Scenes From The 13th: The Perils of Being a Vélib

Best Wishes January

January has to come to an end. I can't tell you how happy I will be to move on into February.

What do I have against the first month of the year?

Nothing, really. Nothing at all against January. Rather it's a certain annoyingly French tradition that happens in January.

In every culture graced with a calendar, a cultural tradition of wishing others the best as the new year begins. In the U.S. for instance, when the clock strikes midnight, the ball drops, and the kisses begin, we exchange "Happy New Year"'s with anybody in our near vicinity.

And then we let it be.

Maybe...just maybe, we carry over into the next day. If you wake up early enough to leave the house and see someone, that is.

In France they have another way of doing things. During the entire month of January, if you see someone for the first time in the new year, it is polite to exchange best wishes. Phone calls and e-mails also fall under the purview of this cultural practice.

When I arrived back at work on January 2, my inbox was flooded with best wishes from everyone from my co-worker 10 feet away to the accountant to the president of the company. Each time I contacted a client for the first time in the year, their replies would come back prefaced with a message like "I present to you my best wishes for the new year. All happiness and joy and good health and romance to you in 2012."

One time, a man I had never spoken to in my life began his inquiry with the longest "best wishes" I have ever encountered: Best wishes to you and your family with great health and happiness and success and the reaching of your dreams and soul-filling love and great orgasms and financial riches beyond your wildest imagination and no cancer--cancer is awful--and advancement in your company and true contentment in life. (I exaggerate but not by much.)

After the staccato beat of his best wishes halted, there was a long pause. He expected me to rip off a litany of best wishes too apparently. It would have been polite after all. A bit flummoxed I merely replied, "And to you as well." And then I waited for him to bring up his real concern.

Later the secretary helped me prepare a nice reply I could offer in reply: "And in turn I present to you my best wishes." Short and simple, but well worn-out.

At the end of this month, there is a small flurry of best wishes from the procrastinators in the bunch. There's time to extend best wishes--it's still the first month of the year.

To that I say: best wishes and good riddance, January. May you never come again until 2013, and then may you be short, warmer than this year with less rain, and filled with short, genuine greetings.

But mostly good riddance.

Goods Do Not Meet Requirement...

I received a book from Amazon.com this weekend. Some things you just can't get in French bookstores or even on Amazon.fr. So I sucked it up and paid the $7.98 shipping for a book only slightly more than that.

On the box was a yellow sticker that read

Goods Do Not Meet The Requirement Of Article 9 and 10 Of The Contract For The Foundation Of The European Community

Kind of ominous, right? Was I breaking Article 9 and 10 by importing a book unavailable in France? Or did the book not fall under Article 9 and 10 and thus manage to break through the customs barrier? Would secret customs agents burst into my apartment as soon as I opened the book?

To calm my doubts and fears I did what I had to do. I googled. First on the list: The Treaty of Rome, which got the ball rolling with the European Economic Community way back in 1957. Articles 9 and 10 were not too hard to find.

Article 9 1. The Community shall be based upon a customs union covering the exchange of all goods and comprising both the prohibition, as between Member States, of customs duties on importation and exportation and all charges with equivalent effect and the adoption of a common customs tariff in their relations with third countries.
2. The provisions of Chapter 1, Section 1 and of Chapter 2 of this Title shall apply to products originating in Member States and also to products coming from third countries and having been entered for consumption in Member States.
Article 10 1. Products having been entered for consumption in a Member State shall be deemed to be products coming from a third country in cases where, in respect of such products, the necessary import formalities have been complied with and the appropriate customs duties or charges with equivalent effect have been levied in such Member State and where such products have not benefited by any total or partial drawback on such duties or charges.
2. The Commission shall, before the end of the first year after the date of the entry into force of this Treaty, lay down the methods of administrative co-operation to be adopted for the application of Article 9, paragraph 2, taking due account of the need for reducing as far as possible the formalities imposed on trade.
Before the end of the first year after the date of the entry into force of this Treaty, the Commission shall lay down the provisions applicable, as regards trade between Member States, to goods originating in another Member State in whose manufacture products have been used on which the appropriate customs duties or charges with equivalent effect in the exporting Member State have not been levied or which have benefited by a total or partial drawback on such duties or charges.
When laying down such provisions, the Commission shall take due account of the rules for the elimination of customs duties within the Community and for the progressive application of the common customs tariff.

