Welcome to the 21st Century

The Myth of French Rudeness

There is an entire mythology around French "rudeness" to Americans; but we've been coming here regularly since 1989 and have never experienced it.  We're about as American as they come.  And we have had literally thousands of encounters with French people; lots more than regular tourists would have because we "live" here.  Plus, we've traveled all around France over the years.  If the French are so rude to Americans, we would have seen it/experienced it.  As I may have written earlier, the only rude treatment we have ever had in France was from an American shopkeeper in Paris. 

The last week was typical.  Between the two of us we took a number of short bus trips, a couple visits to the nice bakery lady, a couple visits to the "supermarket", one stop at the Metro station to recharge our monthly transit card, several restaurant/cafe visits (friends from Vegas in town), and a visit to the Post Office to pay the rent.  In all those encounters with bus drivers, clerks, restaurant staff, subway ticket clerks, cashiers, and postal employees we were treated well, politely, and professionally.  And in a couple instances, with a smile.  And at the end of every single encounter we were thanked and wished a good day.  Sound rude to you?  Didn't think so.

But were these transactions all friendly and smiley?  No.  Only with the nice bakery lady, as we are recognized there.  All the other transactions were polite and reserved.  The French are much more reserved than Americans are with strangers.  And they don't smile with strangers.  With friends, however they are all smiles and laughs, just like Americans, except rather more demonstrative than we are. Lots of shaking hands, touching, and kissing (on the cheek).  

Here in France, the waiter doesn't walk up and tell you his name.  Hell, he doesn't want to tell you his name.  He wants you to drink your coffee in peace, be polite to him, and just maybe leave him a small tip.  He doesn't want to make pals with you - you're going to be leaving in a half hour anyway, and he may never see you again.  Same thing with the Postal Clerk.  He/she doesn't smile at you, rather waiting patiently to see what your transaction is, and then performing it.  Period.  Not much small talk, if any.  Maybe just a question about the form you used.  Service, but not "friendly" service.

The problem is not rudeness in my opinion and experience, it is expectation.  In the States, the "server" comes up all smiley, tells you his/her name and automatically assumes that you are pals from the get-go.  That's how we all act in the States - lots of smiling, lots of glad-handing.  It's not bad or good, it's just how our social mores have developed.  People in much/most of the world don't act that way.  They certainly don't in France.  And if that is what you expect, and instead you get polite, reserved (very reserved) service it may be jarring to you.  And you may see it as rudeness.  But you would be wrong.  It is just a different social upbringing and culture. 

Now here is the funny thing; the French when they travel are perplexed and mystified that nobody speaks French, as they consider it truly the world's greatest language. And they don't tip either (or maybe just a few percent - because here everyone is on salary - they don't depend on tip income in France), so they are everyone's least favorite tourists. That cracks me up. They are as ignorant of our social mores as we are of theirs.   

 

French Construction

Okay, the walls are crooked, the buildings are crooked, the floors are crooked.  Some of this is just settling - this stuff is old.  But the whole town looks like it was built by drunks.  Perhaps it was.  Here is a picture of the pavement "repair" in front of the entrance to the biggest and best supermarket in the area.  Poorly fitted pavers.  Uneven surface.  Huge gaps.  Nice repair, huh?  This store fronts on a very busy street and gets tons of foot traffic. 

Pavement Repair?

Can you imagine this in the US?  The city would condemn the repairs immediately.  The various associations for the disabled would sue over inadequate access.  And people would be complaining to the management all day and night.  The French just shrug.

When underground repairs are going on, construction crews all over the world use sheets of steel to cover the holes, so pedestrian access continues.  In Paris, the steel sheets have gaps - gaps you can trip through, or put your foot through.  And this is typical.  Drives me a little nuts.  France has the third highest worker productivity in the world after the US and Japan.  Ahead of Germany, for pete's sake!  Why they put up with this kind of shoddy work is absolutely beyond me.   

Time Travel in Paris

We did the best thing ever this weekend; we went back in time two hundred years.  Around 1804 they started building canals all over Paris to transport things around. Nowadays, its all about leisure, tourism, and entertainment.  Barges ply the Seine all day and into the night; the Bateaux Mouches.  Lots of fun, if touristy. 

