The Grass is Always Greener

I’ve recently moved back to the States, finishing up a two-year stint living and working in the French capital.  Although I loved living in Paris and certainly do not rule out living there in the future, a part of me would always long for the States.  I am relieved to be back on the East coast, mais c’est sur, Paris me manque.  Yet, I now realize that many things I once found irritating about France I now long for. Dining out.  Dining out in France can be exasperating. Service is slow.  Service can often be unfriendly.  Or there may be a total lack of service, period.  Frequently there exists an inability to have it your way (i.e., special requests such as hold the onions, sauce on the side, or substitutions are often treated with disdain).  Furthermore, it is often difficult to combine dinner with another evening event – dinner and movie, dinner and the theater, etc., because dinner – typically three or four courses – can last for an undefined amount of time.  Waiting for the bill has been known to last as long as the dinner itself. In the U.S., I am usually treated to quick, friendly and accommodating service.  I get the check without even asking.  This is what I had been longing for over the past two years. But alas, France has changed me.  I am no longer content to have my main dish served just moments after I finish my starter.  What happened to taking time to talk with friends, what happened to digesting?  The check arrives even before I have shoveled in my last spoonful of dessert, and I know it would be unacceptable to dawdle around and chat for another hour or so as is common in France. Fashion fascists.  In Paris, everyone is always dressed up, trying, I feel, to impress each other.  I hated what I dubbed the snobbist, conformist reality.  From time to time all I wanted to do on the week-end would be to don a fresh pair of jeans, a crisp fitted t-shirt, and Nikes.  But once I went out, I felt like a slob, as everyone was still nearly as dressy as if they were going to the office or to their rich in-laws for dinner. Here in the U.S., I can certainly wear anything I want.  People here are casual, and believe in the prerogative to dress however they wish.  But now, people keep annoyingly asking me, “Why are you so dressed up?” even when what I’m wearing would be considered casual-wear in Paris.  It’s nice to look nice, and not be bothered about it.  I’ll admit that American fashion is often not very easy on the eyes, as now I’m frequently horrified by want people wear out in public.  I have become the fashion fascist. Size.  In France, most everything is small in comparison to its American counterpart.  I immediately noticed small servings of beverages, smaller meal portions, small elevators, small cars, small sidewalks, and small stores, all things I originally found bothersome.  As an American, I was born and bred to cherish space, size, and quantity, and all in the biggest proportions possible. But back State-side, I now cringe at our huge, gas-guzzling vehicles, oversized and gluttonous portions served in restaurants, and the complexity and huge sizes of supermarkets.  I find my large two-liter bottle of soda going flat before I have a chance to finish it.  Those smaller bottles in France now seem logical. Markets.  I always loved the novelty of going to the markets to buy food in France.  Fruits and vegetables are always fresh, really fresh.  So fresh that if you want to eat and cook properly, it means irritatingly trekking to the market a few times a week, because most things are so fresh and pesticide or preservative free that they won’t last the whole semaine. In the States, I have never been so appalled by merely walking through a supermarket in my life.  Frozen foods abound.  Processed concoctions are everywhere.  People are coming out of Costco with two full oversized shopping carts.  I long for the simplicity of daily markets. La Francais.  Conversational, but not fluent in French, I often found communication exasperating.  Masculine, feminine, pronunciation…  I could not wait to be back in the land of where I understood everything.  However, now I miss trying to learn the language.  I miss the power I’d feel when I’d understand a conversation not meant for me, or the satisfaction I’d get from having an intelligible discussion. What are things that each country has that clearly wins over the other; where can I choose to favor one country and not have a change of heart?  One item immediately sticks out for each side. For the U.S., it’s toilets, more specifically, toilets in restaurants or bars.  In France, it is not uncommon to find a Turkish toilet in many of your run of the mill although unsophisticated cafés, brasseries, or pubs (Turkish toilets merely consist of a hole in the floor and suggested places of where to put your feet).   Not so here.  States wins hands down. France wins for alcoholic beverages made from grapes.  Countless bottles of excellent yet inexpensive wine with every dinner are an exception rather than the rule in the U.S.  The country which boasts the only champagne-producing area in the world wins hands down. The grass is always greener on the other side. Bonjour Paris is pleased to have Lisa Raykovicz as a contributor.