Ramblings en Voyage: Il faut qu’on lise avant la classe — le 4 Avril 2019
Bonjour once again, and I’m starting to wonder whether it’s still acceptable for me to use jet-lag as an excuse for my shortcomings. This despite the fact that I haven’t had jetlag since that first evening on London oh what was it, at least two weeks ago at this point.
So for my literature class, we’re reading Au Bonheur des Dames — The Ladies’ Paradise — by Émile Zola. It’s a well-known piece of French literature, and a challenging read. The challenging part comes partly from the fact that Zola uses extremely difficult language and an expansive vocabulary that I’m not entirely familiar with. And also from the fact that the book is so so boring. Vraiment ennuyeux. I consider myself an avid reader, but loving literature that goes on and on for pages about a personnage who contributes nothing to the plot line and probably doesn’t even show up for the rest of the novel. I say probably, because I did not finish the assigned amount of reading for class this morning, and also because I likely will not finish the book in its entirety.
We had chapters 1 through 4 assigned for class today, and true to my nature, I’d only read chapter 1. Truly boring, I’m telling you. I’m sorry if there are any Zola fans out there. But I knew that in this class of 10, I would surely be required to share at some point during la class and so I woke up earlier than I usually do (only 30 minutes earlier — can you tell how little I care about this book?) and I proceeded to get ready for the day and then sat down to read! Except instead, I watched a little Netflix, took my sweet time making lunch for the day, if a baguette with some camembert can count as lunch, and read just the first two pages of the second chapter before leaving for class.
I’m fortunate to live within easy walking distance to the university where I’m taking classes. It’s just a 20 minute walk, compared to the 45 minute metro that other students have to take. Can you say, #blessed? I take that back. I’m sorry.
For this entire class, which felt far longer than its two hours, I sat there petrified that I would be called on and asked to read a passage aloud for the class. Oh I must not forget to add, I didn’t even own the book because I’d discovered a free version online, and realized quickly that I did not enjoy this book nearly enough to want to spend money on it. So I was truly sitting there like a fraud, smiling and nodding along, pretending to earnestly take notes whenever I felt a shift that indicated that the professor was looking for an answer from us. When I could, I hopped onto some vague idea that another student had put out, adding onto what they said in my shaky French: oui, je trouve le sexisme de ce paragraphe très intéressant. Was there any sexisme in this paragraph? I don’t know, but there were, you know it would be interesting.
After class today, I had to commit to my daily struggle to fight the FOMO I feel every day when my plans diverge from whatever the group is doing. FOMO = fear of missing out-on-everyone-else-talking-and-laughing-and-bonding-and-somehow-having-in-one-day-so-many-incredible-experiences-that-it’ll-be-impossible-to-ever-connect-with-them-again. I’m well aware of how much fun and how much I get done when I’m on my own, but quite often I find myself succumbing to this fear. It’s especially prevalent in a group like my study abroad program: a small enough amount of students that one could get close with his or her comrades, but also atomistic enough that anyone could easily get left out.
A couple of girls wanted to hit the Rodin museum today, and I was briefly interested. But what I really wanted today was to browse a bookstore, find a café, and just sit, read, and write for hours with no rush. It’s a little too chilly today to warrant just wandering around aimlessly (I’m from Southern California — anything below 70 degrees is basically a crime) and in addition, I’m not privy to museums. Yes I know, a cultural experience, but also something that strikes me as an activity for someone visiting a city, and not someone who lives there. Add on of course the fact that the Musée Rodin does not have free entry, and the deal was sealed. Pas pour moi! So I embarked on a petite aventure.
I stopped first just next to the bookstore on the corner of Rue de Chevreuse and Boulevard Montparnasse, and tried to talk to the person working there: Excusez-moi, je voudrait les memoirs de Jean-Marie le Pen. Est-ce que vous les avez? Le Pen was the notoriously bold and racist and frequently boldly racist head of the parti politique, the Front National. I find him fascinating. For someone to spout so much xenophobia and anti-Semitism, and still earn the votes of a not insignificant percentage of French voters is interesting, and deserves to be understood more completely. There’s nothing more enlightening that educating yourself on the logic behind beliefs that you completely disagree with.
Therefore, I was extremely disappointed when this bookstore did not have in its possession Le Fils de la nation — The Son of the Nation. Jean-Marie le Pen bleeds nationalism: it’s his greatest appeal to those in France who consider themselves les vrais Français: the true French.
Instead, I guiltily picked up a copy of the Zola book that I ought to have been nearly 200 pages into by now, and also a little essay by Jean-François Bayart: Les fondamentalistes de l’identité — The Fundamentalists of Identity. It’s a little essay about…I think the concept of laïcité, the separation of church and state, and djihadisme, the opposite.
The French separation of church and state is practiced very differently from that of the United States. In the States, the emphasis is always on the limited role of the state in people’s everyday lives. Americans value a small government that interferes in the daily lives of people as infrequently as possible, and that does not tell people how to act unless they break established and universal laws.
Because of this view, America’s equivalent of laïcité is to allow people to practice their religions freely, always with the constraint that the state laws supersede religious practice — aka, you can’t sacrifice your kid in the name of your god.
