Casually Provence

Some travel tips

2009-06-12T05:44:00.000-07:00

Once a trip is over, as ours is now, it is normal to reflect and offer suggestions for future travelers. What follows will be familiar to seasoned vacationers, but may still serve as helpful reminders for people planning trips to France.

Chill
Everyone entering the post office in our village was greeted by a sign reading patientez, s.v.p. “Be patient, please.” This could be the guiding slogan for life in France. Americans, an especially impatient group, have to adjust. Restaurants expect people to appreciate how good food takes time to prepare. Clerks in stores tend to be friendly and helpful, spending lots of time with people who have questions. This means that those in line simply need to learn how to wait and, well, patientez.

Restaurants
The restaurant staff will not bring a bill until it is asked for. L’addition, s’il vous plaît the key phrase.

French restaurants should provide ample free water. Une carafe d’eau is the phrase for this service. Fancier restaurants may prefer customers to buy bottled water, but they too, should courteously provide a carafe.

As far as wine, most restaurants will offer an inexpensive pitcher, typically in 25, 50 and 100 centiliter sizes. Look for pichet on the menu or ask. Some restaurants may not have a pichet but will bring a house selected, inexpensive bottled wine. In and around Lyon or in Lyon and Beaujolais-style restaurants, the house wine is served in a 46 centiliter pot.

In a new, unknown situation, we tend to look for restaurants that have a notice announcing their selection by Le Guide Routard 2009. Routard is a dependable source for a good quality/price combination. Its selections are classified according to cost. This means that a Routard insignia on a really low-priced place will not offer the same quality as the insignia on a higher priced establishment. Check the menu before deciding.

Restaurants with large menus are often tourist traps.

ATM/Credit cards
France has loads of ATM’s. This is the best way to get cash. Check with your bank to make sure the card works abroad. Typically, cards with Visa or MasterCard logos offer no problem. If the trip will last long, make sure to check the card’s expiration date. Always bring a backup (either an additional copy of the same card or a second, different card). The magnetic tape on the back of my card seems to have worn out near the end of our time in France.

France is also well wired for credit cards. French cards have an imbedded chip and waitstaff may be puzzled about the need to swipe American cards. They may also not know that sometimes a quicker swipe or a swipe in the reverse direction will do the trick. Some inexpensive restaurants do not take cards.

While there is no problem in hotels and most restaurants, there are places where the American card does not work. The Paris Metro system is one of them. We have also found that the card readers at self-serve gas stations do not take American cards. If there is a clerk, typically that person will have a machine on which the card works. It is the reader on the gas pump itself that does not seem to accept American cards. Several years ago, American cards would also not work on the toll booths of the highway system.

Highways
Highways are very good, but expensive. Sometimes the toll is collected by a machine, so carrying plenty of change and small denomination bills is a good idea. At toll booths, avoid the lanes that have only a big yellow “T.” This is for people with electronic passes. Look rather for lanes that have either a green arrow alone or a green arrow along with the “T.”

WiFi
Many hotels now offer WiFi as a matter of course. The only thing to recall is that WiFi accessibility as touted on a hotel's web site need not mean "free" WiFi. Look for sites that actually say “Free WiFi” (WiFi Gratuit), not just "WiFi." In some hotels the WiFi is only operative in the lobby and on the lower floors.

Duty Free
Picking up some perfume or wine at a duty free shop before boarding the return flight is common practice. The package will be sealed and can be brought aboard the plane for the France-US flight. Once in the U.S., people with connecting flights have to store the liquids in their checked bags. This can be done when they are picked up at customs and prior to depositing them for the next flight. People who buy duty-free liquids should be sure they will have room for them in their checked luggage.

Bon voyage and thanks for reading Casually Provence.

Wine Cooperative Feasting

2009-05-26T07:30:00.001-07:00

Potato chips, pretzels, a band named Mas Cantes singing “Proud Mary,” “Superstition” and other American songs—where are we? Why in Provence, of course. More specifically, in a small village. Most specifically, at the local cave coopérative. When are we? The Saturday of Ascension weekend. France is a place that has mostly given up on religion. It is nonetheless protective of religious holidays. Since Ascension always falls on a Thursday, this gives workers the opportunity to faire le pont as they call it, make a bridge from the holiday to the weekend by taking Friday off.

For the wine producers in the Vaucluse, Ascension weekend is time for the Festival of Vine and Wine, Fête de la Vigne et du Vin, now in its 15th year. Each cellar organizes its own events. Some transform their parking lots into a showplace for classic cars, others sponsor hikes through the vineyards, yard sales, markets featuring local fruits and vegetables, talks, Bocci tournaments (called boules or petanque here), even the preparation of a giant truffle pizza.

Our local wine cooperative offered dune buggy rides though the vineyards, an exposition of viticultural equipment, displays of vines, a vendor selling cherries just now ripening, and a dinner (preceded by the potato chips and pretzels appetizers, serenaded by the group with the Latino name).

The whole event was low-key. Official opening time for appetizers and dinner was 6 p.m. Having spent long enough in the area to be acquainted with local time consciousness, we did not arrive until 7:00. By that hour there were people milling about the table where before-dinner wine was served. The wine cellar’s parking lot was divided into two areas. One was for the display of equipment used in the vines. The other had long tables set up for the dinner.

Around 8:00, the women who staff the cellar began distributing plates of food, an assiete provençale, salamis, paté, and a prosciutto-style dried meat accompanied by lettuce, cornichons, olives and a roll. The official notice had stated that the price of dinner would include one glass of wine to accompany the main plate, one to accompany the cheese course, and one with dessert. This being France, the one glass rule was ignored. Instead, bottles were placed on the tables and people just helped themselves. On our table were rosés and whites. The easy-going style of the evening meant that, though our table had plenty of wine, no one ever got around to bringing us a bottle of either a red or the sweet wine that was to go with the strawberries and whipped cream dessert.
Seated on one side of us was a Swiss cyclist. Scraping together bits of French, German and English we managed a passable conversation. He makes an annual pilgimmage to climb Mt. Ventoux, does social work near Zurich, and, after dinner, was driving all the way back, a 7 or 8 hour trip. Needless to say, he had only one glass of wine.

On the other side was an actual vinter, a member of the cooperative, someone who was a second generation grape cultivator. He explained how the cooperative helps small owners like himself. It provides not only up-to-date facilities, but also hires experts who help produce the vintages. These advantages are expensive and would be prohibitive without the sharing of costs among cooperative members.

Wine cooperatives are a product of the early 20th century. The 19th century had ended on a difficult note. There was overproduction and a subsequent drop in prices. Most significantly there was phylloxera, an aphid that kills plants at their roots. It had crossed the Atlantic with American vines that had adapted to its presence. Not so French vines. About ½ of France’s vineyards were devastated. The solution was finally to plant American rootstocks. They had the advantage of resistance to phylloxera. They also had a major disadvantage. Their grapes produced bad wine. The compromise solution: graft French grape varietals onto the American rootstocks.

Cooperatives helped small growers survive the difficulties at the turn of the previous century. Today’s challenge is not biologic, but economic, a much more competitive international environment. Just as cooperatives made a difference at the beginning of the 20th century, so they hope to do so in the early 21st. They make it at least possible that our neighbor’s fondest hope will be realized: seeing his grandchildren tend the same vines his own father did.

looking for lavatories

2009-05-23T06:55:00.001-07:00

“Stay hydrated.” This is typical advice given to travellers. In the U.S., land of plentiful drinking fountains, the advice is easy to follow. Here in France, things get a little iffier. France has loads of wonderful fountains. Its artists like Marcel Duchamp sometimes display an ordinary object (see above) and call it "fountain." What finds no place in the landscape is the drinking fountain. What to do? Help the local economy by spending money, i.e. buy bottles of water. They don’t have to be Evian or Vittel. Store brands do just as well.

So now rule 1, stay hydrated, can be followed, if at a cost. Then comes an adjunct to the rule: water in/ water out. This poses a significant challenge. Where oh where to find a public restroom in this country? People visiting France often comment about how the locals must have well-disciplined bladders. Public rest rooms are hard to come by. Clean public rest rooms equipped with toilet paper, even harder.

Some locales are better than others. Passengers on trains find accessible toilets. Major rest areas on the toll-supported highway system are equipped with ample, clean facilities. Customers in large malls are also well served by central public restrooms. Major department stores offer the same, although these are often difficult to find. All of the above are usually free of charge. Railway stations are another good bet for a clean toilets, but charge a fee.

So, with all these opportunities, what’s the problem? Well, tourists do not spend most of their time on trains, on the highways, in malls or railway stations. They find themselves in cities or villages and here things get more challenging. The situation is such that someone is actually selling a pamphlet entitled Paris Pause-Pipi Guide. It identifies the location of public toilets. Without such a guide, or even with it, if one is at quite a distance from the nearest point of relief, the only option is to head for a café and, once again, help out the economy. Two cups of coffee might go for 4 to 6 euros, ($5.60 to $8.40), but will bring with them the privilege of using the café’s toilet. A cheaper option might be to pop into a McDonald’s or its French equivalent Quick. If in an urban area, it will almost always be necessary to ask for the access code to unlock the passage to the rest room.

It used to be easier, at least for men. When I first visited Paris in the 1960s, the city’s streets were dotted with quaint metal structures known as vespasiennes. In less formal parlance, this was a “pissoir.” They were simple: a place to urinate. They were public: right there on the sidewalk; public also in that one’s face and legs were visible. Their strange official name derives from the Roman emperor Vespasius who came up with the idea of levying a tax to support publicly placed bodily relief stations.
Even when vespasians were prevalent, they did nothing to help women. Their replacement, friendly to both sexes, is the sanisette. Sanisettes are strange looking, concrete, oval contraptions. Some are free, some require payment. The inside is mechanically cleaned after each usage. Buying a special guide to their locations is not really necessary. A website run by the Paris mayor’s office provides a list.

The sanisette’s stainless steel efficiency may not be aesthetically satisfying, but it does provide a predictable environment. This is not always the case in cafés at which one has dropped 5 or more dollars. A still prevalent surprise: the “natural way toilet,” better known as the “turkish toilet.” This is essentially a porcelain base in the floor. It has two places for feet and a hole for discharge. As its “natural way” name indicates, we are here brought back to the ways of our far-distant, pre flush-toilet relatives who were adept at the squat-and-go-in-the-woods way of doing things. Except for those who find this nostalgic, the toilette à la turque is an annoyance. It is made all the more so since cafés do not announce ahead of time what will greet the customer who opens the rest room door.

Such surprises are sort of the stock in trade of going abroad. In fact the French rest room search validates two truisms about travel: 1. Why go if it’s not at all different from home? 2. Expect to help the local economy in unexpected ways (water bottle purchase, backup toilet paper, coffee costs in café).

offal eating

2009-05-20T04:11:00.000-07:00

“If it’s innards I’ll eat it.” There may be something grammatically off in that phrase but it captures my culinary slogan while in France. “Innards” may also be off a bit, since I mean to include feet, ears, and cheeks as well as other unusual edibles. The official English word is “offal.” It signifies whatever is to be discarded when an animal is butchered.

Dishes featuring offal, “variety meats” in the accepted euphemism, were prominent in traditional cuisines. They tended to fall into disfavor with prosperity, quick and easy meals, and a desire to leave peasant roots behind. Then came the 2008 economic downturn. According to statistics released by the French National Confederation of Tripe Suppliers (yes, there is such an organization and “tripe” is shorthand for all “variety meats”), consumption of tripe and tripe products was up by 15% last fall. “There’s a real future in offal, right now” is how the director of the Center for Meat Information put it.

The English-speaking world had a champion of variety meats well before the economic crisis. His name is Fergus Henderson. He specializes in cooking cuts normally rejected by high-end establishments. His London restaurant continues to be one of gastronomy’s most popular spots (among the more famous customers: Madonna and Cate Blanchett ). His outlook is explained in a book aptly titled The Whole Beast: Nose to Tail Eating. One newspaper critic, offering his highest praise, said of Henderson’s cooking “There's a clear line back to the farmyard.”

Well, the farmyard is where it all begins so why disguise it? My own “if it’s innards I’ll eat it” attitude seeks to support such straightforward gastronomy. During our five month stay we have mostly eaten in, but I have been able to indulge my “variety meats” taste somewhat. Some highlights:

One real challenge and the test of a true offal fan is something called andouillette. It’s essentially a strong-smelling sausage stuffed with bits of chopped pig intestine. In nearby Avignon, there is a small restaurant whose owner spent time in San Diego. She, in a dual language pun, calls her place Épice and Love. The andouillette there was delightful. At least I thought so. Admittedly, it's not to everyone's taste.

In a one star restaurant I ordered, as an appetizer, something which even finicky eaters would love (not knowing its source, at least). It is ris de veau, “sweetbreads.” This is calf’s thymus. It comes pan-seared to perfection with a light sauce. Cutting into it reveals a smooth, white texture. If andouillette is for the seasoned innard eater, sweetbreads offers an excellent introduction for the novice. In the Riviera town of St. Raphael, one of the daily lunch specials was tripes niçoises. The tripe are cooked in a sauce which includes tomatoes, white wine, garlic and a bouquet garni. Who could resist?

Sometimes, the appetizer salad includes innards. In the village where we have been staying, one restaurant’s salads features warm chicken livers.

A famous innard dish, which I savored in an Avignon restaurant, is foie gras. This liver preparation is well-liked even by offal avoiders. So much so, that it almost doesn’t really count.

Kidneys definitely count, especially served with a Dijon mustard sauce. An Alsatian chef in the village of Cabris perched above Grasse, overlooking the Mediterranean, did the dish proud.

With time running out, there are some treats still on my agenda. One is salade de gésiers, featuring slices of warm gizzard as the key ingredient. High on my list is an all time favorite, blood sausage. Because of the Cajun influence, we in the U.S. know it by its French name, boudin. Boudin noir served with applesauce and mashed potatoes represents one classic combination. At the end of the month we will be in Paris and I plan to head for Chez Paul, on rue Buttes-aux-Cailles where this combination is especially well prepared. There is also a restaurant here in the village that serves a Provençal specialty, pieds et paquets. The pieds are indeed feet, those of lambs. The paquets are little “packages” whose main ingredient is tripe. Their shape resembles a sort of small stuffed pepper and they are held together by string. With some luck, I’ll get good boudin and pieds et paquets before flying back to the U.S. I doubt that any restaurant back in Albany New York will feature them on the menu.

American Relativism, French Formalism

2009-05-17T02:49:00.000-07:00

A recent book by a French sociologist begins with contrasting anecdotes. The first is a report by a Frenchman visiting the U.S. “Those people eat like animals” is his judgment. Why? Just look at them lined up at the cafeteria counters like pigs at the trough. Some of them are even wearing hats. They eat what they want, down it quickly, then leave. Others, horror of horrors, eat while sitting at their desks.

The second anecdote involves an American visiting France. “Those people eat like animals” is his judgment. Why? They have fixed feeding hours. It’s like they have to wait for their keepers to bring out the food. Everything is highly regimented, not only when to eat, but the order of courses, the limited options, even what wine goes with what food.

Two visitors, two anecdotes, two stereotypes? Well, stereotypes exist and the two anecdotes do touch on different dominating patterns in each country. Americans lean heavily in the direction of relativism. There are no general rules to be followed. “It’s up to the individual” along with “the customer is always right” are widespread slogans. For the French, formalism is more dominant. Certain forms of behavior just are better than others. Good and bad are decidedly not “up to the individual.” These depend on certain patterns rooted in nature and approved by tradition.

Over the years we have faced situations in which we, the customers, were definitely not always right. One involved a Parisian restaurant specializing in the north African specialty couscous. The waiter took our order, couscous with chicken. For beverage, it being a hot summer day, I asked him for beer. Well, I might as well have insulted his mother. He immediately went into a harangue about how the beer/couscous combination was unthinkable. O.k., having once heard about the white-wine-with-chicken rule, I changed my order. Once again an unbelieving, appalled waiter. Non, non, non, pas de vin blanc avec le couscous! Fortunately for me, regrouping was simplified by the situation being a sort of multiple choice exercise. I settled on the only remaining option: red wine. Ah, good selection, said the waiter.

About a decade later, we were living in Lyon and friends came to see us. They had a taste for Italian food. We ordered, and, as is our American habit, asked for some parmesan cheese. Pause. Steely look in the eyes. Unlike the Parisian waiter, this one was evidently having an internal struggle about whether to let loose or not. Finally, he could not help himself. Did we not know how much effort the chef put into getting just the right blend of flavors? Were we so insensitive as to insult the chef by smothering the tastes he had worked so hard to prepare?

Another occasion occurred in a wine store. This was not a fancy place. It was, in fact, a chain. The location was Strasbourg. The season was Christmas. Strasbourg has a lovely and famous Christmas market set up all around the Cathedral. Many stalls sell mulled wine. Since our hotel was equipped with a kitchenette, we decided to make some vin chaud ourselves. To the store clerk’s question about how he could help, I said we were looking for a bottle that would serve as the base for mulled wine. The result was almost another “you have just insulted my mother” moment. “Monsieur, we do not sell such a product here.” Every bottle in his store was meant to be savored for itself. Wine to be adulterated with sugar and spices had no place in an enterprise like his. He could have thought to himself “these are some dumb customers, but, what the heck, they want to spend some money so I will gladly take it.” Instead, formalism ruled. Pride in produce easily outweighed his desire to make another sale.

The most recent of these anecdotes is almost a decade old. Things are changing. Old-style formalism is more and more rare. One sign: ketchup is now widely available as a condiment to be slathered over food. Another sign: at a restaurant several months ago we were seated next to someone who runs a school preparing individuals for work in the hotel and restaurant trade. He told us that his students are imbued with the slogan Le client est roi, “the customer is king,” or, as American relativism would have it, “the customer is always right.”

