Markets have been a staple of Paris life and culture for hundreds of years, and are the perfect test tube for our experiment of living Parisian. Our apartment is in the 12th Arrondissement, which has morning Markets just down the street from us every Tuesday and Friday, and evening Markets a few blocks away every Wednesday and Saturday. We live in the Bercy (pronounced "bear” “something-caught-in-my-throat” “see") neighborhood. One would think that the Spanish r roll would work for the French r, but not even close. The guttural French r is almost German, or so I shared in our first French class Monday morning. Madame was not even slightly amused at this comparison, glaring over her glasses at me and flying off in such a rapid French verbal whipping that I immediately realized my faux pas. For Americans, the Big War is a thing of the Great Past. Not so for the average European, even a generation or two later.
Our French class is a microcosm of our New World, which seems to shrink daily as the internet and travel options bring us closer than ever to the scary foreigners of my youth. Ron and I are the eldest, and the only Americans. We have two beautiful women from Russia (Ron imagines they are Red Sparrows – he could be right!). We have a young man from Korea. He smiled at my German analogy, and during a break confided that he spoke “un peu” German. Madame overheard him (she notices everything!) and immediately warned me: When a Korean tells you he knows “a little” of something, he is close to fluent! We have a young man from Argentina. He too could be a model. Then there are the two women from China, and a young man from Ecuador. Finally, there is a woman of indiscriminate age who as best we can tell is from some South American country. She has lived in Paris for over a year, which is shocking, as she arrives late every morning (class begins at 11:00 am) and looks as if she just woke up and has no idea where she is. She reminds me of those strange white long-legged wading birds I would see in the Publix parking lot, always impossibly perched on a single stand of grass, looking around like “Dude – where are we?” Mon Dieu – look at the time! I don’t want to be late for class…
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