If you skimmed that like I did the first time, you didn't miss much.

I'm no lawyer, but the best I can make out is that one book doesn't get charged tariffs on import through the mail.

Scenes From The 13th: Place d'Italie

An Unusually High Grocery Bill

I looked at my receipt: €86.20.

A bit high for a grocery run. But I did stock back up on soap, toothpaste, olive oil, tea, and cheese, after having let my stocks slide to nothingness these past few weeks. And I also had recharged my phone for the next few weeks. Still, €86.20 was a bit high.

The groceries for the next person in line started sliding down towards my sacks. I had to go.

After the one kilometer walk back home, I looked at the receipt again. The cashier has scanned multiple items twice! It was wrong!

I stormed back to Monoprix, preparing an angry diatribe for the cashier and the manager as I went. "In civilized countries...this is unacceptable...it's bad enough I have to..." Having a decent familiarity with French service, I feared for the rest of my evening. Would I get my money back? Would I get my evening back?

I walked straight up to the cashier (well actually I missed her the first time, so I had to double back, but that's beside the point) and I thrust the receipt in her direction, saying "Bonsoir" in a remarkably amiable fashion.

"Oh," she said, "just go to the welcome desk and they'll take care of you."

So I walked up to the welcome desk with the same determination and strength of purpose. I prepared my lines again. But no, the attendant was on the phone. Ah ha! Taking long personal calls on company time! Not the first time I had seen that in France.

Oh no, it was a customer. Never mind.

I showed her the receipt and explained the problem. I was about to begin on the philosophical principle that it is unjust to pay for items you do not receive nor want. I was going to explain that even if the French aren't big fans of capitalism, it's only fair, since they've accepted the system in practice. I was going to...

"May I have your debit card sir?'

I pulled it out.

She scanned it.

A new receipt with the correct amount came out.

"There you go."

"Ok...thanks. Good evening."

The Possibility of European Identity

The Italian medievalist, critic, and author Umberto Eco recently shared his thoughts about European identity with The Guardian:

"The university exchange programme Erasmus is barely mentioned in the business sections of newspapers, yet Erasmus has created the first generation of young Europeans. I call it a sexual revolution: a young Catalan man meets a Flemish girl – they fall in love, they get married and they become European, as do their children. The Erasmus idea should be compulsory – not just for students, but also for taxi drivers, plumbers and other workers. By this, I mean they need to spend time in other countries within the European Union; they should integrate."

His words ring true. This is the sort of milieu I frequent. At the parties I attend, I can easily find young citizens of at least four or five different countries. Their horizon is not limited to their own language or their own culture. They would feel constrained if limited to only the cultural objects and people of their own country.

When I studied in Limoges, it was much the same thing. The Erasmus dynamic is unlike almost anything else, a sentiment best captured in the 2002 film L'auberge espagnole. It's an identity practicing Christians and Muslims didn't feel entirely comfortable in for reasons having to do with sex and alcohol. But there was a unity and a shared identity that could be observed there.

The Spanish and Italians shared a special connection. After a few months together, they could easily speak the other language. And the French and the Germans had a love-hate sort of relationship. The Germans were more knowledgeable about French culture and language than the French were about the Germans, but they were also constantly reminded of things they liked better on the other side of the Rhine. In the end, whatever dissensions or discomforts existed, they paled in comparison to the wars that raged between their two countries for the hundreds of years leading up to a generation or two ago.

While I find Eco accurate in his analysis of the problem of European identity, I have to wonder how feasible his solution really is. There is less money to go around these days and less enthusiasm for the European project. The French have turned inwards, as can be seen by the popularity of the anti-Europe Marine Le Pen. A true European identity isn't a pipe dream, but it also doesn't seem quickly forthcoming.

What Did You Do With Megaupload?

