncaffeinated. When I searched for “coffee nearby” on my iPhone, Starbucks was the first place that popped up. And, mercy of mercies, it was less than a quarter mile on foot! The grocery stores don’t open until 8:00 a.m., and the Starbucks opens at 7:00. So, clearly, I had no choice.

I dragged my sleepy self to Starbucks and ordered un cafe grande. I know, I know–it should be un grande cafe, but this is Starbucks, and the menu on the wall clearly said cafe grande. When the barista replied in English, I knew I’d managed to mispronounce un cafe grande. Which is probably hard to do, unless you’re from Alabama. Guilty as charged.

Until this morning at the boulangerie, every person to whom I have spoken in French since we arrived has replied in English. Last night, after we walked a mile and a half to the 17th arrondissement to visit our LA nephew’s favorite crepe place, only to find it fermé due to vacances (you’d think the owners might want to mention that on the website, but non), we found another crepe place. Because if there’s one thing you can find in Paris on a sweltering summer night (did I mention it was 93 degrees Farenheit at 10 pm?), it’s a crepe place. When I asked for une table pour trois, the server replied, “Sure, let me clear that one.” He cleared it, and, about half an hour later (but who’s counting?), he brought us le menu…in English.

Something is definitely giving me away, but what? It’s beginning to ge a complex. It’s not like I’m walking around Paris in khaki shorts and sneakers, people. I have dresses! Many dresses! It’s so hot, I’ve so far only worn casual dresses, either black or navy, and, to my admittedly untrained eye, they look no different from what les parisiennes wear. Granted, my husband was wearing shorts, but at least half of the men were wearing shorts. I saw Frenchmen dressed like they’d just stepped off the plane from Cincinnati. It’s that hot.

It was exciting, I must admit, to carry on an entire conversation about pain au chocolate this morning without being caught out. The key, I discovered, is to say aussi a lot, and c’est tout, and then apologize (désolé) when you realize ce n’est pas tout because you hadn’t even noticed les beignets. It was all going swimmingly until I asked for the une baguette tradition. At which point the baker answered, “Will that be all?” Then she gave us two extra beignets for free, and I almost said vous etes tres gentil, but then I didn’t say it, because I thought it might mean something dirty or insulting and that would be the end of the free beignets. So instead I just said, C’est tout, because I was not ready to give up.

And home we walked with our inexcusably large bag of carbs. On the way back to our apartment, we saw a man wheeling a large bear topiary out of his shop onto the sidewalk. There were already two large  bear topiaries on the sidewalk, and I was thinking, how many large bear topiaries can one shop sell in a day? But I was also thinking it was nice and almost a little magical to be reminded, on our second morning here, of California, whose flag bears the image of a lumbering grizzly, our official state animal and a ubiquitous symbol of the Golden State. And then it occurred to me that, peut être, I can love two places. For the longest time, I couldn’t imagine leaving Northern California, but we did, and we’re here, and I’ve got this sneaking suspicion that I misnamed this blog. Because, only 48 hours into our Parisian adventure, I feel the reluctance slipping away. Maybe it’s only a crush, but at the moment I’m falling for Paris.

 

Answers to your burning French questions: How to (properly) order a baguette in French, via Everyday Parisian