Cultural sensitivity. It's an unwieldy phrase, but it's one I've kept in mind everwhere we've been so far. People stare more than I'd like? Dishes are washed in gutters? Poor people bathe and defecate on the streets? The food doesn't suit my palette? Crowding to the front of the line, elbows jabbing, is the accepted way to get things done? People have different ideas of personal space? I'm okay with all of that. I've even (I'm sorry to say) chided Walter once or twice if I felt like he wasn't taking cultural differences in stride often enough.
And now, I find, I've failed.
We're in Paris -- a gorgeous, ancient city; rich with culture -- and I've failed. Our hotel is awful. It's incredibly loud, so we fall asleep late, and housekeeping walks in without knocking or even speaking several times every morning (starting at about nine) to see if we've left yet so they can clean. They leave before we can ask them to come back at a certain time, or not come back at all. Then today after we foolishly decided to save money and extend our reservation exactly as instructed (go online and re-book with expedia, wait several hours, then call downstairs and make sure they have the reservation and know to save our room) not only did The Angriest Housekeeping Manager in Paris show up to indignantly scream at our sleep-deprived selves for not being out by noon, they freakin' gave our room away to a very confused French woman. Or at least she appeared very confused when she let herself in and saw Walter's shape under the sheets (he was trying desperately to get some sleep) and me in my sarong, browsing the 'net for more travel advice. The doors, of course, have no deadbolts.
Doors slam all night and morning, and of course every sound we hear makes us jump and wonder who's next to barge in. So we're tired, we're cranky, and I've reached the end of my gorram rope. Because with every mess-up, we get nothing but 'tude.
And, guys, you know us. We're polite. We're patient. Walter speaks more than enough French to make himself understood, and I can work things out and parrot enough polite words so that I almost never speak English. We are not ugly Americans.
And I KNOW it's just another kind of cultural difference. Just like the zillion we've dealt with, no problem. But the rudeness, arrogance, and sense of superiority in this city simply boggles me. It's everywhere, and I'm not enjoying it.
I know it's wrong. I know it's petty. I know I should be flexible. But frankly, I just want to get out of this town. We're planning on going to Arles next, and Walter seems to think I'll love it.
By the way, for someone who's never been here, the man has an uncanny ability to navigate Paris. He picked the perfect neighborhood for us based on a glance at a map (if not the perfect hotel -- of course not his fault) and as we wander he's constantly saying things like "let's turn right" and leading us, unplanned, to yet another wonder of the ciity. It's almost spooky at this point.
I'm looking forward, I suppose, to our wanderings tonight. We're supposed to take a boat trip around the Seine. But mostly I just want to get gone. And I don't think it's travel fatigue. I think it's culturally specific. And I'm well aware that it's a failing on my part to adapt.
Feh.
But, um... Prague and Budapest were beyond incredible. And I can't wait for Barcelona. So that's something.
Love and appreciation for the many kind comments. We're happy to feel connected to friends and family as we travel. I promise to get over myself by the next blog post. Really.
Posted by Liz at August 21, 2005 09:50 AM