OK! OK! OK! I admit it, I am re-re-re-re-re-re-re-re-reading the Harry Potters, again. After only 3 months. It hasn't stopped me reading this though.
The Woman in the Fifth by Douglas Kennedy
In a nutshell : a lone american called Harry settles in Paris and works in a crap job in a shitty area as he tries to write his novel. He meets strange woman Margit at a party and starts an affair with her as his life becomes increasingly peculiar.
The blurb : Weird book. Starts an as ambling, slightly slow paced read of an American who flees his home in the US after a scandal and tries to write a novel. Nice descriptions of the grubbier side of Paris and its underground networks, and his crap situation is credible. Quite early on he meets this mysterious woman then... well, weird stuff happens. Bit of a fantastic denouement (but still quite enjoyable) but nothing really goes anywhere and the end is a bit of an anti climax.
IMHO this OK. it's my first DK book and I'd probably buy another of his. Bit strange though, neither thriller (too slow, no action), nor romance, neither particularly dramatic, and certainly not a funny. There is a twist and I'll say no more. Good for a long winter evening.
jeudi 31 juillet 2008
dimanche 13 juillet 2008
So here we are teacher training with CELTA
Phbtttt, what a week! Last Monday I started the CELTA course which, in a month of gruelling intensive training, will (hopefully) allow me to become a teacher of English here in Paris. And it's been one hell of a week. It all started at 9 AM in a grotty lino-floored and plastic seated room in a building in the Passage Dauphine, in the latin quarter. Twelve of us sat around while an enthusiastic Irish teacher outlined the course and a bit of the CELTA philosophy : plunge 'em in and let 'em work it out as it goes along. This means that we study teaching on a monday and teach every afternoon from Tuesday onwards, while following "theory" classes in the morning. These are scheduled as "Error correction", "Lesson planning" or "Pronunciation and drilling", and despite being full of teacher jargon and half baked modelisations of what teaching is, do address some interesting points that one must bear in mind while teaching.
So late on Monday afternoon, after a day of getting used to the course and getting to know the others, we start to pan our very first lesson. Having been divided into two groups of six we got acquainted with lesson planning. Panic. Each of us has a twenty minute slot in which we must address a particular aspect of language teaching.
[You really want to know? ok then : language practice (2 slots) is about in-putting vocabulary and then using it, in interrogative sentences for ex; skills teaching (3 slots) consists in listening, reading and writing exercises, while the last slot is devoted to the "freer practice" during which the students (or learners as they are called) apply what they have learned in a less structured and supposedly more "fun" way. it's actually a good way of doing it.]
So long days (9h15 to 6 if you're lucky) and even longer nights as one frantically tries to prepare a teaching practice that will allow one not to make a complete dick of oneself in front of a class of fifteen adults. This first week has required a certain amount of imagination, be it to prepare a text that may inspire them to answer questions on, to deciding how best to review the alphabet, or how to get them to practice vocabulary relating to description.
But despite the massive work load (I'm tired...) i's been good fun. The course buddies are all nice without exception, though I spend a lot more time with the other five in my teaching group. We are an international lot : Ronnie from Austria, Erin and Christen from the US, Jen from the UK and French Sonia. And we teach! Not always amazingly but sufficiently well to have held the class's attention every day and hopefully taught them a few things about English.
There have been slightly awkward moments of course : for example after 10 minutes of teaching I realise that I have got to the end of my lesson plan (so lets improvise a writing exercise, to everyone's dismay). The main was however when I decided to teach them "lighthouse". there is a strict "No other language than English" policy, so I thought the best way to make them understand would be to draw one on the board. As I did so, adding a long tall lighthouse to the pile of rocks I had added for extra atmosphere, I heard sniggers which of course were directed at the enormous erect penis I was casually sketching. Oops! I had a light at the top: the penis hole. I add a beam of light shining from it: wow! ejaculation. Can it get any worse? Yup. I desperately add stripes to the lighthouse (in my mind's eye lighthouses have red stripes on them), it somehow makes it look even more so. I add a boat to draw their attention away : a vaginal sloop. Lots of giggles (good god, their ages range from about 25 to 50!). Still, if that is the worse thing I do I'll be happy.
On another note however. The CELTA, prestigious and no doubt efficient as it is, seems a bit of a rip off. For €1525 (yes, a thousand quid) we get lousy facilities (albeit in a stunning location in the latin quarter) where the tape machine is antique, the books museum-quality, the plastic seats have broken flaps of 'table' badly screwed to them. There are no stapler, scissors, hole puncher or even decent pens for the board. And to top it all we teach people (in our case unemployed) who also pay! It can't all go on the rent and the salaries of the tutors!
