It turns out I may not be the only one in favor of silencing cell phones if new Wifi services are made available on certain flights in the near future. An online survey conducted across the U.S. by Yahoo! in late April showed that “…74% of respondents said cell phone use on airplanes should be restricted to silent features,” such as email, text messaging, and instant messaging.

Interestingly, the survey also found that “In western parts of the U.S., that number increased to 83% who wanted no talking.” Could this be proof of the laconic tendencies of the stereotypical westerner (the strong, silent type), or of their need for greater personal space than the average American? As a westerner myself, I’m keeping mum on the subject.

A few weeks ago, I read an article in the International Herald Tribune that struck fear into my heart. No, it wasn’t about the economy (well, not directly) or the latest health study crisis, but a more trivial subject that nonetheless makes me shudder to think of it. The headline of the article says it all: EU moves toward allowing in-flight cellphone calls. At first I hoped it was a late April Fool’s Day joke, but no such luck.

In the abstract I can understand why this might be a good idea; if cell phones don’t pose a threat to the functioning of planes (as seems to be the case), then having a means of communication to let family or friends know about delays or other serious issues seems reasonable. The rational part of my brain can accept this idea, but the raging introvert part of me that believes that if any cell phone use is allowed, someone (or more likely, many) will abuse the privilege. I already tend to get grumpy and panicky in-flight when I feel someone is intruding on my personal space, and the thought of someone not only monopolizing the armrest and the overhead bin, but the whole noise level around me, is truly anxiety-provoking.

Maybe I should petition the airlines to create a new category of passenger preferences — not vegetarian or kosher, but “does not fly well with others.” The flight attendants could only communicate with me via hand signals, any passenger who dramatically reclines her seat into my lap without warning will automatically be moved to another part of the plane, and it goes without saying (of course!) that cell phone use would be strictly forbidden within an eight seat radius. Well, a girl can dream. In the absence of these demands being met, I might settle for Joe’s suggestion that inflight callers be confined to a special sound-proof booth in the back of the plane, leaving only loud snorers and upset children to disturb the silence up front.

But that seems unlikely, given how airlines are trying to cram in as many Economy seats as possible (which doesn’t do much for my personal space issue) because of the economic crunch they are facing. In his recent “Ask the Pilot” column on Salon.com, Patrick Smith bemoans this development, but argues that better design could solve both the airlines’ need for more seats, and the passenger’s need for a private, comfortable space. As an example of this, he mentions a new project that Delta will be inaugurating in 2010. The airline is planning to retrofit some of its fleet with something called the Cozy Suite, a type of seat with a built-in wraparound wall that separates it from the seat beside it, in addition to providing other elements that contribute to passenger comfort (footrest, lumbar cushion, more legroom). You can see photos of the Cozy Suite on the Thompson Solutions Web site.

I agree with Smith that this could be a significant improvement to the inflight experience, and it might even balance out my potential future annoyance with obnoxious cellphone users. Well, on second thought, maybe not. I think I should start looking for someone to build me my own personal (portable) Cone of Silence.

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, my husband Joe and I recently moved to Paris. When we first started planning this move, we decided that we wanted to create a blog to document the process of getting here, since we thought it might be of interest to other people looking to do the same thing. Well, we didn’t manage to get it off the ground before we left San Francisco, but as of last week, it is now completely up and running.

The blog is called Truffles for Breakfast, and besides providing details about how we went about moving here, it also includes stories and photos of our daily life in Paris. If you’ve ever dreamed about living in or visiting Paris, it’s our hope that this site will provide you with the inspiration and the information to make that happen.

Specifically, we both were in the mood for an ice-cold martini, not just for its calming properties, but also for nostalgia’s sake. The martini, much like Irish coffee, is a quintessential San Franciscan quaff that we had come to love while living in the city. We knew what we wanted, but as we walked around looking for a spot to consume such a beverage, we grew doubtful about whether or not we could find a suitable place.

The problem was that we are not “bar” people. I don’t mean that we have an objection to bars, just that we are usually so put off by the normal atmosphere of bars, we very rarely darken their thresholds. There are a few main sore spots for us, namely: noise, smoke (although it’s rarely an issue in California), crowds, and televised sporting events. We’re not big fans of any of the above. So as we passed potential places, we took note of whether or not there was a huge crowd spilling out into the street, and also whether the noise level was deafening or just slightly painful.

After we had checked out all the bars in our immediate area, none of which met our criteria, we were ready to give up when we came back across one we had dismissed earlier. As we looked at it more closely, we realized that all the noisy, boisterous people were actually sitting in an enclosed area adjacent to the bar; it also happened to be the smoking section. Encouraged, we stepped inside to see that it was much calmer in the main part of the bar, and there were even some cozy looking tables available near the front.

