Presented in no particular fashion, here's a brief assortment of thoughts I've gathered during my first six days in the City of Lights.
1. 3-D movies are way better in France than they are in America. It's stupid why, really. The screen is much more narrow, the seats are too tall which might seem better for your head to rest, but I think they compensated for it in the extremely narrow rows (Wayne Simien - you'd definitely struggle with this seating arrangement), and the cushions lack...well, cush. Though for some reason, I left this french film not feeling like I'd barf from the motion sickness those American 3-D versions give me. These frenchmen do 3-D right!
2. I can always tell a woman is french if: 1) She's probably wearing a simple, unflattering dress. 2) She's wearing seemingly uncomfortable shoes. I would never choose to walk miles and miles in those, but I guess I don't know that, because I've been brainwashed into thinking my feet need to have $$ and a brand name from The Walking Company attached to them. 4) She is NOT wearing a backpack. (P.S. I totaly thoughts this was the new trend and was excited to bring mine to Europe. Forget that...I've learned that backpacks scream 'TOURIST!' and a typical bag worn by a true Parisian is rather lame, black or brown and has a short arm strap. Nothing over-indulgent. Nothing to bring too much attention. 3) They have narrow shoulders and a small frame. No curves, no fat (?!), no muscles, little make-up; a bit boring actually. 4) They ooze confidence and are pretty intense by nature.
3. Life without air Conditioning and ice 24/7 is actually okay.
4. Public Transportation = Amazing! America, please step your swag up a level! From accessible trains to different countries, metros every other block, bike pick-up and drop-off stations, busses, Vespas and Segways, it's all covered
5. Hard as I may try, I do my best to speak french to pretty much everyone. Yes, it's rusty and my teachers, Madame Waldo from high school and whoever my teacher was in college did a great job, but that stuff flew out about as quick as it came in. What I can't figure out, though, is how these French seem to just know I'm not from France. I'll say one word, Bonjour, and they automatically turn on their English language. Plus, they'll spot me from afar! If I'm stopped on the street, they ask, "Tu as American?", or "Etes-vous en vacance?" Hey, maybe I'm not American and maybe I'm not on vacation! And maybe I'm trying to blend into your culture and dress like you! Maybe it's the bright red Coach backpack? Help me understand!
6. French men. Here are my thoughts: From what I can gather, they seem to be terribly skinny and, even worse, terribly short. Oh, but Praise Jesus I'm here for three more weeks because I'm thinking that the tall, broad shouldered, muscular men are hiding out somewhere I have yet to discover.