Guest Post: Robin Henshaw & Donn Hess

 

"Thank You for Trying"

 

Some 15-ish years ago, my wife and I

were simultaneously struck mad and, at the height of our insanity,

decided it would be a grand idea to buy a 1-bedroom flat in Paris.

We had just welcomed a baby boy into our lives and thought,

“What better time than now to embark upon an ill-planned

and extremely expensive adventure?”

 

 

In fairness to our younger selves,

we did have several things going for us.

I’d studied high school French

and could inform people that I was going to the beach

or tell them whether it was or was not currently raining.

My wife had an impeccable fashion sense

and knew how to point to things that she liked on a French menu.

Both of us were surprised but undaunted when neither of these skills

proved adequate to negotiate

a foreign real estate contract.

 

Fortunately, the universe and, apparently, France, smile upon idiots.

We watched an episode of House Hunters International

and learned of a New Yorker who specialized in helping Americans buy

Parisian property.

She found us an apartment we could (mostly) afford

and introduced us to an expatriate couple who’d sold

everything they owned to move from Texas to Paris,

arriving with little more than a stack

of French flashcards and a willingness

to do whatever it took to live their dreams.

We asked them if they’d like to manage vacation rentals of our flat,

newly acquired in the heart of the Neuvieme Arrondissement’s

bars, brothels, and strip clubs.

They marketed the neighborhood as

a “lively and authentic French experience”

and welcomed countless visitors over the years that followed.

 

 

After that, we did have occasional bouts of lucidity and

would ask one another, “What have we done?”

But each time, the food, wine, and beauty of Paris would romance us

and drive us mad once again.

In the early days, we treasure hunted the brocantes,

sailed toy boats with our son around the Jardin du Luxembourg fountains,

and carted him on our shoulders through the streets

for the Fetes des Vendanges.

Later, we would host dinners for friends, take in plays,

and enjoy concerts.

We would negotiate for water with the confused drag queens at Chez Michou

who didn’t understand

that there was only so much champagne we could drink.

We would drag our jet-lagged selves to Corso Trudaine,

because we had to have that one special dish the minute we got to town.

Slowly we transitioned from repeat tourists to entrenched residents.

Paris stopped being a beloved destination and became our second home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our mastery of the language improved only marginally.

I was forced to add “that is broken” and “there is a leak” to my French vocabulary,

but still kept my verbs in the present tense and responded to most questions

with an enthusiastic, if half-witted, smile.

This mystified people in the States.

“If you aren’t fluent, aren’t the Parisians really rude to you?” they would ask.

 

This always puzzled us. “No,” we would say. “Never.”

 

But nobody believed us.

Once, at an ungodly hour of the morning,

in the back of a cab headed for the airport,

the driver, having learned where we were headed, said,

“Parisians are terrible to Americans. They hate anyone who doesn’t speak French.”

 

“Have you ever been to a store or a fast-food restaurant

where one of the customers didn’t speak English?” I asked him.

 

He shifted a little uncomfortably and said that he had.

 

“I promise you no one in France has ever treated me as badly

as the Americans treated that person.”

 

There was some more uncomfortable silence

before the driver admitted, “I see your point.”

 

 

 

 

 

 We have watched the proprietress of a cozy café listen patiently

while our American 4-year-old nattered on and on

about his favorite cartoon characters.

We’ve described needed repairs to locksmiths and electricians

with awkward pantomime.

We’ve arranged furniture deliveries relying on

scribbled addresses and confused shrugs.

Every time, the Parisians were nothing but lovely.

 

Once, dining on the Ile St. Louis, the restaurant owner

came to our table and said, in English,

“I want to thank you for speaking French.”

 

“You are very kind,” I answered in French. “

But we don’t speak it very well.”

(The literal translation of what I said was probably closer to,

“Nice is what you are and very good.

I am and she is speaking,

but it is in a bad way that is not good.”)

 

“That doesn’t matter,” he said. “Thank you for trying.”

 

 

 

 

 

We’ve learned much from owning our small flat.

For example, even if you plan to spend hours watching a small child

bounce himself to exhaustion on a trampoline in the Tuileries,

you should still drink your wine from glasses—never plastic!—

because we are a civilized species.

We also learned that the best restaurants are those

you find unexpectedly down a barely traveled street.

But ultimately, for us, the best lesson from

our Parisian experience has been the reminder that,

even in this most beautiful, elegant,

and glamorous places, people are all too willing to help.

