STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND

Sorry to have the long hiatus from the exilicism. August in France is wonderful; I travelled a good bit and also enjoyed an empty Paris during the compulsory holidays. I will update with a few selections, promise.

For now, I am back in Memphis while I file for my carte de séjour, a 2-3 month process. It must be filed for in the US and in person at the consulate in Atlanta, as I am a resident of Tennessee. (Much to my chagrin.) The proverbial "THEY" say that one way to test if someone is really ready for permanent living in France is if they can deal with the red-tape without donning a suicide helmet. (I also promise to make a post about suicide helmets. Don't read it if you don't get dark humor.) I am very frustrated, but I think it has more to do with espresso withdrawals than bureaucracy.

One of the first things I noticed upon arrival in America was the TALKING. Everywhere, there were people TALKING and I could UNDERSTAND EVERYTHING! My first example is two women in their mid twenties, in line behind me in customs:

WOMAN 1: where did you get those jeans??? SOOOO cute!!!

WOMAN 2: TARGET!!!!! Can you believe it? And feel them, they are so SOFT!

WOMAN 1: Oh my GOD- they ARE! And, they look just like "Sevens!"

WOMAN 2: I KNOW. I just love Target. I mean everything is so CUTE, and I can't afford $150 for a pair of jeans, so yes, Target is the place for me.

WOMAN 1: Who can these days? And not just the economy, but we have to think of Africa and all.

Now, I could make lots of probably more useful and less cynical observations about this particular conversation, including the fact that I have been just as guilty of such speeches. But it was really strange to me to be overhearing such "banter." And I do not actually believe that the French (in my particular case) or whichever peoples one has returned from the midst of, to be any less insipid. But I did forget all about chit-chat. And I must admit that my antisocial tendencies have been extraordinarily pleased to be oblivious of the fact of chit-chat. In my time there, I have learned to understand French quite well, but I have to pay attention. If I don't pay attention, all the talking happening around me is just noise. It could easily be interchanged with sirens or traffic or church bells. I am not forced to be at the auditory whims of whomever happens to be standing within ten feet of me, and I have come to discover how much I really enjoy that. In Paris, I can always be in my own reverie, whenever I feel like checking out into imaginationland. (Yet another worthwhile post topic, I assume.)

Right after I went through customs I made a beeline for the doors to have the requisite smoke. My body had been deprived of nicotine for about 10 hours- 8 1/2 for the flight time and the rest consumed by lines- and I came outside near where one can valet their car. The valet boys were all standing around doing was I was about to do. I had to smoke 3 or 4 cigarettes in a row to make up for that time, so I was standing there nearly 20 minutes. It might be funny, but I won't relate that conversation as it would mainly consist of all the symbols on the number pad of the keyboard and dashes and references to ladies' body parts. Needless to say, I was no more encouraged about the state of affairs.

When I did make it back to Memphis, it was bittersweet. Bitter because nothing is the same, and sweet because nothing is the same. Per this posting's title, I intend to treat my time here as a "Fair Witness," something that with practice, could be a generally useful skill. For now, I'll work on finding a little job, a comfortable couch to sleep on, and keep at my French, in absentia.