Slowing my Roll

Getting into the French pace of life (and a first haircut)

I recently told you about my first time visiting a French doctor. The surprising outcome—that I needed to visit the doctor one time for each referral I was asking for —is yet another example of me needing to slow my roll. Americans are all about efficiency and “how can we get this finished quick enough that I can make my ten o’clock meeting?”

As Roberto explained last week (regarding the lack of progress on our water damage), the French lack urgency. This can be frustrating when it comes to utilities, doctors, and repairmen, and I frequently feel like I am tearing my hair out as I wait for things to happen.

Here is an example of a one day to-do list when I am in Austin: Call the bank, pick up dry cleaning, go to post office, go to UPS store, drop by Mom’s house, go to drugstore, order dogfood, get teeth cleaned.

My France one-day to do list: Call the bank.

One French friend said to me that if the French government made its system more efficient 25% of the French would lose their jobs. He was joking, but was he? I found this chart below that shows that the French spend two hours a day eating and drinking (while Americans are at the bottom with one hour.) If you only plan to/are only capable of getting one thing accomplished a day, you eventually fall into a slower life style, and the French are very proud of their take-your-time-enjoy-every-bite culture. 

As Roberto and I got used to the pace, we began to lower our expectations and realize that things would happen. Eventually. And if we could relax about it we were much more likely to enjoy our days of eating and drinking.

I also promised you a continuing list of “my firsts” in France.

• I got my first haircut, which was a bit nerve racking since despite being a natural red head I was having the color done :) I see a lot of very burgandy-toned redheads in France and didn’t want to look like this:

  

  Beautiful on some people (and dolls), just not on me.

  The staff spoke little to no English, so I learned several new words at this appointment:

  Haircut: une coupe
  Shampoo: le shampooing

  Blow Dry: le brushing

  Bangs: la frange

  

  Although I didn’t understand much of what they said, I inferred the meaning from past haircuts: How much do you want off the ends? Is the water too hot? Shall I blow-dry your hair to look like Farah Fawcett? I did a lot of smiling, nodding, and miming. Luckily, the hairdressers were excellent and I was very happy with their work.

  

  I tried to tip them when they were finished and they flat out refused! I think they might have even been insulted. But in America we are expected to tip for everything: a haircut, a taxi ride, the bag of potato chips you bought from the bodega.

  When you are budgeting and comparing lifestyles of your hometown vs. France you should do a tallying of the amount you spend in tips every year. I couldn’t believe how much money we saved (to be clear, we still tip servers and bartenders in France but even these tipping expectations are much smaller than in the US. We might tip 10% for a casual lunch and 15% for a nice dinner—but neither is expected. A credit card receipt doesn’t give you the option to tip!)

• Another first: I got a massage! I went to a Thai place just around the corner and only when I got there did I realize I didn’t know if French spa rules would be different. The first surprise was that they gave me a tiny pair of paper underwear to put on. I wasn’t sure if it was optional or not, so I put ‘em on. Not my (or anyone’s) best look.

There didn’t appear to be a sheet to get under on the table, so I lay facedown waiting in these stupid paper panties and when the woman came in she said “Oops, No, ma’am. The other table please!” or the equivalent in French which was something like, “Zeut alors, madame! Non non non!” So . . . that happened.

I got situated under the sheet and we were off to the races. I was lacking in the vocabulary to say, “That spot is tender,” or “Please work some more on my neck,” so instead I just groaned loudly in pain if she hit a bad spot and murmured in pleasure when she hit a good one. It seemed to work. The whole experience minus the paper underwear was delightful.

Sidenote: I bought Roberto a massage at this same place and they also brought him a pair of paper underwear, and Dear Reader, they were the same exact design as mine in the picture above. If only I had had a hidden camera.

Jusqu’à la prochaine fois! (until next time),

Carolyn & Roberto

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