It's enough to remind one of the Bush years.

It's now been a week since the FBI closed down Megaupload, thus depriving millions of people around the world of the ability to stream American TV series for free. The closure haunts me, an American abroad. I have been accosted at parties and questioned in cafés.

Why did you close Megaupload?

Make the FBI bring it back please.

Where else can I stream for free?

Scenes From the 5th

People Watching

When you sit down in a café with some reading and a Leffe, it's impossible not to look around once in a while. Merely to lift the Leffe to your lips requires a change in concentration that inevitably becomes an observation of your environment. In a café that means people-watching.

There in the corner two teenage French girls work intently in front of a white Macbook. The only question is if their project is for lycée or for the fac.

Next to you, three Arabs converse with one white girl. They smoke and sip coffee, but there's no alcohol. Like almost any café in Northern Africa. Except here, one of them--the one continually asserting his dominion with his right arm--has a European girl.

The two girls across the way just finished shopping: a glass of wine to cap off an afternoon of "doing the stores", as they say in French.

There's a couple, but it's hard to tell what stage their relationship is in. Did she just have a bad day? Is he indulging her by listening to her complain? Perhaps their relationship is just based around something very serious.

And then there are the loners:

The attractive young woman near the door has two empty beer glasses in front of her. The other must be taking a quick bathroom break before leaving. You are curious, though, does that second glass belong to a man or a woman?

The older woman over there is reading Vogue and smoking a cig, also finishing up a day of purchases (the café is next to a mall, of course). Maybe she is waiting for someone. Or does she just not want to go home yet?

Is that other woman near her grading papers or reviewing proposals?

Is he reading Le Monde to while away the time waiting for a friend or does he just prefer reading in a café?

And why is that guy sitting alone, sipping that beer and writing, on a Friday night?

Through A Café Window

I could see him through the café window and across the street.

It was drizzling on and off. Dozens of people emerged from the metro every minute. They pulled out their umbrellas or hunched down, making a beeline for their destination. Most likely home. It was 8 PM, after all.

And there he was. Dancing. Lifting legs. Kicking. Shaking his head skyward. Waving arms and wrists. Dancing.

I wanted to read more, but I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

He didn't ask for money. He didn't seem to tire. He didn't care.

I smiled a halfway grin and stared.

Scenes From the 8th

Visiting Paris

The American journalist and blogger Rod Dreher posted that he would be visiting Paris with his niece in April. He asked for suggestions from readers. This is the response I posted:

Dear Mr. Dreher,

It's a pleasure to hear that you and your niece will be visiting my current hometown in a few months.

It's a fascinating city--I certainly chose to live here for a reason. But once you spend more than a week or so here, it's hard not to miss those aspects which complicate the typically romantic American view of the city. On my blog, I've written a number of posts trying to give a fuller, more well-rounded view of the city--trying to fight against the New York Times travel section's view of the city, since most of us can't afford that trip anyway (links below).

It's impossible to see everything in Paris, even if you live here. So here are just a few general suggestions.

1) Visit the main tourist sites: the Louvre, Musée d'Orsay, Montmartre, Notre Dame, etc. Even if you want to get off the beaten path and even if Paris is so much more, you have to start with the basics.

2) Try to help your niece grasp the French concept of laicité and how it is different from American secularism. A good place to start is St Etienne de Mont Church and the Pantheon. There she can learn about St. Genevieve and grasp the extent of France's Catholic heritage. But then she will walk across the street to the Pantheon and learn that during the revolution that grand edifice was re-appropriated for republican saints. She will hear the story of what happened to the relics of St. Genevieve and think back on the ornate tomb she just saw, and perhaps she will comprehend at least a small part of the dynamic between the church and the state here.

3) Show her the immigrant side of the city. In most restaurants, regardless of the type of food, the cooks are from Sri Lanka. Most cafés are now owned and run by immigrants from northern Africa, particularly the Kabyle (it's worth pointing out that one famous (half?) Kabyle of long ago was none other than St. Augustine) The 13th district is full of great Asian food. You could also take her to Barbes and walk around the market there, observing the large number of Arabs and sub-Saharan Africans. Remind her that France, unlike the U.S., is not traditionally a country of immigrants. Have someone teach her a bit of Verlain, the French equivalent of Pig Latin, that has moved from the immigrant banlieues into the average adolescent vocabulary.

