With the 4th of July being tomorrow I feel an internal fire of patriotism the flames of which are being fanned by the voices of scores of Americans who have recently swarmed Lyon, France.
It’s the week of the FIFA women’s world cup and as the host city for the semi-final and final matches, Lyon is overrun with visitors most of whom appear to be Americans.
As for me, I haven’t felt this American since I landed at Charles de Gaule last August and the border agent smiled at me when he saw my passport and said, Americaine? Bienvenue!. Seeing all these smiling faces temporarily tattooed with stars and stripes and walking among crowds of people donning USA baseball caps, I’m feeling like i’m at a giant American family reunion. I chuckle at all the cargo shorts - the american man’s summer uniform and all the American University-logo-emblazoned t-shirts. Among the scores of visitors in town I notice an increase in lesbian couples many of them proudly wearing USA team jerseys and nike running shorts.
It’s interesting to be an American abroad. Especially now, ten months into my sojourn when my french is fluent enough so that i’m no longer asked where i’m from and i no longer stumble over my words when i’m ordering at a cafe thereby exasperating the server into speaking to me in english. These days when I’m out and about I move with confidence, navigating public transportation like a local, and speaking french fluently. People even stop me and ask me for directions and most of the time I can guide them correctly. After a six month walk of shame (_) I? …..
Now that Lyon is swarming with Americans, overhearing the conversations of the mostly American tourists makes me feel like a fly on the wall. People speaking a foreign language in a host country often do so as if nobody can understand them. So they speak more freely about things that maybe they would be more conservative about at home. Or maybe not. Eavesdropping is rude but it’s also entertaining. There’s always a lot of talk about how much money was spent on XYZ and how expensive or cheap ABC is ‘in comparison’.
Today I was feeling quite nostalgic for my old American life, so when some Americans came into my favorite cafe and sat next to me, something overtook me and I felt the urge to strike up a conversation. This inherently American urge to make small talk with a complete stranger for no other reason than to hear the sound of my voice overtook me before i could reason with myself and keep my mouth shut. I figured we were not exactly strangers, we had something in common after all - we were Americans abroad!
I started by pointing at his cap - khaki colored with USA embroidered in red white and blue. We chatted about the game, I asked if he knew anybody who had extra tickets for sale as all the online outlets have fun out. He was ‘traveling with the team’ but suggested there might be people outside of the stadium selling tickets. And then the fateful exchange:
‘Are you American?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m hearing an accent……?’
*Crickets chirp forever*
Alas, this statement/question is one I have not had to answer for the past 10 months. It is one I have spent more time than I care to remember answering, and then answering some more when the follow up questions pounce.
‘Yes I grew up the Caribbean.’
Voilà. I am American, but always with an explanation.
The small talk continued for a while more with them asking me their share of questions. They told me that Lyon is like a small scale Paris. I disagree but I don’t voice it (Lyon is so much better than Paris, there is no comparison). I just smile and say ‘Yes, yes’. It doesn’t matter.
I could tell that the connection I was looking for was not going to happen. Not after that clear demarkation a bold line in the sand drawn by a simple question and it’s embedded suggestion -
Yes, of course we are Americans but you, explain to us your foreign accent.
No. What I was searching for I would not find. And what exactly was I looking for anyway? A chance to connect with someone I had something in common with - citizenship. But there’s being American and there’s being American. For me it’s about how i sound. For some of my hispanic and asian friends it’s a matter of how they For me the refrain usual refrain is ‘I’m hearing an accent…..’. For other people it’s ‘But where are you really from? Where are your parents from?’
Does any of it matter?
With the conversation over, I continued typing and sipping my tea. The tourists continue talking about their Delta Sky miles and the best time to get to the airport on Monday morning.
Some hours later I decided to head home. I walked through the cobbled streets lined on each side with restaurants and bars and tried not to inhale too much cigarette smoke.
I noticed heavyset very tanned woman and her male partner who was wearing a baseball cap with DALLAS emblazoned on the front, seated on a restaurant patio enjoying a meal. The surface of his plate was taken up by a giant bone and he scooped out what looked like marrow. On her plate was a mostly green salad. A waiter appeared with a basket of bread and placed it on their table then turned to leave.
‘No no no no no!’
The woman violently shook her head and her left hand which was gripping her fork. The waitress was visibly confused. In France it is unheard of to not have bread with a meal. The woman shook her hand some more.
‘No no no no!’
She pushed her hand forward as if to say ‘Get this away from me!’ The waiter shrugged her shoulders and made a French sound* then took the basket and carried it back inside.
———
I walked further. A group of American girls were standing on the bridge. It seemed as if they had just met up with each other.
‘Oh my god you look so so cute!’
‘That top is really cute on you.’
Whereas French people show affection by making fun of each other*, Americans do the same by giving a barrage of compliments.
I continued walking alone, observing everything and everyone around me. People look at me. Sometimes they do that American smile. The one that appears and disappears just as quickly. I continued walking.
I like being in France. I can be anybody here, I speak French well enough to communicate without hesitation. I can give directions to anyone who asks me because I know this city well. When a french person asks me where I’m from and I say America, their reply is always ‘Quelle chance!’ (What luck). The better my French gets the less I am asked about where I am from. But anytime I have to say I am American, nobody demands an explanation.
When the man ask me to explain my accent I felt that wave of alienation that carried me along all those years of living in the land of the free. But for the first time in years, it was quickly replaced by a feeling of liberation. I realized that I am no longer trying so hard to fit in while making sure that I still stand out. After almost a year as an American in France, an American without an explanation, I seem to have finally transcended my nationality. I no longer have to worry about where I am really from because it no longer matters. I’m simply here trying to figure out exactly what it is I’m looking for and then hopefully find it.
*taquiner -to gently mock. It’s a local sport among French people. It’s how they connect with each other and show affection. To an outsider it may be a bit of an affront at first. you might feel as if someone is making fun of you unprovoked. but after some time you get used to it and you learn to give as much as you get.