J'arrive!

I have arrived!

I can't help but feel some excitement. I am doing my best to control it — I don't want to walk around beaming like an idiot — but it is bubbling in my stomach. I wonder how long it will last. I have been in this country for a little over an hour. I haven't talked to anyone yet, except for my seatmate from the plane, and I left him in the terminal, when he headed for baggage and I headed for the train. (Which was confusing as hell, by the way, and it wasn't a language thing. But I found it, and I am on it now.) I did get some cash from an ATM — my first small victory — and found the train, and bought a ticket (though I did cheat and used both the ATM and the ticket machine in English). We'll see if, when I arrive at Nation, I can order a soda and croissant without a problem. I will feel good if I can.

Of course I'm a little nervous. But I wonder if part of the bubbling is a sense of freedom. I don't know that it is, and I don't know if it should be. I really don't know. Is that what I'm doing? Am I escaping? If that's the goal, have I made it yet? Is it a disservice to my life in Portland and the States to think of it in this way? I don't know the answers to any of those questions, so I don't know if I should try to cultivate this feeling. It could be a cool feeling to have — I can't remember ever escaping from anything, unless you count graduating from Reed (and, upon further review, I think I do).

I didn't realize how large a role Design plays in culture. The two things that make a place feel foreign are the unintelligible conversations swirling around one's head, and the slightly off-kilter design sense one gets, almost subconsciously, from the architecture, fashion, advertising, urban planning, etc. I think our brains are actually used to specific street widths, specific color combinations, even specific fonts. The fonts are different here. I never would have had that thought. Even the graffiti fonts are a little different, I think. It's certainly a little more colorful. (Are the fonts different, or is it just that the words are foreign? There's a Panasonic sign — it is in a familiar font and color. But that's more about global branding, isn't it?)

Paris is, at least on this morning, a hazy city. And here in the northern suburbs ("banlieus"?), it is industrial, dirty.

The train just ducked underground to make a stop. I have nothing to write about black tunnels. They are the same everywhere in the world.