La Vie En Rose

All big cities are alike. Certain ubiquitous icons can always be found: graffiti, golden arches, Mercedes Benz and very pretty girls. The same is true for Paris but what Paris does not have is TV to speak of, which makes it a much more interesting city than Los Angeles or New York. Cafes, merry-go-rounds, puppet shows, stamp fairs (remember Charade), cafes, national monuments and small markets abound. TV has been the downfall of culture in this country, fortunately it has not had the same devastating effects in the rest of the world. While Americans race home each evening to sit mute in front of the TV set to watch “real life” shows, Parisians live their real life by shopping for fresh food or taking their children to the park and talking with other parents while their children ride the merry-go-round. There were well frequented bocca gardens, players and bystanders with equally vocal opinions. Or they could be found sitting in cafes, talking leisurely with their neighbor or simply watching the world go by while waiting for friends and enjoying their fresh fructose free meal.

Each evening the cafe under our apartment was filled with patrons. They talked, they enjoyed the evening sunset, they watched the barges on the Seine. The nearby bridge too was a source of entertainment. A piano player, or a three man combo, or a trumpet player would in turn serenade us with haunting tunes from an era that revered melodies, unlike the one note rap songs of this continent.

A very pretty young tour guide bemoaned the French as lazy, but I disagree. The French work to live, to live their lives while they are living it, not waiting until they retire to start living what is left of their lives. Money is not the driving force so the French enjoy a two hour lunch, spend their time selecting fresh food at the markets for their evening meal, take their children to the puppet show, and stroll the boulevards while enjoying conversation. They walk everywhere and eat normal size portions, so they are not wearing their own airbags. Not once did I see an overweight Parisian.

While certain aspects of the culture were frustrating at times, it was nonetheless amusing to find that half the shops were closed one day because it was a civic holiday and the next day the other half were closed because it was a religious holiday.

And, unlike their stereotype, I did not find them to be rude at all. For the most part, they were kind, patient and helpful. More than once did a taxi driver point out sights and converse about a certain historical event in the section of the town through which we were traveling. Finding myself lost in the quagmire of crooked streets one afternoon I stopped in a shop to ask the keeper for assistance. When she realized that I needed more explicit directions than she could give, she asked the next door shop keeper for guidance. After giving me very detailed instructions, they both stood outside their shops to be certain that I had taken the right turn at the lights, and then waved good-bye as I passed out of their sight.

One other thing: everything in Paris was made in France. I looked and looked for tags that said ‘made in China’ but there were none to be found. Even books in the book stores were written in French.