Window-shopping & Normal Life

I’ve officially been in Paris for a month and it’s been quite a whirlwind. Going from my hectic, crazy life in New York City to Paris felt as if I went from 100 mph to 10 in just a moment. I had all this energy and residual anxiety from a jam-packed month prior to leaving with; saying “see you later” to my friends, putting on a going away show & packing up my entire life in NYC. But, I’m starting to finally feel like I can chill out and settle in to this more relaxed, normal lifestyle. Though I sometimes find myself curiously thinking, “Is this how normal people live?”, as if I’m apart of some social experiment in the domestication of a wild creature into normal society.

Along with settling in to my new life, I find the simplest things entertaining. I get excited over discovering Amazon.com has a UK & French site. I suddenly feel exhilarated, like “Oo! I’m getting it!”, when I pick up on French words & phrases in conversations. (I’m still too shy to try and converse.) And, I’m slowly learning how to maneuver the metro system alone with my handy dandy pocket map, which I analyze before every outing. Though I still have my “moments”, like walking around in circles underground trying to find the exit all the while cursing the matrix of a system they call a subway! Some days I just walk and explore. Window-shopping is so much more interesting in Paris. There are sexy lingerie stores on every block. Even grocery stores carry an assortment of thigh high stockings. Oh, AND you can buy a bottle of Veuve Clicquot or Laurent Champagne in a regular grocer as if it’s a can of coke! Observing the differences between French & American everyday life, can be enthralling. That is until I’m in need of something from the pharmacy.

Pharmacy’s here are quite different than our typical Rite Aid or CVS in the States. Here, you can’t even buy eye drops, bandages or aspirin without asking the actual Pharmacist. Mind you, some things are just too embarrassing to ask! AND it seems the American pharmaceutical companies haven’t made there mark yet on France. If you’re looking for a product associated with a name brand, Advil for example, you’re out of luck! So one day, Joe took me to a pharmacy because I had a bit of a sore throat. He politely asks the pharmacist for zinc lozenges, as I requested. It seemed perfectly natural for me to want Colde-Eez or at least zinc lozenges, right? (Ok, I’m a bit of a homeopath nut!) Anyway, the pharmacists responds with the French version of , “What the hell is that?” So I said, rather excitably, “Zinc, like a vitamin, Zinc lozenges that you suck on.” I use my hand to gesture. The man looked me like I had two heads and responds with “Zinc is a metal NOT a supplement”, then proceeds to hand Joe a multi-vitamin that says “A to Zinc” on the bottle! (Ok, where is the camera?)

Despite the frustrations of it all and the apparent differences in “everyday life”, I’m getting quite cozy & enjoying the pleasantries associated with this “normal” rather domestic lifestyle, BUT I still have MANY awkward, fish out of water moments…

How to ski Part Deux

I’m not a person who typically panics. On the contrary, I usually do quite well under pressure. In the past 3 years I’ve come to appreciate the perks of growing up: i.e., becoming more comfortable with one’s body, becoming wiser through experience, letting the little things roll off, etc… However, I under-estimated that fears & phobias seem to also enhance with age. Just at the point of me starring down the mountain, I realize that my minor case of vertigo has grown-up too.

I look out onto the steep descent, look back at Joe and say, “This is not a green trail. Where is the green trail?” Apparently, it’s been so long since Joe has done an easy trail that blue (intermediate) and green (beginner) are interchangeable for him. Next thing I know I am having a full on panic attack. The tears start coming, I can’t move and I can’t breath. It takes Joe 30 minutes to calm me down enough to convince me to try and make it down. In the mean time, he starts demonstrating skiing 101, but there is a bit of confusion in the translation and I grow more anxious. I am so paralyzed by fear that I can’t remember anything I’ve learned from my previous skiing trips. Finally, I decide I am calm enough to try and make my way down. Little by little, I follow Joe down like a little duck, looking only at him and not down the mountain. I slowly start to feel more comfortable and relaxed. Apparently, Joe sensed this and decided to take a mini smoke break about half way down.

