Observations Shaded with a Tinge of Americanism, or McDonald’s is a Lie

** RETRACTION: Apparently there are pennies in Europe; however, most stores that aren’t supermarchés (supermarkets) do not charge amounts that would require the use of change less than €0,10. (As I’ve quickly picked up, Europeans are never wrong; they are just misunderstood.)

For the past few days, Elaine and I have been aimlessly walking around the small, winding streets of Strasbourg, and it’s given me a lot of time to think about everything. For someone who has traveled more than me, these things may be second nature, but I being a novice am struck by the smallest things, I suppose. Here are just some of the interesting things that I’ve seen or have happened to me so far.

When I flew into Paris, I saw that many of the fields had a yellow color as opposed to the green of many of the surrounding pastures. Assuming this was the culmination of an obscene amount of flight time as well as the rising sun, I shrugged the idea off as a coup d’œil (optical illusion). After almost forgetting the yellow splotches from my misadventures (stress being placed on the prefix, mis-) in the Parisian metro, I boarded the TGV to Strasbourg. As we were approaching the 200 kilometre per hour mark, I started to notice the fields around me were colored yellow as well. It was rather difficult to make out what they were until it suddenly hit me: they were fields of flowers. Fields brimming over with gorgeous yellow flowers, which I assumed were daffodils, speckled the countryside. After counseling my counterparts here in Strasbourg, I found out that they are cultivated for use in the perfume industry. Call me crazy, but in an alternative world, I could see myself as a flower horticulturalist in the compagne française (French countryside).

Another thing I noticed while whizzing along the TGV tracks was the presence of many petites villes (small towns). Tucked between the rolling hills of northeastern France were many clusters of buildings that seemed to be forgotten by time. Each of them were centered around a small église (church) with groups of brick buildings radiating outward. Looking at them gave me mixed feelings – to live in a village like that would be a horrendous detachment from the vie moderne (modern life) that we’ve all grown so reliant upon but it would also be a simplicity of life we all seem to be searching for.

On a much more peculiar and less existential topic: the voitures (cars) of France. In France, and I expect this to hold true in all of Europe, you can classify a car in one of two broad topics: economic or showy. Most Americans' jaws would drop to see the tiny two-seaters here that are about as big as the plastic cars you buy for a toddler. Other than the expected Mercedes-Benz, BMW, Audi, etc. brands, there are some different ones that most Americans aren’t familiar with. One of my favorites is the Peugeot. Its symbol is a Griffin, which tempts me to steal every one that I find. I’ve also run across a few Lamborghinis as well as other Italian expressions of pure chauvinism. While touring Petite France, we came across what I consider to be the most interesting car I’ve seen so far. It was yellow like a canary and looked to be a cross between a go-kart, Speed Racer (I expect my cut for this plug of your movie), and a muscle car. We took a few pictures around it, but none of us could make any sense of it. We thought it was a once in a lifetime experience, but about 100 metres away, we ran into a second one that was the same exact color (we checked to make sure it wasn’t just one that moved). European men, I know you guys tend to be short in stature, but I don’t see why this requires you to buy ridiculous cars. Please explain to me why you feel the need to drive around a go-kart at age 40.

This confusion of European intentions brings me to my title topic – the lie that is European McDonald’s. Now, before you go up in arms saying, “Matthew, HOW could you have gone into a McDonald’s in France? There must have been countless other restaurants that you could have gone into!”, I want you to know that a) this wasn’t my idea (point complaints at Elaine), and b) it was only for a drink. Before I get to my discussion of the tragedy that was my experience at McDonald’s, let me explain to you some fundamental differences between European and American McDonald’s. First of all, as an American would expect, the Europeans tend to enjoy sophistication. In response to this, the European McDonald’s has tried to up the ante. They feature about eight different baked douceurs (sweets), and they enjoy making a big deal how fancy they are although they are kept in a glass display where they could have been aging for God knows how long. Also, in response to this need for sophistication, they have sandwiches that tend to feature pastoral-inspired, local ingredients. The crowning achievement of their faux sophistication is their “le M”. Standing as a near slap in the American face, this sandwich uses the “finest breads” with “prime selected angus beef”, as if Americans could not even handle the haute couture (high culture) of this sandwich. Naturally, I was intimidated and cowered in fear. A second thing I noticed was the disproportional change in price and amount of food. Everything seemed to shrink (which is a quality of most European food) while the price increased (another quality of European food). What struck me most about this is that the symbol of American capitalism, the two arches that stand for democracy and the pursuit of happiness, fell prey to this European pitfall. Why have you forsaken me, McDonald’s?

Back to the crux of the matter, Elaine and I had been walking around all day, and we were looking for a quick soda. Instead of paying the outlandish prices charged by the few stores that were open (since it was Pentecost and the Holy Spirit closes stores), we thought that the old American standby would be there to welcome us with a bucket of cola without paying more than as smile. We were unfortunately mistaken. Elaine paid €1,90 ($3.00) for the moyen (medium) size. Picture you have a can of soda. Pour out that can of soda in a regular glass. You know how you have that small amount left over? Apparently it is shipped to France and labeled as “medium” – all the while losing its fizz and proper flavor. I bought the grand (large) size for €2,30 ($3.60), which amounted to probably the kids’ size in the United States. And the biggest injustice of them all: no ice. We stood outside of the establishment for about 10 minutes (2 of which drinking the soda and 8 of which wondering where it all went). Soon our confusion turned to anger. How could McDonald’s do this to us? Now we both are writing about this blatant mockery of our trust, and to make a long story short: McDonald’s is a lie.