Knock knock

As anyone who has ever moved knows, it takes a while to settle in to a new place, and to make friends.   It can be particularly hard if you are only going to be somewhere for a short time.  You can see the light turn off in some folks' eyes when they hear you are leaving in a few months.  But others hang in there and become lifelong friends - thank you Jennifer E and Kathy B!)

Having moved many times as a kid and an adult, I am very aware that you have to really TRY to meet people in a new place.  Nonetheless I have been a complete chicken here because of my poor French and  also because of the cultural differences.  Example, when out jogging or walking in our neighborhood or park no one looks you in the eye or nods or says hello.  If you have kids, or they do, you might glance at each other in a friendly way, but otherwise NO COMMUNICATION.  Imagine you are alone on a tiny path in a nice neighborhood on your way to the market, on market day, and someone is coming from the market with a bag full of veggies, and you don't give each other that "nice day for a walk to the market" nod.   This boggles my mind.  Is it like that in NYC?  My  not-factually-based theory is that it's leftover from WWII when you didn't know who to trust on the streets.  Thoughts?

In stores, it is very different.  Once you step through the door you are greeted in a very friendly personable manner,  (not, thank goodness, "welcome to Mo's!)  you are treated kindly, and bid a bon journée or après midi when you leave.  More on kindness when I get to the A.P.E. (PTA)

Back to the topic of being chicken, I freak out whenever the doorbell rings.  The first time it was a man checking the water gauge. He had to explain to me...admittedly the real problem is that I had to understand..that he needed me to open the garage door with a key and show him the gauge.  That exchange put me off the doorbell (opposite of pavlovian response?).  The next several visitors  (over the 4 months we've been here) were asking if we wanted to have the shrubs trimmed.  After the first guy, I learned to simply say "Ce n'est pas notre maison"  which is very effective.  

After the three tree trimmers, another man came by and said something that sounded to me like "Do you want any potatoes or shallots?"  "Ha," I thought to myself, "that's a funny translation of whatever he really said!"  I told him we did not own the place, and he asked again if we wanted any potatoes or shallots.  He looked very surprised when I said no thanks.  (I had actually just bought both.)  After he left I vowed to say "oui" to the next giver/seller of random veggies.

The next ring was someone collecting for the blind (I just happened to know the word for blind).  He also looked stunned that I said no, but I was in turn appalled that his hand thrusting his credentials towards my face held a lit smokey cigarette.  At least he wasn't collecting for lung cancer.

The most recent visitor turned out to be a neighbor telling me my car window was open. (No, I didn't understand what he wanted, but he led me out to the car and pointed) I managed to shock him by boldly INTRODUCING myself.  (Crazy American!)  Our neighbor to the side, and across the street nod in very friendly manner but we have not met.  I think we might be a little scared of each other's language, or perhaps children.

I finally connected with the school APE (PTA) in February.  First, the VP, a lovely Mom from Canada, took me to the Prefecture to help translate to resolve some visa issues for the kids for a school trip.  She waited in line with me for FOUR HOURS.  I cannot yet tell the tale of what happened there that day, or on subsequent visits, because of my PTSD. (Prefecture Traumatic Stress Disorder) . While we waited she told me about the APE weekly conversation group, and the monthly cultural events.

The conversation group has almost 40 members, about 20 of whom attend on a given week. We meet on Wednesdays, the 1/2 day of school.  The goal is to allow the parents to practice their English or French.  I have been three times and most often  everyone is so nice they try to speak English when I am in a conversation.  Today I tried a little harder, speaking some French while another parent practiced her practically perfect english.  The group is absolutely fascinating.  The hostess today was from Morocco and speaks 4 languages.  These ployglots are from all over France, Europe and the world, and many move countries regularly, so the light stays in their eyes when you explain that while you just got here, you will be leaving soon.

The cultural event last month was a docent led tour of an exhibit at the Modern Art Museum here, with lunch after at the museum.  I loved it.  This week it is a tour of Villa Cavrois,  I'm not even quite sure what it is, but I am sure I will enjoy it!

OK,  I kid you not, I was finishing this up by googling to see if there is a word for fear of doorbells (there is not)  and guess what happened?  Yes, the doorbell rang!  It was the gas man, who spoke English, phew.
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Ecole Jeannine Manuel parents at lunch after museum tour


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