Les Belles Vivantes

As much fun as it is to be a student abroad, enjoying all of the touristy experiences with American friends, there’s nothing quite like total immersion in another culture. Here in France, that may mean learning to be a “belle vivante” and enjoying the high culture: sipping a Kir at the Hotel le Bristol, appreciating the delicate nuances of good Calvados in Normandy, or even just learning the difference between a good boulangerie and a great boulangerie based on the baguettes in the window.But there are also less expensive experiences that are nonetheless so typically Parisian you know you couldn’t possibly find them anywhere else: opening up a bottle of wine amongst friends on the Pont des Arts, over a tombstone in Pere Lachaise, on the Isle de la Cite, or even simply in a random park, the name of which you will never remember.

It was in just such a park that a couple of classmates and I had one of our first impromptu cultural experiences. We had picked up a bottle of wine and some lunch after class, then found a nearby park where we could eat, read poetry, and relax in the sun. As we were reading, a tall man with a giant can of Heineken walked by and called out, “Sante!” We returned the greeting and took a drink ourselves, and before we knew it he had joined us on the grass.

Most Americans shy away from political conversation when they meet strangers. Not so with Parisians. Our new friend quickly listed off several of the preferred anti-American stereotypes that you hear frequently overseas: Americans are violent, Americans can’t speak other languages, Bush, Obama, Bush, Obama, and so on and so forth. We decided to change the topic, and when we noted his accent, he informed us that he was from Equitorial Guinea—then immediately threw his visa to the ground before us and informed us that he was a law student. If this were not enough of a lesson on French racial politics, he then continued by adamantly assuring us that Africans were not rapists, and if they were, it was because they

learned to rape when they came to Europe.

There didn’t seem to be any appropriate response to this statement, so we simply began reading aloud some Baudelaire. He mentioned that he had written some poetry himself, and recited aloud an amazing piece of spoken word poetry, not all of which I could understand, but which was nonetheless really enjoyable to listen to. We continued reading for a bit, and he invited us to stay for a while so he could bring his friends and play some African music in the park. Unfortunately, however, it was time to go.

Soon after, we had an entirely different live music experience—proving that not everything in Paris is that different from what you might find at home. We heard about an electronica party in the Parc des Buttes Chaumont with the DJ from Hot Chip, so of course we decided we had to check it out. When we arrived, we found all of the familiar trappings of quality electronica (albeit, in a giant glass building in a beautiful 150-year-old park). The crowd was young and hipster, drinks were small and overpriced, and the smoking terrace was crowded beyond capacity. We soon befriended some young Parisians, who hung out with us during the party, then stole some beers from the afterparty and invited us to hang out with them some more. After a quick, illegal ride on the back of a Vespa, we found ourselves in one of the few late-night bars in the area. There we chatted, listened to music, and tried absinthe-- I have no idea why absinthe is not more popular in the States.

When I started this post I was planning on steering clear of too much alcohol-related material. I had planned to write about French dinner parties on the Seine. About luncheons out in the countryside. About sailing trips in Bretagne.... but come to think of it, the French always manage to get through a few bottles of champagne and wine at those events, too. So I guess there's nothing else to say, but Vive la France!

For more notes on French culture, please see the video below:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X5hrUGFhsXo