How to ski Part Un

Let me preface by saying I am from Florida. Every year my parents and I took big trips to places like Costa Rica, the Bahamas. California or New Orleans. Though my parent’s enjoyed adult ski trips while I was a kid, I wasn’t introduced to snow, mountains or skiing (I use that term loosely) until I was 13. It’s not that I was deprived; we just enjoyed the warm outdoors. Since then, I have only been skiing a handful of times; a week in college and a few weekend trips my fist 2 winters in NYC. Joe, on the other hand, started skiing the slopes by 4 years old and skied regularly every season. By 17 he was free styling, doing crazy jumps and going off trails.

We decided to celebrate Joe’s winter break & our year anniversary in the French Alps where Joe went to boarding school. It’s been 3 years since my feet touched skis. However, at that time, I was quite comfortable on the slopes after a couple of seasons skiing back to back just outside of NYC. First on the agenda after arriving to the quaint mountain town, was renting equipment. I freely admitted ignorance as to my level of skiing when choosing the right skis. So we chose the appropriate skis for a beginner. (Thank God!) The ski store was run by a townie named Marcel. He spoke little to no English. Marcel had to mime to me how to pretend to ski with my boots on to make sure they fit correctly. With equipment rented and securely fitted, I felt confidant for our first day out skiing.

The next morning we woke up early, piled on our ski attire, had a hardy breakfast and excitedly made our way to the slopes. We walked a couple of blocks in our ski boots with skis in hand. I felt like a transformer and quickly grew tired before we even began. I briefly started having flash backs to exactly a year ago when I was sunning on a beach in Mexico and imagined Joe & I were actually caring towels in hand instead of 10lbs of ski equipment. (Sigh!)

First we traveled up this thing that looks like an egg (appropriately called “les oeufs“) to the actual ski site. Then we ski over to the different slopes. As soon as I put my skis on, I feel like a fish out of water, but I tried to look like I’ve been doing this for years. I recently invested in a sexy new ski outfit just for this trip. I figured I could at least look cute skiing even if I didn’t know what the hell I was doing! So here I am trucking up to a ski lift in my fashionable ski attire…well as fashionable as you can get in 10 layers of fabrics! Apparently, to get up to the top of the trail, we have to take a little ride up on a pole. Yes a pole! A long pole with a tiny little tire at the end and attached to a line by a bungee chord replaces the chair lift I am used to in the states. Without hesitation, Joe pushes me ahead and tells me to go in front of him. I yell back, “What the hell do I do?” Joe then says “Grab the pole and put it between your legs!”. Me, “Put what? where??” Joe, “Grab the pole and put it between your legs!” Mind you, I have limited speech, sight and hearing at this time as my hood nearly covers my entire face & head. Confused, I finally shrug my shoulders, grab the pole and I am suddenly jerked forward. I yelp out a “Whoo!” and almost drag my ass on the ground before I stabilize. I catch my breath and start to grasp the pole as tightly as possible. Normally it might be thrilling to have a large, metal pole between one’s legs, but as I made my way to the top of the trail, I started to feel slightly nauseated. I made the mistake of looking back down the lift. I desperately clench my inner thighs around the pole as the climb became steeper. By the time I reached the top and I let go of the odd bungee pole my knees are shaking. At this time, I assumed my knees were shaking due to how tightly I grasped the pole with my legs. Then I stare down the mountain and suddenly feel like I am in a tunnel and can’t breathe. Joe gracefully skis in front of me to where other skiers were preparing to go down, smiles and says, “Ready to go?” I couldn’t form the words to express my pang of fear, so I nod and slowly follow behind trying to remember how to move my legs in the skis. All the while, I am talking to myself saying “You can do this. You can do this.” Joe immediately notices my stiff movements and asks if I am ok. I finally form the words “I’m scared”. And before I know it, panic sets in and I can’t move. For the moment, all I can think about is “How do I get off this mountain without actually skiing down it?”

To be continued…