And there are barges parked all over the canals and the Seine that have been turned into houseboats. Apparently some loophole lets them tie up for pennies a month - except the waiting list is years long.  No wonder.  Pretty cool.

Well, for months we've been talking about taking the cruise that starts way up in the Parc de la Villette in the 19th Arrondisement, north of the apartment, almost to the outskirts of the center city.  It goes all the way to the Musee d'Orsay.  We finally did it.  And it was a blast.  Not too expensive.  Bring your own food, as it takes 2 1/2 hours.  But they sell soda, water, and coffee on board.  We had our own lunch, and water too.  And we got seats on top, which was very lucky; it was a sellout.

From the the River Marne, through the canals, to the River Seine itself is a vertical drop of over 85 feet, which is managed and harnessed by a series of locks.  Hell, the locks must be two hundred years old, too.  Wonderful relics, they are fully functional and work perfectly.  They must have been a marvel when built, because they still are a marvel.  In minutes, each lock drops the boat 12 feet or so. 

Lock

And the travel is leisurely by modern standards.  The whole boatload of French, Brits, and a few Americans was mesmerized, quiet, and transported into the past.  The past that glided by slowly.

Canal with Horse Chestnut Trees

 

After a bit of a slow cruise down the Canal St Martin, we went through the last of the locks and went underground for a ways - all the way under the Bastille and up again near the old arsenal - it blew up a couple hundred years ago in a "freak accident".  They still refer to it as the Arsenal. Like referring to a building that isn't there, and hasn't been there for two hundred years, and was only there for a few years anyhow.  The French.

Close-Up on the Lock

While underground, there are these air holes every block or so, and lots of fresh air.  Sort of eerily lit by these circles of light from the air holes.   When we came back up, we were just past the Bastille, went down a short way, and turned right onto the Seine.  Past Notre Dame and up to the Orsay.  What a fun day.

Underground

 

Crazy Stuff in Paris

Occasionally you run into crazy or silly stuff here.  Frequently it is connected to art. The French seem to have a more, how to say this; theoretical approach to art that we do in the States.  We could never have produced a Picasso (yeah, I know he was actually Spanish - but he made his great leaps here in Paris, we walked past his house the other day).

So here we are strolling around the Tuileries Garden on our way back from the early 1800's (more about the time travel adventure later).   The small pond on the side closest to the Louvre is where the little kids sail the boats they rent from the guy with the boats.  Next to that pond is a larger pond where people just hang around in the chairs provided free all over the garden.  Around the pond, in the shadow of the Louvre, is a lovely collection of classical statues in marble on bases.

Well, interspersed with the statues for some reason, were these huge alien heads, seemingly made out of tin foil.  Huge. Maybe 14-16 feet high with the base. They just showed up this week. I have no other comment.

It Looks Like Tin Foil

Huge Heads

Today's French Lesson is Over

It is really cute how the French work with you to get you to spit it out - say something, anything in French, and they really appreciate it.  Every time I go in to see the nice bakery lady, I get a mini lesson, all in French - hello, how are you, fine, and you, would you like a baguette, yes, and anything else, yes 2 Pain au Chocolate, please, that's X Euros, (pay), and here is your change (counted out), thank you, and thank you, good bye, good bye.  That is how the French interact. 

So here's how Americans do it - we saw a couple Americans walk up to the crepe guy tonight and in English said: 2 crepes with chocolate. They then waited for the crepes, handed the crepe guy the money, received the crepes, then walked away, all without saying a word.  No hello, no please, no thank you, no nothing.  The crepe guy just stared at them as they walked away.  Isn't that awful?  Just learn a few words: hello, please, thank you.  That's all it takes.  And we Americans say the French are rude. Jeez.

We met some folks from Pittsburgh on the bus today, and they were having a wonderful time.  Their first time to Paris and they told us that everything people said about the French was wrong.  This couple and their daughter told us that everyone had been helpful and friendly: storekeepers, restaurant staff, bus drivers, everyone they had encountered.  And they were just wrapping up a multi-week stay.  They were retired and I'll bet they learned how to say please and thank you....

