Culture Shock... Maybe?

Les avions et les taxis...

After having already traveled to France once I wasn’t really expecting to have culture shock. Nor was I expecting to get that lovely travel bug that people get. However, this time it all hit me right in the face. My flight to Germany and then France was great. The flight attendants kept talking to me in German, even after telling them several times that I can’t speak German. Always made me laugh a little when they would ask the Americans around me what they wanted, in English, and then ask me what I wanted in German. The food was pretty good for airline food, Condor fed us a few times, Lufthansa fed us once (which was nice since it was only an hour or two plane flight) which I can say is much more than I ever received for food on an American airline.

Once I got off the plane in France everything was pretty great there too. I got my luggage without problem. Then I realized that I might need a France stamp in my passport for my yearlong visa. First information desk that I asked was extremely nice and even spoke with me in French the whole time. I went to the desk that I was told to go to and was told that only the police in France give stamps for visas of which I’m pretty sure isn’t true… Luckily another worker was walking by and heard what was said to me and explained that I only needed a stamp from within the Schengen area. None of that was too horrible either really, pretty much what I expected.

Now, here is what I didn’t expect. Since I had left my euros at home by accident I only had my bankcard, and I really didn’t want to pay the $5 fee to use the HSBC ATMs at Charles de Gaulle… So I set off to find a taxi that accepted bankcards foreign. My first taxi, yes first, I asked up front before he put my luggage in his car if he accepted bank cards and he paused for a moment and then kept putting my luggage in his car. Being American (I guess) I just assumed that pause was him confirming that he accepted bank cards. To my demise I soon realized, or rather saw, that there was a sign in his car saying “ne pas accepter les carts bancaires et les chèques dans cette voiture” (cards and cheques are not accepted in this car) so I automatically tell him “je n’ai pas de monie sur moi. J’ai juste cette carte” (I do not have any cash on me, just my card) and held up my bank card. He stomps on the breaks and turns off to the side of the road yelling at me in French and then finally asks me what I propose to do. I calmly explained that there is an ATM close to my foyer and I would be willing to get cash out there for him. He didn’t like that idea at all and asked again what I propose should be done. Finally I just responded in English telling him to bring me back to the airport. For the next two minutes I got to listen to him curse me out in French saying “putain de merde (quelque chose) qui a (mot je ne sais pas) .. merde… chez moi ce matin” (fucking shit who shit in my house this morning) along with so many other words I couldn’t keep up with. When we got to the airport he acted like he wanted to keep my luggage until I paid him (20 euros even though we had just gotten off the ramp of CDG and went back to the airport…) but luckily the lady who directed all of the taxis made him give me back my stuff and sent him on his way, with another client of course. I started to walk back into the airport when she stopped me and asked in French if I needed a taxi that accepted cards and found me one.

My new taxi driver was amazing. He was Vietnamese so it was an easy conversation starter with how many Vietnamese friends I have. He told me that he was originally from Ho Chi Minh City and that his family has two restaurants in Paris. For some reason he kept thinking I had a Vietnamese girlfriend (language barrier problems with badly spoken French [me] and badly spoken English [him]). I was honestly sad when we arrived at my foyer and just wanted to keep talking with him. He only charged me 51e for my taxi ride and told me that when I go back home I should call him and he will charge me the same price. Might just call him and have him drive me somewhere to talk with someone friendly! 


Le Foyer...

The foyer ended up not being what I was expecting. My bedroom has stains all over the walls, the wall trim has cracks in the paint, and the windowsill has cracks in it to the point that nothing can be put on it. If it wouldn’t cost so much I would just paint my room… The things that really got me were the burn marks throughout the room on the floor.  I called my mom crying saying that I just wanted to come home and not study here anymore. Luckily my mom is great and calmed me down telling me to just unpack my things and buy cleaning stuff soon as well as a rug to put on the floors. Really she was probably thinking YES YES PLEASE COME HOME. Thank you mom.

After being here for several days things have become a lot smoother. The hardest part is not having internet or a cell phone to call home that doesn’t cost 1.29 a minute. Hopefully I get a French cellphone plan tomorrow.

Originally I wanted to post all of the “behind the scenes” of study abroad, such as getting a visa, etc. Instead I’m going to have to make post ‘placeholders’ for these and write them at a later date.

À bientôt mes amis!