Paris: A Mother's Tale

"Paris is a city that might well be spoken of in the plural...for there are many Parises, and the tourists' Paris is only superficially related to the Paris of the Parisians....Until you have wasted time in a city, you cannot pretend to know it well. The soul of a big city is not to be grasped so easily; in order to make contact with it, you have to have been bored, you have to have suffered a bit on those places that contain it. Anyone can get hold of a guide and tick off all the monuments, but within the very confines of Paris there is another city as difficult of access as Timbuktu once was."

-Julian Green, Paris

I've struggled to experience Paris in the "proper" way. On the one hand I don't want to be a tourist, standing wide-eyed at buildings that the locals have seen their entire conscious life, being duped into eating at cafes that charge exorbitant amounts of money for subpar food, or even enjoying that city in an outward manner that draws too much unwanted attention, lowering my ability to blend in with the masses.

On the other, I can't experience Paris as a local because I'm here on holiday, I do not speak very good French, and most importantly, I do not live here. As much as loathe the fact, I am not a Parisian.

Why am I pulled between two non-existing polarities?

Tourism, for all its downfalls, relies on a sort of humility. The ideal tourist is not one that hides behind a camera but who attempts to lower herself in order to learn of another culture, to open her heart to experiences that she might not otherwise experience if she stayed cut off. It might result in her mockery and failure, but the fact that she humbled herself is laudable.

Nothing inside me wants to expose my ignorance to my French hosts. If I remain silent, no one can accuse me of being the stupid American. This keeps me from going into shops and asking for help in my broken (and hopefully adorable) French. The cafes are off limits because I don't know the proper etiquette: how am I supposed to ask for the menu? how do I order red wine? what if they ask me a question I do not understand?

It's the fear of being mocked and ridiculed that stands at the center of my pride. I'd rather starve then enter a situation in a restaurant that might open me to ridicule, rather go without coffee because I'm not quite sure what the waiter will think of me. It's crippling. It's one of my many character flaws and if nothing happens, my trip will be one long insulated vacation. Luckily, Paris has not been silent.

Tyler, you cannot live this way! Paris has been yelling. Stand there like a man and open yourself to the experiences I'm offering you. If you cannot accept that you do not know what to do, if you are afraid someone might laugh at you, if you let these fears overwhelm every action you will never learn to love me. And further, I will never learn to love you!

To expand on Green's quote at the top, Paris seems to have different relationships with the people beneath her wings: some find Paris to be a mother, others a lover, still others a centerfold. I came into Paris expecting to seek Paris as a lover, to explore every part of her city streets, know each and every idiosyncrasy, discover the places that she and I could meet alone. I've been an absent lover, if one at all.

But Paris has become like a mother to me. After only a few days she knew me better than myself and revealed my weaknesses to me, not in order to ridicule but to raise me to peaks of self-mastery that I thought previously impossible. It's as a mother that she opens her arms and I know if I listen well and keenly, it's as a son that I'll return home.