No Matter What People Say …
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The French, for the most part, are tourist friendly. Having to constantly defend them becomes tedious, especially after someone explains he won’t visit the country because his Uncle Joe returned to the US with war stories about the French being rude. The fact that he hasn’t been to France in the past 25 years, doesn’t appear to make an impression. Uncle George spent only enough time here to see the Eiffel Tower. Who knows? Perhaps Gustave didn’t descend to personally greet him.
Many people have the strangest conceptions about a country of extremely individualistic people. Most Parisians go out of their way to be helpful and accommodating. If someone is brusque, it may be because he or she is late to an appointment. Think NYC. Not everyone has the transit authority’s subway system’s map indelibly engraved in their brain.
When someone has a “Where am I–where am I going next and how do I get there?” look on his or her face, a local resident will frequently stop to give directions. It may be a matter of a man’s being macho or a person’s wanting to display smarts. But what the hell: as long as you get from here to there. And, there’s no way you can consider your ‘savior’ anything less than gracious.
Remember those golden words S’il vous plaît (please) and Merci (thank you) and wear a smile. Whatever you do, don’t shout. That doesn’t do anything for someone else’s language acuity except irritate and set them on edge.
Unfortunately, I’ve recently been away from Paris more than home. After 17 years, Paris is my home. If I ever felt like a transient, returning to “my neighborhood” is a telling reality check.
Neighbors whom I’d passed on the street and only knew by sight asked me where I had been and how I was. One commented she’d thought I’d moved. To be honest, I didn’t think anyone cared, much less noticed.
It’s no secret the French, and most especially Parisians, are private. If they mind your business, you rarely know it, with the exception of some infamous members of the “society of concierges.” Sure, there’s gossip. But it’s not how each conversation begins or ends. Frequently you won’t even know what’s taking place in the building where you live–unless it’s a major renovation project. Then, you’ll hear it. Unless you’re really in the know, Gapartments are frequently sold and bought without neighbors’ having any idea it was even on the market. That’s how quickly some real estate changes hands in the City of Light.
When I moved to Paris, it was a different city. Plus, I was a different person. Initially, I’d walk the streets filled with intimidation that I’d commit a faux pas, such as touching a pear in the outdoor markets vendor’s bin. Committing that sin precipitated my hand being given a gentle slap and the fruit salesman giving me a stern lecture telling me to “Ne toucher pas.” That’s no longer the case these days.
Last week, after too long an absence, my husband and I were in Paris. Three of us went to dinner at La Coupole on Blvd. Montparnasse. The waiter immediately started speaking to us in English. He couldn’t have been more gracious. My husband Victor, who was born and raised in Italy, responded in French. The waiter continued in English and our guest, who was born in The Netherlands, answered in flawless French. Still, the waiter wasn’t giving up on exercising his English skills. I made the executive decision that someone had to speak English to this gentleman and I would be the one–when I say “Bonjour,” people invariably answer in English. There must be something about my accent.
One thing I did notice, and this is very important. La Coupole now has unlimited WiFi access. Since it’s close to our apartment and serves up an excellent cup of café, I’ve already designated it as the new Bonjour Paris annex. If five of us spend the day on line there and order a coffee, we’ll put the rudeness quotient to a test.
After dinner we crossed the street to Le Select. Rather than sitting at the first available table, I insisted we go to a certain section where I “knew” the waiter. Victor tends to laugh at some of my peculiarities but knows better than to challenge the little ones.
Jean-Pierre came running and sat us at a primo table. Please understand that we (unfortunately) haven’t been frequenting the restaurant recently. As we were seated, Jean-Pierre asked if I wanted my regular drink. I wouldn’t find this strange if I’d been a frequent habitué. Upon reflection, we all agreed that if the French don’t like Americans, they sure have a funny way of showing it.
What seems to be apparent is that tourists, who make a fast exit in and out of Paris, are more likely to be subjected to “rudeness” than are people who come and spend more time. Or rent an apartment and live like a local.” Two faithful Bonjour Paris readers, Jim and Pat H., have stayed in the same apartment in the seventh arrondissement twice a year for many years. Each stay is approximately a month. Neither speaks impeccable French. However, they know everyone and relish exploring their second city.
There are many posts on the message board about whether or not the French are rude.
We’d like to hear your impressions and hope to hear your positive stories about how well you’ve been treated in Paris and France.
