PSu Magazine Winter 2002

The enigmatic ..Sffli~.. As the song goes: smiling faces, sometimes they don't tell the truth ... By Merlin Douglass '95 16 PSU MAGAZINE WINTER 2002 A smile. How is it chat something so simple, so friendly, so innocent can be the source of so much dif– ficulty between people. Travel to foreign s ii or converse with an unfa– miliar group and you' ll ee what I mean. I learned firsthand how this sort of social disconnect might cake place on my first trip to Paris. I was thrilled beyond description when I realized I would be going to Paris as a PSU cudent. Thi was my idea of getting an education. And it was an education, as it turned out. Unbelievably, I was going alone. Gloriously alone. No husband, no lover, no family, no friends. Not chat I would have minded the company; but my family and friend have repeatedly made it clear that they find me, how– ever beloved, an dd duck. And, despite my interest in all things Parisian, I'd never gotten around to taking a lover. There are only o many hours in a day, after all. In the months preceding my trip I dreamed of the sights and sounds, the mells and tastes that I imagined awaited me. Never mind that the Paris in my mind might not even have ex isted. Might never have existed. ILLUSTRATION BY FRANK RENLIE/ARTVILLE Never mind that thousands of tourists had trod through the city all summer, annoying the locals and littering the treets. I was prepared for the adven– ture of a lifetime Well, not that you'd know that to look at me, either. I was, in adminis– trative parlance, "a mature student." I fancy I radiated solid planning and sensible shoes rather than adventure. Which just goes to how you how lit– tle looks really count for in the end. I crimped and saved, while apply– ing for scholarships-who knew such a thing was po sible-and fretted over what cloches to take. Three months seemed a very long time for the pared down list recommended in the guide– books. Finally, I, who could still recall the first time the children were old enough for me to go to the grocery store alone, boarded a plane for Paris-all by myself. I left a week and a half before I was to meet the rest of the Portland State students in Avignon in the south of France for fall term. I wanted to explore Paris all by myself before group activities and sheer exhaustion deter– mined both the pace and the sub– stance of my experience. T hough I had tudied French for three years, my knowledge deserted me as the plane's tires hit the run– way at Charle de Gaulle, and I wa forced to make do with a smile, which I kept plastered across my face to show the natives I meant them no harm. I'm afraid I presented quite a sight. I know I was overly enthusia tic. I couldn't contain myself. Everything I touched, tasted, read, heard, or watched filled me with delight. Every morning I left the small room I had rented in a college dorm in the ub– urbs to travel by Metro into the heart of the city. I walked the treets and byways until the cobblestones begged for mercy and the light fell in long hadows down the narrow sidewalk . I seemed to make a number of friends along the way. I greeted people in the streets and they greeted me back. Who knew the French were so friendly? Sometimes men followed me in the Jardin de Tuilerie , sometimes they simply fell in beside me, attempt-