Anyway, we stopped for coffee at a really well known cafe and the service was abysmal.  But it was also funny.  As I was laboring through our order in French, the waiter said "do you speak English", in English.  And then he took the order in English.  I guess he was  too busy to goof around trying to understand my French.  So no French lesson at that cafe today.  We got a chuckle out of it.  I had the same thing happen the other day with my German. Called a customer and got the receptionist.  Used my best German to ask for the guy.  She answered me in English.  How awful. I was trying, too.  And my German is pretty ok.  Not ok enough, apparently.   

Missionaries at the Market

As you know, our local marche' runs every Tuesday and Friday.  You also know there are all sorts of general fruit and vegetable stalls, and now there are clothing stalls, shoe stalls, kitchen gadget stalls.  There is the egg guy, the honey guy, the organic guys, the cheese ladies (the nice one and the difficult one - the difficult one refused to sell me a young Cantal cheese last week - I didn't want enough so she wouldn't do it - The French!).  There is a weird sausage stall where you cant tell what's in them - we haven't gotten up the nerve to try any.  And there is a Polish specialty stall, and from time to time a Middle Eastern stall with freshly cooked food.

And there are the poultry folks, the fish folks (smelly ones and not smelly ones - they sell different kinds of fish at each stall - everybody seems to be a specialist there days), and the whole-grain bread guys (very good).  There is also one incredibly creepy stall I haven't written about - Chevaline.  Horse meat.  The French like it.  We have not tried it, and don't intend to.  We don't eat Rabbit either - Susan doesn't like it, and I have a whole story about Rabbit that I won't share. We also don't each pigeon - flying rats in our book.

Years ago we had a funny experience arriving late at a hotel out in the French countryside - the hotel restaurant was very French, very old-timey, and nobody spoke a word of English.  I asked the waiter what the Perdreau was on the menu, he said it was "une Poulet" (a chicken or fowl).  So I ordered it.  It turned out to be a young Partridge - yeah, one of those guys in the pear tree.  The poor little guy had been whacked in half with the beak and feet still attached, and grilled like that. He was served all alone on a plate and his feet were all curled up like the Wicked Witch's when Dorothy dropped the house on her.  We laughed until Susan started crying and hiccuping.  Then we laughed more.  Needless to say, we haven't ordered Perdreau lately.

Horse

But there is something new lately; Missionaries.  In the middle of all this activity there are these two guys with a guitar, a music stand, a shopping cart, and Bibles.  One guy is French, the other is English, we think.  They gamely try to sing religious songs for hours daily.  It doesn't seem like they actually know any of the songs.  They certainly can't sing.  Everyone ignores them, like they aren't there.  They foster this by having lengthy discussions with each other and ignoring the passers-by.  The French guy is always telling the other guy what to do, how to sing, which words to emphasize, and etc.  Funny.  They are like an old married couple.  We don't think they are very effective missionaries. 

As you leave the market, there are folks at the corner selling (giving away?) a little magazine.  I finally looked at the title "La Tour du Garde" - The Watchtower!  They're Jehovah's Witnesses.  Cool.  Just like at home.   

Food: It's All About the Food

Ran out this morning for a fresh baguette.  We were both too busy to eat breakfast earlier, so finally got around to it just after 10 AM.  The nice bakery lady was engrossed in quite a conversation with a local gal about something - not quite sure what.  A pal asked the other day how my French was.  I told him it was in between Restaurant French and Nonexistent. Tending toward Nonexistent. 

Anyhow, when the nice bakery lady was done conversing, she asked me how I was.  I was bien.  In fact I was tres bien and told her so.  And so was she, apparently.  French lesson over, she asked if I wanted a baguette.  Of course I did.  I always do.  But I was on a secondary mission for Susan - Pain au Chocolate - the (sort of) croissants that are filled with chocolate.  They were not quite ready, but I paid her for a couple, ran back to the apartment and checked emails and etc for 15 minutes, then went back downstairs to pick up the Pain au Chocolate (deux of them). 

She put them in a little wrapping paper they use, then spun the packet to seal it.  Quite a neat little trick - they do it everywhere in France with cheese, baked goods, etc.  No tape, just a spin, and it works fine. 

