vanity meets romance

Mec is French-argot for boy. Mec is an impersonal term that I will use to keep him anonymous, out of respect not because you would know him, obviously.

Two weeks ago, on the first day of Christian Anthropology, un mec approached me during the break, which is necessary for a 3-h class (the break not the approach). He kindly asked me from where I hailed knowing very well that I was not a regular student of Le Catho being female, white and blonde, under 30, and wearing jeans. He’s considering studying in Quebec next year and was exciting to hear of my Canadian roots. He proposed that we meet over coffee later that week as an occasion for me to practice French and for him to learn a little about Canada. I was thrilled to have made a French friend so quickly and effortlessly that I passed over my information without thinking twice. Ten minutes after class I get an SMS (text) from him. I return home and have an email in my inbox from him. Come midnight I get a call from him to let me know that he was thinking about me. It didn't take me long to realize what I had gotten myself into, probably after reading the SMS earlier that day to be honest. During the phone call he invites me out to dinner for that Friday (so much for “coffee”) and I say yes, still looking forward to an evening of French conversation and confident that I could handle the situation despite questions running through my head. But being the [somewhat] responsible person I am, I have my girlfriends back me up by meeting me at the Louvre at 9pm just in case I needed an escape route. During the [3hour] dinner I hear about most of le mec’s life, including really personal information that one (an American?) doesn’t typically share on a first ‘date’. As well as all of the incredible things he's done in his life, such as work at MIT for a year, discover something scientific that I didn’t quite catch because of translation complications, volunteer for African children transitioning into Parisian culture, teach as a professor at a university here in Paris, etc etc. On one hand I was spending time with a really awesome guy from Congo who's experienced so much in life and wants to give back to the world and is passionate about bioethics, but on the other hand he's also telling me [over and over and over again] how glad he is that I'm with him, that we need to spend a lot of time together, that he knew the minute he saw me he wanted me, that he needs affection in his life and I'm the one to provide it. Apparently I didn't get a say in the matter, we were going to get married and have a family together. I tell him no, and spell out the obvious reasons why, including 1) that I'm in Paris for 6 months; 2) that I want to do my own things here and not be responsible for maintaining a relationship with 1 person; 3) that I'm taking 7 classes and travelling every weekend and have no time; and 4) that I don't know him...at all. He immediately got upset and became quiet (dinner then became awkward). Eventually 20h30 rolled around and he nicely accompanied me on the metro to the Louvre where we exchanged casual goodbyes and I met up with my friends.

He called me the next day to see if I wanted to do something with him on Valentines Day, I said I was busy, which was fortunately true.

He called me on Valentines Day to wish me a Happy Valentines Day and that he was thinking about me.

I get an SMS at 6: 30 in the morning on Monday. Some of it went like this:

"... Je me sens très amoureux de toi. J'ai bcp pensé à toi cette nuit …"
the loose translation being, «…I am very much in love with you and thought about you a lot last night...”

At 7am he sent me another SMS insisting that I immediately respond because he wanted to see me. Euphemistically, I was not pleased. My initial reaction was an angry “no”. But then I decided to be the bigger person, accept 1 more lunch date and tell him in person that he needs to stop expressing his love. I responded that I had only 1 hour that day for lunch, so we ate quickly. I asked him how he could know he was in love already, an obvious question, to which he responded that love is not something one looks for, it's something one finds, and finding something takes only a second. To be anti-climatic and end this quickly, he eventually understood that he was making me uncomfortable and has since stopped all correspondences.

I had not intended on posting this story online, hence the 2 week delay, but then I remembered my blog is a journal of my time in Paris, and this interesting encounter has played a significant enough role in my stay so far that I felt it belonged on blogger. As a compromise I left a lot out.

Yes mom, I’ve learned my lesson.

le partage des sentiments

"Une fois la, porte ouverte
Une fois mes oreilles couvertes
Par le bruit des chansons
Je m’aventure, au dehors
Je ne pense même plus à mes morts
Je souris, j’ai l’air con
Le vent de Paris me caresse
Je suis en vie, je suis heureux..."
- Bensé

point of view

I continue to observe, and to note, but unless I get posting, these miscellaneous observations will reach exponential proportions. (Yes, I like commas).

So, in honor of lightening the load, let me share some of these M.Obs…

Everything’s small, really small; the Champs Elysée has at least 7 cinemas; teenagers and their ipods are like fruit and loops; too many talented musicians live in the metro stations; the wife always listens to her husband; MacDo has the best and the cheapest cappuccinos in Paris; it takes a car approximately 6 minutes to get out of its miniature parking spot; too much bread; you have to buy movie tickets in advance on Sundays, otherwise the 500-seat theatre will sell out before you arrive; white wine & blueberry mix make a happy couple; black has always been and will always be the new black; students ignore classroom hierarchy; tea is too expensive; Paris is more international than Vancouver; it’s cheaper to drink your café at the bar than at a table; at times I have to wait in line to run in Parc Monceau; couples are either yelling or making out; PDA is more than tolerated; there were 16 commercials & trailers before the last movie I saw; audience applause after performances can last more than 10 minutes; there are too many pigeons; it either snows or rains; a slice of pizza is the size of a small child; Lady GaGa is bigger here than in the US; museums are free for students; there are 2 sales a year and this one unfortunately ends tomorrow; there was a guy on the metro yesterday who was wearing a mask and holding a fixed-blade knife; poop is not scooped; for the 1st time in my life I can’t sleep in because I’m worried I’ll miss out on something wonderful.

Today was a good day.

très funny.

I just came across the best cultural difference yet.

After spending a little over an hour researching running races in and around Paris, I found one that seemed perfect called Marathon de Cheverny in, well, Cheverny, France. (I have yet to run a full marathon so the length of the race was not the ‘perfect’ part). It begins and ends at the Cheverny castle and along the way one runs through alternating countryside and forest. Like all running races la Marathon offers their runners entertainment and stops along the way. Unlike the races I’ve run, however, not all of these ‘drinking’ stations are in fact ‘drinking’ stations, but wine and cheese stops! I can’t think of anything I’d want less at that 38km mark than goat cheese and Cheverny wine.

As much as I love French food, I think I'll pass.