How to Be a Parisian Tourist
by Ethan Gilsdorf
Speak Loudly in English
Whether you're sitting in a smoke-choked cafe, queued up for croissants or asking how to get to the nearest Metro, there's no better way to receive a generous response than by simply conversing in your native Anglo tongue. Stand erect, head bobbing with annoyance, your bright yellow Gortex shell blinding the drably dressed Parisians around you, and announce, "Two slices of ... what is that? Pie. That one." Wag two fingers, demonstrating your generously effort - selfless, in fact - to use internationally-recognized hand signals. Add, "Two." If the puzzled server retrieves your pastries, even with a blank or angry face, it is appropriate at this moment to ask, rapidly, "How much do I owe ya?" your exotic Long Island tongue lashing about the bakery.
Follow the Crowd
Surely there is no more magnificent method to explore this fine city than by bus, or on foot, surrounded by those familiar and comforting faces from home. In fact, your visit to Notre Dame or Le Louvre will be that much more authentic, that much more actual, that much more safely enjoyable if you exile yourself to the company of your countrymen and women. Imagine a boring, desolate and potentially challenging Sacre Coeur mounted by yourself. How scary, to experience a foreign place with no one at whom to yell, "Hey, Frank, comhere!" Then picture the same beloved pilgrimage, the very one you'd already seen in a hundred travel brochures, mobbed with a thousand faces and two dozen nationalities! Already you fit in. And the cafe has been expecting your party of 75, including Frank, for weeks.
Dress for Effect
It is not enough in Paris simply to be fashion conscious. You must make your own statement, and what better place to put your best white sneaker forward than on the gray cobblestones of France's fashion capitol. Can you keep up with the spring mode displayed on the bodies passing brusquely by? Unlikely, and even if you could afford the clothes, your olive-on-a-toothpick physiques could barely squeeze into them. Instead, just wear what you know and love best. That aqua fisherman's cap, red trousers and blue and white striped rugby are just fine. Don't try to pretend you live here, or disguise your outsider status. In Paris, the locals respect the bold and brave! If you want to wear matching his and her's "Las Vegas" green-tinted visors, "I Escaped Alcatraz" sweatshirts, stonewashed Best Price jeans, candy-colored fanny packs and brand new black berets, go and the City of Lights shall be yours.
Be Aggressive
There's really no reason to be meek in Paris. Why stand in line with the rest of the dreck when you can march right to the front of a 300 meter line snaking its way across the Centre Pompidou plaza? Make your demands clear: do not hold back. If you need to get in the nightclub ahead of everyone else, you should simply make your move and call out "Lemme talk to your boss" (in English, of course, for the French are intimidated by shows of force - fearing you may have a gun). Likewise, late nights on the Metro, even if you've consumed half a case of Chardonnay, it is perfectly acceptable to shriek with the loudest of possible voices, making no attempt to conceal the country of your origin. Being drunk, you are entitled to swallow up everyone's blanket of tranquillity. On the receiving end of a disapproving stare? Remind yourself, and the "offended," it's the French who love to drink wine at dinner.
Make Generalizations
Even if you've enjoyed Paris for the slimmest of weeks, feel free to draw big conclusions. Only seen the street-level action between the hotel, the Champs Elysees and La Tour Eiffel? No problem. Having no unmitigated experiences, strong beliefs or memorable impressions should not hinder your ability to slap together a few wild generalizations. Paris dog shit, quality baguettes, crazy drivers, cold stares, cigarette proliferation: on all of these subjects you are suddenly an expert. If your waiter at Les Deux Magots ignored you for ten minutes while you waited impatiently for l'addition, by all means chisel in your head the most unfavorable portrait of French restaurant service and feel free to declare it at will. Upon your return home, it would not be unkind to say, "You know, it's true, the French really don't like Americans. I don't know why."
Ethan Gilsdorf lives in Paris with his wife Isabel, and is right about everything except the black beret reference. Black berets, when worn with Seahawks jackets, have the ability to render an American invisible in any Parisian jazz club.
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