It's a common (mis)perception that the French are rude. [Disclaimer: for any Québecois or Acadiens reading this post, I'm referring to the French from France].
During my semester abroad in 2007, I never experienced the typical French frostiness that tourists describe. I often told family and friends back home that everyone who says so was crazy, and that the French were indeed very polite. Especially if you told them you were from Canada. That semester, I proudly donned my Roots backpack (plus a trusty Canadian flag pin), which seemed to protect me from any ill-feelings that might have otherwise floated my way. However, I after being repeatedly warned that it will be different in the "real world" (i.e., work place), I have often wondered whether things will be different this time.
After all, in 2007, I was living in La Maison de Canada in an international students' residence at le Cité Universitaire de Paris. I lived in a bubble of English-speaking Canadians and happy-go-lucky exchange students who were excited to drink "champagne" that cost 87 centimes (approximately $1.30). Plus, I really only interacted with the French in order to order food: I knew how to ask for un baguette integral at the boulangerie, check out at the grocery store, and order a meal, du vin rouge, and un carafe de l'eau at a restaurant. [Note for anyone travelling to France: ordering un carafe de l'eau ensures that you receive tap water with your meal, rather than being charged for still or sparkling bottled water. Alex mentioned to me that he also learned how to order tap water when living in Germany, and the translation is literally "pipe water", which is not so different from the "tap water" we ask for in Canada, but sounds much funnier... But I digress.] My point is, my past experiences interacting with Parisians were overwhelmingly pleasant. No one was ever outright rude to me, and at the most, the baker/cashier/waiter replied to you in English. I never experienced any hostility.
So, this time around, just to be safe -- and to ward off any negative American stereotypes -- I brought with me a new (pale purple and even more juvenile) Roots backpack with a (prettier, sparklier and much more grown up) Canadian maple leaf pin (thanks Grandma Barb!). For good measure, I attached a Canadian flag luggage tag to my backpack. This served as my carry-on at the airport and will also be great for weekend trips around Europe. So far, I think it's working.
Here is my proof:
1. We bought our train tickets from Paris to Caen without being grumbled at. Although 95% of people buy their train tickets using the automated machines in the train station, we opted to go to the (completely empty) room where you can buy your tickets from real live French employees, to make sure we bought tickets heading in the right direction, etc. I expected at least a typical Parisian sigh at our inability to use a simple touch-screen machine, but I was wrong. The woman at the desk wasn't just cordial; she was downright charming. She printed our tickets, apologized for her lack of English, told us in the clearest French I've ever heard which platform to go to, how to get there, and that although you are supposed to validate your tickets on a machine, she'd done it for us. Perhaps it was because she was in the tourism industry, or perhaps it was because Alex was doing the talking (dear, if you're reading this, that was an allusion to your charm), but whatever the reason, she was the opposite of rude. One point to the French.
2. They love Canadians. On our first night in Caen (a Tuesday) we walked around the city around 8pm (the typical French suppertime) only to find that almost every business in the city was closed. We found exactly four open food establishments: two were completely dead, and two were bursting with people. We followed the crowd and chose to wait for a table at a bustling Italian restaurant rather than eat alone in the empty Vietnamese place. We chose wisely. We were seated within 10 minutes, and the bubbly waiter promptly asked where we were from. When we said we were from Canada, he became even more chipper (I didn't think that was possible) and told us in French that he had relatives in Toronto, Windsor and Vancouver (so do I - funny coincidence). He then proceeded to happily yell "Canada!!!" every time he came to our table. And he came to our table a lot. I think he kept our glasses full as an excuse to yell "Canada" as many times as possible within a one-meal sitting. Since the restaurant was full, these announcements brought a lot of stares our way, but at least the attention was positive. We had a delicious meal of stone oven Italian pizza, and enjoyed our newfound publicity. Another point for the French (even though I suspect the waiter was actually Italian).