On the other hand, the French do believe in a strong and more active government. For the French, religion is something très privée, as off-limits in public as are sexual relations. It is not something to be outwardly practiced or displayed to others. For example, and. Perhaps most famously, young Muslim girls are not allowed to wear their hijabs in public high schools until they are over the age of 18. This is the official rule, as far as I know. Whether it is legal to outwardly display one’s religion like that in a public space is a subject of great contention in France. There are those who are very strongly laïque, and who believe that any display of religious practice shouldn’t be tolerated, while there are others who believe that a show of religious affiliation is not harmful and does not encourage others to place their loyalty to their religion over that to the state.
This subject is very interesting to me, and luckily, I will be writing my final project on this, during which I will interview at least eight French people to ask them their opinions on this subject. So of course, stay tuned for that.
I then took the metro to a small café that my friend studying at Columbia recommended to me. I sat there for about four hours, by a window with a view of Notre Dame. It’s called La Caféothèque, and it’s a treasure because there are so few places in Paris where you’re actually welcome to sit and stay for a while to read or write or just chat with friends. I sat and wrote this, retroactively skimmed the chapters I should have had done for class this morning, and looked for places to stay in Lyon next weekend.
After this little excursion, it was nearly 6 p.m., or 18h if I used military time. Which I don't, and am vehemently against.
After my leisurely café sit down, I made a decision that made today the best that I have yet on this study abroad term: I wandered around. I just walked around, with absolutely no plan as to where to go. I embarked on a dérive: a drift.
I first walked left, just because the pedestrian signal happened to be green at that point. So headed in the general direction of Notre Dame. Then, I made a right, and passed The Peloton, a very cute and undoubtedly very American café (not a single thing on the menu written in French) and then stopped at the doors of Aux Merveilleux.
This small bakery caught my eye because of the beautiful display of little delicacies in the windows, and because of their corresponding prices. Less than 2 euros? Doable for a college student on a budget, especially when she hasn’t had anything solid for four or five hours at this point. Per les recommandations of the man working, I ordered L'Incroyable: meringue, whipped spéculoos cream, covered with white chocolate shavings. I highly recommend. The name does not do it justice.
I took my dessert packaged in the cutest little box I'd ever seen, and continued along the string of boutiques lining this store. I stopped in one after look at its earrings through the window (whoever invented window shopping REALLY knew how to get to me) and I ended up trying on and buying a cute little pair of earrings. Which I will wear tomorrow — in Brussels! But that's another piece that can wait to be written.
I'm just lucky enough that anywhere you go in Paris, you will stumble upon an area or a building that is storied and stunning. This might have been especially true since I was in Île-de-France, the oldest and arguably one of the most culturally relevant spots in Paris, and indeed in France, but anyways, I didn't mean to end up in from of the hôtel de ville of Paris. This is the seat of the city council, where the administrative work of Paris happens. It's an absolutely stunning building that was constructed from 1535 to 1551, and I'd been meaning to visit. What better place to sit and eat my Incroyable?
On the face of the building, we see the motto of the Republic of France, true to what it was when the French Revolution began all those years ago: Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité. I wonder if Sororité will ever get up there: need to represent the ladies. I kid, I kid.
I sat here for a while, watching a man blow bubbles for delighted children, a woman talk affectionately at her dog, some tourists post for pictures with this historic building. I ate my desert and I pretended that I wasn't cold, or lonely. If I'd been with someone all day, I likely would not have found this spot because I only chanced upon it because I was wandering. But once there, it would have been nice to watch others with someone else.
The guilt from not doing the reading for my literature class this morning really got to me! So after spending a leisurely half hour of so just people-watching and snacking in front of this gorgeous building, I decided to go take a look at Les Galeries Lafayette. The Galleries are the type of grand magasin that Zola had in mind when he was writing his novel — what better way to understand the novel than to visit a modern day representation of the novel's subject?
Les Galeries Lafayette are similar to Nordstrom or Neiman Marcus in the States. Except on steroids that have taken steroids. There are multiple separate buildings, and at least one is entirely designated for men. Being completely honest: I didn't spend a lot of time inside for two reasons. One was budget?? Four dollar sign designation when I searched this department store up, and whoever came up with that was definitely rounding down. And the second was that this kind of shopping mall exists every single place in the world. The model has been aggressively exported, so much so that the possession of such a mall and its omnipresence over the surrounding streets in the area is truly the mark of a big city. A globalized city, which means that the experience is the same no matter where you go. And that explains the crowd: I heard many different languages when I was walking around inside, but not much French. I was addressed in only English and Chinese. And though the latter may seem surprising, if you go to any large shopping mall anywhere in the world, and I do mean everywhere, you will find that it is the farthest thing from surprising.
So that was my day! I had a lot of free time, maybe a little too much. I could have used a little more company than I had. But I did get to think a lot, which is never a bad thing: about laïcité, about globalization, and somehow, about bread. Even though I barely had any today.
For more of my random ramblings in this beautiful city, read my other Ramblings en Voyage! Fondly with love, bread, and love of bread — Juliann.