In return, they ask only what any of us want from one another,

no matter our creed, color, or country.

 

They only want us to try.

 

 

 

 

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Comments

[Jeanne]

How fabuluous are all these guest postings.
I appreciate reading each one.
Thank you Corey for this marvelous opportunity given to many.
Blessings
Jeanne

[BeckyFar]

Love, love, love everything you have written!

[Penni]

Perhaps it's because I read this at 4:30a.m., or perhaps it is because you have a joyful Spirit, but I found this so fun and humorous! Oh my gosh you people are delightfully positive! I loved every word of this post!

Our educated but very cloistered daughters went to Europe, and of course Paris! They had booked pretty much everything "economy" -which provided them a Parisian Hotel conveniently located within steps of the Moulin Rouge, and occupied by "folks who liked to stay up late". They were hilariously shocked, but rolled with it because yes, it was extremely cheap, "Mom, if people needed to they could rent a room for just an hour!" (insert mom eye roll and dad having a seizure.) After a long second day they had traveled to an opposite end of Paris, it was late, they needed to get home, but they couldn't make heads or tails of where they were or needed to go. "Whenever you need help, ask a Gramma, or a mother with children." This family advice given to them as toddlers came back to their minds and so they began the hunt for a Gramma. They found a Gramma -and- a Grampa, who, upon understanding where they were staying, insisted upon riding the bus with them all the way back to their hotel and escorting them to their room! Our daughters said "They acted just like Gramma and Grampa would! They were glad to help but ya, they lectured us on our choice of hotels the whole ride! lol! Once we were safely inside, the Gramma poked the Grampa and he wrote down their house number and phone so if we got stuck again we could call them!They were SO NICE"

Indeed, Parisians are good people!

[Nancy]

I practically dragged my husband to France the first time we went because he believed those stories that the French are rude to Americans, now he wants to go there as soon as we can travel again! Once you understand that they are a bit more reserved than we, not as casual, and follow just plain good manners, they are so kind and helpful. My French is about the same as yours and sometimes I cringe at how I may have said something, but the effort is usually met with puzzlement at first then a smile of understanding what my intention is!

[Marilyn]

How I would have loved having a little apartment in Paris. What a dream come true, even with the differences in language. When I have travel in France I have never found poor treatment when we try. I love trying to communicate with words.

[Linda Piazza]

What an engaging, wonderful guest post!

[Tom Garrison]

Vous êtes tous les deux, fantastique, Les meilleure voisins!

[jackie]

Loved this post. Please write a book. :)

[Susan]

I think a foolhardy decision is actually very brave and exciting. Bravo to yet another other great post

[Ella Dyer]

Chère Corey,

What a gift you've given all of; thank you for sharing your readers.

Dear Robin and Donn thank you for the early morning laughs with my morning coffee in Nice and bravo on following your hearts. Your first hand experience with the French and your excellent of non-anglophones in the US is spot on. As has been said by many but I believe Thomas Jefferson was one of the first...everyone has two countries, the one in which they are born and France.

Je suis d'accord.

Bonne journée à tous et prenez soin de vous,
Ella

[Texas Francophile]

Loved this post. Actually visualized your journey!!!!

[Jennifer Phillipps]

Very entertaining/funny and nice to hear from a "bloke" as well, to use a Kiwi word!
Such a lot of great stories coming from your Blog Corey, thank you for each and every one!
Cheers
Jennifer, in New Zealand

[Sue J.]

Brava! Enjoyed every word and admire your spirit.

[Jennie]

Thank you Donn and Robin. I too have always found the Parisians nice and helpful and always tell me how well I speak French. I am sure they say this so they don’t have to speak English. But the last two times I went to Paris everyone wanted to speak English. So it was quite amusing. The French speaking English to me and me, the American, responding in French. So much to love about Paris and the Parisians.

[Momof5]

Charming post.
Love the intrepid spirit of your big fiends Corey!

[Stephanie M]

Inspiring!

[Mike]

As enjoyable as a read this was, the sentiment expressed brings warmth, joy and hope. Beautiful!

[Ali]

How could I have missed this fabulous post. I’m still going to comment, even late.
My dream, thank you for living it.
Ali

[Shelley (Noble Design & Media) Noble]

What a lovely and well-written article!

[JEANNE RENEE GUITTON]

Lire vos experiences en France me touchent beaucoup. Vous avez des mots justes pour en parler ainsi qu'une pointe d humour pour raconter. Je vous écris de France.