Reality: June 10th, 2008
Having just finished a mini euro-trip with my boyfriend, I never thought I would be able to get in the swing of research automatically. Moreover, I had had my first extreme travel glitch while coming to Paris( which should itself should have exhausted me). I flew with Ryanair from Venice to Paris, but the destination ‘Paris’ on my ticket turned out to be a small town called Beauvais, disconnected from the Metro and 2 hours away from Paris by bus. And to add to this, I arrived to my friend’s house at 1 am, went to sleep at 3:30 am after cups of Croatian fig sherry and good chats, and then I woke up bright ‘n’ early at 7 am to walk her to work and learn how to work Parisian transportation.
Side note: I met my Parisian friend, Victoria, on my first day at Cornell, when I was lost in a complete Ithacan January white out and aimlessly searching for my transfer orientation meeting. Victoria was also lost and we bonded over our confusion. We stayed in weak contact until Spring break 2007 when we both wound up in Mexico with Prof. Maria Cook for a field study trip. Our trip was an amazing experience and we’ve stayed in close contact ever since.
But back to my first day in Paris. After I dropped her off, I was, for the first time since arriving in Europe, officially all alone! I had no clear idea where to start, who to talk to, or what areas would be the best places to interview North African immigrants. So what ended up happening next was truly just good fortune. I walked back to Victoria’s apartment to wash my back pack full of dirty clothes at the nearest laverie. I could not figure out how to use the French washer, if directions were in English it would have been no better, so I asked the guy next to me what I should do. As we talked a bit more in French he began to sense that I am not speaking my native language. ‘ You know,’ he goes, ‘ I spent a year at the University of Exeter in England. And I can speak English’. Sheer relief.
We got to talking, I explained why I’m in France, where I study, and what I’m hoping to accomplish, and he talked about his time in Exeter, his interests in law, and his thoughts on my topic. My laundry friend is named Mathieu and he’s law school student who lives in an immigrant district. As time would show, Mathieu ended up becoming an indispensable part of my trip in Paris.
We exchanged emails and then I went across the street back to my friend’s apartment, but was quickly dismayed to realize I had forgotten the code to let me in. Typical. After 5 minutes of useless guessing, kicking, and yelling “ Allo?! Aide moi s’il vous plait!!” I resigned to sitting on a bench nearby until someone came in or came out. Poised to spring forth with my box of detergent and empty bag clutched tightly (so that I would have no losses when I leap), I hardly noticed a partly drunk Italian man approaching me until he was sitting right beside me and bellowed ‘Quelles jambes!’. ( I won’t translate)
Usually, I would treat the offender as air, invisible and inaudible, but I was in France and he was foreign, so I thought, why not? The buveur is an artist from Italy who makes a living constructing mosaics with his young reticent friend. As we talked, he told me that he’s renting his apartment to an illegal immigrant from Mauritania who has been in France for 10 years. His friend has a 2 year old daughter who’s ready to go to school yet he has not been able to get papers to secure a good life for her. The Italian man said its more difficult now than ever because of Nicolas Sarkozy, the French president. He said it’s a terrible fix for immigrants who are here, who have friends and a full life, but can’t use their skills properly. I retorted that it’s nothing like the US where illegal immigrants have nothing. No health care, schools, housing, or even rights granted to them by the US Constitution. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, ‘don’t think for one minute the EU is any better. In France, the immigrants are stuck in a hell hole too.’
Before I could ask what he meant, the door opened and I decided I would rather capitalize on this chance than talk, so up I bounded, said ‘Merci’ and worried I may have just violated the IRB Human Participant process of interviews.
