“You don’t have an accent… where are you from?”
I’ve had this conversation so many times, I can do both parts by heart.
“I’m from the States.”
“Oh, where?”
“New York.”
“New York! Do you miss it?”
“Not really*.”
*Depending on the day, this may or may not be a lie.
“Do you get back there often?”
And it’s at this point that I’m not sure what to answer; my response varies depending on my mood. I used to go back to the US twice a year, like clockwork: once in August, once at Christmas. Then things got more difficult: I got a job; my parents sold their house, and with it, my childhood bedroom. When I went home, I spent my vacation sleeping on the couch, and at any rate, I didn’t have the time or funds to make the trip back as much as I’d like. Sometimes I pretend I still get back as often as I used to; sometimes I don’t say it’s been a year and a half since I returned.
But recently, things have changed. I quit my job, started working for myself. I realized that I could be working in America or in France and none of my editors could tell the difference, and I started making more frequent trips home. While in the past three years, my trips to America have been few and far between, since September, I’ve been here almost as often as I’ve been in France… and I’ve been surprised at how much of an effect my absence has had on my perception of my former home.
Certain elements of French culture still mystify me, like bonjour and the appropriate second person pronoun to use, but I’ve also forgotten some things about America, things that, when I am reminded of them, feel at once like a slap in the face and like a familiar hug.
A man in San Francisco looked me in the eye, smiled, and said “good morning” as we passed one another in the crosswalk, and I nearly fell over I was so surprised.
The barista at Peet’s looked so gleeful to be pouring me a cup of black decaf that I was wondering if she had partaken in something other than caffeine.
The salesman at a guitar shop on Bleecker Street not only seemed thrilled to allow the Country Boy to plug a professional lefty Fender into an amp and play for as long as he liked, he also seemed thrilled to let me use the bathroom and even gave us his card for later visits.
At Target, when the self-checkout asked me how many bags I was purchasing, the man behind me in the line came up and pressed the 0 button. A woman behind us said, in solidarity, “Now that’s the definition of mansplaining.â€
With each of these interactions, I was reminded at how few barriers exist between individuals in America, like we’re all part of the same human family. I joke on my tours that Parisians have no sense of personal space, and it’s true; people in Paris are constantly touching one another — in the métro, in the grocery store — and it doesn’t really seem to bother anyone. Here, though, while no one’s touching one another, everyone is involved in everyone else’s life; everyone feels free to voice their opinion; everyone else’s experience seem to be acceptable fodder for their neighbors’ commentary.
It’s startling, at first, but somehow, I think I miss it. I miss the sense that no matter how much of the day you spend alone, you’re never truly lonely. While it might be symptomatic of the special snowflake syndrome I accuse all Americans of having, I like being reminded in these interactions, no matter how small, that I exist, that I am, and that someone else has noticed.
There are other things I miss about America, things that are a bit more pedestrian: 24 hour pharmacies, bathrooms in Barnes and Noble, cheap socks from Target. I have my regular supermarket purchases — bagged kale, half-sour pickles — and my favorite things to eat out — Buffalo wings, pad Thai, and this salad, so commonly served in sushi restaurants in the US. The Parisian equivalent — a white cabbage slaw with a slightly sweet dressing — is perfectly innocuous, but it’s not nearly as delicious. Some American things are impossible to import, but this one is easy enough.
Sushi Restaurant-Style Carrot-Ginger Salad (serves 2)
3 heads mini sucrine or little gem lettuce, chopped
2 green onions, thinly sliced
1 medium carrot, grated
1/3 cup neutral oil
1/8 cup rice vinegar
1/8 cup black vinegar
1/8 cup soy sauce
1 tbsp. mirin
1 inch ginger, grated
Toss the lettuce and onions together in a bowl. Place the carrot, oil, vinegar, soy sauce, mirin, and ginger into a food processor and pulse until smooth. Pour the dressing over the salad and toss. Serve immediately.