April 8, 2002

Traveling out of the country raises questions best answered in advance of boarding the plane; i.e., what to wear coming and going and what to pack for the stay. Good advice to remember is "when in Rome, do as the Romans do."

Of course, that doesn't mean I'd pack a grass skirt for Hawaii or flowing black robes for a trip to the Middle East but I would plan appropriate attire for me and for the circumstances. And, so, when I tore into the package I'd been waiting for I was excited beyond belief to find my name on the airline tickets, an itinerary designed for me, the schedule of classes at the Travel Writers' Workshop with my name on the list, well ... I was beside myself.

Once I'd settled down, I started to read the information about hotel, restaurants, currency, etc., and also, "dress code." Good, I thought. I had wondered if the workshop would be casual or daytime business wear. I learned late April is unpredictable. I can expect rain and cool. Okay, I'll prepare.

"Jeans are fine in the workshop but not at the dinners." (I think we all know that.) "Paris is a city and urban clothing works best no matter where or when." (Well, that's reasonable.) "White athletic shoes are an American give-away." While I have no intention of packing my Keds, I started to get uneasy as I read further:

"Following is an excerpt from Adrien Leeds resto guide:

DRESS:

Dress appropriately. We are not suggesting you don your finest suit and Sunday best but dressing well is part of the French culture, so use your good judgment. I think you'll find that if you're dressed to fit in comfortably with the Parisians, that overall you'll be treated with more respect."

The advice goes on for a few more paragraphs advising that Parisians never wear shorts, not even in hot weather and jeans are clearly for the young. A frivolous aside adds "although with a designer blazer jeans can be acceptably French!" Well, ooh la la.

My uneasiness as I read is not because I think they are stating the obvious about dressing in an urban setting, it's the suggestion that if we behave ourselves they won't even know we're there. The final lines inform us that Paris has become more casual in the last few years but, even so, "if you don't look like a tourist, you won't be treated like one, and that can take you a long way." I can't spell the sound I'm making, "Uh, uh, uh," I'm saying, forcing air from my throat for want of the words that aren't there.

Where I live, two or three seasons of the year are almost reserved for tourists and the rest of the time spent preparing for them. The traffic gets heavier, their colorful presence and exuberance on bike trails, golf courses, beaches, restaurants and historic sites makes us smile. They're relaxed, they're happy.

I'm not saying I like circling the block three times before finding a parking spot near enough to the shops. And, waiting for a table is no more fun that it ever is ... but we accommodate our tourists because they keep the Island flourishing. They're happy, they like it here, and we don't have to do much more to please them than smile back. In my nine years here I have never heard one person say, "How can you stand it here?" We have what they came for -- no complaints.

Now, look what's happening as I read my preparations for Paris. I'm uneasy because I sense the French might not like me. I'm beginning to not like them because they're prejudging me. They would actually judge me by the shoes on my feet.

I will not let that poison take hold. Paris will have all I'm going for, I keep telling myself. What could I possibly complain about? I' ll pack lightly, a little black dress for the cocktail party, leaving behind two accessories I might otherwise wear, but not in Paris where I've heard, less is more. And, that's good fashion sense. I will have only three days to absorb a city centuries in the making. I hope the reputation of Ugly American does not precede me. And, I won't allow innuendo in travel guides prejudice me. I'll get to know some Parisians, we'll get to know and like each other.

How do I know that? Because we'll be one on one. We won't judge each other according to what "they" say. If after a reasonable exchange we do not like each other it will be because of our attitudes, whether high falutin' or in-your-face rude. I know this because, in my experience, treating everyone with respect takes you further than the shoes you're wearing.

Still, I'm aware of Richard Reid and his story out of Paris. He's the one dressed in traditional Muslim garb, sporting long hair and a beard, paying cash for a one-way ticket to the US., having suspect passport papers, no luggage, but sure-footed and confident-looking in athletic shoes -- laced with explosives.

They detained him at Paris Security. They knew whoever he was, he was not French, not with those athletic shoes on his feet. Imagine, daring to show up at an airport in Paris wearing athletic shoes! That was insult enough to hassle him long enough miss his flight and have to go through the same security check the next day before being allowed to board Flight 63 bound for Miami.

Athletic shoes are such a part of the American image that those security officers just added a line to our welcoming slogan: "Give me your tired, your poor your huddled masses yearning to breathe free," and if they're wearing athletic shoes, they'll have a leg up.