For a moment I am Parisian, or at least trying. A few things give away my trademark Americanness, least of which are the camera and computer sitting next to me on my small table. Other traits make me somewhat ambiguous. The mix of cafe du lait and Marlboro Lights mix pleasingly and I begin to understand why everyone in Europe smokes. The "I can not be bothered by you..." attitude that accompanies the early morning cafe and smoke helps to keep the true citizens of the city guessing, but I think the real telltale sign is that I am awake.
It's 9:30, and most marketeers have not even set up shop yet and the ones who have distinctly patronize to the business and older generation that has found the value of the early morning light and lack of tourists. Most of which are either already on their way to a destination, or not yet up from the evenings revelry that begins somewhere around 9:30pm. A far cry from the North American experience of a last call at 1:00am.
Whatever it is, there seems to be a stamp on my forehead giving me away constantly. At first it bothered me, but now... it almost seems helpful. Defiantly I state my case on my own head, convincing at least myself, that if all the preponderance of being citizens of the world and well traveled, than being somewhat American and making no excuses for it seems the appropriate thing to do. At least that keeps me from being so petrified of the famed Parisian rudeness that I lock myself in my room and refuse to leave for any other reason than to indulge in my longtime weakness for pastries and chocolate.
Whatever it is, I sit and watch another world pass me by and take comfort in the fact that no matter where I am in the world, I am still me. All the foibles, all the strengths and all the stupidity included. Hey, why not subject it on another country for a while?
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