And Yet More Communication Issues

For the past six months, ever since I arrived in Paris, communication has obviously been a personally prevalent topic. As you may already know from reading this blog, living abroad has added whole new dimensions to the concept as a whole.

Aside from the well-documented struggles I have experienced--and will doubtless continue to experience--with cross-language conversations, the communication in my life that should be, for all intents and purposes "easy," has also been marked by some unexpected struggles over the past few months.

When I bought a "portable" phone and signed on with a mobile provider in Paris, I opted for a plan that allows unlimited local texts and very limited local calls. It seemed that two hours of "call time" per month would suffice because I did not start out with many friends in France. I figured that when and if the masses of Frenchies clamouring for my friendship started rolling in, texting would be the preferable means of communication anyway; I find I am sharper through the written word.


Well that and I have a lot of trouble discerning the French language through le telephone; such a scenario becomes a literal version of that game "telephone" that always produced wildly muddled interpretations of mundane sentences (although I used to suspect there was a clown or two in on the game who purposefully messed up the chain of communication just to inject a dose of revelry--sort of appreciated as the game was, let's face it, not that fun). Incidentally, I am still not certain if I did make the right decision with my phone plan selection, as my hunch has never been tested. The truth is that the aforementioned busload of French friends I had planned to meet and enjoy has somehow still not pulled up to my door stoop.


Must be a lot of traffic in the banlieues.


But more to the point: It was tempting to pay more in order to have international service available to me, but since I do not currently have a trunk of gold coins in my closet, such a luxury was a tad out of the budge. I was not overly concerned; since leaving adolescence and my super cool Swatch phone behind, I have actually become a bit phone-phobic (another fear that set in late in life, along with my fear of heights, cats, and unsupervised teenagers). Thus, not having a plethora of people available at a moment's notice seemed like a refreshing change of pace.

Let me divert here and interject a personal pet peeve: it incenses me when people complain about others who do not pick up their mobile phones every time it rings. Unlike the vast majority of American youth, I do not happen to advocate answering the phone while in a restroom, a movie theater, or waiting in a deli line. When people complain, "That is what a cell phone is FOR, to always be able to be reached!" I want to give them an Indian sunburn right then and there. No, people, in my mind, having a cell phone is certainly not so that I can be perpetually available to you.


It is actually so that I can screen your call, listen to your voicemail message, and respond accordingly--crossing my fingers that I will also be screened and can therefore just leave you a voicemail.


Back on terra firma (i.e. off that soap box I just cannot seem to resist), I am finding that not being able to talk on the phone like a "normal" person in Paris, has its challenges.

For example, I gave up calling my mom from phone booths in European internet cafes because the combined smell of human sweat and curry that seems to cling to the walls in those places is actually a bit distracting/revolting. So there was that. And then my predicament is further exaccerbated by the fact that I really dislike Skyping.

I sound like I am difficult to please don't I?

Umm, yeah. Have you MET me? I am the person who needs her butter to taste a certain way in her croissants. So, yes, difficult I am . Though I prefer "particular," as it sounds a tad softer and more sophisticated.


But Skyping is disorienting because I am always looking at myself in that little box and critiqueing my appearance. I would feel embarassed because such an admission sounds rather narcissistic but I think it is sort of implied already that I am a tad narcissistic. I mean who else has a blog devoted to tales and scenes from her own life if not a narcissist?


But Skyping became almost bearable when I figured out how to turn that self-video box off, but then I still did not like how the picture would periodically freeze and the person would go on talking while being frozen in some unflattering manner, like with their eyes half closed and their mouth agape. It is like when the voice-overs on TV shows do not match the movement of the characters' mouths. Ugh, that is annoying. And saying goodbye on Skype is always a hard challenge to navigate too. Like do you blow air-kisses, or pretend to hug as you might bid adieu in person? Saying a simple "bye," as you would on the phone always elicits this weird back and forth of "Okay bye," "Now, okay, bye," "All right, bye," until one person has to somewhat aggressively annouce that he or she is definitively cutting off the contact tout suite: "I am ending this call now!"


I was finally almost satisfied with a system of calling via Skype but without the camera aspect. This arrangement is tolerable, the drawback being that I am constantly on speaker phone. Who likes speaker phone? And the quality is not very reliable with these calls either. Half the time, I am convinced that someone is trying to order pizzas as I am attempting to hear my mother tell me about her crazy neighbors. Or yesterday, I was talking to my brother and, due to the high-pitched static that kept popping up, he was convinced that my husband was on the line too, laughing hysterically. Never mind that fact that my husband was in bed, behind a closed door from where I was speaking/shouting into my computer screen. And the fact that the sound was more like a giggly 8 year-old girl than that of an adult man laughing, but my brother has never had the best hearing.

And regarding that conversation with my brother, he made some comment about how I was funny. It sounded to me like he was suggesting something was a bit "off" about me (as in: "This yogurt is passed the expiration date, does it smell funny?"), and I immediately jumped all over him, demanding to know why he thought I was a weirdo. He was understandably confused by my (over)reaction, and by the time he had explained that he really thought I was funny (like as in someone who makes good jokes) I think he was wishing he could change that "funny" label to "paranoid nutter."

For the most part we had a great conversation. About 50% of it was my brother telling me stories about his life and laughing so hard before he could reach the punchline, that we both ended up laughing without really knowing what we were laughing at. I love that sort of thing. But such a true "connection" has been hard to achieve via the Skype video distraction/speaker-phone inconvenience/curry-stenched booth systems with which I have been working over here. It was a rarity, and it was really refreshing.


It just seems often after speaking to members of my family from here in Europe, I feel sort of unsatisfied. At home, I normally speak to my mother at least once a day, so this system of shouting at her through my laptop twice a week is a bit of a departure from my preference.


I really want to pick up the phone and tell my mom about my day. About how I bought a piece of fish at the open air market yesterday and the fish purveyor actually smiled at me and complimented my French (huge victory, by the way). I want her to tell me about her recent poker night (yes, seriously) and actually be able to hear the details. Because when I do try to have a "normal" conversation such as that , we seem to spend a good amount of time responding to one another with disjointed, "What was that? I missed that last part? You want pepperoni? What?"


Something really is lost on translation. Even, ironically, when you are speaking the same language. There is simply no substitute for having clean, clear communication with others. And when you don't have it, you seriously miss it.

So while I love Paris (and I also apparently love to complain about technological challenges), I think what I am really saying is that I am having a bout of homesickness. It is not Skype's fault, after all. I just want to have an uninterrupted conversation at a normal volume with my mom. Is that too much to ask?