So late on Monday afternoon, after a day of getting used to the course and getting to know the others, we start to pan our very first lesson. Having been divided into two groups of six we got acquainted with lesson planning. Panic. Each of us has a twenty minute slot in which we must address a particular aspect of language teaching.
[You really want to know? ok then : language practice (2 slots) is about in-putting vocabulary and then using it, in interrogative sentences for ex; skills teaching (3 slots) consists in listening, reading and writing exercises, while the last slot is devoted to the "freer practice" during which the students (or learners as they are called) apply what they have learned in a less structured and supposedly more "fun" way. it's actually a good way of doing it.]
So long days (9h15 to 6 if you're lucky) and even longer nights as one frantically tries to prepare a teaching practice that will allow one not to make a complete dick of oneself in front of a class of fifteen adults. This first week has required a certain amount of imagination, be it to prepare a text that may inspire them to answer questions on, to deciding how best to review the alphabet, or how to get them to practice vocabulary relating to description.
But despite the massive work load (I'm tired...) i's been good fun. The course buddies are all nice without exception, though I spend a lot more time with the other five in my teaching group. We are an international lot : Ronnie from Austria, Erin and Christen from the US, Jen from the UK and French Sonia. And we teach! Not always amazingly but sufficiently well to have held the class's attention every day and hopefully taught them a few things about English.
There have been slightly awkward moments of course : for example after 10 minutes of teaching I realise that I have got to the end of my lesson plan (so lets improvise a writing exercise, to everyone's dismay). The main was however when I decided to teach them "lighthouse". there is a strict "No other language than English" policy, so I thought the best way to make them understand would be to draw one on the board. As I did so, adding a long tall lighthouse to the pile of rocks I had added for extra atmosphere, I heard sniggers which of course were directed at the enormous erect penis I was casually sketching. Oops! I had a light at the top: the penis hole. I add a beam of light shining from it: wow! ejaculation. Can it get any worse? Yup. I desperately add stripes to the lighthouse (in my mind's eye lighthouses have red stripes on them), it somehow makes it look even more so. I add a boat to draw their attention away : a vaginal sloop. Lots of giggles (good god, their ages range from about 25 to 50!). Still, if that is the worse thing I do I'll be happy.
On another note however. The CELTA, prestigious and no doubt efficient as it is, seems a bit of a rip off. For €1525 (yes, a thousand quid) we get lousy facilities (albeit in a stunning location in the latin quarter) where the tape machine is antique, the books museum-quality, the plastic seats have broken flaps of 'table' badly screwed to them. There are no stapler, scissors, hole puncher or even decent pens for the board. And to top it all we teach people (in our case unemployed) who also pay! It can't all go on the rent and the salaries of the tutors!
So here we are salmon fishing in the Yemen
Salmon fishing in the Yemen by Paul Torday
In a nutshell: Public servant Fred Jones is a fisheries scientist and is landed with the impossible task of introducing salmon fishing to the Yemen, on the orders of a richissimo sheikh and under pressure from the British government, who think there is a good photo op behind the whole plan.
The blurb : This novel is written as a series of emails, diary entries and letters between varipous protagonists. You follow the unfolding of an impossible plan to introduce salmon fishing to the Yemen as a local political figure believes that it would be good for the hearts and souls of the Yemenite peasants. Gradually Fred Jones becomes wrapped up in this insane plan : first unwillingly but obliged to because of the political pressure that is put on him by Downing street, then with enthusiasm as he falls under charm of the (deeply religious) shiekh's faith in the project and the young lady he collaborates with. Meanwhile his marriage is failing and the politics become increasingly hard to deal with.
IMHO this is a fabulous, funny, touching, remarkable and highly original novel. Adjectives lack! The main plot line unfolds mainly through the diary entries of Fred, the fisheries scientist, and many sub plots (failing marriage, Al Qaeda dodgy dealings between the Yemen and GB, semi love affair with his collegue, absurdity of political spin) are subtly exposed via letters and emails. This book is not just an opportunity to laugh at the absurdity of such a plan; it also touches on subjects of faith, spin and love. And for those who fear that such a story can only end in laughter or tears, be prepared to be amazed. Very highly recommended, any place, any time.
In a nutshell: Public servant Fred Jones is a fisheries scientist and is landed with the impossible task of introducing salmon fishing to the Yemen, on the orders of a richissimo sheikh and under pressure from the British government, who think there is a good photo op behind the whole plan.
