LAUREN JACK
Paris Columnist
Ligne 4. Direction Porte D’Orleans. I step into a box where the temperature increases by 10 degrees. People are standing smashed together, but they manage to avoid making eye contact. Straight faces and tense bodies express a sense of urgency, and fluorescent lights accentuate the stoic expressions. An occasional “pardon” is the only time one will acknowledge another’s existence as hundreds of people scramble for a seat.
The screeching halt is almost a welcome sound, and I “pardon monsieur” my way out of this contraption known as “le metro.” Used by 6 million people each day, the metro perfectly exemplifies Parisian culture. Like any big city, it is crowded as people rush from arrondissement to arrondissement, which are administrative districts in larger French cities.
The air is stale. Cleanliness is not a priority (though the perfectly put-together French seem totally unaffected by it). Poverty is apparent as the homeless population seeks money from passers-by.
However, the metro is not without Parisian charm — several stations are adorned with murals and sculptures, and talented musicians fill the tunnels with exotic sounds. In an effort to be aesthetically pleasing, the severe contrast between French idealism and reality is tangibly represented within the underground confines of the metro.
But, regardless of the scenery, the most significant aspect of public transportation is how one must act. Once underground, you must exude confidence — even a sense of self-importance. You hold tight to your belongings, your head is up and you walk briskly to the train. Let other people move out of the way — you have somewhere to be. This ultimately conveys a message of independence, regardless of how dependent you are on a map and French-English dictionary. While translated as snobbish in the United States, this behavior is normal in France and is necessary unless you want to be the victim of theft or, ladies, the object of harassment by French men (who in my opinion are far too bold).
Though not as intentionally displayed outside the metro, independence is essential to surviving life in Paris. Pepperdine’s description of the Paris Fall 2006 program mentions this “is for the more independent student.” International Programs was not kidding. Living in an apartment with my roommate in the 12th arrondissement does not compare to Hayes Hall on upper dorm row, and a half-hour commute to class is not a stroll to Elkins Auditorium. Life now has more responsibilities — with challenges only possible 5,600 miles from home.
Grocery shopping at Monoprix is always an adventure since I do not always know what I am buying, and professors are unsympathetic to class schedule conflicts.
I do not live on a university campus in a city. The city is the campus and student life is real life.
That is not to say life here is not enjoyable. In the words of Allison Moomey, a program participant, “Paris is my playground.” I walk through the Luxembourg Gardens to class at the Sorbonne and, on the way home, I see the Eiffel Tower at sunset. I buy baguettes on a daily basis from the same Boulanger, who smiles and says “bonjour” even when I am just walking by.
Friday evenings include visiting the Louvre a little at a time and having dinner on Pont des Arts, which is a pedestrian-only bridge that comes alive at night with locals sharing wine and baguettes and roller skating groups who dance and shout across the Seine River. Saturdays and Sundays are for travel and exploration all over Europe, though Saturday and Sunday I went into tourist mode in Paris and gained an entirely new perspective of the city — it is impossible to see and do everything, though I intend to experience as much as possible.
That said, I cannot imagine experiencing Paris without friends. Less than 1 percent of Seaver College is in Paris, but this small representation of the Pepperdine community makes me feel at home away from home. And while I do not see everyone on a regular basis, having close friends and knowing we are all under the same circumstances is encouraging. My favorite memories of the past month are not thanks to my newfound independence, but to community. You can go up the Eiffel Tower by yourself. You can be silent in the Louvre Museum. You can even take the metro with 6 million people and get around just fine.
10-06-2006