Cultural Value? Or Odd Person? Or My Ignorance?

From the moment I got on the RER train at CDG Airport with my mom's cousin Jeffrey and his daughter Alice to head into Paris on Thursday, August 26th, it was clear that I had arrived in another land with a culture vastly different from the one that had sent me here. Every day since then I've tried to better understand this place and its values, as well as the differing and opposing views held by Paris's diverse populations.

However, it's hard. When I observe a majority of people behaving a certain way in certain situations, I feel as though I can consider that behavior a convention of their culture. But when I see several people behave a certain way or hear several people say a certain thing or talk a certain way, it's not as clear. Does this thing this person says or does reflect on the culture in which he/she lives, or is this just someone's own thing they do? Am I thinking too much in terms of "what does 'this culture' think or do?" No matter what, every day I'm faced with lots of questions in just trying to make sense of what's around me.

Take for example, my kung fu class. Every class we practice holding stances for a long time so that we internalize the form and build up muscular endurance. When my kung fu teacher has several fresh red dots decorating the crotch of the pants of her white uniform, does that represent a French aversion to tampons? Or does it reflect back on the Orthodox Pei Mei Nam Anh Kung Fu School? OR is it the expression of a broader mind-conquers-body value of the martial arts, rather than just Pei Mei? How does she not notice? Does she notice and not care? Aren't periods supposed to be uncomfortable? Or has she just so transcended the plane on which her body exists that she can objectively look down on menstrual cramps with little more than mild amusement, smile, and descend deeper into the stance of the tiger?

As I'm in France, I often encounter French people, especially on the metro, but sometimes in classes, too. On more than just a few occasions, some of these people have smelled. They've smelled bad. A handful of those bad smelling people have smelled bad enough that my mind needed to justify it. Is there a bloc of French society that looks down on what we consider "cleanliness?" Do they define it differently? Or is there a recessive allele in the French gene pool that codes for a life threatening allergy to the water that comes out of a shower head? An allergy so severe in its attack that its sufferers are immediately thrust into anaphylactic shock upon even entering a bathroom? If so, must they shower with an epipen? Is it fair of me to ascribe this in any way to their being French? Or am I just aware of the stereotype and looking for people who fulfill it? After all, there are plenty of smelly people in the U.S., and I've never thought twice about attributing their odor to anything other than their own personal ambivalence towards soap.

Almost every day I give some money to homeless people. I just feel so guilty that I have it and they don't that I need to. I know a euro or more won't save their lives, but I like to think it can at least help, if not slightly renew their faith in the capacity of fellow humans to care. But lately, I've noticed something. In the last week alone I've seen at least three homeless men, either camped out in the rain or in the metro, cradling sickeningly adorable puppies. Puppies cute enough that you'd think they had been plucked directly from the pages of an ASPCA calendar. This also makes my mind enter that justification process. If there is a question chemical, it floods my brain, and if there are question receptors, they hungrily bind it.

"How much do puppies go for in Paris? That puppy looks pretty new--when did he get it? Moreover, why did he get it? Does the companionship of a fresh puppy improve the loneliness of a homeless life? If he's struggling to stay alive, does adding a puppy to the mix represent a wise choice? Is this even his first puppy? If not, what happened to the others? How much in donations does he receive every day? Without the cost of sustaining the puppy, is it enough to feed himself? Including the cost of the puppy, can he sustain himself? By what percent does the cuteness of the puppy increase his donations? Does it at all? If it does, will the increase be enough to satisfy his and the puppy's needs? Or is the puppy actually so cost-effective that it pays for itself and yields a higher daily donation for this man's own costs? Is it pessimistic of him to have bought this puppy? That is, does he believe that people are uncaring enough about other people that they can't donate to a homeless man unless there are literally sad puppy eyes staring back at them? In his experience, is this really true? If I don't donate to this man, am I now also responsible for the possible starving death of a puppy? Or can the puppy actually feed itself? I consider myself a sensitive person, but am I being insensitive by detaching like this to wonder about his situation and his motives?"

Sometimes on the metro, especially line 1, musicians come on and play for five or ten minutes, solicit tips, then leave. Usually it's an accordion player with a prerecorded accompaniment amplified through a speaker, or a singer with similar accompaniment, or several horn players. Very often, except for the singers, the musicians are really good and I almost always give them money to share my appreciation for them sharing their music. I'm nearly always the only one on the train smiling, tapping his foot, and swaying with the music. And it really is good music. On Thursday I saw a pair of men, one on clarinet and one on sax, play a fantastic version of "When The Saints Go Marching In" and an exciting rendition of the great old Jewish classic, "Hava Nagila." To anyone observing the situation from elsewhere, it would've probably appeared as though everyone on the train, other than this slightly tired and foreign looking unshaven guy (me), got the memo that Sarkozy had recently outlawed public displays of enjoyment. The men played on, seeming to appreciate my enthusiasm, while every other person sat still, staring into nothing while appearing to contemplate their dear old grandmother's slow descent into irreversible dimentia and the inevitable tragedy when the family decided it was time to pull the plug. Again, the questions came.

"Are these people so used to hearing great, spontaneous music in public spaces that now, it's just annoying? Or do they just not like music? Does "Hava Nagila" bring back horrible, torturous, repressed memories of family holiday parties gone sickeningly awry? Or are they all secretly having the time of their lives? And they're just afraid to show it because they think everyone else will judge them? Why don't we have this kind of public performance on transportation in the U.S.? Wait...do we? And have I just missed it?! If we don't, can I somehow make it happen? Oh, wait I've seen people in the T stations and the NYC subway stations playing music! But not on the actual train. Can that happen? Does it happen? If it can happen, do I need a permit to do it? I know you need one to play in the station, but what about the train? Do these guys here need permits? Do you audition for one? If so, then why aren't lots of the singers any good? And why hasn't the accordion caught on in the U.S.?"

For some reason, almost every thing I see here I try to explain to myself through the lens of my being in France, but I just don't think that works. If there's one thing all cultures share, it's smelly people. We've all got em. That may be the main lesson I take away from these almost four months.