The blurb : This novel is written as a series of emails, diary entries and letters between varipous protagonists. You follow the unfolding of an impossible plan to introduce salmon fishing to the Yemen as a local political figure believes that it would be good for the hearts and souls of the Yemenite peasants. Gradually Fred Jones becomes wrapped up in this insane plan : first unwillingly but obliged to because of the political pressure that is put on him by Downing street, then with enthusiasm as he falls under charm of the (deeply religious) shiekh's faith in the project and the young lady he collaborates with. Meanwhile his marriage is failing and the politics become increasingly hard to deal with.
IMHO this is a fabulous, funny, touching, remarkable and highly original novel. Adjectives lack! The main plot line unfolds mainly through the diary entries of Fred, the fisheries scientist, and many sub plots (failing marriage, Al Qaeda dodgy dealings between the Yemen and GB, semi love affair with his collegue, absurdity of political spin) are subtly exposed via letters and emails. This book is not just an opportunity to laugh at the absurdity of such a plan; it also touches on subjects of faith, spin and love. And for those who fear that such a story can only end in laughter or tears, be prepared to be amazed. Very highly recommended, any place, any time.
samedi 5 juillet 2008
So here we are furious about the Narnia movie
Why, oh why, oh why?
So let's take a book, not any book, but a hugely popular classic from children's literature and turn it in to a movie. OK, nothing new here. But rather than preserve the book which, let's face it, has been proving for over fifty years that it is massively enjoyable, let's change the pace, the cast, the storyline and the general esprit.
And guess what? The result is absolutely fucking lamentable. The Chronicles of Narnia part 2 : Prince Caspian is an absolute flop.
Let's start with what is probably its major flaw : it's sooo long. Nearly 2 and a half hours... Nothing wrong with that at such (The Godfather, Schindler's list) but an absolute killer when the pacing is all wrong, which here it is, as the writers decided to change the order of things.
A reminder that all you real Narnia fans will not need : PC starts with the four Pevensie kids who are whisked off to Narnia, where they rescue the dwarf Trumpkin. He launches in to a long flashback of narnian history and the latest developments, mainly the life and times of PC. From then the kids and he go off in search of him (many trials along the road). When they finally meet it is the start of the battle which will, after twists and turns, save Narnia.
Let's recap the pace and order of the book :
1. Pevensies arrive in Narnia and meet dwarf (3 chapters).
2. Long flashback (the dwarf's tale) about Modern Narnia and Caspian (4 chapters)
3. Journey to Caspian, along which they are reunited with Aslan (4 chapters)
4. Preparation and Battle (4 chapters)
The movie does nothing of the sort, preferring to skip back and forth between Pevensies and Caspian for the first part, and then embarking on the battle sequences once all are reunited, i.e after about 35 minutes.
Many problems with this, the main flaw being that the dwarf Trumpkin has known Caspian for all of twenty seconds (it is not clear whether he even knows who Caspian is) yet still knows where to take the children and why he knows he must bring them to him. Illogical at best.
As a result the pace of the book/movie is ruined. The history of Narnia is swept over, Caspian's army forms effortlessly it seems, the journey to Caspian is turned into a relatively pleasant walk in the woods, the children meet the prince far too quickly. As a result all the groundwork disappears and too much (most) of the film is devoted to battles, including one, taking place in Miraz's castle, that is purely invented by the film people.
Doctor Cornelius is reduced to a minor character, the talking beasts are no longer personalised (other than the mice led by Reepicheep), no more giant, no more bears. Glozelle and Sopespian are given too much importance, Aslan practically disappears from the storyline. As always when personnalities are replaced by special effect-boosted battles, all subtlety and background are lost. Caspian is reduced to a juvenile, sulky idiot you want to kick in the teeth.
Here are many other things that were completely wrong : Caspian and Peter are like two creepy adolescent rivals, the journey to Aslan's How virtually disappears, the semi love story between Susan and Caspian is totally weird, the battle at Miraz's castle is absurd (the High King leaves his men to die??), the lack of Aslan turns the story into a tearful attempt to understand "Why? Why doesn't he come?" (bringing on issue of faith, which is much more subtle and less central in the book). For some reason a pointless scene resurrecting the White Witch was added, to show a weak and treacherous Caspian (damn! this guy was my childhood fantasy man, what have you done to him?)