Chewing, Obesity, Time at Table

2009-05-10T04:58:00.000-07:00

Minutes Daily Spent at Table Horace Fletcher was once a household name. After all, he championed scientific eating and drew a large following. A new century, the twentieth, had just dawned. One key to proper eating was simple chewing. But the chewing fostered by Fletcher was not simple. Right eating demanded that food be liquefied. This could mean hundreds of chews for one mouthful. Not surprisingly he was called the “great masticator.” “Fletcherizing” became all the rage. The novelist Henry James and the industrialist John D. Rockefeller were adepts. Like most food fads, especially ones pushed to a silly extreme (or ones that require special exertion), Fletcherizing eventually faded.

A recent book here in France has, however, re-emphasized Fletcher’s central theme. It’s actually the second book in five years to do so. An earlier, briefer one, Mastiquer C’est la Santé (Masticating is Health), appeared in 2004. The latest book, published on May 7, is called Le Régime mastication (The Mastication Diet). It doesn’t have the fervor of Fletcher’s proselytizing, nor does it insist on chewing until all intake has turned to liquid. It simply emphasizes, based on studies, how careful chewing of food is natural, necessary, and beneficial. Three benefits are highlighted. (1) Quick eating means overeating, a combination avoided by ample mastication. (2) Stomach upsets and bloating are minimized. (3) The digestive tract works more optimally with well-chewed food. All this seems evident enough. What concers the author is the way a lazy chewing fashion has led to the predominance of “soft” food. Certainly at the college where I teach, some students can eat cereal for every meal of the day. Since “soft” is a vague term, there is room for discussion about what counts. The author, for example, classes hamburgers as belonging to the soft food category.

For those who eat quickly without much chewing, another recent food story offered help. One day before Le Régime mastication’s release, a new dietary aid arrived on the French market. The product, called “Alli,” is an anti-obesity pill. Its uniqueness is availability without prescription. The French love medications of all sorts, but it remains to be seen whether this one will be a hit. First of all, the target audience is genuinely obese individuals (body mass index of 28 or higher). Second, it is no magic bullet. For weight loss success, pill intake has to be accompanied by a low-calorie, low-fat diet. Third, the pill works by limiting the absorption of fat, which, being rid by natural means, may necessitate an increased frequency of visits to the restroom. Finally, although available without prescription, the pill will not simply be displayed in a pharmacy showroom. In order to ensure that proper advice is dispensed along with the pill, customers will have to ask the pharmacist for their supply.

“Alli” has been available in the U.S. for several years and has achieved success there. One reason for its popularity may be the level of obesity. According to the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development, about one third of the American population has a body mass index of 30 or more. France’s rate is about 1/3 lower. This is so, even though, according to another recent food story, the French spend more time at table than do people in other countries. Anchoring the other extreme, spending the least time at table, is North America’s triad of nations. Citizens in those countries dedicate only about one hour a day to meals. Americans, it turns out, actually spend the most time of this group. Mexicans and Canadians hurry through their eating episodes more quickly. The French take about twice that amount of time to get in their three squares.

Some newspaper headlines misleadingly claimed that what the survey revealed was that the French ate more than people in other countries. But time at table and intake of food are not necessarily proportional. Sociable, leisurely, relaxed eating creates wide expanses of time. Wide expanses of time, in turn, encourage plenty of conversation, pauses between courses, and, almost as an unconscious by-product, ample chewing. There is no need to make a fetish of Fletcherizing. One important result, indicated by comparative levels of obesity: the quantity of food ingested is probably lower than in those countries whose citizens gulp down their softer edibles.

Italian France

2009-05-07T01:41:00.000-07:00

Countries often like to tell their history as if it involves a pure line of descendance from some prized ancestral group. Nos ancêtres les Gaulois (our ancestors the Gauls) is how French history books used to begin, even the history books used in African colonies. Such a story of pure origins typically covers over the more mottled, mixed and blended conjuntion of peoples and events that really shaped a country.
Lately, we have come to realize that much of what France prizes as part of its heritage has Italian roots. Take perfume. The city of Grasse, not far from Nice, was once the perfume capital of the world. On a visit there we learned that the town was originally a center for tanning, where hides were transformed into leather. One problem: the leather, given its source, was often accompanied by an unpleasant odor. Then came the Italian connection. Caterina Maria Romula di Lorenzo de’ Medici was her name. She is better known as Catherine de Medici, wife of French king Henry II. She may have brought the practice of scenting leather with oils distilled from flowers. At least that is how one version tells it. The other version has someone in Grasse come up with the idea of perfuming gloves and then presenting a pair to Caterina/Catherine. Once she adopted the practice, it became all the rage, and the French perfume industry took off. Caterina also played a key role in another area in which the French take pride, gastronomy. Leaving cultured Florence for Paris was kind of a bummer for a good looking, wealthy, well-connected young woman. Not wanting to suffer too much in her exile, she brought chefs with her to Paris. The Italian Renaissance, in one of its dimensions, had transformed cooking to new levels of refinement.

It will come as no surprise that Avignon, the nearest big city to our village, owes much of its historical success and architecture to Italians. Exactly 700 years ago the first pope arrived to set down new roots. Having a pope around meant that rich and powerful (Italian) cardinals would soon be arriving, injecting wealth, economic prosperity and architectural novelties into the area. More surprising was what we learned on a visit to Lyon last week. 16th century Lyon was a thriving place. Why? Italians of course. Italian merchants and traders made of it an international business center famous for its commercial fairs.

A lesser known city that is a favorite of ours is the Mediterranean port of Sète. The city is dominated by a mountain in the center, criss-crossed with canals, and bordered by a lovely beach. As a working port it has not yet been transformed totally into a tourist enclave. Its earlier name Cetia indicates the area’s Italian heritage. The city’s local gustatory specialty is called a tielle. Typically when we hear “local specialty” we run the other way. Local specialities stay local because their tastes do not travel well. The tielle is an exception. It’s kind of a pot pie, made with octopus. A key ingredient, here comes the Italian influence, is tomato sauce. Really, it is good, a lot better than I am making it sound.

Several key personalities in France also were initially Italian. In the late 60s a singer and movie actor sort symbolized French artists who combined their talents with political activism. His name was Ivo Livi. He gained fame as Yves Montand. Today, the French first lady is Italian-born Carla Bruni. Most prominent of all is an individual known everywhere. He came to life as the child of parents named Carlo and Letizia. He had an older brother named Giuseppe. His birth name: Napoleone di Buonaparte.

May Day mayday

2009-05-05T00:43:00.000-07:00

“May Day” and “mayday” are spelled alike and sound alike. Their meanings are not at all alike. The former indicates a day set aside to celebrate working men and women. It is typically marked by large demonstrations organized by labor unions. The second is a phonetic spelling of the French m’aider, (short for venez m’aider) “help me.” It has become an internationally recognized distress signal. This year, with the economic crisis affecting laborers, traditional May Day demonstrations were also a mayday call.

Since the beginning of the year the French have taken to the streets three times in mass demonstrations. Organizers hoped that May Day would bring out the largest crowds. Unfortunately May 1 fell on a Friday, which meant a long holiday weekend. Since the weather throughout the country was pleasant, many would-be demonstrators seem to have been relaxing with their families in the countryside.

Still, the numbers were impressive, and, sign of how difficult times bring even antagonists together, all the major unions formed a united front in the marches. The May Day “mayday” complaints were common ones.

Workers had nothing to do with causing the economic crisis, but they are bearing the brunt of it. Not only are they being fired but, adding insult to injury, their taxes are being used to subsidize banks who did cause the crisis.
Workers help bring prosperity to companies which enrichens managers and shareholders. When things go bad, though, it is the workers who are dismissed as if their contributions meant nothing.
It is a mistake to think that nothing can be done and laborers should just resign themselves into the role of passive pawns in the process.
Political leaders who should represent their electorate have become, in effect, an extension of the industrialist class.

Although the demonstrations were peaceful, labor activism in France this year has been marked by a heightening of tensions. A government office was ransacked as workers heard the news that negotiatons had not resulted in jobs being saved; fires have been set outside a tire fabrication plant about to be closed; and sequestration des cadres or “bossnapping” has been a favorite strategy to up the ante in negotiations.

All this might lead people to think that France is a country with widespread unionization. This would be a mistake. According to 2004 figures from the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development, France is among the least unionized of the major industrial countries. A little over half the workers in Belgium and Norway are unionized. In France the rate is 9.7 percent. Even the U.S. has a higher level of unionization at 12.8 %.

What France does have is unionization in key sectors and general popular support for workers. When the railroad workers or the subway workers go on strike, the effect is immediately noticeable. Workers at the national electric company have recently resorted to the strategy of cutting off service. When that proved unpopular, they switched to manipulating meter reading so individual bills would be lower. The latter move was inspired by the desire to preserve public support. Even when it comes to “bossnapping” some 64% of those surveyed did not think the workers should be prosecuted.

It is not yet clear whether the economic crisis, its attendant job losses, and worker unrest will make a major difference in the country’s political situation. Most French people surveyed may express sympathy with the May Day demonstrators, but in the last three presidential elections they have voted for the center right party, one friendlier to market liberalization, U.S. style. The current president, Nicholas Sarkozy, elected while promising market liberalizing reforms is not finding popularity surveys to be especially favorable. This should be a good sign for the opposition, but, this being France, there are lots of opposition parties, and, given their ideological differences, getting united behind a single presidential candidate, and getting a majority in the national assembly, may represent overwhelming hurdles.

Until then, the next presidential election is not until 2012, the major question will continue to be whether job losses can be slowed down and reversed. Meanwhile French workers will continue to ask themselves why, in neighboring countries, protests are so passive.

Time for Dinner

2009-04-28T01:55:00.001-07:00

“The lady is a tramp...She gets too hungry for dinner at eight.” So sang Sinatra. If the lady in question were a tourist in France, her “tramp” status would be hard to maintain. She would have to wait for dinner at eight. Most restaurants don’t even open their doors until 7:30. Even that time is approximate. On a recent visit to Marseille we showed up punctually. Initial signs looked promising. Other diners were already seated. Closer inspection revealed that this was the staff. They were enjoying their own dinner, in no hurry for customers to come through the door. Faced with two different signals, a written one which said that the restaurant opened at 7:30, and a live tableau which said, “7:30 really means closer to 8:00” we opted to follow the latter. Returning, after a leisurely 20 minute walk around the port we were the first arrivals.

Even if the doors really opened at 7:30, being “too hungry for dinner at eight” would remain a problem. Service is relaxed and cooking takes time. This is disconcerting for Americans who always hear the clock ticking. Such habits can only lead to frustration for visitors to France. A good meal involves waiting. Waiting, first for the server, often there is only one, to approach and take orders. Then, waiting for the appetizer to be prepared. Then, well the pattern is pretty obvious. In an unexpected twist, the server does not even hurry along the check. This would be rude to guests. Often, it is the clients who have to ask for the bill. There is certainly no question of someone swooping down and taking away the plate of one diner while the others are still eating. This abusive custom, signalling “we just want to maximize lucrative efficiency by moving people in and out as quickly as possible” is so prominent in the U.S. that its impoliteness often goes unnoticed. Dining in France definitely does not represent what Americans would call an efficient maximizing of time. Heaven forbid restauranteurs should be seen as trying to move as many people as possible through the dining area to maximize profits. We have even been refused entry into what was an empty restaurant. Very sorry, says the maitre d’, but all our tables are reserved. What he means is that, although it is 7:30 now, at 9:00 the tables will be all taken. Letting us in might mean that a table would still be occupied at 9:00. There is no question of letting that happen.

The whole intersection of time and food famously marks a significant difference between the U.S. and France. There are cultural markers for the differences. One was the 1950s game show “Beat the Clock.” Contestants had to perform challenging tasks as a large clock ticked off the seconds. Time, it symbolically said, was something to be occupied by frenetic activity. A city favored by Sinatra, Las Vegas offers another important symbol. There, the natural cycles that were the original markers of time have mostly been obliterated. 24/7 is the rule 365 days a year. Day and night do not matter. Nor do the seasons. The notion of limits, patterns or cycles that depend on the natural order of things has been overridden. Not surprisingly, the city is renowned for its “all you can eat” buffets.

In such a setting, agricultural practices that serve as the base of any culture (itself an agricultural word) are ignored. The farmer must pay attention to nature’s own measures of time. Day and night, along with the seasons, do matter. Life must adjust to a chronology dictated by something other than human will. When cultivation and growth of foodstuffs can be ignored, when money is earned simply by exchanging money, then thinking solely in terms of clock time rather than nature’s time becomes possible.

Most of us have not gone so far as Las Vegas in forgetting our natural setting. We still retain some sense of the agricultural cycles. We can imagine a world which at least has pockets when “beat the clock” is not a preoccupation. The leisurely pace of evening then becomes something to be welcomed. An an oncoming temporal expanse, it can be viewed as a gift. As a gift, it is meant to be savored, not seen as a constraint within which as many tasks as possible have to be accomplished.

Disappearing Smokes

2009-04-25T09:38:00.001-07:00

Tobacco and thought go together. At least, they once did. Solving a crime, without his pensive pipe, would have been impossible for Sherlock Holmes. How many French philosophy books would have remained unwritten without smoke-filled cafés ? Still, times change. Now it is sickess and smoking that go together. Gone are the role models with pipes in their mouths or nicotine stained fingers. Gone also, even here in France, are the smoke-filled cafés. Outlawed also are advertisements for tobacco products.

Sometimes, though, good intentions have unintended consequences. In their zeal to uphold the advertising law, or, more likely, in their fear of lawsuits, some individuals have pictorially altered history. In 1996, 20 years after his death, a stamp was issued to honor André Malraux, the author and former minister of culture. A famous photo was used. Those familiar with it noticed a particularity. Something was missing. When the photo was taken, Malraux had just about finished a cigarette. Its remaining centimetres, in the original, were still obviously clamped between his lips. Through the magic of photo alteration, the postage stamp Malraux morphed into a model tobacco-free individual.

Malraux’s contemporary, the philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre, consumed avidly things that were not great for his health : barbituates, pipe tobacco, alcohol of all sorts and, of course, cigarettes. Rarely were mouth or hand free of some instrument for smoking tobacco. Yet, in publicity photos for an exhibition devoted to him by the French National Library, a new Sartre appears, one whose lips and hands are tobacco-free. The malign product, à la the Malraux stamp, had been photoshopped out of existence. This time the result was somewhat clumsy. The erasure is glaring. Sartre’s right hand, positioned around a cigarette, now seems strangely contorted.

One way to avoid publicizing tobacco without deletions is simply to ban tobacco-including photos altogether. That is what happened to a publicity poster for a movie released last Wednesday, a biography of Coco Chanel. The film’s publicists released a picture of Audrey Tautou playing Chanel. She is luxuriating in bed, cigarette in a carefully posed hand. This was too much for the Paris subway authorities. The photo was simply banned. Others posters, tobacco-free to be sure, reluctantly supplied by the film’s promoters, now adorn the corridors of Paris’s public transportation system.
Of the various ways to alter visual history, perhaps the clumsiest involved the alteration of photos for a retrospective celebrating the films of Jacques Tati. Tati was a sort of 1950s Mr. Bean. He played an unflappable sort, someone whose customs and habits belonged to an earlier era. Sweet, innocent comedy resulted from this befuddlement at the new world. His most famous creation was a character named Mr. Hulot. Hulot is immediately recognizable because of his trademarks : trench coat, umbrella and pipe. Yes, horror of horrors, in 1958 Mr. Hulot smoked a pipe. Indeed, Mr. Hulot would just not be himself without the pipe.
What to do with the publicity photos for the 2009 retrospective? Go the Malraux and Sartre route and photoshop the pipe out of existence ? Find a photo of Mr. Hulot without a pipe, Audrey Tautou style ? Neither, it turns out. In what has to be the worst of all choices, the picture has been altered by adding something. The pipe’s stem remains what it alway was. In place of the bowl at the stem’s end there now stands a colorful pinwheel. Yes, a pinwheel. One has to wonder whether the designers of the revised image meant to make a mockery of the whole photo-alteration enterprise. Whether they did or not, that is the result.

The most famous "pipe that's not really a pipe" came from the paintbrushes of René Magritte. In the late 1920s he exhibited a canvas depicting a smoker’s pipe. Underneath are the words, “this is not a pipe.” Magritte wanted to prod reflection on the relation between art and reality. The recent “pinwheel-means-this-is-not-a-pipe” alteration could serve to prod a similar reflection, this time about tensions between public health and historical reality.

Roman Remains

2009-04-23T04:09:00.000-07:00

“There is as much history underground as there is above ground.” So, our Avignon tourist office guide informed us. This year Avignon commemorates the event that has marked its history more than anything, the arrival, in March 1309, of the first pope. Six more were to follow. The move of the pope from Italy was not the move of a single individual. A retinue of cardinals followed. Being in proximity to the pope meant being in proximity to power, after all. For Avignon, the result was a 14th century urban renewal of sorts. The existing structures, many wooden and typical of the earlier centuries, were razed. Room had to be made for the new sumptuous homes of the new elite. Whatever vestiges of the Roman city that had thrived on the banks of the Rhone were now put to a new use: they became quarries as the stones that once marked Roman greatness became building materials for the city’s new rich and powerful.

Unlike Nimes with its intact Roman arena or cities like Orange and Lyon in which there are still recognizaable Roman legacies, Avignon is left with about a dozen random pieces gathered together on a street corner near the opera house (see picture above). Developing its power as a new (papal) Rome, Avignon lost its heritage as descendant of (imperial) Rome.