3. The French let you take your time. When you have paid for your groceries and are hastily trying to bag them while simultaneously putting away your change (people actually use cash here), the cashier waits until you are completely finished before starting to scan the next patron's items. And she doesn't even look annoyed about it. It's a miracle. One point for the French, and minus two points for Canada. If you're going to make the customer bag their own groceries, you could at least wait for them to do so before chucking the next person's food down the conveyor. It's common sense. Come on, Canada. (As a plus, there are no plastic bags available for free or for purchase, so you are expected to bring your own reusable bags or purchase a canvas one from the store. An extra point for environmentalism...but I'm getting off topic).
4. The staff at Alex's lab are so friendly! As I mentioned in my previous post, the lab put us up in a hotel for free when we had nowhere to stay, and they gave me an access card and WiFi password even though I don't work for GANIL. In addition, they're letting us stay in the guesthouse for no charge until we find an apartment, they edited my French blurb so I could email people about renting apartments, and they are currently guiding Alex through booking various appointments, printing off documents he needs for the authorities, getting a computer, and giving us tips on other aspects of daily living - even though it's not their job to make sure we know how to find discounted movie passes. Importantly, they also set him up with all the documents needed to open a French bank account. Which brings me to my next point.
5. We managed to set up a bank account. This week, we set up a French bank account in under an hour. Given all the hoops we've been told we'd have to jump through, I was impressed. (Ok, it was the fourth day in a row we had gone to the bank, but still...) The employee who we worked with was super friendly, and ensured that we understood everything since French isn't our first language. A couple of times I even made the mistake of saying something to Alex quietly in English (like "ooh, I've never had a MasterCard before"), and the teller would make sure I repeated my statement and that he understood any questions or concerns I had. I need to learn how to say "please ignore me" so we don't spend so much time translating my useless comments ("in the past she has had a Visa...no, no, a MasterCard is fine...no, there's no problem...yes we'd still like to proceed..."). All in all, a pleasant experience. Plus, every employee at the bank took a moment to politely wish us goodbye as we left. (We still need to figure out when to say bon journée, bon midi, bon fin de midi, bon fin d'après midi, bon soir or bon soirée, but that's a subject for another post).
6. They use letters instead of pick-up lines. Did I mention that I got propositioned by a Frenchman in the very first hour Alex left me alone in France? It went down like this. Alex went to the lab bright and early for his mandatory medical appointment on our first morning in Caen. [For all those who know me and think my definition of early is 11:30am, I have to defend myself here and point out that an 8:45am appointment did feel pretty early considering we were still operating on Canada time, which is 6 hours behind]. Anyways, still yawning, I went down to the hotel lobby for my free breakfast of les croissants and du café. The breakfast room was occupied by a French couple who were whispering to each other silently in the corner, and an older gentleman quietly eating his breakfast. I tried to be equally silent, but my table was too close to the window, and my chair made a loud scraping noise every time I moved it in or out from the wall. The couple left the room, followed by the older man. A younger (well-dressed, tall, black) man came in and got himself a croissant (did I mention he had nice glasses?). I quietly read my book, spilled croissant flakes all over my lap (how do the French eat flaky pastries and baguettes so neatly??) and tried to gracefully eat a kiwi with only a spoon. My chair made more scraping noises when I got up to get more coffee and I vowed to become more graceful in the future (ok, maybe just less clumsy and awkward). The French man barely glanced in my direction, and left the room before me. However, the French must also be quite sly, because when I went back up to my hotel room, he met me at my door. After introducing himself in French and shaking my hand (Michel, enchanté!), he handed me quite a long French note, which I think said something about how he wanted to introduce himself, had at least two paragraphs of writing, and ended with his phone number. "Yay, making friends already, look at me!" I thought to myself and mumbled something very awkward and grammatically incorrect like, "Je suis ici... con mon fiancé... qui travail...en...le lab". At this, Michel seemed surprised, and confirmed twice that my fiancé was indeed here ("Ici?" <points to hotel floor> "Oui, ici"), which was a blatant lie on my part, since technically my fiancé was not currently in the hotel. Michel then apologized and politely extended his hand for the note, which I reluctantly returned. "So much for making friends," I thought. I never did get to read the rest of the note, but since the man did not seem interested in my friendship, I can only assume it was comprised of a beautiful French love poem. Because, as I've clearly demonstrated, the French are a very polite people, and they hand-deliver love notes at 9:00am.
No comments:
Post a Comment