That said, some bits, carefully selected, were ok. I think the Pevensie children are fine (though Peter overdoes the testosterone and Lucy seems slightly retarded), the badger Trufflehunter is sweet, the dwarves are good, Reepicheep is fine though a bit Disney-ish. The duel between Peter and Miraz is good. The final battle is ok. Special effects, especailly Old man River, were cool. Locations and scenery were good.
Er, that's it. The costumes were disappointing, the characters two dimensional, the storyline nonsensical and the pace totally buggered.
So there, a big nono. Narnia fans will get the best bits from the trailer, and non fans should, if interested, read the book, definitely not watch the movie.
For the next one, the Voyage of the Dawn treader, I have only one piece of advice : stick to the goddamn book.
So let's take a book, not any book, but a hugely popular classic from children's literature and turn it in to a movie. OK, nothing new here. But rather than preserve the book which, let's face it, has been proving for over fifty years that it is massively enjoyable, let's change the pace, the cast, the storyline and the general esprit.
And guess what? The result is absolutely fucking lamentable. The Chronicles of Narnia part 2 : Prince Caspian is an absolute flop.
Let's start with what is probably its major flaw : it's sooo long. Nearly 2 and a half hours... Nothing wrong with that at such (The Godfather, Schindler's list) but an absolute killer when the pacing is all wrong, which here it is, as the writers decided to change the order of things.
A reminder that all you real Narnia fans will not need : PC starts with the four Pevensie kids who are whisked off to Narnia, where they rescue the dwarf Trumpkin. He launches in to a long flashback of narnian history and the latest developments, mainly the life and times of PC. From then the kids and he go off in search of him (many trials along the road). When they finally meet it is the start of the battle which will, after twists and turns, save Narnia.
Let's recap the pace and order of the book :
1. Pevensies arrive in Narnia and meet dwarf (3 chapters).
2. Long flashback (the dwarf's tale) about Modern Narnia and Caspian (4 chapters)
3. Journey to Caspian, along which they are reunited with Aslan (4 chapters)
4. Preparation and Battle (4 chapters)
The movie does nothing of the sort, preferring to skip back and forth between Pevensies and Caspian for the first part, and then embarking on the battle sequences once all are reunited, i.e after about 35 minutes.
Many problems with this, the main flaw being that the dwarf Trumpkin has known Caspian for all of twenty seconds (it is not clear whether he even knows who Caspian is) yet still knows where to take the children and why he knows he must bring them to him. Illogical at best.
As a result the pace of the book/movie is ruined. The history of Narnia is swept over, Caspian's army forms effortlessly it seems, the journey to Caspian is turned into a relatively pleasant walk in the woods, the children meet the prince far too quickly. As a result all the groundwork disappears and too much (most) of the film is devoted to battles, including one, taking place in Miraz's castle, that is purely invented by the film people.
Doctor Cornelius is reduced to a minor character, the talking beasts are no longer personalised (other than the mice led by Reepicheep), no more giant, no more bears. Glozelle and Sopespian are given too much importance, Aslan practically disappears from the storyline. As always when personnalities are replaced by special effect-boosted battles, all subtlety and background are lost. Caspian is reduced to a juvenile, sulky idiot you want to kick in the teeth.
Here are many other things that were completely wrong : Caspian and Peter are like two creepy adolescent rivals, the journey to Aslan's How virtually disappears, the semi love story between Susan and Caspian is totally weird, the battle at Miraz's castle is absurd (the High King leaves his men to die??), the lack of Aslan turns the story into a tearful attempt to understand "Why? Why doesn't he come?" (bringing on issue of faith, which is much more subtle and less central in the book). For some reason a pointless scene resurrecting the White Witch was added, to show a weak and treacherous Caspian (damn! this guy was my childhood fantasy man, what have you done to him?)
That said, some bits, carefully selected, were ok. I think the Pevensie children are fine (though Peter overdoes the testosterone and Lucy seems slightly retarded), the badger Trufflehunter is sweet, the dwarves are good, Reepicheep is fine though a bit Disney-ish. The duel between Peter and Miraz is good. The final battle is ok. Special effects, especailly Old man River, were cool. Locations and scenery were good.
Er, that's it. The costumes were disappointing, the characters two dimensional, the storyline nonsensical and the pace totally buggered.
So there, a big nono. Narnia fans will get the best bits from the trailer, and non fans should, if interested, read the book, definitely not watch the movie.
For the next one, the Voyage of the Dawn treader, I have only one piece of advice : stick to the goddamn book.
mercredi 2 juillet 2008
So here we are reviewing more books
Haven't been reading as much as I would like, but here are the latest tomes to have transited via the bedroom table.