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The French, for the most part, are tourist friendly. Having to constantly defend them becomes tedious, especially after someone explains he won’t visit the country because his Uncle Joe returned to the US with war stories about the French being rude. The fact that he hasn’t been to France in the past 25 years, doesn’t appear to make an impression. Uncle George spent only enough time here to see the Eiffel Tower. Who knows? Perhaps Gustave didn’t descend to personally greet him.
Many people have the strangest conceptions about a country of extremely individualistic people. Most Parisians go out of their way to be helpful and accommodating. If someone is brusque, it may be because he or she is late to an appointment. Think NYC. Not everyone has the transit authority’s subway system’s map indelibly engraved in their brain.
When someone has a “Where am I–where am I going next and how do I get there?” look on his or her face, a local resident will frequently stop to give directions. It may be a matter of a man’s being macho or a person’s wanting to display smarts. But what the hell: as long as you get from here to there. And, there’s no way you can consider your ‘savior’ anything less than gracious.
Remember those golden words S’il vous plaît (please) and Merci (thank you) and wear a smile. Whatever you do, don’t shout. That doesn’t do anything for someone else’s language acuity except irritate and set them on edge.
Unfortunately, I’ve recently been away from Paris more than home. After 17 years, Paris is my home. If I ever felt like a transient, returning to “my neighborhood” is a telling reality check.
Neighbors whom I’d passed on the street and only knew by sight asked me where I had been and how I was. One commented she’d thought I’d moved. To be honest, I didn’t think anyone cared, much less noticed.
It’s no secret the French, and most especially Parisians, are private. If they mind your business, you rarely know it, with the exception of some infamous members of the “society of concierges.” Sure, there’s gossip. But it’s not how each conversation begins or ends. Frequently you won’t even know what’s taking place in the building where you live–unless it’s a major renovation project. Then, you’ll hear it. Unless you’re really in the know, Gapartments are frequently sold and bought without neighbors’ having any idea it was even on the market. That’s how quickly some real estate changes hands in the City of Light.
When I moved to Paris, it was a different city. Plus, I was a different person. Initially, I’d walk the streets filled with intimidation that I’d commit a faux pas, such as touching a pear in the outdoor markets vendor’s bin. Committing that sin precipitated my hand being given a gentle slap and the fruit salesman giving me a stern lecture telling me to “Ne toucher pas.” That’s no longer the case these days.
Last week, after too long an absence, my husband and I were in Paris. Three of us went to dinner at La Coupole on Blvd. Montparnasse. The waiter immediately started speaking to us in English. He couldn’t have been more gracious. My husband Victor, who was born and raised in Italy, responded in French. The waiter continued in English and our guest, who was born in The Netherlands, answered in flawless French. Still, the waiter wasn’t giving up on exercising his English skills. I made the executive decision that someone had to speak English to this gentleman and I would be the one–when I say “Bonjour,” people invariably answer in English. There must be something about my accent.
One thing I did notice, and this is very important. La Coupole now has unlimited WiFi access. Since it’s close to our apartment and serves up an excellent cup of café, I’ve already designated it as the new Bonjour Paris annex. If five of us spend the day on line there and order a coffee, we’ll put the rudeness quotient to a test.
After dinner we crossed the street to Le Select. Rather than sitting at the first available table, I insisted we go to a certain section where I “knew” the waiter. Victor tends to laugh at some of my peculiarities but knows better than to challenge the little ones.
Jean-Pierre came running and sat us at a primo table. Please understand that we (unfortunately) haven’t been frequenting the restaurant recently. As we were seated, Jean-Pierre asked if I wanted my regular drink. I wouldn’t find this strange if I’d been a frequent habitué. Upon reflection, we all agreed that if the French don’t like Americans, they sure have a funny way of showing it.
What seems to be apparent is that tourists, who make a fast exit in and out of Paris, are more likely to be subjected to “rudeness” than are people who come and spend more time. Or rent an apartment and live like a local.” Two faithful Bonjour Paris readers, Jim and Pat H., have stayed in the same apartment in the seventh arrondissement twice a year for many years. Each stay is approximately a month. Neither speaks impeccable French. However, they know everyone and relish exploring their second city.
There are many posts on the message board about whether or not the French are rude.
We’d like to hear your impressions and hope to hear your positive stories about how well you’ve been treated in Paris and France.
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