They say Paris is for lovers... My opinion on that has tweaked a bit since I've been here. I'm gonna say it flat out: What is with all the PDA in this God forsaken city? This may sound like a bitter argument against people who are in love, or an ignorant "Oh my god, the culture shock!" explanation of how I've never seen affectionate couples before, but it's not. It's so much different than that. Let's just call it a mere anthropological review of people in The City of Love.
On any given day, you can be walking down the street, minding your own business, and be visually assaulted by the sight of a couple. Not only are they beautiful, (or at least slim, fashionable, and sexy), but they're in love - the kind of thing that makes someone glow. Kind of like pregnancy, but without the vomiting. Well, there might be vomiting, but it's only on the spectator's end of the sexual spectacle that takes place. First of all, there's the kissing. No one here just kisses somebody else. They engage in an act that is unnaturally similar to the feeding ritual of penguins. You know, with the mother regurgitating food into her baby's throat. The female half of the couple is usually in some sort of headlock, whether the duo is walking down the street, sitting at a cafe, or lounging in the grass. The boyfriend will have his arm clamped around the girl's neck, forcing her to cock her head back and subsequently receive the tonguing from the man above. It's oddly violent, and I often feel compelled to stop them and ask the lady if she's okay.
Next comes the groping. Just this past Sunday, Jillian and I went on a little hangover picnic next to the Eiffel Tower. We were positively surrounded by young couples, one in particular that I studied with great curiosity. Between the intermittent making out, the boyfriend actually lifted his girlfriend's shirt to massage her breasts. She, of course, had no problem with this. If anything, it turned her on, causing her to grab her boyfriend's package and engage in another spit-swap. My interest was certainly not because I was voyeuristically aroused, appalled, or anything else like this... No, my thoughts were more along the lines of "That's curious... That's acceptable... In public... Oh, us Americans. How little we really know."
I got to thinking about how America is constantly being pointed at for consisting of a bunch of alleged sex-crazed weirdos who delight in watching porn and reading magazines with half-naked celebrities, when in reality, any person could come to France and get the show for free. Perhaps the difference in the sex obsession lies with the fact that as a culture, Americans get off on the artificial: air-brushed photographs, teen pop stars with too much make-up and age-inappropriate red carpet outfits, women who have had too much plastic surgery and therefore look like Barbies, and so on. In France, they seem much less concerned with that. Their interest in sex is within each other, and the need to constantly go at it in public as if they're in the privacy of their own bedrooms. Albeit overwhelming to watch all day, it oddly feels more real.
In conclusion, situations like this make you reevaluate the kinds of stereotypes we associate with the different places in the world. I'll just admit it: they're not all that far off sometimes. Shocking, right?! People say that Paris is a place for love and passion and oh my goodness, it's true!
Aren't you guys so happy you sent me here to learn...?
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