The World according to Bertie by Alexander McCall Smith
In a nutshell : 8 year old Bertie and a cast of a dozen or so inhabitants of Edinburgh's 44 Scotland street go around their daily lives of whinging about the neighbours, falling in and out of love, having a new baby brother (half brother actually, the father is your shrink), being an artist etc.
The blurb : We follow a sprawling set of people's lives, all interconnected in some way or another. A lot of the storylne is slightly absurd - a dog on death row, control freak adulterous mothers seen through an 8 year old's eyes, rocky relationships in particular circumstances. We switch from one set of characters to another (i admit, i occasionally got confused) and get to know them through all the little details that AMS captures brilliantly.
IMHO this is not as funny as the Number 1 Ladies detective agency series, also by AMS. It is quite fun to read but it doesn't really go anywhere, which I suppose is the point as none of the characters lives are at any stage building up to a kind of climactic dénouement. It tootles along, hopping from one person to the other, then just ends. Ok, but I'd check out his other books first.
Notes from an exhibition by Patrick Gale
In a nutshell : Artist Rachel Kelly was manic depressive and has committed suicide. Through a series of her exhibition notes and flashbacks of her life and that of her family we learn about her creativity, her illness and her family history.
The blurb : this is an airy book, full of Cornish light and Quaker Meeting houses, but filled with leaden stories of a bipolar artist genius and her dysfunctional family. The story of the family is pieced together from bits of everyone's lives : the father, the mother, and the four children. Main themes are tolerance, creativity, conformism, rebellion, depression and death, presented at various paces.
IMHO I can't work out whether I liked this or not. On the one hand it is beautifully written, very evocative with a powerfully bleak storyline. On the other it is a little slow, as one plunges into the thoughts of each of the protagonists and can read like a group psychotherapy session. Strangely though it ends a little abruptly imho. Good winter reading, when the world is a little dark and slow. Not one for the beach.
What Einstein told his cook by Robert L. Wolke
In a nutshell: Why is meat red and what is the catch with low-sodium salt? How do microwaves work and does a bit of potato really absorb excess salt in soup? And how about the diference between raw sugar, treacle, molasses and golden syrup? Or baking soda and baking powder? and what the hell is umami?
The blurb : all these questions and many many more are answered in this brilliant book written by a chemist. It is all divided by theme (sugar, salt, fat, "fire and ice", etc). We all know cookery is chemical, but here we discover what exactly is going on and what the things we eat are. Clear, very funny (as in laugh out loud), comprehensive and with just the right amount of science, it brings answers to many questions you'd never asked, or even thought about.
IMHO this is the best book I've read since... ages, and certainly the best non fiction food related book. Other than its qualities described above, it is also a must read for anyone who is serious about cooking and good fun in general. Full of incredibly interesting facts, and a good way of learning a bit of chemistry too. Very highly recommended.
The World according to Bertie by Alexander McCall Smith
In a nutshell : 8 year old Bertie and a cast of a dozen or so inhabitants of Edinburgh's 44 Scotland street go around their daily lives of whinging about the neighbours, falling in and out of love, having a new baby brother (half brother actually, the father is your shrink), being an artist etc.
The blurb : We follow a sprawling set of people's lives, all interconnected in some way or another. A lot of the storylne is slightly absurd - a dog on death row, control freak adulterous mothers seen through an 8 year old's eyes, rocky relationships in particular circumstances. We switch from one set of characters to another (i admit, i occasionally got confused) and get to know them through all the little details that AMS captures brilliantly.
IMHO this is not as funny as the Number 1 Ladies detective agency series, also by AMS. It is quite fun to read but it doesn't really go anywhere, which I suppose is the point as none of the characters lives are at any stage building up to a kind of climactic dénouement. It tootles along, hopping from one person to the other, then just ends. Ok, but I'd check out his other books first.
Notes from an exhibition by Patrick Gale
In a nutshell : Artist Rachel Kelly was manic depressive and has committed suicide. Through a series of her exhibition notes and flashbacks of her life and that of her family we learn about her creativity, her illness and her family history.
The blurb : this is an airy book, full of Cornish light and Quaker Meeting houses, but filled with leaden stories of a bipolar artist genius and her dysfunctional family. The story of the family is pieced together from bits of everyone's lives : the father, the mother, and the four children. Main themes are tolerance, creativity, conformism, rebellion, depression and death, presented at various paces.
