Welcome to The Metaphysical French Theatre! Today, mes enfants, we will hear the thrilling tale of “La petite americaine,” a heroine for the ages! Settle down and listen in!
SETTING: AIX-EN-PROVENCE, MORNING
The camera settles on a small and unassuming apartment block. Suddenly, a figure bursts from the front door and races to the bus station, where the bus impatiently waits. We follow the figure through the glass doors and pan up to see: La petite americaine! We the audience get one distinct emotion from her face: late. Very, very late.
We cut to a few moments later, as our heroine runs through the narrow streets of the city. She looks down roads, up at signs, and all around her for literally any recognizable landmark. She glances down at her watch: five more minutes, and she’ll be late for her group’s tour of the city, even by French standards. But, as she breaks concentration on the path ahead of her, she barrels into a woman and almost knocks them both down: mais non!
Just as she is about to apologize and scurry away, the woman says to her, in English, “Are you Allison? I am your tour guide! I’m glad you found us alright!”
Crisis averted.
With no breakfast in her belly and only one sock, La petite americaine tours the entire city on foot, from the ancient Roman ramparts to the twelfth-century cathedral.
(An aside from the author: the cathedral, according to local legend, was built on top of an ancient Greek temple to Apollo. A man named Maximinus borrowed a boat from Lazarus, settled in ancient Aix with Mary Magdalene, destroyed the Greek heathens and their temple, and replaced it with the church we see today.)
After this beautiful and exhausting tour, our heroine locates the office of her exchange program and washes her hands and face in warm water, thus reminding her body and herself that she still has both those things.
She climbs a set of stairs. She quickly becomes aware that the stairs, though made of stone, are slanted inward at a forty-five degree angle, and that the tiles that decorate them are all super loose. She continues to climb the stairs, but with caution.
La petite americaine being who she is, her thoughts turn to Harry Potter. The tight alleys, precarious buildings, and small shops full of strange and mysterious objects remind her of Diagon Alley (and Knockturn Alley, in some places). A person in her group must have read her mind: he leans down to her and says that a certain building looks like 12 Grimmauld Place. They both laugh. Our heroine feels less alone.
There is a lunch in a cafe. The waiter becomes frustrated that La petite americaine ate some of her bread before the rest of her food came out. He indicates that he will be watching her. She decides to leave a good tip so that he does not murder her in her sleep.
Unbenounced to our heroine, France’s Black Friday begins today. She is pleased to find a warm-looking — and French-looking — sweater at a reasonable price. She also finds some interesting tea at an unreasonable price, and purchases it anyway. It’s French tea. From France.
She gets lost again. This time on purpose. She has set up her phone to a French company and now has data. She gets as lost as she can — not difficult — closes her eyes, turns in a circle, and puts her homestay address into Google Maps. This, she knows, is how to learn a city.
She walks for ten minutes before landmarks make sense again. By the twenty minute mark, she can put her phone away. At half an hour, she’s untying her shoes by the door of her room. She is, cautiously, carefully, every-so-slightly, proud.
Dinner is a massive affair, like usual. Our heroine eats with her housemate and holds up her end of conversation with her homestay mother. Every day it gets easier, but she knows not to act too confident. Language acquisition, she has learned, is one part education and three parts humility. Languages don’t sit alone in dictionaries. This is the comprehension of a culture, a history, and a people as much as it is conjugations. Her host mother shows her the rips in her sleeves from wear and tear of twenty years of use, and the cake that she haggled from the back of a cafe for our dessert. Our heroine hopes she does not forget this nuance.
La petite americaine yawns. It was a big day, and tomorrow will be bigger. She has earned a cup of tea, and book, and a bed for the night.
Thus concludes the tale of La petite americaine. Remember the moral of this cautionary tale: always remember both socks! Safe travels back to your homes. The tip jar is by the door. À demain! À demain!
Flan in France 