French Letter 1

Prologue
I wrote these thoughts while spending an academic year Sabbatical in Paris in 2000, substantiating the view that academics have a jammy life. However, the strains of living away from the warm embraces of Watford are not to be underestimated, and I penned this as a grim warning to my fellow countrymen who might be tempted to follow me.


News
What one misses most of all is the News. The French are a trivial people, caring only about the sort of things we British should best avoid, mainly pleasure. Thus while the newspapers in the UK have circulations in the millions, here the papers are read only by a handful of intellectuals, presumably too poor to afford TV sets. And while France is traversing a crisis, the Euro is falling disasterously[1], French beef can not under any circumstances be eaten [2], the main items of news last week were
(1)The appearance of the latest Harry Potter book (pronounced ‘Arree Pottaire’)
(2)The latest Disney Dinosaur film, and
(3)The forthcoming elections in Israel. (Well, that is news everywhere).

The French are convinced, possibly not without reason, that changes of government, natural disasters, wars, nothing can possibly change the French way of life. The baguette must still be purchased twice a day to ensure freshness, wine must be chosen with as much care as one's next mistress, and traffic lights are a suggestion, nothing more.

Ramadan
France is of course one of the two great European Muslim countries, the other being England, and the advent of Ramadan affects one’s daily life noticeably. For example, it is the best time to invite one’s Muslim friends out to Lunch, as they are obliged to refrain from eating, drinking and sexual intercourse; at least, during the hours of daylight. Undoubtedly they make good any shortfalls as soon as the sun sets. Nevertheless, it is pleasant to be able to eat in the University Restaurant without having to form a queue, or to offer the delivery boy a drink in lieu of a tip, without risking that the offer be taken up.

Restaurants
You may have learnt at school that restaurants are establishments where the French go to eat. Nothing could be further from the truth. One goes to a fashionable restaurant to be seen, to a secluded one to seduce, to the local bistrot to play cards with ones friends, but – above all – the French go to restaurants in Paris to smoke [3]. As soon as they are shown to their table, the diners place their packets of Gauloises and briquets firmly on the table, light up before the first course, puff feverishly between courses, and if the food is not up to scratch – but how can they tell? – during courses. However, for the non-smoker all is not lost. Restaurants are obliged by law to set aside a non-smoking area for those eccentric diners who do not appreciate the real purpose of the French restaurant, There they can sulk, subject to the disdain of their more hardy fellow-diners, and encircled by the fumes they exhale.

The Law
It is said that you can divide countries into categories according to how the law is applied: in a liberal democracy everything is permitted unless it is explicitly forbidden. In a totalitarian regime, everything is forbidden, even if it is permitted. In France, everything is permitted, even if it is forbidden. Beware of traversing a pedestrian crossing when the Little Man is green; the macho French driver will take this as a direct challenge, with grim consequences for the less fleet of foot. The attitude is best summed up by the small Parisian schoolboy of surely no more than nine, satchel on back, who asked me why I had walked to the back of the bus to get off, when I was riding in the front. I told him “Because it is forbidden to descend by the front door”. He shrugged his shoulders. “ Pouf, it is forbidden. But everybody does it." This approach smoothes the daily life of your average Parisian Motorist to a point the law-abiding English can only dream of. Missed your turning? No problem, go back up this one-way street – backwards, if it happens to be arrowed the wrong way. Parking difficult? Not while there is space on the pavement. No metro ticket? Just a small hop over the turnstile, nobody minds.

Watford will take some getting used to when, or rather, if I return.

Paris, 1 December 2000.

NOTES
[1] The Euro has appreciated in spades since 2000!
[2] This was the Mad Cow Crisis of 2000.
[3] Who would have dreamed in those days that the French would ban smoking in January 2008?