IMHO I can't work out whether I liked this or not. On the one hand it is beautifully written, very evocative with a powerfully bleak storyline. On the other it is a little slow, as one plunges into the thoughts of each of the protagonists and can read like a group psychotherapy session. Strangely though it ends a little abruptly imho. Good winter reading, when the world is a little dark and slow. Not one for the beach.
What Einstein told his cook by Robert L. Wolke
In a nutshell: Why is meat red and what is the catch with low-sodium salt? How do microwaves work and does a bit of potato really absorb excess salt in soup? And how about the diference between raw sugar, treacle, molasses and golden syrup? Or baking soda and baking powder? and what the hell is umami?
The blurb : all these questions and many many more are answered in this brilliant book written by a chemist. It is all divided by theme (sugar, salt, fat, "fire and ice", etc). We all know cookery is chemical, but here we discover what exactly is going on and what the things we eat are. Clear, very funny (as in laugh out loud), comprehensive and with just the right amount of science, it brings answers to many questions you'd never asked, or even thought about.
IMHO this is the best book I've read since... ages, and certainly the best non fiction food related book. Other than its qualities described above, it is also a must read for anyone who is serious about cooking and good fun in general. Full of incredibly interesting facts, and a good way of learning a bit of chemistry too. Very highly recommended.
mardi 1 juillet 2008
So here we are defining à la parisienne
In cookery à la parisienne usually applies to fish, and evokes a creamy sauce based on button mushrooms and carrots. However, it can also mean anything to do with the way things are done in Paris, by the Parisians. There are many defintions and the one I present is my own, though common themes are found across the many adjectives that spring when talking about Parisans : stressed, arrogant, self satisfied, snobbish, rude, agressive, impatient, selfish, individualistic, crappy drivers, bobo, sanctiminious, gay etc etc.
Though I agree with all of these it is always important to take things in context (how can one not be rude with idiot American tourists who want to know if the Latin quarter is when the Spanish live, or arrogant when one ives in such a beautiful city), so my analysis will be more gradual.
(NB All of this is tongue in cheek as I hope you will have realised.)
In everyday life, à la parisienne means conjuring the right amount of superiority with the right amount of passivity to get things done. Let me explain : if one is all smiley and chummy with whoever is behind the desk (or counter, or wheel) one will be taken for a slighty retarded fool and/or be ripped off. On the other hand if one is too dictatorial or disdainful, the object of one's disdain will simply be rude and unhelpful. Not an easy balance to strike.
The trick is to be incredibly formal at first, hence the noted importance of saying Bonjour Madame, Bonsoir, Excusez moi Monsieur (or whatever is relevant) whenever entering in contact wth someone. This is to express respect to the person in front of you, and you do it whether speaking to the head of the office or the dustman. No smiles and jolly jokes or alright mates!, they will take you for a buffoon.
Step two is to clearly explain what you want, still with gravity and formality ("une baguette s'il vous plait Madame", "Pourriez vous me conduire à la gare, svp monsieur?" "Vous serait-il possible de m'accorder un pret mademoiselle?).
Once that is done you finish off with thanks, farewells and wishes of a pleasant evening, and an optional small smile.
So all in all, very formal. So how do the Parisians survive in this climate of formality and logs-in-arse-ishness? Once again the trick (and I speak from personal experience after fifteen years here) is to apply small touches of humour or conversation at certain strategic points. Never before step one of course, as that first contact must be tinged with formality and display of respect, but why not a small comment on the excellence of the smell of the bread in the bakery (who doesn't love flattery? but it must be sincere) That, still said without a smile (this is no laughing matter!), could be added after step two. Equally a small humourous comment (no joke!) could be ventured just before step three. At no point should one seem submissive, condescending, eager, impatient or to give a shit. Especially in the first two cases they will simply become uninterested
If this is properly applied, things should go smoothly and you will probably be appreciated for it. Dozens of repetitions of it with gradual additions of smiles, interesting comments and general class to a given situation will probably get you recognised as an habitué (one who is used to or a frequent user of something, not quite the translation of a local), from whence one can be whatever one likes. The Parisians love a bit of originality, humour and charisma.
A good example of some of this was this morning at the station. Chook and I went to Belgium last May, and bought the train tickets online in April. We never got them in the post so we had to buy them again and Thalys say they would refund us the first ones(this is their policy). Today, July 1st, still nothing so I decided to go to the station.
I was in a fantastic mood having just seen JM Barroso and the arrival of the Eurofficials so even after queuing at the Thalys counter for fifteen minutes I had a grin on my face.
"Bonjour! :)". The eyes of the girl immediately glazed.
"Oui?"
Explanation of problem.