As we sipped our gin martinis (his with an especially fragrant twist, mine with olives), we felt ourselves grow more relaxed and happy by the minute. Apart from one or two loud people, the crowd was pretty mellow, which suited us just fine. We felt comfortable enough to order a second drink, this time an Irish coffee, and to settle in for a while. We were a little put off by the fact that our seats faced a television screen broadcasting that night’s Giants game, the dreaded televised sporting event, but surprisingly, we began to get into the spirit of the game, calling balls and strikes as we saw them. And as we watched Barry Bonds hit his 749th career home run, it didn’t feel annoying or uncomfortable, but just like another quintessential San Francisco experience to savor for nostalgia’s sake.

Later, as we walked home, Joe turned to me and said somewhat incredulously, “That was actually fun.” It made me happy to think that there may be other introvert-friendly night spots waiting to be discovered, and more chances to have a relaxing night out on the town. Of course, now we have an entirely new city to navigate and explore, with its own limitations (primarily the smokiness of most public places) and opportunities (absinthe is legal in France). But now we’ll be looking for the best place to have a pastis as we create new Parisian memories.

Most basically, these terms refer to where a person gets their energy from; introverts find it energizing to spend large periods of time alone, while extroverts gain energy from spending time with other people…

What has caused me to wonder about this answer is the frequent experience I’ve had since starting this site of meeting extroverts with “introvert tendencies.” Most of these individuals have been young women, and all have described to me how although they consider themselves extroverts, they still need time to recharge their batteries from time to time. As an introvert I totally understand this, but it confuses me as to whether these folks are really introverts in extroverts’ clothing, or if it is just a basic human need to withdraw from the world periodically.

I’ve decided that it has to be the latter, because rarely are such sweeping generalizations (e.g., introverts get energy from solitude, extroverts get energy from other people) borne out universally in real life. It sounds almost mechanistic to say extroverts are always pumped up by social activity (like plugging in an electrical device), and I know from my own experience that I gain joy and yes, energy, from hanging out with people I love.

With the hectic lives many of us lead, we all need time to simply rest—introvert and extrovert alike. If we are not to become physically run down, we need sleep, and one can’t be around people ALL the time. In fact, those who identify as “people” persons may be under greater pressure to be “on” all the time, even when they find they can’t maintain their usual level of activity. Many introverts simply cannot function when they have too much on their plate, but I think this is a danger for extroverts too.

This realization could be threatening to my concept of just what separates introverts and extroverts, if not for the fact that I’ve found many more examples of what makes introverts tick through the writing and reading I’ve done for this blog. Perhaps I’ll make a change to the FAQ at some point once I’ve come up with a pithy way of expressing these observations.

On a different note, thinking about this topic has reminded me of a great culinary experience I had in Costa Rica a few years ago. Staying in the sleepy surfing town of Puerto Viejo on the Caribbean coast, one night we were lucky enough to sample a local dish known as Rondon. Basically a fish stew, our hostess explained that it got its name from the fact that it included everything that could be “ron-don” (run down) that night. I managed to find a recipe for it online, and I’ll have to try it out the next time I’m feeling “ron-don.”

The lonely gargoyle has taken on new meaning for me in the past few weeks, as I’ve contemplated my own dreams of flight. After months of anxiety and stress, I am so pleased to announce that I will soon be joining my gargoyle friend in the City of Light. Joe and I just received our long-stay visas for France, and we will be moving to Paris on July 1st. This plan has been in the works for a year and a half, and we are incredibly excited (and also terrified) that in just over a month we will be leaving our comfortable home in San Francisco for the boulevards and boulangeries of Paris.

This change in our lives has been affecting the frequency of my posts on Spectatrix, but I hope to become more prolific as our list of moving-related tasks decreases. I’m not sure yet how this new environment will affect my introvert sensibilities, but I look forward to exploring cross-cultural differences (and similarities) as they relate to introverts.

I do think my accent has shifted somewhat (plus I now employ California-lingo with ease), and I think I’m instinctively less patient with the slower pace of doing things in my old home city, although I find the change refreshing. It also seems the longer I am away from home, the more clearly I see what is unique about it. For example, this time I kept noticing a habit people have of trying to make strangers laugh in stressful situations, making silly comments to ease those awkward moments in public interactions. I’m sure it always happened when I was a child, but it was a revelation to me as an adult. I also noticed how drivers actually stopped in the middle of the block to let us pedestrians cross the street, and when we were in a car, how they let us merge ahead of them in traffic (one car even backed up into a parking lot to let us pass). I felt somehow restored by these actions, and more optimistic that human society is capable of gracious, civil conduct.

I guess I’m referring in a roundabout way to Canadians’ much-vaunted “politeness,” and as much as I feel I’ve changed, that is one quality I think I will never lose. I still say “sorry” when someone steps on my foot, I have trouble complaining when I’ve received poor service, and if someone is hostile to me, I’d much prefer making them laugh than returning their ire. While I think these are good practices generally, few things make me fume more than Americans making fun of Canadians for being “boring” or too polite. We do so have rough edges, gosh darn it.