That’s too bad because one treat of visits to France is the ability to touch the Roman inheritance. A memorable moment for me involves what is essentially a trench. It is found near the Cathedral in Narbonne. Within the trench: an uncovered section of the Via Domitia, Rome’s first road in France. It stretched from Spain to Italy. Parts of today’s French highway system retraces sections of the Via Domitia. The movement of information has always been important, and, well before our wireless networks moving through the air, there was something more tangible: a system of roads.

The engineering prowess of the Romans is not just well-known. It is still widely feted. One of the towns near our village has “Roman” in its name, Vaison la Romaine. It is also home to a bridge built in the first century. Wherever one goes in this area one hears the story of the 1992 flood, a devastating one that killed over 30 people. The swollen river, loaded with mud and debris tended to take down everything in its path. Not the Roman bridge, however. Even 2 millenia after its construction, it held fast against the ravages of the flood.
When we visited the nearby Abbaye of Senanque, our guide insisted on its Roman roots. She pointed overhead to some stones in the vault that had shifted during an earthquake. The Abbey, founded in 1148, survived the earthquake with no major damage. Why? The guide explained that the people who designed it had studied, and copied, Roman building techniques. Not surprisingly, the lovely, graceful and peaceful architecture of the 11th and 12th centuries is known as “Romanesque.”
The most important Roman legacy is Europe itself, at least as a necessary, though not a sufficient condition. From England to Romania the contours of Western Europe are those of Rome. Intellectually, Europe is also the descendant of Rome, but with important intervening steps. The part of the Roman Empire that is the Europe we know was first touched by medieval Scholasticism and its emphasis on reason as correlative to religion. This opening fostered universities and eventually, two more defining moments for shaping European identity, the Reformation and the Enlightenment. Some of the better distinguishing marks of European identity are the result: liberal ideals, republican governments, tolerance, economic prosperity. In those parts of the old Roman empire where the subsequent movements were lacking, counter-reformation Spain for example, or north Africa, the cultural benefits were either delayed or are only tangentially present. Ultimately, the communication network made up of roads led to the communication networks made up of books , scientific inventiveness and reforming ideas. This legacy makes the trench uncovering the Via Domitia a site worth preserving.

School Food

2009-04-21T01:16:00.000-07:00

It was the best of cuisines. It was the worst of cuisines. Apologies to Dickens, but these modifications of his famous opening have traditionally told a culinary tale of two cities, Paris and London. Over the last several decades, things have changed somewhat. England has some celebrity chefs who have brought good cuisine to the kingdom. One, Jamie Oliver, has even spearheaded a campaign to transform that area famous for tasteless food: the school cafeteria. Not only was the food bad, but downright unhealthy. At least that was the case before Oliver began to exhort his compatriots in favor of healthy eating. His exhortations bore fruit, so to speak. School dining was nutritionally improved.

But stereotypes and ingrained habits die hard. Instead of being grateful, many pupils rebelled. There were boycotts of the new food. Why? Students preferred the older fare. Why eat vegetarian pizza, barbeque pork, fish, broccoli, salad, and fruit, when the memory of and taste for chicken nuggets, and fish and chips remained fresh? One British newspaper noted that demand for school lunches had dropped by 20% after the kitchen reforms were enacted.

Parents got into the act as well. Surprisingly, they intervened on the side of the “worst” cuisine. The new policy, some said, provided their children with overpriced food, “low-fat rubbish.” Wanting to be good parents, defined obviously as giving their children whatever they want, the adults circumvented the school fare by hand-delivering the high fat convenience food preferred by their offspring. Like deprived prisoners the youngsters reached through the school fence, eagerly grasping the familiar fare.

On this side of the channel, there have recently also been school-cafeteria boycotts and protests. These, though, have tended to lean in the “best of cuisines” direction. The boycotts and demonstrations were tame fare compared to the occupation of factories, keeping bosses locked in their offices, and mass street demonstrations that afflict the industrial sector in France. Typically the cafeteria-related protests were accompanied by a demand for meetings with local officials and a specific list of sought-after reforms.

Last November in nearby Pernes La Fontaine students simply refused to eat the cafeteria food. Unlike the British students, this was not an “I want my fish and chips” boycott. The problem was simply taste. Main dishes still partly frozen and unripened, hard fruits were the primary complaints. School officials explained that, because the cafeteria was undergoing renovations, food had to be brought in by an outside contractor. The boycotting students got to meet with the mayor and the town official in charge of education. Things have been quiet since then.

More recently, in Marseille, parents and students organized a protest picnic under the leadership of a group called, for some reason unknown to a foreigner like myself, “gathering of squash” (les courges associées). They too were complaining about cafeteria food. The nutritional value was okay, they admitted. The problems are (1) it tastes bad, and (2) things could even be better. Specifically, they asked for more local and organic items on the menu. Right now our children have to put up with “industrial eating” said one of the parents. For an alternative meal they had brought some pan bagnats, fruits, and salads.

Both the British and the French cases indicate the importance of habits and proper habituation if nutritious and delicious eating is going to be the rule. One commentator writing in response to the Jamie Oliver campaign said blithely “most children are able to distinguish between 'healthy' and 'unhealthy' diets from an early age.” Such a claim ignores two important dimensions. First, humans are creatures of habit, and habits have to be cultivated. They cannot be magically willed into existence, even if, rationally, someone is able to distinguish between healthy and unhealthy diets. Second, the impact of advertising on children cannot be ignored. It is this social force, rather than the family, which too often is the most important shaper of habits in children.

Jamie Oliver, representing the “best of cuisines” can only hope that the next generation of parents will succeed in instilling healthy eating habits. The “gathering of squash” group in Marseille appears to be there already. Hopefully, they will continue to succeed in keeping the “worst of cuisines” at bay.

Bonjour, Human Being

2009-04-18T01:30:00.000-07:00

Many years ago as a student in Switzerland, I approached a clerk and asked where to find something. The clerk looked up, paused, and said “Bonjour,” letting me know that human beings don’t just blurt out questions to one another. First, there is an acknowledgement of common humanity. This is signaled by a polite greeting. Bonjour always comes first. Then comes whatever question is at issue. Each time we cross the Atlantic my wife reminds me to set aside my American “cut to the chase,” “it’s just business,” “speed it up” attitude. This should be exchanged for the more Europe-appropriate etiquette that recognizes others, not just as instruments serving a particular function, but as fellow human beings. As a special reinforcement, the guidebook we brought with us this time even includes the following advice: “In shops, be prepared to say bonjour before asking what you want, then merci when you receive your change, and au revoir, bonne journée when you depart.”

Still, even armed with such reminders, old habits die hard. Several days ago, I found myself at an information desk in an Avignon bookstore. The person in front of me asked about a book and the clerk dutifully checked the store’s computer. Then, it was my turn. “What about this book, "I asked, giving author and title. Pause. A look right in the eye from the clerk: “Bonjour, Monsieur.” Ouch. I had done it again; violated a simple rule of courtesy. Clerks are persons, not just objects serving a function.

It’s a hard habit to break. After all, I’m from a culture where even clerks might find it annoying to waste their time with a greeting. Getting directly to the issue at hand is simply more convenient and efficient. Besides in the U.S. the customer is always right and it is the worker (bank teller, post office clerk, department store salesperson, check-out person) who is always to be complained about. Between the American shopping place where a polite greeting is not only expendable but a kind of time-wasting annoyance and the European one in which person-to-person recognition of common humanity is absolutely essential, there is a great gap. Habituated in the former, it’s hard to adjust to the latter.

The gap was not always so great. When I returned from my year as a student in Switzerland, my main concern was finding a summer job. First stop: the local factory and its personnel office. Today, “personnel” offices have all but disappeared. They have been replaced by something called the office of “human resources.” Iron ore is a resource. Lumber, tin, bauxite and granite are resources. Brought into a factory, they serve perfectly good instrumental functions. There is no need to spend any time greeting them. How did it happen, how did we allow it to happen, how exactly did persons come to be dropped into the category of resources? “Personnel,” is a perfectly fine word for the working men and women who make an enterprise function. It brings with it a special advantage, reminding us that we are dealing with persons. How do we define persons? Individuals who deserve a “good morning” or a “hello” as a first form of contact.

Strawberry Festival

2009-04-13T05:27:00.000-07:00

In mid-March our fruit vendor began promising “local strawberries soon.” The ones on offer thus far had been Spanish. It turns out that the general area hereabouts, the Comtat Venaissin, is a sort of strawberry fields forever. Well, not forever. It’s only been since the late 19th century, and it only lasts for a brief time in early Spring. Before the late 1800s, silk worms and a red-dye producing plant, garance in French and “madder” in English, were major agricultural enterprises. (The red coats of British soldiers fighting in the American revolution were colored with a madder-produced dye). With the rise of synthetic substitutes, the need for silkworms and madder dropped significantly. What to do? Someone thought of planting strawberries. The area now supplies about 4% of French consumption.

The berries produce early. They have varietal names like garriguette, ciflorette, pajaro, (the “Carpentras Strawberry,”) and nayad. Nature is typically loaded with such diversity. It seems to disdain single versions of anything. This problem of the “one and the many” has occupied thinkers for a long time. Plato formulated the issue in his “theory of Forms.” There are many varieties (of strawberries, grapes, apples etc.). We can still identify them as part of single families. They are many yet they are one. The only way Plato could express this was to say that it seemed as if there were a “Form” for each family. That template then served as the model for individuals who exemplify it in various ways. None of the instantiations match the blueprint perfectly, an impossible feat since the Form contains all of what differentiates each variety from the next.
When it comes to judging quality, we often make a similar move, but this time identifying one variety as the ideal. We, who live normally in upstate New York, tend toward the wild strawberry that grows in the Adirondack mountains as our exemplar. It is low to the ground, small, red, full of juice with a special sweetness. This Adirondack strawberry has practically nothing in common with its gigantic, much dryer, much less flavorful, cousin found on supermarket shelves in February.

If we refer to the Adirondack Strawberry as “A” and the February grocery store one as “F,” then we have a sort of quality continuum. Where do the Comtat Venaissin strawberries fall? Thus far, the variety we have sampled, ciflorette, rates a sort of B/B+. The berries are full of natural sugars and have a texture and ripeness that move them close to “A.” Some are quite large, have a crown that is white, and a kind of empty center when opened. These traits all tug toward “F.” Not too far along this way, but enough to keep them one step removed from the Adirondack exemplar.
We got our first real taste of the local produce last Saturday when nearby Carpentras held its annual Fête de la Fraise. The previous week, asking about the festival, we had been told “Oh there are booths all around town.” The actual festival turned out to be one rectangular set of tables. Staffing the tables were various vendors and exhibitors. Strawberries abounded. There were also wines, candies, chocolates, syrups and preserves. A flowing fountain of warm chocolate was available for dipping. Strangely, when the exhibitor running the fountain handed out chocolate covered goodies, it was marshmallows, not strawberries, that he favored.

The Fête began with a ceremony during which two important guilds, that of strawberries and that of wine, held a joint event. They celebrated the “marriage” of local berries with local rosés. This was a colorful event. Participants were dressed in fruit-appropriate red and green. The afternoon was marked by a demonstration on how candied strawberries are made, samplings of crêpes, pastries, candies and the chocolate fountain. The “swinging uncles” (les tontons swingueurs) provided dixieland jazz accompaniment. One tall creature, (the “good fairy”?) circulated, waving her strawberry wand to bring good wishes and good luck to those assembled.

The stars of what is after all a marketing event were the fruits themselves. If there is a Platonic Form for strawberry one of its definite components is flavor. Indeed, the French name “fraise” is a cognate of “fragrance.” That’s lovely and it leaves an English speaker with the question: How does straw figure in the Form of this fruit?

Illegal Hospitality

2009-04-10T01:11:00.000-07:00

A recent heartwarming television news story was about a rabbi. He joined a humanitarian interfaith mission into Gaza. His appearance at the border caused no small amount of consternation. Lower level Hamas guards were puzzled. An hour later the police chief arrived, assuring the visitors that he was there personally to guarantee their safety. After all, they were guests.

From a different war-torn part of the world, former Navy Seal Marcus Luttrell’s book offers another account of generosity. Wounded and desperate after a devastating attack by the Taliban, Luttrell comes across men from a nearby village. They take him in, and following a strict code of hospitality, protect him from the Taliban.

Today, hospitality is mostly understood in terms of the “hospitality industry.” Traditionally, hospitality was a practice deeply connected to civilized life itself. Bedouin hospitality is renowned. The Hebrew scriptures praise people like Lot, who protects visitors from his immoral neighbors. Classical mythology involved “theophanies,” gods disguised as visitors. Ovid’s story of Baucis and Philemon, the poor couple who shared their meager provisions with the shabby looking twosome knocking on their door is among the most famous. The Gospel of Matthew indicates how individuals deserving the reign of heaven will be greeted with the words “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me,…” The moral imperatives of hospitality were played for great humor in an early Buster Keaton film. The main character is a guest in the home of his family’s sworn enemies. They are committed to revenge, but hospitality prevents them from doing so while he is in their home. Such injunctions and practices face a difficult challenge in a world of high unemployment, criminals in immigrant communities, scarce resources, and an unending flow of desperate people determined to cross borders. What to do? Elected officials are committed to limiting entry and expelling as many illegals as possible. On the other hand, citizens attuned to the older moral code feel a compulsion to provide food, shelter and help.

On April 8 here in France there was a symbolic protest that brought to a head the contrast between governmental responsibility for controlled borders and the ancient code of hospitality. 5500 citizens turned themselves in for the crime of having provided services to undocumented aliens. Their goal: point out the iniquity of a law that criminalizes such help. In a heated response, the minister of immigration insisted that the law was not applied against people who were merely providing some comfort or aid to illegals. On April 30 the Socialist party will introduce a motion to alter the text of the law. The modification will explicitly decriminalize assistance aimed at “preserving either the physical integrity or the dignity of an outsider.”

Who are the people providing aid and what kind of aid do they offer? Sometimes they are just carrying out ordinary functions. One nun, asked about civil disobedience, was puzzled. What’s that, she wondered. When told that giving shelter and food to the people she had just helped was civil disobedience, she was at first stunned. Then, she sort of shrugged and resolved to continue following her conscience. Not surprisingly, some of the main groups devoted to helping are religious. There are “Catholic Aid” and the “Protestant Federation for Mutual Aid.” Among non-religious groups, the most prominent is the “Education Without Borders Network” a group that focuses on migrants with children.

Water and food provision is high on their list of activities. They also find shelter for families, bring home dozens of cell phones in order to recharge them, serve as translators in medical offices and get legal help. One task involves regular trips to airports where they can obtain baby strollers left behind by passengers. These are then distributed to illegals with children.

Politically, the individuals seem pragmatic, not ideological. Motivation is mostly humanitarian or religious. Someone is thirsty, someone is hungry, I can help, so I do. One of the active individuals put it this way: “I tell the undocumented aliens that it would be good if they returned home because France cannot accommodate everyone.” Asked why she risked prison for her activism, she replied “we can’t just let people die by the side of the road. It’s a matter of solidarity. We don’t think about whether it’s legal or not, we just follow our heart.”

Market Day

2009-04-08T01:57:00.000-07:00

It’s an assortment unlike any to be found in the U.S. There is donkey salami, horse meat, duck paté, goat cheese and wild boar ham. Olives of varied hues and seasonings are available, as are spices in burlap sacks, and pastries from the Middle East. Eggs are sold next to a sign listing the hatch date. Oysters, mussels, scallops and squid are abundant. The usual produce is also available: tomatoes, carrots, lettuce, celery (buy only as many stalks as you want), endive, scallions and leeks.

Want the food already cooked? No problem. Two purveyors will scoop up plastic containers of paella from what looks like a huge wok. Roast chickens are available. Turkey legs, quails, and smoked meats are also turning on spits. A Thai woman serves up Asian specialties. One truck dispenses pizzas. If food is of no interest, maybe woven baskets will draw attention, or maybe tablecloths and place mats. Used books are available along with CD’s. Several vendors sell knives of every shape and size. One guy, flying an American flag, offers what seems to be army surplus. Leather goods abound, along with ceramic pots, t-shirts, hand crafted wooden spoons, forks, salad bowls and cutting boards. For those whose hungers are spiritual, one display features bibles and various religious pamphlets.

Men go back and forth into the back of a truck. It turns out this is a “dressing room.” They are trying on pants. Wearing their new purchase, they might want to stop by a florist, picking up a bouquet for their wives. Feeling generous, they might want to drop a Euro or more into the container of a street musician or mime.

Although the assortment might sound odd to Americans, it’s just another day at an open-air market in Provence. Such markets represent a historical relic, a sort of living fossil. The local town of Carpentras claims that its market dates back to the 12th century. Visitors entering the town of Sault are greeted by a sign that reads: Open Air Market Every Wednesday Since 1515.

Not surprisingly the size and scope of the market depend on the weather. While “hypermarkets” (what “super centers” are called here) benefit from heating and air conditioning, the outdoor market is completely dependent on the elements. In our village the market is just now, as Easter approaches, achieving its full and varied complement of stalls. In January and February, it was composed mostly of a loyal base of food vendors.

As the number of stalls grows so does the crowd of shoppers. This is a vacation area, where the population triples in the summer. Already, as the Easter vacation kicks into gear, we are noticing that the shoppers have moved from uniformly French to a polyglot set of folks.

