Those articles and videos came back to mind. Yes, the Paris metro does have weird smells. Also, yes, it is in fact as beautiful as it is portrayed.

Re-thinking French Stereotypes: A Week at Hyères in the South of France (Pt.1)

Getting off the train at the Gare of Hyeres I could already sense the difference in tone of the people and the buildings. Warm colors, big smiles, and a ray of sunlight in every direction. Three days had passed since my arrival in Paris. My first impression of the city was similar to that of Instagram filters: grey clouds, Hausmann architecture, lots of cigarette smoke, and time that moved eastwards and westwards chasing people in a hurry.

In all honesty, I felt prepared. I had studied the language for years. I had seen an exhaustible list of videos on culture shock. I had also read dozens of articles on “where to shop”, “where to eat”, and “what not to do in Paris: 10 tips”. I felt ready- and to a certain extent I was. 

The first three days were the hardest. Throughout my flight from Orlando to Paris all the middle section of the plane- my section- heard was the wailing of a baby fading and rising as it was carried by its mother back and forth. I sat next two to German guys who spoke English and Spanish, and impressed them by saying train in German, “Zug” I said, they chuckled, and we talked until night crept upon us. When the plane landed I learned that they had just gotten very little sleep as I had. The wailing of the baby rid most people of their sleep. What subsequently followed for the next three days were 4 a.m. existential questions at the hostel that tried to reason if I was really in Paris or not. 

Throughout those three days I assessed and analyzed Paris in its capacity: the houses, businesses, people, textures, colors, smells, history, and the dozens of infinite layers of other things that comprise the city. Those articles and videos came back to mind. Yes, the Paris metro does have weird smells. Also, yes, it is in fact as beautiful as it is portrayed. But in all of those layers there was some sort of ambiance or energy interwoven that I still could not point out. It wasn’t in any video or in any book.  Perhaps it actually was the culture shock? Maybe the lack of sleep? Or maybe all I thought I knew about Paris wasn’t everything?

Sunday morning, the third day upon arrival, the whole group woke up early and headed to the train station. We were all still sleepy, tired, and a bit hungry. Our trip consisted of staring for four hours at the various French regional landscapes. I slept the entire way knowing I would never come up with the answer as to why I stayed up four hours that night listening to the sound of the French ambulance drive by or eavesdropping on the conversation that resonated through the window from two girls in the courtyard. Once we reached “l’Hyéres”, a French town located in one of the southernmost points of France, I was happy. In a certain way it reminded me of the summer family trips in Florida, where the whole family prepared to enjoy a day of Carne Asada and beach fun except his time it would be in another country, with people I did know not know, and in a sports center.

I walked over to the bus stop with my luggage and sat down. I put my luggage next to me just as the rest of the group was doing. A breeze drifted by and I looked up. True and universally accepted is the fact that no matter where you are, when a nice breeze hits on a hot humid sleepy day, a sense of relief and benevolence strikes.