Sunday, October 2, 2011

Its only 21 miles but...

The British channel, the divide between England and France is both one of the smallest and most shallow seas in Europe. At the closest point, there is only 21 miles between our two nations, and yet, the gulf in culture is huge.

As those on their year abroad know, the continuing stream of faux pas that make up daily life proves almost hourly that these differences are much more than skin deep, that its much more than Cliff or Halliday, Voltaire or Locke, Turner or Cezanne.

No in fact, the people here are hugely different, don't get me wrong, I have met some great Frenchies already, but allow me please to highlight some differences:


1. Drinking on bridges
Last week I recieved a Facebook invite to predrinks... on a bridge. Somehow this is socially acceptable, a point further enforced by the fact this wasn't some random person who just decided on a whim to go drink on a bridge; this was the official Erasmus organisation. This means that at some point, people sat down in a meeting to put together an official timetable for freshers events, and this plan was formalised and printed. Brilliant. It is apparently a very common thing for young parisians to do, and there was a lot of other groups there doing similar.




2. Fighting... really badly
I want to stay well clear of a Jeremy Clarkson-esque rant about the French being and I quote 'cheese eating surrender monkeys. I actually quite like cheese, and monkeys, and in fact surrendering now I come to think of it...
I was talking to a German girl the other day and they have the same impression of the French as more than a little bit soft. I'm sure there are plenty of huge french guys who could finish me in one to one combat, however what I've seen so far has been nothing short of amusing.

Incident 1 happened at the Montmatre on my first Friday night on Paris, at the bottom of the Funiculaire,two huge black guys squared up to each other in a fight. Now, every night after consuming too much cheap vodka a couple of middle class white guys will decide they want a fight outside(insert name of portswood drinking establishment here). The results are usually fairly amusing, occasionally a little frightening but mostly quite harmless. However, I cannot stress enough, these guys were big big men. Shit was gona go down. But what ensued was, well, load the below youtube link and scroll to 50 seconds.
WATCH
It was a festival of slapping followed by them both being restrained and shouts of its not worth it. They were right, it really wasnt.

I witnessed another man at Pont des arts spoiling for a fight, he was largely just bumping into people and they were ignoring him... again... poor.

On the metro last night, a mans daughter was swinging on the poles in the middle of the carriage. Another male passenger decided to tell her off, this induced a sharing of insults and again the two men squaring up to each other. "I bet she will grow up to be a whore".... "I bet you are alone, you don't have kids do you". All a bit dramatic, the passengers were ready to jump up and restrain. However, they ended up angrily swapping phone numbers and decided to chat later.
Brilliant. Went out for a fight. Obtained a man date.

Don't get me wrong, this all works for me. I'm crap at fighting. I just think its in stark contrast to our culture! In parts of the north east you haven't had a good night unless you've had a fight...

3. Sex
All English girls on years abroad will have been told a lot to cover up on nights out. A skirt above the knee is practically an invitation to rape here apparently. Fantastic.. I'm fine with that. Well not fine, but I can make my peace with it. But don't you think this has a slight hypocritical ring when yesterday I was in Pigalle for a short while, where every shop has sex written in large letters across it; and the Sexodrome luidly brandishes bright pink lights to invite people into the M&S of sex; seven floors, one devoted to butt plugs.



4. Sleeping
Last night was nuit blanche, a night dedicated to art installations and basically, not sleeping. Around La marais and Pigalle, all the bars were full, and people queued for hours to get into small art installations and museums.
There was a 2 hour queue for a purple room in which they had created an artificial rain. Imagine that in England, at 4am, slightly inebriated, not making for the nearest taxi and to bed, but instead for a museum in which you are rained on. No, its in fact common place to get the first metro of the morning back home, then go in and a normal day at work. I really would like to understand how Parisiens manage to survive on this little sleep. I'm useless without my 8 hours..







An installation at nuit blanche











5. Humour
To foreigners. Wank jokes. Poo jokes. They just aren't funny. This isnt French people exclusively, but seems to be among the majority of foreigners. The only people that seem to share some of the mirth in being disgusting are the Germans. Who would have thought it...
The Inbetweeners this summer took a huge amount at the box office, and was a hit amongst young people in England everywhere. But i guarantee you at a showing in France, italy, spain etc a large proportion of the audience would either not laugh or simply walk out.

Anyway, I start classes tomorrow, I'm sure there will be plenty of chances to make a fool of myself there too :)
xx

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