Up until the end of high school, I had participated in my hometown’s local swim team every summer without fail. Forgoing the option of every other teenager to sleep in until noon, I woke up at 7:30 a.m. every day to arrive on practice on time and to stretch with my teammates. Then came the dreaded first jump into the pool, still cold from the weak morning rays of the summer sun. While others gingerly dipped their toes into the cold water only to recoil from the uninviting temperature, I immediately jumped in and started swimming to literally “warm-up” against the cold. Back then, this rationality saved me from being the last swimmers still shivering along the side of the pool, yet I had no way of knowing that it would also serve me well as I adjust to my new life in Paris.
I landed in Roissy-Charles de Gaulle Airport on an unusually warm Saturday morning, starving from the insufficient and poorly prepared airplane food, and with possible spinal damage from spending a sleepless night in seats with uncomfortable concave-shaped backs. Arriving at my host family’s apartment without much difficulty, I found not only a spacious and clean bedroom waiting for me, but also my wonderfully gracious host mother who immediately offered me a cup of tea along with some freshly-baked baguette and cheese. My spirits buoyed by such a warm welcome, I looked forward to a relaxing afternoon of slowly unpacking my belongings, quiet dining en famille, and Skype with loved ones in the evening.
I wasn’t entirely correct. Ten minutes later, my host mother bustled into my room to shoo me off on a walk to the Jardin du Luxembourg (the Luxembourg Gardens). “The best way to familiarize yourself with Paris is to walk through it,” she advised, completely unaware that growing up in rural Pennsylvania, where sidewalks are only found in suburban neighborhoods, has given me a very different sense of distance. Trying to control the one eye-brow inching steadily towards my hairline in disbelief, I replied hesitantly, “Are not the Luxembourg Gardens located towards the center of the city, while we live in the southern periphery?” A flipant “Oui, oui“ accompanied by a wave of the hands effectively dismissed my concerns, along with a reassurance that my host mother and her friends make even longer walks all the time. Instinctively, I was still a bit incredulous that my host mother was suggesting that I walk half-way across the city and back, before I had time to rest from an awful transatlantic flight and to adjust to my surroundings. Yet, my excuses only proved her right. Like that first jump into the cold pool, I realized that the only way to accustomate to my new Parisian life is to take the initiative to explore. Though I had a slight suspicion that my host mother wanted me out of the way so that she can complete her house cleaning, the temptation of sightseeing and visiting a national landmark persuaded me to pack my travel-worn leather cross-body bag for the walk.
I was lost as soon as I exited the front door of the apartment complex. Refusing to run back upstairs to consult GoogleMaps in defeat, I chose instead to weave my way through the tangles of tiny backstreets before finally finding the main boulevard. Once on the right path, I found that 10 minutes into the walk had already proved my host mother’s suggestion to be a useful one. Noting practical information, such as the proximity of the Carrefour supermarket, as well as the fun observations (at most eateries, asking for just a café [coffee] automatically gets you a small cup of expresso), I realized that taking the initiative to explore and to learn organically is what will make my study abroad experience truly memorable. Making the nation’s lawmakers hungry as I ate a raspberry and white chocolate tarte while lounging in a chair positioned in front of the Palais de Luxembourg, the seat of le Sénat (the French Senate), I decided that my first “jump” into Paris has proven me adept in navigating this wonderful city that will be my home for the next 5 months.
