Stars & Stripes Radar

Here I sit with a scraped knee and a very bruised ego. This morning marked my first day of Operation Battle of the Baguette Bulge, but with that came a long walk down Rivoli in running shoes and strapped across me, both a Le-dork-sac containing my water bottle and cell phone, and across the other side, my monogrammed pink and green yoga mat carrier. I looked like American Exercise Barbie (plus roots and minus the figure). I have tried so hard to blend in here, but exercising in general makes you stick out like a sore thumb (or in my case, a very sore knee). As my friend Carolyn and I tried to find the spot where boot camp was to begin, it soon became apparent thanks to the North Faces and exercise mats forming large, obnoxious arrows (red, white and blue) through the blooming trees. After doing way too many squats, jumping jacks, push-ups and other exercises that escape my tired brain, we rounded out the session with a “game.” A grown up form of football, with a mini-basketball, and way too much running. As the ball headed towards me, and I could almost taste the sweet success of a goal (which would make my very first in any sport I have played), but in typical American house-wife fashion, I was tackled to the ground. Competition is the main criteria in being a successful housewife in the US, is it not? Instead of tasting victory, I tasted the dust that coats the grounds of the Tuleries. As I made peace with this incident limping home, I swear I heard two well-groomed older French women cackle and say “Americaine.” If only I had still had my “Think Thin” sugar-free meal bar (a recent acquisition thanks to my U.S. visitors) to help ease the momentary pain. Chocolate and peanut butter would have been a nice distraction.

So what is it about the collective U.S.? As my friends pointed out frequently this weekend (in addition to lots of people pointing at us), we stick out. I know I have discussed this before, but this weekend it was especially pronounced, and needs mention once more. It is more than the scarf-tying and being the only one using Splenda at Starbuck’s -- the French seem to have an American radar, and it is about time that it malfunction! Although I know I should be proud when asked about my home country, instead I feel like I have a large grilled cheese and dollar sign plastered on my forehead. I do think that a lot of it is centered around the American dream -- the land of plenty (and then some). A shopkeeper we spoke to talked about her desire to retire in NYC. A man in Kremlin Bicetre was beyond thrilled that Americans had ventured into his suburbs. There is a reason Rihanna (pronounced Re-Hahna) is such a celebrity here. She represents what the world over wants: success, fame, and money--in America.

But as our time here in France lengthens, I see the “American dream” all around me. Next door there is a cadre of young men working day in and day out to prepare their new mobile phone store. The space is a little larger than our living room, but they have been sanding, painting, and pouring in their all, sunrise to sunset (which is around 9:30pm!). I plan on breaking my phone just so I can get it fixed there to give them business. It has been wonderful to watch. Or three doors down there is a little café that has popped up, serving mediocre French food (divine guacamole, though), but giving it their all. Every day I see the chairs being set up, and the young host waiting eagerly for the customers to collect.

Instead of a conclusion, I do believe I am even more confused about our stardom this weekend (I am not discounting the fact that we make quite a cute foursome). In this neighborhood alone I see the American dream alive and well. And let’s be honest, it can’t be our cuisine or our belief that gluttony is simply a way of life. So, the mystery continues…but in my quest for the answer, I have some research to do. First and foremost, I have a glass of white wine calling my name three doors down so that I can better collect my thoughts. And it won't be so bad if I accidentally spill some vino on it either, as I know where I can get it fixed!