In the Twisty Paper

They were still warm.  Too warm to eat.  We left them in the little packet until it became impossible to coexist with the aroma of fresh-baked Pain au Chocolat in the apartment.  You can see the flecks of chocolate, and the chocolate filling in the picture, and the flakiness of the pastries when we unwrapped them.  At that point, we ate them. Well. Susan ate hers.  I devoured mine.  It was heavenly.

Deux of Them

 

An Old Pal is in France

Hey, look who showed up!  We thought we had left this guy behind at home.  A pal you can always count on.  Flexible.  Lots of different skills and talents.  Useful guy to have around.  He even looks the same here.  Same healthy skin tone.  Same stylish haircut.  Same white t-shirt.  Same earring.  Just an different name.  Does a great job on the wood floors too. 

An Old Pal

Yep, We're Homesick

We sort of freaked out at lunchtime.  We've had way more than enough French food.  Think we'll both scream if we have another omelet for dinner, or steak et frites. 

We mostly eat at home, but lately we've had friends and acquaintances visiting Paris, so we meet them and go out to dinner.  And we sort of hit our limit last night.  Today we just wanted American food.  We almost went to McDonald's, just for a taste of home.

But we didn't. Instead we hopped a bus and headed over to the Marais - an area in the 3rd Arrondisement - and went to "Breakfast in America".  BIA is owned by an American guy and is the one place in town (well, there are two branches, actually) where you can get a real American burger, or pancakes, or French Toast.  About French Toast - they call it Pain Perdu (old bread) here, and it is dessert, not breakfast. The Brits call it Milk toast.  Or Milquetoast.  Really. 

And the 3rd Arrondisement is really sort of cool, and sort of odd:  really gay, really Orthodox Jewish, really Rave-ey.  And none of the groups mix.  Well, gay and rave go together pretty well on the weekends. So we were at BIA and we both ordered burgers and they were great.  Just the right kind of bun, great beef, Roquefort on mine, cheddar on Susan's.  Perfectly cooked.  We ate them with our hands, as Americans do. The French cut them up into little pieces, because for some reason the French don't get the sublime marriage of flavors that makes a burger really great.  Oh, well.  

But we went to BIA for lunch, and we seldom go out to lunch; I'm working.  My hours are odd, as I get up in the morning and check overnight email from California, Japan, Australia.  Then I have breakfast.  Then Europe opens up and I make phone calls and send emails and etc through lunch.  We generally eat something in the apartment, then the US starts waking up.  I work with the West Coast once they are up and work until a late dinner time.  Then we make and eat dinner (or go out), followed by TV at home or roaming around Paris 'til all hours, then back to emails until bed.  Odd hours, but fits well with our lifestyle.   

Canals

They have canals here.  Old canals.  Working canals. 

These are old barge canals for transporting stuff around (and into) Paris.  But now they are for leisure travel.  The barges are now tourist barges, or local leisure barges, or show barges, or cruise barges for weekend or longer trips, or even live-aboards parked in the various Bassins or the Seine.  We were up by the Bassin La Villette in the 19th or 20th Arrondisement, which leads into the Canal St Martin near our apartment, and just strolled for a couple hours this weekend.  The Bassin (basin) is about 80 feet higher than the Seine, so there are working locks all up and down the canals.

Locks, no Bagels

It is a blast to just lean on a railing and watch them fill, or empty, the locks.  Well, sort of a quiet, relaxing, nothing else to do kind of a blast.  Not terribly exciting.  But fun.  Anyway, we watched these folks in the picture above go through two locks in their ski (?) boat.  No idea what they were going to do, except in an hour or so they would be at the Seine, going right through the center of Paris.  Sort of cool.

If you look carefully at the picture above, you can see all the way to the Canal St Martin. There are beautiful bridges over the canal at every couple streets - car bridges, trestle bridges, swinging bridges.  Neat stuff.  The canal goes underground near our place, and resurfaces just at the Bastille.  Then down to the Seine.  You can take a barge trip all the way from the Bassin to the Seine ending around the Musee d'Orsay for about $15.  We intend to do that, maybe next weekend.  I'll let you all know.