That markets continue to exist is, in one way surprising. They cannot compete with the low prices of the big chains. One day, accepting a sample, we loved the taste of an organic sheep cheese from the Pyrenees. Buying a smallish slice lightened our wallet by 20 Euros, about 26 dollars. It’s hard to get away with a piece of fish for under 10 Euros. We have learned to be careful about weights. 450 grams, for example equals about one pound. 300-350 grams of fish filet is ample for two. Small goat cheeses, not necessarily organic, offer a good bargain. We have also been known, occasionally, to content ourselves with just a few ribs of celery.

The markets also do not provide what is uniformly a local product. Oranges in January do not come from local growers. Nor do the tomatoes, strawberries, canteloupes and lemons. Salami vendors and olive oil purveyors consistently offer, by contrast, their own wares. Cheese purchased from the merchants may not be their own, but has been selected from producers who care about quality more than quantity.

So, what is the draw that keeps 21st century people attracted to an ancient practice. Partly it has to do with supporting the vendors, small business people whose daily treks from market to market keep them self-employed. Partly it is the quality of the products. For us this is especially true of the cheeses, the salamis, and the fish. The markets also offer something humane. They personalize time, offering a rhythmic pulse that marks the passage of a week less mechanically than do calendars and clocks. Finally, since humans are social creatures, markets represent an opportunity for gathering and festivity, dimensions absent from the hurried and harried crowds at hypermarkets.

French Democracy/American Capitalism

2009-04-06T05:15:00.000-07:00

In the early 90s, living in Lyon, we attended a PTA-type meeting for our sons’ school. Someone suggested that to get the attention of the authorities, maybe we parents ought to hold an administrator hostage. “Sequester” was word used. This was not a serious suggestion. Still, it seemed strange that it would be made at all. That was because we knew little about French worker movements. “Sequestering” occupies a special place in the strategy of social confrontation.

The recent economic crisis has made this clear. In mid-March an executive of SONY was held captive by workers. This was followed by “sequestering” at both Caterpillar and 3M. As if to show how they were equal opportunity sequesterers, a French company for luxury products, PPR, was also targeted. An executive had just gotten into his car when the vehicle was surrounded by activists unhappy about the announced layoffs of 1200 colleagues. The detainees are eventually released, usually after a day or two, either via police intervention or after some sort of agreement has been negotiated.

For an American, this strategy and the general public’s tolerance of it raise the obvious question: why is this so different than in the U.S. where even plain old strikes do not gain widespread public support? Part of the answer involves the tension between democracy and capitalism. In that tension, France leans heavily in one direction and the U.S. in the other.

Ideally, democracy and capitalism ought to get along just fine. Both prize freedom. Democracy emphasizes social solidarity, the common good, a government of the people, by the people, for the people. Capitalism offers itself as an economic system that provides the most rational manner for distributing goods and services. In other words, it provides the means whereby the common good becomes realizable in material terms.

Tensions arise when a few key phrases of Adam Smith, capitalism’s founding figure, are made axiomatic, specifically “self-interest” and the “invisible hand.” In its most extreme form, capitalism claims to function best when (1) its leading figures aim only at achieving their own interests, i.e. return on investment; and (2) it is given a free pass from the oversight of democracy’s elected representatives. The common good is not ignored. Rather it is acknowledged by the claim that a sort of magic wand, the “invisible hand” will automatically allow self-interest to result in the common good.
In a democratic republic, elected representatives, seeking to represent, assume a responsibility to monitor, in the interests of their constituents, the workings of the market. Rather than giving a free pass to the economic sphere, they believe that here is an area replete with issues of special significance to their constituents: workplace safety, wages, benefits, stability of employment, pollution. Thus the tension: democratic sentiments propel toward interference with the marketplace; straightforward capitalism insists on complete autonomy.

Unless one is an old-fashioned Communist or a new fashioned member of the French Anticapitalist Party, there is a felt need to make some sort of successful marriage out of the democracy/capitalism couple. But how are they to get along? What compromises must each make? There are no easy formulas for getting the mix right. Between complete autonomy and rigid, wide-ranging oversight there exist plenty of intermediary slots.

Not surprisingly, French politics and attitudes tend toward the democatic end while American attitudes lean in the capitalist direction. The early 21st century may bring about a double move toward the middle. Opinions in the U.S., reacting to the economic crisis, are becoming more favorable to elected representatives tinkering with the economic sphere. In France, a center-right government has been trying for several years to move in the opposite direction. The election of 2007 brought to power a candidate, Nicolas Sarkozy, who promised reform, i.e. loosen economic regulations, abandon the 35 hour work week, allow people to work more overtime, introduce rules minimizing the impact of strikes, reduce the highest tax bracket.

Recent mass demonstrations, occupation of factories, and the “sequestering” of executives seek to force the French president to reverse his plans. So far, he has maintained his determination of moving more toward toward the capitalist end of the continuum. Whether his determination will survive the economic crisis remains to be seen.

Camus and Gaia

2009-04-02T02:58:00.000-07:00

The village of Lourmarin is today famous as the home of Peter Mayle, chronicler of life in Provence. Before Mayle another writer had a home there: Albert Camus. Since the reason for this stay in France is to research Camus, it was natural to visit his gravesite.

Camus and Mayle may both be writers who had homes in Lourmarin, but there the similarity ends. Mayle humorously describes local customs. His works float on the surface of things. The challenges of contracting local help to build a pool is about as deep as it gets. Camus’s works, on the other hand, take us to the depths of what it means to be human. More than anything, he was a searcher, writing to explore fundamental questions. Although Camus was a foe of organized religion, his fellow Nobelist François Mauriac referred to him as a typical homo religiosus, someone concerned with questions of ultimate significance.

Who was Camus? He is a Nobel Prize winner (1957) whose first novel The Stranger was an international best seller. He envisioned a three-tiered cycle of works. The first was to focus on what he called the “absurd.” The second would be built around the theme of “revolt.” The third was to explore “love.” The cycle was never completed. On January 4, 1960 Camus was killed in a car crash. He was 46.

Such an early demise left much unfulfilled promise. Camus’s works all revolve around three pivots: the natural world, the gods, and human beings. For the ancient Greeks and Romans, the three realms were intertwined. Nature was full of portents, symbols, meanings. The gods were not only plentiful but a real presence in the nature of things, like Helios, the sun, Poseidon, the ocean, and Gaia, the earth. Humans, somewhere between, felt connected to both nature and the gods. Life may have been hard, but this was our home and if only we would read aright the signals from nature and the gods, things would go well.

In modernity, the intertwining fell apart. Nature, described by natural science, became a realm of impersonal forces, mere matter in motion. The gods became God the outside designer, a kind of clockmaker who fashioned his invention and then let it run on its own. Later, this god was dispensed with altogether. Humans, now alienated from both other dimensions, felt like strangers in a strange world. This situation was what Camus highlighted by the term “absurd.”
Camus's works experiment with what it might mean to alleviate the absurdity by embracing fully one of the three realms. His play Caligula explores the ramifications of taking on the role of the missing gods. Caligula, the emperor, is all-powerful. The result: random murder and continuous suffering for his subjects. In The Stranger, Meursault aligns himself with the indifferent working out of things characteristic of the natural world. He is a decent enough sort, responsive to simple pleasures (“I like café au lait”), and subject to whatever causal influences come his way. At home in the world, he is a stranger to society and its artificial ways. He is also incapable of love (unknown in nature’s realm of indifferent causal relations) and capable of murder (if the right causal forces are at work).

It is in The Plague that the human need for meaning and purpose is embodied in the “revolt” of the main character. Unlike Meursault, who lets himself be drawn completely into the natural realm, Dr. Rieux’s slogan is “I work against creation.” Relief of suffering is his goal. He is the most sympathetic of Camus’s characters. Still, in the end, Dr. Rieux admits having no real reasons for choosing to help people. With no guidance from either the gods or from nature, we are left with gratuitous, groundless resolve. For a heroic figure like Dr. Rieux, this works well. As a general motivating context for doing good, this leaves much to be desired.

Camus thus leaves us with stalemates. So long as nature, the gods and humans remain disconnected this is inevitable. Dr. Rieux is a hero, but there are no deep reasons for choosing, as he does, to heal pain. In the early 21st century when science itself has returned to the ancient language of Gaia, it may be that the ruptures defining the “absurd” will themselves begin to be healed. Then, perhaps, working reasonably with creation, not against it, will once again define good.

Food News

2009-03-26T07:34:00.000-07:00

In France there is always food news. Statistics released in early March indicated that French sandwiches, most of them made with baguettes, were outselling hamburgers 8 to 1. What the French could be especially proud of was the continued resilience of the parisienne, a butter and ham on baguette staple. The venerable jambon-beurre makes up 72% of the non-burgers consumed.

News was good in general for sandwich purveyors. Growth was 11% last year. Grabbing a sandwich and eating it quickly, it must be noted, is not called “fast food” here. “Fast-food” is a label mostly reserved for anglo-saxon imports. The long-standing, home-grown market (eat a baguette sandwich quickly) has its own name. It's called the marché de l’en-cas. En-cas means literally “in case.” The expression, tough, has come to mean “snack,” i.e. “in case you are hungry.” So, when it comes to the en cas market, the French, anchored by the parisienne still proudly hold their own.

This does not mean that the “fast-food” folks are falling behind. McDonald’s of France has been doing well during the economic downturn. It actually plans expansions in 2009. Right now there are 1134 McDonald’s in France. Another 30 are expected to be added in 2009, many looking to the professional and educated crowd by offering unlimited, free WiFi.

An offhand comment by the American president about food also made the news. Apparently, Barack Obama asked that Air Force One be supplied with dijon mustard. While not the most portentous of remarks, it caught the attention of another politician, the mayor of Dijon. He put together a gift pack and immediately sent it off to Washington.

The mayor faces a major headache. Despite its name, dijon mustard need not be made in Dijon. A 1937 French court determined that the label “dijon” applied to a recipe, not a location. Thus, unlike Champagne which is a protected name in France (only the bubbly made in a particular geographical area qualifies), the mustard can be made anywhere in the world. Even the seeds which make up the basic ingredient come from elsewhere, mostly from western Canada. Because of the economic downturn, the town of Dijon could soon see the disappearance of the last link to the actual fabrication of its famous product, the Amora factory. Unilever, the Dutch-British multinational has announced plans to close the factory by the end of the year. Workers have protested and there have been demonstrations in support of keeping the factory open, but the end of a long-standing tradition seems inevitable.
One French tradition which does endure is the Guide Michelin. It just issued its 100th anniversary edition. The first edition was published in 1900. This raises the question of whether these people have refined tastes but can’t do simple math. Shouldn’t the 100th edition have been the millenial one? Well, yes, but only if the 20th century had been war-free. Wartime, besides its other bothers, interrupted the Guide’s publication. For this lean economic year, one highlight is the ever popular Bib Gourmand selection. These are quality restaurants which, though not worthy of stars, offer good food at reasonable prices. This year, there are 86 more Bib locations than were listed in the 2008 guide. There is now an almost equal balance between starred restaurants, 548, and Bib ones 527. “Bib” by the way, is short for Bibendum the name given to Michelin’s trademark little tire guy.

The “look for food bargains” attitude that marks the Bib selections has sort of taken hold all over France. The economic crisis may have helped the en-cas and the “fast food” crowds, but standard restaurants have seen dwindling customers. Some of them have responded by offering bargain meals, at least during especially slow times. One restaurant in Cherbourg is offering a 5 Euro (about $6.75) lunch special consisting of the main dish and either an appetizer or a dessert. A Lyon restaurant, taking a lead from a British example, does not bother to list prices. Patrons pay what they think the meal was worth. Finally, a tv story recently featured a baker who thinks that any savings should get passed on to the customer. Since the price of flour has come down, he is now increasing the size of his baguette and still charging the standard price of 80 centimes (about $1.00). Now if he were to make a parisienne with his larger bread, that would really be a good deal.

Marathon up Mt. Ventoux

2009-03-24T07:54:00.000-07:00

When a village is nestled at the foothills of a famous mountain, many of its events will be related to the looming giant. Our mountain is Mt. Ventoux, the “Giant of Provence.” The biggest event involving an ascent will be this summer’s Tour de France. Lately, in a sort of “we too can take on the mountain” there have been several preliminary ascents. Well, I say several even though I am not actually sure of the first. It involved antique cars. One day last week while heading for the grocery store, my wife and I noticed a series of classic cars, old racing cars it seemed, driving through town. Some, like the one pictured, had been parked while the owner took a coffee break. What were they doing here? My guess: they were involved in some sort of rally that involved taking the twisting road up Mt. Ventoux. That’s only speculation, though. If they were headed up the mountain, at this time of the year, they could not make it all the way to the top. Those roads are still closed because of snow.

If they were headed for Ventoux they were continuing a venerable tradition. The first motorcar race up Ventoux took place in 1902. Winning the race required a speed of 47.5 kilometers per hour. The tradition has continued recently with a race in early June through 2007. There is little information available about 2008 or this year.

Besides vehicles with wheels, people under their own power have sought to reach the summit. Francesco Petrarch in 1336 was the first famous figure known to have reached the summit. The Provençal poet, Frédéric Mistral, whose name matches (coincidentally) the “mistral,” provence’s famous wind, engaged in a pre-dawn 1859 climb so he could experience sunrise from the summit.

Besides the many hikers drawn to the mountain, there is also a yearly foot race that takes participants from pavement, to trail, to rocky terrain, to snow before descending again. It’s called “The Trail of Ventoux,” or in French Le Trail du Ventoux. Why the French use the word “trail” when they have at their disposal the perfectly good piste is a mystery. What is not a mystery is the popularity of the event. The most recent one took place on Sunday March 22. One thousand runners massed in the square just in front of the village school for an 8:30 a.m. departure. There were two itineraries, one of 24 kilometers which avoided the summit, and the other of 42 kilometers which reached it.
The fastest Boston Marathon was run in 2 hours and 7 minutes. It would take a speed faster than 2 hours 3 minutes and 59 seconds to beat the world record. Such times make little sense when the race is marathon length but over the kind of varied terrain covered by the Trail du Ventoux. Unlike the more famous marathons where water is offered to runners at regular intervals, competitors in the full-length side of the Trail are required to carry water with them. On Sunday the fastest time was just under 4 hours and 3 minutes. When we wandered over to the finish line, 6 hours into the race, runners were still arriving.
Since it is not yet tourist season in this area, runners can find inexpensive housing in a large vacation village/campground which has various kinds of permanent emplacements. It also has a restaurant and lovely grounds so that families can accompany the participants and make a kind of holiday weekent out of it.

One major rule of the vacation village is violated in this pre-season occupation by runners: clothing is allowed. The village, during its regular summer season, is a large “naturist,” read “nudist,” vacation site. At that time, the naturist philosophy is strictly enforced, as can be seen in this poolside reminder. Everyone was fully clothed on Sunday. The runners certainly were since they had to deal with snow. For the rest of us, either naturism is not our option, or mid-March is still a bit cool, with the mistral blowing a bit too strongly, for a clothing-free afternoon.

Local Wine

2009-03-22T02:39:00.000-07:00

Recently, my wife was reflecting on what we miss while here in France. One surprising answer: good wine. How is this possible in the land of Château Haut-Brion, Petrus, Puligny-Montrachet, and Château D’Yquem? Well, there is a strong tradition of localism in wine making. The locals support their neighbor vinters. Now if one happens to live where the regional wine is, let’s call it so-so, then a homogenized, mass-produced California product does not seem so bad.

The surrounding area does have wines with an official “appellation.” In France, wine areas are granted an AOC, appellation d’origine contrôlée, as a way of setting a certain standard of quality. A suspicious outsider might also think that it serves as an effective marketing tool. To receive an AOC many conditions have to be met. Only certain grapes are allowed in certain areas, yield is controlled, as is sugar content, alcohol level, and the proportion of blended grape varieties.

In most wine growing areas, even those producing inexpensive wines, AOC’s mean something. Typically, the more limited is the area covered by the appellation, the better the wine. Thus a label reading “appellation Beaujolais contrôlée” means that the grapes could be drawn from the entire Beaujolais. For “appellation Beaujolais Villages contrôlée,” the range is narrower. For more specific locales, the name Beaujolais may not appear at all, e.g. appellation Juliénas contrôlée or appellation Morgon contrôlée. Understanding the narrow versus wide range of appellations is important. A wine whose label reads “appellation Bordeaux contrôlée” might have very little in common with its more famous neighbors whose grapes are drawn from very specific locations.

Around here, the wines fall within the appellation Ventoux contrôlée. Until last year, it was appellation côtes du Ventoux contrôlée but the shorter, more direct change was thought to identify better the area from which the grapes derive, an area dominated by Mt. Ventoux. Most of the area’s wines are red. The white grapes approved for carrying the appellation are not at all the ones associated with some of the fine whites made elsewhere in France. No Chardonnay, Semillion Blanc, or Chenin Blanc here. Rather the grapes carry less propitious names like Clairette and Bourboulenc, from which a less propitious product results. There is also a robust production of rosé. This last is a good thing because, as an easy drinking wine, rosé does not require the kinds of subtleties associated with whites or reds. Rosés are also typically inexpensive, although a famous one, like Garrus, can sell for around 80 dollars.Provence in general tends to provide a large percentage of French rosés. Lately, the “industrial wine types,” always a worry for artisanal producers, managed to get provisional approval from the European Commission for a handy way of dumping surplus production: the sale of a wine that looks like rosé but is made by mixing white and red wine. A real rosé derives strictly from red grapes whose skins sit in the fermenting juice hardly at all. Mixing red and white wines thus provides a counterfeit. A final vote by the European Commission will take place April 27. If the French cannot prevail in getting a vote to forbid the mixing, they would at least like to mandate a label which would say “traditional Rosé” for those deserving the name as a result of production, not just appearance.