But some small part of me has to admit there may be a grain of truth in this assessment, although I don’t think you can categorically make that claim about all Canadians. This admission leads me to an even more contentious question: Are there more introverts (as a percentage of the population) in Canada than in the US? Granted politeness and introversion are not the same thing, but I do think they have many similar behaviors, such as taking time when dealing with others, not raising one’s voice, and giving people their own space.

With thoughts of this blog on my mind, it seemed like my recent trip to Canada was also a research mission, a chance to prove or disprove my theory about Canada’s introvert population. Were the people around me introverts, or simply more reserved, more polite, than what I was used to?

Early on in the trip, I thought I had found an answer. Due to a delayed flight, we had to spend a considerable amount of time in one of the departure lounges of the Vancouver airport. When Joe and I first sat down, there were about ten people seated around us, and all were engrossed in reading or other silent activities. Joe even remarked to me, “It’s so quiet here. I like it.” I felt ready to pat myself on the back for being raised in a society that was so hospitable to introverts.

But then it started. Slowly, as I lay nearly dozing in the uncomfortable chair (our first flight had left very early in the morning), I noticed that the noise level had increased slightly. I looked around for the source, and saw that two men had sat down a short distance from us, and were now engaged in a spirited conversation. Spirited, that is, on the part of one of the men, who didn’t seem to take a breath as he rambled on for nearly fifteen minutes of nonstop chatter. Nothing could block it out: not my headphones, not my fingers in my ears, not even the baleful looks I kept directing his way. But then, just as suddenly, it stopped.

That’s when I noticed the squealing children and their loquacious mothers staking out the play area not far from us. And the long line of grumbling customers waiting to speak with the customer service rep about the delayed flight. And so on. My visions of a silent utopia were shattered, and I had to admit that we were indeed surrounded by Canadian extroverts. I realized, as I had probably known deep down all along, that while the general tone of public life in Canada may be more muted than in the US, it is only a matter of degree, not of substance.

I recently ran across the Slow Travel Web site and was immediately intrigued. The aim of the site is to encourage travelers to do their sightseeing at a slower pace by spending more time in one location before moving on to another. The authors recommend a stay of at least one week in a specific place, and provide a ton of information about accommodations for this kind of travel (e.g., villas, apartments, holiday cottages). The site offers predominantly European information, but there are also entries on vacation rentals in other parts of the world as well.

I can highly recommend this mode of travel, having experienced two weeks of living life like a Parisian (sixth floor walk-up and all) a few years ago. We rented an apartment in the 3rd Arrondissement, and enjoyed shopping at the local grocery store and getting to know our neighbors (it was hard not to, since the apartment faced a small central courtyard in the heat of summer). We had time to settle into the rhythm of the city, and didn’t feel rushed to see everything all at once (a good thing for introverts I think).

One effect of this phenomenon is the large amount of attention restaurant reviews get in local newspapers, especially in the San Francisco Chronicle. Every year, the Chronicle staff picks what it considers to be the Top 100 restaurants in the Bay Area, an effort spearheaded by critic and executive food and wine editor Michael Bauer. While I’ve been lucky enough to have visited some of the places that consistently make the list, there are always others I’m eager to try. But after reading a recent post on Bauer’s blog, Between Meals, I’m not so sure I’m missing anything.

In his post, titled Restaurants pump up the volume, Bauer discusses the growing trend of excessive noise at restaurants. He chalks it up to changes in architectural and interior design that incorporate “high ceilings, [and] hard surfaces,” and also to some diners’ preferences for a lively atmosphere. He also notes that since different people have different reactions to noise, for the past ten years the Chronicle has included a noise rating in their restaurant reviews. This system, which ranges from one bell (“pleasantly quiet” at under 65 decibels) to a bomb (“too noisy for normal conversation” at 80 decibels and above), is meant to help diners decide where to go for that special meal.

The problem is that—as Bauer himself points out—a huge percentage of well-reviewed restaurants fall at the noisier end of the spectrum. In fact, out of the Top 100 restaurants chosen by the Chronicle, 43 score a four bells rating (“can only talk in raised voices”) or above! Bauer also acknowledges that he doesn’t factor in this noisiness when determining how many stars to give a certain restaurant, whether when considering its food (understandable) or its ambience (not so understandable). Nothing about a restaurant’s ambiance affects me more than the sound level; it’s very hard for me to concentrate in loud environments, and it’s almost impossible for me to enjoy anything in that state.

