Giveaway!

I don't want this blog to become a constant drone about our impending departure from Paris.  And yet, while it's still some three plus months in the future, my mind is already going at warpspeed.  There's a ton of stuff I want to do in Paris -- people to see, places to visit, restaurants to try, neighborhoods to explore.  Plus I'm already making a lot of mental notes about things I need to do to get out of here and to make sure that everything is lined up on the other end.  So if there's something I can take care of now (like taking a large bag of wrapping paper tubes, styrofoam, egg cartons, and cardboard that I've been collecting to the art teacher at my kids' school), I'm going to do it.  

And in that vein, while it's not yet time to say good-bye, I've got a good-bye present to share with one lucky reader.  It's a photo book (8 in x 8 in), 20 pages of my favorite photos from the blog, made with a lot of help from Shutterfly.   If you want it, all you have to do is leave a comment between now and 8:00 am Paris time on Friday, March 18.  No quiz, no theme, no pressure to be creative, nothing like that.  Just let me know you're out there and  I'll choose the name of one commenter at random.  Have at it people.

Are the French Really Rude?

In my view, no.  Yes, they maintain a certain distance when relating to strangers, a coolness that an outgoing American can find off putting.  And yes, they are insistent on adhering to a set of formalized manners.  And true, they have a concept of personal space that can make you feel uncomfortable if you are used to a world in which the 15 inches surrounding your body are inviolable. 

But rude in the sense that they lack consideration for others? Not at all.  On the other hand, it seems to me that maintaining a certain level of decorum in interpersonal relationships requires a pretty much constant stream of reminders about what's proper.  This notice, with its tut tut tut instructions to treat the bus driver with respect, is part of a campaign to keep bus riders in line.  Other notices in the series admonish riders not to ask the driver to stop between stops, to give up their seats to persons who are older or infirm, to fold up their strollers,  and to keep their voices down.  There's even a series of borderline ridiculous YouTube videos to reinforce the messages.

Has this campaign made any difference?  As you might guess, I'm skeptical.  But I don't mind the intent.  And I'll try to model the proper behavior the next time I'm on the bus.

Ta Da!

No one is going to give Les femmes du 6ème étage an award for pushing the boundaries of cinema or for the daring performances of its cast.  But this film is doing big business at the box office and I'm giving it a huge gold star too.  Why?  Because I understood it -- lock, stock, and barrel, no subtitles, no French friend whispering in my ear.  I laughed at the jokes (well, most of them) and got a little tear in my eye at the tender moments.  

I am still a long way from fully mastering the French language.  Even so, I'm feeling good about the progress I've made.  It was particularly apparent after our visit to Budapest last month where I couldn't read a sign, ask a simple direction, or make heads or tails of the Hungarian language.  I kept looking at my sheet of phrases to remember how to say please, thank you,  hello, and the words kept flying out of my head.   Frankly, it was a relief to come back to Paris where I understand the announcements made over the PA in the subway, can read the newspaper, listen to the radio, and order from the menu without having to ask for the English version.   I may not have conquered the subjunctive but honestly, I'm doing fine and pleased to see that the time I've put in has really paid off.

And if you have a chance to see the film, whether in the cinema in Paris or eventually on video in the privacy of your home,  I hope you will enjoy it.  It's a sweet, thoroughly fanciful tale, set in the 1960s, about a Parisian gentleman whose world and heart is opened up by a group of Spanish domestics who live on the 6th floor of his apartment building in the 16th arrondissement. 

Changed for Good

People being people, I'm sure someone got their panties in a twist over the change in the name of this tiny street in the Marais.  Abutting the Memorial de la Shoah, the renaming goes hand in hand with the creation of a set of plaques commemorating the bravery of Parisians who risked all to protect their Jewish neighbors during the occupation of World War II.  The courtyard of the Memorial is lined with the names of those who perished in the camps; thanks to the justes (the righteous as we would call them in English), the list is thankfully not any longer.  We'd all like to imagine that we would be similarly brave but it's impossible to know how any of us might act under the circumstances.

It's a Bird, It's a Plane, It's a...

