Duke Diary Dispatch: How do you get off the bus in Paris?

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A Parisian street market

 For example, yesterday I took the bus for the first time and discovered that you can only exit the bus from the door in the back. I won鈥檛 forget that detail after having been yelled at in French by all of the passengers in the bus that I 鈥渆xcusez-moi鈥-ed trying to squeeze past. Another difference between Americans and Parisians: no smiling at strangers and no smiling to yourself. I鈥檓 sure you鈥檙e familiar with the friendly wave or head-nod at a neighbor when you both get the mail or the silly face you make at a baby to try to make them smile.

None of that flies in Paris鈥 a smile at the old man passing you by means that you鈥檝e either had a bit too much red wine or you鈥檝e 鈥減erd la t锚te鈥 (perd means lost and t锚te means head鈥 you can work out the meaning).

Of course, I鈥檝e already enjoyed sampling the bread, pastries, and fruit that make Paris the culinary capital of the world. My petit-d茅jeuner this morning featured strawberries that had the most strawberry flavor I鈥檝e ever tasted. For dessert last night, I enjoyed two delicately flavored macarons that melt in your mouth鈥 sitting on my bed at 10:30pm, I savored a pistachio praline macaron and another flavored raspberry and basil. I鈥檓 also lucky enough that the monsieur at my homestay is a wonderful cook: last night he made a delicious beef tartare with a balsamic vinegar and tomato salad with tomatoes bought at the market that morning.

Alongside all of these cultural experiences I have been wandering Le Marais (my favorite neighborhood in Paris) and attending the first lectures of my two courses. I can鈥檛 wait to explore neighborhoods that I haven鈥檛 yet discovered and uncover more about the French 鈥渏e ne sais quoi鈥 through readings from class and through my encounters with Parisians in restaurants, cafes, and museums. Until next time mes amis!