Wanting to be loyal local supporters we regularly make our way to the village’s cave cooperative where wines from surrounding vineyards are fermented and bottled. We call it our “stop the developers” project. So long as vineyards remain profitable, then so long does the land remain safe from bulldozers and concrete. When there, we gravitate to the rosés. There is also a sweet apéritif wine that is quite successful. The whites are mostly hopeless. In a twist that indicates the kind of wines made here, the non AOC whites tend to be a bit better than the AOC’s. That’s probably because the vinters have more flexibility about grapes and procedures. A local sparkling wine also offers both a good taste and good bargain. For reds, we are still experimenting. So far, though, when we want a red to serve guests, we opt for the AOC just north of here the côtes du Rhône, an appellation that uses mostly the same grapes but whose terroir (soil composition, sunshine, drainage, elevation) makes all the difference. It’s not extremely local, but still way more local than Burgundy, Bordeaux, or California.

Néoliberalisme

2009-03-20T02:28:00.000-07:00

As France has just undergone another day of widespread demonstrations, a word keeps popping up, a word that identifies a target of many demonstrators: néoliberalisme. An American observer might be forgiven for thinking that the demonstrators, asking for government intervention in economic matters, would favor “liberal” and updated “neoliberal” policies. This would be a mistake. In one of those twists of linguistic history, the term “liberal” here in France means the opposite of what it means in the U.S. Asked to name a “liberal” politician, French commentators would immediately focus on Ronald Reagan or Margaret Thatcher. Milton Friedman would be the quintessential “liberal” economist.
How can the same term indicate such opposites? Tracing its genealogy is helpful. It all starts in the 17th century with thinkers like John Locke and a position technically called “classical liberalism.” Wanting to liberate the newly emergent commercial and urban classes, the “bourgeoisie,” Locke suggested something straightforward: remove restrictions. His guiding image was the freedom enjoyed by humans in what was known as the “state of nature.” This was a time before kings, aristocrats and various political authorities were able to impose rules and regulations. Getting back to what was more natural, removing artificial state restrictions, would restore that freedom which was a birthright. This led to a neat inverse proportionality rule. As state intervention increased, freedom decreased. Locke thus married a desire for reform with a specific agenda for that reform.

In the 19th century, thinkers like Herbert Spencer allied this liberalism to some elements in Darwinian evolutionary theory, especially the view of life as a struggle for existence. What resulted was “Spencerism,” better known as “Social Darwinism.” The struggle for existence would lead to the survival of the fittest. This would all play itself out naturally. Left alone, the process would ultimately be beneficial. Artificial rules and regulations would only distort the proper functioning of the natural process.

This system worked well especially for a those folks who had a knack for accumulating wealth. By the early 20th century the beneficiaries of “liberal” reforms had become the dominant economic class. It was they who controlled capital and industry. If reform was now to be proposed, it had to be directed against the heirs to classical liberalism. Here is where the two dimensions of the term “liberal” sprung apart. Reformers, seeking to liberate the wage laborers working under difficult, poorly paid conditions, continued to be called “liberals.” But this reformist aim was now disconnected from the classical liberal agenda. Liberal reform came to be identified with getting elected public servants to serve their publics by imposing regulations and restrictions on industry. Those who defended the status quo, who held on to the notion of the-market-left-alone-best-regulates-itself, became “conservatives.”

In Europe there was no such split within the ranks of liberals. Unlike American reformers whose roots in classical liberalism kept them loyal to capitalism, albeit in a modified form, many European reformers sought more radical solutions. Many of them simply wanted to eliminate liberalism all together, preferring socialist or communist programs on the left and fascist ones on the right. As a result, here in France, the term “liberal” has preserved its 19th century sense.

The great depression and the subsequent New Deal programs put an end to classical liberalism as a dominant ideology in the U.S. By the middle of the 20th century, the literary critic Lionel Trilling could even declare that liberalism was not only “the dominant but even the sole intellectual tradition” in America. This was true from the 30s to the 70s. In the 1980s a resurgent economic conservatism (as we call it in the U.S.) took hold. It is this resurgence that came to be identified here as néoliberalisme. Protesters recently taking to the streets, believing that the current economic crisis marks the end of neoliberalism’s heyday, hope for a return to big government intervention.

Back in the U.S. and on a smaller scale, people who urge us to “buy local,” “buy American,” think about our “carbon footprints,” “conserve farmland,” “halt outsourcing of jobs” are most likely to be labeled “liberal.” They could just as easily be labeled “conservative” in its traditional rather than “be friendly to whatever big business wants” meaning. But the many connotations of “conservative” offer another tangled mess.

buses and trains

2009-03-18T01:15:00.000-07:00

When Jerry Brown ran for the presidency one of his favorite lines was “I’m not conservative, I’m just cheap.” In a parallel way I could say “I’m not making a fetish of my carbon footprint, I’m just cheap,” (thrifty, economical, living within my means—there are better ways of saying it.) The result, though, is similar: when my wife and I travel, we leave behind a light carbon footprint. No private automobile for us. It’s all about trains and buses.

Fortunately, the Vaucluse recently inaugurated a program to encourage bus riding. Their form of encouragement, lower fares, spoke directly to those of us who are (select one: cheap, frugal, thrifty, parsimonious, living within our means). As a result, we can ride from here to Carpentras about 15 kilometers away, for 1 Euro 70, (85 centimes apiece). A longer ride from Carpentras to Avignon costs only 2 Euros apiece. From Avignon we can catch a train to anywhere in France or Europe. Since I have now reached the age of 60, I am automatically qualified for a discount.

What are the drawbacks? The biggest one is adjusting to pre-set timetables. Sometimes that does not pose much of a problem. Buses between Avignon and Carpentras run every half hour. In our village, however, the schedules are set for middle and high school transportation. That means buses leave early in the morning, 7:00 and 8:00. There is also a bus that leaves at 1:00 p.m. Coming back in the evening, buses leave Carpentras at 4:10, 5:10, and 6:10. Travelling by train thus requires planning that allows for the ride to Carpentras, transfer to an Avignon bus, and then to a train.

As far as advantages, there are some beyond the economic and ecological ones. We have no worries about getting lost, finding parking places, deciphering strange road signs, or dealing with French drivers. During the trip we can read, relax and meet some interesting people. Sometimes, of course, “interesting” is good and sometimes, well, just “interesting.”

Our local bus ride has made us appreciate the general politeness of French schoolchildren. Imagine being on a bus full of middle schoolers. The first impression that comes to mind is probably “loud.” Here the bus is quiet. The schoolchildren generally greet the driver as they board and thank her as they leave. The driver knows them well, having ferried them back and forth for many years.

On a recent train ride from Montpellier, one individual shared our compartment between Montpellier and Nimes. He was pleasant and a helpful guide, pointing out to us, Vergeze, the town where Perrier bottles its water. Normally, we would have assumed a mountainous source, but this sparkling water comes from near the Mediterranean.

At a different point on the “interesting” scale is a recent conversation I had with a benchmate as we were each waiting for a different bus. This was a friendly, talkative young man. He had come into town he said on “business,” actually using the English word. When I asked him what the employment was, he admitted it was a different line of work and made the sign for smoking dope. Apparently he is a lower level marijuana and hashish vendor. “Vendor” may be a bit of a fancy word here. “Dealer” is the more correct one. “Business” was good he said, plenty of demand. Also, unlike other “vendors” he offers a first rate product, not one adulterated with fillers to add a few grams and increase profit margins.

Sometimes a train ride can also be nostalgic. The cars on our last ride were of the older sort with eight person compartments, not the two-row seating, the bus and airplane look, that now dominates train design. I had thought that France had sold most of these cars to Eastern European countries, but apparently some are still operational. It reminded both of us of being students in the late 60s when these sorts of cars were the rule. Imaginatively, the nostalgia can even send us back to scenes from Hitchcock movies, at a time when carbon footprints were not yet a recognized problem.

All roads lead...

2009-03-10T09:41:00.000-07:00

“All roads lead to Rome.” Indeed, for the Roman empire everything emanated from a specific center. The city even contained a pillar, the milliarium aureum or golden milestone, whose base is still visible today. It marked the absolute center from which all distances were measured. Other nations subsequently copied the practice. Here in France, “kilometer zero” can be found in front of Notre Dame Cathedral. Having a clear center is reassuring. It imposes unity while identifying the single locus of power and influence.

Here in the village, we have no comparable distance marker. What we do have is a church perched atop a hill. The street on which we live stretches horizontally alongside the hill. At regular intervals, perpendicular alleyways branch off. Where do they all go? Instead of “all roads lead to Rome,” it’s “all paths lead to the church.” The village had its own fixed center, a sort of mother hen, with the residences, like little chicks, clustered down the slope in front of it.

Seeking a single source to which everything can be traced, a single center around which everything revolves, marks a typical human tendency. Rome took its imperial ambitions for granted. It had a civilization to spread, roads to build, aqueducts to construct, markets to fill. It was all a grand periphery emanating from a great center. King Louis XIV embodies the cruelty associated with a focus on unity. He revoked the Edict of Nantes which had granted freedom of religion to protestants. His absolutist tendencies preferred practices consistent with the traditional slogan, “one law, one faith, one king.” (It rhymes better in French: une foi, une loi, un roi.)

The longing for a single foundation runs deep. Herodotus reported how a Pharaoh had children raised by deaf-mutes. His hope was that, unfettered by hearing any current language, the children would spontaneously speak the foundational, original language of humankind. When one of the children uttered something that sounded like Phrygian, the pharaoh pronounced it the one original tongue. The tower of Babel story also suggests the assumption of one and only one foundational language for humans. The imposition of multiple languages is there treated as retribution for human overreach. Unity as the original condition, plurality as punishment.

Philosophically, the great thinker Plotinus, living during the Roman Imperium, developed a schema which set a deep pattern in Western thought. Everything, he claimed, derived from an initial One. Ultimately our task, divided and separate as we were, was to rejoin the One that was the source of all. Descartes, in the 17th century, sought to base knowledge securely on one great irrefutable foundation. Everything flawed was to be eliminated until the single, solid source was discovered. Descartes’ “I think therefore I am” served as his milliarium aureum. The empire of knowledge would have its fixed beginning there.

Such a program might have had a good intention, but lots was loaded into the “everything flawed must be eliminated” dimension. When this got carried over into politics, ethnic and religious bloodletting was the result. Louis XIV, mentioned above, offers one good example. Prior to him, Ferdinand and Isabella’s Inquisition had already set a familiar human pattern. It aimed quite simply to eliminate all of those tainted by difference, in this case heretics, especially recent Jewish converts to Christianity suspected of insincerity in their new religion. In 1492, the year they funded Columbus, the monarchs completed their project ordering the expulsion of all Jews from Spain. The twentieth century, sadly, not only failed to reverse this tendency, but brought it to new heights of cruel efficiency.

Philosophically, the 20th century had begun, in American Pragmatism at least, with a challenge to the fetish with oneness. A founding member of American Pragmatism, William James, entitled his defense of religious sensibility The Varieties of Religious Experience. Another of his works was called, A Pluralistic Universe.

The fascination with a single, unitary source at the root of everything was self-serving, a construction of pure fantasy, and a recipe for totalitarianism. Experience, history, anthropology, archaeology and the physical sciences all point to complexes deriving from other complexes. However far we go, there is always diversity. The trick, aimed at in a democratic republic, is harmonizing and living with plural tendencies. Varieties and pluralism, to use James’s terms, should not be considered corruptions to be eliminated. Harmony, not unity should be the watchword for the 21st century. The “All roads lead to Rome” attitude dominated for several millenia. It was a good run, but it may be that the century following the bloody 20th offers as good a time as any to rethink our philosophical assumptions.

Virtue Ethics and Smelly Feet

2009-03-08T04:03:00.000-07:00

Smelly feet and virtues may seem to have little in common. A recent story out of Holland, though, indicates how they can be connected, at least for those of us who are philosophically inclined.

We don’t make virtues that central anymore. For an American founding father like Benjamin Franklin, they were crucial. It was important to cultivate the proper habits for living a life in the service of good. Dispositions to act in patterned and appropriate ways, habitual practices that are not haphazard, but cultivated so as to become second nature, these were the virtues. One of the virtues listed by Franklin intersects with the story from Holland. The story involves a student. This particular individual was the target of complaint after complaint. Finally, the university decreed he be banished from lecture halls and the library. Why? Smelly feet. Yes, apparently the individual, a philosophy student sadly enough, made his presence felt by an immediate assault on the noses of his compatriots.

Judge Oliver Wendell Holmes once famously declared “The right to swing my fist ends where the other man’s nose begins.” What happens when odiferous feet replace swinging fists? Is it now a case of “your right to the foot hygiene of your choice ends at my nose”? Students and administrators at Rotterdam University thought so. The banished individual thought otherwise. He went to court and the Dutch judge, rejecting the fist to face/foot to nose analogy, ruled against the university. Probably basing his position on a notion of absolute rights rather than the virtue of practical wisdom, (prudence is its traditional name) the judge said that “professors and other students will just have to hold their noses and bear it."

The Dutch have a long tradition for upholding the virtue of tolerance. They also are a country of people known for cleanliness (the virtue high on Franklin’s list), and concern for others, the one sorely lacking in the smelly footed one. It is because virtues can often clash with each other that sensible judgment, prudence, needs to be invoked. At least, that is what the father of virtue ethics, Aristotle, taught long ago. He also pointed out that some kind of moderation is a trait that accompanies most virtues. Tolerance, for example, tries to strike the balance between completely open relativism on one end, and a narrow absolutistic imposition of a single strict mode of life on the other. Looking for some kind of legalistic wiggle room, the university now says that its moderate position will be to levy fines against those whose malodorous state wafts into neighboring noses.
The model individual, for Aristotle, was not the iron-clad logician who applied general rules ruthlessly and without exception. Justice and prudence, in the 15th century allegorical painting by Pietro Perugino share top billing, as if to emphasize how they have to balance off one another. Telling thugs that, yes indeed, the innocent young woman they seek is in a back room, may be the height of honesty. It is also an evil act. Rather than rigid machine-like application of universal dictates, prudential judgments seek the optimal realization of goods in particular circumstances. If they never give the absolute certitude that many humans long for, they do keep one dimension central, personal responsibility.

Of course, humans like to skirt responsibility. They would rather claim to be simply acting in accordance with rules, following orders, or applying universal maxims to a concrete situation. Aristotelian prudence will have none of this. Rules and general principles are crucial in the practical exercise of virtue. They provide social guidance which, most of the time, works well. But, concretely, a conflict of goods, extenuating circumstances, the simple need for good sense, intervene. Then, prudence must be brought into play. Responsibility must be assumed. Judges, unlike Holmes who left wiggle room, may be constrained by a strict legalism. Universities, like the rest of us, are thankfully not.

spectators and sports

2009-03-05T08:55:00.000-08:00

In July the Tour de France will bring hundreds of thousands of cycling fans to this area. Local merchants will be happy, the sponsors will be delighted, politicians, if all the planning has gone well, will congratulate themselves, and philosophers, well, they will do what philosophers always do, wonder “why?” What is it that makes people travel thousands of miles to see a sporting event?

In one way the answer is simple: we are drawn to situations where individuals challenge limits. Gravity is a force that weighs us down: gymnasts defy it. Science says it should not really be possible for a batter to hit a baseball: Ted Williams managed to do it 40% of the time. Who could possibly race downfield, turn at the last moment, reach up and catch a ball knowing, with absolute certainty, that a major pummeling will immediately ensue: it happens every Sunday in the NFL. Beholding in wonder as our cousins from the human family stretch limits gives us a glimpse of the greatness to which humanity can aspire.

But that explanation is not enough. It would have worked for the Greek Olympic games or for games in various Roman arenas like the one in nearby Nimes pictured below. Today, though, we have television. If what counts is getting the best view, then television is the way to go.

Why then do we keep up the expense and the effort to attend sporting events in person? In part it is because presence “in person” means something. We are embodied creatures and physical presence is just something that is significant for us. Tangibility is not negligible, even if spectatorial precision is sacrificed. The model, haptic, activity is the human hug, an expressive gesture for which there is no substitute in times of joy, triumph, sorrow, or celebration.

Beyond the physical aspect, there is also what the philosopher Charles Taylor calls the “festive” side of human life. We are social creatures. Sharing in important events is something we long for. The festive dimension emerges at birthday parties, weddings, Fourth of July picnics, Mardi Gras, and sporting events. I was once in Lexington Kentucky the day of a UK/LSU basketball game. “Festive” was definitely the word. Thousands of fans dressed in team colors; plenty of food and libations outside Rupp arena. All in all, an opportunity for currents of enthusiasm to move electricity- like through the crowds.

Finally, there is another crucial dimension. The presence of an audience is not incidental to a sporting event. It is an essential component. A sporting event without an audience is like a play without an audience. Without the audience, the episode is incomplete and thus something other than a full-fledged sporting event. The word “spectator” is somewhat misleading here. “Spectator,” as mere onlooker, offers a good description of the TV viewer. It is a mistake to label, as we do, attendees at either the theatre or the stadium, as “spectators.” It was not always so. Historically, for the theater and Western culture in general, the moment of transition from audience to spectator can be dated to the stage design which made prominent the proscenium arch. BP, “before proscenium,” the stage actually jutted out into the audience. Not being sharply separated from the actors, the audience members known as “gentlemen in the pit” had a particularly strong reputation for their, let’s call it “dynamism.” Now AP, “after proscenium,” after the picture frame approach to theatre, audiences tend to be passive spectators.

