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From: rrizzo@bbncca.ARPA (Ron Rizzo)
Newsgroups: net.travel
Subject: Re: paris, france
Message-ID: <1653@bbncca.ARPA>
Date: Fri, 27-Dec-85 14:30:32 EST
Article-I.D.: bbncca.1653
Posted: Fri Dec 27 14:30:32 1985
Date-Received: Sat, 28-Dec-85 01:51:51 EST
References: <575@watmath.UUCP>
Organization: Bolt, Beranek and Newman, Cambridge, Ma.
Lines: 43

I've been to Paris twice: in 1972, first time in Europe, innocent of French,
but eager for experience, I collected Incidents, which amused rather than
annoyed me --

  1 About 9 pm one night, trying to cross to the other side of a narrow
    leftbank street lined with parked cars literally bumper-to-bumper, I
    tiptoed over a rubber bumper guard but my pants-cuff caught on the end
    of the bumper as I jumped off, causing me to momentarily stagger, but
    without falling.  Just then, a young Frenchman standing nearby with his
    date on his arm made a grimace and said in loud English, "How disgusting!
    A drunken American."

  2 On my 2nd or 3rd visit to art-nouveau Restaurant Julien near the Arc de
    Saint-Denis, another young Frenchman of commanding girth entered and
    sat with his dining companion at the next table, a brass rail separating
    us.  When he noticed that I was drawing pictures of heads of lettuce on
    the paper tablecloth in a vain attempt to tell the teasing waiter what
    kind of salad I wanted, he became suddenly enraged, and launched into
    a tirade (entirely in French) that lasted until I finished eating (one
    hour).  From his tone, gestures and expression I gathered he was cursing
    me with great vehemence, his face turning at times beet-red.  I felt very
    merry (I almost started doodling again just to annoy him), because the
    language barrier made him incapable of communicating to me a single
    insult.  (While this went on, two couples from Texas had arrived and
    ordered an entire dinner in French spoken in a Dallas accent that made
    absolutely no concessions to French phonetics.  Their waiter was mine.
    After a lengthy wait, the waiter appeared bearing an enormous ceramic
    bowl, out of which towered long stalks ending in large claws: some kind
    of exotic crab.  He plunked the bowl down on the table and disappeared,
    as the four diners stared at it & each other, utterly perplexed.)

In 1982, still devoid of French despite a months' cramming with a phrasebook
and grammar but accompanied by a friend who managed creaky fluency, I met
with only friendly & solicitous reactions, even when by myself, and despite
a complex about foreign languages I'd developed on this trip (which began
in Cologne, where I realized with horror I'd completely lost my 3 years of
college German).  This was pleasant if unexpected, for by the early 80s,
Paris had become pretty dusty & dirty, the area around Boulevard St. Michel
looking very batteredd, and everyone seemed inebriated all the time.


						Cheers,
						Ron Rizzo