Out and About

I’m doing what I can to slowly but surely build my Strasbourgeois networks beyond work. My new Lyonnaise acquaintance, Jeanne is intentional about staying in touch.  When we first meet, qualified social worker Jeanne is looking for a job and I for accommodation. We encourage each other by text during the ups and downs of our bread and butter quests. We meet up one early evening. Jeanne's breakthrough has come quicker than she thought. She has been offered a position at EPIS, the church we both happened to visit on the same Sunday a few weeks back. She has been headhunted. I buy her a celebratory hot chocolate. She consoles me as I open up about my frustrations with my language acquisition and latest crisis of faith. She listens patiently, not judging as I'd feared and proffers sound advice. There are no grand gestures but the simple, soothing balm of good companionship is every bit as effective right now.

It's a contrast to my last attempt to tentatively widen my Strasbourg circle. One evening after work, I meet up with Nicolas. We first connect when I answer his classified ad for a studio on listings site, Le Bon Coin. The viewing isn’t a success but the interaction is amicable. He seems to be a pleasant character. That’s why I feel a little worse for turning down his compact student-friendly pied-a-terre. I tell him so. Nicolas reciprocates with his mobile number. I text him back, asking if he minds remaining in touch. I’m new in town. I need to establish links. He invites me out for a drink.

We try and fail many times to coordinate schedules. He has a full time job plus his own consultancy business. I’m busy when he’s free and vice versa. Life gets in the way. A free hour on a school night finally suits us both.

Nicolas' meeting location of choice is Paddy’s. It’s an Irish pub in the Jewish quarter, a choice possibly influenced by my British connection. A lot of cultural (con) fusion. It’s a short tram ride from work but we’re both running late. I’m held up by a last minute personal call to try and sort out my housing situation. 

I'm nervous I won't remember how Nicolas looks like. He arrives before I do. He spots me first. He's on his mobile. The tone is intimate. He ends the call.

‘Tu es à l’heure, comme d’habitude’. He grins.

I mumble a sheepish response. I was late to his viewing as well, both times for valid(ish) reasons. He’s better looking than I recall, sans lunettes; a sort of slender Clark Kent type. It’s an awkward but convivial enough meeting; a bit giggly. Lots of useful French practice for me. During one of the short but uncomfortable lulls I ask about his Christmas plans. He says something about going to Spain with his family. 

'Do you have a cultural connection?'

No, just a holiday with family and the girlfriend. I don’t hear much after he casually mentions his other half. For the sake of disambiguation, I switch languages momentarily. It would be tricky enough in English without being blunt.

Does your girlfriend know you’re out with strange women? (I'm paraphrasing). Back to French. It’s just that I think it would be a courtesy to be informed, if I were in her place.

Well, he begins. He doesn’t want to generalise. It depends on the person. His girlfriend is of Polish extraction. The culture is very insular, he gently insists. They’re not necessarily interested in going out, socialising. Meeting new people. It’s easier if she doesn’t know. Besides, he adds, if you were a guy, new in town and we wanted to fraternise over drinks, it wouldn't be an issue.

Hmm. It’s not quite the same, I reply. Male and female relationships can be very open to (mis) interpretation.

Dear reader, calm your feverish imagination. This is not a date. There are no set expectations. Still, the parameters would have been different if I knew Nicolas was attached. I might have decided against it altogether, so not to give the wrong impression.

I choose my words carefully. It is hard to have such a delicate conversation in any case, let alone in a second language. I don’t want to judge him, I explain. It’s just I like to put myself in the shoes of the significant other. I tell him my sister and I have had this debate a few times. She thinks I tend to err too much on the side of caution. 

It does depend on the dynamic, true. Still. I’m not convinced. There’s a hint of the deceitful. (Later that week I recount the episode to sis. She’s surprisingly supportive. No. It isn’t all in my head. There were mixed signals. Sounds as if he’s playing the ‘what if?’ parallel reality game, she posits, getting some sullied sense of validation).

The most constructive part of the evening is when Nicolas brings up faith. He notices that I have signed off some of my texts with ‘Par la grace de Dieu’.

‘Tu es croyante. C’est rare’. I assume he means for our generation. I answer in the affirmative. He’s an intermittently observant Catholic by his own admission, probably fitting it in between his myriad other obligations. It’s a particular challenge discussing things of a metaphysical nature in another language. But no excuses. It’s not as if I’ve never done it before. I say something about faith not being a question of ritual observance. Neither should it be a mere add-on. It is the core of who I am.

Nicolas and I part ways. I consider texting him later to say thanks (I end up paying for my drink anyway, by default of him having no change). For obvious reasons, I think better of it.