The Nouveaux Weds: December 2010

So many thoughts, emotions, impressions on our first trip back to the States since moving to Paris in January.... Here are a few notes from the first leg of that trip, Washington, DC:

Our return to American soil was rough -- literally. Our plane landed hard on the runway at a rain-soaked Dulles Sunday and skidded to a stop. The cabin was silent for a few seconds, until everyone realized we were OK. We then spent ten minutes pulled just off the runway, as the pilots made sure the landing gear hadn't been damaged. The plane made whirring sounds, then fell silent; we would heave forward for a few seconds, then shudder to a stop. Finally we taxied to the gate and disembarked. As we were walking off the plane, a fireman was making his way up the other aisle to the cabin. "Now I gotta talk to the captain," he said.

At passport control, there were several flat-screen TVs up on a wall. One was showing the Redskins game, and as we stood there, Fox cut away to show the roof of the Metrodome leak, sag and then finally tear under the weight of all the snow on it, sending however many tons of it spilling thunderously on to the empty field.

One of the more bizarre things about being back is that we can understand everything that we read and hear. Here are a few signs in my native language that I saw that struck me:

"May I help you?" Badge worn by the shy young man who directed people to the various lines at passport control. There was not much directing to be done. Ours was the only arriving flight, and there were about ten lanes to choose from. As he did his thing, two females co-workers, equally young, stood behind him in their uniforms of yellow shirts and black pants and chatted to themselves.

"Try on a pair of shoes, get a smartphone." Sign in a store at the Tysons Corner mall, where we hung out for a few hours after arriving on Sunday, as we waited with the friend who picked us up for another frend to arrive at Dulles so we could swing back to the airport and pick her up. It was an enticing offer, but I did not investigate further.

"Gushers." The name of a snack at the end of an aisle in the aptly named Giant supermarket (American supermarkets are truly massive in comparison to French ones) near where we were staying.

"The American Spirit: Meeting the Challenges of September 11." Title of a book on the shelf of the apartment where we stayed. There's exceptionalism everywhere -- not least of all France -- but here's our unique can-do American spirit encapsulated in a book title: 9/11 as an obstacle to be surmounted, like conquering the frontier.

"I'm making money on the Internet while driving! Are you?" Advertisement painted on every visible square inch of a Honda Accord waiting in morning rush-hour traffic.

"EVACUATION ROUTE." Blue sign above the standard green street sign on Wisconsin Avenue. Does that mean that there's a sign somewhere in the Maryland suburbs indicating that "You Have Reached SAFETY (brought to you by Raytheon)," where young men and women in yellow and black direct you to available parking spaces?

A Ghanain cabbie drove us to where we had to pick up our bus to Philadelphia. I don't know his name, but he was very talkative, and he's a huge Pittsburgh Steelers fan. There were numerous Steelers stickers on the inside and outside of the cab, and he pulled out a Steelers cap and scarf from the armrest between the two front seats. He and Ashley talked the entire way to the bus -- among other things about immigrants who come to the U.S. and then criticize the country (his take: "Then leave!"); Muslim immigrants to France who fail to integrate; all the international news networks available on Comcast (Russian, Arabic, Asian et al.); peace in the Middle East (he thought the Palestinians were not well served by Arafat); and George W. Bush, whom he called "uncle Bush." He showed us his AARP magazine, which had Bush on the cover and an interview inside, and he joked about the limited regrets Bush said he has about his presidency (e.g., no WMDs). He also said that no recent president had done more for Africa in terms of financial aid than Bush.

I didn't add anything to the conversation except to ask how he had become a Steelers fan. (Answer: he had gone to a small college in West Virginia, where two friends -- a white hippie with long hair and another guy -- introduced him to weed and took him to his first American strip club. They also told him to root for Pittsburgh. Since then, the Steelers have been in five Super Bowls, winning four, the lone loss being to the Dallas Cowboys. And then he was off on the subject of Jerry Jones's "60 Minutes" interview Sunday night....) I was content to soak it all in....

-- MBB

On one of those bizarre buses that take you from the international terminal to passport control and baggage claim at Dulles. Note the emergency vehicle outside.

As I sit here looking outside at the slush coating the sidewalk, I am trying hard to hold back my tears. It has been almost ten hours since I sauntered down the stairs of 2 rue Pentiere, having attended a fantastic Hanukah party, and feeling very fortunate to have spent my day in festive snow-covered Paris, when those feelings of bliss came to an abrupt stop. As we had been told in the party just four floors above, this area of Paris is the safest. Sarkozy is also a resident of 75008, and therefore police are in abundance and crime is minimal. So why can’t the odds be against me in something like the lotto? But instead, sitting in the spot where my heinous Fit Flop boots once stood, was nothing but a dust bunny. And I know he didn’t steal them.

When we first moved to Paris almost one year ago I was very conscious of my attire. Did I look American? What needed to be done so that I meshed in with the black coats, chic hats, and sleek boots? But as winter is upon us once more, I no longer feel that need. Perhaps it is attributed to the fact that after three months, I am still picking up prescriptions for French vicodin in mangled French at the pharmacie, or perhaps it is because I am finally starting to feel at home here (and now that H&M is selling sweatpants on the Champs-Elysees, I may pull those out for daily wear as well). My FitFlop boots allow me to painlessly fly around the metro and RER, scurrying from lesson to lesson, and yesterday, helped to make the stint down Avenue Kleber far less treacherous in the newly fallen snow in which all the other Parisians had opted for their Chanel boots instead. It felt so good to be able to silently snicker as I cascaded without care, watching everyone else hobble and slide. Deep black slush at each corner? Bring it on.

But as I turned the corner on the staircase last night, knowing that my safe and warm walk to the metro was almost in sight, it was more than just a financial loss that stared back at me from an empty space next to the oak table in the foyer. I felt that part of my identity had been stolen, just when I was starting to get it back. As we return home in just a few days (barring no snow), I will find it quite interesting to see where I stand (and what I will be standing in). My life here has made me change in so many ways, and has made me compromise myself in ways I never imagined. I don’t dare say that it has been a flop, but I was fit to be tied last night. And I don’t think it was because I am now wearing Uggs instead.