Rules of Engagement for Australians living in Paris

This little realisation has been creeping up on me during my 3 months here. I’m positive that there are exceptions to the rule, but there seem to be some unspoken “rules of engagement” when Australians meet other Australians who are living in Paris.

The reason I find these rules so interesting is because they seem to be the exact opposite of the normal rules for minority groups living within a foreign country (lol, I still find it funny to think that I’m now a “minority”).

Let me give you an example. Yesterday, despite desperately needing exercise, I didnt feel like running. So I decided that I would do a powerwalk to a (kinda) nearby park that I’ve never been to and do some sight-seeing at the same time. So I hoofed it up to Parc des Buttes Chaumont, which turned out to be a great little find, like something out of Lord of the Rings.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parc_des_Buttes_Chaumont

On my way back, I did a very un-French thing and stopped at my fave local cafe for a “cafe creme” (cross between a flat white and a latte in Australian terms – yes, I know there’s a very fine line between those two things, yes, the French seem to be able to find it when they make a cafe creme). This is very “‘un-French” because, in Paris at least, one does not sit in a cafe in one’s exercise clothes and secondly, if you must wear exercise clothes on the street, one does not sit in a cafe in exercise clothes after exercise. But I didnt care. I wanted a cafe creme godammit and I wasnt about to wait another 30mins while I went home to shower, change, apply makeup etc.

The terrace of the cafe was full of people and I took the last free spot. Next to me was a couple with the cutest little dog, looking a little like a Boston Terrier. Over the course of the next 10minutes, he tried his hardest to work out if I was friendly and if he could come closer for a pat. By the time he nudged his nose up against my leg I was in love and reached down for some good ole puppy patting. His “parents” apologised and pulled him away.

At the same time, a woman sitting in front turned around to talk to the couple as her dog greeted their dog under the chairs. She spoke in English, as did the girl next to me.

Surprised, I say “Wow, this really is the anglophone corner of the cafe”.

Surprised, they both turn and stare at me.

Woman in front says “Do we have another Australian here?”, looking at me quizzically, and a little suspiciously. I reply, and all three of us nervously shuffle in our seats, avert our eyes. Woman in front says in her 5 years in Paris she’s hardly met any Australians “on the street”. Girl next to me says nothing, looking away. Woman in front says goodbye, nods and smiles at me and leaves. Couple next to me pack up leave and she quietly says goodbye as they drag away their little dog who is seeking just one more pat from me (he, a Frenchie, says “au revoir”).

OK, just because someone has the same nationality as you, doesnt mean that you will immediately be friends.

And Paris is a big city with lots of anglophones living here, so its not like we need to cling to each other for a little sense of something familiar. Maybe things would really be different if I was living in China, or Mongolia, or Afganistan? Maybe if everyone looked different to me, ate completely different food to me (anyone for yak milk yoghurt?), and spoke a language that was not latin -based, then Australian’s would all huddle together, even if we had major personality differences?

But to me, it seems to be even more than that. Its almost like we dont want to meet other Australians.

We didnt come all the way to Paris just to hang out with Australians – we can go home to do that.

From my perspective, I’d rather spend my time trying to crack into the Frenchie network (notoriously difficult) and try to integrate into society as much as possible. Have a real French cultural experience.

But I also get a sense (and I could be very wrong), that there is an element of “snobbism” at play as well. Its almost as if some people want to say “I’ve made it, I’m living a glamorous life in Paris – or so I want people to think – I can speak French, I have a French boyfriend, I dont need any Australian friends thank you very much.”

And again, maybe this attitude is a response to discrimination they may have felt from French people, and so they’re trying to erase all semblance of Australian-ness?

I’ll continue thinking about it, observing, seeing if I can be proved wrong….

Now I’m really interested to talk to Mary when she arrives from Moscow , to see what her experience has been like….