In sports, the active, energetic, enthusiastic fan is still the rule. A sporting contest without an audience may be an occurrence or a happening, but it is not yet a sporting event in the fullest sense. The audience is necessary, not optional. To call the participant-fans “spectators” thus diminishes their significance. A sporting fan both is moved by and is a mover of the action. Together, fans and athletes make the event what it is. That way, in-person attendees become more participants than spectators. Without them there is no real event. No wonder they displace themselves willingly.

Tour de France and local life

2009-03-03T08:27:00.000-08:00

The Tour is coming! The Tour is coming! Ever since last fall when it was announced that the Tour de France would be returning to this area, local officials and business owners have been preparing for an onslaught of visitors. According to some estimates the department of Vaucluse (English link) could see an influx of 500,000 people, just about doubling its population. Local business owners have been told to stay open extra hours to handle the hungry, thirsty throngs. Politicians have been figuring out the nitty gritty of dealing with so many people: how to get enough portable toilets in place; when to block, divert traffic; how to make sure the path is clear; where to put all the cars, trucks, buses that will accompany race fans. In our village a pre-Tour (see below) will, gasp, be coming through right on market day. The riders will be filling the main, market, street. What to do? No thought at all of cancelling even for just that one special day. Plans have instead been made for a one-time relocation. All this planning is being done willingly, though. These are tough economic times and the Tour’s fans bring with them euros to spend, euros the local promoters of tourism will be pleased to receive.

For this region the Tour brings three special treats. One is the return of Lance Armstrong. The other is hosting the last leg before the next day’s ride into Paris. This means the local stage could determine the winner. And then, there is Ventoux, Mt. Ventoux that is, 6000 feet of challenge in the summer sun made even worse if the Mistral is blowing. It’s an effort that Armstrong labelled, “the hardest climb on the Tour, bar none.”

Mt. Ventoux is well known to riders everywhere. Last Fall, in an Albany New York wine store a sales representative was offering samples, including a Côtes de Ventoux. When I told him I would be living in the area for a semester, the first thing he mentioned was cycling. Ventoux, the “giant of Provence,” has even exacted its own human sacrifice. In 1967 British rider Tom Simpson died while climbing Ventoux, a victim of heat, exhaustion, dehydration and amphetamines. Mourners at Simpson’s funeral included the great Belgian rider Eddy Merckx who, one year, after winning the Ventoux stage, had to recuperate at a medical station before he could take his place his place on the podium.

This year, not only will the riders on the Tour itself take on Ventoux, but, five days earlier another ride will take place. This one is called L’étape du Tour Mondovélo. It’s an opportunity for amateurs to take on the challenge. Some 9500 enthusiasts are expected to ride on July 20. Organizers are hoping for better luck than the last time l’étape Mondovélo took on Ventoux. In July 2000 the event had to be halted because of near freezing temperatures and hail as riders approached the summit.

For our village, pathway to Ventoux, the biggest pre-race change has been newly paved streets everywhere. On July 20 the main one will be set aside for the étape. A few blocks away, at the relocated outdoor market, others will be buying their weekly store of vegetables and cheeses. Some of them, no doubt, will look forward to the post-Tour peace and quiet that drew them here in the first place.

Cycling

2009-03-01T07:35:00.000-08:00

It was not the Tour de France, but it brought excitement to the village. The “it” was 3 jours de Vaucluse, a professional bicycle race. As a special treat, we were the final destination for stage one. Not only did that mean we could see the finish and the award ceremony, but, because of the way the course was designed, we got to see the racers twice. That’s a good thing because they sort of go by in a blur. In 1992 at the Albertville Olympics, the only tickets we could get were for the biathlon. Spectator-friendly, biathlon is not: stand in snow with the temperature below freezing and , every now and then, a skier with a rifle strapped to his/her back goes by. Cycling is not quite as bad, but, let’s face it, these guys are all about speed. So, it was good that we got to see them skirt the village once, then, 40 or so minutes later, could see them again as they headed for the finish line.

Having picked a good spot to see the racers, we had to wait through various preliminaries. Police officers and race marshals are posted at various intersections. Car after car with official markings go by. They come in no apparent order and interspersed with lots of regular traffic. Then come a slew of motorcycles: more marshals, police officers, press. Once again, they blend with regular passenger cars. One of these, probably wondering what was going on, moved forward at a snail’s pace, sort of taking it all in. This caused great panic for one of the marshals who ran out into the street motioning frantically for an increase of speed to move this car and the string behind it, out of the way. Finally came two motorcycles, blue lights flashing, followed by the first two racers. They were followed, not by other cyclists, but, this was surprising for a novice cycling watcher, by a bunch of official team cars loaded with bicycles on their roof racks. Only then, about a minute and a half later, came the peloton, the pack of other racers.

Because of their speed, it’s hard to get a good picture of the leaders. Stage one of our race was 164.7 km (about 102 miles) long. The winner finished in 4 hours, 18 minutes, and 7 seconds. His average speed was thus about 39 km (24 miles) an hour. This includes time in the more mountainous stretches (one of which, la col des abeilles, reached an altitude of 996 meters, 3,268 ft.). What this means was that he was speeding by us at well more than the average.

Of the 144 racers in the event, the most well-known was Nicolas Vogondy, the 2008 French champion. The first-second place combination for our stage went to two young riders, Maxime Bouet and David Lelay. At the awards ceremony, the various jerseys given out for different accomplishments turned out to be somewhat monotonous. This being stage one, the overall leader and the day’s fastest racer, were, of necessity, the same person. Maxime Bouet also turned out to have been the best climber, and the best young rider. The sprint jersey, breaking the monotony, went to his teammate and friend Lelay.

Official political representatives were on the podium to greet the riders. Our village’s mayor showed up in a workshirt and blue jeans. It looked as if he had been puttering around in his garden when someone called, reminding him of his duty. That’s how it seemed to a foreigner, at least. Probably, for the locals, he was simply a man of the people. The end of the awards ceremony brought one great relief, the silencing of an announcer who had been jabbering away nonstop, and annoyingly, for a good two hours.

Now that we have witnessed our first race, our interest will be heightened as we watch the Tour de France in July. It will be on television, alas, since we will be back in the U.S. The locals,

however, are in for a major treat; the Tour itself will be coming through the village on July 25. The riders, on the other hand, are in for one tough, heavy on the climbing, day, ending at 1912 meters, over 6,000 feet.

Walking

2009-02-27T01:52:00.000-08:00

Philosophers love to walk. Aristotle’s school was actually named the “walking” place. Well, being philosophers, they liked the esoteric “peripatetic,” but it comes to the same thing. Nietzsche apparently could easily pound the pavement for 2-4 hours each day. Rousseau even wrote a book “Reveries of a Solitary Walker.” Most famous of all philosopher-walkers was Immanuel Kant. The punctuality of his walks around Koenigsberg was such that people would set their watches by his arrival at certain intersections.

Continuing in this tradition, each morning I head off for a day-initiating constitutional. What the more famous philosophers did during their walks is unknown to me. Being new to the village, I mostly try to notice things. This being a village in France, one bustling early-morning place is the local bakery, or, more accurately bakeries. No Provençal village worth its salt would shortchange its residents on bakeries. Mine does not disappoint. There are four of them, not bad for a place with 2700 inhabitants.

What also caught my eye right away, was the prominence of another kind of food provider: pizza places. They almost equal the number of bakeries. Still, what is it with pizza places in the village? Pizza does not feature prominently in traditional Provence cuisine. Postcards have yet to replace the beret clad man carrying baguettes, with a bermuda shorts clad individual clutching a cardboard take-out box. What is going on here?

Part of the answer may be that France is changing. People like quick and easy food. Pizza, let’s face it, fits this bill. My village is also a summer resort area. Within walking distance, there are five camping areas, one vacation village, and one vacation nudist colony. I suspect that when those areas are filled, the people who populate them, not having easy access to refrigerators or stoves, and tired of barbecue, prefer the quick phone call ordering pizzas to go.

Even the nudists, or “naturists,” as is their preferred label, need to eat. Clothing may be considered artificial rather than natural, but eating is undeniably necessary and so, natural. But, wait, here the philosophical ruminations associating with walking awaken. What exactly is “natural?” If clothing is not natural, then what about cooking? After all, eating, in a strict sense, does not require, heated, prepared foods.

We have to be careful here of a too restrictive use of “natural.” Humans, after all, are communal and mimetic. Culture and cultural practices are fully continuous with, not automatically opposed, to our nature. Recent anthropological evidence suggests that, biologically, cooking food is crucial for maximizing nutritional intake while minimizing expenditure of energy. Cooking may, in fact, be the answer to that perennial philosophical question: what defines human beings?
The longest surviving answer was the simple: man is a rational animal. We had rationality, other animals did not. In the hands of rather narrow, rather cerebral, eggheads, “rational” was understood in an eliminationist (philosophers like big words) way. To be “rational” one had to exclude emotions. To be rational, one had to be detached and disinterested, “objective” as that word came to be understood. For 19th century economic theory “rational” involved eliminating concern for others. “Rational choice” signified objective calculation to maximize one’s own interests. As all of this suggests, “rational” eliminated many of the dimensions of life we tend to cherish. It turns out to be not that flattering as a distinguishing trait. It doesn’t seem to be all that “natural” either, more an affected stance based on some ideological assumptions.

Now that anthropologists are showing the way maybe philosophers can offer a new definition: humans are the animals who cook. Cooking as that which proudly marks us off? Why not? Here is an area where we can unabashedly celebrate our uniqueness. Animals eat, we cook. Unlike "rational" which is eliminationist, cooking is inclusionist. It requires intelligence, care, the invention and use of tools, and the handing down of tradition. Meal taking is typically social, and often celebratory. Our Linnaean classification calls us homo sapiens. The sapiens, which means wisdom, is derived from a Latin verb sapere, to “taste or to savor.” It thus seems that dropping “rational animal” in favor of “cooking animal” is a return to basics, not a radically novel move. Maybe that’s why a small village should welcome various purveyors of food, even pizza places.

Plus ça change...

2009-02-24T00:40:00.000-08:00

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose goes a familiar French saying “The more things change, the more they stay the same.” Indeed the dance of stability and innovation itself seems to be one of the things that stays the same about the human condition.

The mythical picture of France envisioned by many of us is of a place that has successfully resisted change. For me, that France was best described by M.F.K. Fisher, a wonderful writer who shared her living, dining, cooking and food shopping experiences in a series of lovely books. Her memoir of living in Dijon in the early 1930s depicts an era of daily trips to do food shopping (various stops were required for milk, bread, meat, vegetables—no supermarkets here), cold water flats, gathering snails, wonderful pastries and an assortment of locals no one could really make up.

More recently Peter Mayle, celebrating Provence, has added his own stock of colorful characters and events from a world that time may not have forgotten, but where it sure moves more slowly. Mayle’s way with words makes him a great chronicler of the plus c’est la même chose side of things. Side by side with this sits another France, one which epitomizes plus ça change. When we were renting a car in January, the clerk reminded us that the tank had to be brought back full, adding, “the best price for gas is at the nearby Carrefour.” Carrefour is a household name here, a giant retailer that is second in the world only to Wal-Mart. Its stores are massive supercenters. Indeed, the structure of a hypermarché, combining a department store and a grocery store, was an innovation of Carrefour in the early 1960s. Whereas M.F.K. Fisher went from specialized place to specialized place, and whereas many of Peter Mayle’s neighbors still frequent outdoor markets, the food shopping experience of most French people now involves one enclosed destination: the hypermarket.

For buying food already prepared, it is la restauration rapide, fast food, which has taken hold. One of the great successful enterprises in France is none other than the American company symbolized by golden arches. McDo is doing boffo business in the land of haute cuisine. The French subsidiary ranks behind only the American original in profit for the corporation. Since imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, evidence for the French love of le big Mac and other delights of le fast-food comes in the form of a knock-off chain, Quick. Quick looks like a McDonald’s, has a menu eerily similar to McDo’s, offers a drive-thru, embraces speed in its very name, and, well, is an unabashed copy. So, despite the voluble complaints about la malbouffe, “sorry-ass eating,” when people vote with their feet it is through the doors of a McDo or a Quick they go.

As far as actual voting, the main political opposition, the socialist party, falls on the side of plus c’est la même chose. Despite having long ago given up on the imposition of state capitalism, i.e. socialism, the membership steadfastly refuses to change its name. It is not as if names more attractive to voters are lacking. The simple “social democratic party” offers one accurate alternative. After several election debacles in a row, one would think that plus ça change would be in order here, but so far, “more of the same” remains the rule.

That kind of frozen in time attitude has not afflicted a political movement even further on the left. The Revolutionary Communist League, LCR, in the crowded bestiary of French political abbreviations, has decided to shed the tired term “communist.” Just a few weeks ago, after much debate (some things don’t change), the membership opted to shift the emphasis away from a fixed, and failed, 19th century utopian ideal, toward an emphasis on what should be changed. It is now called the New Anticapitalist Party, NPA. By contrast, the old-left PCF, French Communist Party, keeping change at bay, clings to its Marx-Engels inspired label.
So the dance goes on, some things changing, others remaining the same. On the local level, far from multi-national corporations and major political parties, our village still hosts a weekly outdoor market. Monday at 10:00 a.m. four of the vendors were seated around a table. On the table: 2 baguettes, some paté, and, to wash it all down, 2 bottles of wine. Oh what Peter Mayle could do with such a scene.

It's a whole new ball game

2009-02-21T01:41:00.000-08:00

As long as the president of the United States was named Bush, the vice-president Cheney, and, especially when the Secretary of Defense was named Rumsfeld, French commentators found little good to say about America. Although both are democratic republics with roots in 18th century revolutions, the French treated the U.S. as a foil. It represented a land where something had gone wrong. A country which had begun in a revolt against a foreign overseer had itself morphed into an imperialist power. A society based on the principle “of the people, by the people, for the people,” was now a place where the forces of capital could dictate policy to the elected representatives and supposed servants of the people. Hollywood movies, American television shows, music, fashion, and even the American language all retained favor, but there was little but disenchantment about what once had been a shining light now gone dark.

Fast forward to 2009. The election of Barack Obama has kind of put a quick end to automatic America bashing. Indeed, things have almost turned around 180 degrees. It is now the U.S. which stands as the model of a democratic republic living out its ideals. By contrast, it is France, a country with huge ghettoes, racial unrest, little social mobility, and a general inability to come to terms with the reality of being a multi-racial, multi-ethnic, multi-religious nation, that comes up short.

A recent headline in the newspaper Libération put it bluntly: “France: Where are our Obamas?” Various commentators associated with “terra nova,” a progressivist (and thus not inherently friendly to the U.S.) movement, shared their ideas on the need for France to change. Many of the suggestions were familiar: spending more on schools and social services, especially in areas where the poor are congregated, finding the right balance between assimilation and integration, welcoming what is positive about diversity, and moving beyond the lip service given to an ideal of equality. This ideal, it was claimed, remains formal and abstract, doing little but repeating the privileges of the privileged.

Dossier Terra Nova / Libération : "Où sont nos Obama ?"
17 février 2009
Dans le cadre de son partenariat avec Libération,

Terra Nova publie aujourd’hui un dossier sur

la France de la diversité.

Looking across the Atlantic, one commentator mentioned how for a long time the U.S. had served as a point of contrast, a sort of object lesson in how a republic could lose its way. Now, however, the “arrival of Barack Obama suggests that we should be less categorical.” The American experiment with affirmative action (“positive discrimination” as it is known here) was offered several times as a prototype. Also praised was the practice, booed at the Republican convention, of “community organizers.” Without using the phrase “rent control” another writer mentioned that no real social mobility can result until one great, often unrecognized barrier, housing prices, has been dealt with.

One difference between the two countries has to do with the almost automatically pejorative connotation, in France, of “multiculturalism.” It suggests a sort of relativism where any community or culture should be allowed to live according to its own codes, ignoring, if it wishes, the principles of a democratic, secular republic. Cultural relativism is not widely championed in the land of “universal” human rights. The main fear is the large and still quite religious Muslim community. France, which had to wrest republican government by force from both a king and a Catholicism which was no friend to democratic life, is not multi-culturally flexible on the principle of a secular republic.

There is plenty of room between France’s present notion of formal equality (all French people are simply “citizens,” no official surveys are taken identifying racial or ethnic classifications), and an extreme multi-culturalism. One small step was suggested by a writer from terra nova. Each night on the weather report, the following day is identified by the name of the saint associated with it in the Catholic calendar, i.e. “tomorrow we celebrate the Jeromes.” The French are not especially observant, but they are possessive about holding on to religious holidays. Why not, this writer proposed, add holidays from other religious traditions to the mix, especially Jewish and Muslim ones. France, after all, is home to large populations adhering to both those religions. For someone whose home is in a country where December holiday displays can include Menorahs along with Crèches, this sounds like a good place to start. Indeed, when Islam joins the mix, it sounds like a right path to follow for both countries.

Urban Gleaners

2009-02-19T00:49:00.000-08:00

Like all countries, France has its share of poor people. The poor, like the rich, still need to eat. Unlike the rich, access to food for the poor is not always easy. A recent French study has highlighted how, while most of us do our shopping in the supermarket, plenty of people gather their food outside the store. Tapping into a cultural reference, these people who forage through whatever is discarded by stores or outdoor markets are known as les glaneurs modernes (the modern gleaners). The word “gleaner” became a cultural benchmark as a result of a well-known 1867 painting by Jean-François Millet, Les Glaneuses. Millet depicted the plight of people reduced to scouring the fields after a harvest, hopeful of picking up usable grain that was left behind.