It's a gas balloon, permanently tethered at Parc Andre Citroen in the 15th arrondissement.  And what's more, you can actually take a ride in it up 150 meters, although it won't take you wafting across the city.  And if that's not reason enough to check it out, the balloon itself changes color in relation to the city's air quality.  Green is good, pink is bad, and everything in between is just par for the course.

You don't have to be anyone special to take a ride in this balloon. Just fork over your admission (10 euros for adults during the week or 12 on holidays or weekends with reduced rates for kids).  In fact, if you're a vrai Parisien under the age of 12, your ride is free if mom or dad pays.  And it's open for business every day from 9 am until the park closes.  For all the details, go to the Web site:  Ballon Air de Paris.  Since I'm the kind of person who gets motion sick in an elevator, I cannot vouch for it personally.  But I still think it's cool.

Politics (As Usual?)

One good thing about being 3,000 miles from home is that the scary and insane aspects of American politics are somewhat muted.  Well sure, I can get all the news I want through my computer but it's not quite the same as being assaulted by the headlines everywhere you go.  The funny thing is that, while I am a long way from fully understanding French politics, I've come to realize that the French sometimes have as much too be embarrrassed about as we Americans.  Take for example, the latest poll by Harris Interactive for the 2012 French presidential race in which Marine Le Pen, head of the far right Front National, came out on top ahead of Sarkozy and the Socialist party leader Martine Aubry.  These results are debatable given that the election is still more than a year away and the Socialist party hasn't determined yet who its candidate will be (and all bets are on current International Monetary Fund chief Dominique Strauss Kahn).  But still the specter of the xenophobic Islam-baiting Front National coming out on top is enough to scare even the center silly.

Then you've got former president Jacques Chirac up to his hips in trouble for allegedly paying city salaries to employees of his political party (the UMP) back when he was mayor of Paris in 1992-1995.  The law couldn't touch him when he was president of the country (imagine that, Richard Nixon and Bill Clinton).  But now that he's a private citizen again, the judicial process has re-engaged.

Over at the Elysée, things seemed to have calmed down a bit since last week when the President had to send his minister of foreign affairs packing because she took some free flights and helped her parents get a preferential real estate deal in Tunisa -- at a time when the country was simmering with protests against now deposed leader Ben Ali.  Technically what she was doing was not against the law but the public relations fall out was pretty bad.  Sarkozy called in the reinforcements, reorganizing his cabinet with a bunch of old friends who will stand firm with him as he tries to rehabilitate his sorry poll numbers.  That cabinet, which once looked like a picture of racial, gender, and even political diversity, now looks pretty much like a club of middle aged white men.  Yeah, and all those photos of Moammar Qaddafi's official visit to France back in 2007 (complete with a tent pitched on the grounds of the Hotel Marigny, where official visitors stay)?  They're no longer anywhere to be found on the official Web site.   At least Mike Huckabee can't accuse President Obama of letting Qaddafi camp out on the White House lawn.

Accessible or Not?

The French passed a law back in 1975 to improve public accommodations for persons with disabilities.  Among other reforms, there's dedicated parking for the disabled and crossing signals for the blind.   That being said, Paris is still a pretty tough town to get around in if you're in a wheelchair or for that matter pushing little ones in a stroller or lugging a big suitcase.  Curb cuts are intermittent and charming cobblestoned roads can make for a bumpy ride.   All buses are now equipped with ramps but the Metro?  With the exception of the mostly new line 14, the subway system is a nightmare of steps, steps, and more steps. Museums vary in their accessibility and the best advice I've heard is to always do a dry run to discover the best routes and entrances if you'll be having a visitor who uses a wheelchair.

Whether the problem is lax enforcement, limited resources, or simple apathy, I can't say.  A modest sized centre commercial near us was recently renovated, a process that took the better part of two years, with apparently only limited attention to these issues.  There's still a significant step between the sidewalk and the building.  Once inside, there's a flight of about six stairs to reach the main corridor.  Where there was once a rather steep ramp (probably more useful for folks rolling shopping caddies than those using wheelchairs), there is now a small elevator which most of the time seems to be sporting this sign:

Sigh. Twas ever thus.