"Hmmmm. You'll have to go and see my collegues at the SNCF. The réclamations desk. Au revoir."
I went of in search of it, but it was nowhere to be found. After circling the main hall or ten minutes I finally found the Acceuil- Welcome desk. A huge old guy was behind the glass screen.
"Bonjour. (no grinning this time)"
"Bonjour Mademoiselle".
Explanation of problem and search for réclamations desk.
"It no longer exists. You'll have to queue at a SNCF counter (estimated tourists and French going on holidays in line: 2000; estimated time before destination: 6 hours).
So I got impatient, big mistake. "Don't you just have a bloody phone number for Thalys so I can call them? I don't want to queue all day at the SNCF counter".
His lip wilted down and he passed me a leaflet with Thalys' postal address, in Brussels.
"Go and see them" he said, and looked over my shoulder to the next customer.
No way was I going to queue 3 days behind a million Japanese and American tourists who do not speak French and need some hideous ticket combo that will allow them to visit Antwerp and Bruges with special museum deals. So I went back to Thalys and the girl who had sent me in to the wild.
"Bonjour Mademoiselle." Definitely no grin.
"Bonjour Mademoiselle, there is no réclamations". I let my mouth go into a slight bored pout.
"Did you queue at the SNCF desk?"
"No." I was unapologetic.
At that she asked to look at my refund ticket. While she was I casually told her I needed the money to go on holiday in August. (These holidays are sacred in France). We don't have enough money otherwise; need to get tickets.
She looked up and nodded. I yawned through my teeth and told her that 2 months for a refund of their cock-up was a lot.
She nodded again and disappeared, taking the phone. Five minutes later she came back, put down her phone and nodded grimly. It'll be in your account between tomorrow and the next week.
"Merci Mademoiselle". I let a small smile escape.
She smiled back and asked where I was going, and added she was off to Colmar in a week.
Though I agree with all of these it is always important to take things in context (how can one not be rude with idiot American tourists who want to know if the Latin quarter is when the Spanish live, or arrogant when one ives in such a beautiful city), so my analysis will be more gradual.
(NB All of this is tongue in cheek as I hope you will have realised.)
In everyday life, à la parisienne means conjuring the right amount of superiority with the right amount of passivity to get things done. Let me explain : if one is all smiley and chummy with whoever is behind the desk (or counter, or wheel) one will be taken for a slighty retarded fool and/or be ripped off. On the other hand if one is too dictatorial or disdainful, the object of one's disdain will simply be rude and unhelpful. Not an easy balance to strike.
The trick is to be incredibly formal at first, hence the noted importance of saying Bonjour Madame, Bonsoir, Excusez moi Monsieur (or whatever is relevant) whenever entering in contact wth someone. This is to express respect to the person in front of you, and you do it whether speaking to the head of the office or the dustman. No smiles and jolly jokes or alright mates!, they will take you for a buffoon.
Step two is to clearly explain what you want, still with gravity and formality ("une baguette s'il vous plait Madame", "Pourriez vous me conduire à la gare, svp monsieur?" "Vous serait-il possible de m'accorder un pret mademoiselle?).
Once that is done you finish off with thanks, farewells and wishes of a pleasant evening, and an optional small smile.
So all in all, very formal. So how do the Parisians survive in this climate of formality and logs-in-arse-ishness? Once again the trick (and I speak from personal experience after fifteen years here) is to apply small touches of humour or conversation at certain strategic points. Never before step one of course, as that first contact must be tinged with formality and display of respect, but why not a small comment on the excellence of the smell of the bread in the bakery (who doesn't love flattery? but it must be sincere) That, still said without a smile (this is no laughing matter!), could be added after step two. Equally a small humourous comment (no joke!) could be ventured just before step three. At no point should one seem submissive, condescending, eager, impatient or to give a shit. Especially in the first two cases they will simply become uninterested
If this is properly applied, things should go smoothly and you will probably be appreciated for it. Dozens of repetitions of it with gradual additions of smiles, interesting comments and general class to a given situation will probably get you recognised as an habitué (one who is used to or a frequent user of something, not quite the translation of a local), from whence one can be whatever one likes. The Parisians love a bit of originality, humour and charisma.
A good example of some of this was this morning at the station. Chook and I went to Belgium last May, and bought the train tickets online in April. We never got them in the post so we had to buy them again and Thalys say they would refund us the first ones(this is their policy). Today, July 1st, still nothing so I decided to go to the station.
I was in a fantastic mood having just seen JM Barroso and the arrival of the Eurofficials so even after queuing at the Thalys counter for fifteen minutes I had a grin on my face.