The study released just last month described the profile of the new, urban, gleaners. One surprising result of the survey: it is not only the homeless who forage through refuse. There is now also another group, actually more prominent, those who have a regular residence. Unlike the homeless, who tend to consume what they scavenge right away, these domiciled gleaners, take the food home, as they would groceries from a supermarket. The extent of how the practice of gleaning went well beyond the ultra-poor was one shocking result of the study. The new gleaners are sort of caught in a difficult in-between. They are neither poor enough to receive regular food subsidies nor well-off enough to do their food procuring as a market transaction.

A whole culture has apparently emerged as the new gleaners become regulars at certain sites. Grocery store operators and trash collectors come to know them and often provide tips about recuperating prize material among the refuse. So prominent is the new gleaner movement that not only have their been news stories about them, but, one of the remaining New Wave filmmakers, Agnes Varda has made a documentary about the practice.

A new wrinkle to urban gleaning has recently been added. This comes via a movement that originated in the U.S. One recent news story featured well-off young professionals on their way to a local outdoor market. Unlike most market goers, they timed their arrival to coincide with the market’s closing. Why? They planned to sort through the garbage. This time the foraging is not undertaken for financial reasons. It is now a matter of ideology. Reacting to the waste engendered by a consumer society, these green gleaners forage as a way of establishing an alternative model of consumption. They seek a return to a simpler, less wasteful lifestyle.

In the U.S., this movement goes by the name “freegan”. Here in France, they call themselves “freegan” (any Americanism is welcome, even by those who oppose the great giant of consumerist excess) or gratuivores (free eaters). They are also referred to as déchétariens, “trashitarians” we might say. Some get a bit carried away in their exuberance, claiming, as one web site does, that “nothing is really healthier than dining on food from trash: free food for the taking, reduction of waste, and immonuvolution.” This last, strange, word indicates the surprising health benefits of ingesting food that may be a bit spoiled. Immonuvolution even comes with a snappy slogan: “Mildew, it’s loaded with vitamins."

Whatever the label, what unites participants on both sides of the Atlantic are principles enunciated on the freegan website: “As freegans we forage instead of buying to avoid being wasteful consumers ourselves, to politically challenge the injustice of allowing vital resources to be wasted while multitudes lack basic necessities like food, clothing, and shelter, and to reduce the waste going to landfills and incinerators which are disproportionately situated within poor, non-white neighborhoods, where they cause elevated levels of cancer and asthma.”

What happens when freegan gleaners, homeless gleaners, and urban poor gleaners congregate on the same spot? Hopefully the freegan gleaners decide that, maybe this once, being a standard grocery store consumer offers the nobler path.

Saint Valentine Day

2009-02-16T04:31:00.000-08:00

Here in France the 14th of February is still called Saint Valentine day, La Saint Valentin. As far as celebrations go, the pattern is pretty much as it is in the U.S.: Dining out, chocolates, flowers, candelit dinners at home, love notes left on pillows. It’s an important enough holiday to warrant plenty of television and newspaper coverage.

Libération one of the three national dailies, actually included a special Saint Valentine insert. For history buffs, it related how, in lore at least, Saint Valentine was famous for defying an emperor. The emperor wanted to staff his army but too many men resisted, preferring life at home with a wife to that in battle gear. Solution: forbid marriages. Valentine (3d century) married people on the sly anyway. He was executed, a martyr to conjugal love.

The United States was given its due in several ways. Esther Howland, a Massachusetts artist, was mentioned as the first person to come up with Valentine’s cards (see image). Although Saint Valentine belongs to Europe, the tradition of making February 14 a major day did not really get going until the World War II arrival of GIs. They made their presence felt in many more important ways, but one legacy involved setting aside Valentine’s day as an important occasion for expressing one’s love. Contemporary Hollywood is also well estabished here. Asked about the people who best represent the holiday of love, the French chose George Clooney and Scarlett Johansson.

Speaking of the U.S., a creative soul at the web site ironic sans has developed science-themed love cards. Darwin is featured on the one pictured here. Marie Curie, Newton, and Carl Sagan figure prominently in others. Also from the U.S., a study tracking changing attitudes toward relationships. In the 1930s, when marriages were more stable, love and attraction did not even make it in the top three reasons for choosing a mate. Today, a more precarious time for marriages, love and attraction rank at the top. See the story here.

A few women cited in French news stories indicate how precarious indeed is today’s love scene. One admitted always celebrating la saint valentin, though not often with the same partner, “but always with gusto.” Another remembered a candlelit dinner interrupted by her honest admission that, sorry, there’s no more cheese in the relationship, it’s all over.

Two French towns make of themselves tourist attractions for Feb. 14. Not far from here is the village of Roquemaure. Its church claims the relics of a Saint Valentine (there are apparently three saints with this name). The locals had gone to Rome in search of relics that would bring a halt to phylloxera, the wood louse that ruins grape vines. All they could afford was St. Valentine. The relic probably did not do much for the vineyards, but today the town’s chamber of commerce knows how to exploit the link between its relics and the holiday of love. The events culminate in a great procession, with the locals dressed in costumes of yore.

Even better than having the saint’s relics would be to have a town actually named Saint Valentin. Well, there is one, and it too knows how to draw in the tourist cash. During the French Revolution, the purist, anti-religious ideologues who had the upper hand, actually renamed the town La Cadoue. In the new world announced by the revolution, no towns would carry the names of saints. Fortunately for local businesses, the old name was restored. Now, the town hall, appropriately adorned by a heart, welcomes lovers in mid-February every year.

Wherever they celebrate it, a survey of the French revealed that 91% associated the day with what, in their quaint metaphor, is known as “going horizontal.”

Car Bubble

2009-02-13T02:40:00.000-08:00

A car is like a bubble that seals us off from the direct experiencing of things. Suburbanites enter their garage without even stepping outside, get into the waiting automobile, and, thus ensconced, head off for their destination. In between—radio listening, phone calling, traffic signal following, and, possibly, a passing notice of what is around them.

How different it is when one travels in ways other than a private car. Several years ago, needing to get from Little Rock to Memphis, an inter-city bus offered the best transportation. Such a trip is one that all suburbanites, all professionals, all professors (speaking for my own group) ought to take. What does such a trip entail? First, some time at a bus station. Here is a location unlike the suburban home or the modern office. First of all, it’s a bit grungy. Then, although no one likes to talk about class in the U.S., the denizens of a bus station are of a different economic, let’s call it “stratum” instead of class. There is also a different racial composition from the typical suburb. Many of the people on my bus were black. There was also a young woman from Central America, continuing an 18 hr bus ride that would take her to Kentucky for vegetable picking. The most interesting conversation overheard took place while waiting to board. Person in back of me to friend: “You know, it’s different now. Parole officers are just not what they used to be.”

The memory of this trip came back to me recently since we are living in a French village without a car. That means for most of our travel, some form of public transportation is a requirement. One recent trip had us taking busses, trains, planes and, to finish things off, a cab. The final, taxi leg, provided a repetition of the car bubble experience. Airports, because they are usually quite a distance from the center of cities, tend to be another buffered zone. Bus and train stations, however, represent a whole other story.

Sitting in the waiting room of the Marseille train station, it became obvious that the person seated back to back with us was the kind of individual we would never come close to in our automobile. The spectator in the car bubble is isolated from particular kinds of sights, sounds, and, yes, smells. Impossible here not to realize in a direct sense the plight of fellow humans. Before this person began to speak (in a loud, slurred, voice) his presence was signaled by the very obvious fact that he had not bathed in quite a while. The voice and subsequent additional odor (of cigarette smoke) gave evidence of someone in the grip of alcohol and tobacco addiction. When the security agent came over with a stern reminder that smoking was forbidden, another, sadly typical, fact became obvious: he was a member of the Arab subclass that makes up much of the bottom rung in French society.

The waiting room, a fairly warm place, (nowhere in a French train station is “toasty” by U.S. standards) provides a bit of free shelter. Not that it’s easy to get to. Marseille’s St. Charles Station sits atop a knoll overlooking the lower city. It is best approached by a famous, long, staircase. There are 103 steps to climb before reaching the top. Hard to get to or not, the destination is sought after, if your only alternative is walking the even colder streets.

The next leg on our journey involved a bus ride between Avignon and Carpentras. The Avignon bus station has open doors at either end. This means it is always cold in there. It’s kind of dingy, even more so than public transport places in French cities. Once again, what passengers cannot fail to notice, is how many of their fellow human beings find such a location to be the closest thing to a home. As we left the station, the final sight was that of a shabby bedroll occupied by someone catching some sleep, on the sidewalk just by bus exit.

Non-car travel brings with it sounds (parole officer talk), smells (bath-deprived neighbor) and sights (makeshift outdoor bed) not ordinarily experienced. It also breaks the bubble and creates discomfort, which is not always a bad thing.

Hand and Foot (Ball)

2009-02-03T01:57:00.000-08:00

Sunday February 1 was a major sports day here in France as it was in the U.S. Devoted sports fans could spend Sunday afternoon watching the world handball championships, and, having taken a nap, tune in at midnight for a live broadcast of the Super Bowl. Le Super Bowl, ce n’est pas un gros saladier ( "The super bowl is not a gigantic container for salad") explained one commentator.

Subsequent television news shows, ignoring many possible leads (the economic crisis, Somali pirates, smoldering Gaza, Iraqi elections) began and ended with sports stories. The first, of great importance here, was the victory which made the French team, already Olympic gold medal winners, world handball champions.

The last story featured the victory of the Pittsburgh Steelers in the Super Bowl (it’s a game not a piece of dinnerware). In between, were all those other pesky possible stories dealing with other goings on in the world.

Les Steelers dans la légende
Santonio Holmes et Ben Roethlisberger se congratulent après le touchdown décisif

Les Steelers sont devenus la franchise la plus titrée de l'histoire de la NFL en remportant une 6e fois le Superbowl.

The two ball games, hand and foot, are valued differently. Handball is a major sport here, as is evidenced by the coverage given to the world championships. There is a French League of American Football, the FFFA (Fédération Française de Football Américain) but it is a marginal presence on the French sports scene. The U.S., similarly, has a handball league and an olympic team, but the sport is not yet a major attention getter.

Handball which is sort of water polo without the water, is called, in French, handball. Why they use the English word, I’m not sure. What I do know is that its pronunciation follows the rule enunciated by my French teacher wife: If it’s an English word adopted directly, it will be impossible to understand when it comes out of the mouth of a French person.

However they pronounce it, it may be that they have held on to the English term because it makes a nice parallel with basketball (the French are great fans, especially since a Frenchman, Tony Parker, is an NBA star), and, of course football, their major sport. Local football, soccer to those of us from the land that still measures in feet and inches, can regularly be found on TV.

Whether of the hand or foot variety, a sport event to lead and close the evening news is kind of a nice break from the downer stories that have of late been dominant.

Truffles and Taste

2009-02-01T04:54:00.000-08:00

My experiences with truffles have been few and unimpressive. The first time I tasted a truffle-infused food was at a place that is impressive: Paul Bocuse’s restaurant. Neither I nor the others around the table were especially appreciative. The rest of the meal was remarkable, and, best of all, my brother-in-law the doctor, thanking us for our hospitality, picked up the considerable tab.

That, my first truffle contact, was also, for a long time, my last. But now I find myself in the middle of truffle country. Not the area of Périgord most identified by Americans with truffles, but my home village’s department of Vaucluse, which, it turns out, is a major truffle producing area. Every year from the middle of November to early March, there is a truffle market in what, for us, is the local “big” city. Carpentras has something like 26,000 residents, which from the perspective of a 2600 resident village is big.

We were in Carpentras for the Friday outdoor market. What we noticed right away was a large crowd in front of the Hotel Dieu, a wonderful 18th century building that used to be the city’s hospital. As we got closer, we noticed tables behind which were individuals with baskets. In the baskets: truffles. Across the table: buyers. Some of were them engaging in the famous act of sniffing before buying. We couldn’t tell how much money was being exchanged, but an NPR program just before we left noted that prices per pound were between $250.00 and $400.00.

Closer to our new home, the village wine cooperative held a special truffle feast Friday evening. This event was to celebrate the famous fungus and to be a sort of coming out party for the latest local vintages. The truffles were brought out in a small basket. They were accompanied by a special tool, the “truffle slicer” which shaves off slivers. A chef was on hand to make the special omelets. Ample bottles of wine, red, white, rosé, were uncorked. Guests could partake in the omelet and taste as many of the new vintages as they wished. Whereas a US tasting typically means a thimblefull of wine, these folks actually poured a really drinkable quantity in the glass. As a nice bonus, unlike the wallet draining dinner at Bocuse’s, this event was completely free.

How was the omelet? Really good, I must admit. Though, once again, either my palate is not refined enough or some other venue is needed to gain a real appreciation for the famed fungus. The problem is a common one with new foods that do not overpower with salt, sugar or fat. When I was young, growing up in Maine, for example, I was no fan of my home state’s favorite crustacean.

What I have noticed in my students is a major reluctance to expand their childish palette of tastes. Plenty of them can eat cereal three times a day. We once took a group of students to France and one of them ate nothing but cereal and pasta the entire two weeks. There seems to be a general belief that tastes are just fixed and final. Students see themselves as sort of standing in the middle of things, saying “I like this,” “I like this,” “I don’t like this” as if these were definitive, unchangeable pronouncements.

Even worse, what they like and don’t like has not been influenced by traditional cuisines or holidays at grandma’s. They have been shaped by advertising which puts a premium on the sugar-salt-fat products. These products have one great advantage: they can readily be mass produced, or for the ones purveyed by fast-food restaurants, can be prepared by unskilled labor. This means that the tastes of young people, once fixed and frozen, can serve an important purpose: enhancing the revenue of companies proferring mass-marketed food. The losers in all of this are the students. They come to have a limited, faulty sense of who they are (narrow creatures with fixed, unchangeable tastes). Then they congratulate themselves on being “free” in their choices, when those are carefully guided by very astute marketing strategists.

As for me, I will assume for now that the problem lies not with the truffles, but with an inability to appreciate them on my part.

To the streets!

2009-01-29T08:49:00.000-08:00

The French word for “strike,” grêve, contains the word rêve, dream. Maybe that’s why going on strike seems, to an outsider at least, a national pastime. Lengthy visits to France will almost always be marked by some social movement. When, in the early 90s, we lived in Lyon, there was a major strike by truckers. O.K., that’s not so bad, you might think. The truckers did not, however, just stay home. They rode their trucks out onto the highways and blocked them. People had to become experts at alternate, little-used routes and at maneuvering a zig-zag maze that the truckers had deftly structured so that some traffic could flow.

Today (Thursday 29, January) promises to be a major day for disruptions since all the major unions have called for a day of mobilization. Workers will stay home, teachers will not report to school, post offices will be closed, buses, subways, trains and airplanes will operate on greatly reduced schedules. At noon today, I turned on the local news, only to get reruns of magazine-type broadcasts, and a banner reading that the network’s personnel were on strike. France’s workers are, surprisingly, not unionized in great numbers. But where they are unionized, e.g. subway and train workers, they can cause maximal disruption. Being a commuter in Paris today will be one exercise in frustration and ingenuity.

Why the movement? The official themes are wide and general: displeasure with the center-right ruling party’s economic policies; demands for job security; concern about stagnant or lowered purchasing power. The most left-leaning of the three major dailies, Libération, highlighted the word “exasperation” on its front page today. The world economic crisis is making the exasperation worse as more and more people are laid off.

Other European countries are looking at today’s French demonstrations to gauge how deep and wide is public displeasure. Projections are that the strike will be widely followed, even in the private sector, which would be significant. The number of people who turn out for street demonstrations will also be telling. Across Europe a malaise is setting in, even for those who are educated. Young people with degrees have been finding it difficult to get good paying jobs or even stable employment until many years after they have received their diplomas.

Perhaps that is why surveys show close to 70% of the general population as active supporters or at least being sympathetic with today’s mobilization. 75% answered “yes” when they were asked whether they thought the movement was “justified.” These are high numbers for a series of actions which will disrupt the lives of folks throughout the country.

It’s hard to imagine a movement of such scope in the U.S. Impossible, really. First of all, such national coordination would be hard to achieve. Second, strikes like those of Air Traffic Controllers in the 80s, and at Caterpillar in the 90s, failed miserably. Third, companies are good at playing hardball, and have the friends in elective positions to support them. WalMart’s threats to shut down stores instead of accepting unionization has teeth in it, as indicated by the company’s closing of a store in Quebec. Finally, the US populace, in general, is just not as sympathetic to workers as is the case here in France. Imagine the abuse striking subway workers would receive at the hands of stranded, angry urban commuters. Do young Americans even remember the concept of "sympathy strikes"?

The French, on the other hand, still tend in great numbers to sympathize with the little guy. One reason has to do with what I call “projected self-image.” French people, well-off city dwellers though they may be, nonetheless see themselves as paysans beneath the surface, linked to their ancestors, close to the land, little people, without much power. They also see themselves as continuous with a history which reminds them that, faced with power (King, State, Multi-National Corporation) nothing will change unless there is a massive, concerted, and unified effort.

Americans, by contrast, have a very different “projected self-image” and accompanying narrative. They look, not to an agricultural, peasant past, but to a future marked by upward mobility. They see themselves or their children as someday owners of their own businesses, CEOs, or at least as major players in some business. From this perspective, unions or any organization of workers asking for better wages, good retirement plans, health care, are nothing but annoyances. After all, there are no dreams, only letters spelling risk, in the English word “strike.”