4) Paris is and has been a city of students. Take her to the Latin Quarter and explain to her what being a medieval student was like. In April if the weather is nice enough, the quais of the Seine will be packed with students picnicking. Grabbing a kebab or some wine and cheese from a grocer and dining with your feet hanging over the Seine, watching the world go by.

5) Paris is a literary city. And not just for French letters. Many of the great Latin American writers of the Boom lived in Paris during the 20th century. I don't even need to start about the Lost Generation. Many writers of the African diaspora live in or around Paris. Visit Shakespeare and Co. just across the street from Notre Dame. You might even try stopping by a café that hosts readings by aspiring writers.

6) Lastly, it's entirely possible that you will be here during the first round of the French presidential election, which takes place April 22. French democracy functions much like ours at times, but there are significant differences across the board.

I hope that's of some use. I'm happy to provide more suggestions or answer questions as the case may be.

Scenes From Between the 12th and the 13th: Morning Metro Ride

In Honor of St. Genevieve

Yesterday I was sitting in a pub just across the street from the church St. Etienne de Mont in the 5th arrondissement, when I noticed a group of men carrying a large pot into the small plaza in front of the church. Several police officers followed. A police car pulled up the steep and narrow road next to the church with its lights flashing.

Obviously something was happening.

We puzzled over it. Could it be a Sunday feed-the-poor event? Probably not, this was the pricy student district, after all. A protest? Then why the large pot?

Then they marched in.

Some were carrying candles. Others Parisian flags. A group near the front had a large banner which read "Patrimony of Paris. Hommage to St. Genevieve". Suddenly it made a little more sense. St. Genevieve, the patron saint of Paris, is buried in St. Etienne de Mont Church. The Pantheon, which now functions as a secular mausoleum, was originally intended to house her remains and her relics.

A man on a loud speaker led the crowd in some chants and then they set off some small fireworks. Smoke filled the plaza. After a quarter of an hour, the crowd formed a line to get whatever was in the big pot. About the same time I left the pub to go home. I discovered the solution to at least one mystery: the pot contained mulled wine, to warm and cheer the fans of St. Genevieve.

Afterwards, I found this website Paris Fierté (Paris Pride), which advertises and explains the march:

Like every year, on January 8, 2012, Parisians will descend into the streets, more numerous that last year, in order to pay homage to their patron saint and proclaim their pride in their history and their identity.
Because this march for St. Genevieve is much more than just a simple symbolic commemoration. It is also an intense moment of communion and hope for the future.

[C]omme chaque année, le 8 janvier 2012, les Parisiens vont descendre dans la rue, plus nombreux qu’à l’édition précédente, pour rendre hommage à leur sainte patronne et proclamer la fierté de leur histoire et de leur identité.
Car cette marche pour Sainte Geneviève est bien autre chose qu’une simple commémoration symbolique, c’est également un intense moment de communion et d’espoir pour l’avenir.

Some mysteries remain. For an American evangelical, it's doubly and triply hard to understand these sort of events. For starters, unless you're from a city with a big Irish, Italian, or Latin American population, most Americans have never seen marches to honor saints. I know growing up in various cities in the West, I never saw one.

Secondly, it's hard to know what sort of people are involved in the march. The language on the website resembles the coded language of the far right--honor and pride in the past with reminders of a white Christian past which is less and less present. It's always hard to know how to separate pride in the past with a desire to return there.

Thirdly, it's hard to know what they're hoping for. French laïcité is so firmly grounded in culture and politics now, it's hard to imagine going back to the pre-Revolution past before they burned up St. Genevieve's relics, let alone rolling back the waves of immigration and cultural change of the past half-century. It's just not clear to me what these sort of groups want. A more Catholic France? A whiter France? A miracle to get out of the Euro crisis? Better history teaching?

Scenes From the 13th: Tolbiac Metro