"Bonjour! :)". The eyes of the girl immediately glazed.
"Oui?"
Explanation of problem.
"Hmmmm. You'll have to go and see my collegues at the SNCF. The réclamations desk. Au revoir."
I went of in search of it, but it was nowhere to be found. After circling the main hall or ten minutes I finally found the Acceuil- Welcome desk. A huge old guy was behind the glass screen.
"Bonjour. (no grinning this time)"
"Bonjour Mademoiselle".
Explanation of problem and search for réclamations desk.
"It no longer exists. You'll have to queue at a SNCF counter (estimated tourists and French going on holidays in line: 2000; estimated time before destination: 6 hours).
So I got impatient, big mistake. "Don't you just have a bloody phone number for Thalys so I can call them? I don't want to queue all day at the SNCF counter".
His lip wilted down and he passed me a leaflet with Thalys' postal address, in Brussels.
"Go and see them" he said, and looked over my shoulder to the next customer.
No way was I going to queue 3 days behind a million Japanese and American tourists who do not speak French and need some hideous ticket combo that will allow them to visit Antwerp and Bruges with special museum deals. So I went back to Thalys and the girl who had sent me in to the wild.
"Bonjour Mademoiselle." Definitely no grin.
"Bonjour Mademoiselle, there is no réclamations". I let my mouth go into a slight bored pout.
"Did you queue at the SNCF desk?"
"No." I was unapologetic.
At that she asked to look at my refund ticket. While she was I casually told her I needed the money to go on holiday in August. (These holidays are sacred in France). We don't have enough money otherwise; need to get tickets.
She looked up and nodded. I yawned through my teeth and told her that 2 months for a refund of their cock-up was a lot.
She nodded again and disappeared, taking the phone. Five minutes later she came back, put down her phone and nodded grimly. It'll be in your account between tomorrow and the next week.
"Merci Mademoiselle". I let a small smile escape.
She smiled back and asked where I was going, and added she was off to Colmar in a week.
So here we are celebrating the French presidency
From July 1st and for six months, France will be head of the rotating presidency of the EU, after Slovenia and just before the Czech Republic. There is a €180million budget for this (summits, cocktail parties, travel, conferences, logos, freebies etc) and Sarkozy is determined to make the French presidency count, concentrating on four main themes : energy and the environment, the reform of the common agricultural policy, migration and defense.
Of course poor Sarkozy's responsabilities could not come at a worse time : while hideously unpopular at home and just as the unspeakable Irish voted against the Lisbon treaty, thus guaranteeing that the EU will remain stuck in its usual ruts for the next few years (NB I cannot bring myself to describe my disappointment at the Lisbon treaty being rejected. The bloody Irish of all people!). Anyway Sarko is going to have a tough time as the mood is bleak amongst the Eurofficials and little can be done, at a significant level at least, until the institutions are reformed.
Anyway, at lunchtime I popped to the Gare du Nord to have a rant, parisienne style*, at the Thalys train people about €244 they owe us. Impossible to get near the station, thee cops descended on me, telling me to take a new route. To get to the station I had to go round police lines and crawl up a side street. "What is this for then?" I asked the hot and bothered looking policeman who was busy diverting two bus lanes and six taxis away from the official looking cars that lined the front of the station. "Le sommet euopéen" he said rolling his eyes and shooing away a group of tourists who had wandered across his zone, trying to get to their coach.
European stuff? Hurray! I naturally went behind the metal fence, a first row eurogroupie and got out my mobile phone to set it on 'apparreil photo'. Quite a few other people were there, about seventy I'd say, mainly bodyguards, photographers and passers by with nothing better to do.
There were three large coaches, each with European Commission posted in the window and a dozen or so sleek black cars, complete with little French and European flags flapping at the front. One couldn't help noticing that despite the encouraging noises made by the EU and France about the environment, that all the engines were running or the twenty or so minutes it took the Euro people to arrive (presumably for the air conditioning).
They finally emerged from the station, led by José Manuel Barroso, President of the Commission; a couple of cameramen danced around them. They got in to their relevant cars and coaches. Barroso's car was right in front of me so I waited to catch his eye and gave him a little wave. I am happy to say he smiled cheerfully and waved back! My eurofan soul swooned.
The best bit however was just a ew moments before, when a little couple of Japanese tourists fought to the front, cameras out and chirping happily. As Barroso walked past they cheered "Jean Reno! Jean Reno!!".
* Parisienne style (à la parisienne), a brief definition : see following post.
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