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There is nothing more satisfying, I’ve discovered, than realizing that you are slowly beginning to understand the seemingly incomprehensible city of Paris.  Where once things all looked identical, you eventually begin to notice certain landmarks—your favorite crêperie by la Fontaine de Saint-Michel, a familiar jardin near Notre Dame, a distinctive statue across from Rue de Rivoli…   Maybe navigating around the streets of Paris won’t involve perpetual confusion after all.

And once this small amount of satisfaction sinks in, the charm of day-to-day life in the city is nearly inexplicable.  You walk around the streets with much more confidence, and you’ve long since memorized the most common routes on the metro.  You share a knowing smile with the locals as a group of tourists gawk at the map on the wall; maybe you even give them some quick directions…because, after all, you know your way around the city.  You know that you can connect from the RER to the metro at Saint-Michel Notre Dame if you take a quick stroll through the underground tunnels.  You know that everyone is getting on or off the metro at Châtelet.  And you even know that, if you happen to be taking line 14, you’ll be in for a real treat, as it’s one of the newest lines in the system; it even has automatic safety doors!

Basically, you’re one of the locals.

But Paris has a funny way of keeping your self-confidence in check.  As I said before, when you start to get a handle on the ins and outs of Parisian culture, you’ll start to feel pretty pleased with yourself.  But don’t worry.  There are always some nasty surprises around the bend, just to keep things interesting.

So, you start off your day, ready for anything.  You plan out your metro route, and you’re all set to go!  After a few stops on the RER, though, you notice that the train is slowing down a bit.  The lights flicker, and the train grinds to a halt.  There’s a garbled announcement from the conductor (which is, I assure you, utterly incomprehensible because Monsieur le Contrôleur, it seems, does not pause between any of his words, and he must be standing about 20 feet away from his microphone).  Either way, everyone sighs and sits down or exits the train.  What on earth…?  Oh.  Random power outage, you realize.  The train somehow rolls into the next station, and you make a quick exit.  Time for a transfer!  So, you wander through the RER station and research a new way to get to your destination on the metro system.  Unfortunately, you discover, after walking about half a mile in the underground passages (several of which reek of urine, you notice), that you’re in line for the wrong metro.  You wanted the lime green line, not the puke green line.  Crap.  Several hundred stairs later, you’re waiting on the platform, only slightly annoyed.  As the metro approaches, you hear shrieking and what may or may not be singing…and you discover that there is some kind of demonstration occurring on the train.  People are hanging out windows and shouting what can only be a slew of French obscenities.  Sarkozy?  Sa mere?  You don’t want to know.  You patiently wait for the next train and board about five minutes later, compacted into yet another crowded car, mere inches from someone’s armpit.  And that someone—much to your delight—has not bathed for a few millennia.  Chouette.  You are finally able to squeeze your way off the metro at your stop, are nearly pushed onto the tracks by someone running to catch another train (without so much as a “Pardon!” [or, more appropriately, an “Excusez-moi de vous avoir presque tué!“]), and are all-too-eager to drag yourself back to street level.  But, of course, before you emerge, an enormous drop of metro-sewage-water lands in your eye.  And it burns.  Voila!  Your morning is complete.

More and more, I’m familiarizing myself with the way of life in Paris, and I can’t even begin to express how exciting it is to know my well around the city and start marking down my favorite cafés, crêperies, and patisseries.  But things in Paris—like anywhere else—don’t always go the way you expect them to go, and I’ve learned that you have to be willing and able to adapt your plans on the fly.  Metro lines shut down, workers go on strike, and, often, people will try to run you over with their Smart cars.  But take a deep breath, shrug it off, avoid the toothless men selling mini Eiffel Tower statues on the street corner, and you’ll be fine.  Really.

The stamp machine in the post office gave me some valuable advice today that I feel everyone should heed when traveling around Paris for any great length of time: Patientez, s’il vous plait. :)

Bonne journée!