Paris

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 26, 2000

***I never dreamed of going to Paris. Yet tomorrow, there I’ll be, testing the effectiveness of learning language by cassette tapes and subtitled films. Damn my lifetime lack of ambition and foresight! I distinctly remember the moment in seventh grade when we were forced to select either Spanish or French as the foreign language to study for the rest of our public-school sentence. I chose Spanish by default: one could not effectively eavesdrop on conversations held by the predominantly Latino population of San Diego by learning French. And what good would French do me in nearby Tijuana, Mexico? Honestly.

I know I’m a hopeless non-romantic, but my indifference to the City of Lights puzzles me nonetheless: after all, one of my favorite childhood movies was Gay Purr-ee, an animated musical romp through cancan-crazed Paris starring Judy Garland and Robert Goulet as cats. But who knows—maybe I would’ve been equally enchanted by the movie had it been set in Hoboken, NJ. Or perhaps the sleazy antics of Gene Kelly in An American in Paris and the disturbing carnival capers of Leslie Caron in Lili canceled out the magic Gay Purr-ee once held for me.

Whatever the reason, Paris will still be the first European city I ever set foot in, and I reckon I could do worse. My motive for going to Paris, truth be known, is the three-day Holidays in the Sun punk festival in Berlin. Terribly juvenile, I know, but if my passion for British punk broadens my horizons culturally and linguistically, what the hell. I’m sure people have globetrotted with less in mind.

Oooo! My incorrigible sweet tooth is beginning to tingle with anticipation of Parisian patisseries....

But my stomach is starting to turn with dread....It’s been a long time—nearly a decade—since I’ve been somewhere where Asians aren’t a regular part of the social landscape, and according to many firsthand accounts, I shouldn’t count on seeing Asians outside of tour groups. The French are also big on staring, so I’ve been told. Great. So perhaps I’ll overload their delicate senses with my non-Gallic, non-Western features as well as with my unnaturally colored hair and whatnot. Or maybe I’ll internally combust from the pressure of pretending not to notice. It’s been too long. I’m so out of practice.

Berlin is reputedly a more progressive city than Paris. Maybe I should’ve given it a little more consideration before allotting it just four nights of my life....

Well, no point in worrying about it now.

I intend to take mass pictures and notes with never-before-seen fervor so that when I’m finally back in the U.S., I’ll know what I actually did. No more hazy memories! And hopefully, note-taking will prevent me from losing my mind (an unfortunately common occurrence when outside U.S. bounds).

Day 1

(PS: Bill Bryson's Neither Here nor There: Travels in Europe is still the funniest travelogue I've ever read. I like him. He makes me laugh so hard I cry.)