In France, Even Feet Are Fancy

As a woman from Oregon equipt with a perfectly adequate set of getaway sticks I walk everywhere I’m not biking when I need to get around Poitiers. Poitiers is a pint-sized town compared to it’s big brothers and sisters like Lyon and Paris so walking from downtown to the little ‘burb of Bruxerolles where I live has never really occurred to me as a problem after my initial attempt.

My third day in France, the day of the bazarre, I decided to give walking from our house to centre ville a shot. I asked Yanna how long she thought it would take and she responded with the most genuinely horrified look I may have ever seen.

“Non non non, c’est trop loin! Essaie pas!” No no no, it’s way too far! Don’t try!

Feeling nervous but assuring her I wouldn’t die, I hit the bricks. Half an hour later I was standing in front of the Notre Damme de la Grande, which is an old church that marks the dead center of downtown.

Too far? FALSE!

Furthermore, as I operate under the belief that Poitiers rearranges itself whenever I turn around for a sec, I am often asking the locals for directions. Whenever I ask any French person the direction to Bruxerolles from anywhere, even from WITHIN Bruxerolles, I get the same horrified look and a “Yeah it’s there, but really really far.”

After 2 weeks of qualitative data as the result of being perpetually lost, I’ve come to the conclusion that to the French, if it’s more than an 8 minute walk, why on earth would you even try it?

However, goofy as it may seem to someone raised, for the most part, entirely on the west coast of the United States, it cannot be said that the French are being particularly persnickety. They do afterall have killer shoes in every sense of the word. And even though I’m comfortable clubbing in either Jedi-boots or tennis shoes, it’s only because I’ve emotionally figured out how to be OK with having my feet outshined and my wallet 200 euros fatter in my (possibly neurotic) narrow-eyed suspicion of the cost-worthiness of a bus pass.

And all those well-dressed people usually follow up their warnings with ride offers. At the end of the day, French people (maybe just people in general) are just really really nice.

A word on French driving: Medians here do not have the ridiculous purpose of posing a physical barrier between you and other lanes, but rather, are stepstools covered in trees, benches, bikes and people from which one can better watch oncoming traffic from the comfort of one’s vehicle.

Don’t ask me, I’m the crazy girl that walks.