Misconceptions Abound Abroad

Last week, my husband and I attended a lovely dinner with six people whom I know and respect. They’re doers in the Washington, D.C. community and have contributed an enormous amount of time and money to the arts and numerous other projects.
Opposed to some Washingtonians, their philanthropic motives aren’t predicated on hoping their photos will appear in the social columns; rather, they’re believers in making the city a better place to live. This group is definitely socially and environmentally conscious and stalwarts of the area.

Two of the men were doctors, one was a lawyer and the women held comparable positions. Talk was of raising money for charitable causes was discussed in depth. Contrasted with France, the US Federal government contributes less than 50% of arts’ funding. All of the Nation Capital’s museums (remember, there are no admission fees) are open to every visitor from any place in the world. Few tourists visit the city without paying a visit to the National Gallery or the Smithsonian.

In France, some museums are municipally funded while others (such as the Louvre, the Grand Palais or the Musée D’Orsay) cost a pretty euro to enter, except on Sundays when they’re open to one and all. There’s an extra supplement for the majority of special exhibits, and visitors are required to purchase tickets from the museum’s website or via ticket offices, such as the electronics (and a bit of everything) store, FNAC. Better yet, it’s so much more meaningful if you can take a tour conducted by Paris Muse.  It’s worth the extra money to be ushered through an exhibit by a truly knowledgeable art historian whose job it is to know each and every detail of what you’re seeing, from all perspectives.

Ah, the dinner was going swimmingly. Everyone was having a lovely time. The food was low calorie, low fat and beautifully presented. The table was set so invitingly that it would have been the envy of the most revered French hostess.

Then the inevitable question was posed when Arthur asked, “Why do the French hate Americans?”

Susan (who knows me all too well) conceded I was allowed to respond with the short version since she’s heard my in-depth harangue. She shot me the look that said, “Make it sweet and short or I’m going to kill you.”  My reply was:  “The French like Americans a lot. They don’t approve of this administration’s policies.”  The group understood my statement but obviously weren’t true believers.

I started defending the French. Yes, they’re friendly, are more than willing to help and are delighted to conduct business. Foreigners need to learn how French business people operate, rather than expecting them to march to everyone else’s drummer.

Executives moving abroad to conduct business are (or should be) given total immersion classes focusing on cultural and corporate differences. No one would consider doing business in China or Japan without learning the fundamentals of trade and social practices in those countries. Why do Americans assume protocol might be the same in any of EU countries as it is in the USA?

A quick flashback raced through my brain. Recently, I was hostess to someone who accompanied me throughout Paris, announcing nonstop how rude the French were, as if it were his mantra. We’d enter a tabac and he would have zero patience if a liter bottle of sparkling water wasn’t sitting on his table before he was seated. And where was the bucket of ice?  Please keep in mind we weren’t sitting at the Hotel Meurice where your wish is their command. Waiters at tabacs more than likely will serve regulars before they’ll jump through hoops for someone whom they’ve never seen before and will undoubtedly never see again.

There were so many times during his visit when I wished the floor would open up and I’d disappear. I found myself saying, “bonjour, merci, s’il vous plait” as if I were running interference for my guest.

This man is not rude when he’s in the US; perhaps he is known as impatient. However, take him out of an Anglophone environment and he is a disaster. If he said once, he said at least ten times, “London is so much better,” and then he started questioning me as to why I’ve made France home and have an ongoing love affair with this country. As much as I could have and might have explained, I knew he’d never get the drift.

Better for me to spend my time encouraging those who do want to hear and learn, so I can hopefully have yet another dinner with them…but this time in a country devoted to the arts and fine cuisine.  A place, after all, where they, above most Washingtonians, would appreciate the loveliness France offers.

© Karen Fawcett
  [email protected]