You know the story of the third and youngest daughter of the king who told him she loved him like meat loves salt and he was insulted so he put her in the dungeon. The daughter somehow got the cook to take the salt out of the meat and serve it to the king, who then learned what his little daughter meant. It’s the simple things that matter. Here is a story about salt.
We are coming to the holidays, and they can be exciting but tough for students traveling and studying abroad. In 2020, covid hit; students had to be called home. Everything went into lockdown. The Christmas Market in Prague was canceled. Plans changed drastically. Then after about a year, I heard students began to travel again. They traveled differently, though, with more care, less abandon. Wearing masks, they ordered tickets online and much in advance. They practiced social distancing as much as possible. They traveled in small groups or with another person, They carried proof of their vaccinations and boosters. Some traveled despite advisories. Many stayed home. Things turned to the internet, or some kind of hybrid experience. But the whole spirit of adventure sank like lead bricks in mud. In 1978 and 1979, study abroad in Paris was much different. Times were more innocent, but they indicated future events.
In 1978, Czechoslovakia existed as a satellite country of the Soviet Union. The Berlin Wall had not fallen yet. The Shah of Iran fell. Cambodia suffered the monstrous horror and tragedy of Pol Pot. Many Cambodians, if they could, had fled their country. Many sought refuge in Paris. They lived in little apartments, depending on the help of humanitarian groups, kind French people who had, perhaps, lived in Cambodia, and knew some Cambodians. During the year in France, while studying at the Sorbonne, I had the privilege of meeting a group of Cambodian students. A chance meeting and a simple conversation at a student cafeteria, changed everything.
I had been getting my lunch from little grocery stores, but decided one day to try the student cafeteria. The one in the Latin Quarter was rumored to be the best. Gathering up the courage to stand in line, show my ID, get the little ticket, go through the line, get the meal, and sit down at a table, took everything out of me. The food was cheap, but not that good. i remember some kind of greasy orange sausage with a sauce and couscous offered that day. Yogurt and fruit offered more hope. A warm sunny day helped cheer me up. Christmas was approaching, but I had no idea what I would be doing. I missed home.
The lunch line flowed quickly, like a river. I came into the dining room and searched for an open table, an island in the river. Students sat in groups and conversed, if they knew each other. I ate my lunch quietly. A few students came to sit at my table. But it was silence in a cacaphony. No one looked at each other. The isolation struck hard. I needed salt for my sauce. Bravely, I looked at the student across from me and dared to ask, “Passez-moi le sel, s’il vous plaît.” I used “vous” to be polite. A big mistake. One uses “Tu” when talking with students, even when you don’t know them. I was marked as a foreigner. I hadn’t learned the rules yet. But this simple request in as kind and sweet a voice as possible changed the entire year, opened doors, sustained me, helped me to understand some of the most difficult things in the world, led to connection, and a friendship. How could such a simple request, a command that really wasn’t a command, such as “Pass me the salt, please.” be such a game-changer?