Frenchie the preservative

2009-01-27T01:45:00.000-08:00

Our little village has no major grocery stores. It does have a medium sized and a slightly smaller one. The latter is a mini-version of a large chain. Checking out a few days ago, my attention was caught (as no doubt the company’s marketing people intended) by items near the cash register. Typically these are strategically placed for last-minute impulse buys. Indeed, there were cookies on sale. There were also, strange for an American, vanilla beans. Was it a post-holiday clearance? Maybe the locals, upon reaching the cash register, often think, “oh, oh I forgot this week’s quantity of vanilla beans.” Between the two foodstuffs, lying there matter-of-factly: a packet of condoms. Store brand condoms too. Sort of like Kroger or Safeway producing not only house brands of diswashing detergent, aluminum foil, and aspirin, but also their own line of male contraceptives. Customer: “Let’s see, I’ve got the wine, the chocolates…what’s missing, oh right, here it is at the checkout counter, a packet of rubbers.”

Their strategic presence is no accident. It’s actually part of a coordinated effort, supported by supermarkets, to make inexpensive condoms widely available. Maybe the French attitude toward this particular product explains why British slang dictionaries list “Frenchie” or “French letter" (now out of date) as synonyms. In my college dorm, a very long time ago, people used to praise one known as a “French Tickler,” though I, in my innocence, could never quite envision what it might actually actually look like.

The official French word can serve as a cautionary tale for those learning languages. As any student quickly learns, one must beware of “false friends,” cognates that mean very different things in the two languages. This becomes a special problem when the languages share common ancestry. English and French should not face this difficulty. The former was originally a Germanic language and the latter a Latin one (a “romance” language—one rooted in Imperial Rome).

History, however, intervened in the person of someone known in his youth as Guillaume le bâtard, Billy the bastard. Had his father, heading for a dalliance, been able to drop into our convenience store and pick up an inexpensive pack of prophylactics, Billy might have been spared his moniker. But, then, had Billy not seen the light of day, the world would have been quite different. For, in one of the great all time name changes, little Billy all grown up became, after 1066, Guillaume le Conquérant, William the Conqueror.

When he and his troops crossed the Channel, they naturally brought their language. English then benefited from a whole new source of vocabulary to complement its existing German-derived one. Jorge Borges once commented on the beauty of English for poets. Casting about for just the right word, they could draw on one with Germanic roots, say, “kingly,” or one with Latin roots, say “royal.” A meal in English can similarly be doubled. One can consume chicken (from German) or poultry (from Latin), lamb (German) or mutton (Latin), deer (German) or venison (Latin).

As a result, false friends become problematic for English speakers learning French. Demander, means “to ask,” not to make demands. Someone mentioning a caution is talking about a deposit. Perhaps the most famous is douche, which is how the French say “shower.” “Condom” might look like a French word, but it is not. Although the Quebecois have adopted the term and simply give it their own pronunciation, here in France the correct term can easily be a false friend. An ecologically sensitive type might, for instance, want to say something like: "I don’t want any food that has preservatives in it." Using the false friend préservatif would yield: “no food with condoms in it for me.”

Making such mistakes, though, is just part of the fun of learning another language. It is a kind of fun we would have missed out on were it not for the contraceptive-free affair that gave us William the Conqueror.

Stereotypes R Us?

2009-01-23T11:17:00.000-08:00

As a philosophy professor, I have been to my share of conferences. One revelation: stereotypes exist. The bearded academic, droning on about inscrutable problems of interest only to other like-minded types is, alas, real. There might even be something about our look. Taking a break from one conference, I was wandering through a shopping area near Boston’s Prudential tower. The thick post-Christmas crowd was shoulder to shoulder. Suddenly, a stranger approached, asking matter-of-factly: “where is the philosophy meeting?” How had he picked me out? No sign was tattooed on my forehead. I wasn’t wearing my conference name tag. Was it the blue blazer, lack of tie, khaki pants? Whatever it was, I had the stereotype look.

Stereotypical I
Here in France, one stereotype is the bored, lackadaisical, couldn’t-care-less civil servant. Our first day introduced us to just such a type. We wandered into the local tourist bureau. The person behind the desk made no effort to greet us. She seemed kind of bothered and annoyed. After all, we were distracting her from some computer-centered activity. When we mentioned how we would be in the village for 5 months, this professional booster could only reply “Not much to do around here.” At least, this was an honest answer. No hucksterism for her. No snake oil salesperson she. Since not much goes on in winter, well, that’s what she would tell us.

Typical
The previous evening, having arrived too late for grocery shopping, we headed for a local restaurant. This one was more typical than stereotypical. The place is small, maybe 10 tables. The staff is small, a husband and his wife. The husband greets folks, takes orders. The wife works the kitchen. This house specialty is Breton food. The stock entree from Brittany is a ‘galette,’ a kind of large buckwheat crepe folded over a variety of fillings. The accompanying drink is a typically “cidre,” which has nothing to do with what Americans call cider. Since we find the stuff undrinkable, we went for the more usual accompaniment in the rest of France, wine. The owner had made no effort to get us to order the more expensive bottle rather than the pitcher. Nor did he point us to a wine list. The choices were simple: red, rosé, white. The bottle was from a local, organic vineyard. Whereas U.S. restaurants typically provide large glasses into which bottles can be quickly emptied (with a server immediately asking if another is desired), this place had simple and small glasses. The wine could then be savored and stretched out over a relaxed meal. The husband/wife team, the relaxed atmosphere, no hard or even soft sell for extras, allowing guests to linger, these are all ‘typical’ of restaurants hereabouts. The treatment of clients is modeled, not on the restaurant being a business, but on receiving people at home.

Stereotypical II
What does one do in a small (2600 inhabitants) village where “not much to do here” is the rule? Well, the locals occupy themselves somehow and the only option is to join in. Announcements were spread around town about a “Loto” night at the local meeting hall. Not quite knowing what this was, we figured what the heck, it’s the only game in town. It turned out to be a French version of Bingo to support the local association of retired people. Florida or France, a room full of retirees, (some long-retired) playing Bingo has a familiar and predictable feel to it.

But the stereotype associated with this outing had to do with the perception of Americans. We introduced ourselves. The immediate response from a neighbor: “But you aren’t OBESE!” Somehow, most likely tv and newspaper stories about the growing girth of Americans, he simply assumed that all of us would be on the larger side.

Lessons to be learned here: news stories from far away can be misleading. Some statistically true claim should not be taken as universally true. In addition, as plain common sense would indicate, although stereotypes exist, there (1) are always exceptions, and (2) hardly anyone is a pure stereotype. At least I hope I am not just a blue blazered, khaki pants-wearing egghead fond of technical arguments about abstruse subjects.

L'investiture--the Inauguration

2009-01-21T00:55:00.000-08:00

Tuesday 20 January 2009, a major day for Americans everywhere, including those of us who could not share in the great ritual at home. Fortunately, France is gripped by a kind of Obamamania. The major newspapers have had a string of front page stories about him. The same is true for magazines. And, piece of good luck for those of us who are far from home, one TV channel carried almost three hours of live coverage. By and large the commentary was uniformly favorable. The only negative notes (a "dose of reality" I’m sure they would say) came from American commentators, either on television or in print. They pointed to the reality of a divided U.S., a quick end of any honeymoon, and the challenge of governing within an adversary system.

Certain aspects of the ceremony drew the attention of French commentators. One was impressed by how the oath stresses defense of the constitution, a reminder of how we are a constitutional republic, committed to a set of ideals and rules which provide the country’s playbook, not just a land that blows with whatever happens to be the contemporary fad. One woman reporter noted, with satisfaction, how a particular camera shot framed Obama preceded by two powerful women, House speaker Nancy Pelosi and Senator Diane Feinstein. “It’s a new world,” she said. Another, reflecting on the campaign, pointed out how a standard post-debate scene in the U.S. would be inconceivable in France: when the candidates and their families mingle on stage and actually embrace each other. Another remembered Obama, in a speech, saying that the day he took the oath of office would be the day the rest of the world looked at America differently. "Yes, indeed,"was his simply commentary.

As far as the inaugural address goes, the French focused on several themes: hope over fear, embracing a renewed sense of responsibility in the face of contemporary challenges, and a general sense that it is time, once again, for Americans to roll up their sleeves and achieve common aims.

The responsibility theme, according to a commentary in this morning’s Le Monde, breaks decisively with the Bush presidency which did not tend to emphasize responsibility and sacrifice, pretending that a country “could fight two wars abroad while cutting taxes at home.” The same writer proclaimed rather grandly that the election of 2008 “signalled the end of the age of conservatism in the U.S.” Perhaps the American “dose of reality” commentators would suggest waiting awhile before making so definitive a claim.

Watching the inauguration with some bubbly

Car Rental Then and Now

2009-01-18T12:10:00.000-08:00

The Lambs are accompanying us on this trip. It’s a virtual accompaniment. Charles and Helen are fictional. They were featured in a textbook from the middle of the 20th century. A British couple, The Lambs, in 1955, visit France. When Charles and Helen came across the Channel, things were both similar and different from what is the case today.

Both the Lambs and us rented a car at a train station, Marseille for them, Avignon for us. Upon arriving, the Lambs are surprised to find a car that resembles a mouse. The clerk validates their response saying that yes, the “4 Chevaux” sort of looks like a wind-up toy mouse. Still, it was a popular car, and symbol of post-War freedom.

The agent’s first act is to offer his customers a cigarette. Peter and the agent share a Gauloise, one of the main French brands, along with Gitanes. Today there is still plenty of smoking in France, but, officially it has been banned in public places since 2006. The ban was extended to cafes/restaurants in 2008. Although not offering us a cigarette, the clerk was friendly and helpful. When she learned that we needed a payphone, she simply said, give me the number and I will call. She then gave us forms to fill out, told us the car was a “Corsa” (A kind of Opel, it turns out), and gave us the parking space number.

That was the extent of out contemporary, efficient, time-saving interaction. The Lamb’s agent accompanied them to their car to explain how it worked. “Maintenant il faut que je vous montre le fonctionnement de votre quatre-chevaux.” Starting a car in 1955 involved three components: the ignition, the starter, and the choke. Complicating the situation was the French word for choke, starter. Peter, of course pulls on the lever marked starter and is stunned that the car does not, well “start.” Once the confusion is sorted out, Peter pulls on the démarreur, and things go well.

Things are a lot easier today, easier, at least for Americans who can negotiate a standard transmission, the default for rentals in France. Still, it is a good idea, before leaving the lot to check out some of the fonctionnement: windshield wiper operation, the headlight controls, how to open the gas tank, and, what is most important, how to shift into reverse. Our Toyota and Honda require moving the shift over to the right and down for reverse. European cars often require moving to the left and up. But that is not all. There is a lever on the gear shift that must be lifted in order to allow engaging reverse gear. Typically, one puts one’s index and middle finger around the gear shift and, with the index finger, lifts up on the latch. Not knowing this in advance can pose a problem if caught, as I have been, attempting a three point turn with oncoming traffic looming in the distance. This is not the best time to master the act of getting into reverse.

Like the Lambs, our car was grey, sort of looked like a mouse, but, since the Corsa is a hatchback, probably had more space. Theirs was a rear-mounted engine, so the hatchback design was out of the question.

One final difference: their license place was composed of three digits, two letters, and then two more digits. In France, the final two digits indicate the department where the car is registered. There are 97 numbers in all. The Lambs’s plate ends in the number 13, Bouches du Rhône, the mouth of the Rhone, where Marseille is situated. Our rental, in an era of greater flexibility, carried the suffix of 76, Seine Maritime, the part of Normandy around Rouen. Avignon, where we rented the car, is actually 84, part of the department of Vaucluse. The numbers correspond to the alphabetical listing of departments. Cars with a suffix of 75 are from Paris.

50s style license plate

our license plate

Newest Plates (the middle one would be the Lamb's today)

Recently, the ministry in charge of transportation proposed eliminating the department-identifying suffix. Immediately, there arose a great hue and cry. In a compromise, the new license plates will not include the department suffix as an official part of the identifying number. What licenses will include, however, is an identifying symbol and departmental number on the extreme right of the plate. People will be free to choose what number they want on their plates. It might be the department of birth, to which they still feel some kind of attachment. It need not be the department in which the license is registered.

Getting There

2009-01-15T08:03:00.000-08:00

“The road is better than the inn,” so, at least Cervantes thought. Often it is indeed all about the journey and the wonderful adventures along the way. At other times, though, getting there can be a chore and the “there” is definitely better than the “getting.” Trips, like ours, involving air travel, are of this sort. How to make things easier? We have certain rituals based on experience. They’re probably mostly familiar, but I share them in what I hope will be an organized way.

Suitcases
Naturally, it all begins with packing. The tried and true adage here is that old favorite: “half the clothes and twice the money.” Envision how many (clothes) and how much (money) to bring. Then halve the former and double the latter.
To maximize suitcase space (1) minimize inflexible items, i.e. shoes and (2) roll all rollable clothing. This does not do wonders for pressed shirts, but it does economize space.

Plane trip
1. Late Grooming
A transatlantic trip can be a grubby affair. Since it is an overnight flight which arrives in Europe early in the morning, one’s body clock is still on U.S. time. This is complicated by the fact that one’s body, plain and simple, carries the dirt and chin stubble most often associated with late night rather than early morning. How to compensate? I have found it helpful to shower and shave as late as possible before boarding the plane. Obviously, this is easiest if there are no connecting flights. I have been known, however, to shave in the connecting airport while awaiting the overseas leg of the journey. This may not seem like much, but, psychologically, arriving in a condition that more approximates what one would normally feel/look like in the morning does make a difference.

2. Sleep Mask.
On the flight itself, one indispensable implement, for me, at least, is a sleep mask. What one seeks: minimizing fatigue and jet lag, while maximizing good health and the opportunities for a full day after landing, depend on sleeping as much as possible on the overnight flight. Sleeping in the cramped setting of a plane is quite a challenge. On and off slumbering is the most one can hope for. Here is where the sleep mask becomes crucial. It forces one to keep one’s eyes closed and encourages a return to dozing status. I usually go with the double dose of sleep mask plus blanket pulled over my head. It may not look pretty, but it is effective.

3. Clock/Water
Getting the self ready for the new time zone is another crucial prerequisite for handling jet lag. My own onboard ritual is to have dinner (at least airlines still serve this gratis on transatlantic flights, even though U.S. airlines now make passengers buy the wine to go with it), then set my watch to the target time and get to sleep as quickly as possible, i.e. put the sleep mask on and resolve not to remove it until the flight attendants are bustling about getting breakfast ready.
Since an airplane’s air is dry, it is also important to drink plenty of water.
The three adages of successful Transatlantic travel then are: “half the clothes, twice the money,” “clean yourself up as late as possible,” and “stay hydrated.”

Getting Started

2008-12-22T12:59:00.000-08:00

A five-month stay in Provence beckons. That is nice and all, but first—how to get there? More importantly, how to get there while minimizing costs? The village we will call home is about an hour’s drive from Avignon, so the specific problem becomes: how to get from Boston, not where we live, but point of departure, to Avignon. Transatlantic flight + Paris-Avignon flight + rental car was one obvious option. It was also a quickly rejected option since Paris-Avignon flights seemed nonexistent. Based on tips from our sons and their wives we settled on Flight + TGV + car rental.

Then came the searching. The ideal would have been a Boston-Paris nonstop. There seem to be very few of those. We found only one on Air France. Much though we like to fly Air France, the price for a roundtrip with our length of stay was never really competitive. Taking more advice from our children about websites to search, and finding some of our own, we began weeks of seeking. Sidestep, Mobissimo and FlyCheapAbroad ended up being our favorite search sites, with Mobissimo emerging as the most helpful for our particular itinerary. It led us to the bluntly named CheapOair which gave us the best price we found. It was for a USAIR flight through Philadelphia. USAIR is an airline we use a lot because it is a main carrier at our home airport in Albany New York, so we are familiar with it. Familiarity might not always breed contempt, but, let’s face it, airline service in general has greatly deteriorated. Also, Philadelphia is a great airport, for delays, that is. Making connections in Philadelphia is high on our avoidance list. The cost, though, even with the baggage fees, tipped the scales, and we hope things will turn out passably(a plane whose seats are not frayed, one with personal video monitors that work, and food that is at least edible). One extra hurdle associated with booking through CheapOair was the need to call for seat selection. This involved lengthy, about 45 minute, hold time and the necessity of a second call since the first operator had not assigned us the window/aisle seat requested on one flight. It is best to have a seat map of the plane handy in order to verify that the seats being suggested are indeed what was requested. USAIR does provide seating charts for its flights. SeatGuru.com is also very helpful for those who know the plane being used on a particular flight.

One advantage of arriving at Charles De Gaulle airport is that TGV, high-speed train, connections can be made right there. For the best prices on French railroads, it is best to use the SNCF (national railroad corporation) site. TGV tickets at discounted prices are known as PREM’s fares. As far as we could tell, these are only available via the French site. Identifying ourselves as US residents regularly looped us back to a site called RailEurope.com. This site does not seem to offer the deeply discounted tickets. So, for those who read French, or have a friend who does, staying on the SNCF site will save money. Since the tickets can be charged and can be printed out at home, using the French site brings no disadvantages other than that pesky one of being available only in French.

For car rentals, we checked the web sites of the usual suspects: Hertz, Avis, Europcar. Eventually, we settled on an American source, AutoEurope. For a two-day rental (we only need the car to get to the village, otherwise we will be experimenting with a mostly car-free, if not carefree, life) the cost seemed high by US standards, but the costs were consistently high at all the rental companies.

So, our trip is set.
Cheapo-Air for USAir tickets, Boston-Philadelphia-Paris

SNCF, PREM’s fare gotten via the French site for TGV tickets, first class (good for sleeping after a lengthy flight), one way, from Charles de Gaulle airport to Avignon’s TGV station.

Auto-Europe for a two-day rental, pick-up/drop-off at Avignon’s TGV station.

Then will come the problem, after unpacking and returning the rental car, of local bus transportation between Avignon to the village which will be our home. But that is a matter for another post.