To be fair, it’s the nature of popular restaurants to be crowded (and therefore somewhat noisy), but what bothers me is that some people see this as a positive thing. Chaos and hubbub are taken to mean that a place is really buzzing and trendy, and there is no reason not to add one’s own spirited conversation to the mix. Obviously, I feel differently. As I mentioned in an earlier post I think people should be responsible for how their second-hand noise affects other people, and telling those who prefer quiet to go somewhere else is unfair. Of course, dining at an expensive restaurant is a privilege, and not a right, but if these restaurants serve particularly excellent food, as the rave reviews would attest, quieter diners should have just as much access to it as those who are more boisterous.

I don’t absolve proprietors of their part in the problem either; many things can be done to tone down the noise level that aren’t always done. However, I think the greater issue is the growing noisiness of society in general; how we are more and more enveloped by noise when in the public space (at least in my urban experience). From excessively loud cell phone conversations to blaring music to nonstop traffic sounds, it’s no wonder many people now insulate themselves through the constant use of music players such as iPods. However, I don’t necessarily see this as a positive trend; it seems to reinforce the illusion that we can create our own bubble, and can ignore those around us. This is just the other side of the coin; those who are excessively loud seem to feel they are in a bubble as well.

Another article from the San Francisco Chronicle last week points this out beautifully. In it, columnist C.W. Nevius responds to the recent decision by the Federal Communications Commission to continue its ban on cell phone use on airplanes. Making a point about how annoying it is to be subject to another’s cell phone whims, Nevius tells the story of a man who was forced to listen in on a loud phone conversation taking place a few steps away from him in a coffee shop. After the two men made eye contact, the caller approached the first man and stated: “I’m engaging in a private conversation here. Could you move down a couple of tables so you aren’t listening in?” For all my aversion to noise, that kind of comment really makes me want to scream.

Just such a situation came up repeatedly during our last trip to Las Vegas, when multiple decisions had to be made about where we should eat, what show we should watch, whether or not we should get off this stalled Monorail to see what the problem is (the answer to that one is no; it will just take off the minute you’re out the door). And so my beloved would turn to me for the fiftieth time that day and ask me to express an opinion about the matter before us. Keep in mind that Vegas aims to suspend tourists in a hungry, thirsty, footsore fog, brought about by the ridiculous amount of walking you must do to simply get from the front door of a casino to the restroom they’ve cleverly hidden behind a bank of slot machines. This is not the optimal state for anyone to be making rational decisions in (which explains the popularity of slot machines and the all-you-can-eat buffet), and it was no easier for me.

But this time, when the options were laid out before me, I really tried to focus my attention in order to come up with the right answer. Suddenly my concentration was broken by a complaint from Joe: “Could you have a more blank look on your face?” Apparently, my complete lack of outer expression was taken to mean that I was ignoring the question, when in fact the wheels were turning in my head, just not noticeably. In addition, my failure to respond verbally was found to be annoying; couldn’t I make some sign that I was pondering the question, a thoughtful “hmmm….” or “let me think about that.”

That made me laugh. I had thought I was applying the most efficient solution to the problem—to actually think about it—and to have to stop that process in order to reassure someone that I was thinking seemed nonsensical. I realized that, as some people cannot chew gum and walk at the same time, I cannot talk and think deeply at the same time.

I know there are folks who thrive on that dual action (a supposedly common trait in extroverts), and while of course I can formulate thoughts while talking, I cannot give the utmost attention to something while still talking about it. It reminds me of the TV show, “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire,” in which the host, Regis Philbin, was always encouraging struggling contestants to think through their answers out loud. It was supposed to be seen as an encouraging gesture, but I believe it was more to address the fact that watching someone sit and think is incredibly boring. And I guess it also served to hurry the game along; if it were me in that chair, I’d probably wait it out a day or two, just long enough to come up with the million dollar answer.

I always know trouble is on its way when the first question out of a server’s mouth is “So, where you folks from?” Since I know I cannot just shrug and stare down at the table, having tried that before with somewhat hostile results, I meekly bleat out the answer, feeling put out before I’ve even tasted the food. I take solace in the fact that this person probably doesn’t realize how discomfiting this is to an introvert; answering personal questions put forward by a stranger, from the innocuous (“hot enough for you?”) to the deeply private (“what color underwear are you wearing?”), is a keen sort of torture for most. More to the point, small talk is not the reason I have entered this dining establishment. My number one reason for doing so, strangely enough, is to procure food to eat, followed closely by the need to sit quietly and carry on a whispered conversation with my dinner mate.

At such times, I think longingly of the meals I’ve eaten in France, a country that generally understands the need for discretion in these circumstances. With certain waiters, a nod can speak volumes, and a wordless understanding of their guests’ every need is a skill they’ve perfected. These dear folks are content to simply present the options, answer questions and take your order, and then largely disappear for the rest of the meal, excepting when the food arrives, and the moments when he or she unobtrusively brushes baguette crumbs from the tabletop to make room for the crème brülée.